by Anne Hampson
That evening at Sanches’ dinner-party Eleanor had an opportunity of informing her host of what had transpired, dispelling his quickly gathering alarm by saying that everything was all right, and that Dom Miguel had displayed neither the anger nor humiliation which she had expected.
‘He’ll be waiting for you to approach him,’ she smiled. ‘And of course you will receive the answer you want.’
‘Carlota,’ he said, looking a little scared. ‘Suppose she
doesn’t want to marry me?’
Eleanor widening smile was all he needed for complete reassurance, even before she spoke.
‘Dom Miguel spoke to her this morning, asking how she felt about you. I don’t anticipate any trouble for you, Sanches.’
‘Carlota told you this—that Miguel talked to her about me?’
‘Yes, she told me—and very happy she looked as she was doing so.’
‘It is all due to you, Eleanor,’ he told her gratefully, gesturing with his hand as she would have denied this. ‘You must have had a very good influence on Miguel.’
‘I merely told him what we’d been saying. I had to tell him, as I mentioned to you; he made me.’
‘But the way you told him must have influenced him,’ Sanches insisted. ‘I thank you from the bottom of my heart.’
She was inordinately touched by his sincerity. How charming all these people were. Eleanor knew that even if she had not loved Dom Miguel she could still have lived among them. Not that she would have had the chance, of course. It was merely her good fortune in meeting the Conde that had resulted in her coming to this lovely country and being able to settle here.
As on the previous evening Inez played the piano and after dancing with his sister the Conde came over to where Eleanor was in conversation with Clara and her husband. He merely smiled and extended a hand in what could only be described as a proprietorial gesture. Eleanor rose, putting her hand in his and smiling up at him. He swung her into the dance and for the next few minutes she was in a world of sheer delight; no one else was in the room but her and Miguel. She saw only his face, was conscious only of his presence—and his hard lean body close to hers. Her lovely lips quivered and she saw his eyes flicker with a most odd expression. They reached the french window, which was wide open. They were through it, waltzing on the verandah, and then the music stopped. She was still in his arms, in the darkness of the corner which they had somehow managed to reach.
‘Eleanor, my dear ... ’ A whisper, yet vibrant with emotion; a brush of cool lips on her cheek; a caress as strong hands moved from her back to take her face into their cupped smoothness. She was transported to the clouds as, lifting her face under the pressure of his hands, she waited, breathless, for his kiss. He seemed to swallow something in his throat, but in the dimness she could not be sure. But she did see him shake his head—in a little helpless, hopeless gesture. ‘We must go in, dear,’ he murmured and, reaching for her hand, he led her gently back along the length of the verandah towards the window. By the time they reached it Inez was playing again, the Fado de Vila Riscosa this time, and most of the occupants of the room were dancing. Miguel halted, staring into the brilliance of the exquisitely-decorated room. Sanches was dancing with Carlota—and whispering in her eager ear something which brought the colour flowing prettily to her cheeks.
‘Carlota is happy,’ murmured Eleanor, glancing up at her companion. She wondered why she wasn’t feeling awkward and shy, after what had just taken place. She had not really expected him to kiss her; she was satisfied that he had shown, for the first time, some tangible evidence of a liking for her. She must not expect more, as after all he was still sorrowing for his lost wife. And if he had been afforded a small amount of comfort from that gentle, almost tender little scene just enacted, then that was all she needed to make her happy.
‘And so is Sanches—’ A swift break in his voice and— could it be a deep and quivering sigh of regret? A tautness stole over her, but he seemed to be aware of her hurt and his clasp on her hand tightened comfortingly.
‘What are you two doing?’ Inez’s husband, Barrolo, came up to the couple framed in the window, and his eyes moved for a fleeting moment to their clasped hands. If he were surprised he successfully managed to keep this to himself, but what really registered, tumbling her thoughts into a whirlpool of bewilderment, was the fact that Dom Miguel made no hasty move to relinquish his hold. Amazing as it was, he obviously did not mind being seen holding Eleanor’s hand. ‘Taking a breath of fresh air, it seems?’
‘We were dancing on the verandah,’ offered Dom Miguel without much expression. ‘As you suggest, the fresh air was tempting.’ Glancing down at Eleanor he smiled faintly as if inviting her corroboration. But she felt shy and awkward in Barrolo’s presence, and she merely nodded her head, hoping her colour was under control.
‘It is pleasant out there.’ Barrolo smiled as he spoke; Eleanor sensed that he was merely speaking superficially, making conversation. ‘Our climate is wonderful, is it not, Miss Salway?’
‘Indeed it is,’ she replied enthusiastically. ‘I am revelling in all the lovely sun, and the warm balmy evenings.’
‘You will miss it if ever you return to your own country?’ Subtle the question. Barrolo was no longer idly making conversation. His keen brown eyes were fixed on Dom Miguel’s face despite the fact of his having put the question to Eleanor. Dom Miguel said, stepping into the room,
‘Eleanor won’t be returning in the foreseeable future.’
‘No?’ Twisting his head, Barrolo glanced to where Carlota and Sanches were dancing, Sanches’ head bent and Carlota’s face uplifted. ‘Well, that’s pleasant news,’ Barrolo said to Eleanor, ‘as we should not like to lose you when we’ve only just become acquainted.’
‘There’s no fear of that,’ submitted Dom Miguel, gently tugging at Eleanor’s hand as he moved further into the room, Barrolo by his side.
A short while later Dom Miguel and Sanches were seen conversing together, and just as the party was breaking up the engagement between Carlota and Sanches was announced.
To Eleanor it seemed that everyone from the entire province had gathered at Viano de Castelo for the romaria—the festival of Our Lady of the Agony, which was always held in August. It was the big holiday of the year, Carlota had told her, and so full were the hotels that many tourists had to sleep in their cars.
‘Miguel doesn’t really like crowds,’ Carlota said as she and Eleanor strolled along behind her brother and Sanches. The four had gone to the festa together, but Carlota had confided that she and Sanches would like to go off on their own. Eleanor, her thoughts flying on to the vision of being alone with the Conde, found her feelings about the idea very mixed, for while she would have loved nothing more than having him as her sole companion at the gay festa, she was also acutely conscious of the fact that it would be preferable, for her peace of mind, to remain with Carlota and her fiance. However, as they all sat in a cafe a little later on, Sanches asked outright if he could take Carlota for a sail on the river, and after only the smallest hesitation Dom Miguel agreed.
‘So you have me alone for company.’ Dom Miguel spoke as soon as the young couple had left them, making for the river. ‘I hope you won’t be bored.’
Eleanor glanced swiftly at him.
‘I most certainly shan’t be bored. How could I—with all this gaiety around?’ She swept a comprehensive gesture with her hand. Groups of singers and dancers were performing in the square, the women dressed in their colourful local costumes, and wearing all their gold ornaments—bracelets and necklaces and earrings. Music floated over the flower-scented air and although the temperature was soaring the energetic dancing continued.
‘You like crowds and noise?’ Dom Miguel asked as he endeavoured to guide Eleanor through the press of people who, after watching the procession, were making for the square.
‘It’s exciting—my first festa ever,’ she answered eagerly, but then added, ‘You—do you enjoy this sort of e
ntertainment?’
To her surprise he nodded reassuringly.
‘For a change, Eleanor, yes, I do enjoy it.’
She breathed an involuntary sigh of relief. She would not have been able to derive full pleasure from the festa if Dom Miguel had seemed bored.
‘Carlota seemed to think you didn’t like crowds.’
‘For the most part, no, I certainly do not like crowds,’ he responded firmly. ‘But the festa here at Viana do Castelo is something we never miss if we happen to be up here at the time. It’s traditional to come, and it’s a pleasant change from
the quiet and isolation of the Palacio.’
‘I’m glad you’re liking it,’ she said impulsively, and immediately noted the swift downward glance he gave her.
‘So it matters to you if I’m liking it or not?’ A strange inflection in his voice left her puzzled, and for an instant his face hardened and his eyes glinted darkly as if at some recollection that was far from pleasant.
‘Yes,’ replied Eleanor simply, ‘it does matter to me.’ They had reached the square and as there was such a crowd Miguel seemed to think it necessary to take hold of Eleanor’s hand. She felt its warmth as his strong slender fingers curled gently round hers; she became filled with the new and exciting sensation of expectancy and when eventually she felt his hand transferred to her shoulder it came as no surprise whatsoever. She looked up, and in his eyes a smile dawned—to meet with an instant response. Eleanor realized her heart was light and knew the reason was that the Conde was happy in her company. The brooding introversion which was so familiar seemed alien to his character at this moment; the arrogance and consciousness of his exalted position were also totally absent.
‘Have I told you how charming you look?’ he asked unexpectedly, and a soft flush of pleasure fused her cheeks. Naturally she looked down, only to meet with a second surprise as he tilted her face up again. ‘You blush very nicely too,’ he added, amused by the fact that his words had sent her into confusion. ‘ Tell me, Eleanor, have you ever had a boyfriend?’
‘Not a serious one.’
He gave a quick laugh.
‘You mean he was not serious—or was it you?’
‘Neither of us was serious.’ She paused a moment, her attention with the dancers, whirling around in their gay clothing which went so well with the folk-dances. ‘I went out with several young men,’ she confessed, memory bringing back the odd casual interlude which now and then occurred while she was at college. There had been a couple of students who had taken her to the cinema or to a dance, and there was, of course, Terry Kershawe. Eleanor found herself telling the
Conde about him, and actually admitting that the thought of having him pestering her for yet another year had gone a long way to influencing her about accepting the Conde’s offer to come to Portugal as companion to his sister.
‘It is lucky for us that he did pester you,’ observed Dom Miguel, and Eleanor had the unmistakable impression that he had hesitated for a fractional moment before using the word ‘us’. Had the word ‘me’ almost slipped out? Nerves tingled deliciously at the thought; emotions rioted as his arm slid across her back so that it was in effect around her. So unusual for the austere and aloof Conde Ramiro Vicente Miguel de Castro to unbend in this way, she thought, and yet hadn’t she decided almost at the beginning that he was quite human—or could be, once one got to know him? Eleanor contrived to appear unaffected by this intimate action on his part, but inwardly she was far from calm. Never had she visualized exquisite emotion such as that which encompassed her, here, at the gay festa of Viana do Castelo. She would never forget it, and she told the Conde this at dinner that evening. Sanches had come back to the solare with them and afterwards Miguel allowed him and Carlota to go off together again, this being proof of his trust both in his sister and her fiance.
‘So once again we find ourselves alone.’ His smile thrilled Eleanor as, after sitting with her on the verandah for a while after the departure of the others, he rose from his chair and added, ‘Shall we go out again?’
‘Of course, if you want to.’ She felt shy that he should ask her to decide, and added awkwardly, ‘It’s—it’s up to you.’
He laughed and his grey eyes twinkled.
‘What is it, Eleanor?’ he asked softly, reaching for her hand and gently pulling her to her feet. ‘Don’t be shy, dear, there’s really no need. I’m just an ordinary person,’ he added unexpectedly and, as on a previous occasion, he lifted her hand and she felt the gentle touch of his lips on her fingers. A rosy blush leapt to her cheeks, and his eyes flickered with an unfathomable light as they rested for a long moment on her face. ‘Come,’ he said, suddenly brisk, ‘we’re missing all the fun!’
There was a firework display, and more merrymaking as the music of the serenaders drifted out from the Lima River. Eleanor and her companion were drawn into the dance, and to her surprise Dom Miguel joined in wholeheartedly. At first Eleanor protested that she was unable to do the dances, but this was swept aside and after a few faltering steps her diffidence faded and she threw herself into the dance, laughing up at Dom Miguel and feeling inordinately young and free of all inhibitions.
‘That was lovely!’ she exclaimed impulsively as the music stopped and she and Dom Miguel stepped out of the circle of dancers. ‘Oh, Miguel, I’ve never enjoyed myself so much ...’ She allowed her voice to trail away into an embarrassed silence as her eyes were raised rather fearfully to those of her employer. To her astonishment he appeared amused by her slip, and although her lips had already formed an apology, it was never uttered. All she said was, ‘Oh, dear!’ before he cut her short with,
‘Don’t apologize, Eleanor. It’s time the formalities were dropped. ’
‘ It—it just slipped out... ’
‘And most attractively too,’ he said, but now his amusement vanished and in its place was that helpless, hopeless attitude she had noted previously. His dark eyes were shadowed with what could only be described as regret and suddenly her heart sank right into her feet. That he liked her was certain—and yet there seemed to be something preventing him from admitting it, even to himself ... something more than love for, and loyalty towards, his dead wife. Mystery loomed again, baffling and frustrating. Or was she imagining things? she wondered as, watching her companion’s changing expression, she saw a smile appear—a smile which instantly erased that hopeless look and which also served to lighten Eleanor’s heart again. ‘Shall we go home, then?’ he asked, and Eleanor at once agreed, remembering to thank him for a lovely day when, a few minutes later, they were driving back to the solare, Miguel at the wheel of the car.
‘Don’t thank me, Eleanor,’ he said gravely, turning his head. ‘Rather, I think, I must thank you. It’s a long while since I felt the way I did today. ’ The remark was cryptic and yet Eleanor knew instinctively that Miguel had been happy, and that this was what he meant to convey to her. Her spirits began to soar, but resolutely she held them in check. There was no possibility of Miguel’s falling in love with her in the immediate future, and, therefore, she must avoid giving any sign of her own feelings.
‘It’s very nice of you to say that,’ she murmured shyly after a pause. ‘I’m glad you enjoyed it as much as I.’
He nodded, but seemed now to be concentrating on his driving, and no more was said until they arrived at his home. The car slid quietly to a standstill in the paved courtyard; Miguel assisted Eleanor from it, a hand under her elbow. Renaissance pillars gleamed in the moonlight, and over the high arched doorway could be seen the Castro crest, embellished in gold. Caryatids in ornate flowing robes stood at each side, holding up the ends of the pediment. Flowers from the terraced gardens filled the night air with fragrance and into the silence intruded the musical echo of water as it cascaded down from a rocky ledge somewhere in the grounds. Magic was in the air; excitement flowed through Eleanor’s veins despite her efforts at stern control.
‘How lovely it all is!—and how peaceful. It’s nice to g
et back home, away from the crowds...’ Her quick and faintly nervous utterings were brought to an end as Miguel stopped and turned her round to face him. His hand touched her chin, lifting it. Her mouth moved, but whatever trembling words hovered they were never voiced, for in the sweet intimacy of the moment Miguel bent his head and kissed her gently on the lips. And when presently he withdrew he shook his head in the most peculiar way, as if shaking off some imprisoning net that had for a time curtailed his freedom, both of action and thought. Eleanor smiled, quiveringly, and his eyes kindled with a light that set her pulses on fire before, drawing her into his embrace, he sought her eager lips again.
