Blue Hills of Sintra

by Anne Hampson

‘To England?’ she echoed stupidly. ‘To England?’ ‘That is right, senhorita.’

  She sagged one moment and the next her spirits soared.

  Disappointment was crushed under the knowledge that he had gone to find her—and only an hour after coming home! He hadn’t meant to waste any time. But how frustrating for all that. Here she was; and Miguel, probably very tired after all he’d had to do, and the journey too, on his way to England. How had Sanches managed to get it all wrong?

  ‘I don’t know what to do.’ She felt helpless and as the minutes passed her disappointment returned. ‘I think I’ll stay a little while, if I may?’

  ‘ Certainly, senhorita.’ He glanced at the wall clock. ‘Perhaps you would like to telephone him at the airport?’

  Her eyes opened.

  ‘You mean, he hasn’t taken off yet?’

  ‘In about half an hour, senhorita, the plane will leave. Dom Miguel went off to catch the five-ten from Lisbon. ’

  The five-ten! She wanted to shout for joy! Instead she asked sedately,

  ‘May I use the phone in the lounge?’

  ‘Certainly, senhorita,’ and he left her to make her own way across the thickly-carpeted hall to the familiar drawingroom which, with its three wide windows, looked out on to the courtyard and the fountain.

  She stood by the window, unmoving until she saw the car arrive, its silver crest gleaming in the sunshine. She moved into the centre of the room, waiting, breathless, for him to enter. But on opening the door he stood for one brief moment, taking in the picture of her, standing there, still and pale, but with eyes shining with love.

  ‘Dearest...!’ She was caught to him, enfolded in his arms, and his lips claimed hers in a kiss that lasted a long, long time. Breathless, she raised adoring eyes to his when eventually he held her from him. ‘Let me look at you! My own beloved Eleanor! Tell me all about it. How come you to be here?’ She could not speak for a space, filled with happiness as she was. ‘I just couldn’t believe it when I reached the airport and an official brought the message out to me, even before I’d let Felipe take the car away.’

  ‘I thought I’d speak to you, but you hadn’t arrived.’ She went on to explain briefly what had happened, while he listened in frowning astonishment.

  ‘I perhaps did give Sanches the impression that I had lost hope,’ he admitted thoughtfully when she had finished. ‘But then I knew you wouldn’t have stopped loving me and was impatiently waiting until all the wretched business was over so that I could come to you. ’ He looked at her, his eyes filled with tender emotion. ‘You should have known, my dearest, that I would not give up as easily as that.’

  ‘I did consider it strange, but I thought it might be ... pride...’ She trailed off, aware that this was not the right thing to say.

  ‘Pride would never have stopped me, you silly child.’ His tones admonished and she bit her lip. But the ready apology was smothered by his kiss, which by its ardour revealed all the pent-up emotions and tensions of the past few months, months of hopelessness for them both where only long empty years stretched ahead. And now they were together at last, locked in each other’s arms, oblivious of everything except the deep love they had for one another, a love which both knew would flourish for the rest of their lives. Miguel took her hand at last and led her over to the couch. His arm went round her as they sat down. He seemed grateful to Sanches for saving him a long explanation, but added a little to what had already been said.

  ‘When Dora went away for that holiday I really believed she was staying with her friend; so you can imagine the shock when, having gone to Greece at her request, I heard what she had to say. As you know, I was forced to accept her terms—’ He broke off and that satanic expression crossed his face— but fleetingly, and as it disappeared Eleanor knew she had seen it for the very last time. ‘That I, Miguel de Castro, should be told what I must do! But it was that or exposure for Carlota, with the subsequent stain on our good name. I knew in that moment that I hated Dora, hated her with a black venom, and I never wanted to see her again. I’m sure I was like a madman when I returned. Poor Carlota was in tears, but I couldn’t tell her what was wrong.’

  Eleanor also added a little to what Miguel knew. She told him about her bewilderment and how she had come at last to know that he cared for her.

  ‘I sensed a mystery, but at first told myself sternly that it was none of my business.’

  ‘You caught Julia taking jewellery from her mistress’s room; she told me this. I can see, my dear love, that you, as well as I, were in a hopeless and most unhappy position, but it is all over now.’ His lips, gentle and tender, caressed her cheek. ‘When can you come back here, darling?’

  ‘I must work my notice. It’s two months—’

  ‘Two months!’ Emphatically he shook his head and for a moment she saw the softened line of his lips disappear, replaced by inflexibility. ‘I think not, my dear. We’ve lost enough time already. Do you realize it’s seven months since you left here?’

  She nodded. It was exactly seven months and three days.

  ‘I can’t let the Head down, darling,’ she pleaded. ‘It would be a breach of professional etiquette to leave without giving the required period of notice.’

  At length he agreed, but said he would fly over to England every week-end during that two months. Eleanor then took his arm and said,

  ‘Sanches believes he’s the one to bring us together; he seems to think he owes me a debt of gratitude, which is ridiculous, of course. But now he is happy because he’s repaid me, so we mustn't let him know you were intending to come to England to see me.’

  He stared, and shook his head firmly.

  ‘I’m not having anyone think that I hadn’t the courage to go and find my girl!’

  ‘Please, dearest Miguel,’ she pleaded. ‘He’ll be so very disappointed if he ever learns that all this wasn’t his doing.’ Miguel frowned, but found it quite impossible to resist his beloved’s request.

  ‘Very well,’ he agreed, but grudgingly. ‘We’ll let him believe it was he who brought us together. ’

  He drew her close and she melted into his arms, lifting her face invitingly.

  After a little while Miguel sent for a maid to show Eleanor up to a room. It was on the front of the house and she gave a small gasp on entering it. The maid disappeared and Eleanor turned.

  ‘You like it?’ Miguel came towards her, slid his arm about her shoulders and together they moved to the south-facing window and looked down on to the magnificent grounds of the Palacio, with the thickly-wooded park beyond, back by the hills. ‘This was once my mother’s room,’ he told Eleanor as, turning in the circle of his arm she gazed around her at the luxurious appointments—the satin-covered walls in delicate rose-pink, the thick cream-coloured carpet and heavy embossed curtains to match, the huge tester bed hung with rose and gold drapings. Her eyes came to rest on the massive arched doorway between this room and the next. The door was slightly ajar and through the aperture she saw that the other room was similarly beautiful. A hint of colour rose at her thoughts and teasingly Miguel lifted her face with a gentle finger under her chin. ‘Yes, my love, I shall be moving in there very soon. ’ He went on to repeat that this had been his mother’s room, but said that Eleanor could have it redecorated if she wished.

  ‘I love it as it is,’ she told him, and then went quiet. The idea of occupying Dora’s room had troubled her, but she should have known that Miguel with his keen perception would understand. This action in giving her the room which she would later occupy was his subtle way of putting her mind at rest. Her heart seemed to swell with love for him.

  ‘This week-end is going to be the most wonderful of my whole life,’ she whispered, feeling that no matter what ecstasies were to follow, this lovely preliminary would hold the supreme position in her memories.

  But Miguel made a firm qualification.

  ‘One of the most, my dearest. This we shall always remember, but there are even more wonderful times
in store.’

  And he was right. The shining day in June was ‘her lovely day’. The wedding was not nearly so grand as that of Carlota and Sanches; nevertheless, it was talked about for a long time afterwards, because of the proud magnificence of the bridegroom and the delicate beauty of the bride, who made no attempt to disguise her feelings as, at the altar, she shone adoringly up at her very new husband and lifted eager rosy lips for his kiss.

  ‘My dearly beloved Condessa,’ he whispered with tender emotion before, straightening up, he assumed the noble dignity which, in public, would be expected of the illustrious Conde Ramiro Vicente Miguel de Castro.

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