The Japanese Screen

by Anne Mather

  But on that morning two months ago, when Monica had blurted out the facts about her and Fernando’s marriage, it had seemed the final humiliation. The situation itself was not so uncommon. Monica had been married before. She had thought her first husband dead when she married Fernando, but he had turned up some three years later.

  Looking at it now, Susannah could see more clearly the terrible dilemma which faced Fernando then. Married to a woman he did not love, and given the opportunity to be a free agent again, any other man might have been excused for taking the easy way out. But Fernando had not done that. In his happiness lay unhappiness and humiliation for someone else—his daughter, Marla.

  Monica had explained that she had been only a teenager when she had married a Jewish boy in New York in the early days of the war in Europe. But soon after their marriage, her husband had become concerned for his family in Poland and against all her appeals had left for his homeland. That had been the last she had heard of him for almost twenty years. She had imagined him beaten and dead, possibly a victim of the concentration camps that had sprung up all over Germany. In fact, he had been imprisoned, but he got out alive without family, home or money. When he had eventually saved up enough to go back to America it had been to find his wife married again and living in Spain. That man, of course, was Max Rosenberg, and Monica’s statement had explained Fernando’s strange behaviour of the night before. He had not intended that she should learn the truth—for his family’s sake he was prepared to live a lie.

  Toni was getting restless, and Susannah got to her feet and pushed the chair on through the park. It was a beautiful afternoon in late summer, but already there was a nip in the air and the leaves on the trees were turning to gold. It would be autumn soon, the trees would be bare, and there would be no more walks in the park. She would have charge of a class of almost forty children from vastly different homes and walks of life.

  When she arrived back at the house, Margaret met her in the hall in something of a fluster.

  ‘Oh, Susannah!’ she exclaimed, ‘thank heavens you’re home!’

  Susannah looked past her down the hall but could see nothing amiss. Frowning, she lifted Toni out of her pushchair and said: ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

  Margaret made a silencing movement with her hands and Susannah looked even more confused. ‘There—there’s a visitor for you,’ she whispered. ‘I think it’s your Fernando.’

  ‘What?’ Susannah’s legs almost gave way. ‘You’re not serious.’

  ‘I am. I’m sure it’s him. A Señor d’Alvarez, is that right?’ And at Susannah’s nod, she added: ‘He’s quite a dish, isn’t he? No wonder you went a little crazy about him.’ Then she realized Susannah was beginning to look pale, and said quickly: ‘I’m sorry. I’m only trying to relieve the tension. He’s paced up and down my living-room carpet until I’m sure he’s worn a hole in it!’

  Susannah supported herself against the door jamb. ‘But what does he want?’ she breathed in a low voice, her eyes wide and disturbed.

  ‘To see you, Susannah!’ said a deep voice from the opened door of Margaret’s living-room. ‘If Mrs. French will permit, we can talk in here.’

  Margaret made a deprecative gesture. ‘Oh—oh, yes. Go ahead!’ she murmured uneasily. ‘I—er—I’ll be in the kitchen giving Toni her tea, Sue, if you want me.’

  Susannah shed the navy parka she had worn over her navy slacks, and pulling down the cream sweater she was wearing with them walked past Fernando into the living-room. She was as nervous as a cat and refused his suggestion that she should sit down.

  ‘Why are you here, Fernando?’ she asked, without preamble. ‘If you have any ideas about taking up where you left off—’

  Fernando’s face grew strained. Indeed he looked more tired than she had ever seen him and she could not be sure, but she thought he had lost weight.

  ‘You have a right to say that, of course, Susannah,’ he said, quietly, ‘but that is not why I am here.’

  ‘I can’t think what we have to say to one another,’ declared Susannah, her voice annoyingly unsteady. ‘As far as I’m concerned, it’s all over—’

  ‘Susannah! Susannah, hear me out! You walked out on me, remember? You did not even wait to see me—to hear what I had to say! It has taken me almost two months to trace you, and now you refuse to listen to me.’

  ‘What is there to say?’ exclaimed Susannah, twisting her hands together. ‘Your—wife—made everything abundantly clear.’

  ‘I know she did. But I would have hoped—after what had been between us—’

  ‘What had been between us? Just lies, lies and more lies!’

  His fists clenched at his sides. ‘Is that what you think?’

  ‘It’s what I know. You’ve never taken me into your confidence over—over anything.’

  ‘Susannah, Susannah! How could I tell you about Monica? For years I have lived by a certain code—for years I have forbidden her to reveal the truth to anyone. How could I destroy that code myself? For Marla’s sake, I had to remain silent.’

  ‘So why are you here?’ Susannah made an involuntary movement. ‘There’s nothing more to say.’

  ‘Is there not?’ Fernando shook his head. ‘You will not then return to Spain?’

  ‘Return to Spain?’ Susannah stared at him in amazement. ‘How could I return to Spain? I have no intention of living in the Casa d’Alvarez as your mistress—’

  He reached for her then, his fingers bruisingly hard upon her shoulders. ‘Do not dare to suggest such a thing!’ he muttered savagely. ‘I have never, at any time, given any intimation that that was my intention.’

  ‘Then why are you here? Fernando, it’s two months since I left the casa—’

  ‘Do you think I do not know that?’ His fingers became more cruel. ‘They have been the longest months of my life.’

  ‘Fernando, I don’t understand—’

  ‘Then let me explain.’ He considered her pale face broodingly. ‘Monica has gone. I have permitted her to return to her husband.’

  ‘What?’ Susannah felt an irresistible fluttering in her stomach. ‘But—but how? I mean—’

  ‘Amalia is dead, Susannah. She died the day after your departure.’

  ‘Oh!’ Susannah swallowed convulsively. ‘I—I’m sorry.’

  ‘Yes. So am I. Amalia was not the kindest of persons, but she had sacrificed her whole life for her brother and his family, and I think it had soured her.’

  ‘I—I didn’t realize she had been ill—’

  Fernando sighed heavily. ‘Amalia was never a strong person. That was why she spent so many hours sitting and sewing—why she appreciated the company of a younger person.’

  ‘Marla?’

  ‘Si, Marla.’

  ‘You don’t mean—that is—our outings—’

  ‘No, your outings did hot upset her unduly. She was jealous, of course, but that was to be expected. I think it was Monica’s behaviour that finally…’ He paused. ‘Who knows? Perhaps it was simply her time.’

  ‘Monica’s behaviour? You mean—telling me?’

  ‘Oh, no.’ Fernando shook his head. ‘You left. In Amalia’s eyes, that was sufficient. It was Marla.’

  ‘Marla?’ Susannah’s eyes clouded. ‘You mean—Monica told Marla the truth?’

  Fernando nodded. ‘I am afraid so. It was the day after you left. I had gone to the vineyards. I was still dazed at your departure. I did not know what to do. When I came home there was a terrible row going on. Monica was shouting and screaming and Marla was desperately trying to calm her aunt. But it was useless. Sooner or later, I suppose, it had to come out.’

  Susannah shook her head, avoiding his eyes. ‘It was my fault, wasn’t it?’ she murmured unevenly. ‘If I had never come to Spain—’

  Fernando shook her gently. ‘Do not begin to think such things. You did not know that you were coming to my house when you accepted the position Monica offered. You might say it began when we met in London. In any e
vent, it was all for the best.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Susannah looked at him now.

  ‘Marla already knew.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Apparently she had overheard Monica talking to Max Rosenberg on the telephone. She is an intelligent girl. It did not take a great deal of deduction on her part to appreciate that if they were married Monica and I could not be.’

  ‘Oh, Fernando!’

  He half smiled. ‘You look sad. Do not be. Now that Marla knows the truth, there is nothing to fear.’

  ‘But—Monica—’

  ‘Monica left the house before Amalia’s funeral. She was, I think, ashamed. But no doubt she will be happy now that she and Rosenberg can make a life together.’

  Susannah hardly dared to speculate what this meant to her. ‘And—and why have you been looking for me?’ she questioned tremulously.

  The hands on her shoulders impelled her towards him, his warm male hardness touched her. ‘That is an unnecessary question, amada. You know why. I want you to marry me as soon as it can be arranged.’

  Susannah could hardly believe her ears. This afternoon she had gone for her walk with Toni feeling that nothing would ever be the same again. Now Fernando was here, he had told her he loved her, and he was asking her to marry him!

  ‘I—I—’ she began confusedly, and then his mouth was on hers and all coherent thought ceased. He held her close against him, moulding her body to his, kissing her and caressing her as if he would never let her go.

  ‘Susannah mia,’ he groaned against her neck, his body trembling with the tumult of his emotions. ‘Tell me you forgive me for what is past. Tell me you love me—that you will marry me.’

  Susannah pressed herself against him eagerly. ‘Oh, I love you, Fernando,’ she breathed urgently. ‘You know I do. And if you want me I’ll marry you whenever you say.’

  He kissed her again, his mouth bruising her. He was hungry for her and he could hardly bear to let her go. But at last he propelled her away from him and reached into his pocket for his cheroots, putting one between his teeth with unsteady fingers.

  Susannah watched him light it with undisguised emotion, and then said: ‘You said you had been searching for me. How did you find me?’

  Fernando put an arm about her shoulders and drew her down on to the couch beside him. ‘You may well ask,’ he said dryly. ‘It has been almost impossible.’

  ‘Did you contact the Castanas?’

  ‘I did. But they had no forwarding address.’ He shook his head. ‘Can you imagine how I felt when I discovered this? I was desperate.’

  ‘So what happened?’ Susannah was intrigued.

  Fernando drew on his cheroot with evident enjoyment. ‘Well, I did many things. I contacted all the agencies in London, but I—how do you say it—drew a blank.’ He nodded. ‘And then I had this brainwave. You had said you were brought up in an orphanage in the north of England, in Yorkshire? You remember?’

  ‘But there must be many children’s homes in Yorkshire.’

  He half smiled. ‘That is why it has taken so long. But eventually someone remembered that you had had a friend who married a schoolteacher called French—and here I am!’

  ‘Oh, Fernando.’ Susannah pressed her face against his shoulder. ‘If I had never told you about that—’

  ‘I should have been demented.’ His eyes darkened passionately. ‘Do you think we should call in your good friend and tell her our news?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Susannah sat up, nodding. But then her eyes clouded. ‘Fernando, what about Marla?’

  ‘What about Marla?’

  ‘She may resent me.’

  He shook his head. ‘I think not.’ His hand touched her cheek. ‘You know she is very fond of you. She was never very close to her mother. She needs a confidante.’

  ‘I know. But—a stepmother!’

  ‘You will be her mother,’ said Fernando definitely. ‘Monica—well, Marla will decide about Monica for herself when she is older. Marla is already my daughter. I adopted her when the truth about Rosenberg came to light. Now she will be your daughter, too.’

  Susannah got to her feet, reluctant to leave him even for a moment. Then another thought struck her.

  ‘I—I have a job!’ she exclaimed. ‘I’m due to start at the comprehensive school a week on Monday.’

  Fernando’s expression darkened for a moment. ‘And?’

  Susannah’s lips curved. ‘I suppose I could—withdraw.’

  ‘You had better,’ remarked Fernando, with complacent arrogance.

  ISBN-13: 9781460346020

  THE JAPANESE SCREEN

  © 1974 Anne Mather

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