by Anne Hampson
CHAPTER FIVE
Although by the Saturday Laura was able to get up at the normal time, and to stay up all day, she was not invited to dine with the
Conde and Dona Eduarda. Not that she wanted to; she would most certainly have made some excuse had the Conde proffered an invitation. Nevertheless, she felt slighted, after having dined with the Conde before. She had her evening meal in her room, as she had been doing since the accident, and then she went for a stroll in the grounds of the Palacio, walking amidst the lighted shrubberies and flower beds. It was lonely and still, with the only sound that of the cicadas whirring in the trees. A cooling breeze blew in from the sea, stealing exotic perfumes On the way. Laura wandered on, passing out of the grounds on to the beach where palms, silhouetted against a moonlit sky, waved gently above the soft white sand. She watched fishermen dragging their nets in the placid Indian Ocean, noticed the yacht with its red and white sails and remembered that Clara had said it belonged to her friend’s father. One more day to go and then she would be packing her suitcases in readiness for her departure on Monday at midday. Just a few hours left, in fact, to enjoy the peace and tranquillity of this ocean paradise, this coral island which had managed to remain untouched by tourism.
A dark figure looming up from the direction of some rocky caves by the headland caught her attention and she had an impulse to turn and hasten back to the safety of the Palacio gardens. However, she checked the impulse, assuring herself that she could not possibly be in any danger here, where the fishermen were within calling distance. The figure turned out to be a man, strolling leisurely along the shore, as she herself was doing. He said a greeting in Portuguese to which Laura answered,
‘Good evening.’
The man stopped and said in perfect English,
‘Good evening to you, madam. What part of England do you come from?’
Laura stopped, though reluctantly, her one swift thought being that the Conde would frown darkly upon so casual a meeting as this. The proprieties were strictly observed in Portugal, she knew, so it was reasonable assume that this would apply with similar rigidity on the island of Torassa. However, it was soon borne in on her that she was leaving the Conde’s house very soon, and in any case, it was most unlikely that he would hear of this meeting with a stranger. She noticed the man's eyes settle on her bandage and wondered what he was thinking.
‘ I come from Birmingham,’ she answered, examining his face in the moonlight. It was clear-skinned, - with high cheekbones and an unlined forehead from which the hair was prematurely receding—for she guessed his age to be no more than twenty-five at the most.
‘From Birmingham? You haven’t an accent,’ he added with a laugh.
Laura liked him, liked the frank eyes, the wide and generous mouth, the spontaneous way he had laughed. ‘What part of England do you come from?’ she asked.
‘Liverpool.’
‘Well, you haven’t an accent, either.’
‘So I’m told.’ He paused a moment, undecided, and then, ‘You’ve hurt yourself?’
‘I did it in the sea—caught my head on a rough piece of coral.’
‘The reef? It can be dangerous.’ Another hesitant moment ensued before he said, ‘Do you live here, or are you just a visitor, like me?’
‘I’m a visitor.’
‘You noticed I didn’t ask if you were a tourist?’ he said in some amusement. ‘ The lordly Conde Duarte Andre Volante de Taviro Mauredo of Torassa guards his domain jealously from the despoilation wrought by the modern traveller.’
‘I don’t blame him.’
‘Nor do I. My sister lives here, you see—married to one of the island’s nobility.’
‘ She is?’ Laura returned with interest.
‘Yes; his name is Senhor Pedro de Salzadaz. They live in the big
house at the end of the shore------ ’ He pointed and Laura
nodded.
‘It’s a lovely house. I’ve been past it several times when I’ve taken a stroll along that way. ’
‘Where are you staying?’
There was a moment’s hesitation before she answered with a laugh,
‘At the Palacio de Mauredo.’
‘At------! ’ The young man stared in disbelief. ‘How come?’
She gave another laugh.
‘You’re not very flattering,’ she told him, at the same time marvelling at the easy way in which they had drifted into conversation. ‘However, I suppose I am out of my element at that magnificent palace.’ She went on to explain how she came to be here, omitting nothing except the incident in the sea and the untruths told by Clara and Don Eduarda.
‘So you’ve to go back on Monday, you say? That’s tough luck.’ ‘I’m not sorry, really,’ she rejoined with truth. ‘It’s all a bit overpowering, I’m afraid.’
‘Not used to their way of life, eh? I myself was a little lost on my first visit, but Pedro’s all right. I imagine, though, that the Conde’s just about as stiff as they come?’
‘Very austere and formal, yes, he is,’ she replied musingly. ‘Very handsome, though,’ she added.
‘I know. I’ve seen him. Pedro and Melanie are visitors to his house, but they’ve never had an invitation that arrived while I’ve been here.’
‘You’d like to visit the Palacio?’
‘Rather! It must be a treasure house of antiques?’
‘It is, indeed.’
‘Look, we haven’t introduced ourselves. My name’s Rex. What’s yours?’ Laura told him and he said, ‘How about a little supper in that cafe in town?’
‘I’ve had a meal, but thank you all the same.’ She spoke against her inclination, as it would have been nice to visit the cafe with a companion. She had been there on her own, just for coffee, but knew that at night it was a gay, well-lighted place where a band of musicians played folk music while people dined on local food and wine.
‘So have I, as a matter of fact. Well, perhaps we could just go to the cafe for a drink of wine and a snack?’
The prospect was certainly attractive and Laura soon found herself saying,
‘Yes, all right.’
‘It’ll take us twenty minutes or so to get there—’ Rex looked at the bandage. ‘Do you feel up to a walk of that length?’
'Of course. I love walking.’
‘Your injury’s well on the mend, then?’ he said, falling into step beside her as she began to retrace her own steps along the beach.
‘Yes, I did it over a week ago.’
‘I’m sorry you’re leaving on Monday,’ Rex was saying over half an hour later when he and Laura were seated in a secluded corner of the cafe, a bottle of wine on the table, and a dish of salad and various meats. They each had a long fork, with which they now and then took up some of the salad or piece of meat. The lights were very low, and on every table a candle shone from a tall red tumbler. It was a romantic place to be, with the music from the main cafe quietly drifting to this rather remote corner which was sheltered by palms in gleaming brass urns.
‘How long will you be here?’ Laura’s gaze was pensive as she watched Rex pour some more wine, topping up their glasses.
‘I’ve another fortnight. I come every year for three weeks— besides Christmas, that is. I spend Christmas here because I’m on my own.’
‘You’ve no parents?’
‘Both died when Melanie and I were small. We were brought up by an aunt, but she died three years ago, just after Melanie got married and came here.’
They chatted on for another hour, a pleasant hour of swiftly-developing friendship resulting in Rex saying in a firm inexorable voice,
‘We mustn’t lose touch, Laura. Let’s exchange addresses now, before I walk you back to the Palacio. I’ve so thoroughly enjoyed this evening that I want a repetition.’ A pause as he looked a trifle anxiously at her. ‘You feel the same?’
She nodded without hesitation.
‘Yes, Rex, I’d like to do it again.’
‘We don’t liv
e too far from one another. I’ve a car, so the journey to Birmingham won’t present any problems.’ He was bringing out a notebook and soon the addresses were exchanged.
‘I must go now,’ said Laura, glancing at her watch. She was usually in her room by ten o’clock at night. It was now almost half-past; ‘I don’t want to find myself locked out! ’
They walked back together; Rex left her at the gates of the Palacio, having agreed to meet her the following morning on the
beach.
‘I wonder if you’d care to meet my sister?’ Rex looked expectantly at her, waiting for an answer.
‘I don’t know ...’
‘Leave it until tomorrow.’ He could see that she was restless, because it was so late. ‘We’ll talk about it then. Goodnight, Laura.’
‘Goodnight, Rex.’
He opened one of the gates for her to pass through, then closed it again. She stood for a second or two, watching his departing figure, a warmth within her that she had not known since coming to Torassa.
She went quickly along the tree-lined pathway leading to the side door, which was off the larger courtyard. But to her dismay she realised that the Conde and Dona Eduarda were strolling in the moonlit garden and she had no means of escaping an encounter.
‘Miss Conroy!’ exclaimed Dona Eduarda with quite unnecessary loudness and surprise. ‘What are you doing out at this time?’
Words that were bound to set Laura’s hackles rising, mild-tempered though she was. She spoke her thoughts aloud, mindless of the Conde’s presence.
‘I wasn’t aware that there was any set time for me to be indoors.’
Silence. Laura knew the Conde had stiffened, angered by the fact that anyone in her lowly position should speak in this way to his high-born guest.
‘Have you been walking?’ he inquired of her, his tones controlled but terse.
‘Part of the time.’ If he wanted to know more, then let him ask another question!
‘And the other part, Miss Conroy?’ He was standing some small distance from her, the Portuguese girl at his side. Lights all around provided more than enough illumination for Laura to see the arrogance on the faces of both of them. The girl, though, seemed to lack the nobility of the Conde; in consequence her arrogance seemed out of place. Moreover, there was hostility in her eyes, a sort of condescending sneer on her mouth.
‘I’ve been to the cafe in town.’ No more than that. Let him ask even another question. This he did, his eyes glinting dangerously. ‘On your own, senhorita?’
Laura hesitated for a moment, and then,
‘No,’ she said with a trace of defiance, ‘I was not on my own. I met one of my countrymen and we went to the cafe together.’
‘You met ------- !’ Dona Eduarda gasped. ‘Do you mean, Miss,
Conroy, that you went to the cafe with a stranger—and stayed out until this time of the night?’
‘What are you insinuating, madam?’ Never had Laura known herself to become infuriated like this. She could have slapped the girl’s face. ‘Might I say that my actions are not your affair—and request that you keep your evil suspicions to yourself!’ Laura would have moved on, for she was quivering with temper, but the Conde spoke, saying in his most icy tone of voice,
‘Senhorita, please control yourself! Remember that you are speaking to my guest. How dare you insult her—and in my presence! You’ll oblige me by making an immediate and sincere apology! ’
Laura’s eyes, those eyes which became so soft and limpid when she smiled, were blazing with fury, and her small hands were clenched tightly at her sides. Sheer undiluted rage flowed through every vein in her body, warming her blood until she felt some conflagration was burning within her. So new an experience! But one she could not control.
She turned on Dom Duarte and said quiveringly,
‘Apologise? I think you’re out of your mind even to suggest it! If anyone is entitled to an apology it’s I! However, one would not expect so arrogant a person as your friend to possess the graciousness to apologise. I’ll bid you goodnight, senhor!’ And without affording either of them the chance to speak another word, Laura twisted round and ran across the lawn towards the house.
The following morning Laura awoke to the sound of birds singing, and to the perfumes of exotic flowers drifting into the room through the open window. For a fleeting moment she lay still, sublimely content, for everything was perfect. But then
she jerked up and, getting out of bed, slipped into a negligee. The drapes were drawn back by the manipulating of a cord and she stepped out on to the balcony, her mind trying to accept the beauty, and to reject the ugliness of last night’s scene, out there, in the Palacio gardens.
What an arrogant pair they were! A marriage between them would have been interesting to watch, for surely there would have been no warmth in it, no intimacy other than that of sex— and this, probably, only for the ensuring of an heir for the Conde.
Dismissing the two detestable people from her mind, she bathed and dressed, then rang the bell. Teresa appeared and Laura asked for her breakfast to be brought up to the balcony.
‘Yes, of course, senhorita,’ smiled the girl. ‘Would you like tea or coffee?’
‘Coffee, please. And only one slice of toast.’
‘Yes. An egg, and one rasher of bacon?’
Laura nodded her head. She would be sorry to say goodbye to this charming girl.
It was over half an hour later when, having finished her breakfast, Laura was crossing the lawn on her way to the gate when she was called back by Gigo, who informed her that his master wanted to speak to her urgently.
Nerves became taut, then tingled, affecting her whole body. Should she refuse to obey this summons? The thought of an interview with the Conde was almost unnerving, as it was certain that he was going to give her the dressing-down of her life. Strange that she should experience fear when she knew she was not to be at the Palacio for more than about thirty hours, as her flight was scheduled for three-thirty the following afternoon.
‘It’s very important, senhorita,’ said Gigo, seeing her hesitancy.
‘Very well. Which room is Dom Duarte in?’
‘The small drawing-room on the south side, senhorita.’
Two or three minutes later she was entering in answer to the curt ‘Come in’ which she had received immediately upon knocking quietly at the door. The Conde, clad in casual slacks of an attractive slaty blue and an open-necked shirt of the same colour but a much lighter shade, looked as austere and coldly impersonal as ever. His height, noticeable even in this lofty room, seemed to be accentuated by the position in which he stood, for he was by the white velvet drapes, with one slender brown hand casually holding the gold tassel which normally hung down at the side, and which was attached to the cord that opened and closed the drapes.
‘You wanted to see me?’ Laura’s voice was quiet but firm, although deep down inside she was trembling, a circumstance that angered her, as she had come here determined not to be browbeaten by the high-handed lord of Torassa.
‘It’s concerning last night, Miss Conroy,’ he began in that accented voice which, decided Laura after she had heard it a few times, could have been very attractive indeed, had its inflection not been so edged with cold hauteur. ‘On thinking about it carefully I have come to the conclusion that there might have been more to the situation than appeared on the surface.’ Here he paused, subjecting Laura to the most intensive scrutiny. It was as if he would read what was behind those serious grey-green eyes of hers ... and the second impression she had was that it was important to him to discover what she was thinking.
‘Perhaps you have some explanation------’ He stopped abruptly
and to her amazement rephrased the query. ‘Perhaps you had some excuse for your conduct towards Dona Eduarda?’
Laura could only stare, wondering what it had cost him to speak in this way. It would have been so much simpler to have ignored the whole distasteful business, especially as she was to
leave within the next few hours.
‘I would rather not say anything.’ She spoke after a time of considering, her first impulse being to blurt out the truth and let him know that the precious Dona Eduarda had told an untruth about her. However, this impulse was repressed, as Laura could find no gain in such a denouncement. ‘I shall be leaving here very soon, Dom Duarte, so I think it is best that we do not trouble ourselves with what happened last night.’ Her voice was low, and not too steady at all. She was reflecting on what might have been had the incident in the sea not have taken place. The Conde had wanted to read her notes on his pictures; she had been optimistic in that she felt he would be so impressed that he would then ask to take a look at her testimonials. The result, she knew for sure, would have been that she could restore one of his paintings. The chance was hers; she had only to prove herself and then all the other work would have followed. A sigh escaped her, but she did not speak, merely waiting for the Conde’s response to what she had already said to him.
‘The very context of your words is in itself mystifying, Miss Conroy. It increases my suspicions that there was something of which I am still in ignorance?’ A question, which Laura ignored.
‘You did hear the insinuation which Dona Eduarda made,’ she said.
‘I feel that, in the mood of the moment, you were far too hasty in jumping to conclusions. Dona Eduarda told me afterwards that
she did not mean anything derogatory------ ’
‘Senhor,’ interrupted Laura, quite unable to let him go on, ‘you are a perceptive man, obviously, so you must have known that my imagination was not running away with me. Dona Eduarda hinted that I and the young man I was with did not come straight home from the cafe. I am telling you that we did— although why I should take the trouble I don’t know,’ she added as he was about to interrupt her. ‘It’s of no importance to me whether or not you approve of my morals! ’
The steely grey eyes widened for a second, then narrowed to mere slits. Laura, her temerity amazing her, for the man was indeed forbidding, looked directly at him and said stiffly that she had nothing more to say to him. She was meeting the young man she had been with last night, she did add as a parting shot before, with a frigid little bow that might have been more suited to the Conde himself, she made her way to the door and, opening it noiselessly, passed through and closed it just as noiselessly behind her.
