by Anne Hampson
Rex was waiting on the beach, his eyes lighting up when he saw her coming towards him along the sands. It was a perfect morning, with the tropical sunshine painting the calm blue waters and the pure white sand of the beach.
‘I’ve brought a mac for us to sit on,’ he told her eagerly as she reached him. ‘How’s the head?’
‘Better. I don’t feel a thing now.’
‘Will you discard the bandage before you leave here?’
‘Yes; the doctor said this morning that he would be replacing it tomorrow with a small dressing.’
‘He’s coming to the Palacio tomorrow, before you leave for the airport?’
‘Yes, so he said. It doesn’t matter if he doesn’t, though. I shall be seeing my own doctor on Tuesday.’ Rex spread the mackintosh and they sat down.
‘It’s such a pity that you’re leaving,’ he said flatly.
‘I’d like to have stayed—under different circumstances.’
‘If you would care to come with me to see my sister——’ he began, but Laura, guessing at once what was in his mind, interrupted to say quite firmly that she would not be able to accept an invitation to remain on the island.
‘The Conde would certainly not like it,’ she ended.
‘It’s got nothing to do with the Conde.’
‘He does own this island.’
‘Perhaps, but not those who reside on it.’
‘Your sister and her husband are friends of the Conde,’ Laura reminded him. ‘It wouldn’t be the thing for me to move from the Conde’s home to theirs. Besides, you seem to have forgotten that I came here under false pretences in the first place.’
Rex gave a sigh.
‘I suppose you’re right,’ he conceded, and then, ‘But there’s nothing to stop you from meeting my sister and her husband, is there?’
‘No,’ she agreed, ‘there isn’t.’
‘Okay! Shall we go now?’
She had to smile at his boyish eagerness.
‘If you like,’ she said.
‘It’s about half an hour’s walk if we go back and use the road, but, as you know, it’ll take much less time if we use the beach. ’
‘I don’t mind the beach.’
‘It’s so stony farther along.’ Rex looked doubtfully at her rather flimsy sandals. ‘Will you be all right?’
‘Certainly I will. I’ve walked along there several times since I’ve been on the island.’
The house—a palacette with a fine Baroque facade and exotic gardens—was like a miniature of the Conde’s great palace. The girl who came out on seeing Rex and his companion from the window was tall and slender and extraordinarily pretty. Fair-haired and blue-eyed, she had a smile as charming as her looks. She was coming down the steps by the time Rex and Laura reached them. They waited until she was at the bottom and then Rex made the introductions, adding, for his sister’s benefit, just a few details as to the reason why Laura was here.
‘So you met only last evening?’ The girl waved a hand, a welcome invitation to enter the house. She preceded them up the steps. ‘And you’re leaving tomorrow. What a shame. Rex’s one grumble about Torassa is that he’s so much on his own. Not that he need be,’ she went on with a glance over her shoulder, ‘he will wander for miles and miles, so he can’t expect either Pedro or me to accompany him. We both hate walking. If he’d stay around the house he wouldn’t be so much on his own.’
The room into which she took them was delightfully furnished, with crimson velvet chairs and sofas and antiques shining with the patina of age. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling and there were wall lights and a standard lamp to match.
‘Sit down, Laura,' invited Rex. And, more quietly, he asked, ‘How does it compare with the Palacio?’
‘Much smaller, of course, but just as charming.’
‘Melanie hasn’t yet got over her good fortune in marrying into the Portuguese nobility, have you?’ He smiled affectionately at his sister, who had remained by the door, ringing the bell for a maid.
‘We did marry for love, though,’ she told Laura with a laughs ‘There aren’t many Portuguese on this island,’ Rex said for Laura’s benefit. ‘Just the Conde, Pedro, and two other families.’ Laura was nodding. Teresa had mentioned this already.
‘Do you have much social life?’ she asked.
‘All we need. Pedro and I are a quiet, homely couple. We’re fond of each other’s company.’
‘If you’re in love,’ commented Rex amusedly, ‘you don’t
need any social life.’
‘It wouldn’t do for you to live on Torassa, Rex.’ His sister sat down on one of the small sofas and looked at Laura. ‘How would you take to the isolation?’ she asked with a smile.
‘This life would suit me,’ Laura confessed. ‘I love the quiet, the cleanliness, the lack of crowds and traffic. I think it’s heavenly.’
‘Very different from Birmingham,’ said Rex with a grimace.
‘Indeed yes-------’ Laura broke off as the door opened and a
maid appeared. Melanie said something to her in Portuguese and the girl went out of the room again. Within two or three minutes a man entered, a man of average height, dark of skin and with the sort of large brown eyes that any woman would have found attractive in that they were soft and affectionate—like those of a faithful dog.
Pedro came forward with a smile and was introduced to Laura. His grip was firm, his voice friendly when he spoke.
‘I’m happy to meet you, senhorita. It isn't often we have a pretty English girl visit us here on Torassa. You’re with friends?’
Laura explained, helped now and then by an intervention from Rex.
‘So you came to restore those paintings? I remember how they came to be damaged. It was when they were taken down when the gallery was redecorated. Someone—Duarte never did find out who—stored them in a loft where there was a loose tile--- ’ He stopped, frowning in concentration. ‘Ah, yes, I remember, the tile had blown off, leaving a hole in the roof, and when we had one of our tropical storms the rain really did get into that loft. Duarte didn’t know that his precious paintings had been put up there—obviously it must have been one of the workmen, moving things around the way they do. He was furious, and a man did come in to do a little work on them, but of course they require an expert.’ He looked at Laura in some doubt. ‘You believed yourself capable of restoring them to their former beauty?’
‘Definitely, senhor. I know I can do this work to the entire satisfaction of the Conde.’ There, let Pedro repeat what she had said. It would serve the Conde right if, later, he regretted
allowing her to have a try.
Refreshments were brought in by the maid. Laura enjoyed the conversation but refused an invitation to stay for lunch. She felt she had not known Melanie and Pedro long enough to accept that kind of hospitality. Rex was plainly disappointed, but that made no difference to Laura.
‘I’ll take you back to the Palacio,’ he was offering later, though his voice was unenthusiastic. ‘I’ll be back in about an hour,’ he added, speaking to his sister.
At the Palacio gates he asked Laura if she would see him that afternoon.
‘I ought to do some packing,’ she began, but Rex interrupted her, persuasively, declaring that there would be plenty of time the following morning to do her packing. She had to smile, and presently she said,
‘All right, Rex, I’ll meet you this afternoon.’
‘Fine!’ His face lit up. ‘I’ll be strolling along the beach after lunch. ’
She nodded. It didn’t seem necessary to state a time, since the beach was almost always deserted, so there was no possibility of their missing one another.
Immediately she entered the Palacio Clara came forward from the direction of the small sitting-room which seemed to have been given over to Marianna and the child for their private use. ‘Miss Conroy ...’ The child looked up into her face in a conspiratorial way that brought a frown of puzzlement to Laura’s forehead. ‘The
pictures ... I’ve scratched two of them, so that they need mending. Uncle. Duarte will have to let you stay now, won’t he?’
‘You’ve scratched two pictures!’ Laura felt something lodge in her throat; it caused a hollowness to creep into her voice. Her heart was beating far too quickly, her mind searching desperately for some way of covering up what the child had done. ‘Clara, you’re a very naughty girl!’
‘Naughty? I was doing it for you, to make up for telling that lie. You can now say to my uncle that you’ve been looking at the pictures, and have found two that really do need mending. He’ll let you stay and mend them!’ Clara’s eyes were bright, her small face animated. It was as simple as that—to a child’s mind, of course.
‘I’ll go and see these pictures.’ Laura looked into the upturned face, trying to see the situation through the child’s eyes, and it was easy to establish the picture. Clara really believed she was making amends. But on the other hand, she had done deliberate damage to her uncle’s paintings, and for that she deserved to be punished.
‘Can I come with you?’ Clara’s voice pleaded, but Laura shook her head.
‘No, Clara, you can’t. Go back to Marianna, at once.’
The child’s face fell.
‘I want to come with you, to show you what I’ve done.’
‘It isn’t necessary.’
‘But you don’t know which pictures they are.’
‘I shall soon find them,’ returned Laura grimly.
And she did, one with a scratch that had almost broken the canvas, the other with a longer scratch but which did not go as deep. Filled with dismay, Laura felt that she herself was indirectly responsible for this act of vandalism, since if she had never come here none of this could possibly have happened.
What a lot of trouble she had caused the Conde, reflected Laura unhappily. If only she had acted with more wisdom and maturity.
That he would be absolutely furious went without saying. Clara would be well and truly punished, while Laura would receive another dressing-down. What a mess! Laura examined the first painting carefully, trying to estimate just how long it would take her to put it right. Days, she thought with a deep sigh, as there were five colours involved. Each would have to dry before she could begin using another.
A sound behind her caused Laura to swing round, her heart giving a great lurch.
‘Clara!’ she almost snapped. She had fully expected to see the Conde standing there, aghast at the damage done to his precious works of art. ‘I told you to go back to Marianna!’
The child’s face was pale, her small hands clenched.
‘I forgot to ask you not to tell my uncle that it was I who had scratched the paintings.’
‘I have no intention of telling him.’ Laura’s voice was still sharp even though she was acutely aware of the child’s anxiety. ‘However, you do realise that he’s going to make an inquiry?’
‘Inquiry?’ Clara obviously did not understand, and Laura explained. ‘Oh, well ... he’ll think it was one of the maids, but he’ll not be able to find out which one ...’ Clara’s voice trailed away to silence as Laura’s fixed gaze became even more stern than before. ‘Please don’t tell him it was me!’ Clara’s voice had risen; tears had leapt to her eyes. Laura’s sternness dissolved. The child had meant well, had wanted Laura to be permitted to stay and repair the paintings.
‘Go back to Marianna,’ she said wearily. ‘I shan’t say a word to your uncle, so you needn’t worry about it.’
‘Thank you,’ said Clara, and went off, beginning to trot along the length of the gallery. Laura drew a breath. A charming child, but in need of some discipline, that was for sure!
CHAPTER SIX
although she went out after lunch to meet Rex, Laura felt she could have been better occupied in trying to do something to the one painting, at least—the one whose damage was not so great. True, the actual scratch was longer than the other, but it was not anywhere near as deep. Given enough time without interruption she could do a fairly good job on that painting. But there was of course the risk of someone’s coming up to the gallery and finding her there, engaged on work which the Conde had refused to allow her to do. Should the Conde himself catch her touching his paintings, then she would be in trouble! Laura shivered at the thought, but the next moment was wondering what would happen when, after she had gone, Dom Duarte discovered the damage. Clara said he would blame one of the maids, but that was most unlikely. He would know very well that none of them would do a thing like that. Would he suspect Clara? Perhaps, and if she was questioned by her uncle it was fairly certain that the child would be forced to tell him the truth.
‘You look troubled about something, Laura.’ Rex’s voice, tinged with concern, broke into her musings and she turned towards him, a faint smile appearing on her lips.
‘It’s nothing,’ she returned airily. ‘Shall we walk towards the caves?’
‘If you like.’
It was an hour and a half later that, having walked the length of the beach and then directed their steps towards the cafe, Rex asked Laura to dine out with him that evening.
‘We could book the table while we’re here,’ he suggested. They were sitting outside, under the shade of a jacaranda tree, waiting for their cool drinks to be brought out to them by the smiling, tawny-skinned waitress.
‘ I’d like that,’ murmured Laura, half her mind still on those damaged paintings.
‘We’ll meet around seven-thirty?’
‘That’ll suit me fine.’
She returned to the Palacio in time for a late afternoon tea, which Teresa brought up to her and set out daintily on the verandah table.
‘Is there anything else?’ she asked smilingly.
‘No, thank you, Teresa.’ Laura glanced at the table as she spoke. ‘I shan’t be having an evening meal,’ she added as the girl was about to leave her. ‘I’m going out to the restaurant for it.’
The girl’s eyes widened and it did seem that she would for once forget herself and ask a question. However, she remembered just in time and, merely nodding, went from the verandah into the room behind. Laura poured herself some tea, ate a warm, homemade cake, and then, rising, she went along to the Gallery. It was as if she were moved by a compulsion beyond her own control. It was not surprising, though, she told herself, that she should be so concerned about the damage done by Clara.
‘If only I dared to put a brush to this!’ She traced the line of the scratch with her forefinger. ‘I could do the blue,’ she murmured, ‘then the green ... ’ These would dry overnight, and tomorrow morning, very early, she could get up and come along to do the shading around these two colours. How deep was the scratch exactly? she wondered, taking off her brooch with sudden decision. The pin was carefully put into the crack------
‘Miss Conroy! What are you doing?’ The voice of the Conde was like an avalanche of ice enveloping her whole body; she wheeled around, the brooch falling from her shaking fingers. ‘How dare you! ’ He strode towards her and stared at the painting, almost unable to believe his eyes. ‘So ... ’ The aristocratic voice was very quiet now, dangerously quiet. ‘For spite you would commit an act of vandalism, leaving it till the last moment, almost, so that it would not be detected until you had left my home.’ The suppressed fury was revealed in the dark glint of his eyes. ‘You despicable woman!’ he added, those eyes fixing hers until, unable to stand his contempt any longer, Laura averted her head. ‘Get out of here,’ he ordered, pointing towards the door. ‘And keep out ...’ The harsh, accented voice trailed away to silence and even without looking up Laura knew that the worst had happened. His eyes had lighted on the other picture.
Laura’s heart was throbbing wildly as she watched him take the couple of strides which brought him opposite to the lovely painting. She held her breath, almost unable to hold on to her secret, and yet so great was his fury that she could not bring herself to give the child away. Clara had said he would have spanked her for lying. What then would he do to
her for committing damage like this? Laura had already guessed that there was a cruel streak within him. Laura watched him put out a finger and touch the canvas where it was almost ripped through. She could sympathise with him, being a lover of art herself. He must be feeling dreadful, seeing his precious oil
painting so flagrantly damaged. If only she could explain,
make him see that Clara had meant well------ But no, that was
mere wishful thinking, Laura told herself. Besides, she had already promised Clara she would not mention her act to the Conde.
He turned, and Laura realised—not without a sudden surge of anger—that her whole inside was a-quiver with apprehension. It was almost as if she were prepared for him to do her some physical injury! He stood, immobile, looking at her across the small distance-separating them. Laura swallowed hard, cursing herself for the deep concern that had been responsible for her coming here in the first place. She could at this moment be on her verandah, finishing her tea in the sunshine, and with the song of the birds for company instead of this arrogant nobleman with the stern forbidding countenance and air of contemptuous accusation. Laura felt like a criminal facing her judge.
‘Have you anything to say, Miss Conroy?’ The softly-spoken question came at last, breaking the unearthly silence that had fallen on the Gallery. Laura shook her head, and glanced around almost wildly. Every face looking out from the canvases seemed to be stern and accusing.
‘No, nothing,’ she answered through stiff and whitened lips. She stooped to retrieve her brooch, and stared down at it, fumbling to fasten the pin. ‘No ...’ She repeated, and lowered her head still further, afraid to look him in the face.
‘I have never known anything so petty! ’ The Conde’s scathing simplicity of speech was to Laura a hundred times more cutting than a violent outburst would have been. She felt a cloud of tears behind her eyes, wondered why the Conde’s contempt was so very painful. It seemed to touch a hidden chord so sensitive that she had never before known it existed. Miserably she turned away, desiring only to escape. She heard herself say, ‘I’m sorry ... very sorry,’ apologising for something she had not done. The Conde made no reply, but stood immobile, watching her retreating figure. She felt his gaze following her until she had passed through the high wide doorway. It seemed to burn into her back. She closed the door and then the tears came, so that she stumbled along the corridor and almost collided with the tall self-assured woman approaching in the opposite direction.
