Isle of Desire

by Anne Hampson

  ‘Gracious, girl! ’ exclaimed Dona Eduarda crossly, ‘where do you think you’re going? You could have trodden on my feet!’

  Something within Laura caught fire and her eyes blazed.

  ‘Need you be so downright rude about it?’ she cried. ‘It seems to me that you have no idea what good manners are! ’

  ‘Why, you ------- !’ The Portuguese girl glowered at her.

  ‘Manners you say! If this is the way you conduct yourself in England then thank heaven I shan’t ever be going there! ’

  Laura walked away, aware that the Conde had come to the door of the Gallery and was listening to this angry interchange. She heard Dona Eduarda say,

  ‘That English girl’s the limit, Duarte! It will be a good thing when she’s gone.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more, Eduarda.’

  Had they spoken in English on purpose, so that Laura could understand? She rather thought so, but also admitted that they could have spoken automatically in English, since it seemed to be used here almost as much as Portuguese. With the natives of the island Portuguese was scarcely used at all by many of them, their official language having been English long before the family of Mauredo had come to settle here.

  ‘Laura, there’s something very wrong. Can’t you confide in me?’ Rex spoke as he and she were sitting at their, table in the restaurant, waiting for the waitress to come for their order. ‘I noticed this morning that you were troubled,’ he went on to remind her, ‘and I mentioned it but you insisted it was nothing and I didn’t like to pursue the matter. ’

  She looked at him, noting his frank open face, his anxious eyes. His friendliness was like a soothing balm to her and although she suspected she might regret it, she found herself saying,

  ‘It’s the Conde—he’s so unfriendly. Then there’s that awful Dona Eduarda, his girl-friend. She’s so arrogant with me.’ A deep sigh escaped her. ‘I have myself to blame, of course,’ she admitted wretchedly. ‘I oughtn’t to have come, deceiving the Conde as I did. ’

  ‘He’s unfriendly?’ frowned Rex. ‘Because of what you did?’ ‘That, and other things.’

  ‘Eduarda’s a strange one, according to my sister, who’s met her once or twice. She was practically engaged to Dom Duarte at one time, but then she married someone else. The Conde didn't appear to be very upset, according to what people told Melanie, and now he’s obviously interested in her again. She’s very wealthy, so Dom Duarte’s probably as interested in her money as he is in her. ’

  Laura frowned at this idea.

  ‘I can’t see Dom Duarte wanting any more money, Rex,’ she said.

  ‘These rich aristocrats are always wanting more. It always puzzles me why they should, but you’ve only to look at some of our own nobility, and the way they enter into business—not one business but many, just to increase their wealth. Then they die and leave it and the State takes the lion’s share.’

  Laura said nothing to this; she was not particularly interested in such things. Her mind was elsewhere, with Dom Duarte, for although she told herself she disliked him, she could not deny that his appeal as a man had affected her profoundly, and it was still affecting her. She found excuses for his treatment of her because, quite reasonably, she saw the situation from his point of view. She had been accused of several disreputable actions which she had not made any attempt to deny having done. If she refused to vindicate herself then she had no right to expect anything else but the Conde’s contempt. In his eyes she was guilty of these acts and therefore it was only to be expected that he would look down upon her with disgust, and at the same time wish she had never set foot on his island.

  ‘You’re miles away, Laura.’ Rex spoke softly, persuasively, as if inviting her confidence. She merely smiled, relieved that the waitress had appeared with her little notepad on which she was ready to write down their order.

  ‘We must have the fish,’ Rex declared. ‘It’s so wonderfully fresh here, on Torassa.’

  ‘Being caught each day, I suppose?’ Laura had already decided that the fish caught around the coast of the island was the best she had ever tasted.

  ‘Yes, indeed.’ Rex gave the order, which came within a quarter of an hour. Laura enjoyed the meal, and the wine that went with the excellent food, but all the time she was thinking of Dom Duarte, and wondering how he was feeling about those damaged pictures. They would need so much care ever to be restored to their original beauty, although Laura felt she could have camouflaged the one so that it would scarcely have been noticed—at least, by an inexperienced eye or at a casual glance. Given more time, she knew she could put both paintings right again. Oh, well, it was not to be, and she hoped that the Conde would eventually find someone who could do the work to his entire satisfaction.

  She was ready to leave, her suitcases packed and taken down to the hall, thence handled by Martim who was driving her to the airstrip. There was no sign of the Conde, and it suddenly occurred to Laura that he might not be intending to say goodbye to her even. Her feelings about this were mixed, as while on the one hand it would be a relief to leave without having to speak to him again, she felt a tinge of regret that she could not have one last word with him.

  ‘It is time, senhorita,’ Martim said presently. ‘We must not be late.’

  ‘No ...’ She glanced around as she came from the Palacio steps towards the car. All was so lovely, so tranquil in the tropical sunshine. The sea, plainly visible from one particular aspect, was smooth, and dark turquoise in colour. The statues in the gardens shone in the golden light, the fountain sprayed a myriad lovely colours high into the air, a rainbow in miniature. As Laura got into the car an emerald green humming-bird flew past her and hovered over a flaring crimson hibiscus blossom, while another flew over to a huge morning-glory bush, darting about from side to side, its long curving beak ready to take the nectar from the flowers.

  She gave a deep sigh and leant back against the soft upholstery of the car. This, then, was the end of her trip. An experience, she would always be able to tell herself ... but one which she never again wished to experience!

  ‘We are here, senhorita.’ Martim’s quiet respectful voice was heard as he opened the door for her to alight. The aeroplane was there, but scarcely anyone was about. Laura felt she might be the only passenger leaving the island of Torassa.

  She watched her luggage being taken away, then went across to the waiting lounge. Only another day and she would be home. The plane was touching down at several other places on the way, and Laura knew she would be impatient at the various delays.

  Eventually she was on the plane, with only three others, all of whom were already aboard when the plane touched down on the Torassa airstrip. The engines turned—and it was at that very moment that she became aware of some unusual activity on the airfield. A car had slid to a standstill, a car which she knew belonged to the Conde, a small sports model which he always drove himself. Fascinated, Laura watched to see who he was rushing to the airport at this late stage. To her amazement he alighted and she saw that he had been the lone occupant of the car. An official was approached, and spoken to; both he and the Conde glanced towards the aeroplane. The official pointed, then came quickly across the intervening space. Laura saw his head appear, heard him say,

  ‘Miss Conroy, will you please come off the aeroplane. Dom Duarte has given orders.

  ‘C-come off?’ Laura’s heart gave a sickening lurch. What else had happened? What had Clara done now? ‘But I don’t want to come off,’ she said presently, having gathered her resources sufficiently for her to defy the noble lord of Torassa. The plane would take off in a short while, she decided, and she had no intention of missing it.

  ‘Dom Duarte’s orders,’ said the man, registering amazement at her defiance. ‘Please—this way.’

  Laura remained where she was.

  ‘There is nothing important---- ’

  ‘Senhorita,’ broke in the official impatiently, ‘you will please do as Dom Duarte says!’

&nbs
p; Laura’s gaze had caught the Conde’s tall figure as she looked through the window. He was staring at the official who was at the top of the steps. Obviously the illustrious nobleman had never been kept waiting before! His every wish had been deferred to, Laura had noticed during her stay at the Palacio; he was treated like a king.

  ‘Tell him, please, that there is no reason at all why I should come off this plane. It will be away within a few minutes and I don’t intend to miss it.’

  ‘This aeroplane will not take off until the Conde gives his permission,’ returned the official coldly. ‘I can assure you, Miss Conroy, that his orders will have to be obeyed, so please do as I ask, and obey this order that he gives you.’

  With a sigh of resignation Laura left her seat and went towards where the official was standing. She knew she had no alternative than to obey the Conde’s order, simply because now that it had been brought to her notice, she knew for sure that the pilot dared not leave the airport until given permission to do so by the owner of the island.

  What do you want with me, sir?’ The last word slipped out, as it had once or twice before, and a frown came to the Conde’s forehead. However, he was plainly not concerned with such trivialities as a mere slip of the tongue on Laura’s part. His face was set and severe, and a muscle moved strangely at the corner of his mouth.

  ‘Senhorita,’ he said sternly, 'it is my wish that you return to the Palacio. I have some things to discuss with you------ ’

  ‘But ------ ’

  ‘I believe I have informed you, senhorita, that I do not tolerate interruptions.’ So stiff! So austere, with that fixed expression in his steely grey eyes, and that taut jawline and inflexible mouth. ‘You will get into my car, if you please.’ He gestured arrogantly, and fully expected instant obedience. Laura said, examining the set mask of his face and discovering nothing from it, ‘Will you not give me some clue as to why I must return to the Palacio, Dom Duarte?’

  His gaze was still fixed—but oh, so very stern and accusing. Lord, what had the child done this time? she asked herself again.

  ‘You, senhorita, have lied to me—on more than one

  Already she was shaking her head.

  ‘But no, senhor-------- ’

  ‘Lied by your silence,’ he almost snapped, and she saw how close he was to fury. ‘Yes, lied by your silence! You will accompany me back to my home and let me have the truth. In, at once!’ She was really given no option, as the Conde took her arm in a hurtful grip and propelled her into the seat. The door was slammed upon her, and soon the Conde was driving off the airstrip and into the tree-lined road outside it.

  Laura, quivering all over, and with her thoughts rioting, endeavoured to fathom exactly what had happened. That this was futile soon struck her. Of one thing only could she be sure: the Conde had, somehow, discovered that it was not she who had damaged his paintings. Whether he knew the true facts about the other incident was not clear, but Laura was confident that she would very soon be enlightened as to that also.

  They arrived at the Palacio very quickly indeed, the Conde having driven with quite staggering speed, this in spite of the narrowness of some of the roads. That he was in a temper went without saying, and Laura was more than once reminded of her previous conviction that he would never be in a fury. Well, that was one count on which she had made a mistake!

  ‘In here,’ commanded Dom Duarte immediately they entered the house. He gestured towards the Crimson Lounge, a lovely apartment tastefully furnished, and with high wide windows facing the sea. A fishing boat bobbed about on the aquamarine water; a surf-rider sped past it, sending spray high into the air. Perfumes from the gardens entered the room; a brightly-plumaged parakeet settled on the sill, then flew off again to be joined by its mate in a tall tamarisk tree.

  ‘And now,’ said the Conde through his teeth, ‘you’ll explain just why you concealed the truth about those pictures! Yes,’ he added on seeing her expression, ‘Clara’s made a confession— after having made a slight slip which instantly aroused my suspicions! ’ His wrath consumed him and this made Laura ask,

  ‘Have you been angry with Clara?’

  An awful silence followed.

  ‘Miss Conroy,’ said Dom Duarte at length in a dangerously soft tone, ‘will you answer my question!’

  She felt her colour rise, with embarrassment rather than anger.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she returned huskily. ‘I was concerned, you see, about the child—’

  ‘Answer my question!’ he rasped, and Laura actually jumped. ‘Yes, Dom Duarte,’ she responded in some haste, and at the same time taking an involuntary step backwards. But then she found herself tongue-tied, unable to see how she could begin.

  ‘The paintings----- ’ she quivered, ‘you th-thought that I’d

  damaged them, and—and I didn’t blame you, sir------ ’ She broke

  off, catching her underlip between her teeth. No doubt about it, this Portuguese Conde was disconcerting! ‘Clara meant well, Dom Duarte,’ continued Laura, wishing this choked sensation within her throat would clear so that speech would be made easier. ‘You see, she wanted me to stay and restore the pictures—the original ones, I mean, and so—so she had the idea

  to------’ Laura broke off, spreading her hands. ‘I expect you’ve

  managed to get all this from Clara?’ she ended on a slightly petulant note.

  The steely grey eyes scarcely moved as the Conde replied,

  ‘I wanted your version. Miss Conroy. Proceed, if you don’t mind. ’

  ‘Proceed?’ Her eyes, shy and clear, stared into his. ‘But you know it all!’ she exclaimed with a sort of desperation. ‘I was just looking at the damage when you saw me with that brooch.’

  ‘Not all,’ was the Conde’s quiet denial. ‘For instance, I did say, if you remember, that there might have been some reason for your rudeness towards Dona Eduarda?’

  So ... He suspected something, did he? His words also told Laura that although he knew about the paintings, he was still in ignorance of what actually happened when Clara went into the sea. Laura was not intending to enlighten him; she suspected that Clara was in enough trouble already. It was an undoubted fact that Laura would have derived extreme satisfaction from exposing Dona Eduarda, but not at the expense of the child.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said at length, not daring to look at him in case he should see instantly that she was lying.

  He drew a breath but to her great relief allowed this matter

  to drop.

  ‘I suppose,’ he conceded after what seemed an eternity of thought, ‘that you are to be commended for your reluctance to get Clara into trouble. Nevertheless,’ he added in a frigid tone, ‘I am exceedingly displeased. I like to think that I never misjudge people, and you, senhorita, have been the cause of my misjudging a person for the first time in my life!’ He stopped; she noticed the threads of crimson creeping along the sides of his mouth. She swallowed nervously, waiting for his next words. They were scathing, they were denunciatory, they were harshly accusing.

  Laura listened without speaking, convinced that it was better to let the Conde have his say to the full. In any case, she had been admonished more than once for interrupting him when he was speaking. He stopped at last; she drew a deep breath of relief. Her cheeks were hot, her eyes downcast. She supposed she ought to try and vindicate herself, now that the opportunity had come, but she very much feared that no matter what she might say in excuse for her silence, this man would denounce her conduct. He had already made the only concession he intended to make, which was that she was to be commended for her reluctance to give the child away.

  She looked up at last, unable to bear the awful silence a moment longer, and asked respectfully if the plane would have waited for her.

  ‘Certainly not! ’ was his brief reply.

  ‘Then how am I to get away from here-?’ She spread her

  hands helplessly, blinking rapidly in order to stem her tears. ‘When is the�
�n-next flight?’

  A long unfathomable pause followed and then, with what was obviously some considerable difficulty, the Conde spoke.

  ‘I wish you to remain here and restore the two pictures which Clara damaged. ’

  Was she altogether surprised? It suddenly struck her that, had the Conde merely wanted to give her a good telling off, he had no need to fetch her back here in order to do so. He could have done it at the airport, then let her leave as arranged. He had intended asking her to restore the paintings.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she began uncertainly. ‘They might be difficult .’

  ‘You gave me to understand that you were an expert,’ the Conde reminded her smoothly.

  She nodded.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well then, what’s the difficulty?’

  She wanted to say that it wasn’t the pictures that caused her hesitancy, but the atmosphere at the Palacio. She’d not been happy there. However, she did want to accept the Conde’s challenge; she also wanted to put right the damage which Clara had done, because, naughty as the act was, the child had meant well, had hoped by her action that she was making amends for the lies she had told.

  ‘I’ll do them for you,’ she agreed, and involuntarily she smiled, and her shy eyes became moist and limpid, a circumstance that attracted the Conde’ s whole attention for one fleeting moment before he said, in that cool and foreign voice of his,

  ‘Anything you require will be provided, Miss Conroy. Is there anything special you require?’