by Anne Hampson
‘Leaving?’ echoed Laura in disbelief. ‘Are you sure, Teresa?’
‘Yes, senhorita. My Martim is instructed to drive her to the airport. ’
Laura shook her head in bewilderment.
‘Martim? Is not Dom Duarte taking her there himself?’ Laura knew this was not the kind of talk of which the Conde would approve; nevertheless, she was so intrigued by Teresa’s information that her curiosity got the better of her.
‘No, it is Martim who is taking her.’
Laura said no more, but as Teresa was leaving, the silver tray in her hands, she turned her head and said,
‘I think that there will not now be a marriage between Dom Duarte and Dona Eduarda.’
Laura stared disbelievingly, profoundly conscious of her nerves rioting, her heart beating far more quickly than before.
‘Not be a marriage ...?’ Laura’s words trailed off; Teresa had already passed through the doorway and was turning into the corridor. What had happened? And how had this information come to Teresa?
Laura, her mind in a turmoil, the result of a multitude of unanswerable questions darting through it, went, from her room and down to the garden. There was no sign either of the Conde or his guest—only silence, deep and tranquil, over the beautiful gardens of the Palacio. Restless, Laura decided to pay a visit to Melanie and Pedro. A little light conversation over afternoon tea would provide the diversion which Laura needed.
Pedro was somewhere in the grounds, but Melanie was there, and she greeted her visitor with a spontaneous and welcoming smile.
‘What a pleasant surprise, Laura. Do come in—or perhaps you prefer the sunny outdoors?’
‘Yes, I’m still thrilled with the sunshine, here on Torassa,’ smiled Laura, watching Melanie beckon to one of the gardeners. He came instantly, was told to bring out two chairs.
‘I believe Eduarda’s here again,’ said Melanie conversationally once she and Laura were seated.
‘Yes, but Teresa told me she’s leaving this afternoon.’ ‘Leaving?’ Melanie’s eyes opened wide. ‘She’s only just come, hasn’t she?’
Laura nodded.
‘She hasn’t been here very long.’
‘It’s rumoured all over the island that she and Duarte would become engaged. Have they?’ Melanie added as an afterthought.
‘No.’ Laura paused uncertainly, then decided not to repeat what Teresa had said about there not now being a marriage between the Conde and Dona Eduarda.
‘Strange,’ mused Melanie, clearly intrigued by the situation. ‘They’re so suited; but perhaps Duarte’s a little piqued that Eduarda once passed him up for someone else,’
‘I don’t know how she could.’ The words were out before Laura could stop them.
‘You don’t?’ with a new interest. ‘Not fallen for his handsome masculinity yourself, have you?’ added Melanie with a laugh. ‘Certainly not!’
‘Very vehement. Not convincing.’
Laura frowned darkly at her.
‘Does every girl who comes to Torassa fall in love with the Conde?’ she asked, meaning to be sarcastic.
‘Without exception. You must admit that he’s something quite out of the ordinary. ’
Laura changed the subject, asking if Melanie had heard from her brother recently.
‘As a matter of fact I had a letter today; it came in on the plane which Eduarda’s obviously taking. Rex says he’d like to come over before Christmas. His boss has agreed to let him have a fortnight off—without pay, of course, because it’ll be extra to Rex’s ordinary holidays.’ She was looking curiously at Laura as she added, ‘He’s coming to see you, mainly, not us.’
Laura shook her head protestingly.
‘Don’t say such things, Melanie. I do hope Rex isn’t cherishing any false hopes about him and me.’
‘That he’s cherishing hopes is an undoubted fact, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh, dear,’ sighed Laura with a frown. ‘I’m sure I haven’t given him any encouragement. ’
‘A man in love doesn’t need it. He knows what he wants and sets out to get it. ’
Plain speaking indeed. Laura was uncomfortable and again changed the subject.
‘Do you and Pedro ever go for a holiday?’
‘Now and again. Pedro doesn’t find anywhere comparable to Torassa, so he says there’s not much sense in leaving the island, not even for a couple of weeks or so. However, we have been to Portugal twice, just to visit Pedro’s relatives.’ ‘Dom Duarte has relatives there, he’s told me.’
‘That’s right. And of course Eduarda’s home is there. She has a magnificent house which her husband left her. ’
‘Her husband must have died young?’
‘It’s Pedro’s belief that Eduarda knew he had an incurable disease before she married him. ’
Laura’s eyes widened.
‘You mean—she married him just to inherit his fortune?’ ‘That’s what Pedro maintains. He hasn’t any time for the girl and can never understand how Duarte could ever have been interested in her. ’
‘But you yourself consider them to be suited to one another?’
‘I find them both coldly unemotional, and I do think that Eduarda’s fortune would be of interest to Duarte, in spite of his own wealth. Pedro doesn’t agree with me, either that Duarte is coldly unemotional or that he would be interested in Eduarda’s money. ’
‘I feel that Pedro is right—if you’ll forgive my saying so, Melanie.’
‘You do?’ Melanie looked curiously at her. ‘So you are not of the opinion that he is unemotional?’
‘I was at first, but not now.’
‘And why, might I ask?’
Laura shrugged carelessly, feigning indifference. ‘It’s merely that, having got to know him better, I find certain traits which at first didn’t appear to exist.’
‘You seem to have been making a studied analysis of our friend,’ observed Melanie in some amusement. Laura coloured.
‘No such thing. I’m not that interested.’ She averted her head, conscious of the white lie she had told.
‘Tell me,’ invited Melanie, ‘just what is your opinion of Duarte?’
‘Of his character?’
‘Of him as a person.’
‘Well ... at first I thought him arrogant and rather full of his own importance. I regarded him in the light of a feudal lord, with all his vassals around him.’ Laura’s voice held a tinge of amusement. ‘Now, however, I feel that he’s merely proud of his ancestry, and that he regards himself most fortunate in owning this island. ’
‘In other words, he’s now a likeable character—in your opinion, that is?’
Laura found herself nodding in agreement.
‘He could be very attractive, I’m sure. And as for his being interested in Eduarda’s wealth—I once believed he could be, but not now.’
Melanie’s gaze was disconcerting, and it was with a sigh of relief that Laura saw Pedro come from the direction of a small secluded copse and stride across the lawn towards the place where they were sitting. He greeted Laura, then ordered tea to be served on the patio. An hour later Laura was leaving, having promised to pay another visit on the following Sunday afternoon.
The Conde had invited Laura to dine with him. She received the invitation with mixed feelings, aware that had Dona Eduarda been here then she, Laura, would not have been asked to dine at the Conde’s table. However, she was happy to be having dinner with him and she chose a particularly flattering dress of apple-green lace, its tight-fitting bodice accentuating her delicate curves. Nipped in at the waist, it then billowed out from a series of small pleats which widened towards the hemline. Laura brushed her hair until it shone, touched her lips with rouge, sparingly applied a delectable perfume, tucked a lace-edged handkerchief into the tight cuff of the dress, and then, after taking one last critical look at herself in the mirror, she went down to the room where she knew the Conde would be waiting for her. She stopped by the door, to stare at him, as he stood by the cockta
il cabinet, his slim, athletic figure superbly attired in a white linen suit. He had turned his head, and their eyes met. A long unfathomable moment passed before Dom Duarte, a smile coming readily to his lips, invited her to sit down. He poured her a drink, then took possession of a chair opposite to her.
‘May I say how very pretty that dress is, senhorita?’
She blushed rosily.
‘Thank you, Dom Duarte,’ she murmured, almost inaudibly. The window was wide open, allowing heady perfumes to invade the room. In one corner stood a huge Grecian-style urn full of glorious crimson flowers with a hidden light behind them so that shafts of amber pierced the spaces between the flower petals and the vivid green foliage. Wall lights were also throwing off an amber glow, but the light from the central chandelier was like a myriad diamonds twinkling all together.
The Conde chatted about the pictures; Laura realised at once that he knew she was feeling awkward and was in consequence easing the situation for her. Why she should feel awkward she did not know, unless it was owing to the amazing change in the Conde’s attitude towards her, that morning, in the Gallery.
They went in to dinner, which was served by Gigo with his usual quiet efficiency. Candles lit the table, which gleamed with silver and rare porcelain. In a silver bowl roses of several colours were expertly arranged, while at Laura’s cover was a single rose in a cut-glass holder. The perfume of the roses had drifted to her nostrils as she sat down and a smile leapt to her lips. Her eyes became moist and limpid, and unconsciously she raised them to the Conde, who was by her chair, having drawn it out for her. A tense moment ensued; she felt the Conde’s hand touch her shoulder and knew it was done deliberately. She noticed a sudden movement in his throat, and then a smile came swiftly to his lips ... a smile that set her heart racing. She felt the colour come to her cheeks, was aware of Dom Duarte’s indecision before, his smile deepening, he took possession of his own chair at the table.
During the meal it was plain to Laura that this was to be a momentous occasion. The Conde was so charming with her, so attentive, so concerned when, her nerves and her emotions having affected her appetite, he asked if the food was not to her liking. And when the meal was over he put his hand under her elbow in the most proprietorial manner as he led her into the Blue Lounge where Gigo was to serve them with their coffee. He left quietly; a long silence ensued and Laura sought almost frantically for something to say.
‘Dona Eduarda left rather suddenly—’ Laura broke off, disgusted with herself for her inability to find a more suitable subject for the occasion.
‘She did,’ returned Dom Duarte grimly. ‘I requested her to leave today. ’
Laura stared at him questioningly, but said nothing. Dom Duarte told her to drink her coffee, adding that they would then take a stroll in the garden. Her nerves quivered as an access of sheer happiness shot through her. No necessity for any more questions, for Dom Duarte’s expression told her all she needed to know. He could not possibly look at her like this if he did not love her.
Ten minutes later they were standing by the fountain, its waters lit with a rose-coloured glow given off from some hidden source at its base. Dom Duarte spoke softly, taking her hand in his.
‘You have guessed why I have brought you out here?’ He glanced up automatically to the deep purple sky where a crescent moon shone among a million stars.
‘It’s—it’s—romantic,’ she stammered absurdly, her fascinated gaze fixed upon his fingers as they caressed the back of her hand.
Dom Duarte smiled in some amusement.
‘Romantic enough for a proposal of marriage, do you think?’
‘I d-don’t know wh-what to say.’ The faltering words trailed away as Dom Duarte put out his other hand and drew her to his breast; and with an infinite tenderness he tilted her face so that he could claim her lips.
‘My darling,’ he murmured when presently he held her from him. ‘I love you very dearly.’
Laura said nothing, for emotion was deep and strong, preventing speech. She had thrilled to his kiss, yet was conscious of a strange disappointment. The Conde had not revealed the warmth she had subconsciously desired, had in fact seemed unable to show any depth of emotion. But, quite suddenly, and certainly unexpectedly, his ardour came forth unrestrainedly and she was drawn into a whirlpool of passion that almost robbed her of her senses. She felt his hard demanding mouth force her lips apart, knew the possessive caress of his hand as it touched the tender curve of her breast, was vitally aware of his hard body against hers, coercing her to relax the tautness of her own slender frame. A sort of wild ecstasy engulfed her and she surrendered to his demands, carried helplessly on the tide of his passion. Helplessly ... but willingly, and a laugh of tender triumph mingled with the music of the fountain when once again Laura was held at arms’ length.
‘You—angel! Laura, how has this come about? How can you
have fallen in love with anyone like me------ ? Oh, yes, I have
known for some time,’ he added when it seemed she would venture a surprised inquiry. ‘Your lovely eyes have many times revealed what is in your heart.’ Laura coloured almost painfully at the idea of allowing her feelings to be read, especially at a time when—she supposed—he had not yet fallen in love with her. ‘You said that I puzzled you,’ he went on gently. ‘You see, Laura, I had given Eduarda to understand that I would marry her, and as a gentleman who has always honoured his word, I had the greatest difficulty in extricating myself from my promise.’ He paused a moment, considering. ‘Do you remember that morning when you came to me in the garden, to tell me you couldn’t accept the replacement of the clothes you’d spoiled?’
‘Yes, I remember.’ Starry-eyed, she looked up at him. ‘You were so very different. You asked me to stay and keep you company.’
‘That’s right. Until then I’d been fighting against my growing love for you, thinking only of my honour and my obligation towards Eduarda. But that morning ...’ His voice became very soft and tender as he continued, ‘I knew, my dearest,, that it was
not possible for me to marry anyone but you.’
‘Oh ...!’ Laura stared at him with an expression of comical dismay. ‘Do you know what I thought when I heard you say that?’
‘Say what?’
‘The words, “not possible”.’
‘No.’ He looked perplexedly at her.
‘I thought you’d come to care for me but had decided it was not possible for you to marry me, because of the great difference in our positions.’
He frowned down at her.
‘You believed I’d allow that to influence me?’
‘Well... ’
‘Never, my dear. I wanted to kiss you that morning-- ’
‘I knew it! ’ interrupted Laura with a sort of triumph. ‘Oh, Dom Duarte, I wish you had! You have no idea how miserable I’ve been ...’ She tailed off, seeing the glimmer of amusement that lit his eyes. ‘What’s so funny?’ she asked, wondering at her confidence. ‘It was no laughing matter.’
‘I was amused by your mode of address, my love. I do think that as we are to be married within the next week or so you can drop the title, don’t you?’
She gave a shaky laugh.
‘It will be difficult, at first, for me to call you—call you— Duarte.’
‘Will it?’ he asked teasingly. ‘Well, practice will make a difference.’
Laura gave another laugh; Duarte seemed fascinated by her lovely eyes, and by the quivering of her softly-parted lips. With a swift possessive gesture he drew her against him, claiming her lips in a long and ardent kiss. Laura, though giving herself up to the delights of the moment, was, nevertheless, waiting for Duarte to tell her more about his relationship with Dona Eduarda. This he did, presently, and Laura learned that the marriage had actually been desired by both his parents and Eduarda’s. But she had married someone else, and Duarte had not been in any way put out simply because, had he himself married Eduarda, it would merely have been a marriage of conve
nience.
‘A man in my position wants an heir,’ he continued unemotionally, ‘and Eduarda would have made a suitable wife for me. When her husband died we again discussed marriage and decided that when a suitable period of time had
elapsed we would then come together------ ’
‘But surely you wanted some warmth, some affection,’ protested Laura, quite unable to help interrupting him. To her surprise he shook his head.
‘Until I met you, Laura, there had never been any thought of love. Eduarda is beautiful; she is of nobility, and so she was
suited to my—er—requirements------ ’ He stopped, this time
interrupting himself. ‘Enough of that,’ he said with a frown. And as he looked down into Laura’s eyes a great wave of tenderness resulted in his voice becoming husky. ‘You, my little English rose, made me realise that life without love is worthless. Thank you, my darling, for coming to this island.’ Laura tried to speak, but failed because of the lump in her throat. This was sheer bliss, and silence seemed to suit the atmosphere of drowsy gardens beneath the tropical sky, of exotic perfumes of the breeze, of music from the cascading waters of the fountain. There was no need for speech, and Laura nestled comfortably against Duarte’s breast, and put her hand upon his shoulder. She felt possessive ... and yet exceedingly meek and helpless. After a long while Duarte said, ‘What are you thinking, my beloved?’
She had just thought of that incident in the sea and without hesitation she replied,
‘I’m thinking about something that has puzzled me for a
while, Duarte. That day Clara went into the sea------’
‘I had intended coming to that,’ was Duarte’s grim interruption. ‘For some time I’d had my doubts, hence the questions I put to you. You weren’t the type of girl to leave Clara to drown; this I soon admitted to myself. And having done so I set about trying to learn the truth.’ He stopped and
looked sternly at her. ‘You yourself were determined not to enlighten me, so I attempted to get something out of Clara, but
she was vague about what had happened------ ’
‘Which was understandable,’ broke in Laura. ‘Please go on,’ she pressed.
