AT THE VILLA MASSINA
Celine Conway
“A practised gallant with a thread of iron somewhere”—that was how Juliet defined Ramiro de Velasco y Cuevora at their first meeting. It was obvious that he could only marry someone of his own kind, an aristocratic, purebred Spaniard.
Juliet was sure that when she returned from Spain to England, the memory of him would haunt her always; but she could not bring herself to wish that they had never met.
CHAPTER ONE
IN different circumstances, the cruise through the Bahia de Manca would have been tremendously exciting. There were the island and the coast road on the mainland, a crystalline sunshine making magic among the trees and cottages, fishing boats and a few bigger coastal vessels; plenty, in fact, to keep one exclaiming about the quaint appeal of this corner of Spain.
But only a fraction of Juliet’s mind was on the approaching port of Manca. She saw the gay whitewashed buildings, church steeples, orange and olive trees and the long pink stone waterfront where a few cars and donkey carts moved and many people idled, but she was thinking ahead, wondering if Senora de Vedro would be there to meet them, as Norma had promised. The journey from England had been tiring for the children, and there had been a long wait at the customs office in Cadiz. Juliet herself had thrilled at the sight of the Rock of Gibraltar, but Rina, who was seven and still fretful from an illness, and Tony, who was very fit but not yet six, had simply asked how long this little ship was going to take to get them to San Federigo. At the moment all they wanted was to find themselves established in the familiar villa not far from the sea.
“Look,” she said quickly to both children, “we’re tying up at the quay. Take a good look at the people and tell me if you can see Senora de Vedro.”
The two small faces became absorbedly set. Tony pressed his dark brown head hard against the rail and tensed his small round jaw. Rina’s jet eyes roved solemnly.
“No,” she pronounced. “There are no ladies such as Senora de Vedro—only fish-sellers and that kind. What shall we do if there is no car to meet us?”
“We’ll find one,” returned Juliet brightly, “and get it to take us and our luggage to the villa.”
The children accepted this statement as children will accept anything from a grown-up they trust, but Juliet’s heart plunged a little. She knew hardly any Spanish, and quite passionately she wanted to avoid anything that would add to the tedium of the journey for the children. Since leaving England Rina had not slept well, and there were moments during the day when she looked utterly fagged. She needed rest and sunshine—loads of them.
A couple of swarthy young porters pushed their way up the gangplank, and Juliet called one of them and indicated the stack of luggage. The young man hoisted a trunk on to one shoulder, somehow managed to grab hold of a suitcase. With a cheerful “Favor!” he thrust his way down the creaking planks, set down the cases and came back for the smaller ones. This time Juliet, clasping a small hand in each of her own, followed him.
They had no sooner been swallowed by the happy, vociferous crowd than someone appeared to deliver them from it. The two children were swung high and passed to a liveried chauffeur, Juliet’s elbow was determinedly grasped and she was led into the shade of a tree, where a long car stood, a midnight blue affair of far greater opulence than she had expected to see in a small coastal town of Spain.
Juliet blinked, looked up at the Spanish don who had rescued them and found him tall and lean, like an El Greco. His well-cut mouth was politely smiling, his dark glance seemed to take her in with faint surprise; her smooth young cheeks and grey eyes, her boyishly short hair with the wave at the front and the little white straw which made the hair look darker than its natural streaky gold. Unconsciously, Juliet smoothed the white collar of her navy suit.
“Gracias, senor,” she said, feeling idiotic because she was unable to say more.
But the senor was in command of the situation. “You are Miss Darrell,” he said in foreign-sounding English, “and these are the small Colmeiros, I believe. I have seen the ninos before, when they were so big.” He measured about five inches with a long thumb and forefinger. “I am Ramiro de Velasco y Cuevora. Inez de Vedro is my sister.” Upon which he opened the back door of the car. “Your young friends from England are here, my dear Inez!”
A woman in black leaned forward, revealing a creamy skin and red lips, a crown of silky black hair. She smiled charmingly.
“You will forgive me, Miss Darrell. Yesterday I twisted my ankle and I am not yet able to walk very well. My brother was good enough to insist on coming with me so that you would not have to be met at the ship by the chauffeur, or by someone else who knew no English.” She held out her hands to the children. “Come, little ones ... but you are big ones! How tall you have grown since last summer. You have much to tell me, no?”
Again that firm hand at Juliet’s elbow. She found herself in the back of the roomy car with the others, and right behind the chauffeur. The senor bent and looked in at them.
“I will give instructions about your luggage, Miss Darrell. Needless to say, I hope your stay in San Federigo will be very happy.”
“Thank you.” From nervousness Juliet gave a brief infectious laugh, which was accepted with a charming smile.
He straightened negligently, waved at the chauffeur. Juliet had a glimpse of him standing there, pleasantly aloof, keen-eyed, faultlessly dressed in pale grey; and then the car had turned away from the waterfront and up a road whose medieval cobbles were scarcely noticeable in the superbly-sprung and beautifully upholstered interior of the limousine.
Understandably, Juliet felt a little light headed. It was just after one, and the sun glared warmly on the white dwellings in streets and plazas as they passed through the town. The residential districts were deserted, and the flat-fronted houses with black-painted grilles over the small windows looked as if they were shut up for ever. However, for Manca it was not hot; here it was spring, while winter still gripped northern Europe with the raw fingers of February. Juliet wondered how she would feel in two or three weeks’ time, when she would leave the warmth and vivid blue skies and get back to her job in North London. Oh, well, London was good and she liked working for Uncle George in the bookshop. Both he and Aunt Mary were darlings, the nearest thing to parents Juliet had ever known. Just as Norma was like a sister—or she had been, till her marriage with Ruy Colmeiro, who was a director of an Anglo-Spanish trading company.
After marriage, Norma and Ruy had taken a magnificent flat near Hyde Park, where they lived for eight months of the year. The remaining four months they invariably spent at San Federigo, in the villa which Ruy had inherited from a relative. In Spain, Norma became the Spanish wife and hostess, and the children played with other children of well-to-do parents; in England, the family moved among Ruy’s business associates, but about once a month they called on Norma’s parents in Hampstead, or had them at the flat for dinner. Uncle George always said it was right for Norma to keep her husband’s interests at heart; he and Aunt May were tremendously proud of their daughter’s successful marriage. And in any case, he was wont to remark affectionately to his niece, they still had a girl at home; to them, Juliet was a second daughter.
Though she had grown up admiring and loving Norma, who was ten years older, Juliet had always had a few small doubts about her cousin. Norma had been worldly and ambitious at an early age, so that their Hampstead friends had often felt snubbed. The very day she had first met Ruy at a business luncheon she had decided that his position and wealth were what she wanted; as in most things, her judgment had been unerring. Marriage had brought two children, a splendid maturity, even greater self-assurance. But Juliet had sometimes wondered whether it hadn
’t also blinded Norma to the real things in life: the love of parents, the regard of friends, the need in oneself to give, and go on giving. However, Norma seemed to get on very well without sentiment and compassion. Juliet freely admitted that she herself had never yet suffered from the hardness in her cousin; in spite of the difference in their ages they had always been the best of friends.
Which was the reason for Juliet’s presence in Spain at this moment.
Rina had started the winter badly, with a heavy cold. She had scarcely recovered before she was down with ’flu, and after that had come bronchitis, weeks of it. Imprisoned in a large heated room, the child eventually lost the chestiness but emerged so pale and depleted that Ruy had worried himself silly. It was unlikely that he would be able to get away from England before Easter, but for Rina’s sake he wanted Norma to take the children to the villa at once. But Norma had engagements which could not be broken, so she said. Ostensibly as anxious about Rina as he was, she formed a plan and took it along to Hampstead. Her father adored his grandchildren, and it was no trouble at all to persuade him to release Juliet for two or three weeks.
It had all been quickly arranged, by Ruy Colmeiro. Over-anxious and a little superstitious, he had shied away from sending them by air, but he had done his best to fix them up with comfortable cabins for the trip. He was fond of Juliet and he had faith in her, and he knew that once they had reached the villa everything would go well; there was a good servant on the spot, and Juliet would know what was best for Rina.
That last evening at Hampstead, Norma had come along for a private word with Juliet.
“You know how grateful I am, don’t you, darling?” she had said, with her own particular brand of sweetness. “It’s really marvellous to know that I can trust you with the children at the villa; my mind will be completely at rest. I’ll come over as soon as I possibly can. Do write to us regularly, won’t you?”
“Every day,” Juliet promised.
A brief laugh. “I don’t know that that will be necessary, but do if you want to. There’s just one thing, Juliet.”
The pause lengthened, and Juliet looked at her. “Yes?”
“Well,” she hesitated, then shrugged her slim shoulders as though what she had to say were not so momentous after all. “In San Federigo we have quite a number of friends—all of them influential. The friend who has promised to meet you—Inez de Vedro—comes from one of the best families in Spain, and she married into another good family. Unfortunately, she lost her husband after only a couple of years. Some of our acquaintances there are titled—all of them have excellent connections. What I’m trying to say is...” again a short deprecating laugh, “well, you won’t let us down, will you, Juliet?”
There was a slightly prickly sensation in the nape of Juliet’s neck. “Let you down?” she echoed. “In what way?”
Norma said calmly, gently, “It doesn’t matter if people get to know that you work in a bookshop—all sorts of people take such posts nowadays—but don’t let them know that the shop is my father’s. I’ve never put it into words, but the people in the district have taken it for granted that my father is a retired business man.”
“Does Ruy approve of deceiving everyone?”
“Oh, come, Juliet. Don’t be so horribly blunt! Ruy doesn’t talk about my parents.”
Juliet said slowly, “I suppose that’s why you’ve never taken your mother and father to San Federigo. Hasn’t it ever occurred to you how proud they’d be to see your home in Spain?”
“Now you’re being childish and sentimental,” Norma had answered, a trifle sharply. “The way I treat my own parents isn’t your business, Juliet. I love the old things, but they know as well as the rest of us that they’re just a bit too ... homely to fit into our circle. We’re all very happy as we are.” She had withdrawn herself and added coolly, “So long as you understand. In San Federigo you’re my young cousin, in charge of the children till I can take over. I’ve written very fully to Inez de Vedro, and if you’re in doubt at all she’ll help you. But please remember that as Ruy Colmeiro’s wife I’m a rich and popular figure there. I’m quite sure I can depend on you to keep my end up.”
“Of course you can,” Juliet had assured her at once, but she had felt a little wooden about it.
The short conversation had explained one or two things; for instance, the fact that the children were never taken to the bookshop, and the care with which Norma kept even her London friends well away from her parents. Juliet found that it hurt to dwell on such things; it hurt because with Uncle George and Aunt May their daughter and her family came a long way first.
Still, this was no time to analyse Norma and her failings. Here was Juliet Darrell, skimming through the Spanish countryside with the two children between herself and Senora de Vedro, who looked slightly over thirty. Younger than her brother, Juliet guessed, by about four years. She had thin arched nostrils, like his, and her complexion was the same olive but overlaid with a feminine creaminess. Apart from that, they weren’t alike. The framework of his face had been very evident, and though his expression, on the whole, had had a touch of the debonair, there had also been an unmistakable hauteur in his bearing. The practised gallant, thought Juliet, with a thread of iron somewhere. Good gracious, what would she think of next!
Inez de Vedro was saying, “So, queridinos, you are going to have happy times on the beach, and the little Rina will get fat and pink. Your papa has written that you are to have no parties until Rina is quite well, so you will be quick to recover, will you not?” She looked at Juliet. “This is all quite new to you, Miss Darrell, but I am sure you will like the Villa Massina. We are not far from you—my brother and I. I am fortunate in having him here with me for the summer, the first for many years. Your cousin Norma will have told you that since I lost my husband I have lived in one of Ramiro’s houses. The San Federigo estate is not large, but I have always liked it better than the Castillo at Cadiz, where Ramiro spends most of his time.” She smiled a little sadly. “Ramiro has told me that if I marry again I may live always in the Castillo at San Federigo, but somehow I do not think it will ever be mine.”
Juliet was slightly befogged. Norma had given few details about Inez de Vedro, and none at all about the brother. What were these people who seemed to own castles all over the place?
She said cheerfully, “San Federigo sounds delightfully feudal. I’m prepared for almost anything.”
“In the short time you will be here you will not discover much, I am afraid, but let us hope you will wish to return. Next year, perhaps. By then, many things will have happened—to us at the Castillo, at least!”
“Really?” murmured Juliet politely.
The young senora gave a deep shrug and said contentedly, “My brother will be married by then. At last he has agreed!” Then, as if suddenly aware that this was a stranger to whom she was spilling family news, she smiled and said, “This matter has become so important to me that I forget we are only just acquainted. Tell me about yourself, Miss Darrell.”
This was fairly easy. Juliet’s life had been hardly any different from that of many young English girls. She had worked, had fun at the weekends, studied library routine in order to help her uncle, spent holidays at the coast, belonged to an emergency nursing unit. To date, this trip to Spain was by far the most sensational happening in her life.
Inez de Vedro pointed out the fishing villages along the coast, and when presently they took a hill and rounded a headland, she waved a hand at a cluster of pink-washed cottages below, at a white yacht which stood in the bay.
“San Federigo,” she said. “The villas are behind the town, and the Castillo is over there on the opposite cliff. You cannot see it too well because of the trees, but I assure you that it is very fine. I am hoping very much that Ramiro’s novia will not become so enchanted with it that she will want him to keep it and turn me out!”
This was apparently a joke, so Juliet laughed. She didn’t know why she felt so ill at ease with
the woman, nor why she found herself hoping she would have very little to do with the Castillo and its owner. She made appropriate remarks about the cottage gardens and vineyards, the pottery which was drying in the sun ready for painting and glazing; but she was relieved when Tony chanted suddenly,
“There it is, Juliet! The lovely, lovely, lovely villa! We’re home!”
The Villa Massina was built like a large-scale luxurious cottage, with bold eaves at each end and a long covered porch in the centre. There were wooden benches in the porch and tubs of blue and coral hydrangeas which were already in bud. And also in the porch stood Luisa, the swarthy-skinned elderly servant, who wore the traditional black frock to her ankles with a stiff white apron. The woman bobbed her tight knot of pepper-grey hair as she curtseyed. Senora de Vedro pressed the knob which wound down the window, and smiled out upon the servant graciously.
“Good morning, Luisa. Everything is ready?”
“Everything, Dona Inez. I trust the ankle is better today?”
“Oh, yes, but I am forbidden by the Senor Conde to use it; therefore I must stay in the car. But you will welcome Miss Darrell and the children, I am sure. The luggage will arrive soon.”
By now, Juliet, Rina and Tony were on the flagstones, and Inez inclined her head to them. “Luisa will take immense care of you, and I will call and see you as soon as I can. My brother will have telegraphed your arrival to your cousin in London, so for the moment you need do nothing but take lunch and rest. Adios, Miss Darrell ... and you little ones.”
The blue car swept away, and when she had caught her breath Juliet suggested the children should lead the way into the house. It was dim and cool inside, and for some minutes, while she walked from sitting-room to diningroom, from there to the bed-rooms, Juliet felt that everything was too dark and heavy. Then the restfulness of it all stole over her, and she decided to make the most of it and postpone examining the rooms in detail.
At the Villa Massina Page 1
