At the Villa Massina

by Celine Conway

  She murmured an answer, and because he seemed to expect it of her she turned back towards the house. On the path she slowed, and when his car had purred away she went back to the gate, and quickly out on to the road. She remembered that they had approached the villa from the left and she took that direction, hurrying over the grass verge and taking the first down-hill turning to the right. Without thinking very much she went straight down into the town and along a narrow street into the main plaza. To an old woman who sat benignly in her doorway, Juliet said the one word she had learned from the stamps, “Correo?” She was answered volubly; no doubt the woman was informing her that the post office would be closed, but she waved blandly towards the other side of the plaza, and it was there that Juliet found a post-box. The packet disappeared into the opening.

  By the time she had climbed the steep road back to the villa she was sleepy. It had been a long day and too much had happened. She wanted to go to bed and awaken to a brilliant new day, preferably one without any complications. But she didn’t sleep too well that night. She started off by thinking only of the children and the games and sunshine they would all enjoy together, but somehow the thoughts lost direction, and an incalculable Norma came into them with the good-humoured, paternal Ruy in the background.

  And then, unaccountably, she saw the tightening of an arrogant jaw, felt the frigid, unshakable charm of Ramiro Fernandez de Velasco y Cuevora, Conde de Vallos. Really, it was too much. She didn’t know why, but she found herself thanking heaven she had a solid English head on her shoulders!

  CHAPTER TWO

  THINGS were different next morning, of course. Birds trilled sweetly among the trees, there were more flowers in more colors than ever, and there was a breeze which ruffled ever so slightly the blue calm of the sea. They met Anna-Maria, a sparkling-eyed fifteen-year-old, whose father sold fruit and vegetables in a shop on the waterfront, and were promised early raspberries for the weekend. They watched the blue-painted boats slide past the jetty on their way out to the fishing grounds, and paused for orange juice under one of the gay umbrellas outside a cafe.

  Today, Juliet did not encourage the children to walk far. After the tour of the village she took them round to the less frequented beach and found shade for them at the edge of the pines. They played, Tony bathed and Rina paddled, and then it was lunch and siesta time.

  During the afternoon Juliet wrote to Aunt May and pondered how to word an epistle to Norma. It was difficult to write at all to her cousin, but it had to be done, and Juliet decided to ignore the task she had been set and accomplished. Not that Norma would be likely to show her correspondence to her husband; at best she would only read him the parts which concerned the children. But Juliet found that she simply could not broach the matter. Norma would take it for granted that her instructions had been followed, and she would certainly not expect assurance from Juliet. Let the matter rest there.

  The next morning a message came from the Castillo. Senora de Vedro presented her compliments, and would Miss Darrell care to bring the two children to the Castillo for lunch. The car was at her disposal.

  Juliet overcame her reluctance, told Rina to wear one of her best frocks and Tony to don dark shorts and a light shirt; herself, she put on a powder-blue silk with tiny white flowers all over it. With the little white hat on the back of her head she looked very correct and very young as she sat between the children in the car, and when, about a quarter of an hour after starting out, they skimmed round the cedar-lined drive of the Castillo, she was very glad indeed that she had taken so much trouble.

  For two or three other cars were in the courtyard, and the Conde himself came from the sculptured entrance to meet them. He lifted the children to the ground with a flourish, tweaked Rina’s ear and told her that within a week she would be the prettiest girl in San Federigo, and gave a cool, impersonal helping hand to Juliet.

  “Come, we will first take a walk in the shade. You children know this place, do you not?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Rina. “There’s a pool with picture tiles at the bottom, and there’s a pavilion with archways. And do you still have the little cupids at the top of the pillars in the pavilion?”

  “But, naturally!” the Conde told them. “Imagine the Castillo without Cupid!” He turned a narrow-eyed smile upon Juliet. “You will agree that no house of any kind is complete without that little mischief?”

  She smiled guardedly, unaware that in spite of her restraint she looked clear-eyed and eager. “I’d hardly term the Castillo a house, senor,” she parried, “but no doubt there is as much use for Cupid here as anywhere else.” She stood still and caught her breath as they turned the corner of the house. “What a glorious terrace! Are those arches Moorish?”

  He watched her, detached curiosity in his glance. “You are so new to our country, Miss Darrell, that you find yourself exclaiming very often. Yes, they are Moorish in style, but the Castillo is hardly more than four hundred years old. This was once our wine estate and it was always occupied by the younger son of the family.” An alien shrug. “At the moment there is no younger son. There is not even a worthy young cousin who could be given the estate for his lifetime. Inez loves the place, so for my part it can be hers.”

  Just like that, thought Juliet. The man talked as if he were loaded with castles. They walked the length of the terrace, under those splendid arches, and at the end they were met by an old woman in a starched white apron and head-scarf, who had charge of a little boy. The Conde smiled down upon the old servant and said charmingly.

  “Ah, Catarina! Here are two more children for you. They are not to be overtaxed, you understand? The menina has not been well, but I think she would like a short walk and a good lunch. The little ones are in your hands.”

  Obviously they could not be in safer custody. Catarina nodded worshipfully and curtseyed, and as she backed away Juliet glanced swiftly at the man who accepted homage with the smiling indifference one might accord a slight change in the wind. Handsome and infuriating, she concluded. No Englishwoman could bear to live with that autocratic benevolence.

  Disconcertingly, he looked down, intercepting her glance. His dark eyes changed slightly, as though he divined part of what was in her mind, but he did not comment upon it.

  “Let us go in,” he said. “We have several guests today.”

  There were eight adult guests, four men and four women, and among the women only one, Juliet was sure, qualified as an “eligible” for the Conde. She was an elegant creature who had been introduced as Elena de Mendoza, and for the life of her Juliet couldn’t think why the man didn’t marry her at once. She was beautiful, accomplished, quiet, serene, and all the other adjectives that should apply to the ideal condesa. Plainly, Inez liked her a great deal and had much in common with her, but then the same might apply to the other two candidates. To Juliet, it was all rather fantastic.

  At lunch she sat between the elderly Senor de Mendoza and a bright young man named Mario Perez. Rather awkwardly, considering he was a Latin, Mario told her she was enchanting, and though she was willing to swallow this with several grains of salt, she did smile at him and color a little—a fact which was mockingly noted by the Conde; that glance of his was deceptively lazy—it missed nothing.

  After coffee in the sala the guests began to leave. Rina and Tony were brought in, and when Juliet made to move, Inez put a white detaining hand on her arm.

  “Will you wait a little? I would like to speak with the children.”

  The cars were driven away, and Inez came back, limping slightly, into the room. She knelt beside Rina, touched her cheek.

  “You are looking better already. I think I shall write to your mother that you must always live here in Spain.” Gracefully, she half rose and sat in a chair. “And you, Tonio—you are happy here also?”

  He sighed. “Yes. I had too much lunch.”

  She laughed gently. “You, I think, are going to grow up very British—you will be diplomatic only when it suits you. I was thi
nking we would talk, but you are sleepy, so perhaps I will give myself the pleasure of calling at the villa when you are more awake.”

  Juliet stood up and said politely, “I hope you will come, senora.”

  “You may be sure of it. I will see you to the car.”

  The long blue car had apparently gone off with guests, but a huge, dashing black limousine with a coat of arms on its door stood in the courtyard, and as they emerged from the Castillo, the Conde appeared.

  “I will drive you,” he said. “You have enjoyed yourselves, ninos?”

  “Yes, thank you, Senor Conde,” Rina replied primly.

  “But, no, I am Don Ramiro. Perhaps soon you will even condescend to call me Tio!”

  He put the two children into the back seat and opened the front door of the car for Juliet. She took a quick look at the front of the Castillo, saw its highly-ornamented facade, the escutcheon high on the wall between rows of windows which were distinctly Manueline and shut in by wrought-iron grilles. Then she raised a polite hand to Inez, whose maid hovered behind her, and the car slipped away down the drive.

  They had moved out between tall stone portals on to the road above the town when the Conde said,

  “Now that you have been once to the Castillo, we hope you will feel we are friends to be called upon if you are in any kind of need.”

  “Thank you, senor.”

  “Do you not think it is a pity you can see so little of Spain?”

  “Well, yes. Looked at another way, though, I’m fortunate to see even this corner of your country.”

  “You mean you would never have come to Spain, but for the child, Rina? You would have had no urge to come even as a tourist?”

  “I don’t know. My usual holiday is two weeks a year.”

  “So?” He appeared to give this startling statement some thought. “What do you do in England?”

  She answered casually. “I work in a bookshop, and I love it.”

  His glance roved her way momentarily. “I did not realize this. Tell me about your family.”

  “I haven’t any, really. My parents died when I was very young and I went to live with an uncle and aunt. They’re wonderful, both of them. I lead an exceptionally happy life.”

  “You said that defensively, but I do not doubt that you are a happy person; I have noticed that little laugh of yours. I would say you are young and inexperienced, you are afraid of what you do not understand and unwilling to experiment, but within your limits you are tender and gay.”

  Just faintly, Juliet stiffened. “You seem to have learned a great deal about me in a short while, senor.”

  He lifted his shoulders indolently. “It is there for anyone to see. You are charmingly at ease with the children, reserved with my sister Inez because she is of a kind you have not met before. Mario Perez pays you a conventional compliment and immediately you do not trust him.” He smiled ahead mockingly. “You must be careful with such as Mario. He is unattached and capable of pursuing you to England.”

  “I’ll bear that in mind,” she said, and with an unusual firmness she changed the topic. “I’d like to know more about San Federigo. Luisa says the town is a thousand years old.”

  “This is so, but for more than half that time there were not more than a dozen houses. Then a fort was erected to guard this end of the Bahia de Manca, and an ancestor of mine was rewarded with land for his part in a campaign. The Castillo was built above the house, a small garrison was installed and the land was planted with vines. The descendants of the soldiers became fishermen, and today In San Federigo you will find that there are comparatively few surnames though the inhabitants number several thousand. One has a feeling for the place.”

  “But you don’t really live here, do you?”

  “The chief family residence is near Cadiz. I was born there.” He paused. “Perhaps when your cousin has arrived and before you return to England we can arrange a trip to Cadiz. It is not a simple Castillo such as this in San Federigo, and most of the family treasures are there.”

  They were approaching the villa, and from this angle it looked ineffably tranquil in the afternoon sunshine. She said as much, and the small strange tension between them eased.

  “Tranquillity,” he stated unequivocally, “is for the old and the unimaginative. You are neither, Miss Darrell; I forbid you to be filled with peace and resignation while there is so much you have not yet tasted. Youth and restlessness go together—it must be so, or nothing would ever be accomplished.”

  She protested, “But Spanish women...”

  “You know nothing of what is hidden by the air of serenity. In any case, you are not a Spanish woman, but a half-awake English girl with much to learn. Every time you wish to slip into this ... this pleasant coma, remind yourself that somewhere, not far away, there is magic, even if it is only in a fast-running river or in the bloom on a handful of warm grapes!”

  Perhaps it was as well that he had to stop the car outside the villa just then. Juliet certainly felt she had absorbed enough of Spain to last some time, and even in the porch she still tingled from the electric quality in his voice. He had spoken lightly enough, but she had the conviction that he had not been speaking to her, but to someone else—perhaps in his mind to the submissive Elena de Mendoza.

  She said, “The children and I enjoyed the visit to the Castillo very much, Senor Conde. And thank you for bringing us home.”

  He looked down at Rina with the special smile he reserved for the very young. “We shall soon meet again, pequeninos. Teach your lady cousin some Spanish, no?”

  “Yes, Don Ramiro.”

  “And if she wishes,” he said, still addressing them, “she also may call me Don Ramiro. You will convey that?”

  “Oh, yes,” Rina assured him earnestly. “May she also say Tio?”

  He lifted his shoulders, spread his hands, cast an enigmatic look at Juliet. “Not yet,” he answered gravely. “It is a most serious step for a Spaniard to acquire an English niece of such age. I must think it over. Go to your beds now. Adios!”

  His gesture included Juliet with the children, and as she followed them indoors she smiled vexedly. He was a puzzling man; complex, full of character, almost too considerate, yet she was sure that the charm could occasionally acquire a razor-edge. At their first meeting she had sensed a slight hardness in him, and today she had again been conscious of it, though in a different way. Not that she could ever hope to understand the Conde de Vallos!

  To Juliet’s delight, Rina’s appetite quickly improved. It would take time for those wasted cheeks to fill out, of course, but already the dark-ringed eyes were brighter and she had more energy. Cautiously, Juliet continued to keep the child quiet and fairly inactive. She let Rina bathe in the warm edge of the sea, but there were no swimming lessons, and when she took the children for a walk she made them rest frequently. Tony used up his surplus energy in the garden; he had decided to make a fish-pond in the best Spanish style, and as he lacked assistance and expert guidance it was likely to develop into the sort of venture which could last indefinitely without a single fish or bucket of water becoming necessary. But Tony couldn’t see that far ahead, so he was entirely cheerful about it.

  The fourth morning it rained for an hour, and the sun had scarcely reappeared when Inez de Vedro was driven up to the villa. Juliet saw the car through the window, and for a second she wondered why it was that Inez had so peculiar an effect on her own spirits. They fell now, swiftly, but she was smiling as she opened the hall door and invited the senora to enter.

  Inez came in quietly and graciously. “The children are resting?” she asked.

  “They’re having fruit juice and biscuits in the kitchen. Will you have coffee or chocolate, senora?”

  “Thank you, no. I have just had coffee with friends.” She sat down in one of the high-backed armchairs, drew black gloves from her fingers. “Since you arrived I have promised myself I would come and see you alone; it is the only way one can really talk.”


  This sounded promising, or perhaps ominous. Juliet wished she could make up her mind about Inez de Vedro. In a very cool way she was sweet and appealing, yet there was a neutralness about her. She looked so lovely with her long patrician features, but there was something missing; the faculty of expressing emotion, perhaps. Yet she was a widow; she must know something about emotion.

  “I’m very glad to see you here,” said Juliet valiantly. “I hope your ankle is quite better now?”

  “Oh, yes. It was never very bad.” She smiled and leaned back slightly, her white hands together on the gloves in her lap. “You are enjoying San Federigo, Miss Darrell?”

  “Very much. I’m beginning to wish I could stay indefinitely.”

  “But why not? I am sure Ruy and Norma would be overjoyed to have you remain for as long as you wish.”

  Juliet did not mention her job. She smiled and gave a small English shrug. “Perhaps good things should not last too long.”

  Inez lowered her eyelids. “It depends on what is the good thing, does it not? An evening out, a month of holiday, a marriage...”

  Juliet was stricken. “Senora,” she said quickly, “I didn’t mean to refer to anything like that! I was hardly thinking when I spoke.”

  “Do not be concerned,” Inez said quietly. “It is five years since my husband died, and our marriage was brief. Perhaps it is natural that I should remember it as something rather wonderful which had to end. But wonderful things which are gone from us leave a blankness.”

  “Of course. I’m so sorry to remind you of it.”

  Inez smiled faintly. “No, it is as well to be reminded. When I do not remember I become a little inhuman, and think only in terms of names and places. That is how I have been with Ramiro. I adore him, naturally, but...” She stopped, then added, “I think too much of this marriage of his. There are the estates and the name, this anxiety that he should lead a happy, normal existence with the right woman. I find myself even a little angry with him sometimes.”