“With the Conde?”
“Unbelievable, is it not? But he will always please himself.” She hesitated, aware possibly that she was saying more than she should; then she went on, “You have met Elena de Mendoza. To me, she would be the perfect wife for Ramiro, and he has even admitted to a fondness for her. Yet this morning he has gone out in the yacht with the da Silvas—simply because Lupita begged to go to sea in the rain!”
Lupita, decided Juliet, must be another of the eligibles. She sounded as if she had rather more spirit than the dispassionate Elena. How funny if the Conde were to fall in love with certain qualities in all three of the chosen women. That would present a problem which even he might be unable to solve!
“You were going to speak, senorita?” asked Inez politely.
“I’m hardly in a position to express an opinion about it, am I?”
“I am not sure.” The dark glance was reflective. “You are new here and you are not Spanish. It seems to me that you must see us very objectively, almost like people on a stage. You have a fleeting glimpse of our feelings and the way we conduct our lives. I believe you are intelligent enough to draw certain conclusions.”
“They’d be faulty,” said Juliet firmly. She certainly had no intention of stating her private views about the Castillo and its occupants. “I should imagine that the Conde has never been persuaded or guided in his life.”
“How very true.” Inez sighed. “Always he has known instinctively the right thing to do; therefore, I should be glad that he now feels it is correct for him to choose a wife. But he has been here some weeks, and it seems to me he should by now be showing some preference for one particular woman. Let us hope it will come.” She brightened a little. “Once my brother is married I shall take a holiday. I have a wish to visit England and other places in Europe, and I think I can persuade some friends to accompany me. I believe the theatre is very much alive in London?”
The subject was safe and vast. Long before they tired of it the children came in, and though Inez expected them to sit quietly and speak only when they were addressed, they did provide relief. Inez had been at the villa an hour when she rose, tall and slender in a narrow black suit, to say goodbye.
They all went out with her to the car, in which the chauffeur had patiently waited. The man swiftly opened the door, but Inez did not at once get into her seat. She stood looking about her at the flowers and trees, at the coral and blue hydrangeas in their tubs, and she glanced up at the old tiled roof of the villa.
“This is small but a fine old house,” she commented. “The aunt who gave it to Ruy Colmeiro always had the wish that he would bring his wife here permanently. She felt he should conduct his business from Malaga or Cadiz.”
“That was before he married an Englishwoman.”
“Yes. I am afraid she would not have liked that. But such things happen. There was a time when I felt the same; even now, with Ruy as an example, I am not sure that it is an entirely good thing. Yet...” she tailed off with a smile, then said, “You are not here for long enough to be tempted by our young men, Miss Darrell, but I wonder how they regard those grey eyes, and that short golden hair of yours? I must ask one of them.”
This, presumably, was a jest which required no reply. Inez turned as if to get into the car, but before she could do so there came the slight roar of another car out on the road. It must have pulled up beyond the hedge, for the engine stopped and a door slammed. Juliet looked along the path towards the wide gateway. She saw a man appear, a fairly tall man with a thin tanned face and a slight droop to his shoulders. He wore corduroy slacks and a tweed jacket, and at his throat a faded green scarf was tucked carelessly into the open neck of a dark shirt.
He came up the path with a faint smile on his lips, gave the suggestion of a bow as he looked first at Juliet, then at Inez. But Inez gave him no time to speak. She got into the car and sat back, lifted a cool hand towards Juliet and the children, and instructed the chauffeur to drive away. The long blue vehicle departed, and Juliet was left facing the stranger.
He turned back from watching the last of the receding car, and she saw that he was lined about the eyes, and that the brown hair was lightly powdered with grey at the temples. About thirty-eight, she guessed, and he’d been around a good deal. There was a carelessness in him, but he had a certain style, a certain flair.
“Good morning,” he drawled. “May I ask who you are?”
“That’s my question, surely. For the present I belong here. Are you English?”
“I was born in England but I’ve taken Spanish nationality. My name is Lyle Whitman.”
Deep down, Juliet had known it at once, but spoken aloud the name shocked her into sudden awareness. This was the man to whom she had posted Norma’s packet. He had come here ... for what reason?
Her mouth a little dry, she turned to Rina. “Take Tony for a short walk in the garden, darling. The grass is still damp, so you must keep to the paths.” To the man who stood smiling negligently at her side, she said, “Will you come into the house? I expect you know the way.”
“No, as a matter of fact I don’t,” he said conversationally, as he went into the: porch with her and stood aside for her to enter. “I’ve only passed this place in a car.” He studied the sitting-room. “Antique Spanish. I shouldn’t have thought it would appeal to Norma.”
With some difficulty, Juliet said, “Mr. Whitman, I think I had better be very frank with you. I posted the parcel to you but I know nothing whatever about you and Norma. I didn’t even know of your existence till I found the packet in my bag, the day I arrived here. There was a note from Norma, asking me to send it from Cadiz, but it was too late for that.”
He indicated a chair, and as soon as she sat down he lowered himself comfortably into another, close by. He leaned forward, regarded her companionably for a moment.
“Look here, you don’t have to worry about my turning up here at the Villa Massina. I’m not likely to hurt anyone, and besides,” with a grin, “you’re the innocent type that the most hardened philanderer would leave alone. And I’m not hardened that way, by any means. What’s your name?”
Juliet told him, and asked. “But why have you come? Did you hope to see Norma?”
He shook his head. “Let me explain. I received the brooch and it set me thinking. By the way, if you’re interested here it is.”
He brought it from his pocket in the palm of his hand; an exquisite oval of white jade set in handworked silver. “Seen it before?”
“No. It’s lovely.”
“I got the jade some time ago. Norma admired it and I had it set for her—gave it to her when she came here last year. She returned it without explanation, so I take it she doesn’t want to know me any longer.”
“I ... I think it’s wise of her.”
The brooch was slipped back into his pocket, and he bent upon Juliet an experienced smile. “You’re shocked, aren’t you?”
“Shouldn’t I be?”
“No. We were only friends.”
“She’s a married woman, and you gave her jewellery.”
“You’re one of these uncomfortably forthright and honest people, aren’t you? Do I seem awfully old?”
“Not awfully, but you’re evasive.”
“I’m only taking my time. You’re rather sweet, so I’m putting it in the best way for myself. Where were we?” He shoved a hand into his pocket, sat back and looked at her. “Oh yes. Well, the brooch arrived and set me thinking. I’m only ten miles away at Cortana, and eventually I decided to come over and make a few enquiries. I made them in San Federigo, and discovered that Norma and her husband haven’t yet arrived. That made me curious, so I drove up, meaning to have a word with a servant, if there were one around. I couldn’t imagine Norma trusting a servant with the posting of the brooch, but believe me, I never expected to come across anyone like you. I thought she might have lent the place to another married couple.”
“If she had, this visit of yours could have ca
used trouble.”
“Well, she’s asked for it, hasn’t she?” he said. “But when you’ve lived as long as I have, and in as many places, you can learn a good deal without giving much away. You were a surprise—the best I’ve had for a long time.”
Juliet permitted herself to smile. “I can see how you get your way with people, but with me it won’t work. I don’t suppose you’re any more to blame than Norma, and I’m only glad it wasn’t anything serious.”
He examined her small face, speculatively. “Have you ever been attracted to anyone against your will?”
“Never,” she answered, with her brief infectious laugh. “Not in the way you mean.”
“Maybe you will be, one day; it happens to many of us. I first met Norma by accident, in the market at Cortana. She’d been buying some of the lace they make in the village and couldn’t find her way back to her car. I escorted her and we talked. I found myself mentioning a small fiesta which was to take place the following week, and told her where I’d be at a certain hour. She was there, and we had some fun together.” He went on dryly, “You slip into these things almost unconsciously. For a couple of months we saw each other often. She told me she was married but never talked of her husband. That was two years ago.”
“And you were ... friends again last year?”
“It was inevitable. Norma grew tired of living the Spanish life and I provided light relief. Besides, I’m interesting, if I say it myself.” He paused. “Has she found someone else?”
“Heavens, no,” said Juliet warmly. “I suppose she realized how silly it was and tried to end it. I think it would be kind if you ignored her existence from now on.”
“Kind to Norma—but how about me?”
“Mr. Whitman,” she said firmly, “I know my cousin very well. She’ll never leave Ruy for anyone else. She loves her position in his world, both in England and in Spain. I don’t mean to be hurtful, but you have to accept the fact that she found you amusing—that’s all.”
“You’re painfully honest,” he said with a grimace, “but I can take it. For your information, there never was any thought of marriage between us. We didn’t pretend we were in love; we simply admitted to being drawn to each other and finding pleasure in the same things.”
It seemed to Juliet that he was missing the point of the discussion and trying, in a roundabout way, to justify himself. He looked all right—very attractive, really, in a rakish fashion, and she could half understand the existence of some sort of relationship between him and her poised and mature cousin. But there was something about him...
“Thank goodness,” she said quickly, “that it didn’t go deep.”
He got out cigarettes and offered them, said nonchalantly, “I told her right at the beginning that we couldn’t have been friends if she’d had children. It wouldn’t have been fair to take the risk.”
Juliet stared at him incredulously. “Are you asking me to believe that you didn’t know Norma had two children?”
His bewilderment was genuine; in some ways he might not be too scrupulous but in this he was comparatively straightlaced. He put down his unlighted cigarette, ran a finger along his lower lip.
“Good lord,” he said soberly. “Those two outside ... and she never breathed a word. I thought she was just an Englishwoman who was a bit sorry for herself because she’d married money and regretted it. Your cousin isn’t at all a nice person, Miss Darrell.”
Juliet was so stunned that she was inclined to agree. She tried to think of herself in Norma’s shoes, but found it impossible. Norma might not be passionately in love with Ruy, but she respected him tremendously and was very careful to keep him interested in her. Not that he needed any persuasion to believe her wonderful, but Norma did dress in the styles and colors he preferred, and her household was run as he liked it. Ruy doted on the children ... could that be the reason Norma had allowed herself to slide just slightly off the rails?
“I suppose,” she said dazedly, “that for Norma you were a sort of ... of wild oat.”
“Thanks,” he said wryly. “Any further comments?”
“Perhaps she realized that you’d find out about the children sooner or later, so she decided to break it off. I can’t think why she didn’t wait till she came here herself, though.”
“I can. If the packet had been posted from Cadiz I would have concluded that she’d sent it through a former friend of mine who lives there. She wanted the thing finished before she came to take up residence herself. You know, it’s odd how the proof of one dishonesty in a woman will leave you suspecting everything she’s ever done.”
Which, Juliet hoped, was the last word on the subject. He had taken the whole business so well that it worried her. Norma was either tired of the diversion or afraid of being found out. It had seemed to her a good plan to get Juliet to post back his gift, so that he would have a week or two to get over it before her arrival. It was unlikely that she had ever thought of herself as a cheat. Some men might feel revengeful, and one couldn’t be sure that Lyle Whitman wasn’t one of that kind.
Juliet said awkwardly, “It’s really as well that you came here this morning, isn’t it? May I have a light?”
“Sorry.” He struck a match, set the flame to her cigarette and then to his own. “Do you think less badly of me now?”
“A little. You should give up having affairs and get married.”
“The glibness of youth makes me feel senile.” But he was smiling slightly. “How long will you be here?”
“Another ten days or a fortnight.”
“Will you let me take you around?”
“No. It wouldn’t be wise for us to meet again, after today.”
“Does every suggestion have to be wise before you’ll consider it? And what’s unwise about an unmarried man taking an unattached girl out now and then? I’d look after you.”
“It appears that you don’t know me at all. It's rattier dampening. Never read anything by Lyle Whitman?”
She looked at him with interest. “Are you a writer? What kind?”
“Faintly arty and historical. I put out a novelized life of a poet or a painter now and then. Luckily, I have a private income, or I’d starve. I’ve never yet had a book hit the jackpot, which is probably why you’ve never heard of me.”
“I do know your name, vaguely, but you can’t have written much during the last two or three years, since I’ve had dealings with books. But I’ll find something you’ve written, now that I’ve met you.” She tapped her cigarette on the edge of the ashtray, looked at him again. “How long have you lived in Spain?”
“About fourteen years—the last three at Cortana.”
“Do you have many friends?”
“None at all.” He inhaled lazily. “I don’t go in for collecting friends. I collect the sort of things that last.” He dipped into a deep jacket pocket, seemed to fumble before bringing out a chamois bag which was tied at the neck with ordinary twine. He loosened the knot and emptied the bag on to the table. “Some collector’s items. Like them?”
In the dimness of the sitting-room they looked like colored pebbles which had been beautifully cut to the shapes of gems. Juliet leaned over them curiously, separated them with a forefinger. She caught the gleam of opal and ruby, the crystalline beauty of jade of many colors, the dull sheen of beryls and tourmalines. One particular piece of jade was an inch square and beautifully carved; it was a glorious lavender.
She drew a long breath. “They must be worth quite a lot. Is it safe to carry them on you?”
He lifted the flap of his pocket and disclosed a second pocket inside the other, with a zipper across its opening. “Safest place in the world. Aren’t you going to take a fancy to one of them, as Norma did?”
She shook her head. “They’re very lovely, but I don’t hanker for that kind of thing. I suppose they all come from the East?”
He nodded, and carelessly swept them back into their bag. “You’re only about the third person I’ve ever shown
them to. I never do show them to anyone who’s likely to talk about me. You’ll forget me as soon as you can, I’m sure.” He didn’t wait for a reply to this, but added, “By the way—that woman who left as I got here. Isn’t she Senora de Vedro?”
“Yes. She’s a friend of Norma’s, and she’s taking an interest in us till my cousin arrives.”
“I’ve seen her before, of course.” He paused, weighing the bag of gems in one hand. “How would you like to introduce me to her?”
“Not at all,” said Juliet firmly. “I hardly know her myself, and in any case, you ... and Norma ... well ...”
He gave her a slow easy smile. “I’m a man of the world, my child. I won’t mention Norma to anyone.”
“But she’ll be here within a couple of weeks! If she found that you’d become acquainted with Senora de Vedro she’d instantly suspect me. Really, Mr. Whitman, you’ve no right to ask this of me.”
“Well, perhaps not. There’s no hurry, anyway.” He grinned. “The senora looked like a statue—that’s apparently the effect I have on the Spanish nobility.”
“You’re too young to be told the answer to that one,” he said evenly as he stood up. “I’ll see you again some time.”
“But you must promise you won’t come here,” Juliet urged him, above the fast beating of her heart. “You must realize that I can’t be of any use to you.”
“But you can,” he said softly.
The children came in then, and detachedly he glanced over Rina’s pale thin features and then took in Tony’s chubby presence. Almost, Juliet could hear him telling himself that he was well out of it.
But the next moment he murmured agreeably, “I’ll be dashed if I’ll say goodbye to you, Juliet Darrell. You’re far too nice.” And he strolled out. Juliet stayed where she was. She felt as though the walls were inexorably crowding in on her. How she wished she were fifteen years older and thoroughly experienced!
CHAPTER THREE
JULIET had never felt less hungry. Even Luisa’s palpable displeasure at cleaning a luncheon table which had been little appreciated was easier to face than the task of eating crab salad and apricot tarts. She went upstairs with the children, drew the curtains in their rooms but left the doors wide, and on an impulse she slipped into her own room and changed her frock for a yellow swim suit and a knee-length white towel jacket. She tied the girdle, and swinging her white cap she ran downstairs and across the back garden to the low wall, which she leapt. She slithered down the grass-covered dunes beside the steps, felt warm sand coursing through her espadrilles and decided she was right. A swim was the safest and best way of dispersing the rather nightmarish mood which Lyle Whitman had left behind.
At the Villa Massina Page 4
