“Josef arrived while Marcus was away in England. He stayed only a week or two.”
Sally said pensively, “I suppose he’s never grown up because nothing has ever touched him closely. I promised him that I’d speak to Marcus for him.”
“That is good,” with the quiet, admiring smile. “Josef was fortunate in meeting you today; if you cannot persuade Marcus to make one more attempt for this young man, no one can.”
But Sally had no illusions. “I can try, anyway,” she murmured. “Thank you very much for taking me down to the nursing home, Dr. Suarez.”
“We are almost cousins. Please call me Carlos,” he said. “The Casa de Curacion is not like your English hospital, I am sure!”
“It’s a little like a cottage hospital, I suppose. I’d love to work there. Do you take second-years?”
“But, my dear senorita...”
“I only meant, do you take them?” she said lightly.
“We do not train nurses,” he said. “We have fully trained staff and some nursing assistants who are generally older island women; the assistants do work which is normally done by probationers. We have no facilities for training nurses.”
“So you’d find it difficult to place a second-year?”
“Not at all,” he answered. “The Sister in charge of the British block would plan the duties of a second-year nurse and she would be a member of the permanent staff for as long as it satisfied her to remain with us. We are too short of staff ever to turn away anyone who could help.”
Momentarily Sally felt an overwhelming nostalgia for the big bleak corridors of St. Alun’s, for the moments of apprehension and hysterical laughter, of quietness and reward. Then they were sweeping along the drive of Las Vinas and the car was halting at the foot of the steps which wound up to the courtyard.
Carlos got out of the car with her, bent over her hand. “I am a doctor and you set out to be a nurse. I feel we have a small bond, you and I.”
“I feel it too,” she said. “I’d like to go to the hospital again some time, when you’re free. Thank you very much, Carlos.”
“It was my pleasure.” He looked up, called cheerfully, “Ah, Marcus! You have heard my report about the senora from Katarina?”
Marcus nodded, and said offhandedly, “Are you coming up here for lunch?”
“Unfortunately, no. I still have a call to make. Till tomorrow!”
Sally reached the top of the steps just as Carlos drove away down the drive. Marcus was alone, and had apparently been writing something at the table when he heard the car, for an ashtray held down a couple of envelopes while the writing pad flapped gently in the breeze. He looked at her from under his thick dark brows. The eagle-like quality in him was so pronounced that Sally knew, fearfully, that he was in an inflexible mood. And it came to her, suddenly, that this man who could manage anything and anyone was capable of violence.
Warily she said, “Your cousin was good enough to take me to the nursing home. I had a most interesting hour there.”
“Why didn’t you tell a servant where you were going?”
“Was it necessary? I didn’t even think of it.”
“We were invited down to Northwick’s house for lunch. I left your mother there and came here to fetch you.”
“Well, I couldn’t have foreseen that, could I?” She looked at her watch. “It’s not quite one. I could change in five minutes.”
“All right. Get busy.”
His uncompromising tone was chilling. Without looking at him again Sally went into the dim, flower-smelling hall and up the beautiful old staircase to her bedroom. Quickly she washed and changed into a tan and white glazed cotton, made up a little and grabbed a handkerchief. When she came out into the courtyard Marcus was sealing a letter and one of the maids was waiting to take it.
Marcus said, in the pleasant voice he always used when speaking to servants, “It’s not urgent, Carmelita—any time this afternoon. We shan’t be in for lunch.”
“But there will be eight for dinner, senor?”
“I think so. And be sure that the bedroom you prepare for Don Josef is some way from the senora’s room. You understand that whoever takes this letter down to the nursing home must wait for Senor Carvallo and drive him back?”
“Yes, senor.”
He nodded and the servant went into the house. He took Sally’s elbow and descended the steps with her, put her into the front seat of the blue saloon and set the car rolling down the winding drive. Her first impulse was to put a question about Josef. Marcus couldn’t have seen the young man since she herself had seen him, and yet she had found him writing a note of invitation and making preparations for Josef’s stay at Las Vinas. Still, Marcus didn’t look as if he’d take kindly to being questioned about his actions, and in any case it wasn’t difficult to work out what must have happened. Marcus had been into Naval Town this morning; he would have heard of the brawl and Josef’s removal to hospital. Distasteful though he might find it, as head of the family it was his business to take charge of Josef and his peccadilloes on San Palos. Sally decided to say nothing at all.
But as they neared the sea, Marcus asked, “What did you do at the nursing home?”
“I walked through some of the wards.”
“In the British section?”
“Yes, and in the main building. I’ve never before been in a hospital run by Sisters. Carlos seemed to think they’d be able to find a place for me on the staff.”
“You asked him that?” he demanded sharply.
“Of course not,” she replied hastily. “I only made sort of ... interested enquiries. You did say that it wouldn’t matter if Carlos knew the truth about us.”
“I’ve changed my mind. A young connection of mine, Josef Carvallo, is likely to be grounded at Las Vinas for a while, and for the duration of his stay I insist that we maintain the fiction.”
“You said we could trust Carlos—and I’m sure of it. He’s a doctor and he’s kind and...”
“And he’s attracted to you.”
“To me?” Sally gave him a long surprised stare. “What in the world makes you think that?”
He shrugged. “I grew up with Carlos—give me credit for knowing him. When we arrived he was looking in to see Dona Inez at seven o’clock each morning before going down to the hospital. Now it’s ten, when you’re more likely to be about. He’s twice your age and he doesn’t consciously think of you as a woman—because ostensibly you belong to me—but he’s a Spaniard, and he’s not going to deny himself the pleasure of seeing you often and sharing that part of you that’s the nurse.” This apparently left her speechless, and he added, “You like Carlos very much, don’t you?”
“Of course I do. He’s the first doctor, except our old Dr. Mowbray, who hasn’t scared me stiff.”
“Leave Carlos till you’re free,” he said. “The situation is sufficiently complex as it is, but while you’re officially tied to me we can handle it easily, so long as you don’t confuse matters by forgetting the main issue.”
“I’m hardly likely to forget that.”
“Good,” he said flatly. “I certainly don’t want to be driven to stern measures.”
“Oh, you don’t!” she flashed, but almost at once her anger evaporated and she sighed. “I’m sorry. I used to get it in the neck sometimes at St. Alun’s for being impatient. I just wish it were a month from now, and everything were straight.”
“Believe it or not,” he said, his tone a little sharp with mockery, “so do I.” The subject was dismissed as he waved a hand towards a row of square pink and white cottages.
“The last one is our destination. Inside, it’s more nautical than the Navy itself. I expect your mother’s reached the desperate stage.”
The tiny square garden was a warning. Grass so close-grown that it looked like velvet, a straight gravel path symmetrically edged with giant sea-shells, and a ship’s lantern of gleaming brass hanging beside the front window.
Marcus swung the cord o
f the ship’s bell and a voice boomed, “Ah, so you’re back at last. Come in, come in!”
CHAPTER FOUR
CHARLES NORTHWICK was a trim, stocky man with white well-brushed hair, thick white eyebrows and a ruddy complexion. In his light linen jacket and tobacco-brown trousers, the jacket sporting in the top pocket a dark brown handkerchief which matched his tie, he looked less a naval man than a prosperous business executive. But his sitting room echoed the nautical flavor of the entrance hall. The white walls were covered with prints of ships of every age and type, the few gaps being sprinkled with mementoes of the South Seas and the Arctic Ocean. The effect of those walls so overwhelming that one hardly noticed the staid leather upholstery of the chairs, the black refectory table, the dark patterned rugs. But for the off-white sailcloth curtaining which was appliqued with flowers, the room would have presented a scene of unrelieved gloom.
Viola, apparently, had long ago succumbed to the atmosphere. She sat in a chair, holding a glass of sherry in one hand and with the other nervously gripping the edge of a book which looked too massive for her lap to bear. As Marcus and Sally came in she let out a breath of pure pleasure and relief.
“I was terrified that something had happened to you on the road,” she said. “The Colonel...”
“Captain, ma’am,” she was corrected. “Never known much about the Army, never.”
“I do apologize,” said Viola, looking grateful as Marcus lifted the tome of old prints from her lap. “It must be the sherry on an empty...” She stopped and laughed confusedly. “Marcus, do rescue me. The Captain must think I’m a complete moron, and I did want to impress him favorably. The way I’ve been talking he’ll never believe I could run a garden shop in his department store.”
The Captain was gallant, however. “My dear Mrs. Sheppard, I’m convinced you’re the woman to make a success of the venture. You’re decorative, you know a great deal about flowers and pot plants, and I feel sure that you would be only too happy to give advice to the young married women who comprise most of our customers. As you were saying a few minutes ago, it’s time the Navy personnel began to order bouquets for birthdays and anniversaries and the flat-dwellers to decorate their balconies. I know nothing of such things—” with a courtly bow he gave Sally a glass of sherry and then turned to hand a whisky and soda to Marcus—“but it’s like other departments of the store. I’ve chosen someone I felt was right for each section, and so far I haven’t been disappointed in any of them. For the flowers, I feel that you are right, ma’am.”
Viola smiled shakily. “I do wish you wouldn’t keep calling me ma’am,” she said plaintively. “After all, if you’re engaging me it’s more in keeping that I should call you sir.”
Captain Northwick looked thoroughly shocked. “There is nothing of that kind in the Casa Northwick. Some of my assistants are island women and some of them are wives of naval ratings who are often away at sea. Even they do not call me sir! And you, who are almost a member of the Durant family, and a great lady, if I may say so, in your own right, will be doing us an immense honor by merely supervising this new department. Naturally, I will find an assistant for you and give you a free hand.”
“San Palos is very small, you know,” protested Viola, “and we can’t be sure the garden department will be a financial success. As to my own qualifications, I ought to warn you that...”
Marcus said smoothly, “The Captain already understands your position, Viola. Your suggestion about turning his cosmetic counter into a small beauty salon didn’t appeal to him because he’ll never take make-up and titivating seriously.”
The Captain nodded. “I’m afraid that’s true. Can’t bear enamelled women—can’t bear ’em at all. You and your daughter are the two most beautiful women on this island—and the two most natural!”
“Why, thank you.” Viola, who spent at least an hour each morning in front of her mirror selecting jars and bottles from a crystal array, was innocently pleased. “Isn’t that a sweet compliment, Sally?”
“Charming,” said Sally. “What happens if your garden department is a flop?”
The Captain smiled, and suddenly looked handsome. “It won’t fail. Your mother has the personality and the touch; I’m sure of it. The idea has been at the back of my mind for some time, but it couldn’t take shape because I had no one to handle it for me.” Modestly, he added, “I started my store from a small shop which I bought from a Spaniard. It has grown on other people’s brains, not mine.”
“But the enterprise was yours,” Marcus commented. “It’s always surprised me that a naval man tucked away on the bridge should have such a good idea of character and personality in others. Even after several years of running the place I don’t believe you know very much about it.”
“That’s true; I don’t. In a town such as Barcelona or Birmingham I’d have gone broke within a year. Here on San Palos I’ve no competition and almost anything will sell as long as the price is right. And the whole establishment depends on other people, not on me.”
“You’re the King of Casa Northwick,” stated Viola, in her pleased-with-herself manner. “They’d all go to pieces without their figurehead.”
“You flatter me, ma’am ... Mrs. Sheppard. But I hope that’s true. And now we’ll have lunch, shall we? My housekeeper is very patient, but I’m sure she’s chafing. Allow me.”
They edged into a small dining room that somehow held a long mahogany table, eight chairs, a chiffonier and a writing table as well as the inevitable naval odds and ends. The dinner was unimaginative; chicken soup, minced steak cutlets with vegetables and salad, and fruit tartlets. Sally saw her mother eyeing the swarthy little housekeeper and the plain, gold-rimmed china, the bone-handled knives, the unwinking glassware, the colored heatproof mats and the ancient pot of basil which had no doubt been set firmly in the centre of the dining table every day for the past five years. Viola, who could be put off her food by a knife set askew or a single green-fly on the table flowers, valiantly tried a little of everything; she was determined not to upset the very worthy Captain Northwick.
He, Sally decided, was something of an anachronism and to some extent an odd man out. It seemed that his father had owned an old and respected bookshop in Chester and that he himself had felt that such an establishment would suit him very well on retirement from the Navy. But by the time he was free he had decided to live close to the sea and preferably in a warm climate. For a start, and because the Navy had a base on San Palos, he had taken a room for a couple of months at Jim McCartney’s hotel in Naval Town “just for a rest.” The island had grown on him, but bookselling to such a community would hardly have kept him in tobacco. So when an old Spaniard had decided to sell his small general store the Captain took it on.
“Simply as a hobby,” he explained genially. “I thought the place would show a small but sufficient return. The strange thing was that my own tastes in food and haberdashery made a success of it. I threw out all the junk and began to stock the sort of canned and packeted foods I like myself. They sold at once and I found myself with a long list of permanent customers among the naval personnel. So I bought up the shop next door, and filled it with occasional furniture; that was the beginning of the present furnishing department.”
“How extraordinarily brave,” remarked Viola, gazing wonderingly at the outsize chiffonier. “Did you furnish this house from your shop, Captain?”
“No, dear lady,” he said proudly. “I ordered most of these things from a London store. Here, I couldn’t sell good leather chairs and massive pieces of mahogany. These people live in cottages and flats.”
Viola smiled gently; to anyone else she might have pointed out that this, too, was a cottage—but not to Captain Northwick the business man. “And gradually, during the past few years, you’ve added to your original shop till it’s quite an emporium. Supposing the Navy decided to abandon this base?”
“I’m prepared for that. The store is prosperous and I don’t live extravagantly. I’d giv
e up and go on a world cruise. Financially, San Palos has made me more than secure.”
“Well, you served the Navy for long enough,” stated Marcus. “No one could blame you for getting rich on it, and Naval Town would have been a much duller place without the Casa Northwick.”
At this point, Captain Northwick opened a bottle of champagne. His complexion became a little ruddier as he filled the glasses and he spoke almost shyly, standing and holding his own glass.
“Marcus, I want to congratulate you and wish you much happiness. Miss Sheppard ... your health and good fortune.”
“Well, how nice,” said Viola chattily, and she sipped at the same time. “I thought you’d forgotten we had a newly engaged couple at the table, Captain.”
He sat down quickly and shook his head. “I’m slow in these things, but it’s not because they escape me. My experience of life has been one-sided.”
“Limited to ships and shops?” she suggested lightly, and looked happy when he laughed. “I shall insist that you learn about flowers. And, Captain, if you honor me with another invitation to lunch, please put that old toby-jug over there somewhere where I can’t see it and leave this mouldy grey plant behind the kitchen curtain, where it belongs. I’ll bring you a posy myself!”
As they all moved back into the sober little drawing room Sally felt quite light-hearted. It was more than a year since her mother had displayed so much humor and spirit. No doubt at all that San Palos and these people suited her, and that the thought of running a gardening and florist’s counter in the town cheered her tremendously.
The job was just right for her, Sally thought gratefully. The marvel was that Captain Charles Northwick had immediately seen that fact and more or less engaged her. There was a little more talk about it and before they left the cottage it had been arranged that Viola should go down to the store with the Captain as soon as possible to decide on a decor for her little bower.
Viola was enchanted with the whole idea, and said as much as Marcus drove them back to Las Vinas. “I’d far rather deal with plants and flowers than cosmetics, and flowers are so plentiful on the island that I’ll always have abundant supplies of vastly different kinds. There’s just one thing. Marcus, I’ve already seen island women with buckets and baths full of flowers. Do they sell in Naval Town?”
Perchance to Marry Page 7
