Perchance to Marry

by Celine Conway

  Sally backed into her room, passed a hand over her forehead. She ought to report this upheaval in her room to Marcus, wouldn’t have hesitated but for those last minutes in the car. Better to think it over a little, anyway.

  As she tidied the desk and dressing table Sally’s mind did its utmost to focus on the seemingly senseless rooting among her possessions. One of the servants? It was most unlikely; they’d expect her to tell Marcus and be terrified of the consequences. Josef Carvallo? Poor Josef; according to Carlos his wound was deep and might throb for days when he moved his head quickly. He was certainly in no condition to make a lightning trip upstairs and a hurried search. And what would he be looking for? What would anyone expect to find in Sally Sheppard’s room?

  There came a rap at the door and she called, “Come in.” But Katarina remained in the opened doorway. “Dona Inez says she has missed your visit with Don Marcus this morning. Don Marcus is now with guests who have been waiting for him, and the senora. says she will see him later. But you will come now, senorita?”

  “Alone?” asked Sally, perturbed. She hadn’t yet seen the old lady alone.

  “It is what she asks,” stated the woman with a shrug. Her dark eyes were blank, but the mole near the left corner of her brown lips twitched as she added, “Do not forget the ring you always wear for Dona Inez. If it is absent she will notice.”

  Sally slid the ring on to her finger, and as she straightened she looked at Katarina, .the faithful servant who fiercely loved the old senora and Marcus. Clearly, she said, “I’ve had a most disturbing experience, Katarina. When I came in fifteen minutes ago this room was almost a shambles. Someone had been searching through my things.”

  Katarina looked startled. “Dios! Is that true? How could it be so? Up here there has only been the senora and myself and Maria, who cleans the rooms. I have been with Dona Inez all the morning until a few minutes ago, when I made a tisane for her and gave some to Josef, who has been complaining of pain in his head. I cannot be completely sure that no one has come to this side of the house, but it is most unlikely.”

  “Well, someone did it.”

  “Then you must tell Don Marcus at once. Something was stolen?”

  “No, nothing. I don’t want to upset the household, so I won’t tell anyone unless it happens again. Are you certain there’s been no one up here?”

  “I have been all the time with the senora—how can I be certain? All I can say is that there have been only four servants, Dona Inez and Senora Sheppard in the house—except the guests who arrived half an hour ago and were greeted by the senora your mother.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Captain Northwick, Mr. McCartney of the hotel, and the Commander of Naval Bay, with his wife.”

  “Mr. McCartney? Has he been here as a guest before?”

  “A few times.” Katarina’s shrug indicated her opinion of the hotel proprietor. “There is some business deal, I think.”

  “Would Mr. McCartney be able to get up here?”

  “I think not. Why should he search your room? Why should anyone search your room?”

  “I wish I knew the answer to that. If I discover it was a maid,” she said distinctly, “I’ll get her sacked.”

  “It was no maid,” returned Katarina. “They are much too happy, all of them, to have you here as the fiancée of Don Marcus; they would not risk your displeasure in any way. You would be well advised to tell Don Marcus. He will get to the root of it. Will you come now? The senora takes her luncheon at twelve-thirty, and it is nearly that time.”

  Sally slanted a hurried glance at herself in the dressing-table mirror as she passed it to go from the room. Luckily she didn’t look as flustered as she felt. She followed Katarina along the corridor, past the landing and on into the far room. Alone, she entered it.

  Dona Inez, looking smaller than ever, was lying back among her pillows. Today her bed-jacket was a delicate pink which made the skin of her cheeks look thinner and paler; her eyes were dark, but not quite so fiery as usual, though they followed Sally’s movements with birdlike keenness.

  Her voice sounded a little hoarse this morning. “Come and sit, my dear. For the first time we are alone, no?”

  Sally took the chair beside the bed, smiled gently. “It’s against the rules, I believe.”

  “The rules of Marcus, yes. Early this morning he told me you two would come to me for tea this afternoon. But I knew you had returned and that he would be with the guests, so I told Katarina to see if you were in your room. It is time we had a talk. When Marcus is here you say nothing.”

  “Is it good for you to talk today, senora?”

  “It is good,” she answered firmly. “We will not discuss, only chat. Tell me where you and Marcus have been this morning.”

  This was easier than Sally had anticipated; she relaxed slightly. “We visited Don Pedro and Senora Suarez.”

  “Ah, I like Pedro, and my niece Isabel is a good woman, even though she has the speech of a campesina. You enjoyed the visit?”

  “Very much, and I thought the lilacs enchanting.”

  “Soon they will be unbearably beautiful, and then they will vanish.” The gnarled, bony fingers of her hands became hooked together like claws. “And Marcus—do you find him also enchanting?”

  “Not exactly. He’s too down-to-earth for that.”

  “But no. One’s companion in love should be enchanting.” She paused, rested her gimlet glance once more upon the fair young face. “There are perhaps things about this being in love that you do not understand. When you are in here with Marcus I can feel it. He is a man of strong reactions and you are young and inexperienced. Does it worry you that you do not make him happy?”

  Alarm sent a chill through Sally. For a second she was on the verge of a vehement disclaimer, but the next moment it came to her that this was an opportunity she might use, very carefully.

  “You feel Marcus is not happy, senora?” she asked quietly.

  “I have always felt his moods. We have always been very close, Marcus and I. Over the years our more intimate contacts have necessarily been fewer. He is a man, with a man’s appetites and needs, and I am only an old woman who cares more for him than for anyone else, but who knows nothing of his world outside San Palos. Since he has returned with you he has not been himself. He is too suave, and his good humor does not go deep. Underneath, his mood is dark.”

  And good reason for it, Sally thought bleakly. He’d been turned down by the woman he had chosen; he’d shown intolerance, really, but to his autocratic mind it didn’t look that way. The way he saw it, a few months of acting in America had taken his place in the heart of Nadine Carmody.

  “That’s something I can’t explain, I’m afraid,” she said. “I’m not at all sure what it takes to make Marcus happy.”

  “In that, he is no different from other men. He needs your love and dependence on him. There are things about him that you naturally do not know, but if you love him well you will learn them. Do you know how I really feel about Marcus?”

  “Yes, I think so,” said Sally, very carefully. “He’s ... he’s everything.”

  “I did not mean my love for him. There is the other thing—his love for me. Always, throughout the years, he has come back to madrecita. Sometimes there have been many months, and once, while he was at university, he stayed away for two years. But then a day came when he walked up the steps and I was there in the courtyard to greet him. He has never been disappointed in me because always I have been here, waiting. Many times he has said, very English, ‘You are a lightweight anchor, old lady, but the strongest in the world.’ Do you comprehend what I am saying?”

  “Yes,” said Sally thinly. “I believe I understand very well.”

  “Then you will tell me ... plainly, so that I may be sure.”

  Sally resisted an urge to moisten her lips. She looked at the frail little woman, managed a smile and replied, “It comes back to something you’ve said yourself, to Marcus; you want him
to marry soon. You want to be sure he’ll always have the strong anchor, someone he loves and needs.”

  “Good.”

  Apparently, having reached that point, Dona Inez had decided she needed respite. She closed her eyes, and Sally hoped rather desperately that she would either slip into a doze or wave her away. The minutes passed. The scent of roses drifted up from the climbers on the balustrade and the dainty gold clock on the mantelpiece sent its merry little ticking across the room. Sally shifted, and at once the old senora opened her lively dark eyes.

  “You think I am old-fashioned?” she demanded. “You think it is out of date that one should wish a fine old estate to be carried on long after one is dead, by one’s own family?” She gave Sally no time to answer. “The good, solid things are never old-fashioned, but unfortunately one’s years are limited. I do not doubt that Marcus will always give himself to Las Vinas, but I am foolish enough to want to see some way into the future. Tell me, senorita, why do you hold back from the official betrothal?”

  Sally felt as if she had received a blow in the solar plexus. She swallowed and heard an odd singing noise in her ears. Crazily, she had thought she might get a little of her own way with this small, ancient volcano, but what a hope! All the senora’s strength had become concentrated in those sharp wits which circled warily round the one thing that mattered in her universe.

  Sally drew an audible breath. “I’ve been here such a short time, senora. Perhaps you are expecting too much.”

  “You have known Marcus for much longer. He has proposed to you and told you he loves you. You have consented to marry him and, knowing Marcus, I cannot believe he has not urged that you quickly make the engagement official and arrange the wedding. Therefore it is logical to conclude that it is you who are reluctant, no?”

  Sally’s fingers were gouging holes in her palms. Dare she reply to this truthfully, dare she try to...? She suddenly saw the senora’s face very clearly. There was a dew of perspiration on the lined white forehead and a terrible anxiety in the black eyes; the thin knobbly hands had parted from each other and were clutching the crisp embroidered foldover of the sheet.

  Swiftly Sally leaned forward and stroked the hand nearest her. In unsteady, smiling tones she said, “You must give me time, Dona Inez. I have no Spanish blood, only an ordinary English temperament. I love San Palos, and Las Vinas is the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen, but everything is very new to me and I have to feel my way. Couldn’t you give me a few weeks to get thoroughly acclimatized? By then I’ll know more about myself ... and Marcus.”

  “You must know already how you feel for him.”

  “Yes, said Sally with fatalistic calm. “I do know.”

  “Then there is no need for so much delay. But you are sweet and perhaps shy. We will say no more for the present.”

  “You should rest for ten minutes or you won’t enjoy your lunch.”

  “Yes, you are right. You were a good nurse, no?”

  “I wanted to be a good one.”

  “You are not like your mother. She is nervous with me, like a pretty animal under the eye of an eagle. She has looks, but no mental stamina.”

  A shrewd valuation which Sally did not contradict; the old senora might have been amused, but she wouldn’t have been flattered had she known Viola’s opinion of her. Sally stood up, and as she did so Dona Inez lifted one cheek, as she always did to Marcus. Sally bent and touched her lips to it, and she felt the papery fingers touch her cheek.

  “Do not be afraid of life,” said the tired old voice softly. “The courage will be there when you need it. I will expert you with Marcus at four. Adios.”

  Sally answered her and got out of the room. By the time she reached her own bedroom she had control of her limbs, but there was still a tightness in her chest and a burning sensation behind her eyes. Without pausing to think, she stripped and had a cool bath and put on a black skirt and a gay blouse. Resolutely, she made up, stepped into black shoes and went downstairs. For the rest of the day, she told herself firmly, she would stick close to her mother. There was one blessedly dependable fact about Viola Sheppard; nothing heartshaking ever happened while she was within hearing.

  * * *

  For several days life was soothingly quiet for Sally. Viola was mildly excited about the quick progress in the preparation of her flower department and the fact that Captain Northwick had decided to lease a tiny property adjoining the store which belonged to McCartney. This could eventually be turned into a gardening and pottery department of which Viola would have charge.

  “The pretty side of the garden,” she explained to Sally, “and many more indoor plants. There’ll be a selection of flower holders and plant pots, hanging baskets and other decorative oddments. It would be part florist’s and part gift shop. And what do you think the Captain suggested—that we call it Violette! Touching, isn’t it?”

  Sally smiled wonderingly. It was amazing how lighthearted Viola had become. She seemed to be years removed from England, in perfect health and full of enthusiasm and the will to make the new venture successful. She saw nothing but her own rosy present and future, and if she ever thought about Sally it was with pride in her own accomplishment. For obviously without Viola Sally would never have had a look-in with Marcus.

  For a day or two Sally helped her mother plan her counter and its arty-crafty backdrop, and when she was no longer needed inside the small modern department store she strolled about Naval Town or walked on the beach beyond the buildings. Once she met Carlos and again visited the nursing home with him. He was calm and kind, told her about his hospital days in Madrid, and of the difficulties of getting Spanish parents to allow their daughters to train as nurses. Even here on San Palos, he pointed out, a girl seldom saw her fiancé alone. When a couple sat on a bench facing the sea you could be sure the whole family were crowded on the very next bench, watching the courtship’s progress with grim fondness.

  It was not till Carlos drew the stitches from Josef’s wound and left Sally to cover it with a dressing that the young man became a little difficult. On that particular morning Josef had remained in his bedroom, writing letters, and that was where Carlos had seen him. The doctor had snipped off the large dressing which had replaced the bandage, drawn out the threads and dabbed iodine on the thread wounds. Sally had stood by, receiving the discarded dressing and handing the cottonwool and iodine.

  Carlos had said, “There are dressings in the bathroom next door, Sally. I put them there myself some weeks ago. Find one to cover this, will you? It needs some protection till the hair grows.”

  Sally had gone off to find the box of dressings and had returned to meet Carlos as he left the bedroom. The doctor had given her his quiet cordial smile. “I will leave him with you now. He needs me no longer.”

  She nodded and smiled, re-entered the bedroom to find Josef still seated where they had left him. He was half turned from the writing table, his head on one side, awaiting attention. With her eye, Sally measured the long regular wound which stretched back from the top of the right ear. She selected an adhesive dressing.

  “Are you sure this happened in a brawl at the hotel?” she asked. “I’ve been told there’s no crime on San Palos, so why should someone suddenly start on you?”

  He shrugged deeply, his face was very close as he looked up at her. “I was unlucky. Perhaps they were seamen who had had too much to drink. It was before I entered the hotel—just outside in the dark.”

  “But it’s straight—like a knife wound.”

  He agreed. “Carlos says it must have been a knife. I was so surprised that I saw nothing. I fought ... and then was unconscious.” He laughed ruefully. “I had been waiting a long time for that drink at the hotel, and I was robbed of it.” A pause. “But perhaps in a way I was fortunate. You are sorry for me.”

  Sally pressed down the edges of the dressing and stood back. “When I first saw you, perhaps, but not now. You’re looking much better. I daresay Marcus will let you go in to see Dona
Inez this afternoon or tomorrow.”

  “Ah, yes, the old one. She does not even know I am here. Is she well?”

  “Fairly. She gets up each day for an hour and walks about the bedroom.”

  “This attack of hers—it has not impaired her in any way?”

  “I don’t think so. We take great care not to worry her, though.”

  “She still has control of her own affairs?”

  “I don’t know. Why do you ask a thing like that?”

  He threw out his hands theatrically, gave a nonchalant laugh which showed a quick gleam of white teeth. “Because I am broke, and very much in earnest about starting a ceramics business here on the island. My only friends at Las Vinas are Dona Inez and Katarina. Marcus tolerates me, that is all. You have chosen a peculiar man for your husband, querida.”

  Sally ignored the querida. By the sudden laughing glitter in his eyes she knew he had slipped it in deliberately, to find out whether she knew the Spanish equivalent for “darling.” Purposefully, she snapped shut the box of dressings.

  “That’s my business, isn’t it?”

  “One would think so, but I have doubts. Marcus is not a man to fall in love.”

  Sally should have left him then, with a patronizing smile, but there was a little raw place in her heart which might grow more painful if she didn’t do something to heal it now. Besides, she was growing tired of being treated gently by people like Carlos. Josef’s approach wasn’t circumspect, but it was enlivening.

  “So you think I’m one of your sort,” she said. “You’ve decided I’m after money and a position?”

  “Not so cold-blooded, please,” he begged cheerfully. “For a woman, a certain position in any community has glamor. And money ... is not that what we all want? If I had only a thousand of your English pounds I would rent a cottage and erect a small mill. We have almost everything here for the manufacture of ceramics—a large patch of clay and an infinity of sand and rock. My designs are after the Moorish style and it would be easy to find a market for them. But because the idea is mine, Marcus will have none of it. He is cynical and unbelieving.”