Perchance to Marry

by Celine Conway

  “Is that a naval launch? Did you know he had it there?”

  “No. It must have been hidden by the trees.” Josef sighed. “That was not my idea of a good way to spend the night.”

  “Do you know anything about him?”

  “Nothing at all.”

  “Has anything like this ever happened before on the island?”

  “I do not know—only that it has not happened to me. You are worn, senorita? I will make some coffee.”

  “No. I can’t stay.”

  “But please,” he said urgently. “I wish us to understand each other about this. I was anxious to help the man because he was hurt, but I could not risk people knowing he was here. That was why I came to you. I felt I could trust you to keep the secret.”

  “We don’t have to protect a man of that kind,” she protested. “It wasn’t your fault he came here—just your bad luck. They’ve been enquiring about the borrowing of naval launches, and if we told about this man it might give them a clue.”

  “They have plenty of clues; they even know the name of the islander who helped to steal the launch.” He shrugged and gave her a tired, little boy’s smile. “I want nothing to do with it. The man has gone, gracias a Dios, and we can forget him.”

  “Do you have any notion about what he was?”

  “He may have smuggled a little something on to the island.”

  “He didn’t look like a smuggler.”

  “No headcloth and gilt earrings,” Josef said dispiritedly, “but today they are less spectacular. Please say nothing to anyone about this.”

  “I can’t promise that. If I hear another naval launch has been stolen I’ll have to say something.”

  “At the risk of compromising yourself?”

  She turned her head and looked at him, wide-eyed. “There’s nothing compromising about dressing a wound. What are you getting at?”

  “You are here alone with me,” he said moodily. “Marcus would not like that. Now that you are officially engaged he would throw me out. I would be blamed, not you.”

  That wasn’t true, and Josef knew it. But he was thinking only of his own skin. “I won’t speak about it unless I have to,” she said. “If I’d known it was a bullet wound I’d have given you the dressings and told Marcus.”

  “I had nothing here, and the man insisted on an antiseptic dressing. I could think only of you. You must know that I am sorry it should be necessary to ask another favor of you—your silence.”

  She moved to the door. “You’re expecting a good deal, Josef.”

  “And I have no right; I know that. But you have so much, senorita. You have given up love, perhaps, but in its place you are gaining a great deal that may be worth more to you in the years to come. You have decided that marriage with Marcus, even on his terms...”

  “I don’t want to hear any more. It’s quite light—I’m going now.”

  “I will accompany you,” he said humbly. “Forgive me for speaking so plainly. I am more than a little in love with you—you must have guessed that.”

  He stood there looking rakish and depressed, and in spite of herself Sally felt a little ache of yearning, for she knew not what. I am a little in love with you ... It sounded so sad that it hurt.

  She drew a breath and said, “I daresay you’ve been a little in love a good many times, Josef. I’ll make you a promise. If I ever feel I should tell someone about that man, I’ll speak to you first—whether it’s today, next week, or next month.”

  “Thank you,” he said simply. “Thank you.”

  She turned from him then, waved him back and went on out into the morning light.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SALLY made a few casual enquiries, first of Carlos then of Captain Northwick. In effect, both said, “Yes, there’s been a bit of bother, but you can be sure that the Navy and the police have things well in hand. They particularly wish the civilian population to know as little as possible. It’s nothing serious.” Which for the moment, was reassuring. She could relax and still keep her ears open.

  Sunday was peculiarly quiet. No one but Carlos came to Las Vinas, and he stayed only fifteen minutes, with Dona Inez. Sally, her mother and Marcus lunched together in the courtyard. They separated and came together again at four-thirty for tea. They talked into the dusk, went in to change and met once more in the sala, for a short drink before dinner. Viola was half gay, half preoccupied. In a few short weeks she had so filled her life with things she had always longed for that there was literally no room, at present, for much more.

  But when they were having coffee after dinner, she said, “Marcus, I’ve been thinking about the party I want to give for you and Sally. I’m rather tied up during this week, but next Saturday I’m free. Will that do?”

  “It’s the day of the Lilac Fiesta. Naval Town usually comes up en bloc for a night of fun.”

  “That’s what I thought. Sally will look blooming in that incredible white confection, you’ll probably go Spanish in velvet slacks and a silk shirt and the music will already be provided. I did want to give a party down in town, but a sort of buffet effort here in the courtyard with plenty of colored lamps and a few guitars might be more enjoyable to the Navy types. After all,” apologetically, “this party will be for my friends more than yours. They have so many of their own sort of binge that I thought they might find a slightly continental one here at Las Vinas—which most of them have never seen except from the road—might be more exciting.”

  “Sally will be expected at the fiesta at eight, and she’ll have to stay till about nine-thirty or ten. I shall be there myself, of course.”

  “That’s all right. Everything starts late here. I’ll invite the guests for eight and they’ll all have arrived by about a quarter to nine. We’ll eat and drink and talk for an hour, and then you’ll bring Sally. At the first dull patch I’ll suggest we all go up to the fiesta. By then it won’t really matter whether you and Sally come with us or not.”

  The idea was typical of Viola. She wanted to be different, but hadn’t the means to carry out the desire. The whole arrangement was slapdash, but through others it would be tightened up and made presentable before next Saturday; and in the end it wouldn’t cost her a penny.

  “I think you should forget it,” Sally said in flat tones. “Let the Naval Town have their fiesta unadulterated. There are only two big fiestas here in the course of a year and I’m sure the English enjoy them. Besides, a party would disturb the senora.”

  “This suggestion has its points,” said Marcus. “Dona Inez might be happy to hear a little noise of that kind for an hour or two, and it’s right that your English friends should be invited to a celebration of some kind. I’ll see if I can tie it up for you, Viola.”

  “Thank you, Marcus dear. I knew you would.” She yawned delicately. “I’m so sorry. Perhaps I ought to go to bed. There’s some naval top brass arriving tomorrow on an inspection tour, and I have to decorate the foyer and dining room of die hotel, for a luncheon. Will you excuse me?”

  It might have looked bad had Sally jumped up at once to accompany her mother, so she remained seated, a little tensely, until all sounds of Viola’s exit had receded. Then she stood up.

  “Quiet days often seem more tiring than others,” she remarked, and took a tentative pace towards the door.

  “I thought we needed a peaceful interlude,” he said abruptly. “I’m getting fed up with having the house full at every meal..”

  “It’s you who invite the people,” she pointed out evenly. “The only person I’ve ever asked to stay is Carlos, and he was used to coming here often long before my time.”

  “He wasn’t accustomed to sitting across the table from you and watching everything you do,” said Marcus, in edged tones, “and he didn’t accept invitations so readily.”

  Her pulses began to throb uncomfortably fast. “Very well, I won’t ask him again. It’ll be up to you.”

  “I notice you don’t deny he’s paying you a good deal of silent attent
ion. Or isn’t it so silent?”

  Fright was a hard ball in her chest. She saw Marcus standing straight and tall near the fireplace, awaiting her reply, and knew that she had to say something. It was a banal, “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “I think you do. Carlos may be a fairly cold-blooded doctor, but he’s also an intuitive Spaniard. He’s not likely to be deceived by a bright smile, and I don’t doubt he’s made it clear, subtly, of course, that he’s ready to share your secret sorrow.”

  “That’s a horrible thing to say—of Carlos and of me. We’ve never spoken about anything of the kind!”

  “I hope not. And you hadn’t better, either of you. Go to bed.”

  But the sting in his voice was rather too much for Sally. “You’ve been painfully pleasant all day,” she said in strained tones. “Why are you suddenly like this?”

  He gazed at her through narrowed lids, flicked ash from his cigarette without watching where it landed. “If you were even slightly mature you wouldn’t have to ask that. We’re alone for the first time since that night in your room, and your first impulse is to escape. It might help to quiet your fears if I tell you it will never happen again, never! In that respect you’re safe from me.”

  “I’m ... I’m glad.”

  His lips curled with a hint of malice. “That would please you, naturally. You couldn’t even handle Peter the pianist. You’re only drawn to Carlos because you know he has tremendous discretion and a sense of fitness, and would never be more than the sympathetic doctor friend. It was cruel of me to send Josef away, wasn’t it? You must have felt a bit like Juliet when he whispered things from the patio after midnight.”

  She controlled a sudden alarm. He was only harking back to that occasion which had disturbed Katarina, and which she thought he had forgotten. In a voice as cool as she could make it she said, “You realize, of course, that the engagement is as much of a farce as it ever was. For Dona Inez’s sake I may have to remain engaged to you for a very long time, but it will end some day. It’s too late now, but I know what my answer would have been if Dona Inez hadn’t stampeded us into that little ceremony last Saturday.” She lifted her head. “It would have been no, Marcus.”

  He gave her a long dark glance, pressed out his cigarette in an ashtray with unnecessary force. But almost carelessly he said, “Too bad you took so long to get to the point. As you say, it’s a bit late for it now. I think you’d better go to bed. Goodnight.”

  She went upstairs on legs that felt weak, reached the landing and saw Katarina walking rather more quickly than was her wont towards the end bedroom. Had the senora’s companion been down there, listening near the half-open door of the sola? Surely it was patent to every servant in the place that Don Marcus had tied himself to someone ... anyone ... because Dona Inez had expected it of him?

  As Sally entered her room she saw another servant emerge from the room next door, and at once she wondered if this were the one who had pried into the writing table and combed through her belongings. That feeling of suspecting everyone was so foreign to her nature that inside the room she turned the key, and stood there trembling. Or was she trembling from some other cause? Sally didn’t know. She only knew that somehow she must get out of this muddle.

  She went for a walk after breakfast next morning, and when she got back there was the session with Dona Inez. A surprisingly bright senora, who had recollected a few anecdotes from her youth and intended recounting them.

  Sally listened, smiling and nodding occasionally, and when the old lady tired she mentioned her walk and how the roses had looked. Her half-hour was nearly up when Marcus joined them.

  With his usual tenderness—a tenderness Sally had to steel herself to watch—he bent and kissed the papery old cheek. He made the usual enquiries and listened to the thin tones before saying, with a smile.

  “I’m afraid I must leave you for a few days, madrecita. I’ve had a telegram from Barcelona and I will have to go there. I’ve already booked out on the Majorca ferry, but I doubt whether I’ll get through to Barcelona before tomorrow. I’ll be back by Thursday at the latest.”

  The senora lifted one small bony shoulder. “If you must, my son. It is business?”

  “Of a kind. Just something that must be dealt with at once.”

  “Your agent there cannot manage it?”

  “No. I’ll get through as quickly as I can.”

  “I know you will, caro. In any case, we shall have your little Sally as an insurance against your early return!”

  “Yes, you will.”

  He kept the smile as he looked at Sally, but she saw, with a sense of dull shock, that there was no amusement or even pleasantness in his regard. His eyes were cold black stones.

  A few minutes later they came out of the bedroom together and walked to the head of the staircase. There, as Sally turned to descend to the hall, Marcus said aloofly.

  “I shall be leaving in about ten minutes. For the look of the thing you’d better go down to the boat with me. I promise you my secretary will be there!”

  She murmured something and went down to the hall. The self-effacing secretary who came four days a week to Las Vinas was standing just outside the main door, with a briefcase under his arm. He bowed, said something conventional and stood at attention till Marcus appeared, carrying a weekend case. Together, the three went down the steps to the drive, got into a car with Marcus at the wheel, and started away.

  There was no need for many words between them on the way down to the harbor. For the last half-mile Sally could see the rippling blue sea with its scattering of little boats, and part of Naval Bay, where a flagship was anchored; apparently the top brass had arrived. There were a few palms leaning towards the harbor, and then they were on the old stone waterfront and slowing quite close to the black steamer which made the return journey three or four times a week to Majorca.

  After he had switched off, Marcus turned in his seat to address the secretary. “Take my place and drive the senorita back to. Las Vinas,” he said. “You can spend tomorrow with Don Pedro’s accountant.”

  “Si senor. Here is your briefcase.”

  “I shan’t need it. You’d better drive straight off.”

  The secretary got out of the car and stood politely waiting for Marcus to emerge. For him, probably, Marcus made the parting look normal. He bent towards Sally, without quite touching his cheek to hers, said curtly, “Don’t be too relieved that I’m going. It shows.” And then he got out of the car, took his small suitcase and strode up the gangway on to the deck of the steamer.

  Sally did not look back as the secretary drove with great care away from the harbor. She was relieved, but there was a horrid emptiness alongside the relief. San Palos without Marcus was like an opera without pulsing music; it made no sense at all.

  And yet, when lunch-time came and she was quite alone in the courtyard facing an appetizing salad, a bowl of fruit and a silver coffee pot, she felt her limbs and facial muscles relaxing. The sky had hazed and it was cooler, and she was aware that for the first time in weeks she could think dearly and sensibly. Not about her own problem, but about anything external that caught her attention.

  She reflected that her mother was probably having a wonderful time at the hotel luncheon. Somehow Viola was inevitably invited to each function she decorated, and it was easy to see her, in the soft powder-blue suit and matching hat, looking an adorable thirty-five among the older naval men. Sally thought, a little tremulously, that her father wouldn’t really mind, if he knew. He’d been unselfish enough to want Viola’s happiness above everything else.

  And that was true love, thought Sally. Making someone else happy ... or even wanting them happy, without being the cause of it oneself. Was that how she loved Marcus? It was a question she couldn’t even think about without going tense again, and she was determined to stay relaxed, at least until Thursday.

  She spent the afternoon roaming the house as she had never roamed it before. She looked into the empty b
edrooms; primrose and white, apple-green and white, rose-pink and white ... and what was Marcus’s color scheme—crimson and white? She didn’t attempt to find out. She peeped into an upstairs sitting room which was pale blue, gold and silver grey, with portraits in gilt frames staring down at the table in the centre of the room.

  Downstairs, she even looked into the vast kitchen, where copper utensils winked from white walls and cupboards were enormous and old-fashioned and painted a shiny black. Katarina was there alone, mixing something in a small bowl. Her yellow face creased into a faint smile.

  “One did not expect you here, senorita. Is there something I can do for you?”

  “No, thank you. I’m exploring. This is the very first time I’ve seen the kitchen.”

  “It is not like yours in England?”

  “Not much. I used to bake quite often, at home.”

  “Here there is no need for that. Even if the cook were ill the others could manage.” Katarina tested the white paste she had been stirring. With a casualness that seemed studied, she asked, “It will be how long before you marry, senorita?”

  Sally answered her rather shortly. “I don’t know, Katarina. There’s no hurry.”

  “You must pardon me for putting so personal a question. I have been here many years and everything that happens matters to me very much.”

  “Have you ever been married, Katarina?”

  The woman’s eyes stabbed at her before the glance was lowered once more to the task in hand. “No, I have not,” came the tight-lipped reply.

  “I’m sorry I asked—really sorry,” said Sally. “I thought you had, or I wouldn’t have mentioned it.”

  “Because it is a disgrace not to have married?” demanded Katarina almost roughly.

  “No, of course it isn’t. But if you’re sensitive about it you naturally don’t want to be questioned.” Sally smiled. “Some man’s loss has been the senora’s gain. She depends on you entirely.”

  “She has been very good to me,” said Katarina offhandedly. “For the senora and Don Marcus I would do anything.”