Rachel Lindsay - Alien Corn

by Rachel Lindsay

  Lorna pricked up her ears. 'Where have I heard that name before?'

  'From me, probably. Juan Diniz - the son - was engaged to Rosalia and her ring was the largest emerald I've ever seen. The stone was almost as long as your finger with two rose-coloured diamonds either side. I believe she was afraid to wear it.'

  'I'm not surprised,' Lorna said dryly. 'I would be too.' She hesitated. 'Don't think I'm prying, but earlier this afternoon your aunt said something about Rosalia that puzzled me. Why is everyone so bitter about her? Surely it's not only because she ran away?'

  This time it was,Amalia who hesitated. 'No,' she said slowly, 'it was much worse than that. She took the emerald with her.'

  'What? You mean she…

  'Exactly what I said. Now you can understand why we hate to talk about her. The fact that she eloped was bad enough, but the ring was priceless - part of a set that belonged to Queen Maria the First.'

  'Couldn't they get it back ?'

  'Do you think Rafael didn't try? He flew to Australia, but Frank - that's her husband - refused to let him see her. He said she was ill in hospital and that any arguments might prove fatal. Anyway, I don't think Rafael could have done anything. The emerald was so large it could have been broken up into small stones or else bought as it was by a collector.'

  'What happened in the end?'

  'My uncle disinherited Rosalia and died soon afterwards. Everything was left to Rafael - the estates, the factory and this house.'

  'Surely they would have been his automatically?'

  'No. Rosalia was my uncle's favourite and he always promised to leave her the house. I believe he wanted Rafael to settle in Brazil or East Africa, but when he died Rafael took over the business. He has never discussed Rosalia since.'

  Lorna shuddered at the tragedy that had overtaken this proud family. Terrible for someone of Rafael's heritage and pride to have to admit that his sister was a thief.

  If she were Rosalia she would not rest knowing there was a man in this world who hated her so much.

  'Don't tell anyone I told you the story,' Amalia said fearfully. 'Rafael would be furious if he knew. He can't bear to be reminded of her.'

  'I can understand why,' Lorna said carefully. 'I would not like to make an enemy of him.'

  And to herself she added: nor even too close a friend.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Now that she had learned the truth about Rosalia, Lorna could believe the Senhora's assertion that Rafael would kill his sister if he saw her. Perhaps it was this that made his presence in a room overpowering, made her long to escape the dark eyes that always seemed to be watching her. She had only to hear, his precise, even tones for her body to tremble; yet his anger was for Rosalia and there Was no reason for her own absurd fear.

  It was with a definite sense of relief that she learned that they had all been invited to the Castro ranch. A change of atmosphere would do her good; she was getting too fanciful and nervous. Never had any man impinged on her consciousness like this one, and in other surroundings, with other people, his dominating personality might lose its compelling force.

  But no matter how much she tried to put him out of her mind she could not forget his criticism of her clothes and reviewed her wardrobe with the growing conviction that he had been right. There and then she decided to take his advice. She was tired of making ends meet and worrying about the future. Tomorrow could take care of itself — she was young and she wanted to look her best now.

  Amalia was delighted with her decision. 'I wish I could come with you,' she sighed, 'but it's too hot and —'

  'I wouldn't dream of it. I'll be able to manage perfectly well on my own. What I can't explain with my tongue I'll explain with my hands!'

  'I'd love to see you! Shall I ask Luiz to drive you in?'

  'No, thanks. I'd like to try your electric trains.'

  'Once will be enough,' Amalia grimaced. The seats were designed for well-upholstered women, not someone like you!'

  Sitting on the hard wooden seat of the third-class compartment, Lorna remembered her friend's words and wished she had accepted her offer. But the journey was a short one and in a little over half an hour she was standing in the great Square of Dom Pedro, enchanted by the rows of seventeenth-century houses that divided the business from the residential part of the town.

  The stately Avenida da Liberdade with its widely spreading plane trees was the main Avenue of the city, and she walked along its pavements, averting her eyes from the bold, curious stares of the men sipping their drinks at the caf6 tables.

  At the end of the Avenue was the steep Rua Augusta. Here was a veritable Aladdin's Cave, each window vying with its neighbour for style and colour. Standing on the narrow pavement, jostled by shoppers all speaking a language she could not understand, Lorna's confidence ebbed and nervously she entered a shoe shop that bore the comforting sign 'English Spoken'.

  However, by midday she had completed her purchases, spending the hour before siesta in the cool gilt salon of a hairdresser.

  Senhor Pedro exclaimed in delight as he unwound the heavy silver coil of hair. 'It is a pity to cut it,' he said in perfect English. 'Perhaps you can wear it braided round your head - typical English fashion, no?'

  'No,' Lorna said firmly. She had certainly not come to Portugal in order to remain typically English. 'It's too hot for me to wear it like this,' she explained. 'I want it very short.'

  'That would be sacrilege, senhorita! Allow me to evolve a special chignon —'

  'No,' Lorna reiterated. 'I want it short. It's too heavy as it is.'

  Reluctantly the man took out his scissors. 'If the fair senhorita will allow me the pleasure of creating a style for her, I am sure there will be no need to cut it all off in order to make it comfortable.'

  In the face of such optimism she did not have the heart to refuse. 'Very well, but you must cut it a little.'

  Bending over the pink basin a few moments later she found it difficult to believe that she had finally encountered a hairdresser who was reluctant to cut hair. Usually they were only too eager to set to work with the scissors! Closing her eyes, she gave herself up to the delight of having her head massaged and washed in a heavily scented shampoo and sitting under the hum of a chromium drier.

  Surveying herself some time later, she was amazed at the transformation- that Senhor Pedro had evoked. Free of its confining pins, her hair fell loose to her shoulders, the ends curling softly under. As she moved her head each springing wave caught the light and glinted with a silver sheen. It framed her face, softened the contours of brow and cheek and gave her the same clarity of line, the same gentle, diffused colouring as a Botticelli Venus.

  'Is the senhorita satisfied?'

  'Very much so. You are an artist, senhor.'

  The dark liquid eyes glowed. 'It is, very rarely that an artist has such an exquisite model.'

  With a mutual exchange of compliments Lorna paid the moderate bill and wended her way to the station, pausing frequently to glance at her reflection in the shop windows.

  With Latin extravagance the Rodriguez family complimented her on the result of her excursion.

  'You look years younger!' Amalia said candidly.

  That's a backhanded compliment if ever there was one!'

  Trust my wife to put her feet in it,' Manoel interposed.

  "Foot, darling,' Amalia corrected. 'Not feet.'

  'No matter. Lorna understands me. But it is truly amazing, this difference in your appearance. Is it not so,

  Rafael?'

  Throughout the discussion Lorna had been conscious of her host standing aloof at one side of the drawing-room. He had allowed no vestige of surprise to cross his face when she had come into the room earlier that evening and now, forced into the conversation, he murmured a polite acquiescence before turning back to survey the scene through the window.

  'Insufferable bore!' Lorna thought, trying to hide her chagrin. 'As if I care what he thinks!'

  It was a great disa
ppointment when the day before their departure for the Castro ranch Amalia caught a chill and was confined to her room. Lorna offered to stay with her, but no one would hear of it except the Senhora.

  'I agree with Miss Fairfax,' she said firmly. 'She came here as companion to Amalia and it is her duty to stay with her when she is ill.'

  'Amalia is not ill,' her son contradicted, 'and Miss Fairfax is not a paid duenna. If I have my facts correctly she is here as Amalia's friend and should be treated as such.'

  The old lady stiffened and there was a hint of annoyance in her voice. 'I think you should leave the decision to the person concerned.'

  'There is no decision, I've already accepted Senhor Castro's invitation, and Amalia's ill health only excuses herself and Manoel.'

  The younger man looked up at this, opened his mouth as if to say something and then thought better of it.

  'Then there is nothing more to be said,' the Senhora Concluded.

  'Except that you might have consulted me,' Lorna's voice rang out, and there was a startled silence. Never had anyone questioned Rafael's authority so openly and he looked as if he found the experience amusing.

  'Forgive me for not discussing it with you, senhorita. I took it for granted you wanted to go.'

  'I do, but—'

  'Well, you are going - so the matter is closed.' He stood up and put his coffee cup down on a table. 'What about a stroll in the garden? It is a long time since we admired the moon together.'

  Conscious of his mother's disapproval and Manoel's sardonic glance, Lorna preceded him on to the terrace. They walked the length of the first lawn and came to rest by the edge of the lily pond, the reflection of the, moonlight rippling its surface.

  In the cool night air Lorna's anger evaporated. 'I always seem to disagree with you, senhor,' she apologized.

  'It is the prerogative of a pretty woman to be contrary.'

  'I didn't know you thought that,' she flashed back.

  Thought what? That you were pretty or that you , were contrary?' He put his head on one side and surveyed her. 'As a matter of fact you're both - to a maddening degree.'

  Lorna felt a warmth stain her cheeks and was glad that the moon was obscured by a thin film of cloud. But as always he sensed her emotions.

  There's no need to be embarrassed, Miss Fairfax. You should take compliments in your stride. Or are you, like most of your countrywomen, unused to receiving them?'

  'Possibly, senhor. Englishmen are not fulsome in their praise. Besides, I didn't think you noticed.'

  'Noticed what?'

  The way I look. Why, you never even —' she hesitated. 'I think it a little cold. Shall we go in ?'

  'It isn't in the least cold, and don't try and change the subject. If you were going to say that I didn't notice your new hairstyle, you're wrong. There's very little about you I am not aware of.'

  'Then why didn't you comment on it? I've never known you at a loss for words when it comes to women, senhor.'

  'Sometimes, Miss Fairfax, there is no need for words.

  Besides, we Portuguese believe that eyes can be as eloquent as lips.'

  'Then I'd better not argue with you any more. You're too quick for me.'

  'On the contrary, I like a woman with spirit.' He dipped his hand in the pool and let the water trickle through his fingers. 'Why were you surprised when I told Manoel to stop here?' he asked suddenly.

  Nonplussed at the accuracy of his perception, she blurted out the truth. 'I thought you believed a man should be free whether he's married or not.'

  For a moment he was silent, then he sighed. 'You have odd ideas about me, Miss Fairfax. I sometimes think you want to believe the worst.'

  'Not at all, senhor, but—'

  'But - but — always buts! Can't you ever agree with what I say? It makes me nervous to know you are always waiting to pounce on me.'

  'I can't imagine you being nervous of anything. You are a man of steel.'

  'How little you know me! I must try and alter your opinion before I leave.'

  'Are you going away?'

  "Yes, I must keep an eye on the estate in Brazil. Money brings its responsibilities, you know - in this modern age one cannot be idle and rich!'

  "Will you be there long ?'

  'Perhaps six months — maybe a little more.'

  In that case I shan't be here when you return. I'm Only staying until Amalia leaves Portugal.'

  'That may not be for some time. I am hoping to get married, and Manoel might have to take over some of my work here.'

  Her hands grew suddenly moist. 'I'm surprised you have not married before, senhor.'

  The wish was there,' he said coolly, 'but the woman was not.'

  Without knowing why, she lashed out at him, 'I can imagine you choosing a wife as deliberately and coldly as you do everything else.'

  'Deliberately maybe, coldly - never.'

  'And if the woman you choose does not want to marry you?'

  'Women do not always know what is good for them,' he said with maddening deliberation. 'I hope this one will.'

  'You have a very poor opinion of my sex, senhor, and a very high one of yourself.'

  Thank you. I believe it is justified.'

  'By Portuguese standards, maybe,' she flashed, "but not by mine.'

  A red tide of colour rushed into his face and he caught her roughly by the shoulders. 'One day you will try me too far, senhorita! No one has talked to me like that and, got away with it. You need to be tamed into submission and there are two ways of doing it. Beating' — his face came down to hers, 'or kissing.'

  For what seemed an eternity his mouth was poised above her own, his breath warm on her cheek. Then with a little cry she wrenched herself free.

  'Fortunately, senhor, I am not yours to tame. Good night.'

  In the bustle of departure next morning there was no time for embarrassment. The Senhora was ensconced on cushions in the back of the car and Lorna had no choice but to sit beside Rafael in the front. His manner was as correct as always and it was difficult to reconcile his aloofness with the violence of the night before.

  The drive ahead of them was a long one, for the Quinta or estate of the Castro family was in the province of Algrave in the southernmost part of. Portugal. From Lisbon, they crossed the River Tagus by motor launch that threaded its way carefully beside the big ships and the little canoes that darted out of their way like 'water boatmen' on a pond.

  It was mid-morning when they motored through Seturbal, and Lorna was intrigued by the pyramids of salt drying on the banks of the River Sado. But gradually cultivation became scarcer and expanses of rolling scrub land stretched out to horizons delineated by a line of jagged hills. There seemed to be no escape from the sun, and she was hot and grimy when Rafael drew the car in to the side of the road for lunch.

  Resentfully she stared at the back of his smooth head as he lifted out the picnic basket. Don't you ever feel the heat, senhor? No one has a right to look as cool as you do.'

  'I am used to it. In Brazil one has to change two or three times a day.'

  'Is it because of the heat or the humidity?'

  'Both. One can bear heat. It's the continual dampness that is trying. If you leave a pair of shoes in a cupboard for a week you're likely to find them covered in green mould when you take them out into the open.'

  She shuddered. 'How horrible! I don't think I'd like to live there.'

  'You can't say that without going. Brazil is a wonderful country and Rio de Janeiro the loveliest city in South America.'

  The Senhora had decided not to have her lunch in the open air and in spite of her son's protests had insisted on remaining in the car. He bent to take out a flask of wine from the picnic hamper. Idly Lorna watched his strong, tanned hand manipulating the cork of the bottle.

  'Ah.' He gave a satisfied sound as it came away in one piece. 'Pass me a glass and I'll pour you some.'

  'I don't like to drink during the day. It makes me sleepy.'

  'No
nsense.' He held the bottle aloft. 'You can't refuse a glass of our very best Portuguese wine! Of course,' he added modestly, 'it's not as good as the French…'

  She laughed. 'You're very persuasive, senhor, I'll have a little not to offend you.'

  He filled a glass to the brim.

  'I said a little,' she protested.

  'I am not a man of half measures. One day you will know the truth of it.'

  'Why do you always speak in riddles, senhor?'

  'Eventually I will give you the answer to that too!'

  Afraid to pursue the subject, she took the glass from him and placed it to her lips wrinkling her nose as the liquid coursed down her throat. 'It's a bit too sweet, I think.'

  'Women usually like sweet wines.' His eyebrows raised. 'But I should have known that you would prefer something more dry.'

  Her lips curved in a smile, but she refused to look at him and a few moments later they tidied the hamper and resumed their journey. In the car again it was difficult to resist the desire to sleep and gradually her eyes closed and she slipped down into the seat. She awoke to find her head on Rafael's shoulder and hastily drew away.

  'I'm sorry, you should have pushed me off. Have I been asleep long?'

  'Long enough to miss the most boring part of the journey.' He spoke quietly and glancing round she saw that his mother was dozing, her head buried in her chest. 'We are already in Algarve,' he continued, 'the loveliest part of my country.'

  Lorna looked out of the window with interest. They were now running parallel with the sea and overtook several peasant women riding mules, dark kerchiefs over their heads and broad, black hats shading their faces. The white-washed houses were Moorish in design, with flat roofs and small windows, and the setting sun threw a path of gold across the surface of the sea.

  'I could almost believe we were in Arabia.'

  'You are observant,' he agreed. 'The Moors were in this part longer than in any other province, and a few of their customs still remain.' His eyes mocked her. 'Down here women are still regarded as chattels and their husbands' word is law!'

  'A pity you don't live here, then, it would be very convenient for you.'