He listened with his usual attentiveness and when she had finished stared into the empty fireplace contemplatively before he spoke.
'What do you want me to do ?'
'Speak to him, of course. You don't think he can carry on like this without Amalia finding out?'
'But what good will it do if I tell him?'
She was taken aback. 'It will stop him.'
'Will it? Do you really think so? Honestly, Lorna, this is too much! Not only do I have my own worries but I must bother about this stupid cousin of mine.' He swore beneath his breath. 'I'd like to break his damn neck! If he has to have a woman why must he find one here?'
Lorna swung round, livid with anger. 'Has to? What do you mean has to? If he hasn't the decency to be faithful when his wife's expecting a baby —'
'For goodness' sake leave the baby out of it! Why does a woman always use a child to fetter a man?' He stopped at the stricken look on Lorna's face. 'Darling, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it that way.'
He came towards her, but she moved back. 'No, Rafael, don't touch me! I couldn't bear it now.' She looked at him in bewilderment. 'How can you speak so calmly of Manoel having an affair? And he says he loves his wife! What does he know about love? What do you know about love if you can even think of him without disgust?'
'Men are not so easily disgusted, nor do they set so much store by unfaithfulness!' He banged his hand down on the desk. 'Why do you keep tormenting yourself like this? Why do you persist in distorting everything?'
'I don't! But I can't help seeing Manoel and Amalia as a mirror for our future. If you behaved like Manoel it would be the end of everything! I'll never look at another man once I'm your wife, never let anyone come near me or touch me, and I'd expect you to do the same.'
'Why do you think I wouldn't?' he said angrily. 'Why must you make me into something I'm not?'
'I'm not making you into anything! I'm only telling you what I feel.'
Without replying he sat down at his desk and buried his head in his hands. The ormolu clock on the mantelpiece ticked by a minute before he spoke, his voice muffled and indistinct-
'I don't understand you, Lorna. You've beaten me. I can't go on taking your constant distrust and jealousy. I can't go on fighting a stupid ego that forces you to believe I go from one woman to another before finally coming back to you. Either you control yourself now or you'll destroy Us both.'
'Rafael, I —' Lorna's throat worked convulsively and she could not go on. Instead she knelt by his side and put her arms around his neck, her tears warm against his cheek. For a moment he resisted, then with a muffled exclamation he pulled her into his arms and held her tight.
'Dearest heart of mine, why must we hurt each other? How many times do I have to tell you that we're different from anyone else? Car a mia, don't cry. I promise I'll speak to Manoel.'
'I'm not crying because of Manoel,' she gulped, 'but because of what you just said.'
'I was angry. I did not mean it.' Gently he stroked her hair. 'You should know better than to greet a man with such a long face when he has travelled all the way from Oporto and only wants to hold the woman he loves in his arms.'
'Oh, Rafael, what a stupid beast I am. You must be exhausted.' She showered his face with little kisses. 'How could I have been so selfish?'
He rubbed his cheek against hers. 'If you'll always atone like this I won't mind!'
The following night Rafael took her into Lisbon to dinner. It was quite dark as they drove through the old part of the city, the streets so narrow that it was difficult to manoeuvre the Cadillac round the sharp corners.
He parked the car and escorted her down a dark, mean street, with elegant cars parked on either side. It was surprising to see so much richness amidst poverty, but as they approached the restaurant the flower-decorated vestibule spoke of good food and expensive intimacy. Candles were the only illumination and their flickering picked out the gingham-covered tables and walls decked with photographs of famous personalities.
They were shown to a small table in an alcove facing a dark dapper pianist and two swarthy guitarists, and Lorna looked around her with interest.
'What an unusual place. Does it specialize in any particular food ?'
'Not food, cara, music. The fado - folk-songs of Portugal. We heard some on the radio.'
'Of course.' She glanced about her. 'Who sings them?'
He indicated a dark-haired woman of about forty who was serving at one of the tables.
'But she's a waitress 1'
' 'She also owns the restaurant! She is not a professional singer, you understand. Indeed, the Whole beauty erf the fado is that it is sung by ordinary men and women.'
'When will she start?'
'As soon as the restaurant is full. It's interesting to watch her: she just throws off her apron and begins to sing.'
'No wonderful introduction or publicity? I can't believe it!'
He beckoned the waiter and ordered the meal without consulting her, an action Lorna found mystifying until the food was brought to the liable. It was completely strange to her and she began to eat with curiosity that sharpened to relish as she tasted the concoction of small fish flavoured with spices and decorated with chopped leaves, then a young fowl braised in pimentos and chives followed by whipped cream with wild, sweet raspberries.
They were sipping coffee when a small party of men entered the room and sat down at a table in the far corner. They nodded and waved to Rafael, but made no attempt to come over, and Lorna understood why when three gaudily dressed women came in and joined the party.
'Are they friends of yours?' she enquired.
'Yes.'
'All of them?'
'Only the men.'
She looked behind her curiously. They seemed to be enjoying themselves inordinately and there was loud talk
Alien corn and laughter. She caught the flash of a wedding ring on one man's hand and bit her lip.
'Are they with their wives ?'
Aware of the implication underlying her question, Rafael paused in the act of extracting a cigarette from his gold case. 'No. Do you want to continue the subject?'
'There's nothing to say.'
'I agree, but nevertheless there's one thing you should know. The man you are so interested in is a very good friend of mine. He has been married for six years, has four children and a young, wealthy wife who —' he lit his cigarette, 'weighs sixteen stone.'
'I suppose you think that's sufficient explanation.'
'Whether I do or not doesn't matter.' His mouth tightened. 'I refuse to argue with you any more. We've had quite enough discussions for one day.'
As if to further his point the lights dimmed, the pianist played a series of low notes and the proprietress took off her apron and moved to the centre of the room. Then with head thrown back and eyes half closed she began to sing. Her body swayed slowly to the rhythm of the music and her voice had the strange inexpressible longing Of the Negro spirituals. Although she sang in the simple manner dictated by tradition she seemed to express all the misery and inarticulate fears of a primitive race. It was like listening to the heartbeat of Portugal itself; a country so steeped in history that it could not shake off the trammels of the past, could not brace itself to acknowledge the realism of the present.
All Lorna's vague disquiet crystallized and for the first time she knew she could never identify herself with this land. The people were in the groove of the sixteenth century: they still irrigated their farms with the shadoof and winnowed the corn by hand, content to eke out an existence as their forefathers had done, or slave all their lives in the shadow of the Quinta. Her thought ended abruptly as the fado concluded.
'Did you like it?' Rafael was looking at her curiously.
'It was beautiful.'
'So are you - now more than ever with the lustre of tears in your eyes. Why are you sad?'
Reluctant to spoil the intimacy of their mood, she shook her head. 'Only a woman's fancy. Don't you know we alway
s enjoy a good cry? What was the song about?'
'A peasant left with her child while the husband went to the big city to earn a living. When he returns the baby is dying and there is a grand reconciliation over the deathbed. We like a little melancholy too! One of our poets said the fado, the knife and the guitar are the three loves of the Portuguese.'
'I don't mind the first and the last, but you can keep the knife!'
'Oh no. The knife sleeps under the pillow of passion. It is part of our temperament. Aren't you flattered to think I would murder my rival ?'
'Certainly not!' she said primly. 'It would be a very uncivilized way to behave!'
'His teeth flashed in a smile. 'You don't know how you'd behave in the circumstances, my dearest. Love is like the sea, with the wind of jealousy ready to whip it into angry foam.'
Lorna remembered his words as they drove back along the coast road to Estoril, and she heard the soft lapping of the water on the sand. The night was calm, the velvet sky brilliant with stars, yet the perpetual wind gently moved the branches of the palms and the sand eddied and swirled in delicate spirals.
She was sorry when they drew up in front of the dark house and Rafael opened the door into the hall.
"Wait a minute, Lorna, I've something to show you.'
She followed him into the library and he picked up a green leather box that lay on top of his desk. Without a word he pressed it open and she looked down at a magnificent pearl ring, its smooth sheen reflecting a myriad colours. Rafael lifted it out and slipped it on her finger.
'This is to make our betrothal final.'
'It's beautiful,' she whispered. 'Much too beautiful for me.'
'Nothing is too beautiful for you,' he said, drawing her into his arms. 'Of all my pearls you are the most precious.'
Possessively his lips found hers, compelling her to a passionate response. Misunderstandings of the day disappeared and as if determined to deny their very existence she pressed close against him, her arms caressing the dark hair that grew low on his neck. Their kiss lengthened and deepened, seeming to draw upon her very soul, until with an exclamation he pushed her away.
'You'd better go, Lorna. I won't answer for the consequences if you don't.'
'I don't think I'd care,' she whispered.
For an instant he moved a step towards her, then shook his head. 'No, querida, I can't. It wouldn't be fair.' He turned back to the dark. 'Go quickly while I still have the strength to let you.'
CHAPTER EIGHT
Inez remained a constant visitor to the house, and although Lorna felt no warmth towards her she had to admire the aplomb with which the girl carried off the situation. What a strange race they were, she reflected, violently passionate one moment, yet able to hide their feelings behind a mask of social bonhomie the next. She would never have had the courage to go on seeing Rafael if the position had been reversed, and she suspected that the Senhora was behind the Portuguese girl's continuing presence.
But there were many pleasant interludes; times when the sun shone brightly, the people laughed and the whole world was gay and smiling.
One of the most interesting evenings was the Senhora's dinner party given to introduce her future daughter-in-law to the family. Lorna was amazed at the number of relations, old and young, short and tall, thin and fat, who answered the invitation. Never had she seen seen such a striking family resemblance in so many people, and she thought with amusement that the younger members of the party had only to look at the older members to see how they would look some twenty years hence!
Throughout the evening the Senhora made a great pretence of affection and Lorna wished with all her heart that it was real. She knew without being told that Rafael had quarrelled with his mother over his engagement, and on more than one occasion had interrupted an argument between them, the tightening of the Senhora's lips as she entered the room telling her more clearly than words that she was the cause of the quarrel. Yet Rafael never referred to his mother's attitude, and Lorna felt reluctant to broach the subject, feeling that the first overture must come from him.
As September drew to a close the azure sky became more intensely blue and the sun, sinking lower on the horizon, glowed with an even fiercer heat. The earth was gathered of its harvest and the farmers began to prepare for the stripping of the maize cobs, an event always followed by a party. Lorna had heard a great deal about this ceremony and she was delighted when Rafael promised to take her to one.
'Has it got a special name?''she asked.
'Esfolhar. It means to de-leaf.'
'What happens? It seems most mysterious.'
The only mystery lies in the number of king cobs that are found!' At the puzzlement on her face he smiled. 'I'd better explain from the beginning. The maize cobs are brought into a huge bam and all the young people sit around tearing off the husks and throwing the cobs into a heap which the girls carry out to the casastra.'
'What's that - a dance?'
'No, it's just a trough - the dancing comes later. Before that there's the search for the king cob, which is a red one, rare and very much sought after because any man who finds it has the right to kiss all the girls.'
'And if a girl finds it?'
'She may choose a man to kiss.'
'Only one?' Lorna protested. 'That's favouritism!'
'Is it indeed?' He pulled her into his arms and spun her round the room until she begged him to release her. With a final twirl he let her go, but not before he had covered her face with kisses.
'And how many men would you want to kiss ?' he asked fiercely.
That's a leading question.' She shook back her hair. 'Anyway, you should know the answer.'
'I do, but I wanted to hear you say it.' He stooped to kiss her. 'I must be off, querida. Take care of yourself, and be ready for me when I come home.'
Lorna spent most of the afternoon deciding on a dress for the esfolhar, and finally picked out a circular red cotton skirt with a white, draw-string blouse. She was taking it downstairs for one of the maids to iron when she was called to the phone. It was Rafael, his voice thin and metallic over the wire.
'Is anything the matter?' she asked breathlessly.
'Nothing to worry about, cara. Only that I'm tied up with some business people and won't get back till late tonight. Perhaps you can get Manoel to take you.'
'I don't want to go without you.'
'Poor darling,' his voice deepened. 'Never mind, there'll be other esfolhars.'
Lorna replaced the receiver with a childish desire to cry and wandered into the drawing-room where Amalia was resting.
'You'll strangle yourself with these balls of wool one. day!' She bent to pick up a coloured tangle from the carpet. 'Rafael's just phoned to say he won't get back in time for the esfolhar.'
'What a pity!' Amalia accepted the wool. 'Still, there'll be lots more next year and the year after.'
'It won't be the same then.'
'Not if you're my size!' Amalia stretched lazily. 'Gosh, Lorna, I do feel tired. I've had a pain in my back all day.'
'Would you like me to call the doctor?'
'I don't think so. It'll pass off. It generally does. Thank goodness I won't have to dress for dinner. Inez and the, Senhora are out, so there'll only be the two of us.'
Lorna straightened a couple of ornaments on the mantelpiece. 'A pity Senhora Rodriguez hasn't got another son. Then she could have married him off to Inez!'
'She'd never have loved another son like Rafael. It's funny how some mothers idolize one particular child. I wonder if I'll be the same ?'
'I hope not. There's nothing worse than a parent who's afraid to let go. Do you think she encourages Inez to come here?'
'Why?'
'Because I'd have thought she'd avoid it now Rafael's engaged. I know I would.'
'Inez would think it weak if she stayed away. Anyway, it was only her pride that was hurt. I don't think she was in love with Rafael the way you are. It's my opinion that she comes here now just to annoy
you.'
'How petty!'
'Most women are. Especially when they've only got gossip to occupy their minds! That's the trouble over here. Women aren't allowed to do anything useful, and those with a little more intelligence than the rest have to use it up some other way.'
Lorna sat down and began to unravel a pile of wool. 'I suppose it's hard to vegetate when you're a vegetable. I know I can't bear the thought of doing nothing.'
'You'll have to get used to it. By the way, did I tell you we're definitely going back to Brazil at the end of the year?'
Lorna's hands dropped to her lap. 'How wonderful! I'm so glad.'
'So am I. It's what I've been longing for. I feel in my bones that everything will be all right once Manoel and I are out of Portugal. He's not the sort of man to be left alone for long. He's too weak and susceptible to a pretty face.'
There was a short silence, and Lorna looked at Amalia's cumbersome body in its voluminous housecoat, the dark hair limp and drawn back in a simple roll.
'Don't you mind knowing that Manoel's weak?' she said quietly.
'What good would it do me if I did? If there's one thing I've learnt in the past year it's to accept the inevitable. I married Manoel, faults and all, and it would be stupid of me to try and change him. Not that I intend to sit back and let him flirt whenever he feels like it - only that I'm not going to let it break up our marriage.'
'I can't believe it's you talking. That you can be so calm and - and—'
'Not calm, darling - practical. You might be a few years older than me, but you're years younger as far as men are concerned!'
'You talk as if you'd had a lifetime of experience.'
'Married to Manoel I have!'
'Then why did you marry him if you knew all his faults?'
'Love, I suppose, and the fact that reputation made him all the more attractive. Doesn't it give you a certain sense of satisfaction to know that out of all the women he's known Rafael's chosen you?'
Rachel Lindsay - Alien Corn Page 12
