Jacqueline watched Neville’s car, which had taken him away during the afternoon, return just before the sun slipped really low in the sky, and the emerald lawns began to take on a curious, slanting light. She had the feeling that now was the time when she must keep out of the way, and she remained in a remote corner of the garden until the shadows had fallen and all the brilliance was blotted out, and the faint chill which always accompanied the coming of night on Sansegovia caused her to shiver a little.
When she entered the house, stealing in like a shadow herself, she did not need the sight of Juanita’s face, when she met her in the hall, to tell her what had happened. Juanita looked at her and then covered her face with her capacious apron and sat down on the lowest tread of the stairs and wept for a departed mistress.
Jacqueline knew that a very good friend was now lost to her, and she stole away to her room and locked herself in. She knew she was not likely to be disturbed just then, but she could not bear to take the chance.
She saw nothing of Dominic for the next two days. Once his car disappeared down the drive, but he was not at the wheel himself, and he was not visible on the back seat. She had the strong feeling that in any case he was not desirous of being looked at.
Juanita reported to Jacqueline all that went on in the house. Juanita having recovered from the early stages of her grief, and having a love for morbid details, almost enjoyed herself during those days. She told Jacqueline that Tia Lola was prostrate with grief, and that the doctor had had to give her a sedative, but that she was expected to keep to her room for several days. She also told her that the senora had looked almost like a young girl when she was permitted to look in on her, and that her passing had been very peaceful. Only her grandson was with her at the time, for it was almost unexpected, and the doctor had only just left, half believing that she might live through yet another night. But scarcely had the doctor left than the senora had opened her eyes and recognized Dominic, smiled at him and
whispered something.
And then it was all over.
“Was—Mr. Errol very much upset?” Jacqueline found that she had to ask, and Juanita clapped her hands to her face and rocked herself as if in great grief.
He was inconsolable, she said. He did not wish to see anyone. For hours he had remained in his own room without seeing anyone, or partaking of any food, and even yet he was not behaving normally, and he declined altogether to have anything to do with the flood of telephone calls and the messages of condolence that had overwhelmed them. All callers were being turned away for the time being and he would see no one.
Jacqueline didn’t find this absolutely strange, but she did begin to feel very strongly that she herself was an intruder in the house, and the sooner she unobtrusively took her leave the better. She had been in once to see Tia Lola, and the latter had seemed a little concerned because she was undoubtedly being neglected; but Jacqueline had assured her that she was perfectly all right, and had begged her not to worry about her.
But the more she thought about it the more she became certain that she was a completely unnecessary and unwanted outsider in the house at that time, and that it was up to her to go quietly away. She thought that perhaps Neville could help to arrange her steamer passage for her, and on the evening after Senora Cortina was quietly buried in the local churchyard—if the old lady had died in her native Spain she would no doubt have been interred in the family vault; but Jacqueline felt strongly that she would prefer the island—she started to pack her things, a little to the concern of Juanita when she brought in her supper on a tray, for no meals had been served in the main dining salon for days.
“But the senorita is not leaving?” Juanita exclaimed, and threw up her hands as if shocked. “It is not possible that she is thinking of going away?”
Jacqueline explained that this was no time to intrude on grief, and that she had been a visitor in the house for nearly four weeks, and that the one thing she must not do was outstay her welcome. But Juanita did not seem to understand. She insisted that Tia Lola would be upset—that everyone would be upset. Apparently the staff liked having her as a guest in the house, unlike Miss Howard, who had been so difficult to please. Juanita went through some of her dramatic gestures as she attempted to impress Jacqueline with just how difficult
Miss Howard had been, and what a blessing for everyone it had been that she was not in the house at the time of the senora’s death.
“That one with her headaches and her moods!” she exclaimed. “It would have been impossible! It would have been a disaster! But, thankfully, she was not here!... Thankfully she is gone!... But the Senorita Vaizey must not think of going!
Jacqueline felt grateful for the warmth of these little speeches, but they made her feel wistful at the same time— made her realize how much she was going to miss them when she had left. And because the feeling of wistfulness dragged upon her like something cloying she could not shake off, and when she had finished her packing—or the greater part of it— and her supper as well, and felt that to go to bed would certainly not mean that she would manage to get to sleep, she decided to go down into the garden for a quiet walk along the paths for half-an-hour at least.
She had got used to creeping quietly down the main staircase, anxious not to disturb anyone who was quietly shut away behind their own door—or shut away in the library, which was in a wing of the house which she did not penetrate—and accustomed to finding no one in the public rooms as she passed through them. So tonight, moving like a ghost in her light dress, she moved rather heedlessly through the great salon, and emerged into the verandah which was always now deserted at this hour. But just as she was about to cross the verandah, making for the flagged paths beyond, out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of something which must have moved slightly and paused and turned her head over her shoulder just as Dominic rose from one of the deep wicker chairs and looked intently towards her.
“I’m sorry!” Jacqueline heard herself saying quickly, breathlessly. “I didn’t know I was likely to disturb you!”
“Otherwise you would have remained upstairs in your room, I expect?” he returned, in rather an emotionless voice, pulling forward a chair for her. “However, now perhaps you will sit down for a while?”
But still Jacqueline hesitated. There were no lights on in the room behind them, and there was no moon to show her his face, but the starshine was concentrating full upon it, and it looked rather masklike and quite unrevealing, and perhaps a little thinner or more finely drawn.
“If you’re—if you’re sure you wouldn’t rather—wouldn’t rather I went back to my room and left you alone?” Her eyes looked large and uncertain in the same starry light, and one hand caught nervously at the thin material of her dress just over her heart. “I do understand, you know, if you—”
“If you understand so well you’ll sit down for a little while and talk to me,” he said, and she thought that his voice sounded very dry this time. “I have been alone here for days—or so it has seemed—and if I hadn’t happened to catch a glimpse of you sometimes when you were walking in the garden I would have thought that you had disappeared altogether.”
“Oh, but—” Suddenly she had the shocked conviction that he was reproving her in a very polite fashion for so rigidly and carefully holding herself aloof, and that he even suspected a certain lack of sympathy in her attitude. She sat down in the chair he placed for her and looked at him in sudden open concern. “Mr. Errol, you mustn’t think—I have been so terribly concerned for you— I didn’t think you would want me to intrude...”
His dark eyebrows ascended slightly. He resumed his own chair and looked at her almost gravely, offering her automatically a cigarette, which she refused with a shake of her head.
“I can’t imagine anyone like you ever intruding in any way,” he said quietly, as he tapped his cigarette on the closed lid of his case.
Jacqueline felt her heart start to beat unevenly.
“But, at such a t
ime as this—and I understood that you—you wished to be alone ... It would have seemed like an intrusion to— to thrust myself upon you—”
“Believe me, I would have welcomed such an intrusion!”
“Oh!” she exclaimed, and then felt as if any words she was capable of dried up in her throat.
“My aunt has been so afraid that you have been neglected.”
“Neglected?” Instantly she found her voice. “But that’s absurd! ... I haven’t been neglected in the very least, but I have felt that I had no right to be here at—at such a time! In fact—”
“Yes?” as she paused.
“Oh, never mind about me!” Suddenly she realized that she had not so far commiserated with him or expressed any sympathy for his loss, but somehow it was not easy to find just the right words to let him know what she felt. But she made the attempt. “I hope you do understand how deeply shocked I have been?—how much I appreciate how you must all be feeling! You in particular, because I know you were very fond of your grandmother, and she—she must have meant a lot in your life. ”
“I shall miss her,” he admitted, very soberly, staring away across the starlit garden. “We shall all miss her.”
“And I, too—I had grown very fond of her. ”
“And she, I think, had a particular affection for you!”
“Do—do you really think she had?” The mist that had risen up behind her eyes betrayed itself by one very large and glittering tear which started to spill off her lashes and roll down her cheek; but her voice sounded almost eager as she turned to him. “I would like to think that she—that she did like me!”
“She did much more than like you.” His eyes deserted the garden and returned to her face, and he studied her openly and gravely for several seconds. “Almost one of the last things she said to me, when she recognized who I was, was something connected with you—something about ‘little Jacqueline’! I am not even now quite certain what she was trying to say, but I have given the matter a great deal of thought, and I think I understand what was in her mind.”
“Oh!” Jacqueline exclaimed, and looked at him questioningly. Dominic ground out his half-smoked cigarette in an ash tray and then almost absent-mindedly lighted another. He studied the tip of it as he remarked: “Perhaps you do know that my grandmother had plans for me?—for my future, I mean?”
“I—I—” Jacqueline stammered. “I do know that she—that she wanted you—she hoped one day that you—”
“Precisely,” he said softly, and went on studying the glowing end of his cigarette. “My grandmother was a wonderful woman, with an extremely active brain, and a vivid imagination in spite of her years, and she liked to look ahead into the future of others— particularly those near and dear to her—and get them safely and satisfactorily worked out. She liked to feel that plans she formed for them would one day reach fruition.”
“I—I—” Jacqueline stammered again. And she concluded, rather flatly: “Yes, I see.”
She did see—she saw it all so very plainly that her heart seemed temporarily stabbed by a land of agony. The ‘little Carlotta’ was coming into the picture again—now really coming into the picture! He was telling her that he knew what was expected of him, and as a devoted grandson he would not disappoint the so long built-up hopes of his grandmother. He would embrace the future she had planned for him, if not gladly, at least with a sense of doing his duty, and being half Spanish—with a mere English gloss—that would satisfy him a good deal because at heart he was extremely filial.
“So long as you do see,” he murmured, in the same soft voice, and still without even glancing at her. “But it is early days,” he went on, “to discuss these things, and for the time being there is little we can say or do about anything connected with the future. The present has to be lived through, and it is bound to be rather grim, because my grandmother’s death will make itself felt more and more as the days pass, until we have had an opportunity to grow used to it. And in the meantime I hope the grimness of these days will not frighten you away, and that you will stay on here and keep my Aunt Lola company. She is the one who is going to miss my grandmother really acutely.”
“Yes, I—I agree about that,” Jacqueline said, but she wondered whether she could endure to stay on under the changed circumstances—and knowing, as she now did know, all that Dominic planned! She might even find herself forced to meet Carlotta before very long!
“Well?” Dominic asked, as she remained silent on a point he was apparently anxious to get settled. “You will stay? You will not think of leaving us, even for a time?”
Jacqueline felt faintly surprised that he should even dream she would come back again once she had left.
“If—if you really wish me to stay,” she murmured.
“I do,” he told her. “At least, you can be sure of that!”
She looked across the space of a couple of feet, or so, which separated them, and now she could see that he was looking directly at her, and there was a warm glow in his eyes which amazed and confused her both at the same time. He leaned a little towards her.
“You know very well that you can be sure of that,” he repeated, with emphasis.
Then he stood up rather abruptly and approached the verandah rail. Jacqueline stood up also, wondering whether perhaps he was intimating that he no longer had any wish to talk, but as he heard her move he turned to her.
“There is one other thing,” he said, “that I think you ought to know. Our family solicitor will be flying here from Madrid in a few days, but there is no reason why I shouldn’t tell you in advance that my grandmother made some particular provision for you in her will. She left you the equivalent of a thousand pounds a
year in English money which was intended as evidence of the liking she had for your father, and the whole thing was drawn up before ever you left England. So,” smiling at her with warmth, and with that strange sweetness which sometimes did cling to his smile making his mouth look almost gentle, and his blue eyes soft and dark like dark blue velvet under his very long eyelashes, “there will be no necessity for you to return to your antique shop! From every point of view your future is now very secure!”
But Jacqueline found she could say nothing. This was something she had never, in her wildest dreams, imagined happening to her, and she simply couldn’t believe it. She couldn’t believe that the Senora Cortina had behaved towards her with such amazing generosity, or that now, as Dominic pointed out to her, she was financially secure.
She gazed up at Dominic as if she felt sure this was some kind of slightly perverted joke he was enjoying at her expense.
But as he continued to smile as if her stupefaction did nothing to amuse him, but merely touched him, she began to be less
sure.
And Dominic was not the type to make jokes at a time like this.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
A month passed in a somewhat unreal fashion for Jacqueline, a month when she slipped into the position of a kind of constant companion to Tia Lola, and Dominic went twice to the mainland, and returned on each occasion alone.
Jacqueline felt certain, on the second occasion, that he
would bring back either Carlotta or Martine Howard, and she felt almost weak with relief when she discovered that neither of them had accompanied him back to Sansegovia.
Otherwise life on the island flowed by uneventfully. The people of the island were looking forward to their big annual fete, or fiesta, which was the high-spot of the year for many of the simpler folk. Held in honor of one of the numerous saints revered by them, and taking the form also of a kind of cattle show and grand annual market, with a bullfight as the highlight of the festivities, there was hardly anyone with whom Jacqueline came in contact who did not speak of it as something she was almost bound to enjoy when the actual date drew near.
Senor Montez, who was responsible for bringing over the bulls for the bull-fight, and for everything connected with the bull-fight, was certain she was going to be more
wildly thrilled than she had ever been in her life. He promised her one of the best seats, and as Tia Lola was hardly likely to attend, and Dominic seemed likely to be away again, said that he would make up a party with which she would be entirely happy, and in fact he was quite sure she was going to enjoy the entire day.
But when Jacqueline mentioned the bull-fight doubtfully to Dominic, he looked at her with a faint smile of amusement in his eyes, and told her that if she didn’t really wish to attend she need not.
“But I shall be here,” he said—causing her a sudden swift uprush of pleasure, because for some reason Senor Montez had seemed certain that he planned another trip to the mainland, and the thought of facing even a bull-fight in his company was something she would cheerfully do rather than be deprived of that company altogether. “And if it’s too much for you, and you have to be carried out, I promise you that I’ll do the carrying out, and see that you’re revived as quickly as possible.”
He was laughing at her, she knew, but she also felt certain that he would keep his promise should the occasion arise— which, from the point of view of her own humiliation, she certainly hoped would not. But she was by no means certain, for she always turned squeamish at the sight of blood, and she had heard some horrifying accounts of bull-fights.
“I suppose,” she suggested, looking at him a little curiously, “that you’ll enjoy it—the Spanish part, that is! Does the English part approve?”
His smile grew more amused.
“According to you my English part is the part I keep well hidden, so it’s hardly worth-mentioning, is it? And, yes, I’ll enjoy it. Don’t you know that bull-fights are a part of the fabric of Spanish life, like cricket matches in England? You’ll never meet a Spaniard whose eyes won’t sparkle at the very smell of a bull ring—and most Spanish women get thoroughly worked up about them. It’s not just the actual despatching of the bull, you know—it’s all the ceremony that accompanies the whole thing, and the spectacle. And Spanish women love spectacle.” “I’m afraid I’m not looking forward to it,” Jacqueline confessed.
Love is for Ever Page 11
