Spanish Lace

by Joyce Dingwell

  ‘There are others. Even were this not so it would be privilege, not deprivation.’ With that he closed the subject.

  When they came to the casa he got out, came round and opened the door, bowed formally as she alighted. There would never by anything less than the correct and the traditional for him, she thought.

  ‘Hasta la vista,’ he called.

  ‘That is—’ She knew hasta manana was until tomorrow, but what was—

  ‘Until the next time. I have much work to do, it is probable I will not be around for several days.’

  ‘Oh.’ She felt a distinct sinking inside her; Vittoria’s pink house seemed to lose its cheerful look.

  ‘Yes, senorita?’ he evidently inquired of her disappointed air. She must watch herself.

  ‘Just gracias, senor. For all your kindness.’

  ‘No matter.’ He answered in English but with it a very Spanish shrug. ‘Buenas dias.’ He bowed again.

  ‘Buenas dias.’ She went up the drive of the pink house.

  Diana must have seen her coming, for she fairly flew out and drew Zoe into her room, a very charming room, but definitely not in the earthy colours with the flamenco touch that the senor favoured, instead all pink and white and rather pampered.

  ‘It’s wonderful! He’s wonderful. Oh, Zoe, to think that Miguel and I were biting our nails to the quick!’

  ‘That was Celestina’s doing.’

  Di had no answer for that, but she did admit that Celestina might feel a little uneasy over it, for she had gone.

  ‘Gone? Gone where?’ asked Zoe.

  ‘Oh, not left or anything, just scrammed for a while until Ramon simmers down. Or so she’ll be thinking. Actually, Zoe, it was nothing like that at all.’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like a patriarch demanding how, when, where and why. Ramon simply called up here ... immediately after I’d rung you, it happened ... and had a talk with me. He was a dear.’

  ‘Tell me, Di.’

  ‘He said, “I have only one question to ask you, but you must answer me in all truth, for, believe me, senorita, if you do not use truth I will know,” and then he asked it. It was a very simple thing to reply to. It was: “Do you love Miguel?” ’

  ‘Then?’

  ‘I replied, and he nodded, then put out his hand. Only he didn’t shake mine, he kissed it. Then he spoke about Miguel’s position, how the vineyard casa was to be ours. Ours, Zoe. I can’t imagine it! It’s a pet of a place. I loved it from the start. And it’s so large that I thought he would keep it for himself, perhaps grant us a corner of the property for a cottage of our own. But no, it’s ours. Oh, I’m so happy!’

  ‘That means,’ said Zoe slowly, ‘that Senor Raphaelina will not be making his own home in Lamona.’

  ‘He didn’t say, though I know he considers this village as his real background. But I suppose a busy man as he is would need to be on the go all the time, and for the infrequent periods when he does return he could stay either with us or Rosina.’ Diana hugged herself at the ‘us’ before she went on.

  ‘Then he spoke about the wedding. I never mentioned of course that we ever considered a civil service, and you mustn’t either, Zoe.’

  ‘I’m afraid in a way I have, Di. I said a wool frock wouldn’t be right.’

  ‘Well, he wouldn’t mind,’ beamed Di, ‘and he’d know, too, that buying could be no trouble, for I would have the car. That’s another thing—the car. Just to see to things in the next few weeks. You’ll have to come with me, Zoe, help me choose the dress.’

  ‘Miguel—’ began Zoe.

  ‘Ramon said Miguel would be needed in the vineyard. He’s very firm, that Ramon, for all his gentleness. But he said that you would stay on to help me, and when I rather doubted that, he said that indeed you would, as you were under a kind of contract to him. Are you, Zoe?’

  ‘I am in his debt,’ Zoe admitted drily.

  ‘Then good. I mean good for me. And for you really, too, darling. You’ll enjoy helping me choose my gown.’

  ‘You and Miguel chose it on the night we went to Esterella,’ Zoe accused with a laugh.

  ‘Yes, but it will be fun looking at others before we come back to our choice. The wedding’—Di’s eyes dreamed—‘won’t be delayed. There are a few things to be done to the villa, a few arrangements for the wedding feast, and then—’ She hugged herself again.

  They sat on in Di’s pretty room, discussing details of attendants.

  ‘I thought Vittoria, if she’ll accept. You’re being taken for granted, of course.’

  ‘If I’m here,’ Zoe pointed out.

  ‘You must be. You’re obliged to be, anyway. You’ve incurred that debt.’

  ‘I may repay it.’

  ‘I don’t know how. I’ll need every penny of my own for things; then David has gone, too.’

  ‘David gone!’ gasped Zoe.

  ‘Didn’t you know? And yet you two were housed together.’

  ‘I never thought of David this morning. I had other things on my mind, and Rosina never said a word.’

  ‘Neither did David.’

  ‘Who told you all this?’ Zoe demanded.

  ‘Miguel ... Ramon ... does it matter? Anyway, he’s gone. Probably he was astounded yesterday on the beach at the senor’s outburst. And yet’—thoughtfully—‘afterwards Ramon was quite nice to David.’

  ‘And to Celestina, you said.’

  ‘Yes. But then David might have still been trembling from the thunder at Margaretha and not keen to run into such a mood again. Anyway, he’s probably anxious to see more of Spain—after all, he’s not like us, part now of the scenery.’

  ‘You, Di,’ corrected Zoe quietly.

  ‘Odd,’ said Di, ‘but I can’t think of you gone. Everything in Lamona for me has you in it, too. Now about my wedding again.’—Diana crinkled her eyes in pleasure. ‘I thought, too, of Fleurette for a flower girl, except that she’s a cactus flower, and I don’t want one of those in my bouquet.’

  ‘Most little girls love weddings, adore to be included. I’m sure Fleurette—’

  ‘Then stop being sure. She’s been a handful these few days. Vittoria and I simply can’t understand—’

  ‘Then I must take her away. I mean—well, she’s my responsibility, it was the senor and the senor alone who insisted on including the children, but after all, Vittoria shouldn’t suffer the imposition.’

  ‘But it’s not just Fleurette, it’s Juan, too. They’re both a pair of naughty pequenos.’

  Zoe suddenly remembered another little name beside pequena—

  ‘Di, what does querida mean?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, Zoe!’ Diana smiled and shut her eyes. ‘It’s Miguel,’ she said.

  ‘Miguel?’

  ‘And I suppose querida is Diana to him. It better be, anyway.’

  ‘You’re foolish!’ smiled Zoe.

  ‘No, love is.—Now, pink, you think? Or blue?’

  ‘Ask Fleurette. Or I will.’

  ‘Fleurette doesn’t deserve to be asked anything, but if you could—By the way, Zoe, that, as well as my wedding babble, is the reason you’re here. Vittoria wants a child-word with you.’

  ‘But I don’t know anything.’

  ‘Neither does she.’

  ‘A mother of three!’

  ‘The other two were little white clouds in a blue sky, this one has rain.’

  ‘It happens.’

  ‘Well, go and tell that to Vittoria, darling. I’ve an idea for a dress, and I’ll make a sketch. See you at lunch.’ Vittoria was on the terrace watching the children playing in the wading pool. At least it was supposed to be like that, but only one played. Once more Henri was trying to change things about, though his description of his activities no doubt would be a storage dam, a reservoir, but to the novice looking on it seemed like putting water where sand should be, and vice versa. But the other two were not playing. Juan was flicking spadefuls of sand slyly at Fleurette whenever his mother was not looking, a
nd Fleurette was flicking it back whether Vittoria looked or not ...

  ‘It is terrible,’ Vittoria moaned as Zoe slid beside her into a big banana chair. ‘They will not agree.’

  ‘With each other?’

  ‘With anyone.’

  ‘It’s too bad for you, Vittoria. I must have Don Ramon take our pair away,’ sympathized Zoe.

  ‘No, I do not want that. Juan had always been a little difficult, and I feel it has been because there has been no one to whom to give in to, the other children being so often absent at school.’

  ‘But a little difficulty isn’t the position now, is it?’ asked Zoe. ‘I think there is much more difficulty, so it must be because of our children.’

  ‘And yet,’ Vittoria reminded her, ‘at first all was well. Particularly with Henri, who is a very easy child. But with Fleurette, too, there was nothing like there is at present. Diana tells me your father was keenly interested in children.’

  ‘He would have liked to have specialized in them, but in the country town where we lived he was too valuable as a G.P. That,’ as Vittoria looked inquiringly at her, ‘is a general practitioner, the same, I should expect, as the medico you would consult in your nearest town.’

  ‘Si. There is only one doctor there for small and large, and we are thankful for even that, for at Lamona there is no doctor at all. But I read a lot of these articles of child studies in other countries. The other two children did not need study. Either that or I was not studious enough to see it.’ A smile. ‘But Juan...’

  ‘All children are different. Even your placid ones were different from each other. It’s just that Juan is much different from both, and you don’t understand it.’

  ‘Perhaps,’ Vittoria sighed.

  ‘My father used to say that small children don’t think, they only feel,’ remarked Zoe factually, ‘and that could be the case of the feud now, both are feeling those flicks of sand and retaliating. In a way, each deserves what they’re getting, and so long as no real damage looks like being done, we should let them punish each other. Only in actual destructiveness, or cruelty, or extreme aggressiveness, need we begin to really take stock. That is’ ... humbly ... ‘how I think.’

  ‘Then I will agree. I must not be a too watching and too possessive mother. Yes, as you see I have been reading family guides.’

  ‘You could not call yourself that, not possessive, not when you have asked Henri and Fleurette here. I think our best plans would be to take less notice of the pequenos’ ... Zoe smiled at herself saying that.

  ‘But,’ she shrugged, ‘already I confound my own advice. Diana has asked me to find from Fleurette what colour she would prefer as a flower girl.’

  Fleurette paused in her sand-flicking and called rudely, proving that all her attention was not on the baiting of Juan: ‘Noir.’ She added as darkly as the answer, ‘That is black.’

  Calmly Zoe agreed, ‘I’ll tell Diana, then, a black frock.’ Juan, who understood English, jeered, ‘You will be a duenna. And a very ugly old one!’

  ‘You are the ugly old one!’ Fleurette flared back.

  ‘You’re a witch on a broomstick!’

  ‘You’re a fat flying fish!

  ‘You’re a—’

  A musical gong sounded, and Vittorio said thankfully, ‘Luncheon.’

  After the display they had just been treated to, Zoe could have wished that Vittoria believed in nursery meals. But no, the food was set out on the patio, six places ... Vittorio’s husband was away on business ... the only indication that there were three children with the three adults being three cushions on three of the chairs.

  Zoe whisked the children into the bathroom to wash their hands, and what was usually a pleasant task of soaping between little fingers, drying inside creases and dimples, became an ordeal of trying to escape flicked towels and intentional splashes. Really, Vittoria was right, the children were being more than the usual garden variety of juvenile horrors.

  The maids sat them down on the cushions, and the meal began, but not even pleasantly in the early stages where one naturally anticipated that hunger would take over and subdue them for at least a few minutes.

  As a matter of fact it was only Henri who took any interest at all in his food.—Food for thought? wondered Zoe, for although Henri heaped the creamed potato into a dam bank to keep back the tomato puree, he still ate. Whereas the others ...

  Flick! A pea went into Juan’s eye. Zoe waited for revenge, but instead Juan cried. Cried beyond all proportion for a pea, declared between exhausted sobs that it had hurt like a brick, had stung like a wasp. At least Vittoria interpreted this, for Juan was suffering in his native! Spanish.

  During the wails, Fleurette sat implacable, but when Diana told her very sharply to eat up her meal, she cried, too, cried in an English, French—and the Spanish she had picked up—gibberish.

  In the end Zoe got them both away from the table into their cots, where, rebellious at first, they both drifted off.

  She came back to the meal where Henri was now dividing his ice-cream and chocolate topping, the ice-cream for the dam wall, the chocolate for the reserve water.

  ‘The level is low,’ observed Henri.

  Thank heaven at least for Henri!

  ‘You see,’ frowned Vittoria.

  ‘Is Juan ... has he a—’

  ‘Has he a bad temper? He has never had a sunny one as the others.’

  ‘Miss Cloud and Miss Sunshine,’ Zoe explained.

  Vittoria’s ‘Pardon?’ and Henri’s ‘You said about those people before’ came together.

  Zoe suggested to Henri that if he had finished he could excuse himself and go back to play. At a hurt look, she hastily amended, ‘To the dam.’

  ‘It is a storage. The French are good in these things. We did the Australian River of Snow.’

  ‘Yes,’ nodded Zoe, ‘the Snowy River, and the French were very good. I’m sure you will do such things yourself one day.’

  ‘There will be no countries left to do,’ mourned Henri. ‘The rivers of the moon,’ suggested Zoe, and he went off happily.

  ‘How good you are with children,’ sighed Vittoria, ‘and how bad I am.’

  ‘Nonsense, Vittoria, they are two problems we have asleep in there.’

  ‘You think so? So do I. I even hoped they were sickening for something. That at least I could understand.’ Vittoria sighed.

  Zoe was silent a moment. She had no thermometer to take the children’s temperatures, but they had not been flushed, their brows had seemed cool and normal, indeed, in every way they had seemed exactly as they should be.

  ‘You think,’ Vittoria was asking anxiously, ‘I should send for a clinical thermometer and—’

  ‘No, I don’t think.’—That was one subject ... a favourite of her father’s ... that she could speak about with assurance. She quoted her father.

  ‘A “fussy” type of mother who is constantly taking her children’s temperature not only causes anxiety to herself but also gives the habit of anxiety to the child.’

  Vittoria looked relieved.

  ‘All this to-do,’ yawned Diana unfeelingly, ‘when probably all they need is a spank apiece. Now let’s talk about something really interesting. Vittoria, I want you for my matron of honour, and colouring like yours calls for—’

  ‘Noir. That is black,’ laughed Zoe ... and while Vittoria and Diana exchanged views on colours, she considered Fleurette again. Then Juan. Sheer naughty temper on both sides? Or—

  Before she left for the hostel again, insisting to Diana that she preferred to walk, that the orange air as she descended the hill was too sweet to miss, Zoe looked in again at the pequenos.

  Quickly she tallied up the common childhood fevers that in their beginnings set young ones barking at each other like snappy pups. But in all ... the ones, anyway, she knew of ... there was some sign of what was approaching. But these two looked as sound as apples.

  ‘Naughty little bears,’ she said aloud, then calling her good-by
es, promising Diana she would be ready tomorrow morning for Esterella and a full day’s shopping, she went back to Rosina’s.

  It was still bright and early, and she strolled across to the vineyard, walking between the exhausted vines, slipping through the trees in the small household orchard, the apple, pear and greengages kept for personal use.

  Tending the broken branch of a damson was Miguel, and he smiled happily at seeing her.

  ‘All is well, Zoe. Diana no doubt has told you.’

  ‘All is very well, Miguel, and I’m excited for you both.’

  ‘There will be much to do, for we do not intend a long betrothal. I am getting the orchard in shape now to leave me free next week to help Diana in the house.’

  ‘Di said the casa is to be yours.’

  ‘My wife’s and mine.’ Miguel stood straight and proud. ‘It is very good of Ramon, for it is, of course, entirely his.’

  ‘It is a charming place. A lovely family place.

  ‘And that is what we both want. Not one child as Ramon’s parents and my parents had, but many, many pequenos.’

  Zoe was a little surprised at Di. No doubt she would make an excellent mother, but she was not, at this stage, anyway, family-ambitious.

  ‘But no,’ laughed Miguel when she said this, ‘I meant Ramon when I said “we.” He has expressed, the same as I have, a desire for a family worthy of that name.’

  ‘Well, he can’t have anyone in view,’ said Zoe a trifle shortly, ‘or he would need the casa for himself.’

  Miguel had returned to his task of binding up the injured branch of the damson.

  ‘There is always the castel,’ he said, adroitly supporting the bough with stake and sling.

  ‘Yes, work would be Ramon’s marriage,’ interpreted Zoe. ‘Castles restored would be his children.’

  The bough was finished to Miguel’s satisfaction. He took a step back to estimate it.

  ‘Come with me to the casa, Zoe,’ he invited. ‘Diana has asked me to measure windows for drapes, and I do not know whether drapes hang from beyond each side of the glass or from within its bounds.’