by Isobel Chace
He found his way easily on to the ring road that went around the centre of Palma, and they were soon on the main highway going out of the city towards the east.
‘Where is your farm?’ Megan asked him.
‘Between Felanitx and Porto Cristo. We’ll turn off this road in a moment and go through Lluchmayor. There’s a map in the compartment in front of you, if you want to see for yourself.’
But Megan was content just to be driven through the countryside, enjoying the beauty of her surroundings as they sped along. The windmills stood in clusters over the plain, most of them stationary despite the light wind. Carlos explained that they were really water-wheels, drawing up the water from the depths of the earth to irrigate the numerous farms and smallholdings. ‘You’ll see them all over the island, but the majority of them are in this area. It looks like an obstacle course for Don Quixote, doesn’t it?’
‘Perhaps he wasn’t the only one to tilt at windmills,’ Megan said lazily.
‘Carlos chuckled. ‘Some people do it all their lives,’ he agreed.
Megan tilted her head. ‘Are you getting at me?’ she enquired.
‘If the cap fits—!’
‘It doesn’t. I’m older than you think,’ she told him. ‘Sometimes it doesn’t do to rate everybody’s age by the number of years they have lived. Experience comes into it too. I haven’t lived the protected existence of a Spanish girl. I’m older than Inez, for example.’
A smile played on his lips. ‘I wonder,’ he said.
‘In what way is she more experienced than me?’ she demanded.
‘In the ways of pleasing a man,’ he suggested.
Megan was silent. She had a vivid mental picture of Inez flirting with Carlos, in his arms and being kissed by him. It was hard to believe, she granted him, that Inez, with that eminently kissable mouth, had never been kissed. And whom else would she kiss, if not Carlos whom she was destined to marry? Even her parents would not object to that.
‘There are other things!’ Megan said at last.
‘Not for the average Spanish girl,’ he observed dryly.
Megan took a deep breath. ‘I’m glad that I have other things on my mind!’ she claimed fervently.
Carlos laughed. ‘But then you are very young!’ he teased her.
It was the kind of circular argument that she hated, but anything was better than dwelling on the picture of Carlos and Inez together. Megan drew herself up coquettishly.
‘That’s all you know!’ she said.
‘I do know!’ he drawled.
Megan blushed. ‘But that wasn’t you I kissed! That was the boy you said was dead and gone!’ she protested.
The sound of his laughter roared round her. ‘Oh, Megan!’ he exclaimed.
‘But it’s true!’
‘Then heaven help you when you get around to kissing a man in earnest!’ he shot at her.
‘Perhaps I never will,’ she said uncomfortably.
He put a hand over hers, squeezing her fingers in his. ‘Grow up quickly, nina.’
She sighed. ‘I have grown up, only you won’t see it. I’m older now than Inez will ever be! Only Spanish women are more obvious—’
‘De Veras? If you talked like this to that Tony of yours I am not surprised he thought you were willing to experiment a little!’
‘He didn’t think me a child!’ Megan defended herself.
‘But he managed to frighten you all the same,’ Carlos reminded her. ‘Why be in such a hurry?’
Megan would have liked to have denied that she was, but she lacked the courage to say anything more. Inez was the girl he wanted for his wife. She would do well to remember that! She could worry all she liked because she knew that Inez was too shallow and circumscribed to hold his interest for long, but it wasn’t any of her business! Inez was the one who was going to be loved and cherished because she would be the mother of his children and would bear the proud name of Vallori. Megan took a deep, strangled breath, for in that moment she knew that she hated Inez! Her mouth went dry at the thought. Inez had everything she wanted for herself, and she simply wasn’t good enough for Carlos. Megan clenched her fists and then made herself relax. She was in love with Carlos—not Carlos, the lost and lonely boy, but Carlos the man who saw her only as a pleasant child who would one day grow up and go back to England, out of his life for ever.
‘I didn’t mean to say anything disparaging about Inez, or—or Spanish women,’ she said finally.
His dark green eyes flicked over her. ‘You could learn a lot from the gentle ways of someone like Inez. A man likes to relax in the company of women, not continually raking over the coals over which one of them is master.’
She turned her face away so that he wouldn’t see how badly he had hurt her. ‘I try to conform,’ she said wearily. ‘Only I don’t know what’s expected of me.’
‘Nobody expects anything except that you should enjoy yourself. Margot tells me you have a driving licence. You can borrow one of the cars and get out and about whenever you want to. The only stipulation I make is that you tell either Margot or myself which direction you are going in. Some of the roads over the mountains are steep and dangerous and if you get stuck, I want to know where to find you.’
‘I’ve never driven on the right,’ she said.
‘I’ll give you a try out before I allow you to go out by yourself,’ he promised her. ‘I want to see for myself if you really can drive.’
She smiled cheekily across at him. ‘I can drive,’ she said.
‘Then you’ve nothing to worry about,’ he answered.
When they left the main road they came immediately into the agricultural area of the island. The narrow road rambled through the almond orchards, looking exceptionally pretty in the sunshine. The delicate shaded blossom covered the trees, drifts of pale pink and white, wherever one looked. Lit up by sunlight, it danced in frothy perfection in the light breeze, more fragile than any other blossom Megan had ever seen, she thought it more beautiful even than the apple and cherry blossom she was accustomed to.
‘Before summer holidays became the usual thing,’ Carlos told her, ‘ most visitors used to come to Mallorca in February to see the almond blossom. The island is at its prettiest at this time of year.’
‘Like George Sand and Chopin?’
Carlos smiled wryly. ‘Not exactly. I don’t think they were in the usual run of tourists, even in those days.’
‘Perhaps not,’ Megan agreed. ‘But I should like to see where Chopin actually stayed and composed some of his music. I think I’ll go to Valldemosa first of all!’
‘You’d better take Inez with you,’ Carlos said lazily. ‘You can explain to her on the way who Chopin was.’
Megan felt affronted on the Spanish girl’s behalf.
‘I expect she already knows,’ she said mildly.
But Carlos only grinned. It was odd, Megan thought, that he should be so certain that Inez wouldn’t know such a thing, and yet he didn’t mind a bit. Couldn’t he see that his wife and he would have few interests in common? She could only think that he didn’t intend to talk much with his wife at all. Probably he would only expect her to look beautiful and to be the mother of his children. When he wanted conversation he would go elsewhere, to the men of his acquaintance and to other women. It was odd to think that he would be satisfied with so little.
Felanitx was practically deserted. The long, shuttered, winding streets were empty except for the occasional horse-drawn cart, or housewife, well wrapped in shawls, doing her shopping. A few old men sat in the sun in the central square, watching a group of children as they played in the entrance to the church, rolling up and down the imposing steps that led up to the door, laughing and joking with the priests as they went in and out, busy about their pastoral duties. There was no immediate sign that this was an important agricultural town, the centre of the wine-growing district, and with an important factory where they made pork preserves. It looked like a town that had been passed by in modern t
imes, a place that had nothing better to do but sleep in the early spring sunshine.
Carlos waited impatiently while a farm-cart clattered down the empty street towards him. The driver raised his cap high above his head as he passed, the shod hooves of the horse slipping on the rough cobbles. Carlos acknowledged the salute with a brief nod, and the car shot forward, past the long line of closely shuttered windows and firmly closed doors.
The farm was not far from Felanitx. The entrance led straight off the road, little more than a cart-track between the blossom-laden almond trees and the neat stone walls that marked out one orchard from another. The house was large and old. The ancient pantiles were badly in need of repair and someone had patched them with large, heavy stones that were also supposed to protect the roof from the wind. A few scratched a living in the yard in front of the house. At night, they shared the sheds that took up the whole of the ground floor of the house with the horse, a couple of cows, a few donkeys, and the farmcarts. The living quarters were reached up by a single flight of marble steps that rose majestically to the first floor.
A young girl came running out of the house, a broad smile on her face. With a naturalness that Megan could only envy, she kissed Carlos lightly on the cheek, laughing at his greeting. Then, still talking nineteen to the dozen, she came round the car and kissed Megan too, easing her gently out of the car with a smiling concern for her comfort.
‘This is Rosita, the daughter of my farm manager,’ Carlos introduced the girl.
‘Buenas dias,’ the girl said shyly. She stood with her back to the car, her arms akimbo, surveying Megan with an unconcealed interest. Occasionally, she threw a question to Carlos, laughing at his answers.
‘She wants to know if you would like some tea—among other things?’ Carlos translated.
Megan smiled. ‘What other things?’ she demanded.
His dark green eyes mocked her. ‘That would be telling,’ he teased her. ‘Do you want some tea?’
She nodded eagerly. ‘I’d love some.’
They mounted the marble steps to the darkened room above. Rosita made a great clattering noise as she opened the shutters, allowing a faint ray of sunshine to intrude into the gloomy atmosphere.
‘Sientese por favor,’ she smiled at Megan, pointing out a tattered red velvet chair that stood in lonely state in front of the fireplace.
Megan sat down quickly, mildly relieved when Carlos drew up another chair, sitting down beside her. Rosita stood casually beside him, making sure that he was comfortable and throwing out little titbits of local gossip for his amusement. When she finally went away to make the tea, Carlos lit himself a cigarette and smiled across at Megan.
‘I don’t think anyone ever comes in here in the normal way,’ he said. ‘The family are very hardworking and have little time for sitting. It’s in your honour that we’ve been put in here.’
‘Did you tell her that I’m only your stepmother’s companion?’ Megan asked him.
‘No,’ he said abruptly.
The tea was tasteless and almost cold. Rosita prodded a single tea-bag in an enormous and very pretty teapot with a teaspoon as though she hoped this would somehow make it stronger. The little honey cakes that she said her mother had made that morning were delicious and Rosita was plainly delighted when Carlos helped himself to a second one, hopefully pushing the plate closer to Megan.
As soon as he had finished, Carlos rose to his feet, saying something in Spanish to Rosita.
‘I must go and have a word with Rosita’s father,’ he added to Megan. ‘Can you amuse yourself for a few moments?’
‘Of course,’ Megan said.
She went with him down the stairs and out into the yard. Carlos strode off down one of the rutted pathways, leaving her to her own devices. It was hard to know what to do, for she had no idea how long he would be, but the sight of the pink and white trees in the orchards tempted her to take a closer look at them. She walked a short way along the cart-track down which they had come from the road, pausing every now and then to look at the wild flowers and the prickly pear, with its curious scarlet fruits hanging on to the spiked, fleshy leaves.
She came to the road sooner than she had expected and sat on one of the stone walls, swinging her legs in front of her. The electricity wires passed over her head, humming faintly in the light breeze. There wasn’t a single car in sight, although she judged that she could see several miles along the road in either direction. But, after a few moments, the stones began to stick into her and she jumped off the wall, leaning instead against one of the posts that held up the wires.
The silence was broken by a group of young people coming home from market, their chatter filling the still air. Megan took a step forward as their horse plodded past her, wanting to see what they had bought, but the cart was empty except for the family of children.
As they passed, one of them pointed to the post she had been leaning against and shouted to the others. There was a chorus of appreciation from inside the cart, as it turned off the road again, disappearing down another of the tracks that led off the road. Megan turned to see what they had been looking at and saw a red and yellow bill stuck to the post. But it was not this that surprised her. It was what the bill advertised, for there, written in both Spanish and English, were the words:
TONY STARLIGHT—IN MAJORCA FOR A SEASON OF SONG—COME AND LISTEN TO THE BAND!
It was impossible to believe! Tony, her Tony, was here in Majorca!
CHAPTER VII
Megan’s heart thumped within her. She had always thought Starlight to be a ridiculous name for a man like Tony to have assumed, but he had insisted that with a commonplace first name like Tony his last name had to be something memorable and romantic, something that would appeal to the young girls as he imagined the highwaymen had in the days when the gentlemen of the road had been well known the length and breadth of England.
Tony Starlight! It was a chance, a second chance, she had never expected to have. It had all seemed so simple to give up her singing and to come to Majorca, but now she knew she couldn’t stay with the Valloris for ever, and what was she going to do then? Somehow, she thought, she would find a way to see Tony again and ask his advice. True, he wouldn’t be particularly pleased to see her after their last meeting, but he was a professional before he was anything else and she thought he would be glad to employ her again on purely professional terms.
So intent was she on her thoughts that she failed to notice that Carlos had finished talking with his manager and had come back to the car. He was almost on top of her before she realised that he had come to fetch her, and she was so nervous that he might see the advertisement for Tony’s band that she jumped and almost ran down the cart-track towards him.
‘Well, well, hija, have you missed me so much?’
She came to a stumbling stop, blushing. ‘Don’t be silly!’ she said sharply. ‘It’s only been a few minutes!’
He looked at her curiously. ‘What are you trying to hide?’ he demanded.
‘I?’ She was the picture of innocence. ‘N-nothing!’
‘I am disappointed!’
Megan could feel herself blushing again and she hurried into the car before he noticed that he had embarrassed her and would wonder why. She was very conscious of him though as he got in beside her. His gaze swept over her, his eyes amused and mocking.
‘Have you decided you are too young for the arts of dalliance?’
The blush burned in her cheeks. ‘No,’ she breathed.
‘Something is the matter,’ he went on. ‘You’re like a cat on hot bricks!’
She twisted her fingers together. ‘You should have brought Inez with you,’ she said.
His amusement grew visibly. ‘What makes you say that?’
‘She isn’t too young for you!’
‘And you are? Is that what you are trying to say?’
She shook her head, wishing she had kept a still tongue in her head. ‘It isn’t important,’ she said. ‘I only mea
nt that Inez would have expected you to take her. You shouldn’t hurt people out of carelessness.’
His green eyes grew darker. ‘What makes you think Inez is hurt?’
‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘But Inez l-likes you, and she’s everything you want in a woman—’
‘Indeed?’ he said coldly.
Megan bit her lip. ‘You said yourself that she knows how to please a man,’ she muttered defensively.
‘Perhaps you’ve never tried,’ he taunted her.
‘I’ve never wanted to!’
He put out a hand and touched her hair. ‘Not even with that Tony of yours?’
She started guiltily. ‘T-Tony was my employer,’ she said with dignity.
‘That didn’t stop him kissing you, I seem to remember,’ he reminded her. She wished that he wouldn’t touch her and retreated as far away from him as she could, terrified that he would guess that Tony was in Majorca and, even worse, that he would know that she had fallen in love with him, unasked and without any reason. If he knew how much she wanted to fling herself into his arms, what would he think of her then?
‘Tony was angry,’ she said helplessly. The pressure in the back of her throat told her that she was near to tears. ‘He never tried to kiss me before.’
His fingers touched her neck and the line of her jaw. ‘Do you miss him?’ he asked very gently.
She shook her head. Unbidden tears filled her eyes and she blinked them back quickly. ‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I have to do something. I’ll always have to earn my own living, and I sing better than I do anything else.’
‘You’ll marry and then it will be your husband’s privilege to look after you—’
‘He may not have any money!’ Megan protested. ‘I—I might prefer to support myself!’
‘Then you had better not marry a Spaniard!’ he smiled at her.
‘I don’t intend to!’ she retorted promptly.
His green eyes lit up dangerously. ‘I shouldn’t be too sure of that,’ he warned her. His fingers moved down the line of her jaw and traced the shape of her lips. ‘I don’t think the cold Englishman one hears so much about would be any match for you. He wouldn’t kiss you like this—and like this!’
