by Isobel Chace
Megan did so and, a few minutes later, they came to a large, imposing house overlooking the sea. Two pillars marked the entrance, both of them bearing the Llobera crest, that Megan recognised from the one in Carlos’ room in Palma. Without having to be told, she turned into the drive and parked the car beside a huge scarlet poinsettia that offered a certain amount of shade.
Margot looked about her with distaste. ‘Ostentatious, isn’t it?’ she said with displeasure.
Megan, who was busy admiring the sheer beauty of her surroundings, couldn’t agree with her. If anything, the house was shabby and badly in need of a coat of paint. But nothing could hide the pleasing lines of the building, built to take the best advantage of the view of the sea and the harsh, stony mountains. And the garden was a delight, full of flowering shrubs, orange trees, and the ubiquitous almond trees trailing their clouds of glory against the bright blue of the winter sky.
A dog came running out of the house, longing to bark at them but obviously unsure as to whether it was expected of him. There followed, more slowly, an old lady, dressed totally in black and walking with the aid of a stout stick. Her skin had been burned brown and was as wrinkled as a nut; her eyes, jet-black and autocratic. There was something familiar in the way she held her head and in the aristocratic air that dominated her frail body. This, without a doubt, was Carlos’ grandmother.
Margot advanced hurriedly towards the old lady.
‘Senora,’ she exclaimed, ‘you are here! How fortunate, as we have come to invite you to a little party I am giving.’
The old lady almost smiled, but refrained from actually doing so. ‘How kind,’ she murmured. ‘Is Carlos with you?’
‘No, no, unfortunately he is in Barcelona.’
‘Of course,’ the old lady said. She turned away from Margot, devoting her whole attention to Megan who was standing hesitantly beside the car, waiting to be introduced. ‘Is this the English girl I have been hearing about?’
Megan coloured defensively. ‘It depends what you’ve heard,’ she said. ‘I am English, or rather I am Welsh.’
The old lady laughed, her shoulders shaking. ‘I had not heard that,’ she admitted. ‘Strange, because I told Carlos to tell me all about you!’
‘Have you seen Carlos recently?’ Margot demanded.
‘He came over to see me the other day,’ the old lady replied dryly. ‘Didn’t he tell you?’
‘No,’ Margot said reluctantly. ‘I didn’t know you were in residence until Senora de la Navidades told me. I brought Megan over to meet you. We’ve been visiting the Cartejo at Valldemosa.’
The old lady’s attention was instantly diverted. ‘Megan,’ she repeated. ‘Is that some kind of pet name?’
Megan chuckled. ‘No, it’s a real name,’ she said.
‘You must come inside,’ the old lady invited. ‘We can talk in comfort in my sitting-room. My daughter will entertain you, Margot, in the garden, as I am sure you will prefer.’ She tucked her free hand into Megan’s and started back into the house. ‘You are very young, cara mia. Very, very young. I hope my grandson is behaving himself and not expecting too much too quickly?’
Megan felt herself colouring again. ‘I am here as Senora Vallori’s companion,’ she said.
The old lady looked amused. Really, she was very like her grandson! ‘And how do you like your employer?’ she asked.
Megan was caught completely off balance. ‘I—I like her. Naturally,’ she claimed.
‘I have never liked her,’ the old lady returned, completely unperturbed. ‘She was a poor comedown for Stefano after my daughter.’ Her jet-black eyes surveyed Megan placidly. ‘You don’t believe me?’ she accused, the corners of her mouth twitching with amusement. ‘You think I am prejudiced? So I am! But I am not a fool and I have lived a long time in this world. I know a thing or two!’
Megan grinned, ‘I’m sure you do!’
Senora Llobera rapped her sharply over the knuckles. ‘So you have a tongue in your head!’
Megan rubbed her knuckles ruefully. ‘I’m afraid so. Because of it, I am almost permanently in disgrace! With everybody!’ she added somewhat wildly.
‘Meaning with my grandson?’
Megan blinked, forcing herself to meet the ironic gaze of the old lady. ‘I suppose so,’ she admitted with a sigh.
‘Don’t be in too much of a hurry,’ Senora Llobera advised. She pushed open the door of a small sitting-room and sat heavily in the nearest chair, breathing hard. ‘How tiresome it is to grow old!’ she complained. ‘It is I who should be in a hurry! It is my ambition to see my grandson settled in life before I die. It is not much to ask, but I ask it of the good God every day of my life—and see how he repays me! By making my body a misery to me while I wait!’ She laughed shortly. ‘What do you think of Inez de la Navidades?’
Megan looked down quickly, hiding her eyes from the Senora’s shrewd gaze. ‘I’m not the right person to ask,’ she said carefully. ‘She—she seems to have led a very secluded life.’ She glanced up. ‘From an English point of view,’ she added.
The old lady grunted. ‘You’re right. She has no depths. She would bore Carlos in a few weeks, just as his father bored his mother!’
‘Did he?’ Megan gasped before she could prevent herself.
The old lady’s eyes twinkled. ‘It is not something I tell everyone, but it is no more than the truth. It is something that Carlos will never admit, but then I don’t suppose he was old enough to understand these things. All he knew was that he had a mother who was often restless and always impatient of the life she was forced to lead, and for this he blamed his father. Margot was the right wife for Stefano, but Carlos could only resent her. She seemed small and narrow after his mother.’
‘Did she seem like that to you too?’
‘Perhaps. I was not judging the whole female sex by one woman.’
Megan blinked. ‘Do you mean that Carlos expects women to bore him?’ she asked frankly.
‘I am afraid he might,’ his grandmother answered.
‘Do you bore him?’
Megan chuckled again. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I annoy him too much to bore him! He disapproves of my wanting to earn my living by singing. He thinks I’m a child in need of both protection and discipline.’
Senora Llobera laughed heartily. ‘How old are you?’
‘Eighteen.’
‘A great age!’ the old lady mocked.
‘Old enough!’ Megan claimed, throwing back her head in an impatient gesture.
‘You may very well be right,’ the Senora agreed. ‘Do you sing well?’
Megan considered the point carefully. ‘Not well,’ she said. ‘I put a song across well—’
The old lady looked puzzled. ‘You must excuse me,’ she said, ‘my English is not well enough to understand the difference. You have a good voice, yes?’
‘No. I have an adequate voice.’ Megan’s face lit with laughter. ‘I am better seen than heard,’ she explained with a touch of embarrassment.
‘Ah! Now I understand exactly! I should like to hear you sing some time, nina. I think it would amuse me very much!’
Megan looked down her nose, liking the Spanish woman very much indeed. ‘I’m sure it would, senora,’ she said politely. ‘But I am accustomed to a less critical audience than you would be.’
Senora Llobera tapped her stick against the marble floor. Carlos would have done better to have brought you here to be my companion,’ she said finally. ‘I shall tell him so. And now, Meganita, we had better go and find Margot and hear when she is expecting us to dine with her. Usually, I prefer not to go out at night these days, but I think for once I shall make an exception.’
Megan smiled at her uncertainly. ‘Why do you call me Meganita?’ she asked.
The old lady stood up, wincing at the pain in her limbs. ‘Because I am Spanish and nearly sixty years older than yourself,’ she said. ‘It is a compliment implying affection, as I suspect you already know!’ She looked at Megan sharpl
y. ‘I suppose my grandson has called you that?’
Megan blushed. ‘Once,’ she admitted. ‘Usually he is far too cross!’
‘Poor Carlito!’ the old lady murmured.
‘He is never cross with Inez!’ Megan went on.
The old lady shrugged, losing interest. ‘Naturally not,’ she said. ‘Venga, little one. I shall need your arm if I am to stagger out into the garden again!’
‘I hope you didn’t mind my leaving you to talk to the Senora by yourself,’ Margot said, as they headed for the mountains and home. ‘She obviously wanted you to herself and it doesn’t do to cross her.’
Megan frowned at the road ahead. ‘I like her,’ she said.
‘She has a certain magnificence,’ Margot admitted. ‘She scares me to death! What did she say to you?’
Megan was surprised by the frank curiosity in the other woman’s voice. ‘It must be lonely for her here, with only her daughter for company,’ she side-stepped the question. ‘I expect she used to entertain a lot.’
‘When her husband was alive,’ Margot confirmed. ‘Did she talk to you about the old days?’
‘Not really. She said she would like to hear me sing. I think Carlos must have told her—’
‘She probably heard about the barbecue from the Navidades,’ Margot cut in maliciously. She thought for a minute in silence. ‘Does she really want to hear you sing? Then we must oblige her. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind entertaining us when she comes to dinner, would you, my dear?’
‘I don’t know,’ Megan said doubtfully. ‘I don’t play well enough to accompany myself.’
Margot smiled. ‘That’s easily arranged! I’ll ask Senor de la Navidades to lend us Tony Starlight and his band. You’ll feel quite at home with them!’
‘Oh, but—’ Megan began.
‘Nobody could possibly object to your singing in a private house as a favour to me,’ Margot reassured her. ‘Don’t give it another thought, my dear. I’ll arrange everything! Why shouldn’t we give the old lady some pleasure? As you were saying, she gets little enough these days!’
It sounded very reasonable, put like that, Megan had to admit, but she worried about it all the same, as she threw the little car round the blind bends in the road as they made their way up the face of the mountain. The tyres protested and the engine shuddered, threatening to stall, each time they encountered a patch in the road, steeper than the rest and crumbling at the edges. Sometimes, if a car was coming down the hill at the same time, it was as much as Megan could do to hold the car on the road. In many ways it was a frightening journey, and by the time they reached the top, she felt a nervous wreck.
The fact was that she didn’t want to see Tony again. Megan jumped in her seat and tried to analyse why she should suddenly feel like that about someone as innocuous as Tony. She liked him well enough, but he was sure to behave as though she were his personal property, and for some reason, the thought of his doing so in Carlos’ house distressed her. Then she remembered that by the time his grandmother came to dinner, Carlos would be home again and would make Tony behave himself. She breathed deeply, shedding all feeling of responsibility for the evening. If Carlos was there, everything would be all right.
The road flattened out over the top of the mountain and then, in a series of hectic curves, it fell away below them down to the flat plain that stretched across the island to Palma. There was nothing, no wall or barrier, to keep one on the narrow, crumbling corners, nothing but a sheer drop down to the next phase of the cleverly engineered road beneath.
They had almost reached the bottom, and the backs of Megan’s hands were pricking with reaction after the drive, when Margot found her voice again. ‘What a pity Carlos won’t be here to act as host to his grandmother,’ she said. ‘Perhaps your Tony would care to take his place?’
The car swerved dangerously to the side of the road. Margot laughed lightly. ‘Don’t you think Carlos would like it?’ she went on, as smooth as a cat playing with a frightened mouse. ‘Never mind, dear, he won’t be there to know!’
CHAPTER XI
The old lady looked tired when she stepped out of the hired car that had brought her and her daughter to Palma. Megan was concerned by the frail look about her eyes and the weariness with which she forced her legs to take her up the marble staircase upstairs. Her daughter, however, looked quite unmoved. She was a tall, angular woman, with a rough way of speaking that hid a peculiar tenderness in her relations with other people.
‘I am Tia Anita,’ she said abruptly to Megan. ‘Seeing that no one has taken the trouble to introduce us!’
Megan shook her hand politely. ‘Me llamo Megan Meredith,’ she responded. ‘Mucho gusto, señorita.’
Carlos’ aunt smiled briefly. ‘My mother told me you didn’t speak Spanish. I appreciate your greeting me in my own language. It is a courtesy one does not look for from the young.’
‘Senora Llobera looks tired,’ Megan interposed.
‘She should never have come!’ her daughter retorted. ‘What possible interest can she have in visiting this house when Carlos is not here? It is years since either of us have been welcome visitors in any Vallori house!’
Megan was silent, suspecting that as far as Margot was concerned this was very likely true. ‘I wish Carlos was here tonight,’ she sighed as they gained the top of the stairs.
Senorita Anita paused fleetingly in front of her dead sister’s portrait, her face clouded. ‘Her son should be here!’
Justice forced Megan to admit that Margot made a more than able hostess, even without benefit of having a host to help her. She found Senora Llobera a comfortable chair and insisted that she had a short rest while the others went into the larger, more formal salon and were given a drink before their meal.
‘I should like to have Meganita with me,’ the old lady said, just as the door was being shut on her.
Margot hesitated. ‘I had hoped she would help me in the other room,’ she said, reasonably enough.
The old lady’s lower lip jutted out stubbornly. ‘I wish to talk to the girl!’ she reiterated. ‘She amuses me and I want to hear what she has been doing.’
‘Oh, very well!’ Margot agreed sharply. She called to Megan, giving her a meaning look. ‘Don’t tire her with endless chatter, my dear. We don’t want her having to go home in the middle of the festivities, do we?’
The old lady snorted. ‘Just as if I were two years old!’ She patted the chair beside her, looking round the room with interest. ‘Come and sit here. They’ve changed this room since I was last here.’
Megan coloured prettily. ‘I did most of it,’ she confided. ‘Carlos said I could.’ She pointed to the picture over the fireplace. ‘He allowed me to move that in here too. It makes the room, don’t you think?’ She turned to the old lady, anxious for her approval. ‘We—we thought the house spoke too much of his mother,’ she confessed.
‘Quite right!’ Senora Llobera approved. ‘She is no longer here to enjoy it. I am surprised Carlos agreed to the changes, though.’
‘I don’t think he minded. His own room is very comfortable,’ Megan pointed out. ‘I think he wanted to please Margot, because she doesn’t really want to live here and he doesn’t think she’ll be happy on her own in England.’
The old lady’s eyes glittered in the half-light from the lamps. ‘Margot must have been astonished to have been forced to come back here,’ she said with wry amusement. ‘I wonder how Carlos persuaded her.’
Megan grinned. ‘He didn’t trouble to persuade her. He told her, just as he tells everyone what they are going to do! But he did bring me here, so that Margot would have somebody English to talk to—only, although he meant well, I don’t think it was a very good idea from Margot’s point of view.’
‘No?’ Senora Llobera sat bolt upright in her chair, looking considerably better. ‘Are you not companionable to her?’
‘I try to be, but she is not—not very—’
‘Simpatica?’
Megan f
lushed. ‘It’s my fault,’ she said impulsively. ‘I keep doing the wrong thing as far as she is concerned.’
‘That is to be expected,’ the old lady replied calmly. ‘Come, my dear, I think it is time we joined the others!’
Megan had spent most of the afternoon setting the table and she couldn’t help feeling a little thrill of pleasure as she saw the final results, with the candles lit and the bright colours of the anemones glowing in their warm light. Margot had invited the Navidades to join them after dinner; for the meal itself there was to be only the four of them, so as not to tire Senora Llobera too much.
The old lady was plainly enjoying herself. Her daughter might have had doubts about her eating so many varied rich foods late at night, the Senora herself had none! She sampled each dish with gusto, commenting on it with a frankness that Margot found embarrassing. Megan watched, amused, as Margot became more and more English as the evening progressed, driven out of her Spanish languor by the aristocratic manners of the real thing.
‘What a good idea to eat early!’ the old lady murmured, wondering whether to help herself to another helping of chicken.
‘I thought you would prefer it,’ Margot replied.
‘I do! I have just said so!’ I have seldom eaten my evening meal before nine o’clock and by then I am never hungry. It is so stupid to keep to these absurd hours, don’t you think?’
‘I like to eat late,’ Margot said in frigid tones.
‘I remember my son-in-law saying that you did,’ the old lady soothed her. ‘I hear you are completely Spanish in your ways. When I was younger, I used to be less formal in my ways, but now I eat late and enjoy my siesta. As one grows older, one is forced to grow lazy, and our ways allow for this. The English are seldom lazy, I am told?’
Megan chuckled, earning for herself a glance of open dislike from her employer. ‘We haven’t the climate for it,’ she said.
‘Rubbish!’ Margot exploded. ‘It is entirely a matter of temperament. I have always felt completely at home in Spain proper!’
