by Isobel Chace
‘But not in Mallorca?’ the old lady teased her.
‘I don’t consider it truly Spanish. There are far too many tourists here for that!’
‘I quite agree,’ Senorita Anita put in unexpectedly. ‘One hears English and German more often than Spanish nowadays!’
‘In Soller?’ her mother demanded with irony. Senorita Anita looked discomfited. Megan felt sorry for her and, raising her chin belligerently, said,
‘It’s just as well as far as I’m concerned! My Spanish is frightful, but happily everyone speaks to me in English which I find very satisfactory.’
‘Nevertheless, you will have to learn to speak good Spanish some time,’ the old lady told her.
But Megan was barely listening. ‘Why should I? I shan’t need it when I go back to England, and I won’t be here for long anyway.’
Everybody waited for the old lady to put her firmly in her place, but Senora Llobera only laughed. ‘Perhaps Carlos will have something to say about that!’ she remarked.
‘Carlos has already agreed to my going,’ Megan said with dignity.
Margot nodded, pouring herself some more wine. ‘He found it awkward when the Navidades stopped Inez coming here so often. I don’t want to tell tales out of school, but they came to the conclusion that Megan was not an entirely suitable friend for her. Under the circumstances, Inez’s interests come first with him, which is only proper.’
Megan hung her head miserably. She knew that Margot was right, but the truth left a bitter taste in her mouth. It had not been such a crime, surely, to have gone to the barbecue and to have sung in public. She felt the old lady watching her, but not even pride could make her feel anything but defeated.
‘Senora de la Navidades says she is longing to hear Megan sing,’ Senorita Anita said suddenly. ‘She was telling me so yesterday. Apparently Inez was very impressed by how much everyone enjoyed her singing.’ She turned to Megan. ‘I hear you sing folk songs? Do you ever sing any Spanish songs?’
Megan shook her head. ‘I’ll learn one specially for you,’ she promised.
‘I’d like that,’ Senorita Anita replied, with a fierce look round the table. ‘You must come and visit us before you go and sing it to us.’
Megan hoped that Senora Llobera would confirm her daughter’s invitation, but the old lady was busy talking to Margot about various mutual friends, having apparently lost all interest in Megan’s affairs.
‘I’ll sing you something tonight,’ Megan said rashly. ‘And I’ll sing it in Spanish!’
‘How nice of you, my dear,’ Senorita Anita exclaimed, very pleased.
But, when the Navidades had arrived with a great deal of noise, and Tony, looking sour and angry, had been brought upstairs by one of the maids, Megan wondered how she was going to fulfil her promise.
‘Do you know any Spanish songs?’ she asked Tony.
He looked at her from under glowering eyebrows. ‘Should I?’
‘Oh, Tony!’ she sighed.
‘I can’t think why I came,’ he went on. ‘I never meant to! Much you care about any of us, Megan Meredith! One song you sang the other evening. One song! And then off you went, without a care in the world, leaving me to explain why you weren’t singing again. That’s the last time I ask you to do anything for me! The very last time! What’s more. I’ll see that none of my friends ever employ you back in England.’
‘But, Tony, it wasn’t my fault!’
‘Oh, don’t come the little girl with me!’ he said unkindly. ‘You’re a big girl now, Megan. If you’d wanted to you could have stayed.’
‘But I’m working for him—’
Tony shrugged his shoulders. ‘That’s your business. You might have explained at the beginning that he owned you and then I wouldn’t have embarrassed you again!’
Megan winced. ‘We can’t fight here,’ she whispered. ‘Please, Tony!’
He picked up his guitar, still angry. ‘You get away with murder, my love, sheer murder! Some day, someone will give you what for and the rest of us will raise a cheer. You’ve got it coming to you. I daresay this Spaniard is the very one for the job!’
Megan coloured. ‘I told you, he’s my employer!’
Tony gave her a sardonic smile. ‘So you said, pet, so you said!’
‘But he is—’
‘Darling, if you go on protesting that he’s only your employer. I’ll never believe anything you say again.’
‘But—’ Megan shrugged, realising that she was making too much of the whole thing. ‘I’m sorry, Tony,’ she said.
‘You’re forgiven, love. This time!’
‘Oh, thank you, Tony!’ Megan exclaimed gratefully.
‘If you look at him like that, I’m not surprised he wants you all to himself,’ Tony added, grinning. ‘All guilty and falling over yourself to please!’
‘I hope not!’ Megan was horrified at the thought. ‘It’s just what he expects of women! But I’m not making myself a doormat for any man, certainly not for him!’
Tony gave her a quizzical look. ‘More power to your elbow, love! I wish I could believe you. Now, supposing you tell me what you’re going to sing?’
They agreed between them on two songs. The first was a traditional Spanish song that was not too difficult to sing, with a rousing chorus that was all about the perils of wearing one’s heart on one’s sleeve when one’s heart’s delight was already dallying with another. It was a song that Megan sang with a tragic air and a self-mockery that was more appealing than she knew. When she had finished, she turned and smiled at Tony and was surprised to see that he had tears in his eyes. Her pulses leaped in triumph and with a sudden gamine grin, she went straight into the second song.
‘Spanish is the loving tongue,
Soft as music, light as spray,
‘Twas a girl I learned it from,
Living down Sonora way.
I don’t look much like a lover,
Yet I say her loved words over often
When I’m all alone:
“Mi amor, mi corazon.” ’
The silence of her audience made her smile as Tony struck a few chords to mark the end of one stanza and the beginning of the next. My love, my heart! She thought of Carlos and began to tremble inside. With a gulp, she began the second verse, blotting out all thought of him.
‘Moonlight on the patio
Old senora nodding near,
Me and Juana talking low,
So her madre couldn’t hear.
How the hours would go a-flying
And too soon I’d hear her sighing
In her sorry little tone,
“Mi amor, mi corazon.” ’
Her voice died away, leaving the guitar to take over again. Megan sat, relaxed, waiting for the chord that would bring her in again, but that chord never came. There was a flurried noise outside the door and a flustered maid came running in and whispered a few words to Margot
‘It’s Carlos!’ Margot exclaimed. ‘How could he come back tonight?’ The impatience in her voice made them all look at her. Only Megan couldn’t find it within herself to be surprised. She waited for the maid to whisk out of the room again and for the inevitable moment when Carlos would enter. But it was Pilar who came dancing in, still in her coat, delighted to be in Majorca again. She saw Megan immediately and embraced her fondly.
‘You look just as pretty as I remember you!’ she exclaimed generously. ‘How lovely it is to see you again. I have been plying Carlos with questions about you all the way here, but he says nothing as always! Ay de mi, he is still the tirano odioso, that one!’
‘Pilar!’
The Spanish girl turned immediately to her mother.
‘Oh, how comfortable you are in this house now!’ She kissed her mother lightly and shot off to greet Senora Llobera. ‘How terrible of me not to see you before, senora. But of course you would be here to meet our charming Megan!’
The old lady allowed herself to be warmly kissed on either cheek. ‘I see you talk a
s much as ever!’ she rebuked the young girl, but she looked pleased all the same. ‘Since when did Carlos become a tyrant, I should like to know?’
Pilar laughed gaily. ‘Why, since he kidnapped Megan!’ she answered cheerfully. ‘I helped him,’ she added, not without pride. Her eyes fell for an instant on Inez and she smiled at her a little uncertainly.
‘Inez, how lucky that you are here! I have a message for you from Pepe!’
A babble of Spanish broke out as everyone began to talk to each other, exclaiming over Pilar’s arrival, while she happily revelled in being the centre of attention.
‘Where is Carlos?’ Margot demanded, as soon as a certain order had been restored to her party.
‘He’s coming,’ Pilar answered. ‘We could hear Megan singing from the patio!’ Her eyes danced wickedly. ‘Perhaps he won’t come in at all unless she sings for us some more. What will you sing, Megan? You will, won’t you? Shall I accompany you, for I can you know!’ She snatched Tony’s guitar out of his hands and took up her stance beside Megan. ‘You,’ she informed him, ‘can sit over there. You play like an Englishman, amigo, without any fire or spirit!’
‘Oh, but—’ Megan protested.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Tony cut across her. ‘The whole family is in league against me!’
Pilar looked at him more closely. ‘You are English! What are you doing here? I didn’t think my mother knew any English people here?’
‘Tony is a friend of Megan’s,’ Margot put in.
Pilar put a guilty hand to her mouth, her eyes dancing. ‘Ah, now I know who you are! Oh, Megan, no wonder Carlos—’
‘Pilar!’ Megan squealed.
Pilar looked suitably repentant. ‘Are we waiting for Carlos?’ she asked.
‘No,’ Megan said quickly.
Senora de la Navidade, whose English was not good enough to follow more than the gist of what everyone had been saying, spoke quickly to Inez and the Spanish girl came over to Megan.
‘My mother wishes you to sing the song you sang— the other evening,’ she said. ‘I told her about it.’
‘But I don’t know it!’ Pilar objected.
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Megan. ‘I’ll sing it without any accompaniment. In Ireland they often sing it that way.’ She smiled briefly at Inez, feeling unaccountably guilty. ‘Pilar exaggerates,’ she added. ‘Carlos has never been interested in me.’
Inez glowed, her mouth pouting a little with excitement. It would be a hard man who could resist her when she looked like that, Megan thought.
‘Oh, that doesn’t matter now!’ Inez laughed casually. ‘Pepe is coming home! Pepe is coming here!’
Megan gave her a look of complete confusion. ‘You don’t understand! Carlos didn’t really kidnap me—’
Inez shrugged, still smiling. ‘But of course he did!’
Megan’s eyes met those of Carlos’ grandmother across the room. The old lady sat, her back as straight as a poker, missing nothing of the undercurrents that swept round the room. She nodded, graciously granting Megan her permission to begin, imperiously beckoning to everyone else to sit down.
Megan had never felt less like singing. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, concentrating on the sad, lilting Irish air. The words were poignant, words that she had always liked, but had never really understood until this moment. She would sing the song for Carlos, even if he wasn’t listening, for it summed up her own condition almost exactly.
She launched into the first verse, her voice husky with the tears that were only just below the surface. She didn’t dare look at her audience to see how they were receiving her performance. Instead, she looked down at her hands in her lap, wishing for the hundredth time that she had not been so young and silly as to fall in love with a man like Carlos Vallori Llobera.
She knew the instant that he came into the room. She refused to look at him, but she knew how he looked, standing in the doorway, tall and arrogant, his eyes angry and disapproving. She would have given anything not to have been singing at that moment, but she flung back her head and finished the song, because her pride wouldn’t allow her to do anything else.
‘ I’ll wear stockings of silk
And shoes of bright green leather
Combs to buckle my hair
And a ring for every finger.
‘Feather-beds are soft
And painted rooms are bonny,
But I would trade them all
For my handsome, winsome Johnny.
‘ Some say he’s black
But I say he’s bonny;
Fairest of them all
Is my handsome, winsome Johnny.
She came to an abrupt finish, standing up with decision, bowing formally to her audience. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to look at Carlos. She knew he hadn’t moved a muscle, but then nor had anyone else. They were sitting as if they had been carved from stone and she knew that in any other circumstances she would have considered that a triumph.
Then somebody did move. Tony left the chair where he had been sitting and caught her into his arms, kissing her on the cheek and then the lips.
‘Darling, you’ve never sung it better!’
Megan froze, looking not at him, but over his shoulder to where Carlos was standing, his lips twisted in a cynical smile.
‘You’ll have to change the name to Tony the next time you sing it,’ was all he said. ‘It will make it all the more touching!’ He turned to his grandmother, kissing her hand with all the elegance she had come to expect of him. ‘If you are ready, mia cara, I’ll drive you back to Soller.’
There was the usual flurry that accompanies the departure of guests at a party, complicated by the necessity for having to help Senora Llobera down the stairs to the patio. Pilar ran down the stairs after them, pulling at her brother’s sleeve, but he shrugged her off, giving all his attention to his grandmother as he helped her into the front seat of his spacious car. Only when he had shut the rear door on his aunt and was getting into the driving seat himself did he look up at Pilar.
‘Tell Megan I’ll see her in the morning!’ he commanded. And he drove off into the night without another word.
‘I won’t be here in the morning!’ Megan reiterated stubbornly.
Margot, bored with the whole conversation, cast her a look of irritation. ‘Where will you be?’ she asked unfairly.
‘Somewhere!’ Megan claimed, more hurt than she had believed was possible. ‘Anywhere! I won’t be summoned into his presence like a naughty child! How dare he send me such a message!’
‘That’s Carlos!’ Margot said dryly.
Pilar glared at her mother. ‘I don’t suppose it’s anything you’ve done,’ she consoled Megan. He was anxious about his grandmother. The old lady looked fit to drop! I can’t think why you invited her to come out late at night.’ She hesitated, frowning. ‘Why did you?’ she threw at her mother.
‘She wanted to hear the child sing,’ Margot replied.
‘Child!’ Megan repeated. ‘Child! That’s all I hear from you all. I’m not a child. Her voice broke dangerously. ‘In some ways I wish I were!’
Pilar gave her mother an ironic look. ‘Couldn’t you have made it a lunch party?’
Margot shook her head. ‘I wanted Tony Starlight to be there.’
‘Why?’
It was Megan who answered. She was moving restlessly round the room, wishing that it had been anyone but the triumphant Inez who had witnessed Carlos’ humiliating indifference, followed by the even more humiliating summons for the morning.
‘I can’t accompany myself,’ she said.
‘But why ask him?’ Pilar insisted.
Megan shrugged. ‘He knows my style,’ she answered indifferently. ‘What does it matter? He doesn’t mean anything!’
‘I asked him to come,’ Margot told her daughter. ‘Pilar, you must be tired, my dear. Why don’t you go to bed? It’s typical of Carlos to upset us all when we were enjoying ourselves for once. I’m quite exhaust
ed myself.’
‘But you knew he was coming, Mother,’ Pilar said, with that devastating frankness for which she was famous with her brothers and sisters. ‘He told me he had told you when to expect us.’
‘I don’t remember,’ said Margot.
‘And why Tony Starlight?’ Pilar insisted, ignoring Megan’s pleading expression and scarlet face. ‘Why him?’
‘I’ve told you!’ Megan exclaimed desperately.
A fleeting, tender smile flickered across Pilar’s face. ‘Well, Mother?’
‘I thought it would be nice for Megan. She’s used to a much freer and more social life than she has been living here!’
‘And you wanted Carlos to see them together,’ Pilar prompted her mother.
Margot looked suddenly angry. ‘That too! Be your age, Pilar! If Carlos marries, it will be much better if he marries someone who understands our position! Someone like Inez—’
‘Inez is frightened of him. She wants to marry Pepe.’
‘Pepe is much too young to be thinking of such things!’ Margot said sharply. ‘Don’t talk about things you know nothing whatsoever about, Pilar! I won’t have it, and I won’t be cross-questioned in this way. A couple of hours in Carlos’ company and you think you can behave as he does! Well, you’re my daughter, my girl, and I’ve heard quite enough from you for one day. You can, both of you, go to bed, and I hope you’ll both be in a more reasonable frame of mind in the morning!’
