Last April Fair

by Betty Neels

  ‘A splendid idea. And now as to the immediate future. I find that I shall be going back with the next ship too; we shall be fellow passengers, and in the meantime we may as well enjoy ourselves here. Metha and Hans love having guests and I know that she longs for more female company at times. Besides, we’re an excellent excuse for sightseeing—she has a passion for picnics, too. When the children are on holiday she can arrange one every day, but they’re in Holland and Hans is away all day she’s very much alone. He’s on holiday at the moment because I’m here.’

  ‘It sounds wonderful, but are you sure—I mean, I just can’t stay here for a week…’

  ‘Metha would be heartbroken if you didn’t. Besides, with you here, we can slope off on our own.’

  Phyllida laughed a little. ‘Of course, if you put it like that, I haven’t any choice, have I?’

  ‘None whatever.’ He turned her round and deliberately studied her face in the twilight. ‘Tears all gone? Good, we’ll join the others, shall we? They’ll want to make plans for tomorrow.’

  They took her to Cabo Girao the following day, driving back to Funchal and along the coast road, climbing all the way, with the sea below on one side, and a scattering of villages on the other. There were flowers everywhere; nasturtiums, wisteria and echium jostled for a place, with jacaranda trees making great splashes of colour next the bougainvillea, and every wayside cottage and villa had a garden crowded with every sort of flower. Phyllida craned her pretty neck in her efforts to see everything which was being pointed out to her, sitting beside Pieter who was driving his friend’s Mercedes, with Hans and Metha in the back.

  ‘There’s a dragon tree!’exclaimed Metha, and Pieter slowed the car so that Phyllida should get a good view of it before racing on, still climbing.

  The cliff, when they reached it, was spectacular, but she was glad of Pieter’s arm round her shoulders as they hung over the rail to stare down to the sea far below, and she was secretly relieved when they rejoined Metha in the car and drove down to Camara de Lobo, where they had lunch, and then, while Hans and Metha stayed on the restaurant’s terrace, the doctor took Phyllida for a stroll on the beach to get a closer look at the gaily painted boats. Phyllida scuffed her sandalled feet happily in the shingle and wished the day would last for ever; it didn’t seem possible that she had known her companion for such a short time; he was like an old friend, easygoing, goodnaturedly answering her questions, treating her like a sister. She stopped to examine a shell and wondered why she didn’t really want him to treat her with such offhand ease. Yet, after all, they were only acquaintances, brought together by circumstances, and once she was back in England she wouldn’t see him any more. She stole a look at him, meandering along beside her. He was already deeply tanned, so that his hair looked like silvered straw, and his eyes, when he bothered to lift the lids, were a quite startling blue. His face seemed haughty in repose, but that was because his nose was large and arrogant and his mouth firm. He was indeed a handsome man. He looked sideways at her, catching her unawares, and she went red and looked away quickly. But when she made to walk a little apart from him he caught her hand and didn’t let it go. ‘Enjoying yourself?’ he wanted to know.

  ‘Oh, yes, it’s super. I didn’t expect to see anything of Madeira, you know.’

  ‘We’ll take the toboggan ride tomorrow—that’s something everyone does when they come here. We’ll go early before the tourists arrive.’ He stopped to look at her. ‘Can you swim?’

  ‘Not very well, but I like it.’

  ‘Good. We’ll go to Ponta de Sao Lourenço, that’s the only sandy beach there is. We can take Metha, of course, because there’ll be no one much there and she can go in the water. We’ll go over the Poiso pass and through Santo da Serra; it’s a pretty run, you’ll like it.’

  ‘It sounds lovely, but I do have to go to the shipping office and collect my cheque and see about going back.’

  ‘I hadn’t forgotten. You and Metha can spend ten minutes in a boutique—it’ll be open—and Hans and I will go and get your money and see about a sailing.’

  ‘I can’t bother you…’

  ‘I’m not in the least bothered, I have to get a passage for myself too.’

  ‘Oh, yes—of course.’ She gave her hand a little tug and his grip tightened ever so gently.

  ‘You haven’t been around much, have you?’ His voice was as gentle as his fingers.

  She knew what he meant. ‘No, I suppose not, there’s not a lot of time for a social life—one comes off duty tired and only longing to kick off one’s shoes and make a pot of tea. I used to go out more often before I met Philip.’

  ‘You didn’t go out with him?’He sounded surprised.

  ‘Well, yes, of course—I meant we didn’t go dancing or to shows or anything like that, just to a restaurant for supper or to his brother’s house.’

  There was no expression on her companion’s face. ‘It sounds cosy.’ His voice was dry and she gave another tug at her hand.

  ‘No, leave it where it is. You’re a pretty girl, Phyllida, you should have your chance to play the field, meet people, and by that I mean men of your own age. Who knows if you go into the wide world and fall in and out of love a few times, you may go back to your Philip after all.’

  She didn’t fancy the idea somehow. Philip seemed far away, belonging to another world. The thought crossed her mind that it might be fun to fall in love with Pieter. Just a little, of course; he was a very attractive man and doubtless he had a girl at home. It was a pity that she didn’t know him well enough to ask him; it struck her that he had asked her a great many more questions than she had done of him. Not that it mattered, he was a chance encounter…

  She reminded herself of that several times during the day; just to be on the safe side, but it was a little difficult. Hans was a chance encounter too, but with him it didn’t seem at all the same.

  But she enjoyed herself, spending a pleasant half hour with Metha in the boutique, looking at bright cotton dresses and beautifully cut bikinis. She didn’t dare buy anything, though.

  The men came back presently and Pieter handed her an envelope. ‘If you sign the cheque, I’ll go across to the bank and get it cashed,’ he told her. ‘Have you any traveller’s cheques with you?’

  ‘No—they said I wouldn’t need any money because they would be paying me. I’ve a few pounds, though, as well as some money I brought along just in case— it’s not much, though.’

  She opened the envelope. The cheque was for the exact number of days she had worked for the de Wolffs. No one had thought of her expenses, but all the same there would be enough to get her home now provided she didn’t spend more than a pound or two in Madeira. She slid the cheque back into the envelope and Pieter, who had been talking to the others, turned round. ‘You won’t need any money for your fare,’ he told her casually. ‘They checked with their head office and you’ve been given a ticket—on the boat deck, a single cabin. The ship sails at two o’clock on Saturday.’

  ‘And now you don’t need to save your money,’ interpolated Metha, ‘we shall go right back into the boutique and you shall buy that Indian cotton sun-dress—and I think I shall buy one too.’ She beamed at the men. ‘And you, my dears, may come with us.’

  They went in together and the shop owner surged forward, produced a chair for Metha and whisked Phyllida away with an armful of dresses over her arm. The one she had liked, a vivid blue tied carelessly on the shoulders and with a deep scooped out neckline, was a perfect fit. Urged by the shop lady, she went back into the shop from the tiny fitting room and showed herself to the three of them. ‘Beautiful,’ said Metha at once. ‘Smashing,’ declared Hans, who prided himself on his up-to-date English, and: ‘You’ll need a bikini to go underneath that,’ observed Pieter lazily.

  So she bought a bikini too and for good measure a wide-brimmed straw hat, and while she was trying it on, the doctor, who had been prowling round on his own, came back with a silk dress flung over his arm.
It was a delicate green patterned with the faintest of pinks.

  ‘Try that on too,’ he begged her. ‘We’re going dancing tomorrow.’

  Which seemed a good enough reason for doing just that, and finding it to be a perfect fit, buying it too.

  They spent the evening at the de Meesters’house and after dinner the doctor took Phyllida for a stroll round the little town and then up the path through the park to the church, and as they walked round its dim coolness he told her about Nossa Senhora do Monte, whose bejewelled statue held pride of place on the high altar.

  ‘Rather lovely, isn’t she?’ he said very quietly. ‘I’m not a Catholic myself, but she stands for a great deal to many people living on the island—they come each year, thousands of them, to see Our Lady of the Mountain.’

  They strolled back presently through the cool evening and then once more indoors, spent the rest of the evening playing a noisy game of Canasta.

  They went swimming the next day, but only after the doctor had kept his promise to Phyllida and taken her on the toboggan ride. He drove her away from Monte, up into the hills beyond, with Hans beside them, so that he could drive the car back to his house. It was still early and there weren’t many people about. Leaving Hans and the car they took a narrow path which brought them out on to a cobbled lane where the toboggans were waiting, each with two men, dressed in their uniform of white suits and straw hats.

  The journey took perhaps five minutes, the toboggan sliding at speed over the ridged cobbles, guided by the two men. Phyllida found it a bit alarming, especially on the frequent hairpin-bends, but it was fun too and she had Pieter to hang on to. ‘You’ve done it before,’ she gasped, half way down.

  ‘Lord, yes—half a dozen times.’ He didn’t add with a girl, but she guessed that. ‘Enjoying it?’

  She nodded, her silky hair flying round her head, her eyes sparkling like a child’s. ‘But I’d hate to do it on my own.’

  ‘I don’t think there’s any fear of that.’

  The ride ended by the church they had visited on the previous evening, and tourists were already going in and out of its doors, stopping to examine and buy the embroidered handkerchiefs laid out neatly on large trays carried by the local man. But they didn’t stop, going down the path again and back into the town and the de Meesters’ house.

  ‘Just time to put on the sun-dress,’ remarked the doctor as they went inside, ‘and don’t forget the bikini!’

  It was an hilarious day. Phyllida, lying awake at the end of it, went carefully over every minute of it. Pieter had driven the car, taking them up into the mountains through the kind of scenery she thought she would never see again, over the Poiso Pass, through the charming countryside past the golf course, tucked away on a small plateau and, she had considered, a bit inaccessible, and then on to Canical which she hadn’t much cared for; it was dominated by a whale oil factory and looked forlorn. It was from here that they had to walk; not far, as it happened, for Pieter took the car to the very edge of the sand dunes which led to the beach. They had a light wheelchair with them for Metha and Pieter carried the picnic basket and no one hurried. The beach was almost deserted and the men went back to the car for airbeds, a huge sun umbrella, a basket full of tins of beer and lemonade and armfuls of cushions. Phyllida, remembering picnics at home—potted meat sandwiches and a thermos—got quite goggle-eyed at the lavishness of the food; delicate little sandwiches, potato fritters, cold, accompanying espada fish, cold chicken, tomato salad— there was no end. She had eaten a bit of everything with a splendid appetite and washed it down with lemonade. And it hadn’t been hot, there had been a breeze from the sea and the water had been surprisingly cool. She had taken off the sun-dress rather shyly because there really hadn’t been much of the bikini, but the doctor had barely glanced at her, and once in the water she had forgotten her shyness and after a few minutes close to the beach, she had struck out bravely, heading out to sea. She’d heard Metha laughing as Hans towed her through the water; Pieter she hadn’t seen, not until he appeared beside her, swimming with no effort at all.

  ‘They catch whales here,’ he told her.

  Phyllida, the kind of swimmer to sink like a stone at the least alarm, let out a small scream, swallowed a good deal of water and gurgled so alarmingly that the doctor flipped her over on to her back and slid an arm beneath her. ‘When I said here,’ he had pointed out unhurriedly, ‘I meant some miles out to sea.’

  He was paddling alongside her, looking at the sky. ‘If you’ve finished spluttering, let’s go back. Do you think you’re strong enough to hold Metha up on one side, I’ll hang on to the other. Then Hans can go for a swim.’

  They had done that, with Metha, her thin arms on their shoulders, between them. It hadn’t been quite like swimming, but it was the next best thing, and no one, unless they had looked very closely, would have known the difference; the water helped, of course, allowing her more movement, and Pieter acted just as though she were doing it all by herself. He was nice, thought Phyllida sleepily, and he had been even nicer that evening. True to his promise he had taken her down to Funchal after dinner, to the Hotel Savoy, where they had danced, watched the folk dancing and then danced again, and on the way back to Monte, at two o’clock in the morning, they had stopped at a noisy, dimly lit street café and had coffee and brandy.

  Monte’s narrow streets and old houses had been dark. The doctor stopped the car soundlessly and got out to open her door and then the house door. There was a lamp burning in the hall and the old house had seemed not quite real in the utter silence. She had thanked him for a lovely evening and wished him goodnight, and for answer he had caught her arm and walked her through the house to the terrace beyond. ‘You can’t go to bed before you’ve seen the view,’ he had told her, and taken her to the very end of it.

  It wasn’t quite time for the dawn, but the sky to the east was already paling, and turning at the touch of his hand she had seen the dark outline of the mountains and the even darker ravines and beyond them the lights still burning in the outskirts of Funchal.

  ‘All the years I’ve wasted in London,’ she had said, talking to herself.

  ‘Not wasted—and not so many—you can always make up for lost time.’

  She had said: ‘I’m not likely to come here again— not for a long time.’ She didn’t suppose that he had to worry overmuch about money and although she wasn’t exactly poor, her salary hardly ran to the kind of holiday she was enjoying now. She turned away and gone back indoors and he had followed her, locking the glass doors after him. In the hall, at the foot of the stairs, she had said again: ‘Thank you, Pieter,’ and would have added a few conventional remarks to round off their evening, but she didn’t have the chance. He had kissed her then— she turned over in bed and thumped her pillows, remembering it. She had been silly to think that it might be fun to fall a little in love with him. It wouldn’t be fun at all, it would be disaster—a dead end affair with him bidding her a cheerful goodbye when they got to London, forgetting her the moment her back was turned. It had been an unexpected holiday, she reminded herself, and as so often happened on holiday, one met someone one rather liked and enjoyed a casual, short-lived friendship. She closed her eyes on this sensible thought; she was almost asleep when she remembered that Pieter had told her that she looked beautiful in the new dress.

  After that the days flashed by, filled by picnics in beautiful remote spots and a drive to Ponta Delgada on the north coast, over the Eucumeada Pass, where they had stopped so that Phyllida might feast her eyes on the magnificent view from its top, and they had lunched at the hotel close by before driving on through the mountains. She would have liked to have stopped again, there was so much to see, but as Pieter explained, the roads were winding and precipitous and it wasn’t always possible. Not that he seemed to mind the hazards; he drove with nonchalant ease whether they were going uphill, downhill or round hairpin bends which made her glad she wasn’t driving. And that evening they had gone dancing ag
ain, only this time he didn’t kiss her goodnight.

  Saturday came too soon, she bade Metha and Hans goodbye with real regret for it seemed as though they had been lifelong friends, and then stood aside while the doctor made his own farewells, brief and cheerful, before he took her arm and hurried her on board.

  Their cabins were next door to each other and very much to her taste, roomy and comfortable and spotlessly clean. She would unpack at once, she decided, but she had scarcely opened her overnight bag before the doctor thumped on her door. ‘They’ll wait on the quay until we leave,’ he explained. ‘We’d better go on deck.’

  So she went with him, to hang over the rail and shout to Metha and watch the last-minute buying and selling going on round the little stalls set up alongside the ship, while Pieter lounged beside her, not saying much, watching her intent face with a half smile.

  Once they had sailed Phyllida went back to her cabin to unpack. They wouldn’t get back until Wednesday morning and she would need some clothes—evening clothes especially. She decided on her long evening skirt and a pretty top to go with it, put everything else tidily away and went along to the lido.

  The doctor was there, sitting at a table by the swimming pool, a drink at his elbow, deep in a Dutch paper he had bought in Funchal before they sailed. She hesitated, wondering if she should join him; they weren’t exactly travelling together, only fellow passengers. She started back the way she had come, only to be halted in her tracks by his: ‘Hey, where are you off to?’

  She approached the table slowly as he unfolded his length and pulled out a chair for her. ‘Well,’ she said carefully, ‘I just thought we’re only fellow passengers, not travelling together, if you see what I mean. You wouldn’t want me hanging round your neck like a millstone.’