The Shadow and the Sun

by Amanda Doyle

  “In that?” Cecily waved disbelievingly at the brown dress. “Poor Anna, haven’t you something more suitable? If it had a white collar and some cuffs, you could pass for one of those Hyde Park nannies.” Tact was not her strongest point, but Anna’s rueful face moved her to add, more kindly,

  “Oh, well, never mind, pet. They’re very gracious people, these, and they’ll understand perfectly. In fact, knowing how shy and socially inexperienced you are, I’ve already made it clear that, in your position as a paid companion, you don’t expect to be included in the more intimate family gatherings. So that lets you out without the need for further explanations, once you’ve got this initial interview over, doesn’t it?” A chill of foreboding was seeping into Anna’s very bones. Hurt beyond words, she yet managed to raise her head proudly, to meet Cecily’s challenging stare.

  “Am I supposed to say thank you for that?” she asked evenly. Her voice sounded thin and odd, but it was all she could manage to get out just then.

  “Perhaps not now, my dear, but you will some day,” Cecily informed her coolly. “It’s never wise to step out of one’s social element, Anna, and you mustn’t mind what I’ve said just now. After all, it’s merely to save you, and our host and hostess, from any embarrassing moments, and it will leave you free to amuse yourself in other ways. You’ve always been a quiet little thing, and you’ll enjoy poking around these gorgeous gardens and the beach isn’t far off. It’s Nicolas’s own private one, and you know you enjoy swimming, so what more can you want? In any case your wardrobe won’t extend to any really grand occasions, and we mustn’t risk offending Nicolas or his aunt in front of any visitors they may invite to meet me.”

  Anna found she was trembling a little. Sickened and affronted, and curiously weary of the whole discussion, she turned away.

  “Goodnight, Cecily,” she said dully. “I hope you have a good sleep, and that your ankle will be even better tomorrow. Is there anything you’d like me to get you before I go down?”

  “No, thanks, Anna. I have everything I could possibly want,” was the satisfied reply. And, resting there with her auburn hair caught in the dull gleam from the crystal light above, and the pale lilac bed-jacket draped over her creamy shoulders, she probably did have everything, reflected Anna, as she closed the door quietly behind her.

  For a short while she remained standing there, striving for composure. Mercedes’ grizzled husband was waiting respectfully a short distance away. His brown face was expressionless as he bowed to her politely.

  “If the senorita will have the goodness to follow me?”

  “Thank you, Ignacio.”

  He led her along several corridors and into a wide, panelled hall, then down the same beautiful staircase which she had used on her arrival.

  There were galleries around three of the four walls, and as she descended, the faces in the rows of portraits seemed to lose their oiled immobility and come alive, looking down at her with the wise omniscience of centuries. She supposed they must have looked thus upon thousands of visitors to the Castillo Barientos, and seldom must they have studied such a humble and unimpressive figure as Anna in her little brown dress.

  She tensed her shoulders, striving still to recover her poise. What, after all, did it possibly matter? She was a temporary guest here, through pure chance, and after the short interval of Cecily’s convalescence, they would move on, and she would never see any of these people again. She might as well cultivate a philosophy about the whole thing, and try to enjoy herself while she was here. She would like to study all those people in the portraits just as closely as she felt they had been studying her. She had also passed the half-open door of a magnificent-looking library, with thick Moorish rugs and shelves filled from ceiling to floor. She was an avid reader, and perhaps tomorrow she’d be allowed to go in and browse around for a while.

  Her footsteps echoed after those of Ignacio as they crossed the expanse of black and white tiles. She had been too weary last night to look about her, but now she admired the beautiful fountain that played quietly in the middle of this vast reception hall. It had four mischievous bronze cupids in the centre, each aiming his love-laden arrow towards a corner, and there were urns of trailing plants and flowers all round about it. She even caught a glimpse of tiny darting fishes as they passed beyond it, to halt finally beside the door of the sola.

  Ignacio opened it, and stood aside for her to enter. “The Senorita Trent, Senor Conde.”

  “Ah, Miss Trent. Be pleased to enter.”

  He came forward quickly and sketched a bow. Perhaps he sensed her hesitation, because he then took her hand quite firmly in an impersonal grasp, and led her over to the regal old lady who sat, ramrod-straight, in a brocaded chair beside the wide marble mantel. No fire burned there, and the vent was hidden by a fringed tapestry of muted ancience.

  “Tia Olivia, may I present Miss Trent. My aunt, the Senora Olivia Valdarez de Ceverio. Miss Trent possesses the delightful name of Anna. Perhaps she will permit that you use it, Tia.”

  “I have every intention of doing so,” replied the old lady haughtily, but there was a belying twinkle in her fine old eyes, as she greeted Anna and drew her down to sit beside her on a cabriole-legged stool. She was robed in the severest black, and her abundant snow-white hair was coiled and held in place by an array of clever placed jewelled combs. Her olive skin was flawless and scarcely wrinkled, although there were many fine lines angled at the corners of her intelligent eyes. Only her hands bespoke her years. They were bony and thin and freckled, and somehow full of character, and the many rings upon her fingers glittered and glinted as she gestured frequently to give added meaning to her carefully-intoned words.

  “And now, my child,” she said, “we will converse and learn much about each other, no? The bad chance which causes you to have the accident on the estates of Barientos is for the occupants of the Castillo a happening of fortune. For long years now I am saying to Nicolas that here we have need of the gaiety and interest of young people. Is that not so, sobrino mio?” Nicolas de Lorenzo y Valdarez made no attempt to reply, but regarded his aunt with a mixture of quizzical affection and humour.

  “It is truth,” Senora de Ceverio assured Anna when she saw that no reply was forthcoming. “These walls should echo to the sounds of youth—to children’s voices and the gentle remonstrations of a mother’s tongue. Always I am persuading Nicolas that the time is ready for such things, but he thinks of nothing but the—how do you say it—the commerce, the business. Oh indeed, he arranges for the matrimony of the relatives entrusted to his care because he is at the head of the house of Barientos, and this with much success. But for himself—pouf!—nothing! Is this not so, Nicolas?”

  The Conde raised a sardonic eyebrow at Anna, obviously unmoved by the old lady’s words. Anna had the feeling that this subject was probably a bone of unending contention between the two, but her host was aware of the impropriety of a discussion in front of herself, a stranger.

  “If you say it is so, then it must be so, Tia,” he agreed smoothly. “But I cannot imagine that Miss Trent might find the matter of even the slightest interest.”

  “Perhaps not. I speak of it merely to emphasise the pleasure and surprise of her unexpected visit, and that of the enchanting Cecily. That one has amused us greatly this evening, and there is much laughter and making of the joke at the dinner hour. This is good for us, the old lady and the so-stem nephew who thinks of the affairs of Barientos with so little relief.”

  “Yes, Cecily is very lively company,” agreed Anna loyally, thinking how suddenly aloof and discouraging this man could look.

  “You smoke, senorita?” He proffered a slim gold case, and when Anna shook her head, extracted a cigarette for himself and moved away to enjoy it undisturbed in a chair some distance away. Out of the corner of her eye, Anna was aware of the dark blur of his graceful frame as he selected a journal and withdrew behind it. She guessed that politeness alone had prevented him from restraining his aunt in front
of her. He was almost certainly annoyed. His face, as he’d leaned towards her just now, had been incredibly severe and disapproving, and Anna thought, with a little shiver, that it might be very alarming to incur his displeasure in any way. He was obviously very much involved in responsibilities of both family and business, and she guessed that he would demand immediate obedience and co-operation from all with whom he dealt, and would probably have little patience with more hesitant mortals. He was a despot and an autocrat, she decided, and even his courtesy and consideration were meted out with a masculine assertiveness that left one very much aware of one’s own weakness.

  “Now, Anna,” pursued Senora de Ceverio, “I am eager to hear how came you to acquire this small knowledge of the language of Castile? You talk with a reasonable accomplishment and understanding, much better than my poor English, which I am at pains to speak to the pretty Cecily this evening. Alas, we do not communicate very well together because of this difficulty, and it is a relief that I may use the words of Spanish to you when those of the English escape me.”

  “But I find your English very easy to follow, senora,” Anna responded encouragingly. “I don’t suppose you have any more opportunity to speak it than I do Spanish. I must confess I’m surprised that I am able to make myself understood, even to Mercedes, although I can tell by her face that I have some rather odd ways of expressing myself!”

  She laughed, thinking of the servant’s well-trained efforts not to smile at the mistakes of a guest in her master’s house.

  “You have learned the language at school, perhaps?”

  “As much as I know, yes, senora. You see, my father was a Professor of Languages, and perhaps I inherited a very little of his aptitude. At least, I’d love to think I had. There was always a certain amount of classical literature in our home—both French and Spanish—and he awakened my interest quite early in life. I can remember him reading to me from them quite vividly. When he died, I kept as many of his books as I could—my especial favourites, you know—and they are still my greatest treasures.”

  “But this is sad, pequena, to lose your parent while yet a child. And your mother? What did she then?”

  “My mother also died, senora,” Anna told her quietly. “They were killed at the same time. My father had been lecturing at a German University, and the plane crashed on the return flight. No one survived.”

  Senora de Ceverio gave a small exclamation of horror. She put a bejewelled hand on Anna’s knee.

  “Forgive me, child. I should not have questioned you thus. I had no intention of causing you distress.”

  Anna smiled gently.

  “It doesn’t matter, senora. It’s all so long ago now, and although I’ll always feel sad for them, I’m truly not distressed to speak of it. One gets accustomed to anything—or almost anything,” she added thoughtfully, almost to herself, and was only then aware of the attentive stillness of the man sitting in the shadows nearby. Although the paper he had been reading was still before him, she had an instinctive certainty that he had been listening to every word spoken.

  She hoped the old lady’s catechism would not continue, but of course it did. Politeness demanded a reply, however self-conscious she had now become. “And then, Anna?”

  “And then, senora, Cecily’s parents gave me a home with them, as our mothers were distant cousins. I went to boarding-school—what you call the ‘escuela de internal’—and that is where I learned my meagre Spanish. And that is the end of the tale,” Anna ended, on a gaily final note.

  “Not quite, Miss Trent,” interposed a quiet, deep voice. The Conde threw his paper to one side, and reached for his gold cigarette-case. “One should never leave a story incomplete. You have disposed most interestingly of the days of schooling, but what of the period after that?”

  “Oh, that.” Anna dismissed the subject with a disparaging wave of the hand. “There is little to interest anyone but myself, senor. I love my work, and am—am happy in it.”

  “Your work?” he persisted. “You mean, of course, the companionship to the young Cecily, no?”

  Anna’s dimple peeped fleetingly as she warded off a smile. Heavens, he made Anna herself sound as old and staid as Mother Noah!

  “Oh, no, Senor Conde, that can hardly be called work, can it? Uncle Nigel offered me this holiday for Cecily’s sake. He and his wife are in America on business, and it seemed a good opportunity for Cecily to have a tour abroad, as she would otherwise have been left alone. I’m awfully lucky that they chose me to accompany her, and my chief was very understanding, and has agreed to give me another district appointment when I return.”

  “And this chief? A man? Of what is he chief?” Anna saw that it was going to be almost impossible to explain, but she had to attempt it.

  “I am a social welfare worker, Senor Conde. It is a subject upon which one makes a study and obtains certain qualifications. After that comes the practical application, upon which I am now engaged, helping the less fortunate, those who are ill or for some reason unable to work or who are experiencing family difficulties, all that sort of thing. It—it’s very rewarding work,” she added lamely, aware of a subtle alteration in his swarthily attentive expression.

  There was a taut silence for fully a minute, and then he observed,

  “It is scarcely believable that these parents of the Senorita Cecily should permit one so young to leave their household every morning in the pursuit of such an unsuitable career.”

  “Oh, but I don’t live with them, Senor Conde. I haven’t for a long time,” Anna explained innocently. “I have a little room not far from my work, where I am quite comfortable. And in any case, the career isn’t unsuitable. Uncle Nigel and Aunt Amy quite approve, I’m sure. At least, they’ve never said that they did not.”

  “Perhaps not, Miss Trent,” was the suave rejoinder. “By unsuitable, I do not mean that this career of yours is not an honourable and necessary one, for someone of the years and experience to be disaffected by it. You are too young, too vulnerable, altogether too ready to be worried by the problems of others who could well deal with these things themselves.”

  “You know very little of me if you think that,” she retorted crisply. “I can be quite firm when the need arises, and I have been taught to make decisions independently and to bear the responsibilities and consequences if those decisions are wrong. I—I can be quite tough, really.”

  “For others, yes. But for yourself, I wonder,” he replied severely. “In any case, the discussion is a fruitless one, since you obviously treasure this unbecoming independence above all things. Forgive me if my judgement appears somewhat harsh, Miss Trent, but in the light of all you have said, I would have considered it an infinitely wiser course to have accepted the home and care of the benevolent Colonel de Manard for as long as it was offered.”

  Anna controlled her desire to correct him. How could this proud Spanish aristocrat, favoured by birth and fortune, ever understand the humiliation of having to accept something that was offered condescendingly, with an obvious grudge? What could he know of longing for real security, the need of real love? The first he possessed, and he looked as though he would have no use for the second.

  “I fear I have bored you, senor,” she said stiffly, as she rose to take her leave of Senora de Ceverio.

  “On the contrary,” he replied curtly.

  The old lady’s clasp was warm and sympathetic, but the look on the Conde’s face as he said goodnight told her that he thought her both unfeminine and ungrateful.

  Anna wondered why she should mind so much.

  CHAPTER IV

  Dawn at the Castillo Barientos was a spectacle to remember.

  From her balcony, Anna was almost dumbfounded at the panorama which unfolded before her eyes.

  The castle was situated on top of a rocky headland which sloped away steeply beyond the sweeping lawns and terraced gardens, right down to the sea itself.

  A similar promontory, less imposing and strewn with stunted acacia an
d cacti, thrust barren, distant fingers into the glittering blue ocean at the other side of the narrow sickle of bay. This was reached by a series of roughly-hewn steps, half-obscured by wayward shrubs and vines which clung grimly to the windswept crevices in which they had been foolish enough to establish themselves in expectance of succour. Their tortured growth contrasted strangely with the ordered beauty of the formal gardens and walnut groves surrounding the castle itself. Here, all exuded life and richness and vigour by comparison. The clear brightness of the rapidly rising Mediterranean sun intensified the brilliance of colour in leaves and petals already blindingly vivid. Soon the air became heavy with warmth and the scent of blossoms, and the sonorous buzzing of bees and insects.

  Out in the bay, a graceful white yacht with citron sails rode her anchor patiently, scarcely moving against the lazy swell of the sea.

  Anna supposed she belonged to the Conde. Hadn’t Cecily said the beach was a private one? And that tiled roof peeping through the shrubs close to the small jetty would be the boathouse. There was a blue dinghy hauled in nearby. At this distance, Anna had to screw up her eyes to read the name black-painted on her bow. Jovencita. The Youngster. She smiled wryly to herself. Just the sort of condescending name he would give to a dear little craft like that!

  Anna returned to her bedroom, too restless to sleep again. Not that she had slept very well all night. Perhaps she’d had a surfeit of rest in any case, but the atmosphere of this place and their unprecedented intrusion into it disturbed her more than she cared to admit. She felt a sudden acute longing to be free of its oppressive, feudal grandeur, even for an hour or two.

  Nobody was stirring, although the sun was by now well up in the sky.

  She dressed hurriedly, thrust her bare feet into brief white sandals, and made her way to the ground floor, where she tiptoed past the fountain and let herself out through the door to the patio, savouring the perfumed air and the warmth of sunshine on face and limbs.