by Amanda Doyle
Nicolas shook his head despairingly.
“That I should give a betrothal gift of silver and topaz! You do not know me well!” His eyes were dark and mocking and alight with laughter. He shrugged. “The bracelet matched the sandals, Anna. Cecily admired it, so I bought it to please her, as she is obviously fond of such trinkets. There was no more, no less, to it than that.”
“I didn’t know. How could I?” Anna asked in pleading tones.
“No, you did not know. And rather than remain and see whether your surmise was correct or not, you evolved this plan of a false engagement to cover you until you made your escape. Ah—but wait.” His mocking eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Such was not your own invention. It was Cecily’s, no? And your part was merely to support her. My reasoning was more accurate than I at first thought. All the pieces of the puzzle fall into their proper place. Even the night of my dinner-party plays its part.”
Anna sighed.
“It’s such a muddle, Nicolas. I—I really dread trying to explain to Cecily how—how—”
“How we came to discover that we love each other?” He leaned forward and kissed her once more, gently. “This you will leave to me to deal with, you understand. You are not to worry, for from now on I will take charge of the explanations. And be assured that I will say nothing to offend your cousin, chica. Cecily is lovely and she is spoiled, and always she wishes for the things she knows she may not have. No doubt she sensed my indifference to her from the start, and the process becomes akin to a child who goes after the bright toy out of reach. One day she will grow up and understand that beauty must not rest on the surface alone, and when she makes the discovery, also will she discover happiness. The whole thing is as simple as this.”
He sat back and once more sipped from his own glass, watching her with a slightly perplexed attention.
“Tell me, Anna, this deception of yours, so wicked, so unkind—I wish to be certain on several aspects. You were honest with me in the library today, my heart? There is no other man for you?”
“No, Nicolas, no one. There could never be.” This, at least, Anna could be positive about. “That was the worst part of all—the thought of the years stretching ahead without you.”
There was a look of bold possession about him that brought fresh colour to her cheeks.
“That need not concern you further. Always I will be there. And young Harding, of whom I have been unutterably jealous? He belongs already to another, and is nothing to you?”
“We’re friends, Nicolas, no more. He has been very sweet and understanding.”
“This may be so, but that Englishness—tch!” He clicked his tongue impatiently. “To permit that you go on your errand of mercy, unaccompanied, in a strange city, it does not bear thinking of! You may be very sure he is aware of his omission, however. I made my feelings extremely clear to the young doctor.” He laughed—a brief, grim sound. “So now we are left to deal with Mr. Basil Hanway, it seems. There is such a man?”
“Yes—yes, there is.” To Anna, Basil had taken on a curious quality of unreality, as if his existence had been in some far-off dream.
“What sort of man, pequena? You must tell me of him, since for the last number of days I have asked myself a thousand times how to set about telling him that you will not become his wife.”
Anna smiled at this masterful observation.
“We—e—ll, he’s a—a very decent man, kind, dependable, in a steady job, a respected citizen, you know the sort of thing?”
“He is young?”
“He’s middle-aged in outlook.”
“He has more years even than I?”
“A good many more in that respect, I should say.” Anna’s grey eyes sparkled with mischief. It was incredible that Nicolas could appear unsure of himself. Yet he did.
“And he has had a feeling towards you, yes? How else could Cecily bring his name into her schemes?” Anna toyed with her empty glass.
“I suppose he did have a feeling for me, in his way,” she agreed simply. “But not the right sort, not what I wanted and hoped for. Something was missing.”
“He wished also that you marry him, this Basil?”
“He did ask me,” she admitted. “But I—I couldn’t. I just didn’t feel the right sort of feelings either.”
“Ah-h.” Nicolas appeared to have arrived at a stage in his enquiry of some importance. His eyes were intent and strangely humble.
“Then, when you assured me not long ago that you were not unawakened, but had indeed experienced the overwhelming emotions that a man and a woman feel towards each other, it was not towards this—Hanway that you felt them?”
Anna shook her head. Her eyes were held to his as though to a magnet.
“It was, even then, for me?” he asked softly.
She didn’t have to reply, not in so many words. When he finally let her go, Nicolas stood up, and drew her to her feet also.
“Come, my darling, I will give you ten minutes in which to restore your appearance, and then we will dine. Our very first meal alone, no?”
Some time later they were seated in a beautifully-appointed alcove overlooking a busy plaza. They had worked their way at a leisurely pace through the most welcome meal Anna thought she had ever eaten. She had not realised how very famished she was, and Nicolas appeared indulgent and gratified that the meal had been received with such appreciation.
There had been an appetising selection of various hors d’oeuvres set out on pale green china; then tiny omelettes with a delicate mustard sauce; next a succulent chicken roasted to perfection, with crisp brown skin and an accompanying savoury stuffing in which she detected olive and pimiento; and finally cheeses and dainty petits fours with the black coffee.
“You were hungry, chica.” Nicolas leaned back, fingering the stem of his wine-glass, watching her. His eyes were dark and tender and teasing. “It would appear there is nothing like a good street brawl to enrich one’s appetite!”
Anna couldn’t help laughing, now that it was all behind her and she knew herself to be safe.
“I had to fight back,” she defended herself. “I hadn’t much money with me, but my passport and papers are in this bag. I was absolutely terrified I was going to lose them.”
“In order to flee the country? You had no hope of achieving this, little one. It was my intention to prevent it at all costs.”
Anna’s brow creased.
“That’s another thing,” she mused. “I still don’t understand just how you came to be there at all. You seemed to appear out of nowhere—and—you were the very last person I expected to see.”
“And you begged me, did you not, never to let you go?” he reminded her with satisfaction. “That was a moment of truth, Anna.”
She flushed.
“You must have arranged with Guy to take his place, and met me,” she guessed. “But how did you track him down?”
The Conde gave a typical, casual lift of his shoulders.
“It was not too difficult,” he said. “You remember, no, that I told you in the library that we would thresh out your confession still further. ‘Until later,’ I reminded you in the very doorway. Then, later, I look for you, and what do I discover? That you have gone away for the afternoon with Doctor Harding. I am very angry and impatient, you may imagine, because I wish at once to clear up this matter which has become of first importance in my life. I cannot get you to myself in my own Castillo, odd though such a situation appears. Always you are with my aunt or your own cousin or out with your young doctor. It is but a simple matter to find out from Lamas where young Harding may be contacted. There, in the Department of Pathology, I discover him, but of you there is no sign.”
Nicolas passed a strong brown hand over his brow apologetically.
“I confess I have possibly been unreasonably harsh with that young man. There is no question that my anger took him by surprise, but nevertheless, in the end he gave me his co-operation. He assured me that you knew where you were going, and had been to the
area a number of times before, and always you returned to meet him at the appointed hour. While he could not spare the time to accompany me to this dwelling where you had gone—he had yet to go to some chemists, it appeared—he agreed that I should wait in his stead, and pointed out to me the cafe where you always met, and also the turning on to the main boulevard at which you would appear. You did not, as it turned out, appear at all.”
Here Nicolas’s voice became a shade unsteady. He took time to light himself a cigarette, and Anna saw that his hands even shook a little.
“Dear heaven! I would not go through those moments again,” he told her harshly. “I waited for what seemed eternities of time, and still you did not come. And then I heard you scream. I do not exaggerate when I tell you that the sound chilled the very blood in my veins. The call seemed far away, and I did not know which turning to take—I could only guess. And then, by good fortune, I came to discover you.” His eyes burned darkly upon her, passionate and accusing.
“I’m very sorry, Nicolas.” She was contrite. “I—I’ve always been back in daylight before. One of the—the people I went to see had a minor accident just as I was about to leave. A little child. I got held up. If Juanito had been there, he’d have escorted me back, of course, but he works late these nights.”
“Of this also am I aware, Anna.” He sounded suddenly very stern indeed. “Your friend Harding has already described to me this family whose interests you have adopted. What was this accident?”
“Nothing very much,” she said obscurely. “Little Carlos fell and grazed his knees. There was a lot of blood but not much damage.”
He nodded with a hint of impatience.
“For me, my little Samaritan, this is of all facts the most unacceptable—that you admit your love for Nicolas de Lorenzo y Valdarez, and yet you do not turn to him to ask help for this family through their period of misfortune. Did it never occur to you that I would readily offer it? That I am in a far better position than you, a little English visitor, to deal with such matters? That you had only to breathe one word and my assistance and experience were at your disposal?”
“No, it didn’t,” Anna confessed frankly. “Nicolas—darling—please don’t look like that. I—I suppose it was because I knew how much you disapproved of my—profession.”
“Not as such, but where you are concerned, yes,” he affirmed. “Always we argue about this.”
“Exactly. We never could see eye to eye about it and I—I didn’t wish to invite another argument. In any event, we did manage to help the mother quite a lot, so much so that Juanito is now able to leave the household management to her again, and earn extra money in the evenings. I must show you the lovely mantilla he bought for me. It’s beautiful. I almost believe I might wear it for my wedding—our wedding,” she corrected herself dreamily.
Nicolas smiled indulgently.
“When you say it like that, you may wear whatever you wish, my dear one. It is this strange compassion of yours that first took my attention. It is an engaging trait in a woman. In any case, it is appropriate that you should wear Juanito’s gift on the occasion of our marriage, since it is Juanito himself who brings us together.”
“Juanito? No, I don’t follow you.”
“It is of Juanito that Murillo’s child reminds you, is it not?” he queried gently. “The little boy in the painting?”
“Yes, it is,” she admitted readily, astounded at the man’s quickness of perception and uncanny powers of reasoning.
“Muy bien,”—he made a small gesture of triumph—“had I not observed your attachment to this picture, and wished to offer it to you as a wedding gift, you would not have felt driven to make your confession. It was in those moments that for me the situation clarified itself, little Anna. I knew in those minutes that Fate had given me this weapon with which to achieve my end. You were meant to be mine, and I meant to have you. I had no intention of allowing you to run away from me. Yes, I must meet the little Juanito, who has already earned my gratitude.” Anna’s lashes were wet.
“You’ll like him, darling, I know that. He’s such a sturdy, independent little chap—so proud.”
“These are manly qualities, worthy of admiration.”
Nicolas leaned back and lit another cigarette. “And what of the parents? The father goes to Madrid to encounter work, I think Harding said?”
“Yes, he’s going to send for them when he is more soundly placed. If the mother hadn’t become ill, things might have worked out better.”
“I will see what I can do for them. It is possible that I may be in a position to offer the husband some occupation, in which event the family would be reunited,” he told her almost negligently, but Anna knew her Conde by now. She was not deceived. Truly, he became dearer every minute!
“You wish more coffee, Anna? No? Then we will depart, I think. The hour is late, and we must return to the Castillo. I think you will sleep some more hours in the morning, pequena, the better to recover from your ordeal.”
“I’ve recovered already,” she assured him sincerely. “Your therapy has been very effective, Nicolas. And I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep at all. I’m much too excited.”
His eyes met hers possessively across the table.
She didn’t have to say more. They understood each other perfectly.
Soon they were in the long cream car. The engine set up a powerful hum as they moved off along the winding road beside the sea. The moonlight threw the coastline into sharp relief, and glittered on the water.
They were going home together—she and Nicolas. Home with Nicolas, she thought, a little drowsily. Suddenly it seemed to Anna that several bright stars converged on one central point, to become one single beautiful brilliant star. It shone down on them now, as they made their way back to the Castillo Barientos.
Anna knew that it must be her own particular star. It was the brightest in all the heavens.
