The Bay of Moonlight

by Rose Burghley

  'I think that's the lot.' He counted them as he stood up and straightened his shoulders. 'Twelve in a packet! ... That is right, senhorita?' His dark eyes flickered over her, taking in the simple lines of her pale pink linen dress, her camera slung across her shoulder, a pair of sun-glasses clutched in a hand with delicate pink fingernails. 'Ah!' and he dived to retrieve the compact. 'I am afraid that some of your money will not be recovered ... at any rate, not until the room is cleared. But I am sure that when it is recovered it will be handed over to you.'

  Sarah assured him that they were all coins of a lower denomination, and their loss would not seriously embarrass her. And while she did so her cheeks burned hotly, and she wished that two waiters who were also crawling about on their knees would cease their operations and that she would be allowed to escape without any further reference to any of her possessions that were still lying about on the dining-room floor ... even her little hand-tooled purse of soft green leather that she had bought at a jumble sale far away in England.

  But a young American tourist brought her tiny St. Christopher badge that was made of beaten silver over to her, and one of the waiters grinned from ear to ear as he passed her a fistful of coins. The other waiter promised a thorough search as soon as the lunch was over, and a couple of Portuguese ladies in sober black that was offset by quite a lot of jewellery regarded her in cold surprise beneath the brims of their fashionable hats; and one of them actually put up a pearl-handled lorgnette the better to observe her.

  Then she was permitted to escape - but not before the dark man had accorded her quite a graceful bow - and she flew up to her room rather than wait for the lift and felt as if the entire hotel knew about her awkwardness in the dining-room.

  That was the sort of thing her Aunt Constance would have deplored. One should never draw attention to oneself, or so she maintained, and as Sarah studied her hot face in the mirror on her dressing-table she was sure that she had drawn quite a critical lot of attention to herself.

  And she was still without her purse, that was reposing beneath the dark gentleman's chair.

  She sat down to write hurriedly on one or two of the postcards before she set out to do what her aunt had suggested, and that was have a look at the shops. She had already looked at many of them, and knew very well where the most likely little establishments devoted to the cult of feminine allure were situated, and all she had to do was to mention a certain street to the taxi-man when she stepped outside the hotel to be whirled there at once.

  She felt better once she was outside the hotel, and inclined to look upon the incident in the dining-room as nothing very abnormal; and although she had suffered embarrassment it was easily wiped away by the promise that she made to herself that she would buy herself something new and rather fetching to wear at dinner that night. It would be the first night that she had had to appear in the dining-room alone - and after the incident at lunch there might be one or two curious glances cast in her direction - and a new dress would give her poise, and most certainly help matters.

  It didn't have to be anything wildly expensive. She had had to make her money go as far as possible for so long now that it would not be easy for her to be extravagant, But she was determined that she was going to acquire something nice.

  It would be a souvenir for her to carry away with her from Lisbon.

  She asked the taxi-driver to put her down in the middle of the main shopping area, which in Lisbon is quite fascinating because it either climbs steeply uphill or steeply down. The streets are narrow and usually crowded with shoppers, and in summertime thronged with tourists. It was too early yet for the main body of tourists, and the jacaranda trees along by the river were still in flower - the famous jacaranda trees that had brought a gasp from Sarah when she saw them for the first time; but she found herself jostled on all sides, nevertheless, as she tried to remember where she had seen the really exciting shops - the frightfully expensive shops - that her aunt had not hesitated to patronize, and where for once she meant to go slightly berserk.

  She had bought herself a pair of shoes and a whole new range of cosmetics before she finally found herself standing in the middle of an elegant square of carpet in the shop, where she parted with most of her money. She discovered that she was beset by extraordinary weakness once she actually released the brakes, as it were, and before she quite realized what had happened she found herself the possessor of not merely a new evening dress, but a cocktail outfit that was utterly enchanting.

  The evening dress was white silk crepe with some touches of silver, and the shop assistant guided her choice over this. Perhaps because she was tired of sallow-faced ladies who went in overwhelmingly for black she was quite voluble about the charms of white for one with such a startlingly perfect complexion as Sarah. She was obviously fascinated by the golden highlights in Sarah's 'mousy' hair, and even a little hypnotized by her eager blue glances. She kept murmuring compulsively that 'the senhorita was so very English', and Sarah realized at last that this inevitably stamped her as quite unfitted to make her appearance in one of those mysteriously draped dresses that were almost invariably slightly risqué, whether the material was 'see-through' black lace or richly gleaming velvet, that were apparently exclusively designed to enhance heavy milk-white skins and a certain seductiveness.

  She was not seductive - or that, apparently, was the shop-assistant's opinion - and her skin was English. Which meant a little like a drift of apple blossom - which were words the shop assistant would have used if she could have thought of them, and translated them from Portuguese into English.

  However, nothing could alter Sarah's mind when she decided that the one thing she had always wanted and was now determined to carry away with her out of the shop was a slender black silk suit with which was worn an utterly delectable white chiffon blouse that had waterfalls of lace at the neck and wrists.

  She had never seen anything quite like it before, and it really did suit her. In fact, in her own opinion, it quite transformed her.

  She paid for her purchases and received the joint smiles of the two assistants in the shop, and then hurried out and made for another shop where she bought a large and highly ornamental box of assorted confectionery for the two Saratola children. She had promised Maria a balloon, but she couldn't see any balloons, and it was getting late, so she took a taxi back to the hotel and the lift to the first floor, and handed over the box of confectionery to the elderly sour-faced woman who opened the door of the Saratola suite to her.

  The woman seemed surprised, and then very much inclined to hesitate over accepting the present. She pointed out in stilted Portuguese that the Senhora Saratola might object, and when it was apparently borne in on her that Sarah was English thrust the box at her and said rather rudely,

  'No, thank you, I cannot take it. The children are not allowed sweets - they are bad for their teeth - and, in any case, I do not know you!'

  There was no sound of the children inside the silent suite, and she was about to close the door in Sarah's face when a man's voice spoke unexpectedly from the, shadows of the partly seen room.

  'Who is it, Carmelita? Who are you sending away?'

  He, too, spoke in English, and Sarah was so surprised when she saw who it was that she actually stared at him.

  'You!' she said.

  It sounded almost as rude as Carmelita's blunt refusal to accept the box of confectionery, but the brilliant blush that stained Sarah's cheeks as soon as the solitary word had escaped her no doubt decided him against taking any offence. In fact, he actually smiled at her.

  'I am very glad to see you again, senhorita,' he told her, 'because I have something for you.'

  He disappeared for an instant, and then returned and handed over her small green leather purse.

  'It was under my chair,' he admitted, his beautifully white and very even teeth flashing in a distinctly attractive way in the rather grave thinness of his dark face. 'I was proposing to lodge it with one of the clerks at the rece
ption desk, but fortunately you have now made that unnecessary.'

  'Oh, thank you ... thank you very much!' Sarah responded, grasping the purse. She was rather hot after her somewhat strenuous afternoon, and the colour was slow to die away in her cheeks. 'I had missed it,' she admitted.

  'I'm afraid it's empty.' He continued to smile, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. 'Let's hope one of the waiters has collected some more of your money for you.'

  'Oh, but there was really very little in it... I mean, I only use it for bus fares, and things like that.' She felt oddly confused as she looked down at the gay carton of sweets in her other hand. Somewhat tentatively she handed it over. 'I - I bought these for—'

  'Maria and Roberto? That was most kind!' She knew that there was no mistake about the appreciative flash in his eyes, the sudden warmth in his voice. He accepted the carton without hesitation, and she saw him smile at the bright ribbon and the garlanded sides of the box itself. 'Maria will probably keep her hair ribbons in this when the contents have disappeared. I believe she has a very large number of them.'

  'A good idea,' Sarah said, rather feebly.

  The servant said something to him swiftly in Portuguese, and he frowned at her.

  'Oh, but that is nonsense,' he observed rather curtly. 'In fact, I think it's quite ridiculous!' Then he bowed formally to Sarah. 'The children will thank you themselves tomorrow, senhorita.'

  She assured him that there was no need for any further thanks. She now knew why his eyes had seemed familiar when she gazed into them at first, and the thing that puzzled her was her curious disinclination to believe that he was the children's father. She ought to have guessed immediately, but she didn't... and now it was so obvious that she supposed she ought to have said something like, 'You must be Mr. Saratola? I think your children are fascinating, and I love to watch them at play! I think they've been rather lonely. They'll be happy now you've come!'

  But she hadn't, and perhaps it was as well. The Portuguese were a very formal people, and he might have considered it rather bad taste'. . . and in any case, rather gushing. She was glad she hadn't gushed.

  She backed away from the door for a foot or so, then turned and made all haste back to the lift. As she ascended to the floor above - a little less pricey than the first floor - she thought with a kind of dismay of the woman who was in charge of Maria and Roberto. It was the first time she had had any conversation at all with her, and she seemed distinctly forbidding. No wonder Maria had that slightly furtive, slightly uneasy air. She was probably always expecting Carmelita to pounce upon her for doing something she ought not to do.

  Sarah wore the white dress that night, but she felt too conscious of her aloneness to take note of its effect on her fellow diners. And as in order to avoid the rush she went down early for her evening meal there were not many other people in the dining-room.

  She had the same table that she had shared with Aunt Constance, and it was rather tucked away and further protected by a cascade of greenery and a brilliant flower arrangement from prying eyes. Aunt Constance disliked prying eyes, and tonight Sarah - who normally liked to see a good deal of what was going on around her - felt grateful for the fact that her table was so far removed from the centre of the room.

  The young American tourist who had retrieved her St. Christopher badge was sitting near to her, she discovered suddenly when she was half-way through her soup. He was quite a pleasant-looking young man, with closely-cropped fairish hair and a pair of rather amused grey eyes. He was waiting for the moment when she would look up and recognize him, and the instant she did he smiled swiftly and then rose and walked across to her.

  'I was wondering whether you're doing anything tonight,' he told her frankly. 'That lady who was with you - your aunt, was it - has left, I understand, and if that means you're going to be alone - well, it's a bit dull being alone in a place like Lisbon!'

  Sarah found herself quite captivated by his uninhibited smile. He could not have been older than twenty-five or six - perhaps a couple of years older than herself - and he had that well-scrubbed and barbered appearance that she liked a young man to have, and his American drawl was not too pronounced.

  'Well.... 'she began.

  'The name is Frank Ironside ... one of Cromwell's Ironsides!' He grinned at her. 'You don't have to tell me who you are, because I know. I made a lot of inquiries about you days ago, only at that time your aunt was very much in attendance, and I didn't think it wise to try and detach you from her. However, now - now that there's just the two of us! - why can't we occasionally join forces?'

  'So long as it's only occasionally that you expect me to join forces with you, Mr. Ironside.' But she smiled back at him. 'I haven't thanked you properly yet for rescuing my St. Christopher . . . and I would have hated to lose it, because I've had it for years.'

  "Then I'm happy you've got it back.'

  'I felt so stupid, upsetting my bag like that. Mr. Saratola returned my purse this evening.' . 'Mr. Saratola? Oh, you mean that dark chap who sat over there?' jerking his head at the Saratola table. 'Is he the father of the two children who spend nearly every hour of every day playing in the garden? I gathered that he was coming to collect them.'

  'Yes. They're sweet, aren't they? Not a bit like English children.'

  'But then they're only half English. The mother's a smasher. I saw her in the lift on the night she arrived. Whew! ...' He rolled up his eyes. 'Some men have all the luck. And Philip Saratola has a lot besides. Have you seen the car the children are taken out in? And the car Saratola arrived in? I was admiring it in the garage. I'm afraid I'm doing Europe on foot, and that makes me feel distinctly envious.'

  . She felt surprised.

  'You're doing Europe on foot? And yet you can stay at a hotel like this—?'

  He shrugged, and grinned again.

  'Oh, well, perhaps it's not as bad as that. I can occasionally afford the little luxury. But at the moment I'm without a car, which makes me sore.'

  'You could hire one.'

  'I could,' he agreed. He was gazing at her smooth face, and the long hair that was so bright under the lights. Like Aunt Constance, he considered she was unusually attractive, and he wanted to discover how long she was remaining in Lisbon. He remained at her table until she had completed her meal, and then he suggested that they went through into one of the public rooms for coffee.

  He had by this time complimented her on her dress, which he shrewdly suspected was new, and she was gratified because apparently the shop assistant had been right and she was not really the type to be dramatized by black. Judging by the appreciative gleam in his eyes whenever he glanced at her he considered himself in luck because her aunt had departed and the opportunity to get to know her had arisen so naturally.

  They ensconced themselves on a large and comfortable settee that was partially protected from the public gaze by a handsome palm in a brass pot, and they drank several cups of coffee and learned quite a lot about one another - although Sarah was always reticent about revealing certain aspects of her own private life until she got to know someone a little better than she as yet knew Frank Ironside. Although she was inclined to suspect that, as she was remaining in Lisbon for another week, and he apparently had no plans for moving on immediately, she would soon know enough about him to make her decide whether or not she wished him in return to know more about herself.

  She gathered that he was a New Yorker, although his mother was a Bostonian, and apparently his father was sufficiently well-to-do to make him an allowance that enabled him to see the world. But his father also expected him to go into his business one of these days, and he couldn't wander for ever. As it was, his parents were growing restless because he kept postponing his return, and sometimes he found it difficult to stretch his allowance because he had a weakness for the flesh- pots and disliked second-class -hotels; and rather than stay in a second-class hotel he much preferred to sleep under the stars ... which he had actually done on more than one occasion sin
ce he left home.

  He had already seen quite a lot of Spain, and was proposing to see more of it before he went home. He had stayed in London, and Paris, and been quite fascinated by Vienna, and lived rough for a time in Jugoslavia. He had intended to penetrate as far as Moscow ... but somehow he didn't think he'd do that now. He wanted to see as much as he could of Portugal, and wanted to make his way down to the Algarve. He might rent a cottage, or something of the sort, and take root for a time. If ever he ran out of funds he was quite a clever artist, and his pictures were saleable. Also, he had intended at one time to teach, and he supposed he could do a spot of tutoring ... a job teaching English in a Portuguese family mightn't be a bad idea.

  While he was painstakingly cataloguing his various assets and likely attributes Sarah, who enjoyed listening to him but, unknown to him, was thinking of other things as well, suddenly noticed Philip Saratola make his appearance in one of the doorways and cross the room towards one of the other doors. He was wearing dark evening clothes and he looked even more distinguished than he had looked at lunch, with very much the air of being a member of the best class of Portuguese society, and therefore most decidedly a focal point for many pairs of feminine eyes, especially the eyes of dowagers, who were inclined to beam openly on him, and if they hadn't the pleasure of his acquaintance looked as if they would have given quite a lot of what they possessed to have the right to incline their heads to him, and see him incline his head in acknowledgement.

  Sarah stiffened slightly - for a reason that was not quite clear to her - when she first caught sight of him; and then she shrank in her corner of the settee^ hoping against hope that he would not notice her.

  There was no reason why he shouldn't notice her, but she didn't want him to do so... not while Frank Ironside was balding towards her and smiling into her eyes while he unfolded the tale of his life for her benefit.

  By this time he had the feeling that they had known one another for ages, and his smiles were meaningful, and he was inclined to reach out playfully and capture one of her hands, giving it a squeeze occasionally. At the very moment that Saratola caught sight of them, and paused, he was complimenting her on the slenderness of her fingers and the delicacy of her nail varnish.