The Bay of Moonlight

by Rose Burghley

  When she allowed herself to dwell on it the size of the problem she had taken on assumed somewhat alarming proportions.

  However, she thoroughly enjoyed the drive in the car, and once lunch was over and they went on their way she was fascinated by the gradually changing scenery. At first it had been nothing but cork forests and chestnut trees and scrub; but now the coastal strip took on the appearance of one continuous orchard. It was the season of the year when everything was just beginning to come alive with the maximum amount of beauty and colour, and they drove through a sea of almond blossom and oranges. There were palms and carobs, figs, pomegranates and prickly pear, and gradually the overall look was distinctly Moorish. Saratola explained to her that that part of Portugal, known as the Algarve, was once part of the ancient Moorish kingdom, and had included Tangier across the sparkling blue water. Even the houses had a Moorish look, with their flat tops and dazzling white walls, and the coastal villages were enchanting. The big white car slipped like a serpent along narrow, winding streets between cafes and inns and quaint outdoor dancing-places, and down on the beaches fishing-boats were drawn up high on the blazing white sand, and there were delightful vistas of heavenly blue bays and low cliffs and lizard-like rocks lying spread out under the sun.

  It was early evening when they emerged from a village to proceed up a palm-lined drive guarded by ornamental gates to a low white house that appeared to be clinging perilously close to the edge of a bay. It was such a beautiful bay that Sarah found it hard to believe that what she was actually gazing at was real and not just part of a painted backcloth at the theatre, or some fantastic illustration in a book intended to appeal to lotus-eaters.

  It was a wide, incredibly blue bay, and at that hour of the day, with the sun sinking lower and lower and glowing red as a ball of fire in the completely cloudless sky, the light that lay upon land and sea was bewildering and a kind of revelation. The rocks that littered the white beach had turned to purple and indigo, and the few umbrella pines and palms that leaned from the low cliff to peer at their reflections in the pellucid water were black against the riot of colour in the sky. Surrounding hills had a sable quality, and the colony of low white houses nestling amongst the hills were all reflecting back the light and pink as candy-floss.

  As they swung between the open gates Maria leaned forward excitedly and shrieked:

  'We're here!'

  And at the same moment her uncle, negotiating a sharp turn in the drive without even slackening speed, turned his head slightly over his shoulder and informed Sarah with an air of complete composure and ho excitement whatsoever:

  'This is La Cristola.'

  The way he said it it might have been anywhere, without any special charm. He was obviously relieved to be at the end of a long journey and sighed with faint pleasure as he switched off his engine and engulfed them all in a crystal-clear silence; but the place plainly had no particular significance for him, nothing to arouse emotion. It was just one of his several homes scattered about the length and breadth of Portugal.

  The gardens were a blaze of colour and swam in the weird, unearthly light. The house, with its smooth facade broken by green-painted iron balconies and discreetly-closed shutters, rose up silently on one side of the drive, while on the other emerald green lawns sloped to the sea. It was an oasis of tranquillity in an only partly real setting, and Sarah felt both stiff and bemused as she climbed out of the car.

  The children started running feverishly along the path and would have disappeared altogether had not their uncle called them back. He did so in a stern and disapproving tone and ordered them; instead, to remove their personal possessions from the car and carry them into the house. Sarah had considered their behaviour on the journey exemplary, and would willingly have dismissed them to stretch their legs and get rid of some of the bottled-up exuberance that she knew was coursing through their veins, but she had already made one mistake that morning and did not wish to repeat it. Particularly at this wrong end of the day, when the children's temporary guardian seemed to be labouring under some slight dissatisfaction with the task entrusted to him . . .unless it was purely Sarah's imagination.

  The housekeeper was waiting to receive them in the hall, 'and was obviously surprised because a young Englishwoman instead of Carmelita was in charge of the children. Saratola had apparently not thought it necessary to advise her either by telephone or telegram of the accident that had made it necessary for Carmelita to enter hospital, and no room had been prepared for Sarah. Carmelita's room - or the room she would have occupied - was hardly suitable; and the fact that she had been given no opportunity to prove how effectively she could rise to suddenly altered circumstances seemed to affect the housekeeper adversely. She was a tall, middle-aged, sallow-faced woman who was plainly none too pleased because for the next few weeks the house would be echoing to the lively voices and footfalls of children who were legally no real concern of her employer, and she was so like Carmelita, in fact, that Sarah was certain the two could have got along excellently if fate had not decided otherwise.

  She had probably been looking forward to the arrival of Carmelita, and Sarah was a poor substitute. She made protesting noises and said something about it taking some time to get a room prepared, and her master retaliated sharply by making it clear that he expected all rooms in the villa to be ready at all times for any of his friends who chose to visit him while he was there. This upset Senhora Delgado so much that she went off greatly agitated to get the room ready herself, since, as she explained, her daily domestic helpers had gone home for the day, and one could hardly expect a manservant to lend a hand with bed-making.

  The manservant, who was also a relative - a brother, Sarah later found out - of Senhora Delgado, made his appearance from the kitchen quarters and soothed the rising ire in his master's breast by swinging open the door of a comfortable-looking study-cum-library and revealing a tray of drinks already awaiting him.

  Sarah was not asked whether she would like anything in the nature of liquid refreshment, and she followed the children upstairs to the two rooms that had already been prepared for them.

  They were really quite delightful rooms, and contained in a wing of the house that had at one time been used as nursery quarters. The two rooms adjoined one another, and were decorated in pastel colours and had a lot of snowy net Curtaining at the windows and big white wardrobes and chests of drawers. The floors were highly polished and a little dangerous, Sarah thought, because the rugs skidded about on them, and the children had evidently benefited from this aspect of the furnishing in the past.

  When she joined them with the remainder of the hand-luggage they were tobogganing across the floor in Maria's room, and a nasty accident was averted only by her nimbleness in stepping out of the way. If it had been Senhora Delgado instead of herself there might have been serious consequences, and she seized the opportunity to drive home to the children the rashness of risking disaster in this way. Carmelita was already in hospital, and their uncle could not afford another casualty.

  Maria seemed diverted by the thought of the housekeeper measuring her length on the floor every time they cannoned into her, and then she remembered a serious disadvantage attaching to the two rooms in the remote nursery wing, and sought to get it remedied if she could.

  There was another small room, in addition to the bathroom, in which Carmelita would have slept if she had accompanied them, and at least they would have had the comfort of her near presence during the night.

  But since Sarah was not to occupy the room, and another in the main part of the house was being got ready for her, there would be no one to share their isolation, and Maria was a bad sleeper. In fact, she very frequently had nightmares, and she did not think she would be able to attempt to sleep at all if Sarah did not consent to move into the room that was to have been Carmelita's.

  This was an aspect of the problem of looking after the children that Sarah did not feel she could ignore, and she took a look at the room in w
hich Carmelita was to have slept and decided that there was no real reason why she shouldn't make it her own. It was small, and by comparison with the other two rooms rather poorly furnished, but at least it was immaculately clean and slightly clinical in its bareness, and she promised Maria that she would discuss the matter with Senhora Delgado when she went downstairs again, but at the moment she did not feel quite up to bearding her in the room where she no doubt was working strenuously at that very moment, and where she might even be feeling rather shorter-tempered than she had been on their arrival.

  Besides, she spoke nothing but Portuguese, and Sarah was not prepared to try out her few words of Portuguese on her when she was feeling rather tired after a long and somewhat surprising day.

  'But,' she promised Maria, 'I will have a word with her some time.'

  'Before we go to bed tonight?' Maria whispered to her fearfully.

  Sarah, who had already insisted on their undressing and getting ready for their baths, shook her head after a moment of thought. .

  'I'm afraid it will have to be after you've gone to bed. And I may have to refer the matter to your uncle, for I don't think I'll get very far with Senhora Delgado, who doesn't appear to understand a word I say.'

  Roberto assured her that Senhora Delgado did have quite a few words of English, but in any case he was quite willing to act as interpreter if she chose to allow him to accompany her on a search for the room that was being prepared for her. While quite unlikely to admit that he was in the least nervous himself, he did seem to be rather firmly convinced that it would be a good idea if Sarah slept reasonably near to them.

  But she shook her head equally firmly, and ran the water for their baths and saw them into their neat white beds, then went to find out whether or not they were to be allowed any supper. Fortunately for her lack of knowledge of the language she encountered a small maid in the corridor - undoubtedly summoned with haste from the village - and relieved her of the tray she was carrying, and at the same time made inquiries about her own room.

  The little maid conducted her to it once the children had each been provided with a glass of milk and a plate of biscuits which they had to share between them, and Sarah was enormously impressed by the grandeur of it and the contrast between it and the rooms in the nursery wing. This was undoubtedly one of the principal guest rooms, and she was surprised that Senhora Delgado had considered it necessary to make over such a room to her use. From the dubious looks she had received from the housekeeper on arrival and the evident resentment at being taken by surprise she would not have been at all astonished if something scarcely better than Carmelita's room had been prepared for her.

  Her luggage had been carried up from the car, the cases opened and her night things laid out for her across the bed, and if she had been a most important guest she could not have expected more attentive treatment. She discovered that she had a most luxurious bathroom all to herself, and the windows of the suite overlooked the sea, and opened on to one of the wrought-iron balconies that she had noted outside.

  The maid managed to make her understand that dinner would be in an hour, and the Senhor Saratola expected her to join him in the main sala at ten minutes before the hour. In order that there should be no mistake about this Sarah's wristwatch was consulted and the appropriate time pointed out to her, while the little maid beamed in a friendly fashion.

  At least one person in the district appeared to welcome her arrival, Sarah thought, and had some difficulty in getting rid of the young, eager-eyed girl who was most anxious to empty the entire contents of her suitcases for her and arrange them all in the drawers and wardrobe.

  She explained that her name was Inez, and she would be acting the part of nursery-maid. Sarah immediately seized upon this possible solution to her first major problem since becoming an employee of Philip Saratola, and decided to suggest to him at dinner that Inez should be permitted to sleep in the house and occupy the room adjoining the children's rooms.

  1

  If this could be arranged Maria need have no nightmares, and she need not say goodbye to her attractive balcony overlooking the sea. And Inez could act as a buffer state between her and Senhora Delgado... which she felt was important.

  CHAPTER THREE

  She dressed herself very carefully for dinner with her employer, selecting something quiet but attractive from her wardrobe, and making sure her hair was well brushed and orderly and that her face was fairly innocent of make-up. She had a feeling that Philip Saratola had definite views on the way a young woman should present herself in the household of someone who was employing her, and even though he might have admired her in a casual way in Lisbon he would prefer it if she remembered her place and did not seek to draw attention to herself under the new conditions.

  And even if his views were not particularly rigid she was reasonably certain that Senhora Delgado would be quite fanatical and expect her to remember her place.

  When they arrived the light had been fading and the hall was in shadow and she had been unable to take in much of the detail of the furnishing. But, descending the stairs exactly ten minutes before the dinner-gong summoned them to the dining-room, she was impressed by the solid handsomeness of the staircase, and by the beautiful rugs that lay glowing with jewel-like brilliance beneath the shine of the central chandelier on the gleaming surface of the carefully preserved tiles.

  These tiles were a feature of the villa, and she was to discover later that every room - with the exception of the bedrooms, that is - had its share of them. In the dining-room they were a cool mossy green, and matched the cool green walls and ceiling; in the sala, where she had received instructions to foregather with her host, they were pale amber, and created the illusion of a sea of amber light when the sun shone on them. In the hall, which was starkly simple apart from the beauty of the rugs, they were severely black and white.

  The sala door was standing open, and feeling distinctly nervous and even rather apprehensive, she crossed to it and entered with a slowing of her light footsteps. The room was large and the ceiling lofty, and between the floor and the ceiling there were several handsome pieces of furniture, some satin-damask-covered chairs and settees, and a mellow glow from discreetly shaded lights. The tiled surrounds matched the central carpet, and the effect was golden and warm as a ripe peach, although at the same time the atmosphere of the room was cool and reserved.

  One of the first things Sarah noticed was a portrait in oils above the fireplace, and this was such an arresting portrait that, even before she noticed her employer standing away at the far end of the room near one of the tall open windows, she stood still and stared up at it.

  It was the portrait of a woman ... and she didn't need to have it explained to her that it was the children's mother. And, like the room, it was all golden and enchanting, although the sitter actually wore a black frock.

  Sarah understood perfectly why black had been chosen to set off that honeyed beauty, but she did feel a little surprised that such a prominent position had been selected to display the portrait, for as Senhora Saratola was merely the sister-in-law of Philip Saratola his friends must have received the immediate impression that he was also a great admirer of hers.

  Saratola crossed the room and came up behind her, and he was wearing a beautifully-cut white dinner- jacket and looked as if he had taken time and pains with his shaving, and could hardly have been more immaculate.

  'That is Venetia,' he said quietly. 'You will almost certainly meet her before very long.'

  'Your sister-in-law?' she inquired, although she knew perfectly well that it was.

  'Yes. Do you see any likeness between her and Maria?'

  'None at all.'

  'Between Roberto and his mother?'

  'It's quite startling,' she admitted, and saw him smile in a gratified way. 'They are both very blonde and very Anglo-Saxon, which is not what I would have expected you to desire in a nephew, senhor,' she added frankly, as she turned to look up at him. 'If you had aske
d me which of the two children is your favourite - from the point of view of looks - I would have said that Maria must be.'

  He frowned quickly.

  'I try to avoid having favourites.'

  'But it does please you that Roberto is such an exact replica of his mother,' she hazarded shrewdly.

  The softened expression appeared in his eyes again, and altered the whole expression of his somewhat arrogant mouth.

  'That is true, senhorita. But I have a great admiration for my sister-in-law, and I sincerely trust that Roberto will favour her in every way when he grows up. In addition to such compelling looks and almost unbelievably perfect colouring Senhora Saratola has a disposition to appeal to everyone fortunate enough to be brought into contact with her. She is gentle, as I suspect Roberto is basically gentle, charming and gracious and capable at the same time. No one can run a house more competently than she can, or entertain in a more attractive way. It is a thousand pities that her own home has had to be sold up, but my brother imagined himself a business man, and got into rather serious difficulties. However, I naturally offered him all the assistance I could, and his widow is now my particular care ... his widow and her children,' he added, as if he thought it as well to include them with their mother.

  Sarah stared directly up at him in rather noticeable surprise.

  'You mean that when Senhora Saratola returns from America she will live here ?' she asked.

  He glanced at her rather more coolly.

  'Not necessarily here, but in one of my houses. I shall make it over to her, of course.'

  'And you will permit her to choose which of your houses she would like to settle down in?'

  'I have a number of houses, and she can certainly have her choice. But, as a matter of fact, it is already settled that she will live in Lisbon.' He walked to a side table and started to pour her a drink. 'Forgive me, Miss Cunninghame,' he apologized courteously, 'but I am forgetting my manners and duties as a host.'