The Bay of Moonlight

by Rose Burghley

  Dinner was very much like the first dinner she had shared with her employer, in the villa. He was in what she would have described to herself as a slightly 'scratchy' mood, one moment urbane, one moment cool as the ice that was served with their drinks. He was impeccably dressed, quite startlingly handsome, and even in his moments of coolness and reserve an attentive and courteous host. She was not allowed to pare a peach for herself, or even to lift the heavy silver coffee-pot that was brought in with the tray and balance it above the fragile porcelain cups that quite fascinated her because they were so obviously valuable.

  'That is too heavy for you,' her employer said, and insisted on taking the weight of the coffee-pot himself while she guided it towards the cups. She could feel his fingers making the lightest form of contact with her own, and despite the fact that she was concentrating on filling the cups without allowing any of the liquid to stain the beautiful lace-edged cloth that covered the tray she reacted quite definitely to that contact.

  She felt as if the warmth of his fingers was lingering over her own for some time after he had moved away from her, and was leaning against the mantelpiece beneath the portrait of Venetia and sipping his coffee thoughtfully.

  They talked idly for a while, and she thought he was growing bored with her companionship, and was probably wishing to be left alone . . . with the portrait of Venetia that so adorned the wall above the fireplace?

  She rose somewhat hurriedly at last and said she would go to bed, but he walked swiftly towards one of the open french windows, and suggested that she took a turn in the garden first.

  'At this time of year, on this particular part of the coast, the nights are at their best,' he told her, 'and to be enjoyed if one is not over-anxious to retire. The moon is at its full tonight, and you will see it shining on the sea. And remember, the natives call it the Bay of Moonlight. I will not attempt to tell you what that is in Portuguese, but moonlight in any language is enchanting.' He glanced at her as she moved obediently towards the open window. 'Will you be cold?' he asked, observing that her shoulders were rather bare, and the frock she wore was pale and insubstantial. 'Would it not be best, perhaps, if you fetched some sort of wrap?'

  Sarah shook her head, smiling.

  'Even in England at this time of year I wouldn't bother about a wrap on a night like this,' she told him. 'And here it is quite a few degrees warmer than in England.'

  'I hope so,' he returned - a little drily, she thought. 'I once spent a summer in England, and it was supposed to be quite a good summer, but I do not remember that I was ever particularly warm. You have a basically cool climate, Miss Cunninghame, and perhaps that is why you are basically cool yourself.'

  'Am I?' She glanced up at him in surprise as she walked at his side along a moonlit path. 'How can you possibly be sure of that?'

  He glanced down at her lazily, with a tiny inscrutable smile in his infinitely deep, dark eyes.

  'It is something of which I am reasonably certain,' he answered.

  She shook her head, feeling annoyed by his assumption.

  'Then shall I tell you something, senhor?' she asked, feeling greatly daring. 'Something of which I have been reasonably certain ever since this morning.'

  In the flood of moonlight that engulfed them she could see his shapely eyebrows rear upwards.

  'Ah!' he exclaimed, very softly, as if he was intrigued and amused at the same time. 'Now there are to be revelations, are there? Well, let me into the secret, Sarah. What is it that you are reasonably certain about?'

  They were walking across a sloping lawn that afforded them a breathtaking view of the Bay of Moonlight ... and Sarah was temporarily so enraptured that she forgot, for a few seconds, the daring revelation that she had been about to make to him. The garden was all indigo shadow or dazzling moonlight, and the shaven turf beneath her feet felt like a carpet of velvet. It was an extraordinary experience walking forward towards an expanse of ocean that appeared to be created entirely out of molten metal, and one radiant pathway leading directly to the horizon that was a pathway of beaten gold.

  The stars hung close above it, and the moon sailed triumphantly clear of it, caught up in the branches of an umbrella pine that had its roots in the garden of La Cristola and overhung the whiteness of the beach below the garden. Sarah thought of Japanese prints and Chinese paintings, and her eyes widened with a look of delight, and her breath caught for a moment. Impulsively she laid a hand on Saratola's sleeve to draw his attention to the miracle that lay before them, and unseen by her he smiled.

  'You are not surprised that we call it the Bay of Moonlight, are you?' he asked.

  She shook her head.

  'It must be the most beautiful bay in the world ... and at night it takes my breath away!' she confessed.

  'I was walking below your window last night,' he told her, 'and I saw you on your balcony. If I had listened to your appeal to be near the children you would not have had such a view.'

  'You are quite right, of course, senhor,' she agreed. 'But you must not forget that the reason why I am here is to be with the children, and my conscience tells me I should be closer to Maria at night. And if ever she wakes and is really alarmed because she finds herself alone and I get to hear about it I shall find it hard to forgive myself.'

  'Nonsense.' His voice was soft. 'If she is as alarmed as all that she will call out, and you will hear her.'

  She glanced up at him sceptically.

  'That is what you think, senhor. But children have nightmares and things like that, and it is the knowledge that someone is near that is important.'

  'Roberto is near. He is not the type to have nightmares.'

  'How do you know?'

  'He is very much as I was - apart from his looks - when I was his age, and I did not have nightmares.'

  Her eyes, as they were lifted to his face this time, revealed very plainly that she was quite certain he was stating a simple truth. He was not the type to have nightmares, not even when he was as small as Roberto. And he was so masculine - so intensely masculine - that, as a brother, any small sister that he possessed must have found him wonderfully comforting on the occasions when her nerves got a little out of hand. That is, if he was allowed to sleep near her.

  'Well?' He smiled down at her with a gleam of mildly derisive humour in his eyes. 'What was it you were about to say to me when the moonlight affected you so that you apparently forgot you were about to be either extraordinarily truthful, or extraordinarily frank? I am anxious to hear it, Senhorita Sarah!'

  She removed her hand from his sleeve - she had been unable to do so before because he had laid his own lightly over hers and played with it gently - and wished that she had not been quite so impulsive.

  It was true, he seemed exceptionally amiable tonight and there was a quality like silk in his voice, and even when she felt he was jibing at her gently it was almost indulgent jibing.

  'Well?'

  She drew a deep breath.

  'When I first met you, senhor, I thought you could be kind ... I mean, I thought you might very well be very kind to your niece and nephew. But, later, I was not so sure. You seemed different, and a trifle harsh - unreasonable even. I felt rather sorry for Maria and Roberto. But yesterday and today, I've changed my mind again. I think your bark is much worse than your bite, as we say in England, and that they're really rather lucky to have you for an uncle. Especially as they haven't got a father!'

  'Thank you, senhorita.'' But she could not be sure that he wasn't mocking her. His eyes, when she ventured to meet them in the unearthly beauty of the moonlight, had a strange sparkle of amusement in them that was slightly disconcerting. But when he reached out his hand and captured hers and drew it through his arm as they approached the head of a flight of steps she once more derived an extraordinary sensation of comfort from the mere touch of his warm and virile fingers.. 'I try to be an even-tempered guardian, although I know little or nothing about children. It was because I sensed that you have a kind of natura
l affinity with diem that I wanted you to look after them, and so far I am fairly certain that I behaved wisely ‑if, perhaps, a trifle impulsively. And it might interest you to know that I do not normally behave impulsively. If anything, I am extremely cautious.'

  She nodded her head.

  'I can believe that.'

  'You do not think it is a good thing to behave with caution?'

  'I ... no. Otherwise I wouldn't be here now, would I?'

  He laughed softly.

  'I wonder what that admission means? Is it that you were carried away by the charms of my niece and nephew? Or did you wish, to remain longer in Portugal? Or was it I who succeeded in convincing you that you ought to remain ?'

  'I think it was you who convinced me, senhor.'

  'And Portugal had nothing to do with it?'

  'Oh, yes, of course I didn't want to go home so soon, and since my aunt had departed I had to go home. Or I would have had to go home but for you.'

  'There is also the Senhor Ironside,' he remarked drily. 'He was obviously most anxious to show you something of Portugal, and I believe it was agreed between you that there should be a - how do you call it? - getting together of the two of you? I have seldom seen a young man so dismayed when it became clear to him that I was snatching you away from him! However, from the little I know of young men of his type I do not honestly think you are missing very much, Sarah... in fact, very little!'

  'Why ?' she asked curiously.

  'He is one hundred per cent brash American ... not, I hope you understand my meaning, pure American! I have several American friends, and I like very much to visit America. But your Mr. Frank Ironside is—' he frowned '—a kind of happy-go-lucky adventurer. Undoubtedly he liked you very much, and wished to see you again. But my advice to you is ... do not see him again! I hope you have not started a correspondence with him.'

  She shook her head.

  'No.' But she was not entirely sure it was his concern in any case.

  'I am your employer, and I feel responsible for you,' He had released her hand, and they were walking very correctly side by side. 'I cannot claim to know your aunt, but years ago I believe some member of your family very nearly became a member of mine.'

  'My grandmother,' she murmured, gazing dreamily out to sea.

  'That is so. It was your grandmother. And although it was merely an incident and nothing resulted from it I do feel that, because of what might have come of it - if for no other reason - I must advise you against continuing an acquaintance with a young man like Frank Ironside. If he should seek you out here I hope you will have the strength to tell him that he has made a mistake ... and I do not, above all, wish the children to be brought in any way under his influence. You understand me, Miss Cunninghame?'

  She nodded again. She thought that she understood him very well indeed.

  'I understand, senhor,' she answered with a certain dryness.

  'I'm glad you do.' His voice was cool and contained. 'Shall we go in now?'

  CHAPTER FIVE

  He departed for Lisbon the following day, and life at the Villa La Cristola developed an even tenor, and was very pleasant because apart from the fact that the weather was always wonderful and the scenery perfect they were deliciously idle days that the children and Sarah spent together; and although her conscience troubled her because they were so idle there was nothing very much that she could do about it, and in any case, the children were supposed to be on holiday.

  Supposed to be on holiday. But Roberto lived in daily dread of the arrival of his tutor, who would make inroads on the amount of time he could spend on the beach, and in the sea, and playing in the garden of La Cristola. Maria was all right because nothing had been said about her devoting herself to lessons, and it was Sarah's own idea that she should help her improve her English vocabulary, as well as her handwriting, for an hour or so each day ... and she also organized various quiz games for the children, intended to help their general knowledge, and they discussed all sorts of things while they were on the beach, or sitting in a shady arbour in the garden, and managed to convince Sarah that they were an exceptionally bright pair of youngsters who only needed the right treatment to ensure that one day they would be positively brilliant. Or Roberto would, anyway ‑

  But for the time being he was somewhat overanxious concerning the much publicized arrival of Senhor d'Albrantes, who was to commence in earnest his academic training. He seemed a little young, to Sarah, to be consigned to the tender mercies of a tutor, and in England the very idea would have seemed absurd, and a nursery school more likely to cater for his wants; but apparently in Portugal things were very different.

  Senhor d'Albrantes, once he actually did put in an appearance, would start teaching him Latin and mathematics and possibly, also, Portuguese history and world history before he was even able to spell simple English words, and had virtually no capacity for spelling Portuguese words. He would put him through his paces, as his uncle had phrased it more than once, and start turning him into an adult before he was properly a child, and it seemed all wrong to Sarah, especially when his mother had temporarily deserted him, and his father had died only very recently.

  A summer by the sea - a relaxed summer by the sea - might have suited him better, and aided his development better. But she had her instructions from Philip Saratola, and the moment Senhor d'Albrantes arrived she knew that she must hand Roberto over meekly and do nothing whatsoever to interfere with the programme that was already laid down for him.

  So Roberto, in between running wild on the beach and swimming like a fish in the blue waters of the bay, kept an anxious eye open for Senhor d'Albrantes' car which would one day turn in at the gates of the villa, and announce the end of his freedom. But a week passed, and there was no sign of the tutor, and there was also no word from him. From the owner of La Cristola there was neither telephone message nor a short, scribbled note to state that he hoped things were proceeding well at the villa.

  Towards the end of the week, however, they did have a visitor.

  Sarah, who was sitting in the shade of her favourite rock and reading a book, heard Roberto call out, and when she looked up he was pointing towards the road that passed by the villa gates. A car was stationary on the road, closer to the beach than the villa itself, and inside it at the wheel sat a solitary young man.

  For one instant Sarah was quite sure it was Senhor d'Albrantes; and then she recognized the fair head and the tanned face of Frank Ironside, and could hardly believe that her eyes weren't deceiving her. Frank waved vigorously, and she waved back ... after one uncertain moment during which Maria came running along the beach with a pail full of shells and regarded her anxiously.

  'It's a man,' she said. 'Has he come to teach Roberto?'

  'No, darling.' Sarah stood up and dusted sand from the front of her dress and put an arm about her because Maria was not accustomed to meeting many men, and she looked alarmed. Roberto joined them, looking frankly curious.

  'It is a man,' he agreed, 'and he's got hair the colour of mine.' Then memory must have asserted itself, for he added - just before his sister recollected that she had seen the man before - 'It is your friend, senhorita ... the gentleman who spoke to you in the hotel!'

  Maria nodded in support of the statement.

  'Who wanted to see you again,' she said.

  Frank Ironside wasted no time in joining them on the beach, and Sarah was glad that he did so because she was not at all sure that she ought to invite him inside the villa. He looked exactly the same as when she saw him last, except that he was more tanned and his clothes struck her as being rather disreputable. At the hotel in Lisbon he had made some attempt to conform to Portuguese standards, and she seemed to remember that inside the hotel at least his trousers had been fairly well pressed.

  But now they looked as if he might have slept in them recently, and they were in point of fact a pair of very shabby jeans. He wore a striped T-shirt that emphasized his wiry leanness and the sunburnt conditi
on of his face and neck; and by contrast with that sunburnt condition his hair looked several shades fairer.

  His eyes were smiling as he ran down the beach to meet her, and he actually held out both hands to her.

  'Sarah! What luck to spot you like this, when I was just to drive sedately up to the house and inquire for you!' His attractive grey eyes beamed with pleasure as they roved over her. 'You look swell . . . absolutely swell! And I can't tell you how delighted I am to see you again!'

  Sarah permitted him to seize both her hands, but she drew back in embarrassment when he proceeded to salute them in Portuguese fashion ... with rather more enthusiasm, however, than a chaste kiss of greeting on the inside of the wrists usually carries with it.

  'You're pleased to see me? Say you're pleased to see me,' he urged.

  'Well. ...' Sarah glanced at her charges, and continued to look embarrassed. 'Of course it's nice to see you again, but I'm also very surprised to see you. I can't think what you're doing as far away as this from Lisbon.'

  He indicated the car on the road.

  'I hired it,' he said. 'It's mine for a fortnight, and that means I can go more or less where I like. Naturally, as soon as the deal was concluded, I rushed off here to see you. ... And make certain they're treating you properly.'

  'Of course I'm being treated properly.'

  Sarah felt curiously bereft of speech, and she wished her two charges were not so inclined to stare askance at her friend, and that their memories were not as perfect as they apparently were. Maria had recollected immediately that Frank Ironside had wanted to see her again, and she probably also remembered that her uncle had been far from pleased when the American had detained them as long as he did ... and if her expression was anything to go by her uncle's sentiments on that occasion found an echo in her own on this occasion. She even looked slightly sulky and hung her head when Sarah thought it necessary to effect a form of introduction, while Roberto - whose manners were usually impeccable - simply stared and did not offer his hand.