Island Of Pearls

by Margaret Rome

  He speared over her to denounce, "Not as great a fool as I was, amada, when I convinced myself that innocence could exist even though your quick acceptance of material benefits made nonsense of the thought. You were bought, remember? And until such time as I think fit, you will remain here and carry out the duties you were employed to do."

  Bought! She flinched from his callous use of the word. "I won't stay," she forced out desperately, white to the lips. "If I decide to leave there's no way you can stop me!"

  He swung away, aggravated by her attitude of despair as she knelt at his feet, her head bowed over the broken remains of the treasured fan. His voice reached her clearly, clamped words spoken with such icy detachment there could be no doubt he meant what he said. "If you go, Carmen must go too. I am tired of complications, of constant female bickering. There is a convent school on the mainland which can accommodate her immediately, so when you do decide to

  leave let me know and I'll arrange transport for you both." He left the room without a backward glance at the kneeling figure staring through tear-filled eyes at the pieces of fan cradled in her cupped hands, but he must have known he left her shattered, with heart and hopes ground to pieces under the weight of his blatant blackmail.

  CHAPTER XII

  For days afterwards Hazel found it easy to keep out of Francisco's way. Each morning after breakfast his car drove away in the direction of the factory and did not return until evening long after dinner, sometimes after everyone in the Casa had retired to bed. She could not sleep on these occasions, but lay awake for hours seeking escape from the trap enclosing her, her determination to break free accelerated by the knowledge that Francisco was finding consolation in the company of Catryn, who had once made plain her willingness to play the role of comforter. The days dragged almost as wearily as the nights. Carmen's company and Tio's solicitude helped in a small way, but not enough to ease the burden which grew daily heavier, causing her small face to become pinched and her ready smile to disappear almost completely from a mouth that suffered wild periods of uncontrollable trembling.

  Tio Garcia was disturbed. He had watched with heartache the change in his now much-loved niece, and Francisco's prolonged absences had also been noted and shrewdly assessed. The rift between the two was wide and growing wider. Something, he decided, would have to be done.

  "Has Francisco mentioned that he has a house in Palma?" he questioned idly as they shared a seat in the grounds watching Carmen playing on a swing Hazel had had erected on the branch of a huge tree.

  Hazel quivered as she always did at the sound of his name, but strove to answer casually. "No, he's never mentioned it."

  "It's a beautiful house," he enthused, hoping to strike an answering spark. "When his mother was alive it was used frequently, but for the past few years it has been ignored, so much so that it worries me." Her head lifted, betraying fractional interest, and he felt encouraged to continue, "It's not that I distrust the servants - the resident housekeeper and her husband have been in the family's employ for years and are thoroughly trustworthy - but a house needs people; without them it grows cold and shows signs of neglect." He felt the choosing of his words was a touch of genius; any subject pertaining to neglect was sure to arouse her sympathy.

  "What a pity!" she sighed, then upon reflection. "I'd like to see it, Tio - would it be possible, do you think?"

  Curbing his eagerness, he suggested, "Why don't we spend a few days there? You have yet to visit our capital, and Carmen also will find much there to amuse her." Wisely he did not prod her into an immediate decision, but lapsed into silence, giving her time to savour the proposition. His patience was rewarded when finally she half-agreed.

  "I'd like that very much, but I doubt if Francisco will allow us to leave the Casa, and I certainly couldn't bring myself to ask his permission."

  "Leave that to me, cara" he told her, his usually kind mouth stern. "I'll speak to him this evening and, all being well, we can look forward to a welcome change

  of scenery within the next few days."

  No mention was made by Tio Garcia of what passed between them, but Francisco must have agreed, because a week later they were established in Palma, the city created initially by the nobility of Majorca in order to seek respite from the solitude of their country estates in splendid residences built with pleasure and entertaining in mind. On their way to the house they passed through parts of the city still retaining an appearance of former centuries, with narrow streets, pointed arches and sloping roofs, before driving into a square set apart from the main thoroughfare. The car swung through stone pillars supporting massive gates swung wide open in welcome, then entered a courtyard where fountains splashed coolly into stone basins and trees and shrubs planted in large stone pots thrived under shaded archways and marched in single file up stone steps and along the fretted ironwork balustrade leading upwards into the house.

  Hazel's heart sank when they entered a magnificent reception room, its walls fined from floor to ceiling with priceless tapestries. A huge chandelier admired its own reflection in a gilt-framed mirror hung above a marble fireplace, and a line of brass-studded chairs were sternly regimented as if to discourage use by all but the elegantly poised. She had imagined a smaller house with comfortable rooms and well used furniture, a place where she could cast off memories and start afresh, but instead here was just another awe-inspiring pile packed with the trappings of wealthy nobility to remind her of the man she was trying so unsuccessfully to forget,

  "Are you disappointed?" Tio Garcia sounded anxious.

  "Of course not," she assured him hastily, "it's just that it's rather overwhelming at first sight." He smiled his relief, then, obviously more than ready for his usual siesta, he left them in the housekeeper's hands and withdrew to his room.

  Carmen loved Palma, especially the horse-drawn carriages which she rode in at every possible opportunity, the fascinating shops, the busy port with its succession of ocean-going liners spilling tourists on to the island, and the airport where Tio Garcia took them to lunch in the restaurant and where throughout the meal he manfully suffered the noise of screaming jet engines and Carmen's spasmodic excursions from table to balcony to watch planes alternately landing or taking off. In one respect he was typical of his race, he liked to enjoy his food in relaxing surroundings, so when a pucker appeared between his eyes and he pushed away his plate with uncharacteristic peevishness Hazel realized his patience was wearing thin. He was so willing to show them around, so chivalrously determined to escort them everywhere, it was hard to remember that his tall figure owed a lot of its slenderness to old age. She reached out to enclose his strumming fingers within her cool grasp.

  "You're tired, Tio, why not go home and rest? Carmen will resist being dragged away from here for another hour at least!"

  He shook his head. "No, I wouldn't dream of it. I would be failing in my duty to you both."

  "Nonsense!" she derided crisply, worried about the

  way he flinched each time an engine began to whine. "Palma is full of tourists, people of my own nationality in whose company I feel completely at ease. No harm could possibly come to us, but if only to put your mind at rest, I'll promise to take a taxi home once we're ready to leave." He would not have given in even then had not an announcer boomed that the arrival of a jumbo jet was imminent. He paled, obviously unable to bear the idea of enduring a still greater increase in decibels, then capitulated.

  "If you're sure you don't mind .."

  Hazel was as content as Carmen to remain on the balcony of the restaurant watching people of all nations arriving and departing in streamlined aircraft that swooped, dipped and glided through the sky, landing and taking off with the confidence of graceful birds. But even pleasure can pall, so after a while they left the balcony and made their way downstairs in search of an exit. The lounges were crowded with passengers either newly arrived or waiting to depart; loudspeakers boomed flight information and added to the uproar created by hundreds of voic
es seeking information, directions, or simply reassurance. They fought their way through the crush to the taxi rank, and Hazel was just about to hail a car when a familiar voice shattered her tranquility.

  "Don't bother, I'll take you wherever you want to

  go."

  "Tio Francisco!" Carmen sounded half pleased, half dismayed, "we thought you were still at the Casa."

  He addressed Carmen, but Hazel felt his explanation was directed to herself. "I came to the airport to meet

  a business acquaintance, but for some reason his flight has been delayed, which means I am left with at least three hours to fill before the plane is due to land."

  She could think of nothing to say. He seemed slightly less aloof than usual, less unbending, and in her search for a reason she seized at once upon boredom as the compulsion behind his offer of a lift. Perversely, she decided the day was too young and the weather too warm to be bearable indoors.

  "Thank you," she refused politely, "but we're not ready to go back just yet. I promised Carmen we would pay another visit to the harbour."

  She hated the bland amusement behind his smile; he seemed determined to triumph over her on every possible occasion, and this was to be no exception. "Good," his thumb pressed down to release the catch on the car door. "Get in, I'll take you."

  The fast car transported them swiftly from the airport into Palma, driving straight through the Borne, the main promenade fined with cafes, bars and entertainment halls, until he reached a quiet old harbour with on one side a view of shipping docks and quays and on the other a breathtaking panorama of vast bay. She left the car reluctantly and began sauntering along a path which at one time had formed the jetty of the harbour and as the sun warmed her body her heart warmed also to the beauty and peace of her surroundings. He caught her up and shortened his stride to drop into step beside her. Carmen had raced on ahead, and her pink-frocked figure could just be seen in the distance waiting for them to catch up, but he beckoned her back until she stood panting before him.

  "Why can't I go on ahead?" she pouted, ready to battle for her rights.

  Instead of the usual scowl of impatience Hazel was expecting, he surprised them both by pointing down the jetty steps to where a brightly painted speedboat bobbed like a cork upon the water. "I thought you might prefer a trip in the Mallorca Pearl" he offered, his cheeks creasing into a grin that lifted Hazel's heart clear out of her breast. Boyish was an impossible description to apply even vaguely to the aristocratic Marques, but the enthusiasm with which he helped them aboard, and his almost reverent touch upon the controls, bore marked resemblance to a schoolboy showing off a much prized toy.

  "Is it really yours, Tio?" Carmen piped, scrambling over seats in an effort to see everything at once. He was heading the boat out into the open bay, breathing deeply of the cool air rushing past his face as he stood with feet apart, steadying the wheel. He turned to flash her a smile of enjoyment.

  "Certainly it is, small one, would I be speeding it away from shore if it were not?"

  "You might if you were a pirate!" she shouted back, entering thoroughly into the spirit of things. "You would make a good pirate, Tio, all big and fierce and brave!" When he threw back his head and laughed Hazel found herself in complete agreement; he had discarded his coat and constricting tie, and his white shirt, unbuttoned at the neck, left bare a brown column of throat rising to support a dark head of wind-tousled hair. Her heart contracted and she dug her nails fiercely into her palms, remembering the night she had

  felt that strong throat pulsating wildly under her hands and the way his hair had brushed her cheek when strong emotion had strangled words of love from the man who had turned his back for ever on gentleness and affection. As the bows cut cleanly through the water, churning creamy spray against the sides of the boat, it was impossible not to feel exhilarated, then gradually as exhilaration grew it became even harder to remember that her companion was the same ruthless man who was using her love for Carmen to bind her to his side, a man who could crush fragility beneath his heel without the slightest compunction.

  They sped out into the bay until land was a misty blur on the horizon, then he spun the wheel, turning a swift arc that left them gasping with excitement. "Would you like to take a turn at the wheel?" he shouted above the noise of the engine. She scrambled forward, her shining eyes reflecting golden with happiness, and was enclosed within the circle of his arms while he instructed her upon the use of the controls. The power beneath her hands felt frightening at first, but as his hands guided hers upon the wheel and his lips closed against her ear giving directions she became acutely conscious of his heart beating against the curve of her shoulder and the steel trap of muscled arms imprisoning her between himself and the wheel. Her hair was flying in the breeze, a rich chestnut veil that tickled his nose and whiplashed softly against his cheeks.

  She was not prepared for the extra strain that ensued when he lifted a hand to clear his face, sq that when the wheel spun in her hands, sending the boat completely off course, she screamed her helplessness. In less

  than a second he had righted it, and as she sagged against him he began to laugh, such youthful, infectious laughter that they both had to join in, and as the boat's progress slowed to a lazy circle the sound of three voices echoed across the water, joining the calls of seabirds in carefree companionship.

  After a while he cut the engine and allowed the boat to drift towards the shore while they relaxed in their seats and he took stock of their glowing faces. Under his scrutiny Hazel felt a blush rising. She looked away, shy of the change which she sensed was in some way deliberate, a well thought out action devised with a definite aim in mind. Carmen, however, had no scruples; she ran to clamber up on his knee and pleased him with the compliment, "I do like you today, Tio Francisco!"

  A touch of wryness played around his mouth as he gazed down at his small niece. "Just today, nina? Not yesterday, and probably not tomorrow . . . ?"

  She pursed her lips, then with a child's honesty admitted, "It depends ... for many yesterdays you have been in scolding moods which have made Hazel and me very unhappy, but if every tomorrow can be like today then we will love you very much, won't we, Hazel?"

  They waited for her answer, Carmen anxiously and Francisco with raised eyebrows and a muscle of amusement twitching beside his firm hps. Seeing her obviously lost for words, he eased her embarrassment by explaining:

  "Adults are not so forgiving as children, nina; their hurt goes deeper and therefore is harder to forget."

  With a glint of charm inherited from conquering ancestors, he enlisted Carmen's sympathy with an appeal for advice. "How does a gentleman best convince a lady of his intention to reform, do you think? The lady in question is kind but very suspicious of the gentleman's motives."

  Hazel's eyes flew upwards to meet his and found gravity in place of the mockery she was expecting. Her heart lurched, realizing his words were the nearest approach he would ever make towards an apology. They showed one degree of pride less in the autocratic Marques who had never before betrayed by even the flicker of an eyelid remorse for any of his misdeeds. Forgiveness stormed up inside her, but was suppressed. His twin destruction of her friendship with Robin and the fragile memento she had cherished for its beauty had cut too deeply into her heart to be healed by a salve of practised charm. His eyes were on her face as she pondered and remained there even when Carmen, who had been thinking long and deeply on the subject, delivered her verdict.

  "I think the gentleman should try to make the lady like him by giving her presents of flowers and bonbons, then afterwards he could ask her to dinner, and if she agrees he should spend all his money on her to prove he values her friendship above all his possessions." She broke off, short of breath, and waited triumphantly for their reactions. Hazel looked dumbfounded, but Carmen was delighted when her uncle, after an initial twitch of amusement, paid her the compliment of taking her seriously.

  "I think that's a splendid idea! Remind me to th
ank

  you in more concrete form when next we pass a tienda"

  They passed a sweetshop on their way home and he stopped the car to purchase the promised reward, two boxes of sweets which he solemnly presented, one to each, before restarting the car. He dropped them off at the house on his way to the airport, but when Carmen scrambled out to run to show Tio Garcia her present, Francisco caught hold of Hazel's wrist and delayed her long enough to question softly, "Is the child's advice worth following, do you think?"

  "I've no idea what you mean," she side-stepped coolly, longing to escape but too proud to resist his detaining hand.

  He glinted a warning that even now his patience might become strained, but then swallowed his pride and spelled out the invitation. "I'm asking you to dine with me this evening. There is a restaurant in the city which, besides serving very good food, has a dance floor and an excellent band."

  A refusal sprang immediately to her lips, but was not voiced. Temptation was blotting out resentment and was urging her to take advantage of a mellow mood which tomorrow might disappear never to return. "Thank you," she gasped, feeling some invisible force prodding her into acceptance, then she snatched her wrist from out of his electrifying grasp and ran into the courtyard.

  The new clothes had arrived from Madrid just a few hours before her departure from the Casa, so she had barely had time to skim through the wardrobe where they had been hung by a servant who had un-

  packed the wealth of fabrics from out of their clouds of tissue paper. One dress in particular had caught her eye; it stood out from the rest because of its starkness of colour and because she knew it was not one of her choice but had been added to her list by someone whose taste differed widely from her own. It was black -sheer nylon filming over an underskirt dark as a forbidden dream, tight at the waist, with a skimming hipline widening gradually to a flared hem. Curiosity had impelled her to include it with the rest of her luggage, and as she prepared for her evening with Francesco she knew instinctively that the choice had been his.