The House of Adriano

by Nerina Hilliard

  A glance out of the window told her that they were nearly home - she had been interspersing directions between her retorts - or at least they were almost at the Misses Carstairs’ house. Then she suddenly thought of Peter.

  A little boy who, young as he was, already looked an Adriano - and sitting at her side was the man who was the head of the house of Adriano. Would he recognise that likeness in Peter? And if he did, how would he react to it?

  Suddenly she had an odd sense of fear and she did not know what caused it. All she knew was that as the car drew up outside the grey stone house she had the overwhelming desire that he should not see Peter, and so when he asked if that was where she lived, quickly, without thinking, she said yes, thanked him for driving her home and walked up the path. As she lifted the old-fashioned knocker she was aware of the soft purr of the car driving away, and this time she was thankful that it had been raining, because it had made the Misses Carstairs keep the children inside, otherwise Peter might have been waiting at the gate for her, as he so often was - and then she frowned to herself, feeling the odd chill of apprehension run through her again. Just what was she afraid of?

  CHAPTER II

  Over the week-end - it had been Friday night when he drove her home - Aileen tried to forget Duarte Adriano. She did not see him when she went to work on Saturday morning, so there was no glimpse of that tall figure to bring him to mind. It was not, however, as simple to put him out of her thoughts as she had imagined.

  The odd sense of apprehension she had felt the night before had completely disappeared by now, though, and she could laugh at herself for feeling it, but the antagonism the man himself roused in her was far from gone. She was quite sure that she had never met such an irritating creature. Of course nobody could deny that he was more than a little attractive, and that his great wealth and title added glamour to it, but it all added up to somebody who was just too sure of himself and who was no doubt quite aware of everything that he possessed. Probably half the women he met ran after him - more fools they, she decided with some acerbity.

  It was also quite obvious that he could not understand the idea of feminine independence and that it was unpalatable to him. A lot of those latin countries had outmoded customs, especially concerning their womenfolk. What was it Eric had once said about them? - that they were very pretty and very domesticated, fond of their children and their home, but as for being companions, to discuss problems with and with whom to hold serious conversations ... He had shaken his head. Not for him. He had wanted a wife who was a companion also and in Mandy he had found everything that a man could wish for.

  These men who demanded that their wife should be merely a reflection of their own personality never knew what they were missing. It was all right to have a wife who was pretty and docile and who knew how to please a man, but such a wife only pleased the senses, not the mind as well. Of course there was always the type of man who liked his wife to be completely dependent and dominated by him, to look up at him as if he was some kind of minor deity, to follow out his every wish - and he was not so sure that it wasn’t such a bad idea at that, he had added with an impudent grin, whereupon Mandy had pretended to threaten him with the rolling pin and he had grinned again with Irish audacity, caught her in his arms and kissed her with a warmth and fervour that seemed to indicate that his Spanish blood was not exactly dormant, and Aileen had crept silently out of the room to play with Peter, hoping that some day love like that would come to her, and, in spite of everything she had told Duarte Adriano, she still hoped that it would. It was such a pity that she could not love Paul.

  The afternoon was brilliant with sunshine, very different from the evening before, so she took Peter down to the beach.

  Within a few minutes of arriving both of them plunged into the water of the little rocky pool that was a favourite of people with children. Today, since she had sole charge of Peter, Aileen did not leave the pool at all, both of them romping in the warm water, and some of the people glancing at them doubtless took her to be his teen-age sister, because at that moment, her short fair hair plastered to her head, her one-piece swimsuit clinging to her slender form, she only looked about seventeen or eighteen, instead of twenty-four. Also, since she was one of those girls who looked attractive in the water, she was an eye-catching little creature. Paul always teasingly said she looked like a mermaid, especially those times when they swam out into deeper water and, green rubber “flippers” on her feet, her eyes sparkling behind the transparent front of her face mask, they dived down into enchanted depths that seemed as if they belonged to another world.

  They stayed there all the afternoon, until the sun began to set and a chill breeze started to blow, then tired and happy, healthily hungry, went home. It was then that she discovered a long rip in Peter’s beach coat of gaily striped towelling.

  She regarded it ruefully. “How in heaven’s name did you do that?”

  Peter regarded it interestedly. “Don’t know,” he finally decided, and poked a finger in as if he had every intention of making it larger.

  Aileen slapped his hand away gently. “You destructive little wretch!” She surveyed the tear, shaking her head. “You seem to have a positive affinity for every sharp object within range.” But to show that she did not really mean anything by her little scolding she smiled and tweaked his curling black hair. “Never mind. It will mend easily.”

  After a much-needed bath to remove salt water and sand, a quick whisk around with the broom to remove sand that had come back with them and now lay on the floor, they settled down to tea. The rest of the day followed the usual routine, but the following afternoon she had a surprise in store for him, a harbour cruise on the Show Boat. Peter, when he heard, pranced around her like a happy puppy, but settled down and became a little more decorous by the time they were on the tram on the way to town.

  They were early, so instead of continuing all the way down to Circular Quay on the tram, they stopped in the city and she took him into a milk bar that had little tables, and both of them settled down with ice-creams, Aileen’s plain and Peter’s a varicoloured concoction with nuts that made his eyes widen with excitement and pleasure when it arrived. It disappeared in a remarkably quick time, without spilling a single spot on him.

  There was an odd trait to his character that always made her catch her breath in tender amusement. While they were romping on the beach together, or if he was playing with other children, he had a normal childlike disregard of clothes or appearance, but whenever she took him out anywhere, especially to town, he seemed to change in some indefinable way, adopting an oddly adult dignity and being very careful not to get himself dirty or untidy.

  Looking at him across the table, she once again noticed that likeness to Duarte Adriano - and then, as they left the milk bar, she saw Duarte Adriano himself.

  He was walking towards them, on the same side of the road. There was no hope of avoiding him - and really she did not know why she should want to do so, except perhaps because she disliked him so intensely. That Peter was with her this time could not really make that much difference. Even if the Conde de Marindos did recognise in the small boy some likeness to himself, it did not necessarily mean that he would immediately guess who Peter was and make some derogatory remark about his parentage. That was what she was afraid of, she told herself. She loved Peter as if he had been her own child and she could not bear it if anybody made slighting remarks about him. In any case, she would not allow it and, on second thoughts, she did not think Duarte Adriano would say anything, even if he did guess. It was more likely that he would keep a distant silence on the matter, whatever he thought.

  He was almost up to them by now. She saw the dark eyes suddenly catch sight of her, glance from her to Peter - and then narrow suddenly.

  So he had noticed the likeness. That was obvious, but she did not give him a chance to comment on it. A Circular Quay tram came up just at that moment and she gave him a politely conventional smile, as one would do on ackno
wledging a casual acquaintance, and with Peter firmly by the hand went out into the road to board it.

  After that, though, she could not really enjoy the cruise, even if Peter did, but he of course did not have any idea who that dark, very attractive man had been. All the time she told herself it was quite foolish to feel this odd sense of apprehension, yet it persisted all the afternoon, and later on all the time she was preparing a salad for their tea, and even a programme of her favourite music on the radio that evening could not quite dispel it. She slept quite well that night, but she had a nightmare. In the morning she could not remember a single thing about it, except that it had been horrible.

  The morning was Monday and of course that meant work. It started off just like any other Monday. There was nothing but that odd sense of apprehension to warn her that it was going to end entirely differently from any other Monday that had gone before.

  Sharp at nine o’clock - she had only just got her coat off - Mr. Jenton called her to his office, but when she went over there, notebook and pencils in hand, it was not Mr. Jenton who was waiting for her, but Duarte Adriano.

  “Please come in, Miss Lawrence,” he said evenly, as she hesitated in the doorway.

  “I thought Mr. Jenton wanted me for dictation,” Aileen said slowly, still not moving from the doorway.

  “I asked him if I could borrow his office for a short time,” he returned in the same even tone. His face had a kind of cool composure that told her nothing, and his dark eyes were as remote and unreadable as they always were, except when he chose to relax that distant composure in mocking amusement at her expense.

  Some detached part of her mind felt an irrelevant little stab of impersonal amusement. It must have thoroughly intrigued Marius Jenton to have somebody like Duarte Adriano request the use of his office to speak to his secretary. But of course, she told herself a moment later, Duarte Adriano could not have spoken to her in his own room. That would not have been at all acceptable to Spanish conventions. Nor would he come out to her own office, where Betty would have been an interested onlooker - probably even more interested if asked to leave them alone.

  She came forward slowly and sat down in her accustomed place, laying her notebook and pencils on the desk. Duarte did not sit behind the desk, but took the chair he had been occupying when she had first been introduced to him.

  “Who was that child with you on Sunday?” he asked abruptly, his expression still completely inscrutable.

  Aileen made no attempt to prevaricate. “Peter Balgare.”

  “His father was Eric Balgare?”

  She nodded.

  A fleeting, indefinable expression crossed his dark face for brief seconds. Misreading it, she stiffened.

  “Peter is not my child, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  The dark head moved in denial. “I was not thinking that. Considering the opinions you expressed previously, it is easy to see that you would not be swept away by any man’s persuasions when you deny even marriage.” Momentarily there had been a distinct thread of mocking derision in his voice, but it was quickly gone. “Where are his parents?”

  “They’re dead. They died almost two years ago. I’ve been taking care of Peter ever since.”

  “You knew that he was related to my family?”

  This was stated in an even, calm tone, and Aileen replied in the same manner.

  “Yes.”

  “Then why did you not contact us?”

  “Eric had frequently said that he didn’t want to have anything further to do with the Adriano family.” If that stung at all, he showed no sign of it. “I respected his wishes.”

  “And that was also the reason why you gave me a false address?”

  Aileen started slightly. “I didn’t give you any address.”

  “When I drove you home you stated that you lived in a house ... where you definitely did not live.”

  “How did you find that out?” she asked.

  “I called there yesterday evening and discovered that it was a nursery. They knew your name, but refused to give me your address.”

  She could not help a little feeling of satisfaction at hearing that. Served him right. The Misses Carstairs were old-fashioned enough not to hand out anyone’s address - especially a girl’s - to any man who came along asking for her. It must have been an unusual and not particularly pleasant experience to have his wishes gone against. She knew how firm and adamant the Misses Carstairs could be on what they considered points of etiquette or ethics.

  “Why did you say you lived there? Deliberately to prevent my meeting the child?”

  The way he called Peter “the child”, as if he was some kind of featureless parcel, added fresh fuel to her dislike of him.

  She shrugged, controlling her voice from showing outright her dislike and antagonism.

  “Not exactly. Partly it was because, as I said, Eric did not want any member of his family - he claimed he was a Balgare, not an Adriano - to have any further contact with the Adrianos. Mandy had respected his wishes and never tried to persuade him to do otherwise. I thought I should do the same thing. The other reason why I let you think I lived there was because you had already put yourself out to drive me home and I didn’t want to impose on you further by asking you to wait while I collected Peter and then go on to where I did actually live.” When he requested that she should tell him everything she knew about Eric and Mandy, somehow she found herself obeying him, not realising that she was also revealing things about her own background at the same time.

  “You have no private income?” he asked at one stage.

  “Nothing beyond what I earn,” she told him, and felt that if he intended to offer her some recompense for looking after Peter she would want to hit him. He did not comment, though, merely nodded and requested her to go on, so she continued as instructed, taking care that he should get no idea that Peter was in any way a strain on her resources.

  “I shall want to meet him,” he said when she finished.

  Aileen felt swift mutiny at that. There was no question of asking whether he could meet Peter. He merely took it for granted that since he wanted to meet him, then everything would be done just as he wished.

  Something of what she was thinking must have shown in her face. He inclined his head slightly, with a trace of an ironical smile.

  “With your permission, of course.”

  A little curiously, she wondered what he would do if she refused him permission. Something told her that he was not a man to take a refusal lightly. In any case, there was little to be gained by refusing - although she did have a childish hope that Peter would take an instant and complete dislike to him. That would show him that Eric’s son was very much a Balgare, in spite of his appearance.

  She shrugged. “There doesn’t seem to be any point in refusing to let you meet him.” That was just to show him that if she felt like refusing she would have no hesitation in doing so.

  “Thank you.” Again there was that faint ironical inflection in his voice. “Perhaps you will let me know when it will be convenient. You are free tonight?”

  There was no point in putting it off, so she nodded. “Yes.”

  “Good. I will drive you home again.”

  That was about all there was to it. They parted in conventional politeness, not what you could exactly call on friendly terms, although of course it was impossible to tell anything from his attitude. Aileen only knew that she could never like him, whatever the circumstances and however long she knew him - which she hoped would not be very long.

  Marius Jenton took possession of his office with an intrigued glance at his attractive, fair-haired secretary, and Aileen could not help smiling.

  He grinned back at her, his little-boy grin that was so infectious. “I suppose I shouldn’t ask...”

  Since Jenton in a more mischievous mood was quite capable of asking if Duarte had been making secret assignations, Aileen hastily mentioned that he happened to have found out that she was taking car
e of a young relative of his.

  Jenton lifted his brows slightly. “So all the time we were wondering what had happened to Eric ... you actually had his son living with you.”

  “Well, I didn’t know anyone was actually looking for him,” Aileen heard herself say a little apologetically - although why she should sound apologetic at all was beyond her. “Do you mean he ... Mr. Adriano actually came over here looking for his cousin?”

  Jenton nodded. “Been looking for him for some years. Apparently they knew he came to Australia - they thought at first he might have headed back to Ireland - but nobody knew what happened to him after he landed at Perth. Duarte has had a firm of agents over here on the job for some time. They traced him to Queensland eventually, then lost him again. The next lead they had was that he might have gone to Sydney.”

  “Do you mean they’ve been trying to find him for eight years?” she asked.

  Jenton nodded again. “Australia’s a big place, you know,” he said with another grin. “Even if the person you’re trying to find isn’t making any attempt to hide his whereabouts.”

  “I suppose so.” She gave him a curious glance. “Why was he looking for Eric? I thought they’d broken all contact when Eric refused to marry to order.” She had no hesitation in speaking about that, since Jenton obviously knew most of the facts about the Adrianos and the Balgares.

  “Duarte was trying to persuade him to come back.”

  Aileen lifted her brows slightly. “What would he have done about Mandy? She was only a typist like myself, you know.”

  For a moment he looked almost stern. “Duarte is not a snob.”

  Aileen hesitated for a moment. “I wasn’t implying that he was,” she said at last. “Only I gathered that some of those old Spanish families place a lot of value on background and that sort of thing.”