Until called upon to defend her country, Birdie had not imagined herself to be wildly patriotic, but his derogatory condemnation unearthed feelings she had not known she possessed, a resentment of unjust criticism that drove her to her feet, flaring:
'Even if that were true, which it certainly is not, such a paradise would be preferable to a hell inhabited by narrow-minded bigots! Also, senor, I should point out that the penalty for harbouring a spirit of general distrust is that very often the suspicious mind turns hypothesis into fact.'
When he swung round to face her she slumped back into her chair, cowed by a combination of her own temerity and his glacial, narrow-eyed stare.
'Are you implying that I am exaggerating the effect of your influence upon my ward? That to allow you to raise her hopes of becoming a proficient dancer would not inflict a mental distress far greater than the pain she has already suffered physically? The child is besotted with the notion of becoming a dancer, she has thought of nothing else, talked of nothing else, since yesterday when you so irresponsibly encouraged her to believe that every lame duck can be transformed into a swan! Tell me, senorita,' he hissed hatefully, 'if it is so easy for a cripple to be healed, why aren't you now practising at the barre instead of angling so desperately for a job?'
Birdie whitened at the taunt, her eyes blank as the windows of an empty house as she fought to overcome the agony of regret that overwhelmed her each time she was brought face to face with the reality of an empty future. But she had been too well schooled in the art of hiding her feelings to allow him the satisfaction of knowing that this thrust had plunged deep. Though every nerve in her body felt stretched, she managed to keep her voice cool as spring water on a blazing day.
'I do not profess to be a miracle worker, senor, nevertheless, I do believe that Lucita could be helped by the sort of exercises dancers practise in order to add flexibility and strength to ankles and feet. However,' she rose from her chair in one smooth, graceful movement, 'an opinion is all I'm prepared to offer, for contrary to your belief I am not desperate for employment, and even if I were, as a prospective employer you would not match up to my requirements.'
She heard his hiss of disbelief as she walked towards the door and one tiny, arrogant English part of her rejoiced in the knowledge that never before had El Conde de la Conquista de Retz been so thoroughly snubbed.
Affront echoed in his voice when, just as she reached the door, he ordered: 'Wait! I have not yet finished!'
Controlling an inner quaking, she turned enquiring eyes towards him.
'I should like your assurance,' he glinted, 'that should there be any further meeting between yourself and Lucita, you will convey to her as explicitly as you have just conveyed to me that you are totally uninterested in her welfare.'
'I couldn't lie,' she refused gently. 'I feel a great pity for your ward and would very much like ‑'
'Pity ...!' The incredulous word sounded foreign on his proud tongue. 'You feel pity for a child who has been cosseted from birth, who has everything she could possibly wish for?'
'I'm afraid so,' she nodded gravely, 'you see, senor, I feel able to identify with Lucita not only because we share the same physical disability but because I too know what it's like to be an orphan. Granted, I grew up in an environment starved of luxuries, but it was a hundred times blessed with contentment and love.'
For a moment he stared long and hard, then seemed to force himself to question stiffly: 'Does Lucita give the impression that she is not loved?'
She strove for diplomacy. 'You admitted to being excessively indulgent, did you not, senor? Ask yourself honestly, is your indulgence an excuse for self-indulgence? Are the gifts you heap upon the child a substitute for listening time? Wardrobes full of dresses are useless if there's no audience to admire them. To be lenient towards an unruly child is the easy way out but, strangely, a child uses discipline as a measure of affection and would choose to weather the smack of a caring hand rather than to be passed over unnoticed.'
She let herself out of the house', moving quietly across the hall in case she should attract the attention of the dragon in black who had allowed her admittance, trembling in the aftermath of her own daring, slightly worried about leaving El Conde de la Conquista de Retz looking confounded, too stunned even to notice her exit.
CHAPTER FOUR
BIRDIE had been walking for less than five minutes when at the end of a narrow street she erupted into the town's main square and found it alive with people scurrying from shop to shop, darting across narrow streets, dodging lines of hooting traffic, and strolling leisurely through a pedestrian precinct lined with fabulous boutiques, jewellers, needlework shops displaying samples of Menorquin handicraft, shops crammed with elegant shoes and boots fashioned from soft leather and supple suede for which the island was renowned, together with plaited belts, gorgeous handbags and cosy sheepskin slippers so inexpensive they were piled in every convenient corner, reduced to the level of a contemptuous afterthought.
Her interview with the Conde had left her with a dry throat, so, spotting a vacant seat amid a sea of tables set in the centre of the square, she made a beeline towards it and sat down, thankful for the shade cast by an immense free whose branches were spreading a leafy roof over the outdoor cafe.
'Una copa de limon, por favour,' she stumbled, smiling shyly at the waiter who had hastened across to serve her. The lemon juice, freshly squeezed over a base of cracked ice, topped up with water, then flavoured with sugar, tasted tart-sweet and refreshingly cool. Slowly she sipped, savouring with her tongue the tangy flavour of lemon, savouring with her eyes the colourful, bustling scene, and eavesdropping unashamedly upon the rapid, unintelligible conversation taking place between two young sailors at an adjoining table.
Her absorption was so complete that when a voice addressed her by name she looked up, her expression dazed, as she stared at the proud, dark head lowering towards her.
'May I be permitted to join you, senorita?'
When the request was repeated she blushed and nodded hastily, alarmed by the frown hovering between black winged brows. 'Gracias.' The Conde looked relieved when he sat down beside her. 'I thought for a moment you had found my lapse of manners unforgivable. The swiftness of your departure caught me unawares—for the past half hour I have been searching the streets hoping to be given an opportunity to apologise and to make up for my lack of courtesy.'
'Apologise for what ...?' She swallowed hard, her throat once more suddenly dry.
'For allowing you to leave my house without an escort,' he told her gravely, his eyes no longer sparking anger. 'Also I did ask you to have tea with me, remember?'
Finding his show of friendliness even more disconcerting than his dislike, she trembled a laugh.
'You had no need to be worried about me, senor, I'm quite used to wandering about on my own.'
'Then you ought not to be,' he replied sharply. 'Without fear of contradiction I can claim that a woman alone can walk without fear among my own countrymen, but you would be wise to bear in mind the fact that during the summer months our island teems with tourists of many nationalities, some of whom do not display the attitude of respect to which your sex is entitled.'
Birdie stared, then remembered just in time that any show of amusement would be deeply offensive to the man whose protective, dominating, possessive attitude towards women had the effect of making her feel deeply aware of her femininity and caused wistful regret for the passing of the poke bonnet and rustling crinoline. Her last barrier of doubt fell when he rose to his feet and with a slight bow requested in the manner of a courteous grandee:
'Will you allow me the honour of escorting you back to my home, Senorita Wren? Dolores, my housekeeper, is waiting to serve tea.'
'But I've no wish to put you to further trouble, senor!' A flutter of foreboding acted as a reminder that the calmer the sea the more plentiful the nets.
'It is no trouble,' he insisted briefly, helping her to rise with a grip upon
her elbow as silken-tight as the cords once used by abducting Moors to bind the wrists and ankles of reluctant captives. A tremor ran through her body as he guided her through the network of tables, then headed towards the narrow street where his home was situated. But she submitted to his will with dignity, too proud to allow him to guess that her pulses were racing, her heart hammering with the anxiety of a small, trapped bird.
'I'm ... I'm looking forward to seeing Lucita again,' she spoke with determined brightness as she was guided along whitewashed streets with an ambience of medieval calm that seemed to match perfectly the dark, Moorish profile of the man brooding silently alongside her.
'Como ...?' He seemed to dredge his mind from a depth of thought. 'Lucita, did you say? I'm sorry, I'm afraid she won't be present. As she finds the heat of town so trying I have ordered her to rest in her room until we return tomorrow to the Casa de Solitario, our home across the bay. During the summer season when social life declines, everyone disperses to their various summer residences, which is why most of the houses you see around you are empty and silent, having perhaps one ancient retainer left in charge while the owners are away.'
'Oh, but I thought ‑' Birdie jerked to a halt when realisation dawned, reluctant to be entertained in a bachelor establishment, even one situated in the midst of a tightly knit labyrinth of aristocratic homes.
With embarrassing accuracy, he read her mind. 'Don't worry,' his tone was dry as he edged her through a wrought iron gateway and into the intimate little garden, 'tonight these secluded plants will exhale their passionate perfume into the air; night-flowering stock will open their petals to the moon; on the orange trees, buds will break to sweeten the warm night air with their heady scent, but unfortunately,' he mocked, 'you will not be here to share my enjoyment.'
Silently she wrestled with humiliation as he led the way into the library where a low table had been covered with a fine lace tablecloth set with a beautifully embossed silver tea service. When they were seated Dolores poured liquid amber tea into china teacups, then served dainty sandwiches on to matching Sevres plates enamelled with the coat of arms of the de Retz family.
Dolores's expression was impassive as she waited on them, but a malicious gleam, quickly hidden, caused Birdie to suspect that the display of richness was a deliberate ploy on the housekeeper's part to make her feel uncomfortable, a reminder that nondescript strangers had no place among such aristocratic splendour. A silver tray deeply engraved with the motto: Viget Inter Nubile Phoebus added extra emphasis to the way of life to which the Conde had been born. Phoebus shines between the clouds! At that moment, in the depths of a sombre library, the sun-god, Phoebus, seemed to have been eclipsed by a servant's dark scowl and by the brooding shadow of a man so wrapped in thought he seemed almost to have forgotten her presence.
When the slender handle of her cup slid through damp fingers, causing it to make noisy contact with an equally fragile saucer, Dolores uttered a sharp cry of condemnation and darted forward as if to scold. The Conde's head jerked up and at the sight of Birdie's horrified expression he ordered coldly:
'That will be all, Dolores, you may leave us now.'
Shaken by the housekeeper's secret glare of malevolence. Birdie carefully deposited the priceless china on the table, then leant back with a sigh of relief, clenching trembling fingers in her lap.
'Dolores has served my family for so many years she is inclined to take liberties,' he frowned. 'You must not allow her to intimidate you.'
'Considering I'm not likely to remain here for longer than an hour it hardly matters what your housekeeper thinks of me,' she returned lightly, wishing she had not allowed herself to be coerced into returning to his sumptuous establishment. For a second he seemed about to contradict, then he changed his mind and sank once more into a depth of reflective silence.
Birdie occupied her time during the uncomfortably long interval speculating upon the reason why the Conde's fire should suddenly have been reduced to a smoulder, then once that abortive exercise began to pall, she turned her attention upon a magnificent porcelain group set upon a nearby table, depicting a lithe, vigorous horseman pulling on the reins of a rearing stallion, the battle of strength between man and beast revitalised by a ray of sunlight glinting upon rippling muscles and taut sinews, adding an animated gleam to staring eyes.
She shuddered and turned away from the barbaric tableau, only to be confronted by the haughty stares of Retz ancestors whose painted faces were ranged around the walls—men with hooked, Moorish profiles, women of delicate beauty—all seeming to wear identical expressions of disdain.
She was just about to suggest that it was time for her to leave, when she was startled by his comment:
'You are a restful person, senorita, your physical gifts of lightness, grace and serenity more than compensate for your unfortunate tendency to speak bluntly.' He was lolling at ease, watching her closely through lowered lids, so could not have missed the sweep of hot colour in her cheeks nor the shy, almost hunted look that flickered into her eyes. 'What set of circumstances has combined to produce such a puzzling enigma?' he continued slowly, almost as if speaking his thoughts aloud. 'Your exceptional talent brought you almost to the brink of fame; you have withstood the spotlight of adulation without flinching, yet once off stage you creep into the shadows of anonymity, taking little part in conversation, seemingly content to remain quiet and overlooked. Your independent spirit allows you to wander through streets full of strangers, yet, as if determined to confound, you felt reluctant to accept an invitation to take tea once you became aware that there were to be no other guests present. What makes you such a capsule of contradictions, senorita? I know that as an artist you are called upon to play many different roles, but why do you insist upon extending that ability into your private life—is it that you feel naked when stripped of pretence? Is your own personality so colourless you feel forced .to hide it, as a clown hides despair beneath a mask of paint?' He leant forward to probe her small, frozen features. 'Which, out of a conglomeration of graceful ballerina, disreputable, half-drowned trespasser and scatterbrained jaywalker, is the character one must cultivate in order to discover the real you?'
Soft lashes dusted hot cheeks but did not dare to rise. 'You recognised me as the girl you almost ran down with your car?' she husked.
'Not I,' he confessed grimly. 'My nerves were too shaken by the near disaster to permit my mind to register any details of your appearance. No, it was the sharp-eyed minx Lucita, who was sitting in the rear seat of the car, who took note of your appearance, especially your slight limp, and who connected you with the incident immediately we were properly introduced.'
'You called me an idiot!' she accused, eyes hazel-bright with indignation.
'And various other names, under my breath,' he admitted without a trace of apology. 'I would not wish such a traumatic experience on any man. Truthfully, it can be said that you made a dramatic impact upon my senses from the first moment of meeting!'
'I'm sorry,' her blush deepened, 'I suppose the blame was entirely mine. Usually, I walk facing oncoming traffic, but because I was daydreaming I forgot that your traffic laws differ from those of my country and stepped into the road oblivious to the fact that a car was approaching directly behind me.'
'Fortunately, I react quickly to danger,' he sounded in no mood for forgiveness, 'but be careful in future that you do not test the ability of one who does not.'
She was able to smile because, although he sounded severe, he was obviously worried on her behalf. 'As my first—and probably my last—visit abroad is almost at an end, there will be little opportunity for the same situation to arise. However, I'll keep your warning in mind,' she promised, solemn as a child who has just been chastised.
For a second the corners of his mouth curled upward as if he was tempted to be indulgent, to smile in the manner Lucita would be quick to interpret as a sign of forgiveness, but though a hint of humour lingered around his mouth his mind seemed otherwise occup
ied.
'You are leaving soon, you say?' he frowned. 'But why? Only a couple of days have passed since your arrival.'
'Lady Daphne wants her yacht to be put through its paces,' she explained, 'and as we must return to London by the end of the month there's not much time left.'
'What is so significant about the end of the month?' he prompted.
'Rehearsals are due to begin,' her eyes lit up with an animated sparkle. 'Tony is anxious to start work on his new creation, a wonderfully witty production of Coppelia. My solo comes in Act Three—' she began, then broke off abruptly, her expression stiff with the shock of recall.
He did not even pretend to sympathise, indeed it was almost as if he wanted to stamp the painful reality upon her mind, to snap the last fragile thread that bound her to the world of ballet so that never again would she be able to pretend that some day, through some miracle, her ankle would be once more strong and flexible enough to allow her to dance.
'To have an ideal is the most important thing in life, but that ideal does not necessarily have to be a career,' he stressed hardly. 'Some jobs can be achieved without driving passion or selfless dedication and yet be equally rewarding.'
'Such as ...?' Her hazel eyes were sceptical.
'Such as helping a child to come to terms with a disability,' he stated calmly. 'I am ready to admit that I may have done you an injustice, Senorita Wren. Upon closer acquaintance, you appear to possess a simpatia for my ward that might be beneficial to the child. I have therefore decided to offer you the post of companion to Lucita—she will be left exclusively in your charge, no one but myself will be in a position to override your decisions. You will have ample time off, of course, and will be treated in every respect as one of the family.'
Castle in Spain Page 4
