Stars of Spring

by Anne Hampson

  But Joanne’s peace of mind was to be short-lived, for less than a week later, while they were all having dinner together, Rosa declared her intention of taking a holiday in England. Her gaze was fixed darkly on Joanne as she spoke.

  ‘Why England?’ The question was out before Joanne had time to think, for Rosa’s information had shaken her.

  ‘I met an English family while on holiday last year, and they invited me to visit them.’ Rosa turned to her cousin, who was sitting next to her at the table. ‘Do you remember my mentioning them, Manoel?’

  He nodded.

  ‘I do recall your telling me about them, yes.’ He paused in thought. ‘They live somewhere in the Midlands, I think you said?’

  ‘Not far from Birmingham.’ She smiled at Joanne and purred, ‘How far is that from your home, Joanne?’

  A tingling sensation took possession of Joanne’s whole body.

  ‘I lived near Northampton,’ she supplied, picking up a roll and breaking it with hands that were shaking slightly.

  ‘Not too far from where I’ll be staying. I must do some travelling around. I expect my friends will take me about in their car.’

  ‘When are you thinking of going, Rosa?’ asked Manoel, and Joanne looked quickly at him. Was it imagination, or was there a hint of satisfaction in his voice?

  ‘Immediately after Christmas.’ She glanced at Joanne. ‘Not the best time to visit your country, I’m told?’

  ‘Just about the worst.’ Joanne leant back in her chair as Mafalda smilingly took her empty plate. ‘It can be very cold in England at that time of the year.’

  ‘Never mind. It isn’t as if I’m going for a normal holiday. It’s more to see these friends than anything else.’ She spoke lightly, but Joanne read a deeper meaning into her words. An uneasiness enveloped her and she found her appetite had gone.

  ‘How long will you be away?’ Manoel looked at Rosa inquiringly and her lips suddenly tightened.

  ‘Not long. A week, perhaps.’

  ‘Only a week?’ His brows lifted. ‘Hardly worth going for.’

  Joanne gave a little inaudible gasp. Where was Manoel’s customary suave tact? His words and manner gave the impression that he actually desired Rosa to be away for a longer period. Rosa gained the same impression, for a hint of angry colour fused her cheeks.

  ‘A week will be quite long enough for what I want to do,’ she said between her teeth.

  Manoel frowned and looked up. Rosa’s eyes were on Joanne, and Manoel also turned his attention to her. She lowered her head, for she knew there was an expression of fear in her eyes. What did Rosa mean? She was going to England to see her friends, she said, but Joanne now felt convinced there was some other motive for her visit .

  A little later, frowning at the small portion of meat on her plate, Manoel said anxiously,

  ‘What’s wrong, Joanne? Aren’t you hungry?’

  She shook her head, avoiding Rosa’s gaze—and the smirk of satisfaction that she instinctively knew had come to her lips.

  ‘Not very, Manoel.’

  ‘You’re quite well, dear?’

  She smiled then, and nodded.

  ‘It’s just that I’m not hungry. There’s nothing else the matter with me.’

  After dinner Rosa went to her room, and later went out, saying she was visiting a friend who lived further down the valley. Her car crunched along the drive as Manoel and Joanne were sitting in the salon, listening to the soft music coming from the record player. Manoel’s ears seemed to be strained to hear the last purr of the engine. His eyes were hard and his jaw set. What was this mystery? Joanne mused with swift impatience. Why couldn’t he be more informative—? She pulled herself up with a jerk, reflecting with a shock that she was not his fiancée and, therefore, his actions were no business of hers. Not his fiancée—So odd, but with every passing day she became more and more used to the idea of being engaged in the real sense of the word, and she could not visualize the time when she would no longer be the object of his gentleness and affection. Assumed, these were, of course, and should have meant nothing at all to her—just as the attentions he received from her meant nothing to him—but every little look and word, every smile of apparent tenderness, these meant everything to Joanne; memories to be carefully stored and treasured. He would never know, she thought, and a wistfulness entered her eyes that brought a sudden frown to Manoel’s brow.

  ‘Joanne dear, you’re not well, I can see it.’

  Dear ... Why did he torture her? There was no one here to deceive.

  ‘I’m quite well,’ she insisted, managing a smile. ‘Don’t worry about me, Manoel.’

  ‘But I must worry about you.’ He smiled, and the torture increased. Why that particular smile?—the smile that had so attracted her, and given her the first faint inkling that her heart was no longer her own. ‘There’s no one else to worry about you—at least, not here in Portugal.’

  His concern was natural, she supposed, for in a way he had taken both Glee and herself under his protection for the duration of their stay in his house.

  ‘You’re kind, Manoel,’ she said faintly, embarrassment sweeping over her. ‘I’m just a little tired, perhaps.’

  ‘Have the children been trying?’

  ‘Not at all. They’re wonderful pupils.’

  ‘How does that rascal of yours go on at the school here?’

  Joanne laughed.

  ‘Nothing worries Glee. She’s most adaptable.’

  ‘So I’ve noticed,’ he responded ruefully. ‘She’s fitted in here as if she’s one of the family. I’ve heard you once or twice telling her not to call me Uncle, but I wouldn’t bother if I were you, Joanne, for she’s quite determined to adopt me as her uncle.’

  Yes, thought Joanne, her mind going back to those times when her mother had made a persistent effort to force Glee to refer to Joanne as her aunt. But Glee had made up her mind—and when Glee made up her mind no amount of persuasion could change it.

  ‘She’s going to miss it all when we leave,’ murmured Joanne wistfully, thinking also of herself. ‘Glee’s never had companions like Filipa and Leonor.’

  ‘She’s been lonely, you mean?’

  ‘Not that exactly. But an only child misses such a lot—the company of other children in the home, mainly.’

  The music stopped and Manoel rose, going over to the record player with the intention of putting on another record. There was something strange in his manner and Joanne felt he had been affected by the conversation. He had grown extraordinarily fond of Glee, as she had of him. Could it be, then, that he too would experience a sense of loss on their departure?

  He hesitated, as if undecided whether or not to play the record; Joanne watched him in profile, noting the clear-cut lines and the noble thrust of his chin. Magnificent seemed the only fitting description and with a little self-deprecating sigh Joanne wondered at her foolishness in falling in love with such a man. He turned, the record still in his hand, and surprised a look of wistfulness in her eyes. Replacing the record in the rack, he came back across the room and stood there, looking down at her for a moment.

  ‘What is it, Joanne?’ he inquired gently. ‘You’ve not been yourself for the past hour or so.’

  She glanced up, forcing a smile. It would be difficult to keep anything from him, she thought, again asserting there was nothing wrong with her.

  ‘You’re quiet ... and so pale. Perhaps a little fresh air is what you need. Go and fetch your coat and we’ll take a walk.’

  Stunned by his words, Joanne just sat there staring incredulously at him. Even had Rosa been present there was no need to carry his concern to these lengths.

  ‘Do you really want to go for a walk?’ she queried doubtfully.

  ‘It’s a lovely evening. You’re not too tired?’ And when she shook her head, ‘Then fetch your coat,’ he repeated, and she hurried away, her mind in a turmoil.

  Could this be acting? His concern for her seemed very real.

  Th
ey strolled through the grounds, with the air around them moving gently, pine-scented and soft as thistledown. High above, tiny pools of silver glistened from a dome of purple velvet. As they walked the moon came up, then a film of ivory cloud appeared, gliding and swaying so that it seemed as if the moon were drowsily sailing across the sky, unfolding its light as it went and shedding a pearl-like splendour over the entire landscape. No sound intruded into the vast stillness and Joanne was impressed with a profound sense of unreality. To be strolling like this with the man she had so intensely disliked, the man whose pompous mien and haughty mode of address had so irritated her that she had stubbornly refused to rectify his mistake—the mistake which at present was causing her such trouble and anxiety. And now she knew only pleasure at his voice, experienced a sort of exquisite pain when in his presence.

  She uttered a deep, appreciative sigh, determined to cast off these depressing musings and take advantage of what was offered.

  ‘You were right, Manoel; it’s a lovely evening.’

  ‘You have it cooler than this in England at this time of the year.’ It was a statement and she asked if he had been to England during the winter, realizing just how little she knew about him. But then these were the first moments of real intimacy they had shared. ‘Yes, I’ve been at this time of the year.’

  ‘And stayed in London, of course,’ she said with a laugh.

  ‘What makes you so sure of that?’

  ‘All foreigners who go to England stay in London.’

  ‘It’s a wonderful city,’ he returned reflectively. ‘There isn’t anywhere in the world quite like it.’

  She slackened her pace, and half turned towards him.

  ‘What is the particular attraction?’ she wanted to know, eyeing him curiously.

  The question gave him cause for thought.

  ‘The atmosphere, mainly. But you have the buildings, and the river— there’s always something different about a town situated on a river,’ he added, still in a mood of reflection. ‘And, I think, its past. In London you have with you always the sense of history.’ They had reached the lake and Manoel took Joanne’s hand and led her to the seat under a tree by the shore. The lake was large, and waves lapped gently at their feet.

  It was some seconds before Joanne realized her hand was still in his and, with a hasty, awkward movement she withdrew it. He smiled faintly at her action, but made no comment. He appeared completely at his ease, leaning back on the seat and staring absently into the gleaming waters of the lake. In contrast, Joanne felt tensed and uncomfortable, sitting upright on the edge of the seat and twisting her hands convulsively in her lap.

  Becoming aware of this uneasiness, Manoel looked curiously at her hands for a while, then said, in that quiet attractive voice of his,

  ‘Sit back, Joanne, and relax. What is the matter with you this evening?’

  Obediently she leant back against the support and after a little while Manoel began asking about her people in England.

  ‘You have a brother, I know, but have you any other relatives?’

  ‘A sister, Chris. She’s married, but has no children yet.’

  ‘Ah, yes; I heard you mention her, but I didn’t meet her.’

  ‘I suppose I should have introduced you to her,’ she owned, biting her lip. ‘I’m afraid,’ she added regretfully, ‘that my manners were far from perfect on the occasion of your visit to me in England.’

  ‘I suppose my manners will be lacking if I agree with you,’ he responded with some amusement, and she had to laugh.

  ‘Nevertheless, you do agree with me?’

  He nodded, and turned towards her, a faint smile on his lips.

  ‘Honestly should always rank above diplomacy.’

  ‘In that case I must be honest too?’

  ‘Most certainly,’ he encouraged, and she responded, although with slight hesitancy,

  ‘It was your attitude.’

  ‘My attitude?’ he frowned. ‘You took exception to it?’

  Joanne paused, then said in a voice edged with mirth, ‘Perhaps I’ll settle for diplomacy after all.’

  His eyes were searching.

  ‘I’ll have honesty, if you please.’ A sudden order, that, and Joanne ruefully wished she had never introduced the subject.

  ‘I—I found you a little—unfriendly.’ That was certainly putting it mildly, and in spite of herself an involuntary gleam of amusement entered her eyes.

  Manoel looked perceptively at her and demanded a fuller explanation.

  ‘This is the first time anyone has ever accused me of discourtesy,’ he added in crisp and acid tones.

  ‘Oh, you weren’t discourteous,’ she hastily denied. ‘It was just that— that—’ She broke off, shaking her head. ‘I can’t explain, Manoel, so please let the matter drop.’

  But he meant to have the explanation and Joanne had no alternative but to enlighten him as to the sort of impression he had made upon her at their first meeting. She spoke with care and tact, but his dark eyes were kindling dangerously when at last she fell silent.

  ‘So you regarded me as an arrogant snob, full of my own importance—!’

  ‘No—oh, no! I never said that?’

  ‘But you implied it!’

  Joanne turned unhappily, her eyes clouding.

  ‘I’m sorry. I do realize now that I was mistaken—what I mean is, I gained a totally wrong impression of you.’ She shook her head, thoughtful for a moment. ‘I can’t understand how it happened. Perhaps it was because you were so insistent about the farm.’

  ‘I was certainly keen to buy, but I made you a fair offer. There was no question of my demanding, or taking anything for granted. And if I said you wouldn’t be able to make it pay, that was merely good advice, given solely because you appeared so young, and so totally unfitted to take on a place that had been so long neglected.’

  ‘I know that now,’ she returned meekly. ‘You were right ... in everything you said.’

  Mollified by her admission, Manoel allowed a hint of amusement to enter his voice as he said,

  ‘This impression, then, is to be blamed for your own rather off-hand manner towards me?’

  Her lips twitched, for he too was putting it mildly.

  ‘There seems to have been a big misunderstanding all round. We got off to a bad start, though just how I can’t remember.’

  ‘It isn’t important any more.’ He turned from her, contemplating the lake again. It shone like polished silver, for much of the cloud had disappeared and the moon was completely unmasked. ‘I suppose we should go in, the breeze appears to be freshening.’

  Joanne made no move as she experienced that desire to keep him at her side. What good it would do her she did not know, but every moment was precious, for Manoel had told her yesterday that his sister would be out of hospital for Christmas, and the children would be returning to their own home early in January.

  ‘I’m not cold,’ she submitted. ‘It’s such a beautiful night.’

  ‘I agree it’s still a beautiful night; I don’t agree that you’re not cold. You’ve just shivered.’ He stood up and she had no choice but to do the same. They walked slowly back to the house, through formal gardens and vine-covered arbours, past fountains decorated with blue and yellow azulejos, and finally they entered between an avenue of trees whose shadows were darkly thrown across a moonlit lawn.

  The house became visible before a backcloth of pines rising in sharp relief against a lustrous sky, its marble facade bathed in an enchanting radiance of cream and pearl. The fight was soft, translucent; the disc above shone more brightly as the last remnant of cloud drifted from the sky; with the increase of light magic seemed to be released and Joanne gasped audibly at the beauty around her. Manoel stopped, as if he too appreciated the magic of their surroundings.

  ‘We’re so lucky, to be experiencing all this,’ Joanne whispered, almost reverently. ‘I’ve never known anything quite like it.’ Nor would she ever again, she thought, a little catch
of despair rising to mar this, the most unforgettable of the incidents she was so carefully adding to her precious store of memories.

  ‘We are lucky, Joanne,’ he agreed and, taking her by the shoulders, he gently turned her round to face him. She looked up, her lips softly parted, her eyes wide and questioning, her heart beating so loudly that she felt sure he must hear it. Manoel stood for a long while, staring down at her, shaking his head now and then as if in amazement at the discovery of things he had not seen before. ‘How beautiful you are,’ he whispered. ‘How perfect in every way.’ And with a firm, possessive movement he drew her close, his arms encircling her in a strong yet tender embrace. He bent his dark head and kissed her on the lips. ‘Joanne, my dear—’ He held her from him, his gaze expectant, as if he wanted to hear her speak. But she was too full, too overcome by sheer happiness. For this wasn’t acting; it was no demonstration for Rosa’s benefit, but sincere—

  ‘Hello, Rosa, are you out walking too?’ Manoel’s voice was soft and suave. He released Joanne but retained her hand. ‘Like us, you’re taking advantage of this wonderful evening.’