by Anne Hampson
Antonio spoke to Manoel in Portuguese, pulling out a chair for him as he did so.
‘Yes, by all means continue with the music,’ replied Manoel. ‘And the dancing also.’
The cafe proprietor spoke again and Manoel answered in his own tongue. A bottle of the local wine was then produced, along with glasses and some light refreshments.
The music started up again, and the dancing. Joanne turned impulsively to Manoel, forgetting his coolness for the moment.
‘It reminds you of all the festivity of the vintage, doesn't it?’
‘The music’s the same,’ he reminded her. ‘And the dancing.’ The girls and youths were singing as they danced; Antonio was standing there, beaming and clapping his hands to the rhythm of the tambourines.
‘Is this the wine they make here?’ asked Lynn, tasting it.
‘Yes, this is the wine we produce, Lynn. Do you like it?’
She nodded, and smiled, and Helena began telling her about the vintage.
‘We make a festival here of every harvest, whatever it might be. Any gathering of crops is an excuse for a gay and social gathering. With the wine, helpers are many, and come from great distances to the Pais do Vinho to harvest the grapes, so of course they play their instruments and sing on the way. Then at night time they have parties at their camp.’
‘And you can hear the music and singing all over the valley,’ Joanne put in reflectively.
‘But they work hard too,’ Helena asserted. ‘The treading is by no means easy.’
‘They have music and singing then, I’ve read about it,’ said Lynn. ‘It helps them, because they tread to the rhythm—’ She stopped, for Manoel and his sister were looking at each other and laughing. ‘Have I said something wrong?’
‘The music and song you mention are not really a part of the treading,’ Manoel explained. ‘But we oblige the tourists by laying it on especially for them.’
Lynn blinked at him. ‘Only for the tourists?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ he smiled. ‘Disappointed?’
‘One always has the impression that the song and dance are a traditional part of the wine-making.’
‘No.’ Helena shook her head. ‘Not while they’re actually working.’
‘There are many things laid on for the tourists,’ Manoel added. ‘For instance, the picturesque rabelos you hear about are not now used for taking the wine down the river.’
‘No, I noticed that,’ put in Joanne. ‘I was terribly disappointed to learn that just a few are put on the river during the tourist season.’
‘It’s not economical to use river traffic nowadays.’ Manoel filled Joanne’s glass and then Helena’s. ‘Come, Lynn, you’re not drinking.’
She was watching the dancers, but she drank up and Manoel poured her out some more wine.
An almost imperceptible lift of his finger brought Antonio to his side. Manoel spoke to him in Portuguese and within seconds an earthenware flagon appeared on the table. It was the Vinho Verde, product of the Minho, and Joanne said it tasted like champagne.
‘It prickles your mouth,’ Lynn said with a grimace.
‘Not to compare with what we produce in the Pais do Vinho,’ declared Helena loyally. ‘Nothing to excel our port.’
‘That’s a matter of opinion,’ her brother argued reasonably. ‘The two wines are totally different. As you very well know, each district has its own particular wine and you can’t make a comparison, for each has some quality lacking in the other. For myself, there’s no drink to beat this in hot weather. It’s about the most refreshing wine I’ve ever tasted.’
‘Hmm ...’ Helena paused after tasting the wine, holding her glass aloft and looking into it. ‘You might be right, Manoel. It could be a most refreshing drink. But as Lynn says, it does prickle your tongue.’
Manoel glanced away from her, and let his eyes rest on Joanne’s face. He seemed for a moment to be examining her closely, and taking in the delicately moulded features and the rare beauty of her large, widely-spaced eyes that were so like Glee’s. A faint peach-like blush brought the high cheekbones into prominence, and the soft quiver of her lips made them decidedly tempting. A muscle moved in Manoel’s strong brown throat and his voice was gentle as he said, ‘Come, Joanne, let us have something from you.’
She laughed, and agreed with Lynn and Helena that the Vinho Verde prickled the tongue.
‘I definitely like our wine better.’ She hadn’t noticed what she said until her fiancé’s brow lifted quizzically and the pale flush deepened to an enchanting rosy glow.
‘Our wine?’
‘Perhaps I should have said your wine.’
His amusement grew; he laughed and said,
‘I liked your first answer, my dear,’ and then he added, ‘In any case, mine is not the only quinta in the Douro!’
A vision of the valley came before her eyes; the dressers working on the terraces of schist—cutting, spraying and giving all their energies to the vines. She saw the pretty red and white quintas, with their verandahs and gardens and tiled roofs overshadowed by cypress trees. These enchanting villas were the homes of the wealthy wine-growers of the Pais do Vinho—the Country of the Wine.
‘All right then—our wine; the wine of the Douro.’ Joanne was looking at Manoel, but at a movement behind him she shifted her gaze ... and embarrassment flooded over her as she saw Ricardo about to sit down at the table by the door. Manoel turned in order to see what had caused her confusion. Joanne had introduced Ricardo to Manoel on the evening Ricardo had visited her, the evening she had discovered the depth of her feelings for Manoel, and told Ricardo of that discovery. As Ricardo was going Manoel had come from his study and the two men had met. Manoel now turned again; his glance fell on Joanne for a second and his attitude was one of indecision. But almost at once he said,
‘Your friend’s alone, Joanne. Would you have him join us?’
‘I ...’ Her embarrassment grew, for the only thing she could remember was her admission, and Ricardo’s absolute refusal to believe it was true. At last however she managed to convince him and he had gone away looking so glum and downcast that Joanne had felt utterly miserable and weighed down by guilt.
‘Yes—yes,’ she stammered as Manoel watched in some puzzlement for her answer.
Manoel invited Ricardo to come to their table, which he did, though not with any apparent enthusiasm. However, once the introductions were over he appeared more at ease and Joanne was rather pleasantly surprised at the way Manoel spoke to him—aloofly, it was true, but that was his way with all but his intimates. His manner, though was decidedly friendly and after a little while Joanne thought it was nice to have another man in the company. It evened things out a little.
Several times during the next half hour Joanne noticed Ricardo’s glance straying to Lynn; he seemed interested in her, and Joanne put this down to the fact that although she joined in the conversation, and laughed when humour was appropriate, there was a sadness about her which, quite understandably, she could not hide.
When at last Manoel said it was time to go he surprised everyone by inviting Ricardo to the party on the evening of Christmas Day.
‘But I don’t work on the estate,’ Ricardo said, thinking Manoel had probably overlooked that circumstance.
‘Your father did. Perhaps your mother would like to come also?’
Ricardo made some mention of his mother, Joanne recalled. Manoel must have remembered what Ricardo said, and he now invited her because she would be left on her own if Ricardo came without her.
‘Mother would thoroughly enjoy it, I’m sure.’ Ricardo’s eyes brightened eagerly. ‘Yes, Dom Manoel, we’ll accept your invitation—and thank you very much indeed.’
‘That’s all right. Your mother doesn’t get out much, I think you said?’
‘Not since Father died. She always says she feels uncomfortable if she goes out on her own.’
‘How, then, does she pass her time?’
‘She has the housewor
k—and she loves to embroider.’
‘Embroider? You mean on canvas?’ he inquired, and Joanne’s wide brow puckered in surprise. Lynn, too, looked faintly puzzled at this interest shown in Ricardo’s mother, but Helena regarded her brother with only the merest trace of curiosity. It was almost as if she were used to his making inquiries such as this.
‘No,’ answered Ricardo ruefully. ‘She embroiders on silk, using silks, and makes the most beautiful pictures. But the materials she uses are so expensive that she can’t do as much as she likes.’
‘That’s a pity ... a great pity.’ The subject was dropped, and after they had stood at the door of the cafe just long enough to say good night, Manoel and the three girls took the uphill lane and Ricardo went off in the opposite direction.
Immediately they reached the Solar de Alvares Joanne and Lynn bade Manoel and his sister good night and went up to Joanne’s own apartments. Some sort of reaction took possession of Lynn and she looked ready to burst into tears.
Watching her, Joanne felt quite full up, but knew that nothing she could do or say would help. Lynn was thinking of her mother, and Joanne was reluctant to offer sympathy for fear of making her feel worse. But when Lynn was in bed Joanne went downstairs again to Manoel.
‘That drink you gave me, to make me sleep,’ she said. ‘Can I have some for Lynn?’
‘She’s not well?’ he asked in swift concern.
‘It’s nothing except depression; she’s dwelling on things. I feel she ought to be given something to make her sleep.’
‘Quite right.’
Five minutes later Joanne was standing by Lynn’s bed, waiting for Lynn to drain the glass.
‘You’ll be asleep in no time at all,’ she assured her. ‘And you’ll feel much better tomorrow.’
‘Thanks, Joanne, you and Manoel are so good to me. I’m so grateful—but I can’t say anything that seems adequate.’
‘Nonsense; you haven’t to be grateful. Manoel says we’re here to help one another, and that’s absolutely true. Lie down now and I’ll fix the bedclothes.’
Lynn snuggled down in the bed and looked up at Joanne.
‘Ricardo’s nice—and so good-looking.’
‘I think so too. He—’
‘Yes?’ Lynn waited, puzzled by her friend’s hesitation. ‘What were you going to say?’—That he wanted to marry her—That was what she had been going to say—but for some quite incomprehensible reason she had bitten back the words even as they were on the tip of her tongue.
‘Nothing important,’ returned Joanne carelessly. ‘Now, there’s the sheet tucked in, and the blanket. Are you quite warm and comfortable?’
‘Lovely and warm—and comfortable.’ She was drowsy, within minutes her eyes were closed and her breathing became regular. Her face was relaxed, serene. Yes, thought Joanne with satisfaction, the sleeping draught was just what she needed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHRISTMAS EVE in the home of any Portuguese fidalo was the scene of much gaiety and song, and the Solar de Alvares was no exception. The long table held a glittering array of silver, from the ornate candelabra to the pretty little flower-holders containing individual posies at each place setting. All Dom Manoel’s family and friends were gathered for the traditional supper of pacalhau, after which there was to be folk-dancing by a group of girls and youths in their colourful national costumes.
As Joanne was presented to the various members of her fiancé’s family she could not help wondering how he was to break the engagement without much loss of face. But the matter seemed not to trouble him at all, and his whole demeanour, though edged with his customary reserve, was to all outward appearances that of the proud and happy lover.
‘We’re most delighted to meet you.’ Nuno Alvares had all his brother’s cool assurance and haughty air, but he also possessed the ability to unbend when the occasion demanded it. His wife, small and pretty, had a vivacious personality which instantly put Joanne at her ease.
‘How surprised we all were!’ she exclaimed, taking Joanne’s arm and propelling her to the sofa by the window. They were in the salon, awaiting the call to supper. ‘Tell me all about it; I’m simply dying to know how it’s happened. I still can’t believe Manoel’s fallen in love at last. You came to Portugal to farm Pendela, he tells me?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’ At the rueful note in her voice Isobella nodded understandingly.
‘It was in a dreadful state. Dona Amelia neglected it shockingly, but she was very old and infirm at the end. She ought to have sold out to Manoel long ago’—Isobella broke off, then laughed. ‘That wasn’t quite the right thing to say, was it? Had Dona Amelia sold the farm to Manoel, then he’d never have met you.’
If, like her sister-in-law, Isobella had any preconceived ideas about Manoel and his cousin she tactfully refrained from mentioning them. But she did go on to say that Manoel’s choice had come as a shock to his mother. ‘I think your being a widow, with a child, quite upset her, but she’ll recover. She didn’t care for me at first, but she now seems to have made the best of it.’
‘You weren’t good enough for Nuno, you mean?’
‘No position—or fortune,’ returned Isobella with a sort of grim humour.
‘Then it’s no wonder she doesn’t approve of me ...’ Joanne tailed off and, concluding the reason to be embarrassment at Joanne’s apparent lack of diplomacy Isobella said with a laugh,
‘Don’t let it trouble you; her opinion counts for nothing with any of her children. As for Manoel, when he makes up his mind a dozen Dona Clementinas wouldn’t change it.’ She chatted on, plainly delighted with her prospective sister-in-law. Becoming too uncomfortable to speak, Joanne sat silently gazing over to where Dona Clementina was reclining on the couch, engaged in conversation with Rosa. On occasions one or the other would cast a glance in Joanne’s direction, and it was plain that she was the object of their discussion. What were they saying about her? Joanne wondered, but soon lost interest, as her attention had been caught by Senhor Pedro, who was talking to Lynn. They were at the far end of the room; both were smiling and Joanne noticed with extreme satisfaction that Lynn looked far brighter than when she had first arrived at the Solar de Alvares.
Following the direction of her gaze, Isobella turned the conversation to Lynn.
‘Manoel was saying that Lynn has recently lost her mother.’
‘Just over a fortnight ago. They were devoted, and Lynn’s feeling pretty bad at present.’ A pause, and then Joanne added impulsively, ‘I thought it was wonderful of Manoel to let her come here. Just imagine how she’d have felt—being all alone at Christmas.’
‘It would have been grim—but of course Manoel would think of that immediately you told him about her.’ She spoke matter-of-factly and it was clear that she saw nothing exceptional in her brother-in-law’s action. ‘He has the extraordinary faculty of seeing everything at a glance. And, having done so, he then wastes no time at all in doing something about it.’
How true! Joanne reflected on the way he had arranged everything on the occasion of Glee’s accident. Within minutes he had had it all organized, right down to the last detail.
‘It’s doing her the world of good,’ Joanne observed, glancing again at her friend. ‘She appears to be getting along fine with Senhor Pedro.’
‘Everyone gets along with Pedro—even his wife,’ Isobella added with a grimace. ‘It was a happy day when he became one of the family.’
What had attracted him to the formidable Dona Clementina? On the surface it would seem they had nothing in common, but perhaps, like her son, Dona Clementina had a different side to her nature. Manoel was approaching Joanne and her companion, striding down the length of the salon, a truly majestic figure, poised and faultlessly dressed. A slight nod now and then to someone as he passed added to the impression of magnificence, and Joanne caught her breath as he came nearer. Isobella said, as if actually sensing her little inaudible gasp,
‘Was ever any man so handsome as
my brother-in-law? I believed Nuno would be the handsomest man I’d ever meet ... but then he introduced me to Manoel!’
‘May I join you?’ Manoel requested, smiling. ‘Or is the subject matter for feminine ears only?’
‘I was talking about you, Manoel.’ Isobella gave him an affectionate glance. ‘But I’ll definitely not tell you what I was saying.’
‘You won’t be pressed, then.’ Although his voice held a sort of bored disinterest his eyes still smiled. ‘Joanne dear, I see that your friend is a little happier tonight’
‘It’s the influence of Pedro,’ declared Isobella, flicking a glance in their direction. She rose then, saying she had better go and have a few words with Dona Lucia Casco, her aged aunt. ‘Otherwise I shall come under the lash of that dreadful tongue of hers,’ she added with a grimace, ‘and you haven’t the least idea of how uncomfortable that can be, Manoel.’
His brows lifted a fraction.
‘I’m not lacking imagination,’ he retorted, though with a trace of amusement in his voice. ‘Soften her up, Isobella, for it will be my duty to sit with her later on.’
‘Is she so frightening?’ Joanne asked, becoming awkward now that she and Manoel were alone.
‘She’s most certainly an irascible old lady,’ he said. ‘But she suffers greatly from rheumatism, so perhaps we should make allowances.’ Turning to Joanne, he changed the subject. ‘I’m completely in the dark as to this coldness you’ve adopted with me, Joanne, but I must ask you to oblige me—for tonight while my guests are here—by acting as a fiancée should.’
She forgot her awkwardness as she started in surprise. As Manoel had made no previous mention of it she had assumed him to be resigned to her change of manner, and it amazed her that he could sink his pride and request a favour such as this from her.
