Master of Hearts

by Ives, Averil

  Kathleen didn't know how to answer him, and she was thankful when they reached the blaze of light that streamed from the house, only to feel his guiding hand propelling her forward along a path that was an off-shoot of the main drive, and which led them once more into velvety darkness. She could feel the crispness of shaven turf beneath her feet, and an ornamental pool gleamed with moonlight in front of them. And then a pale marble garden seat loomed up close at hand, and the Conde thrust her down gently but firmly on to it.

  "It is time, perhaps, that you and I had another little talk," he said. "A talk about how well you are settling down here!"

  This was not what Kathleen had expected at this late hour of the evening, but she realised he had overheard Shane's angry inference, and something had to be done about it.

  "I am settling down very well, senhor."

  "Your brother did not seem to share that opinion." "He thought perhaps I might feel—strange. .

  "He suggested you might like to return home to England,"

  She made a little gesture with her hands.

  "Naturally, I occasionally feel homesick. . . ."

  "With your closest relatives near at hand?" peering at her through the warm darkness. "I understand you have no parents?"

  "No, that is true. There is only Shane and I—Shane and I and Peggy, my sister-in-law."

  "Well, then, with the ties of blood satisfied, what is wrong?"

  "Nothing, senhor."

  She looked down at her hands this time, and she was clasping them closely in her lap.

  He took out a gleaming cigarette-case and offered it to her, but she shook her head. He lighted one himself, and the fragrance of it seemed to surround them.

  "There is, perhaps someone at home in England, whom you miss?"

  The suggestion took her by surprise, and she shook her head with unnecessary vigour.

  "There is no one at home in England whom I particularly miss!"

  "Good," he said softly, and studied the glowing tip of his cigarette. "I felt it necessary to make the enquiry because you are young, and, as I think I have said once before tonight, very attractive, and it would be only natural if you were betrothed, or thinking of becoming betrothed to someone you were unhappy at being separated from. And in that case I could have understood your occasional homesickness."

  "It isn't really homesickness, senhor." She felt she had to get this matter cleared up, and Shane's part in it made it less ungracious. "But this afternoon was the first afternoon I have been away from the quinta for three weeks, and not unnaturally my relatives were beginning to think.. . . Well, it is customary to have a certain amount of free time—time away from one's job—and Shane was a little surprised because I hadn't been to see them before. Also. . ."

  "Yes?" very quietly.

  "Also, I—" And then she paused. She hadn't meant to say that she had had to walk there, but Miguel de Chaves was insistent, and she finished lamely. "I was a little hot when I arrived, and rather dusty. Not nearly as hot as they thought, of course—"

  "You mean you walked?" His voice sounded acutely shocked.

  "Yes, of course. But it was really rather pleasant."

  He ground out his cigarette beneath the heel of his shoe, and when he turned to her again she was certain he was actually disturbed.

  "But, I never heard of anything so—so neglectful in my life! What was my sister thinking of? Didn't she even offer you a car? She should have insisted on Janelas driving you to your brother's, and arranging to pick you up when you wanted to come home. But to allow you to walk! . . ." His displeasure seemed actually to rise up in his throat and choke him a little, and she had never heard him utter so many short sentences so quickly, and with such emphasis. "I don't wonder your brother was annoyed, and that he has received the impression we are treating you badly!"

  "No, no," she said quickly, "not badly! I am very comfortable here!"

  He ignored the interruption.

  "It is the second time you have been badly used since your arrival in this house—no; the third! The first was when you had spend an evening alone in your room, and had your meal sent up to you on a tray. The second, when you received the impression I wished to dismiss you from the sala because that over-impressionable Fernando Queiroz was all set to make of himself a nuisance and I had to do something about it. The third, when you have to walk in the heat of the day to your brother's home. I am angry!"

  She couldn't doubt it. His shapely hands, with a gold crested ring on one tapering finger, were flung out towards her, and his voice vibrated with the keen edge of annoyance. He stood up and paced up and down near

  her for a few seconds, and then he returned to her and suggested with more composure:

  "It would please you if your brother and his wife received an invitation to dinner here one night?"

  She was astounded.

  "But—but, why should you—?"

  "It would please you?" he wanted to know, peering down at her.

  "I— Well, of course, it would be very nice."

  "Then an invitation shall be sent to them." He sat down beside her again. "On the only occasion I met your sister-in-law I thought she was very charming, and there must be no more of this feeling you are cut off from your friends. In future you will visit them at least once weekly, and I will see to it that you are driven there by Janelas, and he will also bring you back in the evening. And if you wish to do shopping in Amara you have only to ask for a car."

  "Th-thank you, senhor." She felt overpowered. "You are very kind."

  "Not at all." All at once his voice was very dry. "Don't think I haven't noticed the improvement in my nephews—a mild improvement; but, nevertheless, an improvement—since you took over the charge of them, and I wouldn't want to lose you at this stage. Who knows, a few more months of your gentle guidance and they may resemble a couple of small human beings!"

  She felt herself flushing under cover of the darkness. She stood up and found that unexpectedly they were very close to one another, and something of his intense masculinity seemed to reach out at her so that for the first time she was really and almost uncomfortably aware of him as a man.

  "So you see," he murmured, his chin on a level with the very tip of her head, his tobacco-scented breath lightly stirring her hair, "it would never do if we were to lose you now!"

  "I don't think there's—very much danger," she said jerkily, "I've grown very fond of Jerry and Joe!"

  "And they of you? I'm quite sure they have grown very fond of you!"

  "I don't know," she answered, and turned quickly away.

  "But I do." He fell into step beside her as she moved back along the path. "Jerry and Joe were your slaves from the beginning, and I think they would wreck the household now if you were suddenly whisked away from them."

  "Oh, I don't know." She tried to speak lightly, and to sound entirely natural, but those brief moments when they were standing face to face had done something to her that she didn't yet understand, but she knew that there was an odd fluttery feeling in her throat, as if she was suddenly breathless. "Little boys don't really enjoy acting the part of slaves, and all they really ask of Life is that someone shall be very fond of them while they're still young."

  "And when they're older? When they're no longer little boys? Do grown men find it difficult to act the part of slaves?"

  "I—I don't know! But who wants a slave, anyway?" still striving after lightness, and very nearly missing her footing as she attempted to move forward quickly in the narrow path.

  Miguel de Chaves' arm clasped her shoulders quickly, and held her tightly for a moment.

  "The first morning you were with us you very nearly tumbled down the stairs," he said, reminiscently. "Is it those absurd high heels you wear, or are you unduly nervous sometimes?" As she didn't answer, because of that fluttery feeling in her throat, he continued the conversation where it had threatened to break off. "Most men, I imagine, experience a slave-like devotion at least once in their lives, and
women don't normally spurn devotion. At least, they shouldn't! It can add colour and charm to their existence, and provide them with a wonderful feeling of security."

  Kathleen said nothing, and as they emerged on to the lighted space before the house he dropped his hand

  from her shoulder. All in a moment he became once more the aloof but courteous employer.

  "Goodnight, Miss O'Farrel," he said, with one of his formal little bows. "I am glad we have had this opportunity to talk, and in future I think you will find your life a little easier here. Less restricted, and therefore more pleasant. At any rate, I hope so!"

  Then he turned on his heel and left her to enter the house by herself, while he disappeared once more along the dimness of the tiled path.

  Was he continuing his walk purely for exercise, in order to think over her reactions, or because he had other, far more pleasant, things to think about? She remembered the way his breath had stirred her hair when they stood close together, and the strength of his arm as it clasped her shoulders. She wished she knew whether a part of his thoughts would dwell upon her as he went sauntering into the darkness, and at the same time she felt slightly bewildered because she so consciously desired him to think about her.

  Only three weeks ago she had decided that he was completely unlikable. Now . . .?

  How did she think and feel about him now?

  As she went up the stairs she told herself that the less she thought about him after her experience tonight the better. And recalling how his informality had dropped away from him when they stepped into the radius of light from the house she repeated this piece of advice to herself with emphasis.

  As a man who understood women, and had no mean opinion of his own capacity to charm, no doubt he occasionally made use of that charm to gain a point. And the point he wished to be sure of at the moment was that she would not run away back to England when she was beginning to mildly discipline his nephews.

  In the morning he paid his first visit to the nurseries in the daytime since she had taken on her present position. He appeared in the big Day Nursery while she was listening to Joe's laborious attempt to spell out words,

  and Jerry was leaning against her other knee. She was sitting in a low chair covered in attractive chintz, and her head was bent above the children and the huge picture-book that was spread open on her lap, and her soft gold hair fell forward and lightly caressed her cheeks. Her feathery eyelashes formed enchanting half-circles that fluttered on those same delicately flushed cheeks.

  It was concentration that brought the flushed look to her face, and when she raised her eyes they were clear and blue and bright with excitement because Joe, at last, seemed to be making progress. She was just about to praise

  him and give him one of the hugs she occasionally

  on him—for he liked being hugged—when the slight noise in the doorway caused her to glance up, and it seemed to her that Miguel de Chaves eyes were gazing straight into hers.

  An altogether inexplicable expression stole into the dark grey depths as they watched her, and for no reason at all her heart started to beat rapidly.

  "Good morning," he said quietly, and she put the two small boys aside and stood up.

  "Good morning, senhor!"

  She wondered whether it struck him that her voice had a slightly breathless note in it.

  The Conde advanced into the room, and she said hurriedly to Jerry and Joe that they must greet their uncle. They did so like two small automatons, and with a touch of Portuguese formality, while their hands reached behind them for her pink cotton skirt. As on another occasion she strove to detach their fingers, but the Conde merely smiled and said with a hint of wryness:

  "They feel safe with you, and they are alarmed by my appearance! I am the uncle who is really an ogre and eats small boys!"

  "Oh, I—I'm sure that isn't what they think!" But Kathleen knew there wasn't much conviction in her voice. "They are a little surprised, that is all."

  "Because I don't often visit you here in the nurseries? Well, we can put that right, at least!" He held out his hand to Jerry. "Come here, Jeronimo! And you, too,

  Joseph, if you can tear yourself away from Miss O'Farrell I can understand that you feel happier holding her hand, but I have come up here specially to visit you, and it is only polite to shake hands, you know!"

  The two small boys shook hands, and then darted back to Kathleen.

  The Conde laughed.

  "There must be something wrong with my methods," he said drily.

  Kathleen dared to make a suggestion.

  "Perhaps if you called them Jerry and Joe—instead of Jeronimo and Joseph!—it would help," she said.

  "You think so?" His eyes went to her, and she received the impression that he was not paying much attention to her suggestion but was intrigued by something about her. "Very well! Jerry and Joe it shall be in future, and we will see whether that will yield results. And now as a short break from routine I suggest that I take you all three for a drive while the air is still reasonably cool. Would you like that—Jerry and Joe?"

  Jerry gaped at him.

  "You mean you will take us for a drive?"

  The dark grey eyes smiled lazily at him.

  "If you feel that it will provide you with some enjoyment."

  "In your big black car? The one that is all shiny with silver, and goes like the wind?"

  The Conde nodded, and leaned against the door. "Have you a weakness for fast cars, my son? I never knew it!"

  Jerry nodded, his eyes gleaming.

  "Janelas never drives fast—he is too afraid!" he said scornfully, and a little unreasonably, since Janelas always received his instructions beforehand. "But you do, I know. I've seen you!"

  The Conde laughed again, but this time it was a genuinely amused laugh. He glanced across at Kathleen, and at the twinkle in his eyes she smiled.

  "Then if Miss O'Farrel is not nervous we will risk a little fast driving this morning," he said, and put a

  hand on the boy's rough red head. "Are you nervous, Miss O'Farrel?" he enquired.

  A slight swinging of the golden hair answered him, and Jerry and Joe both gurgled in delight. In fact, they whooped with delight. A little anxious lest their enthusiasm should not altogether please their uncle. Kathleen urged them towards the door of the Night Nursery, observing that if they were to be taken out they must be made presentable, but Miguel called after her a little sharply.

  "You will make no alteration in your appearance, will you, Miss O'Farrel? You look delightful as you are!"

  Kathleen felt herself colouring furiously, and she stammered:

  "Not—not if you don't wish me to!"

  "I don't," he said quietly, and almost gravely, and his lustrous eyes gazed straight into hers.

  He said he would wait for them on the drive in front of the house, and when they joined him Jerry and Joe were shining like a couple of new pins, and wearing beautifully-laundered white silk shirts and little pale blue shorts. They had also been persuaded into short white socks and patent-leather shoes instead of their usual open-toed sandals. Kathleen was still wearing her pink cotton dress, and the only concession she had made to the outing was that she was a white straw hat in her hand, and had a white pouch handbag tucked underneath her arm.

  The children's uncle let his gaze rest on all three of them, but it lingered longest on Kathleen.

  "You will do very nicely," he said. Then, as he continued to study Kathleen, added a little disconcertingly: "Very nicely indeed!"

  He put the boys into the back of the car and locked the doors, so that however much advantage they took of their splendid isolation they would not fall out, and insisted on Kathleen sitting beside him in the front. She would have much preferred to be with the children, and even suggested it was not altogether safe leaving them to their own devices; she was thinking of the pearl-grey

  upholstery, and the twins' delight in getting to the bottom of simple mysteries such as chromium-plated gadget
s for the storage of cigarettes and reception of ash, roof lights, etc. But the Conde didn't seem to care just then whether extensive depredations were wrought to the inside of his car, and he told Kathleen that the drive would not be very pleasant for her if she was going to concern herself overmuch with her charges. So she sat back feeling a little awkward and slightly perplexed, because after all her job was to look after the children and only a few weeks ago he would have administered a rebuff if she had permitted them to get out of hand.

  Now, all at once, he was mellowing to an extraordinary degree, and she didn't know quite how to account for it.

  But the drive was so pleasant that after a time she forgot her preoccupation with the twins, and began to enjoy it. She remembered what Peggy had said about the superb comfort of his car. It was even more luxurious than his chauffeur-driven cars, and his method of handling it proved him to be expert at the controls. She could tell that he normally liked to travel at great speed, for it was only when the speedometer registered nearly eighty miles an hour on a reasonably straight stretch of the winding coast road that he glanced at her and instantly started to slow.

  "Sorry!" he said. "I know you said that you didn't object to speed, but the purpose of this outing is to show you a little of our countryside. And to give pleasure to our passengers in the back, of course!"

  The passengers in the back were shrieking with delight, and hanging on to the straps that were there for the purpose of maintaining balance; but Kathleen was glad when they were travelling at a more decorous rate and she could see how beautiful was this corner of Portugal where she now earned her living. They had turned inland from the sea, and there were cork forests rising against the sky, and chestnut forests, and miles and miles of cultivated fields and vineyards. The vineyards secretly thrilled her with the thought of the slowly swelling grapes lying out