At the Villa Massina (6 page)

Juliet pulled herself up jerkily. She had thought of the Conde as Ramiro. How very odd!

Mario Perez was not the usual dashing young Latin. His eyes sparkled and his teeth flashed whitely when he smiled, he was extremely courteous and not a little susceptible, which were all Spanish qualities; but he also had an engaging shyness which was difficult for his own people to accept and understand, particularly as his father was a partner with the Conde de Vallos in a wolfram mine which yielded fabulous profits. To be normal, Mario should have serenaded one senorita after another, showered gifts and eventually have chosen a stunning wife to set off the jewels he would be able to buy her.

But at twenty-five, Mario had examined girls only from a distance, without interest. Then his pulses betrayed him, for they had begun to throb faster in a most inexplicable manner when he was placed next to the English girl for lunch at the Castillo. Covertly, he had absorbed her looks; she was golden of skin and the hair, the hair rather remarkable because it had ashen streaks in it. She looked thin and willowy, without the promise of ripe fullness to which he was accustomed. Her tones were light and quick, her smile devastatingly frank, but he was aware of a modesty in her which bore no relation to the seductive demureness of his own countrywomen.

She was in Spain, he learned, for only a short time. Because to him she was an enigma, an extremely fascinating one, he felt he should make the most of that short time, but as he knew nothing about relationships between unmarried English people, he had to wait impatiently for his chance. It came in the shape of a note from Inez de Vedro, inviting him to dinner on the yacht. “As you have already met Senorita Darrell, I will ask you to be good enough to escort her,” she ended. “Perhaps you should present yourself at the Villa Massina at seven-forty-five.” Actually, he bowed his way into the villa half an hour earlier.

Juliet was already dressed for the evening. She wore stiff tan silk which left her shoulders bare, and a filmy stole, and she came down to him from saying goodnight to the children. She was deliciously flushed from hurrying, looked slightly harassed as she came into the sitting-room and greeted him.

He bent over her hand, a good-looking young man with smooth regular features and black glistening hair. “Please, senorita ... do not disturb yourself. I am early and deserve to be kept waiting.”

“Yes, you are rather early, but I happen to be ready. Would you care for a drink?”

He looked apprehensive. “I hardly think we should drink together like this. Perhaps...” he hesitated. “It would give me great pleasure if you would take a drive with me to fill the time.”

Juliet couldn’t see that there was any more harm in talking over a glass of wine than in driving alone with him, but she was willing to acquiesce. She took up her silver bag, called goodnight to Luisa, who was sitting with a crony in the kitchen, and preceded Mario to his dignified car. He put her into the front seat and came beside her, leaving several inches between them, and they drove out and made for the coastal road.

It was the usual soft evening, but a few clouds trailed across the stars. Mario drove without speed and made polite conversation.

“You have not yet explored the district, senorita?” he queried politely. “There are many things you must see—things which I am sure you do not have in England. On this road, for instance, there is a nut farm and also the residence of one who breeds magnificent cage birds. In Spain, we are fond of cage birds, you know?”

“Yes. I’m afraid I don’t care for them at all.”

“Oh.” This apparently shook him. “They are full of color—very beautiful, and they would not sing if they were unhappy.”

“But I can’t bear to see anything imprisoned. I know that these particular birds would die if they were freed, but I wouldn’t want to own any of them myself.”

“It is a matter of custom, I suppose,” he said, and tried another topic. “You are anticipating with pleasure this evening on the yacht?”

“Well ... yes. Are you?”

“Immensely.” A pause, before he added, “I have very much wanted to see you again.”

“How nice. I’m going to miss Spanish gallantry when I get back home.”

“But I was not being merely gallant,” he assured her. “We have not spoken a great deal together, but you will permit me to say that I find you muy simpatica ... very appealing. Ramiro says I must be on guard against this attraction of yours. He was joking, of course!”

“Was he? Somehow, I feel he doesn’t much like English people. He doesn’t really trust us.”

“About other English I know nothing,” stated Mario, “but you I would trust in any circumstances. You must not judge Ramiro; he has many things to think of just now.”

“The eligibles?” she asked, smiling at him. “I mean the three charming ladies who are competing to become the Condesa.”

He was silent for a minute. Then he said, “I think you cannot know that the Conde will almost certainly become betrothed to my sister, who has just returned from a visit to my aunt in Madrid. The dinner tonight is to welcome her, and also to give us an opportunity of greeting Don Manuel Verrar, who has been away on government business for a year.”

About fifteen seconds passed before Juliet answered, “No, I wasn’t aware you had a sister. I daresay it will be a popular marriage.”

“Yes. Our families have been connected for many years, both here and in business. But nothing is settled, you understand! Ramiro has not seen Carmen for some time, so there can be no announcement yet.”

Juliet offered no immediate comment; the subject sickened her quicker than any other. She thought of Inez de Vedro and her preference for Elena de Mendoza, of the Conde out with Lupita in the rain; and now here was the third, Carmen Perez. If there had been any hope, other women would be falling over themselves to compete for the prize. And he went arrogantly on his way, only too aware of his mastery over the situation.

“What would he do,” she queried evenly, “if he were to fall in love with the ravishing daughter of a fisherman?”

Mario laughed, and lifted his shoulders. “All I know is that he would not marry her. He has great family pride; that is why his choice is so narrow.” He took a deep breath. “You can smell the mimosa? It is always much sweeter on a moonless night.”

“It’s heavenly,” she said at once. “Go faster, Mario, and show me the nut trees.”

“Very well, though they are better in daylight.”

He accelerated, and the wind sped through the windows. There were cottages with lights in the windows, a somnolent donkey by the roadside, a crowd of young people dancing to the blare of an accordion and watched over by mothers with hands folded under the ends of their head shawls. There was a village, a sprinkling of men in sombreros outside a bodega, lovers clasping hands as they walked, and then darkness till the car beams swept over the vast pale billows of nut blossoms.

Mario braked. “There,” he said. “Es bella, no?”

“Glorious!” she sighed. “I’d love to run among the trees. Couldn’t we—just for a minute?”

She moved, and he grasped her wrist swiftly. “No, please! You would ruin your frock and it is so late.”

“But we’ll never see it again, just like this.”

“I will bring you,” he implored her. “I promise. We must go at once to the yacht.”

She sat back, said huskily, “I told you I was looking forward to the evening, but I’m not. I don’t know any of those people...”

“You know our host,” he said in low tones, “and you know me.” He laughed again, shakily, slowly released her wrist. “You make me afraid, Juliet. I thought you would really run out among the trees. I ... I think I wanted you to do it, so that I would have reason to ... to follow.”

“I’m an idiot,” she told him, and swallowed on an unaccountable ache in her throat. “Let’s go to the yacht.”

They went down into San Federigo and along the waterfront, turned on to the jetty, where a string of cars showed that many of the guests for the yacht had already arrived. A launch had just left for the yacht; the women in their long dark gowns and the men in white dinner-jackets were easily discernible for a long way.

Another launch tied up and the boatman leapt up on to the jetty.

“Ah, Senor Perez!” he exclaimed in Spanish. “The Senor Conde has already asked for you and the senorita. Shall we go at once?”

“As we have been missed, it would be best.”

Mario stepped down into the launch, lifted his arms to receive Juliet. In the darkness she came to rest close to him, very close, and he kept one arm around her as the boatman pushed off. There were seats, but he leaned back against a locker, steadying her with that arm about her. She could feel his breath in her hair, and was suddenly conscious of the quick beating of his heart. Odd, she thought detachedly, that such a wealthy and good-looking young man could get excited over mere contact. Herself, she was cold and numb. She watched the nearing lights of the yacht, heard laughter and music across the rippling dark water. Her earlier reluctance was fast becoming a positive dread, and if it had been possible she would have turned the launch and gone back to the villa.

But they were close to the yacht. She saw the crest on its white side, the family name, and then they were close to the surprisingly firm flight of steps. With startling suddenness a floodlight illuminated the launch, threw into relief the two figures near the locker. Mario released her swiftly, and in a reflex action be bowed and took her elbow, to help her on to the steps.

Juliet went up carefully, with Mario close behind. Almost simultaneously, they arrived on deck, to be greeted by the Conde and his sister. Ramiro bowed with a rather sharper click of the heels than was his wont. His mouth smiled, his dark eyes were watchful.

“You young ones are the last to arrive,” he said coolly, in English.

“I do beg your pardon, Ramiro, and yours, Inez,” Mario answered hurriedly. “We met too early and went for a drive which took longer than I intended.”

Ramiro nodded dismissively. “You will take Miss Darrell to the saloon and make introductions. I will see you both later.”

For Juliet, the following hour or two was no more real than a series of pictures thrown across a screen. Practically all the conversation was in Spanish, though her various companions battled along bravely in English. She met Don Manuel Verrar, who was about forty, with white wings at the temples and very black hair across the top of a very fine head; seemingly, he was in the diplomatic service. She also met Carmen Perez, who was only a little older than herself, shy like Mario, and possessed of a dusky, large-eyed attractiveness. The other two girls were in evidence with their families, and there was a supply of young men to balance the sexes.

Dinner began with a fabulous array of hors d’oeuvres, which was followed by prawn salad, escalopes of veal garnished with asparagus tips, fresh peas and tiny new potatoes, chicken cutlets cooked in wine, pastas filled with all kinds of fruits and topped with nuts and cream, and different varieties of cheese. The wines were legion, the coffee unbelievably rich. Juliet found herself memorizing the names of the bottles for her uncle’s benefit, remembering the courses for Luisa and Aunt May. It was the only way to get through a meal which seemed endless and peculiarly painful.

When she came out on deck she found her way to the cabin where the women had powdered and left their wraps. It was small but luxurious, with a bunk at each side spread with a royal blue monogrammed bed-cover. The carpet was deep-piled, the dressing chest a model of modern beauty in carved fruitwood. She went to the window and looked out at the crowded lights of San Federigo. In the months to come she would remember all this; the tiers of lights, the small bouncing boats; the Spanish guests, the women in sheath-like or flounced dresses, the men impeccably correct; the noble Ramiro, circulating urbanely and dropping a word here, a jest there, so that olive cheeks took color and swift new life leapt into dark eyes.

No, she didn’t want to remember it. Far better if she could erase the whole thing from her mind. This place and these people were too strong for her; if she let them they would become an obsession.

Juliet poured a glass of water from a jug in which ice still floated, sipped some of it, and then used a comb and her compact. She was ready to go back and face the others when the door opened and Inez de Vedro came in.

The older woman smiled, sweetly but with reserve. “I thought I would find you here, Juliet,” she said quietly. “You were not hurt, I hope, by my brother’s coolness when you arrived?”

“No, senora. I daresay we deserved it. I’m sorry we were late.”

“You were not so very late. Ramiro expects always that young people will forget themselves in their anxiety to be polite. For me, I was rather glad that you made Mario unaware of the time.” She smiled. “He is overdue for his first affair of the heart, and if you have awakened him we owe you gratitude. I saw that he could not look at anyone else tonight.”

“I’m afraid that was just flattery.”

“How good that you are so sensible! Yes, it was flattery, but it shows he is roused. When you have left us we will find him a novia.” Inez absently stroked a cape of summer fur which lay across the foot of a bunk. “You have seen over the yacht, Juliet?”

“Most of it, I think. It’s amazing that so much can be packed into the space available for cabins, and so on.”