At the Villa Massina (8 page)

He was there at the corner, as she had asked him to be, and though he still had the careless look he had undoubtedly taken trouble with his appearance. He looked younger, and actually gave her a wink, as without a word, she got into the front seat of his dusty old convertible.

“You’re some girl, Juliet,” he said as he let in the clutch. “I was sure you weren’t as hard as you pretended to be the other day, and now you prove it, by taking me to the Castillo. You look the goods, by the way.”

“Don’t flatter me, please ... and I’m still as hard as you thought I was,” she said firmly. “Let me explain. Before you saw Senora de Vedro outside the Villa Massina you knew her by sight. Well, the same applies in her case. She asked me about you, I let out that you were a writer, and that did it. She leads a narrow life and you’re a minor highlight just now. She wants to meet you.”

“Better and better,” he remarked. “I want to know her, too. She’s a good-looking woman.”

“And rich?”

He gave his easy laugh. “You’ve really got it in for me, haven’t you? Why should I care if she’s rich?”

“I don’t know. It’s all a bit beyond me, and I don’t believe I really want to understand at all—only to be left out of it. Heaven only knows what Norma’s going to say!”

“Does it matter?” he murmured, taking a corner wide and scattering a number of chickens. “Norma’s no saint, and I’m certainly not threatening her in any way. When she does arrive you can tell her to pretend she doesn’t know me; I’ll keep it up, if I have to. After all, we three are the only ones who know otherwise, aren’t we? Do you dislike me for having been friendly with her?”

Juliet considered this. “I don’t think so. If you didn’t know of the existence of Rina and Tony...”

“I swear I didn’t!”

“Then I suppose you simply regarded her as a someone who’d married the wrong man. Still, she was married.”

“Oh, come. Where’s the harm in an Englishwoman seeking a little shallow consolation from a countryman?”

“Yes, you do seem very English,” she admitted. “Why did you give it up?”

“My nationality?” A shrug. “It was convenient. I wanted to live in Spain without the trouble of being an alien.” His smile was jaded. “At the age of twenty I so annoyed my father that he kicked me out, so I started wandering. But, you know, one never does really give up one’s race. You make me feel even more British than Norma did.”

“Well, I hope it hurts,” she said flatly. “You’ve given me some bad times, Mr. Whitman!”

He winced theatrically. “Call me Lyle; it’s good to hear it pronounced as it should be. I like you Juliet. I like you very much. But your protective tentacles are a little sharp.”

Ramiro had hinted at the same thing, in the early hours of this morning. Where was he now? In Cadiz, either watching a wedding or toasting the bride? He would do it well, particularly as she was the bride of one of his staff. He was markedly the chivalrous hidalgo when it came to dealing with subordinates.

Juliet wrenched her thoughts back to the man beside her. She said, “We’re not far from the Castillo, and I haven’t yet had your promise that you won’t take advantage of this introduction to Inez de Vedro.”

His brows rose. “How could I take advantage, my sweet Juliet? She and I wish to meet each other. What might follow is neither in your hands nor in mine, at the moment. By the way, will her brother be there?”

She looked at him quickly, saw only a pleasant profile and smiling lips. “No, he’s away today.”

“I rather thought so. The senora is probably going to try me out. If I lit, I’ll be admitted to the circle. But maybe on closer acquaintance I shan’t like her at all, in which case I shall claim writer’s licence, and decline her next invitation.”

“That’s not funny,” she said abruptly. “I don’t mind telling you that I’m hating this and I want to get out of it as soon as I can.”

He put out a hand and touched hers, gripped firmly when she tried to withdraw. “I’ve a rotten sense of humor, I admit. Everything’s going to be all right—you’ll see. I’ll behave impeccably.”

“You’d better! Since I’ve been here I’ve already had as many complications as I can take.”

Lyle stopped the car in the courtyard of the Castillo, came round to open Juliet’s door. A servant appeared, one of the many who wore dark uniform, and he bowed first to Juliet and then to Lyle. He murmured something in Spanish and Lyle answered him fluently. Juliet found herself once more inside the reception hall and being led into a more intimate room that she had thought the Cas
t
illo possessed. But even in here the walls were lined with cream and gold damask, and the furniture was delicate rococo, the satin a faded scarlet. In the wall hung a single portrait, that of a young woman in a black and silver dress, tight at the waist and flowing in folds to the floor. The sleeves were full and slashed with white, and aslant on a head of dark red curls an insolent little plume in royal blue was set. It was odd, but gazing at the picture Juliet knew a sudden impact of ... was it warning, or merely a touch of excitement?

However, the next moment the portrait was forgotten, for Inez came through another door, looking very Spanish and very modern in a long-sleeved black silk suit which had a medallion of scarlet embroidery on one shoulder.

She gave the gracious inclination of her head and said, “Bienvenida. I have not kept you waiting?”

“Not at all,” said Juliet. “May I present Mr. Lyle Whitman? Senora de Vedro.”

Lyle bowed in the accepted fashion and said pleasantly, “I am honoured to make your acquaintance, senora. It is something I have longed for from the moment I first saw you, some time ago.”

Anywhere else, such a statement might sound flowery; in Spain it was accepted as normal. Inez waved to three chairs which had been conveniently placed, sat down her-self and leaned forward, to tinkle a small silver bell. Then she leaned back, displaying, perhaps consciously, the graceful line of her throat, the arched nostrils and the elegant length of nose and forehead. She was very much of the nobleza.

They had tea, poured from a dainty silver teapot into paper-thin cups of exquisite design, and they ate tiny nutty cakes and fruit titbits. And they talked. At least, Inez and Lyle talked—about books and concerts in Madrid, about the beauty of Avila in the snow, about the bullfight, and again about books.

When tea was over and Juliet said she thought she must go, Inez stood up quite readily.

“It has been enjoyable, has it not? We three must meet again. Mr. Whitman, are you interested in the Castillo?”

“Of course, senora. I was just wondering if I dare ask permission to wander round outside one morning. I believe you have some very good rustic statuary.”

Inez gestured graciously. “Not only statuary. Inside the pavilion we have the Moorish bath which was the original reason my ancestors built here. It is very beautiful, though not quite so large as the one in my brother’s Castillo at Cadiz. Then there are grottoes and wall fountains all over the gardens, and a maze planted two hundred and fifty years ago. If it were not that Ramiro himself has written the family history up to date, I would like nothing better than to ask you to do it for us. But do come, Mr. Whitman; if I am not here you will find my servants very willing to help you.”

But Juliet had the conviction that the senora
would
be there. The thought depressed her, so that when she left the Castillo with Lyle she had little to say. But he was talkative.

“Makes you think, doesn’t it?” he commented companionably. “There she is, in the middle of magnificence, rich enough to buy the most costly article anyone could possibly hanker for, yet I’ll wager she was happier today doing something which cost nothing at all than she has been for months. You know, when a very young woman loses her husband the need to be loved doesn’t die—it merely goes dormant for a while.”

“Is that the sort of thing you write about?”

“You sound acid, young Juliet. No, I think much more clearly than I write, unfortunately, or I might be better off. Still, things have looked up lately. I may even pension this old bus and get a new one.”

“On royalties?”

“Lord, no. The private income—it fluctuates. Did I thank you for the introduction to the Castillo?”

“No, and don’t bother. I only hope I’m not going to be sorry it ever happened.”

He drove for a minute in silence. Then, carelessly, “Shall I get the cat’s eye ruby mounted into a dress ring for you?”

Heat swept through Juliet and painted her cheeks scarlet. “Good heavens, I ... I’d forgotten it. I didn’t find it myself. The ... Conde de Vallos picked it up from under the table.”

“The Conde!” He looked perturbed, took time off to think it over, and then asked non-committally, “Where is it now?”

“I’m afraid he still has it. I know you don’t show the gems around, but once he’d seen it there was little I could do. He questioned me.”

“Oh, he did. I hope you didn’t let me down, Juliet!”

“No.” He needn’t be quite so sharp about it. After all, she hadn’t asked to see the collection he guarded so jealously.

“I told the Conde someone had come to the villa and had shown me some gems, that it must have fallen. He was annoyed, said I shouldn’t have admitted a stranger and that I must have nothing more to do with you. He took the stone and told me to tell you he’d give it back to you personally. You see, I ... I wouldn’t tell him who you were.”

He slanted a veiled glance at her. “Thanks for that, anyway. You’ll have to get it back for me, Juliet. Since meeting his sister I’ve decided I don’t want to meet him.”

“He won’t give the stone to me—only you.”

“You must get it,” he said flatly, “as soon as you possibly can. Thank heaven you had the sense to withhold my name. Are you sure this is as near to the villa as you want to go?”

“I did it for Norma, not for you.” She hesitated. “Is it any use asking you to keep away from Senora de Vedro?”

“Let’s forget her for the present. Get back the cat’s eye, there’s a good girl. It’s important.”

“Well, I...”

“I mean it, Juliet,” he said. “Get it back.”

The difficulties of the situation were becoming too much for Juliet. “I didn’t drop the beastly thing on the floor,” she said crossly. “I feel I’ve done enough for you.”

His manner changed. “Now I’ve put your back up, and I certainly didn’t mean to. I’d never have got into the Castillo and made the acquaintance of Inez de Vedro without a perfect lady to effect the introduction. I think I’m half in love with the woman—have been ever since I first saw her. That’s one of the reasons I want the stone back. You wouldn’t understand, Juliet—too innocent, I guess. But to me it’s vital. You must try.”

“It would be hopeless. The Conde wouldn’t give it to me.”

“You’re a woman, Juliet—use a few tricks. I just want the stone, without his knowing my name. Tackle him when he returns from Cadiz and get it over.” He put out a hand as she moved. “Promise?”

“I promise to try, that’s all.”

Juliet left him and walked quickly to the villa, wishing rather vehemently that she could thoroughly detest the man. She went up the path and into the hall, heard the two treble voices and Luisa’s harsh, kindly tones. She took off her hat and placed it on the long carved table near the wall, and noticed that a couple of letters had appeared on the bronze tray; one from her aunt and the other from Norma.

She fingered them, slipped a finger under the flap of Norma’s thick envelope and ripped it open. She read, felt a hard ridge come into her throat, and read again.

Ruy Colmeiro had had a recurrence of trouble with his wrist and he had been advised to have an operation. It was not urgent, and he had thought of leaving it till he reached Spain, so that it might be attended to in Cadiz while Norma lived with the children at the villa.

“But I am naturally against that,” wrote Norma, “and have decided that the wrist shall be seen to in England. This means that we shall both have to remain here till after Easter, but I think it is wise. Anyway, darling, I have had such a glowing report about Rina’s improvement from Inez de Vedro, that I’m not a scrap worried about leaving you there in charge of the children. Father says he will be only too pleased to spare you from the shop while we need you, so everything seems to be under control. For my part, I’m relieved that I don’t have to be harassed with packing and travelling details just now; there’s a run of social engagements, most of them exciting and not to be missed! Have some fun, if you can, and kiss the bairns for me...”

Juliet pushed the letter into her bag, dropped the bag beside her hat. She made herself move, to escape the intensity of feeling; queer feeling which defied analysis.

Behind her, outdoors, the sun had left a pool of pale golden light. Juliet saw it in the high mirror on the wall, but she did not know that a shy radiance was reflected back into her eyes, so that the fear and uncertainty in her expression was illumined by a small glow of relief.

CHAPTER FIVE

A CAR pulled up on the path and its door slammed, gaily. Juliet took three more quick stitches and broke the cotton, folded the pair of shorts and looked up towards the door. But no one came in. Instead, she heard tones which played sharply and exquisitely over her nerves.