Doctor at Villa Ronda (2 page)

“You knew my sister?” Nicola asked the caretaker.

“
Si, senorita
.”
A composed, shut look crossed the woman’s face.

“No address?” pursued Nicola.

“
No, senorita
.”

Nicola’s knowledge of Spanish was no more than elementary, but she managed to understand from the woman that the rent of the flat was paid until the end of the month. Then if the Senorita Brettell did not return, it would be let again.

Nicola made a swift, impulsive decision. Why should she stay in the hotel for the rest of her holiday when she could take over the flat for the next two weeks? She would be here on the spot, too, if Lisa returned suddenly.

She thanked the woman, gave her a few pesetas and told her that she would be returning tomorrow to stay for a week or two.

B
ack in the hotel Nicola sat on her bed to consider her
next step. Even staying in Lisa’s flat was only a negative measure incapable of solving by itself Lisa’s disappearance.

T
he fact that Lisa had apparently cleared out all her possessions and clothes seemed to indicate a planned, if hasty, flight. But why? Over and over again Nicola asked
herself that question.

A
fter lunch she went out to explore the cathedral and the old quarter of Barcelona. So far she had not had much
time for sightseeing.

R
eturning down the Calle de Santa Ana, she saw a notice advertising an art exhibition. “Last Day,
”
announced a strip pasted across the board outside the small salon. She went in, received a programme and toured the two rooms. Evidently the exhibition was for young painters under twenty-five, and Nicola thought how encouraging it was that so many of the pictures indicated that they were sold.

O
ut of several stylish portraits, Nicola’s gaze was drawn to one of a man with harsh, eagle-like features, black hair and a sombre expression in his brown eyes. In the black cloak with silver fastenings, the head slightly downbent as though he were considering an intricate problem, he looked like one of the original Inquisitors.

S
he looked for the artist’s name and checked with the catalogue. “Adrienne Montal”.

N
icola moved away, stared at landscapes and still lifes, but found herself drawn back to the portrait by the young artist Montal.

“
You like it?” a voice spoke to her in English.

N
icola turned to face a girl of about seventeen,
fair skinned
, with pale golden hair and an attractive, youthful candour in her grey eyes.

“
Very much,” Nicola answered.

“
He’s my Uncle Sebastian,” the girl explained. “Not really handsome, but one does one’s best.
”

“
Then you’re the artist, Adrienne Montal?”

T
he girl nodded. “Do you paint?” she asked Nicola.

“
No, but I like looking at pictures. You must be very talented to have your work here when you’re so young.”

Adrienne giggled. “I really cheated,” she admitted. “I have been well commended for my painting of the cloak and the background, but Sebastian, my uncle, was difficult. He was impatient and would not wear a nice expression, so I made him happier than he really is.”

Nicola’s fleeting thought was that the unknown Sebastian must be an extremely bitter-looking individual.

“The cloak one paints afterwards,” Adrienne continued. “It is easy to drape it on a clothes-hanger.”

Nicola laughed. “Perhaps you ought not to be telling me all these trade secrets.”

“Oh, I am very glad to talk to someone who will praise me. I do not like criticism,” Adrienne added disarmingly.

Nicola studied her catalogue. “You have other pictures here?” she asked.

The girl shrugged. “No others.” She grimaced. “I offered some landscapes, but the judges did not like them.”

“Bad luck.”

As Adrienne conducted Nicola to some of the best exhibits, again Nicola’s glance covertly returned to the portrait of the unknown Uncle Sebastian.

There were few people at this time in the salon, but suddenly Adrienne turned to greet a tall man coming across the room.

“Oh, here is my uncle,” she exclaimed. “He has come to collect me now that he has finished his work at the hospital. He is a doctor.” She grinned mischievously at Nicola. “Now you can see for yourself if my portrait is good or bad.”

But Nicola’s interest was aroused not so much by comparing the man with the picture as the fact that he was connected with hospitals. Why hadn’t she thought of enquiring for Lisa at some of the city hospitals?

“
D’you think I could—that is, I mean—” she began incoherently, but Adrienne was already making introductions. “Pardon me,” she turned towards Nicola, “but I do not know your name. This is my uncle, Dr. Sebastian Montal.” Nicola supplied her name and realised even while
Adrienne explained her meeting with an English girl that after the usual conventional greetings uncle and niece would leave and that would be the end of the matter. Nicola had to act swiftly, if perhaps discourteously. “Dr. Montal, I believe you are connected with the hospitals here?”

He inclined his head in agreement.

“Then forgive me if this is not the correct thing to do, but my sister—” She gave a brief account of Lisa’s disappearance. “How can I find if she is in hospital somewhere?”

“First I could trace whether your sister is in the hospital I attend,” Dr. Montal answered. ‘Then there are several convent hospitals.”

‘Thank you very much.” Nicola wrote her address on a slip of paper and handed it to him. “Today I’m still at the hotel in Santa Ana, but tomorrow I shall be staying at the flat for, perhaps, a fortnight. After that—I don’t know.”

His strong, eagle-like features softened for a moment.

“I will do what I can,” he promised. Then he turned towards his niece. “Adrienne, if you’re ready?”

He gave Nicola a formal bow and moved away towards the exit of the salon.

“Goodbye, Miss Brettell,” Adrienne said breathlessly. “We live at Orsola de Mar. You must come and see us.” She followed her uncle out of the salon and as Nicola watched the two disappear, the tall man in a light grey suit, the blonde girl in a hyacinth blue dress, it seemed as if they had taken light and vitality with them, leaving the exhibition salon dim and lifeless in spite of the glowing pictures on the walls.

Nicola waited a few minutes before leaving. She did not want to appear to be following the Montals, but when she stepped out into the narrow street where practically all the first-floor balconies were decorated with flowers in window-boxes and tubs, there was no sign of the doctor and his niece.

I
n the vestibule of her hotel, Nicola studied the large map of Barcelona, but could not find the place mentioned by Adrienne.

“Orsola de Mar?” the receptionist echoed. “About forty-five kilometres from Barcelona. You can go by train.”

“Oh, I see. Thank you.” Nicola had imagined that the Montals lived in a suburb, but the place Adrienne had mentioned was nearly thirty miles away.

For the time being Nicola gave no more thought to Adrienne’s casual suggestion. She had to pack her clothes and pay her bill in readiness for leaving early tomorrow.

She found time to telephone Patrick Holton to tell him about the move.

“The rent is apparently paid, so I might as well move in,” she said, and then continued with an account of her meeting with Dr. Montal and his niece.

“It never occurred to me that poor Lisa might actually be in hospital,” she went on. “I know it was stupid, but she’s hardly ever ill.”

“Well, a doctor should be able to trace her, if she’s ill. I’ve no further news at this end,” Patrick told her. “Look, let’s forget your sister for a bit. Tomorrow’s Saturday. How about coming out with me somewhere? You ought to see something of Barcelona while you’re here.”

Nicola hesitated. Then she said, “I don’t want you to feel obliged to take me around just because I’m English—and Lisa’s sister.”

“That hadn’t entered my head,” he retorted. “All right. What shall we say? Three o’clock? I’ll meet you at the foot of the Columbus monument, the Colon. That suit you? It’s handy for both of us.”

Although Nicola agreed, she was to some extent worried that an urgent message might come when she was out enjoying herself, but then, she reflected, one could not stay in all the time.

It took only an hour or two next day to settle herself in Lisa’s flat and she persuaded the caretaker to provide her with a key.

A
s she unpacked and put underwear into the dressing-table drawers, a small hard object rattled about. Nicola recognized it at once—a small topaz brooch in antique silver setting that one of Lisa’s friends had given her for her birthday.

So Lisa had really stayed here. Nicola stood with the brooch in her hands, cold shivers chasing up and down her spine. Four days in Barcelona and still no news of Lisa, who must have known exactly when Nicola was expected to arrive. Even if for some reason Lisa did not want to meet her sister yet, surely she could have sent a reassuring message. Or was Lisa in some particularly bad scrape and afraid to make even that contact?

About midday a letter was delivered, addressed to “Senorita Brette
ll
”. Nicola eagerly tore it open without examining the postmark. This might be the clue she had been seeking.

I
nstead, the note was a cordial invitation from Adrienne to spend the next day, Sunday, at the Montals’ villa in Orsola.

“If you can take the ten o’clock train from the main station,” wrote Adrienne, “I will come to meet you and take you to our home.”

So it had not been one of those meaningless phrases—“Do come and see us—” Adrienne’s intentions had been sincere.

Nicola told Patrick of the invitation when she was walking with
him
in the city park.

“Orsola de Mar? Yes, I know it A very pleasant fishing village up the coast.”

“You don’t know anything of this doctor, I suppose?” she queried.

Patrick grinned. “Actually I haven’t been ill—yet!”

They spent the afternoon on the sandy beach farther along the promenade. “How long have you been in Spain?” Nicola asked.

“Nearly two years.”

“Why did you come in the first place?”

P
atrick smiled. “I’d spent a couple of holidays in Spain and I suppose I liked the climate. The firm I work
for is partly British, and somehow you feel that shipping wine and importing foreign spirits is more interesting than selling soap or breakfast foods.”

“Especially in a country where you buy good wine so cheaply,” Nicola observed.

“What are you going to do if Lisa doesn’t turn up before your holiday runs out?” he asked.

She hesitated. “Go home, of course. I couldn’t stay here indefinitely.”

“But you’ve no job to go back to?” Patrick sat up and spoke earnestly. “Look, I could probably get you a job here—either in my own firm, or recommend you somewhere else where you’d be comfortable.”

“That’s very kind of you, Patrick, but I can’t really make any plans yet. I must wait and see.”

“Well, let me know how you feel. You’ll need a work permit and one or two other documents, but I could help you there.”

“Thank you.”

Nicola thought it unlikely that she would need Patrick’s assistance. It might have been possible to step into Lisa’s position, but it seemed that her sister had left behind a rather unsatisfactory reputation where work was concerned and the firm might not relish employing another Miss Brettell.

Then, too, there was the flat in Bayswater. Nicola had struggled to keep it on without Lisa’s contribution on the assumption that sooner or later Lisa would return to London and need a place to live.

It was inconceivable that Lisa had disappeared without trace. She had probably had to switch her plans at short notice and even now there might be letters or telegrams at home telling Nicola of some new address.

All the same Nicola was eager next day to see Dr. Montal in case he had news of her sister.

Adrienne met her at Orsola station and led the way to a long white car.

“It is only a short drive to our house,” she told Nicola.
Nicola had a glimpse of the harbour as the road climbed
out of the village and Adrienne forked away from the main road, drove through a pair of open gates and halted before a large white house with an arcaded front. Nicola followed the young girl through the centre archway to a courtyard, massed with flowers and trees, feathery palms, trellises laden with foliage and splashed with colour.