Perchance to Marry (16 page)

CHAPTER NINE

IT was not till the small hours that shock began to fade into acceptance. Sally lay gazing at the rectangle of pale radiance beyond the balcony, and as resignation took possession she felt calmer. Perhaps a sense of relief would come next; she hoped so. It was making up your mind about something that hurt; once you’d come to a decision things got easier. She was already thinking more clearly.

Bitterly, too, though. Marcus in Barcelona with Nadine Carmody—if not tonight, then tomorrow night and perhaps the night after. He would be shatteringly cool towards her, no doubt about that. But he wouldn’t be able to keep it up. No man could, against a woman he loved who had come halfway across the world to beg his forgiveness. Trying to think oneself into Marcus’s personality was impossible, but Sally felt she did know enough about him to calculate just slightly how he had felt about that telegram, and how he would react.

He wouldn’t have felt helpless for long, not Marcus. The first thing was to see Nadine and assure himself that, for him, she was willing to relinquish career and all that went with it. Then would come consideration for Dona Inez. Where she was concerned there could be nothing hurried or savoring of indiscretion; the matter would take time.

Finally, he had to deal with Sally Sheppard. And that was where Sally’s thoughts became snarled up like a tangle of barbed wire. It wasn’t in Marcus to go back on the engagement he had made official, but could he ever persuade himself to marry someone he didn’t love? Wasn’t it possible, because his code was strict, and his love for Dona Inez the most important and lasting thing in his life, that he would decide to go on with the marriage? And Nadine, the woman half scorned and totally rejected; how would he handle her? But here a niggling suspicion crept in, took shape in Sally’s mind.

Nadine was an actress, had been clever enough in England to attract a New York theatre agent. Deep down, however much she wanted Marcus, she must also want to continue her career on the stage. He was in a position to promise her almost anything except marriage, and why shouldn’t Nadine settle for that? A luxurious flat, enough capital to buy a share in some production calculated to make her famous, and a month now and then of his company. That was what Josef had meant, wasn’t it? And Josef had known Marcus most of his life.

By now Sally’s head was one vast ache, but she couldn’t stop thinking. Marcus would come back looking suave and aloof, expecting to find everything as he had left it. Because of Dona Inez, nothing would change. But of course he hadn’t bargained for Josef’s interest in his trip to Barcelona, or for the wretched telegraphist who had sold a copy of the wire. What was a business visit to Barcelona? Nothing at all.

But one thing became very dear to Sally. As the only woman in Marcus’s life she might have stood a chance. Propinquity, the sharing of small intimacies, a growing knowledge of each other—together they might have roused something in Marcus which was akin to love. And he would certainly be devoted to the woman he married. Devoted, sincere, considerate ... but none of those qualities or even the sum of them amounted to love as Sally wanted it. She wanted something that was as simple and direct, as heart-warming and exciting as the dawn of a glorious summer’s day. In lighter mood she might also have confessed that she wouldn’t mind some electricity in the air occasionally!

So it had now become quite clear that she could never marry Marcus. Not that she had ever really accepted the possibility. It was just that she had now arrived at the certainty that it could never happen. Then what was the alternative? While she was here at Las Vinas the engagement couldn’t peter out from malnutrition, and if she decided to leave the island there was the risk of collapse to Dona Inez. She was still trapped, unless...

It was really very obvious, but she had fought away from it till it had to be faced. If Marcus wanted Nadine as his wife he should have her. There was a way out of the situation, but only Sally could take it, and it would need such tremendous care that she daren’t attack it until she was thoroughly rested and sure of herself. Not tomorrow—today, that was—but on Wednesday. By then she would be entirely calm and perhaps even relieved that the end of it all was near.

Sally turned her pillow for coolness, buried her face in it and let the tears run out. Eventually she dozed, and when next she awoke it was to face the sanity of morning light.

It was a blue, serene day. Viola went down to the store, and Dona Inez accomplished her dozen short paces along the corridor and back to her room. As she told Sally, over a cup of chocolate at eleven,

“When one is old small things make up the enjoyment of daily life. One’s favorite omelet for lunch, a chapter read from a cherished book, the sight of a bird seen only on San Palos, the convent bell when the wind is right—and for me, that short walk outside the room. This is what they call second childhood—the magnifying of simple things. It is in the middle years—from twenty to sixty—that one needs fire and thunder.”

“Some people settle for less before they’re sixty,” said Sally with a smile. “May I read that chapter from your cherished book?”

“It is in Spanish, but there is an English book I like also. A peculiar story which, not being English, I shall never understand. ‘The Vicar of Wakefield’.”

Sally read, and in a little while became beguiled and amused herself. She left Dona Inez nodding among her pillows and took a more modern book out to the courtyard, where the old Sealyham slept away his days. When Carlos arrived he gave her his usual courteous salute and went into the house. Within ten minutes he was back again, pausing beside Sally’s chair.

“So you are quite alone today. Would you care to go with me to my brother’s house for lunch? Isabel would be happy to see you.”

“Thank you, but I don’t think so, Carlos. My mother may be back for lunch.”

“With her car? Perhaps both of you would join us there when she comes?”

“Mother’s always a little tired after the morning at the store,” said Sally hastily.

“And my sister-in-law is not easy for Senora Sheppard to understand?” He smiled. “Isabel likes you, Sally. She is fuming against the slowness of this week, because she wants to see you so much at the
fiesta
.”

“She’s very sweet. If I laugh at the way she speaks English it’s because I enjoy it. She’s one up on me, anyway; I can’t talk Spanish.”

“But you will learn. Dona Inez was telling me that you read to her this morning.”

She nodded. “I sent her to sleep. How is she today?”

“Remarkably well. As it is now so warm, I have given permission for a small day-room to be prepared for her downstairs. She may use it when she is in the mood.”

“I’m so glad.” Sally hesitated before asking idly, “Do you think she’s quite recovered from that stroke, or whatever it was?”

“The condition is still there—the cause of the attack. But she is as well as I have known her during the past few years.”

“Is her heart good?”

“For her age, excellent.”

“Which means it’s a bit tired?”

“Yes. With care she may last for several years.”

“Then she’s in far better shape than when I first came here?”

He was looking down at her as she sat near the wrought-iron table, and the fact that he thought her questions a little odd was audible in his voice. “You have brought comfort and security to the
senora.
Why do you wish to know this, Sally?”

She answered quickly, without looking up. “I’m interested, naturally. We’ve taken care that nothing in the least controversial shall reach Dona Inez, and I wanted to know whether such precautions are still necessary. She seems so very alert and understanding that I wondered if she could stand rather more than we think. What’s your opinion?”

He shrugged, characteristically. “Be honest with her as far as you feel it is wise, that is all. You have seen her daily for some time, and I am sure you are by now aware if there is worry or even a slight uneasiness in the
senora.
While there is no sign of this uneasiness you may say what you please in her presence. I feel you already knew that.”

“Yes, I did. But you’ve put it plainly for me, Carlos. Thank you.”

He lingered, as though he would have liked to say more. But Sally didn’t look straight up at him, and after a bit he gave his small bow and departed.

Viola came for lunch and went to bed after it. Later she told Sally she had been invited to Mr. Essler’s villa for the evening. A dinner party for eight. He was very charming—didn’t Sally think so? His villa was sure to be furnished in the best possible taste, which was rather more than one could say of Captain Northwick’s cottage. Really, the Captain was hopeless!

For Sally, the evening was long and very quiet. Once, in her room, she listened, and thought it was like the long minutes of stillness before a storm. A few rustlings outside, the discreet murmur of servants below in the dark
patio
and then a deeper silence which would not be broken till midnight, when a car brought her mother to the foot of the steps. Sally got into bed at eleven, and perhaps because she had made her decision, however painful, she slept.

It was about ten-thirty next morning when she tapped gently at the door of the
senora’s
room. Dona Inez was sitting in her padded mahogany wheelchair and was close to the balcony. She waved Katarina away.

“Chocolate at eleven, Katarina. Maria may bring it in. Go out for an hour if you wish.”

Katarina frowned, but obeyed. Sally, seated half facing the old
senora,
turned her head and looked out towards the climbing roses. The full-blown blossoms had been snipped off and new buds had appeared, some of them already bursting from fat green sheaths. A cloud of gnats hovered above the balcony rail, and moved off downwards.

Dona Inez allowed her sharp little glance to travel over Sally’s fair head and down to her shoulders. “That is one of the dresses from Barcelona? It is pretty, on you. You must order more of them.”

“There are some more on the way. Would you like me to read to you again?”

“I have no wish to sleep yet! Tell me what you do with yourself while Marcus is away.”

This wasn’t quite the sort of opening Sally needed. She answered, “I’m afraid I’m being lazy, but I may go down to the nursing home this afternoon.”

“You still wish you could work there?”

“I did enjoy nursing,” Sally said, as though casually stating a fact. “But I’ve never really wanted to be just a nursing assistant. I used to be terribly determined to get through my training, and I still hanker for it a little.”

The
senora’s
expression softened. “It is because you are young and active, and at the moment there is not much for you to do here. When you are married you will feel differently. I am sure you know that Marcus will be an exacting husband.”

Sally nodded, while she searched for words. “You want his marriage very much, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“All you wanted to hear, when he returned from England, was that he had brought a fiancée?”

“Yes, that is true.” The bony little face looked thoughtful. “He is the only del Moscado—I no longer count. He must marry.”

Sally moistened a dry lower lip, but managed a lightness in her tones. “So it didn’t really matter very much whom he’d chosen, did it?”

“I trust his good taste,” said Dona Inez dryly. “I will not pretend that I would not have preferred that he choose a girl brought up in the Spanish way—someone who was educated for marriage to a man of his standing and not taught to earn her living—but his own feelings were more important. It is imperative that Marcus should marry a woman he loves.” She slanted another of the eagle glances at the pale young face that was slightly turned from her. “You must not expect too much of an old woman. The only love I have left is love of family, and to me that means Marcus and his wife.”

“I realize that.”

“What you are asking,” said Donna Inez shrewdly, “is whether I could ever have loved someone like you for yourself. Is it not so?”

“Perhaps.”

“Then please forget it. When you marry Marcus you will become part of him, and for me that is enough.”

It was half an answer, a rather painful half. But Sally had to know the rest. For the moment, though, she thought it best to remain quiet, while Dona Inez relaxed. Not that the old
senora
had become in the least anxious. On the contrary, she had looked keen-eyed and interested. And it was she who broke the short silence.

“It is because you are young and away from your own country that you feel insecure. And it is because Marcus did not take you with him to Barcelona that you are asking yourself whether he has enough feeling for you.”

“I’m not wondering that,” said Sally at once. “I was only curious to hear how you feel about ... about me personally.” She gave a brief laugh which she hoped sounded less brittle to the
senora
than it did to herself. “Just as a point for discussion,
senora
—supposing Marcus’s fiancée had turned out to be someone quite different? Supposing she were a dress designer or a journalist ... or an actress? Would it have made any difference to your own feelings?”

“None,” said Dona Inez firmly. “To me, it is only important that there
is
a fiancée. I think you wish me to be quite honest, do you not?”

Sally nodded. A sort of fright seemed to have paralyzed her throat muscles. Dona Inez gave her another long penetrating glance, sighed and said,

“Be content,
cara mia.
You are a sweet girl and you will be a loyal wife. Later you will have maturity and the power to make Marcus adore you. Until then you must be happy with as much affection from him as you can inspire. You understand?”