The House of Adriano (22 page)

Peter, of course, was her main occupation and she never forgot it, but she still found plenty of time on her hands for other pursuits. Sometimes she swam in the lovely pool where she had found Dona Teresa sitting on that first morning, either on her own or with Peter. Soon though that peaceful interlude was over. There was to be a
fiesta
soon, Marindos’s main one of the year, and it seemed that it was the custom for a house party to be invited down to the Castillo at that time. Alesandra, of course, was to be one of the guests.

The slow, peaceful tempo of life quickened. Guest rooms were made ready and extra provisions were unloaded somewhere at the back of the Castillo. The village took on an air of suppressed excitement as it made ready for the
fiesta.
Then the guests started to arrive, the sleek expensive cars and the sleek expensive people. Sometimes when she thought of the small, clean but undoubtedly shabby rooms she had lived in before, it seemed as if she was living in a dream now.

Bart was one of the last to arrive, greeting her with his familiar lopsided grin, speaking as lightly as if he had never asked her to marry him.

“The bad penny’s still around.”

“So I see,” she said, endeavouring to answer in the same tone.

“Ever seen one of these
fiestas
before?”

She shook her head. “Only on the films.”

“The Spanish temperament really comes out
at fiesta
time.” There was an oddly confident tone in his voice as he said that, although the words were still light and joking. Did he believe that
fiesta
time was when Duarte would announce his engagement to Alesandra?

In spite of the chill that went through her at that she again endeavoured to reply in the same light, joking tone he had used. “Is that some kind of warning?”

“Maybe.”

The first evening of the guests’ arrival there was very little in the way of festivity, as most of them were fairly tired by the long drive and the
fiesta
itself was not in any event due to start until the next day.

The following morning, however, everything was different. The pitch of excitement in the village came to a climax, and the
fiesta
was on. It started with a religious procession that was solemn and strangely beautiful. Afterwards there were sports, and as night fell the inevitable dancing started. The guests from the Castillo watched for a while, but did not join in. They were to have their own private dance at the Castillo.

A small band played on a dais in the Castillo’s ballroom and the whole room glittered. It was sophisticated and expensive
-
yet if one went outside away from the sounds of the ballroom, the sounds of the village floated up the terraced gardens and there was something more primitive, something that plucked at the heartstrings and made one yearn with strange longings. Aileen, wearing the lovely turquoise dress she had bought in Madrid, only went out there for a few minutes. She found it too disturbing, too relentless in its heightening of the longing she felt. Afterwards she made sure she remained in the ballroom, smiling and laughing, as if there was nothing at all wrong with her life.

Duarte, immaculate as ever, circulated among his guests with that urbane charm that was so very much his own, and Aileen had again and again to stop her eyes going to him with hopeless longing. How right she had been to decide that she could not possibly stay much longer, she thought to herself. This could become positively unbearable after a time, especially with Alesandra wearing an expression like the cat that was going to
get at the cream any time now, smiling secret little smiles every now and again.

Even Dona Teresa must have thought that the time was near, yet now she seemed quite reconciled to the idea. She probably realised, in spite of personal dislike, that Alesandra would make the perfect chatelaine for the Castillo. She was so absolutely right, Aileen thought sadly. So absolutely the type of girl that Duarte should and would marry.

Dona Teresa held court on one of those damask couches that seemed to suit her so well. They both had the same air of old-world fragility, in spite of the fact that Dona Teresa was nowhere near so fragile as she looked, and the mischievousness of her personality often completely dispelled the old-world air.

She was alone, however, when Aileen went over to her, and she smiled and patted the couch at her side.

“You are enjoying yourself, my child?” she asked, as Aileen accepted the invitation to sit down at her side.

“Of course. Who wouldn’t?”

Dona Teresa nodded with a little sigh of satisfaction. “Yes, it is a good party. I feel there is something special about it.”

“Something special?”

The aristocratic head nodded quickly. “Yes, don’t you feel it? Something in the air?”

Aileen smiled. “It’s probably the
fiesta
.”

“Perhaps - but I feel it is something more.” She gave a secret little smile. “I feel that tonight at last we shall see the Adriano emerald adorning a slender finger.”

“You mean ... you think your nephew will announce his engagement tonight?” Somehow she made her voice even and natural as she asked the question.

“Yes. Call it an old woman’s fancy, but I think that it is so. Many things happen a
t fiesta
time.”

So Dona Teresa thought the same as Bart did - and they were probably both right. Anything could happen at
fiesta
time. That air of primitive appeal to the senses that the music from the village evoked. That was what caused it. Perhaps Duarte would take Alesandra out into the garden, and the sound of the guitars and the music would finally make it happen. He would bend his head to his lovely companion and when they came back
into the ballroom
Dona
Teresa would be right. The Adriano emerald would adorn a slender finger
... and Alesandra would be smiling in triumph.

“We have a traditional betrothal ring,”
Dona
Teresa went on, breaking into her thoughts. “It has been in our family for many hundreds of years, and always it is said to bring happiness. Once it was lost and it was said that marriage was unhappy, but the son of it regained the emerald and his marriage was a happy one.” She laughed softly. “An old superstition, but we have always been very careful with our emerald since that time.”

Aileen hardly knew what she replied to that, and she was glad when a few minutes later Bart came up to claim her for a dance. After that, however, she was dancing with Duarte, and that was different altogether. They had never danced together before, and perhaps it was just as well that it did not happen too often. For her it was a kind of bitter-sweet pleasure and too dangerous. Bart was a good enough dancer, easy to follow ... but when it was Duarte even the music was different. Every nerve in her body set up an uncontrollable singing at his nearness, and for a little while she was stiff through sheer fear of giving away what he meant to her, but it could not last, especially as he was such an exquisite dancer, his every movement made with a kind of lithe grace. Some odd kind of accord seemed to build up between them. She knew exactly where he was going to lead her moments before, so that their steps fitted perfectly. That should have meant something personal, something wonderful, she thought a little sadly, but it really only meant that he was such a natural and perfect dancer that anyone could dance well with him. Yet that feeling of something invisible and intangible binding them together persisted and she found her heart beating fast and unevenly. Some compulsion made her look up at him. The dark eyes were quite enigmatic, but she was aware by the warmth in her cheeks that her face was flushed.

“It ... it’s a little hot, isn’t it?” The words tumbled out breathlessly, but at least she hoped they would explain the flush in her cheeks and perhaps even the fast beating of her heart, if he was aware of that too.

“It is a little hot,” he agreed, and then, before she had quite realised they were leaving the ballroom, she found that they were
s
tanding on the
terrace
outside the wide glass doors that opened in pairs all down that side of the room. “This perhaps is better,” he added, one hand firm beneath her elbow, but when she thought for one brief moment that he would merely stand there at her side for a while, maybe lean negligently against the terrace balustrade, instead he actually walked her down its length for a few feet to where wide steps gave access to a lower terrace and then into the garden. “We should perhaps walk for a while,” that pleasant, attractive voice commented, and once again she could find nothing to say to answer him.

They had been following the terrace along on a paved way that ran parallel to it, and now they turned a
corner
of the building, so that they were out of sight of anyone in the ballroom. The music from the village was stronger now, drifting upwards with that insidious, passionate appeal.

The path sloped down steeply, running away from the building between tall flowering shrubs, and all the time the sound of the music from the village grew stronger. There was something oddly deliberate about Duarte’s movements, and she was aware of something tense in the atmosphere, quite apart from that disturbing music, yet she was still not prepared for the sudden feel of his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. Startled, she looked up at him, but it was too dark to see the expression on his face.

“The moonlight and the garden,” he said. “Perhaps it is time now for that little experiment we spoke of,” and, once again before she quite realised what he intended, hard firm lips closed on hers.

A faint gasp was stifled at birth. Her senses reeled shockingly as sensation piled upon sensation. Emotions rioted through her body, so strong that she almost gave way to them completely
-
almost, but not quite. Part of her mind was still alert... and remembering. A word ran through it like liquid fire.

Experiment
... experiment
... experiment.

And Bart saying that anything could happen at
fiesta
time.

Duarte was kissing her for an experiment, to see if she did have normal emotions like any other woman, and she had never thought he would do anything like that. It somehow did not add up to the sort of man he was, yet he was a man after all, as well as the aloof Conde de Marindos and the charming and sometimes infuriating Duarte Adriano - and, as Bart had said, anything could happen at
fiesta
time.

She pulled back, away from him, with a choking little cry. “An
... an experiment!”

“I am sorry.” There was a strange, tense note in his voice that she could not place. “I should not have said that.”

“No, you shouldn’t,” she agreed chokingly. “And you shouldn’t have kissed me either.” Not when you are going to marry Alesandra.

With a sudden wrench she freed herself and fled blindly, hardly caring where she went. She heard him call something after her, but whatever he said was quite meaningless. Her ears heard it, but it just did not reach her brain.

She felt bruised and shaken, hardly able to believe that it had happened. That Duarte should have kissed her for an experiment! He had joked about it once, but she had never thought he would ever do such a thing.

Her breath was coming in panting gasps by the time she realised that she had reached the terrace again, but in a different part of the house. Tears were streaming down her face and her whole body was shaking. She hardly thought at all, but she realised instinctively that she could not return to the ballroom in such a state.

She paused and looked round to get her bearing and dully realised that she was at the back of the building, near the servants’ quarters. Well, that would suit her well. There was less chance of being seen by any of the guests. That any of the servants might see her and possibly gossip did not seem to matter. It was a few minutes before she realised that what she dreaded most was that Alesandra should see her and guess what had happened.

She was lucky in gaining her room without anyone seeing her, not even one of the servants. There she sat down on the edge of the bed with an almost blank expression.

She had thought that being in love with Duarte had hurt enough on its own, but this hurt even more. A kiss which had been so wonderful had left behind it only bitterness and disillusionment. Duarte’s voice echoed again and again in her mind.

Experiment
... experiment
... experiment!

There were so many facets to his complex character. He could be charming or infuriating, aloof or mocking, but she had never thought he would do anything ... well, not exactly dishonourable, but ... what would you call it? On the point of announcing his engagement to Alesandra - and Dona Teresa seemed to expect it that very night - he had kissed another girl, and for a reason that could only be some kind of piqued vanity, because she had once claimed that a career was more important for a girl these days than finding a husband. It did not tally with what she thought she had learned of Duarte. She must have fallen in love with an illusion of some kind.

She got up wearily, looking at her tear-stained face in the mirror. She certainly could not go downstairs like that. Perhaps a dousing of cold water would help.

She went into the adjoining bathroom, running the old tap and repeatedly bathing her eyes. No doubt they would be wondering what had happened to her, but let Duarte find some explanation to make. No doubt he would say she had gone to her room perhaps, to make some repair to her dress. He had probably seen her reach the back of the house and go inside - or was he still searching for her in the garden, to repeat the apology he had made to her?

Eventually her eyes looked a little less red and the rest of the damage she hid with carefully applied fresh make-up, then she pulled herself together firmly and bitterly, and went out into the corridor, downstairs and towards the ballroom. She had just opened the door when the final blow of the evening was struck. Across the other side of the room most of the guests were gathered around Alesandra, and there was the sound of laughter and congratulatory remarks. Aileen hardly saw them individually. All her fixed gaze seemed to see clearly was Alesandra, smiling and laughing herself - and holding out her hand on which something blazed with green fire.

So it had come at last. The Adriano emerald adorned that slim finger Dona Teresa had spoken of.