The Jade Dragon (13 page)

He didn’t answer me at once. A blackbird in the green foliage above our heads burst into a sudden trill of song, and it might have been a shout of mocking laughter.

Stafford said at length, “As you know, my wife and I lived at Castanheiros during the weeks that followed Eduardo’s death, on the advice of her doctor. I kept suggesting to Luzia that we should look for a suitable house in Lisbon, to be ready for the time when she felt up to leaving her family. But she wouldn’t hear of it, and I dared not press her too hard. But at last, the very day before she died, Luzia seemed to be in a calmer mood, and we had a long talk. She told me that she was beginning to see things differently and was ready for us to have another home together in Lisbon. She was ready to make a completely fresh start, she said, and she even agreed to consider having another child.” He sighed deeply. “I do not delude myself that everything between us would have changed miraculously. But I did believe that day in a future for the two of us together, a future in which there could be mutual tenderness and affection. I was convinced, Elinor, and I am still convinced, that Luzia was sincere in all she said. How is it possible, therefore, that the very next day she should have ordered a carriage to drive her to Cascais, with the deliberate intention of doing away with herself? No, my wife’s death could only have been an accident. A tragic accident.”

“Maybe,” I said hesitantly, “if you were to make this known, what you have told me…”

“How can I make it known?” he burst out. “Something so personal, so intimate. Besides it would sound hollow and untrue, like false pleading in order to win pity for myself. You are the only person I have ever told about Luzia’s change of heart, Elinor. Not even Vicencia knows, though Luzia used to confide in her and may perhaps have mentioned something. But you, Elinor, somehow I wanted you to know the true facts.”

Deeply moved, I said, “How very poignant it is that Luzia was ready to begin again after all she had suffered—and then to lose her life. I cannot help thinking that Vicencia is right, though, in the advice she gave you the other night. Why don’t you turn your back on the scandalmongers, ignore them? They deserve nothing better.”

For the first time since I had known him, Stafford’s supreme self-confidence was lacking, and he looked undecided. “Perhaps you’re right, Elinor. Now that
you
know the truth, it seems far less important to me what other people choose to believe.”

When we resumed our journey a few minutes later, Stafford sat beside me deep in thought. In the distance rose the rugged wooded slopes of the Cintra hills, with the fairytale castle of Pena perched on the highest crag. All around us the heathland was turning brown after so many long hot days, and nothing in the landscape stirred. Except that once or twice we passed countryfolk on donkeys, or a laden wagon drawn by patient, plodding oxen.

I felt Stafford glance at me. “Are you feeling tired, Elinor?”

“Not at all. The tea was most refreshing.”

“Then I wonder, would you mind if we didn’t go directly to Castanheiros? There’s a place a little beyond Cintra that I should very much like you to see. The detour would add no more than an hour to our journey.”

I smiled at him. “What place is this?”

“It’s a country house, now derelict. My father bought it many years ago when he was about my age, intending to have it put in order. But the situation changed for him, and nothing was ever done. When I first married Luzia, it was my plan to have the place restored, but somehow, with things as they were, I never felt sufficient enthusiasm. But it’s crossed my mind once or twice lately that I might call in an architect and have work started. It would be an interest for me, and there’s no doubt that the Quinta Miramar would make a beautiful home.”

“I should very much like to see it, Stafford.”

“And I should value your opinion.”

He spoke to the coachman, and when we reached the outskirts of Cintra, we took a different road. Our way wound steadily uphill, beneath giant cedar trees whose boughs entangled above our heads, dappling the road with a pattern of light and shadow.

The gates of Miramar, rusty and askew, presented something of a problem, but the coachman managed to jolt them open. We turned into a wooded driveway and began to go slowly downhill around tightly curving bends. The road surface had deteriorated sadly, and the light-bodied barouche swung from side to side as the wheels jarred over potholes, till at last we drew up at a crescent of steps flanked by two marble urns. At once I became aware that the tranquility of this sylvan spot was filled with a soft murmur of waterfalls, and the chirping of sun-drowsy birds.

Alighting from the carriage, Stafford and I mounted to a tessellated verandah that appeared to circuit the house completely. The dereliction was severe. Virginia creeper and mauve convolvulus were rampant, clambering in a tangled mass over the pillars of the colonnade and up to the domed roof. All round about, forest trees had grown tall and spreading, enclosing the house within their shadowed gloom. The windows had been boarded up for protection, but through a gap there could be seen a long chamber tiled in colored marble, and I glimpsed a graceful curving stairway that rose to an upper gallery.

Stafford and I walked slowly together along the verandah, and at the far end, where it widened into a belvedere with patterned
azulejos,
we stood looking out over the parapet. The Quinta Miramar had been built upon a spur of hill, thrusting out from the main Serra da Cintra, which afforded it a commanding view. Below us the land fell away steeply to a romantic woodland glen, and amid the homely oak and ash and holly I had known all my life were other trees I had never seen before, with exotic blooms that made a tapestry of color. There were palm trees of several different kinds and gigantic ferns that sprayed their fronds like fountains. Beyond the gardens the landscape swept across the rich, fertile valley, a tawny gold now in the soft light of afternoon, stretching away to the sapphire blue sea.

 “It’s so beautiful, Stafford.”

He smiled at me. “I’m very glad you like it. Most of the land you see down there in the valley belongs to the Milaveiras. I must take you on a tour of the vineyards one day soon.”

“Yes, I’d enjoy that.”

He turned his back upon the view to lean against the parapet. “And the house itself, Elinor? If some of these taller trees were removed to let in more light, would it be worth having the place restored, do you think?”

“But of course. It would be hard to imagine a lovelier situation, and the house looks delightful. May we not go inside, Stafford?”

“Unfortunately, I came unprepared and haven’t a key with me. But another day I’d be delighted to show you, if you’re willing to spare me the time.”

“Gladly.”

He laughed. “You might not be so ready, Elinor, when you find how mercilessly I shall pick brains. I believe, you see, that a man isn’t competent to design a home meant to be lived in. That’s something for which a woman’s unique talents are required.”

“I have no experience in such matters,” I warned him. “You must not expect too much of me, Stafford.”

“You undervalue yourself,” he said, and there was a gentle, warm look in his eyes. “You have a great many talents and fine qualities, Elinor—not the least of which is a capacity to forgive. I fear I have much to apologize for in my behavior toward you. I have been grossly unfair, lacking in consideration. You see, when I first learned of your existence, in London, you seemed an added complication to a situation that was already quite complicated enough. But I am thankful now, immensely thankful, that you resisted my boorish attempt to prevent you coming to Portugal. You were right to ignore it, for my attitude stemmed purely from prejudice. And had you not done so, I would never have known how wrong I was in my opinion of you.”

“Stafford.” I protested faintly, “There’s really no need to apologize.”

He moved closer, and I was aware of nothing beyond his nearness. “Elinor,” he said softly, “do you understand what I’m trying to say?”

“I ... I think so.”

“Yet you do not turn away from me.”

That moment of time hung between us. Then with a suddenness that robbed me of all chance to resist, I was drawn into his arms and held there. His lips brushed my hair, my brow, my cheeks, then found my own lips, and we clung together with long sweet kisses.

“My dearest Elinor,” he breathed as he let me go at last.

I could not speak. I was still lost in wonder at the tide of emotion that had surged over me, drowning me in delight. With a tiny part of my benumbed mind I knew this moment was the fulfillment of a dream, a dream I had kept locked in my secret heart ever since the afternoon Stafford had walked into the Carlisles’ drawing room—and into my life. Ridiculously, in my soaring joy, I felt tears spilling from beneath my eyelids.

“Elinor, my darling, you’re not upset?” he asked with quick concern. “Have I been too hasty, too eager?”

I shook my head, smiling, and laid my palm against his cheek. Stafford drew me to him and kissed me once more, this time a gossamer kiss upon the brow.

I think we both sensed that this sudden admission of love was too dangerous a moment to be prolonged. In silence, we turned and began to walk back along the verandah, our linked fingers the only contact. Yet I felt gloriously in tune with Stafford. The blood throbbed in my veins, and my heart sang with happiness as I contemplated the future we would share.

Stafford said, “I’m afraid I shall have to return to Lisbon tomorrow.”

“So soon,” I cried in dismay. “For how long?”

“I can’t say. There’s a great deal needing my attention.”

“Yet you came to Cintra today.”

“I came to be with you, Elinor. Did you not guess? But I am expected back.”

Expected
back. A picture leapt into my mind of Stafford in the arms of the beautiful
fadista,
and I was stabbed through with jealousy. Knowing it was madness, knowing that our relationship was as yet too tender and fragile to be put at risk, I found myself saying petulantly, “I suppose that you’re going back to Lisbon to be with Inesca.”

Stafford stopped dead and turned to face me, his fingers pulling away from mine. “You’d better explain that remark, Elinor.”

Already I bitterly regretted my rashness, but I had gone too far to draw back. “I ... I saw you with her the day we landed in Lisbon,” I stammered miserably. “Mrs. Forrester and I were being brought ashore, but you were ahead of us and had already been through the customhouse. I noticed you on the quayside, getting into her carriage—” I faltered to a stop, withered by the anger in his dark eyes.

“You had better finish what you were going to say.”

“I wondered who it was had come to meet you. She... she looked very beautiful, and Mrs. Forrester told me her name was Inesca, and that she was a
fado
singer, and—”

“I seem to remember you saying,” he remarked bitingly, “that Mrs. Forrester was not given to malicious gossip.”

“She isn’t. In fact she said very little.”

“But quite enough, it seems. The art of spreading scandal, Elinor, is a matter of gauging what to say and what to leave unsaid.”

‘Then is it only scandal about you and Inesca? Tell me, Stafford. You have only to say one word, and I shall believe you. I shall dismiss from my mind everything I have been told.”

“How generous of you. And if I do not chose to say that one word?”

I gazed at him beseechingly, pleading for understanding. But he looked back at me with stony eyes.

“Be so good as to answer me, Elinor. If I do not choose to defend myself against the tittle-tattle of Lisbon drawing rooms, what then?”

I lowered my gaze. “I ... I should not know what to think, Stafford.”

The silence pulsed between us. Then he said in a cold, clipped voice, “We’d better not keep the carriage waiting any longer. The horses have had a tiring day.”

Three days later, Vicencia came bursting into my room just before luncheon like an excited little girl. Her face was flushed with delight. “Oh, Elinor, such wonderful news. My brother wants to pay me a visit. I have just received a letter from Julio, and he says he has a few days’ leave due from his office at the Ministry of Education.”

“That’s splendid. I’m so happy for you.” Her sudden cheerfulness was in such contrast to her depression of the past few days, and I realized that this brother must mean a great deal to her. “How long is it since you’ve seen him, Vicencia?”

“It has been weeks and weeks now, not since the last time I spent a day in Lisbon. Julio used to come and stay here occasionally before the old
conde
died. I have not dared to suggest inviting him since then, though, for fear Carlota would refuse. But now that Julio himself has proposed coming, Carlota cannot say no, can she, Elinor?”

“Of course not. I won’t allow Carlota to spoil things for you. Your brother must come and stay as long as he can.”

She hugged me impulsively, her eyes misty with tears. “You are so kind, dear Elinor. I should feel quite lost without you now. And you will like Julio, I promise. You could not help liking him, he is so alive and full of fun. And so handsome, he really is. But he is a proud man—that is why I feel afraid of Carlota’s attitude. If Julio were given the slightest hint he was not welcome here, he would leave on the instant.”

“Then you and I must make certain your brother feels thoroughly welcome,” I replied. “Don’t worry any more, Vicencia. Write to Julio and tell him to come to Castanheiros with all speed.”

“I will, I will,” she said gratefully. ‘In fact, I think I shall walk into Cintra at once and send him a telegram.”

“That’s a good idea. I’ll come with you, if you like. It’ll make a pleasant stroll.”

I was so thankful that Vicencia seemed happier at last, for ever since my return from Lisbon, she had been in a very low mood. When Stafford and I had arrived in the carriage from the Quinta Miramar, I was expecting a joyous welcome from her. But instead, Vicencia seemed very subdued.