The Portuguese Escape (44 page)

Hetta made no reply. She stood stock-still, watching, while Father Antal and the American climbed into the plane; watched while it rose, circled, and hummed away in flight over the red earth and the silver olive-groves, till it disappeared, seawards, behind the Serra da Arrabida.

It was just about then that Richard Atherley and Townsend Waller were sitting down to cocktails on the terrace of that restaurant above the Tagus. Richard had
asked Townsend to lunch; one way and another he had rather a bad conscience about his friend, and he particularly did not want the Bostonian to hear of his engagement from any outside source.

‘We've not been here since the day before Hetta arrived,' Townsend said, tilting the Martini round in his glass thoughtfully.

‘No. It's warmer now,' Richard said, idiotically; he felt nervous. He pulled himself together. ‘Townsend, Hetta and I are engaged. I proposed to her yesterday on the way home, and she has accepted me.'

‘I was really expecting that, I think,' Townsend said, after a moment's pause. He drank half his cocktail at a gulp, and set down his glass. Then he lifted it again.

‘I don't have to wish you good fortune, Richard, because you have it! But I do wish you every conceivable happiness; you and her'—and he drained the glass.

Richard was touched by this. But there was nothing more to be said, really, and all through their meal they rather carefully talked diplomatic shop. Presently cars returning from the wedding reception began to stream along the broad road immediately below the terrace, and they amused themselves by noting the occupants. The Duke and his sister in one of the Ericeira Daimlers were among the first, shortly followed by the Loseleys in the Embassy Humber: on this highly official occasion the tiny Union Jack, usually discreetly furled in its black case, fluttered from the right wing.

‘Oh good, H.E. will be back early. I shall have to go and see him,' Richard said. A little later—‘Goodness! There's the Monsignor, in Dorothée's car,' he exclaimed. ‘What on earth is
he
hiving into Lisbon for, do you suppose? Father Antal must be gone by now; one would have expected Subercaseaux to be sleeping it off.'

Mr. Waller laughed. But the sight of Mgr Subercaseaux had aroused another train of thought in his mind; he looked earnestly at his companion.

‘Richard, please forgive my asking this, but are you going to become a Catholic when you marry?'

This time Richard did not laugh at the question, as he had done on an earlier occasion.

‘Townsend, I don't think so; not at once, anyhow. I don't suppose they'd have me, come to that—I'm not at all religious.'

‘Oh, they'll have anyone! And they'll
condition
you so that you get religious!' the Unitarian said bitterly. ‘Almost everyone that marries a Catholic ends up by becoming a Catholic themselves! Don't,
please
, do that, Richard.'

‘Townsend, it's too soon to promise anything,' the Englishman said. ‘Every marriage calls for endless adjustments, and I suppose one makes them as they come along.' Suddenly he felt irritated by this pressure; he spoke almost harshly. ‘If you were to marry her what would
you
do, if she wanted you to become a Catholic? You'd be wax in her hands, and you know it!'

‘Not wax to that extent, Richard—no. But let's not quarrel about it. I'm sorry.'

The Monsignor, half-asleep in Countess Páloczy's Rolls-Royce, was going to Lisbon, most reluctantly, to bring back Countess Páloczy's daughter. He had warned Miss Probyn at the reception that Dorothée was insisting on this, and that resourceful young woman had contrived to put through a call from back regions overflowing with caterers' men to poor Hetta, warning her to pack and be ready; the palace telephone was working again. ‘Oh yes, I shall not make him wait; he will be tired,' Hetta said. ‘Is it a nice wedding?'

‘Yes, lovely—the greatest fun; Princess Maxine looks entrancing. The Comte de Bretagne has been asking after you, and the Archduke too; he's frightfully disappointed that you aren't here! If I don't see you before you leave I'll come out tomorrow,' Julia added. ‘Did Father A. get off all right? Good.'

Hence there was no delay for the Monsignor when he called for Hetta; she was waiting in the hall, Elidio carried out her single suit-case, and they were off. The Monsignor asked if Father Antal were safely gone?

‘Yes. I went with him to the plane; Major Torrens was so kind. But you must be quite exhausted, Monsignor; do not trouble to talk with me. Could you not sleep a little, even in the car?'

Subercaseaux glanced at her in surprise.

‘Yes, my child, I will. I am in fact very tired.' He studied her face. ‘You are a good girl; you will do your Richard credit.' He leaned back and closed his eyes.

Up to the day before Hetta had been dreading her return to the Castelo-Imperial. She hated hotel life anyhow; and her mother, to her never a congenial or sympathetic person, would not only be angry with her, but would be reinforced by the detestable presence of Mme de Vermeil, her rival with Richard. The high-bred ease and pleasantness of life as it was led at Gralheira had, even in those two days, increased her reluctance and distaste. But
now
, everything was altered; she was engaged, secure; she need fear nobody, since Richard stood behind her.

Esperanza took her at once to her mother's room. Dorothée was on her bed, the lowered sun-blinds only admitting a dim light; she had taken several aspirins to counteract the royal champagne and lay somnolent, triumphant, but more than a little cross.

‘So
there
you are! Well later on you can tell me
what
you've been up to, and where—but now I really have to rest. The wedding was
marvellous
, but these big functions are quite exhausting.'

‘I am so glad you enjoyed it, Mama. You got my note?'

‘Yes of course, but we must talk about all that later on. I really am too tired now.'

Hetta was hurt, with good reason, that this should be her mother's sole reaction to the engagement of her only child. A sharp sentence came into her mind; she bit it back, remembering Father Antal's words—‘Be kind, be kind,' and bent over the bed to give her difficult parent a kiss.

‘Naturally, Mama. Rest well; I am sure you need it.' As she stood up Esperanza came in.

‘A Senhor from the British Embassy asks for the
Menina
on the telephone. Shall I put the call through here?'

‘Yes, yes!' Dorothy Páloczy said irritably. ‘Here, of course.' Esperanza went out, and Hetta eagerly lifted the receiver of the bedside telephone; in a moment she heard Richard's voice, to her full of reassurance.

‘Darling! Are you all right? I rang up the old holy, and found that he'd carted you back.'

‘Yes, quite all right,' Hetta said.

‘The Major tells me that your private holy got away according to plan, and that you saw him off. I'm so glad.'

‘Yes; he was
very
kind to arrange this.'

‘Well I'm sure that has made you feel rather sad, sweetheart, and I'm having a quite hideous time here, trying to clear off my back-log of work. I suggest that presently we both call it a day, and cheer ourselves up by going out to have supper at the Guincho. What do you say?'

‘This is where I swam?'

‘Yes, my love, you did indeed!'

‘And the cooking was
so
good! Yes, Richard; I will come.'

‘Excellent. I'll call for you soon after seven. Till then, dearest Hetti.'

The girl put down the receiver and addressed the rather collapsed figure on the bed.

‘Mama, that was Richard. He asked me to dine with him this evening. I have said Yes.'

‘Well really, I should have thought that tonight, at least, you might have dinner with me, and explain everything,' the Countess said crossly. ‘Anyhow I don't want you to do any more running around with young men, after this week's escapade. You'd better call him back and say No.'

Hetta was silent for a moment.

‘I cannot do that,' she said then, quite gently—‘at least, I shall not. Tonight, dear Mama, I dine with my
Verlobter.
' (In the stress of this first moment of deliberate independence she could not remember the English word for ‘betrothed'.) She stooped down and gave her mother a second kiss. ‘Rest well. Why not have something to eat in bed? You must be so tired.' She went out closing the door as gently as she had spoken. Alone in the darkened room Countess Páloczy burst into angry tears, interrupted by hiccoughs—in five minutes she was asleep.

Before driving out to Estoril to take Hetta to dine Mr. Atherley carried out his intention of going to see the Ambassador; as he left the Chancery he was accosted by Tomlinson.

‘May I offer my congratulations, Sir? I understand that you are engaged to be married.'

Richard was highly entertained;—oh the delightful diplomatic grape-vine! Who would know about his engagement sooner than the messenger and the telephonist?

‘Thank you very much, Tomlinson,' he said, holding out his hand. ‘I may say that my wife-to-be, like yours, is a very good cook!'

‘Yes Sir; so I understand. She cooked for quite some time for this Hungarian agent who was flown out today, didn't she?'

Richard shouted with laughter.

‘Tomlinson, I believe you're employed by Colonel Marques on the side!' He went out through the walnut-wood and wrought-iron doors, while Tomlinson slipped into the telephone-room to report the Head of Chancery's latest crack to his wife. ‘Mr. Atherley looks ever so happy.'

‘He's nice—I hope she is,' Mrs. Tomlinson replied.
“Esta?”
she said into the mouthpiece of her head-phones, and went on with her work.

Richard was looking more thoughtful than happy as he set out on that short up-and-downhill walk from the Chancery to the Embassy, through the cheerful inconsequent architecture of the Lapa quarter, brilliantly pink and white in the rich sunshine of late afternoon. During the night—and the day as well, for the few moments when his mind had been disengaged—he had been suffering from the back-thoughts inevitable to sensitive people after they become engaged. For Atherley these doubts were rather more acute than is usually the case, since he was perfectly well aware of the attitude of the Office towards foreign
marriages; and while he was not inordinately ambitious, he did care a great deal about his work, and his career in connection with it. And he was not only marrying a foreigner, but one who had just come from behind the iron curtain; the vitriol press would undoubtedly seize on this, barely disguising malice as romance or sensation—there would be references to Burgess and Maclean. As he turned the last corner into the steep street leading down to the Embassy (in whose lower reaches washing, propped out on cords from the windows, flapped with a pleasant domesticity in the river-breeze blowing in from the Tagus), he threw up his head and drew a deep breath of the soft salty air that ruffled his bare head. Hetta was worth it, whatever happened!—and anyhow he could always retire to farm and shoot on his mother's place in Herefordshire if the Office got really bloody-minded, and tried to send him to Bogotá.

The Ambassador always kept open house for his staff at the end of the day, with a choice of Scotch or Irish whisky, in a big downstairs room whose windows gave onto the Rua Arriaga, known as his study; he greeted Richard there. ‘It's so warm, shall we go up and sit in the garden?'

They sat in that small paved courtyard where Hetta had read out the Latin inscriptions and armigerous mottoes of former envoys to the Duke of Ericeira. Richard realised that Sir Henry had suggested this arrangement in order that they should not be interrupted; down in the study the most junior of secretaries, under this accessible chief, could pop in through the Arriaga entrance un-announced, but up here in the private apartments permission must be asked. He was rather touched by this thoughtfulness; H.E. really
was
a kind old boy. It was pleasant in the courtyard: the delicate formal foliage of the great pepper-tree overhanging the steps cut a fine tracery against the blue sky, the scent of flowers came down from the beds fostered by Lady Loseley; from a cage outside the glazed passage her doves cooed gently.

‘Those doves!' Sir Henry said. ‘Comical birds—they're very knowing. They laugh, you know, when anything amuses them. I remember in 1938 listening on the wireless to the speech of one of our masters after Munich; it was
chilly, so we had the doves indoors, and when he began to talk about “peace with honour” you should have heard them— “Hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo-hoo!” We had to laugh ourselves, though it was no laughing matter.'

‘He doesn't seem to have had exactly a way with animals,' Richard said, delighted by this reminiscence. ‘Did you ever hear, Sir, about Miss Stark's little alligator, or lizard, that some Sheik had given her, complete with a golden collar and chain? It rather liked music on the wireless, but one evening in Italy when they were listening to him too, the little creature got so furious that it broke its chain and ran away, and they spent two whole days hunting all through Asolo for it before they got it back.'

The Ambassador laughed loudly.

‘Your story is rather taller than mine, Richard, but I like it.'

‘What I really came for, Sir, was to thank you for those two extra days' leave,' the young man said. This was true, but he felt such confidence in his friendly superior that he was hoping for an opportunity to air his doubts and problems. He was not disappointed.

‘It worked out all right, did it? I gather you're engaged.'

‘Yes. I don't suppose the Office will like it much, but that can't be helped—one really can't marry merely to please the Private Secretaries and the Chief Clerk!' Richard said somewhat acidly.