The Stars of San Cecilio (18 page)

The music was sensuous, and the rhythm like the regular throbbing of all her pulses. And when, having unconsciously closed her eyes, she opened them again to look up into the even-featured face above her, it struck her

that that face was pale, and in the night-dark depths of the eyes something seemed to flame.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, and his words brought her down to earth, ‘about Gia. She should have maintained touch with you, and she should certainly have acknowledged the gift you sent her.’ She sighed, and for a moment she couldn’t answer, because talking was almost painful just then. And it seemed so unnecessary.

‘It wasn’t Gia’s fault, I’m sure. ’

‘Then are you suggesting-------?’

She looked up at him with rather heavy eyes.

‘I don’t think Dona Beatriz was anxious for her to maintain touch with me! ’

‘But that’s absurd!’ he declared. ‘ You are employed by me to have Gia’s interests at heart. And naturally you would wonder about her. ’

‘I have wondered,’ she admitted. ‘And I am still wondering whether you really want me to return with her to

the villa? Because if not--------’

‘ But of course I want you to return to the villa! ’ He frowned down at her. ‘Why should I not?’

‘ Because I think Dona Beatriz would prefer it otherwise! ’ His frown dragged his black brows together until they almost overlapped.

‘And is it the concern of Dona Beatriz--------?’

‘I think so,’ she said gently; the heavy eyes looking up directly into his. ‘Isn’t it?’

All at once the music came to an end, and they stopped dancing so abruptly that, as he let her go rather suddenly, she lost her balance and found it necessary to make a little grab at him, but even so one of her high heels slipped, and her ankle twisted sharply. She caught her breath with the pain, and turned paler than she already was.

‘You have hurt yourself? — your ankle?’ he said, looking down at her in concern.

She shook her head, biting her lower lip.

‘No, no, it’s all right!’

He stood looking down at her, but she turned and walked firmly off the floor. He followed and, when she would have returned to their table, guided her away from it.

‘I’ll take you home,’ he said rather shortly.

But she looked up at him almost horrified.

‘But of course you mustn’t do that! ’ she said. ‘Take me home, when you’re a guest at a party! ... And, in any case, Dona Beatriz ...’

‘I think we’ll leave Dona Beatriz out of things for the moment,’ he remarked, in the same terse voice. ‘You’re looking rather white, and you’re also very tired. We can leave a message for Miss Tracey, and I’ll make the necessary excuses to Senora Espinhaco. Have you a key to her flat, or is there someone who will admit you?’

‘Juanita, Miss Tracey’s maid, will be sitting up. She always insists on doing so, however late Miss Tracey is going to be! But I assure you there is no need ...’ feeling slightly sick even as she said so with the slight, nagging pain in her ankle.

His voice was rougher than she had ever known it.

‘I think there is every need!’ he said. ‘You have been doing more in this past fortnight than you are accustomed to doing — than it is wise to do at this season of the year in a place like Madrid. And now you have hurt your ankle. I am going to take you home. ’

‘Very well,’ she answered, with a meekness that was quite unassumed, and she felt his arm about her, guiding her amongst the couples on the crowded floor.

‘Get your wrap, and I will wait for you,’ he said, as soon as the brilliant restaurant doors had closed behind them, and they were outside in a spacious lobby.

Very well,’ she returned, with even greater meekness than before.

C H A P T E R F O U R T E E N

Once in his big white car, and being driven by him back to Miss Tracey’s flat, she began to be absolutely certain that this was all part of a dream. When she had left the flat that evening to attend the Espinhaco birthday party the last person she expected to see amongst the guests was her employer, but he had been one of the guests, and now he was driving her home. Unless it was purely her imagination!

She really was very tired — even exhausted. It had been a stimulating, but rather wearing time that she had spent in Madrid, the heat had been intense, and tonight she had danced more than she had ever danced before in her life. There had been Ricardo Espinhaco who had claimed many of the dances, and who had only been persuaded to leave her side because his mother had plainly intimated that one or two of the other younger female guests were expecting some attention from him. And Peter had quite plainly resented Ricardo, and when she was not dancing with Ricardo she had danced with Peter.

It had all been a little too much!

She lay back against the luxuriously sprung seat and felt the cool night breeze coming in at the open windows, and sighed suddenly. All at once she was too utterly weary to do anything but relax, and even though it was her employer’s car, and she was dragging him away not only from a party, but from the woman he was going to marry, she had to let some of the tension slide away from her, and sink back gratefully into the embrace of the dark crimson upholstery.

The breeze was particularly welcome after the slightly suffocating heat of the restaurant, following upon the concentrated heat of the day. She wasn’t wearing a wrap; her pale shoulders gleamed in the darkness, and her skirts seemed to froth all over the place, and even to touch the regulation evening clothes of Dr. Fernandez. As she lay with her golden head against the back of the seat, staring out at the soft, smothering blackness that was Madrid at night, pierced by the splendor of the stars and the occasional lights that still shone like yellow lanterns in the quiet squares and avenues, she forgot for a moment where she was — until the doctor’s hand reached out and touched her own.

‘You are tired,’ he said, and his voice was much more like a caress. ‘You are really very tired, and the conquests you made tonight have exhausted you!’ He paused. ‘Were they very satisfying conquests?’

She turned her head and looked at him.

‘ You mean because I danced with that young man Ricardo--------?’

‘ Ricardo Espinhaco looked prepared to eat you at the moment of my arrival tonight, and there were others who looked capable of emulating his example! ’ His voice was all at once very dry. ‘And Peter Hamilton-Tracey is, of course, only waiting for you to be serious about him to be very serious about you! ’

She stared at the dark, sleek shape of his head in the gloom of the car, and her whole body ached with a wave of longing for him that swept over her. The faint fragrance of his cigarette smoke, the scent of his shaving cream, both reached her in the gloom, and the combined effect of them set her trembling.

‘Does a man wait until he is certain a woman is serious about him before he becomes serious about her?’ she asked, with something of an effort.

He concentrated on his driving.

‘If he is an Englishman I think he does! Or that is what my observation has taught me. If he is a Spaniard his impatience will not permit him to do that. ’

‘And what,’ she asked, rather breathlessly, ‘would a Spaniard do?’

He went on frowning at the road ahead, the highway bathed in starlight, and overhung by plane tree shadows.

‘If he was quite certain about his own feelings he might do many things,’ he replied, after what seemed to her an interminable pause; ‘but if he was not certain . . . well, then he would be more cautious! ’

‘I—see,’ she said, and her voice sounded both small and flat.

When they reached the block of flats where Miss Tracey lived he drew up before the ornate entrance. The flats towered above them, with their many balconies, and the gleaming white stone of which the block was constructed shone palely in the starlight. It was no paler than Lisa’s small, tired face when he helped her from the car.

Instead of putting her into the lift, as she had expected, and allowing her to make her own way alone up to the flat, he followed her when the gilded doors swung open, and it was he who pressed the button that sent them slowly whirring skywards. Lisa began:

‘There is really no need for you to come up with me . . . ’ He stood very close to her in the narrow, enclosed space, and in the soft light that glowed above their heads he still seemed to want to study her. He made no reply to her halfhearted protest that she could have found her way up alone,

and when the lift stopped with a click, and then the gates closed behind them, he accompanied her along the corridor to the white-painted door that bore the number of Miss Tracey’s flat. Lisa put out her hand to depress the bell, but he stopped her suddenly.

‘You will go straight to bed?’ he said. ‘And this Juanita of Miss Tracey’s — will she bring you some hot milk, or some sort of soothing drink?’

‘I don’t need a soothing drink,’ she began to assure him, but the look on his face told her that was no good at all, and she promised rather hurriedly: ‘I will ask Juanita to make me a cup of tea. She knows I love tea. ’

He smiled.

‘You English and your tea! ’

‘Or there is really no reason why I shouldn’t make it myself. Poor Juanita has sat up long enough. . . . ’

‘If you threaten to do that,’ he said, ‘I will come in and insist on making it for you! ’

All at once she thought wildly:

‘ If only I had the courage to ask him in, and get Juanita to provide refreshments for us both! If only I had the courage to make tea for us both. He probably wouldn’t drink it, but if I suggested it he might come in. . . . ’

Something of what she was thinking must have been transmitted to him, or something at any rate flashed between them — some desire on her part to delay him, some disinclination on his to depart hurriedly — for all at once he said:

‘I don’t like leaving you like this. ’

And then, as she looked up at him in surprise her large eyes as soft and limpid as a child’s in the dim golden light of the corridor, her soft lips once more falling a little apart, he made an abrupt movement and swept her into his arms, and obeying a wild impulse she reached out and clutched at him, and for moments that for her were quite delirious she was strained up against him, and his mouth came down and closed upon her mouth, and the light in the corridor revolved like a shining lamp.

His lips were hard, and sweet, and masculine, as she had always known they would be. . . . The fire that she had always suspected dwelt in him flashed like a living thing to the surface, and all at once his lips were burning hers, and he said something rapidly in Spanish that passed her by altogether, although she knew that they were words that surprised himself as much as they would have surprised her if she could have understood them. Then she did understand that he was saying her name over and over again, wonderingly, as if it delighted him:

‘Lisa! . . . Little Lisa! . . . Querida! . . .’

His lips pressed her eyelids, her white forehead, the gold tendrils of her hair that rested on her forehead; and then for another brief period of time that simply wasn’t time at all, but utter bliss, she surrendered her mouth to him again. When he let her go at last she was no longer pale, but her eyes looked dazed, and because she was quite sure this was something he would regret the very moment he left her she put out a hand and pressed desperately at the door bell.

They heard Juanita’s footsteps ponderously approaching the door, and she said in what she tried frantically to make a normal voice:

‘You must let me know when you — you want me to return to the villa. When you want me to take over Gia again. . . . ’

As the door opened, and Juanita looked out at them, he answered:

‘Very well, I will.’ His voice sounded cool and almost ordinary. ‘And in the meantime you must go straight to bed. Juanita,’ suavely addressing the servant, ‘see to it that Miss Waring goes straight to bed, will you ...?’

C H A P T E R F I F T E E N

THE next morning Lisa faced the problem of what she had to do in the immediate future, and it was really no problem at all, because she had worked it all out in the night. She had scarcely slept at all, in spite of her physical weariness when she lay down, and she knew it was because her mind had been so alert, and her sense so awakened that sleep was an unreasonable thing to expect under the circumstances.

But in the golden light of morning she knew what she had to do. She had to see Julio Fernandez at once and ask him whether he would allow her to return to the coast with Gia without delay, because otherwise she couldn’t remain in

Spain. She certainly couldn’t stay on in Madrid living this butterfly life that Miss Tracey had thought would provide her with a welcome interlude — which it certainly had done. But to go on living it, even though Miss Tracey was so kind, and so extraordinarily generous, would be impossible. For one thing it would be impossible because she couldn’t go on taking advantage of Miss Tracey’s kindness, and for another, now that she knew that she had some sort of physical attraction for Dr. Fernandez, the sooner she got away from him the better; and she had promised to take charge of his daughter until she went to school. It would only be until the autumn, and the autumn was not so very far away now, and after that — after that she would go home.

She bit her lip as she started to go through her wardrobe and pack some of her things. She was confident that the doctor would let her go back at once with Gia, for after last night he wouldn’t want the danger of running into her constantly at social affairs — affairs given by his own particular friends, who would certainly look upon it as odd if he repeated last night’s performance and disappeared before the party was over with his small daughter’s governess, apparently for the pleasure of seeing her home!

For who would believe that it was because he had been concerned about her that he had taken her home? And it was his concern that had led to that — those blissful moments outside the closed door of Miss Tracey’s flat, which Lisa at least would never forget, because that sort of experience was hardly likely to come her way again. She had little or no conceit, and although Ricardo had succumbed to her English type of looks, and Peter was displaying every symptom of being willing to fall in love with her, Dr. Fernandez was quite unlike either of these two men — and he simply was not the type of man to fall for his daughter’s governess!