When Summer Fades (6 page)

Looking behind her Sophie spotted an information desk. She also caught sight of a kiosk. Fumbling in her purse she bought some Polos and popped one in her mouth. It was now time to take stock of a very desperate situation. OK, Sophie Fuller, a voice urged in her head. If you were Carlos what would you be doing now? You’ve got your luggage; you’ve come through arrivals; there’s no sign of Rosa anywhere, Where would you go?

‘
Would
the
person
meeting
…
kindly
make
their
way
to
the
information
desk
.’

Her heart soared. The person they were paging wasn’t Carlos Martins but it was certainly worth a try, especially as she discerned a trio of dark-suited businessmen leaning against the counter. One in particular caught her eye. Tall, tanned, reasonably good looking and fiftyish, he certainly fitted the bill. He was also smiling in Sophie’s direction.

Convinced this had to be Carlos she found herself grinning back like the proverbial Cheshire Cat. Neither she nor Callie had expected Carlos to be wearing a hat. Least of all like the one Humphrey Bogart had worn in the film
Casablanca
. Her nerves momentarily getting the better of her, Sophie could only think of one thing – Ingrid Bergman and
that
song
. Seconds later, reminding herself this was hardly the time or the place to start singing, she concluded there was only one option.

‘Carlos ... Carlos Martins?’ she ventured, and was met with a beaming smile, when the hat was raised to reveal a head of black, wavy hair, flecked with exquisite silver at the temples.

‘How I wish I was
senhora
.’ Flashing white teeth grinned at her, while mischievous, brown eyes took in the blue and white uniform beneath her unfastened jacket. ‘Especially if it meant you were to be my nurse.’

‘Oh!’ Sophie blushed. ‘I was looking for Rosa’s cousin. I thought you were—’ Turning, she clasped her hand to her mouth in embarrassment, only to find someone eyeing her intently, his fingers slowly folding over the keypad on a sleek mobile phone. Equally sleek and polished was the way he was dressed and this gorgeous hunk of man was heading straight towards her. Sadly, Sophie noticed to her chagrin that –unlike the reincarnated Humphrey Bogart – he was
not
smiling at all.

‘Excuse me. Did I hear you say "
Rosa's
cousin
?" If so – and the Rosa in question is Rosa Ramirez, then I am her cousin Carlos.’

‘You! But Rosa said—’ Sophie stopped short. How could she say, Rosa told me you were old? Because quite clearly this cousin Carlos, hovering impatiently in front of her, most definitely wasn’t! He could only be in his mid-thirties!

‘Where is Rosa?’ Carlos demanded, his tanned, anxious face scanning the crowds, searching for his cousin.

‘I’m afraid she couldn’t make it. Celia – Miss Sheffield – has taken the group to the theatre. Rosa rang and asked me to meet you. I’m sorry I was late. You see I wasn’t contacted until the very last minute and then the traffic—’

From where he stood towering above her, Carlos eyed the flustered young woman in what appeared to be a blue and white overall, nervously glancing at her watch. It had been years since he’d last visited Beckford. Things were obviously looking up for Celia Sheffield.

‘Then you must be Miss Sheffield’s maid? How do you do?’

Maid
?
Maid
! Sophie felt her blood boil. She knew, following the harrowing journey to Heathrow that she didn’t exactly look her best, but to be thought of as Celia’s maid!

‘No, I am
not
Miss Sheffield’s maid!’ she replied, fixing him with flashing, hazel eyes. ‘I’m Sophie Fuller and if you’re ready to leave Mr Martins, perhaps you’d care to follow me?’

Chapter 4

When Sophie strode away Carlos had little choice but to follow. One look at the amber sparks glinting in her eyes told him he’d offended her. Quite how, he couldn’t fathom but, she hurried along in silence, deftly weaving her way through the departing throng. Only once did she turn to see if he was still there. By the time they reached the footbridge and thanks to his long strides, Carlos was already by her side.

‘Here we are,’ she said, inserting her key into the lock of a less than tidy boot. ‘If you’d like to put your luggage—’ Luggage! She’d been so furious with him for suggesting that she was Celia’s maid, she’d forgotten all about his luggage. Carlos hadn’t been pushing a trolley – had he? She’d not given him chance to find one!

‘If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to put this across the back seat,’ he announced, coolly polite, his gaze taking in Poppy’s dilapidated appearance.

‘
This
’ Sophie discovered was an exquisite suit carrier complete with designer logo and co-ordinating brief case. How very appropriate, she mused, leaving Carlos struggling with the release catch of the front passenger seat. Moments later with his luggage neatly stowed away, Sophie made her way to the driver’s side. To her surprise Carlos remained standing. What was he waiting for?

‘Is there anything else,’ she enquired, ‘Have you left anything behind?’

‘No. I was waiting for you to get in.’

Amused by his peculiar show of manners, a weak flicker of a smile left her face when she realised what was wrong. The idiot who’d parked alongside in her absence had made it virtually impossible to open Poppy’s door!

Tall and observant Carlos had already assessed the situation. The only way Sophie could get into her car was via the passenger seat. Brushing past him, discerning the merest hint of expensive cologne, she reluctantly hitched her uniform above her knees and wriggled awkwardly across to the driver’ side.

‘It would appear some people have no consideration for others,’ he remarked, averting his eyes.

You can say that again, she thought, faintly amused by his efforts to fold his lean, tall frame into the tiny space before fumbling for the seatbelt. Callie (Poppy’s last passenger) with her short dumpy legs, always preferred the seat forward. She also needed a vast expanse of seat belt.

‘My last passenger,’ Sophie explained, switching on the ignition.

‘I see,’ Carlos replied, examining a seemingly endless length of seat-belt webbing. ‘Was she pregnant?’

Secretly enjoying her current passenger’s discomfort, Sophie slid the parking ticket into the machine, breathed a sigh of relief when the barrier stirred into motion and manoeuvred her way into traffic. To her right purred a white, stretch limousine. ‘I don’t intend to argue with that,’ she muttered, giving Carlos a sideways look, half expecting him to hop out and thumb a lift to his hotel. With his dark good looks and exquisite tailoring, even Sophie in her current frame of mind had to admit he appeared more suited to a sleek stretch limo than the faithful, chugging Poppy, who’d seen far better days.

Thoughts of hotels prompted her to ask Carlos for his own destination. There were numerous hotels on the periphery of Heathrow but had he perhaps asked Rosa to fix him up at one of the few – such as they were – in Beckford?

‘Your hotel?’ she enquired, ‘Where are you staying?’

‘I don’t know. I asked Rosa to make arrangements for me. Didn’t she tell you?’

Shaking her head in reply, Sophie’s hands gripped the steering wheel, ready to concentrate on the tricky job of filtering onto the M4.

‘You mean Rosa said nothing at all?’

‘No. She merely rang me during the interval, shortly after nine o'clock, and asked me to meet you.’

‘Then I suppose I must come back with you.’

‘Unless you want to ring her? At the airport, I noticed you had a mobile phone. She should be at the flat by now.’

‘Ah,
sim
.
Obrigado
.’ Carlos replied, slipping into Portuguese while dialling Victoria Villas. There was no reply.

‘You could also try Celia’s – Miss Sheffield’s. Sometimes she takes the students back for coffee and post-theatre discussion.’

Though Carlos said nothing, Sophie sensed his acute disappointment. Instead of post-theatre discussions shouldn’t Rosa have been making preparations for his arrival? He dialled Celia’s number and recognised Doreen Sheffield’s voice almost immediately.

‘This is Carlos Martins. Is my cousin Rosa with you?’

‘Mr Martini! How are you? No dear, she left some time ago. They’ve been to the theatre and Celia’s taking the girls home, I expect you’ll find Rosa at Sophie’s.’

‘I’ve already rung there.’

‘Have you dear? Well, I expect she’ll be there soon. Don’t worry Mr Martini, Celia’s a careful driver. Now if you’ll excuse me. I’ve left some milk on for my cocoa.’

Studying a silent mobile, Carlos left Doreen to sip her cocoa and leave a message for her daughter:
Mr
Carwash
Martini
rang
about
his
cousin
.
I
told
him
not
to
worry
. (Celia would eventually read it with a groan of despair. Wasn’t Rosa problem enough?)

Pleased to find her parking space vacant, Sophie drew to a halt and was immediately filled with alarm. The state of the flat: the remains of the takeaway! Her mind went into overdrive. What should she do now? Perhaps nothing for the moment, she concluded. Carlos was far too busy surveying the somewhat unsavoury surroundings to notice the panic in her eyes.

‘Er – um … Why don’t you wait here in the car? It’s quite a cold night.’

Carlos raised a questioning eyebrow. He was anxious to stretch his legs. How much longer was this ordeal going to last? Why the sudden concern for his welfare, particularly after the frosty reception at Heathrow?

‘Just give Rosa a couple of minutes to get her coat and we’ll take you to your hotel.
Ate
logo
,’ Sophie said a little too brightly, hoping her attempt at ‘see you soon’ in Portuguese might do something to soften his unhappy countenance.

‘Rosa! Thank heavens you’re back! If you knew the problems I’ve had fetching Carlos? Not to mention the fact I've got—’

‘He eez ere!’ Rosa cried, clapping her hands in delight. She looked expectantly towards the door. ‘Oh, Sophie! You are
so
kind and I very sorry I forget to tell you.’

‘Never mind that now, said Sophie, misinterpreting Rosa’s sheepish expression. Let’s just take Carlos to his hotel. Only I hope it’s not too far away. I’m on duty in half an hour – or had you forgotten?’

Rosa’s huge brown eyes widened in horror. ‘No,’ she said meekly, ‘but when I forget to tell you Carlos was coming, I also forget to book him a hotel. I was so
very
busy with my studies.’

‘You mean he has nowhere to stay?’

The look on Rosa’s face said it all. No wonder she was already dashing down two flights of stairs to the ancient red Mini and its disgruntled occupant.

‘Carlos!’ she cried, ecstatic, wrenching open the door and reaching for his hand, her eyes glistening with tears.

To his astonishment Carlos was pulled from the car and smothered in kisses. Moments later and with a gabble of Portuguese, Rosa linked her arm in his and led him upstairs to the flat. Sophie met them in the confined space of the hallway.

‘I’ll put the kettle on for coffee – or tea if you’d prefer? Meanwhile Rosa has something to tell you.’

Carlos looked anxiously at his watch. Why was Rosa plumping up assorted cushions? ‘Sit down and make yourself comfortable,’ she cooed.

‘Don’t you think it’s rather late?’ he questioned, aware of the hasty clearing up taking place in the kitchen.

When Sophie appeared with a tray of coffee and biscuits, she was conscious of polite yet animated conversation taking place between the two cousins. Feeling surplus to requirements, she made for the bathroom. There she combed her long, straight fringe onto her forehead, brushed the rest of her sleek sandy-coloured hair behind her ears, fastened it at the nape of her neck and reached for her makeup bag.

‘Five minutes Rosa,’ she hissed, addressing her reflection in the mirror while applying a fine layer of mascara, a slick of lipstick and a delicate sweep of blusher to her cheeks. ‘Tonight I am in Gavin Markham mode. Five minutes is all I’m giving you to explain to Carlos. After that I’m off to work and you can jolly well order him a taxi! Better still. Why not go back with him to his hotel so I can have the flat to myself!’

If Sophie was wishing for peace and solitude, Carlos was wishing he was anywhere but Victoria Villas. What on earth was Rosa doing in such a run-down area of Beckford? More to the point – considering how late it was – when were they going to make a move and take him to his hotel?

‘Rosa,’ he ventured, when she poured yet more coffee, filling his cup to the brim. ‘It’s been a long day. I really think I should be checking in to my hotel.’

Ready for work, Sophie walked into the sitting-room seconds before Carlos’s verbal explosion. Rosa, she presumed, had just dropped her bombshell! Not even bothering to decipher the rapid exchange of Portuguese, she watched two pairs of eyes flashing like rapiers. Rosa’s, large, brown and childlike, filled with remorse and Carlos’s full of shock, indignation and disbelief. Suffused with embarrassment, Sophie stopped by the coffee table to retrieve her handbag and car keys. Until now she’d not really noticed Carlos’s eyes. Expecting them to be a warm, dark-chocolatey brown like Rosa’s, she was startled to discover they were an amazingly deep shade of navy blue.

Rosa turned pleading eyes in Sophie’s direction. ‘But it eez no problem... eez it Sophie? You tell Carlos it eez all right.’

‘I’m sorry Rosa. I don’t understand. What’s all right?’

‘Carlos can stay here tonight. He can sleep in my room and I can sleep on the sofa. I shall be quite comfortable.’

In perfect English Carlos broke in, ‘Most definitely not Rosa! Isn’t it bad enough you are staying in such a place as this, let alone sleeping on a sofa! What would your parents think if they knew?’

‘But I am very happy here with Sophie. She has been very kind.’

‘That’s as maybe,’ Carlos snapped, flashing navy blue eyes in Sophie’s direction. ‘This is hardly what you’re accustomed to. Nor is it what your parents are paying for!’

Seething with anger, Sophie snatched her jacket from the back of the chair.

‘Look Rosa,’ she said, ignoring Carlos completely. ‘I can’t hang around here any longer. I’m late already. If your cousin wants to go to a hotel why don’t you look in Yellow Pages? Failing that I suggest you draw lots for the honeymoon suite.’

‘Honeymoon suite?’ Rosa asked, bewildered.

‘Your bedroom,’ Sophie continued sarcastically. ‘That’s the one with the double bed.
And
whoever draws the short straw – namely my bedroom with the Z-bed – will find clean sheets in the airing cupboard! I’m afraid Augustinas are in short supply in Beckford at this time of night. No doubt between you, you
are
both capable of making a bed!’

Digesting her words, Carlos looked up, pensive and confused. ‘You are leaving Miss Fuller? Not because of me I hope? Surely something can be arranged?’

‘No, Mr Martins, I am not leaving because of you. I’m leaving because I have to go to work. Unlike some people round here I won’t be getting any sleep for at least another ten hours. During which time half of those hours will be spent dealing with the homeless and considerably less fortunate. And while my flat might not rate highly in your estimation, believe me there are those who would give their eye-teeth to sleep in a clean, dry bed – even if it is only at Victoria Villas!’

Storming from the flat, Sophie left Rosa pondering the words
estimation
and
eye
-
teeth
and Carlos the irate, trim figure in the blue and white dress.

‘Miss Fuller’s uniform? Of course – she’s a nurse! At the airport I thought she was Celia Sheffield’s maid.’

‘Of course she’s a nurse! I told you ages ago. Don’t you remember?’

Carlos shrugged his shoulders. When his cousin was on the phone she spoke far too quickly and was always changing the subject. As for the letters she sent home – her writing was barely legible. Maria Clara was forever complaining about it. He rose wearily from the chair, ‘I think perhaps you’d better show me the airing cupboard. It’s far too late to do anything else now. First thing in the morning I shall ring Miss Sheffield, then I shall make alternative arrangements for the remainder of my stay.’

*

‘Just who the hell does he think he is?’ Sophie cried, eyes smarting with tears as she swept into the office. ‘I never asked to have his spoilt, little cousin dumped on my doorstep did I? To think I’ve even been turned out of my own bed because of her. Can you believe that?’

‘Staff? Is everything okay?’

‘What? Oh! Yes. Fine thanks nurse. Sorry. I didn’t realise any one else was in here. So – after the evening I’ve just experienced I think you’d better break it to me gently. What’s first on the list? The result of a drunken brawl or one of our homeless friends come in from the cold?’