At the Villa Massina Page 20

  “It was awkward for him—do you not see? He does not wish to offend you, or to make too much of Juliet’s refusal to accompany us to Cadiz. You will admit she is one of our circle only because of the Colmeiros. I believe she is constantly aware of that. If you wish her to explain she will do so when we return to San Federigo, tomorrow or the following day.”

  After a moment, he repeated, “Go to the guests, Inez. We shall have refreshments before landing at Cadiz.”

  Inez did not mention the subject again to Norma. She was in a mood to admit only the happy things to her consciousness. She poured tea and coffee in the lounge, and by the time the social interlude was over the yacht was tying up at Cadiz.

  Four large cars were waiting, and soon the guests were in procession, up the narrow streets and past the pleasant little squares planted with flowers and palms and brightly lit, right on through the outskirts of the town into the country. They came to the great castle, saw it pale grey in the floodlight.

  The party for Manuel and Inez that night was outstanding, even for the Castillo. As Norma said to Ruy while they were dressing in the privacy of their spacious suite, “This is the sort of experience that isn’t likely to come more than once in our lifetime—unless, of course, Ramiro does get married, after all. Even if he does, it might be while we’re in England. I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.”

  “Yet I feel that Ramiro himself regards this as only a duty,” Ruy commented. “One gets the impression that he will be glad when all these celebrations for Inez and Manuel are over, and he can settle to normal life. You know, I am sure he will not stay much longer at San Federigo.”

  “I believe you’re right. It’s a pity, because he gives such a tone to social occasions, and if Inez is away with Manuel the whole place will be dead.”

  “Except at the Villa Massina,” he reminded her fondly.

  “Always excepting the Colmeiro family!” she exclaimed swiftly. “Darling, this is the new gown I bought just before we left England. Do I need pearls or the sapphire necklet? Your taste in such details is infallible.”

  Norma did look lovely as she came down the great staircase into the reception hall. The black frock billowing from a tight waist, the sapphires at her slim throat, the Titian hair beautifully brushed so that the shallow waves framed her face and curled over each other at the back, and her fine rounded arms and white fingers showing starkly as she greeted other guests.

  Altogether there were two hundred guests, some of them friends of Manuel’s from diplomatic circles in Madrid, and others friends of the Conde in Cadiz. They dined late and sumptuously in the baroque splendour of the dining-hall, there was a little dancing, strolling on the terraces and in the garden, talk and laughter, light scandal among the ladies. Norma had never conversed with so many titled people in all her life as she did during that evening. Being Norma, it went slightly to her head and she scintillated.

  It must have been well after midnight when Ramiro came to sit beside her on one of the ornamental couches in the terrace. Ruy was in a chair nearby, and he immediately leaned forward to congratulate Ramiro on the function.

  “It is a tremendous success. Inez must feel as if the world is magic tonight,” he said warmly.

  “Yes, I think she does. After this, we shall be justified in having a quiet wedding in San Federigo. By the way, amigo, you will not mind if we return there tomorrow? Some of the guests are remaining here with Inez, but you will want to return in the yacht with me, no?”

  Norma said quickly, “Do we have to, Ramiro? I haven’t been here before, you know. I’d really love to have another day.”

  “Then you must stay, of course,” he said automatically.

  Ruy, more sensitive than his wife, leaned farther forward. “If you wish, I will go with you, Ramiro. Norma can return with the others, later.”

  Ramiro shrugged. “I have a little ... business to attend to in San Federigo. It can be done without either of you, but I thought you would be unwilling to leave Miss Darrell alone at the villa for too long. Already, my friend, she has had enough of the responsibility for your children.”

  This kind of remark from Ramiro was so unprecedented that Ruy sat back, a little stunned. He glanced at his wife and saw that her blue eyes were very wide and apprehensive and that she seemed to be on the point of standing up, which meant that Norma, who feared no one, wanted to escape. He made a sign, peremptory for him, that she must remain seated.

  He spoke as calmly as he could. “I don’t think I understand you, Ramiro. Juliet is not looking after our children today, but if she were—is it so important? She is very fond of Rina and Tonio and I assure you she has never considered them a burden.”

  Ramiro gestured with one hand. “I am sorry. I thought perhaps it was because you were uneasy about leaving the children alone with Luisa that Miss Darrell is not with us on this occasion. She was invited, as you were, and I had reason to believe she would come.” He paused, then asked quickly, “You say that Juliet does not have charge of your children today?”

  Ruy said unhappily, “I thought Norma had told you. Juliet has left us ... this morning, or rather, yesterday morning.”

  Ramiro’s eyes went very dark. “Left you? How can that be? There was no question of it!”

  Hastily, Norma took over. “We were very surprised—hardly knew what to do about it. We talked it over and decided not to tell you till...”

  “But you told Inez that Juliet was unwilling to come with us to Cadiz—that she had remained in San Federigo!”

  Ruy had gone rather pale. “You did this, Norma? Why not the truth, cara mia?”

  “I was only trying to save trouble, darling. We can’t do anything about Juliet, and it didn’t seem fair to burden others with our problems.”

  “What is this problem?” demanded Ramiro. “Where has she gone?”

  “We’re not quite sure.” Norma had recovered from that most unusual look she had received from Ruy. “You see, Ramiro, Juliet hasn’t been herself lately. I’ve tried, privately, to find out what’s been on her mind, but she wouldn’t tell me. Of course, I ... well, I really knew what it was, but I wanted her to bring it out into the open.”

  “And what was it?” he asked at once.

  Norma smiled with the correct degree of compassion. “You sound almost angry, Ramiro, but I assure you I did my utmost. Juliet hasn’t been quite ... normal, since that man called at the villa—wasn’t his name Whitman?”

  Ramiro snapped his fingers impatiently. “Go on! Tell me why you allowed her to leave you this morning.”

  “It wasn’t a case of allowing her to go. She slipped away and left a note. Someone had offered her a lift into Manca—I don’t know who it was. Her large suitcase was left in the bedroom, for forwarding to England, and the smaller one she took with her.”

  “Was she not to sail from Cadiz?”

  “She decided to tour. We knew all about that, because she was leaving on Saturday, anyway, and we’d talked it over. I know it’s a little upsetting, but there’s no reason to worry over her. She’s wonderfully good at getting around on her own, and after all, she’s only gone a day or two earlier than we expected.”

  Ramiro stood above her; in the dimness she could see the glitter in his eyes. “This is not the sort of thing one expects to hear from one’s friend,” he said very quietly. “She is a girl, very young, and she is alone. If ... she is in love with someone whom she has lost, there is even more reason to take care of her. I dislike intensely to have to say this to a woman—particularly to the wife of my friend—but I am afraid you have been callous, Norma.”

  “But I haven’t!” She glanced hurriedly at Ruy, was amazed that he said nothing in her defence. “You don’t know Juliet. She’s reserved, but very capable. If I could...”

  Ramiro held up an autocratic hand. “Where has she gone?”

  “To Malaga first, I believe, though she may have changed her mind. From there, I think it was Granada and then Madrid, then across to San
Sebastian, and a boat home. Ramiro...”

  He bowed stiffly. “Thank you. I am afraid I am in no mood for further speech. You will excuse me?”

  He strode away in a manner that was not at all like Ramiro, disappeared through one of the doorways. Norma sat back on the couch, her hand tight on its carved arm. That Juliet, of all people, should bring her to his. Juliet!

  She looked quickly at her husband, saw that he was still standing, after having risen as the Conde left them. His hand was tight too, grasping the curved back of the damask chair upon which he had been seated. His face was more stern than she had ever seen it, and for the first time in her married life she became frightened of him.

  She said, on a note of surprise, “What’s come over Ramiro? Is it so terrible for Juliet to have escaped when she wanted to? Do you suppose he’s affronted because we accepted the invitation for her and didn’t make sure of bringing her?”

  Ruy seemed to find difficulty in speaking. “He feels as I did—that with Juliet leaving us because she was not happy at the villa, we should not be in such haste to enjoy ourselves. She is like our sister, Norma. We have failed her.”

  “Don’t say that again! If she was idiot enough to fall in love with Lyle Whitman, she has to take the consequences.”

  “I think you are wrong. I think,” he hesitated, lowered his voice, “that she is in love with Ramiro.”

  “Good heavens!” Norma gazed at him, her face white. “Then it’s a good thing she’s gone.”

  He regarded her queerly. “You did not suspect it?”

  “It’s the last thing I’d suspect.”

  “Even though she did her utmost not to see him? Even though when she had to meet him she took care not to be alone with him? You have not seen her avoid his most conventional touch, or avert her eyes rather than look at him? You are very unobservant, my dear. And I am afraid Ramiro was right; where Juliet is concerned you are callous.”

  She was becoming almost shattered. Huskily she whispered, “Ruy, what are you saying? We’ve never quarrelled, you and I, and we certainly aren’t going to quarrel over Juliet.”

  “Quarrelling is undignified,” he said. “We shall not quarrel. But there are things we must talk about—some details I do not quite understand.”

  He sounded desolate. “I was disturbed about Juliet, but you were quick to reassure me; you said we must not mention her departure to any of Ramiro’s guests, and when Inez questioned you about Juliet’s absence you pretended she was still at the villa.” He held up a hand to silence her protest. “My dearest Norma, I love you. I cannot conceive of life without you, and I would never willingly wound you. But tonight, I think, there must be some honesty between us. Come, let us take a long walk in the garden.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  DUSK was falling when Juliet decided she must find her way back to the hotel. The cafes were coming alive, guitars were noisy, and in a small square a girl danced near a fountain, a thin, sultry-looking creature with blazing eyes and fast feet. She twirled in her red dress, clicked her castanets, and presently was joined by other girls who were less expert, and young men who had passion but little elegance. She was probably a Sevillana whipping up a frenzy of motion simply for the exotic joy of it.

  The hotel chosen for Juliet by the English couple looked modest. There were a few cars parked to one side of the entrance and the steps and foyer were discreetly lit, but the two or three porters seemed to be flurried; perhaps there were more visitors than they were accustomed to handling. Still, they were flatteringly attentive to Juliet, when she entered.

  She took her key from her bag, but the elderly man in uniform appeared to know the number of her room already. He bowed twice, begged her to do him the favor of following him, and moved with considerable agility down a corridor. Surely one slept upstairs, thought Juliet.

  But the porter knocked obsequiously and opened a door, said, while he was still bent almost double, “The senorita you are awaiting Senor Conde,” and hurriedly backed out and closed the door.

  Something red hot ran along Juliet’s nerves; her fingernails dug hard into her palms, but she stood there apparently unmoved. She was conscious of the cool scent of flowers from the urn which had hurriedly been transferred from the vestibule, or the beaten metal ashtray which was loaded with the remains of Ramiro’s own brand of cigarettes, of an open window which admitted a faint breeze into the private sitting room.

  Then she looked up at Ramiro, saw that his expression was dark and unreadable, and was able to say evenly, “This is a surprise, senor.”

  “I am sure it is,” he said curtly. “You imagined me still in Cadiz.”

  “Well, yes. I didn’t know you ever came to Malaga.”

  “When I have reason, I will go anywhere. Please sit down.”

  She didn’t want to, but there was no good reason why she shouldn’t. So she sank on to a leather-seated chair and put her bag on the floor beside her. Her skin was chill and clammy and she had drawn the inside of her cheek so tightly between her teeth that it hurt.

  Ramiro studied her with smouldering eyes which at the same time looked oddly tired, then he turned away, with his hands behind him. “May one ask who brought you here from San Federigo?”

  “Yes, one may,” she managed. “I took a small boat to Manca, then a bus into the mountains and travelled here to Malaga with an English husband and wife.”

  “The lift you were offered was a lie, no?”

  “You’ve ... read my note?”

  “No, I have been told of it.”

  “I didn’t say I’d been offered a lift—only that I could get one—which I did, in a boat. Is any of this important, senor?”

  “I suppose not,” he swung round, “but one has to say something, does one not? Somehow, this discussion has to be started! Why did you leave your cousin so suddenly?”

  “I was leaving on Saturday anyway, and yesterday seemed a good time.”

  “Because I would be away?”

  With unnatural calm she said, “You senor? What difference could that make?”

  “That,” he said rapidly, “is what I intend to find out. You will not believe this, but I know you quite well. You are not of a kind to wander away without saying goodbyes unless you felt it might be the right thing to do. But in the circumstances, how could it be right? You must have known I could not let things end like that!”

  “I ... I didn’t. As a matter of fact, I thought I’d never see you again.”

  “So?” He spoke quietly, but it was easy to see he was in a flaming rage. “It is as simple as that! One packs, and takes a boat. That is the end of San Federigo, and now we make a short tour through Spain. Ramiro is expecting me to be a guest on his yacht; he thinks he will show me the Castillo at Cadiz, introduce me to his friends there. But, oh no! This time he will not get his own way! That is how you think?”

  “No.” She didn’t get any farther for a moment, but he waited, standing above her, till she added, “That isn’t at all how I thought. I regarded the party in San Federigo as a kind of farewell. When I said goodnight to you ... and the others ... inside me I was saying goodbye.”

  “Dios, and we were expected to know! It will astonish you, then, to hear that I was certain you were on the yacht with Ruy and Norma. I did not learn till after midnight that you had gone away.”

  “Last night?” she queried, large-eyed. “Was that in Cadiz?”

  “It was.” He moved, a little jerkily. “The function for Inez was almost finished before I saw Ruy and Norma alone. They told me, and at once I made arrangements to leave the entertaining in my sister’s hands, and set out in the yacht. I came straight to Malaga and had enquiries made at the hotels. It was discovered that you had booked here and were out. I have waited, knowing that you must return here yet frantic because it was getting dark and you were alone. But when you arrive you are not even ruffled and the sight of me does not move you at all.”

  She looked down at the hands clasped tightly in her lap. �
�That isn’t true. I’m terribly sorry if you’ve been disturbed, but I really don’t see why you should have been. I’m not like one of your women. My guardians were a very sweet uncle and aunt, but they didn’t worry over me as parents might, so I’ve grown up fairly independent. Even knowing so little of the language, I shall easily manage the trip across Spain.”

  “You will not travel alone across Spain!” he exclaimed. “Enough of this. We know, you and I, why you have tried to escape. I refuse to believe you were deeply affected by Lyle Whitman. At best, the man was a waster and a cheat, and he had nothing to offer a wife. I cannot even see how he could fascinate one so young and innocent as you.”

  “He didn’t.” It was a relief to say it so baldly; it let some of the tension out of her system. “I was never attracted to Lyle in that way. Never—you may believe that. You’re strong and strict in your mode of living, so you won’t even allow that he had some decent characteristics, but he was likeable, and I felt sorry for him.”

  “It was your compassion,” he demanded satirically, “which governed your behavior with him? Only compassion? You must have met him several times, and on the last occasion you ran with him to the beach, gave him time to get away and pleaded with me for him. But you only pitied him!”

  “I pitied and liked him,” she said stubbornly.

  “And there was nothing else?”

  “Nothing emotional, if that’s what you mean.”

  “So?” It seemed almost impossible for him to credit this.

  “So,” she stated with finality. “I did not fall in love with him.”

  “But there was something,” he persisted. The dark eyes were gleaming now with shrewdness. “He had a hold upon you, was that it?”

  She hesitated. “Yes, it was. And that’s all I intend to admit. The whole thing is over.”

  “But not the consequences.” He looked down at her, sitting there so small and unyielding with that untouched air about her. “Juliet, look at me. Entirely, please—not just at my tie. There is a question you have not asked. I think you are afraid to ask it, but there is no need to be afraid. I want so much to hear it.”