Perchance to Marry Page 3

  The fingers on Sally’s shoulders tightened excruciatingly. He doesn’t even know what he’s gripping, she thought faintly, and bore the agony without a murmur.

  “My grandmother has had a heart attack?” Marcus said swiftly. “When was it?”

  “About a week ago. A sort of stroke, I think.” The man gave a falsely hearty laugh. “She’s a great woman, though. She intended to stay alive and see you married. And she’s done it, eh? You haven’t introduced me to the wife, Marcus.”

  Marcus’ hands dropped suddenly to his sides. “I’m not married,” he said abruptly. “This is Miss Sheppard.”

  The other’s bleary eyes focused with difficulty upon Sally’s tousled fair hair and her slim shoulders in the wrap. “Only engaged? Well, perhaps that’s better still. Ol’ lady always wanted you to marry on San Palos, didn’t she? Pretty girl you’ve picked, Marcus. But then trust you.”

  “I suggest you go back to your cabin, Jim. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  The man wagged a roguish finger. “Did I interrupt something? You were saying goodnight and ol’ Jim crashed in. Sorry ... sorry...”

  He still murmured the word at intervals as he weaved a path through his own private haze towards the other end of the corridor. Marcus drew a sharp breath.

  “The man runs an hotel in Naval Town,” he said. “He’s good-hearted, but a soak and a gossip.”

  Her throat a little dry, Sally asked, “Did he know what he was saying?”

  “Partly, but don’t worry. By the time he sobers up in San Palos he’ll have forgotten he came to this cabin tonight.”

  “He hadn’t forgotten about your grandmother. I’m terribly sorry to hear she’s so ill. Isn’t it odd, that they didn’t cable you?”

  “They probably cabled me in London. I’m returning earlier than they expected and I generally travel by air.” With a preoccupied frown he added, “Dona Inez is very old and she’s become fiercely set in her ideas—at least, she had. I’m all she has.” He gestured briefly, and went with her to the door of the cabin she shared with her mother. “This isn’t your affair. I’m sorry you were dragged into it. Goodnight.”

  His offhandedness hurt like the dully shattering impact of a club. Sally answered him and slipped into the cabin.

  Her mother said plaintively, “You were such a long time, darling. Did you have to fight with that doctor?”

  She didn’t seem to require an answer, or to be surprised that Sally had the keys. She swallowed her capsule, lay down tidily and closed her eyes. But Sally, after the light was out, lay staring into the darkness. She didn’t know why, but she felt quite sick and despondent.

  The ship put into Marseilles, and Sally spent the day touring the port with a group of young people; she also sat with them through the film show in the ship’s lounge that evening, while her mother chatted gaily on deck with the captain and others.

  To Sally’s relief, both Marcus and the affably cock-eyed Jim McCartney were missing.

  The ship anchored off San Palos in brilliant sunshine at nine-thirty next morning. To the left, Sally could see the curve of Naval Bay with its line of new concrete buildings, its old town and the official airstrip. To the right, the island was green and hilly, with small pastel-tinted houses dropped here and there like toys. There was an old straggling village adjoining Navay Town, and a waterfront that looked as though it were a piece of washed cliffside, it was so pink and rough.

  Passengers who were continuing on the voyage swarmed ashore for their ration of sightseeing. Sally had packed early, but Viola would never be rushed. It was not till Marcus came to hurry them that she finally said she was ready. When she came out on deck she made suitable exclamations. What a dream of an island! And that was Naval Bay? And what were the trees in that orchard on the hillside—olives and figs and almonds? Warmed by the Mediterranean sun and a new sense of security, Viola was prepared to love everything.

  There were no customs formalities. A swarthy porter in a peaked cap loaded the trunk and bags on to a trolley and trundled away towards an ancient converted bus which was apparently the freight car of San Palos.

  Marcus led the way to the taxi he had ordered, and made Viola comfortable in the back seat. He was about to do the same with Sally when a dusty grey car drew up a few yards ahead of them and a slim man in a light suit got out of it and came back, to meet them with an outstretched hand.

  “Well, Carlos!” said Marcus. “How did you know I was on the ‘Bellesta’?”

  But Carlos, who looked about forty and was a polite Spaniard, bowed towards Sally. First things first, his attitude said.

  “Sally, this is my cousin, Carlos Suarez. He’s the doctor who’ll find something for you to do at the nursing home. Carlos ... meet Sally Sheppard. Mrs. Sheppard is already in the taxi.”

  During the next few moments, Carlos bowed almost inside the taxi and Viola accepted the fact that he was charmed to meet her. He bent over Sally’s hand with a smile that said she was attractive and he approved of her.

  Then he answered Marcus’s question. “I was just leaving the house of a patient back there when I saw McCartney of the hotel. He told me you were on the ship, and I may say I was never more glad to hear such news.”

  “How is Dona Inez?” came the quick demand.

  A Latin shrug. “She lives. That great-aunt of mine is the most determined woman of eighty-seven I have ever known. She is waiting only for your return—with Miss Sheppard.”

  A chill crept over Sally’s skin. She said, “I think Mr. McCartney must have...”

  But Marcus cut her off smoothly. “We’re going up to Las Vinas at once, Carlos. As Dona Inez doesn’t know I’m coming, perhaps you and I had better see her together.”

  “I am so sorry, but I have an operation in half an hour. But do not fear for Dona Inez. She will not die of seeing you, Marcus. She was hoping you would bring home a bride, but a fiancée will do almost as well. In fact,” with a humorous lift of the shoulders, “it will give her a new lease of life. She will be more determined than ever to see you married.”

  “You don’t understand,” said Sally in breathless tones. “You see...”

  “Carlos has to leave us,” Marcus said coolly. And turning to his cousin, “I should like to know exactly what we may expect with Dona Inez. Perhaps you will come to Las Vinas for dinner tonight?”

  “Thank you, Marcus. I shall be delighted.” The doctor made his bows. He said, “I wish you great happiness here on San Palos, senorita, and it is most pleasing that you are interested in our little hospital. Perhaps,” with a very kind smile, “you are rather younger than we all imagined, but that is no drawback. I am only surprised that Marcus was able to leave you in England after your engagement last year; in his place, I would have insisted on bringing you home, even then!” A click of the heels, a smiling “Adios!” and the doctor returned to his car.

  Firm fingers on her arm were guiding Sally round to the other side of the taxi. Dazedly she tried to stop, but Marcus said quietly,

  “Temporarily, it seems, we’re engaged. Say nothing at all to your mother. We’ll talk later.”

  Then Sally was subsiding into squashy old leather and feeling quite boneless and wooly-headed. She turned and met her mother’s smiling glance.

  “What were you talking about out there—a job at the nursing home?”

  “No,” Sally managed. “It’s too soon for that.”

  “Never mind. We won’t think about work for a few days—just wallow in idleness and luxury at Las Vinas.”

  Very clearly, Sally said, “I’m not sure we should go to Las Vinas. We might be in the way.”

  Marcus turned round from his seat beside the driver. “You will certainly stay at Las Vinas,” he said flatly, sounding rather foreign. “We have many rooms and the staff to look after them. It is settled.”

  Settled, thought Sally dazedly. Settled? That cousin of his, the doctor, actually thought that Marcus Durant was engaged to Sally Sheppard! Anything more fantastic it
would be hard to concoct, and yet Marcus had let the man go on believing it. Marcus, it seemed, had become engaged last year to someone in England; she should have been on the “Bellesta” with him, but for some reason she had stayed behind. People were mistaking Sally for that woman, and Marcus was ... was letting them.

  The whole thing was incredible and infuriating, and typically, Marcus had masterfully told her to keep quiet about it. Did he think she was a dummy, or something? Did he think ... think ...

  Sally’s teeth were so tightly clenched that they hurt, and she was angry in a way she had never known before. It was frightening.

  CHAPTER TWO

  LAS VINAS had been built in spacious days. Pure Spanish in style, its cloistered whiteness spread in a curve round a magnificent paved courtyard where a central pool covered with lilies was only a gracious detail. Palms shaded one side of the courtyard, and here an ornate wrought-iron table and padded chairs were set, and a very old Sealyham snoozed in their shade.

  When Sally, having unpacked in a white and blue bedroom for her mother and in a white and lilac bedroom for herself, came outdoors in a desperate attempt to get back to reality, she found an old servant laying the luncheon table. The woman wore black with a white apron, and she gave an old-fashioned curtsey which made Sally feel a bigger fraud than ever. The situation was impossible.

  She went to the low wall and looked down past a rockery at a sweep of bright flower beds and shrubberies. The cypresses beyond marked the limit of the private garden, and behind them was the white wall that confined it From here it was impossible to see the tall ornamental gates in the arched entrance to Las Vinas, but Sally remembered her own feelings as the taxi had passed under the arch. A rush of panic, chiefly, but also a foolishly hopeless regret that they had met Marcus Durant after that appalling visit in Barcelona. Then, she had felt she hardly knew Marcus; now, she was fatalistically certain that only unhappiness could come from knowing him.

  Oh, dear, and this was such a lovely place. One could be tremendously happy just living in this atmosphere and rambling over the hills and down to the beaches. The miles of vineyards had looked a sparkling green, the people were wholesome and rugged, and there was a British contingent down at Naval Bay, so that one needn’t even feel homesick. And if she could have worked at the nursing home while her mother had some light job in the town, Sally would never have dreamed of asking more from life. It would have been the fullest, happiest existence any girl could wish for. She sighed.

  Just behind her a thick feminine voice said, “You will pardon me, senorita. Senor Durant has asked me to introduce myself. I am Katarina, the companion of Dona Inez.”

  Sally turned, and met a pair of enigmatic dark eyes. The woman was pale yellow and sharp-featured, with a mole that sprouted three belligerent hairs near the left corner of her brown-lipped mouth. Her hair, black with streaks of grey, was drawn back smoothly into a knot, and she wore the usual black frock, though it was a little more dressy than the servants’ thick cotton; an oldish matt silk with a high neck, blouse-effect top and straight skirt. Sally was irresistibly reminded of Victorian illustrations, but before she could smile Katarina’s heavy eyelids flicked down over her eyes, and the effect was disturbing.

  “I’m glad to know you, Katarina,” Sally said politely. “How is Dona Inez?”

  “She sleeps much of the time. I do not think she will awaken before evening, but it will be a joyful awakening, no? There is no one in the world she loves so well as Don Marcus.”

  The prefix to his name made him a foreigner, and caused Sally an inward shiver. “I do hope my mother and I won’t cause too much extra work in the house,” she murmured, for something to say.

  “But where else would you stay? This will be your home, and also that of Senora Sheppard. This is a great day for Las Vinas.”

  She didn’t sound thrilled, but why should she? thought Sally despairingly. How much did she know? And how much had already been said between this woman and Marcus? If only he’d come out, so that she could tell him she had no intention of staying in this place under false pretences!

  “You’re very kind,” she said automatically. “I’m a nurse, you know. If there’s anything I can do to help you, please let me know.”

  The woman drew back and clasped her hands in front of her. In stilted tones she answered, “I am very capable of taking care of Dona Inez. A young nurse would be quite out of place in the bedroom of the senora. You will excuse me, please?”

  Oh, heavens. A clanger, if ever there was one; and she’d probably go on making them because she was not only angry but nervous. Sally conjured a smile as Katarina went into the house, and turned back to sigh once more at the garden. But in a moment her mother came out, looking small and radiant in delphinium blue. She came beside Sally, threw out both hands at the view.

  “Isn’t it splendid? I’m sure it’s the healthiest spot on earth!”

  “They have a large nursing home,” Sally reminded her drily.

  “Bound to be a few accidents, and babies,” came the airy rejoinder. “I can’t imagine any place lovelier than this. And isn’t the house beautiful? All that carved oak and lovely porcelain, and the light restful bedrooms. Have you seen Marcus since we arrived?”

  “No.”

  “Don’t snap, darling. The trouble with young people is that they haven’t yet learned how to accept things gracefully. We’re not here just accidentally, you know. Even before we reached Barcelona Marcus said we must visit him here some time. He even made me promise to write and tell him how we were getting on.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “Then please, Sally, try to look as though you are enjoying yourself. Here we are, with servants simply falling over themselves to do things for us, in a dream of a house on a dazzling green island, and it does seem that you should be grateful enough to smile about it. I do need it, you know, dear.”

  “Yes. I’m sorry. I suppose I still feel we should have stayed at the hotel.” She changed the topic. “Have you ever seen rock plants like those down there? The miniature cacti are amusing, aren’t they?”

  Talk of the garden occupied them till the lunch trolley and Marcus appeared simultaneously. He seated the two women at the table, smiled and apologized for having looked through his mail before lunch.

  “I do have a man who comes in to do secretarial work for me two or three days a week, but he doesn’t yet know that I’m back. Fortunately, there’s nothing that can’t wait till tomorrow. Cold consommé, Viola, or would you prefer hors d’oeuvres?”

  It was a good lunch, the early fruits were delicious and the coffee excellent. But Sally was too inwardly restless to eat cheerfully, and by the time Marcus was sitting back and suavely offering cigarettes she was so knotted up that she could have screamed. Perhaps Marcus sensed her tautness, for as soon as they had finished coffee he said.

  “You’ll find the siesta is a good habit, Viola. An hour’s sleep after lunch makes you feel good for the rest of the day. Do you like your room?”

  “Enormously. And since leaving England I’ve acquired the habit of an afternoon rest, and can’t do without it.” She looked up at him as he stood with her. “Sally’s a wee bit blue, Marcus. I don’t think she’s been quite so bright since we lost that delightful young pianist at Malaga. Can you think of some nice man who’ll cheer her up?”

  “I might,” he said easily, as he went with her to the nearest door into the house.

  Sally had stood up too, and had moved along the courtyard towards the steps. But she hadn’t quite reached them when Marcus came beside her, and they descended side by side without speaking, curved down, round the end of the rockery and on to the path below it. There, in the shade of an old magnolia tree, Sally stopped and faced him. But it was Marcus who spoke first, very calmly.

  “It’s not the end of the world, you know, so let’s be sane about it, shall we?”

  “I’ll try, but it’s not going to be easy. I know you’re someone rather marvellous here
on San Palos, but I’m just not the type to be overawed into posing as something I’m not. I think I have a right to demand that you make it quite clear to everyone that my mother and I are merely two people you took pity on in Barcelona!”

  With dangerous softness he answered, “I’m hardly likely to make that kind of statement about my house guests; even you know enough about me to realize that. And now, perhaps, you’ll let me explain a few things. Come over here and sit down.”

  He motioned towards a white seat under a huge old peach tree that was a billow of pale pink blossom. They sat, Sally ramrod-straight at one end of the bench and Marcus half facing her at the other.

  “Cigarette?”

  “No, thank you.”

  He shrugged, and pushed the thin silver case back into his pocket. “All this, of course, began with McCartney’s surprising us at the door of my cabin the night before last,” he said evenly. “He blundered to conclusions which he’s no doubt been airing down at the hotel all morning.”

  “You could have stopped him,” she said accusingly.

  “I thought I had, but the man is like a waggish bull; once he has hold of one idea there’s not much room for anything else. After you’d left the cabin that night I was disturbed about it and went straight along to see him. I told him you and your mother were friends I’d met on board, but all he did was laugh and say he quite understood. I decided to leave it till yesterday, when the fumes should have dispersed.”

  “What happened?”

  “Something I couldn’t have foreseen. We’d no sooner tied up at Marseilles than the ‘Bellesta,’ as usual, was connected to a telephone line. McCartney’s wife was in some sort of dilemma here and she phoned him to ask what she should do about it.”

  “Is that all?”

  “It was all I found out, but it was enough. Knowing McCartney, I was pretty sure he’d tell his wife to guess who was on board ... and all the rest of it.”