Nurse at Barbazon

NURSE AT Babazon Kathryn Blair

8011

NURSE AT BARBAZON Kathryn Blair

Susan Day arrives in Portugal to spend three months as nurse-companion to Dona Francesca Varoz. Her patient is no trouble, and an extended stay at the luxurious Castelo Carvo seems too good to be true. Then she encounters the Castelo's imperious owner — the Visconde Eduardo di Corte Ribiero — and finds him oddly disturbing. Why should he take such an interest in his sister's insignificant English nurse, when for years he has been promised to the meek and entirely suitable Roselia Valen te?

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ISBN 0 263 73430 7

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First published in Great Britain as A Summer at Barbazon 1969 by Mills & Boon Limited, 15-16 Brook's Mews, London WIA 1DR This edition 198o (C) Kathryn Blair 196o Australian copyright 198o Philippine copyright 198o ISBN o 263 7343o 7 All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the Author, and have no rela)ion whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the Author, and all the incidents are pure invention. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher. This book is sold subjeit to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

Set in to on to pt. Baskerville Made and printed in Great Britain by Richard Clay (The Chaucer Press) Ltd., Bungay, Suffolk

CHAPTER ONE IN its heavy, austere fashion, Susan supposed, her bedroom was very beautiful. There was the great double bed with its baroque bedhead and deep blue quilted satin bedspread, a vast cheval dressing table and two wardrobes whose carving gleamed richly in the muted light which came through the balcony doors. The walls were white and gold, the curtains matched the bedcover, but the two easy chairs were dull gold with crimson cushions, and the carpet was an old Chinese one, cream ground and pastel-tinted flowers in each corner. From the ceiling, at each side of the bed, hung a gold-embroidered and heavily tasselled bell-pull. The odd thing was, everything was in perfect condition, which meant that people actually tenanted these rooms. Her clothes were put away, her suitcases had been collected and stowed somewhere for the summer. She was here at the Castelo Carvo, and as an English miss she would have certain privileges which were going to be fun, so long as the Visconde wasn't too stuffy. Dona Francesca hadn't talked much about her brother, but Susan had gained the impression that he was difficult, to say the least. They had arrived two hours ago, she and Dona Francesca, and apparently had come at a time when a small house party was in progress; at any rate, the Visconde and his guests were out on the yacht and only the servants were there to welcome Dona Francesca and her young nursecompanion when they arrived from England. Susan had been rather relieved; she had unpacked for the older woman and persuaded her to lie down, and then she had put away her own things in the adjoining bedroom, had a wash in the spacious private bathroom and got into a white sleeveless dress which looked fairly presentable for sixo'clock in a Portuguese castle. And here she was, running a finger over the beautiful little writing table, standing back to admire the single 5

mural which occupied the rectangular panel between the french doors and the ordinary window. She was actually a guest here at Barbazon for almost a whole summer! During that time, of course, she had to make up her mind about Paul. . . . Oh, dear, she couldn't start thinking about it yet. There came a rap at the heavy door and she called `Come in.' A maid entered, a thin, swarthy woman in black with a white apron and a rather peculiar little white cap. She spoke in Portuguese, which Susan, in spite of several lessons with Dona Francesca, found difficult to understand. However, she caught the gist of it. In English she asked, 'You mean that the Visconde wishes to see me alone?' `Sim, senhora. Agora.' Susan took a deep breath. 'Very well. Will you show me the way?' Her heart jumping a little, she followed the woman out of the room and along a wide, crimson-carpeted corridor to the magnificent staircase she had mounted that afternoon. The servant led the way, through a door into a long sala where the many chairs and sofas were pink or green silk and one wall was a series of wide french doors to the terrace, and through another door at the end into a sitting room, which, in this place, might be considered small, though her mother's sitting room at Pellam would have fitted into this one about four times. The servant said something and withdrew. Susan drifted to a window and looked out upon a smooth emerald lawn where slender cypress trees and rounded magnolia and gardenia bushes were geometrically spaced and well kept. This must be the side of the Castelo. The front, she remembered, had a terrace and an ornamental stone wall with statuesque urns spilling smilax. It was strange, but one seldom thought about such people as the Visconde de Corte Ribeiro, who lived among splendour as if it were commonplace. The Castelo Carvo, Susan decided, had everything except life; the trouble with it was too much history. Why, even the walls of this room, which was obviously used a good deal, were grim with portraits of men in velvet with 6

slashed sleeves or women in decolleté silks with fluted combs in their masses of black hair and blobby jewels on their fingers. It must be awfully depressing to have to live with one's ancestors all the time. That man over the fireplace, for instance, was handsome but cold and cruellooking... She turned at a sound and confronted a somewhat younger edition of the same man. At least, the bone structure was the same and the colouring as dark, but as far as she could see there was no cruelty. Only a certain lean coldness. He was tall, wore a grey lounge suite of impeccable cut, and walked easily across the carpet. He bowed, smiling faintly. 'Miss Susan Day?' he asked in foreign tones. 'I am Eduardo de Corte Ribeiro.' `How do you do,' she managed, and had a sudden urge to fan the heat from her face. He wasn't unexpected, exactly; his leashed vitality and exceptional looks sort of... took the wind out of one's sails. 'You sent for me senhor?' `Yes, Miss Day. Please sit down.' She obeyed him mechanically, and at once wished she hadn't because he, it seemed, intended to remain standing and it put her at a disadvantage. With his back to the flower-filled fireplace, he addressed her in smooth, businesslike tones. 'I understand my sister is sleeping after the long journey. That is good, because I wish to comprehend many things before I speak with her. First of all I must apologise for my absence when you arrived. Had I been informed that you were coming I would have met you at the airport, of course.' `I'm sorry about that. Dona Francesca thought...' `Exactly. She wished for no fuss.' He paused. 'You are aware that I knew nothing of my sister's accident until I was told here of her husband's death?' `I gathered that. You see, the senhora didn't come to Pellam Manor until she was discharged by the hospital. By that time we naturally thought that all the business of informing nearest relatives and so on had been attended to. It was more than a month after the accident when Dona Francesca was transferred to us, and she wasn't communicative at any time. She was very sad.' 7

`Naturally. This Pellam Manor is '. . . what you call a house of convalescence?' `Yes, senhor. My mother is Matron there and my aunt runs the business side of things. The place is owned by a group of specialists in London who send certain of their patients there. When Dona Francesca was ready to leave hospital she had a horror of returning to her own flat at Hyde Park with a private nurse, and was recommended to come to us in the country.' `I am pleased about that.' He spoke as if his concurrence set the seal upon any action. 'I have been told that my sister was not seriously injured.' `Physically there were only bruises and nervous shock, I believe. But she was entirely apathetic and not at all willing to return to Portugal. I often asked if there were anyone she would like me to write to, but she always said no.' The Visconde was apparently a man who gave nothing away. Noncommittally, he said, 'There were reasons, Miss Day, which do not matter very much now. My sister is a widow and her place is here with me. I shall take the utmost care of her, and trust you will help me.' `That's why I'm here.' `True.' He studied her briefly and impersonally, was seemingly quite unmoved by sand-coloured silky hair, clear green' eyes and youthful pink cheeks. 'You have no father, Miss Day?' `He died a good many years ago. I hardly remember him. My mother had been a nurse, and she was offered a post as Sister at Pellam Manor. My aunt was already working there, and I lived in the village with a very nice couple and saw my mother quite often. When I was seventeen I was taken on as a nursing assistant, and since then I've had four, years' experience of convalescent nursing. I'm not a fully qualified nurse, but . . `That is not important. In her letter, my sister said that you had helped her considerably and that she would be happy to come to Barbazon so long as you could accompany her and stay here till she decides what to do with her life. I am most grateful that your mother permitted you to come, though I must confess that the attitude of English 8

women towards their daughters is puzzling. Needless to say, I will advise the senhora your mother of your safe arrival and thank her for releasing you.' The senhora her mother would be charmed, Susan thought. She smiled, and as usual the smile was made gay by curved red lips. 'Mother thought I was lucky to be the Chosen one. She felt I rated a change and a chance of seeing things. Also,' she added ingenuously, `I'm just twenty-one, and as I couldn't celebrate in any way and she was hurt about it . . . well, she was only too happy to get a temporary assistant to take my place. Mother says the year one comes of age should always be a year to remember.' `So? I remember very little of the time I myself came of age; it is eleven years away. However, other years bring other milestones. Miss Day, I would like you to tell me all you know about Dona Francesca.' To Susan, this sounded peculiar. Francesca Varoz was the Visconde's sister and she had been married only four years. Till her marriage at the age of twenty-six she had lived here at Barbazon with her brother. Surely they had kept in touch in some way? Surely . . . Her hesitation made him cool. 'Perhaps it will be best for you to answer questions, simply. Did my sister speak of her family?' `No, senhor. I didn't know she had a brother till she received a long telegram from you; she never did explain in anyanswerd way. By then she was able to write' herself, so she you.' `After which I wrote, begging her to come home to the Castelo.' This man hadn't begged; he couldn't. He had probably told his sister that this was her place and she'd better arrange to take it. 'That is so, senhor,' Susan replied politely. Still standing there with his hands behind him, he said, `Tell me, Miss Day — why did Dona Francesca not advise me of her intention to come at once to Barbazon?' `I really don't know. Your letter seemed to upset her a little and she was very quiet for a couple of days? Then, quite suddenly, she mentioned that it was nearly three months since the accident and she must stir herself. She said 9

you had invited her to stay with a nurse at Barbazon for the summer and that she would like to do so if I would accompany her as nurse-companion. At first it looked impossible, but,' with the infectious little smile, 'Dona Francesca can be very persuasive, and my mother did not really need much persuading. Fortunately, we were able to find someone to take my place at short notice, and a friend of ours managed to get my passport through within a few hours.' He nodded his arrogant head, and Susan noticed again the fascinating sleekness of the jet-black hair, the black lines of his brows. 'There was no suggestion of sending me a cable?' `I'm afraid not.' `You have known my sister for seven weeks, have you not?' `About that.' `How did she occupy herself at Pellam Manor?' He sounded analytical, probing, yet perhaps he had a right to probe. Susan gave a restrained English shrug. 'For a couple of weeks she spent most of her time in bed. It wasn't good for her, and we were most relieved when she consented to sit outside and take an occasional walk, but it was winter and we watched her carefully. For some reason she took to me . . `I can understand that,' he said coolly, objectively. `You can?' queried Susan, surprised. `You are young and no doubt you are charmingly talkative, your world was never Francesca's; you made her forget herself. I daresay,' with a faint smile, 'you were also indefatigable and willing, incorrigibly cheerful but never the disciplined nurse. She depended on you.' `Yes, she did. I had to read to her for an hour every night and she said it was the best hour of the day.' `Because you have a happy voice.' `Good heavens,' said Susan soberly. 'How did you know she said that?' `I guessed. Francesca was always receptive to a pleasing voice and an eager manner.' His shoulders lifted, rather abruptly. 'You are young, but I feel you must realise that it 10

is not good for her to depend on you indefinitely. Gradually, she must resume her old position here and take some interest in her own estate—the Quinta which was her husband's. As you would learn it sooner or later, I must tell you in confidence that Joachim Varoz changed very much after his marriage to Francesca. They were betrothed for two years and it would have been a good marriage if Joachim had not decided to take Francesca on a tour of the world before they settled at the Quinta. My sister is now in this house, but I have not seen her since she left us all on the day she married; the honeymoon was to have lasted six months, but it ended only on the day of the car crash which killed Joachim Varoz.' Susan's eyes shone, a little mistily. 'There's something rather wonderful about that, isn't there?' she said softly. `They must have been terribly in love.' She became aware, during the silence that followed, of icy displeasure in his dark eyes. She'd dropped an outsize brick, and unfortunately she hadn't the faintest notion of how to retrieve it. So she waited. He said finally, 'You have quaint ideas about love, Miss Day. To you, it seems, that is only one kind—the romantic. After marriage, life should be one long honeymoon, an evasion of reality. One owns a large house and estate, is responsible for the welfare of many people and owes a certain loyalty to one's own family and the family of one's wife. But wandering about the world, reminding oneself continually that life has become a honeymoon which must never end, ignoring one's duties, chasing ever more feverishly after sensations with which to nourish a flagging zest . . . this is beautiful and touching!' Susan fumed a little; the man was expanding her spontaneous remark into an argument. 'I didn't say any of those things, senhor. I merely remarked that they must have been very much in love.' `And I must respond that you know nothing about such things,' he returned decisively. `You're wrong,' she was stung to retort, though with a smile. 'I was in love the whole of last summer!' He received this with unflattering calm, an indifferent II

gesture. 'The young are for ever in love; it is a disease one grows out of. You will no doubt fall in love again this summer, Miss Day—here in Barbazon. I am sure that several of our young men will do their utmost to attract you. But it will not be the kind of love that makes a good marriage. That is quite different.' Because it was difficult to hold a debate with a man who assumed that he knew everything, Susan merely retained her smile and said, 'I shan't fall in love here, I'm sure of that. We were talking of Dona Francesca. Is there anything more I need to know?' He came to a richly-carved writing desk and stood behind it as if to weight his words with the utmost authority. 'I have been thinking about that. It is imperative that my sister should become self-dependent as soon as possible, and she cannot do so if you are continually at her command. You will be completely free each day from two o'clock until six or seven, and on Sundays you may do as you please. It is my intention that Dona Francesca shall take her place at the Quinta Rosa before the autumn. Naturally, I do not wish anyone but myself to tell her this— at the right time.' `I understand.' `Some He fingered a long gold paper-knife and said evenly, time you will meet Senhor Ruy Alvedo. He is an old friend of my sister and myself, and I am arranging that within a year or so he will marry Francesca.' This statement was so staggeringly cold-blooded that Susan could only stare at the man. His sister had been prostrate with shock and grief, she still wore unrelieved black for the man who had been her constant and dear companion for four years, yet this lean-faced, autocratic brother of hers was already choosing her a second husband! `You will not mention this to anyone else, of course,' he said suavely. 'I inform you of it because at the moment you are my sister's nurse, and you may be able to help the project.' Susan found her speech, rather precipitately. 'I wouldn't dream of helping anything so . . . so utterly heartless! During the past few weeks I've become fond of Dona 12

Francesca and I've realised a little how she feels. She was cut off from her family because they didn't approve of her husband's urge to wander. She had no one but him. And then he died and there was no one at all. She came back here because she felt it was right to take up the threads of her previous life . . `And we will assist her,' he broke in calmly. 'I must remind you, Miss Day, that the affairs of the Corte Ribeiros are in my hands. I will accept your co-operation, but I will not tolerate interference.' Susan was on her feet. 'I'll co-operate in anything that is for Dona Francesca's happiness, but I'm pretty sure that even the contemplation of a second marriage will be beyond her for a long time to come. She was in love with Senhor Varoz!' He had withdrawn and become icily polite; he bowed dismissively. 'I trust your stay at Barbazon will be most happy and instructive, Miss Day.' He opened the door. 'If you should wish to consult me upon any matter please do so. We shall meet at dinner.' Susan found herself marching across the splendid sala and into the hall. By the time she reached her bedroom she was breathing heavily and wondering if she were letting out smoke. That was how she felt; like a smouldering fire that might burst into flame at the slightest draught. Phew, what a man! Had he been stuffy, as she had expected, she could have accepted his suggestion of a new marriage for Dona Francesca with nonchalance. But the Visconde was anything but stuffy. Eagle-eyed, darkhaired, vital and tall, he had looked more ruthless than anything else. And he had meant every word he said; he really did intend to force his sister into another marriage within a year or two. First she was to become an independent mistress of her own quinta, and thereafter she was to be wooed by some creature named Ruy Alvedo. It was as simple as that—for the Visconde de Corte Ribeiro! `Susan! You are there?' She crossed to the door which led into the next room and opened it, smiled cheerfully as she walked towards a bed which was even larger and more ornate than her own. 13

`Hallo, Dona Francesca. Did you have a good sleep?' `Not very good. I think I must have a bath and dress now.' The senhora paused, assumed the mask Susan knew rather well, and asked, 'Do you know if my brother has returned with his guests?' `I haven't met any guests, but I've just been down to see the Senhor Visconde. `So? He welcomed you, no doubt?' You could call it that, Susan supposed. She nodded. `I'll draw water for your bath. Lilac essence today?' A pale smile. 'How well you know my moods. Yes, lilac. Susan...' `Yes, senhora.' `I would like you to promise me that you will regard me as your employer—no one else. We are friends, of course, but you are also in my employ and your instructions will come only from me.' `Naturally.' The reply satisfied Dona Francesca. When the Portuguese woman said, 'We are friends,' what she really meant was, 'I am friendlily disposed towards you.' There was a subtle difference, but Susan' didn't mind. At Barbazon she would receive a good salary and she was determined to give good value. After all, here Dona Francesca was a Corte Ribeiro, and if she felt her position as the Visconde's sister so much the better. Anything which ousted some of the grief was good. And it didn't matter a bit that she was disposed to regard Susan as an agreeable and educated maid rather than as a nurse. In Susan's view, it was a change if nothing else. She helped the slim, olive-skinned senhora into a robe, placed her silk slippers and tested the bath water. 'You hadn't better take too long,' she said. 'I'll massage your neck before you dress.' By seven-thirty, Dona Francesca was sallow but beautiful in a black brocade dress which was high at the neck and long-sleeved. Her only jewellery was a short row of diamonds in the curved comb which ornamented her heavy and glistening black chignon. Her gold wedding ring was stark and heavy on her narrow white hand. '

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Her head poised high, she said, 'I will go down at once and perhaps secure half an hour alone with my brother. Here we dine at eight-thirty, and guests descend at eight. Perhaps you will come down to the sala when you are ready —let us say at five minutes past eight. I will be there.' `Very well, senhora.' `And, please, wear something dark. The white or a pale linen dress is good for the daytime, but in the evening you should appear in a dress which is dark and inconspicuous. I am sorry we did not have time to attend to such things in England, but you may order what you need in Barbazon or even in Lisbon.' `I'll see to it, senhora.' A gracious nod. 'You were so helpful on the journey, and I have not thanked you. Neither did I remember to give you a little parcel from your good friend, the doctor. He asked me to hand it to you as the plane left and I slipped it into the pocket of my travelling bag. Will you find it yourself?' `Thank you, yes.' `Good. I will see you in the sala.' Once more Susan tidied the senhora's room. A maid came in to turn down the bed and lay out a white silk nightdress, to rinse the bath and hang up fresh towels. She looked a little wooden, but Susan felt she might have been friendly if one could speak to her in Portuguese. They exchanged smiles, the maid went into Susan's room and performed the ritual. Susan found Paul's parcel. It felt like a book, or perhaps two books, and she decided to leave it on her bedside table and open it before bed. It would be good to think of him then, but not too seriously; it was too soon—in fact only four days since he had hinted at marriage. Paul was a dear, but . . . marriage? He was rugged and companionable, tweedy and a good G.P., he liked dogs and horses, growing sweet peas and sitting beside the fire with a magazine and his pipe. The sort of man it would be good to be married to— about eight or ten years hence. Somehow, through studying and struggling to get established, Paul had missed out on youth. And Susan, like any other girl of twenty-one, was 15

in the full flush ofit, and she was at last managing to get out and among strange and interesting people. Perhaps in two or three months she would have had enough of it and be thankful to sink back into the small English town; she didn't know, and certainly was not going to think about it on her first day in Barbazon! She took a bath and put on a navy ribbed silk dress which had an erect white collar and was narrowly cut. The sand-silk hair she brushed back into soft waves which left her forehead and temples bare and delicate-looking. Her shoes were plain navy suede, and altogether she presented a young, cared-for but very discreet exterior. It ought to satisfy both Dona Francesca and her high-and-mighty brother, Susan thought flippantly. Promptly at eight she trod the thickly-carpeted corridor and went down the baroque staircase. From the foot of it she saw that the double doors of the sala were wide open, revealing a number of guests who were all wearing dark clothes. There was only one fair head among them, and it belonged to a man who was too far away to be assessed. Dona Francesca glided away from the group with whom she had been standing. There was a bright coin of colour high on each cheekbone and she took care to keep her glance averted as she met Susan in the doorway. To Susan's practised eye she looked excited, but it was difficult to see whether it was pleased excitement or inward flurry. Her tones Were as quiet and measured as usual. `Come, I will make the introductions. As it happens, I have known nearly all these people since my childhood, so naturally I remember the names of the newcomers. First ' she turned to a seated middle-aged woman `. Senhora Goncalves, may I present Miss Day, my nurse-companion. And now Senhor . . . and Dom Pedro . . . and Senhora Texeira . . . Senhorita Texeira . . . Dona Maria Senhor Romeiro . . They were difficult names and after about a dozen of them Dana Francesca gave up. She merely said, 'My companion from England,' to anyone who happened to appear interested. Susan found herself left with a rather awkwardlooking young couple for no other reason than that they 16

knew a little English. She drank sherry, smiled politely and wondered if all these people slept here—perhaps in the other huge wing of the Castelo—till she discovered that only about a dozen of them were house guests from distant places; the rest lived in Barbazon or in one of the neighbouring coastal towns. For someone strange to the language and people, the evening promised to be tedious. The Visconde sought Susan out for a condescending moment and made sure that she knew her immediate- companions, and then he moved away, from group to group, sniffing and chatting with a charm she could hardly credit. Was he one of those dual personalities—aloof and cold and supercilious, but also warmly charming and interested in others? Or was the charm an exaggeration of the normal Portuguese courtesy, which covered a rather sinister and frightening character? If she had first met him in his present magnetic mood would she have liked him better? Oh, lord, she thought with a sigh for her own inexperience, as if it mattered! Dinner, served promptly at eight-thirty, was a fabulous god-meal. humre Ten courses, many wines, and constant conversation mainly in Portuguese, and all under the glitter of chandeliers which hung from a rococo ceiling. It was after ten when the Visconde gave his sister the faint nod which meant that she was to stand and lead the women back into the main sala. As soon as she could, Susan made her way to Dona Francesca's side. Softly she said, 'It's your bedtime, senhora. Shall we go now?' Dona Francesca turned her flushed face towards Susan. `Yes,' she said jerkily, 'perhaps I should go, but I must first say goodnight to Dona Elena. Come with me, Susan.' Dona Francesca was walking badly, as she did when overtired, but she kept her calm and slightly disdainful smile as she went ahead of Susan to where a small, erect old lady sat in state in one of the high-backed gold 'chairs. A valiant aristocrat, was Dona Elena. Stiff black silk covered her from her crepe-skinned neck to the pointed toes of fine black shoes, and her white hair was a monumental work of art that was cleverly half-covered by a black lace mantilla. 17

Her features, patrician as Dona Francesca's, were ivorytextured. Her eyes were an indomitable black, but for the Visconde's sister they looked kind. Susan, who always got on well with old people, found herself a little wary of this ageing member of Castelo society. She half-curtsied, smiled and waited while Dona Francesca said a somewhat protracted goodnight. The two women were talking in Portuguese, and once the older senhora shot a penetrating, bird-like glance at the fair English girl. Then, in odd, nasal tones., Dona Elena addressed. Susan in English. 'I was once in England, you know. I have much admiration for the English education system and I would like to talk to you about it. When you have helped Dona Francesca, I would like you to return here and speak with me.' Susan hesitated, and Dona Francesca said quickly, 'Of course you must come down and spend a few minutes with Dona Elena!' `Very well, senhora.' Susan couldn't imagine herself discussing the English educational system with anyone, let alone with that formidable little poker in black, but it would never have occurred to her to disobey so trifling a command. She murmured that she would be delighted, slipped a hand under Dona Francesca's elbow and led her from the sala. They had reached the foot of the staircase when the Visconde appeared, looking a little concerned. In English he asked, 'It has been too much for you, Francesca? You are too weary to climb to your room?' Tut no,' she answered. 'I have Susan. Everything is well.' Eduardo hesitated only a second. Then, easily, he slipped an arm about his sister's back, deftly and decorously slipped the other under her skirt at the knees and lifted• her. He carried her upstairs as if she were featherweight, Susan hastened ahead to open the bedroom door, and he lowered his burden on to the side of the great bed. Francesca 'sat very still, with head lowered. 'Thank you,' she whispered. 'Boa noite, Eduardo.' 18

He touched her shoulder lightly. 'You must rest a great deal, minha cara. No worries, only peace. Boa noite.' He gave Susan a casually polite nod and went from the room. Just slightly, Dona Francesca sagged. 'It has been somewhat . . . overwhelming, Susan. Coming home is both lovely and ... and alarming. I am not sure that I can bear it.' `You'll feel differently in the morning,' Susan soothed her, as she removed her shoes and unzipped the black brocade. 'You've had a wearing day and should really have spent a quiet evening up here. I'll give you a sedative.' `Please, yes.' Dona Francesca permitted Susan to peel off her dress and underwear, to drop the nightdress over her head. 'I was so conscious of their feelings towards me— pity, relief. They were so careful to show nothing—as if I had left Barbazon ofily last month. . . `Don't think about it, senhora; they did what they thought was best. We'll bathe your face and hands in cold water and you'll go straight to bed. It's beautifully cool now, and there's such a marvellous scent from the garden. Wha t is it?' `Magnolias. Their scent is always strong at this time of the year. This is my old room, you know; your room was a guestroom for my favourite cousin, Rosalia.' For the five minutes it took to get her into bed, Dona Francesca talked to Susan as she had never talked before, but only about her girlhood. She sounded lightheaded and there was a feverish weariness in her eyes. Susan was relieved when she had swallowed the capsule, though for a minute or two afterwards the senhora roused completely. She looked up at Susan from her pillow. `you will go down to Dona Elena?' she asked. `Yes, of course,' with a smile, 'but I can't guarantee to know much about the inside working of the English educational system!' `What you know will be enough. Dona Elena has great faith in education as a solution to problems, and she prefers English methods to all others. She has a granddaughter and two grandsons in her charge and is determined that they shall grow up to be both intellectual and wise ... the boys, 1

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at least. If she asks a favour of you—such as an afternoon visit to her house to meet her grandchildren—you must accept.' `Very well, senhora.' `Indeed,' Dona Francesca added earnestly, 'whatever she wants of you, please assure her of your co-operation. I have your promise?' `Well, yes, but . . `I am glad.' The glaze of weariness slid back into the dark eyes. 'Dona Elena is an esteemed relative of my family; she is now the oldest member of it, and if she . . . Dona Francesca shrugged and closed her eyes. Susan watched her thin, distinguished features for a moment before she switched off the bedside light and went quietly from the room. With youthful haste, she ran down the staircase and arrived at the hall. She paused to regain her breath and walked sedately into the long sala. The crowd had thinned, or perhaps spread out into the terrace, but old Dona Elena remained enthroned, a haughty little figure between two satellites. With a wave of the hand she dismissed these two elderly women and at the same time indicated that Susan was to take the chair on the left. `Francesca looks most unwell,' she pronounced. 'You must see that she recovers completely from that blessing in disguise, the car accident!' So the old lady was another who had despised poor Joachim Varoz. From the sheer-necessity of opposing these Corte Ribeiros, Susan felt obliged to defend the man, but she did it silently and inwardly. Aloud she said, 'It has been a full day for the senhora. It's rather unfortunate that there should be house guests and a party this evening, but a couple of days' rest will work wonders.' `We will hope so.' Dona Elena's tiny, claw-like hands were clasped over the fan which lay in her lap. 'How were you educated, Miss Day?' `At a high school in Buckinghamshire.' `After which you trained in convalescent nursing?' `Well ... yes. But it was private training at Pellam ,

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Manor.' `You will eventually, of course, wish to marry a man in one of the professions, will you not?' `I haven't thought about it, senhora.' Small but heavy eyelids dropped momentarily over the bird-like eyes. 'No? Perhaps that is good. Perhaps we at Barbazon may direct your thoughts on the subject. You interest me.' Oddly, this didn't ring quite true. Dona Elena was almost certainly in her seventies, a shrewd old woman and surprisingly up-to-date in her outlook. Why in the world should she be suddenly interested in a young and ordinary nurse-companion from England? Politely but cautiously, Susan replied, `Thank you, senkora, but I'm afraid I shall disappoint you.' The old lady gave her a sharp look, which softened as she realised there was no guile behind the statement. She leaned back, expansively. 'I can help you a little, I think. Almost certainly you have no English friends in Portugal?' `None at all.' `Well, I have a surprise for you. There was a young Englishman here for cocktails this evening who wishes very much to meet you. His name is Rex Stratton and he is the tutor of my two grandsons. I believe you were not even introduced?' `The fair young man?' Susan asked. 'I saw him when I came in, but he disappeared.' A deep shrug of the small shoulders. 'That is so. My grandsons were invited to the Castelo for tennis and he accompanied them. He stayed on for cocktails.' A smooth pause. 'I think you and Mr Stratton would like each other. Perhaps you will come to my house for tea tomorrow afternoon; we will have English tea expressly for you and Mr Stratton.' `It's most kind of you, senhora . . `No excuses,' she said, with a peremptory smile. 'I already have permission from Dona Francesca to invite you whenever I wish. You English are accustomed to introducing yourselves to each other, I believe.' She needed no reply, apparently, for she went on, 'I will instruct Mr 21

Stratton to call for you at four o'clock tomorrow afternoon and he will drive you to the Villa Aurora.' `Instruct?' The old senhora's smile was sharp again. 'Do I use the wrong word? I should have said ask, ha? I will ask him, and I assure you he will be overjoyed to consent. I feel it will be good for you both to have an English friend in Barbazon.' Susan made the appropriate response and waited for questions about education. But it seemed the senhora had little more to say about anything at all. She put a courteous question or two about the journey from England, mentioned that Dom Eduardo and Dona Francesca were her favourites in the family and finished by reiterating that a certain car accident was a cause for gratitude. Then she clapped her small ivory hands once, to summon a middleaged, long-suffering companion, and with a brief smile said a dismissive goodnight to Susan. The session was over. A little dreamily, Susan walked on to the terrace. Except for a group of men at the far end there was no one about, and she paused there for a few minutes, absorbing the scents and the sparkling clarity of the air. This was the first time she had been outdoors since arriving, and she knew a swift compulsion to walk down there between the formal flower beds and clipped shrubs to where the fountain sprayed diamonds into a mosaic-lined pool. The long day and the night air drew a yawn which, involuntarily, she stifled. She heard a sound and swung about, met the dark and brilliant glance of Eduardo de Corte Ribeiro. `You should explore no further in the darkness, Miss Day,' he said in his cool, alien tones. 'Familiarise yourself first in daylight. In any case, you must be tired tonight.' `Yes, a little.' `I will not keep you long. My sister sleeps?' `Yes, Senhor Visconde.' `So . but in her mind she is not tranquil.' Susan hesitated, decided that as Dona Francesca's employee she had a right to speak, and said, 'Outwardly, the atmosphere here is a blend of warmth and peace, but for Dona Francesca there's a . . . a kind of turbulence under 22

the surface. It takes time to recover from grief . . time and sympathy and love. May I be quite frank, senhor?' `This that you have just said was not frankness?' he asked drily. Susan went a little pink. 'You did mention that you wanted me to help your sister!' `But of course. Please be as frank as you wish, Miss Day.' His voice, cool and tolerant, implied an amenableness which was out of character; never let it be said that the Visconde de Corte Ribeiro was unwilling to consider the opinion of another! Hollow laughter, thought Susan. But she tried. She lifted her head and gave him a direct look. `Senhor, I've been here with Dona Francesca only a few hours, but already both you and the oldest member of your family, Dona Elena, have implied that the accident which deprived your sister of her husband was a blessing. From your viewpoint it may be true, and perhaps in the long run it may be true for Dona Francesca. But at the moment her loss is too fresh. As she was preparing for bed she told me she felt everyone's relief that she had returned here as a widow.' His expression did not change. 'At the moment she is sensitive to such things, so much so that she imagines much. I can assure you that neither I nor anyone else has spoken one syllable to her about Joachim Varoz.' `Silence on a subject can be eloquent,' she said. 'I think it might have been kinder to mention him. It's quite likely that Dona Francesca loved him more than she would have loved a man of integrity.' His dark eyes flashed suddenly in the silvery light from the fountain. 'That is a strange remark, Miss Day — strange and very youthful. What is lovable about the weak?' `I don't know, but . . . but often they're more appealing. Even of strong men you find yourself remembering the weak side first. It's a toss-up whether the name of Nelson reminds you of Trafalgar or, of his blind eye and Lady Hamilton, and . . He lifted a hand. 'Me, he would remind of his naval exploits; the rest was incidental.' He paused. 'Is it possible ,

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that you were attracted to someone unworthy in England?' `Unworthy?' she said, startled. He flicked an impatient finger. 'This man you loved last summer.' `Oh . . . oh, Paul.' She laughed briefly. 'He's very worthy —a rugged doctor, conscientious and upright—quite old, as a matter of fact, but such a dear. I've known him for several years, but he didn't really notice me till last spring. He was too busy.' `Too busy for love?' He sounded disinterested but cynical. 'How old is he?' `Turned thirty.' `That is almost senile, of course. If he is so old and has no weaknesses, you must look elsewhere, no?' Susan hadn't meant that Paul was old in years, only that he had aged while' still young, but she couldn't go into details with the Visconde; the man hadn't any close interest in Miss Day and her affairs. She moved away from the fountain, towards the Castelo, found that he was automatically walking at her side. `I'm afraid there's something about me that you don't approve of, senhor,' she said. 'I'M sorry.' `It is your outlook only, Miss Day,' he said with a cool smile. 'It is good to find that you are fiercely loyal to my sister, and perhaps in time we may dilute that loyalty with common sense. Your private opinions are not, of course, our concern, but for your own good it would be as well that you have less sympathy for the weak in character. Keep firmly in mind that here at Barbazon we have plans for Dona Francesca, and that nothing will be permitted to obstruct them.' They were now at the entrance to the Castelo and he bowed, with lethal charm. 'Boa noite, Miss Day. I trust you will sleep well on your first night with us.' She murmured a reply and moved into the hall. Behind her, she heard someone greet the Visconde, his smooth and smiling reply, a discreet peal of feminine laughter. Instinctively, Susan knew that almost every woman who met him was trapped, if only temporarily, by her own unconscious response to his vitality and magnetism. There should be a law against men like that, she told herself crossly as she 24

went up the stairs; they were a menace. In her bedroom she resolutely put him from her mind. She listened at the communicating door, heard nothing and began to undress. The room being strange, it took her longer than usual to get into her pyjamas, and by the time she was ready to slide between the rosemary-scented sheets she had come wide awake. So she sat on the bed, drew up her knees and opened Paul Terrant's parcel, As she had guessed there were two books, one a small anthology of poems and the other a tooled leather diary which gave two pages for each day of the year. There was a note in Paul's regular hand, just a paragraph wishing her a happy time at Barbazon and asking that she write up the diary—for him to read when she returned to England. It wasn't a love-letter, but even the prosaic few lines breathed Paul's warmth and understanding. Perhaps, when her time at Barbazon was over, he would be just wonderful to go back to. Susan hoped so. She put the books on the bedside table, hugged her knees and stared at the mural between the windows, stared through it as her mind zigzagged over the events of this most unusual day. And then, almost unconsciously, she became aware of the envelope propped against the vast inkstand on the writing table below the mural. She went over and picked it up, saw that only her name was written upon it, in round, non-committal letters; the envelope must have been placed there by a servant. Susan slit it, drew out a single sheet of ordinary white paper and read: 'I beg you to leave Barbazon. If you stay, two people will be made most unhappy. Please go.' For a long moment she stood there, stunned. Then she walked on to the dark balcony and leaned against the wall, breathing deeply of the night air and wondering what in the world those words could mean and who had penned them. Obviously, the writing had been painstakingly disguised, but there the words were, in good, economical English and to the point. No servant had written them, and neither had she met anyone since her arrival who might feel antagonistic towards her. The Visconde, old Dona Elena, Dona Francesca . . . there was no one else except the earn25

est couple with whom she had tried to converse in the sala, and they hadn't been capable of putting more than three English words together. Was it a hoax of some sort? If so, it was both cruel and a bit frightening. Yet somehow its very brevity gave it a semblance of sincerity. But how could the presence of Susan Day in Barbazon constitute a danger to anyone else? How could she possibly make unhappy a couple of people she hadn't even met? No. The writer had striven for the sincere effect and achieved it. The thing was either a joke, or . . . Susan crumpled the letter. She would ignore it but not destroy it. Perhaps in a day or two, when Dona Francesca had recovered from the journey, she would show it to the senhora and discuss it. Or maybe by morning's light the whole thing would look absurd and negligible. It was strange, though, and very unsettling. So unsettling that Susan could not, for some time, force herself back into bed. She stood in the star-spangled darkness looking down over the formal gardens and ,inhaling the scent of magnolias. Eventually the lights on the lower floor went out and all was quiet. She heard the sea, the rustling of carob and bauhinia leaves, the sleepy twitter of a small bird, the sharp drone of crickets. And along with the magnolias she smelled cigar smoke. Involuntarily, she leaned forward to glimpse the man who strolled across the lawn, drew back as he twisted and came back. His face, sallow, angled and distinctly handsome, was lifted slightly as if he were contemplating something familiar and satisfactory. His domain, the Castelo Carvo. Susan waited till a door closed below; then she slipped back into the room and fastened the balcony door. She pushed the unsigned letter into a drawer of the writing table, got into bed and snapped off the light. She lay staring up at the ceiling, conscious of quick and heavy heartbeats. Perhaps she should heed the letter, make some excuse to Dona Francesca and hurry back to England. But was it right to allow oneself to be intimidated by someone who hadn't the courage to come out into the open? After all, the implications in those few word might 26

be a blind for something else. It was really quite a childish idea, trying to scare off someone with the accusation that one's continued presence would cause unhappiness to others. No, there was something more to it than the surface meaning, and Susan, suddenly militant, decided that some time she would find out what it was. For ten minutes her thoughts milled uselessly; then she went suddenly sleepy and the letter receded, leaving only the disquieting knowledge that whatever happened, she simply had to wring the last drop of excitement and experience from her stay at Barbazon.

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CHAPTER TWO NEXT morning, of course, everything looked different. The sun shone in a sapphire sky, the trees glistened, flowers rioted and a breeze teased at the balcony curtain and carried a faint tang of the sea. The maid who brought the morning coffee and rolls answered Susan's halting questions. Yes, she had brought up the letter last evening; she knohad found it on the silver tray in the hall. No, she didn't w who had brought it and thought one of the guests must have put it there. There was no one in the Castelo who spoke or wrote English, except the Senhor Visconde and Dona Francesca. Susan smiled her thanks and while drinking the rich coffee and eating the crisp brown rolls with butter and honey, she felt it was treachery to think about anything as base as an anonymous letter on such a morning. Actually, she found it quite easy to forget the whole thing. Dona Francesca was not so well as yesterday; and she agreed to stay in bed till lunchtime. She looked white and tired and wanted to see no one. Susan persuaded her to drink orange juice and then left her alone in the darkened room. She wrote a quick note to her mother and put it with the pile of outgoing mail which lay on the top of a dazzling buhl cabinet in the hall, and went out into the sunshine. Inquisitively, she walked along the terrace, examining the beautiful floor tiling and the frieze of azulejos on the wall. She had heard about azulejos, but never imagined them so colourful and so much part of an ancient building. These at the Castelo Carvo were fairly large, their colouring dark blue and plum-red on an off-white ground, and they depicted flowers and trees, fields and windmills with canvas sails, men in armour and champing horses. Above and below the line of tiles the walls were scrolled and bulbous with small figures which curved round doorways 28 .

and climbed alongside the windows. Each french door, she noticed, was decorated above by part of the Corte Ribeiro coat-of-arms. She speculated, fascinatedly, about the family who had so much to live up to. A footman came along the terrace and bade her a polite, 'Bom dia, minha menina.' She stopped him. 'How do I get to the sea?' she asked. When he looked blank she added carefully, Mar? Oceano?' He bowed and 'gestured, said something and smiled. Susan nodded her thanks, went down into the garden and took the path he had indicated. She took a right-angled turn between bush palms, and there it was; the sea, bluer than the sky and white-frilled where it lapped a pale gold beach which was singularly_empty and clear of stones and seaweeds. To the left, the beach ended in a rocky promontory which petered out in the sea. It was as she reached the top of the promontory that Susan realised the beach behind her was private to the Castelo, and that the one she saw in front of her was the true beach of Barbazon. It was a half-moon curve of sand almost covered with fishing craft, some of them sail-rigged and others rowing boats with unusually high prows. Men were mending spread nets, boys unloaded gear from the boats, and a team of oxen stood by, ready to draw other vessels from the sea. At the back of the beach women were packing fish, swinging the over-loaded baskets up on to their heads and striding away over the cobbled waterfront towards the shops and market. The buildings over there looked small and quiet, and in front of one of them the inevitable fountain sparkled dimly in the sunshine. It was a scene to grip at the heart, and Susan might have found herself becoming sentimental had she not possessed an appreciation of the con*. For nearest to her, and therefore the last to be noticed, was the piece de resistance. A man in red and black check trousers and a faded blue shirt lay sleeping with his head and shoulders on an enormous brown pillow which, on further inspection proved to be the comatose hulk of an ox! Susan threw back her head and laughed. `That certainly breaks the ice,' said a light, friendly voice 29

from nearby. 'Am I right in supposing you're English?' Susan turned her head quickly and rested an eager glance on the young man who sat astride a rock in navy canvas trousers. His shirt was a startling white and so were the teeth which showed in the smiling pink-tan face. He was golden-fair, hazel-eyed and carefully rakish-looking, an Englishman taking, with reservations, to the customs of the peasantry. He looked about twenty-six or seven, was strikingly pleasant in appearance without being handsome, and there was something in those greeny-brown eyes which made him interesting. At least, Susan was interested; but then people had only to look as if they needed something for Susan to be caught up in their lives. `Yes, I'm English,' she said. 'I thought I was quite alone among these rocks.' `So did I.' He grimaced. 'I was collecting shell specimens and anemones in a bucket. It's a smelly job.' `But some of the shells are beautiful. I intend to collect some myself ' `Holiday-maker?' `Part-time. I'm staying at the Castelo Carvo. Does that shake you?' He grinned, flung his leg over the rock and balanced himself on one that was nearer to Susan. 'Not deeply. I know too much about that joint.' He stopped, stared and let out a long whistle. 'You're Susan Day—you must be. I'm fetching you for tea at the Villa Aurora this afternoon.' `And you're the fair man who came for cocktails. Rex something.' `Stratton.' He offfered a slender brown hand. 'How do you do.' They laughed together. Susan nodded at the bucket he had left behind. 'Are you a spare-time naturalist?' `Lord, no. I give a lesson on this stuff once in a blue moon, and I have to have specimens. My pupils aren't allowed on the beach except for a quick bathe every evening.' `Dona Elena's grandsons? How old are they?' `Twelve and fifteen. Not bad kids, but you can't get into 30

their minds. They were brought up in the Portuguese fashion, so they're Victorian in some ways. You can't jolt 'em.' `Do' you often feel you want to?' `Several times a clay.' He sighed. `It's taken me eighteen months to discover that I wasn't cut out to teach in a private family.' `What are you going to do about it?' He smiled resignedly. `Stick it for another six months; I have to, or forfeit a chunk of salary.' `What did you do before you came to Portugal?' `I taught in a preparatory school. I was longing to change jobs when this post turned up, and I thought it might be a good idea to see the country at someone else's, expense. Actually, I'm quite a good teacher.' `You must be, or Dona Elena would have sent you packing long ago!' `So you've weighed up the old girl? What did you make of her?' `She's autocratic, fond of arranging other people's lives and is fairly heartless. She sounded quite keen for you and me to know each other.' `She is. She told me this morning that you were the prettiest girl she had seen in Barbazon.' `Good heavens! That sounds suspicious.' He smiled. `I like your modesty, though I have to admit that Dona Elena's compliments are always suspect. She's a wily old bird, but sometimes horribly transparent. Like this time `This time?' Susan's eyes widened enquiringly. `Transparent?' `I'm afraid so.' He let out a gusty, youthful sigh. Tye had some stack-ups with the old so-and-so and been on the point of clearing out. But she's always stopped short of anything catastrophic—chiefly because I'm the fifth tutor she's tried, and I do happen to be able to teach her grandsons to her satisfaction.' `But why do you quarrel with her? If she's satisfied with you, surely she allows you to behave as you like?' For a fleeting moment he looked sombre, ran one hand down the back of his neck. `If you're staying some time I'll 31

probably get round to telling you all about it. You don't know how refreshing it is to meet a girl who isn't watched by sharp black eyes, and speaks my own lingo.' `Haven't you had a holiday since you came?' `I purposely didn't take it—had a reason for staying.' He smiled off his evasiveness. 'What about you, Susan Day? How do you like living in a mediaeval castle?' `I'll answer that one in about a month.' She looked earnest. 'You can probably help me a bit. How does one treat these people? I mean, am I one of the lower orders, or . . `Gosh, no. In rich Portuguese circles the English governess or tutor or what-have-you is accepted as one of the family. I have my meals with Dona Elena and the others, and in my leisure hours I can use the library and sitting rooms like anyone else. I don't have to ask permission for anything . . .' he Lifted his shoulders rueful y, 'except where girls are concerned. That doesn't apply to you, of course, though your surroundings are rather different from mine. I always find the Visconde a bit crushing.' `You, too?' She laughed. 'I wonder if it's usual for people like you and me to have a sort of armed truce with these Corte Ribeiros? I must say that I'm rather glad that I'm here only for the summer. If I were a fixture I'd have to approach the whole thing differently; one must have friends. What do you do for companionship?' `I know a couple of English families along the coast, and there are Portuguese people I visit.' Tut you're not allowed to become friendly with the daughters?' she asked mischievously. He shrugged, and made no direct answer. 'You know something? You and I may become very glad of each other. Dona Elena wants us to be friendly and even the exalted Dom Eduardo can have no objection to two young English people forming a bond. You look sweet and breezy, as if you could be friendly without expecting too much of a man. I'm just an ordinary sort of guy, and I've been missing the type of companionship you get from English girls. What do you say?' Susan held out her hand. 'Shake on it. I'm very glad I've 32

met you this morning; now I shan't be too worried about this afternoon.' `You'll get by easily.' He looked at his watch and bent to pick up the small bucket of anemones and shellfish. 'My first lesson this morning is at ten. Afraid I'll have to push off.' `You go up the rocks to the headland?' `Yes, it's quicker. Like to come?' `A little way.' There was something Susan wanted to ask him, but because he was English it might be politic to arrive at the point circuitously. 'Do you often come to the Castelo?' `About once a fortnight. I bring the two boys after lunch, have a swim or play tennis and go home around six.' `You play tennis just with the boys?' `Sometimes, but Eduardo is a keen player and he likes to partner the younger boy while I parfner the other. He always wins, but the boys improve tremendously when he coaches them.' She said carelessly, 'He's something I haven't met before —the Visconde. Part modern, part Middle Ages.' Rex gave her a hand to help her over the final bump of rock and on to the grass. 'He's all man, anyway,' he said in jaded tones. 'And he has everything—wealth, position, physique, looks . . . and a lovely fiancée into the bargain.' Susan stopped in her tracks, rather suddenly, her question answered before she had asked it. 'He's engaged? I didn't know that.' `She's the daughter of another ancient family, in Oporto. Quite something, I believe, though I've never seen her. The families are distantly connected.' `How . . . how odd. Somehow he didn't strike me as the sort of man to marry at all. Too self-sufficient, and . . . and cold.' Rex smiled. 'He's bound to be a Latin in love . . . and they're not cold! He goes to Oporto sometimes, and this cousin visits the Visconde's estate near Coimbra. She hasn't been here to Barbazon for several years.' `Cousin?' For some reason Susan shivered slightly. 'Do you know her name?' 33

`Let me see.' He pondered. 'The family are Valentes, I think, and the daughter's name is Rosalia.' He paused and added despondently, 'Pretty name, isn't it? The girls here do have pretty names. Well, I'll have to slide off. I'll come for you early this afternoon and we'll drive a bit before going to the Villa Aurora. All right?' `Fine. Goodbye.' Susan turned from him and walked back towards the belt of bushy palms which edged the Castelo grounds. She walked quickly, a smudge of uneasiness across her normally lively mind. The Castelo beach was not visible, but she guessed that the male guests were gathering there, taking a plunge before the womenfolk and mid-morning refreshments arrived. As she found her way back along the shady walk, it occurred to her that Rex Stratton was the obvious person to confide in. He might have some advice to offer about that anonymous letter; about other things, too. She met two dark women strolling under a sunshade, returned their pleasant 'Born dia!' and walked on. There was a heavy man in flannels and white shirt, loping down a side path to keep in trim, and an oldish couple seated on one of the ornate white benches under a tree. The house guests had apparently stirred themselves to enjoy another idle day. In the hall she heard someone ask for Dom Eduardo, and she made an effort to translate for herself the manservant's reply. The Visconde, apparently, was accustomed to spending three hours every morning on estate business. He would be free at eleven-thirty. Bother the Visconde! But in her room Susan felt it again, that faint weight of depression. Then, very deliberately, she opened Paul's diary at yesterday's pages, took it on to the balcony and sat down to write. Afternoon, in the Castelo, was very quiet. Guests retired to their bedrooms for siesta, servants apparently did the same, except for one or two who took a turn on duty, and even the birds which haunted the trees outside were suitably hushed. Luncheon had been served al fresco, in the terrace and the gardens, but Susan had taken hers with Dona Francesca on 34

the senhora's balcony. Definitely, Dona Francesca was not yet well enough to mingle with people who knew so much about her. She sat listlessly in a long chair, ate almost nothing and was very willing to'return to her bed. Susan changed into a patterned grey and turquoise dress, combed up the silky, sand-coloured hair and used powder and lipstick. When she was ready it was only three o'clock, but she decided to creep downstairs and read for a while on the terrace. She was gathering her purse and a book when Dona Francesca called her name. Swiftly she went into the other bedroom and bent over the pallid senhora. `Are you too hot, Dona Francesca?' `No. I have just remembered something. Did I tell you last night that you must do your best to please Dona Elena?' `Yes, you told me.' The senhora nodded faintly. 'There is a good reason why I mention this. It is very necessary that we should not upset Dona Elena in any way, and by obeying her you will be helping to smooth matters for me. It is not necessary for me to explain these things to you . . `I quite understand. I'll be back early.' `You must not come till Doria Elena releases you. She is rigidly conventional—not like you English.' Susan smiled. 'I've learned a good deal about Portuguese conventions from you, Dona Francesca. I'll be a model guest at the Villa Aurora.' `Good. I think I shall want you to read to me tonight.' `Very well. Is there anything you'd like now?' Before the senhora could answer there came a tap at the door and it opened. The Visconde came in quietly, a solicitous smile on his lips. He nodded slightly to Susan, came to the side of the bed and quite gently touched his sister's forehead with those long, strong fingers. `You improve, minha cara? There is no fever, I think.' `I am better, thank you, Eduardo,' came the guarded reply. 'I am sorry to be compelled to stay in this room while you have guests. `Yes, it is a pity.' He paused, consideringly. 'I was wondering if perhaps you might receive a few people in a '

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sitting room up here. Just for an hour, at about seven. In England you have been living a fairly normal life, and we naturally do not wish you to relapse once more into an invalid. It would be a very small effort and I would ensure that you were not fatigued.' His sister's lips closed rather tightly. Not today, Eduardo,' she said quickly. 'Perhaps tomorrow.' He lifted a hand in an alien gesture. 'Is it wise to postpone such things? I assure you my only thought is that you should be happy.' The senhora's nostrils quivered with agitation, but she a rdo. spoke calmly. 'I am still weary from the journey, Edu Susan will tell you that I found the plane most trying.' The Visconde, of course, had no intention of applying to Miss Day for corroboration. 'It would certainly involve small effort for you to transfer to another room on this floor and receive a few friends. Miss Day could sit with you.' `No, Eduardo, please . Susan took a chance and broke in, 'Dona Francesca is becoming distressed, senhor. She'll feel better tomorrow.' He rested his cool, alert glance upon Susan, turned back to his sister and half bowed. 'I will come to see you later, Francesca. I wish you a good siesta.' Then, icily, 'Shall we leave my sister, Miss Day?' Susan had no choice. He reached the door and held it open till she had passed through, after which he closed it carefully and waved towards the main landing above the staircase. Silently, she moved at his side till he stopped near the ornamental balustrade where the stairs began to descend. `Miss Day,' he said sharply, without preliminary, 'I wish you to realise one thing very clearly. I am not a monster. My sister's happiness means a great deal to me, and if I insist that she at once take a firm grip on her life, it is for her sake. She has grieved for three months. For a man such as Joachim Varoz, that is enough!' Susan looked away from him, stared at the rococo panelling of the wall. 'I merely' said what I thought, senhor. I'm quite sure that Dona Francesca will feel less frightened tomorrow.' 36

`Frightened?' he echoed, as if the words were completely strange to him. 'She is in her own home. What has she to fear?' `People,' said Susan valiantly. 'In England she was among strangers who were kindly disposed. That was all she wanted or needed. Here she is overwhelmed by a different sort of kindness, a smothering, protective benevolence which hides a . . . a hideous relief that she has lost her husband. Only a sensitive woman could have suffered as she has, and I need hardly point out that a sensitive woman must find it hard to bear the kind of sympathy she is receiving. Perhaps I shouldn't speak like this, but you did ask my opinion.' `Is it usual for a nurse to pander to the small fears of a patient?' `It's usual, during convalescence, to keep the patient serene and optimistic.' `And if you fail?' `One goes on trying, senhor. One is usually rewarded, to some extent, in the end. Perhaps I shouldn't say this, but.. `I am quite sure, Miss Day, that you often say things which were better left unsaid. But go on.' She drew in her lip, cast a brief glance at the arrogant chin which was above her eye level, and said, 'You didn't know we were coming yesterday, but you were expecting to hear almost any day that the senhora would be arriving on a certain date. It might have been next week.' `Certainly no later than next week,' he said flatly. 'Had Francesca hesitated for long I myself would have come to England to escort her home.' `A week, then. Couldn't you.. . just give her that week here in Barbazon, to become reorientated? If you could, I'm certain that later on she'll be most grateful to you, and more than willing to please you.' The dark eyes glinted momentarily. 'Are you trying to make a bargain with me. Miss Day? Are you asking that I give you your way for one week?' His softening was only barely discernible, but Susan hurriedly took advantage of it. She smiled frank ly. 'I sup.'

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pose I am. I do feel that the senhora needs that week to herself.' `And afterwards? You will promise no obstruction?' `No, but I'll promise to do only what's best for Dona Francesca.' `Ah, I thought so. Very soon you and I must talk seriously about this. Meanwhile, I give you your week, conditionally.' `Conditionally?' `That you try, a little, to alter your own outlook upon this matter. I am most anxious that my sister shall be settled and contented, and if you will see things in my way, you can be of great assistance. My sister trusts you as she would not trust a woman friend here at Barbazon; you have none of our feelings, no awe of our traditions, and you have known her when she was desolate.' He actually smiled without cynicism or hauteur. 'Can you not see that it is unimportant whether or not we see eye to eye on the subject of my sister's marriage? Francesca understands my views, and the fact that she has returned to Barbazon means that she is willing to submit to a logical sequence of events. You are here to ease the way for her, to help the transition from one set of surroundings and circumstances to another.' `I realise that, but I can't think the way you do simply because you ask it of me. You see, I have my own convictions.' He nodded drily. 'I am already convinced-of that, Miss Day.' It seemed as if that were the end of the interview. He turned Slightly towards the stairs, then looked back at her. `You are going to rest now, as we do in this country?' `No I was going out to the terrace for an hour. `So? Well, we have not yet reached full summer's warmth and you are, after all, one of the eccentric English: Come with me; I will show you the orchards.' `Thank you,senhor.' Perversely, Susan would rather he had left her to find her own amusement. There was something disturbing about the man, an odd gleam of humanity now and then that she would rather know nothing about. While he remained the Senhor Visconde, imperious and slightly sinister, she could 38

ignore or dislike him. But she didn't want him to soften or even give in about hissister very much because it showed a new, attractive facet of his character. Much wiser . . . and safer, to see him only as a stony-hearted Portuguese aristocrat who used his charm to keep others in subjection. They went down the curving staircase, crossed the hall and reached the terrace. To Susan's consternation he led her down to a white car that was nearly as long as a bus and put her into the front seat. The orchards, he explained as he set the vehicle purring-away down the drive, were beyond the parklands, but only two or three minutes away by car. The blossoming was nearly over, but it was still worth seeing; in another week—with a tolerantly sarcastic smile in her direction to remind her of their bargain—the trees would be only green, without flower or visible fruit. Indeed, it seemed they had being driving about half a minute when he pulled in beside a wrought-iron gate; slipped from behind the wheel and was at her door in time to open it and give her a hand. The gate was unlocked, but an old, white-bearded man appeared from behind the hedge and bowed happily. The smiling charm was brought into play. 'Ah, Lourenco. You and your good wife are well? I am glad; give the senhora my best regards.' Then, in English: 'I bring a young Ingleza to see the orchards before the bloom is gone. Miss Day, our good Lourenco has lived here at Barbazon since he was born, seventy-three years ago, and he has travelled no farther than Lisbon. As you see, he is a happy man!' The implication of this was lost on Susan, but she smiled at the old man and said, 'Boa tarde, Lourenco'—much to the old man's surprise and delight. The Visconde took her elbow in a businesslike grip and led her along the path. He waved a hand to the right. 'These are plums and cherries. Next we have the apricots and peaches and nectarines. From a distance they are like tinted snow.' He stopped, so that she could gaze along a division between rows of billowing white branches. 'We have almond groves, but I am afraid you have missed the almond blossom; it comes early—vast masses of pink spreading over the hillsides.' 39

`We have some almond trees at Pellam Manor,' she said. `Just one here and there; they even grow a few undersized nuts. There's also a lemon tree against a south wall, but it's mostly swathed in sacks to keep it warm.' `Were you interested in its growth?' `Oh, yes. I'd peep through the sacking and touch the few tiny green lemons.' She was glowing a little with the memory. 'It was like touching another world. Another climate. Do you know, I've just remembered something. I've only ever been to look at the lemon tree on a sunny day!' She laughed at her own foolishness, looked up and found him studying her with detached interest. Her pale skin was slightly flushed, her lips red. Her pale hair was blowing gently, and her eyes were very green and clear. She looked appealing carefree, pliant as a young willow. `You must do your utmost to enjoy our sunshine while you are here,' he said abruptly. 'You have seen enough?' Susan wondered if she had let slip another brick, but she couldn't remember anything she had said which might be so construed. After all, it had been he who had suggested the visit to the orchards. `Yes, thank you, senhor,' she answered politely. 'It was good of you to bring me.' They were walking back to the car when he asked, 'This doctor you loved in England—has he asked you to marry him?' Startled, she said, 'Practically.' `But you feel he is too old and dull?' `No, Paul isn't a bit dull. It's just that . .' If she hadn't felt that the Visconde was utterly out of sympathy and only making conversation she could have explained easily. He was waiting for a reply though. 'Well, Paul doesn't need me. He has a housekeeper, an excellent receptionist and numerous friends.' Without expression he queried, 'You have to be needed before you will marry?' `Yes, she said simply. 'I want to be needed. To me, that's as important as . . . as being in love.' `Yes I think you are right,' he said briefly, and left the I 40

subject there. His moment of unbending was at an end. He drove her straight back to the Castelo, drew up in front of the main entrance. Knowing it was expected of her, Susan remained seated till he came round, and as she mounted the steps with him she thanked him again, formally, for sparing the time to show her the orchards. Her watch said three-thirty, but she had no time to feel relief that she might still have half an hour to spare. A medium-sized black car of doubtful vintage but spotless appearance drew in behind the Visconde's crested monarch, and Rex Stratton stepped out of it and began to take the steps two at a time. He saw Eduardo entering the Castelo and slowed, but his haste had been heard. The Visconde, with Susan at his side, turned about. Rex spoke first, rather hurriedly. 'Good afternoon, Senhor Visconde. I hope I'm not interrupting anything.' `Not at all. You wish to speak to me?' Rex shook his preposterously fair head. 'I came to pick up Susan.' Then, realising he had been so misguided as to use her first name: 'I mean Miss Day. Dona Elena sent me.' Eduardo glanced from Rex's embarrassment to Susan's wary smile. 'You two have already met?' `We met on the beach this morning,' she told him baldly. And make what you like of that, she added mentally. `And this invitation to the Villa Aurora—I have heard nothing about it.' `Dona Elena invited me herself, last night.' `To meet Mr Stratton?' `I . . . think so.' What he was thinking Susan couldn't guess. He was almost expressionless, but not quite; his mouth had hardened a fraction. But he spoke evenly. 'Perhaps you will convey my good wishes to Dona Elena and tell her I will give myself the pleasure of calling upon her and her granddaughter this evening.' A nod, and he had disappeared into the Castelo. Rex let out a whistling breath, said softly, 'Let's get out of this atmosphere. He's mad about something.' `Hardly mad. He's cold as charity!' 41

`That's how he goes when he's annoyed. I imagine it turns to sudden heat when he's really angry.' He had seen Susan seated in the squashy leather front seat and was seating himself behind the wheel. 'What were you doing with him—admiring the gardens?' `He took me to see the orchards, but I think he regretted it. We stayed there only a few minutes, and he clammed up.' She hesitated. 'I was disappointed; I'd have loved to question him about everything that grows and lives in Portugal.' `Question me instead. I'm pretty well up on it.' `It's not the same. I'd rather hear from someone who loves the country and its history and *ducts.' Rex let in the clutch. 'You'll here it,' he assured her, with a sidelong wink. 'The Portuguese male is starved for female companionship, and it won't be long before they fight for the privilege of talking with you.' `Heavens! I hope you're wrong, but I'll be on guard. I go lightheaded with trying to understand the servants!' `You'll understand the lads all right. There's one language that's universal.' He smiled engagingly, but the weary look remained in his eyes. 'I'll take you to the Villa through the vineyards. Barbazon is a huge district, and almost the whole of it, outside the town, belongs to the Corte Ribeiros. The district is mainly agricultural, of course, though Barbazon town has become something of a summer resort.' They passed between groves of sturdy, ancient olives, a few fields of rye, a long stretch of cork trees which were growing new bark after last year's stripping, and then ran through mile upon mile of vineyards, where the grapes were grown as much for export as for wine. The mountains which sheltered the vineyards from Atlantic gales were hauntingly beautiful. Craggy grey crests broken by groups of pines from which rivulets cascaded and sent silver ribbons among the rocks and bushes. Somewhere there' must be a river that received the waterfalls, and Susan hoped one day to find it. For some reason she didn't speak to Rex about it; nor did she remember that there were other things she had meant to discuss with him. 42

He was intelligent and companionable, attractive physically and in his friendliness, but to Susan he was merely a pleasant young Englishman with a hidden grouch. She did wonder what it was that made him look despondent, but on the whole she hoped he wouldn't confide in her. Their being thrown together was accidental and it would not last so very long; and this was to be the happiest summer of her life! It was exactly four-fifteen when they arrived at the rambling Villa Aurora. Susan smelled verbena and jasmine, saw old crazy paving and stone urns trailing pink geraniums, a magnificent climbing rose which offered its white blossoms to the upstairs windows. The veranda was cloistered, the entrance hall so dim after the blinding sunshine that she had to pause while her eyes changed focus. Then she was in a long cool room, where the indomitable old Dona Elena sat in a straight-backed tapestry chair with her feet on a matching footstool while her bony, authoritative hands held needle and fine embroidered linen. The old senhora lifted her proud little head with its magnificent crown of white hair, smiled faintly but graciously and said `I am happy to see you again, Miss Day. Please sit down. Rex, ring the bell.' Rex lifted an eyebrow and obeyed her. Susan. looked at the heavily beautiful cabinets and low' tables, at the crimson rug on the old, yellow-tiled floor, at the vast blue and white jar of flowers which stood in the fireplace. She wondered if the rest of the house were as oppressively old and handsome as this sitting room. `And how is Dona Francesca?' asked the senhora. Not quite recovered. She's resting.' Susan added the Visconde's message. `He will come tonight? I am glad. We have a little business together, and I feel we have now reached a point for some decision.' She looked pleased, but did not elaborate. Her sharp little eyes roved over both young people. 'It is good to know someone of your own race in this country, is it not, Rex? You are pleased with your first sight of Miss Day?' Rex answered glibly. 'Anyone would be pleased at the 43

first sight of Miss Day – and stay pleased. She's as pretty as you said.' `And you found very much in common.' `I wouldn't say that.' `No?' The dark eyes looked a little beady. 'You are of a. similar station in life, are you not?' Rex shrugged politely, but did not answer. Susan said, `Yes, we are, senhora.' `Then you will become excellent friends. Secretly, Miss Day,' was there a sly cast to the fine features? 'I have been hoping that someone of your kind would come to Barbazon. Mr Stratton finds our customs, our rigid protection of our young women, rather- irksome. But we find Mr Stratton an excellent tutor. So we had an impasse. But in you, I think, he will find relief from our prohibitions. Rex has much free time, and I am sure Dona Francesca is not a demanding employer. Both she and I would regard a friendship between you two young people with the utmost pleasure.' Rex's tone was surprisingly offhand. 'We'll be friends, senhora. We both happen to be the friendly type.' Muito bem.' And for the present the subject was closed. A haggard, leathery-faced woman in a long black dress and starched white apron brought two trays, one containing a splendid silver teapot with matching cream jug, sugar basin and kettle, and the other spread with small plates of sweet dainties. The senhora poured and Rex handed. Susan listened in vain for the two grandsons; perhaps it was too much to hope for—that they would burst into the room and demand cool drinks and cakes. They didn't, anyway. Apparently even Rex was not accustomed to taking tea with Dona Elena. He fumbled, but was benignly pardoned, and when after the trays were taken away he got out cigarettes, the old senhora only looked her disapproval as she nodded permission to smoke. It was a tedious hour, and Susan was relieved when Dona Elena rose to her not very impressive height and walked to the open window. She got up and joined the senhora, as the older woman said, with a wave of the hand, `Out there beyond the cistus and jacarandas is the sea. It 44

is warm in summer and an imposing sight in winter. You will find we have some excellent shops in Barbazon, and of course we are near enough to Lisbon for an occasional visit to the theatre and other amusements. No doubt you feel already that you will like it here, Miss Day?' `Oh, yes. I'm going to love it.' `Perhaps,' an almost imperceptible pause, 'you will not wish to leave us at the end of your stay with Dona Francesca?' `Perhaps not, but I shall have to go.' `Who knows? In three months one's life may change. It is as well to keep the open mind.' She stopped, lifting an ivory finger as if she had just recollected something. 'There is to be a small excursion on Saturday to Subal. Rex will tell you about it. You have been invited as his partner.' `Well, I . . The senhora threw out her hands, negligently. 'Dona Francesca will permit it, I assure you, and Rex will be only too happy to escort you. For me,' another expressive gesture, 'my only concern is to make it possible for you young people to see each other often and conventionally. At least, with faintly grotesque roguishness, 'I also desire that Mr Stratton shall consent to remain with us for three more years, after his present contract with us is ended. You understand?' Susan didn't quite, and she wasn't sure that she wanted to. She smiled at the tyrannical old woman and said politely, 'That is between you and Mr Stratton, of course. Thank you so much for inviting me here this afternoon; I've enjoyed it immensely.' `It is still quite early. Rex must show you the garden before you leave, but I will say adeus, Miss Day.' Two minutes later, Susan and Rex had left the overwhelming presence of the senhora and were walking along a path between tangled climbers. They were scarcely out of sight of the lower windows of the house when Rex halted abruptly. Savagely, he said, 'What do you think of the old fox now? I thought that was why she asked you here, but I couldn't '

be sure till we were here together. Who does she think she is 45

—laying out other people's lives!' `Don't worry about it,' said Susan lightly. 'It's a family failing, and she's old. She means well.' `The deuce she does! She means evil!' Susan was alarmed. 'You look as if you're serious. In spite of herself, I'm sure the old tyrant likes you, Rex. She's just afraid that loneliness will make you slope off after your two years are up. Perhaps her motive is selfish, but . `She's selfish right through,' he said, but his vehemence had gone. He even managed a melancholy smile. 'Just supposing we were attracted to each other; her tactics would put us both off for ever.' Thoughtfully, Susan said, 'You're awfully keen on assuring me that you don't find me particularly attractive. I don't mind a scrap, but it's curious.' `It isn't really. I ... I just don't want any misunderstandings. You see, I'm already in love.' She stared at him soberly. 'I ought to have guessed that. Complications?' `What do you think?' he said bitterly. He left it there, walked just ahead and pointed out myrtles and wild hyacinths, orchids, cyclamens, and honeysuckles climbing the cypresses. They were almost back at the gate when an upper window opened and Rex sharply lifted his head. He called something in Portuguese in a loud whisper and a face appeared, a smooth oval face framed in dark hair, a pale face in which the eyes were a little pink and puffy. The girl was about Susan's age, she looked frightened and sad, but had the courage to answer him. He said something else and she replied again in a fearful undertone: Then she cast a shy glance at Susan, said hesitantly, 'How do you do, senhorita, before turning the pitiful dark pools once more to Rex. Then, suddenly, she withdrew. Susan saw Rex lose colour, but not his presence of mind. He murmured a few words about the shrubs and walked with her, apparently unconcerned, to the car. Susan guessed that someone else was watching from that upper window. It was a tremendous relief to feel the car moving, leaving the Villa Aurora behind. Rex ended the silence between them. Now you know 46

who I'm in love with,' he said woodenly. 'The, senhora's granddaughter,' she nodded. 'No hope?' `Not a scrap. Her name is Juana Mendes, but she's directly related to the Corte Ribeiros. Her mother was the senhora's daughter and a third cousin of the Visconde. He's coming here tonight to discuss Juana's betrothral to a business man in Lisbon.' `Oh, dear.' The exclamation was inadequate, but Susan couldn't think of another word to say. `Dona Elena thinks propinquity has made us aware of each other and that's all. If we told her we were in love she'd laugh her horrible old head off. As far as she knows we've hardly spoken together, and she's taken care to keep Juana ignorant of English ; she had a few lessons with the boys at the beginning, but thai was all. I wouldn't mind betting that the old ramrod went up to Juana's room for the express purpose of pointing out you and me in the garden. The worst of it is, I shan't be able to get near Juana to reassure her!' `Why wasn't she at tea with us?' `Dona Elena saw to that, I suppose.' His chin shook and then stiffened. 'She's been . . . crying.' Susan's resolve to avoid all tangles was temporarily forgotten. She touched his hand on the wheel. 'I'm so sorry, Rex. I know it's poor comfort, but it wouldn't be very pleasant to marry into that family, even if they'd have you. The Visconde has contempt for the emotions, and if he's already chosen someone else for your Juana, well ... you wouldn't be able to stay and watch it, would, you? Wouldn't it be best to leave at once; even if it does mean breaking your contract and losing money?' His fair, pink-tanned face looked oddly sombre. `I'm not just hankering for forbidden fruit, Susan. I love the girl. She's sedate and obedient, she's Portuguese to her fingertips, but I want to marry her. I'm not clearing out till its quite hopeless.' `Poor Rex! I wish there were something I could do.' He smiled perfunctorily. 'It's been good to talk about it at last. Now that you understand how things are, can we be friends?' 47

`Of course.' `Then I'll go ahead with the arrangement about the picnic at Subal.' `I still have to get Dona Francesca's permission.' `All right. I'll be in touch With you. Bless you, Susan.' Rex, she decided as she entered the cool portals of the Castelo, was in for a worse time than he'd had already. Normally, she thought, he was the lighthearted, uncaring type, the sort who liked a change of partners fairly often and twisted a few hearts before he had finished with them. But now he was serious and even suffering a little. The thing he had treated lightly had caught up with him in the end, and he simply wasn't built to cope with it. There was nothing she could do about it, of course, but she did pity him; even more, she pitied the owner of that pale little face at the window. The Visconde had it in his power to work the miracle of Dona Elena's acceptance of Rex as her granddaughter's suitor, but who would ever dream of approaching Eduardo de Corte Ribeiro upon such a matter?

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CHAPTER THREE As it happened, Susan was unable to partner Rex Stratton on the jaunt to Subal. Dona Francesca remained unwell and in need of intermittent nursing throughout the day and night, and for nearly a week Susan went no further than the grounds of the Castelo. The house guests departed and the only visitor was old Dona Elena, who took it upon herself to dine with Eduardo each evening after a brief conversation with Dona Francesca in the bedroom. Rex called once, and according to the old senhora he sent his remembrances every day. Susan accepted the messages gravely and at once forgot them. She was worried about Dona Francesca. So much so that she telegraphed Paul Terrant, who had been the senhora's doctor at Pellam Manor. Paul's reply was brief. 'Sounds mental to me. Keep her absolutely quiet and confide if you can in the family doctor. Stay happy and write to me. Love, Paul.' To Susan's surprise, the Visconde did not insist upon his sister's attendance at meals. The week's respite passed, a second week began, but he continued to look into the bedroom twice a day and to assure Dona Francesca that he was concerned only for her well-being. The whole atmosphere seemed to. Susan to have become unreal. To break away from it, she slipped down for a bathe each morning, and took an early evening walk either along the beach or among the trees. It was depressing to reflect that the summer at Barbazon was slipping away . . . and that she was rather glad of it. She had set her hopes too high, perhaps. But even so, surely there must be more to life in a strange country than this? She breakfasted alone in her own room, had lunch and dinner with the senhora, and saw the rest of the household only occasionally. It was several days after the arrival of Paul's telegram that she sounded out the senhora. 49

suppose you remember your own family doctor very well, Dona Francesca?' `Rodrigues?' came the thin reply. 'Yes, of course I re= member him.' `Don't you think it might be a good idea to call him in, just for a chat?' `I need no doctor. Only rest.' Susan recalled the senhora's first weeks at Pellam Manor, her refusal to get up and take an interest in her surround ings. Then, she had had a good reason — it was such a short while since her husband's death. She had recovered from that. But now she was clinging to her room again . . . because she feared to face something that no one knew about. subtanil Then came the morning when she looked a little more ; as at Pellam, she had come to a decision. She drank two cups of coffee, ate a paozinho smothered with butter and quince jelly, and announced that she would sit on the terrace for an hour. Delighted and more easy in her mind, Susan helped the senhora into a thin black and white suit, and gave her an arm down the staircase. It was ten o'clock, and they would probably return to the bedroom before the Visconde came back from his tour of the estate; no doubt Dona Francesca had already worked that out. For the first time since their arrival the senhora asked, `You enjoy living here, Susan?' `I'm not sure. I love Barbazon, of course, but it all seems a little dreamlike. When I take a Walk and look back at the Castelo I can hardly believe that I'm actually living here for a while. It's home to you, though, isn't it?' `I was born here and my childhood was happy. I was married in our own chapel. Have you seen it?' `From the outside, yes. It's very beautiful.' But simple, too. It was repaired and redecorated by my grandfather. His is the portrait which hangs beside that of my father in the small saki.' `Who is the ... the cruel-looking one?' A shrug. 'One of the earlier members of the family. He lost his wife and small son during an epidemic and made everyone suffer for it. His love-letters are preserved in the library. They are astoundingly beautiful. '

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`It doesn't seem natural that love should make him cruel.' `No, but . . .' She stopped, and seemed to tighten up a little. Eduardo had appeared through a french window, and he was approaching them at a stride, his lean face smiling. `Ah, Francesca! How good to see you in the fresh air Already you appear better.' `I am somewhat recovered, thank you,' she said distantly. Eduardo slanted a glance at Susan. 'Good morning, Miss Day. I hope you, too, are feeling as well as you look!' This needed no reply. Susan had to decide whether to get up and saunter off or stay where she was; she looked a query at Dona Francesca, received a spoken answer. `Please stay with us, Susan. I had a purpose in coming down here this morning. My brother has returned a little earlier than I expected, but it makes no difference. May I speak with you, Eduardo?! `My dear Francesca, why the ceremony? You may speak with me whenever you wish.' Francesca lifted her head and spoke firmly. 'I expect you are now ready, Eduardo, to point out to me that I have a certain position in Barbazon and should be preparing myself to take it?' `There is no hurry, minha cara,' he said carelessly. 'I would like you to be happy here for a few weeks before you take on responsibilities. The Quinta Rosa is in fairly good hands.' `Nevertheless, I should put myself in touch with the happenings there. I wish to spend a few hours with Jose Barrero, and I would like to show Susan the house.' `Very well. First, you might see José here. I will instruct him to call for cocktails this evening.' With a nervous movement the senhora pressed out her scarcely-smoked cigarrette. 'No. I wish to meet him as the owner of the Quinta. I am sorry, Eduardo, but . . `You distress yourself too easily, Francesca,' he said, with smiling calm. 'As soon as you are well enough I will take you myself to the Quinta Rosa. There is nothing I want 5

more than to see you settled as mistress of the estate.' She cast him a quick, slightly hunted glance, lifted her narrow shoulders. 'Will you take me now — this morning?' `Naturally — if Miss Day is sure you are fit for such a jaunt.' `So long as there is not too much walking,' said Susan. `You yourself, Miss Day,' said the Visconde as he rose, `must come with us to ensure that. I will bring the car to the terrace steps.' As he left the two women Francesca took a deep breath. `It was not such an ordeal, after all. Yet it took me a week to gain the courage to say it.' `The Senhor Visconde has said many times that he wants only your happiness,' said Susan. A faintly ironical smile touched Francesca's lips. 'But happy in his way, Susan. He wishes to erase my past, to start me off on a new future with, no doubt, a new . . . husband. Until I am living at the Quinta Rosa I shall not be able to tell him that I cannot marry again, ever.' Susan thought it best not to comment upon this statement. 'Do you need anything for the drive?' `A scarf, please.' Susan ran up to the senhora's bedroom and found a grey and white silk scarf, popped into her own room to powder her face and was taken aback by her own reflection; the pink cheeks, after the run upstairs, were natural, but why the sparkle in her eyes, the tremulous smile on her lips? Tut-tut, she told herself; no palpitations over the Portuguese overlord, please! When she came down to the terrace the senhora was being seated in the front seat of the long white car. Eduardo opened the back door for Susan, and she made such haste to take her place that she slipped from the lowest step of the terrace. Her arm was gripped, and she was steadied. With burning cheeks, she slid into the seat and tried to relax. The door closed and Eduardo took his place and set the car moving. The old Varoz estate lay on the edge of the Barbazon district. Because Joachim had been the last of his family the property had degenerated during recent years, but it was 52

still an extensive wine and maize farm, with a mansion set among olive trees and cypresses, and stone walls covered with wild rose dividing one acreage from another. The house itself was orthodox. The lower floor was surrounded by a narrow covered terrace which extended into a pateo on one side of the house, and the upper half was balconied by a series of stucco arches. The whole interior of the house must be dim but very cool. Without any show of emotion, Francesca stared at the abode which she had one day hoped to share with her husband. Wordlessly, she held out her hand for the keys. For a moment Susan was sure that the Visconde intended to accompany his sister. The conviction was so strong that involuntarily she put her fingertips on his sleeve. He gave them a quick glance, placed the bunch of keys in his sister's hand, and looked about him. `While you walk through the rooms I will find Jose,' he said. 'I believe this week his men are spraying the vines.' Francesca walked into the heavily shadowed porch, selected a key and - opened the door, entered the house and closed the door behind her. Susan, her heart beating unevenly and heat suffusing her cheeks, said quickly, 'I do apologise, senhor. I had no right to...' `You had the right, Miss Day,' he said in level tones, 'but after today there will be no sentimentality, you understand? francesca must be helped to forget the past; I think you are a good enough nurse to realise that. Also, I think you must see that she will never be tranquil while she lives alone. Tell me, what do you think of this place?' Susan turned and looked over the orderly garden, with its formal low hedges, rioting roses, masses of heliotrope and French lavender. 'It's beautiful,' she said. 'Is it very old?' `About a hundred years, that is all. At one time it was the country home of the Varoz family who lived in Lisbon. Joachim Varoz sold the Lisbon house and the family business interests. He and Francesca were to live here.' `I can't think why he stayed away so long. They could have been wonderfully happy here.' He gave an arrogant shrug. 'As I have said before, he

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changed after his marriage. Francesca is not a wanderer, but he forced her to wander.' `Being in love,' said Susan, 'I suppose the senhora decided she would rather wander with her husband than become established somewhere without him. It's natural.' `However she felt about Joachim,' he said sternly, 'I can assure you that all she longed for during those years was to settle here at the Quinta.' He waved at a rustic bench in the shady terrace. 'Sit down, Miss Day. I hear the campinhos and I must send one of them for the manager, Barrero.' He disappeared, and Susan leant back against the cool wall. She closed her eyes and let her thoughts rove, deliciously. To be married to someone tall and dark and masterful, to return from a honeymoon to this house in the sun. A lovely home, a husband, children. . . . Heavens, how trite could one get! She had been so determined not to think about such things in Portugal; after all, she was supposed to be coming to a decision about Paul. Suddenly, sitting there with her eyes closed among the hot scents of the Quinta Rosa, Susan knew that she had made her decision. Paul was out. She liked him immensely, could imagine nothing lovelier than middle age spent with such a man; but she wasn't in love with him any longer. Perhaps even last summer it hadn't been love, only the awakening of a need to love and be loved. Oh dear, she hadn't wanted to be sure about it so soon. And why should she be? Nothing had happened to force the decision. It wasn't as if anything in the least romantic had come into her life since her arrival at Barbazon. With sudden longing, she wished it had! Just occasionally, one's wishes are granted on the spot. Susan had that experience for the first time in her life. Something cool and soft touched her mouth, her eyes flashed wide and she looked into a laughing, dark-skinned face which was no more than a foot from her own. He was bending, this young man, and dangling a red rose near her lips. `Good lord,' she whispered. 'Who are you?' He clicked his heels, dropped the rose into her lap and bowed. 'José Barrero, gerente of the Quinta Rosa. My 54

English is delightful, no?' ` Most delightful. If you know I'm English you must also know my name. Have you seen the Senhor Visconde?' `Not yet. I am called by a worker and come here to see the Senhor Visconde. Instead, I find a flower sleeping against the wall, so I pick another flower whom I instruct to waken her. It is done!' `How very sweet.' She felt a kindling of interest in this young Portuguese with the curly black hair and dancing eyes. His imagination might be rather technicoloured , but it was also exciting, How different he was from the men Who came as guests to the Castelo! 'Dona Francesca is here with the Visconde,' she said. 'She wants to see you.' `I have been expecting the senhora but not you!' His speech was eager, his eyes full of laughter. 'You are the quiet little nurse-companion, are you not? Rex Stratton has told me about you. He says one should not believe too readily in that quietness; it hides good fun!' Susan laughed. 'Rex was being kind to one of his own countrywomen. I don't know him awfully well.' `Is that true?' He looked puzzled. 'Yesterday I was at a house where Dona Elena was at luncheon. She said she was making the ... what is it?' He snapped his fingers, gained inspiration. 'She was making the match between you and Rex. Is it not true?' `Certainly not,' said Susan crossly. 'When the time comes I'll make my own match.' 'OW' he cried, waving a hand. 'If there were wine we would drink to that. You know,' with a startling change to earnestness, 'I learned my English at college. I have never before spoken to an English woman.' `You're doing very well,' she stated drily. 'Are you as good an estate manager?' `The very best. I have studied viticulture and accounts. One day I shall teach another how to manage the Quinta Rosa and then manage the wine farm of my old uncle, who has no sons. My future is assured!' `How nice,' said Susan, exhausted with following his alien English. Perhaps he wasn't really conceited, only anxious to show up well and unfamiliar with her language. —

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In any case, he was extraordinarily good-looking, and such a change from anyone else she had met in Barbazon. ` Do you live here, on the estate?' But yes, I have a bedroom at the back of the house. The rest of the rooms are not used — their furniture is covered. I would much like to show you the house.' ` Dona Francesca is in there.' He smote his forehead. 'I did not know! She is waiting to see me.' `Not waiting. I expect she'll come out soon, and the Visconde will be back.' `Then,' with the most ravishing smile, 'I may remain here and talk to you! Are you in love?' `No.' `But you would like to be. It is in your eyes!' `Is it?' Susan was not disturbed; this was obviously his line, and not a bad one. 'Are you in love?' `I am in love,' he looked at his watch, 'for the last ten minutes . . . and for ever. I have never known anyone like you — so quiet and smiling, so green-eyed. Your hair is like honey-coloured silk and your lips . . `Are sweet as grapes,' said Eduardo cynically, as he stepped into the shade of the terrace. He looked cool and aloof, sounded almost bored as he broke into the young man's speech. José, Dona Francesca wishes to have a short talk with you. You are not to discuss business until she is stronger, but you must answer her questions. Briefly.' José Barrero lost some of his resilience. He bowed and murmured, 'Sim, Dom Eduardo. Corn licence' He was excused, and immediately went into the house. Susan had stood up, defensively, and she found herself unwillingly face to face with the Visconde. His glance was mocking. `So. It has arrived — that moment when a young Portuguese looses his artillery at your doubtful heart. You feel a little battered?' `Pleasurably so,' she answered demurely. `Senhor Barrero is more as I imagined the Portuguese.' `Then we have disappointed you — we at the Castelo? No doubt we are too old for you. You find José appealing?'

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`Not appealing — flattering. When I come to live here at the Quinta he'll be good for my ego.' He turned and surveyed the garden. 'You look forward to that — leaving the Castelo and coming here?' Susan did, but in Portugal one is always intensely polite. `I must go wherever Dona Francesca decides. Naturally, living at the Castelo Carvo for a while is an experience I wouldn't have missed.' `Yet you are not happy there, Miss Day. I am well aware of that.' She looked at him quickly, saw a smiling tightness in his expression. 'I've hardly had time to think of my own feelings, senhor. They're not important, anyway. Today, I feel very glad that Dona Francesca has not only left her bedroom but had the courage to come here. In the long run, it seems, she acts quicker when left to make up her own • mind.' `You have accomplised a small victory, Miss Day. Perhaps in due course you may accomplish a larger one. Now that she is among us, I wish my sister to receive Ruy Alvedo.' Susan drew in her lip. 'I don't believe she wants to marry again.' A shrug. 'She cannot marry for some time, but there is no reason why she and Ruy should not resume their old friendship. I am arranging a small party on the yacht at the weekend, and Ruy Alvedo will be one of the guests. Do not tell my sister before we go aboard.' `You mean I have to go as well?' `Why not, my dear Miss Day?' Faint satire in his tones. `You must experience everything possible. If you wish, I will invite José Barrero, so that you may have the true flavour of moonlight on Portuguese waters.' A pause. 'Or shall it be the young Englishman, Stratton? Perhaps you would feel more safe among us if one of your countrymen were at hand?' `I' m quite capable of taking care of myself, senhor. You need invite no one for me.' There was a silence. Bees droned in the flowers, a window opened somewhere above and in the distance a 57

campinho hissed loudly at his donkeys. Susan felt hot and

uncomfortable and a bit miserable. Her feelings were an intensification of her usual reaction to Eduardo. What did it mean when a man's very presence brought a blend of unhappiness and excitement? He never really bothered with her as a person; she was someone who might help him gain his ends with his sister, someone he found a slightly bitter pleasure in baiting. The man was incomprehensible. `Do you think Dona Francesca needs me in the house?' she asked woodenly. `I should think it is very unlikely.' `Then . shall I sit in the car?' `Come with me,' he said curtly. 'I will show you the lagares — the wine tanks. The Quinta Rosa makes a light red wine which is good but not famous. Most of it is sold in Barbazon.' He led her round the house, across a courtyard and through a barn-like building to a long shady walk which ended at another building, outside which stretched the stone tanks where the grapes were first pressed. She was near the open doorway of the shed where casks and implements were stored, and for something to do she stepped over the threshold and peered into the shadows. The massive oak door swung in the breeze, emitting a rather soothing creaking sound, and a ventilator veered round slowly, stirring the sharp-sweet odours of the new casks and the leather oxen-yokes. Eduardo came into the darkness behind her. He told her the uses of the implements which were gathered into a corner, went over and shifted a two-tongued hoe which protruded dangerously. It was cool in the shed, but Susan felt hot and choked, as if close to a peril. She turned a little blindly, just as the heavy door swung once more. It caught her shoulder, thrust her round to face the open air. Eduardo was at her side. 'You are hurt?' he demanded swiftly. 'It is the arm?' `It's nothing, senhor. I should have looked where I was going.' `But I heard it,' he insisted. 'And you are pale. Come outside and let me look at the arm.' 58

Susan ached right through her body, and her nerves were so taut that her hands were fists. If he touched her again she would scream. 'It was just a knock on my shoulder,' she managed. 'Nothing at all.' He did touch her, and she didn't scream. She clenched her teeth and suffered it, the movement of his hand over the thin silk of her dress, the touch of his fingertips on her bare upper arm, the feel of his breath in her hair as he blamed himself for bringing her to the wine sheds. `Come,' he said, almost roughly, 'I will have a doctor look at this!' `I've told you it's nothing,' she said shakily. 'It was just a bang from a door on a perfectly normal shoulder. If you make a fuss about it, I'll . . . I'll . . `No threats,' he said sharply. 'You may have injured the muscle. The door is heavy and your shoulder small. I insist that you have medical attention.' Susan must have gone a little crazy. She turned on him, fierce with emotion. 'I'm not an idiot! I shall know if there's anything wrong with it, and you can be sure I'll have a doctor if I need one. A thump on the shoulder is bound to hurt, but it's not a hospital case, and if you...' Be quiet!' She stared up at him, suddenly conscious that she had been shouting. A dew of sweat shone across the bridge of her nose and her lips were unsteady. She looked down, thought for a hollow moment that it would be heaven to sink straight into oblivion, and then swallowed on the lump in her throat. In low tones she said, 'I'm sorry, Senhor Visconde.' His features were still tight, but he spoke softly and without much expression. 'Perhaps as you say you have suffered no more than a bump. However, for my peace of mind I wish you to see Dr Rodrigues. I will have him come to the Castelo this afternoon at four, and you may see him in the small sala. No one need know. By then he will be able to find any swelling which may have developed.' `Very well, senhor.' `We will now go to the car.' She walked with her head lowered, felt that she might 59

stumble at any moment. She had never felt so unsure of herself, so close to a nameless danger. Eduardo put her into the back of the car and had just closed the door when Dona Francesca came out of the house with Jose Barrero. The young man was gesticulating and talking in his rapid manner. Francesca looked forbearing, and nodded. José kissed her hand, bowed her into the car and beamed at Susan with his hand on his heart. Eduardo waved carelessly and the car moved away. Casually, he asked his sister, 'How did you find the house?' `Unfamiliar, I am afraid. José tells me it has been aired and cleaned regularly on your instructions. Thank you, Eduardo.' `I will have that roof repaired.' `It has not leaked. I noticed particularly.' `Nevertheless, it is best to effect the repair before you are in residence. It will not take long.' `I should like to go there within, say, one month. Is it possible?' `I am sure it is.' `Susan will help me to settle there, and when we are quite at home we will entertain a few people.' She paused. `It is a thing we must discuss, of course, but I would very much like to have Rosalia to live with me. We were very close before my marriage and we did not entirely lose touch with each other, though it is about a year since I last heard from her. I realise you have purposely kept silent about her for my sake, but I would like to know how she is.' `Rosalia is quite well,' said Eduardo. Susan wished she could see his face; then she was glad she couldn't. She moistened dry lips, tried not to listen but found she was straining to hear. `I have often wondered,' said Francesca, 'whether it is my fault that you have not yet married. Your marriage was to be within a year of mine, do you remember?' `It was not as definite as that. Rosalia herself thought it best to wait till she was the age at which you married.' `She is that age now. I was her elder by four years.' `That is so.'

Francesca was almost animated. 'But why did she wait? You have always loved each other, and there was no reason.' Susan saw the lift of Eduardo's shoulders, heard a deliberately cool smile in his tones. R osalia has always been the most modest person I know. At your wedding she told me that you were a little scared of marriage and that if you could feel so, when you were marrying such a one as the easy-going Joachim, then how was she to feel about me? I laughed at her, but thought it best to give her all the time she needed.' `And now she is twenty-six, as I was.' Francesca's voice had lowered and she looked out of the window. 'I have never known any woman so well as I knew Rosalia. At twenty-two she was serious and contemplative. The letters she has written to me since then—about six of them in all— were not revealing, but always she reiterated her love for you and her faith that one day we would all be happy together here at Barbazon.' There was a pause while Eduardo negotiated a narrow bend in the road and waved a friendly hand at an old peasant who worked in his garden. Then, in those even, unrevealing tones, he said: `Of course we shall all be happy' ere. You must write to Rosalia and tell her that when you are established in your own home you would like her to come for a visit.' `A visit?' Francesca's pale face turned towards him. `Then my feeling about you is right? You are anxious to marry this year?' In a quiet voice that mocked he said, 'I grow jaded, Francesca; it is time I settled with a charming wife. Rosalia should now consider herself old enough, no?' Susan didn't hear any more. She sat with her hands clasped in her lap and her chin high, and she willed herself to think only of the shoulder which ached a bit but was certainly not seriously hurt. At the Castelo she went straight upstairs with Dona Francesca and helped her into a light wrap. The senhora, looking exhausted but happier than Susan had seen her since their arrival at Barbazon, relaxed in a long uphols61

tered chair near the balcony, and rather surprisingly asked for a cigarette. `Next time, you and I will visit the Quinta alone,' she said. 'There are one or two interior alterations I should like to make before we move in. The house has old-fashioned plumbing and small windows, and the tiling of the main sala is cracked: But I still think we shall be able to take possession in one month.' Susan, hanging away the dress the senhora had worn, remained at the wardrobe, straightening the garments. `You really are feeling heaps better, aren't you?' `Yes, I think I am.' `Then you won't be needing me for as long as you thought?' `Of course I will. I already have your word that you will stay three months. It is not yet three weeks! You are bored?' `Not at all.' `But yes, you must be. I have been selfish, keeping you near me. You must have more time with young people. Do you know, you captured a heart even today. José Barrero asked my permission to call on you here.' `Gracious! Did you give it?' Francesca's smile was almost playful. 'I told him he must take his place in what you call the queue. He is so assured of his own charms, that one, that he immediately said he would. You will have to watch him.' `He was very pleasant,' Susan said. 'I'll leave you now, senhora. You might manage a nap before lunch.' In her own bedroom Susan took off her dress, cursorily examined the beginnings of a bruise on her shoulder and then washed in cold water. She slipped on a plain check shirtwaist dress in blue and white, combed her hair, lighted a cigarette and went to the balcony. She had been standing there only a couple of minutes when a maid brought a note which was written on Castelo paper and sealed within one of the crested envelopes. `From Senhor Stratton,' said the maid in Portuguese. `He waits below.' Susan read, dazedly, 'Must see you at once. Terribly important. Rex.' 62

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She was tired and dispirited. She wanted half an hour alone, a chance of recovering from the heart-wrenching episode in the wine sheds at the Quinta. Rosa, and time to acquire perspective on the conversation she had overhead in the car. Rex was all right, but she didn't feel up to hearing his troubles. However, she squashed out the cigarette, dusted ash from her skirt and went from the room. Rex was in the main hall, pacing between two rugs. He heard her and hastened to the foot of the stairs, gazed at her in such despair and consternation that she went cold. His wheat-coloured hair was wild, his thin cheeks had lost their pink and his tie had been dragged loose, either from anguish or because he needed air. He gripped Susan's wrist with perspiring fingers. 'Come out with me, for heaven's sake. If I have to talk in whispers I'll go mad.' Because she had no option, Susan went with him. He dragged her along a path and into an arbour that was covered with purple flowers, waved distractedly at a white stone seat, but himself remained standing, with his hands dug deep into the pockets of his trousers. Susan sank down on to the bench, and waited.

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CHAPTER FOUR it seemed much longer, it was probably nor more than a minute before Rex spoke. In a strangled voice he said, 'I just don't know where to start. It's about Juana.' `Naturally, but try to be calm about it. What happened, exactly?' `I'm afraid you come into it, Susan.' `I? Do you mean . . .' She shivered. 'I heard this morning that Dona Elena is talking about a match between you and me. Is that connected with it?' He nodded. 'Thank heaven you know that much. Apparently that's what she's been feeding to Juana, on the quiet. I can never get to talk to Juana alone; I used to, but not now. I saw her for a moment last night – the first time for many days. She was sad and thin and wouldn't look at me—daren't look at me. I was wretched the whole night and then this morning, at about eleven, the old girl sent a message that she wanted me to bring the boys to the sitting room for morning refreshment. She had a guest— a paunchy young business man who intends to marry Juana!' `She'd actually invited you in to meet him?' He pushed a hand across his eyes, blinked them open again. 'Seemed so. She knows the man well and he's approved by the Visconde.' `But what can you do about it, Rex?' she asked, distressed for him. 'These people are not like us. I wouldn't be surprised if, in her heart, Juana accepts everything without question.' `That's the tragedy of it,' he said jerkily. Tut she's in love with me; she told me so herself. I think she's spent the last few weeks just sitting in her bedroom and trusting in me. And I've let her down!' THOUGH

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'But you couldn't help it. Even if there were no other obstacles, you're not in a position to marry her. She's a member of the Visconde's family.' He gave her a long, strange glance. 'You know, you talk as they do—the Portuguese. You're English, but you've been so much in contact with Senhora Varoz that you're losing your own identity.' `Don't be foolish,' she said warmly. 'You think everyone's against you, but it isn't true. I'm not in favour of the custom of selected husbands, but I realise it's their custom and not my business.' `Supposing you fell for a Portuguese who'd already had a wife chosen for him. What would you do?' Susan's mouth was suddenly dry. 'I'd get out,' she said, `and try to forget him.' `Well, I'm not clearing out. I'll remain in that household whatever it costs!' `What is it likely to cost?' It was Rex's turn to become conscious of dry lips. He ran the tip of his tongue along them. 'I haven't told you everything yet. I'm horribly afraid that I . . . that I've used you. I didn't want to, Susan, but I had no alternative. You're the only person I could possibly . . She cut in, with ominous calm, 'Come to the point. How have you used me?' He eased his shoulders within his jacket, stared straight at the log support of the arbour. 'When this . .. this man had left, Dona Elena sent the boys back to the schoolroom because she wanted a few private words with me. She said she had noticed my agitation when she had introduced Juana's fiancé—fiance, mark you, and there has been no engagement! She stated an ultimatum: I could leave Barbazon tomorrow with one month's salary in my pocket, or remain as tutor to her grandsons on her terms.' `And the terms?' `They were impossible, but I had to stay near Juana. I ... accepted them.' `What were they?' He drew a deep breath. 'I had to write a letter to Juana —the old girl dictated it. I was to say that ... that since 65

you'd arrived here I hadn't thought of anyone else. Oh, it wasn't phrased like that, but that's what it meant. The clever old bird already had it mapped out; I had to mention that I'd met the fiancé, to give Juana my congratulations, and to round off the epistle I merely had to mention that I also had become very happily entangled with you. Susan, don't stare at me like that. I had no alternative.' `How did you dare!' she breathed, wide-eyed. 'I won't have it, Rex. I'll see Dona Elena myself, and . `You wouldn't do that to me, Susan! I can't just leave the job and remain in Barbazon.' `That's your affair. I suppose you think you're mighty virtuous to come and tell me at once that you've made use of me in such a way, but I think you're contemptible! I've been here only a fortnight...' `But you're English. Surely you understand?' `The English stick together. Is that it?' Susan was standing now, her tiredness turned to anger. 'Well, I'm not interested, Rex. I don't want my name linked with you or with anyone else. If you're not man enough to tell the world tht you and Juana are in love, you s hould leave Barbazon for good.' `I'm not in a position to defy them. I've only my salary. I've nothing solid to offer.' `Supposing,' she said coolly, 'that your Juana gets married soon—what then?' 'I can't think about it.' `You can't hide from the possibility. Would she go to live in Lisbon?' `Probably.' `Then I think that's the best thing that can happen.' For Susan, it was rather a heartless thing to have said. In the shadowed arbour she saw his face lose more colour and take a faintly haggard cast, and instantly she was contrite. He was feeling this deeply, was truly in love and desperate about it. But he had no chance, no hope, though the fact of his feelings remained. That was what happened, she thought unhappily, when one fell in love with the wrong person. The obstacles were nightmarish and insuperable. `Well, it's done, I suppose,' she said dully. 'Dona Elena 66

has been most careful to keep things from getting out of hand, and it's unlikely that anyone outside her villa knows about this business. If nothing upsets her calculations she'll leave things just where they are. For heaven's sake, Rex, don't aggravate the situation. Don't try to see Juana or write to her again. If you allow everything to simmer down, as if you've accepted the old senhora's command, the vigilant watch over Juana may slacken. Then you'll be able to explain to her—perhaps even in person.' `But do you realise what a wretched time she's having, through me? It's almost as if she lives in private apartments upstairs. She does come down for dinner some nights, but we never get to talk to each other, and it seems that now we shan't even be able to exchange glances.' He drove a fist into his other hand. 'If only I knew what she's thinking!' `What she thinks,' said Susan, 'depends on how well she knows you. She's known her grandmother all her life, and she may be astute enough to realise the truth behind your letter. If she isn't,' Susan hesitated, 'you may be sure that she's the type to give in, and that's hardly what you need in a wife, is it?' `I need Juana, whatever she's like!' `Well, you'll have to be patient, won't you? Just don't take any more advantage of my presence here in Barbazon, or you may find I'll disappear and leave you flat.' For the first time he looked straight at her, saw that she was pale and grave. He lifted a hand, tiredly. 'I wish we were in love with each other, Susan. I've seen you happy and now you're strong. They're both qualities I admire.' `And it would solve problems, wouldn't it? But it's not that easy. I suppose I ought to thank you for letting me know the spot you've put me in.' `Don't make me feel worse. Dona Elena knew I didn't want to write what I did, and it's only between the three of us—and Juana.' She moved out into the sunshine. 'I hope it will rest there Goodbye.' He answered her, but moved wretchedly at her side towards the terrace. A car had pulled in behind Dona Elena's black auto, and two men and their wives were .

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issuing from it; they were local nobleza who had no doubt been invited for lunch, and it was inevitable that Eduardo should come out to greet them. His glance, dark, brilliant and enigmatic, slipped over Susan and Rex, but his words were addressed to the guests. Susan passed the group with a fixed smile and entered the Castelo. She went upstairs and tried to relax for a while in her room. She heard the discreet boom of the gong which a manservant sounded at the head of the staircase, and got up. She wasn't hungry, but it was her duty to persuade Dona Francesca to go down. But the senhora said she would prefer lunch in her room; perhaps Susan would like to join her? As they ate Dona Francesca remarked unsimilingly, 'It is a house one could love—the Quinta Rosa. You felt that?' Susan nodded. 'It's mellow and peaceful.' `You do not feel peaceful here at the Castelo?' `No, I don't think I do. It hasn't a tranquil atmosphere— not for me.' `Nor for me,' said Francesca unexpectedly. She added in level tones, 'I think it only fair that you should know some things. You are so fresh to Barbazon, so new to our family, that you may be aware of details that I have missed. I am inviting you to be candid, Susan.' `I'll do my best, senhora.' `This is in confidence.' `Of course.' Francesca leased back, placed her fingertips together and regarded them intently. 'When I spoke in front of you to my brother about Rosalia Valente, our cousin, it was deliberate. I wanted you to hear the conversation and to give me your opinion.' `You wish me to discuss the Visconde?' queried the startled Susan. `But no. Your ear is quick—I have noticed that. What did you detect from his voice and manner when we were speaking of Rosalia?' `Very little, I'm afraid.' `I, too. But you are differently situated from me. I know them both, Eduardo and Rosalia, but you have never seen 68

my cousin and can know little about my brother. Judging only on his tone and words, would you say that he is .. . reluctant to reopen the question of marriage with Rosalia?' For a heady moment Susan thought, yes . . . yes, I would! He doesn't want to marry the girl he chose so long ago; either whatever love he has for her is the wrong kind or.. . or there's someone else! `Yes, the Senhor Visconde did seem reluctant,' she said above the diminishing clamour of her own heart. Tut it was probably because I was in the car. It is better for you to speak with him about it in private.' The narrow shoulders shrugged. 'There is no longer a closeness between Eduardo and me, and I think that is part of the reason that I suspect his feelings towards Rosalia. He has not attempted to return to the relationship we shared before my marriage, and I feel it is because Rosalia was part of that relationship. She and I were closer than sisters; to hurt Rosalia would be to hurt me. Eduardo would not willingly hurt either of us.' Susan heard herself asking, 'Is it imperative that they should marry? After all, they seem to get along without each other.' `Eduardo must marry and there is no one so suitable as Rosalia. The connection between our families is very distant, and from her father's side Rosalie has some of the . noblest blood in Portugal.' To which, of course, there was no retort. So long as they shared a blueness of blood they were well suited. To Susan's relief the subject was dropped, and presehtly the senhora consented to lie down for an hour or two. Susan left her, went into her own room and looked for something to do. She was free now, for several hours. Why not go into the town and look for a shop which remained open during siesta? It would be like looking for a well in the desert, but it would entail action. Five minutes later, Susan was edging her way through the palm bush and down on to the beach. How soothing it was to put the Castelo and its occupants behind her, to stroll along to the rocks, clamber over them on to the main beach where the boats were putting out for the night's 69

fishing. Along the waterfront the afternoon vendors were appearing. Susan bought some peasant-striped material that would look well made into a skirt, a box of coloured wooden beads which would enchant the few small patients who occasionally found their way to Pellam Manor, a thin black sleeveless jumper and braid for its ornamentation and a box of toy puppets for a small cousin in England who was mad about such things. Carrying her purchases back over the-beach towards the Castelo, Susan felt like someone who had passed the crisis of an illness. Good lord, why should she have been so affected by Rex Stratton's perfidy? It didn't matter in the least. And why had she been crazy enough to imagine herself falling a little for the Visconde? She was as free and heartwhole as on the day she had arrived! You had to get away from the overpowering magnificence of the Castelo in order to see straight; if she ever felt peculiar again she must remember that. By the time she had deposited her purchases on her bed and found a small vase for her flowers, Susan was in her lightest mood. She hummed as she took a bath and got into a fresh dark dress for the evening, smiled at her reflection as she made up. And now she must go in and help Dona Francesca, perhaps get her to go down in time for a drink before dinner They might even take a short walk in the grounds. She took the cardigan which matched her dress from a drawer, shook it out and was about to walk straight into the next bedroom when she saw a white envelope on the floor beside the bedside table. A sudden rawness in her throat, she bent and picked up the letter. She read her name, recognised the odd, disguised handwriting. Her heart seemed to fall a long way, and then thud sickeningly. With shaking fingers she ripped the envelope and unfolded the sheet of paper. It was blank. In swift anger at the cowardly trick, she tore both paper and envelope into shreds and dropped them into the fluted silk waste basket. It was meant as a reminder, of course, but she wished from the depths of her heart that she knew the 70

sender. Silly to feel uneasy and apprehensive, yet how could she help it? The whole idea of anonymous letters was repugnant, but their effect was insidious; it was like finding a live maggot in one's breakfast egg. Of one thing she was certain, the person who had penned the first note and caused the second envelope to be placed in her room was not only craven but unbalanced. Susan gave the fragments in the basket a troubled glance, squared her shoulders and went quietly into the adjoining bedroom. The time began to pass very quickly. Dona Elena came a few times to the Castelo, but though her granddaughter was invited she did not appear. The old senhora would give Susan a long glance from her piercing, birdlike eyes, tell her that she looked well and devote the rest of her attention to Francesca, or to the Visconde if he were present. Twice Rex escorted Dona Elena and was roguishly left with Susan. But Susan took good care not to be alone with him for long; she had decided that likeable though Rex was, he was also detestable. Particularly, she disliked his desperate look. Determinedly, Susan permitted herself no wretched moments over Eduardo de Corte Ribeiro. Now that Francesca spent more time in the salas and the terrace, Susan met the Visconde more often. He had aloofly told her to address him as Dom Eduardo, but she hadn't quite got round to it. He would wish her good morning... `I trust you slept well, Miss Day?' `Splendidly, thank you.' `That is good. I think our climate agrees with you.' `Yes, it does, senhor.' And when it came to lunchtime, another polite and aloofly charming greeting. 'You have had a pleasant bathe, Miss Day?' `A perfect bathe, thank you.' `The sun likes your skin, I think. You are a good colour.' After dinner, when he departed for the library or escorted his sister and her nurse-companion to the foot of the staircase, he would wish Francesca goodnight, and glance carelessly at Susan.

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`Sleep well, Miss Day—but I am sure you always do. You have the untroubled look.' His comments varied, of course, but all conveyed the same baffling mood. Baffling to Susan, that is. One afternoon Rex arrived with the two Mendes boys. They were slim and dark in their whites, and swung their tennis rackets like experts. For a quarter of an hour they stood about waiting for Eduardo, but at that point Rex asked Susan to make up a four to while away the time. She hesitated only a moment, then ran indoors, changed into her white shorts and a white shirt and carried her racket down to the court. For twenty minutes, partnering the elder Mendes, Susan forgot the Castelo Carvo. The boys were fast and to her delight her partner expected her to do her stint. And then, as she moved with him round the net to change sides, she saw Eduardo. He was tall in white flannels and shirt, wore a dark red scarf at his neck and carried a racket under his arm. As he crossed the court he was heartbreakingly handsome, but his smile was cool and remote. `You are energetic, Miss Day,' he said. 'With practice you could become a fast, economical player. I will take over now, and you may have another game later, after you have changed into your usual tennis wear.' On the point of explaining that she had thought it would be all right to wear shorts while playing with the boys, Susan checked herself. He was the boss here, and he was bound to loathe women in shorts. Maybe it was a sort of defiance which had led her to put the things on; that was his effect on her. She said the usual 'Very well, senhor,' and left the court. Vaguely, as the days passed, she saw that excitement over the coming festa was affecting even the uniformed and very correct Castelo servants. Decorations festooned the buildings, and the higgledypiggledy shop windows on the side streets were given a dust-up and sprinkled with confetti. In Barbazon's main street, a cobbled thoroughfare which ran parallel with the waterfront, standards flying pennants were erected and brightly painted litterbins appeared at street corners, 72

adding to the general harassment and confusion. A gigantic clown's head nodded above the town fall, coloured lights were strung along the edge of the waterfront and about the fountain, and the boats sported a variety of bunting and streamers. On the day before the opening of the festa there were about eight guests for lunch at the Castelo, all of them men who were business associates of Eduardo's. The men had been closeted in the library all morning, and Francesca had decided upon a special luncheon for them 'to take away the dry taste of business discussions.' The luncheon itself had been rather an ordeal for Susan. She had struggled with the Portuguese language till her temples knocked, had smiled an achingly polite smile and drunk a wine which her palate found too dry. It was a great relief to wander out to the terrace for coffee. The men, after bowing a great deal and lavishing compliments on Francesca, said their goodbyes and left. Eduardo saw them to their cars, waved his cigar as they drove away. He came back to the terrace and took his seat beside the table at which his sister had poured coffee. He glanced at her. `You are tired, Francesca?' `Just a little. The men talk so much!' `Several of them told me they were glad to see you so well.' A brief pause. 'You feel you are really recovering?' `Already I am quite recovered, Eduardo, and I have many interests now.' `That is good.' He edged a cylinder of ash from his cigar. `We were one man short for our meeting. I was expecting Ruy Alvedo, but there was a message that he had been detained in Madrid and will not reach Barbazon till Saturday.' `I noticed when Susan and I went for a drive that Ruy's house was closed. It was good to see him again, that day you invited him to the yacht.' Diplomatically, Eduardo left the subject at a pleasant point. He leaned back. 'When the festa is over we must arrange a ball, Francesca. Dona Elena wishes to announce the marriage of Juana, and it is my duty to take charge of

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the situation.' `You are pleased about the match—you and Dona Elena?' 'It is very suitable.' Eduardo allowed his glance to rest momentarily on Susan, who sat on the opposite side of the table, facing the garden. 'Juana has always been a problem. Outwardly, she is as gentle and obedient as any other girl, but privately she rebels. Or so I am told. However, to me she is always sweet and docile. Perhaps you will help her with her trousseau, Francesca.' `Naturally!' Francesca smiled. 'Susan will no doubt be interested also. A Portuguese wedding is not quite like an English one.' Quietly, Susan asked, 'Is Juana very much in love?' It was Francesca who answered. 'Who knows how she feels now? It is after marriage that one is aware of love. Before marriage it is merely a strong attraction and the excitement of becoming a bride.' `That's something I don't understand,' said Susan. 'How can any girl know that the man chosen for her is the right one, when she has no other men to compare him with?' Francesca gestured with spread fingers. 'Eduardo will have seen to it that Juana met others, as well as the man she is going to marry.' With a hint of mockery, the Visconde said, 'Miss Day is an independent young woman, Francesca, and she enjoys to fall in love each summer. One year she will fancy an older, more responsible man such as the family doctor, and perhaps the next year she will lose her heart to an effervescent young philanderer like Jose Barrero, or to someone yearning for companionship and affection- like Stratton. She is not fickle, you understand? Merely experimental.' Francesca smiled. 'You do my Susan an injustice, Eduardo. She was not truly in love with the doctor at Pellam Manor, and I do not believe she is in love with Jose —though who can blame her for being infected with his zest and enthusiasm?' 'So we are reduced to the young Englishman,' he commented. 'Stratton is a man in need, and your Susan cannot resist another's need of her.' 74

`I have been grateful for that quality in her,' said Francesca. 'My brother teases you, Susan. He is really as fond of you as I am.' Susan's jaw went a bit stiff; she kept her glance averted from the provocative sarcasm in Eduardo's eyes. 'I'll bear that in mind, senhora. It's time for your rest now.' Before anyone could move, though, a Lisbon taxi swept round the drive. At once Eduardo stood up and walked towards the steps. A woman came from the taxi, a tallish woman in elegant navy blue. Her head was bare and sleekly black, her face was creamy-skinned, the lashes and beautifully shaped brows as sharply dark as the coil of hair at her nape. Her mouth, a soft red, was artistically perfect, and even from a distance her bubbling laugh as she gave Eduardo both her hands had the throaty richness of birdsong. As the two came along the terrace their pleasure in each other was palpable. `Eduardo!' she exclaimed, still clinging with one hand to his fingers. 'How exciting to see you again. I cannot believe I am here at this place you described. It is as beautiful as you said!' `And you are more enchanting than ever,' he returned. `I cannot welcome you warmly enough!' A cold hand upon Susan's heart squeezed hard and then let go. She looked at Francesca, saw that the senhora was staring at the woman and that her hands had clenched whitely on the arms of her chair. Eduardo called a servant to deal with the cab, turned back. `Ysabel, this is my sister . . . and this Miss Day, her young friend from England. Francesca, you must meet Ysabel Fontana de Castria. Ysabel and I met last year when I was in Brazil, and I insisted that when she came to Portugal she must visit us.' `Oh, yes.' Francesca was palely equal to the occasion. `You told me you had been to Brazil on business, Eduardo, but to meet Senhorita Fontana de Castria must have been a pleasure. I am very happy to know you, senhorita.' Susan murmured the greeting that was expected of her. She felt her own cool freshness shrivel and become negligible, her movements become awkward and adolescent. 75

She heard Francesca offer refreshment, and Eduardo assure his lovely guest that it would be no trouble at all to procure a tray for her out here on the terrace. Of course she must not miss luncheon! He would sit and talk with her and perhaps share her wine. He would so much like to hear about the friends he had made in Brazil . . . and about herself, naturally! Almost without excusing herself, Francesca entered the Gastelo with Susan behind her. They went up the magnificent staircase slowly, at Francesca's pace, and walked along to the bedroom. `May I help you undress, senhora?' asked Susan. Francesca sounded quite old as she answered, 'I can manage it, Susan. But do not go for a moment. I . . . I am most unhappy.' Susan wasn't exactly in festa mood herself. But she said, `Unhappy, senhora? You were quite cheerful over lunch.' `This woman—Ysabel Fontana de Castria. You have heard of her before?' `No.' `She is . . . most striking in appearance.' `Yes. Very attractive.' There was a silence, which Francesca ended sadly, 'Now we know why Eduardo remains distant with me. He is in love with this woman. He was careful in his greeting, but that is Eduardo. He was animated—you saw? And they gripped hands as they met. She is the reason he has ceased to keep constantly in touch with Rosalia. He is committed to marry Rosalia, but has now fallen in love with this Ysabel.' Very 'shakily she ended, 'I feel as if he had wounded me, myself. Rosalia will grieve terribly.' Her voice a little harsh, Susan said, 'Perhaps she need never know.' `She must learn about it, some time. At the moment I can only feel thankful that I have not yet invited Rosalia to come and live with me at the Quinta Rosa. If only I had the courage to speak with your brother about it!' `You're brother and sister. Surely . . Francesca's head lifted slightly. 'One does not question the Visconde. In any case, I do not doubt that he will 76

marry Rosalia; it has been arranged for many years. But it hurts me that she will never have his true love.' Susan, from the depths of some hurt within herself, said bluntly, 'I'll never understand your ways as long as I live. It seems to me that the Visconde and your cousin Rosalia have already drifted apart. If he's in love with . . . with that woman who has just arrived, he should marry her!'

`Love, my dear Susan,' said Francesca in a cold voice which had a tragic undertone, 'does not bring happiness. It brings only a state of mind in which nothing beyond one's love counts very much. The wrong choice, and one's life is ruined.' Perhaps she knew best. Susan folded the quilted bedspread, placed the vacuum jug of iced water close to the bed and half drew the balcony curtains. She said, Adeus,' and went into her own room. Almost involuntarily, she leafed through a travel book about Portugal and found a page where Brazil was mentioned. The language of Brazil was Portuguese, it seemed, and many years ago old Portuguese families had sent one of their sons to help establish and populate the country. Portugal and Brazil were very friendly, business contacts were maintained . . . and so on. So Ysabel Fontana de Castria was a distinguished Brazilian, a Portuguese with a touch of the New World Susan could imagine nothing more deadly. She put the book away, found her swimsuit and slipped out through the servants' door for a bathe. While she floated and watched a blue sky flecked with white she wondered how such a heavenly place as Barbazon could become distasteful. But perhaps places were often blamed for the calamitous things that happened in them. Barbazon hadn't changed during the past few weeks, but Susan had. Lord, how she'd changed!

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CHAPTER FIVE of course, became a house guest at the Castelo, and inevitably she made an excellent impression on everyone she met. Beautiful, educated, steeped in tradition and yet gaily aware of the world, she combined the qualities which Portuguese men love but seldom find in their women. Her father was rich, he owned cattle estados from Rio to Sao Luis and he entertained the great of many nations. He had only to hear that the Visconde de Corte Ribeiro was touring Brazil to extend to him an invitation. Eduardo had stayed six weeks with the Fontana de Castrias, had ridden their splendid horses, attended banquets in his honour, visited every one of their estados and, apparently, assiduously escorted their only daughter on every possible occasion. As was natural, Ysabel reminded Eduardo of incidents which had happened during those weeks, and as was equally natural, servants who overheard carried the titbits to others. Within a few hours, Ysabel was the most privileged guest the Castelo had known in years. The fact that she took obsequiousness from servants and homage from others for granted was another inevitability. Ysabel Fontana de Castria had matured in luxury and been permitted a freedom which is withheld from most girls in Portugal. Yet she retained that acquiescence to the masculine will which is an essential part of a Portuguese woman's character. To a man as vital as Eduardo she must appear the most desirable woman in the world. Susan was rather glad, next morning, to be assured by Francesca that for the three days of the festa she could come - and go as she pleased. This absolved her from attending meals downstairs, and allowed the acceptance of several invitations from José Barrero. He said she must attend the procession with him, dine and dance with him, watch his YSABEL,

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events in the bullring on the second day and attend the cabaret that evening, and also accept him as her escort on the final night of Testa. By that last night, Susan knew, she would have had enough of the Jose Barrero type to last her the rest of her life, but she admitted that it would be educational and perhaps fun to attend all the festivities with a young Portuguese. He'd be bound to ensure that she didn't miss anything! During that day, the eve of the festa, Susan had to struggle a little, and on the whole she succeeded in attaining the sort of outlook which would help her through the rest of her stay at the Castelo. She had a theory that in any emotional situation there is always something one can do if one can only remain calm and receptive of ideas. She tried it, and to a degree it worked. For one thing, she realised quite coolly that the situation was emotional only as far as she herself was concerned—and that was half the battle. So long as no one guessed that the nurse-companion from England had presumed so far as to fall in love with the Visconde de Corte Ribeiro there were only her own individual feelings to bear. And after all, she had known from the moment her heart had first leapt at the sound of his voice that her reaction had simply been that of any young woman meeting the experienced, slightly mocking and dangerously charming Eduardo. For the first of the festivities, the procession which left the town hall at five o'clock, Susan decided to wear a black full skirt and a petunia-pink shirt. Her fine, sand-coloured hair she brushed back but it fell forward rebelliously, most unlike the sleek coiffures of the Portuguese. To her own eye she looked a trifle spectacular, but she knew that almost everyone in the streets would look more so. She dropped lipstick, a thin compact and a handkerchief into the seampocket of her skirt, trod into small flat black shoes and went into the next bedroom to say goodbye to Francesca. After that, Susan went down the staircase with the intention of waiting for José in a secluded corner of the veranda. But as she reached the main hall, the library door opened and Eduardo came out. She stopped, felt his glance rove her 79

features, and made as if to move on. `You appear to be in gala dress, Miss Day,' he said suavely. 'My sister tells me you have arranged to watch the procession with young Barrero.' `Yes. I have Dona Francesca's permission.' `So. I- would prefer that you had approached me about it.' `Would you have withheld the permission, senhor?' A shrug. 'I would have realised that a young visitor from England might be interested in the festa frenzy, and have arranged for a party to occupy a balcony of the town hall. It is usual for us to attend only the sports events tomorrow and the final revelry the following night, but I would have been pleased to meet your wishes.' `There was no need to trouble you. I was grateful for José's invitation, and I'm sure I shall enjoy myself.' His alert dark eyes once more probed her features. 'You are in the mood for such antics? A light mood ... or perhaps a mood which works very desperately for lightness?' `I don't know what you mean,' she said guardedly. 'I've never attended a festa, so I'm naturally curious and eager about it.' `So it is eagerness in the green eyes; I mistook it for a shadow. How one is deceived.' His shoulders lifted and he flicked his fingers. 'You were on your way to the terrace?' `I thought I'd wait there.' `I will go with you,' he said, and crossed to open the massive door. Outside, it was .a perfect late afternoon. The air was soft and cool, the flower scents had sharpened and the sky had taken that deep lavender hue which follows the westering sun; there would be at least two hours of this broad restful light before twilight stole in. In the benign light, Susan's quiet little face came strangely near to delicate beauty. `You are very young,' he said abruptly. A trickle of ice snaked its way down her spine. As calmly as she could she answered, 'I'm nearly six weeks older than when I arrived here, but I feel I've put on several years. I've learned so much.' 8o

`A great deal,' he conceded, 'but nothing about life— your own life. Except for a desire to pander to the needs of Stratton, you are as untouched as you were at seventeen. I am sure of that.' He paused. 'If you were in England now, what would you be doing?' She looked at her watch. 'I might be on duty, preparing the supper trays or helping in the kitchen or driving down to the chemist's with a prescription.' `And if you were not on duty?' `I might have gone to the library in town, or to an afternoon show at the cinema. I might even have been lucky enough to get a game of tennis or a swim at the indoor pool. There's always something to do.' `You go alone to the cinema?' `I have been.' She smiled. 'It's not a bit shocking in England, but I wouldn't like to go alone in the evening.' `That is something!' he said crisply. 'But you have no doubt attended evening performances with men—different men.' `A few times,' she answered coolly. 'I don't much care for going with Paul—being a G.P. he's invariably called out half-way.' `He leaves you there—at the cinema?' Eduardo demanded. `No, he won't do that. I generally go out with him and sit outside the house he's been called to. Then, if it's early enough, we have coffee and a chat somewhere before he takes me home. If we go to a London theatre he makes special arrangements.' `You have too much freedom,' he said stiffly. 'One can hear it in your voice. No doubt you resent your lack of it here.' `I try to be as you want me, senhor.' He stood with his head back and his hands loosely held behind him. His dark, unreadable glance slid over her once more. `In part you succeed, Miss Day. You are invaluable to my sister, a fair and appealing addition our our household and you try very hard to improve your appalling British accent when you speak our language.' She laughed a little. 'Thank you very much.' 81

`You do not wish to know about that other part, in which you do not please so well?' `I can work that one out for myself. I'm just not like Portuguese women. I've been accustomed to earning my Jiving among men and women, and I don't care for tyranny.' `Tyranny!' The word was a minor explosion. 'And what experience have you of our tyranny?' `Very little, I assure you,' she hastened to reply. 'I was thinking of women in general. You did lead me on to be frank, senhor `But still you think about Francesca and that worthless husband, no?' She also thought of Rex and his pining Juana, but didn't tell him so. 'It's not an easy subject to discuss, is it?' she remarked reasonably. 'I suppose you've seen the whole of the festa at some time. Is it as exciting as the maids insist it is?' His eyes narrowed slightly, perhaps at her not-veryclever change of topic. However, he permitted it to stand. `The festa has its stimulating moments, I suppose, but as in most of such things, it is mainly for the young and those in love. Fiancés are encouraged to attend without parents, young men in groups hunt the groups of girls, but there is no dividing into couples. In Barbazon we are out of date, of course,' rather drily, 'but where the match is sanctioned we are not killjoys. You will see many pairs of young lovers among the throng.' `You sound a little cynical about it all.' `No,' he said quietly, 'it is not cyncism. It would delight me to spend every minute of the festa with a woman I loved. I would watch the laughter on her lips and in her eyes, make sure that she missed nothing, and feed her sweetmeats from the vendors, tuck flowers into her hair, sweep her into the dance, and stroll with her among the midnight crowds. As as the crowds thinned we would leave them and perhaps come here, to a moonlit garden.' Susan stilled a quiver. She had known Eduardo could talk like this—he was a Latin with plenty of temperament— but it had never occurred to her that he might choose Susan 82

Day as his listener. She felt a pain spreading up from her heart, a tightness in het throat. `I was mistaken,' she was able to say with a smile. `You're as much a romantic as a cynic.' And then, because somehow it seemed it had to be said: 'You should have invited Senhorita Valente for the Festa do Rei Sol, then you could have had your delight.' The words were scarcely spoken before she felt her arm gripped as though with steel pincers, just above the elbow. His teeth snapped. `You will never speak to me like that again—never!' he said in a furious undertone. 'Is it not enough that . . The impassioned spate of words was halted before it had really got going. Partly, Eduardo had halted himself, but there was also the noise of José Barrero's two-seater to put an end to privacy. And no one could have been more thankful than Susan. Relief ran through her like a flame. The tight grip of the long fingers left her arm, she heard a drawn, savage breath, and moved forward, precipitately. But José, ever correct, bounded up the steps and bowed low. His fleshy face beamed at Susan, smiled with the utmost pleasure at the Visconde. 'Boa garde! I am just on time, no?' Miraculously, Eduardo was back behind his mask of aloof interest. 'You are very punctual, José. You have decided upon a point at which to view the procession?' `But naturally, Dom Eduardo. I have rented a balcony on the corner of the Avenida Pavloz. We shall be served with refreshments there.' Muito bem. You will bring Miss Day back to the Castelo before eight o'clock.' It was quite touching the way José's face literally dropped half an inch. 'Dom Eduardo, the senhorita has permission from Dona Francesca to dine with me in town tonight. I assure you I will take every possible care.' `Miss Day is not accustomed to the riot of a festa,' said Eduardo, almost with indifference. 'There are three days of it.' Jose, being what he was, could not argue. He bowed his ,head sorrowfully. 'As you wish, Senhor Visconde.' 83

`Tomorrow,' said Eduardo, 'I shall take a party to the sports in the bullring. Miss Day will be with us.' Again José lowered his head. Then, pleadingly, he said, `If I am-successful in my events, I may invite Miss Day to our celebration?' 'If you are successful we will all come for an hour, José.' This may not have been what Jose wanted, but the honour it implied mollified him slightly. He brightened. `At least I am sure of Miss Day's company on the last evening. I do not have to remind Dom Eduardo of the custom of Barbazon?' He turned eagerly to Susan. 'On the final evening of festa one chooses a companion, and only a parent may object!' With admirable coolness, Susan said, 'I've already accepted, José. You need have no doubts.' `Go and enjoy your flower scenes on wheels,' said Eduardo, in a voice which might, in another man, have conveyed tiredness. In Eduardo it probably meant that he was already thinking of something else. `Adeus. Before eight, José.' José, a little ruffled no doubt but still very conscious of his own inferiority, backed away • to the car. Susan walked down the steps and got into her seat. From the corner of her eye she saw Eduardo stride into the Castelo, and by the time the little vehicle was moving down the drive she was wondering whether she had dreamed up that long, painful moment on the terrace. The fingers of her left hand drifted over the other arm, which was still red and sensitive from Eduardo's grasp. No, it had been real enough. But why the sudden rage? Actually, the reasons were pretty obvious. For years Eduardo had been content in the knowledge that one day, when Rosalia Valente felt she was sufficiently mature, he would marry the woman whom his family had approved while they were both very young. It was the kind of thing that happened in Portugal, and the Visconde was nothing if not Portuguese. Perhaps he was only fond of her, or loved her in the way one loves a sweet, familiar creature sincerely, but without passion. He had never doubted that they would marry, though, and did not doubt it now. 8

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But a year ago, in Brazil, he had met Ysabel Fontana de Castria, and after a few weeks of exhilarating propinquity had known that she was the only woman he could love deeply and passionately. Being a man of impeccable honour, he had left Brazil and Ysabel, knowing that he would never return. No doubt at leaving he had impressed upon the Fontana de Castrias that there was nothing he would like better than to act as host to them in Portugal, but he had certainly not expected the sudden arrival of Ysabel. Sitting there, dry in the throat and with her fingers tightly locked together, Susan thought she knew, a little, what had made Eduardo cool and occasionally bitter. Rosalia waited at Oporto, docilely and trustingly confident that Eduardo would come to claim her; certainty had eliminated impatience and eagerness, and implanted in her an unquestioning faith in him. Not for anyone in the world would he let her down. But now he was torn in two, half of him knowing that he would put honour and duty first, and the other half burning up with love for the disturbingly beautiful and desirable Ysabel. No wonder he had dug his fingers so cruelly into Susan's arm. No wonder he had sounded so hot and full of rage. Her mention of Rosalia had been unpardonable, and yet... Surely, she thought dully, loving someone gives a few rights, even if the love isn't returned? It doesn't, though, and deep down Susan knew it. She was a salaried member of the household, and almost any girl in the same position would have found her pulses throbbing at the sound of Eduardo's strong tread, and her heart warming deliciously and uncomfortably in the cool glow of his mocking smile. Maybe this that she felt for him was no different from the clamour of any youthful heart. Maybe. José was chattering gaily in his execrable English. 'I have been waiting for this day! It is so remarkable that you have never yet seen the Festa do Rei Sol, and that I am the most fortunate man who will show you everything. You are happy to be with me?' `Of course, José.'

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`But it is sad, is it not, that I cannot have the pleasure of escorting you everywhere during the three days? Dom Eduardo looked a little displeased, I thought.' A little displeased! Susan smiled. 'He likes to be the one to give permission. It's not important.' `But he has robbed me of your company! I was to have been with you five or six times, but he has reduced them to two. Did you comprehend that?' She nodded. 'I'm not an entirely free agent, you know.' `But if you really wanted to be with me you yourself could ask the Visconde. Would you do that for me, senhorita?' `I don't think he's in a mood to make concessions. I'll certainly watch your events tomorrow, and I'm looking forward to dining and dancing on the third evening. I don't think the senhor ever alters his decisions.' `You are probably right,' he sighed. Then, his nature being volatile, he shone a smile at her. 'What is it the English say? We shall have great fun, what-ho. Is right?' `Is nearly right,' she laughed, and she let his hot hand squeeze hers. She had decided to slide into the festa mood. The road into Barbazon grew crowded. José soon had to park his car; it had become impossible to nose through the throngs. Fortunately, the air was cooling and a breeze blew off the sea. With one hand in José's firm grip, Susan found herself being propelled along the main street, where the shops had closed for several hours, and manoeuvred down a side street between almost windowless walls, and literally pulled out on to the waterfront, where the floats were lined up. `Not to look!' commanded José. 'You will see perfectly from the balcony.' Susan stumbled after him in the darkness, came out with him on to a tiny balcony which was already occupied by about six people. In a fulminating undertone José told her that doubtless they, like him, had been told they were hiring the whole balcony for themselves. `But why should we have a balcony to ourselves when there are so many people wanting to see the show?' she said. 86

`You do not object?' He gazed at her raptly, apparently stunned by her large-mindedness. 'I will make you very comfortable and you will see everything. You would like drink?' Not yet, thank you.' `Some cakes, some fruit?' `No . . . really.' `But everyone eats all the time at the festal' `Give me time, José. This is my first.' The view from their corner of the balcony was extensive. There was the packed waterfront with the masts of the boats and the sea beyond, the road running up into the Praca, and eye-level bunting, flags and streamers. The cacophony of chatter and laughter, street-cries and music was essential to such a scene, and when the floats began to appear and jockey themselves round the corner, the noise was deafening. For an hour Susan was enchanted. The floats depicted aspects of Portuguese life; the farm and the sea, the cork forests and olive groves, the prolific orchards and vineyards, but every alternate float was a monumental effort in flowers, unbelievably beautiful. The crowning effort was a more-than-lifesize fishing boat made of pink carnations, in which the Rei Sol himself was enthroned. The last float moved slowly up the street and José thought it high time they had a drink. Out in the street they found a man serving wines through an open shop window, and with the wine came the inevitable plate of small shellfish. Then they strolled with the crowd. Because Jose insisted that it was part of the festa, Susan accumulated an assortment of trinkets and a posy. There was a tiny medallion on a thin gilt chain which he fastened about her neck: 'Is nothing, Susan. Just twenty escudos—all the girls wear them!' And he insisted that she put on the love-mittens, delicate things made of lace and seamed at the back with tiny pastel-coloured pearls. He put his arm about her and she didn't mind. It was part of the festa. Eventually, in deepening twilight, they made their way back to the car. Half regretful and half thankful to be 87

leaving the brightly-lit centre of town, Susan sank into her seat with her trophies on her lap. Jose drove back to the Castelo almost in silence. As he pulled up in front of the wide steps there came muted chimes from the buhl clock in the sala. He shrugged and sighed. 'It is fifteen minutes to eight. Again I am punctual. Did you know that I had booked a table at a cafe for this evening?' `I'm sorry, José. I'm afraid you'll have to find someone else to go with you.' After a moment he said softly, 'I do not wish for anyone else. You are so different ... your reception of things is unusual to me. I cannot tell you how much I look forward to the time when you will come with Dona Francesca to live at the Quinta Rosa.' `I'm looking forward to it myself,' said Susan, 'but don't let us complicate things. In six weeks' time I shall be going home to England.' `I tell myself that, but the heart will not listen. I have been in love before, but not like this.' `It only seems different because I'm English. I really must go in now, José.' `You promise to come to the bullring tomorrow?' `I promise.' `I will win every event,' he stated. Tor you!' `I wish you the very best of luck.' Susan got out of the car and José hurried round to her side. He went up the steps with her, remained one step lower as she reached the terrace, and took her hand and pressed his lips to it. `I really did enjoy the procession,' she said. 'Thank you very much.' His heavy, good-looking face had a decided droop, and because it seemed a pity that he should feel forlorn after giving her so much pleasure, she lightly touched his cheek with her fingertips. `Cheer up, José. Go.to bed early and you'll be sure of being in top form tomorrow.' But her touch unbalanced him. He was up on the step and holding her shoulders while he kissed her. It was a 88

fleeting kiss because Susan jerked back, but for the moment it satisfied José. He murmured a strangled, 'Ate logo!' and slithered down the steps and into his car. As the engine roared, Susan was bathed in sudden brilliance from the wide entrance to the Castelo. She turned to confront the Visconde, and realised in that moment how she must look; shiny-faced, untidy, hung with festa mementoes and wearing the white mittens. And then how she looked didn't matter at all, because she became convinced that Eduardo had been on the point of turning on more light when he had seen her with José on the terrace. She spoke first. 'It's five minutes to eight, senhor. Good timing.' His face, with the light behind him, was unreadable, his tones were hard. 'But I came out a little too soon, did I not, Miss Day. Do you always reward an escort as you rewarded José Barrero?' Susan felt the familiar quivering in her limbs, and it made her angry. 'Let's not make too much of it. What's a kiss, at festa time?' `Seeing that you are wearing his love token it could mean a good deal to Jose,' he said curtly. 'You will please dispose of those things before you meet the servants!' `But I want to keep them. The rose was tossed to me by King Sun himself from his float.' `And the pendant?' he asked, steely-voiced. `It's just something they were selling on the street—a view of the white cathedral in Barbazon. Other girls were wearing them.' `Take it oil!' `I can't,' she said through set lips. 'My hands are full.' `Then permit me.' Without waiting for her affirmative, he went behind her and, roughly for him, undid the catch of the gilt chain. He tossed the medallion into her hand and stood aside. `You will be tired. I will see that dinner is served in your room.' On the point of accepting his dictum, she paused and looked up at him. 'Do you mind if I ask a very simple

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question, senhor?' `What is it?' `Have you ever seen anyone remain quite unaffected by the procession and the music? Isn't it natural for a girl to find herself loaded with odds and ends after the opening of a festa?' `Quite natural.' Tut when it happens to me I'm banished to my room!' Quite a long moment passed before he said evenly, 'We will discuss all this and several other things in a few days, when the festa is over. If you wish to come down to dinner, please do so. I myself will be out.' With his usual courtesy he went with her to the foot of the staircase, but there he merely clicked his heels in a bow and turned towards the library. Susan went up to her room, dropped her oddments on to a chair and moved into the bathroom. While the water gushed she glanced at herself in the great wall mirror. Her face looked small and pinched, her eyes too large and bright. In her throat was a ridge the size of a brick. It was still there when she stepped into the warm scented water and had only slightly eased ten minutes later, when she towelled herself dry. She dressed and knocked on Francesca's door. There was no answer and she looked into the room. It was empty and tidy. No doubt the senhora had gone down early for cocktails and was remaining below for dinner. It was about a quarter to nine when a footman brought a covered silver tray for Susan. He was followed by a younger manservant who carried another tray on which coffee simmered over a low flame. In Portuguese the footman said, 'The Senhor Visconde ordered that dinner should be brought up if the senhorita had not descended at eight-thirty. Is there any further, requirement, minha menina?' `Nothing, thank you. Is Dona Francesca dining downstairs?' `The car of Dona Elena called for Dona Francesca. They are dining together at the Villa Aurora.' `And Senhorita Fontana de Castria?' `The senhorita has gone out with the Senhor Visconde. 90

They dine in Lisbon and go afterwards to the. theatre.' Susan smiled her thanks for the information, but as soon as the servant had gone she stood up and lit a cigarette. It seemed that except for servants she was alone in the Castelo Carvo. Francesca was having a heart-to-heart with the old eagle at the Villa Aurora and Eduardo was all set for a heavenly evening with the forbidden woman. How very nice. She stubbed out the cigarette, lifted the silver dome which covered her dinner and stared down at the steaming roast pigeon in a nest of browned potatoes,- grilled tomatoes, tiny peas, asparagus sticks, button mushrooms and curls of ham. For less than two pins she would have upturned the lot on the floor. The cover clanked back into place, and she poured black coffee and lit another cigarette. She had been denied the evening with José for no reason at all. Was Eduardo afraid she might make a lasting imprint on an impressionable young man, that she might even be tempted to lure him into marriage? Did he want to make sure that she stay no longer than a further six weeks in Barbazon? Susan couldn't work it out. She only knew that this halfway line in her stay at Barbazon was both a relief and a cause for despair. The second half of the threemonths would race away downhill, and on the whole that might be best. But she couldn't yet contemplate returning to the world of Pellam Manor, a world in which there was no Eduardo. The next two days offesta always remained misty in Susan's mind. With Eduardo, Francesca, Ysabel and a few other guests she attended the sporting events in the bullring. There was no bullfight, but toureiros paraded in their bright velvet and silk, and they took part with local contestants in the tests of strength and daring. José won four of his halfdozen events and was later feted in the dining room of the hotel, where Susan spoke to him for a few minutes. On the final evening of the festa Eduardo suddenly decided to give a dinner himself, and much to José's gratification and surprise, he was invited. So dancing and singing in town was off. Susan danced with him once, danced once with another young man and, as she saw Eduardo making 91

his way towards her, in order, no doubt, to make the usual courtesy remarks, she summoned all her strength of mind and said, 'I'm tired, senhor. If you'll excuse me I'll go to bed. Goodnight.' There, for Susan, the festa ended. For a couple of days afterwards she felt flat and rather cheated. At Francesca's request she attached pink-and white collar and cuffs to one of the black dresses, stitched a circle of emerald braid to a skirt and sewed a new set of pastel blue buttons to a thin and lacy nylon blouse. When the chores were over she took a chance and ordered a car and chauffeur, and in solitary grandeur she drove through the countryside. People noticed the car and were politely interested in its occupant. 'The young Ingleza at the Castelo,' they no doubt said to each other. 'Dona Francesca is well now— this one will be leaving soon.' She was an incident, an unimportant one. When she got back to the Castelo she gathered her swimsuit and went down for a bathe. The beach was deserted, and the beach but locked, but there was nothing to prevent her undressing on the veranda and leaving her dress on one of the foamrubber chairs. She swam in a sea that seemed cooler than yesterday, lay in the wavelets till the sun lowered. She had dried and dressed and was combing her hair when Rex Stratton came loping down from the Castelo grounds. Her first glance at him showed something terribly wrong. His face was as near dead-white as the tan would allow, and his hazel eyes seemed to have receded into his head. His speech was thick and almost uncontrolled, but when he had spoken a few words he stopped, and visibly pulled himself together. `Don't look so scared—I've been running. Didn't mean to frighten you,' he said. 'I went to the Castelo and asked for you. One of the servants told me he'd seen you coming this way with bathing gear. Susan, II. . . I just have to have a word with you.' `Of course you can. Sit down.' But Rex couldn't sit. His jaw twitched, he dug his hands into his pockets and bit at his lips. 'I'm in the hell of a spot and I don't know which way to turn. I need help, Susan.' 92

`What sort of help?' . . .' He took a breath, rubbed fingers over the back of his head and gestured hopelessly, before returning the hand to his pocket. 'It's to do with Juana again. Ever since this . . . this fiancé turned up I've been watching and marking time. While the servants were at the festa I managed to shoot a note under Juana's door; 'I asked her if she really wanted to marry the man. Quite soon I had a reply: somehow she slipped a note into a book on my bedside table, and I found it when I went to bed. She said she would run away with me, that if I'd sell a diamond brooch which belonged to her we'd have enough money till I could get a job in England.' `Good heavens! You didn't act on it, Rex?' `It seemed like the answer to everything. Juana was willing to take the risk of getting out of Barbazon with me, and to provide enough money for the initial steps. I thought about it all night, and all I could think of was sweet little Juana giving up everything to go with me. I couldn't let her down . . `Let her down!' Susan echoed. 'Surely you of all people knew that you can't do that sort of thing in this country? Even though Juana is over twenty-one the Corte Ribeiros wouldn't have an difficulty in preventing her escape from Portugal. Has she a passport?' `No, but I hoped we'd be able to marry—get Embassy sanction or something. Don't you see, Juana hates this man they've chosen for her, and she'll risk anything to marry me. If only I could have talked to her! But we haven't exchanged a word for nearly a month.' `Is this your predicament—that she wants you to run away with her?' He gave a faint and very sickly smile. 'I wish that were all. The next morning, after that sleepless night, I went out into the garden, very early. Because I was desperate I stood under her window and whistled softly. The next thing I knew, the diamond brooch was on the grass beside my foot. I picked it up and looked upwards; there was no sign of her, so I took it that my whistle had attracted someone else and she had only managed to slip the brooch from the window.' 93

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`It sounds like bad melodrama. What did you do with it?' `I didn't know what to do. All I could think of was that Juana had trusted me with something very valuable, that she had taken all the steps which made our getaway possible. I'd just been passive, and now it was up to me to act.' `Rex, you fool! Juana's lived a sheltered life, -she's infatuated with you because you're fair and good-looking.' `Shut up, Susan!' He was instantly apologetic. 'I'm sorry—I suppose I'm upset. You don't know how I felt, standing there, knowing I was the reason Juana had no freedom, except when I was in the schoolroom or out with the boys.' `You should never have let things go this far.' `It's too late for that kind of talk. Dona Elena saw that we were in love even before we knew it ourselves, and then . . `What's happened since you've had the brooch?' `That's by far the worst part of it. I nearly went mad during the morning, and in the afternoon I just had to do something about it. I got the manservant to take the boys to the sports and I drove into Lisbon and sold the brooch.' `Oh, good grief,' she said hollowly. 'And now you're regretting it, I suppose, and they won't sell it back. They got a bargain . . . `You're wrong. It seems that all the good jewellers in Lisbon know the family jewels of the Corte Ribeiros. This one recognised the brooch as one which had belonged to Juana's mother. He got in touch with Dona Elena. Last night there was a sort of . . . showdown. I gave up the money, the brooch was returned and I got the sack. Susan shook her head, unbelievingly. 'How could you get yourself into such a frightful mess?' `That's still not the whole of it. I was afraid of Juana's being involved, so I didn't mention her name at all. Dona Elena thought I'd pinched the damned brooch, but I didn't know till last night that it was normally kept in the family safe, downstairs.' ` How did Juana get it?' `She may have lifted it weeks ago, with this elopement in mind.' '

Susan pushed a damp tendril back from her brow. `So rather than implicate Juana, who had a right to the brooch anyway, you let them go on thinking you're a thief? A bit crazy, isn't it?' `What else can I do?' `Be truthful about it, of course. Did she sack you without any salary?' `She did—I'm broke. My suitcases are at the station, and I got a taxi to bring me here.' She said vexedly, 'It's a horrible situation. I think you should tell the truth!' `I can't.' Susan leaned back against the square pillar of the veranda. Thoughtfully she said, 'I think you can—but not to Dona Elena. She's as cunning as they come and she's probably incensed at having to find a new tutor for the boys. Rex, I think you should go to the Visconde.' He said, queerly, 'It's funny, but I thought of that myself. That's why I came to you.' `You'd decided to see him?' `It wouldn't be any use my seeing him. Whatever happened, he'd uphold Dona Elena. I thought...' `Not if he knew the whole facts. Tell them to Eduardo as you've told them to me.' He looked at her curiously. 'I couldn't. But you could.' `Oh, no, Rex. You're not using me again. You've known the Visconde much longer than I have.' `But you're a woman and he likes you. I've heard him tell Dona Elena that you're just the kind of companion his sister needs, that it was a very good thing you were able to come to Barbazon with her. To a man of his kind, dealing with a woman is entirely different from dealing with a man. If I went to him myself he'd tell me I'd asked for what I got.' `He'd be right,' she commented a little acidly. 'But he's the head of the family and he'd see you were fairly treated. That's what you want, isn't it?' He let out an unhappy sigh. 'I've got to a spot where I don't know what I want. I can scarcely rake together my fare home, and when I get there I have to have some sort of 95

reference to cover the last year or two. Even with that, it might not be easy to fix up at once, and while I wait I'll be on the breadline. I could actually sue Dona Elena for salary to cover the remainder, of my contract, but if I did, everything would come out, and Juana would be for it.' `So that what you really want is the money due to you and a reference?' `Yes, but I also want to be sure that a Corte Ribeiropreferably the Visconde himself—knows the facts.' `Supposing he passed them on to Dona Elena?' Rex looked down at the mosaic floor of the veranda. `That's where you come in, Susan. A woman can manage these things. A man couldn't, either in person or by letter.' She said slowly, distinctly, 'What exactly are you expecting of me?' He rubbed his knuckle along his jaw. 'I've come to you because there's no one else. Please realise that. If you'd tell the Visconde the whole truth, but swear him first to secrecy, that would do the trick. He'd see that I got the money, and so on. I do hate putting this on to you, but I'm in the sort of jam where I've no choice. You could do it so much better than L' 'What makes you think that?' For the first time a thin smile showed in his eyes. 'You're a girl, Susan, and instinctively you know how to use the fact to get what you want. Just look pleadingly at him with those big green eyes and he won't even argue.' `Don't be absurd. He's had more big-eyed pleading from women than any other man in the world! I'm not in the least important in the Castelo,' `But just now you called him Eduardo, my pet.' Pink came into her cheeks. She said warmly, 'I hear his name spoken so often that it just slipped out. I can't do it for you, Rex.' `You'd leave things as they are—my name badly soiled, my salary withheld? Is that your . . . your last word on it?' But for the slight tremor in his final sentence Susan's immediate future might have been infinitely more bearable. She heard it, and because her compassion was highly developed she couldn't give him a firm negative. He was 96

losing so much besides money and his good name. She shook her head as if to dispel cobwebs. `I'll go to the Visconde with you, Rex. That's the best I can offer.' `That wouldn't do at all, I'm afraid. You see, my feeling for Juana has never been acknowledged in any way. Except for that note she made me write to Juana, Dona Elena ignores it. The servants, I'm sure, have been forbidden even to think that mere schoolmaster could have any connection but a professional one with someone related to the Corte Ribeiros. If I confronted the Visconde with the fact that Juana and I have had a mild love affair, he wouldn't wait for an explanation, let alone listen to my request. He'd run me through with a sword!' Figuratively speaking, he was about right, thought Susan. To an extent, the situation was unjust to Rex. He'd been a fool, but not a cad. `I'd like to help you, Rex, but I can't go to the Visconde alone.' `Then I'm sunk,' he said with a spiritless shrug. 'If I saw him myself I'd only aggravate matters; better leave them alone than that.' `A letter might help, you know.' `You can't tell a man such as the Visconde that things have to be kept secret—not in a letter. I've got to be sure he won't go straight to the old fox.' Tut you can't leave it—let everyone think you're dishonest!' `I am dishonest, though, if not in the way it seems. I'd have wangled anything to see Juana again.' `You didn't see her at all?' He looked pale and young as he shook his head, avoiding her glance. 'It was hopeless from the start; I should have seen that. It was wrong of me to let her hope I could do something about the differences between us. I've only just admitted to myself that they wouldn't have let her marry me even if I'd had plenty of cash. They're hidebound, these Portuguese; that's why their race is comparatively pure.' Perhaps to ease a pain of her own, Susan said, 'They do sometimes marry foreigners.'

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`Not the women, not often. Perhaps I'll try and write to Juana, though I daresay the post at the villa is censored. I won't ask you to see her for me.' `If I could get to see her, it would be an easier task than the other you want of me.' `Forget it.' He gave a brief embarrassed laugh. 'Money is sordid, but how necessary! I may have enough to get to England, and I suppose I'll have to borrow. It's a bit of a comedown, when you . . .' He broke off, and for a full minute there was silence. `I feel badly about this for you, Rex,' she said. 'You never did have a chance with Juana, but that doesn't stop the feeling of loss, does it? We can't do anything about that, but the rest can be dealt with.' Perhaps Rex had been waiting for the full impact of his situation to strike her. Not too eagerly he said, 'I knew you'd sympathise when you'd thought it over. I wouldn't have come to you if it been only the cash. I just hate to leave behind me the suspicion—it's a certainty in Dona Elena's mind—that I'm a bad lot.' `I can't promise anything,' she said, and knew, fatally, that with the words she was promising much. 'It may be a day or two before I'm able to see the Visconde alone. Where are you going to stay?' `Tonight I'll take a room in a pens& in Lisbon, and I'll send you the address at once, and the phone number: Tomorrow I shall have to book my passage: I should get away within a week.' They had halted among the trees. 'You hadn't better be seen with me. I . . . I'll do what I can.' He took her hand, and squeezed it, she saw the hollow darkness of his eyes, heard the resignation in his tones when he answered, 'Thanks, I'm depending on you, Susan. When you get home I'll come and look you up at Pellam Manor.' `Yes, do,' she said wearily. 'Goodbye.' He disappeared suddenly, along one of the narrow paths between the luxuriant shrubs. Susan walked on, entered the Castelo by the servants' door and went upstairs. She showered and 'got into a cream sleeveless dress, re98

membered, too late, that she had to wear something dark here in the evening. Well, it wasn't quite evening yet, and she would definitely like a cup of tea. A ring of the bell would bring a tray to her room, but she had an urgent need to be among other people. There was nothing to prevent her ordering some tea to be brought to the terrace. She went down to the main hall, spoke to a servant and walked through the sala to the side terrace, where she sank into a softly upholstered chair. From this side of the Castelo the view was distinctly artistic; a wide paved walk between flower borders and lawns, the fountain chasing rainbows and then the continuation of the walk in a wide curve that led to the chapel which was hidden among magnolias and cypresses. It was soothing, in an uneasy fashion; this afternoon Susan was deeply conscious that she did not belong here. She drank tea, wished she hada cigarette; almost any activity would have been better than lying here and staring at the spacious grandeur of the grounds, and wondering how in the world she had slipped into such a muddle. She sat there for a long time. The sun was setting somewhere behind the Castelo, and streamers of flaming coral slashed the deepening blue of the sky. Susan had seen it before, but never before been touched so sharply by its beauty. Her jaws hurt with clenching; she couldn't stand any more of this. Her hands were on the arms of her chair when voices. stilled her movements. The sounds -came through an open window which was no more than a yard away, just above her head. The voice of Eduardo emerged clearly, but he spoke in his own tongue and she could glean only a little of what he said. 'Of course you must stay with these people in Estoril, if you wish. You must see everything while you are in Portugal.' Then Ysabel's voice, speaking more slowly because her usual Portuguese had a Brazilian flavour. 'I would rather stay here. I have never been so happy in my life.' A pause. `Eduardo . . . you do not regret having come to know my family in Brazil?' A swift, warm reply. 'Deus! Of course not, Ysabel. But for you, I would never have known your country, and but for 99

the fact that I was interested in your country, I would never have come to know you so well. And that would have been a calamity.' A low, rich laugh. 'You know how it is with us in Brazil, .Eduardo. We have our own way of life, our big country, our famous Rio. But some of us have a feeling for the old country, for ancient things and traditions. Since I was a little girl I have dreamed of coming to live here.' `And now you are here, Ysabel, and I hope-you are not disappointed. Susan would have leapt up and gone then, but she was afraid they would hear the tap of her heels on the tiles. Deliberately, she pressed fingers over her ears, and then, somehow, she was listening again. `You have spoken of going to Oporto quite soon Eduardo, and your sister has told me that you have a good reason to go there. Francesca does not like me, I am afraid. She hints that . . . that you are engaged to be married.' What happened then in that room Susan could not even conjecture. After a silence Eduardo said, in his most charming, non-committal tones, 'I will give you the news after my return from Oporto. As for your assertion that Francesca does not like you . . . absurd! Sh e is slow to unbend, but she will come to love you as a sister.' `I hope for that. Eduardo . . . you are really bound to this woman in Oporto?' `It is something I cannot discuss, my dear Ysabel. It may be two or three weeks before I shall be free to visit Oporto, and during that time you will no doubt stay on at Estoril.' Then, adroitly changing the trend of the conversation. `You wish to go tomorrow? I will drive you there myself.' Ysabel must have been very close to the window, for there was a drift of expensive perfume as she, presumably, moved nearer to Eduardo. Susan caught only a few scattered words: `. . . a custom I hate, the arranged marriage Eduardo . . . yes, but such things hurt the heart. You understand?' Precipitately, Susan leapt from her chair and stumbled down into the garden. She reached the fountain, paused dizzily, and told herself that that was what one got for '

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listening. Ysabel Fontana de Castria was going to be safely stowed at Estoril while Eduardo arranged his affairs. There was the proposed ball to announce the engagement of Juana Mendes, a sly send-off to the 'romance' betwen Francesca and Ruy Alvedo, and afterwards Eduardo would be free to arrange his own marriage. He was pledged to Rosalia but in love with Ysabel. Not very long ago Susan would have said it served him right, but Rex's unhappiness and her own recurrent anguish had altered her outlook. And she was almost sure that she loved the tall, commanding Eduardo enough to wish him happiness, wherever he might find it. Eventually, making her way back to her bedroom, Susan decided that she must wait at least till Ysabel was gone before approaching Eduardo on Rex's behalf. She was at the foot of the staircase when a maid hurried across the hall with a letter. Tor you, minha menina. It was brought by a fisher-boy.' `Thank you.' A single glance at the envelope was enough. The moment she was on the upper corridor and out of sight, Susan tore the letter across and across and flung the pieces through an open window. Below in the courtyard someone would rush, scandalised, for a brush and pan. Let them! They might not know it, but those scraps of paper were at least one defiant gesture against anonymous letter writers and the Castelo Carvo!

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CHAPTER SIX LATER, Susan was rather amazed that she had been only angry and uneasy about those anonymous communications. The first one had shaken her, but had followed too soon upon her arrival to suggest any personal hostility, and she had felt it must be the work of some crank who happened to know English. The second, of course, had conveyed nothing except the fact that the writer, or non-writer in that case, was still opposed to Susan's residing at the Castelo. The third came at a time when a mere anonymous letter was a bagatelle; she had too much else on her mind. She did wonder, a few times during that night, just what the letter had said, if anything, and then, thinking of the task before her and the diminishing days of her stay at Barbazon, she laid the whole matter aside. Sending anonymous letters which were intended to intimidate was a pretty poor way of chasing amusement; one ought to be sorry for the writer. The next morning Francesca became businesslike. She was expecting the curtain specialists from Lisbon at the Quinta Rosa, and wanted Susan to go there with her and make a list of all the smaller household requirements. It may have been by accident but was more likely by design that Ruy Alvedo called at the Quinta at about noon. He was a quite, half-smiling man of nearly forty; he had a good face with none of the commanding characteristics of the Corte Ribeiros, but you felt that in spite of his lack of imperiousness he knew what he wanted. He was too old to be caught revealing his feelings for Francesca, but Susan was sure they existed. Francesca must have been, too, but she treated him as she treated her-brother's friends, agreeably but distantly. am glad you like our new materials, Ruy. I had a selection out from Lisbon and was assured of their quality. I am not making a great many alterations, though.' 102

`It is as you please, Francesca,' said Ruy, in his smooth, pleasant tones. 'The Quinta Rosa is a fine place.' `I hope to live here for the rest of my life.' `You are young enough to change your mind about that.' He smiled. Tut you-will be happy here. Almost as soon as you are established you will be preparing for the vintage. It is a gay time, the vintage.' Tor some,' she agreed reservedly. 'While it is in progress here I may go to stay with my cousin Rosalia in Oporto.' `Perhaps she will come here.' `I have a letter from her in which I am invited to visit her first.' `You think she is shy to meet Eduardo after so long?' `I think she does not wish to come until the details of the marriage have been arranged. It is comprehensible.' Ruy agreed. 'I hope you will give a small party here at the Quinta before you leave. It is good to warm a house with conviviality.' `No doubt we shall give a party, and you will be invited, Ruy—as will others with whom I have renewed acquaintance.' 'If the man noticed the rebuff he gave no sign of it. He moved towards his sedate grey car. 'I am delighted to have seen you here this morning, Francesca. Perhaps this afternoon I will give myself the pleasure of calling at the Castelo.' `Please do,' said Francesca politely. 'My brother will be most pleased to welcome you.' They drove back to the Castelo and had lunch on Francesca's balcony. The senhora still tired easily, and after the morning of walking about the Quinta Rosa she felt the need of siesta. When she was settled, Susan fell back on the usual bathe. The powder-blue swimsuit she had worn yesterday was sea-stained, and she decided to take the white one and a yellow cap. From habit, she looked cut of the balcony window before leaving the room, and she saw the long cream car curving away down the drive towards the road. It looked as if Eduardo was driving, and that would be Ysabel at his side. He was taking her to his friends at Estoril. 103

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It was odd, thought Susan as she went down the staircase, but she had never really exchanged a single word with Ysabel Fontana de Castria since their introduction. Susan had naturally waited for a move from Ysabel, but to the Brazilian girl Miss Day was simply a Castelo appendage who already enjoyed a good many privileges, and whom it was not necessary to treat with more than smiling politeness. She bathed, dried off a little and got into the buttonthrough green linen. Leaving her cap and book under a tree, she wandered over to the rocks, found one which was smoother than the rest and sat on it with her feet drawn under her, watching the glorious inactivity of Barbazon beach. Boats, men, oxen and dogs slept in the sunshine. A breeze rustled through the nets which were hung between poles to dry, and a faint ripple passed ceaselessly over the smooth crests and valleys of the sea. A few vessels rode at anchor, and far across the bay, alongside the stone pier, the yacht Moncao was moored. 'Trade Wind' it meant: a lovely name for the sleekest yacht afloat. The air and the scene were narcotic; it was only when the air cooled that Susan realised she had been sitting on the rock for more than an hour: Stiffly, she turned back towards the beach hut, and then, because no one was about, she tumbled into a couple of somersaults to loosen up. Her exercises brought her to the beach but and she straightened, shaking her head to throw off their effects. And as she took a long breath to end the panting, she looked straight up into the dark and brilliant eyes of Eduardo. She started violently, pushed back the wild, sand-silk hair and blinked eyes which were grey-green, like the sea. `I alarmed you?' he said. 'I am sorry.' `It's . .. all right. I thought I had the beach to myself.' `Is that why you come at this time of the day?' `Yes, I suppose it is.' She saw that his usually sleek hair was thickly waving and wet, that he wore a white towelling shirt with the linen slacks. 'Have you been in, too?' He nodded, took from his pocket the thin platinum cigarette case and flicked it open. 'I came down here to think, but decided first to have a swim.' 104

She put the cigarette between her lips, held it to the flame of his lighter and blew smoke. 'Well, you've had the swim and I'll leave you to your think. I've left my things up there, under a tree.' `Sit down,' he said. 'Smoke the cigarette before you go.' `But I look deplorable!' The dark glance studied her for a moment and slid back to the tip of his cigarette. 'You look young and energetic and ruffled, but not deplorable. I wish to ask you some questions.' Her heart fell a fraction, but she sat down. 'I want to talk to you, too, senhor, about something rather serious, but I'd rather do it in . . . in different surroundings.' `Something serious concerning yourself?' he asked quickly. `No. I don't really come into it. It can wait a while.' `Good.' He slipped a cushion behind her head and then took the chair opposite, with the low table between them. `What have you being doing since you swam?' `Is that on your list of questions?' He smiled faintly, showing the tips of teeth which looked amazingly white between his lips. He appeared casual and brooding, disturbingly masculine. `I happened to be curious. What do you find to do for so long on the beach?' `I drowse and read, swim and drowse again. Today, I went over there to the rocks and gazed at the comatose backbone of Barbazon—men, boats and animals. Those fishermen must be simple, happy people—they relax so utterly.' `And you find it difficult to relax?' `To relax completely, yes. My mind keeps bothering me.' `How?' Susan became suddenly conscious of her bare sandy feet. `I suppose I'm impatient for things to . . . to even out.' `You look forward to returning to England?' `Sometimes.' `Or is it,' he asked shrewdly, 'that you are anxious to leave Barbazon?' Susan knocked ash over the edge of the mosaic floor, 105

reached down with her toe and flicked sand to cover it. Intent on w.hat she was doing, she answered honestly, 'It could be that. I'm not really needed here any longer.' `You are needed,' he said flatly, and left it there. Then: `We have not really talked together since the festa. Are you still angry because I forbade you those romantic meetings with Barrero?' `No, but it did seem rather a pity that I had to miss so much of the fun. I'll never seen another Festa do Rei Sol.' `You have no wish to come back to Barbazon?' `I might wish it, but it wouldn't be possible.' With a swift, sardonic note in his voice, he said. 'You could implore the good doctor to bring you here for your honeymoon. Have you thought of that?' Without lifting her head, she returned, 'No. As a matter of fact I can be grateful td Barbazon for one thing above others. I shan't spoil Paul's life by marrying him.' `So? It is true that you have discovered that you no longer love him?' `I'm still fond of him, but ... the feeling is different. He knew before I left that I was terribly uncertain. I ... I meant to think it out, to decide while we're apart just how much he means to me. But ... well, I didn't have to. I forgot Paul for a few weeks and when I started to think about him again I found I knew, without searching.' Eduardo smoked for a moment in silence. She moved her glance to the tips of his light suede shoes, and waited. When he spoke there was a suspicion of harshness in his voice. 'One is not uncertain about love, pequena. It is only the shades of affection that are confusing. Love is as different from affection as wine from milk. You will learn that.' `I think I've learned it already.' `So?' The familiar monosyllable came sharp as a shot. `From whom?' Susan blessed her unwary tongue. 'I only meant that one does learn such things as soon as there's time to absorb them. They're really all around us, aren't they?' `You mean here in Barbazon. I suppose so.' He pressed out his cigarette. 'I believe Ruy Alvedo called this morning at the Quinta Rosa?' 106

`Dona Francesca spoke to him in the pateo. He didn't go into the house.' `My sister did not show him the renovations?' `Only the curtains at the french door. He didn't seem to expect anything more. May I express an opinion?' With a slight smile he said, 'You are not very wise, but I believe you have moments of inspiration. What is this opinion?' `You won't shut me up because it isn't my business?' `Shut you up? Never!' `You've done it a few times, very effectively. I wanted to say that—in my opinion, of course . . `Of course,' he nodded, mockingly. `Well, Dona Francesca and Senhor Alvedo are best left to sort things out for themselves,' she said rather hurriedly. `I've met him only two or three times, but I'm sure he's quietly persistent, and that he doesn't really want to rush things. It's about five months, since the senhora lost her husband, and she's finally becoming reconciled and interested in other things. When Senhor Alvedo had left this morning, I felt sure that Dona Francesca, as she walked about the house, was telling herself she would never marry again.' `That is wrong,' he said abruptly. 'She has had no true marriage.' To her own astonishment Susan heard herself saying, `You can't say that because you don't know. For the four years of her marriage you didn't know her at all.' Suddenly scarlet, she added, 'There! you've led me on to put my silly foot in it. I've told myself over and over that I'd never mention this subject to you again.' `You spoke at my invitation,' he said, but his smile had gone. 'My sister has always been very dear to me. When I heard that Joachim Varoz had changed so much after his marriage I tried, through various people who might hear where he was, to get him to return to Barbazon. I knew that their way of life was totally repugnant to Francesca, and that to be happy she needed the ordered existence in her own quinla, children, a circle of friends.' He paused and stood up. `Ruy Alvedo will give her those things—the 1 07

sooner the better.' Tut they're seasoned people, both of them. It may be two or three years before Dona Francesca is able even to think of a second marriage.' In clipped accents he said, 'I must settle this before I can attend to my own affairs. Therefore to me it is urgent.' He turned to the door of the but and opened it, leaned a little way inside and snapped on the record-player. Apparently a record was already seated on the turntable, for at once a long nostalgic note announced the beginning of one of those heart-melting continental pieces which lie somewhere between the modern love song and the light classic. Susan felt a tightening of her limbs. What with the music and his last pronouncement, she was in the mood to break something. Eduardo leaned back against the wall, a tall, distinguished inquisitor. 'This Paul,' he said. 'He will be hurt that you refuse him—badly hurt?' `I don't know, Paul's so . . . so sane. I used to point out that Kay Newman, his receptionist, was awfully goodlooking and far more suited to him than I was, and he'd say, "That's been my trouble, Sukey. I've always done the things that suit me. I'm tired of it." He liked Kay, though.' `Sookee?' echoed Eduardo in some distaste. 'Your English nicknames are appalling. In Portugal we add a little to the name, for endearment.' `Yes, I know.' The slurring notes of a small, well-knit orchestra pulsed over the air. No singer, but you felt the throbbing burden of someone's emotions. `What is that thing they're playing?' she asked. `Amorsinha,' he said. 'It means "My little love". There are no words, beyond the title.' `It doesn't need any. I've never heard anything so ... evocative.' `And what does it evoke for you?' He was smiling again, but only with his lips. With her head lying against the back of the chair, Susan looked at the sea, and said dreamily: `I can see a deserted cobbled street, moonlight angling o8

across the roofs and a young man with his hands in his pockets, walking down towards an old bridge over a calm silvery river. He's whistling the key notes of the tune, rather sadly because he's lonely . . . and needing something, or someone.' `He has to be in need, of course, for you to comprehend him so well,' Eduardo commented sarcastically. The music ended and he switched off the record-player and pulled the door shut. 'Such' music has its uses, I suppose. At the moment it is not to my taste.' `Did you choose the record?' `No. Ysabel bought several and preferred this one. I drove her to Estoril this afternoon and she asked me to come here and play it. Uma veneta . . . a whim.' But apparently he pandered to Ysabel's venetas. 'She's a most beautiful woman,' said Susan. `A true Brazilian—lovely, intense and excitable.' As if against the slanting light of sunset, Susan closed her eyes. Any woman in love was intense and easily excited, and no doubt to the lover she was infinitely lovely. Naturally, he didn't care for the record just now; it painted a picture for him as well—a far different picture from Susan's. He saw Ysabel's great dark eyes, her sultry mouth, her whole inflammatory presence . . . and ruthlessly forced himself to remember the gentle, trusting Rosalia. Susan would have liked to go to sleep for a while, and to wake up and find him gone. In any mood he was upsetting, but friendly, and even a trifle intimate, he was not to be endured. Steeling herself against him took too much out of her. She was very still; her face, with the closed eyes, had the appeal of vulnerable youth, and the graceful curve of her neck, the slim shoulders in the beach dress, the bloom of salt over the golden tan of her legs, added a touch of pathos. The long silence was punctuated by the regular roll of the Atlantic. Then she heard a nearer sound, and knew he had gone. There were guests for dinner, eight of them. Susan, wearing a fairly ordinary dark green brocade, sat between Ruy Alvedo and a somewhat paunchy young man who, she 109

learned later, was the fiancé chosen for Juana Mendes. He seemed very sociable and normal, though his English was sketchier than Jose Barrero's. He was an architect, anxious to please Dom Eduardo and Dona Francesca, and willing to explain with pride that this holiday in Barbazon had been made possible by an excellent contract which his own efforts had attracted to his company. Susan gathered that he was distantly related to several good families, that he was at present engaged on the design of a house for himself at Cascais, and that one day he would be a director of his company. In fact, what more could anyone, even the Visconde de Corte Ribeiro, wish to find in the chosen husband of one of his young relatives? Susan was back in flippant mood. Many times, during her stay at the Castelo, she had found that as an antidote to crowding emotions flippancy took some beating. Nothing open about it, of course; it was merely a frame of mind which steadied her equilibrium and even gave her some private fun. She had come up from the beach feeling drained and miserable, unable to forget Eduardo's last words: 'A true Brazilian—lovely, intense and excitable.' Only something vast and unalterable could have made Eduardo leave her without a polite 'Ate a vista' the fact that while she lay with her eyes closed, apart from him, he had faced a future in which Ysabel could have no place. The war within him just now must be pretty fierce, Susan had thought, shakily. Yet here, at the dinner table, he was his cool, distinctively charming self. He smiled at jests, made a few himself, was assiduously the host in every sense. It was nearly ten when he gave Francesca the sign that it was time to move to the terrace. There was quarter-moon tonight; it was dipping towards the trees, a silver canoe drawing a star in its wake. The fountain tossed the reflection between its jets, leaves danced and were momentarily varnished with light. It was a night of promise, a night of change. At eleven, when the first guest left, Francesca called Susan to her side. 'I can stay here no longer. I have apologised to my brother and he will convey my regrets to our —

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friends. Will you go up with me?' `Are you unwell?' `A migraine. I have felt it slightly all day, but tonight it has become insupportable.' `Let's go at once.' Susan rebuked herself for being too full of her own problems to notice the senhora's pain-dimmed eyes. `You shouldn't have come down to dinner, senhora!' `It seemed to get a little better and I was reluctant to return to invalid ways. Do not worry, Susan. I have told my brother it is tiredness.' But it was more, even, than common migraine, Susan, thought. Francesca, when eventually she was lying sideways among pillows and submitting to slow massage of the nape of her neck, looked almost as ill as she had looked at Pellam in those early days. Then it had been grief which caused the three-day headaches. And now? Casually, quietly, Susan enquired, 'Not distressed about anything, are you, senhora?' `But no. I am happier than I have been for some time.' `Then perhaps you did too much this morning, at the Quinta Rosa.' Francesca's features seemed to go bony and white as Susan watched, but all she said was, 'You are no doubt right, my dear. The massage has done good. I am ready now for the mixture which Dr Terrant prescribed.' Susan measured out powder and water, stirred with the glass rod and stood near the bed while the senhora drained the glass. 'I'll leave the communicating door open a short way tonight, but you'll probably sleep. The mixture has that effect, if you remember. Don't hesitate to call me, if you need me.' `I shall sleep.' She turned tiredly on to her back and half opened her heavy lids. 'Oh, Susan, I forgot. My brother wishes you to return to the sala for an hour. I suppose the other guests are staying till midnight, and he does not wish Senhora Valdes to feel neglected.' As Senhora Valdes had been the only other woman among the party tonight, this was likely. Susan nodded. `I'll go down, but I'll be back at twelve. Boa noite, senhora.' III

She put out the light and went quietly from the room. Out in the corridor she paused, wishing she might go to her own bed. Making conversation with a Portuguese matron was apt to become wearing. However, at the Castelo Carvo a salaried member of the household did not disobey instructions. So she slipped into a bathroom and washed her hands, brushed her hair and straightened the stiff little collar of her frock, and decided to go down the back way and stroll round to join the others on the terrace. When she arrived in the courtyard at the back of the Castelo, Susan took a long breath of sea-smelling night air. With a return to inconsequential mood, she decided to do this every night, store up enough of the soft breezes to last for a month after her return to England. By then, with luck, these summer months at Barbazon would begin to fade into a rosy memory. Well, perhaps not a rosy one. A memory, anyway. She would write to Paul tomorrow, tell him that most difficult thing—that she loved him, but wasn't in love with him. To make it final she ought to send him the diary; the few filled pages were possibly more eloquent than words could ever be. After he had got over the first disappointment he might become more aware of Kay Newman's bright presence; he might even notice that she did more for him than her salary called for and was never averse to being yanked from her home at any old time to share a vigil or look up records. The silence of the night was tenuous and a little uncanny. The guests must have gone early, after all. She could go to bed. Susan had actually turned back towards tthe erac back entrance when Eduardo appeared from the . He came straight to her. `I asked Francesca to send you down to me. Why did you not come?' `I used the back stairs, and then' I couldn't hear anything, so I was going back again. Senhora Valdes has left, hasn't she?' `I did not want you for Senhora Valdes. You do not deserve an hour of fighting with archaic Portuguese. Come. I will give you a small drink in the library.' 112

The thought of being closed up with him in one of those oppressively magnificent rooms was suffocating. 'Can't we speak out here, senhor? Did you want to tell me something?' 'It is you, I believe, who wish to speak with me,' he said. `The surroundings at -the beach were inappropriate, you thought. The library, too, it seems. Of has the matter become unimportant?' With a sense of shock Susan recollected her reasons for seeking an interview with the Visconde. What in the world was happening to her, when the senhora's migraine could escape her and this other matter slip so easily from her mind! `Yes. I do need to speak with you, senhor. It's really rather urgent.' `It is not like you to postpone something unpleasant. I presume it is unpleasant?' `Why should you?' `It is obvious, from your manner and evasions. It grows cool out here and you have no wrap. We must go indoors.' There was a hollowness in Susan's chest, a flippant, never-say-die look in the green eyes as she walked with the Visconde, up into the terrace and then through a french door into the small sala. Almost automatically her glance sought the face on the wall. The Visconde had switched on an electric candelabrum on the table immediately below the portrait, and in the yellow light from the artificial flames the painted features were softer, and the cruelty had more the cast of cold-blooded fortitude. He had lost his wife and son, and detested the world ever after. She accepted the small glass of wine, tasted it politely and set it down on the table beside her chair. Eduardo sat with his back to the candelabrum, leaned on an arm of his chair and regarded her. `It is about Stratton, no?' Susan let out a cautious breath of relief. 'You know? Do you know all about it?' `I think not, but you will tell me. I guessed this afternoon that you wished to speak to me on Stratton's behalf, and that is why I did not press the matter. Do not hurry, senhorita.' 113

• The senhorita' put het off. This was the sort of interview in which she would have preferred to be called Miss Day. But Eduardo had given that up for some reason. Recently, a little mockingly, he had called her Susan once or twice, but mostly he used some Portuguese word which obviated mentioning her name. `It's a bit difficult,' she said. 'Would you mind telling me how much you've heard?' Not at all. I had a message from Dona Elena this morning. She said she had found Stratton dishonest and dismissed him. To her, the young man was merely a tutor who had disappointingly become untrustworthy and in the interests of her grandsons must be replaced.' Susan stared at him. 'Does it really mean so little to her—spoiling his whole life like that? He'd been with her for more than eighteen months and never once given her cause to suspect him of stealing, yet the moment she has evidence of dishonesty she throws him out. I think it's shocking!' `I wish to hear no censure of Dona Elena,' he said evenly. `When did you see Stratton?' `He came to find me yesterday. I was down at the beach.' `And the day before, no doubt,' he said, his lips twisting a little, 'you met Barrero in the same place. You omitted to tell me such things when I asked what you found to do on the beach!' `If it pleases you to think ill of me, you may,' she said swiftly. 'At the moment I'm concerned with Rex. He told me Dona Elena had dismissed him for stealing a brooch and selling it in Lisbon, that he hadn't stolen it, though he did sell it.' She stopped abruptly and bit her lip. 'I'm afraid I can't tell you any more unless I have your promise that no one else will ever hear about it.' `This is a very peculiar request. If there is more to this matter, as you suggest, Dona Elena is entitled to know it.' Susan shook her head. 'I gave Rex my word.' `And your word to the young Englishman means more than your duty to us here in Barbazon? Very well. I will promise to divulge nothing that you may tell me, without first informing you.' 114

`I'm quite certain that Rex would never want the details passed on to anyone else. But he does want me to tell you.' Eduardo nodded and shrugged. 'Because he is short of money, I suppose?' Susan lifted her head sharply. 'You may not sneer at Rex when you've heard what I have to say, senhor. Do I have your promise?' `Yes.' But she knew he hated being in a position where he had to give it; he was so accustomed to calling the tune. She took a grip on the arms of her chair and told him the lamentable tale. There were moments when his eyes glittered, when he ejaculated 'Deus!' and followed it with some expression that sounded vitriolic. But on the whole he heard her through calmly. She was, after all, exposing his young relative as something rather more, or perhaps less than the submissive menina he had thought her; and Dona Elena could not help but emerge as a blindly domineering old tyrant. Eduardo was on his feet, pacing. 'This is monstrous!' he exclaimed. 'How was it that I knew nothing of an affair of sorts between those two? Why was I never informed? How dare that young puppy make love to Juana while we thought he was teaching her a little English! What did he tell you of this, Miss Day?' Ah, that was better. She could cope with arrogance. `Possibly you were in Brazil when it started, senhor, and when you returned you would have been exceptionally busy. Dona Elena noticed that they liked being together, but gradually she saw it was more than friendship, and they were never allowed to come within more than a dozen feet of each other. In fact, for the last few weeks Juana has been imprisoned in her room, except when Rex was well out of the way.' `He should have been dismissed a year ago.' `By now he's wishing he had been. But Dona Elena thought she could carry it all off. Being difficult to please, she'd had trouble with every tutor she's engaged, but Rex is not too sensitive and he was wonderfully good - with the boys, so she did all she could to keep him `That is true, and I would have said Stratton was 11 5

honest,' he agreed, with an impatient gesture. Tut this other is much too serious for that to matter. You say Juana threw the brooch to Stratton?' `He didn't see her, but it could have been no one else. He fought it out with himself, and made the wrong decision. He didn't steal, senhor.' Eduardo paused in his pacing and looked at her, coldly. `You are full of rage in his defence, Miss Day. Do you approve of his behaviour?' `I disapprove of Dona Elena's tactics, and I admire _ Rex's tolerant handling of a nasty situation.' `Dona Elena was concerned for Juana. And you, it seems, are concerned for Stratton. And yet,' with an almost malicious emphasis, 'he tells you pointblank that it is Juana he loves.' `The way things are, I don't care about his emotions. I simply think that the harmless little affair between Rex and Juana should be understood and accepted, and that he should have his rights. His contract was for two years, and by dismissing him, Dona Elena has deprived him of about five months' salary. Not only that, senhor. When he applies for a job in England, Rex will have to explain what he's been doing for the past couple of years, and produce a reference to cover them.' `So that is what you are asking of me—money and a reference,' he said with an unpleasant, thin-lipped smile. `No doubt you have his address?' `He's in Lisbon. I shall probably hear from him tomorrow morning.' `You will then give me the address and I will send him what he requires. The matter will be closed.' The painful tension eased in Susan's throat. 'Thank you. I'll go now, if I may.' `No, Miss Day, I have not quite finished.' Tall, implacable, he stood staring down at her through narrowed lids. `Why did Stratton not come to me himself?' `There were two reasons. He thought that, being a man, you would have little sympathy for him, and there was the fact of his wanting to avoid trouble for Juana.' `He knew, of course, that I would never have promised

him my silence about the matter before hearing the details! So he used a girl.' `He may not be wonderfully brave and he's not particularly wise, but I've come to the conclusion that he was right in approaching me about it. Had I not been here, you would have been ruthless with him.' `You are aware, then, that I am dealing with this business quickly and privately for your sake?' `Yes, and I'm grateful. But you'll agree it's the only way to be fair to Rex. Even now, Dona Elena will always remember him as a fraud. I don't suppose she's mentioned anything about it to Juana, or surely Juana would have confessed. I do wish the two boys could be told part of the truth. They both liked Rex.' His tones distinct and very alien, Eduardo said, \`You have done your utmost for him and the rest must be left with me. I daresay this interview has been equally distasteful for us both. There is just one thing. I wish, to receive the letter you are expecting from Stratton as soon as it arrives, unopened.' 'Unopened? Why?' `Why not?' with the suggestion of a glitter. 'Do you hope for a message from him?' Not anything specific, but I'm entitled to read anything that's addressed to me. In my opinion he had a rotten deal at the Villa Aurora, and I'd like to know how he's feeling about it all now.' `And whether he is recovering from his infatuation with Juana?' Susan hardened, returned his gaze with very green eyes. `I think he was recovering before he left. Your feudal system of providing husbands for the women of your family was something he couldn't fight.' `That is a question I refuse to discuss. I suggest that you agreed to approach me for Stratton because it pleased you that he had relinquished all hope for Juana. You will repeat that you have no deep feeling for him, but your actions will prove otherwise. Is it not so, Miss Day?' Susan jumped up. 'Denial can be construed as admission, so I won't deny anything. I'll confess something in117

stead. I'm glad from the bottom of my heart that Rex

finally used his common sense. Even if you'd permitted him to... to marry Juana, he wouldn't have been happy. No English person could marry into your family and be happy!' Eduardo had gone taut as steel. With a strange, whitehot calm he said, 'Again we hear your judgment—you dislike our arranged marriages. Yet I must point out that it is seldom one hears of any young woman who is not overjoyed on her wedding day. Juana will be no exception, I assure you.' He swung round, pointed a long finger at the portrait lit by the candelabrum. 'His marriage was arranged when he was twenty and he married seven years later; you have heard his story! My sister selected her own husband, and you know the result. But why should I explain these things to you? You will never understand them!' In a voice which sounded unnaturally tight she said, `No, I'm afraid I won't. I can understand a girl growing up with a boy who decides to marry her when he's a man, and I can understand the sheltered type being overwhelmed by the attentions of a chosen fiancé. It's all out of date, but not inconceivable. What I can't grasp is the fact that no provision is made for complications.' Her brain was woolly, but she had to go on. 'A couple may spend years apart, may even fall in love with another man or another woman, but when the time comes they'll marry each other.' Even if she had not come to the end of what she had to say, Susan would have had to stop then. For Eduardo was close ; his face lean and . . . and cruel as that man's. His hands were fists at his sides, his eyes were dark and molten violence seethed in their depths. `I have heard enough! Let it suffice that you are overjoyed to know that Stratton is free and returning to England. He has no doubt already arranged to see you there. I will make no demands about the letter he is to send you from Lisbon. He shall have his money and letter of recommendation, and you are no doubt preparing yourself to receive his gratitude when you return to your home. The subject is closed!' Susan moved towards the door. Shakily she said, 'Twice 118

today I've said . . . unforgivable things, haven't I?'- Only because of my own pain, she thought, but he couldn't be expected tQ know that. 'I'll pack my things and leave tomorrow morning.' `You will not leave before the date you have already arranged with my sister,' he said curtly. Her nerves were at snapping point and yet at the same time she felt love for him rising in a flood of agony to her throat; to her consternation, she realised that she was on the brink of tears and that she must do something about it. She drew a sharp breath between her teeth, stiffened her lips. `I'll ask Dona Francesca to alter the arrangement.' There was a minute of acute silence, filled by the measured ticking of the clock. Then Eduardo queried, a warning note in his voice, 'So that you may be free to travel to England with Stratton? You have a bargain with him, no doubt, or perhaps have made a simple plan whereby you meet on the way. But I am afraid you must contain yourself till we release you, Miss Day. You may now go to bed!' `I'm going. And I'm leaving Barbazon tomorrow!' Tensed, and tired to the point of exhaustion, she went to the door. He was there before her, his hand over the ornate gilded handle. Curiously white about the mouth, he looked down at her . On the point of furious words he checked himself and opened the door, Susan marched across the main sala and over to the staircase, ignored the peculiar wobble in her knees and began to mount the stairs. 'Halfway up she sagged, but became conscious that Eduardo too was on the staircase, only a step behind her. She pushed back her hair with a quick, trembling hand, lifted her head and took the curve of the stairs with measured steps. Almost, as she reached the landing, his sleeve brushed her arm, but he said nothing, not even an icy goodnight. He turned left and strode almost noiselessly along the thickly carpeted corridor to his own wing of the Castelo. Susan turned right, entered her room and leaned back against the cool panels of the door. There was no longer the torture of trying not to cry, no longer that insufferable urge to assuage her own pain by hurting Eduardo. Slow, hot

tears slid from under her lids and down her cheeks, half a I19

dozen of them, and that was all. Sick and shivering, she crept into bed. For an hour her mind pulsed restlessly, and then she drowsed. When she awoke to Francesca's call an hour later, she felt as cold and arid as night in the desert.

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CHAPTER SEVEN next morning Dona Francesca was too unwell for there to be any possibility of Susan's leaving her that day. Dr Rodrigues called and gave it as his opinion that they should seek the cause of this intense migraine. He questioned Susan. 'This car accident of five months ago—did Dona Francesca suffer a concussion?' `A slight one, I think. The doctor at Pellam who treated the senhora for migraine said he thought it had nothing to do with concussion. He felt it to be psychological.' `I would say the same, but here,' with a prodigious shrug, 'she has no reason for depression. She can speak easily of her husband, mixes without strain with Dom Eduardo's guests and her former friends, and has even consented to attend a theatre and other events in Lisbon. Senhorita, you are closest to Dona Francesca. Can you suggest nothing?' On the point of mentioning that Francesca was determined not to marry again, Susan restrained herself. She wanted no further entanglements with the Visconde. `The senhora doesn't talk intimately to anyone, and however unwell she feels she has remarkable control. No one guessed how ill she was last night.' `You can say no more than that? I think there is something else in your mind, senhorita.' `I want to help if I can. It's easy to alleviate the pain and keep the senhora quiet till she feels able to mingle with others again, but as you say, doctor, there's a cause somewhere. I know very little about Dona Francesca's life before she married, but I believe a cousin used to stay here a great deal—Senhorita Valente.' `That is so. I knew her from childhood. She and Dona Francesca were inseparable.' Susan nodded. 'I think Dona Francesca would be frank By

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with Senhorita Valente, and through talking get things straight in her own mind. She wrote to invite her here, but Senhorita Valente replied that she would not come here until Dona Francesca had visited her in Oporto. It means that their meeting has been postponed. I hardly think it could have this effect on the senhora, and yet . . . well, it might.' `That is true.' The doctor rubbed a forefinger along his nose, gave Susan a thoughtful glance and again lifted his thick shoulders. 'I will speak with Dom Eduardo. Meanwhile the senhora is in your care.' Which was the best thing that could happen to Susan just then. She had a vacuum jug full of ice cubes brought to the bedroom, and spent the morning keeping the senhora cool and drowsy. Luiza brought a letter from Rex, and Susan read it quickly. `Here's my address, old timer—I can afford to stay here for about a week. If you've had any luck with the autocrat, bless you, bless you. Come to Lisbon for the day on Thursday, if you can. We'll forget we're wage-slaves and go gay. If you should get a word with Juana tell her I wish her all the luck in the world. Be seeing you, pretty one. Rex.' After only a moment's hesitation Susan sealed the letter in another envelope and asked Luiza to take it to the Senhor Visconde. She knew that however much Eduardo might disapprove of the note, he would meticulously carry out his promise. As far as Susan was concerned, the business was settled and on the way to becoming history. About an hour later, Eduardo came in to see his sister. She was sleeping, so he went out again, without a flicker of an eyelid in Susan's direction. Pink and white roses came from Ruy Alvedo, the ingredients and directions for a tisane arrived from Dona Elena, and a cask of fine eau de cologne was ordered by the Visconde. There must have been messages galore, but they were dealt with downstairs. Up in the bedroom it was cool, quiet and fragrant, and throughout most of the day Dona Francesca slept. The light was going and a cool evening breeze stirred the curtains when at last the senhora roused enough to talk. She looked white and weak, but her eyes were clearer and she 122

raised herself on her pillows without help. Susan switched on the bedside light, altered the shade slightly. ` How is the head?' she asked. `A little better, but I suspect it is the drug. I shall have to endure it for three days, as always.' `Perhaps not. You seem relaxed, and that's always a good sign. I'm sure you'd like something to drink. Hot or cold?' ` What is that in the percolator?' `A tisane from Dona Elena.' Francesca shuddered. 'No, thank you. Just plain water, Susan.' She took a sip of water from the freshly-filled glass. 'Sit down, Susan. Tell me what has been happening today.' Susan smiled. 'I haven't the faintest idea. You and I have been living in a world of our own.' `Who ordered the roses?' `They came from Senhor Alvedo. He put a card with them. Do you want to read it?' `Later.' Francesca gazed broodingly at the flowers for a moment before turning her head from them. 'You know, your voice is not so happy as when we were in England— you do not have enough fun. Plenty of leisure, but no fun.' `There was the festa. I've played tennis a few times and I swim every day. I do very well.' `And today you have been here with me all the time?' `Yes, but I wasn't idle. I wrote to my mother and to Dr Terrant.' Francesca smiled faintly. 'Your matron mother was very good to me; she once told me that when your father died she would have collapsed if she had not had exciting work to do, and you to care for. She said I must find something to do for other people. I have thought of it many times, have wondered what is this something I must do.' `Perhaps you could discuss it with the Senhor Visconde.' Francesca closed up. 'It is possible,' she said. 'I hope you did not tell Dr Terrant in your letter that once more I am prostrate?' `No, it wasn't that kind of letter.' Francesca, lifeless as she was, said something surprising. 1 23

`He is a good man, but you should not marry him, Susan. There is consideration and kindness in him, but no imagination, no fire. Let him marry someone who will be contented with a sober, temperate existence at his side. That is not for you.' `I agree. As a matter of fact I told him as much in my letter—in my own words. By the time we meet he'll have accepted it.' 'How long is it now—four or five weeks?' `Yes.' Susan resisted an impulse to ask for an earlier release. This was not the time for it. She thought of something. 'There was a message from José Barrero. The new mattresses arrived at the Quinta Rosa this morning and he had all of them stacked in the main bedroom. Would you like me to slip over there tomorrow?' Francesca shook her head quickly, winced and momentarily closed her eyes. 'Leave it, Susan. I will attend to it when I am well. Every day there is something for attention at the Quinta!' `There was no trouble. Jose handled it.' `He should not have sent the message today!' Susan laid a soothing hand over the thin, quivering one on the counterpane. 'He thought you'd like to know, and I thought it, too, or I wouldn't have mentioned it. There's nothing more to be done in the house now.' For a long time Francesca, said nothing and it was impossible to tell what she was thinking But slowly that look was coming back into her eyes, the distant, pained look. Quietly Susan got up and folded some chips of ice into a table napkin. Gently she sat on the side of the bed, placed the cold compress against the senhora's temple while her fingers gently massaged the sides and back of her neck. It was thus that Eduardo came upon them. He had tapped lightly at the door and come straight in. At the foot of the massive bed he paused, concerned. Softly, with an infinite kindness in his manner, he said, Minha cara, I am so sorry about this. I hoped so much you er this evening.' would be bett `It is not unbearable,' his sister answered. 'I shall be quite well tomorrow. Please go on with the massage, Susan. 124

Sit down, Eduardo; you are tall enough to make the eyes ache.' He came round and sat on the damask chair beside the bed, leaned forward and took Francesca's hand in his. His glance moved impersonally over Susan before it returned to his sister's face. 'Everyone has been most distressed about this indisposition of yours, Francesca, and I, of course, more than the rest. You have been doing too much.' `I have not been doing enough, Eduardo, that is the truth of it. But this migraine will pass. You have guests this evening?' `No. None at all.' `You go to Estoril for dinner?' `Hit would not tire you we could have dinner served up here.' `I cannot eat at these times. No doubt you have been invited to Estoril?' `Yes.' `Ysabel must be having much gay life there. Have you asked her to come back to Barbazon for a further visit before she goes on to Spain?' `Not yet. She has still two weeks at Estoril. Do not exhaust yourself with talking. I am content to be quiet.' Francesca smiled. 'You are changing a little, Eduardo. There was a time when you would have scolded me for having a bad head and insisted that I swallow enough aspirin to put me right for the evening. It still does not suit you to sit here with me and my headache. I will see you tomorrow.' He stood up, and as he bent to touch his lips to his sister's forehead Susan caught a ghostly waft of male fragrance. For a second his head was so close that she might have caressed it lightly, without his knowing. Then he had straightened, and was saying noncommittally: `Miss Day has hardly left you since you called her in the small hours. She must have dinner downstairs and a walk outdoors.' `Yes, of course. I will send her. Goodnight, Eduardo.' Though Francesca lost the haunting shadows in her eyes, 125

she made little effort to get back to normal. For two days she remained in bed, and for another two she sat on her balcony for a few hours each morning and evening. Susan concluded that she felt safe there, and from experience she knew that the senhora was thinking something out and would rejoin the household when she had come to a decision. Dr Rodrigues came each morning, looked his understanding but remained, Susan thought, completely mystified. Among his patients Dona Francesca's case was unique. At about eleven each morning and seven in the evening, Eduardo looked in, but he did not say much. The ball to celebrate Juana's engagement had been postponed till Francesca was well enough to act as hostess, and all in all, there seemed to be a flat spell at the Castelo. Though he ensured that Susan had relief from the bedroom, he never spoke to her directly; as far as the Visconde was concerned Miss Day had become a mechanical nurse who must be rested to give of her best. Then came another letter from Rex. 'You sweet thing, you did it! Dom Eduardo sent me a whopping cheque and a reference that's worth a dozen of Dona Elena's—crest and all! And guess what. I've nailed a job here in Lisbon with an American couple who have one nine-year-old son. We stay at the above address for two months and then go on to Paris for several more months. After that they return to the States and I go to England—very well off! It was the Visconde's name that did the trick—they couldn't resist it. So I owe you a good deal, Susan, and before you leave I want to repay you a little. I'm free from Saturday lunchtime till Monday morning, and I don't see why we shouldn't have a spot of fun together. I'll have use of a car and can come to Barbazon for you—though I'll stay clear of the Castelo! I could pick you up at the town hall, and we could spend the weekend exploring the Lisbon district, with a theatre thrown in. I can fix you up at this hotel or elsewhere. Any Saturday, Susan. I owe you so much and want to see you again. No strings, honest!' A weekend away from the Castelo Carvo sounded like a 126

glimpse of heaven. But Susan knew it was inTpossible to make the arrangement for the coming weekend, and left it in abeyance. But at the back of her mind an idea worked. By this time next week Dona Francesca should have returned to normal, and be willing to release Miss Day. If she met Rex on Saturday week, he might carry her away from Barbazon for good. Actually, it was on Sunday morning that Dona Francesca decided to go downstairs for the first time. She walked to the chapel, came back an hour later and had a cup of chocolate in one of the rooms overlooking the terrace and garden. It was there that Susan found her, after she had had a bathe and put on a crisp print dress. Not tired, senhora?' `No. Call for chocolate, Susan, and sit with me.' `No chocolate, thanks.' Susan took one of the rose silk chairs beside the open french door. 'I always like a cigarette after a bathe. Do you mind?' Francesca shook her head, sighed softly. 'You look so healthy, Susan, so very young and tanned...' She broke off as her brother appeared on the terrace, said, 'Born dia, ' Eduardo. I was hoping you would come soon.' Susan had hardly shaken a cigarette from her packet when a flame appeared. She used it, said, 'Thank you, senhor,' and blew smoke towards the terrace. `So you are really better this morning,' he said to his sister. 'I am very glad. It would do you good to swim, Francesca.' `I have not bathed for years, and in any case,' with a small smile, 'Susan swims enough for herself and for me. I. was just remarking on her good colour.' `Miss Day is at a resilient age,' he said, as he lowered himself to the chair on the other side of Francesca and crossed his long legs. 'By the time the agreed three months come to a close she will know our gardens, the beach and the streets of the town as well as we know them ourselves.' He took another glance at the pale oval of Francesca's face. `You said you were hoping I would come soon. For what reason?' In quiet, controlled tones, Francesca answered, 'You 1 27

know, Eduardo, I have myself discovered the cause of the migraine which has kept me in my room this week. I believe Susan suspects it, too, though she has been careful not to mention it.' `Is that so, Miss Day?' Before Susan had time to look for an ashtray, he slipped one on to the arm of her chair. 'I've had lots of time to think about it, so I'm bound to have a theory,' she said. Francesca looked at her brother. 'She is a thinker, our Susan, as well as a nurse. Eduardo . . . I have decided not to live at the Quinta Rosa as mistress of the estate.' He lifted a hand sharply. 'But, my dear Francesca . . 'Please let me explain before you protest. It is a big house, and I could not hope to occupy more than an eighth of it. Well, I have decided to occupy that eighth, and to convert the rest into a home for convalescent children. I would install a Portuguese nurse as matron, and I would try to persuade Susan to become her assistant . . `Oh, no, senhora!' Susan moved abruptly, and the cigarette flew from between her fingers. Eduardo scooped it up from the carpet, bent forward and pressed it out in the ashtray. He sat back, his dark watchful eyes on both women. `Your scheme does not depend upon the agreement of Miss Day?' he asked his sister. No, but I would like her help. She has worked for four years at Pellam and could be invaluable. I thought about it for the first time only four or five days ago, but since then I have thought of little else. Eduardo, you will be the first to agree that I have led a rather useless life.' `I will not. But go on.' Francisca lifted her thin, black-clad shoulders, drew together the dark wings of her eyebrows. 'The Quinta Rosa has sixteen rooms, ten of them bedrooms. I could fill those rooms with guests sometimes, but that is all. Far better to fill them all the time, with young people who need good food and gentle recreation, a little physical care from Dr Rodrigues. The farm lands would continue as at present, managed by José. We would use some of the produce and wine and sell the rest, setting aside the income for our 12 8

young patients. My marriage settlement from you was so generous that I need no more. What I must have is this interest.' Eduardo considered the outdoors for a moment. Almost casually he said, 'You will marry again, Francesca. Not yet, but some time.' As Susan made to remove herself from what looked likebecoming an intimate talk, he added, 'Do not go, Miss Day. This seems to concern you also.' Speaking almost as firmly as her brother, Francesca said, `I shall not marry, Eduardo. This will be my work and my life—the home for poor children who have been ill and need more than usual care:' The idea is admirable, minha cara, but why the Quinta Rosa? It is possible to build such a place.' `The Quinta Rosa is my own, and the scheme would be my own.' Then, on a note of pleading, 'I need this, Eduardo, and with Susan's assistance all the problems of establishing it will be solved.' • Susan spoke quickly. 'I'm iorry, senhora, but I couldn't have any part in it. I can't stay in Portugal.' `I will write to your mother, Susan. She will spare you for perhaps a year.' `No ' said Eduardo, in firm but gentle tones. 'Miss Day is right. ' There will be no place for her in your home for children. And unless you can find someone who has experience of such things, it would be best to forget it. There is nothing to prevent your occupying a seat on the board of the hospital in Barbazon, as I do, and there are various other worthy causes to which you might give your time. The Quinta Rosa is a family home.' `But,' said Francesca with sad emphasis, 'there is no family to occupy it. That is why I would make it a haven for children rather than for adults.' Eduardo snapped his fingers. 'One has a duty to the old estates. As the last owner of the name of Varoz you are obliged to live there and manage the place, with my help. If you marry again, it becomes part of your family property, to be passed on to your children.' `But, Eduardo, I have said I will not marry.' `It is too soon to be.certain,' he said. 'I will help you to 1 29

find a place that will be suitable for this idea of yours. We will go into the matter next week.' Francesca stood up, and Eduardo with her. With averted head, she stated, 'I am going to rest before lunch.' And she walked across the room to the door. Eduardo went with her. He opened the door and Susan thought they would both disappear, but after he had watched his sister cross the hall he came back and sat down again. Susan had not moved, except to put her hand in her pocket for her cigarettes. But she left the hand clasped about the packet, felt something begin to saw at her nerves as she waited for Eduardo to speak. He approached the point squarely. 'You guess that my sister had this in mind?' `The senhora has made a few remarks that could point that way.' `Why did you not tell me that Francesca was unhappy when you visited the Quinta Rosa? `It wasn't noticeable. It's because she covers up so well that she had migraine. No one can bottle up things that are close to the heart without paying for it in some way.' He sounded cynical. 'You speak with authority, Miss Day. Tell me, why are you so vehemently opposed to staying in Portugal? I would have said that such a scheme as my sister's would appeal to your strong desire to be needed. Or do you feel that there is someone whose demands upon you are more important than those of a group of ailing children?' `There are plenty of uses for my services in my own country, senhor. `In your desire to be noncommittal you become adroit. I am not sure that I care for this new pose. Tell me your opinion of my sister's plan.' `I have no opinion. He still smiled. 'I can hardly believe that. It is my experience that you have an opinion about everything.' `Not any more, senhor,' she replied evenly, though her fingers were crushing cigarettes and wrapper in her pocket. `And particularly not about anything which concerns your family. I was employed by Dona Francesca as a nurse'

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companion, and I'd be very grateful if everyone would regard me as such for the rest of my stay here. I've only three or four weeks to, go.' Eduardo leaned back, drummed for a few seconds on the arm of his chair. Then: 'You have no doubt received a second letter from Stratton. When does he leave Portugal?' `He's managed to fix up in a temporary post in Lisbon.' `So?' A strange look came into his eyes. 'He is, then, no more than eighteen miles away.' `Yes, but you can be sure he won't try to reach Juana Mendes in any way. Rex has learned his lesson.' `But he is no doubt willing to be taught another.' There was something besides mockery in his voice, but he left the matter there. 'May I order refreshment for you, Miss Day?' `No, thank you. I have some chores to do in my room.' From habit, he accompanied her to the door and bowed her out. And as she passed him she felt something in him, something as tangible as pain and frustration. It couldn't be either, for this was Eduardo, the velvet and steel overlord of Barbazon. That afternoon she wrote a letter to Rex. His invitation, she told him, was very attractive, but it might be better all round if she put off visiting Lisbon till she was entirely free of the Castelo. In any case, there would be a few days between her departure from Barbazon and the sailing of her ship, and it would be pleasant to spend those days sightseeing in Lisbon, with Rex as her guide when he could manage it. If she should change her mind she would let him know. During the whole of that week there was no mention of the Quinta Rosa. Ruy Alvedo came to dinner one night, was seated next to Francesca and showed an assiduous kindness but nothing else. He mentioned that he would very much like to give a dinner in his own bachelor apartments, and Francesca And Eduardo must let him know when it would be convenient. On Saturday, the proposed ball for Juana came back into the news. Apparently the old senhora had worked on Francesca, and now it was she who thought the matter urgent. However, to prepare for a function in the true 131

Corte Ribeiro scale would take a fortnight. Invitations would be issued for two weeks hence, and on the list Francesca dictated to Susan, Ysabel Fontana de Castria headed the women. Francesca had spoken the name, and added a comment in guarded tones. `Ysabel is a guest in this country and she will surely return to Brazil before the winter. I am hoping that in the fortnight before the ball she will realise that Eduardo is not free. I will write Ysabel's invitation myself, Susan, and tell her a few facts.' Susan tried to imagine what those facts would be. They would have a strong connection with Rosalia Valente, of course, but Ysabel was no fool; whatever facts there were she knew already. Did Francesca mean that some new circumstances had arisen? About mid-week, there was another spot of news; Eduardo would be going away for several days next week, but would certainly be home for the ball. He intended to give all instructions about it before he left. Francesca looked relieved, assured her brother that everything would go smoothly ahead and that she looked forward to hearing some word from him while he was away. Since the morning when Francesca had mentioned her idealistic plan for the Quinta Rosa, she and her brother had been distantly polite to each other. She had done nothing to implement the scheme, but neither had she revisited the Quinta Rosa. The migraine and its cause had been aired, and she felt much better for it. Indeed, for the first time since Susan had made her acquaintance, Francesca had some life in her. There was even a morning when she walked down to the beach and sat in the shade of the beach-hut veranda, listening to music from the recordplayer. And when Susan had put on a selection of fadosthose haunting songs that most Portuguese love but foreigners declare to be melancholy and unmusical—Francesca had frowned and then smiled faintly. Not those, Susan! Something gay.' Susan was now counting the days. After Juana's function there would be six days to the end of the month. There had been a letter from her mother: 'When can we expect you, 13 2

dear? Anna or I would like to meet your boat if possible.' And there was an understanding couple of pages from Paul. However she felt about him, he was looking forward to seeing her again. Senhora Varoz couldn't be needing her as badly as they needed her at Pellam. Well, she thought a little dully, it was good to be wanted. One thing was very sure; no one at Barbazon felt any imperative need for Susan Day. The weekend came, leaving one week to the ball. The two grandsons of Dona Elena came over on Saturday afternoon with their new tutor, a grey-haired Portuguese whose English was negligible. In engaging him, no doubt, Dona Elena had gone to the other extreme from Rex. Susan played tennis with the boys, realised that they were as ready to forget Rex as they had been to forget his predecessors and decided, philosophically, that that was life. The sun went down and the boys left. Susan went upstairs to change into her navy-and-white dress for the evening. When she was ready she sat on the balcony, watching the sowing of the stairs in a dark sky. She thought of the vintage that she wouldn't see, of Barbazon in the cool winter months, of the grey-blue sea turned black and threatening. Dona Francesca would dutifully write to her; she was sure of that, but .. . There came a tap at her bedroom door and she got up to open it. Luiza spoke with the confusion that seemed inseparable from any message she had to convey from Eduardo. `Please, the Senhor Visconde wishes to speak to you in the library. Ja!' `I'll come down. Thank you, Luiza.' Although she left her bedroom at once, Susan did not hurry. She knew that Eduardo had arranged for a couple of films to be shown in the large sala this evening, and supposed he wanted her to help in some way. She knocked at the library door, it was immediately opened and she passed Eduardo and went into the room. To stop rather abruptly, for José Barrero was there, looking excited and quite a figure, as he stood with his head high and his teeth closed and his smile fixed upon her most disconcertingly. When

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she turned to Eduardo, Susan felt even less sure of herself. The Visconde had gone behind the massive carved desk and picked up a sheet of paper. As he stood gazing at her, his eyes black and flashing, he appeared frightening in his total masculinity. Oh lord, she thought, closing her eyes for a second; here we go again. He spoke with an exquisite precision. 'Miss Day, José here has just begged for my permission that your relationship with him may become rather closer. He wishes, in due course, to marry you.' `Really?' she said, startled. 'I suppose it's a compliment, but..' `He bases his demands on your letter;' My letter?' she asked carefully. `This!' Eduardo held it out between the tips of finger and thumb as if it were noxious. 'I have sometimes commended your honesty, Miss Day, but I have never before seen anything so brazenly candid as this.' `Oh, but, Dom Eduardo,' ventured José, 'I adored that letter. I brought it to show you only that you might believe. Me, I know the English are not as we are that a woman will profess her love . . . `Do you mind if I read the letter?' asked Susan faintly. Eduardo thrust it into her hand as if it were a packet of explosive. But one glance at the writing was enough for Susan. She paled a little turned quietly to the young man. `I'm terribly sorry, Jose, but someone has played a joke on you. Not a nice joke, but then I don't think the writer can be a nice person. I'm sure that you hardly believed in the letter yourself.' Jose lifted his shoulders miserably. 'I was flattered, and did not know what to think. I admire you so much, but I would not have dared...' Eduardo broke in. 'It was as well you brought the letter here, José. Leave it with me. Perhaps you would like to go into the sala and have a drink before you leave. Adeus. Poor José had no option but to obey. He bowed forlornly to Susan, again -at the Visconde, and backed out. The door closed, and the two in the room stood silent for a moment, Susan staring through the window and Eduardo looking '

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equally distant in the other direction. She asked evenly, 'Did you believe this letter, senhor? You may not know my writing, but did the sentiments appear to be mine?' `I wanted very much not to believe them,' he said rapidly. 'The letter is in English, well expressed, and there seems to be some reserve there, even though it does say that you are in love with José. It is not an . . . abandoned letter. I confess I was considerably shaken by the sight of it.' `It's not a modest letter, either. Even in England we don't write to a young man and tell him our love before he has declared himself. I'm afraid I feel rather insulted.' `Because, at first, I believed?' Eduardo's hands went behind his back. He paced to the window and looked out. 'I apologise, Miss Day—I am very happy to apologise. José came to me, hot and eager, said he loved you and had reason to believe you loved him. He wanted permission to see you each afternoon, and to take you Out occasionally for the evening. I knew you had not seen him for many days and thought it rather sudden. He mentioned the letter, showed it to me.' He turned quickly, stared at her. 'I cannot explain how I felt. That you . . . whom I respect and . . .' He stopped, but went on at once: 'You knew the letter was a joke before you read it. How was that?' `I've seen the writing before. As a matter of fact, I've had three letters myself from this person.' His brows drew together. 'And who is the writer of these jokes?' `I don't know.' She looked down at the sheet in her hand. `This one is signed with my name. Mine were anonymous—the first warned me to leave Barbazon, and the second was a blank sheet, intended, I suppose, to remind me of the first. The third one I tore up straight away, without reading it.' `So! You received these scandalous things but told no one?' `The first one came the night I arrived in Barbazon.' He was tight-jawed. 'Why did you not come straight to me?' `The whole thing seemed a bit absurd. No one but Dona 135

Francesca knew me, and why should anyone but a crank warn me to go? If I thought about it at all, I must have decided that perhaps a woman who should have been Dona Francesca's personal maid was jealous of my position.' `You are not Francesca's maid!' He was so prickly she hardly knew how to tackle him. 'I know that, but the sender of those letters might have felt ousted. The English wording put me off a little, but there are English people living up the coast, and a servant could have known someone who would write the letter for her.' `That this should happen to you, while you are a guest at the Castelo!' he said savagely. 'It is insupportable. Give me the let er; I must go into this.' Susan handed it over. 'Till I saw it, I took it that whoever had the grudge had no personal feelings against me. Now I'm beginning to wonder.' `Whoever wrote those things shall be punished,' he bit out. 'I myself will see to it.' He paused, asked more quietly, `These wretched things frightened you a little, no?' `They made me uneasy for a while, and then I forgot them. I must say that this last one, to José, goes a bit too far. What could anyone hope to gain from it?' `The whole thing is despicable. It is possible that the aim of the letter to José was the same as that of the anonymous letters—to get you sent from Barbazon, or perhaps to get you to run away.' With angry insistence he said, 'I still cannot understand why you said nothing about this. It was your duty to speak to me about them.' Then, with a strange undertone to his voice, 'I find it wounding that you did not trust me enough to come to me.' How could she tell him that after the first one, the other letters had seemed negligible compared with other problems in her life? Some unpleasant person who hadn't enough to do had set out to eliminate the English girl if he or she 'could. It might have been merely a dislike of her race, or, as she had intimated, a jealousy of her privileged position at the Castelo. On the whole, the letters had not caused her a great deal of distress. `I was more concerned with the health of Dona Francesca. After all, a man or woman who writes anonymously is 136

almost bound to be a coward, and I had no wish to meet them.' She hesitated. 'What I can't understand is the letter to Jose. Surely almost everyone here knows that I'm leaving soon?' `You are not to worry further about this,' said Eduardo abruptly. 'I will take care of it. I regret, profoundly, that you did not come to me with the first letter, so that I could have ensured that it would also be the last. You may be certain that I shall get to the root of this and deal with the creature as soon as possible.' ` My time is so short now that I'd as soon nothing were done about it.' `It is no longer for you to say,' Eduardo told her briefly. And then added, 'You have heard that I leave for Oporto on Monday?' `I knew you were going away for a few days.' But Oporto? Susan's heart beat heavily. 'I hope you will have a good trip, senhor.' He was folding the letter and slipping it into an inside pocket. 'I go first to Leiria and Coimbra on business, and will visit Oporto on Thursday. I shall return by Saturday morning. The ball for Juana and her fiancé is, as you know, on Saturday evening.' He opened a drawer and closed it, asked casually, 'You have a ball gown, Miss Day?' `No, senhor, but I'd be out of place at the ball.' `I should like you to attend—I shall have to make some announcements which may interest you. I do not forget,' with a sort of violent irony, 'that you advised me to bring Senhorita Valente from Oporto for the festa.' So the announcements were connected with Rosalia. Susan felt sick and let down. Why couldn't they have waited another week, till she herself had gone? Just one week. `If you remember, senhor, I've given up taking an interest in such things. It was too wearing.' She had moved towards the door and he came to her side as he answered, 'I have noticed that sometimes you have a look of exhaustion, that although you have the look of health there are shadows where none existed. But I have also noticed sparks in those green eyes and the sudden tilt of 137

your head when one comes into a room—a 'look of challenge. Since you have come to Barbazon you may have experienced more pain, but you have also known more life, and something of enchantment!' She looked at him. 'What are you saying, senhor?' `Exactly what you are hearing, senhorita. You are not so unaffected by us as you would have us believe.' There was depth behind the mockery. 'You have found that to be English is not necessarily to be armoured against everything. I would even venture to suggest that there have been moments when you have wished to be loved with more passion than Stratton could muster.' `I don't think about those things,' she said shakily. `That is not true. You are very much alive, and sensitive to the feelings of others, as well as to the beauty of Barbazon. I have seen you on the terrace at night, looking wistfully at the moon in its phases. When one is alone, there is nothing so lonely as moonlight, no?' It was true. Susan drew in her lip, slanted a quick glance at his enigmatic features. 'You know all about such things, don't you?' She hesitated, decided against caution. 'You sound different, senhor.. Is it . . . happiness at the thought of visiting Oporto?' He hardly moved, but he seemed to straighten away from her. 'It could be so, Miss Day. It could certainly be so.' `I'm sorry. I had no right to ask that. If you hadn't encouraged me, I wouldn't have.' He shrugged. 'It seems to be something we must strive to maintain—constraint and the wise silence, for the present at any rate. There is little one can do just now, but after our ball we will arrange some good times. I will make up a party for Lisbon—I have an old uncle there who will lend me his house for a few days, and you must learn all about the most beautiful city in the world. We will go to Cascais and Estoril, and drive inland along the Tagus. How can you be expected_ to know the Portuguese if you have no knowledge of the country?' Susan shook her head quickly. 'I've already arranged to spend some days in Lisbon before I leave Portugal. It's 138

good of you, senhor, but I'd like to leave as I arrived, unnoticed.' She put a hand towards the door-handle, but Eduardo's was there first. 'You say it is arranged—some days in Lisbon?' Not exactly arranged. I wrote to Rex. . . `Ah. So we arrive back at Stratton!' With a decisive twist of his fingers he opened the door. 'I will deal with this business of the anonymous letters, Miss Day. It is impossible to express how deeply I regret that such a thing should have happened to you while you are here.' She glanced at his averted profile, murmured her thanks and went from the room.

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CHAPTER EIGHT Eduardo the Castelo was painfully empty. Everyone was busy with preparations for the ball, so that even during the siesta hour people were working on the sala chandeliers or spring-cleaning bedrooms which were wseldom as used, but the directing force was absent. There air of goodwill among the staff, and yet you felt they preferred the kindly, watchful presence of the Visconde. Perhaps it was only to Susan, though that the emptiness of the Castelo was painful. In spite of all the animation throughout the Castelo, Susan had singularly little to do. Francesca must have been drawing on some secret reserve, for she went through the days easily and kept her fingers on all the hundred and one details of the forthcoming celebrations. It appeared that Eduardo had decided to turn the weekend of the ball into a general gathering of his friends and relations, and many of those relations lived too far away to be invited for one function. Susan could not write family letters, or know how a certain aunt liked her room arranged. She could not sit at the telephone in the library and autocratically give orders to firms in Lisbon, or drive down to ask Dona Elena whether the fiancé's people wished to bring additional guests. She felt' excluded, and once remarked to Dona Francesca that she could leave any day now, without being missed. `That is silly,' remarked the senhora absentmindedly. `You cannot possibly leave us till this party is over and the guests are gone. Eduardo has plans for next week.' Susan gave up. She bathed, practised service on one of the courts, took long walks, sat on the main Barbazon beach and watched men mending their nets, went out for a row with a hired boatman and, because nothing made her feel daring or otherwise these days, she climbed aboard the Moncao and poked her head into the dozen luxury cabins which Eduardo and his friends occupied when he took WITHOUT

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M them for a cruise. The one thing she could not do was read. She could sew a bit, write letters, even sketch a little when no one was looking, but the moment she settled with a book the hurt within her was like glass splinters twisting and turning in the bloodstream. And it grew worse. By Thursday, with the thought in her mind that this was the day on which Eduardo would arrive in Oporto, Susan felt so ragged that it needed only one incident to tip the scale. And it happened. At four o'clock that afternoon she went for a bathe. Returning to the Castelo by the back courtyard, she heard her name called by one of the footmen. inha menina!' he said, hurrying down from the side terrace. `Senhorita Fontana de Castria has arrived and there is no one to greet her. Dona Francesca has gone to take tea at the Villa Aurora.' Ysabel was the first arrival—a day early, Susan thought. She nodded to the man. 'I'll see her, Paulo. You might see that we have tea in the small sala.' `Sim, minha menina.' Susan knew that her hair was tousled, that her skin was salt from the sea and she needed lipstick, but she felt she ought not to keep Ysabel waiting. So she walked through the servants' corridor, hesitated in the dimness for a moment to run a comb through her hair, and went into the small sala. Ysabel Fontana de Castria was standing at the window, her outline attractive against the bright day. She wore a figured crimson dress which buttoned at the back from hem to neckline and was beautifully cut to hide and therefore reveal her curves. Her shoes were of black brocade with straps of the same material as the dress. Which indicated, Susan supposed, that they would last the half-dozen times Ysabel might wear the dress and then be discarded. What a thing to be rich. `Good afternoon,' she said. 'I'm afraid Dona Francesca didn't expect you and she's out, but your bags will be taken to your room and I've ordered some tea. Would you like it here, or upstairs?'

`Anywhere.' Ysabel's sleek shoulders lifted, her mouth was unsmiling. 'Francesca invited me for Saturday, to stay as long as I wish, but Eduardo has said many times that I may come back and stay at the Castelo when I am in the mood.' Another shrug. 'I happened to be in the mood.' There was a difference in Ysabel, not a subtle one, either. While she had been a guest at the Castelo she had been a charming beauty, untouched by Francesca's cool courtesy. She had absorbed the admiration of guests and staff, thrived on the knowledge that as well as beauty she possessed a lively knowledge of the world and the air of freedom which was denied to the majority of Portuguese women. With Eduardo she had been confident and possessive; where another woman might be submissive and adoring, she had suggested sweet defiance with sparkling eyes and provocative lips. Susan suspected that she had transferred to Estoril for two reasons: to tantalise, and to give him breathing space in which to want her. But something had gone wrong with the plan. Ysabel was just as beautiful, just as fascinating, but there was a hardness in her which lit a predatory light in her eyes. The smile was spurious. The tea arrived and Susan poured. Ysabel was persuaded to sit down, but she looked with a preoccupied frown at the terrace beyond the window. She refused the little cakes, lit a cigarette and leaned back in her chair with her long slim legs crossed at the ankles. `I did not hear till this morning that Eduardo is away,' she said abruptly. ` He left on Monday. I thought he would have told you.' `I knew he would be going away for a few days, but not the date.' Ysabel touched her smallest finger to the corner of her mouth. The nail was a long oval of flamingo-pink and matched her lips. 'You must be well acquainted with this household, Miss Day.' `Fairly well.' `Francesca approves of you, and no doubt is frank with you.' This could lead to peril. Susan said carelessly, 'I haven't become a friend of the family; Dona Francesca doesn't 142

confide in me very much.' `But being her nurse-companion you have heard many things and put them together, two and two. That is natural.' She paused. 'Francesca dislikes me. She is of the old school—reserved, sheltered, happy to be subservient. Also she feels I am a threat to this distant cousin of the family, Rosalia Valente.' `I' m afraid I know very little about it.' Ysabel inhaled smoke; it drifted through her nostrils as she bent forward to stab out the half-smoked cigarette. `While I was staying here,' she said, as if impelled, 'I learned only that Eduardo was promised to this cousin; but it was easy to see he was not really in love with her. In my country, too, we have these unions, but I was not educated that way.' She slanted a glance at Susan. 'You guessed while I was here that I came to marry Eduardo, did you not?' Susan's heart moved with a rending jolt. 'Yes, I think I did.' `It was natural. In Brazil I knew many men, I have had too many proposals to count. But I wanted no one till Eduardo came. Our men are charming, but he is more so, and he has the blood of the Old World. In Brazil, I could become the wife of a rich estate-owner, have everything I desired. But we have ho true aristocracy, no castelos and palacios. Can you wonder that I have seen no man since I first met Eduardo?' Knowing the freakish behaviour of her own emotions, Susan didn't wonder at anything any longer. But Ysabel's remarks sounded a little cold-blooded; reduced to essentials, they disclosed a rich and pampered young woman who had spurned her own kind of man because in addition to the abundance they could offer she wanted a title and a position in the old country. `You've seen him quite often at Estoril, haven't you?' she asked. `Of course. Everything was perfect, till suddenly he goes to Oporto. When I first heard it from his friends, I thought he would be seeking his freedom. Then they told me. Eduardo cannot ask this woman for his freedom; she has 143

saved herself for him and he would not permit the waste of her years.' Through a throat which seemed to be closing in, Susan said, 'He also happens to be very fond of Senhorita Valente.' Ysabel gave a callous shake of her shoulders. 'What is fondness? You are pretty, so in a way Eduardo may even be fond of you, Miss Day. I am fond of many men, but it is only Eduardo I wish to marry!' `He's gone to her, anyway.' `Yes.' An icy little syllable, and it was followed by a silence. At length she went on, 'I did not know any of the details till I had left the Castelo and was staying at Estoril. I began to meet people who had lived near Lisbon all their lives and were well acquainted with the facts about Eduardo and Francesca. I heard that when Eduardo makes a business tour he always goes for a few days to Oporto, to . . . what is the word . . . renew this relationship with Rosalia Valente. I was told only this morning that Rosalia had begged that their marriage be postponed until Francesca came back to live at Barbazon, and that it is now certain that Eduardo will bring her with him on Saturday.' Susan's brow turned cold and clammy. It is one thing to surmise something for oneself, but quite another to hear it confirmed by someone who ought to know. Quite steadily she said, 'Everyone is saying it's time the Visconde married. Now that Dona Francesca has returned they've no reason to wait.' Ysabel got to her feet in one sinuous movement, like a panther suddenly alert. 'This means nothing to you! You are English and cold and unfeeling. You do not know what it is like to have some great desire within your grasp, and then this terrible uncertainty. What can Rosalia Valente give to such a man as Eduardo? How can she respond to his quick, fiery nature, how satisfy his needs? He is in love with me—I am sure of that—yet because of this ridiculous custom he will marry her and never be truly loved. I cannot bear it!' `These customs,' Susan reminded her wryly, 'are part of the Old World you're so anxious to enter. Everything will

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depend on Senhorita Valente.' She finished her tea and tinkled the bell. The tray was collected and she stood up. 'Would you like to go to your room now, senhorita?' Ysabel half turned from the window, her arms crossed, her fingers clasping her upper arms; she hadn't even heard Susan's question. Her eyes cold and bright, she said, 'You should have seen Eduardo in my country! He rode with diabolical cleverness and speed, he drove fast cars, swam like a seal. We were together always—sport during the day, and dancing and conviviality every night. My father and brothers thought him superb. I fell so madly in love with him that I could not rest till I had-arranged to come here to Portugal, and know him at the Castelo.' Susan was compelled to ask, 'Were you right here in Portugal before you heard of the existence of Rosalia?' `Of course! If only I had come sooner; if only I had arrived here before Francesca returned! She is the one— Francesca. It was no doubt Eduardo's instruction that I be invited for the ball. Francesca even pretended to be ill to keep him from me.' Eduardo must have mentioned his sister's migraine and Ysabel had construed the indisposition in her own way. Susan was beginning to have a headache herself, right now. `I've just had a bathe and I need a shower to wash off the sand. Would you like me to show you up to your room?' `It is the same one as before?' `Yes.' Ysabel once more faced the window. Ungraciously she said, 'I will find my way, thank you. Please see that there are writing materials in my room, and tell the maid to draw my bath at exactly six-thirty. That is all, Miss Day.' Sudden anger surged in Susan. She had sat out an unpleasant half-hour with the woman, but did not have to endure ill-tempered arrogance. And yet, even as she flared, she turned swiftly and left the room. It was no use; Ysabel might take out her frustration and bitterness on others, but Susan wasn't built that way. Or perhaps she was too conscious that where Rosalia had rights and Ysabel had reason to assume a good deal in connection with Eduardo, she, Susan 14 5

Day, had nothing whatsoever. She was just a fair young English girl who had no doubt gone the way almost any young woman would have gone, in similar circumstances. She just had to get away, and get over it. It was nearly dark when Francesca returned. Susan happened to be in the senhora's bedroom, switching on the lights and adjusting the curtains, when Francesca came in, smiling a little. `Ah, Susan. I would have told you about the message from Dona Elena, but you were out, bathing as usual. This - time you were invited, but I could not keep the car waiting as there were others to be collected.' The smile widened slightly 'I remembered also that you do not feel always comfortable with Dona Elena!' `It was as well I stayed behind. Senhorita Fontana de Castria has arrived.' Francesca paused in the act of unfastening her jacket. Ysabel? Already she is here? You told her Eduardo is away?' `She knew before she came. Which dress will you wear this evening?' `The stiff black silk. One or two friends will be here to dinner.' Francesca took off the jacket, laid it carefully on the bed and asked, 'Did Ysabel tell you why she came so early?' `She said she was in the mood to come.' `Moods? I do not understand her.. . unless, perhaps, she has heard that Eduardo is now in Oporto?' `Yes, she knew.' Francesca straightened, pondered for a moment and glanced obliquely at Susan. 'You look grave. Was Ysabel annoyingly frank with you?' Susan nodded. 'She was upset, I think. Someone told her that Senhorita Valente will be returning from Oporto with the Senhor Visconde.' Francesca gave a small laugh, and to Susan, who had never heard it before, it was pleasant and musical. Something had lightened Francesca's heart tremendously. `It is true,' the senhora said. 'I asked Eduardo if he would escort Rosalia to Barbazon and he said he would. So we 146

shall celebrate the engagement of our young Juana and

perhaps announce another! It is such a happy feeling—to know that after so long I shall soon see Rosalia, and that everything will come right. You may be sure that I shall not let her go again. She will live with me in the Quinta Rosa 'until her marriage, and after it she and I will persuade Eduardo to accept my scheme for converting the house into a convalescent home for children. Rosalia and I can do anything—together!' Very nice too, thought Susan dully. She smiled at Francesca. 'I wish you lots of luck in the venture.' `I would like you to be part of that luck, Susan. You would be so good for my sick children . . . and for me!' `I'm afraid I can't do it, senhora. Would you like your bath now? Rose essence?' `How you know me! Yes, the rose.' She peeled down to black underwear, slipped into a blue wrap. 'In spite of your slight aversion for Dona Elena, I would have liked you to be with us this afternoon. Already Juana has received many gifts, and she wears a beautiful sapphire on her finger. Dona Elena is so happy about it all. And you should see her new dress—Dona Elena's! She has been daring—chosen a rich dark green and black brocade which will look handsome with that white monument of hair. She will wear a black mantilla, of course . One cannot imagine Dona Elena at an evening affair without a mantilla!' Susan stood in the bathroom doorway, waiting for the bath to fill. 'She must have been very beautiful when she was young. Is Juana like her?' `Not at all. I have never known Dona Elena anything but rigid. Juana is soft and appealing. She is obviously very much in love.' Oh, obviously. Tiredness was adding itself to Susan's headache. She swirled the bath water and turned off the flow, set a thick white bath mat in position, laid a huge towel on the stool and swept a glance over the crystal and silver cosmetic containers on the bathroom dressing table. `It's ready, senhora. Will you need any massage?' `No, thank you, Susan. For the first time in many months I am not tired or stiff or discouraged.' Francesca was inside 147

the bathroom when she added rather quickly, 'Oh, Susan, I have a small favour to beg of you. You will agree that it is not so necessary now for you to sleep in the adjoining room?' Susan knew what was coming. Her teeth tightened, bus she smiled and nodded. 'You can do without me almost entirely now.' `It is just the room. You see, Rosalia always slept there, where you sleep. I would like her to have the same room, so that her feeling of belonging here will return very quickly. Tomorrow you will perhaps have your things transferred to one of the other rooms on this corridor. You may choose for yourself.' Susan's fixed smile ached. 'Very well, senhora.' `You do not mind?' Not a bit.' But she had to swallow before she could add, `I've a favour to ask in return, senhora. The whole of the Castelo is organised for the celebration and the house guests and I shall have very little to do when people start arriving. I was wondering whether I might go into Lisbon for a couple of days—say from Saturday morning till Monday. `But naturally, you are free to do as you wish, Susan. Will you like being alone in Lisbon? Or . . . again the smile, 'or is Mr Stratton still there? He would look after you, no?' `Yes. He would look after me.' `Then I cannot object. You are both English and there will be no misunderstandings. I want you to have a lovely weekend.' Susan closed the door between the bedrooms, picked up her packet of cigarettes and went out to the balcony. She lit a cigarette and puffed furiously, then jabbed it out on the balcony wall. She had had to endure just a little too much. First Ysabel, with the vindictive gleam in her eye and haughty words of dismissal, and then Francesca, who was another who got her own way but used kinder tactics. She was sick of the whole family and its connections, and Eduardo she detested most of all. He had wanted to know whether she owned a ball gown, had said he wanted her to attend Saturday's affair. Well, he could make his an'

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nouncements to his own kind—Susan Day would be elsewhere! He was expected to arrive home in time for lunch on Saturday. The angelic Rosalia would be with him and the absence of the English nurse-companion scarcely noticed. There would be reunions, dark glances from Ysabel, and the suave and imperious Eduardo would move through it all in the way he had, head and shoulders above the rest whatever his inmost feelings. Susan stayed in her room that evening, drinking black coffee and pacing in and out of the balcony. She thought of Eduardo, the exquisitely courteous charmer, loving two women and in love with the one he wouldn't marry. There had been moments, during the past weeks, when she had been deceived into thinking he looked a fraction tired. Deceived was the key word. The man was never tired, never shaken to the roots by anything. Even in his anger he was still the Visconde. At eleven, when a car bore guests away down below, Susan looked at her watch. What was he doing now? Was it a night like this in Oporto—clear, warm, fragrant, full of magic? Was he walking with the woman he had known so well as a girl, taking her gently into his arms, kissing her gently, talking gently? With Rosalia he would always be careful to leash his passions. Or perhaps she had already gone to bed and Eduardo was talking terms with her father. That was what they did—arrange settlements and dates ... all of it very correct and unbelievably sober, considering the Latin temperament. Remembering his magnetism, the swift tension each time she had found Eduardo's eyes upon her, the ragged sensation when he was kind and dear, Susan knew that this was the end. She would run out before Eduardo came back on Saturday, do her utmost never to come back to Barbazon. Lisbon is the most fascinating city in the world. There is the ancient section that survived the earthquake oft 755, where parts of the Moorish citadel are still preserved and give breathtaking views of the great natural harbour and the city; and there are the picturesque cobbled alleys leading 149

up from the river, and tall old houses crowded round the mediaeval cathedral. As beautiful, but conceived in more modern times, are the wide, dignified avenidas and the fashionable shopping streets of West Lisbon. After a few hours of strolling with Rex, Susan decided she could spend a month in the city without becoming bored or even fatigued. At Susan's suggestion they had lunch that Saturday in the hotel in which she had booked a room. Turkey, ham, salad, red and white wines, nuts, fruits, good coffee and conac. It was in character that Rex should ask few questions. He had been surprised, at ten this morning, to hear Susan's voice on the telephone. • `I'm at the Malia Hotel, Rex, for two nights. One of the Castelo cars brought me in—I didn't really have time to let you know I was coming.' `Suits me,' he'd said delightedly. 'I'll try to get off right away. These people I work for are very accommodating. How are you, Susan?' `Fine. And you?' `Bearing up, old girl. Got plenty of energy?' `Too much. What do you suggest I do about it?' `I'll take you round and we'll lunch late—it's normal here. Susan, you don't know how good it is to feel you right here in Lisbon!' `It's good to be here. I'll be waiting for you downstairs near the main entrance.' When they had met and exchanged pleasantries, he'd asked simply, 'Seen Juana at all?' `No, but there's a party for her at the Castelo tonight. The engagement is official.' 'I guessed that.' He'd looked moody. Susan had quickly asked innumerable questions and he had brushed off the depression. After that she had kept him occupied with demands to see this and that. They had booked for a theatre and he had promised to take her through the town and its suburbs by car tomorrow. The day passed, Rex recovered his normal lightheartedness. It was a whale of a job he'd got hold of and he 150

only wished there were an unending stream of them, so that he could slide from one to another without having to think about the future. `You actually like teaching,' she commented, 'or you wouldn't be so good at it. Your Portuguese is excellent. Why don't you try for a job as an English teacher in one of the schools?' `Heaven forbid. You're much more free in a private family—get better food, too. And anyway, I'll be glad to leave Portugal.' `Yes, I suppose you will.' They were climbing steps under an arcade and she let her fingers swing with his. 'I don't think your experience at Barbazon has hurt you very much, though. You don't look lovelorn.' `Maybe I'm not the type, but I did go for the girl in a big way. It taught me something; people like you and me are not built to cope with the Portuguese nobleza. You can get along with them, but they're the ones who do the managing. I'll bet you're glad you signed on for only three months.' `Yes, I am. I'm due to leave Barbazon next weekend, and if I can possibly manage it I won't go back there at all; my cases are already packed in my bedroom.' He gave her a sideways glance as they walked. 'What have they been doing to you?' `I can't live with intrigue and perpetual undercurrents. And Dona Francesca doesn't need me any longer.' `Spoken to Eduardo about leaving?' `He's not my employer.' `That's what you think! In a way he was even my employer.' He shrugged and laughed. 'The whole bunch can go jump in the Tagus. Come on, I'll race you to the top!' On Sunday, Rex took her for a drive in a flashy car borrowed from his employer. They went up the Tagus valley, past factories and then through small towns and into the hills and valleys of Estremadura. Rex, slim, fair and pink-tanned, was a companion any girl could enjoy and be proud of. He thought it a great joke that an inn-keeper should mistake them for tourists, and even funnier that a garage-owner should mention that he knew of a pensao 151

where the senhor and his wife might spend a night. `It's the car,' Rex said. 'We're branded, whether we like it or not!' `I don't mind. It's a change, anyway.' She thought they stopped rather too often for refreshment, and was privately amazed at Rex's capacity for wine. In that respect, at least, Rex had taken the country to his heart. At nine that evening they were close to Levra, dining at a pousada where so much food was served that the appetite fled—if one was English. The Portuguese tucked into the crayfish, chicken, braised tongue, steak, sweet creamy cakes and cottage cheese as if they hadn't eaten for a fortnight. Rex ate little, but he drank well. `I hope you'll be able to drive us back to Lisbon,' Susan said apprehensively. `It never affects me. But why should we drive back?' `What do you mean?' `My first lesson is at nine tomorrow morning. We could stay here at the inn and start back after an early breakfast. I'll ask if they've a couple of rooms.' Susan decided against the suggestion. 'We've nothing with us, and besides, it might cause a disturbance at my hotel. A man can do things a woman can't. Oughtn't we to go now? I want to get back by eleven.' He shrugged comfortably, thanked the little waiter for a new bottle of wine. 'Don't be stiff-necked, sweetie. We'll never have another time together like this. Soon you'll go back to querulous patients at Pellam, and in a few months' time I'll be thumping history and what have you into birdbrained, grubby little brats with catapults and gritty toffee in their pockets. Let's make the most of it while we have it.' `But what more can we get out of it tonight? We've had our day—a very happy one. Do let's go, Rex.' He had sloshed wine into a tumbler, looked disapprovingly at her half-full glass which had lasted the meal through. He seemed to be perfectly sober, but there was a flush across his cheekbones as he raised his glass, theatrically, and looked at her. It was then that she noticed the misery in his eyes, a blank, frightening misery. `We'll finish this bottle and go,' he said. 'You're right, 152

you know. You get just as much out of a day as you put into it. It's the same with life.' `That's true,' she agreed, to gain time and recover from the sense of shock. 'It's the sort of thing one should remember-when one's particularly unhappy.' `People who don't put much into life deserve to be unhappy—or at least, not happy: I've never bothered about others; always had to care a lot about people before I could bother about them.' She drew a short, sighin breath. 'You've drunk enough to make you maudlin. Leave the wine, or it will put you in a mood to drive us up a 'tree. Do come on.' The fresh air staggered him, but they got going without trouble and it seemed that he could drive at a steady forty with small effort. But suddenly he felt ill, and braked. She saw -a ghastly whiteness about his mouth, a glaze over his eyes, and then he lay forward over the wheel. In a whisper he said, 'You'll have to drive, Susan. I'm sorry.' She sat frozen for a moment: She had never driven a car of this size, had never driven in Portugal, on the right side of the road, even in daytime; in fact, her only experience of handling a car had been on the few miles between Pellam Manor and the nearest country town. 'We can afford to wait half an hour,' she said. 'Let's get out, and I'll see what I can do for you.' But Rex was already out—stone-cold unconscious. At first she couldn't believe it; he had been proud of the fact that his reflexes suffered nothing at all from any quantity of wine. Then she recalled the number of times they had stopped during the day, the number- of drinks she herself had refused. And she remembered that never before had she seen such wretchedness in Rex—not even on that day at the beach, when he had told her of his dismissal. Then he had looked haggard, but she had decided that being labelled dishonest was enough to make anyone go a bit thin and drawn. Now that particular unpleasantness was' behind him, but it would appear that Juana was still in had rotted the armour, left him exposed. possession. eWin He would get over her, of course, but till he did there would 153

be times like this, when he drank to dull an ache and by drinking too much bared a physical grief. Had it not been for that moment when she had witnessed the grief; Susan would have been angry and uncaring about Rex. She would have hailed one of the few passing cars and placed the whole situation in the hands of anyone willing to help. Within the next hour or so there would surely have been someone who would have understood, and arranged for the car to be driven back to the hotel where Rex lived with the Americans. But that naked, quivering look in his eyes altered everything. He wasn't just a weak creature who had got tight, but someone who roused her compassion. The moment she brought a passerby into the picture Rex was in danger of losing the well-paid job which was helping him over the bad patch. For it was obvious that he could not return to his employer till he recovered, and equally obvious that he would not awaken for several hours. She did try slapping his cheeks, but it was like ill-treating a dummy. There was only one thing for it. She must get him moved over into her own seat and then have a shot at driving the car. Once she was on her way to Lisbon she could think what to do when she got there. Moving him, though, required all her strength and technique; had she been without nursing experience she couldn't have done it. As it was, when eventually Susan sat behind the wheel she was exhausted and sweating, and as she switched on the ignition her hand shook as if with a rigor. Slowly, carefully, she shifted the gear-lever, and snail-like, the car moved forward. She gathered a little courage and accelerated. She saw a sign-post, worked out the kilometres in miles and decided they were about eighty miles from Lisbon. They were even farther from the capital than she had thought. At an average speed of thirty miles an hour they should reach Lisbon at . . . about one in the morning! Before they reached Lisbon she would stop and try once more to awaken him. Even if she succeeded, though, it wouldn't be wise for either of them to show up in Lisbon before morning. Possibly no one would consider it strange that Rex should have spent a night away from his room; he 15 4

was a man and men do such things. Her own position was a little more delicate, but she was staying in a different hotel, and her things were still in the bedroom; there was the saving fact that she was one of the unpredictable English. When Susan did stop the car on the outskirts of Lisbon, just above the lights and the darkly luminous river, she changed her mind about Rex. Let him go on sleeping it off. She'd never be able to sleep herself, but that didn't matter. The night seemed endless. Then dawn broke, all pearly grey and pink, an ox-wagon loaded with produce lumbered past the car and other vehicles began to move in and out of town. A man carrying urns of milk slung from a yoke trudged along the verge of the road, and soon after came a couple of trotting donkeys followed by a barefoot boy, a load of dew-bright flowers, a woman with a basket of early grapes for market. Susan blinked her heavy lids, flexed her shoulders and gave Rex a mighty push. At the third thrust he stirred, opened pink-filmed eyes and stared at her. He sat up, gingerly rubbing a hand over the back of his neck, and wincing from a throbbing in his brow. He looked about him. Tor Pete's sake.. . what are we doing here?' he almost croaked. 'It's . . . it's just on seven!' `Nice to know you're able to read the time.' `What happened?' `You went out like a light.' `Good lord,' he said solemnly. 'Were we at the pousada?' `You drove some way in the car—don't you remember?' `Yes. Yes, I do.' He sat up stiffly, pushed his fingers over his face. 'I asked you to drive, didn't I? I must have been crazy. Did you get us here?' `No one else. I stopped just outside the town because I couldn't turn up at your hotel with an unconscious passenger. If you'd been carried to bed last night you'd have lost your job this morning.' `Right enough,' he said with a sigh. 'I expect you hate the sight of me.' `When you see yourself in a mirroryou won't exactly love yourself. What shall we do now?' `Take you to your hotel. You might even be able to slip 155

up to your room without being seen. Gosh, I'm sorry, Susan. `It's all right, but I don't think I'd better try deceiving anyone. To avoid a hue and cry it might be best to stop at the first telephone and ring my hotel.' That was what they would have done, if Susan had not run the car on to sand the night before. When Rex started the engine the wheels slipped round without gripping. He packed twigs and grass under them, more twigs and more grass, and eventually the car leapt forward on to tarmac. But the trouble had made them late; Rex couldn't afford to lose a minute. `Better make it your hotel, Rex,' Susan said. 'I'll get a taxi from there.' He cursed himself, said unprintable things about the increasing traffic. When at last they stopped in front of the opulent hotel where Rex's Americans lived, it was ten minutes to nine. `Come in and have a wash and some breakfast,' he implored her. 'Just to show you forgive me for being a cockeyed maniac!' `All right. I'd rather turn up at my place looking decent, anyway. But do go in, Rex. Forget about me. I'm fine.' `I'll ring you at eleven: She nodded, and he sped across the hotel foyer to the lift. Susan belatedly made her telephone call, found a massive powder room where she spent fifteen minutes tidying up. She came out, found she wasn't hungry but could use a cup of coffee. It was served to her in an almost empty lounge, and she was given dry biscuits and the morning paper to go with it. It was a quarter to ten when she called a taxi. The journey from Rex's first-class hotel to her own more humble one was accomplished in ten minutes. She paid the driver, walked into the narrow vestibule and up the stairs to her room. She sat on the side of her bed, suddenly spent. It was over, and no one the wiser. She had better rest for an hour and then telephone Francesca. Quite how she would word her request she didn't know, nor was she in a condition to compose it now. '

She took off her shoes, folded the bedspread and lay 15 6

down on the blanket. Her eyes closed, but there was a heavy ache behind them; she wanted desperately to sleep. Perhaps she did lose consciousness, but it could not have been for long. A sound in the room brought her wide awake. She stared up at a face that was lean and taut with control, at eyes that were a dark stone grey with flecks of flame in them. `Eduardo,' she whispered. `Exactly,' in an icicle voice. 'You will get up at once and return with me to Barbazon. At once!' She sat up and blinked. The pallor of triedness lay over her skin, and there was a vulnerable look at her temple, where the vein beat. 'Please ... I was resting because . `I know why you were resting. As soon as we reach Barbazon you may go to bed.' He bent, and roughly he pushed her shoes on to her feet. He looked about him and saw her suitcase on the luggage stool. He threw the lid back, whipped open the wardrobe door and reached for her dresses. Susan forestalled him. In a sane moment she would have wondered what had got into her to make her push him away as she did. `Senhor, please! I'm not going back to Barbazon. I was going to telephone Dona Francesca and tell her this morning.' `You will pack!' he exclaimed. 'Presto!' `But let me . . His eyes narrowed and brilliant, he said quickly, 'Let you explain? Explain what? Why your clothes were packed and waiting at the Castelo? Why you left this hotel early yesterday morning and did not return until an hour ago? Yes, there is a great deal to explain, but I will not listen here! Nor do I wish to discuss anything until you have rested. But you will rest at the Castelo, not in this dreadful bedroom.' He waved a furious hand at the wardrobe. 'Pack them, or we shall leave without them!' Through a haze of emotions, Susan became aware that the door was ajar, that servants were lingering as near as they dared. They knew the Visconde, of course, were probably bursting to know what would happen when she defied such a man. 157

She folded her couple of dresses and her suit, placed the rest of her belongings on top of them in the case and closed it. Eduardo called peremptorily for someone to take it to the car. They entered the small musty lift, left it and walked out into the sunshine. Apparently the bill was to be sent on; none of the awestruck hotel staff said a word. The sleek black car with the coat of arms on the side was at the foot of the steps, conspicuous and incongruous. Eduardo put her into the front seat, saw her bag stowed, took his own place and set the Far moving. The whole of the journey from the city to Barbazon was accomplished in silence. Eduardo didn't even look at her as he walked with her into the wide pillared hall of the Castelo. There was only a faint bow of dismissal as he turned towards the library. Palpably, for the present, he had had as much of Miss Day as he could bear.

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CHAPTER NINE Susan managed to sleep for several hours. When she awoke, in the bedroom several yards away from Francesca's room on the other side of the corridor, it was three o'clock, and the whole of the Castelo was steeped in a brooding quietude. She felt better, but lightheaded, and when her memory returned she could not quite believe it. The Visconde at that small hotel on the Rua do Carmo? She must have dreamed it. But there were things here that she had not dreamed. The cases she had packed ready for sending on after Francesca had agreed to release her had disappeared. Her clothes were back in the wardrobes and in the drawers of the chest, her toilet articles were neatly spread over the surface of the dressing table, her dressing-gown hung over the back of a chair and her slippers were beside the bed. The work of Luiza or one of her kind. Susan got up, washed in the adjoining bathroom and put on a tan-and-white check dress—something neutral, she thought. That was how she had to be till she knew how things stood. Except for a touch of lipstick she remained without make-up. A maid she didn't know very well brought tea and half a dozen tiny sandwiches. She was older than Luiza and probably hadn't a word of English, but she knew a little of what had been happening; she avoided looking at Susan and the smile on her lips was nervous. Susan. felt like a junior member of the household who has misbehaved; she wasn't exactly confined to her room, but she was in the sort of plight that rouses smiling pity and apprehension in the lower orders. That was what it looked like, anyway. She wondered what Francesca was thinking. And then, under her handbag, she found her final cheque from the senhora with a note pinned to it. SURPRISINGLY,

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`My dear Susan, This closes our very pleasant association as patient and nurse-companion. I shall be most happy to regard you as a guest here for the rest of your stay. It was signed simply, 'Francesca Varoz', and was as final as even the senhora could make it. Yet she, Susan, had been hauled back from Lisbon like a refractory child, had been deposited in the hall and waved to her room as if the very sight of her drove white-hot needles through the patience of the Visconde. She sighed deeply. He had been affronted by her manner of leaving, she supposed; she had hoped that even he might have realised that it was all for the best. She hadn't run out, exactly; she had fully intended telephoning Francesca and leaving- everything friendly and clear-cut. She had packed before leaving so that the severance of her relationship with the Castelo should cause no trouble to anyone. But Eduardo, it seemed, thrived on trouble. She had never seen him so tall and vital, so taut with controlled, masculine fury. She sighed again, but this time more shakily. She came to a decision, crossed the corridor and tapped at the door of Francesca's room. There was no reply and she looked inside, saw the room was empty and had pulled the door closed again when Luiza came along the corridor. The Portuguese maid looked politely poker-faced, and was not even going to stop. But Susan said clearly, `Luiza, is Dona Francesca downstairs?' minha menina. Dona Francesca has been at the Quinta Rosa since ten o'clock this morning.' `Alone?' `With the Senhor Visconde for 'some of the time.' `Have all the guests gone?' `Most of them, but six remain.' Luiza appeared to battle silently before she added, `Senhorita Fontana de Castria is at this moment taking tea with the Senhor Visconde in the small sala.' `I see.' After that Susan hadn't the courage to look into her own old room, and somehow she couldn't mention Rosalia Valente to Luiza. She managed an enquiry. `Was the ball exciting?' 16o '

Luiza smiled at last. 'It was a grand ball. Senhorita Mendes looked beautiful and was most happy, and there were more guests than we have had for some years. It is said that the banquet to announce the Visconde's own engagement will be even more elaborate, and that it will be soon. There is even a rumour that the marriage will take place this year, during the vintage!' `How lovely.' Susan tried to say more, but the words would not come. She nodded to Luiza and went back to her bedroom. Apparently she just had to stick out this week; that was to be her punishment for thinking she could evade pain without a fuss. Well, she could do it, fabricate a perpetual smile, get well back behind her defences. She looked down from her balcony over the brooding summer at Barbazon. Heat shimmered above the magnolias and cypresses, sent zephyrs through the flower beds, cast a white light over the statuary. In the distance she could see the grey-green of olives, a thin lilac line of hills against the deepening blue of the sky. She felt dry and empty. It was twilight and the lights of the Castelo had come on when she decided to go downstairs and face the immediate future. At the foot of the staircase she hesitated before walking out into the lighted terrace. She had stood there, near the wall, for perhaps five minutes when Eduardo appeared. He looked cool and aloof. `You are rested?' he enquired. `Yes, thank you.' `Good. I wish you to take a short car ride with me. Now.' Susan was beyond questioning anything. 'Very well,' she said. 'Am I suitably dressed?' He did not look at her. 'You are suitably dressed. We shall not be long.' She was again in the front seat of the black limousine, and he was driving, as wordlessly as before. But on the trip from Lisbon she had been aware of the almost tangible heat of his anger. Now he was as cold and indifferent as the awakening stars. It had become so dark that she was unable to work out where they were heading, but within ten minutes they had 16

drawn up in front of the Villa Aurora, and Eduardo was opening her door. He threw open the door of the house without preliminary, told the hurrying old servant that he wished to see Dona Elena and the senhorita. He led Susan into the heavily furnished sitting room, bade her sit down and himself stood in patriarchal attitude, with his back to the ornamental fireplace and his hands behind him. His expression was withdrawn and noncommittal. The small indomitable figure of Dona Elena came almost noiselessly into the room. `Ah, Eduardo, how good of you to come in for cocktails. And you bring Miss Day! Not Francesca?' He bent and kissed the papery skin of the old senhora's wrist, courteously saw her seated. 'No cocktails. We are here for only a brief visit. Boa tarde, Juana. ' For the first time, except for that glimpse of a face at the window many weeks ago, Susan saw Juana Mendes, the girl who had planted the misery in Rex Stratton. A lovely girl of about twenty-two, with creamy, glowing skin, a neat mass of black wavy hair and ripe red lips. Her dark eyes were thickly fringed; they alone, thought Susan, were enough to melt a man's heart. Juana curtseyed and spoke in Portuguese. 'Good evening, Dom Eduardo. Good evening . . . senhorita.' Eduardo said, Tor the benefit of Miss Day, whose Portuguese is limited, we will speak in English.' `But my English . . . she is not . . . so good,' said Juana. Inflexibly, Eduardo returned, 'Your English is excellent, Juana, and why should it not be? During the months of my stay in Brazil and for some time afterwards you were receiving daily lessons from Mr Stratton, is it not so?' Dona Elena intervened. 'There were not so many lessons, Eduardo. I would not permit it.' `I suspect that there were more lessons than you knew of, my dear.' He took something from his pocket, smoothed it and shot out his hand, so that the sheet of paper was within a foot of Juana's face. 'Did you write this letter to José Barrero?' Juana was suddenly scarlet and staring. 'Why . . . why, Dom Eduardo 162

`Answer me. Did you write it?' Susan, from becoming rigid in her chair, felt sickened and deflated. She saw the beautiful dark eyes fill with tears, the red lips quiver uncontrollably. Juana was imploring him, speechlessly, to accept her confession and forget the matter. But Eduardo was cruelly intent upon ventilating every detail. He spoke through tight teeth. 'HI had known about this I would have cancelled the ball — do you appreciate that? I learned too late, and had to leave the matter till Miss Day had returned to Barbazon. You sent her three letters, no?' Juana bowed her head. 'I cannot say why I did it. I was so . . . unhappy . . `You were callous and discourteous to someone who had a right to expect only kindness under my roof! Miss Day was a newcomer, and oo her first evening she finds this anonymous letter telling her to leave Barbazon. She knows no one, so can see no reason to regard the letter as important. The second letter makes her uneasy, but again she puts it aside. The third also. It is only when José Barrero comes to ask me for permission to see Miss Day regularly that the situation is brought to light. He gave me this letter, and I have gone to much trouble to trace its source, through my servants. Your maid has a young brother who is friendly with a youth who works in my orchards. By the time those letters arrived in Miss Day's room no . one could be sure where they came from! It was contemptible, Juana. You are not fit to marry at all!' Juana was weeping unrestrainedly. Dona Elena sat like a ramrod, her bright little eyes darting under their heavy lids. Her small lower jaw was thrust out, the thin nostrils dilated. `So!' she exclaimed in shocked tones. 'You will stop those tears at once and explain! May I read the letter, Eduardo?' He gave it to her, said grimly, 'You will see that Juana had the effrontery to sign such a letter with Miss Day's name. It will take a great deal of explaining!' Susan felt it was time to take a hand. The girl was in a pitiful state and these two were likely to have her in irons if 163

no one interceded. `We've found out who wrote the letters,' she said quickly, `and I think I know why they were written. Please let us leave it there, senhor.' `We go through it to the end,' he said abruptly. 'I have never in my life heard of such an outrage, but here it has happened in the Castelo itself—and to someone whom we value. Juana, we are waiting!' The girl lifted a face that was already swollen with tears. `It is all true. I did it . . . for Rex.' `The whole truth!' burst out the Visconde. IfJuana had been going to lie his rage dissuaded her. She gripped her hands in front of her and said, 'I was foolish. I . . . I thought I loved Rex because I . . . because I wanted to love him. He was different from our men, so friendly... and he adored me.' `And so?' demanded Eduardo inexorably. " `I was told Dona Francesca had arrived with a pretty English girl and it was said that Rex was lonely and would quickly lose his heart to her I was frantic, because for some weeks I had not been allowed to be near him and I did not know if he still loved me. All I could think of was that she must be driven away. I could hardly stir from the Villa, but I knew I could get someone to deliver a letter. They dared not take letters to Rex, but outside the house they were free. I did not think it out. I had to act quickly, the day the English girl came to Barbazon.' `It did not seem to you mean and brutal?' Juana moistened her lips. 'It was not intended that way. I had nothing against the English one—I wished only that she would go.' `But you persisted. There were other letters.' A dismal nod. 'I was allowed to receive a note from Rex, and in it he said he liked Miss Day. I . . . I was in love with him.' Grandly, Dona Elena ignored her own part in deceiving the girl. `Tchah! Yiu are in love with your fiance.' 'Yes.. . but not then,' murmured Juana in thick wistful tones. 'When you had chosen my fiance, what could I do but obey?'

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`That's true,' put in Susan militantly. 'You haven't given Juana a chance to be herself. You locked her up, told her whom she must marry. It's inhuman!' `You have small knowledge of us, Miss Day,' said Eduardo. 'Ask Juana which of these two men she would marry if she were given a free choice. Ask her!' There was no need to put the question. Juana, still avoiding Susan's glance, nodded dispiritedly. 'I would choose my fiancé, not Rex. Rex has no money, no home to offer. I could not marry him.' Susan leaned forward, a little tensely. 'But you love him most?' Juana's mouth became compressed, her features took a sullen cast. 'No, that is not true.' But the candid Susan could not accept this. 'You wrote this letter to José Barrero after Rex had been sent away. You still wanted him, even then.' Juana flickered her one brief look; it was full of pleading, tinged with hate. Susan sat back, a trifle stunned, glanced up at Eduardo's tight mask of absolute distaste. In low tones Juana said, 'I put questions to my maid about you, Miss Day. She told me that Rex had come to you on the day he left us, but that you were seeing much of Jose Barrero. I did not think that José would take the letter to Dom Eduardo.' `It was his natural reaction,' said Eduardo harshly. `How else could he have dealt with the matter?' `I do not know.' And that was as much as she would say. Obviously she had hoped to discredit Susan at the Castelo and at the same time link her with someone else. For a while she had been insanely jealous, thinking only to injure the girl who could see Rex whenever she liked, and love him if she wished. `Go to your room, Juana!' said Dona Elena at last. 'You have disgraced us.' `No, stay,' put in Eduardo swiftly. 'Are you sure you have confessed everything?' Juana swallowed. 'Yes, everything.' `Is there not one little matter you have forgotten?' Susan jumped to her feet. 'I think I've heard enough. 165

I'm sorry there had to be a scene like this, Dona Elena. If I'd known why the Senhor Visconde was bringing me here this evening I'd have refused to enter the house.' The old senhora gazed up at her shrewdly. 'I believe that is true, Miss Day. You are a girl of strong character, and perhaps you are right when you say that it is inhuman to choose whom a girl shall love and marry. But you judge from your own strength, not from Juana's weakness. You could select your husband, and whoever he might be there would be a chance of success because he would have your, vigour and belief in him as well as his own love for you. It is not so with Juana. We who know her so intimately are well aware that without our guidance she would be weak and feckless. She will make a good wife, but not for such a one as Mr Stratton, because he is a man who needs to lean upon someone - like yourself. Fortunately,' without a trace of irony, 'we have found that Juana is loved by such a man as we would ourselves have selected. I am sure you would not wish to force a confession to him. from Juana.' Oddly, Eduardo waited for Susan's reply. `I think the whole thing is best forgotten,' she said. The old senhora nodded. 'Good. My opinion of you improves, particularly as I am beginning to realise what it was that Eduardo wished Juana to confess. It is connected with the diamond brooch, is it not?' There was a brief electric silence, then Juana turned and ran from the room. The glance that Dona Elena slanted towards the door which her granddaughter had left half open was hawk-like and meant to slay. 'There is no need for a confession. At the time I was reluctant to believe Mr Stratton capable of such a crime. But to be frank, I was glad to have the excuse to be rid of him. With the brooch episode things had gone too far and he had to leave. Miss Day, you may tell him to apply for the amount I owe him. When I send him a cheque I will also apologise.' By now Susan was ragged. She nodded without speaking. Slowly, Eduardo tore the odious letter into small pieces and dropped them on to a table. His calculating glance rested upon Susan, met the eyes of the old senhora, and he said something that Susan had never imagined would come 166

from the lips of the Viscoride de Corte Ribeiro. `Perhaps we are a little to blame for this unpleasant business. Juana was good before Stratton came and she has expressed her delight with her chosen husband. Please tell her the matter is closed. We will now wish you boa tarde.' The little hand which looked carved -from ivory was lifted, the sharp old face wore a genuine smile. 'Please! Will you not both take a drink with me? Just a token that we are friends?' `We were never enemies, minha cara.' `Not you and I, Eduardo, but I believe Miss Day has found it difficult to trust me, particularly as I was so strongly in favour of an attachment between herself and Mr Stratton. Pour some sherry for us, Eduardo.' He did, and they drank, but Susan was glad to get out of the villa and feel the air through the car window. As they sped towards the Castelo she found herself breathing rather deeply of the fresh air, and wishing she could forget Juana's more unpleasant expressions. No doubt about the girl's loveliness, and she was probably mighty attractive in her excited and loving moods. But found out, Juana Mendes was someone Rex had never seen. Was it best to let him keep his dream? Eduardo answered that one as they stopped in front of the Castelo. 'It is over and we say no more. Stratton has been paid and been fortunate enough to secure a good post. In my letter to him I assured him that should any mention be made of his dishonesty I would state the truth of the matter. He deserves that much, but no more. After all, he did use underhand methods to see a good deal more of Juana than was permitted, and he did dispose of the brooch.' `Rex will get through,' she said in flat tones. `And you. It is impossible to put into words how I feel about this that has been done to you.' `It was very little, really, and it's past. I'll go now.' `I would like you to come down for dinner, pequena.' `Is it an order?' `It is not an order, Miss Day.' `Then I'll stay in my room, thank you, senhor. Goodnight.' 167

She left him at once, walked swiftly across the gleaming tiles and up the staircase. The best thing about that evening was the rain. It was a heavy summer drizzle and with the balcony doors wide Susan could smell its effect on the gardens and feel the damp warmth of it in her room. She went to bed early and listened to the drip, drip outdoors. She heard a car depart, faint music from the terrace, the closing of a bedroom door. About Francesca she had a let-down feeling. It was natural that the senhora should be absorbed in her beloved Rosalia, but her note attached to the cheque became more and more offhand each time Susan remembered it. She and Francesca had been close; for only three or four months, but close nevertheless. True, Francesca had never forgotten her position, but a live spark of friendliness had certainly been struck between them, especially at the Quinta Rosa. Apparently, after the interval in which she wouldn't even talk about the place, she had gone back there today for i good number of hours. Rosalia's influence, of course. Soon there would be an announcement about Eduardo and Rosalia, and Francesca would lose all tendency to migraine and depression. It was as simple as that. And what about Ysabel? Bother Ysabel, bother the lot of them and particularly Eduardo, who had dragged her from Lisbon for the sole purpose of proving he was a just man. But her heart twisted and her lips whispered his name. Perhaps morning light would change things. She hoped so. It was still raining next morning, not heavily, but enough to keep everyone indoors. However, Susan decided on a bathe. She ate a buttered paozinho, drank some coffee, gathered her swimsuit and cap and threw a light raincoat over her shoulders. But she was scarcely in the corridor before Francesca called her name. Susan looked back, saw that the senhora was still in her wrap and beckoning from her doorway. She went along to the room, entered it and closed the door. Francesca must have been up some time, for her bed was made and she herself was ready to slip into a dress. She took t68

it from the bed, a dark royal blue with black facings. Almost automatically, Susan helped to work it over the neat dark head and slim shoulders, and while she did it she was straining to hear sounds from the next room, She asked herself what she would do when Rosalia Valente appeared, and felt her heart turn. `Susan,' Francesca said evenly, 'there have been happenings I do not understand—your baggage ready in your room, Eduardo's anger, and now your return as if you bad never planned to leave us so suddenly. But I will not question you about them unless you wish it.' `I think it's best to forget it all, senhora.' `Very well. I knew you would go out soon and I was listening for you because there are things which ' a shrug, and she let it tail off. Then she said, 'Did you have any conversation with my brother yesterday—I mean, about the weekend?' `None at all. The ball went off splendidly, I believe.' `Oh, yes.' She spoke as if it hadn't mattered much, anyway; there were other things on her mind. 'Eduardo returned to the Castelo before lunch on Saturday . . . without Rosalia.' `Oh.' Susan collected her wits. 'Why didn't she come?' `I am not sure. My brother gave me a letter from her in which she begs forgiveness for whatever it is and asks me not to come to her for a while. I am afraid it is the end of the engagement.' Within two seconds Susan experienced two emotions, each extreme from the other; relief and shattering dread. Francesca, she-could see, had reached a degree of acceptance of the fact, but was still disturbed. Because she had to know, Susan asked, 'Didn't the Senhor Visconde say anything about it at all?' `Nothing. No doubt he thought Rosalia had explained in her letter to me. I could not bring myself to question him.' Francesca took a monogrammed handkerchief from a box, pinned a small gold-framed cameo to her collar. Then she wandered over to look at the pale grey sky through the balcony window. 'I have been wilfully blind and stupid.

Through my own marriage I am more percipient, more 169

understanding of these things. Ever since I returned I have known that Rosalia is not really the woman for Eduardo, but I have fought against the knowledge for her sake. It was obvious that though he cares much for her, it is not true love. It has been even more obvious since Ysabel Fontana de Castria came to Barbazon.' Susan felt a clamminess at her temples, a blanketing weight of loss. She longed to escape, and yet knew there was no escaping the cold of her heart. `They probably weren't suited at all,' she said. 'It's a good thing your brother hadn't married before he met Senhorita Fontana de Castria.' `Yes,' with a sigh. 'That is the sensible way to regard it. Since he arrived on Saturday, Eduardo has been with Ysabel much of the time. He was not pleased that you had gone away for the weekend and on Sunday he discovered that your suitcases were packed, and drove into Lisbon. Ysabel went with him. I have not spoken to her since Juana's party, but my brother went with me to the Quinta Rosa yesterday. He has agreed to my using part of the house as the convalescent home.' `You must be very pleased.' Francesca nodded that she was, but it seemed as if her perspective had shifted. 'I should also be very pleased for Eduardo. He is free to marry the woman he loves. In time I may come to love her, too.' She sounded as if she had no wish to make the effort. Susan thought of several questions she would have liked to' ask, but somehow it all seemed pointless. She herself would be leaving soon and perhaps the less she knew about the plans of this family the better. So she said, 'Thank you for the cheque, senhora, and for your note. I'll be only too happy to do things for you while I'm here.' Francesca smiled a little sadly. 'I know, Susan. But for your help I would not have got through these months here so well. As things are,' with a shrug of her slim shoulders, 'I shall move into the Quinta Rosa as soon as possible. I hope you will come over and see this home of ours when it is established; it is to you and your mother that I owe the I 70

inspiration.' Her throat full, Susan said, 'My mother will be very happy to know that.' `Go for your bathe, my dear. Only an Englishwoman would be so impatient for a swim that she would enter the sea on such a day! I will see you when you return. It is planned that we all have chocolate together, I believe. We still have a few guests, you know.' Susan nodded, said a muted 'Ate logo,' and left Francesca. As was usual when she went for a bathe, she left the Castelo by the back staircase. Grey though the sky was, there was only a light drizzle, but she slipped her arms into the plastic raincoat and pulled her swimming cap over her hair. Moodily she tramped along the wet lane between the trees. This was going to be the longest and most harrowing week of her life. Apparently it did occur to other than Englishwomen that a warm wet day was just right for a bathe, for at a bend in the path she came face to face with Ysabel. The lovely Brazilian wore a navy swimsuit with a pale blue terry-towel jacket, and her hair hung loose but was covered by a white umbrella. Her long golden legs terminated in beach sandals. The startling white teeth gleamed cheerfully. 'So we meet, Miss Day! The sea is warm but misty. I immersed myself, and no more.' She swung keys on a ring. 'You are permitted to use the beach hut?' Recent experience had made Susan impervious to insult. She took the keys. 'Thank you. I might like to sit for a while before I bathe.' `Alone? But you are content to be alone, no? Me, I am not fond of solitude.' She looked about to pass on, but hesitated. Her sudden smile was dazzling. 'Things have changed here—have • you heard? That engagement is finished and Eduardo is free. Eduardo is very correct, of course, and he will not speak about it yet for fear of injuring that milky-veined Rosalia, but he has shown me his relief in many ways.' With a nonchalant lift of her shoulders she ended, 'It had to come right, naturally. He and I are so 171

perfect for each other. But I admit that I was worried about this distant cousin in Oporto, particularly as Francesca is of the same sort.' `If you want to speak against Dona Francesca you wshouldn't ouldn't do it to me,' Susan said, 'and if I were you I do it to the Visconde either.' `How dare you!' Susan was tired of it all. 'You can't get me fired—I'm leaving next Saturday.' But Ysabel made a lightning recovery. 'Do not be foolish, Miss Day. You and I should not quarrel. Who knows— in two or three years I may need a nurse for my children, and it seems these Portuguese fidakos often have a preference for a nurse from England. They pay very well, and if you were . . Susan did not stay to hear more. She gripped the key ring and swung on down the path, feeling the pressure of ruthless fingers about her heart and rain on her face. Was it all rain? On the veranda of the beach but she paused and rested against the wall. Sand and sea looked depressing. Mist hung in the trees and shrouded most of the ocean, and the whisper of waves had a melancholy note which reminded her of the fados . Somewhere behind the but a bird cheeped plaintively, but it was otherwise quiet. She looked at the veranda chairs and could imagine nothing more discouraging than sitting in one of them and watching the mist. She unlocked the door of the beach but and went inside. 'Beach hut' was a misnomer for this long, luxurious room with its dressing rooms at one end and shower cubicles at the back, but the filtered grey light robbed the bright furniture and peasant rugs of gaiety. She sat down next to the record= player, saw that it was plugged in and leant across to the cabinet to select a record. The first she found was Hungarian Dances, and she thought that would do as well as any. But a record already occupied the turntable and she could feel a faint warmth from the motor. Ysabel had been using it. Her fingers cold, she picked the record from the turntable and read its name. And somehow the very sight of the expected Word, Amorsinha, was the last straw. Deliberately, 17 2

violently, she smashed the black disc down on to the rod of the turntable and flung the pieces on to the floor. The next moment she had shed her clothes and was fastening on her cap, running down the beach and into the sibilant waves. She swam at least fifty yards before the flush of anger receded, and after that she went on mechanically, arm over arm through water which swelled slightly but was comparatively calm. She floated, decided there was nothing like a swim to put one's world in focus. She didn't care about Ysabel, didn't care about anyone. Very soon now she would be home at Pellam; that was what she wanted .. . home. It was when she turned over, to swim again, that she became aware of the shroud of mist. There was no sign of the beach, or even of the mild white crests of the little waves which lapped it, which meant she was some way out. Nothing to panic about, of course. Since coming to Barbazon she had developed into a strong swimmer, and could easily make it back to the beach so long as she knew the direction. But there was the snag—which way? One always seemed to swim diagonally, so the way back should be diagonal, too. But how did one know whether one was facing the beach or the open sea? She trod water, lifted the ear-flap of her cap and listened. Was the sound of waves to her right or the left? To her right, she thought, and struck out. But she swam till her shoulders felt loosened from their sockets and her lungs hurt, and there was no sight of the beach or of the white crests. She listened again, turned tiredly and rested. It was then that she became aware of the dark outline of the stone pier. She had swum across the Barbazon Bay! How she accomplished that last fifteen-minute swim Susan never knew. She crawled from the sea on to Barbazon beach, staggered a few yards and dropped face downward on the sand in the lee of a boat. Had her life depended on it, she couldn't have managed another step.

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CHAPTER TEN side terrace of the Castelo that morning presented a slightly festive air. A few local senhors and senhoras had joined the Visconde, Francesca and the half-dozen house guests for refreshment, and footmen wheeled out trolleys laden with delicate china, silver, cakes and tiny shellfish. There were chocolate, tea and coffee to drink, cheroots and cigarettes, dishes of almonds and figs and minute confections to nibble at. Ruy Alvedo was there, handing round the cups as Francesca poured, and smiling that patient, encouraging smile. He was typically a man who has waited long to marry and is willing to wait just a bit longer; no doubt at all that he knew what he wanted and that nothing less would do. Everyone had been served when Eduardo took a seat between Dona Elena and his sister. He bent towards his sister. 'Where is our Susan?' `I am not sure. I told her we would expect her here for chocolate and sent Luiza to call her. Luiza say Susan is not in her room. No doubt she will arrive presently.' `She will not come now that we have been served,' he said curtly. 'I particularly wished her to be here.' `I am sorry, Eduardo. Had I known I would have made it a point that she should be here at eleven.' Francesca sounded a trifle offhand. Patently she had not quite recovered from the shock of his return from Oporto without Rosalia. 'You wish me to send someone to look for her?' `No, my dear, I will do it myself.' He beckoned a footman. `Find Miss Day, please—quickly.' Ysabel, who was seated opposite the Visconde, waved her fingers negligently. 'I think Miss Day would rather not be here among the Portuguese. She feels the lack of English companionship and naturally she is not comfortable with us.' THE

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Eduardo said unsmilingly, 'I have never noticed that Miss Day is uneasy in our company. Her Portuguese improves and she begins to understand us.' `Me,' said Ysabel lightly, 'I will never understand the English. When I met Miss Day this morning I had to remind myself that she is Francesca's nurse-companion. She looked through me and scarcely listened to what I was saying.' Eduardo leaned forward intently. 'And what were you saying, Ysabel?' he asked quietly. `Nothing of importance,' with a shrug. 'I had taken a dip and met her as she was on her way to the beach. It was very misty then, and raining a little, but...' `She went for a bathe?' he demanded, turning to his sister. 'Did you know that, Francesca?' `Yes, of course. Susan swims every day. They say that the water is always warm and calm in misty weather.' `That is so,' he said sharply. 'I swam myself this morning, before the mist grew thick, but it is never safe to enter the sea in such a mist as we had between nine and ten o'clock.' `It has been clear and bright for an hour now.' `And yet,' he said, his eyes narrow and alert, 'she has not returned to her room! Where else could she be?' Her sweet tones slightly edged, Ysabel offered: 'I gave Miss Day the keys of the beach hut. She is no doubt lounging there with a cigarette.' `Ah.' But Eduardo was not quite satisfied. He turned to a servant. 'You will join in the search for Miss Day. Send someone down to the beach. No, wait a moment. I will go there thyself!' He was on his feet, bending urgently towards Francesca. `I will try not to be long. Make my apologies, if necessary, and beg everyone to remain for luncheon.' `But, Eduardo, the servants will find Susan...' Impatiently he snapped his fingers. 'They are slow! And I have this feeling that she has been foolhardy. She is unhappy.' `Susan? Unhappy?' Suddenly the imperturbable host was ousted by an 17 5

Eduardo with flashing eyes and tight teeth. 'Is it impossible

for Susan to be unhappy? She is no different from us! She has feelings, hopes, longings . . . and you may be sure she would not have spent the weekend in Lisbon unless something was very wrong with the way she feels here in Barbazon! You have been blind, Francesca—blind to everything but your own problems. You have wanted the impossible . . .' he broke off, added perfunctorily, 'I beg your pardon, my dear. Excuse me!' The next moment he had taken the steps to the garden in one stride, and was disappearing along the path. Francesca, pale and startled, sat back and stared at Ysabel. 'I have never known Eduardo like that,' she whispered. 'He . . . he has gone himself to-seek Susan.' `And why not?' The voice came from someone who had listened but not yet spoken—Dona Elena. 'In my opinion, the girl is worth seeking. You of all people should agree with that, Francesca.' `Oh, I do. I care very much for Susan. But why should Eduardo think she may have come to harm?' Ysabel laughed, a little harshly. 'His sense of duty is taking him too far,' she commented. 'I think you should persuade the English girl to leave Barbazon at once, Francesca.' Francesca lifted her head proudly, but before she could speak Dona Elena had answered Ysabel. 'You presume too much, senhorita,' she said calmly. 'At the moment Miss Day is no less a guest at the Castelo Carvo than you are yourself. I have immense admiration for her and I will not hear you speak against her.' Ysabel was too conscious of Dona Elena's position in the family to argue with her. She bowed her head. 'I apologise. I merely thought we were making too much fuss about a member of the staff.' With far more than her usual spirit, Francesca said, 'If you wish to remain friendly with us all, Ysabel, you will not refer to Susan in slighting terms! We are all fond of her, and by going himself to find her, Eduardo has proved...' Her voice tailed off and she gazed dumbfounded at Dona Elena. The tiny old woman lifted her patrician head and

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gave Francesca a grimly amused nod. `So!' she murmured. 'There is nothing we can do about it, Francesca, because mercifully your brother is free to make his own choice. As a matter of fact, I saw all this in Eduardo-when he brought Miss Day to my villa. Deliberately in my speech I paired the English girl with Mr Stratton, and your brother, at that moment, looked as his forebears must have looked when they cast their enemies into dungeons. I was fortunate,' .with birdlike complacency. 'This is not the day of dungeons!' Francesca still stared at Dona Elena, and neither of them saw Ysabel's jaw go square and inflexible, her eyes darken with frustration. But they did notice the springlike movement with which she left them and hurried into the Castelo and up to her room. Eduardo, meanwhile, had reached the beach hut, found the door wide and Susan's dress and raincoat over the back of a chair. He stood there for a moment, breathing deeply, before he went out to the veranda and scanned the sea. Two or three boats rode the waves a long way out and looked peaceful. The sea rippled over the sand and to the left it washed across the rocks in a soft white spray. The light was bright and pearly, the sky had cleared to a milky blue, and it seemed impossible that a horror could have happened somewhere out there. The treacherous mist, though. . . . A muscle jerked in his jaw and his dark eyes looked pitted under the black brows. He strode among the trees, pushed long fingers through his hair and let out a raging sigh. He shouted her name, and his voice brought one of the Castelo servants running down through the palm-bushes. Possibly the man' had never seen his master like this—angry and feverish and savage all at once. `No news?' Eduardo barked at him. `None, Senhor Visconde. It is thought that perhaps the senhorita walked to the town.' `No,' decisively. 'Her clothes are in there—she swam and lost her way. Deus! How does one search the sea?' He flung round upon the servant. 'Have enquiries made among the fishermen on the beach—presto! And get a message to the 177

Moncao. They must put out a launch and pick me up here. Go!' The man fled. Eduardo took one more look inside the beach but and stood there for a few seconds, pressing with his tight fist on the back of a chair. Then he swung out and down to the beach, hastened towards the rocks. He leapt up on to one of them, stepped on to another. And then he saw Susan. She was padding across the beach, slowly, with arms hanging loose. Sand obscured her bathing suit, plastered her legs and the fronts of her arms, and her pale, silky hair blew about a small oval face which was drained of colour. As she moved she looked down at the beach; she had the air of being afraid to look up in case the distance appeared too great. Eduardo muttered an oath, sprang over the rocks and down on to the main beach. He reached her side and put an arm about her, saw her lift her face, close her eyes and open them again, as if she were making a colossal effort to believe what she saw. `Hallo,' she said weakly. The valiant attempt at normality was too much for Eduardo. Oblivious of the fishermen who were trying hard not to stare at the strange sight of the Visconde with his arm about the sand-spattered form of the English Miss, he swept her up against him and strode back over the rocks and up into the Castelo grounds. As he moved swiftly along the path he looked pale and taut, a man keyed up to stand no more anxiety or nonsense of any kind.

Susan drank the fresh lemon juice laced with whisky, stretched back in the lounger and knew that tomorrow she would ache from this morning's strenuous battle with deep seas. Luiza had helped her to shower and get into underwear and the cream sleeveless dress, and it was she who had brought the whisky and lemon, and the instruction that Susan must stay in her room till lunchtime. Hazily, Susan remembered being carried up here by Eduardo, Luiza hovering and Francesca looking worried. She had been left alone with Luiza, thank heaven, and now she was alone 178

with the remains of the drink. She wouldn't think; that would be fatal. Wiser to feel sleepy and forget everything. Susan was actually dozing when Eduardo came into the room. He must have tapped, but she didn't hear him. He was simply there, standing above her with his back to the light, so that he appeared a tall dark figure with no particular expression on his face. He bent over her. 'You are recovered a little?' `Yes, thank you.' She sat up, felt him push her gently back against the lounger. 'I'm really quite all right—just a bit tired. Thank you for.., for...' `We will be quiet, no?' But she couldn' tfeel quiet any longer. The very fact of his nearness made her blood run faster, her nerves tingle. Now she was wide awake and more unsettled than she had been before this morning's bathe. Eduardo pulled up a chair and lowered himself into it. The arm of the chair was no more than a foot away from Susan, and his hand rested there, long-fingered and stronglooking. She gazed at it, daren't lift her glance to his face. There are some moments in life which one knows instinctively are the most important one will ever know. This was one of those moments for Susan. `I'm very much ashamed of having caused you so much trouble,' she said baldly. `You really wish to talk?' `I want to . . . to apologise.' `But not to explain?' In low tones she said, 'I thought you knew what had happened.' `I know what everyone else knows—that you swam when the mist was thickest and lost your way. But I also know,' his tones deep with remembered torture, 'that you could have drowned out there. During the last hour or two— since I heard you had bathed—I have / lived through a million nightmares. Even to see you here is a kind of anguish—a reminder that you might easily have swum out to sea!' She gave an awkward little shrug. 'I did use what commonsense I have. I listened for the waves. It was lucky I'd 179

improved my swimming.' `But even so,' he said in measured tones, 'you were quite exhausted by the time you reached the beach. What happened then?' `I flopped out. I wasn't unconscious, but I couldn't move. My . . . my lungs hurt.' Minha fir he said under his breath. A pause. 'Why did you swim on such a morning?' `I swim every morning.' `It is not misty every morning.' `I simply didn't notice it was so thick till I found I couldn't see the shore.' `There was something more than that.' She shook her head doggedly. 'There wasn't.' `It is useless to lie; I know too much about you.' He waited for her to speak, but she didn't say a word, or lift her head. Softly, a change in his voice, he asked, 'Why did you break Ysabel's gramophone record?' 'I'll replace it.' He repeated, inexorably, 'Why did you break it?' `It might have been an accident.' `No, it was deliberate. Records do not break easily. Perhaps I can answer my own question. On your way to the beach you met Ysabel and she was ill-bred, patronising. You were angry and walked on. You decided to listen to some music—the Hungarian Dances—but Ysabel's Amorsinha was on the turntable. So, for a moment, you borrowed the Portuguese temperament and smashed the record. That is so?' 'Yes, I'm afraid it is.' With just the faintest trace of humour, he said, 'I have wished many times to break it, so perhaps we share the ,distaste.' Then the smile was gone. Slowly he said, `To begin with, I will do the talking—at least, I will ask the questions. First, that infamous weekend in Lisbon. Why did you go when you knew I was expecting you to be here for the evening's celebration?' `It seemed a good opportunity. I knew the success of the evening didn't depend on me—that I wouldn't be missed.' `You were missed,' he stated. 'I was angry and hurt that

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you should have ignored my desire for you to be here. Was your anxiety to see Stratton more important than my wishes?' `No.' `You have said you are not in love with him. Is it true?' `Yes, it's absolutely true.' `That is something,' he said crisply. 'And now you will please give me the details of that night which you spent away from your hotel.' Susan told him, briefly. She ended, 'I know you won't believe that Rex still loves Juana, but it happens to be a fact. Don't blame him for drinking too much that night; it didn't solve anything, but it was an outlet. Next time he won't feel so bad, and gradually he'll get over the whole business. If he were as shallow as Juana he'd have been looking for someone else by now.' Keen-eyed, he asked, 'You have not written to him that Juana had ignored the affair of the brooch—had let him take the blame?' `I couldn't see that it would help him, really. If he ever asks me pointblank I'll tell him the truth, but it seems a pity to destroy something he found quite lovely.' She paused. `This time next year Rex will be in England, partnering some nice girl whom he'll love all the more for having loved unwisely the first time.' `That is touching!' Eduardo fingered his lean jaw. 'I 'have spent many bad hours over Stratton—during the weekend and since you have returned. I have also wondered why you, who in most things are correct, should have decided to say no goodbyes to us—only to Francesca over the telephone. You have done many wounding things, pequena.' Susan said nothing, and after a minute he went on, `You will remember that I told you of announcements which J intended to make last Saturday night. You have no doubt heard that I made none.' She nodded. 'I supposed the circumstances had changed.' `They had changed because you were not there. What I had to say must first be said to you. It is only now, when we are alone and I am no longer furious with you, that I can 18 t

speak of these things.' However deliberate his tones, though, he was obviously not as unmoved as he wished to seem. The hot look was coming into his eyes, and he suddenly found that he had to get up and walk across to the balcony. Standing there in the doorway, he continued, `Francesca has no doubt told you much about our cousin, Rosalia Valente. I know you were aware there was an engagement of sorts—you made it clear. At the time 'I could not refute it. For many years, since I came of age and Rosalia was fifteen, there has been an understanding that we would marry. It, was one of those things you despise—an arranged marriage—but I must confess that I was quite agreeable . . . until a year or two ago.' `When you went to Brazil,' she put in quietly. `Before that.' For a moment he looked at her; then he turned back to contemplation of the sky. 'A man placed as I am must marry, and I began to think about it seriously; and thinking, I came to realise that in marrying Rosalia I would be taking a woman I did not love in the right way, a woman who would be only half a wife.' He gave a deep shrug. 'Do not mistake me; I have much affection for Rosalia. But she is not a woman who would make demands, nor one of whom I would wish to Make demands. It was because I felt strongly that we should not marry that I arranged the business tour of Brazil.' Susan waited for some mention of Ysabel, found she could wait no longer. 'Do II. . . really have to know all this; senhor?'

`You have to know all,' he answered in clipped accents. `Some weeks ago I wrote to Rosalia's father, asking his personal opinion about her attitude towards marriage; it had become imperative that I should know. He acknowledged my letter, but felt he could only discuss it personally, and he begged me to give him a month in which he could examine the matter with his wife. He also invited me to visit him in Oporto when the month was ended.' Eduardo turned once more, gave her a disconcertingly direct stare. `Do you appreciate my situation in this? I would never harm Rosalia—never. Through the years she had become more and more sure that I would marry her as soon as she 182

felt herself ready to take her position here at Barbazon. To ruin her hopes, her life, was unthinkable, yet it was equally unthinkable to me that we should marry. That was how things were.' He stopped, but added almost at once, 'I was in hell.' By now Susan was teetering on the edge of something pretty fierce herself. Her hands were locked so tightly that they ached, and a sledgehammer was knocking at her temple. She couldn't even breathe properly. Why was he telling her so much? Why was it so necessary that she should be the first to hear it all from his lips? Oh lord, she thought drowningly . . . it can't be! `It was certainly a sticky situation,' she managed inadequately. `You English are masters of the understatement,' he said tersely. 'Well, I went to Oporto. There had been no word from Rosalia, nothing further from her father, but in Coimbra I saw her uncle, and he told me that Rosalia had spent many months in a place of meditation . . . a kind of convent. So I was prepared when eventually I reached Oporto. Rosalia was not there, her parents were resigned and apologetic. She had decided that marriage was not for her, and she wished me to release her.' Susan let out a pent-up breath. 'What will she do?' `She is a retiring creature, a sweet good soul; a devotional life of some sort will be best for her.' `And you are . . . free.' `No,' he said abruptly, the words coming faster. 'I am more tied up than ever. There was a time when I did not believe in marriage for love, and now even my nature is changing. I must marry the woman I love, even if she is not yet in love with me. I go on for years, nothing happens.

Then, swiftly, a hundred things happen at once, small things which are part of the big thing. I find myself intensely disliking a young man who previously had been the negligible tutor of the Mendes boys, and I surprise myself wondering how this Dr Terrant looks, and whether he had ever taken you into his arms! I talk with you, notice the way your hair grows back from your temple, the little pulse in your throat, the smiling look of your mouth even

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when you are sad.' He stopped, dropped to his chair and took her hand. 'Do not look so frightened, Minha pequeninha. I am only telling you that . . . I adore you.' It was the gruelling swim, of course; it had made her lightheaded. But lightheaded or not, here was Eduardo, his face dark and intense and very close, and he . . . he didn't look as if he was joking. But he must be. She smiled stiffly. `You do it very well, senhor. . I know you must be relieved, but . . . but please don't try it out on me.' The dark eyes snapped. 'How dare you think like that! I am relieved, yes, but only because it is you I want so much. You have said you must be needed before you will marry. Amada, no one could possibly need you more Than I! You will say we have had none of the preliminaries, the friendship which should go before a declaration. All I can reply is that for me, there have been too many preliminaries, and the friendship has been in my heart since I first saw you. You have felt something between us—you must have felt it!' `It wasn't . . . love.' He gestured violently. 'It was anger, and tenderness, need and passion . . . it was everything that must be leashed because I was bound. For me, my dearest heart, it was love! Unmistakable . . . complete! You are different . `Not so very,' she said shakily. `But I insist that you try to understand! This has been with me for many weeks, growing ever more urgent. I have wondered about Rosalia, and hoped; I have taken precautions, such as those over José Barrero and the festa. Naturally, I did not want the people of Barbazon to associate you with Jose! Nor did I want you to become known in , Lisbon as a close friend of Stratton's! Then I postponed, as well as I could, your settling at the Quinta Rosa with Francesca, to keep you near. It was for you that I reopened with ,my sister the matter of turning that place into a convalescent home. Everything I have done during the past three months has been for you. You must believe that!' `But .. Ysabel?' `Ysabel is beautiful,' he said impatiently. 'She has vitality and daring, but she is without charm or intellect, 1 84

kindness or sincerity. Her father's hospitality when I was in Brazil had naturally to be repaid when Ysabel came to Portugal. I took her to theatres and other events, but I • would have given anything to have you there with me, instead!' Good heavens, thought Susan, I'm actually pitying Ysabel Fontana de Castria. How very little the Brazilian woman had come to know about Eduardo! He was saying, 'But you and I will do those things now, dear one—perhaps for a month before we announce the date of our marriage . . `Oh, don't,' she whispered. 'I'm not the sort of person who sends a man like you crazy with love. Quite soon you'll wish you hadn't spoken to me like this.' Eduardo's response was shattering. He gripped her arms and drew her up with him, stared into her face for a suffocating second with eyes that leapt like fires, and gathered her to him with steely inevitability. His fingers bit deeply into the flesh of her upper arm and her faint gasp died beneath his kisses. It was a long, long time before she swam up slowly out of the trancelike state into which she had been precipitated. She could hear her own heart beating against him, feel the thudding, accelerated precision of his. His mouth was against her neck, an exquisite sensation she wouldn't have believed had she not become aware of smothered endearments. This was true . . . it was really true! `Eduardo,' she breathed at last. 'I don't know what to say.' `Say nothing, my darling little pigeon,' he murmured, `until you can tell me you love me.' `I do love you, terribly. But what are we to do about it?' `One marries,' he said, in those soft, compelling tones, against her cheek. 'And one makes love for the rest of one's life.' `But ... but what about Dona Francesca . . . and Dona Elena? Your ... family?' Very gently, he held her slightly away from him. Gravely, yet with a trace of mockery, he studied her face. `What about them? They are merely my relatives, but you 185

will be my wife. I have told you that I wished you to hear announcements last Saturday. If you had been there I would have announced one thing only—that Rosalia had decided on a life of devotion to good causes. But without speaking, I would have demonstrated to the great gathering of Corte Ribeiros, Mendes, Texeiras, Montesos, Goncalves, and the rest that you had captured my heart. I would have danced with only you, I would have taken you into the garden for long enough to excite the gossips, and shown them in a thousand small ways that I love you. In a family such as mine, it is the best way to give the news.' `But . . I must say it, Eduardo—supposing Rosalia had been ready for marriage with you?' He shook his head. 'It could not have been; I see that now. I felt strongly against the marriage, but was not desperate till I met you. It was never meant to happen— that marriage. You cannot imagine how I looked forward to the evening, as I drove from Oporto on Saturday!' `And I spoiled it all.' `No. You postponed it. Downstairs in the sala, about twenty people are taking drinks before lunch. We will join them. `Oh, I couldn't! Your sister . . `Do not worry about Francesca—she will understand and be glad. She and I talked a great deal at the Quinta Rosa yesterday—not about personal things, but I feel we understand each other better. One thing you must remember; you and our cousin, Rosalia, are the only two women with whom Francesca has been able to unbend. Rosalia has shut herself away from. us all, but you are here, young and alive and willing to listen and even advise. For there' is no doubt at all that Francesca will appropriate your knowledge Tor her young convalescents!' `I do hope so.' `I am convinced of it,' he said. 'As to Ruy Alvedo, I think you were right.' He lifted his shoulders. 'One day, Francesca will find herself able to talk about her marriage where she went during that long, painful honeymoon, and how she felt. She will never do so with me or even, perhaps, with you. Possibly she will find it easiest to talk to a sym,

'

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pathetic man about it—a man such as Ruy. I assure you he will be there, waiting for the opportunity.' `Oh, I'm sure he will,' said Susan, from the depths of an overflowing heart. 'I do so want her to be happy.' `And Eduardo?' he demanded. 'I, too, should be happy, no?' `I'll do anything to make you happy!' `Ah ... so. You become more and more Portuguese, my dear one. What is the good mother at Pellam Manor going to say about that?' Susan laughed suddenly. 'You know, she won't be in the least put out when she knows. You never saw such a woman for taking things in her stride. Eduardo . . . how soon can I go and see her?' `We will fly over together next week for a few days. You may display your intended, and receive her blessing. And soon after we return here we will announce our engagement.' He sighed. 'It seems so long! But that is how one behaves at Barbazon. Come, let us go down.' `Do I . . . look right?' He brushed her hair with his lips. 'You look perfect— pale gold and white, with eyes as clear and green as a rockpool.' `I'm horribly scared.' 'If you so much as quiver I will kiss you right there, in the sala! And then, perhaps to eliminate such an embarrassing possibility, he kissed her at once, very thoroughly, before he took her hand and led her out into the corridor. She looked at his profile, proud, imperious, faintly Romanesque, knew a melting intimacy with him, a glorious welling-up of love and anticipation. There were bound to be difficulties ahead, moments when she would remember that she was just Susan Day and not one of these noble Portuguese, but Eduardo would see to it that none of it mattered very much. He would laugh at her, remind her that she was to become a Corte Ribeiro. And what could possibly be more important than their love for each other? Yes, she loved Eduardo, was loved by him. And to Francesca she owed this year to remember, this 187

summer at Barbazon. She felt Eduardo's fingers tighten reassuringly about hers, reached the bottom of the staircase with him and met his tenderly mocking smile. Tremulously, she smiled back at him, the glow of heaven in her eyes.

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