Master of Hearts (20 page)

The splendid summer was loath to draw to a close, and the days were still golden and warm. There were fewer holidaymakers, but the sea was just as brilliant, the skies as clear. If Kathleen's own skies had been as unsullied she would have felt that her heart had every reason to be light. As it was, even amidst so much colour and charm, her heart was mostly leaden, and when Peggy ran in to her nowadays by accident she didn't think she looked as if she was bubbling over with secret happiness.

But Kathleen was careful to keep out of Peggy's way. She knew that her sister-in-law was shrewd, and although she wouldn't actually ask questions, her eyes would do so. And there was always the possibility that Shane might prove curious, and say something. Shane had always had his only sister's interests very much at heart.

Taking the children for longer and longer walks, which they thoroughly enjoyed even if she did not, Kathleen found herself dwelling constantly upon the thought of the Conde in Paris, unable to tear himself away from it — or perhaps Carmelita was unable to tear herself away from it, and naturally he wouldn't leave her. They would be lunching and dining at smart restaurants, watching fashion parades, visiting the theatre, night-clubs, the houses of Parisian friends. Very likely they had quite a number of friends in Paris, and there would be week-ends in the country, in stately chateaux. Carmelita would be accepted everywhere as Miguel de Chaves' fiancée, and perhaps one of those dreamy, romantic chateaux would be offered to them for their honeymoon.

Kathleen was certain Carmelita would want to accept. Who wouldn't . . . ? If she was to be married to Miguel!

About the middle of the fourth week after his departure from the quinta the Conde returned to it, and Dona Inez received an intimation just before lunch on the day he returned. She went up to the nurseries and told the children, with a bright, cool smile on her face, that their uncle would be back, and very likely he would bring them each a present — at least, he might if they behaved themselves! And then she carefully avoided Kathleen's eyes and said that if she wanted it she could have the afternoon off. Possibly she might like to pay a visit to her relatives, and Maria could take charge of the children.

For the first time since she had known Dona Inez Kathleen felt grateful to her. She accepted the after-

noon off with alacrity, but she had no intention of visiting Shane and Peggy. She dressed herself in a simple little blue and white linen dress, took a cardigan and her handbag and walked into Amara. It was crowded with people from the surrounding districts, and en fete and thoroughly carefree, for the next day there was to be a procession, and all the gala accompaniments that market the final celebrations of the wine-harvest.

Kathleen hadn't realised it would be so crowded, and she found it difficult to get herself served with even a coffee at one of the open-air cafés. There were gay groups of young men and girls who had toiled for days in the sun, and were very brown, who were in the mood to oust everyone else, and the holidaymakers who were left caught the atmosphere of carnival, and behaved as they probably would never have done in their own countries. They clamoured for souvenirs in the crowded shops, and talked in loud voices to prove their nationality. They packed flower-draped hotel balconies, and insisted upon prompt service in the restaurants and bars, and overflowed into the middle of the narrow streets, so that traffic became jammed. A young American who made it possible for Kathleen to extricate herself from a solid wedge of people outside the post-office, wanted her to join forces with him and do 'a round of the sights', as he phrased it.

"It's going to be gay later on, and we might have dinner together." He looked at her approvingly, particularly at the golden hair that was swinging loosely on her shoulders, and introduced a coaxing note into his voice. "After all, we speak the same language! So why not?"

But she smiled at him and shook her head. He went off disappointedly — secretly hoping that he might bump into her again later on — and she fought her way to a shoe shop, where she purchased white shoe cleaner and collected a pair of Joe's small sandals that had been sent to be repaired. Clutching her parcels, and hanging on tightly to her handbag, she got swept down

a side street to the sea-front, and for a time she sat in the sunshine on the sea wall, watching bathers and sun-bathers on the beach, and children crowding round an ice-cream seller. And then when she began to feel she was becoming rather an noticeable figure, so obviously alone and with no fixed plan for her own entertainment, she once more made her way to a pavement café and ordered a pot of tea, which she knew would be fairly undrinkable but which provided her with an excuse for lingering under the café awning.

The sun slipped westwards, and the light over the sea grew less golden and clear, and the sea turned slowly to indigo. The sky became luminous, like a turquoise void, and in it the first stars pricked and the lemon light turned to saffron, and then to flame. Down on the beach the sea lapped, the sun-umbrellas were closed, and the sun worshippers returned to their hotels. There was a kind of brief lull, during which the excitement in the streets seemed to subside a little, the cafe tables emptied, and Kathleen felt very much alone.

In fact, she had never felt so alone in her life —alone and utterly without purpose! She swallowed, thinking of Miguel driving up to the front entrance of the Quinta Cereus with Carmelita beside him, and masses of baggage strapped to the luggage grid, and much more to follow.

Carmelita's new dresses, hats, shoes, underwear .. . All the things she had bought in Paris, for her wedding! Her new life!

Kathleen tore hard at her lower lip, and knew that she couldn't possibly return until it was quite late in the evening. Carmelita would almost certainly remain for dinner, and Inez would ask her all sorts of questions about the past month, and Miguel might feel just a little uncomfortable with Kathleen's eyes watching them.

Or would he expect her to understand . . .?

She felt a sort of deathly misery rush over her and plunged into the street, to be brought up short by the glistening bonnet of a car, which very nearly touched

her. The driver had been proceeding carefully, however, and he was able to bring his car to a standstill on the instant. He lowered his window and looked out at Kathleen, his attractive brown eyes reflecting amazement.

"Miss O'Farrel!" he exclaimed. "What are you doing in Amara at this hour? And don't tell me you're alone!"

He was immaculately dressed for the evening, a white gardenia in his buttonhole, a black cummerbund sitting snugly about his trim waist, diamonds winking in his shirt front and in his cuffs. His hair was black and shining and exquisitely sleek, his concerned smile very white-toothed. He belonged to a world Kathleen was temporarily excluded from — soon it would be permanently! — and she had nothing to say.

The smile vanished, and his concern grew.

"I say, you'd better get inside and let me drive you home! This is no place for a girl at this hour — not a girl alone, anyway! Are you having what you call a half-day? Tomorrow's the day for testa, you know! Tonight they're just getting ready for it!"

"Thank you, Senhor Queiroz," she answered, "but I don't want to go home yet. This is my half-day, and I—I want to make the most of it!"

He frowned.

"But, you can't — not alone! Not you! Unless," the smile returning to his audacious eyes, "you're meeting someone?"

"Yes." Her reply was so swift that it would have made anyone suspicious. "I'm meeting my—my sister and brother, later on! We—we're going to see the sights!"

She had never told a deliberate untruth in her life before, but this one had to be told.. Fernando Queiroz, however, merely looked slightly amazed, and then his whimsically curved lips grew just a shade more whimsical.

"That wasn't the kind of meeting I had in mind " Then he leaned from the car and addressed her more urgently. Other vehicles behind him were sounding their horns, and he knew he couldn't linger. "Look here, I'm going out to dinner, and people behind are getting impatient, but I can't leave you here! I may be the type who kisses a girl in a corridor whether she wants me to or not, but I can't abandon anyone as pretty as you at this hour of the evening!" He held open the door. "Slip in, and I'll drive you to your brother's house! That will be better than your hanging about waiting for them!"

But Kathleen stepped back on to the pavement and shook her head violently.

"No, no, I don't want—!"

And then the honking of horns grew louder, someone pushed between her and the car, and someone else literally thrust her into a shop doorway, and she turned and saw at once that the tiny enclosed space had another open door leading to a street that ran parallel with the one in which the traffic block was causing consternation. To the astonishment of the vendor of postcards and feminine trinkets she dived behind his counter and slipped out into the shadowed side street, and as she tore along it she heard the grinding of gears that told her that the condensation of traffic had been relieved. Fernando had done the only thing he could do, and driven on!

After that, she had no idea for how long, or in what part of the town she wandered. With the shadows deepening moment by moment it would, in any case, have seemed strange to her, and the bright lights that streamed out from café doorways confused her. There were bursts of singing, and conflicting radio programmes reached her ears, and in a tiny square where a fountain played and a statue had been set up to the memory of someone who, at some time or other, had done something for Portugal, some of the younger elements were dancing.

They had an accordion, and someone was strumming a guitar, and there was a great deal of hand-clapping and laughter. A girl with a red rose tucked behind her ear was doing a wild fandango, and dark eyes glistened in the brightening starlight. Kathleen darted back into the tiny alleyway from which she had emerged, and she was wishing desperately that she might find her way back to one of the hotels where she could order dinner, when someone snatched her handbag from under her arm, and she turned to find a pair of those glistening dark eyes regarding her. The bag-snatcher had made off, and his footsteps could be heard racing along the alley, but the man in the square who had glimpsed her golden hair and light dress while his fellow countrywoman was dancing her fandango had moved on soft feet after her, and now he was closing in.

He said something thickly in Portuguese, and then put out a hand to lay hold of her, but she screamed and backed against the wall. He frowned, and then his dark eyes glistened with appreciation, and he made another lunge towards her. He marshalled a few words in English.

"Senhorita shouldn't wander in Amara at night! ..."

And then he was holding her with brutal fierceness, dragging her away from the wall, and the smell of his breath — garlic and wine and stale tobacco —brought a wave of nausea rushing over her. She fought desperately to free herself, Joe's sandals falling to the pavement and the jar of shoe cream, which made a hollow plop, and burst all over her own shoes. Then, as the man's face pressed insistently closer despite her attempt to hold him off, she screamed again — sharply, and in a terrified way this time — and at the same instant her attacker was torn literally and bodily away from her, and she heard his amazed grunt as he landed in the gutter of the roadway.

Then he leapt to his feet, as nimble as some feline creature of the jungle, and with a throaty Portuguese oath he prepared to fall upon Kathleen's deliverer.

But the Conde de Chaves, who had interposed his tall form between Kathleen and the owner of the too brilliant dark eyes, merely looked at him in the deep dusk of the alleyway, and then as the other shrank back ordered him off as he might have done some offensive cur.

"And you can think yourself lucky if you never hear another word of this!" the Conde said, his own Portuguese icy, not thick, with his rage.

The man looked absolutely petrified, and then he grovelled, and slunk away down the alleyway like a seriously alarmed alley-cat, and the Conde turned to Kathleen and grasped her by the arm. For the second time in her life she felt as if her knees would not support her, only this time she had a definitely legitimate reason for believing she might faint away altogether.

But she didn't. The Conde's fingers hurt her almost as much as the less immaculate fingers of her recent amorous attacker, and the ice in his voice must have acted like a douche of cold water on her failing senses. Anyway, like a swimmer in danger of drowning who had suddenly managed to suck in air, she allowed him to lead her away down the silent, deserted thoroughfare, and she didn't really need his caustic, "I should have thought even you might have had more sense!" before he thrust her into his car, which was drawn up at the bottom of the street, to banish the sensation of faintness altogether, and arouse instead the merest beginnings of a dull feeling of resentment.

She sat very still and silent beside him at the wheel, and she knew that she was trembling violently all the time he searched for his ignition key and finally produced it. In the empty spaces at the back of the big car silence seemed to press down and to reach out and cover them, and Kathleen felt her throat tightening up with an emotion that shook her and finally caused two tears to spill over and run down her cheeks.

She wiped them away with a trembling hand, and then, to her horror, more tears followed the first, and