Master of Hearts (9 page)

Shane looked at her, so young and slight and touchingly lovely in the moonlight, and resentment stirred in him afresh.

"Look here, Kathie," he began. "If this isn't the sort of job you really like—if you'd rather go back to England and find something else! , ?If these people make you feel an outsider . . ."

"No, of course they don't," she reassured him. But she spoke quickly and quietly, almost as if she would have liked to put a finger
to her lips to warn him not to be
too loudly because she didn't want anyone to over
hear
. And even to herself she couldn't have explained that disinclination for being seen just then by anyone from the house. She wanted to steal away, as she had said, and enter her room without the knowledge of anyone who visited at the quinta, or normally dwelt beneath its roof.

Shane frowned a little, and let in his clutch. The business of turning his ancient car in rather a confined space seemed to make a shatteringly loud noise in the silent night, and Kathie felt herself frowning a Little, too. Then she kissed her hand to Shane, and turned away.

It was a wonderful, warm, and rather breathless night, and the noise of the sea was a soft and sensuous murmur. The atmosphere seemed laden with exotic scents, and Kathleen paused for a moment to draw them deep into her lungs before she moved forward like an anxious white ghost in the gloom.

But she had barely taken a step before someone stepped in front of her. The Conde's voice asked quietly:

"Was that your brother who was with you just now, Miss O'Farrel?"

KATHLEEN was so startled that she actually recoiled. The Conde looked down at her from a height that seemed far above her, and the whiteness of his dinner jacket pierced the gloom like a knife. She could see the dark carnation he wore in the lapel, and above the bewildering scents that were all about her she seemed to catch the spicy odour of it as if its perfume was extra penetrating.

"Was that your brother, Miss O'Farrel?" he repeated, and she nodded silently, and then found her voice.

"Yes, I—I've been spending the evening with him and my sister-in-law."

"I noticed your absence at dinner. My sister dined out, but Filippo informed me that you'd been granted permission to take the rest of the day off."

She heard herself saying defensively:

"It was the first half-day I've had since I came here!" The Conde nodded.

"That is so. And I'm afraid your brother thinks that you've been rather badly used!"

Kathleen felt oddly appalled.

"You—you overheard . . .?"

To her considerable surprise the dark face above her smiled in the richness of the shadows, and his white teeth gleamed with unmistakably dry humour.

"You know the proverb ... Listeners seldom hear any good of themselves!"

Suddenly she felt his fingers grasping her arm, and he led her up the drive towards the lighted quinta.

"Tell me," he said quietly, "why do you persist in haunting these grounds alone at night as if you were a restless spirit, or a lonely wraith? I've watched you from the windows, and once I nearly came in pursuit of you, but I knew that you would evade me if you could and probably slip inside by the back door!" His fingers held her arm strongly. "It isn't good enough," he said, with

a sudden touch of gravity in his rather charming voice —particularly when he spoke English in that effortless way. "It isn't good because you're a young and very attractive woman, and these are deserted grounds at night! And you even declined to allow your brother to drive you up to the front door. Why?"

"I—I don't know. . . ." She heard herself stammering. "At least, I know why I usually walk in the garden. . Because I like walking in a garden at night, and this is one of the most beautiful I've ever known! Also it's very warm, and I'm not always ready for bed."

"Then why do you leave the saki so early?"

She felt caught, and didn't answer.

"No matter," he said, in the same quiet voice. "Obviously you do not wish to remain with the rest of us, possibly because you find us all excessively dull and your own company much more preferable. But, your brother, tonight. . . . He disliked setting you down at the gates, and he seemed to think you are not very happy amongst us. Is that so?"

Kathleen didn't know how to answer him, and she was thankful when they reached the blaze of light that streamed from the house, only to feel his guiding hand propelling her forward along a path that was an off-shoot of the main drive, and which led them once more into velvety darkness. She could feel the crispness of shaven turf beneath her feet, and an ornamental pool gleamed with moonlight in front of them. And then a pale marble garden seat loomed up close at hand, and the Conde thrust her down gently but firmly on to it.

"It is time, perhaps, that you and I had another little talk," he said. "A talk about how well you are settling down here!"

This was not what Kathleen had expected at this late hour of the evening, but she realised he had overheard Shane's angry inference, and something had to be done about it.

"I am settling down very well, senhor."

"Your brother did not seem to share that opinion." "He thought perhaps I might feel—strange. .

"He suggested you might like to return home to England,"

She made a little gesture with her hands.

"Naturally, I occasionally feel homesick. . . ."

"With your closest relatives near at hand?" peering at her through the warm darkness. "I understand you have no parents?"

"No, that is true. There is only Shane and I—Shane and I and Peggy, my sister-in-law."

"Well, then, with the ties of blood satisfied, what is wrong?"

"Nothing, senhor."

She looked down at her hands this time, and she was clasping them closely in her lap.

He took out a gleaming cigarette-case and offered it to her, but she shook her head. He lighted one himself, and the fragrance of it seemed to surround them.

"There is, perhaps someone at home in England, whom you miss?"

The suggestion took her by surprise, and she shook her head with unnecessary vigour.

"There is no one at home in England whom I particularly miss!"

"Good," he said softly, and studied the glowing tip of his cigarette. "I felt it necessary to make the enquiry because you are young, and, as I think I have said once before tonight, very attractive, and it would be only natural if you were betrothed, or thinking of becoming betrothed to someone you were unhappy at being separated from. And in that case I could have understood your occasional homesickness."

"It isn't really homesickness, senhor." She felt she had to get this matter cleared up, and Shane's part in it made it less ungracious. "But this afternoon was the first afternoon I have been away from the quinta for three weeks, and not unnaturally my relatives were beginning to think.. . . Well, it is customary to have a certain amount of free time—time away from one's job—and Shane was a little surprised because I hadn't been to see them before. Also. . ."

"Yes?" very quietly.

"Also, I—" And then she paused. She hadn't meant to say that she had had to walk there, but Miguel de Chaves was insistent, and she finished lamely. "I was a little hot when I arrived, and rather dusty. Not nearly as hot as they thought, of course—"

"You mean you walked?" His voice sounded acutely shocked.

"Yes, of course. But it was really rather pleasant."

He ground out his cigarette beneath the heel of his shoe, and when he turned to her again she was certain he was actually disturbed.

"But, I never heard of anything so—so neglectful in my life! What was my sister thinking of? Didn't she even offer you a car? She should have insisted on Janelas driving you to your brother's, and arranging to pick you up when you wanted to come home. But to allow you to walk! . . ." His displeasure seemed actually to rise up in his throat and choke him a little, and she had never heard him utter so many short sentences so quickly, and with such emphasis. "I don't wonder your brother was annoyed, and that he has received the impression we are treating you badly!"

"No, no," she said quickly, "not badly! I am very comfortable here!"

He ignored the interruption.

"It is the second time you have been badly used since your arrival in this house—no; the third! The first was when you had spend an evening alone in your room, and had your meal sent up to you on a tray. The second, when you received the impression I wished to dismiss you from the sala because that over-impressionable Fernando Queiroz was all set to make of himself a nuisance and I had to do something about it. The third, when you have to walk in the heat of the day to your brother's home. I am angry!"

She couldn't doubt it. His shapely hands, with a gold crested ring on one tapering finger, were flung out towards her, and his voice vibrated with the keen edge of annoyance. He stood up and paced up and down near

her for a few seconds, and then he returned to her and suggested with more composure:

"It would please you if your brother and his wife received an invitation to dinner here one night?"

She was astounded.

"But—but, why should you—?"

"It would please you?" he wanted to know, peering down at her.

"I— Well, of course, it would be very nice."

"Then an invitation shall be sent to them." He sat down beside her again. "On the only occasion I met your sister-in-law I thought she was very charming, and there must be no more of this feeling you are cut off from your friends. In future you will visit them at least once weekly, and I will see to it that you are driven there by Janelas, and he will also bring you back in the evening. And if you wish to do shopping in Amara you have only to ask for a car."

"Th-thank you, senhor." She felt overpowered. "You are very kind."

"Not at all." All at once his voice was very dry. "Don't think I haven't noticed the improvement in my nephews—a mild improvement; but, nevertheless, an improvement—since you took over the charge of them, and I wouldn't want to lose you at this stage. Who knows, a few more months of your gentle guidance and they may resemble a couple of small human beings!"

She felt herself flushing under cover of the darkness. She stood up and found that unexpectedly they were very close to one another, and something of his intense masculinity seemed to reach out at her so that for the first time she was really and almost uncomfortably aware of him as a man.

"So you see," he murmured, his chin on a level with the very tip of her head, his tobacco-scented breath lightly stirring her hair, "it would never do if we were to lose you now!"

"I don't think there's—very much danger," she said jerkily, "I've grown very fond of Jerry and Joe!"

"And they of you? I'm quite sure they have grown very fond of you!"

"I don't know," she answered, and turned quickly away.

"But I do." He fell into step beside her as she moved back along the path. "Jerry and Joe were your slaves from the beginning, and I think they would wreck the household now if you were suddenly whisked away from them."

"Oh, I don't know." She tried to speak lightly, and to sound entirely natural, but those brief moments when they were standing face to face had done something to her that she didn't yet understand, but she knew that there was an odd fluttery feeling in her throat, as if she was suddenly breathless. "Little boys don't really enjoy acting the part of slaves, and all they really ask of Life is that someone shall be very fond of them while they're still young."

"And when they're older? When they're no longer little boys? Do grown men find it difficult to act the part of slaves?"

"I—I don't know! But who wants a slave, anyway?" still striving after lightness, and very nearly missing her footing as she attempted to move forward quickly in the narrow path.

Miguel de Chaves' arm clasped her shoulders quickly, and held her tightly for a moment.

"The first morning you were with us you very nearly tumbled down the stairs," he said, reminiscently. "Is it those absurd high heels you wear, or are you unduly nervous sometimes?" As she didn't answer, because of that fluttery feeling in her th
roat, he continued the con
versation where it had threatened to break off. "Most men, I imagine, experience a slave-like devotion at least once in their lives, and women don't normally spurn devotion. At least, they shouldn't! It can add colour and charm to their existence, and provide them with a wonderful feeling of security."

Kathleen said nothing, and as they emerged on to the lighted space before the house he dropped his hand

from her shoulder. All in a moment he became once more the aloof but courteous employer.

"Goodnight, Miss O'Farrel," he said, with one of his formal little bows. "I am glad we have had this opportunity to talk, and in future I think you will find your life a little easier here. Less restricted, and therefore more pleasant. At any rate, I hope so!"

Then he turned on his heel and left her to enter the house by herself, while he disappeared once more along the dimness of the tiled path.