At the Villa Massina (5 page)

“Good lord,” he said soberly. “Those two outside ... and she never breathed a word. I thought she was just an Englishwoman who was a bit sorry for herself because she’d married money and regretted it. Your cousin isn’t at all a nice person, Miss Darrell.”

Juliet was so stunned that she was inclined to agree. She tried to think of herself in Norma’s shoes, but found it impossible. Norma might not be passionately in love with Ruy, but she respected him tremendously and was very careful to keep him interested in her. Not that he needed any persuasion to believe her wonderful, but Norma did dress in the styles and colors he preferred, and her household was run as he liked it. Ruy doted on the children ... could that be the reason Norma had allowed herself to slide just slightly off the rails?

“I suppose,” she said dazedly, “that for Norma you were a sort of ... of wild oat.”

“Thanks,” he said wryly. “Any further comments?”

“Perhaps she realized that you’d find out about the children sooner or later, so she decided to break it off. I can’t think why she didn’t wait till she came here herself, though.”

“I can. If the packet had been posted from Cadiz I would have concluded that she’d sent it through a former friend of mine who lives there. She wanted the thing finished before she came to take up residence herself. You know, it’s odd how the proof of one dishonesty in a woman will leave you suspecting everything she’s ever done.”

Which, Juliet hoped, was the last word on the subject. He had taken the whole business so well that it worried her. Norma was either tired of the diversion or afraid of being found out. It had seemed to her a good plan to get Juliet to post back his gift, so that he would have a week or two to get over it before her arrival. It was unlikely that she had ever thought of herself as a cheat. Some men might feel revengeful, and one couldn’t be sure that Lyle Whitman wasn’t one of that kind.

Juliet said awkwardly, “It’s really as well that you came here this morning, isn’t it? May I have a light?”

“Sorry.” He struck a match, set the flame to her cigarette and then to his own. “Do you think less badly of me now?”

“A little. You should give up having affairs and get married.”

“The glibness of youth makes me feel senile.” But he was smiling slightly. “How long will you be here?”

“Another ten days or a fortnight.”

“Will you let me take you around?”

“No. It wouldn’t be wise for us to meet again, after today.”

“Does every suggestion have to be wise before you’ll consider it? And what’s unwise about an unmarried man taking an unattached girl out now and then? I’d look after you.”

“It appears that you don’t know me at all. It's rattier dampening. Never read anything by Lyle Whitman?”

She looked at him with interest. “Are you a writer? What kind?”

“Faintly arty and historical. I put out a novelized life of a poet or a painter now and then. Luckily, I have a private income, or I’d starve. I’ve never yet had a book hit the jackpot, which is probably why you’ve never heard of me.”

“I do know your name, vaguely, but you can’t have written much during the last two or three years, since I’ve had dealings with books. But I’ll find something you’ve written, now that I’ve met you.” She tapped her cigarette on the edge of the ashtray, looked at him again. “How long have you lived in Spain?”

“About fourteen years—the last three at Cortana.”

“Do you have many friends?”

“None at all.” He inhaled lazily. “I don’t go in for collecting friends. I collect the sort of things that last.” He dipped into a deep jacket pocket, seemed to fumble before bringing out a chamois bag which was tied at the neck with ordinary twine. He loosened the knot and emptied the bag on to the table. “Some collector’s items. Like them?”

In the dimness of the sitting-room they looked like colored pebbles which had been beautifully cut to the shapes of gems. Juliet leaned over them curiously, separated them with a forefinger. She caught the gleam of opal and ruby, the crystalline beauty of jade of many colors, the dull sheen of beryls and tourmalines. One particular piece of jade was an inch square and beautifully carved; it was a glorious lavender.

She drew a long breath. “They must be worth quite a lot. Is it safe to carry them on you?”

He lifted the flap of his pocket and disclosed a second pocket inside the other, with a zipper across its opening. “Safest place in the world. Aren’t you going to take a fancy to one of them, as Norma did?”

She shook her head. “They’re very lovely, but I don’t hanker for that kind of thing. I suppose they all come from the East?”

He nodded, and carelessly swept them back into their bag. “You’re only about the third person I’ve ever shown them to. I never do show them to anyone who’s likely to talk about me. You’ll forget me as soon as you can, I’m sure.” He didn’t wait for a reply to this, but added, “By the way—that woman who left as I got here. Isn’t she Senora de Vedro?”

“Yes. She’s a friend of Norma’s, and she’s taking an interest in us till my cousin arrives.”

“I’ve seen her before, of course.” He paused, weighing the bag of gems in one hand. “How would you like to introduce me to her?”

“Not at all,” said Juliet firmly. “I hardly know her myself, and in any case, you ... and Norma ... well ...”

He gave her a slow easy smile. “I’m a man of the world, my child. I won’t mention Norma to anyone.”

“But she’ll be here within a couple of weeks! If she found that you’d become acquainted with Senora de Vedro she’d instantly suspect me. Really, Mr. Whitman, you’ve no right to ask this of me.”

“Well, perhaps not. There’s no hurry, anyway.” He grinned. “The senora looked like a statue—that’s apparently the effect I have on the Spanish nobility.”

“You’re too young to be told the answer to that one,” he said evenly as he stood up. “I’ll see you again some time.”

“But you must promise you won’t come here,” Juliet urged him, above the fast beating of her heart. “You must realize that I can’t be of any use to you.”

“But you can,” he said softly.

The children came in then, and detachedly he glanced over Rina’s pale thin features and then took in Tony’s chubby presence. Almost, Juliet could hear him telling himself that he was well out of it.

But the next moment he murmured agreeably, “I’ll be dashed if I’ll say goodbye to you, Juliet Darrell. You’re far too nice.” And he strolled out.
Juliet stayed where she was. She felt as though the walls were inexorably crowding in on her. How she wished she were fifteen years older and thoroughly experienced!

CHAPTER THREE

JULIET had never felt less hungry. Even Luisa’s palpable displeasure at cleaning a luncheon table which had been little appreciated was easier to face than the task of eating crab salad and apricot tarts. She went upstairs with the children, drew the curtains in their rooms but left the doors wide, and on an impulse she slipped into her own room and changed her frock for a yellow swim suit and a knee-length white towel jacket. She tied the girdle, and swinging her white cap she ran downstairs and across the back garden to the low wall, which she leapt. She slithered down the grass-covered dunes beside the steps, felt warm sand coursing through her espadrilles and decided she was right. A swim was the safest and best way of dispersing the rather nightmarish mood which Lyle Whitman had left behind.

She stepped out of the espadrilles, dropped the wrap to the sand and pulled on her cap. She stood there for a moment, hoping to add to the pale tan which was giving a truly beautiful sheen to her body, and then the heat of the sun was too much. She ran down into the sea, found the water just cold enough to catch at her breath, and struck out. For twenty minutes she swam lazily and forgot everything else. There was an empty boat at anchor, and she floated round it, debating whether to go on board and look round. The temptation was not strong enough, however, and she headed slowly back to the shore.

She went up the back steps of the villa far more happily than she had descended them, and hesitated in the raised patio. She was sandy and ought to go through the kitchen, but it was possible that Luisa might like that less than finding sand in the dining-room tomorrow morning. So she turned right, towards the french door, caught sight suddenly of the front path, and the black car standing in the shade of a tree. Before she could decide what to do, the Conde was there, looking along the side of the house from the edge of the patio.

“Good afternoon,” she awkwardly.

“Good afternoon, Miss Darrell,” he answered coolly. “I was right in my conjecture; you do not take siesta. Instead, it seems, you have the British habit of preferring extremes. You take exercise.”

“I can have the beach to myself at this time of day. I ... did you want something, senor?”

“Just a word with you, but I think you had better dress before we talk. I will wait.”

These people and their conventions, she fumed to herself, as she ran lightly up the stairs. He seemed in a mood to take fire easily, which was rather strange. Perhaps the spirited Lupita had upset some of his calculations. For some reason, Juliet hoped she had.

She got into a pink frock which had deep white scallops at the round neck and fitted sleekly at the waist, combed up the short hair and pressed a couple of damp waves into the front of it. She used lipstick, fastened her white sandals and went down again, bracing herself unconsciously as she came to the door of the sitting-room.

He was standing just inside the open door, his hands behind him, his head back, and as she paused in the centre of the room he slid a glance over her which Juliet didn’t like at all. She was sure he’d noticed that she had left the salt bloom on her cheeks, and disapproved. Really, he was a most exacting man!

“You look very pretty,” he said politely. “Please sit down.”

This was the second time today that a man had given her permission to sit in what was temporarily her own drawing-room, but now Juliet ignored it. She said calmly, leaning towards the box on the table,

“I always like a cigarette after I bathe. Do you mind?”

He flicked open his own platinum case and proffered it. He lit the cigarette, took one for himself. “I come with an invitation from my sister. She is giving a dinner on my yacht tomorrow night and would like you to be there.”

Juliet’s brain felt rather light. It might be something to remember—dinner on the yacht of the Conde de Vallos. On the other hand, she didn’t own that sort of evening
-
dress.

"The senora is very thoughtful,” she said, “but I’m afraid I can’t accept. It would mean keeping Luisa in the house with the children, and that wouldn’t be fair.”

“Luisa, I am sure, would not mind in the least. She expects to do such duties occasionally. Is there, perhaps, some other reason?”

One had to be careful with this man; it had never occurred to her seriously before that he might be hot-tempered or even cruel. Now, she saw that the hardness in him might easily take the shape of implacable anger; he was both frightening and incomprehensible.

“Well, I don’t know your friends, senor. I know you mean it kindly, but...”

“We are not patronizing you, Miss Darrell!”

Heavens, he was touchy. Juliet thought of something else she might put forward but decided to keep silent. She drew on the cigarette, looked round for an ashtray and saw that he had already placed one on a side table near where she stood. A clean ashtray, which he had set alongside one which had not been emptied since this morning. She looked quickly at the couple of stubs in that other tray, saw that one of them was of a thickish, khaki type which no woman would ever smoke. Well, it wasn’t the Conde’s business.

He said, very smoothly, “One would not, of course, wear one’s best gown aboard the yacht. Inez also wishes me to tell you that your English friend will be welcome.”

This, Juliet knew, must be handled delicately, yet her tongue felt clumsy and inadequate. “I have no English friends here,” she said stiffly.

“No? Perhaps we were misinformed.” He inhaled slowly, then tapped away ash as he said deliberately, “I think you will like the yacht. You must certainly bring this friend of yours, if he will come.”

She said again, “I have no English friends here, senor, and I think it would be best if I do not come myself. I’m very grateful to the senora, of course.”

He snapped his fingers negligently. “It seems you find no bond with Inez, yet I believe she likes you. I have a very particular desire to see her happy at the moment, and that is why I hope you will come to the yacht and tolerate the evening. There will be many other guests—some you have already met, such as the de Mendozas and the young Mario Perez. My sister is also inviting the family of da Silva and several more.”

Juliet smiled warily. “I think the senora mentioned that you were on the yacht this morning with Senorita da Silva. I remembered it because I’m rather fond of the sea in the rain myself.”

He said suavely, “What a pity we did not take you with us! But there will be more rain before you leave us. Lupita, I am afraid, had un vahido ... what you call a giddiness. She was not the good sailor she imagined!”

No doubt he had comforted her, thought Juliet offhandedly; he’d be remarkably good at that. Why was he dallying here, when she herself was so obviously not to his taste?

The next moment she had her answer. Without warning, he brought up the hand which had been loosely closed behind him, held it out between them so that she could see the pea-sized dark red stone which lay in it. Juliet gazed at it, found her fingers crushing her cigarette. She exclaimed suddenly, dropped the stub and rubbed the burn with the pad of her thumb. The Conde bent swiftly to retrieve the cigarette, pressed it down into the ashtray. Then, with deliberation, he once more displayed the stone in the palm of his hand.

“You have seen this before?” he asked coldly.

“I ... I don’t know. I saw some like it. Is it yours?”

“No. I found it as I came into this room. It was on the floor under the table. Are you quite sure it does not belong to you?”

“Of course I am!” said Juliet warmly. “I don’t even know what it is.”

“It is what is known as a cat’s eye ruby,” he said. “In English money it is worth perhaps eighty pounds. Where did you see these stones?”

“I was shown them by someone who ... who owns a collection.”

“And he gave you this one?”

She was furious. “Please, senor! I don’t accept that kind of gift. It must have rolled on to the floor when he was...” She broke off, then added tremulously, “I’ll send it to him.”

He said aloofly, “I will send it to him myself. Who is he?”

“Someone I met by ... accident this morning.”

“Here in this house?” with a subtle sarcasm in his voice. “That must have been a strange accident, senorita. I have the right to demand of you his name.”

“I’m sorry,” she said unevenly, “but I must refuse to give it.”

There was a silence, one of those quivering, electric silences which are much more trying than speech. The Conde’s expression was non-committal, but his eyes had the glint of steel. He dropped the ruby into the top pocket of his immaculate cream jacket.

“Let us understand each other, Miss Darrell. Up to a point you are entirely independent here. During the proper hours you may receive whom you wish—within reason. But on no account should you permit any man into the house whom you do not know.”

Juliet’s chin went up. “I knew of this man, senor. That’s all I can tell you.”

“But you had not seen him before this morning?”

“No.”

He said shrewdly, “Yet very soon you are such old friends that he shows you his collection of unset gems. I would not have believed you could be so foolish.”

“I was not foolish!”

“It was not foolish because this man happened to be an Englishman—is that what you mean? He is English—so for you it is made safe!”

Wondering how on earth this was going to end, Juliet remembered something, and answered weakly, “He’s half-Spanish, half-English.
Now
do you feel you can trust him?”

His glance was sharp. “Spanish? Then you can give me his name. I will get him to come and see me. As it happens, I am interested in such collections myself.”

“Very well. When he returns to ask for this stone you may tell him it is in my possession, that I will gladly give it back to him—in person.”

Juliet drew in her lip. She bent to the cigarette box on the table, and then changed her mind; it wasn’t another cigarette she needed, but a couple of good ideas! If only she weren’t trembling so absurdly. If only she could think! This was too extraordinary altogether.

“You’re making things very awkward for me, Senor Conde.”

‘That is not my intention. If, as you say, your visitor was a Spaniard, he will understand perfectly my reasons for acting as your guardian in this matter; he will not hesitate to approach me, to explain and apologize. And it would be as well for you, Miss Darrell, to comprehend fully your position here.” His words came crisply, sounding clipped and foreign. “You are young and a stranger, and you have charge of two children.”

“And I must state, senor, that it is no concern of yours. I don’t mind admitting that I feel badly about your ... your action.”

He moved again, and his contour was etched sharply against the bright outdoors. He said quietly, “I would do a great deal for you, senorita; I will help you in any way I possibly can while you are here. You are sweet and young, you take responsibility happily and I admire your courage and sense of duty. But there are things which you are incapable of understanding, things which you must accept.” He paused. “Your cousin asked that Inez should watch over you, but Inez is a woman. So,” with the familiar shrug, “I take it on myself. If this collector of uncut stones comes again to the house, you will not admit him. It is understood?”

“I’m afraid I can’t be bound by your rules, senor!”

“In this you will obey,” he commanded. “You have made a further appointment with him?”

“No, but...”

“Then for you it will be easy. Let him know by a messenger where he may find the stone, and forget the matter. I insist upon this for your own good.”

By now, Juliet was spent. In spite of his repeated indications that he wanted her to sit, she had determinedly stayed on her feet, but now she was beginning to feel a need to collapse. Half of her wanted to obey the man; the other half was militantly against capitulation in any degree at all. She had the odd conviction that if she gave in now to his potent personality she was lost. She gathered herself for a final effort, but before she could speak he said with maddening gentleness,

“You are tired, little one. Go and lie down and I will find Luisa and tell her to bring you tea.” As she made to protest, he added quickly, “Come, now, you will find it pleasant to be compliant for once. We are not enemies, you and I. It is merely that we disagree on one or two vital points. Go, child—at once.”

She quivered, turned a little blindly and with a murmured, “Thank you, Senor Conde,” she stumbled into the hall and up the stairs.

But in her room she did not lie down. She went to the window and watched the path. She saw him appear and take the two steps in one stride, saw him with the sun across the shining dark hair, an erect, distinctively handsome figure as he went to the car and slid behind the wheel. The car moved away with insolent ease, its coat of arms bright as it turned on to the road, and then it was only a gleaming black roof disappearing into the trees.

She was seated when Luisa brought the tea.

“You will not leave the cakes as you left the lunch,” the old servant said severely. “It is not every young woman who has the Senor Conde giving instructions that she must be made to eat!”

“Luisa! You didn’t tell him I wasn’t hungry at lunch time?”

“But, yes, I did. He says you have been distressed today and must not be worried. Naturally, I could not argue with the Senor Conde, but I would like to know what it is you have to worry about. The children are well, you yourself are well and growing bonita in the sunshine, and you are in a smiling country where people like you. There is no room here at the Villa Massina for sadness!”

Juliet didn’t explain that she wasn’t sad because that might have entailed putting into words just how she did feel—which was impossible. The only things she knew clearly were that Lyle Whitman, dissipated, attractive, perhaps slightly wounded from being scorned by Norma, had not promised that he would leave her alone; that he had inadvertently spilled one of his collection of stones on to the floor of the sitting-room, and that the jewel was now in Ramiro’s possession. Beyond that...