Doctor at Villa Ronda (3 page)

“We must immediately have something to drink,” declared Adrienne.

When a young manservant appeared, Nicola decided on iced lemonade rather than wine. Half-past eleven was rather too early in the day for her, whatever the Spanish habits might be.

“My uncle will not be home until nearly lunch-time,” Adrienne informed her, “so we have time for bathing. You swim?”

“Yes, but actually I haven’t brought bathing things with me today,” Nicola answered.

“Oh, that is no matter. We have a selection of swimsuits for our guests. Also we have our own pool in case we do not want to go down to the seashore.”

After resting in the cushioned wicker chairs for a while, the two girls walked through part of the extensive gardens surrounding the Montals’ villa.

The pool, lined in azure blue tiles, was surrounded by a flower garden and completely secluded, yet within easy reach of the main part of the house.

Nicola enjoyed swimming in the warm pool.

“Much warmer than bathing around our icy shores at home,” she called to Adrienne, who was floating lazily on her back.

“There is no sense in plunging into freezing water,” Adrienne replied.

Nicola reflected that her hostess probably did not realise how few opportunities the average English girl had of swimming in private pools in flower-scented gardens.

D
r. Sebastian Montal arrived home only a few minutes before lunch and Nicola was anxious to ask him if he had learned any news of Lisa, but she restrained herself until the meal had begun. The three sat at a table in a
corner
of the main courtyard, where three dwarf palm trees spread a canopy of dappled shade overhead.

After an impressive selection of hors d’oeuvres, where Nicola had to take a choice between some twenty or more tempting dishes, Adrienne said, “I hope you can eat
calamares
.
They are small squids. If not, we will offer you something else.”

“I should like to try,” replied Nicola. “What’s the use of eating everything English when you could at least try Spanish food?”

She glanced at the doctor and saw that for one swift moment an expression of approval flitted across his stern features. It seemed the moment to ask for information.

He shook his head in answer to her query. “Nothing so far, I’m afraid. No young woman has been brought in during the past week or ten days. No girl, that is, answering to your description or of that name.”

Nicola’s face fell, although to hear that Lisa was in hospital was the last thing she wanted to hear.

“But I shall make enquiries elsewhere,” the doctor promised.

After lunch Dr. Montal withdrew, probably to enjoy his siesta, while Adrienne conducted Nicola to a terrace that gave a panoramic view of the harbour. Here there were more tables and chairs and Nicola was commanded to lie full length on one of the mattressed long chairs.

“I’m not used to going to sleep in the afternoon,” she protested mildly.

“In Spain it is necessary,” said Adrienne firmly. “This is only May. In July and August our sun is too strong for us to move about after lunch.”

“I understand the Spanish take their siesta all through the winter, too.” Nicola could not keep out the teasing note in her voice.

“Ah, but that is because we have our night life here and in England perhaps you go to bed at ten in the evening. That is just when we have finished our dinner and are waking up for the evening’s entertainment.”

After a pause to settle herself, Nicola asked, “Have you always lived here?”

“Oh, yes,” returned Adrienne. “Except when I was away at school, of course. This house, the Villa Ronda, is also my father’s house, but he is away, very far away, in South America.” Adrienne’s tone became sad.

“But he’ll come home soon?”

Adrienne shook her head. “That we do not know. He has been there for more than three years. He went abroad when my mother died. She was French, you understand. He is also a doctor and he was sad that all his skill could not save her.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Nicola sympathised.

“We do not know when my father will come back. He has not written for nearly two years. Sebastian believes that he is dead, but I know that my father will come home some time.”

“So you have only your uncle as close relative?”

“There are branches of the family, of course, but they live elsewhere—in Barcelona, Tarragona, Madrid—all kinds of places.”

Nicola remained silent, unwilling to probe further into the girl’s tragic history, but she saw now the significance of Adrienne’s name, her fairness and her correct, precise English spoken with a faint French accent.

The day passed quickly, but the doctor did not join his niece and her guest until shortly before dinner. Nicola had been slightly anxious about leaving after so late a dinner. “Will there be a train back to Barcelona?” she asked.

“Our chauffeur will drive you back,” Sebastian Montal assured her.

“Oh, but I mustn’t put you to that trouble,” she began to protest, but Dr. Montal silenced her with a glance from his sombre eyes.

“You could not be allowed to walk from the railway station to your apartment so late at night.”

N
icola made no reply, realising that his ideas about
girls walking in strange towns late at night were different from her own carefree English attitude.

During the long, protracted dinner he asked questions about what work she had done and she gave him polite answers. When it was time to go, Nicola thanked both Adrienne and her uncle for an extremely pleasant day.

“You must come again,” invited Adrienne eagerly, but there was no echoing support from the doctor, only the promise to telephone or write if he heard any news of Lisa.

It was nearly midnight when the chauffeur brought Nicola to the main entrance of the flats. She thanked him and sympathised that he had to drive all the way back to Orsola, but she supposed that it was all part of his job.

As she mounted the stairs she was aware of the scrutiny of a young man who leaned against the wall. From the second floor she peered once over the banister rail, but apparently he had lost interest in her.

She had been in the flat no more than a couple of minutes when there was a subdued knocking at the outer door. Her first instinct was to take no notice, but the knocking came again, this time louder.

She called out, “Who is it?” and a man’s voice called back, “Lisa! Lisa!”

In a moment of panic she unlocked the door, thinking that Lisa might also be there. She was confronted by the man from downstairs. The smile on his dark face instantly faded as he began to say
“
Al fin
!”
Then he said, “Lisa?” followed by rapid exclamations and questions in Spanish which Nicola failed to follow.

She gathered that he was asking for Lisa, believing her to be still living at the flat.

Nicola shook her head. “Lisa—no. Who are you?”

“
Amigo
,” he declared.
“
Donde esta Lisa
?”

N
icola shrugged her shoulders and spread her hands in a gesture of ignorance.

“
Inglesa
?”
he queried.

“
Si. No hablo bien espanol.
Vous parlez fran
c
ais
?”
She did not like the look of him particularly, yet she was
desperately anxious not to miss an opportunity of hearing something of Lisa.

“
Je suis la soeur de Lisa
,” she explained slowly
. “
Hermana
. Understand?”

“
Hermana
?”
he echoed.
“
Buenos
noches
.
”
He turned sharply, hurried along the corridor and vanished down the stairway before Nicola could even return his “Goodnight.”

She shut the door quickly, locked it, then pondered on the man’s odd and abrupt behaviour. Evidently he had been waiting for Lisa to come home, expecting to find her still living in the apartment. Naturally, he had not connected Nicola with Lisa, since they were so different in looks.

Nicola was really too tired to cope with the problem now, but she sat on the bed and forced herself to think. Was Lisa in the habit of receiving visits from young men at such late hours? All the circumstances of Lisa’s strange disappearance were beginning to build up into something sinister.

Nicola knew now that she could not go home to England without knowing what had happened to her sister. She was vexed with herself that she had made no attempt
to ask the man’s name.

She telephoned Patrick next morning and told him that she had changed her mind. “If there’s a job going in your office, I’ll be glad to take it I can’t explain in detail, but I need it now.”

“Why? Have you found Lisa?”

“No. I’ve decided to stay here and go on looking for her, but I must work. Can you fix an interview for me?”

“With pleasure,” he replied.

At Patrick’s firm of wine-shippers next day Nicola was interviewed by one of the English directors, but he held
out no encouraging prospects.

“We filled the vacancy left by your sister, Miss Brettell,
”
he told Nicola, “and at the moment I. don’t see where we could fit you in, especially as you say you’re an experienced secretary. Your sister was only a copy typist
.
”

She could almost hear his thoughts—“And a pretty poor one at that.” “Still, if we have a vacancy here within the next few weeks,” he promised, “I’ll get in touch with you if you’re still free or want a change.”

Nicola thanked him, left her address and went out of his private room into the outer office. A man sat on a bench and glanced up as she passed, but looked away immediately. She was sure it was the man who had called at the flat on Sunday night, asking for Lisa.

“
Senor
!”
Nicola addressed him quietly. “Can you tell me anything about my sister Lisa?”

As she said Lisa’s name, the man jerked up his head, but stared blankly at Nicola.

“You came to her flat in the Paseo Maritimo on Sunday night,” she continued in a hushed voice, forgetting that he probably could not understand English except for a word or two.

He shrugged and turned his face away.
“
No conozco a
tu
.”
he muttered.

Nicola understood that he was refusing to recognise her or admit that they had ever met before. A young man was trying to conduct her out of the office and she gave up her attempts to contact Lisa’s friend. If only she could have been able to ask him something about Lisa’s life here in Barcelona, she might have obtained some sort of clue to work on. Unfortunately Patrick did not appear to be in the office or he could have acted as interpreter.

Dispirited, she returned to the apartment, prepared herself a light lunch, reminding herself of the fact that she must make her money spin out as far as possible. This afternoon she would buy local newspapers and find out how to get in touch with employment agencies.

She was just on her way out when the caretaker handed her several letters, all addressed to “Senorita Brettell”. One bore no stamp or postmark and Nicola went flying up the stairs again to her apartment. Something from Lisa after all!

But instead it was a note from Adrienne. “Will you come on Thursday, day after tomorrow, if you can?”
Adrienne had written. “Do not bother with the train. Ignacio, our chauffeur, will come for you at ten o’clock. If you have another engagement, will you telephone us?”

In a way, Nicola welcomed the diversion, for she realised that after the next few days she would have little time for leisure except at weekends.

She opened the other letters and gasped in amazement. Nothing but bills! Items for dresses, hats, shoes, a leather handbag, an expensive suitcase. A long bulky envelope contained a further batch of accounts, together with a letter from a firm of lawyers, and even Nicola’s tenuous grasp of Spanish was enough to comprehend the threatening tones.

What on earth had Lisa been doing, ordering all these articles and then failing to pay for them?

Nicola searched again among the envelopes. Was there no word at all from Lisa? She knew now that it was hopeless to expect anything. She understood clearly the reason for her sister’s hurried flight

Nicola stared bleakly out of the window at the azure sea and sky, the beach dotted with people, the sleek cars driving along the road. What was she to do now? Could she be held responsible for Lisa’s debts? She had no idea how Spanish law might work or whether she could be called upon to pay because she happened to be in the country.

She moved restlessly about the room. Her problems weighed a ton and she wished with all her heart that she had never responded to Lisa’s invitation to come to Spain.

She could, of course, do exactly what Lisa had done—pack her suitcases, leave the apartment and disappear. There was no proof that she had ever received the bills. She could leave Barcelona and stay somewhere else. But furtively moving from one obscure hotel to another, apprehensive every time she produced her passport, was no sort of holiday. It would be preferable to go back to England at the earliest moment.

Yet Nicola knew that she could not do that. Lisa’s debts had to be paid somehow.

A vision of the Montals rose before her
—
Dr. Sebastian with his eagle-like features and
stern
mouth, Adrienne’s impulsive gaiety. How would they regard her if they discovered that she had disappeared, leaving behind a mass of unpaid bills in the name of Brettell?

Patrick telephoned later in the day. “How did you get on with the interview? Sorry I had to be out.”

“Only vague promises. There’s no vacancy at present,” she answered dully, wondering whether to spill the whole story to him.

“Pity,” he commented.
“I’ll
get in touch with one or two other men and firms I know and see what I can do.”

She decided against unloading all her problems on Patrick. He was doing his best for her. She thanked him and ended the conversation as briefly as she could. She sighed. A job was now a more urgent necessity than ever.

First, however, she must call on all those shops where Lisa had ran up accounts.

The managers listened attentively to Nicola’s explanations and were helpful. Only one, a jeweller, seemed suspicious, but she remembered that he probably had to deal with fraudulent customers sometimes, although she would not allow herself to believe that Lisa had acted under false pretences. Her sister was unduly extravagant, that was all.

“You understand,
senor
,
that my sister may be very ill somewhere and unable to do anything about payment of your bill?”