Doctor at Villa Ronda (8 page)

Nicola alighted from the car. “That puts me into the position of a spy. I thought you disliked that sort of thing.”

Adrienne stared at Nicola, her grey eyes wide with hurt bewilderment. “I really believe you would tell Sebastian!”

“I’d much rather not,” admitted Nicola.

“But you think you have a duty to Sebastian.”

Nicola shrugged and turned away. “Don’t let’s discuss it further. But please, Adrienne, don’t make me your companion—” she had nearly said “accomplice”—“on these occasions.”

It was a pity, thought Nicola afterwards, that the doctor was home for lunch that day and required her services in the afternoon, for Adrienne’s ill-temper would easily have evaporated. But he was waiting with barely concealed impatience and when Adrienne and Nicola joined him, he said mildly, but in a reproving tone, “You’re very late home, Adrienne. I thought you must have decided to stay to lunch on Ramon’s yacht.”

“We had some shopping to do on the way back,” Adrienne answered casually. She glanced at her uncle, then at Nicola. “No, that’s not true. Before Nicola can tell you, I will tell you myself,” she said defiantly. “I went today to call on the Gallitos.”

“For what purpose?” asked Sebastian coldly.

“Only to see them. Barto came home while I was there and I saw him for two whole minutes. So what can you do now?”

Sebastian put down his sherry glass. “I’m glad you’ve told me, Adrienne,” he said calmly. “For Nicola’s sake, more than your own. On the way up here I passed your car, which was standing outside the Gallitos’ house.” He paused, finished his sherry, then rose. “We’ll begin lunch.”

Adrienne jumped to her feet, fury in every line of her body, her face contorted in rage. “How hateful you have become, Sebastian!” she exclaimed. “You knew I was there, yet you tried to trap me into saying that we stayed late on Ramon’s boat. No, indeed, I don’t want lunch. I won’t sit down and eat with you!”

She dashed away across the courtyard and was hidden by a clump of oleander and magnolia trees.

Nicola shot a questioning look at Sebastian. Should she follow Adrienne and pacify her if possible, or was her neutrality to be undermined by staying with the doctor?

“
Come along, Nicola,” he said, resolving her doubts. “No doubt
y
ou’re hungry after the morning boat trip.” He led the way to the table placed under the three palm trees.

“I’m afraid I couldn’t prevent that visit to the Gallito family,” she said, after they had begun the meal. “I didn’t at first realise who the women were, until I heard about Barto. Then I realised they were his mother and sister.”

Sebastian smiled, that rare smile of his which lit his face like a gilt-edged cloud after a storm. “Don’t worry about it. You know now, so you will understand the position next time. It’s an advantage to know where the dangers are. Then you can avoid them.”

Nicola was silent. It was not always quite so easy to avoid complications even when the dangers were plainly in sight. She longed to say to the doctor that if he really wanted to stop his niece from seeing Barto, then he was going the wrong way about it.

He spoke of other subjects during the meal, his work at the big hospital in Barcelona, his clinic in the poorer part of Orsola, and Nicola gave him her attention. There was no sense in letting her mind dwell on Adrienne’s temporary fury.

Nicola would have been ready to start on the doctor’s typing work almost immediately after lunch, but he always insisted on the siesta, although she suspected that he did not often take a real rest himself, but merely sat writing in his study.

At four-thirty, refreshed by lemon tea, she settled down to work in Sebastian’s study and he came in some time later to settle any queries.

“By the way,” he said suddenly, “I met a girl this
morning who might possibly be your sister.”

Nicola almost jumped up from the typewriter. “Lisa? Oh, where is she?”

“This girl is in a convent hospital in Barcelona.”

“Is she ill?” Nicola asked.

“Not physically. Her trouble is more mental. She’s had a shock of some kind, I imagine.”

Nicola went cold with apprehension. If the girl were really Lisa, what could have happened to her?

“I must go and find out if she’s Lisa,” she said agitatedly.

“I’ll take you there tomorrow,” he promised.

“Tomorrow?” she echoed. “But—”

“I know,” he interposed. “You’re going to tell me that you want to go now, that you can’t wait. There’s nothing to be gained by going today. The nuns would not allow you to see the girl without my presence as a doctor.”

Nicola choked down her disappointment. Sebastian Montal was hard and unfeeling. Had his profession as a healer taught him nothing of kindness and sympathy? To spring the news on her that Lisa might possibly be found and then to make her wait in excruciating suspense throughout the rest of the day and tonight, surely this was cruelty itself.

After a long pause she said quietly, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? You saw this girl this morning.”

He came closer to her and stood on the opposite side of her desk. “You think it would have improved your appetite at lunch if I’d told you then? Even good news can be very disturbing at mealtimes, let alone something that is very uncertain.”

Her hands rested idly on the typewriter keys.

“I’d better concentrate on your work, Dr. Montal,” she said stiffly. “Thank you for telling me about this girl. I shall be ready at whatever time you say tomorrow morning.”

“You understand that I may be mistaken?” he reminded her.

“Of course.”

He went out through the arched windows on to the terrace and Nicola was glad of his absence. She needed a few minutes to collect her thoughts. If the girl turned out to be Lisa, how could Nicola try to look after her? She could scarcely expect Dr. Montal to give Lisa a home and treat her as a patient
.

Nicola turned back to the typing. Then she gave a half smile. The doctor had probably been right after all not to tell her until there was something else to occupy her mind. Work was the conventional antidote to worry.

Adrienne did not appear at dinner and Nicola was concerned about the girl.

“Will she be all right?” she asked the doctor. “She must surely be very hungry—and unhappy,” she added quietly.

The doctor smiled. “Hungry? No. Rosana, our housekeeper, will keep Adrienne well supplied with whatever meals she fancies. As to her being unhappy, she has probably forgotten her tantrum, but she wants to make certain that I know how displeased she is with me. I know Adrienne.”

Nicola wondered if Dr. Montal knew his niece at all. Adrienne was no longer the gay schoolgirl, ready to agree to Sebastian’s ideas. At seventeen she was half child, half woman, experiencing all the pangs and joys of growing up without maturing. With neither mother nor father to guide her through this phase with all its frustrations and heady discoveries, she needed more understanding and sympathy than her uncle was apparently willing to give.

Yet Nicola was secretly delighted to be dining alone with her employer out on the “Mediterranean balcony”. The last sunset colours of mauve and yellow, crimson and grey were fading, leaving the mountains sharply silhouetted like two-dimensional cardboard cut-outs. Lights in the harbour came on first in ones or twos, then a small chain, and the sea intensified to a deep midnight blue. When the dusk on the balcony deepened, a manservant
brought oil lamps to insert in iron sconces on the balustrade.

After the meal the warm night air and the aroma of Sebastian’s cigar combined to make Nicola feel sleepy and presently she excused herself.

“Goodnight, Dr. Montal. I shall be ready early tomorrow morning for Barcelona.”

On the way to her room she paused outside Adrienne’s suite. Courtesy and friendliness demanded that she should make enquiries in case Adrienne was really in distress, yet Nicola did not want to appear to be taking sides.

Adrienne called out, “Come in,” in reply to Nicola’s knock.

“Ah! So you have come at last. I wondered if you had been forbidden to visit the prisoner.”

Nicola smiled. “Prisoner? I thought it was you who chose seclusion. You’re all right?” The query, she knew, was unnecessary. Adrienne seemed in perfect health and spirits.

“Naturally. Why not?”

“When you didn’t appear at dinner. I wondered—”

“
Oh, I have had an excellent dinner of bread and water,” Adrienne declared. “I shall continue to live.”

“Fortunately for us all,” Nicola said drily.

Adrienne glanced up and burst into delighted laughter. “You have much sense, Nicola, not to take me too seriously. I fly into a rage, then it is all over in ten minutes, but I cannot then admit that it was not important, so I remain—what would you say?—remote?”

“Aloof is perhaps the word that suits you.” Nicola sat on the foot of the bed. “I have news. Your uncle thinks he may have discovered my sister, so tomorrow he’s taking me to Barcelona. I didn’t think to ask
him
whether he is also taking you.”

“Oh, I’m not a toy to be picked up whenever he has the fancy. Besides, tomorrow I have plans of my own.” Adrienne’s face melted into a self-satisfied expression. “Sebastian will jump to the wrong conclusion,” she continued, “that I shall immediately go to see Barto. So I think he will invite dear Dona Elena to keep me company, and see that I don’t stray.” She giggled. “What frustration for her! Her day will not be at all happy.”

“Why? What are you going to do?” Nicola was vaguely alarmed.

“Nothing wicked. Only what I am permitted to do. Goodnight, Nicola. Have a happy day tomorrow—and I hope you find your sister.”

On the way to Barcelona next day Nicola was not certain whether she wanted this distressed girl in a convent hospital to be Lisa. To see her high-spirited sister mentally ill would be a painful experience, yet every day the anxiety of not knowing what had become of Lisa constantly gnawed at Nicola’s peace of mind.

Dr. Montal lost no time in taking Nicola straight to the girl’s bedside. Nicola looked at the pale face, the cloudy dark hair, and knew that the girl was not Lisa. When the patient opened her eyes and stared wildly at the doctor, Nicola was relieved that she was able to say definitely, “No, Dr. Montal, she is not my sister.”

When they left the ward, Dr. Montal asked, “Have you a photograph of your sister?”

“
Not here. I might be able to get one from home. A snapshot or one of those Lisa had taken for publicity.”

“That might make it easier to trace her.”

Nicola shivered. “You mean the police?”

“Yes, the police. Possibly in other directions, too,” he answered.

She knew what he meant by “other directions”. As a doctor he was naturally in touch not only with hospitals, but mortuaries, and the thought that Lisa might be dead was unbearable.

“I shall be busy here and at another hospital,” the doctor told her. “Can you amuse yourself until about five o’clock? Then I’ll pick you up and take you back to the Villa.”

“Of course. I’ll be glad of the time to explore Barcelona,” she agreed without hesitation.

“
You might go to the ‘Spanish Village’ at Montjuich,”
he suggested, “unless you’ve already been there. Take a taxi.”

Outside the convent it occurred to Nicola that she ought to get in touch with Patrick. Today was Saturday and he would not be working this afternoon, although he might already have arrangements of his own and be unable to see her.

She took a taxi to the Plaza de Cataluna and telephoned his office. “I could meet you somewhere at about two o’clock,” he told her. “I’m tied up until then. Where would you like to go?”

“Dr. Montal suggested the Spanish village—whatever that may be,” Nicola replied.

“Oh, yes, you ought to see that. All right, I’ll meet you at the Plaza de Espafia by the air terminal and we’ll have a quick snack lunch and then go to the village. Quarter past two?”

“Thank you, Patrick. That would be fine.”

She spent the morning idling in the shops, then strolled along the Ramblas where flower stalls splashed brilliant colours beneath the plane trees and the air was vibrant with the chatter of crowds, punctuated by raucous cries from the lottery ticket sellers.

When Patrick took her to the
Pueblo Espafiol,
the Spanish village built inside Montjuich Park to illustrate all the various styles of Spanish architecture, she was delighted.

“What a marvellous place! I’m glad Dr. Montal suggested I should come,” she said.

“I’d have brought you here anyway,” retorted Patrick, “without waiting for your boss to mention it. We just haven’t had time together for me to show you the sights before you went dashing off to live it up in a classy villa at Orsola.”

She sensed that for some reason his feelings were ruffled. “Tell me about the buildings,” she said tactfully, avoiding the personal element.

“They had an International Exhibition here in 1929,” he explained, “and this village was part of the celebrations.”