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Authors: Iris Danbury

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E
lena and Ramon stayed to dinner at the Villa, and although on the surface the atmosphere was gay and light
enough, Nicola sensed an undercurrent of uneasy watchfulness. Ramon suggested that he might take Adrienne and Nicola out for a trip in the motor dinghy which he used with his yacht.

“Tomorrow?” queried Adrienne. “Oh, we shall be delighted.”

Before Nicola could agree, the
doctor
interposed. “Tomorrow is not a very convenient day for me.”

Ramon laughed lightly, his dark eyes twinkling. “Forgive me, dear Sebastian, but I had no idea that you would want to come with us. But of course you’re welcome.”

Sebastian’s face did not relax. “I was not thinking of wasting my time on boat trips. It was merely that I thought Miss Brettell might be able to give some of her time to work for me.”

“Oh, I see.” Ramon gave Nicola an oblique glance accompanied by his most charming smile.

“But of course I’m available to work whenever you say, Dr. Montal,” Nicola said hastily before any further remarks or significant pauses could complicate the situation.

“I protest!” exclaimed Ramon. “You must give Nicola a few chances to have leisure with us.”

“Miss Brettell will not be worked unduly hard, I assure you,” replied Sebastian. Now his face was lit with a smile that softened his forbidding features. Why didn’t he look like that more often, thought Nicola, instead of keeping his smiles hidden away and unused?

“I could accompany Adrienne,” suggested Elena, who was immediately rewarded with a flashing angry look from Adrienne.

“Oh, no,” put in Ramon quickly. “You know how you hate my small boats.”

“It seems that we’d better compromise,” Sebastian advised. “Ramon can take you two girls out in the morning and after lunch I shall be home and Miss Brettell will then be free to assist me.”

F
or a moment Ramon stared at his host. “As you arrange it, so shall it be,” he said politely with the merest nod. It was clear to Nicola that he was displeased with the cavalier way in which Sebastian had ordered the day’s arrangements, but no doubt Ramon was familiar with Dr. Montal’s moods and character.

On the way down to the harbour next morning, Adrienne giggled with amusement.

“Did you see Elena’s face last night when she offered to chaperone me in the boat?” she asked Nicola. “She was divided into two pieces, one to be with me and Ramon and the other with you and Sebastian,” Adrienne’s laughter rang out joyously as she drove her white car down the winding lane towards the shore.

Nicola, too, was beginning to see that she must tread most warily in this circle where convention still had to be respected.

Ramon was waiting for the two girls where the road ran along by the harbour. His white shirt and shorts intensified the blackness of his hair, his tanned skin and dark, luminous eyes. He was undeniably handsome, Nicola had to admit, and his courteous manners added a new dimension to politeness. When he handed Nicola into the dinghy he became the courtier receiving his princess. She noticed that he held her hand in his firm clasp rather longer than was necessary.

He navigated carefully among the crowd of other vessels in the harbour, but once outside in the open sea, he opened the throttle and the boat skimmed along like a white bird, leaving a creamy wake of foam astern. The wind tore through Nicola’s hair and she was thankful that she had recently had it cut into a shorter style for the summer. Adrienne’s long fair hair blew and twisted into a tangle of untidy strands. Ramon steered away from the shore and the coastline diminished so that it became only an undulating line of blue-grey shadow.

“Not so far out, Ramon!” called Adrienne. “You’ll have us in Majorca in no time!”

He flashed his white teeth at her in reply, but soon turned the boat in a wide arc that brought the dinghy
parallel with the shore. He slowed down so that the
boat
seemed to drift lazily on top of the scintillating waves. He lolled against the thwart and lit a cigar.

“Why don’t you have lunch with us on the yacht?” he asked.

“No. We promised we would be back at the Villa at two o’clock,” said Adrienne firmly. “Nicola must be there for Sebastian, you remember?”

Ramon laughed. “I remember! His Imperious Excellency never lets an opportunity go by to play the Conquistador. You, Nicola, must preserve your Anglo-Saxon character and refuse to yield to his orders.”

Nicola smiled. “I can hardly do that. I’m not just a guest. I’m paid to work for Dr. Montal.”

Ramon took the two girls aboard the
Clorinda
in the harbour. Adrienne knew her way around the yacht, but Ramon conducted Nicola on a quick tour of inspection. She admired its trim luxury, shining white paint and gleaming brasswork. A steward served drinks at an elegant teak table where an awning stretched across the well
-
deck made a cool patch of shade as the yacht rode at anchor.

Ramon renewed his invitation to lunch, protesting that he disliked eating alone. Adrienne wavered, but Nicola put in decisively, “It’s very kind of you, Senor—I mean, Ramon.” She felt herself blushing under his intense stare. “But perhaps another time when we have made the proper arrangements?”

“By all means! I shall be enchanted.” He raised her hand to his lips, then preceded the two girls into the dinghy to take them ashore.

On the quay Nicola gazed again at the yacht
Clorinda,
a craft with beautiful clear-cut lines, well qualified to take her place among those other handsome luxury vessels from Los Angeles and Stockholm, London and Monte Carlo.

Ramon was about halfway between the quay and the
Clorinda
and he waved to the two girls, who waved back.


You like Ramon?” queried Adrienne as she and Nicola walked towards the road.


I
think
he’s a very pleasant young man,” Nicola said smoothly.

A
drienne gave a faint chuckle. “Yes, he has charm and much else besides. Perhaps you had better marry him.”


Hold on a moment! I’ve only met him two or three times.”


Does that matter?” asked Adrienne. “Me, I have known him too long—since I was a small child.”


So he is just like a brother to you.” Nicola’s voice held gentle sarcasm.


Exactly so! There is no—how shall I say?—no excitement, no turbulence. I should like a man to set me on fire with his glance and make me feel faint with his kisses.”

N
icola hardly knew whether to laugh or take Adrienne seriously. “At your age every girl wants a man like that.”

“Then why shouldn’t we find him?”


Be patient, Adrienne. One day you might find that Ramon sparks you off just like that.”

A
drienne sighed. “Never, I think, with Ramon. Besides, he is most flirtatious.”


Then that ought to make you jealous. Doesn’t it?”

“No,” declared Adrienne crossly.

O
n the way back to the Villa, she stopped the car outside a small cottage. “I want you to visit some friends I have here,” she explained.


But we shall be very late for lunch,” Nicola objected.

“We shall stay only a few minutes.”

N
icola followed Adrienne through the doorway of the pink-washed cottage. After the dazzling sunshine outside, it took her a moment or two to accustom her eyes to the dark interior. Then she became aware that two women had emerged from the shadows.

A
drienne was introducing her in Spanish.


Senora Gallito—Senorita Micaela Gallito—Senorita Brettell,
mi amigo inglesa
.”

T
he two women, evidently mother and daughter, bowed gravely in acknowledgment. The younger one hurried away and came back with a jug of wine. The two girls drank the rough wine from small stone goblets. Then Adrienne asked, “Barto?”

The young girl, Micaela, shook her head and replied in Spanish. Adrienne asked further questions.

Nicola was appalled. The Gallitos were evidently Barto’s family, and here she was, at Adrienne’s invitation, drinking wine in their house, when she had been most definitely instructed by Dr. Montal to keep Adrienne out of Barto’s way.

How could she now persuade Adrienne to leave? She glanced pointedly at her watch and murmured

Vamos
”, then repeated in English, “Let’s go.”

Adrienne smiled.

Momentito.
No hurry.”

A few more minutes went by, then Adrienne rose, ready to leave, and Nicola sighed with relief. At that moment the doorway was blocked by a shadow and a young, slim boy came in, carrying a bucket of fish. Adrienne greeted him, then turned towards Nicola.

“This is Barto.”

“Bartolomeo Gallito,” he announced with dignity as he bowed to Nicola.

Adrienne called out, “Adios, Senora! Micaela!” then spoke rapidly to Barto in an undertone. “Come on, Nicola.”

During the short drive between the cottage and the Villa Ronda, Nicola remained silent until Adrienne exclaimed irritably, “You are angry with me.”

“Not exactly angry,” countered Nicola. “But I think you took me there under false pretences.”

“Not in the least,” declared Adrienne. “Now you know what Barto’s family are like. How can you say that they are not honest and charming people?”

“I don’t doubt it, but you’ll get Barto into trouble.”

Adrienne laughed as she swung the car through the gates and along the curving drive. “Sebastian won’t know anything about our visit—unless you tell him.”

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.”

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