Love is for Ever (17 page)

“I have no intention of allowing anyone to marry me at the moment,” Jacqueline replied, her voice trembling a little in spite of the fact that it also had a note like a tautly stretched violin string.

Martine looked across at her disbelievingly, smiling an arch smile which made the most of her over-reddened lips.

“That’s what you tell Dominic and I,” she said, wagging a scarlet-tipped finger. “But I know that a girl doesn’t live to be twenty-two years of age and escape altogether a few entanglements, especially when she’s as prepossessing as you are, even if you’re not a howling beauty—and you’ve even got Neville Barr almost pathetically anxious to eat out of your hand if you’ll let him! And he was eager to do that before ever you came into your money!”

Dominic rose suddenly and pushed back his chair. “I think I’d better get the car out and drive you back, Martine,” he told her, his voice rather cold and harsh.

“Yes, darling, just as you like,” she agreed, smiling up at him in the mixture of moonlight and starlight with something a little inexplicable in her smile. “But if Miss Vaizey really is in love with Sansegovia then the ideal thing would be for her to marry

Neville and settle down here, wouldn’t it? She’d make an ideal doctor’s wife, and now they could be really comfortable—not the sort of conditions her father had to put up with... ”

But Dominic had already strode away as if the conversation either bored him acutely, or he found it in somewhat doubtful taste just then; and when Martine looked round again at Jacqueline the smile had vanished from her face as if a hand had actually wiped it away.

“Dominic is so very Spanish,” she observed, on a languid note of amusement which found no reflection in her eyes, “and these things are simply never discussed by them in public, as you or I would discuss them! Not, that is, until a marriage has been arranged, as you might say ... She helped herself to a cigarette from a cedar-wood box near to her, and lighted it carefully. “I don’t mind admitting,” she confessed to Jacqueline, as the flame of the match lit up her face, “that at one time I had rather a soft spot for Dominic—and, of course,
any
woman would love the security and the ease which marriage to him would ensure for her for life—but in Madrid recently I met an enchanting girl called Carlotta Consuella, to whom Dominic introduced me, and it seems that long, long ago, when they were both more or less in their cradles, it was arranged that they should marry. At least, that’s what the girl told me herself, and even if he wished to do so I shouldn’t think Dominic could get out of it. And I know for a fact that he spent a couple of weekends with Miss Consuella’s parents ... They live just outside Madrid and are as disgustingly rich as Dominic is himself.”

Jacqueline said nothing, and Martine shot her a look which contained a kind of veiled triumph.

“So it just teaches one a lesson, doesn’t it? Teaches one, I mean, to be careful ... Although for my part I don’t think I’d take kindly to marriage to a man like Dominic, who is almost all Spanish in spite of the fact that his name is English. It could be rather dull, spending so much of one’s time on an island like this, and I’ve got my career to think of ... And I don’t think Dominic, in his heart of hearts, approves of women and careers.”

They heard the car putting round to the front of the house from the huge garages at the back, and Martine looked again at Jacqueline.

“I had an idea you ought to be warned,” she said, more quickly, “since you seem to have developed an affection for Sansegovia.” Her sudden, flashing smile was harsh and brittle. “And Dominic
is
so attractive, isn’t he? To anyone as unsophisti-

cated as you it must seem quite an irresistible attraction!”
CHAPTER TWELVE

The morning of the fiesta dawned with a lavender haze over the sea, and the promise of an absolutely clear and unclouded day ahead for the islanders.

Over her usual breakfast of delicious hot rolls, preserves and coffee, which was always brought to her in her own room, Jacqueline looked out over her balcony and thought that if this were England, and a fete or an outdoor celebration was imminent, the weather would almost certainly have disappointed, either by appearing dull at first, or by threatening clouds later in the day. But here on Sansegovia once that hot sun had really climbed into the heavens, there would be no need to entertain doubts about the quality of the hours that stretched ahead between such an exquisitely fair dawning and an almost African sunset. They would be golden and brilliant, heavy with heat later on, spun out beneath an arc of blue sky that would only fade with the fading of the light.

Jacqueline dressed herself with more than her usual care, not because she was expecting to be admired, or because she had any desire to create an impression, but because already there was a feeling of fiesta in the air. She might never see anything like this again, and for a few hours she was hoping to enjoy what she did see—even the bull-fight, although she wished she could think up an excuse to avoid that. But she could imagine Martine looking at her with derisive amusement in her green eyes, and declaring that she would have to grow a little tougher if she wished to live amongst people who went in for such literally full-blooded sports, if she made any serious attempt to get out of it.

Martine had declared herself ready for anything, and had stated that she had already witnessed and enjoyed a bull-fight in Madrid.

“It was exciting!” she declared, looking at Dominic for approval. “I tossed a rose to the
matador,
and he threw me his hat! Afterwards I met him at a party someone threw that evening, and all the girls were quite mad about him. They’re terribly popular, these
matadores
.”

“That’s quite true,” Dominic agreed, and Jacqueline felt certain that his eyes did actually gleam with approval and quite noticeable admiration as the film star successfully drew them to her. But when those same eyes glanced across at Jacqueline they were merely amused, and perhaps a little speculative.

Was he thinking, she wondered, that compared with Martine she was rather a poor thing? Just as she simply could not compare with her in looks! Or was that really a hint of gentleness and understanding that followed hard on the heels of the speculation?

But on the morning of the fiesta Jacqueline determined to try and forget everything but the fact that this was a day devoted to pure holidaying, and that she owed it to the islanders to appear gay amongst them, even if she was not really gay at heart.

She selected a pink dress from her wardrobe and put it on. It was a faint, hedge-rose pink, of crisp linen, with a wide neck that left her pretty throat and shoulders bare to the kiss of the sun, and when she went downstairs she was carrying a little pink linen jacket which went with the dress, but which she didn’t really expect to need to wear.

Dominic, who was standing waiting for her in the hall, looked up as she neared the foot of the handsome staircase. She had used a very light lipstick, which made her mouth look soft and fresh like a wild rose, and her grey eyes were rather wide with anticipation. By contrast with the creamy paleness of her forehead her dark curls looked more heavily blue-black than ever.

Dominic, who was wearing a very thin silk suit, admirably tailored as always, and looked his usual impeccable self— although in Jacqueline’s eyes his startling good looks grew more noticeable every day—seemed for a moment to be taken almost aback by the sight of her as she descended the stairs. Then his blue eyes grew a little inscrutable, and the expression round his handsome mouth was inscrutable, too. He moved a little to meet her.

“You look very nice,” he said. Then he contradicted himself. “No, that will not do at all—it is quite inadequate! You look very lovely!”

Jacqueline felt herself flushing, but her heart started to expand a little.

“Thank you,” she returned, shyly, looking anywhere but upwards into his eyes. “At the moment I feel cool, but I expect by the time the day is finished I’ll neither feel cool nor look lovely—which, in any case, is almost certainly an exaggeration!”

He said nothing in direct answer to this, but stood looking down at her with that strange dark look in his eyes.
Oh, Dominic,
her heart cried silently,
why do you look at me like that when you're planning to marry another woman
...?

And then she bit her lip and looked away, and actually turned a little pale because her heart had started to labor so heavily.

“By the time the day is finished I hope you will have enjoyed it,” he told her suddenly, and very quietly. “This is a day the islanders look forward to. The evening, of course, will be devoted to festivities, too.”

“Yes?” she said, and ventured to look up at him a little questioningly.

“I thought we’d all dine again at
The Golden Cockerel
— Martine and Barr, and you and I.” The way he said ‘and you and I’ seemed to set them apart, but she knew that was merely an accident of speech. “And afterwards, until the early hours of the morning, there will be dancing in the streets. When Sansegovia celebrates it celebrates in earnest.”

Her eyes glowed a little.

“It sounds—a very full day!”

“A very full twenty-four hours! Don’t imagine you’ll get to bed until the cocks have started to crow!”

Her eyes glowed still more, for somehow now—unless it was purely her imagination—there was a kind of promise in his voice, something which did actually warm her whole inner being. She was not in the least sure what it was he was promising, but that it involved the two of them, and that it was important, by no means passed her by. As she looked for a moment full into his eyes she recalled that other occasion when they had dined at
The Golden Cockerel,
and what had happened in the lane afterwards ... And she knew that he was recalling it, too.

Then, all at once, he smiled, with a kind of infectious gaiety, and became brisk.

“Come along,” he said, “we mustn’t waste any time.”

Outside his car was already waiting, and he helped her into it. He placed her in the front seat, beside the driving-seat, and she wondered whether she would have to vacate it when they picked up Martine.

There was no doubt about it, the island was completely
en fete.
The waterfront was gay and crowded, with women in cotton frocks and little girls in long white frilly dresses, and men in their best suits, with flowers in their button-holes. Some of the young girls wore traditional costumes comprising white lace mantillas and scarlet petticoats flashing beneath embroidered skirts, and their escorts had black silk sashes wound about their middles, and wore wide-brimmed black hats with cone-shaped crowns.

Nearly everyone seemed to have a flower, tucked either behind an ear, or in a bodice, or in a buttonhole. There were all sorts of little stalls set up side by side, old women presiding behind them and selling roasted hazelnuts, soft drinks, little cakes and sweets. Balloons were being sold, attached to little trolleys that were being wheeled through the streets, and handcarts loaded with favors and squeakers, toy monkeys that ran up and down sticks, golliwogs and bags of glass marbles.

From the market, when they reached it, came the sounds of cattle herded behind protective barriers, and everywhere there were posters announcing the great attraction of the afternoon, the bull-fight. One of the
matadores
was billed as ‘The Greatest in Spain’, which, of course, was a slight overstatement, considering the size of Sansegovia.

They picked up Martine at the
albergue,
and Neville at his bungalow, and then Dominic drove them for a considerable distance along one of the best roads on the island, from which they had an unrivalled view of the sea all the way, and it was exhilaratingly cool and fresh because he drove at considerable speed, and being an excellent driver not even the parties of people all making for the town and the harbor whom they encountered at frequent intervals made it necessary for him to slow very appreciably.

Jacqueline found she was not requested to change her seat, although Martine, a vision in summer white, with an enormous shady hat which she was forced to remove when the car got under way, looked at her rather pointedly when she emerged from the
albergue
and saw her sitting quietly in the favored seat. But Dominic simply held open the rear door for her, and Martine stepped into the car with as good a grace as she could manage, and later, when Dr. Barr joined them, she seemed to find the arrangement fairly satisfactory, and relaxed into the holiday mood which had held her when she was called for at her hotel.

They returned for lunch to the Cortina villa, and
Tia
Lola joined them, gradually beginning to look a little more like herself.

The thought of the bull-fight, taking place in the heat of the day, hung rather like a cloud over Jacqueline, particularly as Neville described one he had once visited which had been a particularly gory affair, and described also the operating room and chapel which adjoin all bull-rings as part of the service for gored
matadores;
but when he saw her looking noticeably squeamish his eyes twinkled at her.

“Cheer up,” he encouraged her, “this is only an island affair and I don’t suppose they’ll have as many as half-a-dozen bulls. Although Senor Montez really does pride himself on giving us this annual treat. It would never do to let the old boy think you couldn’t take it,” and he gave her shoulder a comforting as well as a heartening pat as they left the table.