Love is for Ever (5 page)

“Thank you,” Jacqueline replied, quite truthfully, “I am very comfortable, and I have everything I want.”

But she hoped the old lady would not repeat her question about Dominic meeting her off the steamer. Although she could always say that he sent a car to meet her—which he did. Senora Cortina frowned suddenly.

“There is another young woman staying in the house whom I have met only once, but it did not strike me that you and she would have a great deal in common. She is—how shall I say it?—sophisticated, and of the modern world—not that you, my dear,” smiling at her, “are of the old. But this young woman comes from America, and my grandson met her when he was on a visit there. She has appeared in films— though I believe not very successfully, since Dominic asserts that she is financially not very secure, and that it is a good thing for her to stay here for a while—but you will understand that I have only one grandson, and sometimes I am a little anxious .”

Jacqueline looked at her, trying to fathom what she meant—and then suddenly realizing what her hostess did mean felt herself coloring again in a kind of confusion.

Senora Cortina nodded her dignified head.

“Yes; that is it!” she said. “My grandson Dominic is not truly a Spaniard, you understand? And for him there have been no special arrangements such as we in Spain are accustomed to making for our young people. There is one young woman to whom I have hoped to see him betrothed, but even that is not definite. Dominic is like a horse that has been given its head—he will not brook that the reins shall be tightened, or tightened against his will! He is determined, as he phrases it, to do as he pleases; and therefore to me who am growing so old it is sometimes a matter for great agitation of mind. You follow me over this problem which besets me, little one?”

Jacqueline managed to nod.

“I—yes, I—”

“And the American young woman, beautiful though she is, is not, I feel, the wife for him. Indeed,” a little more dryly, “with her taste in clothes, and her ideas of living beyond her present means, she is not, I fear, the wife for a good many men! Dominic has all the worldly possessions he needs, and his wife will lack for nothing when the day arrives that he does decide to take one, but to be married for his possessions is not what I would wish for Dominic. Perhaps, while you are here, we will invite the little Carlotta to stay.”

“The little—Carlotta?” Jacqueline echoed.

Her hostess beamed at her.

“That is right! The young woman I have always hoped will one day marry Dominic! ... She is of good family, she is charming, she is pretty as a bird, and for you she will make an excellent companion while you remain here. Better, much better, than the young American woman ...!”

The conversation continued along similar lines for a short while longer, and then Jacqueline realized that her hostess was tiring. The old, ivory-colored face began to crumple, like a faded flower, and the bright, intelligent eyes grew noticeably weary. Jacqueline instantly rose and excused herself, apologizing for staying too long; but the Senora Cortina refused to hear that she had stayed too long and exhausted though she was, she continued to smile at the girl.

“You will come and see me every day while you are here,” she said. “I shall look for your visits, because I like you already—I have a feeling that you and I have known one another intimately for a long time! And I hope very much that you will be happy here.”

Yes—yes, I am sure I shall,” Jacqueline assured her; but when she had at last withdrawn and returned to her own room, she felt, for some reason, a little deflated—as if she was a balloon that had received an unexpected prick. And yet the
senora
had been charming. She had been made to feel that she was really welcome.

Was it the thought of yet another visitor that oppressed her a little? Another woman besides Martine to cast possessive glances at Dominic?

Wouldn’t that make her feel just a little—well, revolted

... ?

She was not used to women making deliberate attempts to catch a man, and it was the last thing she would do under any circumstances.

She had lunch alone with
Tia
Lola. Dominic and Martine had gone out somewhere together, and were not expected back until the afternoon. But the meal, with just the two women in the quiet and peaceful dining room, was very pleasant. And afterwards they went out into the wide verandah which overlooked the patio and had their coffee brought to them, and Jacqueline helped
Tia
Lola unravel some embroidery silks that had become badly tangled in their skeins.

Tia
Lola had the beautiful, well-cared for hands of a woman who spent much of her time doing embroidery work, and her personality was gentle and unassuming. Her looks were quite unremarkable, and even when she was young she had probably had little about her to attract the attention of the opposite sex, but even so Jacqueline felt she would have made some man an ideal wife. She had endless patience, and was the type who would put herself in the background, while devotedly serving whomever her lot in life had given her the opportunity to serve.

But she was now somewhere in her middle forties, and as Spanish women marry young it was hardly likely that she would ever marry. Jacqueline felt strongly drawn to her, and she could tell by the approving looks she received from
Tia
Lola that this woman who deputized for her hostess was also a little drawn to her.

During the heat of the afternoon—and Jacqueline discovered that it could become very hot
—Tia
Lola withdrew to her own apartment for a siesta, but Jacqueline had no intention of wasting the afternoon in sleep. She went in and got herself a hat, and then set off to explore the garden, and then wandered out on to the road beyond the curly wrought-iron gates, and walked along it a little.

It was a tree-shaded road, with much colorful growth also beside the way, and in her cool linen frock—so much more comfortable than the suit she had worn the day before—she found the walk very pleasant.

There were one or two houses which she passed, with rosy roofs and startlingly white walls, set back in gardens of flowers, that she thought were quite delightful—graciously planned, ideal sort of houses, which must make for gracious living. And when she topped a rise and caught a glimpse of the sea, with a few whitecaps on it today, because a brisk breeze was raffling the water, she no longer wondered why her father had elected to spend so many years of his life on Sansegovia.

It was a blue and gold island—an island of intoxicating scents, and with a compelling magic all its own. She remembered the brilliant quality of the moonlight the night before, and the inky-black shadows it cast in places where there were tall trees and shrubs. She had never known moonlight like it before—hard and white with the power of a searchlight. And when she had awakened that morning and the dawn had come creeping over the garden, with something so fresh, and sweet, and full of promise about it, it had filled her with the curious feeling that that was like Life—Life when one was not yet twenty-two, and all sorts of possibilities were in the air, even if they never could, or would, become

realized.

Or was that merely the effect Sansegovia had on one? Was it the effect it had had on her father, years ago, when he had decided to stay?

A promise of something wonderful at every dawning!...

A woman with a basket of jasmine passed her, and smiled at her with all the brilliance made possible by lustrous eyes and faultless teeth. Then she met a man with a laden donkey-cart, obviously returning from the town after disposing of his vegetables, who drew politely to one side to enable her to pass. He looked at her with the unconcealed admiration of a sturdy, black-haired, swarthy-cheeked Spaniard who had decided that she looked as tempting as the flower she had plucked and wore at the belt of her periwinkle blue dress.

The flower was a kind of creamy-pink, and it matched the creamy-pink of her complexion beneath the straw brim of her hat.

“Buenas tardes, senorita
,” he said, as she passed him on the road.

Then a car came along behind her, and drew up a short distance ahead of her. Dr. Barr opened the door and looked back at her, smiling.

“Can I give you a lift?” he asked. “Or are you actually enjoying your walk?”

“I am,” she admitted. “But it is a bit hot.”

“Then get in and I’ll drive you down to the clinic. Perhaps you’ll come and have some tea with me at the bungalow, will you? I’ve only a bachelor establishment, but the woman who looks after me is wonderful, and can produce tea on the instant.”

“Then I'd love to accept your invitation.” And then she hesitated. “Although I didn’t let
Tia
Lola know I expected to be away for long.”

“That’s all right,” he told her. “We’ll ring through and let her know where you are.”

When they turned inter the dusty road, bordered by cacti and palm trees, which led to the bungalow, Jacqueline felt for a moment as if nostalgia was threatening to wash over her like a wave. She recognized at once the green-tiled roof of the low white house—built to a single-storey plan because her father had preferred it that way—and the white gate standing open on to a short drive, with a garage beside it halfsmothered in something that blossomed scarlet at this season of the year. But Neville Barr put out a hand and rested it lightly on her knee for a moment, and he said:

“Don’t worry! There’s nothing inside the bungalow to remind you of the time when you stayed in it! And you needn’t see anything of the clinic today, if you don’t want to. Let’s do things gradually, shall we?”

She was so appreciative of his understanding, and the warmth of his smile, that she flashed him a faintly tremulous smile back. He was nice, she thought. She had liked him from the moment she first saw him, and she felt she was going to go on liking him.

He put her into a comfortable arm chair in the pleasant sitting room of his bungalow, and looking round it Jacqueline realized that he had been speaking no more than the truth when he told her there was no longer anything there to remind her of the past, or even very much of her father. In her father’s day the place had been adequately, if a trifle spartanly, furnished; but with the advent of Dr. Barr a certain amount of luxury had taken the place of utilitarianism.

His furniture was elegant as well as comfortable, and he had excellent taste, she thought. The color scheme was well thought out and restful. There was a golden polished floor and light rugs, green woven curtains, and green tapestry-covered chairs in the main living room. There was also a very modern-looking cocktail cabinet in a corner, and a thing her father had certainly never bothered about, an artistic arrangement of flowers on a little table in the centre of the room. Beneath an arch she could see the dining alcove furnished in light wood, and with more flowers in a shallow silver bowl on the table.

Neville caught her eyes for a moment, and asked:

“Like it?”

“I think it’s extremely nice,” she told him.

"Good!” he exclaimed.

An Island woman brought them their tea, and she was another of the smiling-eyed sort who seemed to think it pleasant that the doctor should be entertaining an attractive young woman to tea. Jacqueline poured out, but he declined any of the indigestible-looking pastries and little cakes which accompanied the tea in vast quantities, and having accepted his cup from her hand sat back and looked at her with interest.

“Tell me,” he said, “have you made up your mind yet whether you’re going to like it here?"

“As a guest of the Cortinas, you mean? she asked, looking directly across at him.

‘Yes; I know very well that the island is not entirely new to you, and your opinions about it must have been formed years ago. And that they were favorable opinions is given away by the fact that you have returned here.”

“Yes,” she agreed, quietly stirring her tea. ‘‘I always wanted to return—and I had hoped—hoped that it wouldn’t be just a visit this time!”

“Quite,” he agreed, and offered her a cigarette. “But, nevertheless, you have come back on a visit, and I have been wondering how much you were already enjoying it. ”

“I haven’t had much time to do that so far, have I?” she asked, with a faint smile. “But the Senora Cortina is a darling, and I
know
I’m going to enjoy seeing as much of her as I can. And
Tia
Lola is so kind. And last night I met a Senor Montez and his nephew. They came to dine, and I found him very kind, too.”

“Senor Montez or his nephew?” with a twinkle in the blue eyes.

For an instant her grey eyes twinkled back at him. “The nephew,” she confessed, “is very solemn, but Senor Montez has invited me to see all the curios he has collected throughout a number of years, and also his vast collection of books. Apparently my father once helped him to sort and collate them.”

Dr. Barr nodded.

“Yes, your father and Senor Montez got on well together. But what about Dominic?” he asked. “Do you find him a very considerate host?”

“I—I haven’t seen very much of Mr. Errol,” she admitted.

“Then you haven’t seen much of Martine in that case?” “No.”

She looked across at him for a moment with rather a curious expression in her eyes. The fact that he had met her yesterday had provided her with a certain amount of puzzlement, in spite of his explanation that he had thought she might be glad to see someone who had known her father fairly intimately waiting for her when the steamer tied up. But more than once, while they were having tea in the garden of the Cortina house, and Martine had been lying languidly in her chair with Dr. Barr in the chair beside her, she had looked up at a moment when his eyes had turned towards the lovely redheaded film actress, and something very revealing in his expression had given her pause. And she had even noticed that Martine herself had smiled at him more than once as if in her opinion he was an extremely personable male.