Perchance to Marry (11 page)

“Look here, Sally...”

A door opened at the end of the corridor and Katarina emerged. All Sally saw was the gaunt yellow face before she was gathered tightly within Marcus’s arms.

Through the thunder of her own heartbeats she heard Marcus clip out, close to her ear, “She can see your face. Close your eyes and pretend you’re not detesting every second of it!”

But Sally’s eyes remained wide and staring for a further moment. She saw the minute, wrapped figure on Katarina’s arm, the pause while the fierce little glance took in the scene down the corridor and the queer smile of satisfaction.

Then Sally closed her eyes tightly and whispered, “
Please
take me away. I can’t speak to Dona Inez. I can’t!”

He managed it so smoothly that it might have been an act he had rehearsed a dozen times. Without turning, he raised his shoulder and drew her round, so that she was almost completely hidden from the tiny woman who was taking her first few faltering steps outside her bedroom. Slowly, as though it were prearranged, he walked Sally back along the corridor to the main landing and turned with her to descend the staircase. By the time they had reached the hall his arm had dropped from her shoulder, but his hand was at her elbow, guiding her into the morning room.

Sally stood just inside the door and looked at him. Her lips were pale and felt as numb as if they had been violently kissed.

“What was all that?” she asked.

“It’s part of the reason I’d decided we’d go out together this morning,” he said curtly. “Every two or three days Dona Inez gets touchy about this engagement business. I took in her breakfast this morning, and she got on to the subject again—said we were not to treat her as an invalid. She kept on about unnatural behavior, the care you took not to look at me, that we don’t even touch hands in her presence. She made a crack about even Spanish customs permitting endearments and other things in public. From her balcony, yesterday, she saw me go out and leave you sitting outside with your mother; for her, our parting was too casual.”

“So you decided to be a little less ... casual just now. Does it mean her health is improving?”

“I hope so.” Exasperated, he shoved his hands into his pockets and took a pace or two. He stopped and looked at her, smiling faintly. “I’m beginning to hate this almost as much as you do. Try to believe that and you may not feel so badly about it all.”

“Isn’t there something we can do? It was rather hasty, that bit of play-acting upstairs, and maybe it wasn’t very wise. When the bump comes it’ll hurt her all the more.”

“Then we’ll have to see there’s no bump, won’t we?” He gazed for quite some time at the Spanish figurines which adorned a side table. “Last night I asked Carlos whether she could stand an emotional shock, and he said he doubted whether she’ll ever be able to stand one if it concerns me.”

She gazed at him blankly. “But ... but what can we do about it?”

“Ever since I spoke with Carlos I’ve been thinking it over. I was going to have this talk with you down at the beach this morning, but events upstairs rather precipitated things. You’ve told me several times that you like the island and Las Vinas.”

“Yes, I do.”

“You thought of settling here as a nurse, so it’s possible you feel you could stay here more or less indefinitely. Before I go any further, tell me something. Do you find Carlos physically attractive?”

A faint flush crept up from her neck. “No. I like him, but that’s all.”

“Do you find me physically attractive?”

The flush became a flare of scarlet. “I refuse even to think about it. I told you the other day, when...”

“Yes, I remember,” he said coolly. “It was just something I would have liked to know before I made my proposition. Will you marry me?”

Her head went back and she gave him a long appalled stare. “Are you ... joking?”

“I was never more serious. We can become officially engaged right away and marry in about six months’ time. In fact, we simply validate this bogus situation and make a good thing of it.”

“How could you possibly think I’d agree to it?” she breathed. “You may not believe in the love match, but I do. I’d have to be madly in love and have someone madly in love with me before I’d marry!”

“Mad love,” he said with sarcasm, “explodes or fizzles out quicker than any other kind. In Spain, a woman...”

“I’m not Spanish!”

“Very well, look at it another way,” he said reasoningly. “Your mother is a thousand times happier than she was when I first met her, on the ship. She has a purpose in life, a couple of admirers and a home here at Las Vinas until she marries again. Oh, yes,” as she let out an exclamation, “she’ll certainly marry again; she’s not complete without a husband. I think you may be sure that she intends to stay permanently on San Palos. But you, subconsciously if not consciously, had decided that the time would come, perhaps within a few weeks, when you’d have to leave the island.”

“I’ve never thought of leaving.”

“It’s there, just below the surface; you even have your excuse ready—-that you want to complete your training.”

“What does it have to do with ... with what you’ve already suggested?”

“Only this. If you left your mother here you’d be lonely and wretched. You’d have no proper home, and though you might be one of the lucky few who marry doctors, you might just as easily be one of the others who marry the first man who’s willing, for a home and security. You have an appealing personality, Sally, and you have the gentle touch. I wouldn’t have you buffeted about while you wait for some crazy love affair to end in marriage.”

“I ... I don’t think I’m going to marry at all,” she said jerkily.

His smile was almost brotherly. “Oh, yes, you are. You know, the real trouble is that you didn’t know young Peter Mailing for long enough. If you’d got beyond the dreamy stage with him, you’d have fallen straight into the depths when you two parted—and you wouldn’t be so dogmatic about love at this moment. It would have done you the world of good.”

“How can you be so ... so nonchalant about it?” she demanded shakily. “A minute ago you called this a proposition, and that’s what it is. A cold, hateful, impossible proposition! I want nothing to do with it.”

Evenly, he said, “When we really understand each other there’ll be nothing cold or hateful about it, I assure you. I need a wife, I’m fond of you and want to make you happy, and I don’t need to point out that you’re accepted and liked here. Once the difficulties of the situation have disappeared you’ll feel more relaxed, and the distaste, or dislike, or whatever it is, will fade out.”

She put an unsteady hand to her cheek. “To you it’s all very simple. You had a fiancée in England...”

“Let’s not discuss that.”

“It’s part of the whole,” she said huskily. “I know why you think it’s a pity I didn’t have an affair with Peter. If it had ended unhappily it might have left me weak and willing. Yours was rather more than an affair, but you’re a man, so your reaction was rather different. You lost the woman you wanted, so any presentable woman will do now, and if she happens to be young and tractable...”

“Good lord, no one could call you tractable!”

“... so much the better,” she ended the sentence, as if he had not spoken. “You can’t blame me if I feel insulted!”

His posture did not alter by a fraction, but his whole body and the hawk like face became taut; his eyelids narrowed, so that the irises of his eyes looked like flashes of jet.

The odd foreign intonation came into his voice as he said, “That is a peculiar reception for the greatest compliment a man can pay a woman. You know me well enough to be sure that I’m not acting impulsively. You are also capable of weighing up the benefits to yourself. For my part, I shall be only too happy to have this situation eased and the future planned. Needless to say, my wife will always be my first consideration, in everything.”

“But you won’t be in love with her, because some other woman...”

“Others are irrelevant!” he said, at last allowing anger to become audible in his tones. “You must think it over sanely, and we’ll talk again in a few days. It will help you if I go out for the rest of the day. Tomorrow morning we’ll go out to the beach, perhaps—or wherever you wish. We’ll see more of each other, alone. I shan’t want your decision till you’re quite ready to give it.”

“You have my decision,” she said unsteadily. “For Dona Inez I’ll go along as we are for a while, but beyond that ... nothing doing.”

“Think it over,” he said again. “Ask yourself what it is you really hate. Is it me, or is it a situation in which a caress becomes a stage gesture? Take your time over it. We won’t discuss it again till you’ve thought about it.” Without another word he went from the room, and Sally was left standing as she had stood throughout the interview, only a pace or two inside the door with the back of a chair behind her, for support. She slumped back against it, with the ridge of its high back across her shoulder blades. Soon, she was sure, it was going to be almost impossible to believe what she had just heard from Marcus.

CHAPTER SIX

IT was a long and totally unreal day for Sally. There was lunch outdoors with an effervescent Viola and a smiling, watchful Josef; Katarina serving them herself, while the
senora
slept, because she liked Josef to have the titbits he preferred. There was a strange, hazy afternoon in the garden and then tea alone with her mother.

Viola, dabbing her neatly crimsoned mouth with a wisp of lace, said this was certainly the life, wasn’t it, darling? “You go on for year after monotonous year, comparatively happy—because you’ve no experience of anything different. I’m not being disloyal to your father, Sally, but he was rather stuck in a groove, and because I was so fond of him he kept me there with him. Once he’d given me the continental honeymoon I wanted, Devonshire and the Lakes were as far as he wanted to go, and frankly, I used to find our annual leave rather a bore. I longed for something that I knew must exist, and now I’ve found it, right here on San Palos!”

“You wouldn’t be so keen on the island if the Navy weren’t here.”

“No, of course not. They turn Naval Town into a busy little slice of England, and the officers are great fun. If you hadn’t been snatched by Marcus I could have found you a nice husband among them. Mind you, they get a bit serious at times. At the moment they’re worked up because one of their launches was stolen the other day. It turned up again, but it had been used by someone who had no respect for Navy property. Seems that so far they haven’t had to guard their small craft, but they’re setting a watch, now.” She sighed, but not deeply. “You can’t imagine anything really horrid happening on San Palos, can you? Lilac harvest, grape harvest, wine-making,
fiestas ...
work and play, but no intrigue.”

Only private intrigue, thought Sally despondently. She looked up at the Mauresque artistry of the balcony arches, saw Josef gazing enigmatically down at them, and shifted her glance to the trailing plants about the lily-pool at the other side of the courtyard. The sun was shining over there, causing blinding little flashes of lights where it slanted over the faint ripples.

This wasn’t the first time she had felt out of tune with her mother, but she had never before felt so blankly and desperately alone. “Are you staying in this evening?” she asked.

“No, I’m going to some sort of social affair in the town. We were all invited, as a matter of fact—you and Marcus as well, but as Marcus is tied up...” She broke off and resumed happily, “Why not come, anyway? There’s quite a number of spare men.”

Why not, indeed? What could she do here, but palpitate all alone in her room?
“
Yes, I’d like to come,” she said quickly. “You wear blue and I’ll wear the pink and brown. We may shake them a little!”

But somehow the evening didn’t come alive for Sally. She saw fresh-faced naval men, some wives and a few island girls with their
duennas,
was danced with and chattered to, given drinks, cigarettes and several compliments. Coming home there was a bright waning moon over the trees and the sound of a breeze through the valleys, the scent of lilac, the caressing feel of the Mediterranean spring. But a shutter had come down between Sally and the outside world. When she reached her bedroom she was isolated, wide awake, with her thoughts.

Her brain was working now with frightening clarity. Marcus had asked her to marry him. He wasn’t in love with her—didn’t even pretend to be—and he had no notion that she was in love with him, but he was willing, coolly and efficiently, to make her his wife and the mistress of Las Vinas.

Examined dispassionately, it wasn’t so amazing as it had at first appeared. True, she was only nineteen, knew very little Spanish and nothing about running such a household. But circumstances had thrust her, metaphorically as well as literally, into his arms. So that an old, frail woman should not be shocked into an attack which might kill her, Sally had consented to a few weeks’ engagement. She hadn’t liked the idea, but there had been no harm intended by the deception, only good. At the end of a month or so she would have regretfully decided that she could not make Marcus happy, have withdrawn from the household and made private plans for the future.

But in view of the doctor’s verdict, that couldn’t happen now. Dona Inez’s health was more finely balanced upon her emotions than even Marcus had thought. It would be quite easy to argue that Dona Inez was no concern of Sally’s, that she couldn’t have her future dictated by solicitude for an elderly Spanish woman she had known for only a couple of weeks. Yes, quite easy—but nothing could alter the fact that Sally had come to like the old
senora
and feel more than liking for Marcus. They were complications she could not ignore; they colored everything.

For Marcus, she thought bitterly, everything had become clear-cut. After his talk with Carlos he had considered the whole situation with clinical thoroughness; he would have made an excellent surgeon. Back in England, two or three months ago, he had cut adrift from the woman he had meant to marry. In his way he had loved her—no doubt about that. A man like Marcus wouldn’t travel to England for one particular woman unless she meant more to him than any other woman in the world. It had probably irked him that she was an actress; he had even told Sally, offhandedly, that Nadine was not a good actress; yet the press cutting Sally had found had praised Nadine, though briefly. Marcus had disliked Nadine’s profession and perhaps naturally had thought she would give it up for him. Her refusal to do so would have jarred something deep within him, his overpowering masculinity and the touch of Spanish blood that made it imperative for his wife to be all woman and his possession.

So he had put Nadine behind him. It couldn’t have been easy and the effort had left him cool and uncaring. Some time, he had decided, he would marry a Spanish girl; that was that.

Then, quite suddenly, the incident of the tipsy Jim McCartney and the news that Dona Inez had been stricken. And there he was, at Las Vinas with a pseudo-fiancée and her mother, being kind and considerate, grave about Dona Inez and gently mocking at the dining table when guests congratulated him and told him that Sally was a lovely surprise. Had Sally been in the mood for it, she could have had heaps of private enjoyment with Marcus over the situation.

But the worst had happened. Marcus had not remained the aloof man who had made her uneasy; he had become closer and more comprehensible. His proprietorial pose had awakened her, his lightest touch held magnetism, and the mere suggestion of intimacy brought her heart into, her throat. Shatteringly, she had fallen in love with a man who had no use for a loving woman.

And now, because he had to marry some time and Sally had the
senora’s
welfare in her hands, he had decided that marriage with her might suit him very well. A six months’ engagement, he had said. Just long enough for her to become well known on the island and decisively introduced to his various sets of relations, near and distant. Just long enough for the atmosphere of Las Vinas to seep into her, for the idea of becoming a del Moscado Durant to grow into the mo
s
t desirable goal on earth. He’d be a devoted husband; no doubt about that.

Pacing her bedroom, Sally tried to see herself as Marcus’s wife. It was impossible. As a genuine fiancée, then. That was less difficult, but she could visualize it only as a rather bleak relationship because in an engagement two hearts explore each other with love and tenderness and understanding; one heart struggling alone would be a forlorn thing. And yet...

Perhaps because she wanted it so much, Sally compelled her thoughts into more hopeful channels. Love begets love, so they say. If she showed him, gradually, that her heart was brimming and her life full, because of him, surely Marcus would come to respond? With care and as much understanding as she could muster she might be able to make herself indispensable to him, and while she waited for his love there would be the warmth of friendship, the belonging, the slender bond between them which must surely strengthen with time?

Sally undressed and put out the light, went into her balcony and looked over a world of black trees, of indigo sky lit by a moon she could not see. She leant on the wall and looked down at the eerie darkness of the garden and the wedge of courtyard that was visible from this angle. And almost without volition, her gaze shifted towards other balconies. There was no light in Marcus’s room, no light anywhere. It was two o’clock, and she ought to have been in bed like the others. Was Marcus awake? Was he lying in one of those great ornate beds with his hands under his head and a gaze fixed upon the ceiling? Or, having made his own decision, was he calmly awaiting hers, and sleeping peacefully at this moment?

In a wave of ungoverned imagination she saw him slicking back his dark hair in front of a bedroom mirror, saw him turning and leaning over her with that tolerant, knowledgeable smile on his lips. He’d make love as he did everything else, expertly. She shivered, and oddly she remembered a lecturer at St. Alun’s telling the student nurses: “Don’t give your heart to nursing—give your body and your brain. It’s not difficult to become expert at something that doesn’t touch the heart. In the nursing profession we want experts.” That was the lecturer’s opinion, of course, and Sally hadn’t entirely agreed with it.

A little blindly, she shook her head. She was getting mixed up now, sliding away from the subject because she was tired. And yet she was sure she wouldn’t sleep, because there was still the other side of things to mull over. Supposing she stood out for the keeping of their first bargain. A week from now she would be free of Las Vinas, free to work at the nursing home, though it was far more likely that she would go home and complete her training. And ahead there wouldn’t only be the loneliness and wretchedness Marcus had mentioned; there’d be the haunting knowledge that she needn’t have been lonely and full of grief.

She could have had a gracious home near her mother, and a small part of Marcus.
Anything
here at Las Vinas was better than nothing at all in England.

From the corner of her eye she caught a movement below, and turned her head. Someone had appeared there, a man wearing a dark jacket over a white shirt and slacks. She peered down and saw it was Josef, and in almost the same moment he raised his head and saw her. For a second he hesitated, and then he came to the flagstones just under her balcony and spoke up to her, softly.

“You, too, are unable to sleep,
senorita
? You are feeling as despondent as I?” She shook her head and gestured him to silence, but had no time to move back before he added, “‘I have not yet forgiven myself for speaking as I did this morning. Much as I desire to remain here and get to work, I will leave San Palos if it embarrasses you. I mean it, with all my heart.”

She shook her head again, whispered, “Goodnight,” and went into her room, pulling the french window closed behind her.

The small encounter jolted her memory. She heard Josef’s hot pronouncement in his own room: “Marcus wants only a mistress for his house, a mother for his children. His whole life is the estate of Las Vinas and that actress in London!”

That actress in London. Marcus had business interests in England, was bound to go over there occasionally. Nadine Carmody knew all about those interests, and if she cared for Marcus she would see him again. She might even be the sort of woman who’d prefer him to be married. A career for herself, a lover...

Sally crawled exhaustedly into bed. You can’t have it all ways, my girl, she told herself hollowly. If you want the man you have to take his background as well. But you don’t have to take another woman, not if you’re canny and feminine and determined.

Sally had never felt less determined in her life. When sleep eventually stole over her she only knew that she loved Marcus wholly and desperately. Her problem was no nearer solution than that; or so she thought.

* * *

During the next few days the whole atmosphere at Las Vinas became subtly lightened. Josef borrowed a car and went out a good deal, Viola was expansively ecstatic about the opening of her flower counter next Monday, Dona Inez merged her birdlike watchfulness with benign content, and even Katarina was seen to smile dourly and help the other servants when she was free. But it was Marcus’s attitude that helped Sally most.

After that painful interview she had not seen him till next day at lunch. It was windy, and they had all lunched together in the dining room: Marcus and Sally, Carlos, Josef, Viola, Captain Northwick and a shipping agent named Essler who obviously thought Viola Sheppard the wittiest and most attractive woman on earth.

Sally was wearing a print frock, splashes of orange and black on white, and maybe the brilliance of color contrast had detracted from the small amount of pink in her cheeks. Through lack of sleep there were dark smudges under her eyes, but knowing that cowardice wouldn’t help she met Marcus’s glance squarely. He smiled reassuringly, spoke to her in warm tones that all could hear.

“Did you get my message? As it was so windy I thought we’d drop the idea of going to the beach this morning and have a picnic tea this afternoon instead. There are several spots where you can get right away from the breeze. Any of you others care to come?”

All were in favor except Carlos. “I have been here at Las Vinas so much lately that my records are suffering. I must certainly attack them strongly this afternoon.”

So they had eaten and chatted, rested, tidied up and spread themselves out in two cars. And during the whole of that afternoon, while they drove through vineyards and cruised along coastal roads that gave magnificent vistas, while they drank tea and ate sandwiches and sweet cakes, and strolled among the rock plants and carob and wild figs, Marcus was charming and mocking and very much the thoughtful host and overlord. There was no marring incident. Even when Josef Carvallo mentioned at one spot that they were close to the clay-field, and that he knew of a small place which he could rent, Marcus commented upon it without sarcasm.

“We could probably make a go of a small pottery industry,” he said. “But it wouldn’t be any use producing till you were sure of a market throughout the Mediterranean. Why not give Essler some copies of your designs? He could sound the market for you.”

Josef looked slightly stunned. “Do I have to thank Sally for this? Has she been interceding for me?”

Marcus smiled. “She’s on your side, of course; you look appealing since you cracked your head. But she hasn’t been begging for you.”

“Then perhaps the good Dona Inez!” He sighed. “She hardly spoke when I saw her this morning.”

“She hasn’t weighed you up yet. I’ve never been against your going in for ceramics—only against your starting something you might get tired of.”

“I shall not tire of it,” said Josef quickly. “The small house I wish to rent is one of yours, Marcus. The old people are moving out to live with a daughter and the place will be empty. I could use the lower rooms as the factory and live above them.”

“No harm in that. You can even put in some equipment and start preparing your clay, if you like. Use it as a hobby to keep you going till we hear Essler’s findings. If you made a few articles, experimentally, Northwick could probably take them for his store. They’ll sell to tourists.”

“And when I need money for a mill and tools and wages?” Josef asked cautiously.

“It’ll be available—to you or to anyone else who’s willing to develop an industry that will benefit the island.”

Josef did not press his luck beyond that point. Looking over her shoulder at him, Sally saw that his smooth Latin face hadn’t yet lost the expression of blank incredulity—or was it puzzlement? She glanced at Marcus, saw a smile on his lips and caught a half wink when he briefly turned his head her way. The weighty feeling round her heart eased a little.

There were other guests that evening, among them Pedro and Isabel Suarez. The woman’s guttural, crooning speech was a tenuous link between Marcus and Sally. We’re actually sharing small jokes, Sally thought tremulously; can it last?

There were several guests next day, and the day after. It seemed accidental that she and Marcus were never alone together, but she knew he was arranging things that way. He jollied her into playing cards, into bathing from the pale, rock-strewn beach. With others, they watched the lilac-picking.

“See how cleverly it’s done?” he said, as he stood beside her at the edge of the forest of pale mauve blossom. “A snip, and the spray drops straight into the basket that hangs from the shoulder. Most of them use small pruning scissors for the job, but some of the older hands refuse them. They swear there’s nothing like their horny old thumbnails for speed and accuracy.”

Except for two or three boys, the pickers were women of all ages. They were dressed in their oldest cottons and the flat, home-made sandals of the island. The sun was warm, but not sufficiently strong to force the wearing of headgear. Glossy black curls and iron-grey knots moved among the laden branches, but a burst of song was often the only indication that a picker was near.

“The scent is almost stupefying, isn’t it?” she said. “And the sprays are so lush. I wish English people could see it. Have you ever sent any over by air?”

She meant commercially, but the moment she had spoken she realized he could infer something else. There seemed to be an imperceptible pause before he answered pleasantly,

“Yes, I’ve sent a box or two to friends. I send grapes too. If they go out by ferry on the day they’re picked and catch the plane at Majorca they reach the addressee within twenty-four hours—still warm from the San Palos sun!”

Well, there was bound to be a bit of thin ice about. Trust Marcus to skim round it with the minimum of delay. She turned to her mother.

“Would you like to post some lilac to one or two people in England?”

“I don’t think so, darling. It’s awfully naughty of me, but I’ve decided I won’t bother to keep in touch. Have you written many letters?”

“Only a few, to friends at St. Alun’s.”

“Do you want to send them some lilac?” asked Marcus.

“Not all of them. There’s one who has a birthday about now, and I’m sure she’d like it. The others would wonder if she had lost her mind—sending flowers to nurses who have more than enough to do with them on duty—but Betty’s different. She and I used to...”

“Yes?” prompted Marcus, as she halted.

Viola waved airily. “They were wild flower enthusiasts—the first celandine, the first violet, the first primrose. I remember Sally crouching over a snowdrop that had pushed its way through slush in our tiny garden. She needed some new woollies at the time, but the sight of that rash little snowdrop meant more than if she’d been given a cheque for twenty pounds!”

“Good for Sally,” said Marcus quietly, looking at her pink cheeks and lowered eyelids. “Write a note and give it to me. I’ll have some lilac picked first thing on Monday morning and kept on ice till it’s delivered to the ferry at eleven.”

“You spoil her,” said Viola. “But you spoil me too, so I’ve no grouse. Except that I’ve really had enough of staring at this sea of lilac, and the donkeys they use for transport do come uncomfortably close. May we go now?”

They were given cups of chocolate and almond fancies by Senora Suarez and eventually got back into the cars. The others were going straight back to town, so only Viola and Sally accompanied Marcus, and Viola, as usual, was in the front seat.

“Have you seen my little bower at the store, Marcus?” she asked as they wound down the lovely scented road. When he had nodded she went on, “From Monday, I shall be going down every morning for three hours. I shall only work in the afternoons when I have an order to decorate a house or a hall for some event. I’ve been wondering what I shall do for transport. Captain Northwick would arrange it for me, but I don’t want to depend on him outside the business.”

Marcus slanted her a mocking glance. “That’s very wise. If you grant too many favors to the Captain, the other one, Essler, will conclude that you’ve made your choice. And you haven’t yet, have you?”

Viola gave her high-pitched, bell-like laugh. “Don’t tease about such things, Marcus. They’re both very nice, but I hardly know them. I owe nothing to Mr. Essler, and if I can show only a small profit to the Captain I shan’t be at all in his debt. In any case, as I pointed out to him at the beginning, the people who come in to buy flowers might easily stroll through the rest of the store and buy something else that they hadn’t really intended to buy. So he won’t know just how profitable the flower department will be.”

“That’s surprisingly shrewd of you. I’ve an idea that you can already do as you like with the Captain.”

“Which is another reason why I’d rather not ask more favors of him.”

“Well, we can arrange transport. One of the gardeners is a good driver, and he’ll take you down and pick you up every day.”

“That’s sweet of you, dear, but it won’t quite do. You see, I already have a few nice orders, and right from the start I’ll need a car. I do drive, you know. Of course, I could make use of the Casa Northwick utility, but it would be restricting because I could only have it when it’s free. I was wondering whether I could use the small car that Josef Carvallo drives sometimes. He could have it most afternoons.”

Sally leaned forward anxiously. “Mother, don’t you think the business should pay for your transport?”

“Frankly,” said Viola, smiling blandly, “I don’t think it will be able to stand the expense for some time. Marcus understands—don’t you, Marcus?”

“Perfectly,” he said. “Use the small car, by all means. Josef is moving out, anyway.”

“To that house you said he could have?” asked Sally curiously.

He nodded and turned his head slightly, so that she could hear him. “I told him that if he can get established in a small way without any further help from me, I’ll see that he gets all the financial help he needs for expansion. All I want is proof that the leopard has changed his spots.”

“You don’t believe he has, do you?”

“No, but it’s one case in which I’ll be glad to be proved wrong. It’ll be good to have him out of the house, anyway.”

“Sally will miss him,” said Viola. “She and Josef always seem able to find something to talk about. And they have secrets too Don’t you, darling?”

“What secrets?” asked Marcus non-committally.

“None that I can remember,” said Sally.

“Oh, dear, have I made a blue?” queried Viola contritely. “Let’s forget it, then.”

“What secrets?” repeated Marcus.

Viola flung a penitent look at Sally before she answered him. “It was only something Katarina told me. She said that the other night Dona Inez needed one of her pills and there were none left in the bedroom, so she went to get a new supply from somewhere or other. It was in the early hours and everyone should have been sleeping, but she heard voices, and traced them to Sally’s balcony. Being nosey, or worried, or something, she went further, and saw Sally in her balcony talking down to Josef in the
patio
.”

There was a brief silence during which Sally sat, a little numb, waiting for whatever might come next.

“Why did Katarina tell you that?” asked Marcus, still without expression.

Viola shrugged distastefully. “It’s nothing, Marcus. I do hate servants’ gossip and I had no intention of mentioning it to anyone at all—not even to Sally. I’m sure I don’t want our relationships upset in any way.”

“You haven’t said why Katarina told you,” Marcus persisted, in those even tones. “She’s Spanish, and I can understand that the incident might have disturbed her, but did she explain why she came to you—not to anyone else?”

“Because I’m Sally’s mother, I suppose,” said Viola, quite upset at her own stupidity. “She said she had no wish to spy, that what Sally and Josef had said to each other was harmless, but that she thought I ought to know, so that I could watch, and warn Sally against indiscretion.”

“And you didn’t warn Sally,” he said inexorably.

“Of course not. Sally and Josef may play together, but that’s all. I was sure there must be some very simple explanation, and to be quite honest I forgot it—till it slipped out just now.”

Marcus didn’t say anything more, and from the angle at which he held his head it was impossible to see whether he had completely lost the new urbanity. The car purred down the hillside into grape country, took the long winding lane to Las Vinas. It was Friday, the day when the fishermen loaded their catch into baskets, slung them across their donkeys’ backs and trudged all over the island, selling in the villages; they waved as the car passed them. There would be langouste cooked in wine for lunch today; the thought of it made Sally feel rather sick.

It was a relief, when they arrived at Las Vinas, to find a couple of naval men waiting for Marcus in the courtyard. They bowed to the two women, spoke to him at once.

“We caught a chap in one of our launches—didn’t seem to be doing anything queer, but he was a civilian on official property, which is an offence. We took him up to the office for questioning to see if he knew anything about the launch that was borrowed without permission a week ago, but he’s asked for his rights—to be questioned in the presence of the San Palos magistrate. If you can come down now, Mr. Durant, it could probably be cleared up in ten minutes.”