Red Lotus (11 page)

Julio would come home. Wished, too, that he would try to understand Philip a little better.

At such a point in her reasoning she had always to force back the memory of Julio's terrible belief that Philip was responsible for his sister's death. She would not think about it unless she had to, however. She could not bring herself to believe that it was true.

By the end of a fortnight, Sisa and she had explored all the valley and gone twice on horseback down a long, narrow barranco leading to the sea. They had picnicked there, although the beach was no more than a narrow black bar of volcanic sand washed by the ceaseless Atlantic swell.

"Tomorrow," Sisa said on the way back from the last of these excursions, "we will go to the Playa. There is yellow sand there, and the water is very blue. Philip will take us on his way to Granadilla," she added, taking her guardian's consent for granted in the delightful way she had when she was sure of Philip's kindness.

He appeared to be willing enough to take them to the Playa, and to Felicity's surprise and delight, Conchita decided to accompany them at the last moment.

"It is so hot!" she complained. "At least, the Playa is beside the sea."

She got into the front of the car, as if it were the accepted thing that she alone should sit beside Philip during the journey, and he did not protest, turning round before they set out to see if Felicity and Sisa were comfortable in the back.

"You will see quite well from there," he said. "I won't drive fast."

It was a wonderful experience for Felicity, sitting there in the open car watching the wide panorama of the winding, indented coast opening out before her with every twist of the road, yet somewhere deep within her she was aware of a growing sense of loneliness, a groping blindly in a world apart which had nothing to do with their journey to the Playa nor the prospect of a perfect day spent leisurely in the sun.

It had to do with the questioning, agonizing doubt in her heart when she thought about Philip Arnold and the accident which had cost her cousin her life.

Was it on a road such as this, she wondered, that Maria

had crashed to her death, and why had Julio cried so passionately that Philip had lied about the car?

On such a golden day these were black thoughts indeed to carry with her, but Julio's continuing absence from home had accentuated them and Philip himself had done nothing to explain them away.

All along the roadside the tamarisk bushes bent their heads before the prevailing wind from the west and the tall island palms festooned the horizon. Birds sang, and Sisa and sometimes Conchita named them for her, but Philip remained silent, his eyes riveted on the difficult way ahead.

Was this the road? Was it a journey so full of memories for him that he dared not trust himself to speak? She closed her eyes against the sunshine, trying to shut out the vision of a car, driven at speed, along the way they were going now, until Sisa asked if, she had a headache and she was forced to open them again and see Philip sitting within the reach of her outstretched hand there in the front seat—there beside Conchita.

He left them at the Playa, and almost immediately another car came hurtling down the narrow road behind them, throwing up a cloud of dust because it was travelling so fast.

"It's the Mercedes!" Sisa cried excitedly. "The de Barrios are coming!"

Felicity's heart seemed to stand still at the words. Would Philip think that this had been a planned affair, she wondered for a split second before she realized how ridiculous that was. She could not have planned his visit to Granadilla for him, even if she had wanted to meet Rafael de Barrios a thousand times over.

It was not the Marques, however, who stepped from behind the wheel of the big, sleek tourer to wave Sisa a friendly welcome. It was a tall, almost incredibly handsome woman in a white linen dress which enhanced the brown of her skin and deepened her eyes and her blue-black hair to the colour of the midnight sky when there are no stars visible. She was, without doubt, the most distinguished-looking woman Felicity had ever seen and she spoke English with no more than the trace of an accent.

"Sisa, querida!" she smiled. "It is good to see you once

again! How long is it since you were at Zamora? Two whole weeks, if I am not mistaken, and Andrea threatening to ride over to San Lozaro every day to bring you!"

"Why did she not come?" Sisa asked, lifting her cheek to be kissed. "She could have come with us on our rides. Oh—" She turned hastily to include Felicity in her excited chatter. "This is my cousin from England. I told you about her when we met on the way back from La Orotava."

Felicity held out her hand to the older woman, aware of an impact she had not been expecting and conscious of two dark eyes scrutinizing her closely and frankly and liking what they saw.

"Sisa never finishes an introduction when she is taken by surprise," the Marquesa de Barrios said with a smile. "I'm Isabella de Barrios and you are Felicity Stanmore. You see, already I know quite a lot about you!"

Which was probably true, Felicity thought. These wide, far-seeing eyes were surely rarely mistaken in their swift summing-up. Isabella de Barrios looked thirty and was possibly a little more. Her skin was flawless and her eyes were clear and amused. She wore her hair in a heavy chignon at the nape of her long, shapely neck, giving her bearing an added dignity, Felicity thought. She was tall for a woman—as tall as Philip, perhaps, and certainly as tall as her husband.

Felicity pulled her thoughts up before the memory of Rafael de Barrios, and then she was aware of nothing but anger—an intense, personal anger directed against herself because she had let herself imagine even for a moment that any man could be attracted to her while he was married to a woman like this.

And suddenly she knew how relieved she was that Philip Arnold could not possibly have taken her attraction seriously.

He knew Isabella de Barrios: knew and respected her, and he must surely be only amused that Felicity should have succumbed to the Marques' charm so readily.

The thought of his amusement hurt, of course, but it was easier to face than the suspicion of his contempt.

"And now you must meet Andrea—and Celeste." Isabella de Barrios drew her sisters-in-law towards her with a gentle movement which was almost tender in its eagerness to

acknowledge them. "We are a large family at Zamora, Miss Stanmore, but soon you must come and meet us all."

"I—think I have already met your husband," Felicity said.

"Rafael?" A small, scarcely-discernible smile passed in the dark eyes. "Yes, he has told me. You travelled from Madrid on the same plane, did you not?"

She had not mentioned Robert Hallam's funeral and their second meeting, and Felicity saw her glance in Sisa's direction and knew that she sought to spare her favourite a return of heartache.

It was then that she appeared to notice Conchita for the first time, and in that moment her expression changed from one of smiling pleasure to acute watchfulness. Conchita had lingered at the water's edge as long as she dared, but now she came towards them with a forced smile, and something like pain crossed Isabella de Barrios' eyes as she greeted her.

"Good day, Conchita!"

"Good day, Isabella!" Conchita returned guardedly. "We did not expect to see you here, at the Playa."

"I came because the children longed to feel the warm sand under the feet and the sea on their skins." Isabella turned towards Felicity with a hint of relief in her smile. "A swimming-pool is not quite the same, is it? There is nothing quite like the feel of the surf."

"I wondered if it was safe to bathe," Felicity said.

"Oh, perfectly safe! No one ever comes here, to this part of the Playa, in the middle of the week."

Isabella had misunderstood her, Felicity mused, thinking that she had been worried about their privacy, but really she had answered both questions. She smiled a little at the thought of the Spanish girl's guarded upbringing, realizing that perhaps this had been her uncle's real reason for appointing Philip to his present position at San Lozaro. In over thirty years on the island he must have accepted at least some of the customs and characteristics of his Spanish wife and neighbours.

They undressed in the tent Isabella had brought with her and plunged thankfully into the sea. The surf at this point was not quite so strong as it was further north. Its approach to the Playa was gentle and beguiling, and Felicity thought that she had never seen a sea so blue. She could have

lingered there all day, letting the gentle water flow quickly over her skin or basking in the sun afterwards under the palms. It was an exotic enough setting to please anyone, with El Teide in the background hiding his snow-crowned head in a cloud. She knew that she could have stayed there for ever; that she could have lived her life out on this perfect island with nothing but happiness in her heart.

Yet already there was a small cloud forming on her horizon, as small as the cloud that played about the brow of El Teide, and deep down she was aware of a sense of hurt, of inner conflict which she could not understand, a longing and a fear which set her heart beating ponderously whenever she thought about the months to come.

"Soon we will have to go," Andrea said disappointedly when they had folded up the tent.

"Wait till Philip comes," Sisa begged, looking at Isabella. "He is to return for us at five o'clock."

Isabella hesitated. It was no more than a fraction of a second's doubt, but Maria's name sprang unbidden to Felicity's mind again, almost as if Isabella de Barrios had repeated Julio's ugly accusation of murder there on the quiet beach.

"Of course we will wait," Isabella agreed almost immediately. "It is far too long since we saw Philip. He is generally much too busy to come on picnics."

"He has gone to Granadilla on business," Sisa agreed. "But he has promised to join us for tea."

"And Philip never breaks his promises," Isabella said.

Conchita shot her a veiled glance. She seemed impatient, almost eager to get away from the Playa now, although she knew that they must wait for Philip's return.

"If you do go before Philip comes, Isabella, may I ride back with you?" she asked. "I have not been to Zamora for a very long time."

Isabella suppressed what might have been an expression of the utmost irritation.

"You must come soon, Conchita," she said, "but not to-day. Not when Philip is expecting to find you here on his return."

Conchita pouted, flinging herself face downwards on the hot sand.

"It will not matter," she murmured rebelliously, "and I like to be at Zamora."

"You may ask Philip," Isabella returned with a strange constriction in her voice, "for here he comes."

She had been first to notice the car on its tortuous journey down to the beach, and Philip waved to them when he came near enough to see the Mercedes parked in the shade of the palms.

When he got out he came straight towards Isabella, and Felicity saw the Marquesa catch her breath and smile, as if, indeed, it had been far too long since their last meeting.

Philip held both the long, slender hands in his, but he did not bend over them or kiss them as her husband would have done in similar circumstances. He was far too British in everything he did for that. Yet there was an intimacy beyond doubting between them, a pleasure in this meeting which neither of them cared to deny.

"Philip!" Isabella cried. "This is good, seeing you so unexpectedly! We know you have been to Granadilla on business, but now it is past five o'clock, and you must forget about work, in the English fashion!" she teased.

"I had already made up my mind to do that, just for once," he told her, still holding her fingers imprisoned. "How are you, Isabella?" His blue eyes searched the dark ones which were almost level with his. "Are you quite well again?"

"Quite well, Philip." Isabella's thick black lashes came down for a moment over her eyes, veiling them, hiding her expression for a split second before she added: "The loss of the baby is now almost forgotten."

Philip did not think it was. Felicity could see that. He knew that Isabella was putting up a tremendous fight for composure and he tried to help her. There was tenderness between them for a moment before he let the slim brown fingers go, and then he turned to Andrea and Celeste to talk about their swimming and challenge them to a race some other day.

Both girls seemed to be overjoyed at his coming, and Sisa always blossomed when he was near. It was only Conchita who frowned. She lay on the sand, watching him sulkily, her long, silken lashes veiling her eyes, and what was going on behind those eyes baffled Felicity, at least.

Conchita was half child, half woman, she supposed. She was at that awkward stage of growing up where every reprimand is a slight, every harsh word a heartbreak. She

could also fall so easily in love. So easily and so tempestuously!

Looking at her sitting there in the sunshine, covering her slim brown legs with the wide folds of her white skirt, Felicity could not make up her mind whether Conchita was already in love or not.

And suddenly Conchita did not seem to matter so much. For her eyes had turned towards Philip where he sat at Isabella de Barrios' feet, contentedly munching brown bread and tomatoes, his blue eyes on the distant sea.