Red Lotus (13 page)

"Rafael," she said, "you must organize a drive to Las Canadas for us! It is lovely there, and Miss Stanmore has not yet seen The Peak."

"Miss Stanmore must be without the use of her eyesight, then!" Rafael chided teasingly. "El Teide is to be seen everywhere and at every hour of the day!"

"Except when he is hidden in mist," Celeste reminded him, "and then no one can see clearly. You know that I meant near at hand—right up on Las Canadas, or even up to the very top. To the crater itself."

"That will be a major operation," Rafael smiled, evading the issue. "It could be undertaken, of course, given the right circumstances." He looked directly at his wife for the first time. "Isabella will be only too pleased to organize such an excursion, I feel sure. She knows The Peak so well."

Now Felicity was sure of the undercurrent which she had only suspected before. It ran strongly between these two, something that could almost be felt, a suggestion of distrust and pain flowing beneath the surface like a dark river with no outlet, a rising tide of discord which even the patient Isabella might not be
able to control much longer.
Suddenly she knew that Philip was also aware of it. The knowledge was in his eyes and in the hard set of his jaw as he looked at Rafael, and more than anything else in the silence he maintained as he waited for them to say their final goodbyes.

He let in his clutch as soon as Conchita had seated herself in her original place by his side, and Felicity settled down in the back beside Sisa for the long drive home.

"Goodbye, Felicity," Isabella said. "I hope you will come again—with Sisa."

Her hand was still resting on the car door, and for a fraction of a second Philip's strong fingers closed over it, pressing it tightly.

"I'm sorry," he said, and Felicity knew that only Isabella had been meant to hear.

The blue eyes and the brown met for a moment of complete sympathy and understanding. Felicity tried to persuade herself that it was nothing more.

They drove back to San Lozaro in a thoughtful silence: Conchita preoccupied; Philip giving all his attention to the dangerous, winding road, and only Sisa smiling happily at the prospect of tomorrow.

When they reached the hacienda all the lights were lit and the strains of music came streaming out to them on the cool night air. Guitars and maraccas were being played with island abandonment and there was much laughter flowing from the direction of the patio and the sound of tinkling glass.

Philip drew up the car in the courtyard beyond the inner wall.

"It's Julio," Sisa said with a nervous hesitation in her voice. "He is holding a party."

Philip looked as if he might have been acquainted with Julio's parties in the past. The noise from the patio was almost deafening, and he strode towards it with a brief word of warning.

"Go in by the terrace—if you can get in," he advised. "I think it might be better if you went straight to your rooms."

Conchita stood her ground. Her eyes were half closed and she was already swaying to the music, her movements fluid and graceful as the wild tempo increased and the unseen guitars sobbed out their message of love.

"Why must you always be like this, Philip?" she demanded. "It is a night for dancing. Come! I will show you. Julio's friends will make the music for us!"

She turned towards Philip, lovely and inviting, the red flower in her hair softly caressing her cheek, but Philip took her firmly by the arm.

"Some other time, Conchita," he said sternly. "You can dance at the fiesta—as much as you wish."

"At the Country Club, but not in the streets!" Conchita pouted. "You are so English, Philip—and so cold!"

He led her to the edge of the courtyard without answering, escorting them round the wall to the front of the house. Even here the wild music from the patio followed them, the sound of ribald laughter beating fiercely on their ears, and Felicity watched Philip's frown deepen as he saw the line of patient, tethered mules beside the terrace steps and the abandoned ox-carts beyond the wall.

"Can I do anything, Philip?" she asked. "Can I help in any way?"

He turned to look at her as if he had just remembered her and the fact that she had come to San Lozaro to help.

"Keep Conchita with you," he said briefly. "That will be enough."

On the lovely veined marble table in the hall an array of bottles had been scattered, some upended, others on their sides, the wine they had contained swiftly consumed. Abandoned glasses lay about everywhere, and it was evident that the cellar had been well and truly raided. None of the servants were in sight, but Philip did not seem surprised at the fact.

He stood at the foot of the stairs, waiting until they had reached the gallery in safety before he turned towards the patio, and Felicity quickened her pace with a rapidly-beating heart.

What had Julio done? In the ordinary way a party was quite a natural thing in this sunny land. Everywhere she had gone in the island she had heard music. It was the natural complement to the life of the country people, and surely Philip could not object to that.

"Julio has grieved Philip," Sisa said sadly as they came to the closed door of her room. "There is something he has left undone, surely, when Philip is so angry."

"Philip is angry because it is the plantation labourers that Julio has brought in," Conchita said. "And Julio has done it on purpose to show Philip that he does not care!" She looked half sympathetic towards her brother and half afraid of Philip's obvious anger. "There will be a scene and Julio will go away to the bothy again with the men. He will brood and say that it is where he should be since Philip wishes it. He will say that Philip wants all San Lozaro for himself!"

"Hush, Conchita!" Felicity warned, glancing in Sisa's direction. "We ought to change," she added nervously as the music came to an abrupt stop and there was a grim sort of silence in the rooms beneath them. "We have been out all day and I feel sticky and in need of a bath."

Conchita lingered beside the door, her ears strained for the first sign of revolt from below.

"Please don't go down and cause further trouble, Conchita," Felicity appealed. "It is evident that Philip does not want us to see these people."

"He thinks they have had too much to drink," Conchita laughed. "Well, maybe so, but that makes their music more alive!"

"All the same, you must not go down." There was finality and a new firmness behind Felicity's order. She was as determined on obedience now as Philip had been. "I will let you have first use of the bathroom and Sisa and I will wait here."

Sisa was looking perturbed, but she washed and changed at Felicity's bidding, while Conchita splashed luxuriously in the adjoining bathroom, humming the languorous tune which the guitars had played.

When they were ready to go down for their evening meal Felicity knew that the patio had been cleared. She had heard the ox-carts drive away, their wheels churning over the gravel at the side of the house, and she supposed that Philip had been out there, supervising that comparatively silent departure.

It was impossible to feel happy about the little affair, the clash of wills which she knew must have occurred in the patio when Philip and Julio had come face to face, and she felt sorry for Julio.

"There will be a scene and Julio will go away to the bothy again with the men," Conchita had said, and for the first time Felicity began to wonder if Philip had not been too harsh in his disapproval.

She wondered if he really understood Julio, the moody, impetuous creature of impulse who had not yet grown to man's estate yet thought that he had every right to adult privileges. They were of different blood, born and bred under different circumstances, and Julio's standards were far removed from Philip's own. His blood was warmer, his emotions far nearer the surface. He had never learned to

control them as Philip had done. She felt that there could be no real harm in Julio and decided that it was her task to convince Philip of the fact.

After all, she had come here at her uncle's expressed wish in the hope that she would keep his family together, and this, she was convinced, was no way to do it.

She could not speak to Philip about Julio, however, while Sisa and Conchita were still with them. The atmosphere in the patio was now serene and calm and every sign of the evening's carousal had been removed from the hall by a small army of willing hands. Sabino had donned a fresh white coat and only the satisfaction at the back of his dark eyes suggested that he had been more than relieved at Philip's timely return. He brought a fresh bottle of Malmsey and set it with four glasses on the table beside the fountain, but none of them seemed inclined to sample it. They shared Sisa's lime juice instead, drinking only with their meal.

When their coffee was poured Conchita took her cup and strolled with it to the edge of the patio. The red lotus which she had fastened in her hair earlier in the evening was withered now and discarded when she had taken her bath, but she picked a fresh spray of the fiery blossoms from the courtyard wall, tucking it through the belt of her dress with a little secret smile as she came back into the light. The scarlet flame of the star-shaped flowers stood out sharply against the white of her bodice as she stood looking at them for a moment before she said:

"Julio has gone. Philip, you are too hard on him!" Philip's mouth grew thin.

"I don't think we'll discuss Julio," he said. "He knows that he has done wrong."

"Where has he gone?" Conchita demanded. "Back to the plantation?"

"No," Philip said, but that was all. Even Conchita knew that he would not discuss the situation further while Sisa was there and listening.

"I am going to bed," Sisa said after a while. "If you will excuse me? I am very tired." She stood up, looking across at Philip. "Did you mean it when you said that we could go to Las Canadas with Isabella?" she asked.

"Yes," Philip said, "you can go."

He did not seem to be thinking about Las Canadas, or

Isabella either, and when Conchita strolled off in Sisa's wake, Felicity said:

"Please, Philip, could we speak about Julio for a moment? I know that you have just told Conchita that the subject is closed, but I feel that I have some responsibility towards Julio, too."

The light of one of the wall lamps was directly above her head and Philip sat facing her, his long body stretched out in one of the cane reclining-chairs which they used so much in the evenings, but his face was entirely in shadow. In spite of the fact that she could not see his expression at all clearly, however, she was instantly aware of an intense weariness, of patience stretched to the utmost and a temper held in leash only by the firmest effort of will.

"What is it you want to say—or to ask?"

His voice had been harsh in the extreme, but he had not moved and she could not be sure whether he was angry or not.

"I want to understand about Julio," she said.

"There is very little to understand." Again there was the suggestion of weariness, more evident this time, she thought. "Julio, like a good many other people, is prone to bolt when he feels the bit between his teeth. As soon as the rein is slackened they are away. You cannot give them their head too often for your own safety and peace of mind."

"But—supposing the rein were too tight? Supposing the curb had been applied too freely in the past?"

She sat with her heart racing, waiting for his answer, her cheeks flushed, her hands clasped tightly before her. He would hate to be challenged like this, but she had to know what had happened to Julio.

"Sometimes the curb is more than necessary," he said. "You do not know Julio. He is sullen and quite vindictive, and unfortunately he thinks that I consider him inferior."

"And do you, Philip?"

He took a full minute to answer her.

"No," he said, "not fundamentally. Somewhere there is Hallam blood in him That must surely count for something in the long run."

"But, at the moment, you distrust him?"

Again he hesitated.

"I can't stand it when I see him throwing away some-

thing his father has built up over a lifetime," he said at last.

"You mean the plantation, of course?"

He rose, coming to stand beside her chair and looking down at her in the full light, at last.

"What else?" he demanded. "San Lozaro started from nothing. It started from a dead valley, a place that had been neglected for a hundred years." His eyes went beyond her, out into the still night with its star-bright sky and the constant presence of The Peak hovering above the quiet barrancos. "When El Teide erupted this valley was almost wholly destroyed. The lava came down and cut it off, and nothing was done about it afterwards. It was too remote, it seemed. Even when the soil was ready to use again and crops could have been planted, nobody wanted to do that work. Then your uncle bought it and toiled with the sweat of his brow to bring it to life. He took off the top soil in small sections and broke up the earth-stone underneath. He put the soil back and terraced the land and watered it. It took him nearly forty years to work his way to the top." His voice dropped, the fierceness going out of it of a sudden. "When a man has done that, when he sees his family reaping the benefit of what he has achieved with his own bare hands, he is proud in the only way that pride is justified. And he does not want to see his son throwing it all away for the proverbial 'mess of pottage'."