Red Lotus (20 page)

"Philip," she said, "can you tell me why I should not marry Julio?"

The lamp flickered and went out. She saw him for a moment, vaguely, in the sudden darkness, his tall figure silhouetted against the paler oblong of the starlit garden and the distant, shining Peak. He moved then and in an instant she was in his arms, lying there submissive to his kiss.

It was a kiss of passion, sullen and fierce as Julio's might have been in similar circumstances, demanding, powerful, strong as the iron-hard pressure of his encircling arms. She felt the garden reel about her, the light of the stars blotted out as she closed her eyes, and only the scent of the stephanotis merging with the blurred image of her dream.

Then, just as suddenly, he had thrust reality between them again.

"I had no right to do that," he said. "Forgive me, if you can." He turned away, facing The Peak. "If it influences your final decision, I have only myself to blame."

She wanted to say so much to him, but words would not come and his kiss had confused her. She felt unnerved and at a loss, wanting him to take her in his arms again but realizing that he would not. A moment's madness had possessed him. That was all. Perhaps he had even confused her with Isabella or with the dead Maria for that split second when she had lain in his passionate embrace, feeling the warmth of his lips against hers as if they might draw her whole soul from her body with their strength.

"Go to bed now, Felicity," he said, and his voice was kinder, more tender than she had ever heard it. "Don't try to make any more decisions to-night."

She turned from him, disappointed yet glad to go. What sort of pride did she possess when she knew that she could have begged him to kiss her again, even if it were only with the thought of Isabella de Barrios in his heart?

He followed her to the foot of the staircase, but he did not bid her goodnight. He stood watching until she had reached the top, but when she had walked a little way along the gallery and looked over he had gone.

Out into the night? She did not know, but the first pale streamers of dawn were flying across The Peak before she finally slept herself.

IN the morning she knew that she was going to give Philip her promise. She was going to marry him.

Oh, yes, it was second-best--even third-best if she allowed herself to consider Maria—but she had made up her mind to accept it. She had so much love to offer, so much to give that the question of an adequate return didn't seem to enter into it. Did you weigh love, or measure it, and ask how much you were receiving so that the two might be equal and nobody cheated? If she could give Philip peace of mind and some sort of sanctuary here at San Lozaro would that not be enough for her, too?

She said that it would, convincing herself in spite of the recurring ache in her heart, reiterating for her own comfort the fact that they had something to build together. And in building the home Robert Hallam had wanted for his children might she not be drawn into Philip's heart in the end?

That was her hope, her prayer, her one desire. Misgivings had haunted her through the hours of darkness, but with the quiet dawn her decision had been made. They could do so much in this sheltered valley—together.

That was what it amounted to. Being with Philip for the remainder of her life, not cast out into some desert place, alone. They could walk together hand in hand, in trust and companionship, so that the past might, in time, be forgotten or at least buried so deeply that it would rarely affect them.

She thought how odd it was that she should have come all that way to find her love; odd, too, that she had not known about Philip in that first moment of their meeting, but in the beginning he had seemed to resent her.

Now there was no resentment left. She was sure of that, at least.

Dressing slowly, she wondered when she would find the

opportunity to tell him what she had decided. He had said there was no hurry, and the memory sent a small stab of pain to her heart. She wanted to rush to him now, in the full flush of morning, and cry: "Philip, I love you. I will marry you whenever you like!" She wanted to hold out her arms to him, as any young girl might who had just found her love, but Philip had said there was plenty of time. He had been in no hurry to hear her decision. He might even have felt that he had made a mistake.

Her heart burned with shame as she thought of that passionate kiss of his and his subsequent withdrawal. Even then was he regretting the impulse which had made him ask her to protect the future for him?

Sick with uncertainty, she turned away from the mirror where she could see her slim young figure in the lovely blue dress she had selected for this special day in her life, and walked to the window.

It was open, and the faintly-cloying scent of stephanotis still lingered in the air, rising from the garden at her feet. Beneath the window a bed of tall arum lilies shone, waxlike in the sun, too bridal-looking for her to contemplate without a pang. The whole world about her was full of flowers, but they were flowers which lasted for so short a time. Once you stretched out eager bands to gather them they withered in a day. Even the lilies grew listless and lost their sheen too quickly.

Suddenly her eyes lifted and she was looking at The Peak. Strong, grey, enduring in the sunlight, El Teide rose above her and above the valley he had guarded since the beginning of time. His granite face was turned to the sky, his smile was inexorable, but beneath the hardness and the mystery and the remoteness there was a sense of peace enduring and the sky behind the snow-capped crest was very blue.

I mustn't have any doubts, she thought. Whatever happens, I must trust Philip.

She had almost forgotten about Maria's death, about the gossip there had been.

She went down to the terrace where her breakfast was set, only to find that Philip had gone. Julio, too, had left for the plantations and only-Sisa was waiting for her.

"Is Conchita spending the morning in bed?" she asked, selecting a pear from the mound of freshly-picked fruit

which the smiling Sabino placed before her. "She danced all day yesterday. She must be tired."

Sisa broke a warm crescent of bread and buttered it thoughtfully before she answered. Her dark, finely-shaped brows were drawn together, her eyes troubled by her inward thoughts.

"Conchita has gone back to Zamora," she said. "Back to Zamora?" Felicity bit her lip. "But why?" Sisa shrugged her bare shoulders.

"Because she is disobedient and wishes to show Philip that she will do as she pleases, and because he made her come away last night against her will when Rafael had promised to take her to Santa Cruz."

So that was it! Philip had not been mistaken when he had said that Conchita had no intention of dancing at the Country Club, suitably chaperoned by Isabella. She had wanted to spread her wings, to taste life in fuller measure, accompanied by Rafael, and Philip had been well aware of the fact. It was a difficult problem. Conchita was in her eighteenth year, but the fact remained that she had been placed in Philip's care. If she was to live on the island for the rest of her life, he could not afford to let her be seen in a Santa Cruz night club alone with Rafael de Barrios, no matter how friendly the two families might appear to be.

Yes, it was a difficult position, but one which Philip had sought to deal with in the only possible way. He had been firm, but now Conchita had outwitted him and returned to Zamora.

She had gone on the pretence of helping Isabella.

"But really it is Rafael she has gone to see," Sisa said. She sighed a little, as if she, also, had felt the impact of the Marques' charm. "It is no wonder that everyone is drawn to Rafael. Even Maria would not have said that Rafael is a philanderer."

"Maria—knew him very well?"

Felicity's slow, measured tone brought the other's gaze back from the distance.

"Oh, yes," Sisa said. "She was very fond of him." She gave another little shrug, as if these things were inevitable. "But, you see, it was arranged that he should marry Isabella."

"Arranged?"

"Their families desired that it should be so."

"But, Sisa," Felicity protested, "these things don't happen nowadays!"

"Oh, yes," her cousin said, not even emphatically. "It is often so. Rafael was willing, and Isabella was in love with him. She had also a very large dowry. Her father had much money made from tin mines in South America."

Felicity pushed her fruit plate aside. She could not eat any more. Was Isabella's pathetic "marriage of convenience" the reason for the shadow in her dark eyes? Was she still in love with Rafael, or, greater tragedy still, had she come to realize the meaning of love too late, meeting Philip, perhaps, after her vows had been given? It was all so complicated, so difficult to understand.

"What must we do?" Sisa asked, jerking her back to the immediate problem of Conchita's return to Zamora in defiance of authority. "If Philip discovers Conchita's disobedience he will be very angry and none of us will be able to go to Zamora for a very long time. Even Philip will stay away, and that will grieve Isabella."

"I don't know what to do." Felicity rose to her feet, carrying her coffee cup to the terrace edge where she sat on the low stone balustrade looking out towards The Peak.

"What am I to do?" she asked aloud. "What would Philip wish me to do?"

"He would wish you to go to Zamora and bring Conchita back."

"How can I do that?" She turned to look at Sisa, thinking that already her cousin had a great deal of wisdom, the sort of knowledge not found in a girl of her age in a more northerly clime. "If I interfere Conchita may be angry and may do something rash, and then Philip's displeasure would fall on me."

"Not if you succeeded in bringing Conchita back to San Lozaro," Sisa pointed out. "Philip does not think that Conchita is really in love with Rafael. She is in love with the sort of life that Rafael leads when he is not at Zamora."

Once again Sisa's maturity surprised Felicity and now she knew that she was going to act on her cousin's advice. "How can we get to Zamora?" she asked.

"Sabin will take us in the car."

"But supposing Philip should come back and wants to use it?"

"He will not come back before nightfall," Sisa said. "He has gone to Lozaro Alto."

The knowledge stabbed like a knife thrust deep into Felicity's heart. Philip had left the hacienda at dawn, probably after sleeping only for an hour or two. He had left before they were astir, before he could meet her again, to go to the valley where all his memories of the past lay buried. If he had wanted to revive those memories, he could not have chosen a better place, she thought bitterly. Remote and high, the hidden valley where tragedy had overtaken his love was forbidden ground to all of them. Only Philip might go there; and always he would go alone.

"He would ride up to the valley," Sisa said.

Felicity picked up her cup and replaced it on the marble-topped table. Her coffee was quite cold now, but she shook her head when Sisa offered to pour her some more.

"We must get away as soon as possible," she said. "Do you know how Conchita went to Zamora?"

"On horseback, across the ridge. There is a mule track that way," Sisa explained. "It is quicker, but it is not wide enough for a car to go. It is a very dangerous path, like the road up to Lozaro Alto."

They could see the winding thread of the pathway twisting up among the olive trees as they drove along the lower road to Zamora. It clung to the side of the mountain in places with barely a foothold, it seemed, the ground sloping steeply away from it to fall almost perpendicularly to the rock-strewn gullies below. It was old volcanic land, lavishly overgrown now, but treacherous underneath all that abundant sub-tropical vegetation, with small craters scarring it here and there, ugly black sores against the new green of maize and vine.

They screwed up their eyes, shading them with their hands for a first glimpse of a horse and rider on the distant path, but the hillside was without life.

"Conchita must have already got there," Sisa said. "She left more than an hour ago, when it was still cool, and she rides very hard."

Very hard and very recklessly? A new fear began to hammer at Felicity's heart.

"Are you sure she has had time to get to Zamora, Sisa?" she questioned anxiously. "It's a long ride—"

"Oh, Conchita would get there!' Sisa evidently did not share her nervousness on her cousin's behalf. "She can make Diablo go like the wind. Philip taught her to ride, you know."

But not for this, Felicity thought. Not recklessly across the canyon to meet Rafael de Barrios in a clandestine way!

For that, surely, was what Conchita intended to do. She had gone without leaving any message, prepared to face their censure on her return but determined not to be stopped by it beforehand.

Well, she must be stopped somehow!

"I can't make a scene, Sisa," Felicity decided as they approached Zamora. "For Isabella's sake we must persuade Conchita to come home quietly."

When they reached the villa, however, Isabella was there alone.

"We've come to say `thank you' for yesterday." Felicity had tried to keep the note of anxiety out of her voice, but she was immediately aware of Isabella's understanding. "We decided to come over early," she added lamely.