The Guilty Secret (6 page)

The villa was set high overlooking the sea, the gardens at the rear, that ran down to the track and the woods, a feast of flowers and miniature fountains, with a small stream falling from pool to pool, its banks thick with yellow and pink lilies. Large picture windows gave a glimpse of white painted walls, and what looked at a distance to be a gigantic Picasso. Stone steps curved down, leading through the garden into the villa close by. This was much smaller but far prettier. Here the walls were covered in the Portuguese way, with richly coloured tiles, wooden shutters were thrown back to reveal window ledges crammed with begonias and trailing lobelia. The upper storey was surrounded by a narrow wooden balcony, and beside a wicker chair and table I could see a sun-hat that belonged to Aunt Harriet and her knitting bag, balls of wool cascading over the wooden slats. I stepped out of the car and instead of going straight to what was presumably Rozalinda's villa, walked around and passed the smaller one. A cluster of trees shielded it from the rest of the enclave, but the stone steps swirled round in a picturesque arc from Aunt Harriet's front door fading into a path between the trees and then leading up in a fresh meandering series of steps to two pink washed villas with wrought iron balconies and scarlet tiled roofs. I climbed the steps and turned seawards, catching my breath as I did so.

An endless stretch of silver sand curved away in either direction. Huge breakers reared to an awe-inspiring height far out in the distance crashing down in a white foaming mass, to rear rhythmically once more, till at last they reached the shore in a frothing swirl of spray. Controlling the temptation to run barefoot down to the sea, I turned, the long grass of the dunes brushing against my legs as I contemplated the two villas. One of them must be Mary and Tom's, and one Phil's. Perhaps I was to share with Aunt Harriet. I opened the tiny gate that led into the surrounding gardens and peeped through the windows. A large through fireplace separated a dining-room and a salon, and on the plain walls hung a large beautifully carved cherub. I couldn't imagine Phil living with it, and mentally categorised the villa as Mary's. In no hurry I followed the moss covered path to the adjoining villa. Here the walls were covered in gleaming pine, a large marble topped table dwarfing one room surrounded by pink velvet covered chairs, the living area scattered with brilliantly coloured rugs and luxurious looking settees. A few magazines scattered on a side table and an empty cup and saucer were the only signs of habitation. There was no sign of a piano. I strolled round to the rear, dropping down onto the pathway and the pines, looking around me. As I did so I caught the first notes of Liszt's piano concerto Number One drifting through the trees. I smiled and began to walk deeper into the pines towards the source of the music.

The other three villas were out of sight of the rest of the enclave. They were grouped fairylike in a dell in the woods, and from the nearest one came the familiar beautiful notes and I could see the back of Phil's head, bent in total preoccupation as he played. I didn't interrupt him but sat down leaning my back against one of the trees, caught up in the magic of Phil's playing. It was the perfect accompaniment to the new found joy that was in my heart. Too soon, he finished, and as he mopped his brow and lifted his hands to begin another piece, I stood up calling out:- ‘Phil!'

He turned immediately, his usually serious expression breaking into a wide smile.

‘Jennifer! I thought you were never coming.'

We met simultaneously in the doorway and he caught me in a hug.

‘Another two days and I was coming to Viana for you. I would have done earlier but Aunt Harriet said to give you a full week on your own.'

Silently I blessed Aunt Harriet. Phil's arrival a few days earlier would only have complicated matters.

‘I've been sight-seeing … and making friends.'

He held me away from him, looking closely at my face.

‘Thank God for that. I thought you'd gone into a deep depression.'

‘No. That's all behind me, Phil. Truly it is.'

He led the way into a large room filled with two grand pianos and several giant cushions scattered on the floor.

‘It will take too long to make coffee. Fancy a Coke?' he asked, walking into a small kitchen. ‘ I want to know who this friend of yours is that kept you away so long. You could easily have sight-seen from here you know. We're not far from the National Park.' He came back with two ice-cold glasses clinking with ice. ‘ I'll take you tomorrow.'

‘I've already been,' I said, taking the glass from his hand, then, seeing the flash of disappointment in his eyes, said hurriedly. ‘But you could spend a month there and still not see half of it. If you haven't been yet I shall be able to act as guide.'

‘Presumably she was English,' Phil said, lounging comfortably on the floor cushions. ‘Was she holidaying by herself?'

I sank down beside him, cradling the drink in my hands.

‘It wasn't a she, Phil. It was a he.'

He stiffened, and I hated myself for the hurt I knew I was going to cause him. I said, taking hold of his hand.

‘His name is Jonathan and he
was
holidaying alone.' It seemed useless to beat about the bush. I said simply. ‘And I love him.'

Phil's glass remained perfectly steady. There was a moment's silence and then he said:-

‘You were only in Viana a week, Jennifer.'

‘I know. But it happened.'

Slowly he put his glass down, looking at me steadily. ‘I don't think you're well enough to make those kind of statements yet.'

‘But I am Phil. I'm perfectly well.'

‘You weren't when I last saw you and that was only a few weeks ago, do you think at the moment that you're the best judge?'

‘Yes I do. You're quite right when you say I wasn't fully recovered a few weeks ago. I was still depressed and having nightmares and feeling life would never be the same again. Meeting Jonathan has changed all that for me.
Please
be happy for me Phil. When you meet him, you'll understand.'

He raised his eyebrows. ‘You mean you've brought him with you?'

‘No. He's visiting friends in Vigo. He's coming down next weekend.'

‘For the official seal of approval,' Phil said, and I could tell by the tone of his voice that the worst was over.

‘Something like that. You'll like him, Phil, I know you will.'

‘Any friend of yours is a friend of mine,' he said wryly. ‘Tell me about him. Where does he come from?'

I shrugged my shoulders. ‘ I've no idea,' and then laughed at the expression on Phil's face.

‘No, really Phil. I'm telling the truth. He's English, twenty-nine, has blond hair and his eyes …' I paused, feeling my spine tingle as I remembered the effect Jonathan's eyes had on me when he looked at me with desire. ‘His eyes are hazel and he's about five foot ten and has nice hands and …'

‘For goodness sake,' Phil said with fond exasperation. ‘ You'll be telling me what shape his feet are next! I'm not interested in whether he's blond, black or covered in navy-blue dots. What is he? Butcher, baker, or candlestick-maker?'

‘I haven't a clue. He could be a stockbroker or a postman. All I know is that I love him.'

‘For two people who have spent a week in each other's company you've made up your mind dangerously fast without knowing much about him.'

‘I know enough to have said I'll marry him.'

Phil's eyes widened, and it was a few seconds before he spoke. When he did he let his breath out through his teeth. ‘Well, I suppose a proposal of marriage is proof his intentions are honourable.'

I thought of the beach at Viana. ‘His intentions,' I said, ‘are strictly honourable. Where is everyone? All the other villas are deserted.'

‘They've all gone to visit friends of Miles in Oporto.'

‘Miles? Miles who?'

‘Rozalinda's last leading man. You've met him before. He was at my party …' he broke off, his face flushing.

I squeezed his hand. ‘I'm over it, Phil. I wasn't joking. I remember him vaguely. Good-looking in a flashy sort of way. Somewhere in his mid-thirties.'

‘That's him,' Phil said, relief in his voice. ‘He's down here trying to persuade Rozalinda to take up a film part she's been offered.'

‘What's the matter? Is it too small for her?'

‘No. According to Miles it's tailor-made for her. It's a million dollar film with Rozalinda as the Queen of Sheba. Only Rozalinda isn't interested.'

‘What bait has been more attractive?'

‘That's just it. Nothing. She says she's in need of a rest.'

I stared unbelievingly. ‘ You mean Rozalinda's turned down this part to stay on here with
Harold?
'

Phil nodded.

I shook my head in disbelief.

‘Actually, she
does
look a bit off it. Very nervy these days. Old Harold's being very protective towards her.'

‘He always is and she usually can't wait to get away.'

‘Not this time. Anyway, you'll be able to see for yourself in a few hours time. They're coming back for dinner. We all eat en masse over at Rozalinda's.' He grimaced at the prospect and I laughed.

‘Poor Phil. Is she beginning to get you down?'

‘She
always
gets me down. I can't imagine why she invited me in the first place.'

I could have told him but didn't. Instead I said:-

‘And how is Mary?'

‘Seems all right. I think she's missing the children but Tom is having a great time. The lap of luxury suits him.'

‘And Aunt Harriet?'

‘Oh, she's fine,' Phil sounded vague which didn't surprise me. He generally had to be hit on the head before he noticed anything. The fact that he was aware of Rozalinda's nervous state was probably only due to Miles spelling it out for him, and I couldn't believe he'd got it right. Rozalinda being temperamental, yes. Suffering from nerves to the extent of turning down a major film role, no.

‘Play some more Liszt,' I said, settling myself comfortably back against the cushions. ‘It was heaven listening to you play. I hadn't realised how long it's been.'

Phil knew how long it had been. It had been the night of his party when he had played ‘Claire de Lune', at Aunt Harriet's request. After that there had been no opportunity to listen to Phil play again. Only various cells and then the psychiatric clinic.

Understandingly he put his glass down and seated himself at the piano. This time he played the Hungarian Rhapsody and before the last beautiful strains had died away I was sound asleep.

When I awoke I could hear the distant slamming of car doors and Phil was saying unenthusiastically:-

‘They're back. I suppose we'd better go and let them know you've arrived.' His face brightened. ‘
And
give them your news.
That
will give Rozalinda something to think about!'

Arm in arm we walked over the soft pine needles towards Rozalinda's villa. I could hear Aunt Harriet saying briskly:-

‘Her car is here so she must be down at Phil's …' and Mary saying:- ‘If I'd known she was coming this afternoon I would never have gone out. How awful for there to be no-one to have welcomed her.'

‘Phil isn't no-one darling,' Rozalinda was saying in her affected drawl, and then we were in the doorway and Rozalinda's arms were spread wide in an extravagant gesture as she said:-

‘Darling …' kissing me on the cheek, and I was once again surrounded, quite literally, by family and friends.

With difficulty I extricated myself from Rozalinda's extravagant embrace. She seemed to think the more demonstrative her affection the more she was helping me over the crisis in my life. Her sense of drama would be quite affronted to find that I was no longer suffering but joyously happy. Aunt Harriet kissed me and as my arms folded round her I realised with shock that she was losing weight, her small body almost bird-like in my arms. I looked at her with concern. Her eyes were alight with welcome, but there were signs of strain on her face that Phil had been too blind to see. I mentally decided that at the first suitable moment I would have a private chat with Aunt Harriet about her health. It wouldn't be easy. She regarded herself as immune to any sort of bodily weakness and when my father had been alive had driven him to distraction by stubbornly refusing to take any notice of him.

Mary hugged me tightly. ‘Jenny, we were so worried. Why on earth didn't you come straight here?' then, without waiting for an answer. ‘Phil wanted to go to Viana and fetch you, but Aunt Harriet said she had spoken to you and that you sounded fine …' her expression of anxiety changed to one of surprise as she let go of me and saw my face clearly for the first time. ‘You
look
fine! Dearest Jenny, you look really
well!
'

‘I am, Mary. I am.' I said, as Tom grasped my hand. ‘ There's been no need for you to worry at all.'

‘Yes, but …' Mary began protestingly.

Our eyes met and a silent message passed. It meant what it had meant since we were children and wanted to talk about something in private, see you later. Her anxiety faded, but like Aunt Harriet I thought I could detect lines of worry that had not been there when I had last seen her in Templar's Way. The thought that the strain on the two faces of people I loved had been caused solely by my week in Viana came with an onrush of guilt. I squashed it almost immediately. I had finished with feelings of guilt. If I had wanted to take a week's holiday by myself I was perfectly entitled to do so, and as I had spoken to Aunt Harriet, reassuring her as to my health, there had been no reason for anyone to have worried to the extent that even my arrival didn't dispel the anxiety. It was something else that was disturbing Aunt Harriet and Mary. I would know what it was in due course.