Uncertain Joy

by Hilary Wilde

  `What can I do?' Penny had asked desperately. 'He tells me that he must be obeyed, but how can I take the children away from their mother?'

  Valentin Taza, who had joined them, chuckled. Also you must do battle with the nurse and the governess. It is not possible.'

  `The Señor seems to think it is,' Penny sighed. 'He'll be furious.'

  `He does the impossible and expects us ordinary creatures to do the same,' Michael said, laughing. 'Frankly, Penny, I don't see what you can do about it. She is the children's mother.'

  `I just can't understand it. I mean, she told me I could enjoy a holiday and that Señor del Riego need not be told . . .' Penny stopped, startled by the two men's laughter. 'Well, I mean that isn't right, is it?' she asked.

  Michael had put his arm round her shoulders and hugged her. 'Bless you, you

  ethical little angel! Of course it isn't right, but how many things are one hundred per cent right? If I were you, Penny, I should accept the situation. You have far too many people against you, so you wouldn't have a hope. Why not enjoy yourself? Life in the sunshine . . .'

  But I've got nothing to do or read or . . .'

  `You cannot just do nothing?' the good-looking Valentin asked with a smile, but Michael had understood.

  `I'm going into town later today and you can come too and get some books and knitting and sewing,' he grinned.

  `I see you know women,' Penny teased, feeling she was no longer alone.

  `I had five sisters,' Michael told her. 'I know your sex well.'

  He and Valentin had been good friends during the awful four days, taking her shopping, swimming in the pool with her, cheering her up as she needed it badly, for sometimes, sitting in her bedroom alone, she felt she had let her employer down. Surely there should have been some way in which she could have carried out Juan's orders?

  It was a perfect day when he arrived back. Penny was lying by the pool in a swimming suit, a cotton hat pulled over her eyes because of the brightness of the sun. She was half asleep when his voice shook the ground around her—or seemed to with its violence.

  `What the hell are you doing here? I told

  you . . .' Señor del Riego demanded.

  Penny blinked, pushing back her hat as she sat up. He was standing above her and she scrambled to her feet. She saw how angry he was, just as she had expected, and something seemed to snap inside her. After all, she had done her best.

  `Waiting for you to come back,' she said quickly.

  `Is that so? Hardly likely. I understand you have completely neglected the children, spending your time out here, leaving them alone, spending all your time with men— getting yourself a bad name. The very things I warned you about.'

  And you believe that?' The words seemed to leap out of her mouth, she was so angry. `It's all lies. Five minutes after I got your note, she came in.' There was no need for Penny to say who 'she' was. 'She told me I could have a holiday, because it wasn't right for the children to learn English.' She stared at him. Was he believing her? 'She also said I needn't tell you about it at all.'

  `And what did you do? Seize your opportunity to go out and enjoy yourself?' he asked sarcastically.

  `What could I do? There were three of them, and I'm not used to violence,' she told him, and saw the little tremble of his mouth that told her he was trying not to smile. 'Look .. .

  hands, digging her nails into the palms as she glared at him. 'I'm sick and tired of the way you expect me to do the impossible. Was I supposed to fight the nurse and governess—to hit your cousin's widow and drag the children to my room and lock them in?' Her voice rose shrilly, but she realised she was horribly near tears. 'You just don't understand because you don't want to!' She stamped her foot and wished she hadn't, because it was a childish thing to do. 'I had every meal in my bedroom. I haven't seen the Señora since that first day. I came down to ask Mike's advice and he agreed that there was nothing I could do . . .' She had to stop speaking, for her voice was trembling, and whatever happened, she must not cry.

  `Excuse me,' Mike's English voice broke in, and Serior del Riego turned, frowning.

  Mike and Valentin were both standing there. Valentin spoke quickly in Spanish, but Mike was obviously determined to speak, so he stepped forward.

  `Valentin and I took Penny to do some shopping because she had nothing to do and no books to read.'

  `Her job was to look after the children,' the Serior said angrily.

  `It was impossible for her. They treat her without respect.' Mike sounded angry, too.

  Juan del Riego frowned, but he also looked thoughtful. 'I will settle the matter,' he said, and walked off.

  Mike gave Penny a hug. 'Don't look so miserable, Penny. He won't bite your head off.'

  She smiled. 'I was so glad when you and Valentin turned up. I was so angry I thought I was going to cry.'

  `I heard your voice—so unusually shrill. I got Valentin because I knew they'd have lied.'

  `Do you think . . . do you think he'll . . Penny hesitated and Mike chuckled.

  `Give you the sack? Not likely. That I'm sure of—eh, Val?'

  Valentin was laughing. 'He would be mad to let you go. You are like the sunshine on a gloomy day.'

  Penny laughed. 'Thanks for boosting my morale. Now what do I do?'

  `Go indoors, have a shower and put on some clothing that is less . . . well,' Mike's eyes twinkled, for he knew about the Señor's views on the clothes she should wear, 'undignified, or should I say provocative?'

  And wait?'

  `Keep in your room until he sends for you. There will be a great row—mostly noise, but it might frighten you,' Mike said with a smile, and winked at Valentin. 'You Spaniards!'

  Valentin laughed. 'Better a good blast and then forget it than to let it curdle inside you while you keep a stiff upper lip, you English!'

  `I wonder . . .' Penny said slowly. 'It may help the person who is shouting, but I think it's the other one who'll never forget the things

  that have been said and will always be hurt.'

  Mike whistled softly. 'We'd better watch out, Valentin. No quarrels with Penny or she'll never forgive us.'

  `I didn't say that. I meant that if you have nasty things said to you, it's hard to forget them.'

  `Though the person who's said it feels better?' Mike asked.

  `Yes, that's what I mean. I think quarrelling is selfish—I hate it.'

  `Poor you, then,' said Mike. 'You'll hear plenty of quarrels round here.'

  `So it seems. Anyhow, thanks to both of you. You kept me going.'

  Valentin bowed and laughed. "Twas our pleasure, Señorita, far more than yours.'

  `I'll say that again, Penny,' grinned Mike.

  As she collected her things and hurried to the house, she thought how lucky she was to have two such good friends, for the last four days would have been a nightmare without them. Even with them, it had been bad enough.

  The house was as still and quiet as usual, so she hurried to her room, then hastily showered and put on a demure white linen dress, collected the pictures and crayons in case Señor del Riego sent for her as soon as he had settled everything.

  The point was: how would he do that? It sounded so simple, but . . .

  Actually it turned out far more simple than she would have dared hope. Jose arrived with a note, asking her to go down to the hall to wait for the carriage. They were going to fetch the children from Doria Justina Melado whom they were visiting.

  Penny knew then why she had not heard a sound of the children or found them when she went to the day and night nurseries to look. She hurried to the hall, for something told her Señor del Riego must be in a flaming temper by now, but to her surprise he met her with a smile.

  `Good,' he said. 'I thought you might still be at the pool.'

  `I came in right away.'

  `Good. You knew I'd settle it?'

  As they walked out of the house, she looked up at him.

  `Yes, I knew you would, but I just could
n't think how.'

  He laughed. 'Simplicity itself. I told Magdalena that she either stopped this nonsense and let the children learn English or I would take them away to England myself.'

  `You didn't?' Penny was shocked. 'You wouldn't—really?'

  `I most certainly would.' Juan waited as the man in white uniform opened the carriage door so that he and Penny could climb in.

  As the horses began to trot, Juan looked at the pretty girl by his side. 'You sounded

  horrified. Why?'

  `She's their mother.'

  `Physically yes, emotionally no. She doesn't give a damn for her children. But she wants to hang on to them. They are a weapon, you see.'

  `A weapon?'

  He nodded. If anything happened to me, then she would automatically become the children's guardian and therefore have access to their money, because they are afraid of her. Surely you can see that?'

  `Well . . .' Penny hesitated. 'They do seem to alter when she comes into the room. Particularly Catalina.'

  `Self-defence. That was how my cousin had to behave. Weak from illness, he hated quarrels and would often shock me by doing what she wanted. He didn't know, I realised later, just how ill he had been and his attitude was "anything for a quiet life". Also, of course, with the children she is in our family.' His voice was, for a moment, proud. 'Otherwise she is nothing.'

  `But . . . but . . !

  He laughed. 'I agree. It's out of date, but on Vallora it is most important. She came from the mainland, so is not one of us.'

  `Is Alfonso one of you?'

  One of Juan's eyebrows lifted. 'You are interested? Yes, he is one of us. The great-aunt we are now visiting is his mother. It was Alfonso's father who was disinherited-

  otherwise Alfonso would be in charge of the island.'

  `Alfonso would?' She was startled.

  `Yes—his father was supposed or said to have done something unforgivable. Unforgivable, I should say, in the eyes of the family. No doubt whatever he did would not be even thought of twice today. Alfonso's grandfather passed the lease over to Pedro's father when he knew he was dying. Alfonso has never forgiven his father or Pedro, yet can you think what a shambles this place would be with Alfonso in charge? I doubt if it would be his—he would have sold the lease by now—though . . .' Juan del Riego's voice changed, became less sure, more thoughtful, 'I have an idea—which may be wrong—but I think Alfonso believes, like many others, that there is treasure in the water round us. Souvenirs, one might call them, of the days when our ancestors were pirates. I think there is no hope, but there are some who will never accept the truth. If he had charge of the island, he could hunt for the treasure secretly and have all the results for himself. That, of course, is what he wants.'

  The carriage was going slowly down a winding road towards the sea. 'Dona Justina Melado is an old lady and she has always been kind and loving to the children, disappointed I think because Alfonso has never married and she has no grandchildren.' Juan turned to look at Penny. 'You had a difficult time while I was

  away?' His voice was gentle.

  `It was awful. I felt so bad about it.' She looked up at him earnestly. 'Honestly, I tried everything. I couldn't find the children or . . . I mean it, I felt terribly bad about it. That I had let you down, but . . .'

  `It was not your fault. I should have known what she would do. Unfortunately I was sent for in an emergency and had no time to make sure you would be protected from their hatred. You must have felt lonely.'

  `Oh, I did, terribly. It was Mike and Valentin who were so kind.'

  `Only kind?' Juan asked, his voice amused.

  `They were more than kind. They were sympathetic. I felt so guilty—I mean, you employed me to look after the children and I hadn't . . .' Her voice was unsteady and suddenly Juan's hand was over hers. He lifted her hand and kissed it and smiled at her.

  `Please stop having that guilt complex. You did all you could. I knew that Magdalena must be lying when she told me that.'

  `Then why did you accuse me?'

  `I accused you of nothing. I like to make you angry,' he said with a smile. 'You can have no idea how beautiful you are when angry.'

  Penny was startled. `Me? Beautiful?'

  And why not? Do you not ever look in a mirror? Your hair and your eyes and your skin, soft and beautiful as a peach. Then when you are cross, your eyes flash and you go bright

  red—even your little nose goes red . . .' he added with a smile.

  Impulsively her hand flew to her nose. `Does it?' she asked, dismayed.

  `Do not look so hurt and shocked. Your anger makes you more alive—you have too much of a meek look, not enough character, yet character you have. Where is your personality—you seem like a shadow. As if you must stand in the background and not come forward. As if, indeed, you are afraid to speak in case you say the wrong thing. What has happened to you?'

  He was not being sarcastic; indeed, his voice was encouraging, and Penny found herself telling him the whole story—of her mother's long illness, her father's sorrow and depression, her feeling that he needed her.

  `I loved him so much—I love him so much,' she hastily corrected herself, 'and I didn't mind devoting myself to him. I enjoyed it. We sold the house as my father was advised not to do heavy gardening any more, which he loved and . . . we had a small flat and then . . . then . . . as I told you, he had met Fiona and asked me if I minded if he married again. I did mind, but . . . but what could I say? Fiona is a darling and she made Dad so happy, but . . .' Penny was twisting her hands together, her eyes moist, her voice full of emotion. But it wasn't the same. Dad loved Fiona. I know he loved me, but . . . but he once said to me that there were

  many sorts of love. The love you felt for your children was quite different from the love you felt for your mother or for your wife. I know he loved me, but . . . They never made me feel that I was in the way. I just sensed it.'

  And you were probably right. You have done the best thing, Penny, in taking this job. Meeting different kinds of people, learning to stand alone and not leaning on your father. You are a wise girl—far wiser for your age than I would have thought possible. I am glad you are with us,' he said as the horses seemed to slow and they were passing down an avenue of cypress trees. 'Yes,' he repeated, 'I am glad you are with us, and I trust you will never regret it.'

  Startled, she stared at him. 'Why should I regret it?'

  `Because of the hatred on this island. That is why. Hatred is a terrible thing—hatred for no valid reason is even worse, and that is what we have here on Vallora. Hatred that is without sense.'

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Dona Justina Melado's home was most impressive, a huge square white house surrounded by flowering trees and shrubs. The hall was lofty and cool—there was the usual terrace with pillars supporting the balcony above that ran round the house. The chimneys were fascinating, Penny thought, as a plump dark-haired woman opened the door with a smile of greeting and Juan del Riego spoke to her in Spanish before turning to Penny.

  `She is expecting us, so there is no difficulty.'

  `Why? Did you think she wouldn't let you see the children?'

  `I thought she might try to make me see how bad for the children this is. It could, a doctor I know well said, have a traumatic effect on them. You know what that means?' He looked amused as if it was unlikely.

  Penny lifted her pointed little chin, her eyes defiant. 'I worked for the Red Cross, so I do know a bit. It means a terrific shock that may not have any effect at the time and then suddenly, years later, the patient is hit and either is ill or else has . . .'

  A chip on his or her shoulder for the rest of their life? Right. That's what he meant, I think.'

  They had been walking down the hall as they talked. Looking round curiously, Penny thought how very different it was from the house where she worked—or, she added to herself with a wry smile, tried to work! Here the walls were newly painted white while the paintings hanging were gay with bright
colours. She stopped dead at one and Juan del Riego did the same.

  `What's the trouble?' he asked.

  Penny stared at the white horse jumping over a tall hedge, a small boy clinging tightly to his neck but his face bright with joy.

  `There's a painting of that child in the other house. By my door . . . It fascinates me. It's so beautifully done.'

  `It is good, no doubt, but I prefer not to look at it,' Juan del Riego said, his voice harsh—so harsh that she turned to stare at him.

  `But . . .'

  He smiled, but she could see it was an effort, for his eyes were still angry. 'But me no buts—I prefer to forget it, so I must ask you not to mention it again.' He strode ahead and she had to hurry to catch up with him.

  A door was opened and they were led into a long lofty room, bright with flowered covers on chairs and couches, golden curtains and a beautiful view of the slopes down to the valleys where small white houses were scattered, huddled under wind-resisting trees.

  On a chair by the window sat an old lady.

  She was very upright, her back as straight as a poker; her wrinkled face looked troubled and she wore a black mantilla that matched her long black dress.

  She spoke in Spanish to Juan, her face suddenly bright. He went forward quickly over the dark red carpet and bent and kissed her hand and then her cheek. He turned and beckoned to Penny.

  `May I introduce the young companion I have got for the children?' he said slowly, looking at the old lady. 'Miss Trecannon.'

  Dotia Justina smiled and held out her hand. `Welcome. I have been told you prefer to be called Penny?'

  Penny shook hands, feeling the warmth of the old fingers as they closed round hers. 'Who told you?' she asked with a smile.

  Vatalina—who else? She talks so much of Pen-nee—Pen-nee.'