Uncertain Joy

by Hilary Wilde

  `She's a darling, the easiest of them all.'

  The old lady laughed. 'I would not think any one of them is easy.' She spoke to the waiting maid who hurried away and Dotia Justina smiled at Penny. 'Please to sit down. It is good to meet you.' She looked at Juan and spoke in Spanish. He answered at once as Penny sat down obediently.

  She had wondered a little how Dofia Justina would accept her. She was friendly, but in a reserved way, and her eyes were full of questions. It was only natural when, as Juan

  had said, she loved the children so much that she should be concerned.

  In a few moments the door opened and the children stood there. Catalina came first, her blonde hair streaming behind her, her eyes wary as she quickly looked round the room and then ran to Juan's arms. Techa hesitated and behind her stood the nanny holding the small boy's hand. For once, Penny thought with relief, he was not screaming.

  She sat silently watching the way Juan played with the children, making them laugh while Doria Justina also sat silently, her face rapt with delight as she watched—then she looked at Penny and smiled.

  `They love him as they loved their father,' she said. 'It is sad, but understandable. The marriage should never have taken place, for she is not one of us.' The words were said with sadness, not malice. Now the old lady gave Penny a really serious look. 'My son has told me that he met you. He was impressed.'

  `Impressed?' Penny, suddenly embarrassed, echoed.

  `Your colouring is so unlike ours. He was fascinated by the red of your hair, the paleness of your cheeks, the greenness of your eyes. I thought he was exaggerating, but now I can see he only told the truth. You are very beautiful.'

  `Oh!' Penny's face was bright red.

  The old lady laughed. 'No need to be so modest, dear child. You have only to look in

  the mirror to see what I say is the truth. It must upset Magdalena very much. She was a beauty in her youth—now that she is in her late thirties, she realises that the end is near.'

  `The end?'

  The old lady smiled a little sadly. 'She is no longer young and every day her reflection gets a little worse, and one day she will stare at herself and weep, for this will not be the self she thought she was. I know what I am talking about,' Dotia Justina said sadly, 'for it happened to me. Alas, or perhaps by good fortune, my husband did not notice the change in me, but Magdalena has no husband now, and what man will look at her as she grows older?'

  `I thought she was beautiful . . .'

  `She is—but it is the last stage. Her temper makes it worse. It is sad that when we grow old, we lose our beauty. You are more fortunate with your fair skin.' Doria Justina paused and gazed at her hands thoughtfully before looking up. 'My dear child, you are young and immature. I do not wish to offend or hurt you, but I would give you a warning.' She looked out of the window to where Juan was playing with the children, little Abilio riding on Juan's shoulders and loving every moment of it.

  `You will not offend me, Dotia Justina,' Penny said slowly, then wondered if it sounded pompous, but talking with this old lady with

  her way of speech influenced her.

  Dotia Justina smiled. 'Thank you. I know my son is handsome—he has what I believe is called "it"—or perhaps it was called that when I was young.' She smiled. 'I am so far from the modern world these days. As I said, my son is a handsome man, very attracted by girls with red hair—' she smiled again, 'and you are young, my dear, but I must warn you. If you love Alfonso it can only mean sorrow. He is not a marrying man. He likes his pleasure, but is not interested in being tied to one woman. I would not want you hurt.'

  Penny tried to hide her surprise. It had never struck her for one moment that she could fall in love with Alfonso. He was older than Juan del Riego, who was in his mid-thirties.

  `It is kind of you to warn me, Dotia Justina,' she said, then smiled. 'But you need not worry, because he is not my type.'

  `You have a type you like?'

  Penny laughed. 'No, I'm afraid not.'

  `Then you are in great danger, my child. You are—? Is it nineteen years old and you have not been in love?' The old lady's black mantilla swung as she shook her head in wonder. 'You must be careful. Do not believe that your first love is your best love. When you do fall in love, my child, be sure he is the right one.'

  `Oh, I will,' Penny promised, and was glad

  that Juan del Riego and the children came into the room at that moment.

  It was time, he said, to go home. Catalina looked for a moment as if she was about to cry, but the sudden arrival in the room of the nanny caused her face to change and she looked at the floor, going out meekly when told to do so.

  Riding in the carriage with Juan and the children and the nanny gave Penny a chance to sit back and think for they were talking Spanish. Doria Justina had been more than kind, but obviously really worried in case the young immature girl should fall in love with Alfonso. She had said he was not the marrying kind. Frankly, Penny thought, he was handsome, amusing, yet at the same time there was something about him that had frightened her.

  Yet did that really matter? Hadn't she been frightened by Juan himself, as they were driven over that high bridge with the ground so far below you could hardly see it?

  What was the matter with her? she wondered. As her father had said, her imagination sometimes carried her away. Why should either of those men frighten her?

  Juan del Riego turned to Penny and spoke, in English this time.

  `You will dine with us tonight. We have invited some of the family to meet you. I am determined that they must see you as you

  really are and not as lies make out.'

  `How am I?' Penny asked.

  He glanced at her thoughtfully. 'You are very young. You have not begun to live—you are like a child.' He watched the anger grow in her eyes. 'You are nearer to the children's age than the governess was. Incidentally, she has gone. We do not need her. Nurse will put them to bed, but you are to spend all day with them except the siesta time. You can do as you wish—sleep or walk in the garden or swim. You will always dine with us . .

  `Whether I want to or not?' Penny could stand it no more—the way he laid down the law and expected it to be obeyed.

  He looked amused. 'You have forgotten that I engaged you to work for me, not to do what you like.'

  `And if the children's mother comes to take them away?'

  `She will not do any such thing.' His voice was cold as ice. 'I have made it plain that as the children's guardian, I have the right to do what I have done and intend to do. I will not tolerate interference. She has had her choice —obey me or lose the children.'

  But she's their mother. You couldn't be so cruel!'

  `Cruel?' His black eyebrows met as he frowned. 'I think it is more cruel to let them stay. The three of them are scared to death of her. She should never have had children. Not,'

  he added hastily, 'that I blame her for it. Some of us are born with maternal and paternal feelings. Others are born without love of this kind. They do not mean to be cruel—they don't know what love is or what the children need. Pedro did and gave them the love they needed. Now they have none at all. Another thing —you must give them love. Already Catalina likes you. That is a big step in the right direction. You want to have children?'

  `Yes . . . well, I. . .' Penny stumbled over the words. 'Actually I haven't thought much about the future,' she confessed.

  Abilio began to cry. Juan picked him up off the seat and rocked him in his arms. Penny stared silently. What an extraordinary man Juan del Riego was—a real mix-up. He could be so cruel, so arrogant, so impossible and then, suddenly, he could be kind and helpful and loving to the children. Which was the real Juan?

  Just as the carriage approached the house, Juan, turned to Penny.

  `I did not tell Magdalena what you told me about her visit to the day nursery, simply that she said you could enjoy a holiday as she wanted the children.'

  Penny had rather dreaded the next
meeting with Señora Dominguez, but his words made her feel less worried. How extraordinarily thoughtful he could be—at times!

  *

  It was just as Juan had promised—when Penny joined the others in the drawing room for drinks before dining, Señora Dominguez was charming, asking how Doria Justina was, saying how the children had enjoyed their little holiday. There were several of the family for dinner—two good-looking men, rather elderly, but both obviously attracted by Penny's youthful beauty and her, to them, unusual colouring. There was also a really beautiful girl called Julieta Melado, tall, slender, with masses of black hair and dark eyes. She was only a few years older than Penny and could speak English, so they talked quite a lot. Julieta said that although she loved Vallora, she also hoped one day to see the world.

  `You are so lucky, you English,' she told Penny. 'You are so free. You can do anything you like. It is not as simple for us. Our parents and even our great-aunt says what we may and may not do. Fortunately I am one of the family,' she added.

  After dinner, Señora Dominguez played the piano and Penny found herself talking to the two elderly men, whose English was slow and sometimes difficult to understand. Julieta was talking to Juan, her hands on his arm as she leant sideways towards him from her chair. She was talking fast—Spanish, of course—her amber-coloured dress clinging to her beautiful

  body, her dark eyes shining, her cloud of dark hair framing her beautiful face. That was how Juan saw her, Penny knew, for he was smiling, his face relaxed, his eyes full of admiration as he talked to the beautiful girl. As for Julieta . . . there was no doubt about how she felt. She was obviously deeply in love with Juan del Riego. Deeply and determined!

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Juan del Riego's return to Vallora made a terrific difference, but though, on the surface, everything went smoothly, Penny still had the uncomfortable, and at times frightening, feeling of hatred that had been there since her arrival. Sometimes she told herself it was her own fault—because not knowing Spanish, how could she talk or make friends with any of the staff? Maybe they blamed her for the governess's departure—maybe they just hated anything English. But the hatred was there, all the same.

  She made no attempt to teach the children, she simply played with them, making songs of the names of different objects. She was surprised at the speed with which Catalina learned the language, but Techa was still apt to start screaming over nothing at all and Abilio would immediately copy her, and then Nanny would appear and take them away, bringing them back a considerable time later. It wasn't a good atmosphere, Penny knew, either for her or for the children.

  So it came as a relief when Juan del Riego told her that there was to be a fair in the town and he was taking her and the children to see it.

  `It is full of noise and music,' he said with a

  smile. 'I think you will enjoy it.'

  `I'm sure we will,' Penny said eagerly, delighted at the chance to leave the house for a while, for cold eyes full of hatred seemed to follow her wherever she went.

  The children were excited, too, and Nanny sat, stiff and silent, her mouth pursed in a disapproving button, her eyes downcast, but Juan del Riego had the children laughing happily except—Penny noticed—except for Catalina who was very quiet, sitting by Penny's side.

  The town—whose name Penny could never pronounce properly despite the constant corrections made by a solemn-faced Catalina was gay with canvas kiosks arranged in rows; everywhere there were flowers and flags and small coloured lamps that would go on at night. The road was covered with golden sand and Juan found a good place for them all to sit and watch the processions. The men who were riding horses that pranced wore short jackets and scarlet cummerbunds and leather chaps. On their heads were wide-brimmed hats, but the real beauty was the girls sitting behind them pillion-wise. The girls were lovely to look at and wore full-skirted dresses with frills and in bright colours, often with polka-dotted skirts. Then came decorated carriages, drawn by magnificent horses whose harness gleamed in the sunshine and each movement of the horse caused the silver bells to ring.

  `Later we will watch the dancing,' said Juan as he led the way to one of the pavilions. 'You will have a glass of Manzanilla wine and eat tapas. '

  `Tapas?' Penny echoed.

  Catalina touched her arm. 'Tap-as . . .' she said slowly, and looked round. The nanny had gone and Catalina had the small boy by her side. Now Catalina shook her head slowly, smiling at Penny. 'Tapas.'

  Juan looked amused. 'I thought you were teaching Catalina to speak English—it looks as if she's teaching you Spanish,' he frowned. `That wasn't what I employed you for,' he reminded her.

  The afternoon was even more full of life. There were men dressed in black suits with wide red cummerbunds round their middles and over their faces huge masks with two horns and a white moustache which was frightening enough for Abilio to turn to his nanny and cling to her. At that moment several fireworks went off bang and Abilio screamed. Juan took him in his arms and said something in Spanish as the men pranced by, dancing, waving sticks and wands and singing.

  A tall thin man came up and spoke quietly to Juan, who nodded, handed Abilio back to the nanny and spoke to Catalina in Spanish and then to Penny in English.

  `I'm afraid I must go—an urgent phone call—but I'll be back. Just keep the children

  out of the crowds,' he said, looking round where they were standing in a half circle made by walls, amber-coloured like the rocks around them and looking down on the road below.

  The crowds got worse after he had gone and the fireworks were being tossed into the road. One went off near them. Abilio screamed, Techa began to cry and Catalina spoke crossly to her. It was then that the crowd below seemed to climb the stairs that led to where they stood. Penny and the children were nearly knocked over in the crowd, so she looked round for a way to escape. She found a narrow passage going down the back and she touched the nurse's shoulder and pointed to it. The nanny nodded, so Penny led the way. When she got to the bottom of the weaving narrow passage, she turned. Behind her were men and women, laughing, shouting, clapping their hands as they followed her, but—no children! And no nanny!

  Frightened, Penny tried to make her way back again, but it was like fighting against a strong current in the sea and the people looked annoyed as she tried to push past them. She was swept down to the main road with the crowd and looked round, wondering what to do, deciding she should try to return to where they had stood when Juan left them, as he would surely expect to find them there.

  It was easier said than done, for now the street was full of dancers, the girls' poppy-red

  frills whirling against their partners' dark suits. Castanets were clicked on the girls' fingers and people watching were shouting `Ole Ole!' excitedly.

  `Hi!' a voice shouted that Penny recognized. It was Mike, making his way through the crowds towards her, and followed by Valentin.

  `Oh, Mike, I'm in trouble,' Penny gasped as he reached her. 'I've lost the children.'

  `You've lost them?' he asked, and she told him what had happened.

  `But they're all right,' Mike said. 'I saw them getting into the carriage with the nurse just now.'

  `They're in the carriage?' Penny almost whispered as the relief swept through her. 'Oh, thanks be! I was really worried. Serior del Riego had told me to keep them out of the crowds, so I knew I mustn't lose sight of them, but . . .'

  Valentin smiled. 'How is it you say? His bark is worse than his bite. I am sure he would realize it is not your fault.'

  `I doubt it. Where was the carriage? I'd better go and join them.'

  `You can't,' Mike told her. 'We saw it go away. Probably he told them to go.'

  `The carriage has gone?' Penny gasped in dismay, then told herself that Mike was probably right and that Juan del Riego, hearing how Abilio and perhaps Techa also were howling, because they must have been

  frightened when the crowd swarmed round them, had sent them. He must have been angry to find she wa
sn't with them.

  `Look, stop worrying,' Mike told her. 'The children are fine. I saw all three of them and the nanny looked pleased. She doesn't approve of so much noise—nor does the Señora Magdalena, for that matter,' he added. 'I wouldn't mind betting she told the nanny to get the kids away as soon as she could.'

  `I don't think she'd . . .' Penny stopped just in time, for she had been about to say 'dare'. What a narrow escape—for Mike must not be told that Juan del Riego had threatened to take the children away if their mother did not do what he said!

  Anyhow, you can't go back, though we'll give you a lift later,' Mike said cheerfully. `Come with us and enjoy yourself for once.'

  They went to one of the pavilions where they drank wine and ate snacks—which, Penny learned, were called tapas, the word Catalina had tried to teach her to say correctly.

  There was the sound of music, the click of castanets, laughter, voices shouting— everywhere there was life. So very different from the drab, cold, silent house.

  She was laughing at something Mike had said when a shadow came over her and Juan del Riego's impatient voice broke in.

  `What have you done with the children?' Startled, Penny looked up. He was

  frowning! She told him as quickly and briefly as she could while he listened in silence.

  `So you sent them home,' he said finally. 'In order to enjoy yourself?' He looked scornfully at Mike and Valentin.

  `I didn't! I just told you that they vanished and Mike . . .'

  `Mike?' Juan del, Riego turned to him.

  `I saw them get into the carriage with the nurse. She looked pleased as a cat having some cream.' He grinned. 'Nurse Nieto doesn't approve of this type of thing, nor does Señora Dominguez, you know.'

  `You are suggesting that the nurse deliberately took the children with her when she got the opportunity—and . . .' Juan del Riego stopped speaking abruptly. He stood very still, as if frozen.