Beloved Tyrant

by Violet Winspear

  “Momma - I want to go to her!” Leoni was pummelling Dona Estella in her agony to be set free.

  “You mustn’t do that, little one.” Rick firmly but gently plucked the child up into his arms, where she crumpled against him in a storm of frightened tears.

  “What’s the matter with Concetta?” Rosa caught worriedly at her aunt’s arm. “Has she tried again to overdose herself with sleeping pills?”

  “No, no!” Very rapidly Dona Estella explained that around three o’clock Julio had gone to his wife’s room to ask her to join him for soft drinks on the patio. It had not been raining at that time, and Concetta had said she would come down. Julio had then gone into his own room to change his suit for something lighter, and a sudden scream had brought him quickly along the gallery, to find his wife lying at the foot of the stairs. She had not bothered to change out of her robe and the long full skirt had tripped her and sent her plunging down the stairs.

  “Poor sweet!” Rosa shot a horrified glance at the stairs. “Is she badly hurt?”

  “She is concussed and severely bruised,” Dona Estella replied. “It is a miracle she was not killed.”

  “Here comes Julio!” Rosa ran to him with outstretched hands and when he reached the hall he took hold of his sister’s hands and .gripped them. He looked very worried, Lyn noticed, with a ray of lines etching the sides of his dark eyes.

  Lyn’s heart gave a jolt when those dark eyes settled directly on her. “Dr. Judson has sent to Los Angeles for a nurse,” he said, “but she is unlikely to arrive here until the morning. Miss Gilmour, you are acquainted with the rudiments of nursing and I wonder if you would—”

  “Julio,” his aunt broke in sharply on what he was saying, “I am quite able to attend to Concetta until the nurse arrives.”

  His eyes swept to Dona Estella’s face. “You are more than kind, Aunt, but the doctor himself suggested that I ask Miss Gilmour to take charge of Concetta until the morning. It is no reflection on your capabilities, but a stewardess is trained in these matters.”

  His aunt muttered something in Spanish about family loyalty, and had he forgotten so soon that she had left her home in Spain to come and take charge of a household his wife seemed incapable of managing.

  Lyn was watching Julio and she saw the pupils of his eyes dilate to an emotional fullness and for a moment his strained nerves seemed about to snap. Dr. Judson saved him from an outburst he would no doubt have regretted. The doctor came hurrying down the stairs, brisk, keen-eyed. “Well, Senor Corderas, has Miss Gilmour agreed to my suggestion?” he asked.

  Julio glanced at Lyn. “I shall be pleased to help, senor,” she said.

  “I will take Leoni to the lounge,” said Rick, and he strode off with her, murmuring into her hair that her mother was now asleep and would be all right in the morning.

  Lyn went upstairs with the doctor, feeling Dona Estella’s sloe eyes stabbing into her back. “I don’t much care for that woman,” the doctor remarked. “She seems hard and malicious to me.”

  “I think she’s jealous of outsiders,” Lyn replied.

  They paused outside Concetta’s bedroom door, where the doctor treated Lyn to a long, steady look. “You have lived in this house quite a few weeks, Miss Gilmour. Tell me what you make of Senor Corderas.”

  Lyn gazed back at him with large, enquiring eyes. “I rather like him, Doctor Judson. He’s hard-working, cultured, and as patient as possible with his wife.”

  “I attended the senora last year when she lost her baby. She was a most unhappy creature - there was an incident with some barbiturates.” His shoulders lifted and fell, significantly. “Time heals in cases where the woman can have another child, but Concetta Corderas is unable to have another and she feels this inability as a burden of guilt. The only way to lift it would be for Julio Corderas to adopt a son, but from what I’ve seen of him I should imagine he desires an heir of his own blood - ah, I see from your expression, Miss Gilmour, that you agree with me!”

  She nodded. Yes, Julio would want a son of his own blood, with that high-tempered pride and passion of Spain bred in the bone. “I suppose it’s only natural,” she said.

  “Doubtless, when one takes a look at that brother of his,” was the dry response. “But all the same that darned Spanish pride of his is breaking his poor wife’s heart!”

  CHAPTER VIII

  It rained all through the night that followed and there was thunder over the mountains, and persistent flashes of lightning.

  Dr. Judson had given Concetta a draught that kept her fairly restful, but towards dawn she stirred awake and Lyn slid off the chaise-longue and went quietly to the big bed in which her patient looked small and lost. “I am so thirsty,” she said to Lyn, and in the greyish light now seeping through the windows her eyes were hollowed by deep crescents of pain, but they were aware and no longer dulled by shock.

  Lyn carefully lifted her and held a glass of cool juice to her lips. Concetta took quick, thirsty sips at the juice, the trembling fragility of her body bringing a lump into Lyn’s throat. She had suffered a wide area of bruising, and she couldn’t quite suppress a sob of pain as Lyn eased her back into a reclining position.

  “Did Julio ask you to nurse me?” Concetta pushed at her heavy dark hair as if it were worrying her.

  “Yes, Mrs. Corderas, until a proper nurse arrives. Look, let me do something about your hair.” Lyn gently plaited it into a single braid. “There, I think you will find that a little cooler.”

  “Gracias, you are very kind.” A ghost of a smile flitted across the pale face against the pillows, and when in a while she drifted off to sleep again, Lyn went and stood at the veranda windows. The rain had died away and the sky towards the east was growing gently flushed. Birds were perking awake in the trees, and Lyn rested a shoulder against the window and realized that it was no longer possible for her to leave the hacienda as she had planned. She couldn’t run out on poor Concetta and her child ... a tremor shook Lyn as she recalled how brokenly the child had wept in Rick’s arms.

  Leoni had clung to him as though to the only solid thing she knew as her small world shook on its foundations. To go away how, while she was needed, was the last thing Lyn would dream of doing.

  Lost in her thoughts she gave a start as the bedroom door was quietly opened. Rosa entered, clad in a silk dressing-gown and carrying a cup and saucer in her hand. “I thought you’d like a cup of coffee, Lyn. I couldn’t sleep, so I got up and made some.”

  “Thanks, Rosa.” Lyn took the coffee gratefully and stood sipping it.

  Rosa nodded towards the bed. “How is she?”

  “In quite a bit of pain, but she awoke a short while ago and drank some orange juice.”

  “Poor sweet! Everything seems to be going wrong for her. Has Julio been in?”

  “Yes, several times through the night. He was looking very anxious.”

  “It’s been a shock for him.” Rosa sank her hands into the pockets of her robe and stared at her red-bobbed mules. “I don’t know how he’d have coped with Leoni but for Rick. You wouldn’t think to look at Rick that he’d know how to handle kids, would you? He’s tough, but when it comes to unhappy kids he’s a tower of compassion. Do you find that strange?”

  “Not really,” said Lyn. “He’s very Spanish in lots of ways and such men are fond of children, aren’t they? I’ve heard it said that in Spain cruelty to children is unheard-of.”

  “Yes,” said Rosa musingly. “And yet such men aren’t averse to a little cruelty towards their women. It must be the Saracen in them! I’m sure it shows in Rick! And Julio has been none too kind towards Concetta these past few months. Okay, so he lost a son and heir. But she, poor dear, lost a baby and part of her health. Men!” Rosa drew a deep sigh. “If only we could live without them!”

  “It would make life less complicated,” Lyn agreed, with a slight smile. “But I’ve an idea we would miss the excitement they engender. That stormy tingle in the air.”

  “Lyn!” Rosa
opened wide her eyes at the English girl. “What has got into you?”

  “Some of your Monterey air, I believe.” Lyn finished her coffee and glanced at her wristwatch. It was just five o’clock.

  “Go and catch a little sleep,” Rosa urged. “I can take over here until the nurse arrives. She should arrive on the seven-thirty train. Rick is picking her up in his car.”

  “No, I had better stay until the nurse comes. I promised I would.” Lyn went to the bed and took a look at Concetta. She slept deeply now, without moving, and her face was very thin in its whiteness, and the thick black braid made her seem almost a girl.

  “Then I’ll go and get dressed,” said Rosa. She smiled slightly at Lyn. “You have a very tenacious sense of duty, haven’t you?” Lyn nodded, but knew that it wasn’t duty alone that would keep her at the hacienda a while longer. She had become more deeply involved with the Corderas family than she had realised.

  When the nurse arrived, efficient but kind-eyed in her crisp blue uniform; Lyn went to her room and took a shower to liven her up after a night of vigil. She put on a pair of slim-legged slacks and a shaggy hip-length sweater and decided that a spot of fresh air would make her eyes feel less heavy. She stepped out on to the veranda and made her way down to the patio. The air was damp and sweet after the storm, while silvery drops of moisture clung to the flowers and beaded the gauzy strands of webs slung between the rose bushes. The sun was parting the veil of mist over the mountains; the pungent leaves of the eucalyptus trees hung dolorous and silver-tipped.

  From the direction of the barns and stables there were sounds of activity, and Lyn thought longingly of a gallop into the hills, with the fresh, tangy wind blowing away her feeling of unrest concerning Concetta. Had the long skirt of Concetta’s robe tripped her down the stairs yesterday, or had sudden despair caught at her? That same despair which had taken her down to Spanish Cove just over a week ago, where she had talked of wanting to die ... because Julio had ceased to care for her?

  Lyn stood thoughtful and watched the barn cat, Toto, lapping at a puddle. When the cat had satisfied her thirst she came and leapt on the stone coping near Lyn, who stroked her soft fur in the light, caressing way that cats love. “Life isn’t at all complicated for you, is it, Toto?” Lyn murmured. The cat lifted her oblique, translucent gaze to Lyn, a deep purr in her throat.

  Then Lyn suddenly tensed as firm, assured footfalls sounded behind her. She was braced to appear casual when Rick paused beside her. He looked piratical, she thought instantly, in his sleeveless jerkin of calfskin worn with a white shirt and narrow black trousers. “And how are you this rain-washed morning?” he asked.

  Still feeling hurt and unforgiving after her brush with him at the beach picnic, Lyn refused to return his half persuasive smile. “I’m all right,” she said, and went to walk away from him.

  “Don’t take wing and fly off!” His hands caught at her shoulders. “You have your dander up with a vengeance, Lynette.”

  “Please - I’m not in the mood for a fight this morning.”

  “Hang it all, neither am I. In fact, Lynette, I am in the process of eating a slice of humble pie.”

  She looked at him in astonishment, and saw from the wry twist to his mouth that it wasn’t much to his taste.

  “Shall we call a truce?” he asked. “If I admit that I threw the first stone yesterday?”

  She wanted to refuse to be coaxed into forgiving him, and he saw this in her expressive brown eyes and at once his hands tightened on her shoulders. “I said one or two things I regret. Will that do, if you must humble me?”

  “You - humble?” She had to smile. “Very well, it’s a truce, and now I must be going indoors. I have Leoni to look after—”

  “The child will sleep for another hour or so after her emotional upset. I suggest that you drive down to the bay with me and we will have breakfast there.”

  “But—”

  “No buts.” An iron-muscled arm hooked itself about her waist and she was impelled gently but firmly to where his Mercedes stood. “A drive through the morning air will brace you up—”

  She hardly knew why she gave in to him. Anxiety combined with tiredness had weakened her defences, she supposed, and obediently she slipped into the car and watched Rick take the driver’s seat beside her. The door thumped shut, his glance came to her and skimmed over her slender figure. “You are but a slip of a thing, aren’t you?” he drawled.

  She gazed at him, speechless. He was half turned to her, his shoulders flagrant in their strength, his throat a brown column, the indulgent fullness of his lower lip fixing her gaze.

  “It’s you.” She half smiled. “You make me seem pint-sized.”

  “I have made you smile also. Good!” The ignition clicked, the engine purred, and Rick drove off swiftly. But when they reached the highway he slowed down a little and touched a small projection on the dashboard. The sun roof of the car lifted back smoothly, and Lyn caught her breath as the rain-washed air blew against her face and her neck, and tangled its touch in her hair.

  She had wanted this ride, and she couldn’t help but feel grateful to him for providing it.

  The mountain ranges were strong and bold against the sky, and thickets of broom tumbled through grass heavy-headed with seed. Wild brilliant poppies made patches of colour against the browned mosses of midsummer, and buckthorn bushes were frothy with bursting buds. Overhead some clouds light as woolpacks floated through a sky that was faintly flushed like the inside of an oyster-shell.

  “The countryside smells good after the rain,” Rick remarked.

  “It looks wonderful as well,” she agreed. “Refreshed - almost English.”

  “Do you miss your homeland?”

  “Yes. Homesickness inevitably strikes, doesn’t it?”

  “You spoke yesterday about leaving - did you mean it?” Lyn sat hesitant, her mind on Concetta. Rick went on: “This may be one of those occasions when you should let your heart decide for you.”

  “My heart is pulling me in two directions,” she replied. “I want to go home, but it wouldn’t be right for me to go just yet.”

  “With a crisis in the house, eh?”

  “Yes. I shall stay until Concetta is better.”

  A small silence followed her words; she cast a quick look at his profile, and felt a tingling little shock when his blue eyes met hers. His brows above them had merged into a black, faintly savage line. “You are generous with your charity, Lynette. A real little glutton for punishment. You came here to a strange family immediately after a plane crash when you should have gone home. Now you have decided to sacrifice yourself again!”

  “I happen to feel sorry for your sister-in-law,” Lyn retorted. “I’m also old enough to please myself what I do. Sorry to disappoint you! You evidently assumed that one more ineffectual governess was on her way out of the hacienda.”

  “You are too soft, my child. You need a keeper, and if I were that person—”

  “Thank heaven you are not!”

  And then, quite suddenly, they broke into laughter together.

  “Some truce!” he scoffed.

  “We could never agree about anything,” she said.

  “We at least agreed that it was a fine morning - after the storm.” Slashes of humour creased his cheeks.

  Lyn gazed at the passing scenery for a few moments. “Concetta told me that she and Julio were very happy at one time. Oh, I do deplore the waste of love!”

  Now they were riding along beside the bay and a few minutes later the car swept into the parking lot beside the Blue Bay restaurant and pulled to a standstill. Rick leant across to open the door beside Lyn and for a moment he stayed close to her, almost deliberately so, and her mouth had a sudden tremor to it, as if his nearness evoked a painful memory. Her lashes fluttered and her gaze was fixed upon the tiny pulse that beat visibly beside Rick’s bold mouth.

  “Don’t look like that!” he muttered.

  “L-like what?”

  “Like
a doe awaiting the pounce of an aggressive stag.” He flung open the door and Lyn heard him growl a laugh as she scrambled clear of him.

  They ate breakfast in the restaurant garden, among the Spanish chestnut trees and the magnolias. Rick chose their meal and it turned out to be delicious. Tarty pineapple followed by finely flavoured fish served in scallop shells. The enjoyment of good food and well-made coffee had a mellowing effect on both of them, and as Rick cut a big bloomy peach into sections he quietly asked for her opinion on his portfolio of sketches.

  “Presuming you looked at them, of course?” He handed her a section of the peach.

  “Thank you.” Lyn ate the fruit. “I found your sketches very fascinating, especially those about Spain.”

  “Have you ever been there, Lynette?”

  “On a few flights, but there never seemed time enough to see - well, the real Spain.”

  “I’m glad you have perception enough to realize there is more to Spain than the Costa Brava and the flamenco dance.” He lounged back in his chair and slipped a cigar between his lips. His lighter flared and strong smoke jetted to mingle with the scents of the garden. Nearby an enormous bee was at work within the creamy cup of a magnolia blossom and every now and again the cup dipped crazily as the bee grew excited. The sun’s warmth was increasing, but Rick seemed careless of how long they stayed away from the hacienda.

  “Spain is a fascinating country rather than a beautiful one.” His eyelids drooped lazily as he watched the drifting smoke of his cigar. “It is a tapestry of rich dark colours, of wine, rocks and passion. I can paint there as I can paint nowhere else, especially in Andalucia, where I own a house that perches on a hillside, as if it grows there. A white-stoned house with a cloistered courtyard, and roses dark as the lips of Carmen.”