Blue Hills of Sintra

by Anne Hampson

  With switching thoughts and memory she saw Terry Kershawe—the close-set eyes, the looseness of the chin, the thick mouth that seemed to spell lust. Why should she suddenly think of him? she wondered, frowning. Of course, she was making a comparison, but why on earth should Terry Kershawe’s face come before her at this time?

  Her thoughts remained on him despite her attempts to dismiss him. She fell to visualizing the next twelve months, with him as her headmaster. Her probationary year would be difficult enough—as it was with every new teacher—but Terry Kershawe would have it in his power to make it far more difficult than Eleanor had anticipated. He would be her boss; his orders would have to be obeyed. He could find fault with her work if he so chose; he could talk disparagingly about this work to the inspectors who would be coming in to see her performances in the classroom. Of all the bad luck! Quite suddenly Eleanor wished she did not have to put in that year—that she could change her mind and find some other post, just so that she could get away from the man whom she knew for sure meant to pester her, as he had pestered her at college.

  Her reverie was broken as the car came to a standstill and she realized they were on the hotel’s private park. Switching off the lights, Dom Miguel hesitated a moment and then, half-turning to her,

  ‘Just how much did my sister confide in you, senhorita?’ She gave a start.

  ‘Didn’t you ask her?’ she said, the question coming out before she had time to think.

  ‘Naturally I refrained from asking her. Her ... child is expected within a few hours.’

  So he hadn’t admonished the girl, concluded Eleanor with relief. She noticed the slight hesitation before he mentioned the child and knew that it must embarrass him to do so—to a complete stranger. The situation was most odd, and puzzling. Dom Miguel repeated his question and after a reluctant moment of thought Eleanor told him all that had been said in Carlota’s room.

  ‘It was not idle curiosity on my part that made me talk, and ask a few questions,’ Eleanor said on recalling his asking if she had gone into the room for any special reason. ‘Naturally I was interested in the fact of your having a sister in the nursing home where my friend works, because it was a coincidence, my having seen you here, at the hotel. But I’m not a person, sir, who concerns herself in idle gossip, or wastes time probing into other people’s affairs.’ In the dark she looked at him; she failed to read his expression but at the same time sensed an interest which only added to her puzzlement. ‘I felt that the little chat we had helped your sister,’ she was impelled to add. ‘Dona Carlota is a mere child, and she is very frightened—and lonely, here among strangers. I’m sorry if you’re angry, but not sorry that I let her talk. She needed to talk to someone—’ She broke off, immediately asking how she must address him. ‘Your sister said that at home you are addressed as Dom Miguel.’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘Will it be in order for me to do so?’ she inquired respectfully, and he nodded.

  ‘Perfectly in order.’ A rather tense silence followed as for a moment he appeared to be undecided. She saw that he frowned, but his face cleared as he began to say, with sudden firm decision, ‘I must admit that my sister did seem more calm after speaking to you. The reason I turned back was that previously she had seemed nervous and overwrought, and this condition troubled me. I knew she needed a woman, but in view of what you know you will appreciate that I could not have her talking to the nurses here, who would gossip among themselves. News spreads fast—even great distances.’ He paused, and Eleanor noted the pulsation of a nerve in his neck. Her sympathies went out to him, aware of what it must be costing him, a noble Portuguese count, having to unbend in this way.

  ‘Carlota needs a woman,’ he repeated, and now he appeared to be in a mood of bitter abstraction, as if the intrusion of an unpleasant memory was causing him to relive, fleetingly, some most unhappy episode in his life. ‘She seems to have taken an inordinate liking to you in a very short space of time—’ He looked at Eleanor in a most examining sort of way. ‘You’re sympathetic, and, I believe, understanding. I also believe in your tact, senhorita ... and for these reasons I have a proposition to put to you. ’

  She jerked her head, nerves tingling. Before her eyes flashed the vision of herself and Carlota, buried away in some remote place, caring for the baby...

  ‘Dom Miguel,’ she began in haste, for she wished only to save him the embarrassment of her instant refusal of his offer, ‘I have recently finished my training and shall be taking up my first teaching post in September...’ Eleanor allowed her voice to trail away into silence as she sensed, rather than saw, her companion stiffen.

  ‘I haven’t yet put my proposition to you, senhorita.’ Censure, coupled with hauteur in that attractively-accented voice. Put out, Eleanor found herself saying,

  ‘I’m sorry, Dom Miguel. I thought—thought you were about to ask me to care for the baby. ’

  A rather awful silence ensued; she wondered if the mention of the child had caused it. Again her sympathies were with the Conde. The disgrace of his sister having an illegitimate child must be pressing heavily upon him, even though he had managed to keep it secret from his friends and acquaintances at home.

  ‘My proposition does not concern the child, which will be adopted. I was about to ask if you would consider taking up the post of companion to Dona Carlota.’ He paused and Eleanor noted the sudden tightening of his mouth. ‘This must never happen again, and won’t if my sister has a companion to go about with, a young person whom she likes. It would be your duty to protect her, for I have business commitments and cannot possibly be with her the whole time. If you were with her I should be freed from anxiety.’

  So he had no wife, obviously, concluded Eleanor, who became thoughtfully silent. Although gratified by his offer, which, with the added last sentence, implied complete trust, she at last shook her head. Her companion said nothing and in this rather awkward moment Eleanor stared vacantly at a great car which had been brought on to the park by a uniformed chauffeur. The owner had obviously been dropped at the front entrance of the hotel; the chauffeur got out and, locking the door, walked briskly away. Eleanor glanced around at the other cars. Such wealth, she mused, her eyes wandering automatically to the crest over the radiator of the car in which she was sitting, here in the dark, next to the illustrious Conde Ramiro Vicente Miguel de Castro, who lived in the Palacio de Castro, situated amid the blue hills of Sintra. It was an unreal situation, in some ways, yet vitally real in others. The lovely girl who might even at this moment be giving birth to her child was very real, and so was her brother, whose slight impatient movement served to snap Eleanor into full consciousness of her position. He awaited her decision; loath to disappoint him, she nevertheless told him gently that although she appreciated the honour of his trust in her, she would have to turn down his offer. He seemed all at once to sag—or perhaps he merely relaxed, she thought, quite unable to imagine the Conde sagging! There was nothing to be learned from his cool dispassionate tones as he said,

  ‘Very well, senhorita, the decision you have made disappoints me, but I have no option than to accept it. If you should change your mind please do not hesitate to inform me.’ Leaning across her, he opened the door. She got out of the car, said good night, and walked away, leaving him sitting there, the only occupant of the car park.

  Despite her refusal of the Conde’s offer, Eleanor could not put it from her, no matter how she tried. Nor could she free her mind of the picture of the girl and, the following afternoon, she found herself becoming impatient for the time when she could telephone June, who, she knew, slept until about four o’clock when she was on night duty. At half-past four Eleanor rang her to inquire about Carlota.

  ‘The baby, a lovely boy, was born dead.’ So casual! But nurses were like that; they were used to such things.

  ‘Carlota—how is she?’ Eleanor brushed a tear from her lashes, feeling foolish at crying for some girl she had met

  only fleetingly a
nd whom she would never meet again.

  ‘Poorly, but she’ll be all right.’ The baby had been born at two in the morning, June went on to tell Eleanor. ‘Her brother’s with her, I expect. He was informed this morning that the child had arrived, and he said he would go to her and stay all day. ’

  ‘You allow that?’

  ‘With his sort—yes! Can you imagine anyone daring to tell him what he must and must not do?’

  ‘No—you’re right,’ musingly from Eleanor. She was wondering how the man would treat a wife, and children. ‘I’d like to see Dona Carlota again, but I don’t suppose that’s possible?’

  ‘Didn’t her brother tell you off?’ inquired June curiously.

  ‘No; on the contrary he seemed glad she had chatted with someone.’

  ‘Well ... if you really want to see her you could ask him if you may.’

  Eleanor said yes, she might do that. But of course she knew she wouldn’t. As she had refused his offer, she did not expect him to welcome a suggestion that she should visit his sister. However, on sudden impulse she sent a spray of flowers, and the following day she was told by the astounded supervisor that she was to go to Dom Miguel’s suite as he wished to speak to her.

  ‘Thank you,’ murmured Eleanor, hurrying away from the inquisitive gaze of Miss Webber.

  Rather timidly she knocked on the door and received an immediate invitation to enter.

  ‘I merely wished to thank you for the very thoughtful gesture,’ he said without inviting her to sit down. ‘It was most kind of you to send Carlota flowers.’ Vaguely it registered with Eleanor that he had dropped Carlota’s title; it seemed more than significant ... and she could not thrust away the idea that he still hoped for a reconsidering of her decision. ‘Would you extend your kindness a little further, and visit my sister?’ He did not mention the baby, and Eleanor concluded that he would have guessed that she had learned of the stillbirth from June.

  ‘I’ll be delighted to visit her,’ came the spontaneous answer, and for the first time she saw the hint of a smile soften the severity of that arrogant mouth. A faint inclination of his head accompanied his thanks. He would be going to the nursing home this evening, and would take Eleanor also. ‘Thank you ...’ She moved, edging towards the door, which was instantly opened for her. Outside, in the wide thickly-carpeted corridor, she paused a moment, her expression thoughtful. Was she becoming involved? A frown knit her brow. Perhaps it was unkind to visit the girl; Eleanor suspected that Carlota could quite easily become attached to anyone who showed kindness to her at this particular time. With a sigh Eleanor went on her way, back to her work. She felt restless and uneasy for the rest of the day, but by the evening she was looking forward to seeing Carlota. As she got into the car she smiled to herself. June on the phone had been staggered that the ‘King of Portugal’ had asked her to visit his sister, and even more staggered when she learned that he himself was actually bringing her in his car.

  ‘It was the obvious thing to do,’ returned Eleanor with her customary practical way of thinking. ‘He would hardly expect me to get a bus, not when he himself was going to the nursing home.’

  ‘Yes, you’re right. And it wasn’t as if you hadn’t already been in his car. But imagine his being human, after all! ’ Carlota’s pale face brightened on seeing Eleanor. She smiled before transferring her eyes to the tall man standing at the door.

  ‘Miguel, you are very kind to bring Miss Salway.’

  ‘I thought you would like to see her again. How are you feeling, dear?’ He had come forward and now his hand was on the girl’s wrist and he was looking down into her face. Standing some way from the bed, Eleanor gasped at the change in Dom Miguel’s expression. And his attitude—it was gentle almost to the point of tenderness. Stern he might be, and bitterly disappointed in his sister, but there was a compassion in him which was a revelation to Eleanor. Turning his head, he indicated a chair which the nurse had put beside the bed. Dropping the more formal ‘senhorita'", he said,

  ‘Sit down, senhora—’

  ‘But you—’ she began, looking round for another chair. The nurse was already bringing it, and after putting it by the bed she went out, softly closing the door behind her.

  ‘Thank you so much for the lovely flowers.’ Carlota’s eyes moved to them as she spoke; they stood in a tall cut-glass vase on a small table by the window. ‘They were doubly appreciated because of being unexpected. ’ Her gaze slid to her brother in a way that told Eleanor that the girl had expected flowers from him. And there they were, by the bed, exquisite orchids.

  Eleanor remained with Carlota and Dom Miguel for over an hour, and never once was the baby mentioned. Eleanor concluded that it never would be mentioned again—ever. Eleanor politely asked about Portugal, learning that Dom Miguel’s income was derived from wine and cork, his owning great forests of cork oaks and also a cork processing factory at Portalegre. She learned that this comparatively small country of Portugal supplied the whole world with half its cork.

  ‘If you would like to go now, and have a chat with your friend,’ said Dom Miguel to Eleanor, ‘ I will send word when I am ready to leave.’

  ‘Thank you, yes, I would like to have half an hour or so with Nurse Leyland.’ She rose from the chair, not quite sure whether Dom Miguel was being obliging, or whether she was being dismissed. ‘Goodbye, Dona Carlota,’ she smiled and, with a swift sideways glance at Dom Miguel, ‘Perhaps I shall come again.’ Half question as she kept her eyes on that austere face. Dom Miguel inclined his head.

  ‘Tomorrow evening?’ he suggested, and Eleanor immediately agreed.

  June was all agog to know the reason for the friendly attitude of the Conde. Feigning incomprehension, Eleanor asked what she meant, adding that the Conde had not in fact portrayed any appreciable measure of friendliness.

  ‘He’s allowed you to visit Dona Carlota,’ June then pointed out, gazing suspiciously at her friend. ‘With us, he’s been so aloof, and as I told you, we had strict orders from our boss that we hadn’t to ask questions of the girl.’

  ‘I can’t explain why he wanted me to visit Dona Carlota— except that she seemed to like me and Dom Miguel felt she was lonely.’ A white lie, in a way, as Eleanor had a very shrewd suspicion that Dom Miguel had not altogether given up hope of employing her.

  To her relief June refrained from questioning her further, and the half hour they had together was spent in discussing the holiday they were to have. They intended going off to the seaside for a few days, and spending the rest of the time visiting places of interest in the capital.

  ‘I’ll be here again tomorrow evening,’ she was saying later when, a nurse having been sent by Dom Miguel to inform her he was ready to leave, Eleanor was standing at the front door with her friend, waiting for him to come along. ‘You’re not on duty, though?’

  ‘No, I go off in the morning and come on again on Tuesday.’ She glanced curiously at Eleanor and would have spoken, but at that moment Dom Miguel appeared and with a swift good night Eleanor hurried to the car.

  ‘When will your sister be coming out?’ she asked politely after a short interval of silence.

  ‘I’m taking her home a week on Monday.’

  ‘Ten days,’ mused Eleanor. ‘She will remain in the nursing home until then?’

  ‘Until the evening before our departure, yes. Carlota has lost a lot of strength through this, and it is better that she remains in the home, where she will be expertly looked after. ’

  Eleanor nodded; silence fell once more and was broken only when she and the Conde bade each other good night on the car park of the hotel.

  Two days later Eleanor received a telephone call from her cousin, the woman with whom she had lived after her mother died, two years before Eleanor entered college. Eleanor had spent all her vacations with Margaret, and she was going to live with her again when she took up her teaching post. Terry Kershawe had called, asking for Eleanor, Margaret said, and inadvertently she had mentioned that Eleanor was
working temporarily at the Sherbourne Hotel.

  ‘It came out before I had time to think,’ Margaret apologized. ‘It was only after he expressed his intention of going to London for a few days’ holiday that I remembered how you disliked the man. I’m sure he’ll come and see you, so I thought I’d better give you some warning.’

  Eleanor frowned heavily at the receiver, hesitating because she was so vexed with Margaret that she had to count ten before replying, otherwise a sharpness must assuredly have entered her voice.

  ‘It’s a pity you gave him my address,’ she said at last, adding that it was no use worrying now, as it couldn’t be helped.

  ‘I’m so sorry. Will he pester you, do you think?’

  ‘He’s been pestering me for three years,’ returned Eleanor, suppressing her impatience with difficulty.

  ‘You make me feel dreadful.’

  Eleanor bit her lip, then gave a deep sigh.

  ‘Forget it, Margaret. You couldn’t be expected to remember what I’d said about him. When is he coming—did

  he say?’

  ‘He said he’d be there this evening; he’s travelling by coach, apparently. He said you see more that way, but I rather think he’s doing it for cheapness.’