Blue Hills of Sintra

by Anne Hampson

  Eleanor forced a smile.

  ‘No, Carlota, I haven’t. Please don’t worry about me. As I said, I shall be all right when I’ve had a cup of tea.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘That will do, Carlota—’ The quiet cultured voice cut the girl short and she and Eleanor looked up to see Miguel standing just inside the room, having entered by the open french window. ‘Eleanor has told you there is nothing wrong with her. ’

  Carlota flushed, rebuked by his tone and the straight look he directed at her.

  ‘I’m sorry, Miguel,’ and then, brightly as if she would coax him into a softer mood, ‘You are having tea with us?’ Eleanor had looked away from him, but as a small silence followed Carlota’s question she at length glanced up, her cheeks colouring delicately, the hand holding the teapot not quite steady as she poured her tea, having already seen to Carlota’s. Miguel met her gaze, and to her utter astonishment she found no sign of animosity there.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, coming towards the table, ‘of course I’m having tea with you. ’

  The scene enacted less than an hour ago might not have taken place, so natural was Miguel’s manner with Eleanor, and in her relief she failed to notice that beneath this naturalness there did exist a certain aloof hauteur. As the meal came to an end this began to register and she felt instinctively that by a gradual process her employer meant to put her back into the position which she had occupied at first. She accepted this, admitting she deserved it, but at the same time she was driven to retaliate, if only in self-defence, since pride would not allow her to reveal her feelings as she had done as a result of the one or two intimate occasions occurring between

  Miguel and herself. And so the atmosphere grew cooler and cooler as the days passed, with Eleanor managing to conceal her unhappiness, helped by the preparations going on for Car-lota’s wedding. Eleanor had to be the chief bridesmaid, the others being relatives of Sanches. Carlota’s dress was being made by the most exclusive fashion house in Lisbon, as was Eleanor’s. The wedding was to be in the cathedral there, with the reception at the Palacio.

  ‘All this work, and just for me! ’ Carlota, excited and flushed with happiness, spread a hand towards the facade of the Palacio where workmen were standing on high scaffolding, fixing extra lights to the building. The whole gardens were to be floodlit from the house, while hundreds and hundreds of coloured lights were to be fixed to the branches of the trees. The fountains were to be coloured, and an ornate dais was to be erected where the musicians would play. Others would be playing inside, for those who wished to dance. ‘Isn’t my brother wonderful! ’

  Bringing her eyes away from the workmen, Eleanor turned to smile at her companion.

  ‘He is,’ she replied a little huskily. ‘He is wonderful, Carlota.’ She was unaware of the slight quiver of her mouth, but Carlota saw it and said with a frown,

  ‘I think you have something on your mind, Eleanor. You’ve been—different lately.’

  Managing a forced laugh, Eleanor said,

  ‘Now what on earth should I have on my mind?’

  ‘I don’t know...’ A deepening of Carlota’s frown. ‘My brother—he told me you would be staying on here after I leave ... you will, won’t you, Eleanor?’ In the ensuing silence Eleanor was facing the painful fact that her time here was shortening with incredible rapidity. She would find herself back in England in no time at all. ‘Answer me, please, Eleanor. I know your position will be changed, because I shall have my dear Sanches to take care of me, but I’ve spoken with my brother about this and he said definitely that you must stay on at the Palacio.’ She turned her head, her eyes suddenly bright. ‘I still want you for my friend, and although we shall be living many miles apart we shall see each other quite often, as Miguel will bring you up to his solare when he comes, and we shall come here to visit Miguel.’ She paused, but still Eleanor remained silent. ‘I thought it was all settled,’ she persisted urgently. ‘Miguel told me you had promised to stay. ’ Eleanor spoke at last, a deep sigh escaping her.

  ‘I’m not at all sure I can stay, Carlota dear. You see, there isn’t really a post for me.’

  ‘Miguel will make one,’ returned Carlota instantly. ‘He wants you to stay, for my sake.’

  ‘For your sake...’ Another sigh issued from Eleanor’s lips, but Carlota was speaking and missed both this, and Eleanor’s additional catch of breath, which was almost a sob.

  ‘He knows how much I care for you; he admits that you’ve been a good friend and so he knows I should miss you if you left Portugal. There’s no need for you to leave, Eleanor. You wouldn’t even have thought of leaving if I hadn’t been getting married, now would you?’

  ‘No, I suppose not.’

  Carlota looked at her in swift surprise.

  ‘You sound as if you might have,’ she said in a pained sort of voice. ‘Would you have left me?’

  ‘Certainly not,’ more definitely this time. ‘Don’t let’s talk about it, Carlota. After all, there are much more exciting things to discuss,’ she added with a smile, and a faint lift of her head, indicating the workmen up there, on the facade of the Palacio. ‘Your wedding’s going to be the talk of the town!’

  Carlota nodded; she was still troubled, and she obviously said something to her brother, for that evening Miguel came to Eleanor on the patio and sat down opposite to her. Carlota was dressing for dinner, and taking a long time about it as usual.

  ‘Carlota is under the impression that you’re unsettled now that she’s to be married. Is this right?’ Suave and cool the tones as, without preamble, the question was put to Eleanor.

  For a moment she hesitated, and then, quietly,

  ‘Yes, Dom Miguel, it is right. I shall go home as soon as she leaves here.’ No upward glance to note how he took this; on the contrary, Eleanor deliberately kept her head bent, partly from embarrassment at the recollection of that scene in the attic.

  A profound silence followed her statement before he said, in a voice that enjoined complete submission to his will,

  ‘I seem to remember your making a promise to stay on here after Carlota is married. I expect you to honour that promise.’

  Startled, she glanced up.

  ‘You want me to stay—after—after...?’ Unconsciously she spread her hands in a gesture of bewilderment. ‘You can’t, Dom Miguel,’ she added in a subdued voice. ‘It was so wrong of me—’

  ‘Shall we forget all about it, Eleanor?’ he cut in roughly, and for one fleeting second his face was tight with anger and she knew instinctively that he was remembering his lack of control in throwing the portrait across the room, and in front of an employee of his. ‘That promise—you will keep it?’ Again the commanding inflection; his will was being applied and he fully expected submission, but, should be encounter resistance, Eleanor was convinced he would crush it, and without very much trouble. What should she do? It was for her own protection that she desired to leave Portugal. For of a surety she must suffer extreme hurt if she stayed, allowing her love for Miguel to grow until it filled her whole being. No, she would not stay! She would escape before the hurt became anguish so deep that even time would not assuage it.

  ‘No,’ she whispered, fighting the tremor that rose to the edge of her voice. ‘It isn’t possible—’ Pleadingly and apologetically she looked at him across the table. ‘I w-want to go home.’ Her mouth trembled and her eyes were unnaturally bright. Miguel, whose manner had been so cool and withdrawn during the past week, seemed suddenly to soften as the hard mask changed to one of faint concern.

  ‘Your reason?’ he inquired, leaning back in his chair and looking at her through half-closed eyes. ‘You undoubtedly have one?’

  Faintly she nodded, playing for time as she sought desperately for some feasible-sounding reason for her wish to return to her own country.

  ‘I won’t be needed here,’ was all she could find to say and of course his reaction was to remind her that this had already cropped up, and been dealt with prior to her
promise to stay.

  ‘There’s an altogether different reason for your sudden decision to leave here?’ he added and, when she remained silent, ‘I expect you to honour your promise,’ he repeated inflexibly, his mouth compressing as she frowned suddenly in protest. ‘I find no excuse for a breaking of that promise.’

  Eleanor, was unable to speak as she examined his features for some disturbing confirmation of her suspicions that his perceptive powers had told Miguel of her feelings for him. There was an altogether different reason for her decision to leave, he had said, but without elaborating on this. Yes, it would seem that he at least had some idea of how she felt about him. She reflected on his coolness towards her since the incident in the attic; her own manner had been similar and so the gap had gradually widened. In view of this Eleanor had not envisaged any argument about her decision to leave.

  ‘It’s obvious that you don’t want me to leave—’ She broke off, for this was not what she meant to say, not so that he could hear. She had inadvertently spoken her thoughts aloud. Miguel probably realized this, she instantly thought, as all he said was,

  ‘Quite obvious, Eleanor.’

  Bewilderedly she shook her head.

  ‘But why? There isn’t really a post for me.’

  ‘It’s all very puzzling to you, I do admit this,’ he returned in so gentle a tone that she actually gave a little start of surprise. ‘But for the present can we just leave the matter as it was before ... when you promised to stay?’

  Helplessly she made a gesture with her hands. His will was too strong for her—or perhaps it was her own resolution which was weak. The real truth was that although she was well aware that it were more prudent to leave, it would be far more easy to stay, so avoiding the terrible wrench of saying goodbye to him. The reason for his wanting her to stay must obviously be based on a sincere liking for her, and although she was still convinced that he could never fall in love with her, there existed a conflicting element to this preconceived idea, and this was the tiny germ of hope which persisted somewhere in her subconscious.

  ‘I’ll stay, Dom Miguel,’ she agreed at last, her eyes unnaturally bright as they looked into his.

  ‘Good girl!’ He smiled; and a lightness carried her spirits aloft as he added, the stern edge to his voice being far removed from that which might be used by an employer to his employee, ‘And no more of the “Dom”. Understand?’

  She stared at the fountain, glittering in light reflected from the house, and murmured a rather awkward ‘Yes ... I understand,’ without turning her head. That she avoided his eyes seemed to afford him amusement, for she heard a quiet laugh, and she did look up then, comparing his attractive features with the way they had been when he had seen her with his wife’s portrait. Her fluttering smile broke and she heard his breath catch before, quite suddenly, his gaze narrowed, as if he would conceal his expression from her. And the brusqueness with which he spoke served to strengthen this idea.

  ‘Can I get you a drink, Eleanor? It’ll be some time before dinner is served,’ and without even waiting for a reply he had already risen and was entering the salon through the wide french window.

  CHAPTER NINE

  The date of the wedding having been fixed for the ninth of September, the Palacio was a hive of activity. Sanches came every week-end, staying until Monday morning, and as the couple naturally wanted to spend most of their time together, Eleanor was left either quite alone or, less frequently, with her employer. Miguel’s former manner was always in evidence and the scene in the attic might never have occurred. But he was an enigma to her, since one moment she would be sure he was carrying a weight of grief, and the next she would catch him glancing at her with what could only be described as affection. And while he had never kissed her again there were times when she knew instinctively that he came very near to doing so.

  The affair of the missing jewellery would often occupy her mind when she was alone, but she had abandoned any idea of mentioning her suspicions either to Miguel or his sister. It was none of her business, and in any case, she was unwilling to bring up anything connected with Miguel’s late wife. But the matter was not to be left lying dormant, for one afternoon when Carlota had gone into Lisbon with Sanches and Miguel had gone for a stroll, Eleanor almost collided with Julia as the latter emerged from Dora’s bedroom into the corridor along which Eleanor was walking, making for her room.

  ‘Miss!’ exclaimed Julia, changing colour so that she immediately attracted attention to herself ... and aroused Eleanor’s suspicions all over again. She was carrying a small leather bag, drawn in at the top with fine strands of cord, at the ends of which were ornate beaded tassels. ‘I—I thought you would be taking a siesta—’ The girl pulled herself up sharply, but realized it was too late.

  ‘You did?’ said Eleanor smoothly. ‘Why?’

  Carelessly the girl shrugged.

  ‘You sometimes do.’

  ‘Sometimes, yes.’ Eleanor’s eyes travelled to the bag,

  which the girl immediately let drop to her side, allowing it to dangle by its cord. It was yet another gesture of well-feigned carelessness, but by now the colour had entirely drained from Julia’s face.

  ‘I have been working in Dona Dora’s room,’ she began nervously.

  ‘On a Sunday?' commented Eleanor, her eyes still fixed on the bag. ‘You work on Sundays, then?’

  The girl moistened her lips; she appeared scared—she was scared, but a strange light of defiance was appearing in her dark protuberant eyes.

  ‘If I want to work on Sundays, then I shall work on Sundays! ’ Her English was broken, though good, but as she finished she murmured something to herself in Portuguese, her glance flitting for a second to the bag she held. ‘There is much extra work, with Dona Carlota’s wedding, so I have to work on Sundays.’

  ‘Cleaning?’ murmured Eleanor.

  The girl frowned darkly.

  ‘Miss, it has nothing to do with you. You work for the Conde, as I do.’

  ‘That’s true,’ admitted Eleanor with a slight inclination of her head. ‘I expect you’ve been using dusters?’

  ‘Of course!’ Julia’s head went up. Nevertheless, she was still afraid, and her eyes darted along the corridor as if she feared someone would appear.

  ‘You have them in that bag, I presume?’

  ‘I have—yes!’ The bag was brought up again, and Julia clasped it with both hands. Clearly she was afraid that Eleanor might just decide to feel it.

  ‘A most pretty bag in which to keep dusters,’ remarked Eleanor, vaguely wondering what she was about. Suspicious she might be, but there was nothing she could do. Julia asserted quite emphatically that she had been working in her former mistress’s room and there was little to indicate she was lying—except the absence of cleaning materials, of course, because Eleanor was not deceived into believing that the bag contained dusters.

  ‘I have to go,’ Julia was saying, deliberately by-passing the comment on the bag. But although she made a move to go she stopped again and after a moment’s hesitation she said, in a voice half scared, half defiant, ‘You will not tell anyone you saw me come out of this room?’

  Eleanor’s eyes flickered. So her suspicions were not unfounded! Not that she had ever believed they were, but she hadn’t expected to have such clear proof put before her. How much had the girl already had? she wondered, angry at the idea of Miguel’s being robbed.

  ‘But if you’ve been working, Julia, there’s no reason for secrecy, surely?’

  Julia’s eyes glittered.

  ‘You will not tell my master!’ she said vehemently. ‘No, you will not tell anyone!’

  ‘So you haven’t been working? Can I see what you have in that bag?’

  ‘No! It’s—it’s dusters, as you said!’

  ‘In that case,’ responded Eleanor reasonably, ‘ you have nothing to fear by opening it. ’

  ‘You think I am stealing,’ said the girl after a long hesitation. ‘I see it in your eyes!’
>
  ‘I saw you remove a fur coat from that room,’ Eleanor told her quietly, and the girl seemed suddenly to forget all about the bag as she put both hands fearfully to her face.

  ‘I did not steal—! ’ Horror looked out from her eyes as they rested on the fallen bag, from which some of the contents had spilled from the top. Stooping, Eleanor picked up a diamond and emerald ring and held it in the palm of her hand, gasping at its exquisite beauty.

  ‘Are you sure, Julia?’ she queried softly.

  ‘Yes, I am sure! I did not steal—’

  ‘Then where are you taking this?’ Stooping again, Eleanor picked up the rest of the jewellery which had fallen, and picking up the bag too she dropped it all inside. ‘Are these things from the jewel box?’

  ‘How do you know about the jewel box?’ demanded Julia, lifting her head.

  Eleanor looked narrowly at her.

  ‘I happened to find a diamond clip which someone had dropped in the park; I put it in the jewel box, but, Julia, someone took it out—’

  ‘It wasn’t me!’ Julia glanced around again before letting her gaze come to rest on the bag in Eleanor’s hand. ‘I wasn’t stealing!’ She was still very white and yet the element of defiance remained. Eleanor had the extraordinary impression that the girl had an ace up her sleeve but was most reluctant to use it. ‘It is best that you say nothing, Miss Salway— nothing to anyone.’

  ‘And let you get away with robbing your employer?’

  ‘I have said it is best. I did take the clip—’

  ‘Which you had in fact taken previously, and lost,’ intervened Eleanor, and the girl nodded her head. ‘You have an accomplice?’

  ‘An accomplice? The girl frowned uncomprehendingly and Eleanor explained. ‘No, I have not anyone that I sell these things to.’

  ‘I think,’ decided Eleanor, ‘that we shall leave this matter until Dom Miguel’s return, and he will deal with it as he thinks fit. ’

  ‘No!’ After the shouted word Julia went quiet, eyes darting along the corridor again. ‘It is best, Miss Salway, that you forget you have seen me with these things.’ She came closer and said in lowering tones, ‘I have said I am not stealing, but I think you do not believe me.’