The Velvet Touch

by Margery Hilton

  Carlota's small, imperious features became cold. 'I do not understand the joke.'

  'No, does it matter?' Yvonne looked uncomfortably at Laurel and then exclaimed, 'Oh, come on—we'll be here all day if we wait for Laurie.' She dug her heels into the mare's flanks and cantered away. After another cold, suspicious glance at Laurel's set face, Carlota followed.

  She was noticeably cool towards Laurel during the midday meal when Laurel returned, but the presence of the Condesa prevented any further probings of an embarrassing nature from Carlota. As soon as the meal was over the two girls excused themselves and Laurel did not see them again until the evening.

  She noticed their occasional exchange of surreptitious glances, and wondered uneasily what they were planning. She was not surprised when Yvonne came along to her room as she was getting ready for bed and hung round the dressing table, dipping experimentally into Laurel's jar of moisturiser.

  'Can I try it?'

  'Help yourself.' Laurel wound her watch and placed it on the bedside table. 'Are you out of it?'

  'No…'Yvonne examined her complexion intently and slowly stroked the fluffy cream into her skin. When she had finished she looked at Laurel through the mirror. 'Laurie…'

  'Yes.'

  'Could you let me have some money?'

  Laurel stared. 'Are you broke again?'

  'Well, not exactly—but I bought a new straw sun hat down in the town today and we had three of those almond helados at the cafe.'

  Laurel frowned. 'But your father gave you a hundred pounds for pocket money. You can't have gone through it already. Not here! We've only been in the cafe two or three times—when I paid, incidentally—and you haven't bought anything. Heavens, Yvonne, there are only a handful of shops on the island.'

  'I've sent a lot of postcards off, and you know how money dribbles away on odds and ends when you're on holiday.' Yvonne turned round and pulled a face. 'Oh, don't look so shocked. I haven't spent the lot, but Carlota wants to go on a trip tomorrow and I want to be sure I've got plenty of bread.'

  'Trip?' Laurel paused in the act of slipping into bed. 'What trip?'

  'On the steamer tomorrow.'

  'But where?'

  'Oh, Laurie, don't fuss!' Yvonne plonked herself down on the edge of the bed. 'We're bored—there's nothing to do here. Carlota knows her way around.'

  'Yes, I can imagine that.' Laurie's brow betrayed worry. 'But is she allowed to—to go off wherever she wants? Does the Condesa know?'

  Yvonne shrugged. 'I expect so. But we're going—it'll be fun. It must be—we're going to the Happy Isles!'

  Dismay widened Laurel's eyes. 'But you can't do that in a day! It took us five hours from Las Palmas. You'll—'

  'I know—that's why I must have some extra money. Because we might have to stay overnight. Carlota has some friends there and we'll probably stay with them, but just in case they're away or can't put us up we have to be prepared to stay overnight at an hotel. And I can't let her whack out for me, can I? Oh, come on, Laurie, don't be so stuffy,' Yvonne wheedled. 'It'll be okay, honestly. You know that Daddy gave you the travellers' cheques to look after. You wouldn't want me to have to cable him for more money, would you?'

  Laurel took a deep breath. Yvonne's unexpected request had put her in a quandary. A warning instinct made her reluctant to agree, yet did she have any valid reasons for withholding consent? And if she did, would the two girls obey? Laurel had an uncomfortable suspicion that they had made up their minds and nothing either she or the Condesa said would make a scrap of difference. And what would the Conde say when he returned? For he would find out. The girls' absence couldn't be kept a secret; someone, perhaps the Condesa, perhaps even a member of the staff, might mention it quite innocently. Laurel's mouth set.

  'No,' she said firmly. 'You must persuade Carlota to forget this trip, at least until the Conde returns. Then you can go, if he gives his permission.'

  'Laurie! You wouldn't tell him! That's the whole—' Yvonne stopped, and her features tightened mutinously. 'I might have known you'd be a spoilsport. Now you've ruined everything.'

  'No, I might just have saved Carlota from a load of trouble. Now go to bed and forget about it,' Laurel said shortly.

  For a moment it seemed as though Yvonne was about to fly into one of her tantrums, then she stood up indignantly. 'I might have known you'd come down heavily with the establishment. You should have been born a century ago. You'd have fitted in then,' she added viciously as she flounced out of the room.

  It was a long time before Laurel settled into sleep. Yvonne's angry thrusts had hurt deeply. Was it true? she asked herself. Was she a spoilsport, and all the other unflattering things Yvonne and Carlota had called her with the bluntness of adolescence? Had she been unreasonable to forbid the trip? But was it so unreasonable to endeavour to be a responsible member of society and to have consideration for her host's wishes—to say nothing of the responsibility entrusted to her by her employer? Perhaps the trip was just an innocent escapade, but was it wise to encourage two youngsters both of whom were at present in bad grace with their respective families, to flout authority?

  At last Laurel fell asleep, beginning to wish bitterly that Yvonne and Carlota were far enough…

  The little maid had to call her three times in the morning before she surfaced from a too late sleep. With dismay she saw that it was long after eight-thirty. The maid looked distressed.

  'Lo siento—I think you wish long sleep today,' she stammered in her halting English mixed with her own tongue. 'Lamento este—'

  'No, please don't worry.' Laurel smiled at her. 'It's my own fault for sleeping so late.'

  'Si—but no fue culpa mia. The seňorita understand?' There seemed much the maid wanted to explain, but she could only grope for what she wanted to say.

  Laurel's grasp of Spanish was no better, and she smiled again, trying to reassure the troubled girl, and poor Sofia went at last, still shaking her head and lamenting.

  Breakfast was a solitary affair for Laurel that morning, guiltily conscious that everyone else in the household had finished theirs long since and her own tardiness was holding back the staff from getting cleared away. The girls must have gone riding again, she thought, hoping Yvonne had got over her sulks. She finished her coffee and slipped up to her room to wash her hands and collect her white cardigan in case the Condesa wished to go out this morning. Judging by the tossing heads of the flowers in the window boxes outside the breakfast room there was a very strong wind blowing.

  There was no suspicion in Laurel's mind as she pulled open her dressing table drawer to drop one or two oddments into it, but she frowned as she looked down. Surely she hadn't left it so untidy… Then she saw the jumbled mix-up of silk headsquares she knew she had left folded neatly and gave an exclamation of dismay. The little plastic folder in which she kept their passports and money was still there, but open, and several of the travellers' cheques were missing.

  Laurel turned pale. She checked them again, and searched the drawer, and knew there was no mistake. Yvonne must have crept into the room early that morning and taken what she wanted. A quick look into the girl's room confirmed her suspicion. Yvonne's smaller case was not there, and quite a few of her clothes and personal belongings were also gone.

  Her face set with anger, Laurel returned downstairs, to be met in the hall by Maria with a summons from the Condesa.

  Laurel's heart sank. The Condesa had discovered the flight of the two truants and she was to be called to the reckoning. But the Condesa greeted her with her normal graciousness, and bade Maria to leave. Laurel sat down, preparing to break the news, and the Condesa gave her a searching look.

  'You seem worried, my child. Is something wrong?'

  Laurel swallowed hard and told her.

  'Madre mia!' The Condesa raised her eyes heavenwards, then closed them for a moment. 'You are certain?'

  Laurel nodded unhappily. 'If only I hadn't fallen asleep!' She bit her lip, another suspicion occurring
. It was highly probable that Yvonne had carefully instructed the maid to delay the morning call on the pretext that Laurel wanted to sleep late, and poor Sofia had naturally obeyed.

  'That troublesome niňa!' the old lady exclaimed with a thump of her cane. 'She must have commandeered the car and José very early this morning —that boat sails shortly after dawn.'

  'He wouldn't question her?'

  'José?' the Condesa snapped with unconscious arrogance. 'Indeed not. José is a servant, a very well trained servant. He would not question an order from anyone of our family, or a guest.'

  'No, I suppose not,' Laurel said unhappily. 'I hope they'll be all right—I feel responsible.'

  Unexpectedly the Condesa gave a wry smile. 'Nonsense! You could not do more than forbid the escapade. After all, one can not forcibly imprison two very determined young girls who have made up their minds on a course of action.'

  'Yes, but I'm afraid of what—'

  'Of what my grandson will say?'

  'Yes.'

  'It is quite simple—we will not tell him. Provided they return safely without a tale of trouble! All the same,' the Condesa paused, worry entering her dark eyes, 'we must hope he does not hasten back too quickly.'

  Laurel gave an unguarded exclamation. 'He's coming back today?'

  'Today?' It was the Condesa's turn to look startled. 'I trust not—if we are to keep the little secret. It is to be hoped that he remains away another week.'

  'A week!' Laurel stared. 'But the girls should be back by tomorrow evening. It's only a—' She stopped, for the Condesa was shaking her head.

  'My dear, I'm afraid they have misled you. The steamer on which they sailed this morning does not go to Las Palmas. It is the weekly service to Madeira.'

  'Madeira!'

  'Yes.' The Condesa placed both hands over the top of her cane and regarded Laurel with something like satisfaction at the shock she had evoked. 'You may not have realised that although we are quite fortunate in having a number of steamers call here only one of them links us with Madeira, and the return boat is not due for another five days.'

  Laurel paled. 'But Yvonne never even mentioned…' She stopped, unwilling to believe that Yvonne had told her a deliberate untruth.

  But as the days passed, with no sign of the truants, she was forced to accept, with increasing worry, the unpalatable fact. Her imagination supplied plenty of varieties of mischief and trouble into which Yvonne, abetted and aided by the equally headstrong Carlota, could plunge, and she suspected that the Condesa, of all people, harboured a secret sympathy for the two girls.

  One morning later that week she said rather abruptly: 'You are worried, my dear, are you not?' and when Laurel nodded the Condesa smiled.

  'You take responsibility very much to heart, I'm afraid. Take care you do not miss out on your own youth.'

  Laurel stared, and the old lady shook her head, a strangely misted look in her eyes. 'When one is as old as I am, my dear, one begins to see things in a different way. When I was young we were trained very strictly, we had to conform, and because of that we in our turn passed on that legacy of discipline. But today our young are able to reason for themselves and question whether a tradition is the only way, simply because it is a tradition. And I think perhaps some of us who are old are simply envious, because the right to think and decide for oneself was not ours.'

  It was all very well for the Condesa to philosophise, Laurel thought with a flash of rebellion; she would not suffer in the row which might erupt. For if the Conde arrived home first and discovered his cousin's wilful absence it was more than likely that he would not display the same liberal views to which his grandmother had suddenly admitted, to say nothing of what Yvonne's father would say if the escapade should come to his ears.

  But it seemed that Laurel's misgivings were groundless. The Conde did not return, and the following Thursday evening brought Carlota and Yvonne, looking only slightly timorous of what their reception might be and their suppressed high spirits bubbling over the moment they realised that Laurel was too thankful to see them to be genuinely angry.

  'We've had an absolute rave of a time—sorry we sneaked off like that, but it was the only way without a great fuss.' Yvonne gave Laurel an exuberant hug. 'You're not really mad, are you? Look, we've brought you a peace offering!'

  'And something for Abuelita,' broke in Carlota. 'Some of your favourite Bual,' she added winningly, kissing her grandmother's check as she proffered the bottle of wine.

  They had brought an attractive tapestry shoulder bag for Laurel, and although Yvonne's secret little grin at Carlota did confirm the sad suspicion that the gift was something of a bribe Laurel had to forgive them.

  Carlota seemed to have forgotten her previous animosity towards Laurel and the meal that evening was a pleasant occasion. The Condesa joined them and listened eagerly to the girls' account of their visit.

  'I have a dear friend in Funchal,' she said musingly, 'You remember, Carlota? Senhora Pereira—her husband was the Portuguese attaché until he retired and they bought their villa in Funchal. It is a pity you did not think to call on her. I have not seen her for such a long time.'

  'But I do remember the Senhora Pereira. Alas, I could not recall her address, and there are so many of the name of Pereira,' Carlota said glibly. 'I know! We will return there immediately! And we will take you with us, Abuelita!'

  'Madre mia!' The Condesa cast a despairing glance heavenwards. 'Whatever next, foolish niňa?' she exclaimed affectionately. 'I fear I—'

  But whatever the Condesa feared was not to be voiced. José had entered on soundless tread, to hover by her chair and bend to deliver a message in low tones. There were moments of silence from the others, then the Condesa looked at Laurel, something between puzzlement and amusement in her dark eyes.

  'You are required to take a telephone call, my dear. Well, go, child!' she added sharply as Laurel stared at her with surprise.

  'Yes, but I—' Aware of the others staring at her, Laurel stood up and remembered to make a murmured 'Excuse me,' to the Condesa as she hurried in the wake of José. Could it be Yvonne's father calling? Had something happened…? The manservant opened the door of the Conde's study, indicating the gilt and onyx telephone that stood on a fine old tulipwood bureau-plat by the window and then closing the door noiselessly behind her. Laurel picked up the unfamiliar feeling receiver and said uncertainly, 'Hello, this is Laurel…'

  There was a soft but distinct chuckle at the other end, and a deep voice with a note of mockery responded, 'Please do not sound so alarmed, seňorita— the worst is not about to happen!'

  'Seňor!' Weakness coursed through Laurel's limbs and she groped back into the chair by the desk. 'I—I never expected to—to hear from you,' she stammered. 'I couldn't think who—'

  'I felt I had been neglectful too long of my guests,' he broke in smoothly. 'I trust all is well at the castillo?'

  'Yes, thank you.' Suddenly she felt tongue-tied.

  'And my grandmother?'

  'She is well, and looking forward to your return.'

  'Tell her I will be returning tomorrow, and Tia Costenza is coming home with me.'

  'Yes,' she said obediently, getting over her surprise and secretly hoping he was not about to enquire into the activities of his young cousin during his absence. But it seemed that Carlota was not in his thoughts at that moment. Laurel heard her own name, then the line began to crackle and fade and for a moment she thought the call had been cut altogether. Then the interference cleared, and she said anxiously, 'Hello…?'

  'I am still with you.' The mocking note was back in his voice. 'So I am to take it that no one has missed me unduly, seňorita.'

  'Oh, no!' Laurel bit her lip on too undue fervency. 'I'm sure that would be a mistaken assumption. But, seňor…'

  'Yes, seňorita?'

  'Was there something you wished me to do—perhaps a special message to pass on before your return?'

  'No, seňorita. I have already given José instr
uctions.'

  There was another pause, and she said awkwardly, 'I was just wondering, because…'

  'Because why?'

  'Well, this call will be costing you a fortune.'

  He laughed softly. 'You are concerned about my pocket?'

  'Yes, of course.'

  'That is a new experience for me. One I find unexpectedly pleasant:' A different inflection had subtly changed his tone, then he added, 'Or perhaps it is that I am enjoying the lilt of a sweet young English voice.'

  She felt the warmth of pleasure radiate through her entire being and she glanced around the shadowy room, suddenly glad that only painted eyes were present to witness the flush of rose she knew was tinting her cheeks.

  'So you see, seňorita, I am not entirely unaware that my own people do tend to be a trifle strong-voiced at times.'

  On a little surge of mirth she wanted to exclaim that his admission was the understatement of the century, but she could not bear to shatter the delicate warmth of the moment—nor did she know how far to test his humour!

  'But I have reduced you to silence!' he broke in before she could frame a suitable response. 'Perhaps it is time for me to heed your wise adjunct and bid you adios. Buenos noches, seňorita. Until tomorrow.'

  'Until tomorrow,' she whispered, and heard the line close.

  She felt superbly happy when she returned to her unfinished coffee and liqueur. The two girls gave her curious glances, but she had no intention of satisfying their curiosity, and the Condesa was too perfect a lady to make even the slightest allusion to the subject of Laurel's phone call. However, Yvonne had no such inhibitions and she followed Laurel into her room when they finally retired upstairs.

  'Was that my father?'

  'No.'

  'Who, then?'

  Sighing, Laurel told her, and Yvonne's eyes widened with mischief. 'I guessed! What did he want?'

  'To say he was coming home tomorrow.'

  'Is that all? Pull the other one! Come on, Laurie, give!'

  'There's nothing to give.'

  'No?' Yvonne sprawled herself comfortably across Laurel's bed and grinned. 'Have you fallen for him?'