The Cazalet Bride

by Violet Winsper

  There was a wrought-iron table inside the little house of shells, chairs to match, and a couple of windows that let in very little light because of the trees that had encroached upon the place. A bracketed shelf held several earthen­ware plant pots, but the plants had long since withered from lack of water. The cushions on the chairs had run to mildew, and the rush matting was probably crawling with ants and beetles.

  Ricki withdrew into the open, away from faint scamperings, and stirrings of bat-wings, feeling as though she had disturbed a couple of ghosts as well.

  She was standing there, looking at the house of shells and wondering why along with the pool it had been abandoned to decay, when the sudden prick of the dog's ears warned her that someone was coming. She tensed, her mind still on the mystery of the place, then she swung round and saw Don Arturo striding towards her.

  His black polo sweater and the black line of his brows, she noticed, added to his look of Dantesque fury. She gave a shiver as he came up and towered over her or seemed to in this moment.

  'What are you doing in here?' he demanded. 'Your place is with my nephew - you are employed to take care of him, not to wander these premises like a turista!'

  'I'm well aware of that, Don Arturo.' She flushed to her ear-tips at being caught here, and reprimanded like a - a ninny of a nursemaid. His temper sparked her own and she added, with spirit: 'You need not worry that I shall neglect the duties you're paying for, senor, but as it hap­pens I'm looking for a quiet spot where Jaime can mop up some sunshine and also do light exercises. He doesn't get out of his room enough to suit him or me, and you did say I could set up a regime you would not interfere with.'

  'That is perfectly correct,' he allowed, the fire still shimmering in the black flint of his eyes. 'I agree that the child should have more fresh air and sunshine, but that does not answer my question. Why are you roaming about in here, this is not a place for a child ?'

  'The door was not locked,' she replied, feeling the slow, hard thumps of her heart, and the burning in her cheeks because he made her feel such an intruder. 'I'm sorry if Im trespassing, but if this is a sort of Bluebeard's garden, then you had better keep the door bolted.'

  'You are very impertinent.' His nostrils were drawn in tautly, then he rammed his hands into his pockets as though he didn't trust himself and the use to which he might put them. 'You possess the audacity of your race, Miss O'Neill, and on that count I suppose I must make allowances for finding you here. There is little to interest you, as you can see. The place is a ruin and I plan to have the door bricked in.'

  'But there's a swimming pool and a quaint little garden house,' Ricki protested. 'They could be cleaned out and put to use '

  'Quite out of the question!' He spoke harshly, the bones showing tautly under the tawny skin of his face. 'The Caseta Conchilla, as the garden house was once called, is now the abode of bats and beetles, while the pool always took more water than can be spared. This is hot, dry coun­try, Miss O'Neill. Unlike in England, when the rain falls here it often evaporates before even touching the ground.' 'Would you spare the water, Senor, if I assured you that it would be of immense benefit to Jaime to learn how to swim?' When Ricki was eager, or determined, her eyes became green as jewels in her elfin face that was neither pretty nor plain. Her flash of anger, even of fear, was for­gotten now she gave voice to the idea that had come into her mind from the moment she had come upon that neglected swimming pool.

  'The buoyancy of water,' she explained, 'provides a sense of support for anyone who has lost the use of his legs. It gives a real kick of confidence when such a person actually finds himself moving along in the water, and is also good for the general muscle tone. Believe me, Senor, a pool to swim in would be of invaluable help to Jaime.'

  'It was not suggested by any of the other physio-atten­dants that a pool to swim in would be so beneficial,' the Don said, with no softening in his tone or his expression. 'Perhaps they didn't care enough to tackle you about it?' she rejoined.

  'Or perhaps they lacked the audacity, eh?' The Don gazed down quizzically into Ricki's eager eyes, searching them for a long moment. 'You demand a lot, Miss O'Neill, when you ask that I reopen this place,' he said at last.

  'Bricking in memories is making permanent lumber of them,' she dared to say, feeling certain, now, that the ghosts she had disturbed had been those of Conquesta and Leandro, 'Throw them out with the rubbish that has accumulated in the caseta, let the place come back to life to the sound of Jaime's laughter. I promise it will, senor!

  'You have a very persuasive tongue,' he said grimly. 'And you know witch that you are that I am vulner able where the boy is concerned.' He fell silent; and took a long look round him, then his eyes came back to Ricki's face. 'I do not give in to your request very willingly, let me warn you of that, but I will comply for the child's sake.' 'Thank you, senor,' she said gratefully. 'I'm sure you won't regret your decision when you see how much pro­gress Jaime will make.'

  'If the pool will make him happier, or help him to walk, then so be it.' There was no emotion in the Don's crisp voice, but as though afraid his eyes might reveal some­thing, he looked away from Ricki towards the house of shells, just showing through the trees. 'My servants will not bless you, you realize, when I give orders that the caseta and the pool be cleared out and cleaned. To them this place is mala suerte.'

  'A place of bad luck!' Ricki caught her breath on the words. 'But I'm sure they'll feel differently when the trees have been trimmed and everything is looking sunny and fresh. Right now it's a garden of ghosts enough to frighten anyone.'

  'The ghosts, I notice, did not stop you from venturing into the garden.' He spoke in a droll tone of voice, his black-clad shoulders now at rest against the massive trunk of an encina tree. 'But if I remember rightly there is a superstition, is there not, that the pure in heart are able to pass even through fire without scorching?'

  'I shouldn't like to try it,' she laughed.

  'Your heart is not pure enough?' he mocked. 'You feel that your quick temper, and inclination towards self-will, puts you on a lower plane than the angels?'

  'Exactly, senor.' She spoke lightly, but wasn't sure she was amused by his remark. He had plenty of temper and self-will himself, along with the pride of Lucifero! She studied him through the density of her Irish lashes and saw his gaze brooding upon the quaint garden house -the Caseta Gonchilla, as they had called it. A line of Keats thrust sharp through Ricki's mind, with its Gaelic capacity for storing up pieces of lore, legend and poetry.

  'Everything that reminds me of her goes through me like a spear ran that line.

  In that moment, as though sensing in the atmosphere something that disturbed him, the dog thrust his wolf's head against Ricki and gave a little whine. She bent to pat him, and her employer said curtly: 'We do not as a rule make pets of the dogs about the estancia. Their main function is to guard the sheep and the house, and that animal might well have bitten you as you are a stranger.'

  Ricki glanced up and caught the flicker of curiosity in Don Arturo's dark eyes. 'Does nothing shake that aud­acious British heart of yours?' he asked.

  'The days are over when women went into flutters at the sight of mice and men,' she rejoined flippantly.

  'Mice and men might not disturb you, but fluttering above your head right now is a stinging fly which has no doubt flown out of the pool behind you. It will give you Spanish hellfire if it should get its fangs into that white neck of yours, so I advise you to stand very still.' The Don's gaze was fixed like a gimlet upon the thing hover­ing above her head, then she gave a little cry as swift as a lash he suddenly reached out and swung her clear of the bicho. He then set her down on the overgrown path in front of him and crisply suggested that she lead the way out of 'this jungle'.

  Still feeling the hard pressure of his arms, Ricki hurried ahead of him to the arch of a door through which he would have to stoop. Her white neck, as he had called it, was now pink and she felt rather than heard him behind her, walking
as lithely and silently as a panther. She reached the door and hurriedly opened it, finding her­self out on the patio with a sharp sense of relief.

  'I must go and tell Jaime about the swimming pool,' she said, knocking from her skirt the fluff of the wild puff-balls she had brushed against in her hurry, just now, to get out of that garden. 'Th - thank you for saving me from a stinging, senor, and for agreeing to the clearance of the pool.'

  'You are welcome, Miss O'Neill, if swimming exercises will aid my nephew.' He gave a curt inclination of his dark head. 'It will be a week or more before the pool is ready for use, and I take it you will require new furniture for the caseta? You intend to make use of the place as a garden house?'

  'If I may, senor? She felt a bit heartless, and yet was certain that it was for the best to let the sunshine and a child's laughter, dispel the ghosts of the caseta. They had lingered there too long, haunting this man, keeping him locked in memories that were best forgotten. She excused herself from him, then hastened indoors and up the stairs into the maze of corridors where her room was situated.

  They were rather dim and mysterious even in daylight, with stained glass windows throwing zephyrs of amber, ruby and royal blue on to portraits of proud-looking Gaza-let women wearing gowns of encrusted brocade, and tightly pleated collars. The men wore more sombre attire, always a Spanish characteristic even in the days when gallants of other lands had dressed like peacocks.

  Ricki adventured into several rooms before finding her own, one of which contained a huge cama de matrimonio, so formidable that it must have frightened the wits out of every bride brought into this house. She grinned as she withdrew and closed the door on that canopied bridal bed, hemmed in by big dark presses and watched over by the imps, satyrs and dragons carved all over the wood­work. Goodness, she thought, you would have to be in love to spend the first night of your marriage in that chamber of horrors!

  Jaime was still bent industriously over his drawing book, but he glanced up with the same grave smile that characterized his uncle when Ricki lightly encircled his shoulders with her arm. She never made the mistake of ruffling a child's hair, not even, when tempted by the young silkiness of it and the innocence of the nape which it revealed. Boys in particular didn't like such a caress, and they carried this dislike into manhood. Funny creatures! It didn't do to ruffle their dignity, Ricki reflected, treat­ing Jaime to her impish grin.

  'Do you like surprises?' she whispered.

  He nodded, and listened with slowly widening eyes as Ricki told him that in about a week or so they would have a swimming pool to play in and a summer-house where he could have his books and his drawing pencils, and even his lunch if he felt like it.

  'Your Uncle Arturo is having the pool and the caseta got ready for us. Don't you think that's extremely kind of him, Jaime?' She casually picked up his drawing book. 'It proves how fond he is of you.'

  Jaime hunched a shoulder, plainly uninterested in his uncle's fondness for him.

  'Well, aren't you looking forward to the fun and games we shall have when the pool's ready?' she asked, trying not to show she was disappointed in his reaction to her news.

  'How will it be possible for me to go into the water? I shall sink, Rickee!' He blinked those incredible lashes at her and she only just managed not to grab him and hug him. She was filled with compassion, but it would be wrong to pet him right now and perhaps give him the idea she approved of this dislike he harboured for Don Arturo.

  'Of course you won't sink,' she assured him. 'At first you'll float about in an inflated rubber ring, and then very gradually you will gain confidence and begin to swim on your own.'

  'I will be able to swim even though I - I cannot walk?'

  'Of course you will.' She imitated his awe-struck voice.

  'It is like magic,' he said.

  'Nothing of the sort, my lad. It isn't going to take magic to get you running and riding, it's going to take will­power and the belief that you can do those things. Do you trust me, Jaime, and believe me?' She held his gaze, compelling a response from him, an eagerness to believe, but he gave a sigh and glanced away from her, and telling herself not to feel defeated at this stage in the game she began to flip through the pages of his drawing book. Too many of the drawings depicted overturned cars with puffs of flame billowing from them, and people thrown like broken dolls to the roadside - yet they were clever, they showed a budding talent and Ricki guessed that he was having some sort of tuition in sketching from Senor Andres. But why did the man encourage this kind of thing?

  'Why do you draw pictures like these, my poppet?' she asked.

  He didn't answer right away, and then he said: 'What is pop-pet?'

  'Well now, in Spanish you might say guapo, or mi amigo. It's a term of affection, Jaime.'

  'It means you - you like me?' he queried.

  'It means exactly that - my poppet. And now we'll put away these books and pencils and clean ourselves up for lunch. Do you fancy having it downstairs?' she added casually.

  'No, up here!' He shook his head emphatically. 'Al­ways I have it up here, and then after siesta Senor Andres comes.'

  'Ah yes, Senor Andres!' Ricki's green eyes flashed with curiosity and a hint of temper. 'I'm looking forward to meeting him.'

  Ricki wasn't certain whether the man was fairly young or getting on in years. A child's definition could not be relied on, for the early thirties was a pensionable age in the eyes of the young. She was tempted to question Jaime about him, and then she decided to judge for herself whether her employer had let a fox into the coop by allowing this Senor Andres to come here and have Jaimie to himself for several hours each day. The boy had to have some schooling, but it seemed to Ricki that it might have been wiser to employ a stranger rather than a man who had been a friend of Leandro's.

  'Are you fond of Senor Andres?' she asked Jaime, as they sat at their lunch.

  The boy nodded. 'He is quite a pop-pet, you will see. He draws muy fino and he teaches me.'

  What, to draw all those car-crash pictures? she thought, barely tasting her rice pudding flavoured by cinnamon and thick slices of lemon.

  They finished lunch and Ricki was about to settle Jaime for his siesta when Sophina appeared. Ricki guessed that the guardesa's family had kept her occupied all morning, now she came bustling in, bent on preparing Jaime for his nap. 'You must take your own siesta, senorita?' She hustled Ricki to the door. Go now, and leave me to see to the nino.'

  Remembering her brush with Sophina at breakfast time, Ricki didn't argue. 'Sleep tight, guapo.' She gave Jaime a wave from the door. 'I'll see you later.'

  The estancia slumbered in the grip of the afternoon heat, but Ricki was feeling too restless to take to her bed for a couple of hours, and she made her way downstairs. No doubt she was breaking a rule of Spanish etiquette by wandering about during siesta, but a girl, she argued with herself, couldn't act like a senorita if she wasn't one.

  Mmmm, was this the living-room ? How long and cool it was, with oval-shaped openings framing the patio, and coloured rugs scattered like islands about the polished floor. The walls were ivory pale, their surfaces broken here and there by some bold, very Spanish-looking paint­ings. Long cane seats invited relaxation, while more for­mal chairs had the Cazalet escudo carved into their high backs, its irises, hawks and swans picked out in colour. A brilliant fringed shawl lay over a black grand piano, and a screen of royal blue leather concealed a stone fireplace. Ricki slowly turned to take in everything, and when she suddenly met her own reflection in a large mir­ror set in wrought-iron, she saw the question her eyes were large with.

  Who was it who played that magnificent piano? Was it her employer, and could she hope that there would be evenings when he would invite her to listen to him?

  Then she shrugged her shoulders,, dismissing the idea that he would ever show her such friendliness, and curled down into one of the cushioned cane chairs. Her eyes brooded on the patio beyond the archways, where the brilliant tiles and tubbed geraniu
ms shimmered in the hot sun. In a while she dozed off-to sleep.

  She awoke suddenly about an hour and a half later, drowsily stretched herself and rubbed a crick out of her neck.

  'Such a pity that Sleeping Beauty should awake just as I was about to give her the traditional kiss!' The voice was gay and audacious, the accent Spanish, and Ricki jumped confusedly to her feet as she noticed a man loung­ing in the archway facing her. His jacket hung from his shoulders like a cloak, and he had a rather self-indulgent mouth and a lurking devilry in his brown eyes.

  'Permit me to introduce myself,' he came towards her, not tall but with a faint swagger that suggested a mixture of bandit and Don Juan. 'My name is Alvedo Andres. I am both an artist, and tutor to the young Jaime - you, I venture, are the English Miss?'

  'The name is O'Neill,' she said, irritated that he should have come upon her while she slept. It put her at a dis­advantage, robbed her of the dignity she meant to assume when they met. 'Jaime has talked about you, Senor Andres. You're - quite a favourite with him, aren't you?'

  'Ah, does that not quite meet with your approval - Miss O'Neill.' As he mockingly emphasized her name, his eyes were taking her in from her tousled hair to her ankles. 'So Don Arturo does not bring here a Miss who I thought would be muscular and manly. He brings one who has the green eyes of a witch.'

  'Let's get something straight, Senor Andres.' Ricki drew herself up very straight. Don't run away with the idea that I'm green all through. I'm good at my job and I'm not easily bossed about or particularly keen on being flirted with.'

  'You think I would flirt with you? His grin was wicked.