'You really are a bit of a devil, Don Juan!'
'If you choose to think so.' He spoke lazily. 'But you must admit that the bed is more comfortable than nodding in a chair all night.'
'I ... I suppose so.'
'Then don't let your conscience be a lumpy pillow, Miss Pilgrim. Just look upon me as a draught-excluder and go to sleep.'
She wanted to giggle when he said that ... she loved him when he gave vent to that humorous side of him ... Loved him?
She lay very still and listened to his breathing and felt him move his leg into a more comfortable position. How do I love thee? The words drifted through her mind. I love thee with the passion put to use in my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith - I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears of all my life!
She closed her eyes and fell asleep beside Don Juan de Leon. She awoke in the morning before him and found the sun shining into the whitewashed room under the eaves, where birds strutted and broke into song. She remembered at once the events of the night before, and she studied the sleeping face beside her and thought how black was his hair, how proud his nose, how guarded she must now be with this man who was her guardian.
She got out of bed and went to the window. She pushed it wide open and leaned out, breathing the morning air and finding the sun warm after the cold mist of last night. The last little curls of it could be seen among the pine trees, and the moist grasses filled the air with their scent.
If only one could hold on to a chosen moment and never be released from it. Here and now she would choose to be made captive, while the morning was so lovely and she was the only girl in Don Juan's life. No words, no promises already made to others could break the magic spell.
CHAPTER SEVEN
YVAIN was very careful in the days that followed to act as if she had nothing more serious on her mind than her lessons with Senor Fonesca. Each morning the chauffeur drove her into town to the villa, where upon occasion she saw Raquel in the garden, or on her way out to the club to watch the tennis or to lunch with a friend.
The elegant Raquel always wore an air of amusement when she came upon her father's pupil.
'You are an earnest little thing,' she said one morning, when she found Yvain studying at the patio table. 'Manrique Cortez was asking after you only yesterday, and I told him he was welcome to call on you here.'
'I hope he doesn't,' Yvain replied. 'He's distracting and I take my lessons seriously.'
'I can see that.' Raquel clipped a small golden rose and pinned it to the lapel of her beautiful suit. 'Would it not be more fun to marry a nice young man, than to sit poring over those books and filling your mind with a lot of facts and figures?'
'I like to learn, and your father is a wonderful teacher.'
'He is a pet,' Raquel agreed, a hint of possessiveness in her smile. 'There is only one other man I know who can measure up to him for wit and learning and real Spanish charm. Do you find our men charming, Miss Pilgrim?'
Yvain glanced up and found Raquel studying her cool green dress and her auburn hair in a pony-tail. 'Yes, I like to be charmed,' she smiled. 'Latin men certainly have their share of good looks and gallantry.'
'Then it is a wonder you have not fallen in love with one of them, Miss Pilgrim. Of course, I have heard that the British are a very cool race and not given to revealing what they feel.'
'I feel that I am being given a hint about something, Senorita Fonesca.' Yvain hung on grimly to her smile. 'Please be frank with me.'
'Don Juan cannot always be responsible for you ... is that frank enough? You are not a child even if Juan thinks so.'
'No, senorita.' Yvain met the other girl's eyes. 'I wouldn't dream of imposing on Don Juan's generosity for longer than necessary. Your father knows the director of an art gallery in Madrid and I hope quite soon to go and work there as an assistant.'
'Madrid, eh? That should be convenient for you with regard to your friendship with Manrique Cortez. He seems intrigued by you, but take my advice and don't play too hard to get. Men like the thrill of the chase, but they like also to catch up with their quarry.' Raquel smoothed the fingers of her beige gloves. 'Is it possible that you are a little frightened of men?'
'I'm not a shrinking violet,' Yvain protested.
'Manrique seems to think you very modest and shy, and that he may have alarmed you the last time you were alone with him.'
'He annoyed me.'
'My dear,' Raquel looked inquisitive, 'what did he do?'
Yvain thought back to that drive and found its details blurred by the events which had followed at the cottage in the fog. If Raquel should ever learn of that night! How it would shake her self-possession, for she was not the sort to believe that a girl could remain innocent after spending a night with a man. How it would ruffle her poise to believe that Don Juan had an interest in someone other than herself.
If only it were true!
Yvain felt shaken all anew, and she felt also a welling up of rebellion. Raquel was so shallow compared to Don Juan. She spent her days in idle enjoyment, and was not deeply in love with him.
It came as a relief when Senor Fonesca returned to the patio carrying the book of engravings he wished her to study. 'Do you intend to stay and join our studies?' he inquired of his daughter, a twinkle in his eye. 'I thought you were on your way to lunch at the Hidalgo with one of your numerous admirers.'
'He won't mind waiting for me, Papa.' Raquel gave Yvain a pitying smile. 'I feel for you, my dear, that you have to work. You must take my advice and find yourself a husband.'
'Have you yet found one for yourself?' her father asked dryly.
'Yes, Papa, there is someone special.' She smiled mysteriously as she kissed her father on the cheek, and she was still smiling as she waved good-bye at Yvain and walked elegantly from the patio. Her perfume lingered on the air, and her words haunted the rest of the morning for Yvain. That someone special was Don Juan, who must marry to have a son to carry on his name and his guardianship of the Isla del Leon.
Yvain and her tutor lunched beneath a shady tree, while the birds twittered in the sun and the flowers stirred at the attack of the big honey bees.
'You look a little sad, Yvain. Troubled.'
She gave a start and stirred out of her thoughts. 'I was thinking, senor, that I can't stay indefinitely at the castillo. When do you think I shall be ready to begin work at the gallery in Madrid?'
He smiled as he arose and cut a peach from the wall-tree with a small, ivory-handled knife. 'The young are so impatient for new adventures and fresh faces. Are you tired so soon of your bearded tutor and the thick books he makes you study?'
'No, it isn't that,' she said quickly. 'I enjoy every moment of being here. I lap up all you teach me like a thirsty cat. But I long to be independent ... I can't always take food and board from Don Juan.'
'I am sure he enjoys providing both.' The senor stoned the peach and placed half on Yvain's plate. 'Juan is a true Spaniard and very generous. The Castillo is also very empty for him and you help to fill it. Come, eat the peach and don't imagine that you are a burden on anyone.'
'When he marries, senor — '
'I don't think the great day is imminent, my child.'
'But I want to go away when it happens.'
'That is understandable.' The shrewd eyes were fixed upon her. 'When Juan marries, life will change for you, but in the meantime enjoy being his ward.'
She smiled and ate the peach. 'C'est la vie,’ she murmured.
'Yes, my child, what will be, will be. We must all submit to our destiny whatever it is.'
'Makes me feel as insecure as an autumn leaf.'
'You feel that way, nina, because you are young. The young must dream and hope and perhaps be a little melancholy. The best poets and painters were mainly young people, suffering from love rather than finding their comfort in it. Love is at the root of everything ... it cannot be escaped.'
'I've never been in love,' she said. 'I've wondered how one knows — '
The senor studied her for a long moment. 'It becomes a small death each time to say good-bye to a certain person. To walk away when you want only to remain. Love is so basic, nina. It is the desire to be part of that person, not for an hour but for every night and day. You will know, believe me, when you fall in love. You are sensitive, and therefore among the truly passionate.'
He laughed quietly at the way she looked at him, her eyes like honey-pools in her piquant face. 'You will either find great joy, or a certain sadness,' he predicted. 'There can be no compromise for the girl who must give everything to one man.'
'You make me sound uncomfortably dedicated,' she halflaughed.
'Without that dedication,' he reached for her hand and lightly kissed it, you would not be the perfect pupil.'
'Thank you for the compliment, senor. When will you give me my diploma?'
'In good time, nina.' His fingers tightened on hers. 'If the marriage of Don Juan becomes imminent, then I shall be among the first to know.'
Yvain hung on to her smile. Of course, Raquel's father would be told at once that he could expect to give his daughter into the keeping of Juan de Leon on a certain day, at the baroque cathedral on the island, with its fretted pinnacles and its sun-mellowed walls. The bride would wear convent-made lace from her head to her heels, and she would carry madonna lilies. The Leon family pearls would grace her throat, and a smile would grace her smooth red lips. The bells would peal, and a day of celebration would be proclaimed all over the island. Everyone would be happy for the Marques. Everyone would say that he had chosen wisely.
It was several minutes before Yvain realized that Senor Fonesca had left her to take his after-lunch siesta. Their conversation had made her feel restless and she found herself doodling profiles in her notebook ... Latin profiles with a thick sweep of hair above the brow. She threw down her pen and on a sudden impulse let herself out of a side door of the patio and played truant from her studies.
She made her way down the stepped streets to the shore, where fishing-boats and sloops were becalmed in the afternoon sunshine. Few people were about; only cats sloped in the shadows of Moorish archways, and the shutters of the narrow windows were closed against the sun for coolness. The sea air held a tang of fish and roses. A palm tree etched its shadow against a wall, and Yvain was a lonesome figure in her green dress, her hair stroked to an auburn blaze by the hot sun.
Cobbled steps led down to the sandy shore, and there she came upon an upturned boat, its bottom dried by the sun, hiding a crab that scuttled out as she sat down on the bleached hull. It was so quiet. Even the sea was still, and the far off mountains of Spain were like an iron-blue chain across the horizon.
It would surely not be long before she crossed over into the shadow of those mountains and boarded a bus that would drive along roads white with dust, until it entered the city of Madrid, where she would work. She tried to feel excited and hopeful about the future, but when she visualized the loneliness of being alone in a big city, she shrank in upon herself and huddled there upon the hull of the fishing-boat as if she were cold.
It made for coldness to be alone, and it seemed that all her life she must leave what she loved to go somewhere else. She had loved the cottage at Combe St. Blaize, but when her father died she had not been able to stay there. She loved this island and the castle, but when her guardian married she must leave again to go among strangers.
She blinked and felt tears on her lashes. She felt so lonely, and was in the mood to turn in gratitude to the first friendly voice.
When it came she recognized without turning round the velvety inflection of the voice that belonged with a Spanish guitar. 'I was thinking about you, Yvain. My thoughts must have brought me to you.'
She held out a hand to him, wanting his warm clasp to pull her out of the coldness of her thoughts. 'Hullo, Rique. We and the cats are the only ones about.'
He took her hand and drew her finger through his. His hair was dark like the shadows, his smile was a flash of white like the sun on the walls of the houses terraced above the shore, his touch was warm, and she didn't shrink this time from the daring frankness of his gaze.
'What brings tears to your eyes?' he demanded. 'The sun on the water, or the way you ran away from me for no real reason?'
'As if I'd cry over you!' she scoffed, but her voice was husky and she was pleased to see him. 'Sit down and talk to me, Rique.'
'I intend to.' He sat down beside her on the boat, his legs very long beside hers in narrow dark trousers. His shirt was a hazy blue colour, open at his brown throat. The chain of a medallion shone against his collarbone. He was very Latin and very colourful, and Yvain was girl enough to be warmed by the look of him.
'What did you do after you left me last Sunday? I hope you didn't linger on the beach, for a fog came up.' How could she forget the fog?
'Don't let us talk about that silly quarrel,' she said in a rather breathless voice.
'It was silly, Yvain. What did I do that was so awful?'
'Please, let's start again from our first meeting. You were very gallant, like a troubadour of old.'
'I prefer how it feels to be young, pequena.' His smile teased her serious eyes. 'What has the Marques said to you, that you must study your lessons and not encourage the attentions of young men?'
'I want an education, very much.'
'And what are you studying right now? Are you planning to write an essay on fishing-boats?'
'Oh, I'm playing truant,' she confessed. 'All of a sudden I couldn't concentrate, so I ran away from my books for an hour.'
'Lessons, books!' Rique gripped her hand painfully. 'You should be having fun, and if I were the Marques I would give you lessons of a different sort.'
'Rique!'
He laughed, shamelessly. 'Have you never been to a Spanish wedding, pequena? No? Then I shall take you to one. At six o'clock the couple and their families will go to the church and after the ceremony there will be a party. I have promised to play the guitar, and I have been told to bring a girl.'
He paused and looked her over in her green dress. 'It would give me very much pleasure to take you to the wedding.'
'I'd like to go, Rique, but the car will call for me at four to drive me home to the castle.' 'You can tell the chauffeur that you will be home later.'
'I can,' she agreed. 'But there's Don Juan — '
'Does he lock you in the tower for the rest of the day?'
Rique asked mockingly. 'Are you so under his spell that you dare not please anyone but him? I want to treat you as a woman, Yvain, not as a child. I want to give you music and laughter, not the sombre walls of a castle and a solemn dinner in a room shadowed by memories of the past. He thinks that because he cannot dance, you don't want to. He expects you to be a child all day, and an uncomplaining spinster in the evenings!'
'Rique, what a tirade,' she protested. 'Don Juan is not like that at all. He'd let me go to the wedding if I wanted to.'
'Then there is no problem,' Rique smiled. 'We will return to the villa at four so you can give the chauffeur a message for the Marques. Then we will go to the Club Hidalgo so I can collect my guitar. I don't work at the club this evening so we are both free to have fun. Don't you think it romantic to celebrate a wedding under the stars?'
You Latins have a natural aptitude for romance,' she agreed.
'The Spanish girl lives to please the man she likes.'
'I'm afraid nothing will make me Spanish.'
'There you are wrong.' He leaned closer, a gleam in his eyes. 'If you married a Spaniard, then you would become Spanish.'
'At heart I would always be English. I would never have the true sal espanola.'
'You have your own kind of magic.' His eyes travelled over her face and settled upon her hair, tumbling red-brown as autumn leaves against the soft green that sheathed her. Rique's eyes softened, smouldered, and with a murmur in Spanish he pressed her hand against his cheek. 'Cool is the hand of the girl with a warm heart. Last we
ek I wished only to flirt with you. Now I shall treat you differently.'
'No, Rique — ' Her heart pounded. 'Let's keep it lighthearted.'
'Like a souffle,' he promised. 'Like bells and music and moonlight.'
'Rique,' she panicked, 'don't use your charm on me, because I might not be able to resist it. We could both be hurt.'
'That is what life is for, to be hurt, to be healed, to be happy. Yvain, don't fight it.'
How easy it would be not to fight it if fate had let her fall in love with the dark-eyed guitarist. Her smile hurt her mouth, as if it wished to shape itself for weeping. 'Spaniards are so dangerous, because they can be so nice. I'll dance at your friends' wedding. It will be something for me to remember when I leave the island.'
'You do not plan to stay here?'
She shook her head. 'It was always a temporary arrangement. In a while I am going to Madrid to work.'
'Ah, Madrid. There is so much there for me to show you. The old and the modern. The quaint and the beautiful. We shall be happy there.'
She looked at him and wanted to believe that she could be happy miles away from the island of oleander bells and aromatic pine trees, of sunshine on the sea, and turrets against a deep blue sky.
'You look as if it will make you sad to leave the island, Yva.'
Her gaze was upon the tracery of nets and masts along the shore, and then she turned to him with a startled look in her eyes. 'You called me Yva.'
'Don't you like it?'
'Yes, it's friendly.'
'It is more than that, Yva. A diminutive is the sign that a Spaniard accepts you and is fond of you.'
She gave a husky laugh. 'You trapped me into calling you Rique from the start!'
'I hope I have trapped you.' His eyes caressed her and she saw a tenderness in them. She wanted to beg him not to look like that, and her alarm must have communicated itself, for he
began to talk of other things. Of his childhood in the hills of Spain, his restless urge to be more than a harvester of almonds and olives. He had run away from home when he was fifteen and hitch-hiked to the city of Barcelona, where he had worked as a waiter and become the pupil of a musician who played the guitar like an angel, but who lived like a devil.
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