by Ann Bridge
“Nothing gone wrong, I hope?” Mrs. Hathaway asked.
“Oh no—this was a little private problem of hers; nothing serious” Julia said, for once almost regretting Mrs. H.’s habitual deep interest in everything that went on around her.
“Did she say how the poor little boy was?”
“No—he’s in the clinic, you know, and I don’t suppose she went there.” Julia looked out over the garden. “Goodness, where have those children got to? I’d better go and see.” She made her escape.
When Gerald Shergold returned in the evening Julia sat quietly by while his wife bombarded him with eager questions.
“Yes, I rang Terry before I left” he said. “He and Pereira had just got down. Pereira is completely puzzled—says he’s never seen anything in the least like it. He’s thoroughly worried, Terry says.”
“Did he think the sheep will get over it?”
“Terry didn’t say—I don’t suppose Pereira aired any views on that, since he hasn’t a clue as to what’s wrong with them” Gerald said, with a cheerful grin. “But Terry said he’s tremendously thorough; he insisted on going right to the far end, to satisfy himself that all the sheep were in the same state.”
“And were they?”
“Yes, every helpless one of them!—all wheezing, and all tame and silly. I must say it is damned peculiar. However, Pereira took samples of their droppings, and of blood, so he may find out something from that, I suppose.”
“How does one get a sample of a sheep’s blood?” Pauline speculated. “You can’t tie a finger and prick it, because sheep haven’t got fingers!”
Gerald laughed. “No, they had rather a job over that. It seems you shave the animal’s armpit, or what would be an armpit in us, and jab in a scalpel or something, and get the blood. Pereira had brought a razor and all the doings, Terry said.”
“A good thing the sheep are so tame—when they’re well you can’t get near them” Pauline observed.
“No—and whatever their complaint is, it didn’t make them relish being shaved! Terry said they kicked like anything.”
“Poor creatures” Mrs. Hathaway said. “Did Mr. Armitage say how the little boy was?”
“No. Pereira was going to see de Carvalho when he gets back to Funchal; if they put their heads together I suppose they might come up with something, but I must say the whole thing is almighty queer.”
Julia, listening to all this, again wondered whether she was doing right not to alert the Office in London as to what was going on. Of course it was Portugal’s worry, not England’s, this time, she told herself; but any form of Russian skulduggery was really a worry for the whole of the free world. The little she had seen of the workings of the Portuguese Security Police—at Gralheira, years before—had been efficient enough; but then Luzia and Nannie Brown had really handed the P.I.D.E. their principal victim on a plate, as one might say—in fact drugged into unconsciousness in a nursery armchair; all the detection and entrapping had been done by those two brilliant amateurs. And in a scientific matter London’s resources, she imagined, must be greater than Lisbon’s—wasn’t there that place on Salisbury Plain where they investigated biological warfare, or whatever it was called? Or was it only the common cold? Julia was painfully vague about all branches of science, but she had a feeling that if it was a case of flying out exactly the right type of boffin, Major Hartley would probably do it faster than Colonel Marques. Rather uncomfortably, she nevertheless decided to allow Colin another forty-eight-hours’ start.
As it turned out, she didn’t have to give him so long. The very next day, as they were sitting at luncheon, the telephone rang; Pauline got up and went out into the hall to answer it. “Sta? Sim, sim” Julia and Mrs. Hathaway heard her say; there was a pause, and then she called out—“Julia, I think it’s for you.”
Julia hurried out into the hall.
“It’s from Portugal, I think” Pauline said, holding out the receiver—“but the line isn’t awfully good.” Julia took the telephone from her—after a certain amount of buzzing, to her great relief she heard Luzia’s voice: “Could I speak with Miss Probyn?”
“Yes, Luzia—here I am—Julia.”
“Oh, excellent! He is here.” And then Colin said “Darling?”
“Yes, I’m here. Can you hear me?”
“Yes, fairly well. Now can you give me rather more of an idea of what’s in the wind?”
“Hold on a minute” Julia said. Pauline had left the dining-room door open, but she knew that there was an extension in Gerald’s study; putting the receiver down on the table, she stepped softly across the hall and into the room, very gently closed the door after her, and took up the other telephone. “Now—can you still hear me?” she asked.
“Yes. Go ahead.”
“Listen carefully, will you? I’m going to speak rather carefully.”
“O.K.”
“It’s really in the message I’ve already sent you. I think you must come here at once, because you know more about this than anyone local. Can you come right away?”
“Not all that easily—I’m on a job, you know.”
“Yes. Is your present job as important as your last? Because if not, I think you ought to come at once, darling darling.”
There was silence at the other end of the line.
“Are you still there?” Julia asked.
“Yes—I’m thinking.” A pause. “What I can’t be sure of is if you are in a position to form a proper judgment on this—and if you are, how.”
“Ah yes—and obviously I can’t tell you. You’ll just have to trust me. But listen—if you can’t come right away, I shall let London know.”
“As sure as that, are you?” She could hear the surprise in his tone.
“Yes. Only Ag wanted you to have the chance to come and clean this up.”
“Good Lord, does Ag know? I say, do be careful! You really shouldn’t have told her. It—it’s—I mean, she doesn’t understand this sort of thing very well.”
“I didn’t tell her. She found out herself, and told me. But look, darling darling, will you come?”
“Yes—yes, I think I must.”
“How soon? The quicker the better or les indigènes may make a clanger, out of ignorance. So when can you get here? How did you get to Luzia’s so fast, by the way?”
“Oh, the M.A. was coming this way anyhow, and I got him to take me on his plane and drop me off at the Red Stones. It’s nearer than the other place, and I rang up Nick, and he came and fetched me. Look, I’d better ring off and find out about planes, and ring you when I know.”
“Do that thing. I’ll stay in for the call.”
“And Julia, do you and Ag be careful about yourselves, won’t you? Promise?”
“Yes of course. But we’re all right, darling. Good—ring as soon as you can. Bye.”
On her way back to the dining-room Julia remembered to replace the receiver on the telephone in the hall, even while she was thinking rapidly what to say. Obviously she would have to mention that Colin was coming, since he would soon be in Madeira in the flesh; apart from that, she must play it off the cuff.
“I’m sorry about that” she said politely to Pauline as she reseated herself. “It was Colin—he’s coming over.”
“Coming to Madeira?” Mrs. Hathaway asked in surprise. “I thought he was working in Spain.”
“Yes he was, Mrs. H.—I suppose he’s got some leave or something” Julia said, with rather elaborate carelessness. The old lady took the hint instantly—“How very nice” she said, and nothing more. Pauline’s curiosity was not so easily disposed of.
“When is he coming?” she asked.
“I don’t know exactly—quite soon, I think.”
“I wonder Ag didn’t tell us—I suppose she knows?”
“I’m not sure” Julia said, still in that careless, near-drawling tone. “I rather think not.”
“How funny of him to ring up you and not her,” Pauline said.
“Not
really, you know, Pauline” Mrs. Hathaway interposed, “if he wanted to talk about his work. Julia has helped him with that for years. Why, it was she who recovered all Aglaia’s money for her, when it had been stolen from that bank in Switzerland.”
“Did she really? I’d no idea. How on earth did you do it, Julia?”
“She tracked down the impersonators” Mrs. Hathaway answered for Julia, “and made friends with the poor little girl who had been made up to look like Aglaia; she was so silly that she gave the whole thing away. It was quite exciting—the police came to our hotel! I had Aglaia’s whole fortune under my pillow for one night.”
“Good Heavens!” Pauline’s interest in this enthralling story temporarily swamped her curiosity about Colin’s sudden arrival, and carried them safely through the meal.
After lunch Pauline suggested a walk up to the levada; Julia, with a heavy heart, excused herself on the grounds of having letters to write—now that the long one to her husband was no longer a daily pleasure she had, she felt, ample time for all the letters she cared to send, especially when she and Mrs. Hathaway were together. However, when Pauline had gone off, taking the twins, she sat in Gerald’s study, by the telephone, and wrote to Edina Reeder, describing Aglaia’s relations, and the quinta, and the Paúl da Serra; for good measure she put in Manoel’s concern about the pigs being “crustato” and the unfortunate backwardness of the grapes—this would amuse the Spanish-speaking Philip Reeder, she knew.
When the telephone rang she lifted off the receiver instantly—there was some talking in Portuguese, asking for “a menina Probeen”, and then Colin’s voice.
“Yes, it’s me. Well?”
“I’ve managed to get on a flight tomorrow—I get to the airfield about six twenty-five. Can you meet me?”
“Yes, of course. Shall I let Ag know?”
“Well, don’t let her be there at first” he said. “We must clear this up by ourselves.”
“Yes, I meant that. But may I let her know that you are coming? She’ll be so relieved.”
“Well, if you must. But see that we have a good spell alone first. You fix it, darling darling—I’m sure you can.”
7
Julia had Become thoroughly accustomed, over the years, to being asked to “fix” something by her cousin Colin—or even to being suddenly faced with some situation of his creating, and left to fix it without even being asked; but as she sat in Gerald Shergold’s study after Colin had rung off, she soon began to think that on this occasion fixing might be easier said than done. Six twenty-five was a most inconvenient time, too late for making shopping an excuse; and almost certainly Colin would have to spend the night in Funchal, if they were to have a reasonable amount of time together. And how was she to get down to meet him, just when Gerald would be coming home?—and where was he to stay? She cast round in her mind as to which, among all these near-strangers—after all, till a fortnight ago she had not seen even Pauline for seven years—would be most likely to help her without asking too many awkward questions, and unhesitatingly decided on Terence Armitage. He and she already shared one secret; she felt she could probably trust him to trust her over what was, after all, merely an extension of it. And after looking out the number of his firm in the telephone-book, she rang him up. When his voice came on the line, “Julia here,” she said. “Are you in a room by yourself?”
“For the moment, yes.”
“Good. Well look, I’m going to be most frightfully tiresome and mysterious, and I want you not to mind, and to help me all the same. Will you?”
She heard his low, slow laugh—a reassuring sound.
“I certainly shan’t mind, and I’ll help you in any way I can. What can I do for you?”
“Well, get me a car, in the first place. I shall want it up here, to drive myself about in.”
“When?” was all he asked.
“Tomorrow, about lunch-time. Is there a car-hire place?”
“Not necessary, if the little Austin Aglaia borrowed yesterday would do. Can you drive an Austin?”
“Drive any make! How frightfully kind. But how shall I get it?”
“I’ll send someone up with it—before lunch, or after?”
“Before, please. You are kind.”
“A pleasure. Anything else?”
“Oh yes, lots more!” Again she heard that comforting laugh. “Now the mystery part begins” Julia pursued, more cheerfully —“And I’d like this kept quiet for about twenty-four hours. Colin’s coming over.”
“Oh, good. Ag will be pleased.”
“Yes, but I don’t want her to know—at least, I do, but not when. Do you think you can manage that?”
“Not if he comes to the quinta.” She could hear the chuckle in his voice, and began to gurgle with laughter a little herself.
“Well, I don’t think he’ll be able to get to the quinta tomorrow” she said; “the plane gets in so late. So I want two more things—somewhere where he and I can talk alone, as unnoticeably as may be; and somewhere for him to stay the night.”
“Also unnoticeably?”
“That’s less important—it would be preferable, of course, but I don’t think it matters all that much.”
“Can do!” Terence said. “I know exactly the place.”
“Oh splendid! Where?”
“My aunt’s house—the Quinta dos Arvores. She always goes to bed at seven, and doesn’t show up again till eleven or twelve in the morning, so she need never see either of you. Anyhow she’s over ninety, and getting a bit gaga.”
“Is she the one who forgot that Aglaia had been to lunch?”
“Yes—Aunt Sally.”
“She sounds ideal” Julia said, beginning to gurgle again. How helpful and comfortable dear Terence was being!
“Well, if you like to put it that way! Anyhow it’s a most lovely place; I’m glad you’ll see it. The trees are marvellous—some magnificent bombax, and a huge tulip-tree, nearly as big as the one Captain Cook planted in the Quinta do Val. I’ll go round this evening and arrange it all with Porfirio; he’s her butler, and nearly as old as she is, but not in the least gaga!—you’ll get superb cocktails, and a smashing dinner.”
“How perfect. You are kind!” Julia said again. “But how shall I find it?”
“I’ll send a plan of the town up with the car; we’ve got plenty in the office—and I’ll put a row of arrows in red ink to lead you to it.”
“No, don’t do that” Julia said, with an abrupt change of tone. “Put a ring round it in pencil—and send it in an envelope, sealed, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind anything—I keep telling you that! I’m getting a little curious, of course.”
“Of course; and it’s quite wonderful of you not to ask any questions! The very moment I can I’ll put you in the picture— it’s still only a sketch at present” she said, more lightly.
“Thank you. Anything else I can do, Moddom?”
“Yes. Put another pencil ring, quite faint, round the clinic.”
“Oh, is that the idea?”
“It may be. How is the child, by the way?”
“Much the same. If you and your cousin could do anything to help there, it would be a mercy” he said, suddenly serious.
“I’ve no idea if he can. Does the doctor live over the shop?”
“Yes, as a rule. He’s pretty booked up most of the time. Want his number?”
“Yes please.”
He gave it. “And what do I say to Ag?”
“Ah yes—what do you? Oh, I think just tell her that I rang you up and asked you to tell her that C. is coming, quite soon, but that I don’t know exactly when. Could you do that?”
“Yes—what is more, I don’t mind!” he said, laughing again.
“Oh no, you needn’t. It’s my lie!” She paused. “I suppose Penelope can have him at the quinta later on?” she asked.
“Oh yes, she loves Colin. She mothers him!—she thinks he needs it.”
“How right she is!
Well, a million thanks, Terence.” She hesitated a moment. “I think all this kindness of yours may ultimately prove to have been worth while” she ended.
“Isn’t kindness always worth while?” he asked.
“Bless you, yes! Give Aglaia my love!” She rang off.
Well, that was all marvellous, she thought, lighting a cigarette. What a boon, a gift, Terence was!—why couldn’t more people be like that? But though she had now secured a quiet meeting-place for herself and Colin, and harbourage for him for the night, she had still got to think up some excuse for her own absence tomorrow evening which would not excite Pauline Shergold’s curiosity too much, and for this she decided to consult Mrs. Hathaway—who was, so blessedly, moulded from the same beneficent clay as Terence Armitage. She looked at her watch —four o’clock. By now the old lady would almost certainly have finished her nap; it would be better to see her in her room before she came down, when Pauline might be back, and about. She went upstairs and into the converted sitting-room; Mme. Bonnecourt was there, doing some embroidery. Julia asked if Madame still slept?
Mais non, Madame was awake, and having a petite tisane. Did Madame Jimmison wish to speak with Madame?
Julia said that she did, and a moment later was ushered into the room where Mrs. Hathaway lay on a large bed, a light shawl over her feet, sipping a small cup of some hot fluid.
“How nice to see you, my dear child. Would you like some tisane? This kind Madame Bonnecourt brews me a cup every afternoon—I find it easier to get up after a hot drink.”
“What an excellent idea” Julia said, sitting down by the bed. “But I don’t think I need it, thank you all the same—I’m up anyhow.”
“Pas pour Madame, merci bien” Mrs. Hathaway said. Mme. Bonnecourt withdrew.
“Mrs. H., I want your advice” Julia began at once. “It’s about Colin.”
“Ah yes. I’m so glad he’s coming; that will cheer Aglaia up. Did she send for him?”
“No, I did” Julia said. “You see, Mrs. H., I think he may really be able to be more useful here than doing that other job of his in Spain.” She paused, wondering how to put what she had to say.
“Don’t explain anything you don’t want to” the old lady said at once. “If you think he ought to come here, that is quite enough for me. I expect it’s enough for him too” she added smiling.