Red Lotus

by Catherine Airlie

  But I have always gone to Zamora for more than one day in the past," she added stubbornly.

  Sitting behind them with Sisa by her side, Felicity saw Philip's jaw harden. She knew then that he had no intention of letting Conchita have her way. There was some reason why he did not wish her to spend the next two weeks at Zamora, a sound reason, she supposed, because everything about Philip was sound.

  When they came to a fork in the road the Mercedes was drawn up under the eucalyptus trees which lined a long avenue stretching to the west.

  "Will you come in for a drink?" Isabella called. "You

  said you were not going to work anymore to-day, Philip."

  In the split second which followed the impulsive invitation, Felicity saw Philip hesitate.

  "We are quite alone," Isabella informed him. "I shall even promise you tea!"

  Philip turned from the wheel. His face was expressionless.

  "Felicity will like that," he decided, "and she really ought to see Zamora."

  Instinctively Felicity wanted to protest, but it would have been too foolish in the circumstances. What could she have said? I don't want to come because this is dangerous ground. Philip has already refused to let Conchita stay at Zamora, but now he will come because Rafael isn't there!

  She drew in her breath and said nothing, and the two cars made their way, one after the other, down the avenue, the giant trees on either side shutting them into a green tunnel of rustling leaves. Soon they had passed under an arched gateway in a high stucco wall which surrounded one of the most beautiful gardens Felicity had ever seen. Terrace upon terrace of rich golden-coloured stone tumbled to the sea a hundred feet below, and far beneath them a small, picturesque port knelt by the water's edge. Its narrow streets climbed steeply and its white and golden houses clustered about a palm-shaded square.

  "It's lovely!" Felicity murmured. "I don't think I've ever seen so many flowers all together in all my life before!"

  "Everything grows here," Philip said as he swung the car into a cobbled courtyard in the Mercedes' wake. "Isabella is very proud of her garden."

  They could see the house now, through a screen of oleanders. It was large and mellowed and old, a perfect example of Spanish architecture, with its fine stone doorway and carved balconies with their little tiled roofs and soft green shutters at all the windows. Masses of bougainvillaea tumbled from the walls, purple and cream and deep, warm ochre, and vast beds of freesias and pink and scarlet geraniums made the forecourt look like a veritable sea of flowers. All the terraces were awash with colour, and the seats and ornamental stonework lay steeped in the heat of the sun.

  Philip got down from the car and held the door open.

  "Welcome to Zamora!" Isabella smiled, coming from her own car. "I'm glad you are going to see my garden when it is all its very best."

  They walked between walls of plumbago and jacaranda to the broad terrace surrounding the house itself, and Felicity was immediately aware of a subtle aura of luxury which they did not possess at San Lozaro. There was nothing of ostentation about it. It came from age and the long tradition of belonging. The whole place spoke of gracious living, of something handed down from generation to generation, of roots and the abiding sense of time going on forever.

  "This was my home," Isabella said, "before I was married. We live here most of the year now, although Rafael goes often to Madrid—on business."

  There had been the vaguest hint of acceptance in her quiet voice and a barely discernible pause before the last two words which only Felicity appeared to have noticed. Whatever had been her way of life in the first few years of her marriage, this present arrangement whereby Isabella spent most of her time in her girlhood home was pleasant and acceptable to her. Surrounded by her husband's family, if not by her own, she could be happy after a fashion.

  But not wholly content? Was it only her own too vivid imagination, Felicity wondered, that painted that fleeting shadow in the older woman's eyes and saw the odd nervous little movement of the long, shapely hands as Isabella de Barrios took off her hat in the shade of the verandah and flung it on to one of the deep lounge-chairs beside the fountain?

  She rang for tea, which was brought to them by a white-coated servant, very like Sabino. He was old and perfectly trained, and he walked with the gentle tread of a cat. It did not seem to alarm him at all that his mistress had ordered tea for her guests instead of the usual wine, but perhaps he was used to Philip's visit, Philip who looked so uncompromisingly British against this exotic setting of palms and falling water and headily-perfumed flowers.

  Conchita prowled restlessly, and presently she went with Andrea and Sisa to the stable to look at the horses. Celeste, who was cosy and plump, stayed behind to eat another cake.

  "You will come to the fiesta, Philip?" Isabella asked. "It will be expected of you."

  "Now that I am in charge at San Lozaro?" His smile in the rapidly waning light was bitter. "I do not expect to be accepted because of that, you know."

  Isabella made a small, abrupt movement of dissent. "You are too sensitive about the past," she said, although her voice held no real conviction.

  "Perhaps." Philip's tone was hard. "All the same, I shall come. Conchita wants it, and Felicity ought to see how carefree we can be when we have something to celebrate."

  "I'd love to come," Felicity agreed, trying to forget the bitterness she had detected behind his words. "It will be an entirely new experience for me."

  "And a happy one, I hope!"

  The words were mocking and as light as air. Felicity turned in her chair to see Rafael de Barrios standing in the gathering shadows behind them, his smile amused and faintly cynical as his dark glance swept the circle of his unexpected guests. Philip got stiffly to his feet and Isabella's face was very pale as she said:

  "We did not expect you, Rafael. How did you come in?" His eyes rested on her for a moment, as if he had just seen her.

  "From the port, querida," he said, and the word was mocking. "I walked up through the terraces to have a look at the vines."

  Tension had taken the atmosphere in its strangling grip, as on the occasion of that first meeting between Philip and Rafael at the airport, but the circumstances were different this time. Rafael looked insolently at ease now and Philip

  at a disadvantage; from which he proceeded to extricate himself without delay.

  "It's getting late," he said, glancing at the rapidly-sinking sun. Night would fall with tropical suddenness, Felicity knew, but the car was equipped with powerful headlamps and there was no real reason why they should rush away so quickly. "Celeste," he added, turning to the child, "would you please tell Sisa and Conchita that we are going?"

  But Conchita was already with them. She had come through the house on to the verandah, running hot-foot in Rafael's wake.

  "We saw you coming up through the terraces," she told him, her dark eyes alight as they looked into his, her firm young breasts rising and falling with her rapid breathing. "We were at the stables."

  Had she run to intercept Rafael and failed by a hair's breadth? Felicity found herself looking from the lovely, flushed face and lustrous eyes to the cool acceptance of Rafael, Marques de Barrios, aware that she wanted to smack Conchita as much for the red lotus blossom which she had fastened into her dark hair as for the way she looked at Rafael with absolute adoration in her eyes.

  What must Philip think? She knew that he would be furious, but she could not see his face clearly. The light had nearly gone, leaving the verandah in shadow, although the western sky beyond the terraces was aflame.

  When they were ready to go Rafael bent over Felicity's hand. She felt his nearness with repulsion now, his fascination which was evil.

  "I knew we would meet again," he said, watching her closely. "But I did not think you would be permitted to come to Zamora."

  "Why not?" She met his eyes evenly, challenging his statement as Andrea and Sisa joined them. "You mentioned when we first met that we were near neighbours
."

  He shrugged and smiled, standing back to watch as Philip led the way out to the car, with Andrea and Sisa at his heels. Isabella hesitated only for a second before she, too, went out to the terrace to speed her departing guests.

  Rafael followed Felicity down the steps.

  "That is so," he agreed. His eyes were thoughtful as

  they lingered on her flushed face. "I am surprised, though, that Philip Arnold should agree to bring you."

  "We met your wife and the children at the Playa," she explained hastily, "and the Marquesa very kindly invited us for tea."

  His mouth grew curiously thin.

  "Isabella would do that," he said. "You see, she believes in Philip Arnold."

  Felicity looked up sharply into the mocking eyes. "I don't know what you mean," she said.

  "Rafael means that only Isabella believes Philip's story about the accident which caused my sister's death," Conchita said, moving like a cat from the shadows of the verandah, "but that is not so! I do not believe that Philip killed Maria. It was, as he has said, an accident. Only unworthy people could believe that he would do such a thing, like the people in the puerto who hate Philip because he is successful and will not allow them to drive a dishonest bargain! These are the people who have spread such wicked tales after the court investigation is all over and Philip is exonerated from all blame by the law! No, Rafael, you must not say that no one believes Philip, because it is not true. I believe in him, also! It is only that he keeps so silent, not wishing to speak about this awful tragedy which has shadowed all our lives, but I know. I

  know!"

  In that moment Conchita was magnificent. All the spitfire quality in her which Felicity had abhorred and which, in some ways, had frightened her when she had considered her own responsibility where her cousins were concerned, had been thrown unexpectedly into her defence of Philip. Her flashing eyes were black with indignation, her full red mouth scornful, yet Rafael de Barrios only smiled at this demonstration of loyalty.

  "Chi tace confessed" he murmured. " 'He who keeps silent confesses his guilt', Conchita. That is an old Italian saying which bears repetition in any language."

  "It is not so!" Conchita protested almost in tears. "You are unjust—like the others!"

  Rafael took her by the arm, smiling down confidently into her eyes.

  "And you are too intense, querida!" he said. "Come! We must not keep Philip waiting."

  In the hall the lamps had been lit, throwing their revealing light out on to the terrace steps, and as they passed through the wide glass doors Felicity was aware of a certain tension about the man walking beside her. Rafael looked paler than she remembered him, and there was a tightness about his mouth which suggested strain.

  When they reached the far end of the terrace Philip was already seated behind the wheel, impatient to be off, but Andrea and Sisa were still chattering eagerly about the forthcoming fiesta. Isabella stood by Philip's side, her hand resting lightly on the door of the car, and Celeste turned eagerly towards her brother as he came forward with the remainder of their guests.

  "Rafael," she said, "you must organize a drive to Las Canadas for us! It is lovely there, and Miss Stanmore has not yet seen The Peak."

  "Miss Stanmore must be without the use of her eyesight, then!" Rafael chided teasingly. "El Teide is to be seen everywhere and at every hour of the day!"

  "Except when he is hidden in mist," Celeste reminded him, "and then no one can see clearly. You know that I meant near at hand—right up on Las Canadas, or even up to the very top. To the crater itself."

  "That will be a major operation," Rafael smiled, evading the issue. "It could be undertaken, of course, given the right circumstances." He looked directly at his wife for the first time. "Isabella will be only too pleased to organize such an excursion, I feel sure. She knows The Peak so well."

  Now Felicity was sure of the undercurrent which she had only suspected before. It ran strongly between these two, something that could almost be felt, a suggestion of distrust and pain flowing beneath the surface like a dark river with no outlet, a rising tide of discord which even the patient Isabella might not be able to control much longer. Suddenly she knew that Philip was also aware of it. The knowledge was in his eyes and in the hard set of his jaw as he looked at Rafael, and more than anything else in the silence he maintained as he waited for them to say their final goodbyes.

  He let in his clutch as soon as Conchita had seated herself in her original place by his side, and Felicity settled down in the back beside Sisa for the long drive home.

  "Goodbye, Felicity," Isabella said. "I hope you will come again—with Sisa."

  Her hand was still resting on the car door, and for a fraction of a second Philip's strong fingers closed over it, pressing it tightly.

  "I'm sorry," he said, and Felicity knew that only Isabella had been meant to hear.

  The blue eyes and the brown met for a moment of complete sympathy and understanding. Felicity tried to persuade herself that it was nothing more.

  They drove back to San Lozaro in a thoughtful silence: Conchita preoccupied; Philip giving all his attention to the dangerous, winding road, and only Sisa smiling happily at the prospect of tomorrow.

  When they reached the hacienda all the lights were lit and the strains of music came streaming out to them on the cool night air. Guitars and maraccas were being played with island abandonment and there was much laughter flowing from the direction of the patio and the sound of tinkling glass.

  Philip drew up the car in the courtyard beyond the inner wall.

  "It's Julio," Sisa said with a nervous hesitation in her voice. "He is holding a party."

  Philip looked as if he might have been acquainted with Julio's parties in the past. The noise from the patio was almost deafening, and he strode towards it with a brief word of warning.

  "Go in by the terrace—if you can get in," he advised. "I think it might be better if you went straight to your rooms."

  Conchita stood her ground. Her eyes were half closed and she was already swaying to the music, her movements fluid and graceful as the wild tempo increased and the unseen guitars sobbed out their message of love.

  "Why must you always be like this, Philip?" she demanded. "It is a night for dancing. Come! I will show you. Julio's friends will make the music for us!"

  She turned towards Philip, lovely and inviting, the red flower in her hair softly caressing her cheek, but Philip took her firmly by the arm.

  "Some other time, Conchita," he said sternly. "You can dance at the fiesta—as much as you wish."

  "At the Country Club, but not in the streets!" Conchita pouted. "You are so English, Philip—and so cold!"

  He led her to the edge of the courtyard without answering, escorting them round the wall to the front of the house. Even here the wild music from the patio followed them, the sound of ribald laughter beating fiercely on their ears, and Felicity watched Philip's frown deepen as he saw the line of patient, tethered mules beside the terrace steps and the abandoned ox-carts beyond the wall.

  "Can I do anything, Philip?" she asked. "Can I help in any way?"

  He turned to look at her as if he had just remembered her and the fact that she had come to San Lozaro to help.

  "Keep Conchita with you," he said briefly. "That will be enough."

  On the lovely veined marble table in the hall an array of bottles had been scattered, some upended, others on their sides, the wine they had contained swiftly consumed. Abandoned glasses lay about everywhere, and it was evident that the cellar had been well and truly raided. None of the servants were in sight, but Philip did not seem surprised at the fact.

  He stood at the foot of the stairs, waiting until they had reached the gallery in safety before he turned towards the patio, and Felicity quickened her pace with a rapidly-beating heart.

  What had Julio done? In the ordinary way a party was quite a natural thing in this sunny land. Everywhere she had gone in the island she had heard music. It
was the natural complement to the life of the country people, and surely Philip could not object to that.

  "Julio has grieved Philip," Sisa said sadly as they came to the closed door of her room. "There is something he has left undone, surely, when Philip is so angry."

  "Philip is angry because it is the plantation labourers that Julio has brought in," Conchita said. "And Julio has done it on purpose to show Philip that he does not care!" She looked half sympathetic towards her brother and half afraid of Philip's obvious anger. "There will be a scene and Julio will go away to the bothy again with the men. He will brood and say that it is where he should be since Philip wishes it. He will say that Philip wants all San Lozaro for himself!"

  "Hush, Conchita!" Felicity warned, glancing in Sisa's direction. "We ought to change," she added nervously as the music came to an abrupt stop and there was a grim sort of silence in the rooms beneath them. "We have been out all day and I feel sticky and in need of a bath."

  Conchita lingered beside the door, her ears strained for the first sign of revolt from below.

  "Please don't go down and cause further trouble, Conchita," Felicity appealed. "It is evident that Philip does not want us to see these people."

  "He thinks they have had too much to drink," Conchita laughed. "Well, maybe so, but that makes their music more alive!"

  "All the same, you must not go down." There was finality and a new firmness behind Felicity's order. She was as determined on obedience now as Philip had been. "I will let you have first use of the bathroom and Sisa and I will wait here."

  Sisa was looking perturbed, but she washed and changed at Felicity's bidding, while Conchita splashed luxuriously in the adjoining bathroom, humming the languorous tune which the guitars had played.

  When they were ready to go down for their evening meal Felicity knew that the patio had been cleared. She had heard the ox-carts drive away, their wheels churning over the gravel at the side of the house, and she supposed that Philip had been out there, supervising that comparatively silent departure.