It was impossible to feel happy about the little affair, the clash of wills which she knew must have occurred in the patio when Philip and Julio had come face to face, and she felt sorry for Julio.
"There will be a scene and Julio will go away to the bothy again with the men," Conchita had said, and for the first time Felicity began to wonder if Philip had not been too harsh in his disapproval.
She wondered if he really understood Julio, the moody, impetuous creature of impulse who had not yet grown to man's estate yet thought that he had every right to adult privileges. They were of different blood, born and bred under different circumstances, and Julio's standards were far removed from Philip's own. His blood was warmer, his emotions far nearer the surface. He had never learned to
control them as Philip had done. She felt that there could be no real harm in Julio and decided that it was her task to convince Philip of the fact.
After all, she had come here at her uncle's expressed wish in the hope that she would keep his family together, and this, she was convinced, was no way to do it.
She could not speak to Philip about Julio, however, while Sisa and Conchita were still with them. The atmosphere in the patio was now serene and calm and every sign of the evening's carousal had been removed from the hall by a small army of willing hands. Sabino had donned a fresh white coat and only the satisfaction at the back of his dark eyes suggested that he had been more than relieved at Philip's timely return. He brought a fresh bottle of Malmsey and set it with four glasses on the table beside the fountain, but none of them seemed inclined to sample it. They shared Sisa's lime juice instead, drinking only with their meal.
When their coffee was poured Conchita took her cup and strolled with it to the edge of the patio. The red lotus which she had fastened in her hair earlier in the evening was withered now and discarded when she had taken her bath, but she picked a fresh spray of the fiery blossoms from the courtyard wall, tucking it through the belt of her dress with a little secret smile as she came back into the light. The scarlet flame of the star-shaped flowers stood out sharply against the white of her bodice as she stood looking at them for a moment before she said:
"Julio has gone. Philip, you are too hard on him!" Philip's mouth grew thin.
"I don't think we'll discuss Julio," he said. "He knows that he has done wrong."
"Where has he gone?" Conchita demanded. "Back to the plantation?"
"No," Philip said, but that was all. Even Conchita knew that he would not discuss the situation further while Sisa was there and listening.
"I am going to bed," Sisa said after a while. "If you will excuse me? I am very tired." She stood up, looking across at Philip. "Did you mean it when you said that we could go to Las Canadas with Isabella?" she asked.
"Yes," Philip said, "you can go."
He did not seem to be thinking about Las Canadas, or
Isabella either, and when Conchita strolled off in Sisa's wake, Felicity said:
"Please, Philip, could we speak about Julio for a moment? I know that you have just told Conchita that the subject is closed, but I feel that I have some responsibility towards Julio, too."
The light of one of the wall lamps was directly above her head and Philip sat facing her, his long body stretched out in one of the cane reclining-chairs which they used so much in the evenings, but his face was entirely in shadow. In spite of the fact that she could not see his expression at all clearly, however, she was instantly aware of an intense weariness, of patience stretched to the utmost and a temper held in leash only by the firmest effort of will.
"What is it you want to say—or to ask?"
His voice had been harsh in the extreme, but he had not moved and she could not be sure whether he was angry or not.
"I want to understand about Julio," she said.
"There is very little to understand." Again there was the suggestion of weariness, more evident this time, she thought. "Julio, like a good many other people, is prone to bolt when he feels the bit between his teeth. As soon as the rein is slackened they are away. You cannot give them their head too often for your own safety and peace of mind."
"But—supposing the rein were too tight? Supposing the curb had been applied too freely in the past?"
She sat with her heart racing, waiting for his answer, her cheeks flushed, her hands clasped tightly before her. He would hate to be challenged like this, but she had to know what had happened to Julio.
"Sometimes the curb is more than necessary," he said. "You do not know Julio. He is sullen and quite vindictive, and unfortunately he thinks that I consider him inferior."
"And do you, Philip?"
He took a full minute to answer her.
"No," he said, "not fundamentally. Somewhere there is Hallam blood in him That must surely count for something in the long run."
"But, at the moment, you distrust him?"
Again he hesitated.
"I can't stand it when I see him throwing away some-
thing his father has built up over a lifetime," he said at last.
"You mean the plantation, of course?"
He rose, coming to stand beside her chair and looking down at her in the full light, at last.
"What else?" he demanded. "San Lozaro started from nothing. It started from a dead valley, a place that had been neglected for a hundred years." His eyes went beyond her, out into the still night with its star-bright sky and the constant presence of The Peak hovering above the quiet barrancos. "When El Teide erupted this valley was almost wholly destroyed. The lava came down and cut it off, and nothing was done about it afterwards. It was too remote, it seemed. Even when the soil was ready to use again and crops could have been planted, nobody wanted to do that work. Then your uncle bought it and toiled with the sweat of his brow to bring it to life. He took off the top soil in small sections and broke up the earth-stone underneath. He put the soil back and terraced the land and watered it. It took him nearly forty years to work his way to the top." His voice dropped, the fierceness going out of it of a sudden. "When a man has done that, when he sees his family reaping the benefit of what he has achieved with his own bare hands, he is proud in the only way that pride is justified. And he does not want to see his son throwing it all away for the proverbial 'mess of pottage'."
Felicity could not answer him. She had never expected to see him revealed in such a way, the harsh intensity of his words underlining the depths of his feelings as nothing else could have done. He, who had lost his own land, could understand how Robert Hallam had felt about San Lozaro, and because of that he was trying to make sure that Julio would not throw away his splendid inheritance.
But was he going the wrong way about it?
"Julio had a job to do this afternoon," he said, as if he had read her thoughts. "There was a consignment of bananas due to be loaded for Puerto de la Cruz before three o'clock. A boat was waiting there. I left him with the instructions and the bill of lading. When I came back the bill and the bananas were still here—untouched. Julio had decided that it was more important to play."
Felicity looked up at him, aghast.
"But—did he understand?"
The smile he gave her was pityingly amused.
"My dear Felicity, Julio is eighteen years of age. He believes himself capable of accepting a man's role in life—in other ways."
She bit her lip, realizing how true that was.
"I had no idea about this," she said.
"How could you?" He strode to the edge of the patio, staring through the dividing glass screen which sheltered it. "I doubt if you could ever understand Julio."
"I am going to try," she answered firmly. "Will you leave him to me, Philip? At least for a week or two," she pressed when he did not answer at once.
"You cannot work miracles," he warned dryly.
"I could make the effort!"
She waited, and he turned slowly to look at her. His eyes in the artificial light were much darker but still fiercely probing.
She thought the remark cynical and sighed.
"Need I get hurt, Philip?" she asked. "It is something I want to do. It is what -I came here to attempt, I suppose."
"Forgive me if I remind you that you had no idea how difficult it would be," he said.
"No," she confessed, "that is true. But I shall expect you to help me, whether you want to or not."
His mouth relaxed a little.
"What makes you so doubtful about my help?" he asked. "But, no! Don't trouble to answer that! I can do it for you, I think." His tone was suddenly dry. "You consider that I have an axe to grind. You would not be surprised, in fact, if I were slowly feathering my own nest here at San Lozaro."
"No!" she protested immediately. "Honestly, I hadn't thought of that, Philip."
"You flatter me." The firm lips twisted bitterly. "Have you asked Rafael de Barrios what he thinks?"
"No," she protested a second time. "I wouldn't do such a thing."
"But he has told you that he does not approve of me, I feel sure!"
"Does it matter?" she appealed. "We have to work together, Philip, for the peace of San Lozaro."
He looked at her keenly for a moment longer before he turned back into the shadows and went towards the hall. The whole house was very still, as if the sound of revelry had never disturbed it, and he looked relieved.
"It is because I believe that Julio would do better without the sort of friendships he has been making among the plantation workmen that I have had to insist like this," he said unexpectedly.
He was not trying to excuse himself nor was he going back on a decision once it had been made. He was merely stating a fact which he had decided she should know about.
"These men are riff-raff of the lowest order. It is Julio's misfortune to believe that they could ever be his friends," he added.
"I would like to think that we could offer him something better," Felicity said. "And Conchita, too."
He halted abruptly at the foot of the staircase and she thought that she had made a mistake, mentioning Conchita in the same breath as her brother. The colour seemed to have drained out of Philip's face, leaving it grey and haggard-looking, and his jaw was suddenly hard.
"Conchita is only a child," he said harshly, as he stooped to pick something from the floor at his feet.
Felicity saw what it was by the light of the staircase lamp above their heads. She saw the scarlet flare of the red lotus like blood lying between Philip's hands before he crushed the spray relentlessly and thrust the broken fragments into the pocket of his white coat.
CHAPTER V
LAS CANADAS
SISA was excited.
"It's wonderful of Philip!" she cried, clasping her white-gloved hands in a rapture of expectation. "He has arranged everything. We are going to El Teide tomorrow, and Julio is to come with us because he has been many times before."
She had just returned from early-morning mass at the little sugar-icing chapel on the hillside and she had run in to tell Felicity her news.
"I have never been allowed to go all the way to the summit before," she confided, laying her rosary aside in its velvet box. "But Philip thinks I am old enough now to make the climb. It is because of you, I know," she added. "Philip wishes you to see the beauty of our island so that you will not go away."
Sisa's expression was full of love and Felicity's heart warmed in gratitude. There was the thought, too, of Philip, but she could not share Sisa's belief that he wished her to stay at San Lozaro. Her presence there meant nothing to him, except, perhaps, some sort of added responsibility which he had not expected to shoulder.
Since their talk of a week ago, she had not been able to contact Julio to try to fulfil her promise about getting to know him better and helping in whatever way she could. She still believed that a measure of sympathy and understanding was all that her cousin really needed, and perhaps the journey to The Peak would provide her first opening.
It might even be that Philip had arranged the climb for that very reason, although she could never be absolutely sure about Philip's motives. He worked harder than anyone else at San Lozaro, seeming to require next to no sleep, for he was always up and away to the plantations before the sun flooding in through her shutters had awakened her in
the morning. He returned in time for their evening meal, but she knew that he worked when they had all gone to bed. A light burned in the cell-like room he used as a study long after she had turned down her own lamp, and often, before she finally got in between her sheets, she stood at the unshuttered window of her room looking across the courtyard to the one lighted window on its far side, wondering if she couldn't have helped him with all that paper work, at least.
She felt shy about offering her help where the estate was concerned, however. Philip might think her unduly curious about her uncle's affairs, and she did not want that to happen. It might look as if she did not trust him, and she was quite sure that Robert Hallam had chosen an able administrator for the valley that had been his life's work.
The following morning they set out from the hacienda shortly after dawn.
"Wrap up well," Philip warned, and to Felicity's complete surprise, it appeared that he was coming with them.
"I take a day off occasionally," he said dryly, guessing her thoughts. "And this might be called a business trip, in a way. I have a call to make on the road up to Las Canadas which would mean half a day's journey, anyway."
Felicity's heart stirred uncertainly, throbbing hard against her breast. She was beginning to feel something of Sisa's sense of adventure, and it was satisfying to know that Philip was coming with them.
The crisp morning air was like a tonic and the sun came up, yellow and bright, over the shoulder of El Teide. It was several hours' journey to Las Canadas. They would climb The Peak during the night and watch the sun rise out of Africa in the morning. Julio had made all the necessary arrangements, and Philip seemed to have granted him the two days' holiday without question.
He came rather sullenly to the terrace when they were ready to leave. He had brought round the car and fumbled a lot with the hood and side-screens as Philip checked petrol and oil and packed their picnic hampers into the boot.
"I'm looking forward to this, Julio, more than I can say," Felicity told him, going round to the far side of the car where he was standing. "It is kind of you to agree to take us."
"There is an official guide," he muttered half resentfully. "Perhaps you would rather have had him?"
"No," Felicity said carefully. "It will be much nicer going on our own, Julio—as a family.'
"Philip wishes that I should take you," he said.
"He feels that you know the way as well as the guide," she explained. "You have been up many times, Sisa says." He gave her a quick, almost suspicious look.
"I did not think that Philip trusted me," he said.
"He does in this," she answered quickly. "In the things
you really know about, Julio. The things you do well." He laughed harshly.
"Shall I take my guitar, do you think, to play you a love song on El Teide?"
The unexpected cynicism disconcerted her for a moment. Julio could switch so abruptly from one mood to another.
"Why not?" she suggested lightly. "We have an hour or two to spend at the rest hut, haven't we?"
"Yes," he agreed, "at Altavista. Is Isabella de Barrios going with us?"
A small, chill sense of disappointment touched Felicity's heart.
"I don't know," she answered stiltedly. "Would you expect her to be going, Julio?"
He shrugged.
"Philip is going," he said.
They went up through the woods, away from the vine terraces and the sea by a winding road which took Felicity's breath away. It was not very broad, and it clung to the mountainside, with a sheer drop of several hundred feet in some places, going down darkly into the deep ravines which scarred the islan
d's volcanic face.
Great trees stood all about them, giant chestnuts making a green skirt for the towering, conical peak that rose above them, white-crowned with its eternal snow cap against a sky of turquoise and gold. The silences and the stillness of all mountain regions reigned here, and after a while even Sisa became silent.
An eagle soared and a raven passed overhead. A white
mist hovered beneath them, drifting across the valley they
had just left, and the first cactus appeared at the roadside.
They were still alone in that high, lost world of rock and
scree rising gradually above the tree line. No following car had put in its appearance from the direction of Zamora and Julio did not mention Isabella again.
He sat between Felicity and Sisa, a slim-hipped boy today in his immaculately-cut riding breeches and silk shirt with the hand-worked monogram on its pocket, looking so unlike the Julio who slouched about the plantations in a pair of old jeans and a red sweat-shirt that Felicity's heart lifted at the prospect of reform. After all, she thought, glancing sideways at the handsome profile crowned by the mass of curly black hair, there was no need for Julio to consider himself inferior.
Pine woods began to thicken the way, stretching for several miles, and deep and dreadful gorges plunged downwards at their very feet. For the past half-hour she had been conscious of a deepening silence in the car, a reserve about her companions which she could not penetrate. Conchita, seated beside Philip in the front seat, looked uneasy, and Sisa's eyes were sad. Julio looked at Philip and swiftly away again.
They had come to a part of the road where it twisted in a precarious spiral along the edge of a ravine, a dark and terrible place gouged out of the earth by the violent upheaval of volcanic eruption hundreds of years ago. Its precipitous sides would not support vegetation of any kind. Not even a solitary tree clung to them, and the arid basin they formed was as black as a starless night. It looked like some hideous vale torn out of the depths of hell, a barren, dreadful place where no life could ever exist.
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