by Betty Neels
‘Very pretty,’ decided her companion as he pulled out a handful of notes. ‘You’re the first woman for whom I’ve bought a hat who didn’t spend hours preening in front of a glass.’
The idea of him buying hats for other women was so unusual that Loveday, who had spied a mirror and had been about to study her reflection in it, refrained, while her nicely arched brows drew together in a frown. So he bought hats for his girl-friends, did he? All part and parcel of his being a footloose bachelor, just as Rimada had described him. She said coldly: ‘Indeed?’ and unable to think of anything more telling than this, began to examine some handkerchiefs an old woman was offering her. She was on the point of enquiring how much they were when the Baron asked: ‘You find them pretty?’ and when she told him yes, handed the old lady some notes and gave her a dozen of the dainty things. ‘And before you tell me that you intended to buy them for yourself, may I beg you to accept a trifling souvenir of Madeira, and if that sticks in your throat, then I’ll add them to the hotel bill.’
He sounded amused and faintly mocking; there was nothing to do but to thank him nicely, admire the fine embroidery, and stroll on down the street to a shop where she could buy cards to send home. He paid for those too, smiling in a way to cause her to hold her tongue, and then walked on with her while she made suitable remarks about the little town, its shops and the scenery, to be cut short finally by his abrupt:
‘We’ve given them time enough, we’ll go back now.’
She could think of nothing sufficiently cutting to say on the spur of the moment in reply to this remark; she had actually believed that he was enjoying her company, instead of which he had been filling in time while Rimada and Terry had the little talk he had so neatly contrived for them. She remained silent until they reached the café again where she seated herself beside the patient Guake and pointedly ignoring the Baron, engaged him in bright chatter, an action which unfortunately was partly wasted, because after only a couple of minutes, he had turned and walked away without a word.
He was back again within five minutes, accompanied by Rimada, looking bewildered and somehow relieved, and Terry, who looked sullen. They all went back to the car, and Terry, contriving to get close to Loveday as they crossed the square, astonished her by saying in a low voice:
‘You could have told me that you’re to be married soon.’
Before she could deny this remarkable statement, the Baron was between them, telling them with a wealth of unnecessary detail where they were going next. ‘And then the hotel, I think,’ he boomed genially, ‘and luncheon before we take Terry back to the ship.’ He took care too, that no one should have a chance for a tête-à-tête, for when Loveday suggested that she and Rimada should go to their rooms to tidy themselves before the meal, he pointed out, still affable, that they need go no further than the cloakroom close to the hotel restaurant; after lunch was time enough for them to inspect their rooms. So Loveday, balked of her chance to sound Rimada out on the morning’s happening, repaired to the powder room which she found so full of other women that the chance to say even a word was hopeless from the start, and when they returned and the Baron enquired politely if they had found everything to their satisfaction she told him with some asperity that it had been crowded and watched the little satisfied smile on his face with helpless rage.
Lunch, surprisingly enough, turned out to be a very pleasant meal. The Baron bridged the awkward pauses and maintained a flow of small talk with the consummate ease of someone who knew that he had the situation well in hand, and when Terry wished them good-bye with small sign of any regret at the end of their lunch, she was disconcerted with his manner towards Rimada—almost businesslike, she considered, certainly brisk; no one seeing them would have known that only a short time ago the two of them had intended to get married. As for herself, she was treated to another reproachful look and a murmured: ‘If you should change your mind, Loveday, you have only to let me know—I shall be waiting.’
He pressed her hand as he spoke and walked away, his head slightly bowed, leaving her staring after him in bewilderment. Anyone would think that it was she and not Rimada who was the object of his disappointed love. Rimada and Guake had already wandered away towards the hotel terrace—surely Rimada might have waited until Terry had gone… She caught the Baron’s eye and found him smiling; the look on his face was that of someone with a job well done. She was still frowning at him when he suggested: ‘Why not come with us, Loveday?’ and before she could find an excuse, he had opened the door of the car and scooped her neatly into the back seat. Beside Terry.
It was the Baron who chatted pleasantly about this and that as he took them down to the docks. It was the Baron who ushered Terry out of the car, barely giving him time to say good-bye once more. She watched while he went up the gangplank, with the Dutchman blocking its end with his large person, for all the world as though he anticipated that the younger man would turn round and come back again. But he didn’t, he waved from the open door of the main deck, and disappeared.
‘Did he want to go?’ asked Loveday the moment her companion had settled himself beside her after inviting her to come and sit in front.
‘What had he to stay for?’ demanded the Baron. ‘Rimada with no money, and you, an heiress, on the point of marrying—he had the sense to cut his losses.’
She turned a shocked face to his. ‘Is that what you told him? That I was going to get married? But I’m not—I have no intention…’ She drew a deep indignant breath. ‘So that’s why he told me that if I changed my mind…’ She let the breath out in what sounded like a snort. ‘I never heard anything like it—the nerve…’
‘Ah, but I’m a surgeon, we need nerve, you know,’ he sounded quite undisturbed by her temper. ‘Why, I remember once—in Utrecht, or was it Leiden? There was a case…’
‘I am not in the least bit interested in your cases,’ she told him crossly. ‘You’ve behaved abominably!’
He nodded in agreement as he slid the car between the piles of merchandise, the people, and the vehicles which crowded the docks.
‘Oh, indeed I have. But in a year—two years, it won’t matter a little bit. What will matter is that Rimada and Guake will be happily married, just as they are meant to be.’ He glanced at her. ‘And you will be married, Loveday, and so, I fancy, shall I.’
Her impulse, at once discouraged, was to ask him who to. Perhaps he was already engaged. She looked idly around her as they sped along the road towards the hotel. Now if he had been engaged to her, she would never have allowed him to traipse thousands of miles; she would have dissuaded him from going, or better still, gone with him. She remembered that she was still vexed with him and asked, ‘And Rimada? Didn’t she mind at all—I had no chance to talk to her.’ She shot him a baleful look and saw the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement.
They were climbing the hill away from the centre of the town now.
‘No, I didn’t intend you to; you might have had some well-meaning scheme up your sleeve which would have spoilt everything. Leave her to Guake.’ He swung the car through the hotel gates. ‘Here we are.’
As he held the door open for her to get out Loveday said tartly: ‘I really can’t think why I said I’d stay, for you are so rude—I can see that I’m not going to enjoy my holiday in the least.’
He took her arm and walked her round to the terrace overlooking the sea. ‘Oh, yes, you are,’ he assured her, smiling. ‘Sit down, and we’ll have a long, cold drink, unless you would prefer tea?’ and when they had settled themselves, ‘The other two should be along presently, you and Rimtsje can go and unpack what you need for a couple of days.’
She remembered his plans then. ‘Yes, but when we get to Lisbon, are we flying on to London, Rimmy and I? We’re due to start work…’
The drinks came and he handed her something pleasantly iced in a tall glass. ‘You will both be coming back to Holland, to Rimada’s home—her mother will be delighted to see you for a few days.’ He shot he
r an amused glance. ‘You don’t need to worry, unless you wish to, you don’t have to see me again once we get to Holland.’ His voice was blandly reassuring, which should have pleased her and didn’t.
Rimada joined them presently, and Guake with her. She didn’t look in the least like a girl who had just parted from a man she had had every intention of marrying, but chattered away until they went upstairs to their rooms; two delightful apartments overlooking the sea, sharing a balcony and a bathroom between them. Loveday, looking around her at the luxury of her surroundings, wondered what it would all cost. How like the Baron, she thought grumpily; just because he had had no money problems he would naturally want the best of everything without giving a thought to her own purse—she would be broke for months. Still, as she was here she might as well make the best of things; she unpacked what she considered she might need for the next two days and wandered out on to the balcony and into Rimada’s room.
Her friend was sitting at her dressing table, trying out a collection of lipsticks. She gave Loveday a slightly shamefaced look and asked:
‘Do you think that I am awful—heartless and selfish?’
Loveday sat down on the bed. ‘No. In fact I think it’s a good thing that your guardian interfered; you can see now that it wouldn’t have worked out. I think,’ she went on carefully, ‘that one can imagine oneself in love and really believe that it’s the real thing, and then one discovers it isn’t, and I daresay a great many people don’t know how to get out of it and so they get married and are unhappy for ever after.’
‘Terry wanted my money.’ Rimada was still surprised about this. ‘He was glad not to have to marry me when Adam told him that I no longer had any.’ She leaned forward to get a better view of her mouth. ‘Guake doesn’t mind if I am penniless. I have known him all my life, but today it is as if I have seen him for the first time.’
Loveday got up and went to look at the view from the open door. The sun was still delightfully warm, its late afternoon gold made her look prettier than ever. ‘Guake’s nice,’ she said. ‘Did he find it awkward coming here without much warning—I mean, he hadn’t planned a holiday, had he?’
Rimada, happy about the lipstick at last, joined her on the balcony.
‘He came because Adam told him that I would be here.’ She went pink. ‘He has a regard for me.’
‘Well, yes—I thought perhaps he had.’ Loveday smiled at her. ‘Look, Rimmy, don’t think about getting married for a little while, give yourself a chance to get to know Guake properly—oh, I know you’ve known him for ages, but I wonder how well? And let him get to know you—the part of you who likes babies and stray dogs and lends money to people and never asks for it back and buys flowers for lonely patients—oh, don’t look like that, I know all that; he doesn’t, but give him the chance to find out. And he will, you’ll see.’
‘Then you are not annoyed that we stay here instead of staying on the ship? I think that we shall have a good time, and Adam says that he will take us out in Lisbon and Mama will be so glad to have us home for the rest of our holiday.’
‘I’m not annoyed,’ said Loveday, and was surprised to find that she meant what she was saying, only upon reflection she wasn’t sure if she liked the way Adam had arranged the rest of her holiday for her. She debated as to whether she should return to her home instead of going to Rimada’s, and rather thought that she would, although she didn’t allow this decision to spoil the evening. She put on a long dress of cream and pink chiffon, which, while not in the same class as Rimada’s green organza model, certainly enhanced her dark good looks, and accompanied her friend downstairs to the bar where the two men, very sleek and elegant, waited for them.
The evening began delightfully; they dined gaily, a delicious meal which Loveday ate without knowing what it was, aware only that she was enjoying it. And afterwards they danced, and although she started of with Guake as a partner, she very soon found herself with Adam, watching the other two disappear into the hotel grounds.
‘Highly satisfactory,’ murmured her companion into her ear, ‘though I don’t suppose that you would agree with me.’
Loveday was an honest girl. ‘But I do,’ she told him, ‘although I don’t think you…that is, you have been very ruthless…’
They were idling round the dance floor, and instead of answering her he made some trifling remark about the band which she was forced to answer in kind, much though she wished to remind him once again that his interference had spoilt her holiday. Even as she thought this, she found herself admitting that it wasn’t true—her holiday wasn’t being spoilt at all. The hotel was perfection itself, she found Madeira enchanting—just as long as she kept away from its appalling cliff tops, and as for her companions, was not Rimada her best friend, and was not Guake a perfect dear; the kind of man anyone would get on with from the moment one met him? and as for the Baron— She experienced a peculiar sensation as she thought about him; her feelings were rapidly undergoing a change towards him. He was infuriating and he liked his own way and he could be nasty when he had a mind to be, but he could also be kind. She looked up into his face at that moment and discovered a look upon it which wasn’t in the least kind, only extremely thoughtful, as though he could read her thoughts and was trying to decide what to do about them. She found herself unable to look away, and when he stopped dancing she went on looking at him, standing quiet within his arms while other couples revolved around them. She felt excited, as though something wonderful was about to happen, the excitement suddenly crystallized into a knowledge which rounded her magnificent eyes and caused her pretty mouth to gape slightly. She was in love with this man; it hit her like a sharp blow so that she drew a long breath, searching the blue eyes looking so intently into hers as though she expected a response. But his eyes held nothing but faint amusement.
‘You look as though you had forgotten the key to the front door,’ he told her lightly. ‘Come outside and get sentimental under the moon.’
It couldn’t have been worse; Loveday flinched as though she had received a physical hurt, while at the same time she told herself that in the circumstances it was the kind of remark she might have expected—and deserved. After all, she had done everything she could to help Rimada against him, hadn’t she? And he had called her an interfering busybody; it was amazing how that rankled still. She said, her voice as light as his: ‘By all means, but I’m past the age of getting sentimental, you know, but I daresay the moon will be worth looking at.’
They were on the terrace, watching the moonlit water below before he answered her. ‘I deserved that.’ He leaned on the balustrade beside her. ‘Do you dislike me very much, Loveday?’
And there’s a facer, she thought desperately, and wondered what he would say if she were to tell him that she had discovered, only a few moments ago, that she loved him. ‘I don’t dislike you at all, though I can’t think why not; you have annoyed me enough.’
He laughed ruefully. ‘Indeed I must have done, but you see I was surprised…’
She peered at his face through the deep blue of the late evening. ‘Surprised? Why?’
‘Never mind. Doesn’t Funchal look delightful with all its lights? A charming town, I think—the only large one on the island, though I expect you already know that.’
If he felt like giving her a geography lesson, she hadn’t much choice but to listen; presumably it was the alternative to getting sentimental in the moonlight. She had asked for it, she supposed, and asked, quite meekly, if he would tell her something of the island.
She didn’t hear a word he said, of course; she was listening to his voice and when there was an opportunity, studying his face, bone white and black-shadowed in the moonlight. He could go on for ever, as far as she was concerned; just being there beside him was enough—for the moment at any rate.
‘And now, having talked myself hoarse upon a subject which the pair of us have found exceedingly dull, may I ask what you have been thinking? For you certainly weren’t liste
ning.’
‘How do you know that?’
He chuckled. ‘Because once or twice I spoke Dutch, and you being you, Loveday, wouldn’t be likely to let that pass, not if you were paying attention. No, you were deep in thought—not, I hope, more plots against me?’
‘No, oh, no.’ She was breathless and suddenly quite reckless. ‘I think that perhaps the moonlight has made me feel much younger and—sentimental.’
He turned to look at her. ‘An invitation, Miss Pearce?’
The recklessness was still there; she was going to regret it later on. Now she said steadily: ‘Yes.’ She had intended to say more, but he had caught her close and was kissing her. There was fierce mockery in the kiss, the mockery was in his voice too. ‘There is something rather absurd, dear girl, is there not, in two—er—mature people such as we are allowing ourselves to be carried away by a touch of moonlight and a little too much wine with our dinner.’
She had no idea what to say, she had drawn away from him and perhaps she would have turned and run if Rimada and Guake hadn’t joined them at that moment, making it necessary to join in the lighthearted talk for some minutes before they all went back into the hotel. Loveday, longing to be somewhere quiet where she could have a good cry, decided against pleading a headache; it would give the Baron a chance to make one of his nasty remarks. Instead she caught the eye of a fellow guest and smiled at him. She could smile very invitingly when she chose; it helped a little to see the Baron’s face as she and the gentleman joined the happy throng on the dance floor. She remained there for some time, getting, if truth must be told, a little tired, and even when she at last made her excuses, she allowed herself to be led to the bar, where she remained for a further ten minutes or so, drinking the vermouth she had been offered and which she loathed, and chattering brightly. She wished her acquaintance good night finally, with a half promise to meet him at the swimming pool in the morning, and returned to her own party.