Destiny Decrees

by Margaret Mann

  ' Is that all, senhor?' Her cold lips barely moved as they framed the words.

  For the present, yes,' came his clipped response. He had not spared her. His words had dealt her a cruel blow, almost savage in their intensity. Her

  mouth was quivering with pain and disillusionment. ' Th-then you think I have fabricated this story for you?' A thin note of despair edged her tone.

  What kind of man do you think I am, Miss Grey? Of course I believe your story.' His voice had unbelievably lost much of its harshness. Was there then another side to this man of iron? Coralie wondered dazedly. He smiled briefly, almost kindly at her.

  ' I—I am lost in a world of strangers, senhor—' She choked back her tears on the last word and could not go on. She stood, dependent as a child, while the tears of disillusionment and exhaustion spilled from her eyes. In silence Dom Ricardo handed her his handkerchief to wipe away the unbidden tears.

  ' I shall see that further enquiries are made concerning your fiance,' he informed her abruptly. ' Meanwhile you will stay as a guest in my house, senhorita. The necessary arrangements will be made to recover your luggage—and, might I add, your spirits,' he added with a taut smile as his eyes flickered over the tearstained face. Coralie made as if to protest at his arrangements, but he silenced her with a decisive gesture.

  ' You will go back to your room now and rest. Tomorrow you will feel better.' With a somewhat impatient gesture he rang for a servant to conduct her to her room. Coralie felt instinctively that Dom Ricardo deeply regretted his involvement with the young English girl whom fate had cast his way. It was merely the sense of duty towards a stranger, inbred in all Portuguese however high or low their station, which caused him to incur the responsibility of this added burden to his affairs.

  ' One more thing,' he went on. In the morning, give your measurements to Rosa, one of my servants—and she will fit you up with a dress or two from the village store until you are able to go and choose suitable clothes yourself. You understand?'

  ' Yes, senhor. Thank you,' Coralie quivered.

  ' I realise that you strongly dislike being under any obligation, but I am afraid that for the present you

  have no choice but to accept my hospitality.' The perceptive eyes glinted down at her.

  Goodnight, senhor.' Coralie managed to tilt her

  ant chin rather than let him see her utter desponency, as she followed Rosa the servant upstairs to her room.

  Rosa was a quick-witted, dark-eyed village girl, with a gay smile. Coralie asked her how she had learned to speak English so well. The young Portuguese girl explained that most of the village children were sent to the modern secondary school where they all had lessons in English. It was such a relief, Coralie felt, to have someone with whom she could converse freely.

  Listening to the girl was like a breath of fresh air. She prattled on about the household of the Quinta das Torres and its dynamic master.

  ' I haven't met Dom Ricardo's wife yet,' Coralie said wonderingly. ' Is that her portrait in the living room, that beautiful woman with the sad eyes?' she queried.

  Rosa turned startled eyes on the pale English girl.

  ' Deus, senhorita! But she is dead, his wife—did you not know?' Her voice was low and confidential.

  Coralie gave a gasp of dismay. No! ' she managed a stifled answer. I did not know.' Momentarily she was jolted from dwelling on her own troubles. Choosing her words carefully, she explained, ' I have had very little conversation with Dom Ricardo since he brought me here after my accident. It is understandable that he has not mentioned this to me on our brief acquaintance.' Coralie felt that she was treading on thin ice here, but Rosa seemed to accept this explanation.

  No, of course not, senhorita. Dom Ricardo would not mention his wife's tragic death to you.' The servant had lowered her voice to a whisper. ' He does not allow her name to be mentioned. If he knew I had gossiped to you about her he would dismiss me at once. You see, he blames himself for her death.' Rosa's words hovered momentarily in the silence of the room.

  ' Please ! ' Coralie appealed. You must tell me about it. Don't you see, Rosa, I—I can't stay in ignorance under the same roof as—as a—' She broke off, draw-

  ing a sharp breath.

  ' Hush, senhorita.' Rosa looked alarmed at the sound, then a sudden pert smile was on her lips. ' Dom Ricardo is not a villain. He is at the moment his own worst enemy. He needs jolting out of his despair.' The mischievous glint was echoed in her eyes. ' Maybe you could help him, senhorita!' She shrugged eloquently. ' It is almost two years since the tragedy occurred.'

  ' Tragedy?' Coralie stammered, completely bewildered. ' But what—how—?'

  ' You know of course that in Portugal most marriages are arranged. They are not always affairs of the heart, though in most cases they turn out to be happy enough. Dom Ricardo was the most eligible bachelor in the district at the time of his marriage—rich, handsome, and with the added glamour of being one of the bravest matadors in Portugal. He could have had any woman he wanted, but he chose to marry Juana, the daughter of a neighbouring landowner. Their families had been friendly for years, and they had been promised to each other almost since childhood, so people say. Juana was the ideal choice for a suitable marriage. She was very beautiful and a pure Portuguese, but she lacked spirit to match the fire and passion which was Dom Ricardo in those days—Juana was always miserable when her husband had to leave the Quinta for many weeks at a time in the bullfighting season, and when he was at home their differences became more and more apparent, and the master's dark moods became more frequent. The tension in the household became a little easier when Juana found she was expecting a child; and her husband spent more time at home with her until the fateful day.'

  Coralie had her eyes fixed on Rosa with a look of apprehension.

  ' Shall I go on?' the servant asked as she noted Coralie's eyes wide with distress. Coralie nodded, half fearing what was to come.

  ' They had quarrelled again, but it was to be for the last time. They had been out riding together, and

  for some reason which no one will ever know, Juana spurred her horse angrily towards the Quinta, unaware that one of the bulls had escaped.' Rosa shuddered. ' Her death was horrible, senhorita. She was thrown from her horse and trampled by the bull.' Coralie felt sick at the thought. ' Dom Ricardo had his last duel with a bull that morning. He fought like one demented to save the life of his wife and unborn child, but it was too late. Juana was dead by the time he had lured the enraged beast away, and it had gored his leg so badly that he has been a cripple ever since. What is worse, the bitterness has gored his heart.'

  With some difficulty Coralie controlled her nausea at Rosa's lurid words, but the girl babbled on.

  ' It is rumoured that Dom Ricardo's widowed sister-in-law, Dona Elvira da Silvas, fancies herself as the next mistress of the Quinta das Torres. But I am talking too much, senhorita. I am sorry if I have upset you.'

  Coralie could think of nothing to say and was grateful when Rosa bade her goodnight, leaving her alone to face the second shock that night; that of having learned that she was left virtually at the mercies of a man who was the victim of his memories.

  CHAPTER III

  Coralie woke as shafts of bright sunlight pierced the slatted shutters of her room. She lay gazing about her and with the recognition of her new surroundings came the pained memory of Dom Ricardo's revelation that he had been unable to trace Peter, and that for the time being she was dependent on this intimidating autocrat.

  After her long sleep, the nightmare of the last few days was beginning to take on a saner perspective. Now that she was able to think clearly once more she could appreciate the straightforward kindness of her host. It was only the ruthless trend of events throwing her upon his mercy that had made his smallest overtures appear seductive. As there was nothing to be done about her circumstances for the present, she might as well make the best of her situation.

  Coralie had no intention of leaving her fate, or fad
o, as the Portuguese termed it, entirely in the hands of Dom Ricardo Carvalho. She caught sight of two or three cotton dresses laid out across the foot of her bed. Evidently Dom Ricardo's household were in the habit of carrying out his orders promptly and to the letter. His authority was supreme and he had no doubt that his little English protegee would likewise obey his commands. That remained to be seen, Coralie thought as she slipped into one of her new dresses—the least startling of the three, a shocking pink gingham which did nothing to improve on the schoolgirl impression her host had formed of her. She smiled. at Rosa's lack of taste. The girl had evidently decided that the young English girl was the type to choose unbecoming clothes such as this old-fashioned dress with its short puffed sleeves, its tight-fitting bodice, and its gathered skirt which ended just above her knee in a flounce of crisp white trim. She grimaced at her reflection in the long mirror. All she needed to complete the image of a demure schoolgirl was to arrange her

  hair in two plaits, she reflected disagreeably. However, there was nothing for it but to wear the wretched garment and to suffer yet further humiliation in the eyes of her beneficent host. Brushing her hair with youthful determination, she decided perversely to go the whole hog, and braid her hair to fall heavily forwards across one shoulder.

  Tossing her bright pigtail behind her, she sauntered downstairs. Had she risen too early? she wondered. There was no sign of anyone about, though she could hear the servants busy about their tasks behind closed doors. She crossed the high, wide hall and stepped out into the shady courtyard, where she stood uncertainly for a moment looking about her.

  She gazed up at the high medieval walls surrounding the courtyard. She suddenly felt a captive, and on impulse she ran towards the great wrought iron gate set deep in an archway in the wall. Shafts of sunshine pierced the grilled framework, beckoning her to venture beyond the shadowy confines of these imprisoning walls. She caught a glimpse of shell pink blossoms, and a strange enticing perfume pervaded the air. She was caught and held in the magic of the moment as she put out a cautious hand to unlatch the iron portal.

  Barely had her fingers touched the ironwork than there came a sudden bloodcurdling snarl immediately beyond the iron bars. Coralie caught her breath and backed away as a wolfish head thrust viciously through the grilled spaces of the ponderous gate, the animal's chain clanking against the bars. Huge paws pounded against the ironwork, their cruel claws stretched out in savage frenzy—merciless claws that could tear their victim to pieces. Uttering a startled cry, Coralie shrank back in terror. A quick command in the Portuguese tongue and the animal sprang back reluctantly to heel as Dom Ricardo's tall figure strode inside the gate.

  ' So you try to escape from me again, eh?' His lip curled in a mocking smile. ' You have no sense at little one. Did you think to get far without me knowing? If you had stepped outside this gate an instant sooner without my being immediately aware of you, I

  could not have accounted for the animal's reactions. Juno is no respecter of persons—down, Juno ! ' His tone was a whiplash as the dog came sniffing round Coralie's ankles where she still stood rooted to the spot.

  ' His whole instinct is to track down and hunt out the footloose stranger or trespasser on my land—so I must warn you, Miss Grey,' his frown was grim, ' do not be so foolish as to stray beyond these walls. No more solitary escapades in search of an elusive fiancé.' His eyes roved her face deliberately, taking in each feature, each feather-light brow above her sea-green eyes widened in apprehension of the vital lord and master of the Quinta das Torres.

  ' I—I wasn't running away.' Her voice came chokingly from a dry throat. ' It was your dog that frightened me,' she went on nervously. ' I was lured by the enchantment of the unknown beyond your so forbidding gateway, senhor.'

  ' I see.' Dark laughter lit his eyes. ' What do you say—the grass is always greener on the other side! I apologise if the dog has unnerved you. Come,' he said, quick to see the confusion in her eyes, ' you are still suffering from reaction. You will soon become more adjusted to us.' His voice ran on disarmingly.

  Coralie was disconcerted by his change of mood; one moment on the verge of attack, the next, almost understanding. She wanted to escape both facets of this ruthless, disarming, unpredictable Portuguese. Her heart bumped crazily, but already he was propelling her forcibly across the courtyard towards the vine-tangled patio where Rosa was just about to serve breakfast.

  Eat your breakfast,' he commanded, once more the dictator. It will make you feel better.' Coralie sank into a wicker chair as Dom Ricardo turned his head to look at her. ' I am glad Rosa was able to fix you up with a dress—of sorts! ' he mocked.

  Her cheeks burned with humiliation as his eyes slid over her gamine figure seated demurely sipping coffee and nibbling crisp rolls.

  ' Relax, Miss Grey. Don't stand on your dignity a moment longer. So long as you are a guest in my house, please feel free to enjoy the change from your workaday world in England.'

  Coralie reflected nostalgically that England already seemed a lifetime away.

  ' I do not wish to appear ungrateful, senhor, but I shall not be here long. I must try and trace Peter—surely you understand.' Coralie bit her lips to stop them trembling.

  ' And where do you propose to live while you search?' came the harsh reply. ' You will need a roof over your head while you wait for the wanderer to return—if he ever does!' His black eyes flashed her a challenge.

  Stung to anger, Coralie retorted:

  ' You are condemning Peter without knowing him. I—have to find him.' Her voice was almost a whisper.

  ' Miss Grey, do set your mind at rest and remember that my employees are keeping their eyes and ears open. Any breath of news as to Peter Radford's whereabouts will be reported to me instantly, but I believe there is little chance of your fiancé putting in an appearance for some time yet.' He was watching her keenly. This Englishman evidently has no wish that his movements be known. However, to convince yourself of the truth, you must make certain enquiries of your own. I have some business in the village this morning, and you can ride down with me into Pera in the car. I will accompany you to the cottage that you said he rented, by the address you had. Be ready in an hour. Meanwhile, if you will excuse me, I have some work to attend to in my study.'

  Thank you, senhor.' Once more Coralie was aware of his slight limp as she watched the tall figure walk away, stooping slightly to avoid a low tangle of vines.

  Coralie fell to wondering again at the misfortune that had befallen the proud master of the Quinta das Torres, to make him a man who rarely smiled; the face carved in pride, where lurked a bitter twist to the hard line of his mouth. What tragedy for such a man -

  to be so struck down in his prime as to be unable to pursue the inbred passion of the Latins for bullfighting, What a cruel quirk of fate to deprive him of his lordship in this aristocratic tradition of kings. There was little wonder that he had become embittered by life—a man who had led a dangerously exciting existence, tempered by the clamorous idolatry of the crowds who had flocked to watch his princely figure in the arena. Now he had not even the comfort of a woman's arms, since the death of his wife; he was deprived of the two most vital elements of a man's life—his essential manhood, and the woman he loved. Where then did he turn for consolation, Coralie asked herself—to his widowed sister-in-law?

  With a decisive shrug of her thin shoulders, she remembered she had enough to grapple with her own problems. Why must she involve herself in another's heartache? It was no business of hers, and anyhow, the Senhor's broad shoulders looked as if they were equal to carrying untold burdens.

  Upstairs in her room she tidied her hair and splashed her temples and wrists with a cooling cologne she found in the bedroom. Her heart pounded with the knowledge that shortly she would in all probability hear news of Peter. She felt better now that at last she was on the move again; it was the hours of inactivity, the uncertain longing to see Peter again and to discover the explanation of his disappearance that
had taxed her powers of endurance beyond words. Surely there was a reasonable explanation to it all—there had to be !

  The Quinta das Torres lay drowsing in the morning sun, its stone-scrolled towers squaring a court of orange trees and a huge ornamental pond. Coralie sauntered along the cool colonnade shading the front of the house, its rounded arches festooned with lemon-coloured blossoms. The perfume of star-like flowers teased her nostrils and a tangle of roses and bougainvillea cloaked an avenue of rustic pergolas. All manner of flowering plants entwined the arcaded porch and Coralie stood gazing up at the ancient coat of arms carved in stone

  over the great front portals, its family crest dominating the imposing facade of this Iberian farmstead with the pride and valour of its Portuguese ancestry. She caught her breath in wonderment at its impact. This was her first visual impression of Dom Ricardo's ancestral home, and it was only then that she realised a fuller implication of his status, here in the deep south, where the Portuguese aristocracy were still revered monarchs of all they surveyed.

  The long estate car swept round from the back of the house, its driver raising an enquiring eyebrow in the direction of her gaze.

  ' You are interested in ancient buildings?' he asked as he slid with a lithe grace from the car, and came to stand beside her. ' My ancestry originated with the adventurous Portuguese sea-rover, Manoel Casimiro Carvalho, who eventually wearied of plunder and violence after finally kidnapping an English girl whom he brought here to settle in this remote valley.'

  Coralie gazed up at the dark face in awe, startled by his revelation that his family had been founded by a Portuguese pirate and a kidnapped English girl. She saw the flicker of amusement in his eyes, as if he divined her thoughts.

  ' You are afraid that your first instincts about me were correct,' he drawled, his inscrutable glance taking in the russet tendrils of hair at her temples that had escaped the restrictive braiding.