In your conception, I had an ulterior motive for bringing you here that is somehow tied up with my ancestral yearnings for the white-skinned English girl.' His eyes held a glint of cruel mockery and Coralie had no answer as he assisted her into the car This was not the first time she had been victim to the sardonic streak in this unpredictable man. How she hated his mockery, and the intense delight he took in humiliating her, just when she had decided to try and be amicable to him.
She turned her head away from him in exasperation. The pain must have gone deep, she concluded, to have carved the lines of bitterness so deeply about his eyes.
Once they had passed outside the formidable iron gates, Coralie felt anticipation quiver through her. What would be the outcome of this morning's venture? she wondered with a pounding heart. She took in a deep breath of the intoxicating air, and to her surprise found herself relaxing a little, free of the intimidating atmosphere of the Quinta steeped in the mysterious memories of its barbaric history.
The estate car bumped over the uneven track as it threaded its way white and dusty amid vast acres of plantations. Coralie gripped hard on the edge of the seat to stop herself from being thrown against Dom Ricardo's hard shoulder as he drove at some speed, heedless of the potholes. In his deep, pleasantly accented voice, he recaptured her enthusiasm for the Portuguese scene.
Dom Ricardo indicated with a casual brown arm his vineyards stretching away to the horizon where eventually the purple-black grapes would be harvested by the peasants along with all the gaiety of festa. Now he glanced down at her as if about to indulge a small child. A thin smile edged the bold curve of his lips.
' Breathe deeply, Miss Grey, and you will catch the elusive scent of the almond blossom.'
They had been driving for some time through terraced farmlands, and had suddenly emerged upon a pink sea of bloom, guarded by the towering reddish ramparts of a Moorish fort. Coralie caught her breath sharply at the unutterable beauty of it all. The pink blossom gave the whole scene a soft glowing radiance.
' I think I've never seen anything so lovely,' she murmured.
Dom Ricardo brought the car to a halt on the brow of a hill to that she could absorb the magnificent view. The strange intimacy of the moment was disconcerting. ' We have a legend that tells how a handsome and ardent young vizier wooed and won a lovely princess from a northern country, and brought her to live in this valley.' Coralie's grave eyes regarded the proud, half-smiling features turned down towards her, giving her a most uncanny feeling as she sat in the dappled
sunshine with those magnetic eyes upon her. Despite the love and gifts he showered upon her,' he was saying, ' the fair lady pined for the snows of her native land. Her ardent husband ordered his entire estate to be planted with almond trees that bloom in winter, carpeting the slopes with snowy blossoms.'
Coralie felt she had never been so conscious of anyone even to the inflection of his deep voice.
' D—did the girl recover?' she couldn't help but ask, almost inaudibly.
Of course.' Amusement flashed in the dark eyes as his glance flicked her vulnerable young face. Entranced by the sheer beauty of this miraculous sight, and swept off her feet by such a token of true love, our princess ceased her moping and lived happily ever after.' His smile died to a small frown as he regarded her intently, his eyes dark and disturbing.
Is your story meant as a challenge to me to stop my moping too?' she asked unevenly.
' I like your occasional forthrightness, Miss Grey. Yes, to speak quite candidly, I think you would do well to—how do you say ?—take a leaf out of her book.'
A flush stole into Coralie's cheeks. ' Thank you for the advice, senhor,' she answered tightly, resenting the note of reproval in his tone for allowing her disappointment to take such hold on her. ' Your country is very lovely,' she went on simply, hoping to change the subject.
But you have little taste for it just now?' he accused her, not allowing her to sidestep the issue. His mouth thinned. ' You would prefer the ignominy of a police search for your unreliable Englishman?'
Coralie felt a sudden angry trembling all through her slim body, and her lips quivered as she fought back the tears.
' It would be worth it if I found him,' she retorted. You seem to imply that I have lost him for always—that I shall never believe ! she cried defensively. ' You have no feeling.' She hurried on regardless of the flicker of steel in his eyes. ' I know you cannot understand the kind of love that will follow to the ends of
the earth—the only true feeling you know is pride.' Her emerald eyes flashed their scorn at him. Pride in your position and possessions, injured pride in your lameness; you are too proud to admit the things that hurt you ! ' At last she had dared to talk about his pain. ' Your heart is dead, senhor; it no longer beats to the pulse of life, it is a stone—' She broke off at the audacity of her uncontrolled outburst.
A dark savage look sprang into his handsome eyes, as if he could have struck her. The knuckles of his long brown fingers paled as he clenched the steering wheel.
' You will no doubt feel better for your untimely outburst,' he said evenly, as he let in the gears and swung the car back on to the uneven track.
She was right. He was proud and heartless and cruel; and the sooner she could get away from him and his house of bitter memories, the better, she thought wildly, for something warned her that the supreme power of this man could be dangerous.
CHAPTER IV
They met the cobbled streets of the village, where here and there were loaded donkeys led by peasant women and girls with gaily striped aprons worn over full black skirts; and dark-skinned young men in faded cotton shirts, their cropped hair black and glistening.
' This is Pera.' Dom Ricardo's tone was impersonal as he braked slowly and turned the car into a small white square overlooking the sea. A tremor ran through Coralie as she choked down her emotions at seeing Peter's village at last. She dug her fingers hard into the palms of her hands, and glanced nervously up at her companion.
' Miss Grey,' his voice was edged with steel, ' I trust you are not harbouring any vain hopes that your fiancé will have conveniently returned.' He appeared faintly bored all at once.
Coralie could not answer, feeling suddenly drained of all emotion as if she were no longer part of this impossible drama. She turned away unwillingly for him to read into her expression any hint of apology for the scene that had so recently flared between them. Her eyes fell on the unsuspected delights of this unobtrusive hamlet, a duster of pastel-washed cottages above red-gold dills. The ruined towers and ramparts of a castle rose incongruously out of a clutter of houses and gardens with pomegranates and oranges. Despite herself, she was at once captivated by the sheer magic of this Moorish village.
' The Moors held this part of our country for over five hundred years,' Dom Ricardo was telling her in crisp tones. They transformed it into a veritable garden spot, capturing the water from wells and springs on the slopes that screen Algarve from the north wind.'
With her tawny braid trailing over her shoulder, and slim ankles in her flat sandals, she followed the lithe figure as he slid from behind the wheel.
' This is where we walk,' he announced casually.
Coralie shielded her eyes from the dusty white glare as she stepped out into the dazzling sunlight. How still and quiet everywhere was, except for the breeze wafting in from the sea,
Tell me, Miss Grey, what are your first impressions of our villages?'
Coralie turned to see the dark hair and tanned features regarding her as the breeze gently caressed her pale skin. She groped for suitable words to express her deep delight in the pattern of life around her.
It—it's like a piece of embroidery framed by—by blue sky and green grass,' she replied hesitantly, but the suave curl to his smile robbed the moment of its enchantment.
They came suddenly on a hidden courtyard, but the heavy door was temporarily open and Coralie could see down steps leading into a semi-wild garden with gras
s growing between stone slabs and wild flowers as well as the great jars of growing shrubs. A lovely dark girl in a red skirt was washing the stones, and had set out chairs under the shade of lemon trees.
Coralie followed Dom Ricardo down narrow steps into the tiled courtyard. She noticed the fleeting expression in the girl's almond eyes, widened in astonishment as Dom Ricardo approached, and in vibrant tones of his native tongue made some brief enquiries. The girl sprang to her feet with the natural grace of some wild creature and swished her black hair, her eyes flashing as she looked at him. After a short exchange of conversation with her overlord, the girl brought cool drinks to them at a table under the lemon trees.
You will no doubt be interested in the view from the terrace here.' He addressed Coralie in enigmatic tones. I thought that perhaps the girl Chica might know something of Peter Radford. In summertime, this cottage with its superb sea view is something of an artists' rendezvous. Chica's brother and father are both fishermen, and her mother cleans the artists' cottages and cooks and launders for the occupants.'
With clammy hands clenched, Coralie watched the dark girl swing away as she escaped into the house
with a swift look of scorn for the English girl, leaving Coralie with an uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach. Coralie looked swiftly at Dom Ricardo.
' And does she know him?' Her heart beat high in her throat.
He shrugged. She says her mother has prepared his meals and cleaned his rooms for some time now expecting his return, but he has not arrived.'
Coralie hid her disappointment by turning her head.
Perched precariously on its hill above the sea, the view afforded from this terrace was slightly theatrical. White houses crowded down between ochre cliffs to the honey-coloured sand of a miniature bay. White streets full of light overlooked the green Atlantic, and Coralie felt a longing to plunge into the water. She could see that the beach, gay with painted fishing boats, was within walking distance of their vantage point. Closing her eyes, she strove to recall snatches of description from Peter's letters. She had to be sure that this really was the spot to which Peter had been lured.
At the sound of Dom Ricardo's deep voice, her eyes flew wide open. He sat with booted legs wide-planted, his jacket discarded and the sun on his blue-black head. He was studying her with curious eyes over the rim of his glass. She felt the colour rush to her cheeks and a strange, not unpleasant sensation, invade her stomach. She averted her eyes, green as the sea, to where white cottages with filigreed chimneys climbed up the farther Jiffs.
' Are you dreaming dreams or seeing visions?' He quirked a black eyebrow. ' I believe you haven't heard a word I was saying to you.'
' I'm sorry. I was wondering if those cottages could —if those are the ones where Peter was staying.' She stumbled over her words in her uncertainty, conscious of the discerning glance turned on her.
' Those cottages are usually rented by resident artists in winter, then they are vacated to accommodate summer visitors at a much higher price. We will walk down that way to the beach when you have finished your drink. Come and see the view.'
He moved from the green shade and Coralie followed to where he leaned negligently against the lemon tree. She glanced at his averted profile carved in pride as he stood where his ancestors must have stood centuries before, his eyes narrowed against the glare, his dark features merged with the shadows. An aura of mystery hung about him, that evoked the saga of his seafaring ancestors; their blood ran rich in his veins. It needed no imagination to see the pirate in him. Like an elemental sea-rover his eyes scanned the green Atlantic through the smoke-haze of his cheroot.
What were his thoughts? Coralie wondered despite herself. For all his cool, controlled manner, and the impression he gave of the stable, dedicated patron, there was some inner conflict in his eyes. Did the roving spirit of his forebears haunt him on occasions?
' This part of the coastline is a painter's paradise,' he observed without allowing his attention to flicker from the scene. He pointed out the narrow valley like a twisted scar among the hills sprinkled with white farmhouses and terraced orchards of fig and almond. Juniper bushes stood out against the red-brown hills and so absolute was the light, so vivid and clear, that Coralie felt as if a cataract had been removed from her eyes. She knew instinctively beyond all shadow of a doubt that this was the view that Peter had described to her in his letters. She felt the Senhor's eyes on her as she stifled a little choked sound. His dark gaze was keen rather than sympathetic and she fought against the tears that would not move this dark conquistador.
' Come,' he crisped, lightly taking her elbow, ' I can see you are impatient to explore further; but do not set your hopes too high, Miss Grey. If there were any sign of Peter Radford, I would be the first to hear of it, you may rest assured.'
' Of course, senhor.' He was not going to dampen her spirits at this stage. ' But you do understand how much even a very small hope of finding Peter means to me?'
' It will not lessen the hurt of his abandonment, if you do not find him,' Dom Ricardo retorted dryly.
' You are condemning him without knowing him,' Coralie retorted with fiery disdain. Again this arrogant Portuguese had managed to incense her anger. Her lips parted, about to give way to a show of spirit, when she caught the impersonal expression of his eyes.
You cannot change things by—how do you say?—turning a blind eye to them, so why worry?'
Are you trying to warn me about something?' she countered, at the ominous look in his eyes.
You are a young romantic,' he answered smoothly. ' At large in an alien world, and finding it hard to accept reality.' He gave her a curiously disturbing look. ' But that will not save you from the hazards of a lone female on foreign soil. If you do not like the shackles of my guardianship at least have the good sense to tolerate them—for your own sake, child.' His words cut like a whiplash against her bruised spirit, and his fingers dug hard into the soft flesh of her arm.
' I am not your child!' A note of defiance rose in her voice. Neither am I a Portuguese senhorita. English girls know how to look after themselves—'
Of which fact you have given me scant proof.'
Her cheeks still stinging from his remarks, Coralie was left with no choice but to follow the tall, lean-hipped figure of the Senhor down the narrow, cobbled descent towards the harbour. Her eyes constantly searched the dim alleys and peered into shadowy courtyards as if the key to Peter's disappearance lay hidden behind these blank-walled Moorish houses, mysterious in the cloistered life they never revealed to a stranger.
A half-sob escaped her as she brooded on the magic all this would hold for Peter. Dom Ricardo shot her a backward glance at the small sound, and she summoned an airy smile. At all costs she would not let him see her fretfulness from now on, she determined. He returned her smile, and once again it occurred to her how vividly masculine and handsome he was, his jacket slung over one shoulder, and thrusting back at an unruly lance of gypsy-dark hair, blue-black in the sunlight. He was boyishly relaxed, providing a dis-
turbing contrast in Coralie's mind with the image of Peter's slight-framed fairness.
She exclaimed as Dom Ricardo paused at the foot of some winding steps leading to a beautiful simple church, though somewhat massively built, she thought, for so small a community.
' The churches of our towns and villages served as refuges against pirate raids,' he explained. There are often the odd canon or two on the roof to keep enemies at bay.'
' Is that a Manoeline doorway?' she asked, rather pleased to be able to air a little of her knowledge of Portuguese architecture that she had gleaned from Peter's letters.
The twist of the Senhor's lips was slightly sardonic.
' Your architect friend has instructed you carefully, I see.'
' My fiancé,' Coralie corrected him.
He disregarded her reproof.
' Yes, this type of architecture flourished during the reign of King Manoel. Here and there in Algarve
one comes across a Manoeline doorway or window, and it immediately strikes one as being different from anything seen in other European countries.'
' What do the decorations portray?' she asked eagerly.
' They are the conceptions of a seafaring nation, and of a people preoccupied with the excitement of finding new and strange worlds.'
Coralie uttered a gasp of delight at the carvings of seaweed, coral and curious shells, exotic flowers and fruits, twisted ropes and anchors and even sails interlaced in pride round the door.
She tilted a quizzical gaze up at him and he read her unspoken question. ' It surprises you that I dabble a little in the arts, senhorita. You thought me a boorish barbarian who had no sensitivity for such things. Come, admit it ! '
' I—I' she stammered, at a loss for words.
' It may interest you to know that I am something of a connoisseur of Portuguese architecture. I must show you my collection of azulejos, sometime before
you leave us.'
She flicked him a hasty glance from beneath her lashes, and was rather surprised to see the Senhor apparently serious.
According to Peter, there are some Roman ruins a few miles nland from here,' she said.
I love beautiful architecture, graceful statues and romantic sites, Miss Grey, but the pursuit of some second-rate fragments of the past seems to me a complete waste of time. I would rather spend two or three hours looking at Etruscan mural paintings than at some square mile of rubble.'
Coralie flushed with anger at the arrogant disdain in his manner each time she mentioned Peter. Anger bubbled up inside her until her hand itched to strike the proud, jutting chin.
' Come, there will be time another day to admire the interior of the church.'
He led the way down steps among whitewashed cottages. ' These are the charming residents of the escapists,' he drawled. Coralie bit her lip to prevent a barbed retort, and so forbore to answer his remark to the effect that Peter had not come here to escape. Why did he have to goad her with his cynicism? ' Food supplies are good. Plenty of cow's milk and butter. Fruit and fish and vegetables are cheap unless disastrous weather creates a scarcity.' He gave her a twisted smile. So, Miss Grey, you would no doubt have enjoyed playing the little housewife to Senhor Peter Radford, that is if you count the primitive toilet amenities no hardship. Pera has no piped water, of course,' he added with a glint in his eye, showing his evident sadistic enjoyment in torturing her. ' Some houses have a cemented underground cavern which keeps the water cool, but considering that for ten months of the year no rain whatever falls in Algarve, the cisterns very often run dry. However, these cottages have no such luxury as a cistern. Ah, see! This is how you would obtain your water.' A shaggy grey burro was staggering up the dusty mule track, balancing on either side of a wooden pannier a huge earthenware
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