pitcher of great beauty.
Wild geraniums were brilliant scarlet bordering the cobbled pavements that with difficulty penetrated to the waterfront where yellow sands were washed by a purple and jade sea. Small fishing boats with triangular sails were coming in with their catch of fish.
' These fishermen are tough; as indeed they need to be,' Dom Ricardo was saying. ' Tunny fishing is hard work and quite dangerous, though it lasts for only a short season.'
Coralie saw how the fishermen's acknowledgements
showed more clearly than words how liked and res- , petted was the aristocratic lord of their village. Her hair had blown in strands from its braiding, and she felt sure she must look as untidy as she felt beside Dom Ricardo's impeccable appearance. ' Do you own this beach, as well as the village?' she asked incredulously. wry ' He turned one of his smiles on her. ' Yes, Miss Grey, I am what you would call the feudal lord of the entire village. Altogether the estate
supports over a hundred families, all of whom are descended from those who worked for the Carvalhos years ago; all living under the landowner's absolute rule.'
No wonder, thought Coralie as she looked at the arrogance of his bearing, that he expected her to bow to his command, when he was in the habit of ordering the lives of so many people.
' You mean that these people are almost literally your—your possessions?' She had not paused to choose her words, and she flinched at the way his mouth hardened.
' We are a community of workers—wheelwrights, diggers, blacksmiths, milkmaids, swineherds, cork-strippers, and an army of farmhands and fishermen. Thirty thousand head of cattle, a hundred thousand cork oaks, and fifty thousand acres of wheat all serve to keep our village-sized farm self-supporting, and to uphold our feudal way of life.'
Coralie felt as if she were listening to something from a fairy tale. ' And you have full charge over these
people?' she persisted.
As their landowner I take full responsibility for my people, even when they are disabled by sickness and old age. If I had a wife, she would watch over the marriages and the births, nurse the sick, and give advice and comfort.'
Coralie knew from the way he looked and spoke how deep was his pride in this vast heritage—and yet he had no son to perpetuate it.
But isn't this way of life something out of the Dark Ages?' she protested, aghast.
Only a moment ago, Miss Grey, you affected to refer to our way of life as " traditional ' and " attractive " Now you deem it barbaric,' he observed dryly. When even the lowliest shepherd says " our " land, and " our " flocks, I believe I put more than bread into the mouths of these people, Miss Grey, I put dignity into their hearts.'
An acute silence followed, before he walked away from her across the sand to inspect the catch, his limp hardly noticeable; Coralie stared after him as if she were seeing him for the first time. Her green eyes were huge in her pale face, her lashes glinting ashamedly of her impetuous remarks. How young and ignorant he considered her, this man of such vigorous opinions.
It felt so strange to be treated as a guest at the Quinta das Torres, to be waited on hand and foot. Coralie had never in her life experienced anything like it before. Both at home and in her job as a schoolteacher, she had been servant of all, ministering to the needs of others with little time of her own left for relaxation. Even Peter's courtship of her had been made up of a few snatched hours, two or three times a week, between home chores and school work. She had usually returned home from school burdened with books waiting to be marked ready for the next day.
The maid entered her room with a lunch tray, her pert eyes smiling mischievously as she cocked her glossy dark head to one side, then giggling irrepressibly as she surveyed Coralie's dress.
I think I did not choose the right dress for you, senhorita—forgive me. There was little choice in the village store.'
Coralie returned the maid's friendly concern with a warm smile.
Don't worry, Rosa. I was able to supplement my wardrobe a little in town this morning. Dom Ricardo insisted that I make myself more presentable while I remain under his roof. He said that I look like a schoolgirl.'
Rosa gave another delighted giggle. ' Dom Ricardo, he likes his womenfolk to be well dressed,' she explained. ' Dona Juana was always elegant, her gowns used to rustle so.' Rosa swished the black taffeta of her skirt to make Coralie understand. The Portuguese girl gave Coralie a strange wide-eyed look, and lowered her voice to a whisper. I have heard that same rustle many times in this house since she died, senhorita.'
Coralie felt the young girl's expression riveted on her as she spoke. What are you trying to say?' she asked, her curiosity sharpened by the maid's implications.
Rosa shrugged, aware that she had succeeded in arresting the English girl's full attention. ' I hear her as she moves about the house,' the girl persisted with the air of someone harbouring a secret.
' Come, Rosa, you don't mean to tell me that you believe in ghosts! Coralie tried to draw her out.
' Maybe, came the guarded reply. Ring the bell, senhorita, if you need anything more,' Rosa said respectfully as she whisked out of the door, leaving Coralie to stare after her in amused interest. She did not wish to gossip with the maids, but a little diversion of this nature was harmless enough, and anyhow she was not unduly surprised at Rosa's words. The Portuguese were of a superstitious nature with their belief in fate and so on, and one expected some strange stories to be connected with an old house harbouring its memories, and shadows lurking in dark corners, and the old, creaking furniture.
Coralie turned her attention to her lunch tray. It
looked a delicious meal, and after an exhausting morning she was ready for it, feeling suddenly drained of energy. There was a tempting shellfish appetizer, breast of cold chicken, and straw potatoes garnished with tomatoes and chives, and for dessert a wonderful fruit and ice gateau, followed by coffee from the blue-patterned jug on the tray. When she bad eaten, Coralie felt pleasantly replete, and decided to have a shower before obeying Dom Ricardo's command to rest during siesta time.
When she emerged from the cool tiled bathroom, tingling with a sparkling freshness, she noticed that the smart boxes containing her new clothes had been brought up to her room and stacked by the bed. After attending the fish auction on the beach, Dom Ricardo had insisted on driving her into the nearest town to buy clothes suitable for a guest at the Quinta das Tones. She fingered again the expensive garments that had cost more than any salary she had ever earned, but Dom Ricardo had added all to his account, and Coralie's sense of thrift had been thoroughly outraged at such extravagance. She sank down upon the great carved bed, and was soon asleep.
She awoke refreshed, feeling better than she had done since the turbulent events which had led her to this valley in the sun. Her lunch tray had been removed, and as she sauntered out on to the sun-warmed balcony, she reflected again how strange it was to be treated in this sumptuous manner. She had been here about a week now, though it was only the past two or three days of which she had been aware; the rest she had spent unconscious of the grandeur of her surroundings, and unaware of the dark stranger who had brought her to his home. She was feeling sufficiently restored to health after the delicious food and wine-like air of the valley to begin to appreciate this pampering. It was spoiling her for the time when she would have to come down to earth and prepare much simpler meals for herself and Peter. All her thoughts were centred on him now, as she leaned, chin in hand, over the slim balcony rail.
There was a strange potency about the stillness and silence of siesta hour, which reminded her of the mysterious red wine that Dom Ricardo had ordered her to drink as she lay recovering from the shock of her accident. Idly, Coralie began to wonder if there was a short cut to the beach from the Quinta, and to estimate the distance to the sea as the crow flies. This morning, Dom Ricardo had driven her on a three-or four-mile tour of the plantations to the village which ran down to the coast, but surely if there was a path leadi
ng direct to the sea, it must be only a mile or so from here, she concluded. Only this morning had Dom Ricardo warned her against straying from the Quinta alone, but Coralie felt suddenly so imprisoned and stifled by the airlessness of the place, her thoughts crowding in on her and depressing her beyond reason, that she knew she must get out for a little while to dispel her gloom.
For once she felt that she didn't care a fig for Dom Ricardo's orders. He had invited her to stay as his guest, and could not reasonably expect her to behave as his prisoner. She shuddered at the thought, remembering his story of the kidnapped English girl of long ago, brought here as a stranger even as Coralie herself had been. Had that girl stood here, Coralie wondered, straining for a glimpse of the Atlantic between the sentinel trees, homesick for the beloved land that was lost to her for ever? Thrusting all thoughts of her host away from her, on sudden impulse she rang the bell for Rosa, no longer caring about the time of siesta.
' What is it, senhorita?' Rosa's startled appearance conveyed how unusual was a summoning of the maidservant at this hour of the day.
' I—I have a slight headache,' Coralie began.
' Ah, no wonder. You have not drawn the shutters!' cried Rosa with some concern. I am sorry, senhorita, it was my mistake; I should have reminded you at. lunchtime to close the shutters until it becomes cooler towards evening.'
Coralie allowed Rosa to fuss over her for a while, until with some decision she asked her if there was a
way down to the beach without having to trek through miles of fruit groves. Rosa shot her a look of surprise as her fingers deftly secured the shutters, and Coralie realised that she was going to have to take the girl slightly into her confidence to be able to break the bounds of her prison even temporarily. She remembered that Portuguese girls were not allowed to roam around on their own, and the look in Rosa's eyes was one of polite speculation. She seemed to realise that as a maidservant to Dom Ricardo she must not pry into the affairs of his guests, even though the guest was only a little older than herself.
' Rosa, I simply must get some fresh air at once. I am not used to being shut up like this in the middle of the day—please try to understand.' Coralie caught the girl's wary eye. ' If there is a gate somewhere round the back of the house that I can use so that I won't have to--er—disturb Dom Ricardo, will you show me, please?' She turned a coaxing smile on the Portuguese girl, who returned it with a sudden conspiratorial grin.
' You will not tell that I let you out, senhorita?'
Of course not. In fact I will suggest to Dom Ricardo that he raise your wages ! ' They both burst into a fit of smothered schoolgirl giggles, Rosa because, like all Portuguese girls, giggling was part of her temperament, but for Coralie it was an immense relief from the tensions which for days had been mounting almost to breaking point in her. Quickly she slid into a cool flowered skirt and matching sun-top, one of her new purchases of the morning. She had no time to braid her hair or to touch up her face. Rosa clutched her hand tightly as she led the way stealthily down a narrow flight of back stairs, Rosa evidently enjoying the sensation of subterfuge to break the tedium of routine. She moved like a shadow down the winding stone steps, alert as a cat stalking its prey. Never, thought Coralie, had she felt so much like a schoolgirl playing truant as she did creeping down the stairs and out of a side door, in her bare feet, holding her old sandals in her hand so that they could not be
heard.
A sudden awesome thought struck a dart of cold fear through her.
Rosa! ' she whispered urgently, clutching the girl's fingers. The maid whirled round with a cautioning finger against her red lips.
The dogs!' agonised Coralie Are the dogs guarding this gate?' She trembled as she remembered her narrow escape from the savage fangs of the wolfhound.
Rosa shook her head vigorously. ' Only the main entrances are guarded,' she reassured her. They hurried through a rambling herb-garden to where a low gate stood half concealed by overgrown vines clambouring up the crenulated walls. Rosa glanced about her to ensure that they had not been seen, then unlatching the heavy gate, she pushed Coralie gently through.
' Follow the path,' she urged, her voice low as if it was a matter of life and death. ' I will leave the gate slightly open for when you wish to return. Dom Ricardo is dining out tonight, so there is no fear that you will be late back for dinner. I must go, senhorita, or I will be missed.' Her vibrant voice had chattered on, then suddenly she was gone, and Coralie was alone with her new-found freedom, feeling an uneasy sense of guilt as she slipped her feet once more into the familiar sandals, almost the only things she possessed in this strange land, besides her determination to find Peter at all costs.
CHAPTER V
The path she followed to the shore was steep and rocky. Once or twice she stumbled, wrenching her ankle painfully as she clambered down, but she was in no mood to turn back. At last she reached a small and intimate cove, tranquil, and lit by the brilliant sunshine to which she was gradually becoming accustomed. She stood poised for a moment on a ledge of rock, her hand shielding her eyes from the glare before dropping down to the sleepy golden bay. She was entranced by the utter peace and seclusion, the fantastic beauty of the place, and felt like a trespasser in Eden. Here was a carefree world of sun, sky, sea and sand.
Taking off her sandals, she wandered down to the water and splashing her way slowly along the wide crescent of sand, she paused now and then, lifting her head to gaze at majestic cliffs jutting out over the crystal blue and green sea. She came to the end of the sand where rocks curved down to the water, and the scent of pine groves filled the air. The sea-water had eased her throbbing ankle, but it still gave a painful twinge when she put her weight on it. The silky soft sand was warm beneath her as she sank down, hugging her knees with slim bare arms.
The rattle of dislodged stones somewhere behind her startled her, and she swung round in surprise. A man was stepping carefully down an ill-defined diff path that had hitherto escaped her notice. He leapt with some agility down the last stretch, landing beside her on the sand. The sun glistened on his sea-wet hair which lay smooth and pale against his tanned brow. He looked down and smiled.
' Sorry if I startled you,' he began with a charming air of assurance. His accent was decidedly French. He stood leaning against a boulder, his golden skin contrasting with his white silk shirt, composed, successful-looking, oddly reassuring, Coralie thought as he regarded her with frank appraisal.
Allow me to introduce myself, mademoiselle. I am Jacques Bourchier, and I expect you wonder what right I have to trespass on a private beach. I am a film director, making a documentary about the Algarve, and Dom Ricardo Carvalho has given me permission to come and bathe here while we are on location. I sometimes use the quiet seclusion of this spot to come and write up my notes—I usually leave my dinghy at the other side of the headland and scramble up over the cliff to this spot.' He paused as if to let her mind absorb his words.
Coralie wondered at his easy manner with her, a complete stranger to him. He leaned against the colourful rocks in an attitude of quiet solidarity, cool and composed in the stillness of the smouldering afternoon.
' You must be the English girl I hear is a guest at the Quinta das Tones.' He shot her an encouraging smile.
' But how did you know that, monsieur?' Coralie stared at him frow shadowy green eyes.
He lowered his tall frame down beside her on the sand.
' Everyone in the village is aware of Dom Ricardo's charming young English guest.' His eyes were tolerably amused. So little of interest happens in these parts, mademoiselle, that your presence is quite an event.'
She found herself laughing.
' There is a belief among the Portuguese, monsieur, that English girls travelling abroad unchaperoned are not to be trusted.'
The Frenchman regarded her gravely. I have a great regard for Dom Ricardo—he would not harbour anyone untrustworthy under his roof, and I shall certainly not probe into the circumstances regarding your stay
here.'
You're very kind—'
' Then welcome to Portugal, Miss—er—?'
' Grey—Coralie Grey.'
' Then may I call you Coralie?—such a charming name. I see no point in standing on our dignity in
such relaxing surroundings, do you?' He grinned wholesomely, and Coralie smiled back at him with a spontaneity she had not felt for days. Jacques Bourchier went on to tell her that his film unit was accommodated at an hotel in town, but that he personally rented one of Dom Ricardo's cottages in the village, which he used as an office and a retreat, usually sleeping there at weekends. In return for his confidences, Coralie found herself telling Jacques Bourchier something of the events which led to her presence here in the Algarve, briefly outlining the fact that Dom Ricardo had extended his hospitality to her in the circumstances.
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