Destiny Decrees

by Margaret Mann

  ' Some people have all the luck ! ' Jacques teased her, but did not press her confidences further. Coralie found something very charming about this Frenchman's reserve.

  As the shadows of the rocks lengthened Jacques Bourchier walked back with her along the beach. No doubt we shall meet again. I hope you will stay a while ! ' He bent swiftly and touched his lips to the back of her hand. ' Au revoir, Coralie.'

  His smile heartened her as she walked away and scrambled back up the cliff path and in at the side gate of the Quinta. It was evidently much later than she had dreamed, and on her way through the hall a harassed-looking Rosa waylaid her, chattering incoherently so that most of what she said was unintelligible to Coralie, but she gathered that Dom Ricardo had unexpectedly arrived home earlier than usual, and had ordered afternoon tea for himself and the Senhorita Grey in the salon immediately. When Rosa had played for time, hoping that Coralie would return before Dom Ricardo missed her, he had become suspicious and had demanded to know where she was, and Rosa had received strict instructions to tell him the moment the senhorita arrived back. He had lost his temper with the maid for allowing her out.

  ' I am sorry your little escapade was discovered,' Rosa apologised, twisting the corner of her small crisp apron in her agitation. ' I must hurry now and tell

  Dom Ricardo you are safely back, or I am afraid of what he might do.'

  ' There is no need, Rosa, I will tell him myself.'

  No, no—please, senhorita!' cried a distracted Rosa. ' Hurry to your room. I must report to Dom Ricardo. Those were his orders—I dare not disobey ! '

  Sharp anger surged through Coralie. Without haste she mounted the staircase with only a glance back at the deserted hallway, before turning in the direction of her room. She had been consciously pleased with her afternoon spent in the company of the golden-haired Frenchman at the cove; and kicking off her sandals in irritation at Dom Ricardo's unreasonable anger, she padded across to the dressing table to tidy her hair before flinging herself on to the bed to rest her aching feet. Poor Rosa, she was terrified of her employer. He treated his servants like a feudal tyrant, just because he knew these people depended upon him for their livelihood, Coralie thought accusingly. If she was to stay here under the same roof as this domineering autocrat any longer, she could not be repressed to this extent by his tyrannical behaviour. The sense of well-being she had derived from her afternoon at the cove had been suddenly quenched.

  There was a knock on her door, and a very subdued -Rosa delivered the message that Dom Ricardo wished Miss Grey to dine with him at nine o'clock that evening. The Royal Summons, Coralie conceded. There was no way of evading it, and if he were annoyed with her, she might as well get the ordeal of the next meeting with him over. This was the first invitation she had received to dine with her host since he had brought her to his home. Dom Ricardo dined alone, she had learned, on the rare occasions when he was not dining out with friends and neighbouring landowners.

  Her shopping this morning had not induded a dinner dress. She had tried to buy the minimum of garments, having no intention of becoming deeply indebted to her host. With certain misgivings she decided to wear the long wine-coloured skirt and a white lace blouse.

  On the stroke of nine Coralie descended the shadowy staircase, her black velvet slippers making no sound as she stole nervously past dark suits of armour, lifelike in the eerie half-lights cast by the wall-lamps burning smokily within wrought-iron sconces. How lonely and small she felt, followed by the sentinel gaze of long-dead Carvaiho ancestors, their portraits ghostlike in the forbidding gloom. Breathlessly she reached the hall, her clammy fingers gripping the iron balustrade.

  ' Good evening, Miss Grey.' Dark mockery edged his voice as Dom Ricardo jerked her masterfully from the shadows, his strong fingers gripping her bare arms. ' Do I make you so nervous, senhorita?'

  His baffling gaze was on her burnished coronet of hair gleaming in the lamplight, and with a little gasp she answered: I—I didn't know it was you, senhor.'

  His cruel mouth quirked in sardonic humour as if he knew just how afraid she felt of the man who stared down at her.

  ' Were you afraid that it was some sea-rover returned from his barbaric past, come to plunder your maiden heart?' he taunted, quirking an eyebrow at the portraits of past Conquistadors of the Quinta das Torres. ' Come, let us go in to dinner.'

  Still gripping her arm, he propelled her into the long panelled dining room, and formally drew out for her a high-backed chair, elegantly carved to match the one at the opposite end of the long table.

  Coralie looked along the unnerving stretch of rosewood and silver separating them, to where her host raised his wine glass in an age-old ritual.

  ' To your sojourn in Portugal, senhorita. May it eventually prove to be the fulfilment of all your dreams.'

  Coralie could not tell from his inscrutable expression whether the irony of his toast were coldly calculating or if it was some misguided notion he had of breaking the ice. She caught her breath trying not to show how nervous of him she was.

  As a child, I imagined myself in all kinds of adult roles, senhor, but dreams have a way of ending!'

  ' And life starts all over again.' A sardonic smile edged his lips. ' Life is so gloriously improbable.' Her green eyes, disclosing all her fears, were fastened upon his face as his dark head was thrown back and the crystal goblet drained in one swallow.

  ' Happiness is something you must feel and enjoy, senhor. It—it is not something one can imagine.

  He was watching her intently. ' Happiness?' he quizzed. ' Love, do you mean?' His eyes narrowed keenly, and the lines of bitterness were drawn tightly about his mouth. ' Your high ideals sound glamorous, Miss Grey, but love, a great love, has to be nourished.'

  ' A great love,' she rejoined, ' is evidently an illusion —a dream.' The words had broken from her before she had time to check them.

  How cynical you sound for one so young! Do not allow youth's dreams to be shattered by the boorishness of your fiancé.'

  ' Shakespeare said that " youth is not a time in life, it is a state of mind ",' Coralie retorted.

  ' Exactly, chica.' Dom Ricardo spoke carefully. ' So come, drink to your future, Miss Grey.'

  Presently they dined by the light of Moorish lanterns. The first course was crema de camarilo, a shrimp soup followed by a delicious short-crust pastry pie with chicken, beef, mushrooms and olives, a speciality of the region taking some expert preparation, her host informed her. No doubt that was why he was complimenting the servant, Coralie thought, and not without reason, for she was enjoying it immensely despite her trepidation at sampling strange Portuguese dishes under the hawk-like eye of Dom Ricardo.

  For dessert there was a delectable orange puddingdoce de laranja, her host enlightened her. The meal was rounded off by a selection of fresh fruit from a basket piled with huge golden peaches, little green figs and bitter-sweet tangerines. The talk during dinner was of Portuguese customs, and Moorish influences in the Algarve, which kept Coralie intrigued, revealing to her, her host's compelling power to charm and fascinate, a man of magnetic appeal, and devasta-

  ting attraction, she had to admit. Luckily, she mused, she could remain impervious to his charms having already given her heart to another man.

  ' Come, we will take coffee in the small salts.' Dom Ricardo limped across the tiled floor of the dining room and ushered his guest through an arched doorway into an adjoining sala. The honeycombed richness of its carving made Coralie gasp.

  ' Please enter.' He spoke lazily, noticing her hesitancy. As she preceded him into his retreat, Coralie's head swam dizzily and she began to suspect that the bewitching green dinner wine was more potent that she had been led to believe. Her host waved her to a fireside chair where she was glad to sink into the enveloping depths of its quilted cushions. An immense olive-wood fire was burning beneath a marble mantelpiece. Above it, a charming brass statue caught the glow from the fire and threw it back into the room which was superbly f
urnished with comfortable chairs and handsome chestnut furniture. Woven wool rugs were scattered about the floor; mural tapestries depicting hunting scenes graced one wall; terracotta jugs and bowls in attractive traditional shapes; and a model high-prowed boat, all helped to lend atmosphere to this male sanctuary. But it was to the exceptionally fine panels of Moorish azulejos, the cool tiled walls, that Coralie's gaze was irresistibly drawn.

  ' My feudal den seems to intrigue you, Miss Grey.' Dom Ricardo was reclining on the opposite side of the fireplace sipping strong black coffee.

  ' I have never seen such an interesting room, senhor.'

  ' Meaning you have never before been enticed into a male lair?' She coloured at his implication, slanting him a wary glance from beneath her silky lashes.

  ' I have been in Peter's studio when he lived in London,' she said defensively. She would not have this overbearing man think her entirely raw to life.

  Ali! So that is why you sit on the razor edge of the chair. You fear repercussions of a former experience.' He was enjoying his baiting of her.

  Peter's studio was entirely different from this room.'

  Coralie gave a reminiscent smile as she remembered the untidy clutter of paints and canvases that was Peter's sanctuary. She met the challenging glint in the night-dark eyes.

  ' How different?' She met his direct gaze with a quiet sincerity.

  ' There is a—a more enduring quality about this room, senhor.' She dropped her eyes shyly, not wishing to convey fully the emotions aroused in her by its sheer masculinity. In the intense silence he regarded her consideringly.

  ' Almost akin to that in certain people, eh?' It was a statement rather than a question.

  With a deliberate air, her host lit a slender cheroot, and withdrew behind its screen of smoke. Abruptly changing the subject he remarked : You look pale this evening, senhorita. No doubt you had too much sun this afternoon.' He was watching her with the air of a tiger about to spring. So this was the whole purpose of his summons to dine with him, Coralie concluded, tensing warily, to censure her for disregarding his orders.

  ' I am terribly sorry if I have offended you by going to the beach on my own, senhor, but I am not used to siestas and I suddenly longed for some fresh air—' Her voice trailed off lamely. How did one explain to this overbearing despot that she had felt an acute longing to be free of the oppressive grandeur of the Qumta for an hour or two—he just would not choose to understand her.

  ' I have no wish to appear to you always in the role of reproving guardian, but I think perhaps I did not make myself clear when I mentioned earlier to you that in my country, young girls are not allowed to wander unescorted—'

  ' But, senhor,' Coralie broke in impatiently, I am not one of your Portuguese senhoritas. I am merely on a kind of holiday here, so that surely your feudal niceties do not apply to me,' she argued with some spirit. His tone froze her to silence.

  ' Miss Grey, since you find yourself in my country,

  you will do well to observe its customs,' he reproved her coldly. ' The tough vaqueros who tend my bull-herds might not understand your respectable English behaviour. They would not be to blame if they wrongly interpreted it. The girls of the Algarve do not wander alone unescorted. They are circumspect, not inviting criticism. Do I make myself dear, senhorita?' he finished with masterful hauteur.

  ' Perfectly, senhor.' Coralie's eyes glittered angrily, and she felt the hot colour suffuse her cheeks at the implications of his catechism. However, as it happens I was not without an escort down on your secluded little beach.' Stung to anger as she was the words were out before she could stop them. She had not intended to tell Dom Ricardo of her meeting with the Frenchman, but his insufferable arrogance had goaded her beyond prudence.

  No?' The monosyllable challenged her to an explanation. There was a sudden inert stillness about the man opposite, which unnerved Coralie more than the full vigour of his personality. She caught her breath as the leaping flames from the olive wood illuminated the bronze mask of his profile. Despite the warmth of the room, her hands were clammy in her lap as she fought to control her unreasoning fear. What was more, she felt sure he was aware of her fear. Her chin went up defiantly as she outlined briefly her afternoon encounter at the cove.

  Dom Ricardo's voice broke across her words. So you are acquainted with Jacques Bourchier, the novelist.° It was Coralie's turn to look surprised.

  ' Novelist? He didn't mention the fact—and I would hardly call him an acquaintance,' she replied defensively.

  He is also a cinéast, making a film for the Musée de l'Homme in Paris.'

  ' Yes, he told me.'

  The ebony-dark eyes regarded her speculatively. ' Perhaps he is talent spotting, seeking someone like yourself to feature in his film—to give it more—colour, shall we say?' A grim smile flickered across his lips

  and was gone.

  Coralie stood up, the colour draining from her face as she braved his mockery.

  I think your joke in poor taste, senhor. Do you believe that of me? That I would encourage a—a stranger to—' She broke off in confusion as she caught the look of warm amusement in the dark watchful eyes. She trembled like a cornered doe as she felt his strong brown fingers tilt her chin, scrutinising her face in the firelight.

  I too was a stranger to you, remember, little one.' His voice was dangerously soft. And now you are my unchaperoned guest. Are you not alarmed?'

  Please, senhor!' she whispered, hardly daring to draw breath. The smile had gone from his eyes, his expression was once more impenetrable.

  Answer me ' he commanded in the tone of a man not used to being disobeyed.

  I—I am a little afraid of you,' she faltered. With hardly concealed impatience, Dom Ricardo turned from her abruptly and walked across the room.

  You have rare qualities, senhorita; honesty, a vivid imagination, and a quaint mystery,' he said.

  Still trembling, she breathed, ' Is there not some mystery in every human being, senhor?'

  He was standing with his back towards her, staring through the window at the darkened garden. Her words were met with silence. So he thought her merely ' quaint ', did he? Coralie thought in the ensuing silence.

  Abruptly changing the subject, he announced, I have been neglecting you rather badly, Miss Grey, though I warned you that I should of necessity be an inattentive host. My work here takes up much of my time, as you will have observed.'

  Don't worry about me, senhor. I am not used to playing the part of a guest in such a distinguished household.'

  As if he had not heard her, he continued, But no, you have too much time to brood upon your misfortunes. You must learn not to dwell on them so

  intensely. I will make arrangements for Monsieur

  Bourchier to show you some of our places of interest.'

  ' You need not on my account, senhor!' Coralie protested.

  ' Do not argue! I shall arrange it.' Flicking her an amused glance, he continued, Also I think you are unaccountably ill at ease, being an unchaperoned guest in my house; though why such prudery I fail to understand, when you have the so British disregard for propriety.'

  As Coralie opened her mouth to defend herself, he silenced her with an impatient gesture of his hand. ' I shall invite Dona Elvin. da Silva to stay at the Quinta as your duena until such times as your reluctant fiancé puts in an appearance to shoulder his responsibility.'

  Why this sudden scathing mood? Coralie wondered in bewilderment. What had happened to this man to enshroud him by the apparent mystery of a bitter past? What had she done to change him so suddenly when until a moment ago his mood had been so agreeable? Her eyes questioned his, but his face was unreadable. She knew so very little about men, she suddenly realised, even though she had believed herself on the verge of marriage with Peter. She had evidently assumed that all men were to some degree varying shades of Peter, but this last week or two spent under the same roof as Dom Ricardo Carvalho had shown her how mistaken she was. Here was a man like none
she had encountered before, and there was still much she had to learn about the dark master of the Quinta das Torres. He had drawn back one of the elegant window curtains, and stood staring out into the night, wrapped in his own thoughts as if he had forgotten her presence. Intuitively, Coralie sensed her dismissal.

  ' If you will excuse me, I think I will go to bed. Goodnight, senhor,' she murmured politely. When he still gave no sign of having heard her, she withdrew silently. His voice arrested her as she reached to open the door.

  ' I have some business to attend to in town tomorrow

  morning, Miss Grey. Be ready straight after breakfast and you can accompany me. I think maybe the drive will be of some interest to you, and will help to revive your spirits.' He limped across the room and held the door open for her, dismissing her with a brusque inclination of his dark head. Coralie heard the door dose abruptly behind her as she retreated up the stairs to her room.

  Her last waking thoughts before sleep dosed down upon her that night were of Peter, yet she could never quite decide at what point the vision of his dear face blurred and faded to be replaced immediately by the image of a gypsy-dark countenance. She wrestled wearily to dispel from her mind the features of Dom Ricardo Casimiro Carvaiho, but unaccountably they persisted in haunting her dreams until morning.

  After breakfasting alone on the terrace, Coralie hurried back to her room to collect her bag with an unreasonably light heart at the prospect of a drive into town with Dom Ricardo. At the least it would provide a welcome change, as she had been little farther than the village until now. Wearing a simple cotton dress in a particularly attractive shade of apple green, and her hair secured in a shining pony tail, Coralie ran back down the stairs and out into the courtyard where Dom Ricardo already sat in his car awaiting her, one elbow leaning on the open window, and an arm indolently stretched along the back of the seat. He allowed his gaze to flicker over Coralie's slim-fitting dress.

  ' Please get in the car, Miss Grey,' he ordered crisply, assisting her into the front seat beside him