Destiny Decrees

by Margaret Mann

  They drove away from the Quinta in the opposite direction from that taken the previous morning.

  Might I ask where we are going, senhor?' Coralie enquired, unable to suppress her interest.

  ' I have business in Lagoa which should not take long. Meanwhile you might like to amuse yourself looking round the market. Afterwards I must drive on to Alcoutim to check on freight charges across the river.'

  They climbed the low valley road between whitewashed orchard walls behind which rows of skeleton fig-trees alternated with snowy almonds. Dom Ricardo did not speak another word until they approached Lagoa on its slight eminence, where he pointed out a tall chimney by an impressive stork's nest. Coralie was struck once more by the distinctive Algarve chimney-pots intricately designed and the white walls and gables of the houses piped with a variety of different colours.

  ' Every house is as individual as a finger-print,' Dom Ricardo explained, his tone impersonal as if she were on a tourist excursion, thought Coralie wryly.

  He parked the car in the main square on the heights of the little town. From here we must walk,' he warned her. The descent towards the main street was steep and rough, but the last thing Coralie wanted was any help from her companion. Tall and dark, he stood out among the sun-darkened townsfolk with whom he exchanged a word here and there, or acknowledged with a brief inclination of his proud head, every inch the arrogant patron. Coralie felt angrily assured that he was perfectly aware of his impact on people. The attraction she had felt earlier was merely heightened by her own sensual weakness.

  All morning Coralie wandered round the market place while Dom Ricardo attended to some business in town, having arranged to meet her in the market square when he had finished. She strolled through cool arcades where colourful stalls were piled high with fruit and vegetables, the enormous, flamboyant Algarve cabbages took her eye while in doorways old peasant women squatted on the ground in company with two or three live chickens tethered to a string which they offered for sale; gnarled peasants were selling grain from round flat baskets; and other women guarded huge baskets of brown eggs. It amused Coralie to see the women so involved in the selling of their produce, while the menfolk sat idly by, drinking coffee at little round painted tables set with brown, hand-painted pots.

  It seemed no time before Dom Ricardo came striding towards her across the busy square. Glancing at his watch, he explained briefly to Coralie that there was time before lunch to drive along the coast to Alcoutim, where he wanted to check up on freight charges across the ferry, as much of his produce was exported to Spain.

  It was past two in the afternoon when they reached the little frontier village of Alcoutim on the river Guadiana. The heat was intense. Not a soul was stirring either in Alcoutim or in its Spanish reflection, white and sparkling on a low hill on the other side of the wide estuary. Dom Ricardo brought the car to a halt alongside the ferry where on either bank were moored two or three rowing boats. He slid out of the car, and Coralie watched while he walked over and s ke rapidly in Portuguese to a couple of guardas

  cais lounging in the shade of an olive tree by the small concrete quay. Near them a man with a basket of live fish lay asleep with his hat over his face. Coralie became aware of that curious lurch of the stomach again, as Dom Ricardo came back to open the door of the car; standing tall and powerful in front of her, devastatingly masculine in slim, dark slacks and immaculate white silk shirt accentuating the dark tan of his skin. Don't be an idiot, she told herself angrily. He is not aware of you as a woman—an engaged one at that. A sudden wave of nausea washed over her, due to the long drive and the heat. Dom Ricardo smiled down at her pale, upturned face.

  ' Come, we will lunch here. You are very hungry, no doubt?'

  ' I'm dreadfully thirsty,' she murmured.

  As she slid out of the car, he took her hand, patiently matching his steps to hers as they climbed a path overlooking the river, to a pleasant whitewashed pensao standing on high ground. They entered through a side door opening on to a flagged courtyard. The proprietor, a handsome-looking middle-aged man, emerged from the house, with a profuse greeting for Dom Ricardo. After a quick exchange in Portu-

  guese with the proprietor, Dom Ricardo introduced him as Senhor Mareiros, who upon being approached on the subject of lunch, instantly looked intensely depressed.

  ' All the women of the house are in the fields picking oranges.' He waved a hand towards the orange orchards in the crook of the river's arm. I myself cannot cook!' he confessed with a wide, helpless gesture.

  And probably has never prepared a meal in his life,' murmured Dom Ricardo wryly in Coralie's ear. However, they were immediately offered the use of the large, old-fashioned Portuguese kitchen, looking out on to the flagged patio. Had she been in a sensible mood, Coralie reflected later, she would have meekly followed Dom Ricardo as he thanked the proprietor kindly, but decidedly made his way to the door. However, she was not in a sensible mood just then, she was desperately tired and hungry, and knew that Dom Ricardo must surely be ravenous. She quickly deduced that at this time of day the only other inn that the village boasted would doubtless offer no better solution to a meal; perhaps their womenfolk too were also orange picking.

  ' I—I could help with the food,' she faltered, then hot colour flooded her face. As soon as the words were out she regretted them, and to her amazement the tall figure had evidently taken her seriously.

  Why not?' he challenged. How long do you need?'

  ' Give me a quarter of an hour.'

  ' As you wish. Meanwhile I will go down to the quay and enquire about the freight charges, while you dabble in the culinary arts.'

  ' You are a braver man than you know Perhaps you will regret it,' she twinkled, as with a final rakish glance, the tall figure strode outside.

  Excitedly, Senhor Mareiros conducted her through to the kitchen. It had a typical Algarve fireplace, canopied and spacious, but the hearth was now occupied with a large iron stove. The adjacent wall was hung

  with a formidable array of highly polished iron and aluminium pots and pans, while an atmosphere of good living seemed to impregnate the room. Senhor Mareiros routed up a can of sardines and a ferocious-looking black sausage, then having indicated the various storage cupboards, and done his best to explain the contents, he surreptitiously disappeared from the scene leaving Coralie alone in a strange kitchen.

  Determinedly she donned a crisp white apron she found in a drawer, and began to prepare a quick salad, adding tomatoes and olives she found in a basket, laying all in a bed of boiled rice, and topping the whole with a dressing of oil, vinegar, salt and pepper and garlic. ' There always has to be a first time for everything,' she thought, eyeing the completed salad with some misgivings. Hurriedly adding the finishing touches, she heard impatient footsteps crossing the patio, then Dom Ricardo was lounging in the doorway to say with a lazy smile:

  ' You look quite at home in your kitchen, senhorita.' Coralie swung back her hair shyly.

  ' Lunch is ready, senhor, when you are.'

  She was aware of the dark eyes resting on her meditatively, taking in her apron, and flushed cheeks, and then he was saying with a tinge of humour:

  ' I always did believe a woman's place was in the kitchen!'

  Dom Ricardo carried the tray of food out on to a delightful patio at the back of the pensao, a whitewashed, stone-flagged courtyard where stood two or three weather beaten tables on which lay scattered several water-melons and a half-eaten pumpkin. It was heavily shaded with a vine that spread over a trellis and intermingled with the tendrils of a gourd. In this green and shady place they lunched at a table that had been set for them, while chickens pecked about at their feet. Senhor Mareiros brought them a garraflio of red wine and a basket of small green oranges which, despite their colour, Coralie found delicious.

  Coralie waited anxiously for Dom Ricardo's reaction to the meal she had prepared. She glanced up

  from her plate, embarrassed to find his downward glance upon her; ho
wever, he smiled widely in a pleased fashion, his eyes roving frankly over her.

  Permit me to congratulate you upon an excellent lunch, Miss Grey.'

  Coralie flushed with pleasure. She felt happier than she had done for months. What was happening to her? she wondered. Covered in confusion, she lowered her eyes as she felt the flush deepen under her dear skin. When she could speak again, to draw attention away from herself, she remarked upon the beauty of their surroundings.

  A strange expression shadowed his face as he replied.

  ' I am of the opinion that the young lose much of the joy of travelling because they do not have the same sense of wonderment.' He shrugged. ' But perhaps I am wrong.' Lighting a cheroot, he reflected, ' I shall never forget the curious throbbing of my pulses when I first saw the Acropolis, or glimpsed St Peter's.' For a while he smoked in silence, his face inscrutable. It occurred to Coralie that this was the first time he had told her anything about himself. She nodded, reluctant to mar the intimacy of this moment in which Dom Ricardo seemed to draw closer, by anything she could say.

  She sensed by the tensing of his jaw that he had mistaken her silence for disinterest.

  ' You look as if you might bound away from me at any moment now. Would it be to avoid anything further in the nature of a tete-a-tete?' There was unmistakable mockery in his eyes. ' Come now, you are not really afraid of me, are you? I thought you had enjoyed yourself today. Haven't you?'

  Yes—of course, senhor,' she murmured helplessly. She realised that having admitted her to a glimpse of himself, Dom Ricardo was armoured against further intrusions. Somehow she had a vague impression that for all his absorption in his work and home, there was a void at the centre of this man's life, a dissatisfaction within his own consciousness. Who would restore him to completeness and to a fulfilment of his true self? she

  wondered. It must be some woman, surely—Dona Elvira da Silva, she guessed resignedly.

  Suddenly changing the subject, Dom Ricardo asked, ' How long is it since you saw your fiancé?' He was regarding her thoughtfully.

  Almost a year,' she murmured, taken unawares by his enquiry.

  ' What made him come out to the Algarve?' The question came abruptly, making her look squarely at the reason why Peter had left her behind in England. She answered meditatively, ' I suppose he had become restless for a while before he made his decision. He said that he wanted to try something new in his work before settling down.'

  Might I enquire how long you had known him?'

  ' About six months. I met him at a dance.' Her chin went up defensively at the quirk of his eyebrow. ' Perhaps you don't believe in love at first sight, senhor,' she flashed, irritated by his probing gaze. ' But I had forgotten,' she taunted recklessly, wondering at her own daring, ' the Portuguese is always formal. He will change his shirt to visit a neighbour; however poor, he will offer a full dinner to his guest—or so says the guide book—but he does not—' She tailed off tremulously. Too late the glitter of steel in his eyes told her she had gone too far. Without warning, grabbing her firmly by the shoulders, he dragged her to her feet, to stand facing him, only inches away from him.

  ' You are too presumptuous, senhorita. What do you know of my people, to presume to be an authority on their affections—or to be more precise, my affections?' A tiny muscle flexed furiously in his jaw as he held her in a vice-like grip.

  ' Tell me,' he insisted with sudden harshness, ' what do you mean? One does not taunt a man so, and expect no return.' With broad, bold lips curled he drawled ,' Perhaps after all you think I am barbaric. Come, explain yourself!' he demanded, his nostrils flaring slightly.

  Her breath was forced from her throat in a fright-

  ened whisper as she answered him

  ' Y—you love possessions—'

  Beautiful possessions—yes! ' he snapped bleakly.

  ' You—you are too proud to understand that Peter and I simply fell in love with each other as soon as we met,' she uttered on a shaky breath, no longer caring what was the outcome. For the first time she saw something stir in the depths of his eyes and her heart raced ridiculously. He studied her pale face for a long moment, then after muttering savagely in his own language he exclaimed contemptuously,

  What do you know of love? You are in love with love—with the world—with many things, but not with a man, Miss Grey! You have the unawakened look of an innocent babe—not of a woman who is ready to pledge the sacred vows of matrimony.' Abruptly he thrust her from him, unaware that his withdrawal had left her at the edge of a precipice.

  He made no attempt to help her on their way back down the rough path to the car. Coralie bit her lip. Where did she go from here in her relationship with this impossible man? she wondered as her mind cleared. She felt treacherously near to tears. These exchanges with this masterful man left her exhausted, but she was determined that he should never know of her vulnerability where Dom Ricardo Casimiro Carvalho was concerned.

  CHAPTER VI

  The following day, Coralie learned from the servants that Dom Ricardo had departed early that morning on a visit to friends in the Ribatejo, the bull-breeding district of Portugal. As he would be gone for several days, he had left word for Coralie that he had arranged for Jacques Bourchier to show her some of the sights of the Algarve, in his absence.

  Coralie sighed. There had been absolutely no need for Dom Ricardo to arrange for anyone to amuse her while he was away, as if she were a child to be occupied and kept out of mischief at all costs. She frowned. What possible reason could he have for wanting to keep her in ignorance of his absence from the Quinta, until he had gone? It left her with a giant question mark in her mind, yet there was a measure of consolation in the fact that his absence lessened the sense of urgency of her decision on when to get away from the Quinta das Torres. Each day that Dom Ricardo remained away extended the chances of Peter's reappearance by the time Dom Ricardo returned home.

  Memory suddenly stirred in her, and she gave a small exclamation.

  Ribatejo ! That was where Dona Elvira da Silva lived, back on her father's farm now that she was widowed. The maidservant had intimated that the young widow found it hard to settle to her old way of life, after the greater freedom of marriage.

  During the days that followed it occurred to Coralie that Dona Elvira would not be long restricted by widowhood, if the rumour were true, that when the Senhor returned home in a few days' time, he was expected to bring the lovely widow with him. Coralie could not help being startled by the news. A little quiver of resentment passed through her—surely it could not be jealousy! Impatiently she shook off the thought. She meant no more to the master of the Quinta das Torres than a—a ship that passed in the

  night; so why should she suppose that it was any business of hers what were the possible consequences of Dona Elvira's visit? She sighed, wishing with all her heart that she need not be here when Dom Ricardo brought home his future bride.

  Two days after the Senhor's departure, the sound of a car droned through the stillness. The car stopped and the next moment Coralie heard rapid footsteps crossing the patio. Jacques Bourchier was silhouetted in the open doorway of the sala.

  ' Good morning, Coralie. May I come in?' His smile was appraising. Coralie felt herself stiffen at his intrusion.

  There is no one else here.' She knew how stupid she must sound, but she couldn't help her feeling of awkwardness. She looked uncertainly at him, searching for words of explanation at being left in his charge —but nothing presented itself.

  ' I have come to take you to the fair at Tavira. It will be an excellent opportunity to film some local colour—are you ready to come with me, Coralie?'

  She felt uncomfortable. ' It's very good of you to offer—' she began simply, ' but there really was no need for Dom-

  ' Not at all,' objected Jacques. ' I was coming in any case?' he said with assurance, coming towards her. ' I thought it high time our little anglaise had some fun in this fascinating country.' He treated her to a dazzlin
g smile.

  I—I was unaware of Dom Ricardo's arrangements until after his departure,' she said stiffly.

  Jacques actually laughed, then said: You are typically feminine.'

  Coralie frowned, betraying her puzzlement.

  ' Your curiosity is piqued at being left in the dark as to His Eminence's arrangements, n'est-ce pas?' You must understand, cherie, that Dom Ricardo Casimiro Carvalho takes no one—but no one into his confidence !' Jacques grinned down at her and tilted her chin with one finger. Please smile for me, Coralie, as you did on the day I first set eyes on you, a sea-waif

  on the sand.'

  She caught the gleam of kindly amusement of the Frenchman's handsome blond features, and her lips quivered into a smile.

  That will do to begin with,' he teased cheerfully. If you are ready, we can make an early start to our day before the sun gets too hot.'

  It was a golden morning as they followed the coast road. Tavira—Coralie repeated the name to herself for the sake of the lovely sound it had. Tavira ! the most enchanting town she had seen in Portugal. While Jacques saw to parking the car, and to instructing the members of his unit who had arrived before them, Coralie wandered towards the shade of a Moorish arch overlooking the ancient tiled roofs of the somnolent town, stretching towards the distant glitter of a lagoon. Gazing out over Tavira's towers and ramparts, she saw not the honey-coloured roofs and white domes of churches in this ancient fishing port, but the sheer enchantment of a little Venice.

  ' You find it a romantic setting for your first Portuguese fair?' Jacques' voice came caressingly over her shoulder.

  ' It's beautiful,' she breathed happily.

  He pointed to the sea in the distance. ' Can you imagine barbarian galleys lurking in the bay?' He pulled a wry face at her indrawn breath. ' Long after the Christian cross had replaced the Moorish crescent, barbaric pirates plied their trade in these waters.' His hand was firm and reassuring at her waist, but it was not of that she was chiefly aware just now. Across her moment of enchantment fell the image of a dark, piratical face, mocking in its relentless gaze; forbidding in its ruthlessness—the carved features that had haunted her dreams. She trembled at her own vulnerability. Jacques was laughing down at her.