Destiny Decrees

by Margaret Mann

  ' The French window will be open,' Coralie said in a low voice, a feeling of guilt at her lateness mounting to positive unease. She was desperately tired, and wanted nothing but to slide between cool sheets. To her untold relief they found the French window open as she had anticipated. Jacques stood looking down at her for a moment.

  ' Thank you for a wonderful day,' Coralie whispered, aware of his downward gaze searching hers before he suddenly took her face in his hands.

  ' I'll be in touch,' he said, and she felt his surprisingly gentle kiss on her hair. ' Goodnight, cherie:

  She heard the sound of his car retreating into the distance as she lifted her hand to the window catch.

  CHAPTER VII

  Stepping into a pool of moonlight which cast unnerving shadows, Coralie made her way warily across the salao. She froze in trepidation, as she became aware of a tall figure in the shadowy half lights, propping his broad shoulders against the mantel. Cloaked in silver moonlight he stood enveloped by all the mystery of the night. His hands were thrust deeply into the silk pockets of his dressing-gown, as his compelling eyes regarded her with a shimmer of anger. A look of grim displeasure carved his stern features.

  ' I am glad that at last you have returned safely, Miss Grey.' Dom Ricardo's deep voice had an edge of steel. Coralie's heart quickened at the sound of his voice again. She licked her dry lips, but no words would come. ' Come, don't feign to be alarmed at finding yourself alone with a man at this hour of night,' he taunted.

  ' I----I didn't know you were at home, senhor.' She hardly recognised the sound of her own voice.

  ' Apparently not!' he drawled, his eyes taking in the racing pulse at her bare white throat and her eyes wide with apprehension.

  ' Jacques took me to the fair in Tavira—we dined there and watched the cabaret before—'

  ' I do not require a detailed account of how you spent your time, Miss Grey,' he cut in impatiently. ' But I desire that while you remain within my household, you observe its proprieties,' he went on in a tone like ice. ' I had no idea that you were out until I came to look for you some time after my return. You left no message.'

  ' I am sorry, senhor, if I have abused your hospitality. I—I'm not really such a night-rake as you imagine.' The tremor in her voice gave away the extent of her hurt. ' This is the first time in my life that I've ever been out so late.'

  ' I never for one moment imagined that you are a-

  what do you say--a night-rake?' He spoke unrelentingly.

  ' No?' Coralie's voice rose in sudden anger. Then your whole attitude has implied it.' Her heart was beating much faster than normal. I enjoyed my day —enjoyed every minute,' she said with a show of spirit, still clutching the big doll and feeling like a defiant child who had stayed out long past her bedtime. But she no longer cared what this arrogant overlord thought of her. ' I didn't ask for a watchdog to be appointed for me while you were away. You yourself apparently chose Jacques Bourchier for that thankless job, and if you are not satisfied with your own arrangements, I wish you would tell him so—not vent your anger on me '

  ' Calm yourself, Miss Grey,' he said coolly. ' I shall indeed have words with Monsieur Bourchier; but surely you are not distressed on account of my anxiety at finding you out so late, and no message to say at what time you would return.' His eyes were hard and dark.

  ' I didn't know I would be back so late,' she rejoined wearily.

  ' Allow me to remind you of what I said to you some while ago,' he went on as if he had not heard her. ' That while you remain a guest in my house, I shall take every precaution for your safety.'

  ' Guest?' Coralie flung the word back at him scornfully. I am not your guest, I am your—your prisoner!' She disregarded the harsh flare of Dom Ricardo's nostrils and the lightning flash in the eyes of that dark face above hers. And from whom exactly are you protecting me, senhor?' Her laugh sounded brittle. He didn't answer, and she could feel his anger dosing in on her, yet she was helpless to stem her words. ' With all due respect, senhor, aren't you being just a little melodramatic in this day and age—' She broke off with a gasp at the look in his eye. What had got into her, to be speaking to this arrogant man in such a provocative way—it must surely be the dinner wine taking effect.

  He reached out for her suddenly, his arrogant dark

  profile carved with irony.

  ' You speak dangerous words for a moonlight night, senhorita.' His voice was low and threatening, and she twisted helplessly in his grip of steel. ' Plainly one kiss in the moonlight was not enough tonight to teach you how foolish it is to remain alone with a comparative stranger after dark.'

  So he had witnessed Jacques' brief kiss on the patio, she realised too late. Her heart hammered wildly as his head came down, blotting out the moonlight. The savageness of his kiss bruised her lips, and she whimpered half in pain, half in terror at the barbaric mastery of the man who held her powerless.

  He released her abruptly, and Coralie was humiliatingly aware of the sardonic twist of his lips as he watched her fighting an inner battle to regain her dignity, when her whole instinct cried out to strike him —to hurt him as he had hurt her, both physically and emotionally. How she hated him I Never in her life before had she been disturbed in this way; certainly not by Peter's kisses, she thought tremblingly. But why had he wanted to hurt her to such an extent?—he was cruel and ruthless, standing there in extreme awareness of her abrupt awakening. This was the moment she must have feared and anticipated from her first encounter with him on the quayside in Lisbon. She had sensed in him passionate depths that she could never entirely trust.

  ' Perhaps that has persuaded you more than mere words not to underestimate your powers as a woman.'

  I couldn't hate you more,' she muttered rebelliously.

  ' Then you will no doubt welcome the news that I have brought you home a very agreeable companion, the Dona Elvira da Silva. It is fortunate for us that she is able to come and stay with us for a while. She was looking forward to meeting you this evening, and I was most disappointed that you were not back before she retired to bed.'

  Coralie gritted her teeth and choked back the impulsive retort that it was immateral to her who he chose to entertain at the Quinta. She was tired of fighting

  him. She felt as if the room was beginning to revolve around her, and she groped behind her with one trembling hand for the door handle, while still dinging tightly with the other to the doll. All she wanted was escape from this dark tyrant—and sleep that would obliterate the treacherous emotions he had aroused in her. In the moonlight she could vaguely discern the dark chiselled features and she had the distinct impression that he uttered an impatient exclamation before scooping up her limp frame into his arms of iron—she knew no more as an exhausted sleep drugged her senses.

  The next morning she slept late, and it was after nine o'clock before she awoke to the startling fact that she was still fully dressed in the clothes she had worn yesterday. Someone had thrown the warm coverlet over her just as she was now. Coralie coloured at the recollection that Dom Ricardo must have carried her to her room last night, and instead of arousing the household at that late hour, had laid her unceremoniously on her bed to sleep off the effects of too much sun, too much wine and over-involved emotions which were strained almost to breaking point.

  The sanity of the daylight was reassuring. Thrusting her anger aside, she washed and dressed in freshly laundered clothes, and slipping her bare feet into cool sandals, descended the marble staircase to eat a solitary breakfast on the terrace. It was a relief not to have to face those sardonic features that last night had been indelibly stamped on her very soul. She was also relieved that there was no sign of the new guest—no doubt she always rose late in the mornings to make sure of her beauty sleep, thought Coralie with an unusual bitterness that was unworthy of her.

  As she sipped her coffee, her mind revolved round her plans for the morning. She got up and paced the terrace restlessly. What must she do? She was no longer prepared
to bide her time here at Dom Ricardo's bidding. With sudden decision she hurried out and across the courtyard to the little door in the

  walled garden. She tried desperately to console herself that Dom Ricardo's behaviour last night was due to the bitterness and pain of a life marred by fate—or fado, as he would no doubt claim. He tortured himself and others with him in his more desperate moods; yet this did not soothe her hurt pride, to be thought of as immoral—had he not literally, to his mind, rescued her while she pursued a man almost to the altar, a thing that had disgusted his more strident views on matrimony; and now last night he had caught her in another man's embrace. No wonder he misconstrued the evidence, concluding that she was a person of loose morals who would not be averse to yet a third man's kisses—especially when they were given by such a renowned Portuguese nobleman. He could have no conception of the depths of her hurt and humiliation. Coralie's cheeks burned again as she remembered the pagan quality of his kiss, but most of all did she resent his look of derisive mockery as he witnessed her reaction to his physical mastery. He seemed to derive a grim pleasure from her turmoil, a streak of ancestral barbarism in him for all his air of gentility. She must get away from him, and she knew that her only way of certain escape from him was by finding Peter.

  She decided to follow a hunch she had that Peter might have gone to some other village along the coast, taking advantage of the warmer weather to capture the uniqueness of these almost feudal villages hidden among giant cliffs. It was just possible that he was camping out on some hidden beach, lost to all but the transcendent joy of his painting. It would do no harm, she decided, to take a boat trip along the coast. Rosa had told her that there were many tiny fishing villages nearby, accessible only by sea, or by a rough path over the diffs, no road having yet been built to them.

  It did not take her long to reach the village by way of Dom Ricardo's private beach, and a somewhat hazardous scramble over the rocks. Dozens of boats lay at their moorings, and Coralie hurried along the beach inspecting each one, looking for the name Flores

  do Pera, the boat belonging to Chica's brother, Miguel. From where she stood, she could see the peasants' cottage at the top of the village where Dom Ricardo had shown her the unforgettable view of the Atlantic on her first outing in the Algarve, this Land Beyond '. Curiously she could still see the hostile look in the sloe-dark eyes of the Portuguese girl as he had introduced her.

  She was not surprised, when a husky voice hailed her, to see that it was Chica.

  ' Born dial, Senhorita Grey.' Chica leaned indolently against the side of the Flores do Pera. She still wore the scarlet dress in which Coralie had first seen her, accentuating the darkness of her Latin looks. There was something about this girl which always made Coralie feel uneasy, but she remembered her purpose in coming here, and asked diffidently if the boat belonged to Chica's brother. She could not suppress the feeling that this girl harboured a strong dislike for her, despite her friendly greeting. Chica's eyes narrowed catlike, sliding over the slim English girl as if she were doing some quick thinking, then coming to a sudden decision, her dark eyes glittered with mockery, thought Coralie irritably, sensing that far more lay behind those flashing orbs. Coralie was unwilling to consider the implication, in her eagerness to find Peter. She hesitated, unwilling to ask directly if Chica could arrange for her to take a trip in Miguel's boat, though it was not unnatural that she should desire to explore the delights of that magical coast. It was with unexpected relief that she heard the Portuguese girl's offer.

  You would like to go sailing in Flores, senhorita?' Was her eagerness so apparent? Coralie wondered in dismay.

  Yes! I would love to. I—I haven't done a sea trip since coming to Portugal, but I'm afraid I have no money. I lost my few belongings in a car accident.'

  One moment, senhorita.' Chica disappeared along the beach and returned followed by Miguel, a giant of a young man, nonchalantly swinging a garrafao of

  wine in his hands. His attitude appeared somewhat detached. Wearing a check shirt and big rubber boots and the great stocking cap of heavy knitted wool of the Algarve fisherman, though he shook hands with Coralie, and smiled, he addressed not a word to her.

  It was calm and still sunny when they pushed off. To their left rose the old fort, built long ago to defend the estates of the Carvalho's, while to the right, the delightful old village climbed straight up the hill from the water's edge, each house seemingly piled on to of the other. It was an idyllic departure, and Coralie's spirits soared until suddenly as the boat took the force of the waves and began to roll, drenching spray splashed across the prow. With a shock Coralie realised that she had not come prepared for the weather. Crouching low beside a heap of fishing nets, she dung on tightly to the sides of the boat. She had become quite cold and thoroughly damp in a few seconds. Glancing across at the Portuguese girl, she saw that she had managed to dodge most of the spray, shielded by her brother's massive form.

  ' How long shall you be staying at the Quinta das Torres?' Chica enquired, a hint of resentment in her husky tones.

  That is uncertain,' Coralie replied cautiously, noting the frustration in the other girl's gesture. Smiling, she went on, ' I hope to find Peter before long, then there will be no further need for me to rely on Dom Ricardo's hospitality.'

  It was a look amounting to all but insolence that the sullen beauty turned upon her.

  ' Let me warn you, senhorita, that your Englishman has a roving eye.' Chica's remark was deliberately provocative—almost defiant, thought Coralie with a sense of unease, but she made no answer, controlling her smile to a friendliness she was far from feeling. Chica gave her a sidelong glance from narrowed eyes.

  Are you sure that your fiancé is not deliberately avoiding you?' The question came smugly while the girl lowered her gaze demurely. Was she trying to find out the strength of a rival? Coralie asked herself with

  a sickening stab of insight.

  ' You make me sound like a battleaxe ! I doubt that Peter even knows I am here. I didn't give him much warning. He's probably out at one of these bays, he loves exploring, and he will want to make the best of his time here.'

  ' The English senhor is handsome.' Chica's glance was fleetingly serious, then changed to a sudden sly smile. ' Dom Ricardo will not be pleased that you play truant, senhorita,' drawled the Portuguese girl, with a sidelong glance. He is very strict about the correct behaviour of his household.' There was an amused satisfaction in Chica's tone.

  So that was it, Coralie concluded. For some reason this girl's resentment stemmed from jealousy. Her motives for encouraging the English girl to take a sail in her brother's boat were evidently with the certain knowledge that the patrão of the village would not approve of his young guest taking unchaperoned boat trips along the hazardous coastline.

  About three miles along the coast from Pera, Chica pointed out a small fishing village which could be reached only by a path over the cliffs or by boat, the inhabitants being so isolated that apparently they were more purely medieval than in any of the remote country districts of the Algarve that Coralie had so far experienced.

  The people call each other " neighbour "! They do not use names,' Chica told her.

  ' You mean—that someone could live here—' Coralie's voice trailed off as she caught Chica watching her furtively. What was this scheming puss trying to tell her? Of course I she realised with a sudden flash of insight. Peter could be staying in such a remote hamlet and be virtually unknown—a perfect haven of retreat for his work, or—or— She refused to harbour disloyal notions about Peter. Merely because Dom Ricardo had his own obscure reasons for not wishing to bring in the police was no cause for her to doubt Peter.

  ' Most of that is still private land belonging to Dom

  Ricardo. He is able to refuse to allow even the Guarda Fiscal to set foot on his property.' Chica indicated two or three terraces of white cottages perched on the cliffside overlooking a small sandy half-moon of a beach, entirely hemmed in by orange-brown li
mestone cliffs.

  'Dom Ricardo's private harbour,' Chica informed her.

  Coralie wondered how Chica regarded the present feudal lord of the domain. Did she see him as tyrannical as his forebears had been? A sudden thought occurred to her.

  Does Dom Ricardo still use this little harbour?' she asked; but Chica merely shrugged her shoulders in a noncommittal gesture. Coralie did not miss the quelling glance that Miguel had bestowed upon his sister when she thought she was about to divulge further information about this mysterious little harbour. Coralie's curiosity was keenly aroused. Despite Miguel's forbidding frown, she could not help enquiring how on earth one would reach the beach and harbour from beyond those impenetrable rocks. The boat was approaching the cliff now, as if Miguel were about to turn back. His sister was pointing out the mouth of a tunnel about twenty yards from its brink. Hewn stone steps led down into its darkness.

  ' I see ! The tunnel leads to the beach—' Coralie

  exclaimed with mounting excitement, her thoughts

  racing behind troubled green eyes. She came quickly

  down to earth as Miguel hurled a rapid torrent of

  abuse at his sister in Portuguese, and by the way Chica

  snarled back at him with a defiant toss of her glossy

  head, Coralie concluded that the tunnel in the cliffs of

  Dom Ricardo's secluded harbour could be the key to

  Peter's mysterious disappearance. Why did Miguel so

  apparently resent her search for her absent fiancé?

  Coralie wondered with a sudden sense of foreboding,

  but she had been unable to keep silent. Where was

  he? What was he doing? she asked herself for the

  hundredth time. A sense of despair swept over her.