Coralie spent a good deal of her time on the beach, watching the launches coming in at morning and going out at night. Sitting early each morning among the lion-gold rocks, she watched fascinated, aware that she was stepping back perhaps a thousand years into history, where the boats with curved sails, lateen rigged and towering upswept prows, lay out on the chilly silent water like Moorish dhows; soaking up the warmth of the sun as it fell upon her like a treasure.
She watched the daylight spilling a trail of jagged stars across the sea, so dazzling they bruised her eyes. Was this all real, or was it just another of her bewildering dreams? Had Dorn Ricardo really demanded that she marry him? It seemed incredible for any reason. Had Peter deliberately avoided her since her arrival in Pera? It was becoming more and more difficult to believe in him as the days passed. And what were her true feelings about him now? She only knew that since meeting Dom Ricardo, he had dominated her whole mode of life, in a way that Peter had never done. Compared with the intensity of the emotions that Ricardo inspired in her at a touch, at a glance, what she had felt for Peter seemed merely affection. Was her future with Peter really ended before it ever began? Should she pack her few belongings and leave for England, Where at least she would pick up the type of work again that she was used to. She lay fiat down on the warm sand and closed her
eyes wearily, her thoughts chasing each other in a vicious circle. She would never-escape Ricardo as easily as that.
Unwittingly she must have dozed, for when next she opened her eyes the serras had disappeared in mist. and the warmth had gone from the sun. Bad weather had come, and the village seemed to be huddled closer against its bold cliffs in the strange red light of morning. Fishermen padded barefoot through the encroaching mist, like indigo shadows against the dawn, the dark silhouettes of their craft still drawn up along the sands, painted eyes peering from their shapely prows, gazing out across a sullen sea where men rowed madly for the beach, their long oars dipping deep, their hoarse cries alerting Coralie to the imminent danger. She had heard of the sudden thunder-squalls that blew up along this stretch of coast, when the Atlantic, whipped by a sudden gale, hustled in such surf that the boats could not fight against it, overpowering even the most seaworthy of their boats, then the men were drowned. Coralie shuddered. Sometimes they could not go out for days while the ocean raged. No boat could breast those thundering breakers and the surf's pounding would damage the hull.
Rain was falling solidly now, and Coralie shivered in her thin cotton blouse as she ran to join the crowd of men, women and children waiting on the shore, taking her place among the villagers at the stout ropes that led the boats across the beach. Like everyone else, she pulled frantically to bring each craft high and dry out of reach of the surf. Men's lives depended upon the unflagging efforts of each individual.
The wind began to howl, tearing at her hair, as more and more boats rushed for the beach, some running into the surf with their sails still aloft. dashing at the beach with full way on to ride up out of the reach of the breaking water. The work was fast. almost taking her breath away. They ran from boat to boat, hauling at the recovery lines hooked to ring-bolts on the small prows. Children screamed as the surf ran high, breaking along the beach in loll after foaming
roll, knowing that the lives of their loved ones were
in dire peril. Sometimes the beaching craft didn't
get away with it, then boats overturned and foundered.
The sky spat electric sparks as Coralie stumbled barefoot over the gritty sand, gasping and jerking, bent double over the ropes. Once when her head came up she caught sight of a familiar tall figure, his features carved from copper as the garish light threw primitive shadows covering his face with an impenetrable mask. There were cries of Bravo, senhor! as Dom Ricardo towered above them.
' We are going to need the help of all the world,' came his spirited challenge. He watched with screwed-up eyes as the rowers raced painfully towards the shore —the only harbour they had ever known. Trousers rolled, he splashed into the waves, seizing one end of a team's sagging rope. hauling their way up the beach, clawing the sand with their toes. each man silent, his face to the ground. He might have belonged to a file of Egyptian slaves, hauling and straining in an hour of expended strength at a labour without mercy of dignity.
The destructive frenzy had worn itself out. The snarling sea had assuaged its passion, and groups of exhausted fishermen lay face downward on the sand, watchers and fishermen gazing silently at the wretched aftermath of the storm as the sea trailed its tragic path beneath a smouldering sun.
Coralie stood numb and chilled on the edge of the crowd, watching Dom Ricardo in conversation with several fishermen. All the clamour was gone—and in that instant Coralie felt as never before this land of the Algarve clutching at her senses. She seemed only just beginning to know this village and its indomitable people—and above all, its patrao. Never would she forget how she had seen him today. All she had known in Portugal, or had felt without knowing it, seemed to come upon her then, with a strangely touching nostalgia that Coralie would remember long after she had left this ' land beyond '. She could hear the hoarse African voices, the jingle of mule-bells; the sharp cry
of fish vendors toiling up the steep streets in the heat of the day ; and she was overcome by a mood of vague, unthinking enchantment.
All at once she felt a longing to steal away from it all—an intruder with no ties on this poignant scene. It was as she turned, picking her way over ropes strewn haphazardly across the sand, and around upturned boats, that she came upon them unawares, hidden from the crowd on the beach, by a finger of jutting rock. Coralie stood transfixed, longing desperately to flee, but instead was held rooted to the spot as the two figures clung together wildly, uncaring—a dark slender girl, her red skirts clinging voluptuously to her delicately moulded figure, and an intense young Englishman—less attractive than she had remembered him, thought Coralie instantly. Chica and Peter! So this was Chica's secret. The young artist who had come to the Algarve to capture the spirit and colour of the south had himself been captivated by the passion of its dark-eyed women. Chica's red lips were raised to his, sensual and possessive, her dark eyes fired with longing, as fiercely Peter crushed her lovely form against his heart in a hungry embrace.
Suddenly, with the sixth sense of the protective male, he raised his head, the colour draining from his face as he saw Coralie and her heartrending bewilderment. With an angry exclamation he pushed Chica aside, and with an insolent flick of her eyes over the trembling English girl, she swung off with an impatient toss of her night-black mane.
' Oh, Coralie! ' he turned to her impulsively. ' I didn't mean you to find out like this. Please believe me—I'm sorry—for everything. I wish to God I didn't have to put things so bluntly. I had no wish to hurt you.' He paused, looking round nervously.
Sick anger welled up in Coralie at his protestations, though she had known instantly that she was immune to his charm.
' Save your passionate avowals, Peter. The scene I accidentally stumbled upon just now told me all I needed to know,' she said wearily. Are you going to
marry Chica?' she asked stiffly.
Heavens. no ! ' he exclaimed, lighting a cigarette with unsteady hands.
You never intended to be caged by love—I should have learned sooner not to take the promises of a roving artist so seriously,' she said smoothly. He took a step towards her. ' No, don't, Peter—it won't help matters.'
Good heavens, girl. I merely want to explain,' Peter began.
Are explanations really necessary?' She felt sickened by the whole business, besides being exhausted by her morning's work on the beach. All I really want to know is why you didn't contact me sooner. Obviously you knew I was here—Chica must have kept you informed of my whereabouts.°
He nodded uncomfortably.
Why, Peter—why have you left me to rely upon the hospitality of Senhor Carvalho all this time, when I could have been back in England now, h
ad I known how things stood between us?'
I've been away for a few weeks—' he began, somewhat uneasily.
' But not far, I suspect.'
' Can't I go off when it suits me?' he snapped angrily. ' The truth of it is, I'm stony broke, have been for some time, and I owe Carvalho the hell of a lot of money. I haven't paid the cottage rent for months. I scrounged back to collect my remaining pictures before I move on.'
I'm sorry if things haven't turned out well for your work, Peter—but there's something else I must ask you—' She told him the gist of Elvira's story about smuggling.
Peter looked at her in disgust.
' And you fell for that one! I know I've been a first-rate fool, though what reason the woman should have for fabricating that one is beyond me.' Then, his eyes narrowing, he said quietly, ' There's something else that isn't quite clear between us.' Coralie turned enquiring eyes on him. ' What's all this about
you spending the weekend in Lisbon with the noble Dom Ricardo?'
' Don't tell me your sense of propriety is outraged!' Her tone was scornful. ' There were four of us, anyhow, if it makes it any more palatable.'
They looked at each other levelly. After an intense silence he demanded:
' How much truth is there in the rumour that you've hooked yourself a bigger fish than I?' His tone was ugly, and when she did not reply he continued, ' That in fact the situation up at the Quinta das Torres had become so hot that Dom Ricardo is going to marry you to save his own skin as well as yours.'
Coralie's sense of outrage rose until she thought it would choke her. Sucking in her breath, she gasped, How dare you make such insinuations! Did you ask that to justify your own guilt complex—or--or just to make me hate you?'
' You're just as much a vagabond as I am, Coralie,' he sneered.
A strangled cry tore from her at his abuse.
' In another age you would be held at sword point for that remark!' The words came with the unexpected impact of lightning, from somewhere behind them.
Peter jerked his head round, startled and then went pale as death. Looking upwards incredulously, Coralie saw the mounted figure of Dom Ricardo. His magnificent black horse pawed the ground impatiently, and Coralie's heart seemed to miss a beat. It seemed that at any moment the high-spirited creature would trample Peter and herself into the unyielding shingle. Peter pulled her swiftly into the circle of his arm.
Let the girl go! ' The grim features of the man in the saddle as he leaned down in anger had a command that men recognised and obeyed.
A slow sickly smile reached Peter's lips. The
classic scene, I suspect—the stretch of sand, the burst of sunlight—your most ardent aficionada,' his glance slid over the girl standing speechless and stricken with fear.
The two men eyed each other in a brief silence.
Go and collect your belongings, and be off my land by sundown, or your insolent gibes may find a greater response than you ever intended.' The fury in the dark eyes was all-consuming, silencing further comment. Without so much as a glance in Coralie's direction, Peter swung round and stalked away from them across the sand, Ricardo's steely eyes following him until he was out of sight. Then turning his attention to the shivering girl, staring up at him wide-eyed and in a stunned helpless silence.
' A thousand pardons, senhorita.' Her eyes flickered defensively as she met his level gaze. ' Haven't you anything else to put on?' he asked in an imperative tone. No wonder you are shivering—and soaked through—I saw you toiling on the beach with the rest of us during the storm,' he said tersely. Here, put this on.' He pulled his own chunky sweater from his saddlebag and tossed it down to her. Don't waste any more of my time,' he said with suppressed arrogance, his eyes glinting at her sudden rise of hostility. She took it and pulled it furiously over her head, feeling smaller than ever in its size. His darkly mocking face goaded her to anger. Who did he think he was, ordering her about like this?
Come, I will give you a ride back to the Quinta.' Despite the quirk at his mouth, his voice had taken on an edge.
' I'd rather walk, thank you,' she said firmly.
In one swift movement, he had reached down and swooped her up into his arms as if she were a piece of driftwood he had picked up from the beach, his arms tightening in sudden strength about her slender waist. Instinctively she clutched hold of him, afraid of falling as he set the great stallion at a gallop. Coralie felt breathless, crushed against his lean, hard frame, his black hair rough with sea-spray, the thin shirt clinging damply to his bronze body. She sensed a tension in him as they flew across the flat expanse of wet sand.
The storm had cleared the air, leaving in its wake, a sparkling morning like a diamond seen through
water. It had been well worth the short storm's havoc. Washed stones and wet earth scented the morning together with the delicate tang of pine. The air was clear as crystal at this early hour, spiced with the exhilaration of being at one with this dark, mercurial Portuguese as they sped along in silence.
Coralie was intensely conscious of the dark face jutting above her own and the arrogant curve of his mouth as strands of her long bright hair were whipped against it and he flicked them away with fierce urgency. Something about his expression spelt increasing danger. The unfamiliar sensation of his skin against hers was unexpectedly alarming. Coralie began to tremble convulsively against the powerful shoulders. His glance flicked down to her.
Cold?'
No—and if I were I wouldn't tell you.' Coralie tried to sound casual.
' Then what in the name of thunder are you trembling for, child?' To her dismay he reined in the powerful stallion to a halt so abrupt that she screwed up her eyes tightly, fearful of being hurtled to the ground over the creature's magnificent head. She felt hard hands swing her down from the saddle, and only when she felt the caress of the sun-warmed sand between her bare toes did her world stop spinning. Her startled green eyes swept over him, fearing the chill arrogance of someone who had the world at his feet. She shrank against a pine tree, wondering at his reason for dismounting here in the curve of this isolated bay, and intensely aware of their aloneness. Even the serras had receded, dropping low on the horizon in a torment of rock and cloud.
Ricardo towered over her, waiting.
' So you've had a nasty shock, eh?' He appeared to be inwardly seething with anger.
' If you are referring to my encounter with Peter,' she quivered, I—I don't wish to discuss it.'
His searing dark eyes never moved from her face.
Unless perhaps you've decided to tell me why you kept quiet about Peter's whereabouts, when you knew
I was made victim to an intolerable situation. I've always known you were cruel, a-and dangerous!' Her words lashed out at him, clawing at anything that might safeguard the wild, illogical secret of her love for him. She stood defiantly, her chin high and challenging. His nearness intensified her most urgent need of him. His dark eyes lingered on her soft, sensuous mouth, quivering with emotion. He took a step nearer.
' Dangerous?' There was a wholly masculine look on his handsome face. ' Of what are you afraid, Coralie?' he demanded, looking at her strangely but making no further move towards her. They stood there motionless, while her heart thundered in rhythm with the sound of the surf pounding relentlessly against the cliffs. She was unaware of how defenceless she looked as he stared down into the emerald depths of her wide, frightened eyes, and watched the sun stroke the disarray of russet hair about her pale face. Her eyes swung away from him. She hadn't the experience to cope with the relentless magnetism of this hard, vital man, she felt that at any moment a spark of challenge might ignite some emotion she couldn't handle.
' I wish I could go home,' she faltered at length. rather like a frightened child.
From whom are you running away this time, Coralie? Peter or myself?' His brow lifted in sardonic interrogation.
' Certainly not from Peter,' she blurted out, quite unaware of the implication of her words.
<
br /> Without any warning she found herself fighting wildly as his hard grip tightened on her shoulders almost brutally, his tanned fingers enmeshed in the bright hair that fell about her shoulders.
Then it must be me whom you are still escaping. You have nothing to fear from me—you understand?' he said thickly. But the exquisite torture of his hard body against hers had robbed her of speech.
' Well?' he drawled. You're looking at me as if I am the very devil himself.' His mouth twisted sardonically.
' Perhaps you are ! ' she managed to murmur as his mouth came down hard and unrelentingly on hers. He held her with a dynamic force that left no room for pretence, but even as she fought the violence and passion of his embrace, it changed unbelievably into an expression of love, draining her of all desire for combat; she could hold out no longer against this man, her defences were utterly shattered. She felt herself tremble beneath the pressure of his lips, and then suddenly her whole world had dissolved and reality was completely forgotten. as the sun-bitten beach and the very clouds above. merged together in a dizzying whirl that obscured all rational thinking. His lips were hard and demanding, fired by her response to him, kissing her in a wild, hungry manner that gave her little time to catch her breath.
His deep voice brought her back to reality.
' Have I convinced you that our future lies together?'
Coralie trembled violently in his grasp. How could he be so cruel as to taunt her with talk of a future without love on both sides? She could no longer bear it, that for him his wooing had been merely masterful persuasion to secure her capitulation to a marriage of convenience. She shivered involuntarily, with a wild longing to cling on to the illusion that his kiss had held an infinitely deeper meaning. His eyes darkened angrily.
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