She took it, sipping from its gilded edge. She was not surprised to discover it contained champagne, sparkling and very dry.
"Tell me," she said then, looking at the receding back of the servant. "Why do you have Arab servants?"
Brandon tilted back against the cushions sipping his own champagne. "I suppose because I'm an eccentric-and because they are excellent servants." He cocked his head looking at her thoughtfully. "They aren't exactly devils, you know. Their `Allah,' for instance, is the same God as the Christian one. Does it bother you they are Arab?"
He didn't move, but Juliette felt his interest focusing intensely on her answer. She considered telling him the truth, but somehow it seemed too personal, and some of the reserve she had learned at Miss Fayton's prevented her.
She shook her head. "Not bothered at all, only curious. You must know how curious we English are." She smiled. "Do you always picnic in such elegant style?"
"Not always. Sometimes elegance is superfluous." He swirled the champagne around in his glass with a slow rotation of his hand before toasting her. "To English girls and their 'curiosity,"' he said teasingly and drank before continuing. "But today I've made a special occasion. Do expensive things impress you?"
"Sometimes when they are very beautiful or very old. Truthfully I prefer the view to anything else. Nature is the greatest magnificence."
He nodded, then waved a hand toward the horses being watered a short distance from the camp. "Tell me about your horse. He's an unusual type to see a girl riding."
Juliette followed his regard to the chestnut where she could discern the many scars that marred High Times's shiny coat, making him appear a brutish sort that were not often ladies' mounts.
Juliette leaned back among the cushions, but unexpectedly the movement on the slippery silk brought her sliding to sit right beside him, and once there, it seemed awkward and foolish to spring up again.
So acutely aware of his leg next to hers, his hand on the cushion near her breast, his lips only a breath from hers, she swallowed hard and said "It was over a year ago. I happened to be in a poor section of London when, walking past an old shed, I saw High Times tied up in a corner- and being teased and beaten by a bunch of street toughs. I didn't know how else to stop them other than by offering to buy the horse. They agreed, but somehow during the exchange I must have gotten too close to poor frenzied High Times, who knocked me down and broke my arm. Later though, we were able to make friends. He's quite gentle now and I take him everywhere I go."
Brandon seemed thoughtful as he said, "So you took him into your favor even after he hurt you."
"Yes, of course," she said. "I couldn't blame the poor horse for what others had made him be. Anyway, he had speed in every line. It was so obvious he was meant for better things than dragging a London coal vender's cart."
"You are generous," he stated simply. "I don't have your forgiveness."
Juliette glanced at him curiously. "Have you a lot to forgive, monsieur? Is that why you so detest the English?"
Brandon's gaze focused on Juliette with a new alertness. Why did she ask? He found himself wondering. Could she possibly know something? "I don't detest you," he said.
"No? Are there those you do? A special English enemy list?"
Juliette had meant to be playful. But suddenly she realized his eyes were deadly serious and shone like silvered mirrors probing her mind. A chill slid down her spine so she wished suddenly she hadn't pried. She was relieved then when another servant came with a larger tray and, bowing, offered it to Brandon.
His eyes slid away from her as he lifted the lid from the covered platter and the savory aroma drifted toward her. Then he sampled the contents, apparently approving, since he used his long golden fork to feed her one of the tiny rounded hors d'oeuvres. Now his eyes had softened again. Or maybe she had only imagined that deadly look.
"Excellent," sh'e exclaimed, rolling the tidbit in her mouth. "What is it?"
"Dove hearts rolled in spices and sesame seeds and cooked in wine."
Juliette wrinkled her nose. "Not dove hearts really?"
He smiled. "In the Sahara, it's a delicacy."
"Tell me about the Sahara," she said, glad to see the cold light had not returned to his face.
"Perhaps one day soon you will honor me with a visit and see for yourself. The main focus of my business is in Africa and I frequent it often. You would enjoy the adventure of a caravan."
Juliette shrugged noncommittally. "I do plan to travel a great deal. I'm certain to visit that part of the world sometime. I've heard it's beautiful and very exotic."
"You will learn to like it, I think," he said with strange emphasis.
The servants interrupted them again, bringing more trays gracefully held over their turbaned heads. Silver plates were placed-before them on the low table and these were followed by a series of jewel-encrusted platters full of more aromatic preparations that were presented first to Brandon who, after sampling and approving each dish, served her the choicest portions.
It was a long, leisurely meal which Juliette enjoyed with appetite, praising each dish for its deliciousness, although never again asking the contents. And as they ate, Brandon entertained her with stories of the Sahara, its beauty and the sport it offered. She urged him on, finding herself absorbed by his descriptions of sunsets, of a game the Arabs played called palo and by anecdotes concerning hunts for a rare mountain sheep called mouflon.
What sort of man is this? Juliette asked herself as he spoke. At times he seemed cold, impenetrable as a stone, and yet he could talk of a sunset in details full of sensitive inspiration. When he paused to sip champagne, she sat thoughtfully tugging on a curl.
He asked about her life then, and she spoke of her travels so far, of what she had seen and where she wanted to go in the future. As it turned out, they had many experiences in common. He had traveled everywhere she had, and they had even gotten lost in the same way the first time each had visited Rome.
It was afternoon before Juliette realized that she had lingered far longer than she had ever intended. What was it about him? Hours had passed as minutes in a way that seemed queer, and a little disturbing and all at once she thought she must escape.
Getting abruptly to her feet, she almost knocked over the low table. "I'm ready to go back now," she blurted. I should have left sooner. It's just . . . I didn't realize how late it was."
Frowning, Brandon stood up also. "Of course, I'll take you back whenever you wish. But have I offended you? Only a moment ago you seemed content to stay."
"I ... I was. But now I realize I must go. Please understand. You haven't offended me. On the contrary, it has been a wonderful morning. It's just that it has gotten much later than I . . . intended . . . than I thought."
She felt foolish now standing here awkwardly, flushing. Why had she been so abrupt? Certainly she could have extricated herself without making a scene. Finally his gaze softened and registered a flicker of understanding. Turning, he waved a hand.
Instantly a servant was there. Brandon spoke several words in what sounded to Juliette like fluent Arabic and the servant trotted in the direction of the horses.
Coming a step closer he took both of her white hands into his bronzed ones. "Tomorrow then," he said.
It was not a question. Juliette realized she must say yes or risk being delayed. The warm tingling of his touch increased her urgency to get away.
"Yes . . . yes, of course. Tomorrow," she said.
"Good." He released her hands as the horses arrived, and taking her around the waist, lifted her effortlessly onto the saddle. Then mounting his own horse they rode side by side back toward the blue expanse sparkling far below.
Chapter 29
A series of days followed the ambassador's ball filled with such a blur of activity and emotions that, later, Juliette could remember them only as a jumble of days spent beside Brandon-mornings spent galloping across the island's grassy slopes, and afternoons lunching or swimming al
ong the craggy shoreline. The nights they danced to the hotel orchestra at the frequent parties to which they both were inevitably invited, and during these, Juliette did notice there were a growing number of "looks" which they received-curious, uncertain looks from the older women, and patently envious looks from the younger ones.
She knew they were gossiping about her, but somehow none of it mattered. What difference did it make what they thought? She asked herself. She was doing nothing wrong by seeing this man-nothing at all! He had been a perfect gentleman, never even mentioning again that day at the pond-an incident she was determined to forget, and never even trying to kiss her. Sometimes she would wonder about this. Every other man in her acquaintance had tried to kiss her. But whenever this occurred to her she was always quick to remind herself that it was much better that he wasn't more forward. In such a short time she would leave and never see him again.
There had been a play one night, a festive production filled with the romance and tragedy that seemed such a part of Spain, in a setting of frolicking abundance and vibrant songs and dances and costumes of red and black and silver.
Then, one day, as suddenly and unexpectedly as always, Brandon appeared on the terrace just as Mrs. Welwright entered the wrought-iron gates to his left. The two greeted one another. Then together they approached her table where she was already breakfasting opposite Bosley Linley.
Mrs. Welwright looked more serious than usual. There was a slight strain in her "Good morning," Juliette noticed. But this was quickly overshadowed by Brandon himself, who, having already greeted a pouting Bosley, offered his arm to her.
"This morning I'm taking you aboard the Black Hawk," he said with a smile before turning to the older woman with a polite bow. "You will forgive us, Mrs. Welwright?"
Juliette was hardly aware of Mrs. Welwright's deferential words, feeling instead swept away by the delight of the spontaneous outing with this man. So saying polite good-byes to everyone, she took his arm and headed for the docks.
This was Juliette's first glimpse of the Black Hawk. The yacht was anchored at the end of the pier, its sails ready to be hoisted as bobbing with the swells it stretched its ropes and pulled against them like a mighty steed eager for a run.
Bringing her aboard, Brandon took command, giving orders that resulted in the craft moving around and then slowly out of the harbor as the sails were hoisted. Leaning over the rail, Juliette joined hands behind her back as she watched the prow slice through the gray billow and the spume foaming back.
A sharp screech overhead drew attention to a pair of pelicans flying wing tip to wing tip as they skimmed the white caps, their heads cocked to one side as they waited to sight their prey. Then abruptly one of them folded its wings, diving arrow like and, with a cry of triumph, pulling out a silvered fish that reflected the sunlight as it was carried wriggling away.
At a leisurely pace, they sailed slowly along the shore, high cliffs rising a hundred feet in the air between wide sandy beaches where groups of fishermen were hauling in their catch of lobsters in hopsack bags.
They continued south until the sun had reached its peak and began to slope toward the west. Then the crew brought the craft about and anchored it in a small natural bay surrounded by even higher crags where birds were building their nests in eroded hollows and shelves.
A gate leg table was set up on the wooden deck at the widest part of the stern where Brandon seated her opposite himself. Then handing her a crystal goblet of wine, he raised his own in a toast. "To our friendship," he said.
Juliette smiled as their goblets touched in a distinctive ring. "Yes. And to today, for itself and nothing more," she added, and drank.
From that point on the conversation, as usual, flowed easily, and after their glasses were filled a second time, an Arab servant approached, and, bowing, announced lunch.
This time the meal was a decidedly English one of marinated beef, Yorkshire pudding, and vegetables expertly seasoned in the English style.
Again Juliette marveled at Brandon's versatility. He spoke no fewer than five languages and could seem French, Spanish, Arabic, or even English, as he did now in his white sailing clothes.
"You are like a chameleon, constantly changing from one identity to another," she said.
"You make me dizzy the way you constantly turn into different people. Are you ever the same?"
"I travel all over the world, and entertain varying people. My chef is trained, to suit a variety of tastes and I have an equal variety in my wardrobe. I may appear to change, but I am really only one person with many sides." He paused, looking at her fondly. "But tell me-what do I seem like to you?"
Juliette tilted her head, and after several evaluating minutes said, "You seem to me very proud-abnormally strong-undoubtedly quite clever and possibly cruel."
Brandon leaned back in his chair. "And does such a combination appeal to you?"
Juliette smiled. "Proud is all right as long as you aren't so proud you forget everyone else but yourself."
"And strong?"
"Strong is good. Being strong suits a man."
"What about cleverness then?"
"A good trait, certainly a handy one.'
"And cruelty?"
"I hate it."
Brandon frowned, and, seeming unaccustomed to finding excuses for himself said, "Sometimes life combines to make a person what he would not be under different circumstances."
Juliette nodded. "Yes," she said. "Possibly that's why I'm so independent now. If life had been different maybe I would feel differently. But in times past, I experienced things which made me realize that if I could somehow escape my circumstances, I would be independent and never give it up."
"It means so much to you?"
"More than I can tell you. It is a rare thing for a woman to be still young and her own mistress. Usually she must wait be widowed and by then she is often too old to enjoy herself. I intend to make the most of what I have. I'm happy now, and I desire nothing different."
"You're very fortunate. Most people can never say that. But you are young. You may find life has more to offer than what you fill your days with now. You may even discover that there are nights connecting the days which can be even more pleasurable."
Juliette looked up to find his eyes smiling directly into hers. A sense of self consciousness swept her. But then, to her relief, a servant interrupted them with a tray of pastries that he held forward for her selection.
Immediately delighted, Juliette looked over her choices. As a child she had never been allowed such treats, and Miss Fayton's had been too strict for such extravagance.
It was only since she had been set free that she had the opportunity to sample such delicacies.
And now her eyes wandered over the array of desserts, of chocolate, raspberry, and lemon mousse, of rice pudding, apple tarts, poached fruit in port, and mille-feuille aux fraises, before she finally chose an éclair covered with whipped cream and shaved chocolate. And when it was set before her with a cup of tea, she began devouring it without preliminaries.
From beyond her view, someone strummed a guitar, filling the air with soft strains, and Juliette, occupied with the combined taste of Dutch chocolate topping, pastry, and custard in her mouth, did not notice until after she was finished that Brandon had not said a word, though his attention was still on her, seemingly pondering a question. So as the servant removed her plate, she said, "You seem quiet all at once. What are you thinking?"
"About ways and means."
"Ways and means?" she questioned with a teasing note. "I thought you much too rich to be concerned about such trivialities."
"Unfortunately, in this case, my wealth is not helping me"
"No? What an uncomfortable position for a millionaire. Still," Juliette said, putting an elbow casually on the table, "it seems to me, Monsieur Phillips, it would do you no harm to go without something you want now and then."
Brandon smiled lazily with half-closed eyes. "I dislike 'going witho
ut' intensely," he said. He leaned forward. "And I haven't decided yet if I will have to go without. You've evaded me, so far, my little tigress, but I haven't given up."
Juliette's slender eyebrows arched. "Oh?" she said, refusing to take him seriously. "But I think you've come quite a long way. I find you very persuasive."
He took her hand, his warmth infusing her. "But that's not true," he said suddenly serious. "You have consistently kept me at arm's length."
Juliette pulled against his grasp. He was right, of course, and she knew it, and when she continued to pull, he did let her go.
"Closer than 'arm's length' is impossible, I'm afraid," she said stirring her tea. "In a few days we will be even further apart. After the Spanish Cup is run, I'll be leaving for Switzerland."
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