CHAPTER TEN
ROSALIE returned to the apartment house hot, tired and in a vile temper. She had spent a futile half hour pushing Alex round die park hoping to come upon Rafael, but even while she searched, she knew her quest was vain. He would have left, and by the time she finally gave up he could be at die other side of Paris. Her vexation was with herself for her pert tongue which was so apt to say the wrong thing, mingled with resentment against Rafael for being so ready to think ill of her. But in the present instance she had to admit he had some justification. She had not mentioned Philip's son when she had dined with him out of a mistaken sense of tact. He had noticed her pictures of the baby, and Alex did bear a strong resemblance to herself, as she did to her brother. Alex looked so very English so that it would not occur to him to connect the child with his dark Peruvian mother. Later he might possibly arrive at the truth, especially if some mutual acquaintance happened to mention Philip Smidi's offspring, and since die Pas heirs were so much in the news, diat was quite probable. But he might leave Paris at once in disgust and go back to Andalusia to find solace with his herds and horses. He had never approved of Rosalie's independence and was suspicious about her relations with Jean Duprez, and in spite of her assurances, seemed to imagine that she led a gay Bohemian life. 'If Mother and Philip had curtailed my liberty and sur175 rounded me with duennas and chaperones, he would have believed in my virtue,' she thought savagely. 'As if virtue is worth anything if it hasn't been tested!' But Spanish men had so little faith in female virtue that they took care their girls were not tested, and if she had led a cloistered life, she would never have met Rafael at all. Poor Alex was crying by the time she started for home. He sensed his Tante Ros was annoyed and felt somehow to blame, as innocently he was. Nor during her frantic tour of the park had she given him any attention, he who was not used to being ignored. He felt neglected and abused and set up a roar for 'Mum ... ma!' as they entered the vestibule. His vocabulary extended that far. Rosalie perfunctorily tried to soothe him, but he sensed diat her thoughts were engaged elsewhere and continued to wail, as she carried him upstairs. Consuelo's French bonne met them at the entrance to die flat, and the infant redoubled his howls. 'Le pauvre, il est fatigue et il a faim,' the woman said, for Rosalie had returned much later than she usually did, and she did not altogether approve of these morning outings. 'Tais-toi, man ange,' she went on. 'Oh, won dieu' she had discovered a faint bruise on the child's forehead, which Rosalie in her preoccupation had not noticed. Hearing the commotion, Consuelo came running to find out what was wrong, and Rosalie was treated to a display of Latin emotion which could not have been greater if Alex had broken a limb. Pleased with the uproar he had created, Alex ceased to wail, gave a loud chuckle and subsided into thumb-sucking satisfaction. Consuelo handed him over to his nurse, who took him 176 away to be fed. At last able to make herself heard, Rosalie explained that he had fallen down when trying to run, which was not unusual, and Consuelo apologised. 'He tumble often,' she said. 'It would not be your fault.' Rosalie winced because it had been. 'Do not look so guilty, querida. I am sorry I@what Felipe say@blow my top. You know how precious he is to me.' Rosalie agreed that she did, and sighed. She would never have one of her own now. 'All's well that ends well,' she observed. 'So long. Con. I'll take him out again tomorrow if you can trust me with him.' 'Claro, but are you in any hurry? I have that which I wish to say to you.' Reluctantly Rosalie entered the salon, which Consuelo had indicated. She was longing to go up to her own room and face her despair in solitude, but having jeopardised Consuelo's infant, the least she could do was to listen patiently to whatever triviality her sister-in-law wanted to confide to her. Motherhood had increased Consuelo's exotic beauty, she fairly glowed with an inner radiance. She was wearing a well cut dark red suit, calf-length, with a white lace blouse, for she never wore trousers and dressed to emphasise her femininity. Rosalie looked like a slender boy beside her opulent curves in her trousers and knitted top. The salon was beautiful; Senor Nunez had furnished it for his daughter's wedding present. The wide chesterfield and armchairs were upholstered in black, against pale panelled walls. The carpet was white, the curtains black and white. The sombre effect was relieved by the brilliantly 177 coloured Spanish shawl thrown over the piano, which Consuelo sometimes played, and a woven Indian blanket over one arm of the chesterfield. The tall windows filled the room with light, and on small ebony occasional tables were crystal vases filled with roses and carnations. Over the mantelpiece which housed die electric fire was one of Rosalie's pictures representing Alex crawling across a green lawn, his head raised to watch a passing butterfly. It was the only picture in the room. 'Felipe has had the story accepted by die magazine,' Consuelo told her excitedly. 'He has the thrill as great as if he had found a goldmine.' 'Well done, Phil,' Rosalie exclaimed. 'I'll congratulate him when I see him. May it be the first of many.' She glanced at Consuelo, who was looking a litde embarrassed. 'Was that what you wanted to tell me?' 'No. Please to sit down, Rosa.' As Rosalie seated herself resignedly on the chesterfield, she went on diffidently: 'I have been told Don Rafael de Santaella called here for you last night. I was much surprised. I have not told Felipe yet, but I do not think he will be pleased at all.' Rosalie felt the hot colour flood her face at dlis wholly unexpected attack. 'It was due to Phil's thoughtlessness that I encountered the Santaellas,' she cried indignantly. 'As I told you both, I was dismissed from the parador because of Phil, and if die Condesa had not offered me a job, I should have been in difficulties.' For this was die story she had told them. 'So I don't see why Phil should mind if Don Rafael is so kind as to look me up,' she added defiandy. 'I only thought... well, he cannot feel friendly towards Felipe,' Consuelo observed. Scared of the Conde herself, she mistrusted his motives for turning up in Paris. 178 'He has forgotten about all that.' 'Oh?' Consuelo did not look pleased by dlis information. Believing herself to be the heroine of an elopement drama, it was disconcerting to learn that the deserted bridegroom had forgotten her. 'But, Rosa mia, do you like him?' she asked in some bewilderment. Rosalie sa^d simply: 'I love him.' 'Madre!' Consuelo stared. 'I know he is supposed to be ; very attractive, but I could not see it, but then he fright; ened me, so cold and so aloof.' She gave Rosalie a sly :. glance. 'But perhaps he is not so widi you?' i Rosalie blushed again, and Consuelo looked troubled. 'You do not think ... it is your money?' she asked hesitantly. 'I did,' Rosalie said grimly. 'That is why I left Spain, , but now he insists that it is not.' @@ 'So now I understand,' Consuelo cried triumphandy. 'Felipe say when you come back, you much changed, and that fierce dedication to your painting@it was not natural. I should have guessed. All your pictures are of Spain, and that one I do not like, it was of Don Rafael. Queridita, I am -so glad. Marriage is the only true happiness for a woman, where there is love. So he come to Paris to find you? You make it up, and now you will be so happy.' 'I'm afraid not. You see he turned up in the park this morning when I was out with Alex and owing to a damn silly thing I said, he's gone off believing your son is my child.' 'I always say Alex is more like you than me,' Consuelo was beginning, dien she did a double take. 'Oh, no, no, Rosa!' and dien suddenly diey were both laughing helplessly. ' 179 'But cannot you explain?' Consuelo asked, as her mirth abated. 'I would not like my chiquillo to ruin your life.' 'That's the awful part about it, Con. I can't put him right because I don't know where he's staying and Paris is a big city. Besides, he may have rushed back to Spain in a rage.''Then you would know where to contact him, but it would be a long way to go,' Consuelo pointed out. 'But would not anyone else know where he stay?' 'There was that cabaret dancer he brought to the exhibition, Lucille Lenoir, but I don't know where she is appearing, if she is appearing, which she probably isn't,' Rosalie said despondendy. 'A cabaret dancer?' Consuelo asked dubiously. 'Oh, he explained about her,' Rosalie said offhandedly, well knowing what Consuelo was diinking. She herself felt a qualm. Would he go to Lucille for consolation, and were their relations really as innocent as he had declared? She pushed away
the unworthy diought, if she could not trust Rafael's word, she did not deserve him, it was only the reputation he had earned, probably much exaggerated that made her suspicious. Unfortunately she had that morning destroyed all his trust in her. Consuelo was saying: 'Perhaps an advertisement in Le MatinY 'I don't expect he reads a French newspaper, and what would we put? "Come back, I'm not the baby's mother. Rosa." Oh, Con, I've always been in a false position as far as he is concerned. At first he could not understand how any respectable girl could come to Spain to serve as a waitress. He thought I was an easy pick-up ...' Rosalie stopped and flushed, realising she was betraying too much. Not for 180 worlds would she like Consuelo to know the true story of her entry into Las Aguilas. She had a bad enough opinion of Rafael de Santaella without that. 'But if he engaged you as a companion for the Condesa he cannot have thought bad of you,' Consuelo remarked. 'Oh, well, he soon found out his mistake,' Rosalie said hastily. 'And fell in love with you? How romantic! But does he know you have refused your dowry?' 'Yes.' Then Consuelo expressed the doubt that had occurred to Rosalie. 'Then it was really mi hijo who drive him away, or was it ...?' She hesitated, unwilling to wound her companion. 'The discovery that I'm no longer an heiress?' Rosalie finished for her. 'He declared that it made no difference, but he may have had second thoughts.' Consuelo nodded sadly. From her experience of Rafael de Santaella, she could not credit diat he would accept a penniless bride. . 'Oh, well, it doesn't matter now,' Rosalie said resignedly. 'It's all over, and perhaps it's as well, I don't think I'd ever make a good Spanish wife.' 'You are too independent,' Consuelo agreed. 'You would have to live his life, you know. That is how it is with us.' Rosalie sighed. She had decided that to live Rafael's life would be no great hardship, not if he truly loved her. List night new and entrancing vistas seemed to be opening before her, but now she was back to square one. 'Thanks for trying to help. Con,' she said with assumed lightness. 'This love affair of mine has got a doom on it. We don't seem able to avoid misunderstandings. I'd better get back to my easel, and start another picture. The Forsaken 181 Mermaid would be a good subject@no, I'm wrong, it was the forsaken merman, but I don't feel inspired to paint Rafael with a fish's tail. What the ...?' For heavy footsteps sounded along the passage outside the door, followed by a noisy altercation, and Rosalie thought she recognised die voice, but surely he would not dare to intrude here? Consuelo's maid had pushed the door ajar in some agitation. 'Pardon, madame,' she gasped. 'Vocici un monsieur ...' A stentorian voice interrupted her: 'Cut the trimmings! Rosa, are you here? The concierge said you came up,' and Jean Duprez strode into the room. He had dared. 'Out!' he commanded the maid, snapping his fingers. The girl scuttled away with relief. 'Really, Jean,' Rosalie remonstrated. 'Your manners are appalling. This is my sister-in-law's home. You've met her?' 'At the exhibition. Your pardon, beautiful madame,' he grinned at the astonished Consuelo. 'I must speak with your belle-soeur tout de suite. What has happened is too ludicrous !' He began to pace the room with rapid strides to the danger of Consuelo's occasional tables with their vases of flowers. 'Sit down, Jean, before you break something,' Rosalie besought him. 'What can be so urgent that you have to burst in here like a tornado?' He stopped in front of her, his red beard bristling. 'Me, I have been challenged! I have been insulted by your dispossessed one@he looks exactly like your picture, so I conclude that he sat for it. I would not have minded if 182 ' what he said was true, but I am not the father of your baby, I am quite sure you have never had a baby, the baby in your pictures is yours, madame.' He bowed to Consuelo. 'I may be an old roue, but I am not that untidy!' Rosalie began to laugh, then as his full meaning struck her she stopped and stared at Jean. 'You mean Don Rafael came to the exhibition and accused you of being the father of a non-existent child?' 'Oui, Rosa, and I demand an explanation. You know I . adore you, but I will not be used to make another man jealous!' Rosalie began to laugh again and it was Consuelo who asked the relevant question. 'Where is die Conde de las Aguilas now?' 'The how much? I have no use for tides, nor, he tells me, has he. Monsieur de Santaella, after drinking a pernod widi me, is downstairs in the taxi we used to come here, waiting for me to locate you, Rosa. It seems he had some delicacy about intruding upon Madame Smith ... Rosa, are you going to faint?' 'No, but how did you convince him? Let me go to him...' She started towards the door, but Jean stopped her with a firm hand. 'Restez id. After being threatened with a cut throat ... Alors, perhaps a black eye would be more correct... I deserve to arrange matters my way. Naturellement, I deny this unexpected paternity. The bebe, I tell him, is Mademoiselle Rosa's nephew. She is, alas, of virtue unassailable, and if anyone say otherwise, he must deal with me, Jean Duprez. So we go and have a drink@two drinks, and I bring him here to apologise. But lest he harbour any lingering doubt, and I think that one has a very suspicious mind, 183 / we will, with your concurrence, madame,' he again bowed to Consuelo, 'give him oracular proof. If you will send for me bebe, whom he will recognise, he shall see it in his mother's arms. I will contrive a picture most charmant. And you, Rosa, shall appear as your great poet says, as chaste as ice and pure as snow, or is it the other way round?' Rosalie looked at Consuelo apologetically, saying: 'This man's a lunatic. You don't have to do what he says, or to receive Don Rafael.' But Consuelo's Latin love of drama was greater dian any lingering antipathy towards her former suitor. Pressing die bell beside her, she announced: 'I will receive him for your sake, Rosa, and I will send for Alex.' When Rafael was brought into the salon by a triumphant Jean, and from his expression he did not appreciate the artist's method of conducting his affairs, Consuelo widi Alex upon her knees looked a picture of maternal beatitude. Smiling graciously, she held out her hand to him, saying: 'Welcome to our poor home, Don Rafael.' Rafael's eyes had gone straight to Rosa, and he gave her a rueful smile, but at Consuelo's words he turned to her, and kissed her hand widi courtly gallantry. Jean let out a great laugh. 'And now Rosa's,' he said. 'In Spain an unmarried girl does not rate a kissed hand,' Rafael said stiffly. Then he smiled. 'But a novia may, I think, be saluted, even in company.' He moved towards Rosalie and lighdy touched her cheek with his lips. 'Oh, mon Dieu!' Jean exclaimed. 'Take her outside and do it properly. But before you go, do you want die taxi, or can I have it?' 184 Rosalie glanced out of the window through which the spring sunshine was streaming. 'I think a walk in the park would be nice,' she said demurely. 'Shall we let Jean take the taxi, Rafael?' 'Anything to get rid of him,' Rafael agreed. 'But I would like to see that studio of yours, where I am told,' he glanced at Jean, 'no man alone has been permitted entrance.' Amid Rosalie's paints, palettes and half-finished canvases, Rafael did kiss her properly. The Casa Blanca, and a man and a woman who had come dirough many vicissitudes to a close understanding and fulfilment of their love. On Rosalie de Santaella-Smith's wrist was a bracelet, not the ill-fated diamonds, but a much lighter one of linked gold, and on the third finger of her right hand (for this was Spain) two rings sparkled. She lifted her glass which was filled with manzanilla, the wine of Andalusia. 'To us, Rafael, on this the anniversary of our wedding day.' ; Smiling, he lifted his own glass and drank. ; 'Any regrets?' he asked as he put it down. ! 'None whatever.' @ A faint anxiety showed in his eyes as he looked at her | glowing face. t 'But you have not painted a picture since we were mar| ried.' ; 'Later, maybe,' she told him unconcernedly. 'But so far ; I've simply had no time. I've been fully occupied learning to be a good Spanish wife, and next year, I'll have still more to do ... all being well.' 'You mean@@?' She bowed her head. 'Are you pleased, senoi'Y 185 Rafael took her into his arms. 'My cup of happiness was full,' he murmured, with a tremor in his voice. 'But now it is overflowing.' As Rosalie raised her mouth to meet his kiss, she knew that she had found her true destiny, 186
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