by Susan Barrie
His hard dark eyes were on her, the line of his lips compressed.
“Is that so, senorita?”
April admitted that it was so. She found she was clenching her hands rather tightly together in her lap.
“You said something about a quarrel when you spoke to me on the telephone. Without revealing any secrets of your employers—if you are in possession of them, which I should doubt!—will you give me some idea what that quarrel was about?”
April hesitated. Senora Cortez had kept few secrets from her, and the quarrel had been so vulgar and blatant that everyone in the flat must have known what it was about before it was ended. And perhaps that accounted for the extraordinary disinclination to return to duty of the domestic staff.
“It was a rather serious boiling up of the usual quarrel,” she said awkwardly, looking anywhere but at the somewhat accusing directness of his eyes. And what eyes they were, handsome, black, and as unrevealing as the darkest hour of an exceptionally dark night. “Senor and Senora Cortez are not often in agreement ... or that is an impression I formed of them after being with them only a few weeks! They—as we would say in England—seem to grate on one another, and last night the edginess got the better of them.” She knew she was giving voice to the understatement of the year, but he did not look the type of man who would consider deliberate emphasis a good thing ... particularly when it concerned a couple of his friends. “Senora Cortez rather flew off the handle when the Senor said something that annoyed her.”
“Indeed?” He sounded as if he was just a little surprised. “And have you any idea what it was that the Senor said that caused the Senora to take so much exception to it that she packed her bags and left without giving any reasonable warning to anyone?”
“Yes.” She eyed him steadily ... or tried to do so. “But it’s their affair, and I don’t wish to repeat anything I heard last night. Naturally, I was not expected to overhear, and I’d prefer to keep silent, if you don’t mind, senor.”
He nodded dryly.
“As you please. A good employee respects his, or her, employers’ confidence, but this would not appear to be a case in which any particular confidence was reposed in you. You, unfortunately, overheard rather more than you wanted to overhear, or so I gather, and in addition you appear to have been left holding the baby ... as I feel sure you would also say in England!”
She coloured, but admitted ruefully:
“Unfortunately, there isn’t any baby left for me to hold. My charge has been taken away from me!”
“Little Juan, you mean? The whole thing is quite incredible, and unless you are making a grave mistake, so reprehensible that I feel bereft of words! For a child to be snatched from his cot in the middle of the night and taken by his mother on an air flight to America, while his father proceeds by a different route to a somewhat more southerly destination, without any intention whatsoever of being reunited with his family, is beyond my comprehension at this moment! Are you sure, senorita,” sternly, “that you are not making a mistake? I was to have lunch with Senor Cortez tomorrow, and although I have always thought Senora Cortez a little unsuited to him—she is too young, and too much imbued with the American idea of marriage to have gained my entire approval—I would, nevertheless, not easily believe it of her that she could break up a home so suddenly.”
“But it was Senor Cortez who left the flat first,” April said quickly, defensively, amazed at the slight but definite feeling of resentment which stirred in her because he referred to a woman who spoke her own language in such under-valuing terms. And Venetia Cortez was at least a couple of years older than herself. “He said that he was flying off to Brazil, and he didn’t even bother to take any of his things with him. He just slammed out of the flat!”
“Then it’s highly likely he’ll be back,” Don Carlos said briskly.
April looked doubtful.
“Then why hasn’t he telephoned? It’s hours since he and the Senora had their quarrel, and she told him plainly enough that she was leaving ... for good! She also made it perfectly clear that she was taking Juan with her. If he has any real concern for either of them—and, despite the awful upset, I’m sure he has!—you’d think he’d want to find out whether she carried out her threat, and at least get someone to telephone. That is, if he was merely bluffing about not coming back, and is still in Madrid.”
Don Carlos frowned.
“But you don’t think he is?”
“I think he was too angry to bluff. I think he went and got himself the first available seat on an aircraft leaving for Brazil, and will probably do business there, and come back when his temper has cooled sufficiently to allow him to do so.”
Don Carlos frowned still more.
“Has he interests in Brazil? I know little about him. We met quite by accident.”
“Oh, yes—quite big business interests.”
“And you think it would have been quite a simple matter for him to pick up his passport at his office, perhaps a few essential documents as well, and disappear into the blue?”
“Temporarily, yes,” April answered.
“And, in the meantime, what is to happen to you?” he asked shrewdly, those black eyes concentrating full upon her. “Did Senora Cortez give you to understand that she no longer required your services?”
“Yes, but she expected me to wait here until the Senor returned. She was of the opinion that he would do so.”
“Why? When he had so clearly expressed his own intention of doing nothing of the kind!”
“There were certain things to be attended to. Certain ... matters.”
“Such as?”
“My—my salary, for one thing. The Senora herself could not attend to it.”
“And a certain sum over and above your salary, I would say, as recompense for losing your employment so suddenly, and through no fault of your own.” He was frowning suddenly, and quite noticeably. “ Do you really mean to tell me that the Senora actually left this flat without dealing with such an important thing as your salary, how, and by what means, you were to return home to England, and so forth, although she had no absolute certainty that her husband would return? That she left you here to wait ... indefinitely?”
April felt her flush beginning to burn her cheeks, and she realized that she was blushing a little for Venetia Cortez.
“She was very upset,” she ventured. “I don’t think she quite realized what she was doing.”
He uttered a sound that was obviously the Spanish equivalent of “What utter rubbish!”
“And you, who are in a strange country, are supposed to know what you are doing? Although you are without the money you have earned, and are put to the necessity of finding fresh employment! The whole story grows even more incredible as you unfold it to me! I have already confessed that my opinion of Senora Cortez was never high ... but this is something I would not have believed of her!”
He stood up and started to pace about the room, and his frown was so black that it faintly alarmed April.
“I am going to put to you a few questions,” he said, “and you must answer them truthfully, and without embarrassment. How much money does this absconding family owe you? How much altogether is owing to you?”
She told him, and he pursed his lips.
“How about your fare to England? Would that have been included in the final settlement?”
“I—I imagine so. It was part of the arrangement when I came out here nine months ago.”
“And how much money have you yourself? With you in this country, that is. Enough to get you home to England?”
She shook her head.
He stood quite still in front of her, looking down at her and the thick waves of shining hair that caught and imprisoned the brilliant evening sunshine ... or as much of it as found its way through the still partially closed shutters.
“Then what, may I ask, were you intending to do ... if I hadn’t telephoned?”
She shook her head again, rather helples
sly.
“There ... there is always the Consul, isn’t there? The British Consul.”
“There is,” he agreed, and started his fierce pacing about the room again.
When he came back to her the second time it was quite obvious he had made up his mind about something.
“One thing you cannot do, senorita,” he said, speaking briskly, “is remain here in this flat. Whether or not Senor Cortez is likely to return doesn’t enter into it. Although—and I am astounded that this did not occur to Senora Cortez!—if he did return while the servants are still absent it would be most improper that you should be here. I have no doubt at all that he will deal with the question of your salary in time, but in the meantime you must allow me to think and act for you. I will see that you are installed in an hotel without further delay.”
April started to protest, but he cut short her few brief utterances.
“There is no alternative, Miss Day. I regret that you have been placed in this impossible position, but it can be remedied, and will be—at once! Can you collect together a few of your things, and we will leave as soon as you are ready. The rest of your possessions I will arrange to have collected and delivered to you within as short a time as possible.”
April stood up. She still felt she must protest, but Don Carlos de Formera y Santos declined absolutely to listen. He held up a shapely, slim brown hand as a silencer.
“Hurry, please, senorita! The situation is unconventional enough as it is, and we must not prolong it. I will wait for you here in the sala, and the moment you are ready we will leave. It is fortunate that, at this hour of the day, we may do so without notice, for the time of siesta is over and most people are abroad enjoying the cooler air. With any luck, too, the lift attendant may be temporarily off duty.”
April gazed at him in mild astonishment. Why was it so essential that they should leave the flat unnoticed?
And then the answer occurred to her at once. This was Madrid, the capital of highly conventional Spain, and Don Carlos was an exceptionally conventional Spaniard. A man of proud family and ancient lineage, who never put a foot wrong if he could possibly avoid it, he liked to see to it that others never put a foot wrong either. At least, when they were temporarily in his charge.
And at the thought another followed it like lightning, and she wondered whether she ought to refuse to involve him in her affairs. For, should they run into any of his friends, it might strike them as odd that he was escorting her, and cause embarrassment. To him, but not to her, for she was wholeheartedly grateful that he had appeared when he did, and that was one reason why she couldn’t summon up the strength of mind to refuse his offer of seeing her to an hotel, and placing her once more in security.
She could only hurry away to her room, and start to cram a few things hastily into a suitcase.
CHAPTER III
BUT unfortunately for Don Carlos the lift-man was not only on duty, but he hastened to relieve him of April’s suitcase, and insisted on carrying it out to his car and placing it very carefully in the boot. He was intensely obsequious, and looked at April a little inquiringly.
She had seen him almost daily for nearly nine months, and she felt she had to say a polite good-bye to him, a friendly good-bye.
“The senorita is not returning?” he said, in some surprise, and she shook her head.
“I’m afraid not, Miguel. Adios,” she added.
In the car Don Carlos sat with a slightly inscrutable face behind the wheel. He handled the huge cream roadster beautifully, but he looked at that moment as if he was hardly enjoying his task.
“That was unfortunate,” he remarked. “It was unfortunate, also, that you had to enter into conversation with Miguel. Better that he should have been left in the dark as to your movements.”
“But he naturally wondered—” she began, and was once more silenced by his upraised hand.
“That is so! But to a menial one does not always offer explanations.” Was there cold reproof in his voice, she wondered, or was it just cold? “However, the harm is done now, and there is small point in worrying about it. Miguel is of no importance.” April sat feeling curiously disturbed in the sumptuous seat beside him, and she was glad when they drew up outside one of Madrid’s best known hotels. And then a quick qualm of anxiety beset her as she wondered how she was ever going to be able to pay the bill. Even a night in this edifice of quiet but opulent luxury would make a serious dint in her limited resources.
But Don Carlos had her by the elbow and was guiding her up the steps.
“I could have chosen somewhere quieter for you, but I am known here,” he told her. “In any case, I do not think it greatly matters.”
She glanced at him. Before he had been anxious to escape observation, but now he didn’t think it mattered.
She said quickly, agitatedly:
“But this is not the sort of hotel I can afford, senor! And if I have to remain here for a few days ...”
“If you have to remain here a few days I’m sure you will be comfortable,” he returned suavely, and gripped her arm very firmly. “This way, Miss Day. The reception desk is over here.”
It was the manager himself who bowed her to the lift after a room had been procured for April. Don Carlos bowed over her hand as ceremoniously as if she was a highly important acquaintance of his, and told her that he would contact her again the following morning. In the meantime she was to make fullest use of the hotel’s amenities, and not trouble her head about the Cortez problems. They would, undoubtedly, be sorted out in time, and so would the all-important matter of her salary. He gave her his word about that.
“You are very kind, senor,” she stammered. “I don’t know what I would have done if—if you hadn’t telephoned ...”
He bowed again.
“You had the Consul in mind,” he reminded her dryly.
That night she dined alone in her big, airy room, not feeling quite up to confronting a lot of smart Madrilenos in the restaurant. And, in her hurry, she had packed nothing suitable for a first appearance in the great dining-room of the hotel.
She felt splendidly alone and gorgeously isolated as she prowled restlessly about her room and its adjoining bathroom, with every sort of modern fitment. There was that air of grandeur that the Spanish love, however, and the modernity was overlaid by rich satin and damask and beautiful inlaid woods. When night closed down, and the stars shone forth, she was able to sit beside one of her festooned windows and watch the night life of Madrid perambulating over the still warm pavements below her.
Young couples went by—engaged couples, who had the right to hold hands—but mostly the girls were in pairs, and the men were in pairs also, or little groups. Courtship is a serious business in Madrid, and casual acquaintance is frowned upon. April knew this, and she knew that the dark-eyed, warm-skinned senoritas loved tap-tapping in their high heels through the hot, silky dusk, before the moon rose. And after the moon rose their pale frocks, and the occasional black mantilla, created an illusion of a black and white world ... a world in which there were no semi-tones whatsoever.
The stars burned with a brilliance that was fierce, suspended like lamps in the sable sky. Trees were dark and mysterious shapes bending slightly in the occasional light breeze, and in the quiet squares of Madrid light streamed from the windows and picked up the shimmer of cars travelling without a sound over the broad roads. Cars that were either black or white, although in the daytime they were multicoloured and gay.
April found herself thinking about Don Carlos de Formera y Santos. He represented a type of Spaniard she had met few of, for her employers had interposed a rigid line between the domestic side of their establishment and the social side. April, since she received a salary—or should have done!—was relegated to the background when guests were received at the flat The nearest she had ever come to Don Carlos before that afternoon was when she accidentally encountered him in the hall when she was seeing Juan to bed after he had said good night to his parents.
Poor little Juan, she thought, with an ache of sympathy for him. She had grown very fond of him during the nine months he was in her charge, and she would miss him now. She had no real idea what she would do with herself now that she was once more without a job, but some new kind of work was essential. She couldn’t afford to exist for longer, than a few weeks without earning her living.
Then her thoughts swept back to Don Carlos. Not merely was he a type new to her, but he was a very managing type ... a dominating type. She had felt quite unable to resist him when he told her to pack her things and accompany him to an hotel, but at the same time she had wanted to resist him. She was quite sure no one ever dared to defy him, but for one wild moment she had yearned to do so ... if only because his eyes were so cool and detached—so immeasurably aloof, as if she herself was barely human, and he was conscious of feeling irked because he was forced to devote some of his time to her. And such was his mental make-up, such his upbringing, such were his views on women, conventions, and so forth, that he could no more have turned his back on the problems of her situation than he could have walked out on a wife as Senor Cortez had done.
The wife of Don Carlos de Formera y Santos, when he acquired one—and, so far as April knew, he was a bachelor, and a much sought-after one at that—could count upon it that she would never be left (not even after a burst of temper!) and she would certainly never be permitted to leave her husband. Don Carlos would not marry her unless she was the type to conform to every intricate detail of the pattern he set for her, the way of life she must follow. Once married to him she would be his for life, and there simply wouldn’t be any question about it.
April felt faintly appalled even by the thought of the woman who would one day be the Don’s wife. Such a lifetime of servitude—and surely that was what it would be?—affected her like a chill. A cold breath that blow upon all her own natural instincts.
But to the Don she owed it that she was no longer sitting waiting in an empty flat for a telephone to ring, or a key to grate in the lock of the front door. To the Don she owed it that she was temporarily housed in a great deal of luxury.