Dearest enemy

by Kathryn Blair

  Didin't she? Trembling with a sudden intoxication, she turned away her head. "I can't take it in yet—that you love me."

  "I have been at such pains to conceal it—too many pains! It was not until last night, when you were lost, that I

  learned some of the reasons for your coolness towards me. I thought you could have no feeling for me till Antonie made the light remark that if I dash all over the country for you it will be said that I love you as much as you love me."

  "Antonie said that!" she asked, startled.

  "My little cousin is perspicacious in such matters, and she saw how it was with me. I was short with her, but I was grateful also. Querida," he said, not too steadily, "you will say you love me—enough to marry me?"

  The eyes she again raised to him were brimming, but her mouth smiled. "I'm not so cold, Carlos. I've loved you a long time too."

  He kissed her then, with such ferocity that her breath was stifled in her lungs. He whispered against her ear in Portuguese:

  "You are beautiful. I will never have enough of your kisses, never be satisfied till you are wholly mine."

  Smiling tremulously, she said, "When I'm more myself I'll try to answer you in Portuguese, but it won't be very good."

  "The breakfast!" he exclaimed, releasing her. "My poor child. We are hungry, you and I. Last night we have had no dinner and this morning, instead of hurrying to our fish and eggs, we talk love."

  He pulled open the car door and she got in. He came round, took his own seat and started the engine. His smile, as it rested upon her, gradually died, leaving his features peculiarly sharp and his eyes glittering.

  "Carlos?" she said, suddenly afraid.

  "Nothing." He smoothed back his hair. "It was just seeing you there beside me after my mad imaginings of the night. You must never again go anywhere without me."

  Fenella nodded at him, wordlessly. The whole world was alive and singing, and so was her heart. The car slipped along with none of the groaning of Miss Brean's coupe, and kept up a remarkable speed.

  Leaves sparkled in the sun, and through a break in the trees the low hills which were strung out against the skyline became visible, their summits shrouded with pink, wispy clouds. From a hill they were able to view the pineapple and papaw plantations in the valley which was part of Porto Alva.

  "Tell me what Frankland has been doing with the childish Maria de Gardena," Carlos demanded. "That young woman was yesterday betrothed to Luis Gainas, who practises as a lawyer in Alimane."

  Fenella sighed, but not very deeply. "I was deceived over them. I really was convinced that Austin was in love with her or I would never have helped them to meet." She explained how she had been inveigled into assisting at what she regarded as a frustrated romance, and ended, "Miss Brean produced a trick which rather cleanly put Austin out of the game. That was why he decided to ask you for an immediate vacation—so that Maria's marriage would be an accomplished fact when he returned." She paused. "You needn't have been quite so cruel when you told me about him last Monday morning."

  "I was enraged, with you and with him—and with myself for being jealous of such a man." He gestured emphatically. "Put yourself in my place. You entertain him every weekend in your home, you insist on going to the camp, and there you are close to him and clasping his hand. How was I to discover that you are passing to him a letter! A hundred years ago one would have run him through with a sword. I still do not comprehend why you did not come to me for advice. I could soon have righted that business."

  Fenella was not yet sufficiently sure of him, or of herself, to be completely candid with him. His declaration of love had come so suddenly that it had yet to become an integral part of her thoughts. Even as she sat there staring over the fertile valley she felt him only as a beloved stranger.

  With a jerk which was not at all in accord with his usual expert handling of the car, it came to a standstill.

  "We will not go on," he said curtly. "It is necessary that you eat soon, but it is more essential that we blow away these shadows which are between us. Love is all-embracing. We have only to feel it entirely for each other and the rest is as nothing. I have appreciated that you are English, that your emotions are less volatile . . ."

  "Carlos!" The exclamation tailed into a small, sobbing laugh. "Oh, Carlos, it's simply that I've been jealous, too, of Antonie. Everyone said you would marry her."

  "Then everyone is an idiot," he said, with a flick of his fingers. "With Antonie I have done my duty, that is all. She was unhappy—there was a love affair which came to a catastrophic conclusion and Antonie would not let herself forget it. She has always been in love with someone, and she could not bear to be unloved. This time it was more serious; not only her pride but her heart was wounded. Her parents begged me to have her at Machada, to provide her with other interests. You remember she was sad when she came? The heart is healed now, I think, and very soon Antonie will return to Portugal. She does not care for Mozambique."

  Slowly, Fenella's perspective was altering, but she could not accept his inference that Antonie had considered her stay at the Quinta in the light of a temporary visit to a nice cousin. That had not been so recently, anyway. Tia Supervia had openly demonstrated her trust in a marriage between Antonie and Carlos, and it was safe to assume that she conversed upon it with her niece in private.

  Was it possible that Carlos had been ignorant of Antonie's aims, and had accepted her show of affection as cousinly gratitude for his kindness? For the present, Fenella deemed it wise to probe no further.

  "You are no longer distressed about Antonie, querida?" he asked.

  "No," she said softly. What does `querida' mean?"

  "It means 'dearly beloved'." He slid an arm across her back.

  "Tell me when you were first in love with me, Carlos."

  "That is simple. You came into my house, wearing a very blue dress with white ruffles at the throat. You looked at me with drastic blue eyes as if I were your enemy, but a very special enemy . . . and I was never the same again." He smiled, and squeezed her shoulder. "Before you came I had thought that someday I must marry, but there was no one I wanted. From the moment we met there was no doubt, but I knew that our courtship must follow the formal pattern. This friendship—which I could have dispensed with till later!—must mature into love. It is not funny, Fenella. Such procrastination makes one grow old. But I could have been patient, and in a little while have put it to your father that I wished to marry you."

  "Why didn't it happen that way?"

  "Why!" An explosive sound. "I meet you at the festa wearing a scarlet mantilha given to you by Frankland You call me the despot of Machada and make me so angry that I must hurt you. It was obvious that you did not love me."

  "That was when I realised I did love you," she told him "Afterwards I was terrified that you'd guess. Darling, don't you see..."

  But Carlos was not proof against such endearments. He took her, quite savagely, into his arms.

  It was just before nine when they walked into the doctor's house. Miss Brean and Dr. Harcourt were still at the breakfast table when Fenella entered, with Carlos close behind her.

  Her father got up and kissed her. "My dear," he said. "What a night I've learned all about it from Miss Brean, and have just ordered her to bed. You two must be famished, but Antonio will have heard you. He'll bring fresh food and coffee." With a half-smile at Carlos he added, "Neither of you appears to require a prescription. What a wonderful thing it is to be young!"

  Carlos laughed, and pushed in Fenella's chair. "We must teach these women to respect our country, Doctor, but for today, no lectures! You have sent Manuelo to the Quinta?"

  The doctor nodded. "In Miss Brean's car, so that he could inform your cousin that you're safe. Ah, here's the boy."

  With ceremony, Antonio placed his laden tray on the sideboard and came forward to make room on the table for the dishes of fish, bacon and eggs. This was his big moment, and he made the most of it before going out for the coffee.<
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  Miss Brean's birdlike gaze lit upon Fenella's flushed cheeks and starry eyes, and flashed across to the vital, smiling face of Carlos.

  "Am I forgiven, senhor?" she enquired, twinkling.

  "You are forgiven," he stated, "on condition that you do not again entice Fenella into your car. Do you agree, Doctor?"

  "I agree that women are occasionally a heap of worry," was the answer. "And now you will have to excuse me. I'm already late for the clinic."

  "At what hour will you be free?"

  "Not before lunch, and you'll be gone before then. Are you calling off this evening's party?"

  "Certainly not. It is more important than ever." Carlos paused, to give impressiveness to what he was about to say. "To-night, with your permission, Doctor, I wish to announce my engagement to your daughter."

  There was a pulsing silence. Fenella sat with her head bent and hands locked fast in her lap. Carlos was looking down at her across the table with an amused but ineffable tenderness.

  The doctor moved over and unexpectedly pressed a hand to her cheek. "I'm happy," he said, "for both of you."

  Miss Brean blinked away a mist. "Congratulations," she murmured. "After that I believe I really must go to bed."

  The doctor waited till she had gone, but he didn't say anything more. He merely touched Fenella's silky hair, gave Carlos a friendly and penetrating little smile, and went out.

  Carlos took his place at the table opposite Fenella.

  "And now, finally, we will eat. This Antonio of yours makes an appetising job of his cooking."

  Talk between them had to be casual,' for the servant hovered, determined to give of his best to the senhor. Carlos spoke to him in Portuguese, and the negroid countenance widened into a delighted smile. When the meal had ended he hastened outside to arrange chairs, before clearing the breakfast table.

  On the veranda Carlos opened his cigarette case. "See," he said. "I am also carrying some little ones for you. One cigarette, and then we will go to the Quinta."

  "I shall have to change my frock."

  "You will be quick about that. It will be a busy morning —this afternoon you must rest. However you scoff at the custom of siesta, today you will be Portuguese. That little sleep between accepting the felicitations of the staff and greeting our guests this evening is very necessary."

  Fenella looked at him and loved him; marvelled at the miracle of his loving her.

  "This morning," said Carlos, "we will get the jewels from the safe and choose a ring. There is one which I have selected in my mind long ago. A wedding ring," he observed in a business-like manner, "can be purchased in Alimane. Unfortunately we cannot hurry this marriage—there are too

  many who must be invited from other parts of Mozambique —so we have to contain ourselves for three weeks."

  "Three weeks!" That's no time at all. My aunt in England will wish to attend."

  "We will send her a cable," he replied, unperturbed. "In any event, you will have Miss Brean. I have feelings that Miss Brean will still be here when we return from our honeymoon in three or four month's time. She is growing fond of your father."

  "Carlos, you don't think . . ."

  His shrug was good-humouredly arrogant. "The good doctor can take care of himself. And now you will fly away and change, and be back here in five minutes."

  She did not obey him at once. Instead, she tossed her cigarette over the wall and watched the bush into which it had fallen.

  "There's just one thing, Carlos—about Antonie. I'm horribly afraid that she and her aunt will resent me."

  "There will be nothing like that. Tia Supervia has a great deal of sense and Antonie is dominated by her much more than is apparent on the surface. They will both be utterly kind and helpful till they leave Machada. I will book their passage on next week's plane from Lourenco Marques, and together we will wish them bon voyage."

  Fenella was satisfied. She turned towards the lounge door, but this time is was Carlos who stopped her, with two urgent hands.

  "I love you, Fenella."

  Naturally, impulsively, she held him so that her mouth was close to his. "And I you, querida," she whispered. She felt his laughter. "Did I pronounce wrongly?"

  "No, dear heart. You mix your genders. I am `querido'— but no matter. All is heaven when two are in love."

  Than which, thought Fenella, there are no sweeter words in any language.

  THE END