Spanish Lace

by Joyce Dingwell

  The look was gone in an instant, though. When Diana said, ‘Celestina urges us not to delay,’ he nodded complete agreement.

  ‘Ah, yes, Celestina,’ said Zoe.

  David said with interest, ‘This Celestina is the Spanish-English girl you told me about, Zoe?’

  ‘Yes. And Miguel’s cousin.’

  ‘A kind of cousin,’ Miguel said rather flatly. He did not look as happy as he should.

  By this time they had reached the hostel and Rosina was running out to greet Zoe, to whom she had taken a deep fancy during Zoe’s first Spanish days. Folding her in her plump arms, she said for Zoe alone, for she spoke quite good English, ‘It is well you are here. If you had been later it would not have been in time.’

  After Diana and Miguel had left for the vineyard casa, saying they would be back in an hour to take Zoe and David to dinner, after David had been conducted to his room but with less enthusiasm than was usually shown, but then Rosina, like most Spaniards, was conventional before all else, Zoe said to the woman, ‘I did not come to stop anything, you must understand that.’

  ‘No, but to stop it being done before it should. I know who is behind it all. It is Celestina.’

  ‘But why? Why, Rosina?’

  Rosina gave a significant shrug.

  ‘But in the beginning—’ began Zoe.

  ‘Si, in the beginning she did not want Diana for Miguel, she had eyes on Miguel for herself. Then comes another idea. A much bigger idea.’

  ‘What, Rosina?’

  ‘The Don himself.’

  ‘Ramon—?’ gasped Zoe.

  ‘Si. She thinks if her older cousin ... oh yes, there is a cousinhood there of a sort ... comes, he will see the Australian girl and be as attracted as was Miguel.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So marry them off fast before that can happen, Celestina thinks.’

  ‘But that sounds as though Celestina has marrying ideas as well.’

  ‘But of course. She always had them. And for Don Ramon. It was only since Don Ramon never even looked at Celestina that she turned her attentions to Miguel instead. But now, of course, it could be a different story. If I know that half-Spanish girl’—a sniff—’she has been writing to Don Ramon keeping him informed of what is happening, getting herself in his good books. “Celestina,” he will undoubtedly say, “my good and loyal cousin.” And then what?’ Rosina shrugged. ‘Two sets of rings on a velvet cushion blessed by a priest. Two lots of vows.’ Again the shrug.

  ‘Is that how it’s done?’

  ‘There can be a civil ceremony.’ Rosina’s disparaging voice indicated what she thought of that.

  ‘Well, what’s to be will be,’ Zoe said with an indifference she did not really feel.

  ‘But she is not right. Celestina is not the one. That man does not want this half English cousin, he wants a woman of Spain.’

  ‘A woman who is all woman,’ said Zoe slowly. ‘Her hair piled high and a comb holding the Spanish lace.’

  ‘Si,’ said Rosina stolidly.

  ‘I had a comb and I gave it away,’ Zoe said more slowly still. That man wants a woman of Spain. Rosina’s words rang in her ears.

  Rosina was looking at her curiously, very curiously, and with an effort Zoe brought herself back to the room which the woman had first given her and had given her again now.

  ‘Mr. Glenner,’ she said rather breathlessly, ‘you have made him comfortable?’ she asked in a rush that betrayed her own sudden discomfort at Rosina’s sharp black scrutiny.

  ‘Si. Of course. What else? But I do not think’—shrewdly—’it is of that senor you think, senorita.’

  Rosina went to the door, but turned round again to Zoe before she twisted the handle.

  ‘I don’t think it at all,’ she said again.

  When the door was closed Zoe went to the window and looked out and up to the castel that had first set herself and Diana grasping their bags hurriedly and jumping out of the little train.

  Spanish enchantment had taken them over, the enchantment of vineyard, orangery, olive grove and palacio ... the enchantment, for Diana later, of dark eyes smiling into hers.

  A Spanish woman for a Spaniard ... and yet Miguel loved Di.

  Perhaps that was all right for Miguel; even Rosina, traditional Rosina, had agreed that the marriage should only wait until it could be done as a Spanish marriage should.

  But of Ramon himself, Rosina had said: ‘That man wants a woman of Spain.’

  With black eyes, thought Zoe. With black hair piled high and secured with a jewelled comb to folds of Spanish lace.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  It was not until the next day that Zoe found an opportunity to speak to Miguel.

  There had been no chance at dinner that night; Diana and her Spaniard had arrived with none other than Celestina ... with whom quite obviously they were on good terms ... and an accompanying young Iberian by the name of Philip Delano, unmistakably there only to make up the numbers, for Celestina practically ignored him and young Philip showed much more interest in the dancers at the Villa Marina Club than in the dark-haired, grey-eyed Spanish-English girl he was ostensibly escorting.

  But David Glenner on the other hand barely let his glance leave Celestina. That her verve and sometimes audaciousness piqued him was very apparent. Celestina in her turn seemed to go out of her way to shock the Australian. On Several occasions she was quite rude.

  It seemed to amuse David, though, and once, dancing with Zoe, he said, ‘That girl is running away from something.’

  Zoe, remembering Rosina’s words, corrected, ‘Running after something.’

  ‘Oh, no!’ David said so knowledgeably that Zoe did not argue.

  By this time Zoe had got the taste of Spanish food, and ate with relish the huevos flamenca ... baked eggs with ham and pimentos. She clapped, too, the dancers with their clicking and posturing, if still remembering how Ramon had said such performances were only for tourists.

  Celestina tossed this herself with intentional scorn at David, but David answered good-humouredly, ‘Fair enough.’

  ‘Fair enough? Must it always be fair?’ Celestina flashed a resentful glance at one titian and one pale head. Diana’s—Zoe’s.

  ‘Not for me.’ Quite without concealment David was looking at Celestina’s dark crop.

  ‘Australians,’ shrugged Celestina next. ‘Do you know that the Spaniards were in the country first?’

  ‘Not quite,’ put in Zoe, remembering what Ramon had said about the missionary-explorer Alvano de Mendana.

  ‘But a sacred symbol was found at your Sydney, a cross with a circle as emblazoned on the sails of the Spanish Armada.’ Celestina flashed her grey eyes at David just as successfully as black eyes would flash, and David found no need to look at the Spanish dancers.

  Home again through the orange-sweetened air, and Zoe determining that tomorrow she would speak with Miguel whatever happened ... and hearing, when she did speak at the vineyard after walking there from the hostel the next morning, that there was no hurry after all, that Uncle Ramon would not be coming to Lamona until the end of the week.

  ‘Ah,’ said Zoe. That gave her several days. Ample time to speak eloquently on being reasonable and sensible with Di and Miguel, to afford her children a breathing space before their return to San Sebastian ... then to look around herself so as to remember Lamona, his place, the senor’s place, and to store it in her heart. For it would be all that could be in her heart, and only too well Zoe knew it. She had no doubts, children being what they were, Fate being what it was, that Ramon would find out about this episode, and, knowing that Spaniard by now, she knew, too, for all his sudden sweetness, also his quick and almost frightening rage. He would turn on her angrily ... or even adopt that arrogant unapproachableness that was so much worse.

  Whichever it was, Zoe faced it, it would be the end of the Spanish episode. The final thread of a piece of Spanish lace.

  ‘How do you know he will not be coming, Miguel?’ she asked, s
tanding by the crushing with him.

  ‘He has wired from the Barcelona district. He has interests up there.’

  ‘Yes,’ murmured Zoe. ‘Cork from Catalonia.’

  ‘What?’ asked Miguel, completely at a loss.

  ‘The cork oaks of Catalonia,’ she smiled, ‘are stronger, more resistant—in short, it’s the best cork in the world.’

  ‘Your knowledge shames me,’ said Miguel. ‘I know little of Australia.’

  ‘I had a good teacher,’ Zoe explained.

  ‘Indeed you did.’ Miguel was still extremely impressed.

  ‘But I didn’t come to speak about cork. I came to—’

  ‘Si, I know.’ Miguel’s face was grave. ‘And I appreciate it, Zoe. It is good of you to concern yourself over Diana and me. I agree with you that financially ... is that the right word? ... we may be well advised to wait, but—’

  ‘Miguel, stop! Money, indeed! Is that the only reason you can find not to rush things as you seem bent on doing? What about your family?’

  ‘I have none. Ramon is the younger brother of my dead mother.’

  ‘But still family,’ Zoe reminded him quietly, and saw the dull red rise in his cheeks.

  ‘What about tradition?’ she asked. ‘What about the things % that a Spaniard believes in, and believes, in his heart, he should do?’

  No answer.

  ‘Who brought you up, Miguel?’ she continued.

  ‘My Uncle Ramon.’

  ‘He could not have been very old ... what I mean is a young man, as he must have been at the time, must have been called upon to sacrifice a lot.’

  Still no answer.

  ‘Do you dislike your uncle?’ she went on.

  ‘Oh, no, Zoe, I am very proud of Ramon. He works hard and gets results. He not only keeps an eye on his estates, he dabbles in business, in tourism. As you have said yourself he also restores. The castel on the hill is in the near-stage of restoration now. Perhaps you would care to examine it.’

  ‘Miguel, you’re trying to divert me, and I won’t be diverted. Is it because Ramon pays you an insufficient wage for being his manager that you plan to leave him?’

  ‘By no means. Ramon is generous. Also it is said that it is I who will inherit in time, though I do not believe it, of course, for as a race Spaniards are not inclined to celibacy, even though to this date Ramon has never seriously looked at any woman, nor shown any wish to do so. However, he has said that with so many properties ‘

  ‘Then it would be surely to your advantage, apart from the decent thing to do, to wait.’

  Suddenly Miguel turned to Zoe, and his eyes were perplexed and unhappy.

  ‘Yes, it would, but the advantage does not matter.’

  ‘But the tradition ... it does, doesn’t it?’

  ‘Si,’ Miguel said miserably.

  ‘Then—?’

  ‘But weighed up, Zoe, weighed up against Diana, it is not enough. I cannot take a risk of losing my lovely girl.’

  ‘But, Miguel, have some sense. If Ramon disapproves of her you can do what you speak of doing now.’

  ‘Marrying her?’

  ‘Yes. You can do it then?

  ‘You think so? She is exceptionally lovely, Zoe. Never before have I seen such eyes, such hair. Do you think Ramon would be any less a man than I am? Do you think he would look at her and—and be unmoved?’

  ‘I—’ Zoe paused. It was her moment to feel wretched. ‘I don’t know,’ she blurted in the end.

  ‘Well, I do. And so does Celestina.’

  ‘Ah—Celestina!’

  Miguel’s head was up. ‘Celestina has been our friend. She has told me what she thinks would happen ... Ramon’s instant appreciation of such beauty.’

  ‘And Di’s reaction, too, no doubt. Celestina’s version. Miguel, what sort of a person do you think Di is?’

  ‘I know her as something lovely and rare, but I also know the virile charm and power of my uncle. Who would want’—Miguel searched around for a comparison—‘a cork from the midland when there was a cork from Catalonia?’

  Zoe could have applauded that as well put had it not been expressed before—about her. By Ramon himself.

  ‘You are a doubting lover,’ she observed coldly, ‘if you think Diana is like that. Now more than ever I want you to delay your marriage.’

  ‘I know,’ Miguel agreed. ‘Celestina told me it would be so.’

  ‘Celestina!’ Zoe said in exasperation. ‘Can’t you see she’s using you?’

  ‘She is helping us. If we do what she advises, by the time Ramon returns here we will be man and wife.’

  ‘And where, if the fickleness you suspect in Diana is true, will that get you?’

  Miguel was shocked. ‘To a Spaniard the marriage vows are a sacred thing.’

  ‘Perhaps, but would you want Diana lying beside you with a lie in her heart? Desiring Ramon, not the man she married.’

  ‘Zoe!’ he protested.

  ‘I mean it. You’re being a fool. Don’t do this thing.’

  ‘If I lose Diana, I lose life,’ he said soberly, and turned on his heel and left her standing there.

  She wandered troublously through the garden of the pretty casa, the house that could be Di’s and Miguel’s if they only did things in the accepted way. For Zoe had no fears at all that Ramon would not accept Diana. At first he might be withdrawn, suspicious of the speed of the affair, but not for long. She had seen too much of the inherent tendernesses in him not to believe that.

  As for wanting Diana for himself, that was ridiculous.—Or was it? She had stopped beside a viburnum, weighed down in snowball blossom, and the hand that went out to touch the blossom shook a little. Was it ridiculous? Could anything be ridiculous when it entailed Di of the flame red hair? Not peeled sticks and just as straight as sticks, but glorious, flowing, rippling titian curls.

  Dismally she walked on. She followed a paved path past a lily pond. The golden carp lay motionless beneath the green pads. At the other side of the pond Celestina was feeding the carp. Instinctively Zoe turned to go instead through the orchard, but Celestina had seen her, and now walked round and cut off her escape.

  She was not a girl of subterfuges, and she spoke at once. ‘Why did you come here?’ she asked.

  ‘The casa?’

  ‘Lamona.’ Abruptly. Challengingly.

  Seeing it was to be like that, Zoe spoke back in the same strain..

  ‘To try to stop Di and Miguel, of course.’

  ‘You did not seem so anxious before. You left them with a blessing.’

  ‘Yes, I did. But at that time I didn’t think they were going to rush their marriage, as it seems that they have been now strongly advised.’ Zoe’s eyes challenged Celestina’s.

  ‘Yes, I have advised them,’ shrugged the Spanish-English girl. ‘I know my cousin Ramon. I know what hurdles ... insurpassable hurdles ... he can think of.’

  ‘That is a foolish thing to say when two people are free and over twenty-one. There is no barrier then.’

  ‘Ramon would find one.’

  ‘Or you find it for him?’

  ‘Explain yourself.’

  ‘Very well, then. Wouldn’t you point out to him the undesirability of a girl who desires marriage so much that she stops her world tour and accepts a post so as to be near her lover?’

  ‘If I did, would it not be the truth?’

  ‘Yes, but not in the manner you would express it, Celestina.’

  ‘There is no manner of expressing it,’ said Celestina flatly. ‘Whichever way it is put, a Spaniard would not care for it. The Spaniard does not look for initiative in his woman, he likes—’

  ‘He likes the withdrawn quality,’ remembered Zoe, but quite expressionlessly. ‘The receding element, as a tide recedes.’

  ‘Yes.’ Celestina was looking at her rather curiously. ‘And that is the very traditional make-up of my cousin Ramon. It is hard for you to think so, but he would frown at once on Diana, find her forthright, use his influe
nce—and, believe me, he is a man of great influence—to—’

  ‘I believe you,’ drily.

  ‘To prevent the union,’ finished Celestina. ‘So if love is to triumph that pair should take their destiny in their own hands. And at once.’

  ‘Odd.’ edged in Zoe, ‘that when we first arrived here you seemed to have different ideas on the subject, then you wanted us both to go.’

  ‘But you didn’t, did you, only half of you went, and Miguel ... Miguel...’

  ‘Yes, that must have been a setback. But you turned it to your own advantage. You reported the position faithfully to Ramon, and no doubt he is very pleased with you for playing the monitor. And that is what you want.’

  There was a silence for a while, Zoe wondering a little ashamedly if she had said too much, then Celestina swung round on Zoe.

  ‘What is it if I do want it? How can you understand?’

  ‘If it’s love, of course I understand.’ Zoe’s voice was gentler now. At no time had she coupled the reason of love for Ramon Raphaelina in Celestina’s schemes.

  But—’Love!’ It was a sneer. ‘Oh, no, I’m too hard-bitten for that.’

  ‘Then? Then, Celestina?’

  ‘Look, how would you like to be here and yet not here, all your life? Not Spanish. Not English. No hope, as Australians have, as girls of many other countries have, of getting away, of seeing things, seeing people. Of living. What future have I in Lamona? It is a little village with the sexes equally matched, and even were they not matched, if there were more men than women, what Spaniard would want me?’