The Dragon's Cave

by Isobel Chace

  ‘I don’t think Margot could have understood what Carlos said to her,’ she said, astonished that she should sound so calm.

  ‘But she did!’ Inez insisted. ‘Can you pretend, Megan, that the man who employed you wasn’t kissing you when Carlos first saw you? Of course he thought that you had kissed him before!’ She paused. ‘Had you?’ she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her caution.

  ‘No,’ Megan said.

  ‘Then why was he kissing you then?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Megan sighed. ‘The show had gone well and I had gone out into the street because it was stuffy inside. It was snowing and I had forgotten to put my coat on. I was shivering and Tony put his arms round me and kissed me.’

  Inez gasped. ‘But what a terrible thing to do! No wonder Carlos was shocked!’

  ‘I think it would take more than that to shock Carlos,’ Megan said dryly.

  ‘But, Megan, you can’t think so! Nobody has ever kissed me! Not even Carlos would do so until after we’re officially betrothed—perhaps not until after we are married!’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ Megan said abruptly.

  ‘I should think not!’ Inez agreed. ‘I am glad Carlos would have more respect for me than to—to kiss me before—’

  ‘But you know that Carlos kisses other women!’ Megan interrupted her, quite suddenly furiously angry.

  Inez pouted in silence. ‘Has he kissed you?’ she asked.

  Megan could feel herself blushing. ‘Don’t you think you ought to concentrate on which way we’re going?’ she enquired. ‘We’ll be at Valldemosa in a moment.’

  Inez leaned forward, peering out into the darkness. ‘You must turn off at the next road,’ she directed. ‘You can see the gates from here. You see those carved pillars? You go in there.’

  Megan turned the little car off the road and parked it neatly between two coaches bearing the names of various travel organisations who had brought their clients from their hotels to the barbecue. A young man, dressed as a cowboy, helped them out of the car and directed them into the courtyard of the old farmhouse. A long fork, with a sausage stuck on the end, was pushed into their hands and they made their way over to the nearest charcoal brazier to heat up their sausages and to receive their glass of sangria, a drink made of wine, brandy and lemon juice.

  The courtyard was full of excited people, their pale faces made red by the blazing coals around which they huddled eagerly, for the wind was decidedly cold. Megan stood back from the others, sipping her sangria and trying to control the cold, clutching sensation that had settled around her stomach. In that moment she decided that she hated Carlos. He had humiliated her m a way she had never known before, not even bothering to tell the truth about her. He must have known that Tony’s kiss had meant nothing to her! He must have known that she had been taken by surprise he had known, so why had he lied about it to Margot?

  She made a half-hearted gesture of toasting her sausage, giving her full concentration to keeping her place in front of the brazier.

  ‘Hey there. You’ve been there long enough!’ someone said in her ear, and she turned quickly to apologise.

  ‘Tony!’ she gulped, not caring that her sausage had fallen off the end of her fork.

  ‘By all that’s wonderful!’ Tony exclaimed. ‘Darling! My lovely Megan Meredith!’

  CHAPTER VIII

  ‘Oh, Tony!’

  His smile was bitter, but at least he was smiling. ‘Do I detect a certain change in your feelings for me, Megan my love?’

  She took refuge in confusion. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said.

  ‘As feminine as ever!’ he accused her.

  She sipped nervously at the pretty red liquid in her glass. ‘The thing is,’ she said with difficulty, ‘the Witch’s Cauldron wasn’t my scene.’

  ‘You’re so right, my love! Between you and me, it wasn’t mine either. But, as you can see, the boys and I have progressed, even without your help, and here we are, singing nightly and playing for the dance after the barbecue at this respectable dump. Care to join us?’

  She took a swift look at him through her eyelashes. ‘No funny business?’

  ‘Cross my heart and hope to die!’

  ‘Then I would like to sing with you—just for tonight! I’ve missed it all so much! You’ve no idea what it’s been like!’

  ‘Well, love, it was your choice. I didn’t tell you to go—’

  ‘No, you didn’t,’ she admitted. ‘But you made it inevitable—in a way!’

  His smile flashed out. ‘Oh, Megan! Are you going to pretend that you didn’t want to be kissed?’

  ‘I didn’t!’ she protested.

  He leaned forward, looking at her very closely.

  ‘Funnily enough, I believe you,’ he pronounced. ‘What’s it all about, darling? Keeping yourself for the one and only?’ He came very close indeed and she didn’t back away as she knew she would have done before. ‘Hmm,’ he said, ‘not quite so untouched as I remember. Do I understand that that Spanish knight in shining armour has been staking a claim?’

  Megan blushed. ‘He’s very particular,’ she said.

  Tony’s eyebrows shot up in a droll look of enquiry. ‘And you are not?’

  ‘I don’t understand Spanish customs very well. I keep on doing the wrong thing. The girls here are so restricted and protected. I think, in their eyes, I’m the next best thing to being a scarlet woman!’

  Tony’s laughter was oddly comforting. ‘If they think that about a little puritan like you, they must be strait-laced! Poor poppet, knowing you, I don’t suppose you’re even enjoying shocking them all!’

  ‘No, I’m not!’

  His laughter rang out again. ‘I thought not! Poor, poor Megan!’

  ‘Yes, well—’ Megan began uncomfortably. She was rescued from having to say any more by the sudden activity of everyone around her. ‘It looks as though we’re going in to eat,’ she went on with relief.

  ‘Are you going to sit next to me?’ he pleaded.

  ‘I don’t know. I’m here with a friend.’ She looked about her vainly for Inez, wondering where the Spanish girl could have got to.

  ‘If he brings you here, he can’t be totally without any life,’ Tony teased her.

  ‘It isn’t a he,’ Megan told him, searching the crowd with her eyes. What a lot of people there were, crowding into the courtyard, all of them intent on enjoying themselves. There were quite a few girls in trouser suits, she noticed, and very nice they looked in them too! She was glad that she didn’t have to be snobbish about tourists and what they chose to wear. Why, she thought, in future if she wanted to wear trousers, any trousers, she would do so, and the Valloris would just have to put up with it!

  She spotted Inez standing in the shadows by the wall and knew that she was afraid of being recognised. Megan beckoned to her and introduced her quickly to Tony. Inez stood, as stiff as a poker, and extended her hand, not quite looking at Tony.

  ‘I have heard about you,’ she said. ‘You are one of Megan’s friends, aren’t you?’

  ‘I hope so,’ Tony answered, sounding so sincere that Megan suspected he was trying not to laugh. ‘I hope to be a friend of yours too!’

  ‘But that wouldn’t do at all!’ Inez told him. ‘My friends are all very respectable. Megan is the only person I know who has men friends. My parents would not approve of my knowing you and—neither would Carlos!’

  ‘Am I so terrible?’ Tony asked her, laughing.

  ‘But of course you are!’ Inez’s eyes fell demurely. ‘I have heard all about the way you kissed Megan—’

  ‘Really?’ Tony said dryly. ‘Megan should learn to keep her mouth shut!’

  Inez smoothed down her skirt with a fragile hand.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I don’t come out of the incident very well,’ he answered promptly. ‘Are you two ladies going to allow me to escort you in to dinner?’

  ‘Please,’ said Inez, all her doubts gone. ‘
If we go in with all the others, Senor Valdez will not notice me.’ She lowered her tone to a confidential whisper.

  ‘I prefer that my family do not know that I have come here!’

  ‘Very understandable,’ Tony assured her. ‘A pretty girl like you needs all the protection she can get against eager fellows like myself!’

  Inez burst into ready laughter. ‘You should not say such things!’

  ‘You should not be so pretty and then I wouldn’t!’ he retorted.

  Well pleased, Inez led the way into the old stables where the tables were laid out for the feast. There were tiny baked potatoes, bowls of salad, great, thick slices of bread, and a bottle of wine between every four people. As soon as they were seated, the barbecued chickens were brought and served, piping hot, by waiters dressed in traditional Mallorquin costume, as dexterous as they were handsome.

  A group of young Spaniards went from table to table singing the songs of Majorca, songs that were softer and more tuneful than the better known flamenco songs of the mainland, but which nevertheless had the same distinctive Arab intonation. They asked for requests from the visitors and sang a song or two in English, with more gusto than accuracy. Megan enjoyed their efforts, however, and clapped as loudly as everyone else as they disappeared into another room where yet more tables were laid out.

  ‘Have some more wine, Megan?’ Tony offered, scarcely taking his eyes off Inez’s vivid features. ‘If you’re going to sing with us later on, you’ll need to keep your strength up!’

  ‘No, no!’ Inez interrupted. ‘The sangria was stronger than you suppose. You must be careful! If you are not accustomed to drinking much, it is easy to take more than one means to!’

  ‘I’ll be careful,’ Megan said thoughtfully. She sat back in her chair and watched Tony and Inez talking to each other, so interested in what they were saying that the rest of the world might well have not existed for them.

  Carlos wouldn’t approve, she thought. Inez had no experience of choosing her own friends, and Tony was certainly not the sort of friend her family would have chosen for her. It was a pity that they had run into him so early in the evening. It would have been better if they had met later, when Tony was safely mounted on a platform, well away from the dancers, and then Inez would not have needed to have spoken to him at all.

  ‘Am I going to sing for you, Tony?’ she asked suddenly.

  His eyes met hers briefly. ‘Isn’t that why you came?’

  She nodded uncomfortably. ‘I suppose so. Inez wanted to come.’

  Tony laughed easily. ‘Of course she did! She had more sense than to tell her family where she is, which is more than I can say for a certain other young lady!’

  Megan blushed. ‘My parents came to hear me sing,’ she said, stung.

  ‘And the Spaniard too?’

  ‘Carlos?’ Inez breathed, much excited.

  ‘Is that his name?’ Tony drawled indifferently.

  ‘No,’ Megan answered evenly, ‘Carlos was only walking along the street, if you remember? That was no doing of mine!’

  Tony felt his jaw reflectively. ‘I haven’t felt the same since,’ he said. ‘What business was it of his?’

  ‘Everything is Carlos’ business,’ Inez assured him. ‘He is a very good friend of my family—’

  ‘Inez is going to marry him!’ Megan put in.

  Tony gave her an interested look. ‘And how do you feel about that?’ he asked quietly. ‘Having your knight in shining armour snatched from under your nose?’

  ‘I don’t like him,’ Megan stated.

  Inez was plainly shocked. ‘Why not, Megan? Is it because he brought you to Mallorca against your will?’

  Megan refused to answer. ‘Let’s not talk about him!’ she said instead. ‘I feel as if he’s going to walk in on us at any moment as it is—’

  ‘And you feel guilty about that?’ Tony suggested.

  ‘Only about Inez,’ Megan said firmly.

  Inez looked decidedly ruffled. ‘But you can see that I am quite all right!’ she told Megan indignantly. ‘Now that we have a man to escort us, what is wrong with our coming here?’

  Tony’s laughter took on an edge of anger. ‘Such naivety ill becomes the pair of you in such a place as this!’

  Megan bit her lip. ‘It looks innocent enough to me,’ she said. ‘Just a lot of nice people enjoying themselves.’

  ‘And you think that is how your Spaniard would see it?’ he shot at her.

  ‘He isn’t my Spaniard,’ she prevaricated. ‘If he’s anyone’s, he’s Inez’s.’

  ‘Says you!’ Tony scoffed.

  ‘It is true,’ Inez assured him. ‘Carlos does not approve of Megan, because of what you and she did in London—’

  ‘What we did?’

  ‘In Spain,’ Megan said in a funny, remote voice that she scarcely recognised as her own, ‘women are like Caesar’s wife—above suspicion, or beyond the pale!’

  ‘Poor Megan!’

  She smiled bitterly. ‘Don’t waste your sympathy. Twenty-four hours was enough to convince me that I should be bored stiff if I stayed here long!’

  Tony stared down at his plate, separating the flesh of the chicken from the bone with elaborate care.

  ‘Poor Megan,’ he repeated.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean!’ she said sharply.

  He didn’t bother to answer. Instead he replenished all their glasses with wine and turned his attention wholly on to Inez, leaving Megan free to talk to the others who were sitting at their table. There was a young couple, blatantly on honeymoon, who were busy feeding each other from a single plate, and an elderly woman who seemed to be on her own. Megan smiled tentatively at her and was rewarded by a neighing laugh.

  ‘Are you at our hotel?’ she asked Megan.

  Megan shook her head. ‘No, no, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Thought I hadn’t seen you. Mind you, there are so many of us that one can’t get to know everyone, can one? I prefer to keep myself to myself at home, but it’s different on holiday. Never thought I’d ever be sitting here, I can tell you! What are you doing in Majorca, dearie?’ She pronounced Majorca with a strong, English ‘j’ without any concession to how anyone else might pronounce it. Megan loved her for it. She was so relaxed and ordinary and unfussed by the strangeness of her surroundings. Megan doubted that she ever worried about anything.

  ‘Are you enjoying your stay?’ she asked her.

  ‘Oh yes, it’s been lovely! A real treat to come away like this and not have to worry about the next meal until it comes to the table. What about you?’

  ‘I love the island,’ Megan answered.

  ‘Bits of it,’ the old woman agreed. ‘I liked the Caves. Real romantic, I call them! Have you been there?’

  ‘No, I haven’t,’ Megan admitted.

  ‘You should go there. The Cuevas de Drach, that’s what they’re called. Something to do with a dragon. Perhaps they’re shaped like a dragon, or something like that. I got a booklet on them, I was so taken with them, but I haven’t read it yet.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘Don’t suppose I ever shall if the truth be known.’ She pulled open her capacious handbag and rooted about inside it, turning over her travel documents, postcards by the dozen, and a collection of cosmetics, paper-handkerchiefs and the other assorted objects that women carry about with them. ‘I have it here somewhere,’ she insisted. ‘I know I have!’ With a triumphant flurry, she produced the small booklet and pushed it into Megan’s reluctant hands.

  ‘Take it, dear. It’ll tell you all about it for when you go yourself. I’ve seen it for myself and I don’t really want to know how they found it all and things like that. I just loved seeing it, though my, I was tired out after we’d walked through it all. I was that glad to sit down and see those little boats gliding around in the music. Ever so pretty it was!’ She sighed gustily.

  ‘There’s no doubt about it, my dear, you must go and see them for yourself!’

  ‘I will!’ Megan said enthusiastically.<
br />
  ‘That’s right, dear. Give you a thrill, it will, to see that!’

  Their conversation came to a forcible end as a middle-aged man, dressed in baggy striped trousers and a scarlet jacket, came into the old barn and began to play the Mallorquin version of the bagpipes. The weird noise filled the room, rising and dying away, as stirring to the blood as the pipes of Scotland, but just as inappropriate in a confined space. He walked about the barn, his cheeks scarlet with the heat and the exertion of blowing, his tunes roaring over the tables and echoing round the rafters.

  When he had gone into the other room one could hear the silence, like something living and breathing. Then, all together, everyone drew breath and went on with their conversations in a burst of chatter.

  ‘Oh, look,’ said Inez, ‘they’re bringing in the roast sucking pig!’

  The piles of plates, with their left-over chicken bones, were swiftly taken away and fresh plates, each with an enormous helping of pork on it, brought in their stead. Megan regarded it with some disfavour, feeling that she had already eaten enough, but she was amused by Inez’s frank delight in the dish that had been set before her, attacking it with a gusto that she had not brought to the chicken, or even to the sublimely delicious little baked potatoes.

  It was good. Very good. Salt and pepper had been rubbed hard into the surface of the meat, which had then been barbecued over charcoal. The result was tender and succulent.

  ‘We ought to be making a move to the dance hall,’ Tony said reluctantly. He patted his stomach, looking completely satisfied. ‘At the moment I feel more like going to sleep than working!’ His eyes swept over Megan’s face. ‘Are you still determined to sing for us?’ he asked her.

  She nodded briefly, finishing her meat in a hurry. Inez, however, made no move to hurry. ‘I want to eat my orange first,’ she insisted. ‘They’re grown here, did you know that? They taste much better when they have just been picked off the trees. You’ll have to wait for me.’

  ‘We can’t,’ Tony answered. ‘We have to go—the boys will be waiting for us. Why don’t you bring your orange with you?’