‘William? Are you still there?’
‘This can’t be right. I know Walter’s far from moral, but no man would marry off his daughter to a man like that.’
‘So why has he?’
William sighed. ‘The usual reason. That’s bad enough. But him! Robert Arthur Freeman.’
The name meant nothing to her. ‘Do I know him?’
‘No,’ he replied. ‘And you don’t want to.’
Twenty-Nine
The coastline of Portugal was no more than a mauve strip lying between a dark-blue sea and a bright-blue sky. Catherine committed this last sight of it to memory, waiting for the moment when it finally disappeared. She swiped at her eyes with a white-gloved hand, determined not to be seen crying. The wind tousled her shiny hair and almost succeeded in snatching her pale-lemon hat. The hat matched her outfit; the dress was a fine network of different-coloured lemons and yellows. The jacket was of the same colour as her hat and the bandeau fashionably circling her hips. She wasn’t sure the style suited her generous curves, but Sanchia had been adamant. On reflection the fiery Spanish woman had been right. She looked fresh and alluring, a fact confirmed by the appraisals she’d noticed while boarding the ship. Sailors had rushed to carry her luggage; officers had saluted as she’d passed.
A thought came to her. How far would men go to please a beautiful woman? And how far could you push them?
Sanchia, rather than watch the vanishing country, had taken to her cabin.
‘Mal de mer,’ she’d said with a doleful expression.
The last of the land-based seagulls screeched and dived over the white-topped waves. The shadow of the ship glided along, turning the indigo sea to a darker shade of green. She saw her own shadow outlined against the rail, a solitary figure, willing to brave the breeze for a last glimpse of home.
A seagull swooping down on an unsuspecting fish drew her attention away from the shadow of the ship. When she next looked her shadow was no longer alone.
‘Kate?’
Her spirits lifted at the sound of his voice. Again that smile, the creases at the corners of his eyes and his mouth, his tanned complexion emphasizing the colour of his eyes.
She became aware that her mouth was opening and closing like a fish catching flies. ‘How did you know I’d be on this ship?’
His lips twitched in a smile. ‘I didn’t, though I did hope, of course.’ His smile widened. ‘Fate is favourable to us, don’t you think?’
The truth was she didn’t know what to think. On first coming aboard, she’d looked round the tiny single cabin and remembered that lizard hiding in the wall of the house. The cabin was comparable with its secret niche, but in her mind she was free. Rather than dwell on the negatives, she purposely confronted the positive side of her father’s plans. In England she had the chance to study him; to work out his weaknesses, to plot his downfall. And he most definitely has weaknesses, she thought – as do we all.
In the meantime she toyed with Sanchia’s sense of duty to a man she was obviously in love with.
‘He asked you to befriend me,’ she said. ‘Why is that?’
Sanchia looked at her with heavy-lidded eyes. ‘He feels you should have some close company until you are married. He would like you to marry.’
‘Someone of his choice? I wouldn’t do that. I’d kill myself rather than marry someone he’d chosen for me.’
‘A young girl has not the experience to make her own choice.’
‘Well, this one does!’
Pleased with her defiance, she couldn’t stop smiling at that moment on deck, looking out at the sea.
Arthur beamed. ‘You look pleased to see me.’
Although she had resolved to be hard-headed and as elegant as an older woman, her enthusiasm bubbled over. ‘Oh, yes!’ It came out in a silly, girlish way and made her blush. Such was loneliness, she told herself. The most pragmatic plans can be pushed aside by something emotionally trivial – like being lonely.
He looked around and over her shoulder. ‘Where is your chaperone?’
Catherine grinned. ‘She’s not feeling well.’
‘Seasick?’
She nodded. ‘Strangely enough, yes. I wouldn’t have thought Sanchia had a weak stomach, but…’ She shrugged casually.
The breeze chose that moment to tug more vigorously at her hat, lifting it from her head. Arthur stopped it flying off, clamping two hands down on the crown so it sat firmly, though a bit squashed, on her head.
Catherine laughed. Arthur’s hands slipped slightly so they were cupping her face.
His hazel flecked eyes bored into hers. His smile widened to show perfect white teeth. ‘I’m so glad we met up. I think we get on really well together, don’t you?’
She nodded. ‘Yes. We seem quite well suited.’
His smile lessened. There was a moment’s silence as he turned thoughtful. ‘Would you like to come to my cabin?’
Dimples appeared alongside Catherine’s wicked smile. ‘Sanchia wouldn’t like it.’
His mouth widened into a smile. ‘Of course. And then there’s the tarnishing of your reputation to consider. All the more reason?’
His amusement was contagious and the fact that he was daring her made her feel like a naughty child. And she wanted to be naughty. She wanted to tarnish her reputation so much that her father would be mortified and shamed before his peers. What price reputation to a man like that, she wondered.
She grinned broadly. ‘Why not?’
He took hold of her hand and led her to his cabin.
‘My word,’ she exclaimed, looking around. It was probably the best on the ship and much larger than her own. The ship itself only carried a few passengers, its main business being to carry port wine from Porto to Bristol.
A double berth took up half the length of the cabin. The rest of the space was taken up with a washstand and a small chest of drawers. There was a desk, a closet and a two-seater settee against the other wall.
After inviting her to sit down, he took out a bottle and two glasses from a bracket fixed to the wall above the chest of drawers. She guessed the device on gimballed fixings kept the bottles upright on the open sea.
She turned her attention back to the dark-red liquid as it glugged into the glasses. She felt she had regained something of her freedom – if only to make mistakes or get into trouble. The woman watched her most of the time, though not back at the hotel nor here on the ship. If it seemed odd, she paid it no account. Only later did it all add up.
Arthur’s eyes fixed on hers over the top of his glass. ‘Is the port to your taste? Some people find it a little too sweet and sickly and won’t touch it unless it’s accompanied by a wedge of Stilton, crusty bread or a few biscuits. Are you enjoying this?’
‘My father has a bodega. I’ve drunk watered-down port since childhood.’ Back in Castile Villanova, she reminded herself. Only back there.
His eyes narrowed. His look intensified. ‘That’s not what I meant. I meant you’re enjoying being alone with me.’
She felt a thrill warming her as much as the smoothly swallowed port. ‘I like danger.’
He laughed. ‘I thought as much. I consider myself a good judge of character. I know a wild, adventurous woman when I see one. You’ve got the attributes of the women who followed their men to India, or those who crossed the great prairies of North America. My instinct is that you’re not really cut out to run a household or supervise a nursery, though I dare say you’d make a great success of it if you did.’
She hung on to his words. They were like pearls spilling from the interior of an oyster shell and gleaming with potential. He was charming and made her feel special. Arthur lacked the animal magnetism of Umberto and the familiarity of Francisco, but he did know how to make a woman feel good. His tales of exotic places had a lot to do with it.
‘I want to travel. Like you,’ she exclaimed, her eyes shining with excitement.
He sat beside her on the two-seater settee, his knee touching
hers. He gazed into her eyes. ‘Let’s drink to an exciting future.’
His voice was melodious, designed to charm. Her legs turned to jelly.
They sipped from their glasses, though little slipped through Catherine’s lips. Arthur had fired up her imagination with his tales of travel. The thought of settling in England was a nightmare she was loath to face. She made a snap decision. ‘I want to travel with you.’
He didn’t look as surprised as she’d expected him to be. Neither did he proclaim the idea to be preposterous.
‘Eyebrows will be raised. An eligible man and a single lady,’ he said, his eyes twinkling with what she could only interpret as wickedness.
Her eyes twinkled as a thought occurred to her. ‘We could get married.’ It seemed the obvious conclusion.
He gulped back the contents of his glass.
‘Well,’ she said when he failed to make any comment, waiting for him to laugh or call her a silly goose.
‘Well, indeed,’ he replied while pouring himself another measure from the plum-coloured contents of the decanter.
Her heart raced as she waited. At last he raised his eyes and his smile was wide enough to split his face.
‘I think it’s a positively wicked idea. Shall we drink to that?’
Feeling triumphant, Catherine raised her glass. ‘To wicked men.’
Arthur followed suit. ‘To wicked women!’
The sound of their laughter and the clink of one glass against the other was interrupted by a loud hammering on the cabin door.
‘Catherine! Catherine? Come out this moment. I know you’re in there!’
Catherine’s expression was something between a grin and a grimace. ‘My chaperone.’
Arthur laid his hand on her shoulder. ‘Stay there.’ He got up and opened the door.
Sanchia blustered in, her eyes blazing. She looked directly at Catherine.
‘Catherine. Get out of here.’
She stabbed a long fingernail in the direction of the cabin door.
Catherine stayed seated, bristling with defiance. ‘Why?’
Sanchia looked fit to burst at this sign of rebellion. ‘Because I say so!’
‘I don’t want to go.’
Sanchia’s face clouded with a deep frown. ‘You are aware of the consequences if you do not?’
Yes, she was aware. Umberto. But Father Umberto was far away now. Surely her father wouldn’t trouble himself to ruin the poor young man’s career?
Catherine weighed up the chances of this happening. Suddenly the prospect seemed remote, part of the past and another country.
She looked up at Arthur, reached out and stroked the half-smile on his face. ‘I’m going to marry this man.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’
Arthur’s eyes shot between the two women, weighing up who would win this contest of wills.
‘I’m staying here,’ Catherine said at last, her eyes meeting Arthur’s. ‘I’m going to travel the world. That’s what I want to do.’
Sanchia looked as though she were about to explode. ‘We shall see about that! I will contact your father! A message can be sent.’
She stormed off, the door slamming behind her.
‘Ah!’ said Arthur after she’d gone. ‘I think you’ve upset her.’
Rather than be taken aback at this turn of events, the clever-looking eyes danced with amusement.
Catherine studied his face. ‘You didn’t tell her it was nonsense.’
‘About getting married and travelling the world?’
She nodded.
‘I think the sooner we marry the better, purely to keep your father happy.’
‘The moment we get to England?’
She eyed this charming man and asked herself whether she could lie with him as she had with Umberto. The prospect was not distasteful, but neither was she enthused with desire.
Arthur sighed and looked thoughtful. ‘Of course, there’s no need to wait. The captain can marry us.’
‘What a romantic idea,’ she whooped, her head swimming due to the amount of port she’d just drunk. ‘Let’s!’
‘Right now?’ he asked.
Head still swimming – far more so than it ever had when drinking farmhouse port – she went with him.
Sanchia gulped when they told her. Catherine stood slightly, in front of Arthur waiting for the fireworks to start. She was used to the Spanish woman’s temper. Arthur might buckle beneath the expected onslaught, and she didn’t want him to buckle. His presence and the life he offered were a golden path that would take her away from her father. The further she travelled away from him, the less chance she had of destroying him. For the moment, at least, revenge didn’t seem to matter.
There was a crack as, huffing and puffing, Sanchia unfolded a black-lace fan and wafted it in front of her aquiline nose.
‘Your father will be furious.’
‘Good.’
Sanchia bristled. Her black eyes glowered at her rebellious charge. ‘I’m shocked. Shocked and surprised, Catherine. But if that is what you desire… and as I have your father’s authority…’
It all seemed so straightforward. So simple. Perhaps if she’d been more sober she might have been suspicious. But for now she was carried along with the sheer excitement of the idea.
‘Shall we have a celebratory drink?’ Arthur suggested.
Sanchia seemed strangely reticent about the whole affair, though she only sipped at her drink. Arthur insisted that Catherine have an extra glass.
‘Dutch courage,’ said Arthur, and sank a third glassful.
Catherine’s head was reeling and she was having some difficulty focusing. The ship’s captain beamed when they told him and remarked that he would be delighted. Sanchia and a fellow passenger witnessed the ceremony.
‘Catherine Leonora Rodriguez, do you take this man…?’
Of course she did. As she looked up into his eyes she imagined all the places they would see, the people they would meet. She said ‘yes’.
‘Robert Arthur Freeman, do you take this woman…?’
Sanchia looked triumphant. ‘Your father will be pleased.’
‘So am I,’ said Robert.
It didn’t register at first. Catherine frowned, looking from one to the other to try and understand. When it finally clicked, she felt sick.
The final confirmation of what had actually occurred came to her when the captain congratulated her. ‘So convenient that you already had your father’s approval and a copy of the marriage contract with you,’ he said affably. ‘All nicely arranged in advance.’
Catherine couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She looked at Arthur – Robert Arthur Freeman.
He laughed. ‘I had your father’s blessing weeks ago. We had to make sure,’ he said, grinning broadly as though it were all a huge joke. And the joke was on her.
There was one last vestige of the dream she wished to hold on to, yet even before she asked she guessed what the answer would be. ‘Are we going to travel?’
He looked smug. It was as though a mask had fallen from his face. ‘Only to England. My cabin first, though – after I’ve celebrated with a few drinks.
He made a clicking sound at the side of his mouth and pinched her chin. She stared at him in wide-eyed alarm. She felt such a fool and so angry that she’d been outmanoeuvred; not so much by these two, but by her father. Yet again he was responsible for a shift in her life. How could she have been deceived, she who had formed relationships with the opposite sex on her own terms?
It was as though her blood had turned to iced water, her legs seemingly encased in iron. So heavy, so cold did she feel.
‘You tricked me,’ she said to Sanchia once Arthur – Robert Arthur Freeman – was laughing and drinking with the other men.
Sanchia’s eyes narrowed like a cat that’s just swallowed a whole sparrow. ‘I know men. I know women. We are easily fooled. We hitch our destiny to unsuitable men, men who lie easily, who charm us with their far-fetched t
ales.’
Sanchia had told the truth. All lies.
Catherine made a dash for the door, wanting solitude, wanting to be anywhere but here. She paused before leaving. Her dark-grey eyes smouldered like burning coals.
‘And you should know about unsuitable men, Sanchia, men who charm and lie. My father charmed and lied to my mother – and to you?’
Sanchia’s perfect features froze but, as is the way with women who are lost in love, the thaw came quickly. She gave a little nervous laugh. ‘Don’t be silly.’
Catherine looked at her more soberly than ever before. For the first time since they’d met, she was seeing a more vulnerable woman beneath the classic confidence. The clothes, the perfect grooming and that aloof self-assurance were all a veneer. Beneath it all Sanchia was addicted – yes, that was the right word, thought Catherine. She’s addicted to an unsuitable and selfish man.
Suddenly it was as though she’d aged five years in one small ceremony. Her head still ached, but not as much as her heart. She glared at Sanchia. Her words were like ice.
‘My youth and inexperience go some way to excusing my foolishness. It’s a hard lesson to learn, but learn by it I will. But what’s your excuse, Sanchia? What’s your excuse for still trusting my father after all these years?’
Sanchia looked dumbstruck. The age-defying complexion and firm jawline sagged beneath the weight of the spoken truth.
‘At least you have all those beautiful clothes I chose with you,’ Sanchia shouted after her as she dashed out of the door. Her voice lacked its former strength.
A turning point for both of us, Catherine thought as she raced for her cabin.
Once inside she stared at the old coffer that she was so loath to open. First she had held off its opening until she was married to Francisco. Now she was married to Arthur – she hadn’t got used to calling him Robert. But still she could not bring herself to spring open its rusted hinges. Opening that box would be like the last throw of a dice. She told herself she could cope for now, though not for ever added a small, still voice.
Her new husband had tricked her. He admitted it. He did travel, though only within the confines of the wine trade and then only infrequently. Their marriage was based on a series of lies. He was not the man she had thought. Their future would not be as she’d envisaged.
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