Dancing in the Shadows

by Anne Saunders

  ‘There was Sam.’

  ‘All right, I get the message. If you did meet a special girl, you’re not telling.’ A mischievous smile sat on her lips. ‘I hope being dragged here didn’t spoil anything for you.’

  * * *

  Feli, her husband Jaime, and adorable little Rosita arrived for a weekend visit. The exuberance of Feli’s greeting brought the tears stinging to Dorcas’s eyes.

  Clasping her arms about her shoulders and kissing her warmly on the cheek, Feli said: ‘This show of affection is permitted. What we have been through makes us . . . almost sisters.’ She looked at Dorcas, shook her head at what she saw, and said amusingly: ‘My almost sister is too thin and pale. Come to my house and I will feed you paella and trout baked with ham in wine, and steak served with stuffed aubergines. And masses of cream-filled pastries. And then,’ she said laughingly putting her hands to her own small waist, ‘you will be plump like me. What do you say, Jaime?’

  Jaime had a long thin face, interesting looking rather than handsome, with kind eyes beneath thickly defined eyebrows. A moustache followed the line of his laughing upper lip.

  ‘I think at times you are plump in the head.’ To Dorcas he said: ‘I second my wife’s invitation. The door of our house will always be open to you.’ He didn’t say ‘For what you did for Feli and Rosita,’ but it was there in his eyes.

  Without words a friendship was established. She knew that whatever happened she could always rely on the support of Feli’s husband.

  She had made some good friends. Rose Ruiz, who was genuine in her affection for her, even though she lived in daily dread that her son might also feel affection for Dorcas. Her kindly señor. Dorcas knew she could count on Enrique Ruiz’s friendship for life. Feli. Even Carlos’s tart-tongued grandmother had warmed to her. And now Jaime. It seemed unjust that if she did have to fade quietly out of Carlos’s life, she would have to move herself out of the orbit of his family. Not only would she have to give him up, but she would also have to surrender these good friendships.

  Her eyes felt moist—was it weakness that kept sending her in an emotional spin?—and she was glad to bury her face in Rosita’s neck and kiss and fuss the little girl with the melting smile.

  The seconds whirled off the clock that weekend. With just three extra people, the house seemed to have filled with laughter and light and, as a bonus, Rosita took her first tottering steps. One, two, three and then—smack—down she’d go on her well-padded bottom. Then she would hold her hands out to be picked up by Dor-dor, which was the best she could make of Dorcas’s name.

  Life was all roses. Even Rose Ruiz, distracted by the presence of her granddaughter, was less watchful of Dorcas. Michael was behaving in an exemplary manner. He made a point of seeking her out to slip an arm round her with brotherly predilection. He would nuzzle her neck and his grin incorporated the smiles of a million angels. ‘How goes it, kid? Forgiven me for trying to tilt your pretty ideals?’

  This was an old argument. She knew he thought she let sentimentality distort her perspective. Big of him to give in, to allow her her pretty ideals as he called this stubbornness of hers in not wanting to extract financial reward from the Ruizs. Poor Michael, he still considered pride to be cold comfort in comparison with the things money could buy.

  Which made his present attitude all the more marvellous. Unless? Well, she hated herself for nourishing the tiniest seed of distrust, but could he be pretending to let her have her own way because he was wise enough to know that an opposed ideal is apt to gain in strength?

  The weekend was so much fun that even that thought wasn’t sufficiently discouraging to wipe out the sparkle for her.

  Carlos remarked at the change in her. ‘You are looking much better.’ He took her face between his hands, scrutinizing it fiercely. ‘Perhaps you should accept Feli’s invitation to go and stay with her. My clever sister seems to have acquired the trick of putting a smile on your lips.’

  Quite suddenly the smile had to be fixed there, because it was in danger of slithering down into a frown. Did Carlos mean that he wanted her out of the house? Had she overstayed her welcome? Ought she to take Feli up on her invitation and leave with them when they went tomorrow?

  ‘I have to go away soon,’ Carlos told her. ‘There is a business trip I must make. One which I have been putting off.’

  Feelings, the impossible love she felt for Carlos, swamped her. As her inside churned she knew clearly that her idea of accompanying Feli and her family in the morning was a passing thought she had no intention of following up. She couldn’t tear herself away from Carlos, not while the thought of his going away erupted like a protest . . . a protesting and painful shock in her brain, a desolate coldness in her stomach.

  She felt angry. She hadn’t asked for this. Completely against her will her life had changed course. Who had given the permission for these drastic changes? She hadn’t. It had promised so much . . . was the promise to be broken? It wasn’t as if she’d ever thirsted for adventure. In her dull, plodding way she had been content with her drab existence. Only it hadn’t seemed drab then. She’d had nothing to compare it with. She didn’t know that life could contain such colour that her other life—already so remote that it seemed to have been lived by another girl, in another age almost—was no more than a flickering grey image of escaping memories. After knowing all this, how could she go back to that?

  Her mind stood quietly on that thought for a few seconds. Then reason returned. She had never rated more than a slim chance of holding Carlos. This was the thought she must freeze on her mind. She couldn’t imagine spending the rest of her life without Carlos . . . the rest of her life trailed out, an awfully long time . . . but she might have to.

  * * *

  The Rocas came to dinner for Feli’s last evening. Isabel wore a dress of deep apricot shading to a bodice of palest peach. Against her exotic colouring it looked wonderful. Dorcas could hardly take her eyes off her.

  When Jaime said of her own cornflower blue: ‘Very becoming,’ she took it that he was being kind because he was her friend.

  That evening there was much gaiety and just a hint of sadness. In the morning Feli and her family were going home and they would be sadly missed. It added the touch of poignancy to the party spirit.

  Dorcas found herself being drawn into conversation by don Alfonso, Isabel’s papa, and discovered him to be a sensitive and intelligent man. Michael divided himself equally between Isabel and her mama, entertaining them with his quick, witty brain. His clowning made doña Maria laugh until the tears ran down her plump face. Isabel’s cheeks were pink with delight.

  Observing them, don Alfonso remarked: ‘Your brother is a very talented young man.’

  ‘Talented, señor?’ Dorcas queried. Michael was playing the fool. Delightfully so. But was that a talent?

  ‘See how easily he eclipses every man present. Without effort he has my wife and daughter sitting in the palm of his hand. Any firm would welcome that sort of flair in an employee. Does your brother speak Spanish or Portuguese?’

  ‘A little of both. Only enough to get by, though.’

  ‘No matter. That young man would soon become fluent.’

  ‘What are you thinking, señor?’ Dorcas eased forward, trying to probe beyond the speculative gleam in don Alfonso’s eye.

  ‘I’m thinking several things. Lacking your brother’s very special charm, I’m thinking that I’m glad I have reached an age when it is no longer the first importance to compete for the attention of the womenfolk. I am thinking that this sort of charm plays a vital part in any sales drive, and that your brother would be capable of squeezing a large wine order from a staunch abstainer. I am thinking that any time he wants to change his employment, I hope he will approach me because he will be an asset to any sales organization.’

  ‘Do you want me to mention this to my brother, señor?’ said Dorcas, frowning slightly. Her biggest hope was that Michael would quickly tire of the quietness of the district
. She did not want to be even slightly instrumental in keeping him here.

  Don Alfonso moved his thumb thoughtfully across his chin. His observant eyes were pinned on his daughter’s animated face.

  ‘Let us not be too hasty,’ he decided. ‘Don’t mention anything just yet, There is an aspect of the situation that requires some further thought.’

  Dorcas wondered what aspect he referred to, but only fleetingly because Carlos was towering above them enquiring: ‘Is this a select twosome or may I be permitted to join?’

  ‘How is it,’ complained don Alfonso with a buccaneerish twinkle, ‘that when I am making progress with a beautiful señorita, along comes a dashing caballero to cut me out?’ He stood up, robustly slapping Carlos on the back. ‘Have my seat. It is time I had a word with your esteemed father.’

  Before he walked away his finger went up across his lips, reminding Dorcas to keep quiet about their conversation. He had no idea how happy she was to oblige.

  Carlos sat down, stuck out his legs in the inelegant way men do, and smiled intimately into her eyes. ‘Hello there,’ he said.

  Irrationally, stupidly and irrevocably the tender moment was lost to her because she didn’t know how to hold it. Who but Dorcas would draw attention to the popularity of one man to another; who but Dorcas would turn the conversation in just this way?

  ‘Michael seems to be making a hit with the ladies.’

  That look of boyish softness ebbed from Carlos’s features leaving his face cardboard stiff. ‘So it would appear.’

  Rose Ruiz and Feli had now joined Isabel and her mama and all four were hinged on Michael’s every word. Carlos resentful of Michael’s moment of social triumph? Carlos jealous? Could be. Bringing to mind what don Alfonso had said, Dorcas realized that Carlos was of an age to compete. And yet, looking at Carlos, Dorcas wouldn’t have said he envied her brother’s gregarious personality, but that he saw through it. She thought it would be nearer the mark to say that Carlos was a shrewder judge of character than the others.

  * * *

  Next day, Feli, Jaime and Rosita left for home, after extracting a promise from Dorcas that she would not leave Spain without visiting them. The wording shocked her senses. Did they know she was mentally packing her suitcase, that she needed but the slightest push to send her on her way?

  * * *

  A house is all the quieter for having known a child. How sorely the pequeña was missed. Dorcas had not realized how fully Rosita had occupied both her hands and her thoughts until she went, leaving her mind free to worry about Michael again.

  He went out most evenings and although Dorcas tossed out delicate enquiries, Michael maintained a mysterious silence about his activities. Although she fretted over this, she was not her brother’s keeper and she was powerless to do anything. She only hoped that whoever was responsible for the gleam in her brother’s eye was mature enough to know that Michael was a lot of a knave in his dealings with women. Thrilled and flattered the girl of the moment might be, but she could get ready to blow on her fingers. And consider herself lucky if she escaped with only a mild scorching!

  One blessing, it seemed to have got through to Michael that she wanted nothing from the Ruizs beyond the hospitality they were so generously extending. All was blissfully silent on that subject.

  One evening as they were all seated round the table—yet another occasion when the Rocas were dinner guests—don Enrique brought a special bottle of wine up from the cellar.

  ‘Today is by way of being a celebration,’ he said.

  Dorcas’s unguarded eye flew from Isabel to Carlos. For an agonized moment she thought that Carlos might have spoken for Isabel and she wondered how she could possibly raise her glass to their future happiness.

  The sparkling liquid was poured into crystal glasses with air and colour twist stems. Dorcas lifted hers, marvelling that she could act normally when the meaning was about to be snuffed from her life; when she was breaking up inside because her tenderest and most passionate feelings had been given to a man who had no use for them. She swallowed, and composed herself for the señor’s announcement.

  Surprisingly, his kindly eyes rested on her. ‘Dorcas has dispensed with the services of the physiotherapist who has been attending her. Perhaps as an old man I shouldn’t notice such things, but today also, Dorcas discarded her long skirts and I have been happy to observe that her skin is not as terribly scarred as she once feared it might be. Isn’t that worth drinking to?’

  Giving Dorcas a boisterous wink, Michael said: ‘From the way she’s been hiding her legs, you wouldn’t think they’d stop a fella’s eyes as dead as a duck full of buckshot.’

  Dorcas gasped. It was a remark better fitted to a bawdry pub atmosphere than a genteel home setting.

  ‘A fella?’ puzzled Isabel. ‘A man, sí? But stop his eyes as dead as what did you say? This I do not understand.’

  ‘What it means,’ Carlos explained with a remarkably straight face, ‘is that Dorcas has got nice legs.’

  Dorcas blushed. Relief mingled with her laughter. She was still wallowing in the rich feeling of reprieve because the señor had not announced his son’s engagement to Isabel, when Michael swayed to his feet.

  His eyes were as bright as those of a child’s who is sitting on a tight secret. His mood was devil-may-care. Ebullient. With a sinking heart Dorcas realized he’d had more to drink than was good for him.

  Lifting his glass with a flourish that was almost theatrical, he toasted: ‘My sister! The unappreciated light of my life. She may not have the brilliance of the sun, but she has the constancy of the moon. If ill-fortune had not struck, this quality would have carried her to the stardom she so coveted.’

  Dorcas flung to her feet. ‘My brother has had too much to drink,’ she claimed. ‘He doesn’t know what he’s saying.’

  She tried to damp down her anger and frustration, but it was too late. Don Enrique was looking at her through puzzled eyes. Later he would sift. His immediate concern was to make his guests feel at ease and soothe the English girl his family owed so much to—perhaps more than he realized. He loved this child and could so easily slot her into the place of a second daughter.

  ‘You must not distress yourself,’ he instructed Dorcas, reaching across the table to pat her hand.

  Michael sat down, flushed, smiling, sending his sister a look of sharp mischief that heightened the colour in her cheeks.

  This time the new protest forming in her throat was stemmed by Carlos’s disconcerting gaze. She knew she had protested too much already. If she’d kept quiet, Michael’s treachery might have been taken for drunken ramblings. Her vehemence had given his words meaning.

  ‘If you will excuse me, please, I would like to go to my room.’ She spoke now with about as much force as a spent match.

  It was Carlos who assisted her to the door, opened it for her and followed her out. His hand claimed her elbow and he steered her away from the stairs leading to the sanctuary of her room, and drew her towards the terrace.

  The night air was cool, but his voice was warm and understanding.

  ‘It’s all right. I’m not going to question you. I know.’

  As Dorcas digested this, the only sound was a metallic rustling of leaves. It was a monochromatic setting. Light from the villa made patterns on the floor. Carlos’s dinner jacket merged with the night. The shadows that stole the green from her dress and coloured it moonlight, etched his features in black and ivory relief.

  The smile he gave her, so sweetly comforting and kindly intentioned, in peaceful harmony with the surroundings, was the one perfected by man down the centuries. Dorcas was too starched with pride to smile back.

  ‘What do you know?’ she said stiffly, wishing she could let his gentleness and caring influence the mood, yet not being able to find one spark of response in her entire system.

  ‘I know that you were a dancer. That the injury to your leg finished your career.’

  ‘Michael was wrong. I couldn’t ha
ve got to the top.’

  ‘Modestly and predictably answered.’

  ‘No. Honestly answered. I quit while I was in front. Just now when you said you knew, you did mean you knew before this evening?’

  He seemed reluctant to answer that. A secret glimmered in his eye. Contemplation chose not to shadow it with a lie. ‘Yes. I’ve known quite a while.’

  ‘Michael had already told you? That exhibition just now was for nothing!’

  ‘Michael didn’t tell me.’

  ‘No? Then who did?’

  ‘Don’t you know?’

  The concern in his eyes brought the tears rushing to hers. She gritted her teeth and said: ‘If I knew I wouldn’t be asking.’

  ‘You told me yourself.’

  ‘Why don’t I remember telling you?’

  ‘It was while you were in hospital.’

  ‘Ah . . .yes!’

  ‘Why do you say “Ah . . . yes!’ in just that way?’

  ‘Because it has bothered me a lot. I’ve kept feeling there was something I should remember, but couldn’t. There’s a lot about my first week in hospital that I don’t remember.’

  ‘What do you remember?’

  ‘The nearness of you. Nothing concrete. Impressions of things. Nice things. You held my hand. There were just the two of us in this small, shadowy world and . . .’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I can’t. That’s what always happens. The memory starts to come, but never does, and I’m left tantalizingly in the air.’

  ‘You said nothing to bring a blush to your cheeks.’

  ‘May I be the judge of that?’

  ‘Your main concern was that we shouldn’t feel guilty or indebted to you. After making sure that Feli and Rosita were all right, that was your first thought. It didn’t seem to occur to you to ask if you were going to be all right. Your only thought of self was a certain preoccupation with the loss of a pair of ballet shoes. You were—are—so terribly prickly. So afraid that we might dare to want to reward you. Shame on you, Dorcas West! Did you really think we could use you and then cast you carelessly to one side?’