Question of Love

by Oliver, Marina

*

  He spent the next hour showing Pippa where he kept his tapes, several dozen of them, and a drawerful of closely filled notebooks.

  'I dated the entries in the books, usually, but more often forgot when I taped things. But I did finish one tape before starting the next so it should not be impossible to deduce when I made them. But they are mixed in content, I tended to jump from one thing to another as recalling one episode reminded me of others. Does it sound impossible?'

  'Not if you can date the incidents described,' Pippa said cheerfully, although the sheer amount of the material had rather daunted her.

  'Here is my computer,' Gene said. He switched it on then selected a tape and put it into the player.

  'I need some air while it is still fairly cool, Pippa. I'll leave you to experiment for an hour or so and then we'll have lunch.'

  Pippa was finding her way round the computer when Maria brought in some coffee.

  'Oh, thank you, Maria,' she said, glancing at her watch. 'I hadn't realised the time had gone so quickly.'

  Maria sniffed. 'Mr Watson loves gadgets, we have every new type in the kitchen,' she commented. 'If you get stuck Il Conde Juan will help you, he is an expert on computers and such.'

  'I thought he was a wine producer,' Pippa said, surprised.

  'So is every Spanish landowner in the vine growing areas,' Maria responded.

  'What else would they do? Il Conde has a large business making these gadgets, in America,' she explained. 'That is his real interest, the vineyards are only what he inherited from his father.'

  She went out and Pippa sat back to enjoy her coffee. She switched on the tape, feeling ready to begin typing but wishing to listen to the tape first. Gene's voice filled the room, a full strong actor's voice, and she hastily turned down the volume.

  For a moment the words did not make sense and she realised that she had the second side of the tape. She let it run through, gradually picking up the threads of the story Gene was relating. It concerned some dubious sounding financial deal made by the president of an international company and one of the large film studios, and had a great deal to do with a young starlet in whom the president appeared to have a romantic interest.

  'Whew!' Pippa said softly as the recording ended. If all Gene's revelations were of such a nature the memoirs would create one of the greatest scandals for years.

  *

  She turned the tape to the beginning and began to transcribe. By the time Gene returned and Maria announced lunch she was feeling confident. It was only Gene's laughing command that she was to spend the afternoon out of doors or resting that dissuaded her from doing more all afternoon.

  'Go and swim, or walk up to the headland,' Gene suggested. 'The bay is as private as it can be apart from when boats come in exploring, and there are no houses on the coast for some distance. The farms were built inland for shelter and protection against Moorish raids. The nearest is a mile away along the valley.'

  Pippa spent the afternoon lazing on the beach, and after a swim in the surprisingly cold water went back to sit on her balcony writing letters home.

  She started one to Frank and then paused. Ought she to give him the slightest encouragement to hope? She was becoming more and more certain she would never marry him but to send him friendly letters as soon as she had arrived in her new job could give him the wrong impression. She screwed up the sheet and began another letter to Dolores, then exclaimed in annoyance as a stray gust of wind blew the screwed up paper off the table and it floated down into the garden.

  It was almost time for dinner so Pippa changed out of the shorts she had worn on the beach into a cool apple green dress, slim and flattering to her figure, making her appear taller and feel sophisticated. She brushed her curls which had become springier after her swim and the quick shampoo she had given them as she had a shower, and wished for the hundredth time that she looked less youthful. Straight hair would, she had often thought, enable her to seem more sophisticated, and she envied women who could sweep up their hair into smooth rolls or cut it to give a sculpted look to their heads.

  She opened the door into the sitting room and then paused. Gene was seated in his favourite chair but standing by one of the windows, looking out over the bay, was his nephew. Pippa had not heard him return and was unprepared to face this man who must have such an unflattering impression of her.

  The Count, however, gave her a friendly smile and walked across the room to meet her.

  'You must be Miss Dawson,' he said calmly. 'Juan y Correa, at your service.'

  Pippa straightened her shoulders and raised her chin as she turned towards him, and he eyed her appreciatively.

  'Welcome to the Casa Blanca,' he went on smoothly. 'I am happy to make your acquaintance.'

  She raised her eyebrows sceptically and his lips twitched slightly as he took her hand in his and drew her towards him. For a moment she thought he intended to raise it to his lips and she stiffened involuntarily. He was not going to make her forget his previous unflattering comments by using his obvious charm, the effect of which he was no doubt fully conscious. His fingers tightened over hers and he led her across to the drinks table.

  'What will you drink?'

  'She likes your sherry, Juan,' Gene interposed with a slight laugh. 'Come and sit down, Pippa. Did you enjoy your swim?'

  'Yes, thank you, although the water was colder than I had expected.'

  'It doesn't get really warm until next month. You haven't seen the heated pool yet, then?' the Count asked, bringing a glass of sherry across to Pippa. She took it, careful to avoid touching his long, slender fingers.

  'No. I recall now you said something about a pool, Gene, in London.'

  'It is to the side of the house opposite the main door. Small but always warm. I usually take a dip in the morning if I am feeling well enough. The doctors permit me that exertion, and walking.'

  'You must take it easy, Gene,' the Count said. 'I shall depend on Miss Dawson to see that you do not exert yourself too much on this new project, if you really are determined to go ahead.'

  *

  Luis then announced dinner and the Count helped his uncle to rise from the deep chair, and offered him his arm as they went towards the door.

  'No, I can manage, Juan. Look after Pippa for me.'

  The Count turned to look at Pippa, a steady close regard that made her suddenly tremble nervously. Hesitantly she took the proffered arm and went through to the formal dining room which opened from the sitting room and was furnished in a similar style.

  'Thank you, sir,' Pippa said in a strained voice as the Count held her chair for her, and he laughed softly.

  'Call me Juan, if you please, and pray permit me to address you as Pippa. If my uncle claims that privilege I will do so too.'

  He smiled deep into her eyes as he bent over her, then moved away to seat himself opposite while Gene sat at the head of the polished walnut table, set with gleaming silver and spotless white napery.

  Pippa fumed silently. How self possessed, almost complacent, he was, she thought to herself. And why, when he so clearly resented the work she was doing and thought her conceited and sly, was he taking such pains to be friendly?

  She responded to his remarks with as cool a detachment as she could contrive, although she was certain he was inwardly laughing at her.

  Luis served the meal expertly and Pippa did full justice to the delicious fish soup, followed by goulash, a selection of French cheeses and fresh fruit. Gene drank sparingly of the excellent wines but he took a full glass of brandy when they returned to the sitting room. Juan opened the doors of a discreet cupboard to reveal a modem, elaborate set of stereo equipment, and selected a record of classical guitar music which had, he explained to Pippa, been made recently by a friend of his.

  She listened intently, marvelling at the skill of the artist, and lost in the haunting, evocative melodies. Then the tempo changed suddenly and she found her feet tapping to the rhythm of the traditional flamenco dancing.
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  'Have you seen our Spanish dancers?' Juan asked, and she came out of her abstraction with a start.

  'No, never, apart from briefly in some film. I forget which.'

  'Perhaps you would give me the pleasure of your company one evening and I will take you to see some local performers,' he suggested.

  'Good idea, Juan. I've been afraid Pippa would find it lonely here,' Gene said, and before Pippa could object she found the two men calmly making plans for her to dine with Juan on the following evening and see a visiting troupe of dancers who were performing at one of the larger hotels in Cuidadela.

  Pippa lay awake for some time longing for the courage to repudiate the arrangement. Angrily she recalled the various looks of disdain or amusement she had seen on the Count's face, and shivered with apprehension at the thought of being alone with him. She had never met anyone so cool and sophisticated before, she realised, who moved in the highest circles of European nobility and American industrialists and film moguls.

  He would be sure to find her gauche and provincial and thoroughly boring, when he was not being contemptuous of her shortcomings or laughing at her.

  She squirmed with helpless fury at being subjected to his closer scrutiny.

  *

  The Count was not visible at breakfast, and Gene told her he had taken out a sailing boat long before either of them had risen.

  'He said he would expect you to be ready at eight. Now, how are you getting on with my tapes?'

  Pippa laughed. 'I think I can sort them out. I should be able to do quite a lot today.'

  'Good. I want to go through my files, there are several letters I would like to read again to refresh my memory, so I'll see to that and keep out of your way. We'll have coffee together on the patio and compare progress.'

  That morning Pippa did a considerable amount of typing and after lunch she wandered up onto the headland. The ground was sparsely covered with low bushes and a few straggling trees, and on the far side of the headland she found a small rocky cove and a tiny sandy beach. The next headland was higher, and at the end the rock had been eaten away to form a narrow archway leading through, at a place a few feet below the waterline, into what looked like a much larger bay.

  She stared out to sea. A few sails were visible and she wondered whether one of the boats belonged to the count, but they were all too far away for her to distinguish the occupants. Again she wondered why she had permitted him to date her and was tempted to plead the excuse of a headache.

  That would be cowardly, she told herself firmly. Why should I be afraid? He cannot harm me and he was pleasant last night, whatever his opinion of her was. It occurred to her that he might have agreed to Gene's suggestion because he saw it as an opportunity to persuade Pippa against his uncle's project. But she would not be influenced by that, she thought scornfully.

  Nevertheless she was restless and went back to the house and changed into a sleek white bathing suit, then found her way to the heated pool where she swam several lengths until she felt exhausted.

  She was floating on her back, her eyes closed against the bright sun, when she heard footsteps approaching along the patio. They turned the corner of the house and there was silence as the paving gave way to grass. Pippa looked up to find the Count staring down at her, an amused smile on his face.

  'Is it more comfortable than the sea?' he enquired, and Pippa spluttered as she let herself sink into the water when she opened her mouth to reply.

  As she surfaced she found his hand stretched down towards her and grasped it while she coughed out the water she had swallowed.

  'Come out,' he ordered, and instinctively she obeyed the note of authority in his voice and reached up towards his other hand.

  With apparently little effort he hauled her out of the water onto the surrounding grass, where she sat looking up at him in sudden confusion, for he was inspecting her shapely curves with enjoyment.

  'I must go and change,' she said, struggling to her feet, but before she could escape his hand had captured one of hers again.

  'Stay a while. It is hot, you will not suffer. I've asked Maria to bring out some beer. Please join me.'

  She looked at him doubtfully, an uncertain frown in her eyes.

  'I trust you do not feel embarrassed sitting here alone with me,' he added smoothly, grinning at her as she blushed hotly.

  'I am surprised you should wish for my company when you think so badly of me!' she retorted with spirit. 'And there is no need for you to obey Gene and take me out,' she added, 'for I do not expect to be squired about by you.'

  'Think badly of you?' he queried, ignoring the second part of her comment. 'Why should I do that?'

  Pippa was beginning to wish she had not started this topic of conversation, for his eyes were far too keen as he stared into hers.

  'In London you thought I was conceited,' she said at last.

  He laughed, a deep, resonant sound.

  'Not at all - just properly appreciative of a delightful picture. Come, sit down beside me. I do not bite.'

  'And you accused me of eavesdropping,' she went on hurriedly. 'That was unjust for I could not help overhearing what I did the day I arrived! I certainly had no wish to. I want nothing except to do my job properly, I am not concerned with anything else.'

  He looked at her ruefully, his eyes twinkling in amusement.

  'I apologise humbly. I was angry, distraught, and worried about Gene, but it was unforgiveable of me to take it out on you. I hope you will show your forgiveness by joining me now for a beer and enduring my company tonight. It is not a duty to me, I assure you. I have every wish to enjoy your company.'

  *

  Pippa was not at all sure that she wanted to go out with this aggravating, disturbingly arrogant man, but she could not reject his apology without seeming churlish. She subsided onto the grass beside him. He grinned approvingly and then turned to stare out towards the sea, an abstracted look in his eyes. Pippa was able to examine him closely. Dressed in a white short-sleeved shirt, open at the neck, and close fitting white jeans, his muscular limbs were obvious.

  He was decidedly handsome, Pippa told herself, with his finely moulded bones and dark skin, and the contrasting brilliantly blue eyes. Sitting sideways she noticed a scar a couple of inches long just behind his ear, visible where his hair, windswept from his sailing, had been disarranged. She had a sudden urge to place her finger on the white scar tissue and felt herself colouring as he suddenly turned towards her.

  He raised an eyebrow slightly, but before he could speak Maria appeared with a tray and beer and glasses. Making a business of pouring the beer for them both, Pippa sought desperately for a safe topic of conversation.

  'You grow vines, Gene says, in several parts of Spain. Why are the wines different from each other?'

  'Many reasons, the soil, the types of grape, the climate and the treatment once they are picked,' he said, looking at her with a glint of amusement in his eyes as if he knew full well she had seized on the topic merely to avoid more personal conversation.

  He went on to describe the process of cultivation and Pippa found herself genuinely interested.

  'It is a pity there are no longer vineyards on Minorca, but one day I hope to be able to show you my own.'

  Pippa thought it most unlikely and soon afterwards made her escape on the plea she ought to spend a couple of hours typing for his uncle before preparing to go out that evening.

  She found it difficult to concentrate on the screen before her, however, for the Count's handsome face and the eyes that glinted with amusement at her discomfort or roved appreciatively over her almost naked body kept interposing themselves between her and the words she had typed. Eventually she abandoned the attempt to concentrate and went to her room to select a suitable outfit for the evening.

  She had two long evening gowns and a couple of short dresses suitable for dining out. She determined on the simplest short outfit, a long sleeved blue silk dress and then, when she was almost ready, t
hought it would not be dressy enough for a date with a Count.

  In somewhat of a panic she changed into a red ball gown, overlaid with white lace, which she had worn to formal college affairs. It was cut low across the bosom, with tiny puff sleeves and a full skirt. She surveyed herself in the mirror then suddenly began to wriggle out of the gown. It was far too revealing, far too elaborate for a simple dinner date. Casting it on the bed she took her other long dress, a plain sheath with a high neckline in a gold and brown figured material, from the wardrobe and began to scramble into it.

  At last, somewhat breathless, she was ready. She slipped on gold sandals, clasped a gold bracelet about her arm, and picked up her gold filigree evening bag. It was ten past eight.

  The Count, who was calmly sitting in the drawing room sipping sherry, did not seem aware of her lateness and poured her a sherry without asking her preference.

  'You look very pretty, Pippa,' Gene said admiringly, and Pippa smiled nervously at him. 'Wish I was young enough to take you out myself,' he added.

  'You have Pippa to yourself during working hours,' the Count said lightly.

  'I claim a share of her attention. Are you ready, Pippa?'

  Pippa gulped the rest of her sherry and he came across to take the glass from her hand. Momentarily their fingers touched and she shivered. She glanced up into his face and her eyes met his. The expression in them was strange, enigmatic, and then suddenly he smiled and her heart began beating faster, and she was unable to breathe.

  'Come,' he murmured, taking her arm. 'Good night, Gene.'

  'Good night, Juan. Have a good time, Pippa, and stay late in bed tomorrow if you are late getting home.'

  Pippa made some response but she could not say what it had been. As if in a dream she walked out of the house with Juan, feeling herself as weak as a puppet and as completely at the mercy of the man who held her arm and guided her to the car waiting at the foot of the steps. The strange feeling did not leave her until, on reaching the outskirts of Cuidadela, the Count began to speak again and tell her details of the history of the old capital of the island.

  *