The House of Adriano

by Nerina Hilliard

  He grinned up at her roguishly and held out a toy lorry. Aileen fiddled around with it for a moment, but the wheels seemed to be well and truly stuck, so she handed it back with a helpless little shrug.

  “I think we’ll have to get the engineer to look at it.”

  Paul Renby was not an engineer, but he received so many of Peter’s toys to mend that he jokingly called himself that. Peter unfortunately had a great habit of taking things apart, not from any destructive urge, but from sheer, downright curiosity, to see what was inside, and then was not able to put them together again.

  “I’ll go and see him now,” he said, scrambling to his feet and making for the door before she had half realised what he intended.

  “Oh no, you don’t!” She caught him in full flight by the waistband of his shorts. “You’ll wait until after dinner.”

  Paul lived only next door, all alone, in another little flat, and Aileen half suspected that he deliberately encouraged Peter to visit him, knowing how persuasive a child could be. Peter had more than once asked her if Paul was going to be his uncle.

  Having settled him down on the floor with a batch of comics, she returned to the kitchen and silence reigned. Not for long, though. About five minutes later small footsteps pattered in.

  “I’m hungry.”

  Aileen looked down at him and smiled. “I won’t be long. Want to set the table for me?”

  They had dinner and washed up, just as they did on every other evening. Aileen settled down to read the paper first and found that Duarte Adriano once again intruded into her thoughts. It was hardly likely that he should not have done, because there was a photograph of him in the paper.

  Apparently a reporter had been sent down to find out if there was anything interesting, any story to be had, from new arrivals in the country that morning. The arrival of a Spanish Count seemed to have been interesting enough to mention, but he had not got very far with any story apparently. On being asked was he in Australia for a holiday and was the Condesa de Marindos going to join him, he had replied that he was in Sydney on a personal matter and there was no Condesa de Marindos for her to be able to join him. That at least answered the question of whether or not he was married. Aileen could not help smiling slightly at the thought that if Betty saw it, it would most certainly heighten that idiotic romantic interest of hers, then she dismissed him and turned her attention to the rest of the paper.

  After a little while she laid the paper aside to do some mending, listening to music from a portable radio she had bought when they first moved in, while Peter curled up on the couch with an adventure book.

  It was a satisfactory life, she thought contentedly, watching the smooth dark head bent over the book. Sometimes one of the neighbours’ children would come in for a short time during the evening and sometimes Peter would go out to their homes instead. Other nights Aileen would be washing or ironing, cleaning up the flat or perhaps, all her chores done, just sitting down with a book or a piece of embroidery. Occasionally she would go out in the evening with Paul, either to a cinema or a dance, and young Jill Conway, a teenager from nearby who was still at business college during the day and who did baby-sitting for a little income until she was able to go out to work, would take care of Peter for her. She never felt afraid of leaving him with Jill since the girl, young as she was, was reliable. In the mornings it was always a rush of course, making the beds and getting breakfast down them to a strict schedule, so she would not be late for work. The week-ends were the highlights of the week for both of them. Aileen had to work on Saturday morning, but it was still possible to leave Peter at the Misses Carstairs’ nursery, where he was quite happy playing with the other children. In the afternoon, if it was a fine day, they would go down to the beach together, paddling in the shallows and teaching him to swim. On Sundays they were often at the beach again, but on Sundays Jill, still supplementing her pin-money and to help with her fees since her parents were not very affluent, would collect a party of youngsters and shepherd them along to a little rock pool at one end of the beach where they were always quite safe under her eagle eyes. Aileen, who loved swimming, would then plunge into the breaking surf. Sometimes she would go with Paul to one of the big, net-enclosed pools that were free from sharks, slip rubber “flippers” on her feet and pull on a glass face mask, and both of them would spend long enchanted moments exploring the underwater depths. It was at those times that she wished she loved Paul. They had so much in common.

  Having delivered Peter to the Misses Carstairs, Aileen proceeded on to work, but this morning there was a surprise for her. When she entered Mr. Jenton’s office to take him some letters that had been typed the night before but not signed because he had left early, Duarte Adriano was in the office with him.

  She hesitated just inside the office door, having received his call to enter when she knocked, but seeing who was with him did not know whether to come further in or retreat.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were busy,” she said quietly. “It’s nothing urgent. I can come back later.”

  Jenton, however, had noticed the letters in her hand. “It’s the letters from last night? Good. We’ll get them off by the eleven-thirty post.” He slanted an almost impish glance at his companion. “I don’t think Duarte will mind waiting for a few minutes.”

  Duarte! So not only did Jenton know him, he was on christian-name terms with him. Then Muddled Marius further confounded her by introducing her to Duarte Adriano. She did not know whether that was socially correct or not, but it was done, and she found her hand clasped momentarily by fingers that were slim and, even though their grip was impersonal, felt as if they could be steel-hard. He made the conventional remarks, his voice deep and melodious, with just the faintest trace of an accent, and Aileen made the same sort of remarks back. She might have known the conventional decorous air could not last, though, because old Marius Jenton had an almost boyish sense of humour and a complete disregard for any social code if he felt like it.

  He peered down at one of the letters. “Did I say that?”

  “Well, not exactly,” Aileen admitted. “But I think it was what you meant.” That particular letter had been even more muddled than usual.

  “Ah, good. Very good.” He nodded in satisfaction and scrawled his sprawling signature across the bottom of it, slanting another side glance at the dark man at the side of his desk. “She knows better than I do what I want to say.”

  Aileen had an odd feeling of flinching, mixed with antagonism, as that dark glance met hers.

  “You are lucky,” that impersonal, melodious voice remarked. “I am told that efficient secretaries are hard to find.”

  Jenton’s mischievous glance slid over Aileen this time. “Not only efficient - good-looking as well.”

  Jenton’s teasing had always amused her before, but this time she felt she could have hit him.

  “Living evidence that you can have beauty as well as brains,” he teased. “You don’t have them like that in Spain.”

  “No?” The monosyllabic word was amused. “You think our beautiful women are completely brainless?”

  Despite all her efforts, Aileen could feel a slight flush creeping up into her face, and she heartily wished that Jenton would get on with signing the letters and allow her to escape. Duarte Adriano’s eyes were fully on her now and there was something mockingly amused in the depths of their intense darkness.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Jenton went on, happily oblivious that his efficient and attractive secretary was feeling like gagging him. “I meant the type. Your women are still taught that marriage is the only career.”

  The dark brows went up a little quizzically, but there was a hint of the same mocking amusement in the glance that slid over Aileen, before the Spaniard turned back to Jenton.

  “Well, isn’t it?”

  Aileen wondered about the mocking amusement and thought perhaps he might have sensed her antagonism when their glances had clashed out in the vestibule the day b
efore, although why he should want to mock at her and why she should cause him amusement was beyond her. She had thought previously that she would hardly register on him as other than a cipher in the background. Of course old Jenton was not exactly keeping it impersonal.

  “Maybe we’d like them to keep on believing it’s the only career,” the little Jew said. “Some of them don’t believe it any more, though.” He slanted a glance at Aileen this time. “That’s right, isn’t it, Miss Lawrence?”

  Aileen, on the point of making some noncommittal reply, found her dislike abruptly heightened as she again met the cool dark glance of Duarte Adriano. Unconsciously, her chin tilted a little.

  “Yes, I suppose it is. The idea that marriage was the only career came from the times when there was no other career for a woman. They had to find a man to support them. Nowadays, of course, it isn’t necessary. Quite often girls married just to avoid the so-called shame of remaining single. Now they can be independent and stay that way if they wish.”

  “And you will wish to stay that way?”

  Once again she felt that stiffening of dislike creep up her spine. She made no effort to evade the glance of those very dark eyes and even smiled, very sweetly, but with something in her voice that was far from being a smile, although it was perfectly courteous and polite.

  “Probably. A secretarial career is a lot less troublesome than a husband about the place.”

  It was perhaps not exactly the right thing to say, but it was said with that deceptively sweet smile, and Jenton roared with laughter as he signed the last of the letters. Aileen could not help noticing though that Duarte Adriano’s eyes had narrowed slightly, and she went back to her own office with a feeling of satisfaction.

  Jenton was chuckling as the door closed behind her. “A secretarial career is a lot less troublesome than a husband,” he repeated, shaking his head. “I don’t think she was entirely joking either,” he added ruefully. “Not that I would want to lose her. She is too efficient. Best secretary I’ve ever had,” which remark was one he must have passed a couple of dozen times, perhaps because it never ceased to amaze him that anybody who looked so attractive as Aileen Lawrence could be efficient too. His previous secretary had been grey-haired and definitely most unattractive. “Had any news of your cousin yet?” he asked in one of his sudden changes of subject.

  Duarte shook his head. “Nothing - except that he was supposed to have left Queensland for Sydney.”

  “Pity I can’t help you. Anyway, knowing my connection with your family, Eric would have avoided me if he wanted to drop out of sight.” He shot his companion another of those sideways glances. “He must know that Dona Luana is dead now, though.”

  Duarte shrugged. “Eric was always stubborn. I doubt that he will contact us of his own choice. If I can find him and talk to him ... perhaps I can persuade him to come back.”

  Jenton gave him a suddenly speculative glance. “What happens if he’s married?”

  “That eventuality I shall face when and if it occurs,” Duarte Adriano, Conde de Marindos, retorted dryly.

  By the time five o’clock arrived it was pouring with rain and Aileen regarded the dripping world outside the staff entrance with a jaundiced eye. For once Sydney was not running true to form. It had started off as a gloriously sunny day, but about four o’clock black clouds had started to roll up out of nowhere and by five a heavy, pelting thunderstorm was in full swing.

  Aileen glanced at her watch and frowned. She could wait for a short while - luckily she had no shopping to do this evening - but she could not leave it too long. The rain was teeming down as if somebody had opened floodgates, and unfortunately there was about ten minutes’ walk to where she caught her tram. Even the bus, which started from a different point, was no nearer. There was nothing for it but to brave the heavy curtain of water outside, so she slipped from under the sheltering metal canopy, dashed across the road and gained the shelter of shop canopies on the other side. Unfortunately they did not continue for very far and she was just about to forsake their shelter when a powerful black car slid into the kerb at her side. She did not take any notice until a voice spoke her name.

  “Miss Lawrence.”

  She turned slowly, recognising that melodious voice with the faint, attractive accent. Duarte Adriano was leaning across from the driving seat of the car, holding open the door nearest to her. It was a tacit invitation, but she hesitated and saw a faint expression of mocking amusement flash into the dark eyes.

  “I am sure it will be quite permissible since we have been formally introduced.”

  Aileen stiffened slightly, but replied with conventional politeness. “I’m a little damp. I was thinking of your upholstery.” Privately she was feeling a sense of wonder - mixed with the odd antagonism he aroused in her, of course. An unimportant little nobody like Aileen Lawrence being offered a lift by Duarte Adriano! Wonders would never cease.

  The dark glance flicked from her to the drenched pavements. “You will become even more ... damp. Please get in.”

  That last was said with an inflection in his voice that, although courteous as always, instinctively drew obedience, and a moment later, somewhat to her own surprise, Aileen found herself relaxing against luxurious upholstery.

  “It’s very kind of you,” she said as the long, powerful car swung up the road in the direction in which she had been proceeding. “If you will just drop me at the top of the road, I can catch the tram from there. It stops almost at my door.”

  “There is no need,” he returned coolly. “If you will direct me I can take you there.”

  “It’s very kind of you,” she said again, and momentarily that brilliant dark glance flashed over her again.

  “Not at all. When there is no necessity to go home in the rain, it is foolish to do so. Besides...” there was an inflection in his voice she could not quite place, “you interest me.”

  Aileen felt a little ripple of shock go through her. “I interest you!” She hardly felt there was anything about such a mundane person as herself to interest Duarte Adriano.

  He nodded, without taking his eyes off the road. “Naturally. I had heard of these career women who arrange their lives directly against nature, but I had never met one.”

  Aileen gave a little gasp. His tone was very even and deliberate, but in some way she felt that she ought to take the remark as an insult. After all, it was tantamount to calling her unnatural. The next second, however, the tenuous antagonism that always bristled at the thought of him rose up more strongly than ever and swept over her almost uncontrollably.

  “Was that meant to imply that I’m unnatural?” she asked smoothly.

  Her tone was as even and deliberate as his own had been, but there was a little sparkle in her eyes that would have warned anyone who knew her. In any case, he was looking at the road and did not see it, shrugging slightly as he replied.

  “Isn’t anything that goes against nature unnatural?” This time he did shoot a very quick glance at her and she caught a glimpse of that mocking amusement again. “A woman’s natural career is marriage.”

  “And what about those whom nobody wants to marry? I understand there is a surplus of women in the world.”

  “I do not think that should worry you.”

  There was quite a pronounced tinge of amusement in his voice this time, and Aileen bristled, but just as she was about to give way to the sharp retort on the tip of her tongue she controlled it and spoke very sweetly instead, the same kind of sweetness that had been in her voice in the office when she had told him that women no longer had to rely on men to support them and that a secretarial career was much less troublesome than a husband about the place.

  She even smiled. “If that was meant as a kind of oblique compliment - thank you.” In the same tone, she went on, “As it happens, it doesn’t worry me, but not from the same reason. It never has particularly bothered me whether or not I married. According to statistics quite a few women are destined to remain single, and
I’m sure that nowadays a lot of them do so quite willingly.”

  “And romance?”

  Again there was that thread of amusement in his voice, as if he listened to the prattling of a precocious child, and once again it made her bristle with annoyance.

  She shrugged. “Everyone has their own attitude towards it. As for myself, I find it quite overrated - and to anticipate what I’m sure will be your next remark, I find kisses equally overrated and boring.”

  “I wonder if you actually believe that yourself.”

  “Why shouldn’t I?”

  How on earth had this conversation become so personal - and with a total stranger, somebody she did not like very much at that? Of course it was the rain that had started it - and now the rain had decided to stop and there was even a glimpse of a setting sun peeping through the clouds, as if the weather had got her into this uncomfortable discussion and now intended to leave her to it. Why hadn’t the rain stopped just a little earlier? she thought rebelliously, then he would not have had any excuse to offer her a lift. Probably he had cursed the rain himself, because she did not delude herself into thinking that he had actually wanted to make the offer. It was just that his upbringing drove him to it, because it was somebody to whom he had been formally introduced, even if she was only an insignificant little typist, and now he was whiling away the boring waste of time while he drove her home by indulging in a little mocking amusement at her expense. Immediately he had dropped her off at her flat he would most certainly forget all about her, but even so, she did not intend to sit quiescent under those remarks of his.

  “And your opinion of men?”

  A swift glance at his hawk-like profile made her suspect that there was just a hint of a smile on that firm mouth.

  “I could hardly express it now, could I?” she returned, with commendable self-control, she thought. “Especially as you’ve been so kind as to save me from a soaking.”