The House of Adriano

by Nerina Hilliard

  “I can understand that - and I cannot even begin to tell you how much it means to have him here with me.” The old lady looked down for a moment and Aileen did not interrupt her silence, but when the elder woman looked up there was a distinct twinkle in the dark eyes. “There was, I understand, some slight misunderstanding, though.”

  “With your nephew, you mean?” Aileen asked, even more cautiously. She was beginning to wonder just how much Dona Teresa knew of that little fracas.

  “You ran away, I believe.”

  The words were quite deliberate, but there was such an obvious undertone of amusement that Aileen laughed involuntarily, sitting down at her side on the damask couch.

  “Dona Teresa, are you sure you’re really Spanish?”

  The elder woman laughed. “Yes, undoubtedly so, but I think my years in Ireland must have left their mark on me.” She shook her sleek head reminiscently. “Dona Luana was most annoyed. I had to be schooled into the old ways all over again.”

  “Why did you come back?”

  Dona Teresa shrugged. “The Balgare family were most aristocratic, but also most impoverished. I do not know to this day how they managed to exist. I had Eric too, a small child to bring up. When my family came to find me, I knew that I must go back. It was the only way.”

  “Did you regret it?” The questions were coming from her quite involuntarily, but she did not think Dona Teresa would resent it. There was something about the woman, one of those indefinable suggestions of a friendship born from the first moment of meeting, the kind of friendship that did not need time to develop. Perhaps the way Dona Teresa was answering her questions was, in a way, confirmation of it.

  “Perhaps I did regret it. At first I was not sure - until Eric ran away. I should have known that they could not have bound someone who had that madcap Irish blood with Spanish restrictions.” She sighed and shook her head, and Aileen knew that her thoughts had momentarily gone back into the past. “They are completely mad ... but so fascinating. Nothing matters ... nothing worries them. Their green hills are drenched so often in rain and mists - but who cares? The sun will shine tomorrow.”

  But for her the sun had never shone again since her madcap Irish husband had ridden out into those same green hills and been brought back limp and quiet. Aileen did not need to be told that. She could read it in the things that remained unspoken.

  “And in the end, it was all for nothing. Eric ran away to freedom.”

  “You don’t think the same thing could happen to Peter?” she asked a little hesitantly, and was surprised to see Dona Teresa shake her head emphatically, with a brilliant smile.

  “But of course not. Duarte is his guardian.”

  “Doesn’t your nephew believe in the old ways, then?” A suspicion growing in her mind was feeding her antagonism with fresh fuel. Had Duarte made a pretence of some assurance to Dona Teresa that Peter should not be bound by the same sort of restrictions that had caused Eric to run away?

  “To some extent... in other ways, no. If he had been here when Eric ran away, I don’t think it would have happened. He was the one person who could have made Dona Luana listen to reason. She always did listen to him - although sometimes it was most reluctantly.” The last was added with a faintly impish smile. Then the smile died and she shook her head. “It was unfortunate. He was away at the time that the matter was broached to Eric. It happened so quickly, in one day, but I think Eric had seen it coming for some time. Duarte, who knew his temperament, had warned Dona Luana that she must not be too insistent, but she forgot or perhaps for once would not listen, even though we Spanish women are brought up to respect the wishes of the men of our family. She demanded that Eric respect his obligations to the family name. He was at the time ... keeping company with somebody Dona Luana considered not desirable.” She made a quick gesture of one hand. “You must not misunderstand me. The girl herself was merely from a poor family, nothing else. Eric liked her, but I do not think he ever thought of marrying her. They were simply friends. She was an English girl who taught languages in one of the schools. Dona Luana could not understand that friendship was possible without anything else. She demanded that he see this girl no more and announce his engagement immediately to a girl of her choice.” She shrugged. “That was the end. I asked him to wait until Duarte came home, but he would not even listen to me. He ... I think he blamed me for bringing him here.”

  As she fell silent Aileen frowned slightly, realising that Eric had not told them the full story. Probably this was what he had meant when he said the only thing he regretted was leaving his mother and some species of obstinate pride had prevented him ever going back.

  Dona Teresa looked up at last. “You are wondering perhaps why I tell you these things, when we have only just met? But I somehow do not feel that we are strangers.”

  Aileen smiled. “I felt like that too. I’m glad you could discuss it with me.”

  Dona Teresa patted her hand gently. “I am going to like having you here.” She rose to her feet with no sign of the stiffness of age. “I will let you rest now. I am sure that you must be feeling the effects of the journey, even though you look so fresh.”

  Aileen denied feeling tired, even though she was a little weary, but Dona Teresa shook her head.

  “We dine very late, as you will soon learn.” At the door she turned, the impish twinkle coming back to her eyes. “And one thing more – I realise that my nephew has certain traits that a girl of your independence will find aggravating - but please do not dislike him too much.”

  With that she was gone, and Aileen was left standing there with her parting words ringing in her ears.

  CHAPTER VI

  Aileen walked along the Gran Via trying not to gaze around her like a bemused tourist, smiling slightly to herself at one stage as she remembered Dona Teresa telling her that its name had been changed and nowadays people were supposed to call it the Avenida Jose Antonia, but nobody ever did. Gran Via it remained, whatever the voice of authority said.

  She had been in Madrid two days now and, strangely enough, had not seen much of Duarte during that time. Apparently he had matters to attend to that had piled up during his absence. Already she was finding customs different - most different, of course, was the Spanish language around her all the time, but Dona Teresa had told her that the tutor who would be arriving in about a week’s time, it having been decided that Peter should not begin lessons immediately, could also teach her Spanish if she wished. Since Duarte had never made any mention of her learning the language, Aileen had accepted immediately. She felt quite sure she would have wanted to refuse out of sheer perversity had he insisted, in spite of the fact that common sense dictated that she should learn Spanish if she was to spend any time in the country.

  Peter was accepting the changes in his life with curiosity and interest, asking innumerable questions she was not able to answer herself in most instances. The idea of remaining up in the evenings far later than he had done before was of course quite a welcome idea. As Dona Teresa had warned her on the first day she was there, in Spain people had dinner very much later, and she had discovered that it was not much use getting hungry before ten o’clock. The hot hours of midday and afternoon were spent in the traditional siesta, and in the cool hours of the evening and night the whole country woke up and came to life. Even the children stayed up until ten o’clock and later, but the midday siesta made up for the late hours.

  She had just reached the broad Plaza de Espana - surely half a dozen sports grounds could have been laid out there, it was so large - when time repeated itself.

  A car slid to a stop at her side as she looked around the Plaza interestedly. It was not raining, far from it, for there was not even a cloud in the sky, the car was different, a low, powerful American model of dark sapphire blue, but the driver was the same and, for some reason, he did not seem too pleased to see her.

  “Why are you here alone?”

  She looked a little surprised. “Why shouldn’t I b
e alone?”

  “Because it is not the custom for young and unmarried girls of good family to be out alone.” He opened the door of the car. “Please get in.”

  Aileen stiffened and the “please” did not soften her, because his tone had been quite peremptory, but before any words could leave her rebellious tongue, he added:

  “I wish to speak to you about Peter.”

  That reminded her that he was after all her employer, however he chose to frame the agreement under which she had come to Spain with Peter, so she said nothing more and composed herself on the front seat at his side with all the dignity she could muster.

  “I haven’t left Peter alone. Vanetta is looking after him - and it was Dona Teresa herself who suggested I might like to go out for a time.”

  “I think she may have also suggested that you took Manola with you,” he said evenly.

  Manola was a prim, middle-aged and unmarried connection of the family who lived with them. Aileen had not yet been able to make out what her exact status was, except that she seemed to be some sort of companion to Dona Teresa - and Dona Teresa, in a quiet, obstinate little way, shook her off whenever she could. Her reschooling into the “old ways” had evidently not been quite complete. However, since Dona Teresa had mentioned something about Manola accompanying her if she proposed to do any exploring, Aileen shot a quick look at the man at her side. But Dona Teresa had also mentioned that Duarte would probably prefer her not to go out unaccompanied, and that of course had been enough to make Aileen resolve not to take Manola with her at any price, especially as she remembered one of Dona Teresa’s remarks about Spanish women being brought up to obey the men of their family. She was not Spanish, nor was she a member of his family, so she was darned if she was going to obey Duarte Adriano any more than was necessary as somebody in his employ.

  However, her rebellion had now caught up with her. Her side glance could not tell her anything of what he was thinking though - not that any displeasure of his worried her, she told herself quickly. After all, her free time was her own. He had no business whatsoever to interfere with that.

  “Well?” he demanded. “Did Dona Teresa suggest that Manola should accompany you?”

  “Yes, she did suggest it,” Aileen replied, quite pleased to find that her voice sounded cool and unconcerned. “However, I’m quite used to going out on my own, so I didn’t think it was necessary.”

  “Perhaps, but here customs are different. I do not wish to remind you of the terms under which you came out here.” Suddenly she understood why he had insisted on that odd bargain. If she was an honorary member of his family, he no doubt thought he would have more control over her, and in a way it did accomplish just that. However much she disliked him, she could not close her eyes to the fact that her independence was very neatly trapped. She had agreed to it and her own sense of self-respect would not allow her to break the terms of it, knowing that any real member of his family would have considered such restrictions quite natural.

  “So that was why you insisted it should be on those terms,” she said slowly.

  “It is for your own protection,” he returned in the same even voice. “Some of our customs may seem ridiculous, at least to outsiders, but we have reason for them.”

  “I am sure you have, senor.” Her voice was a little crisper this time, because she was realising that once again he had won. “Very well, I will take Manola with me next time I go out - but, heavens above! It’s going to be awkward to do any real exploring.” She could not help the little outburst. “You know how much Manola hates walking.”

  He smiled slightly at that, without the least trace of anything mocking, and for some odd reason she felt the breath catch momentarily in her throat.

  “So you wish to explore. We must take that as a compliment to Madrid.”

  Aileen attempted to shrug casually, wondering what had caused that momentary breathlessness of a few seconds ago. “It’s natural to want to explore any new city.”

  He nodded. “That is so. Why didn’t you take the car?”

  She gave him a surprised glance at that. “I didn’t think of it. Anyway, I can’t drive.”

  “You would not have been allowed to in any event,” he returned coolly. “Juan is the chauffeur. He is at your disposal at any time, together with the car.”

  Aileen actually had to bite her lip to keep back a sharp retort and by the swift side glance he gave her, reading the sardonic amusement in his dark face, she realised he had guessed what she was feeling.

  “I realise it is hard for you to curb your independence, but ultimately you will find that there are compensations.”

  The idea of floating around in that luxurious cream-coloured car, chauffeur-driven, with the Adriano crest glinting on its radiator, was rather intriguing, but it was a “compensation” that meant little to her at the moment.

  “Thank you, senor,” she said tightly. Even though she had been in Madrid only two days it had quickly become more natural to fall into the country’s own mode of address and call him senor, especially as she had noticed that, almost from the moment of arriving in the country, he had fallen into the same custom. However, styles of address were not what were under discussion at the moment, although there did not seem anything to add on the previous subject. She would have to give in, and that was all there was to it. Perhaps, as he had said, she would find there were compensations. It was not everyone who could find such a post, an insistence that one became a member of the family instead of an employee, an “allowance” instead of a salary and the right to order the car to take her anywhere. Independence or not, she might have enjoyed it under other circumstances. The only trouble was, it went so directly against everything she felt for Duarte Adriano to have to submit to his instructions.

  “Spanish women are brought up to respect the wishes of the men of their family,” Dona Teresa’s voice echoed in her memory.

  Damn the man! He had been far more subtle than she could ever have realised when he proposed those terms before leaving Melbourne. Whatever he felt about her personally - and she did not care in the least what his opinion was - he must have judged correctly enough that she would not break any bargain, however galling it might become when she realised its full implications.

  “You said you wanted to discuss something about Peter,” she said, changing the subject before any unguarded or unwise retort could leave her tongue.

  “I have nothing to discuss as yet.”

  “Then why did you say you had?” If she was not talking to him as one would to an employer, then he had only himself to blame. It was he who had proposed the terms of her coming here.

  “It was necessary, otherwise I suspect you would have stood and argued that you wished to walk.”

  That was said with such cool imperturbability, even a hint of that urbane charm he could assert when he chose, that she almost gasped, then he proceeded to disarm her by taking her on a driving tour of the city.

  It was difficult to remain annoyed in such circumstances, especially as she was really exceedingly interested in everything around her, and that attractive voice with its slight accent could comment even more interestingly on notable buildings and other things around them.

  They drove down the three-mile-long Calle de Alcala, where she saw the colourful flower beds and the impressive Puerta de Alcala, the Paseo del Prado and the statue of Neptune, and at last came to the Puerta del Sol, where there was really no gateway at all, as there was in the Puerta de Alcala, but merely another plaza with a dozen or so streets coming into it and more flower beds. The modern, wide streets finished there. It was a maze of crowded buildings and twisting, tortuous byways, but was supposed to be the centre of Madrid.

  Then they drove to University City, with the Guadarramas in the distance. When they left University City, he drove around for a short time longer, then returned her to Marindos.

  Aileen went up to her room with her thoughts rather in a turmoil. She was beginning to wonder just what to
make of him. True, he still infuriated her and she was quite sure she still disliked him, but there had been times during the morning when she had almost forgotten that.

  Peter greeted her boisterously and distracted her thoughts away from Duarte, for which she was rather glad. She was finding they had a tendency to dwell on him a little too much. Peter’s childish enthusiasm over the ornamental pond he had seen, with its tiny coloured fish, was a good antidote, though, and she gave in to his persuasions that he take her to see the pool.

  To get there they had to cross the patio, and there she saw Duarte again, coming from one of the rooms that led on to the pillared terrace and thence down into the patio. For a moment she hesitated, wondering whether she should pass him by with a brief smile, but before she could make up her mind, he came over to her.

  “Peter wants to show me the fish pond,” she said a little too quickly, rushing into speech and conscious again of that odd breathlessness. It could not, of course, be because she had suddenly become acutely conscious of his masculine attraction, the tall graceful body with its inherent pride handed down by generations of Condes de Marindos, the aquiline features and the dark eyes that could be so cool and remote or sardonically mocking, sun glinting with a blue-black sheen on the dark, straight hair.

  “So already you do more exploring,” he said, looking from her to Peter. He smiled down at the boy, that brilliant smile that could so illuminate and alter his chiselled features. “Perhaps you will show me the fish pond too.”

  Peter, completely without inhibitions, gave him a surprised look. “Don’t you know where it is? It’s your house.”