The House of Adriano

by Nerina Hilliard

  Dona Teresa turned to Aileen with an almost conspiratorial twinkle in her eyes when the other woman had gone.

  “Good. Now we can really talk.” She made a quick gesture with one hand that was very definitely latin, however little some of her other traits might be. “She is very good and very correct, my poor Manola - but such a bore. I am glad you came here.”

  Aileen could not help smiling, shaking her head at the same time. “Sometimes I don’t know quite what to make of you.”

  The elder woman smiled in a way that indicated she thought that a compliment rather than otherwise.

  “I always thought that the ... the heads of continental families were supposed to be very stiff and formal.”

  Dona Teresa’s dark eyes twinkled again and there was no mistake this time. It was a decidedly mischievous, even impish twinkle.

  “You should have met Dona Luana,” she said. “There you would have found your very stiff and formal matriarch.”

  “Was ... was Dona Luana your mother?” Aileen asked a little hesitantly, wondering if that was so why Dona Teresa always referred to her as Dona Luana.

  The elder woman nodded. “You wonder that I do not refer to her as my mother?” she queried. A little shrug accompanied her answer. “Sometimes I found I could hardly think of her as such. During my years in Ireland I lost touch with my family here ... and then, when I did come back, she caused so much trouble for my poor Eric that I found I could give her very little affection any more. She did not even try to understand that there are other ways than those we follow here, and that Eric had spent much of his life among very different circumstances. Many of our Spanish customs are outmoded. Some are good, some are not. She would understand none of that.”

  “Did she...” Aileen paused, hardly liking to go on now with what she had been about to say, but Dona Teresa’s smiling glance of enquiry brought the words out before she could stop them. “Did she try to arrange a marriage for your nephew as well?”

  She hoped fervently that the question was not a faux pas. It was hard to know what questions were taboo and which were quite safe. However, whether it might have been taboo or not, Dona Teresa showed no signs of taking offence.

  “Yes ... but Duarte was quite different, of course.”

  “Yes, he is,” Aileen agreed. She could see hardly any points of similarity between Eric and his Spanish cousin.

  “She did not succeed there either,” Dona Teresa said, with just a slight suspicion of relish in her voice. “Duarte said that he would choose his own bride and instructed that the matter was to be left so.”

  Aileen could imagine the cool, authoritative voice saying that, so firmly, in a tone that completely denied anything but compliance, and even the formidable Dona Luana had had to give in.

  “Do you still dislike him so much?” Dona Teresa asked abruptly, taking Aileen by surprise. Even so, she had enough control of herself to be able to answer calmly.

  “No ... of course not. I think I’m beginning to understand him better now.”

  That was definitely a misstatement, because she did not think she would ever be able to understand Duarte Adriano, nor had she made up her mind whether or not she still disliked him. On certain occasions there was no doubt about it at all, but at other times she would find her antagonism wavering - and she was much too conscious of that dark attraction of his. That was beginning to become dangerous in some way she could not yet quite define.

  “Good,” Dona Teresa said approvingly - very approvingly.

  Aileen could not think why she should show so much satisfaction, unless perhaps it was because there was always a feeling of unease when two people living in the same house were antagonistic towards each other - not that she thought Duarte was really antagonistic towards her. As she had told herself many times before, whatever Aileen Lawrence felt towards the Conde de Marindos would cause the latter no concern. His feelings towards her were probably indifference, tempered by irritation when she disobeyed any of his orders.

  “You liked Senor Renfrew?” Dona Teresa asked suddenly, switching the conversation from the subject of her nephew.

  Aileen smiled. “What I saw of him.”

  “You will know him better when he calls here.” She was facing the door, which at that moment opened almost silently. She smiled and said something in Spanish, so that Aileen glanced round.

  Duarte was just entering, tall and immaculate as usual, his black hair as smooth and shining as a raven’s wing, his aquiline features quite inscrutable.

  “Then we must arrange that he joins our party next week if he is free,” the smooth urbane voice replied, and Aileen guessed that Dona Teresa had said something about the American. “I am sure that Aileen will welcome some small relief from too many Spanish customs.”

  There was just something in his voice she could not place, and she was also surprised that he should have brought out her Christian name like that, so smoothly and effortlessly, as if he had been using it for ages. She did not know whether that was meant to suggest that she should use his own Christian name.

  “But do not conceive any ideas of making a match,” that urbane voice went on, with just a trace of something mocking in it this time. “I am informed that a career is far less trouble than a man about the place.”

  “Nonsense!” Dona Teresa retorted, turning to Aileen. “You are not one of these women who are destined for careers.”

  “Your temerity is to be admired,” Duarte murmured, that mocking inflection still faintly apparent in his voice. “I myself would not dare to argue the point any more.”

  Aileen clenched her fingers just slightly. There was no question of dare about it. He considered he had the right to make whatever remarks he chose, and it apparently amused him to deride her supposed preference of a career to marriage. She had never meant it in the first place, but now she seemed stuck with it. In any case, she was certainly not going to admit it to him, so she turned to Dona Teresa, endeavouring to treat it lightly.

  “I thought you would support me,” she smiled. “Not let me down like that.”

  “Perhaps if you had been one of these horse-faced women with cropped hair and a gruff voice - perhaps then - but no, I do not support you this time.”

  “I do have cropped hair,” Aileen pointed out, still trying to keep it on a light level.

  “But not too cropped,” Duarte’s voice put in. “And hair which seems to have moonbeams tangled in it.”

  Something in her body twanged, shaking her from the very tips of that silvery fair hair down to the small feet encased in spotless white sandals, then somehow or other she managed to control the odd breathlessness it brought in its train.

  “Thank you, senor.”

  He inclined his dark head just slightly at that, with the faintest trace of a smile, as if he knew the unexpected remark had caused her a whole galaxy of odd feelings and was amused by it. He probably thought she was not used to compliments. Well, she wasn’t. At least, not compliments of that type.

  “Be sure, my child, that you will not be allowed to continue with these odd ideas no how your life should be arranged,” Dona Teresa remarked smilingly. “Some day you will find a man who will change your mind for you.”

  “Just give me plenty of time to marshal my defences if you get any ideas along that line,” Aileen said with a smile at Dona Teresa. She glanced at her watch and stood up. “I think I’d better go to find Peter now. He must have just about finished his lessons. Please excuse me.”

  Duarte was at the door, very meticulously opening it for her, and she thanked him with just as meticulous politeness and went upstairs to where Peter was just about to burst out of the attractively furnished little schoolroom.

  Barton Renfrew, the American, called at Marindos the following afternoon and accepted instantly when Dona Teresa mentioned the dinner party. Manola had one of her habitual headaches and was once again lying down, so that the conversation quickly became impersonal.

  “How long are you
over here?” Dona Teresa asked, and then with a quick little nod she answered her own question. “Ah, but I remember now. You said it would be some months.”

  Renfrew nodded. “We’re doing a bit of reorganising in the Madrid office. It should take about three months to get things settled down.”

  Aileen found herself wondering what he did for a living. His clothes showed a certain affluence, although he did not wear them in that impeccable, distinctive way that Duarte did. Nor did he have the latter’s poise and urbanity. Renfrew was a completely different type of person, though. She could not imagine anyone becoming instinctive antagonistic towards him, as she had felt towards Duarte before she had even known his name.

  “Are you over here on holiday too?” he asked after a moment, turning to Aileen.

  He had already been told that she came from Australia, but nothing of what had brought her here, and for a moment Aileen did not know what to answer, but Dona Teresa solved it for her.

  “No, she comes to live with us. At last we have found what happened to my Eric,” whereupon she gave him a quick, slightly fictitious account of how Peter had been found, mentioning nothing of Aileen’s “kidnapping” of Peter - and giving the impression, without actually saying anything, that the girl was some kind of distant relative. At least that was how it sounded to Aileen herself.

  “Did you know Eric?” Aileen asked.

  “Very slightly. I’ve been backwards and forwards here over the last ten years or so. How are you liking Madrid?” he added, as if he found other subjects more interesting than Eric. In any case, Aileen told herself, he probably had not known Eric very well, and even then it would have been a long time ago.

  “What I have seen of it I like very much,” she answered.

  “Maybe you’ll let me ’show you some of the highlights,” he suggested. “There are a lot of places I’d like to look up again myself.”

  “Ah, these swift American tactics,” Dona Teresa said with a little smile. “It is we Spanish who have the reputation for taking too many fences too quickly where a pretty girl is concerned, but sometimes I wonder if it should not perhaps be this lone star state of Texas that should really bear that reputation.”

  Renfrew grinned, unabashed. “Maybe I’m merely trying to get in first because of the reputation you’ve got over here.”

  “You may perhaps have a point there,” Dona Teresa agreed. “Who knows what will happen when we introduce her at this dinner party?”

  Aileen laughingly said that it was all nonsense and skilfully avoided either accepting or refusing his invitation. She wanted to be more settled down into some sort of routine before she accepted any invitations. After all, Peter was her first charge.

  The conversation after that became general, still light, and it was obvious that Dona Teresa liked the young American. After he had gone she looked over at Aileen with a hint of her mischievous smile.

  “A very eligible man, my child. A prosperous ranch, and oil wells too. We must arouse your interest.”

  Aileen shook her head. “I like him - but I wouldn’t marry anyone for their money ... even if Mr. Renfrew was interested in me.”

  “He is interested. Of that I am sure.”

  Embarrassed, Aileen managed to turn the subject, talking about more impersonal matters, and somehow or other ultimately the conversation got round to Duarte.

  Dona Teresa told her, “Duarte was always a responsible boy. His father died when he was twelve, and he was a devoted son to his mother until she too died, two years later. Then Dona Luana of course took full control.”

  Of course. That sounded just like Dona Luana, Aileen thought. She was heartily glad that she had never been put to the trial of meeting that formidable matriarch.

  Dona Teresa suddenly chuckled. “But not for long. Duarte was growing up. He was the head of the family and he took his responsibilities seriously. He was gentle with Dona Luana, but quite firm.” She nodded almost to herself. “And soon now I think he will face the responsibility that up to this time he has evaded.” Aileen gave her a curious glance and she smiled. “His marriage, of course. Sometimes I think he has decided,” she went on musingly, as if talking to herself, perhaps having momentarily forgotten that she had an audience. “And then I think it is someone else. But this time I think I am right. It will be Alesandra Pereira.”

  Aileen found her antipathy rising again at the so very obvious inference that if the great Duarte Adriano’s choice alighted on a girl there would be no question of her refusing him, yet at the same time she did find herself wondering what this Alesandra Pereira was like.

  Beautiful? But of course she would be beautiful. Duarte would demand everything in the woman he eventually chose to carry on the honoured name of Adriano - beauty, position and probably wealth too. No doubt, because she had been brought up that way, the girl would accept it equably, but, Aileen told herself, she was heartily glad that things were not arranged that way where she came from. There was only one good basis for marrying, and that was love. People could talk all they liked about common sense being the best basis for marriage, that one should choose for background, mutual understanding and liking of the same things, but even though it might make for a steady, unruffled marriage, there could be no heights and depths in it, no real life.

  Duarte Adriano and this Alesandra Pereira could have their type of marriage, she told herself once again - but still could not help wondering about the girl he would one day marry.

  CHAPTER VII

  The dinner party seemed well on the way to becoming a complete success. The food was wonderful, although Aileen was quite sure she did not have the faintest idea what she was eating half the time. She did recognise one of the dishes as chicken, though, and it seemed to have been braised in some manner with ham and different vegetables and seasoned with peppers. Some of the other dishes could have been composed of just about anything.

  Toying with a little fancy mould of cream and fruit, Aileen glanced around her, trying to keep her interest as unobtrusive as possible, as she had been doing all evening.

  It had started with the introduction to Alesandra Pereira - and the girl was so breathtakingly beautiful that for the moment Aileen had not been able to say anything. Only of medium height, but every inch of her figure exquisite, sleek black hair drawn back into an exotic chignon and large dark eyes that could be veiled and enigmatic, or glow with slumbrous fires. Clearly the type of woman for Duarte Adriano. Clearly the type of woman that any man would appreciate. But Aileen found she did not like her in the least. Whether it was imagination or not, she thought she detected something just slightly supercilious in the girl’s manner.

  Looking across the table at her, Aileen watched how the dark eyes smiled when Duarte looked at her, how her hand touched his arm in an attitude that was surely possessive, as if she knew that she would be the girl he married. Well, she was quite welcome to him, Aileen decided, annoyed at her interest in the matter. Such a position might have its advantages, but it would also most definitely have its disadvantages, one of which would most surely be very little personal individuality. She had already noticed how one or two of those very aristocratic ladies around the table seemed to follow their husbands’ every lead, as if they had no ideas at all of their own.

  “Looking at the gorgeous Alesandra,” Renfrew whispered at her side, and she turned to him with a smile and admitted that she was. “Beautiful, but not really my type,” he added in the same soft whisper that would not carry to anyone else.

  Aileen could not help smiling. “I thought she would be any man’s type, Mr. Renfrew.”

  “Not every man likes sugar, spice and an empty mind,” he retorted.

  Aileen shook her head. “I’m sure she’s very intelligent.”

  “I didn’t mean that.” He gave an almost derisive little smile “I’m sure the lovely Alesandra knows which side her bread’s buttered - nice thick Adriano butter,” he added.

  “So you too think she’ll marry Duarte,” Ailee
n commented.

  “Everyone is more of less expecting an announcement. He’ll have to marry some time to keep that elite family of his going,” which was more or less what Dona Teresa had implied.

  Again Aileen could not help smiling. “You don’t mince your words, do you?”

  “Do you mind?” he countered.

  “Not really, I suppose.” She gave him a curious glance. “Why do you think she has an empty mind? She has probably been very well educated.”

  “There’s more than one sort of education. Now take that little Italian girl who’s married to that stiff-necked Luis Colini. She came from a progressive family, but she had to fall in love with a Colini, and they’re worse than the Adrianos when it comes to timeworn customs. She’s been educated to use her mind, to talk about serious things, but he doesn’t believe a woman should be like that. He can’t accept the idea that you can really talk to a woman. Most of these Spaniards are like that. They think a woman is made to make love to, to flatter and, if you’re rich, surround with beautiful things. She has charge of the home. It’s her whole life and the focal point is her husband and taking care of her children. He goes out in the evenings and chats with his cronies. He doesn’t think of staying home and having a serious conversation with his wife. It wouldn’t occur to him, because most of them couldn’t hold a serious conversation anyway.”