The House of Adriano

by Nerina Hilliard

  It was days before she managed to get some idea of the layout and size of the Castillo, with its towers and patios, the elaborate filigree decorations of the rooms, beautiful Moorish archways and graceful marble and alabaster columns, the sweeping staircases and corridors that led into room after room, with floors of marble, mosaic tiles or polished wood, sometimes scattered with luxurious carpets, sometimes quite bare.

  The older portion, the castle part, was not lived in, although some attempt had been made to stop it falling into ruin. It was kept more or less as an historical piece. A covered walk led to it and it was safe enough to enter, but too bare and draughty to be really liveable in. In any case, it was hardly likely that anybody would want to live there when there was the main part of the Castillo, the exquisite Moorish section. For days she never knew what she would come across next, the sunken patios and gardens, the doors at the ends of one or two of the corridors that opened suddenly into stairways that climbed the Moorish towers that gave a view over the whole countryside. There was the library too, a vast room with many hundreds of books, tall columns supporting a lofty ceiling and the floor of intricate mosaic. Ultimately she even found a little Grecian temple out in the gardens and a Chinese pagoda tucked away in a specially walled-off section, with a miniature waterfall from a spring that bubbled up at the top of the hill and fell down through the terraced gardens eventually to reach the stream that flowed by at the foot of the hill, in the end emptying itself into the Guadalquivir.

  But all that did not come until some time later. The first day, as the car drove towards it, all she was breathlessly aware of was the sheer magnificence and beauty of the Castillo Marindos. No wonder Duarte Adriano was ... as he was. No man could grow up mediocre and ordinary among all that magnificence. No wonder he had a background he could never escape from and would never want to escape from. There was something here that had taken many centuries to build up and which not even the swiftly changing traditions of the modern world would ever entirely sweep away.

  When they reached the foot of the hill, high, ornate gates were swung open for them by a man in a neat, light-coloured uniform, and then the car was sweeping upwards, through the first terrace of the gardens, climbing higher and higher, until at last it stopped in a paved courtyard where a flight of wide, shallow steps led up to double doors that had on them a shield emblazoned with the Adriano crest. They already stood open and a bowing major-domo was awaiting them. Impression crowded impression, one upon the other, so quickly that she did not have time to take everything in. All she was aware of at first was that the hall was marble-floored and tall columns swept up to a ceiling that was carved and gilded. A graceful stairway curved its way up to the other floors of the Castillo and there was a hanging lamp with crystal pendants that tinkled in a slight breeze coming in from outside.

  They went into a salon off the hall and, although everything was on a much larger and grander scale, the furnishings were of the same type to which she had grown accustomed at Marindos, so some of the strangeness began to wear off. Sometimes she had been a little amused at herself in Madrid for so quickly having become used to and even in a way taking for granted the exquisite and luxurious furnishings all around her. It merely pointed out how quickly one could become accustomed to luxury. She knew she would not be human if she did not miss it when she eventually had to return to her own sphere of life.

  After cool drinks they went to the rooms prepared for them, and Aileen found that she once again had a little suite of her own, as she had in Madrid - even to the fact of another of those little tea cabinets. Duarte must have specially ordered it to be installed by the time they arrived and, realising it, she could not stop the little feeling of shame for what she had once believed of him, that he had no consideration for anyone’s wishes but his own. Her first estimation of him had been proved far from right. She could not delude herself, however, that these little considerations meant anything. It was just the type of thing that was bred in him. He would have done it for anybody - such as the time his upbringing and natural courtesy and consideration had made him drive her home when he had seen her caught in the rain in Sydney.

  Peter was intrigued with his new home, but tired enough to be put to bed earlier than usual without any resistance. Indeed she was tired enough herself to want to retire early, and as Dona Teresa did so too, and Duarte, in spite of that natural courtesy of his, could not want to spend the evening entertaining her, she went to her room directly after dinner.

  In the morning Peter and herself went on a little preliminary exploration, then the boy went off to his lessons. The tutor had also arrived in the “luggage” car and everything was to be as usual.

  When he was settled with his tutor and lessons - after the Spanish lesson that was the first thing on the curriculum and which both of them took - she went along to find Dona Teresa, but instead of being in her room the old lady was sitting on a terrace that overlooked - of all things - a swimming pool.

  She smiled as the younger girl came up to her. “Buenos dias,” she greeted her, giving the Spanish “good morning” and Aileen replied in kind. “This is my favourite spot,” Dona Teresa went on. “I have spent many hours here.” Her eyes went down to the tiled pool, with its ornamental balustrade and fountain, and for a little while her expression was wistful and far away. “Eric used to swim here ... and we would talk and laugh together.” She seemed to give a little shrug that put the past in its place. “You, I expect, swim too. All Australians swim, I am told.” Her impish smile flashed out. “At the Olympics they seem quite unbeatable.”

  Aileen shook her head with a laugh. “I’m certainly nowhere near Olympic standards, but I admit I do like swimming. We used to spend quite a lot of time at the beach. Peter can swim too,” she added.

  “Already?” Dona Teresa raised her eyebrows. “Do they teach children to swim in Australia before they can walk?”

  Aileen shook her head again, laughing. “No ... but I suppose it is a kind of national pastime. He isn’t a very strong swimmer, of course, but he can do a few strokes and he likes splashing around in the water.”

  “It is shallow at this end of the pool,” Dona Teresa told her. “You must bring him here when he has finished his lessons. Have you brought your swimming dress with you?”

  Aileen nodded. “I had to bring everything,” she explained. ‘There was nowhere I could have left them as we only lived in one room.” She laughed again. “I even have my rubber flippers, although I didn’t know when I was going to use them again.”

  There was a slight interval while she had to explain what flippers were, but Dona Teresa soon grasped it and nodded her sleekly dressed head.

  “Ah, yes, I understand. It is a pity we are not near the coast, although there is of course the danger of sharks.”

  “We had that danger too,” Aileen said sombrely. “Every year somebody would be attacked, in spite of all precautions. I think you get in the water ... and when you’re enjoying yourself you tend to forget or minimise the danger ... then it suddenly happens.”

  “You have never had a scare like that?”

  Aileen shook her head. “No, although not because I’ve been sensible all the time,” she admitted. “There have been one or two occasions when I suppose I’ve been out too far.”

  They sat talking for a while, until lunch-time, and during the afternoon Aileen did some more exploring. For some days afterwards there followed an oddly halcyon interlude. As Dona Teresa had mentioned once before in Madrid the Castillo was isolated, but there were many compensations. The scenery in the district was wonderful, especially as a horse had been found for her to ride, and it took only a short time for her childhood aptitude to return. Peter also came in for his share of equestrian recreation, and took to it like the proverbial duck to water when a small pony was procured for him. Sometimes a middle-aged groom accompanied them, sometimes Duarte himself. The villagers began to become accustomed to the sight of her, and when she went down there greeted her wit
h smiles and little curtsies she felt she did not deserve, as she really was not one of the family, whatever the villagers might think of the situation up at the Castillo Marindos.

  Peter, of course, was her main occupation and she never forgot it, but she still found plenty of time on her hands for other pursuits. Sometimes she swam in the lovely pool where she had found Dona Teresa sitting on that first morning, either on her own or with Peter. Soon though that peaceful interlude was over. There was to be a fiesta soon, Marindos’s main one of the year, and it seemed that it was the custom for a house party to be invited down to the Castillo at that time. Alesandra, of course, was to be one of the guests.

  The slow, peaceful tempo of life quickened. Guest rooms were made ready and extra provisions were unloaded somewhere at the back of the Castillo. The village took on an air of suppressed excitement as it made ready for the fiesta. Then the guests started to arrive, the sleek expensive cars and the sleek expensive people. Sometimes when she thought of the small, clean but undoubtedly shabby rooms she had lived in before, it seemed as if she was living in a dream now.

  Bart was one of the last to arrive, greeting her with his familiar lopsided grin, speaking as lightly as if he had never asked her to marry him.

  “The bad penny’s still around.”

  “So I see,” she said, endeavouring to answer in the same tone.

  “Ever seen one of these fiestas before?”

  She shook her head. “Only on the films.”

  “The Spanish temperament really comes out at fiesta time.” There was an oddly confident tone in his voice as he said that, although the words were still light and joking. Did he believe that fiesta time was when Duarte would announce his engagement to Alesandra?

  In spite of the chill that went through her at that she again endeavoured to reply in the same light, joking tone he had used. “Is that some kind of warning?”

  “Maybe.”

  The first evening of the guests’ arrival there was very little in the way of festivity, as most of them were fairly tired by the long drive and the fiesta itself was not in any event due to start until the next day.

  The following morning, however, everything was different. The pitch of excitement in the village came to a climax, and the fiesta was on. It started with a religious procession that was solemn and strangely beautiful. Afterwards there were sports, and as night fell the inevitable dancing started. The guests from the Castillo watched for a while, but did not join in. They were to have their own private dance at the Castillo.

  A small band played on a dais in the Castillo’s ballroom and the whole room glittered. It was sophisticated and expensive - yet if one went outside away from the sounds of the ballroom, the sounds of the village floated up the terraced gardens and there was something more primitive, something that plucked at the heartstrings and made one yearn with strange longings. Aileen, wearing the lovely turquoise dress she had bought in Madrid, only went out there for a few minutes. She found it too disturbing, too relentless in its heightening of the longing she felt. Afterwards she made sure she remained in the ballroom, smiling and laughing, as if there was nothing at all wrong with her life.

  Duarte, immaculate as ever, circulated among his guests with that urbane charm that was so very much his own, and Aileen had again and again to stop her eyes going to him with hopeless longing. How right she had been to decide that she could not possibly stay much longer, she thought to herself. This could become positively unbearable after a time, especially with Alesandra wearing an expression like the cat that was going to get at the cream any time now, smiling secret little smiles every now and again.

  Even Dona Teresa must have thought that the time was near, yet now she seemed quite reconciled to the idea. She probably realised, in spite of personal dislike, that Alesandra would make the perfect chatelaine for the Castillo. She was so absolutely right, Aileen thought sadly. So absolutely the type of girl that Duarte should and would marry.

  Dona Teresa held court on one of those damask couches that seemed to suit her so well. They both had the same air of old-world fragility, in spite of the fact that Dona Teresa was nowhere near so fragile as she looked, and the mischievousness of her personality often completely dispelled the old-world air.

  She was alone, however, when Aileen went over to her, and she smiled and patted the couch at her side.

  “You are enjoying yourself, my child?” she asked, as Aileen accepted the invitation to sit down at her side.

  “Of course. Who wouldn’t?”

  Dona Teresa nodded with a little sigh of satisfaction. “Yes, it is a good party. I feel there is something special about it.”

  “Something special?”

  The aristocratic head nodded quickly. “Yes, don’t you feel it? Something in the air?”

  Aileen smiled. “It’s probably the fiesta.”

  “Perhaps - but I feel it is something more.” She gave a secret little smile. “I feel that tonight at last we shall see the Adriano emerald adorning a slender finger.”

  “You mean ... you think your nephew will announce his engagement tonight?” Somehow she made her voice even and natural as she asked the question.

  “Yes. Call it an old woman’s fancy, but I think that it is so. Many things happen at fiesta time.”

  So Dona Teresa thought the same as Bart did - and they were probably both right. Anything could happen at fiesta time. That air of primitive appeal to the senses that the music from the village evoked. That was what caused it. Perhaps Duarte would take Alesandra out into the garden, and the sound of the guitars and the music would finally make it happen. He would bend his head to his lovely companion and when they came back into the ballroom Dona Teresa would be right. The Adriano emerald would adorn a slender finger ... and Alesandra would be smiling in triumph.

  “We have a traditional betrothal ring,” Dona Teresa went on, breaking into her thoughts. “It has been in our family for many hundreds of years, and always it is said to bring happiness. Once it was lost and it was said that marriage was unhappy, but the son of it regained the emerald and his marriage was a happy one.” She laughed softly. “An old superstition, but we have always been very careful with our emerald since that time.”

  Aileen hardly knew what she replied to that, and she was glad when a few minutes later Bart came up to claim her for a dance. After that, however, she was dancing with Duarte, and that was different altogether. They had never danced together before, and perhaps it was just as well that it did not happen too often. For her it was a kind of bitter-sweet pleasure and too dangerous. Bart was a good enough dancer, easy to follow ... but when it was Duarte even the music was different. Every nerve in her body set up an uncontrollable singing at his nearness, and for a little while she was stiff through sheer fear of giving away what he meant to her, but it could not last, especially as he was such an exquisite dancer, his every movement made with a kind of lithe grace. Some odd kind of accord seemed to build up between them. She knew exactly where he was going to lead her moments before, so that their steps fitted perfectly. That should have meant something personal, something wonderful, she thought a little sadly, but it really only meant that he was such a natural and perfect dancer that anyone could dance well with him. Yet that feeling of something invisible and intangible binding them together persisted and she found her heart beating fast and unevenly. Some compulsion made her look up at him. The dark eyes were quite enigmatic, but she was aware by the warmth in her cheeks that her face was flushed.

  “It ... it’s a little hot, isn’t it?” The words tumbled out breathlessly, but at least she hoped they would explain the flush in her cheeks and perhaps even the fast beating of her heart, if he was aware of that too.

  “It is a little hot,” he agreed, and then, before she had quite realised they were leaving the ballroom, she found that they were standing on the terrace outside the wide glass doors that opened in pairs all down that side of the room. “This perhaps is better,” he added, one hand firm
beneath her elbow, but when she thought for one brief moment that he would merely stand there at her side for a while, maybe lean negligently against the terrace balustrade, instead he actually walked her down its length for a few feet to where wide steps gave access to a lower terrace and then into the garden. “We should perhaps walk for a while,” that pleasant, attractive voice commented, and once again she could find nothing to say to answer him.

  They had been following the terrace along on a paved way that ran parallel to it, and now they turned a corner of the building, so that they were out of sight of anyone in the ballroom. The music from the village was stronger now, drifting upwards with that insidious, passionate appeal.

  The path sloped down steeply, running away from the building between tall flowering shrubs, and all the time the sound of the music from the village grew stronger. There was something oddly deliberate about Duarte’s movements, and she was aware of something tense in the atmosphere, quite apart from that disturbing music, yet she was still not prepared for the sudden feel of his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him. Startled, she looked up at him, but it was too dark to see the expression on his face.

  “The moonlight and the garden,” he said. “Perhaps it is time now for that little experiment we spoke of,” and, once again before she quite realised what he intended, hard firm lips closed on hers.