by Anne Hampson
Eyes were naturally upon them, as they sat there on the sofa, close together, with Manoel smiling affectionately at her, so she had to repress the militant sparkle that would have leapt to her eyes, and she even managed to smile as she said,
‘It isn’t possible. You see, the situation’s artificial and I’m always conscious of the fact.’ And then it was that Joanne realized it was no request, made humbly, but a definite order which her fiancé meant to have obeyed. For although the only indication of his anger was an almost imperceptible tightening of his mouth, it was quite sufficient to bring a tingle of apprehension to her spine; the softly uttered words which followed crushed any further resistance she might have been contemplating.
‘You’ll do as I say, Joanne—or answer to me.’ And as Diego then appeared to announce supper was ready no more was said on the matter.
But, strangely, after the first flash of resentment at his peremptory laying down of the law, Joanne experienced no ill feeling against him, and all through the meal she was able to respond to his attentions and smiles without the slightest difficulty or strain. And she even managed to call him darling on one occasion ... surprising herself equally as much as she surprised Manoel.
Immediately after supper the dancers arrived, and the musicians, who were just as colourfully arrayed as the girls and youths from the village. The great hall was brought into use and after a while the floor was the scene of even greater activity as the guests themselves joined in the dance.
‘Come, my love.’ Taking her hand, Manoel pulled Joanne into the ring. A protest arose to her lips, for she was afraid she might look foolish, but he ignored her hesitancy, adding, ‘You did very well the last time, so there’s nothing to worry about.’
As on the previous occasion Joanne thoroughly enjoyed the dancing, and when it was all over and the guests had departed she flopped into a chair, tired but unaccountably happy. Lynn stayed only a moment or two and then said good night, leaving Joanne and Manoel alone in the salon. The lights had earlier been extinguished, for everyone was in the hall, and the only illumination came from a branch of candles standing on the mantelpiece.
Manoel stood by it, his face in the shadows cast by the softly flickering light. On the mantelpiece were the children’s shoes, which they had been allowed to place there before going to bed. Rosa’s shoe was there, and Helena’s, as also were those of Manoel’s mother and stepfather, for they were staying at the Solar de Alvares for the Christmas celebrations. Joanne’s and Lynn’s shoes were missing.
‘Don’t you put out your shoe?’ asked Joanne, looking rather shyly at him. There was the merest hesitation and then Manoel said yes, he did put out his shoe. If he noticed the slight clearing of her brow he chose to ignore it as he added,
‘I see that Lynn has forgotten hers.’
‘I think she was reluctant because it would seem like asking for a present,’ Joanne submitted, and his brow contracted in a frown.
‘It would have been no such thing; our custom is for everyone in the house to place their shoe on the chimneypiece. Decidedly she must put it out.’
‘She won’t be in bed yet. Shall I go and tell her?’
‘Diego will do it,’ he said, and jerked the bell rope. His butler emerged from the darkness around them. ‘Tell Senhora Lynn to bring down her shoe—No, she’s probably tired. Bring it down yourself.’ He glanced at Joanne. ‘If what you say is true she would be embarrassed at having to come in here with it.’
For a moment Joanne said nothing, merely shaking her head as she looked up at him, wonderment and admiration shining in her eyes.
‘You’re so understanding, and ... kind,’ she murmured at last.
His eyes flickered strangely.
‘You didn’t think so once,’ he remarked with some amusement, and then, because she seemed to be enveloped in confusion at his words, he added prosaically, ‘Have you enjoyed your first Christmas Eve in Portugal?’ He moved to occupy the place beside her on the couch and continued, before she could frame a reply to his question, ‘You looked very lovely, Joanne. I was exceedingly proud of you.’ Emotion brought colour to her delicate features and Manoel’s lips parted in a smile. ‘You look even lovelier now.’
Flattery such as this was unnecessary, so why did he indulge in it? But the nature of his smile was such that she was forced to respond. The night had been gay; she had been admired and toasted, and the happiness resulting from her fiancé’s attention was still with her.
‘Thank you, Manoel,’ she returned, apparently absorbed in a contemplation of the last dying embers of wood ash in the grate.
‘You haven’t answered my question.’
Her first Christmas Eve in Portugal ... An odd way of putting it, but there was no special significance, she told herself.
‘I’ve had the most wonderful evening of my life,’ she admitted truthfully. ‘I enjoyed every minute of it.’
‘Perhaps you’ll enjoy tomorrow night even more. You will help me give out the presents, of course.’ The great tree was loaded with gifts, most of which were for the quinta employees and their children.
‘I—? But won’t Helena or Rosa expect to do that?’
‘Not now. You’re the one who’ll be expected to assist me.’ His dark glance flicked over her, still with admiration. ‘It won’t be any trouble to you, I hope?’
‘I’ll thoroughly enjoy it!’ she exclaimed impulsively. But a tiny sigh followed her words. If only she were really going to marry him! It seemed inconceivable that she wanted to do so, considering she had disliked him so intensely at the start.
‘What was that for, Joanne?’ he asked seriously. ‘You’ve appeared to be so happy, and now we have a sigh. Tell me the reason for it?’
Joanne sought for words, for his voice was a command, but to her relief Diego entered, with Lynn’s shoe in his hand.
‘The senhora’s shoe,’ he said quietly, and placed it on the chimneypiece. ‘Will there be anything else, Dom Manoel?’
‘Nothing, thank you, Diego. Good night.’
‘How is it that all your servants speak English?’ Joanne wanted to know, eyeing him curiously.
‘Some instruction is given in school. Also, it’s surprising how quickly one can pick up enough to make oneself understood.’
‘I’m certainly not picking up Portuguese very quickly,’ she confessed. ‘It must be the fastest spoken language in the world, for I find it quite impossible to catch even the odd word.’
‘You’ll grasp it in time,’ was his surprising response, and a frown touched her brow. She spoke her thoughts aloud, saying,
‘I don’t understand you, Manoel. I—I shan’t be here long enough to learn the language.’
‘No?’ He leant back against the cushions, from where he regarded her with an expression she had never seen before. ‘Why the hesitation?’ he inquired softly.
‘It—’ She spread her hands. ‘It wasn’t intentional.’
‘You’re looking forward to going home?’
She gazed into the fire, disturbed by his question. Once she left here she would be most unlikely ever to set eyes on Manoel again. The thought dismayed her, and yet she knew that the sooner she left Portugal the better it would be for her. Relieved of the torture, she could expect her wounds to heal, though how long it would be before she could think of Manoel without this tug of pain at her heart she did not know. Forgetting would be a long and difficult process and she wished fervently she had never come to Portugal—but this time her wish was far removed from any financial losses incurred by her stubborn refusal of his most generous offer. A little intake of his breath gave hint of his impatience for her answer and she replied truthfully,
‘I shall be glad to go home, Manoel.’
Joanne could not have said what she expected. Bored disinterest, perhaps; a mention of payment for her land. ... But instead she saw a return of that new expression of a moment or two ago, an expression so hard and unyielding that she wondered what could possibly be runnin
g through his mind. She was not left long in suspense.
‘Unfortunately my plans have gone awry. At the time, I considered it would be enough for us to become engaged. It is now necessary that we marry.’
She stared at him. Her lips parted, but no words came. It seemed impossible that he could sit there so calmly, his only emotion one of determination, which was clearly portrayed in that hard expression with which he still regarded her.
‘You said—you said your plans would materialize when—when the children left,’ she managed to stammer at length. ‘The children haven’t gone yet.’
‘They’ll be leaving here in less than a week. I have every indication that their going won’t after all relieve my position.’ Relieve? What an odd word to use, Joanne thought, as Manoel paused as if choosing his words carefully. ‘Marriage is the only solution. And from your point of view it will be most beneficial, for you can’t continue like this all your life, struggling to bring up Glee on your own.’ He smiled then, and the hardness left his face. ‘Don’t look at me with such consternation, child! I’m not an ogre. You’re perfectly comfortable here at present?’
Joanne nodded bewilderedly, her mind in chaos. Manoel had just proposed to her—or rather, told her she must marry him! There was nothing in the world she desired more than to become his wife, and yet she was trying desperately to frame the words of a refusal!
‘I’m c-comfortable, yes, but—’
‘And you like Portugal?’
‘Oh, yes—I love it—’
‘Glee does, too, and has made some little friends. She’s quite popular at school, I hear. Filipa and Leonor, too—they come here often, and during the holidays Glee would be able to stay with them for a change.’ He stood up, ostensibly to stir the embers into a glow, but he remained on his feet, looking down at her, and she was forced to tilt her head right back in order to meet his gaze. ‘I’m fully aware that you don’t love me, Joanne, but as I don’t love you either it isn’t important. I suggest we arrange an early date for the wedding; there’s nothing to wait for, and the sooner we’re married the sooner my plan will succeed.’
‘I can’t marry you!’ she blurted out, quite unable to find any more fitting way of saying it. ‘The whole idea’s ridiculous!’ But she was almost in tears, and her voice was high-pitched and cracked. For at his casual dismissing of the vital matter of love a knife had turned in her heart.
‘Ridiculous?’ he echoed, his brow lifting in surprised interrogation. ‘Why?’
‘We—we can’t marry without love.’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time a couple have married without love. No, Joanne, it’s not ridiculous. On the contrary, it’s a most sensible course for us to take. We shall both benefit greatly by it.’
She shook her head, noting his frown at her action. But he did not know all. ... How would he react, she wondered, were she to tell him the real reason for her hesitancy? Hesitancy ... Joanne gave a visible start of surprise on suddenly realizing that her thoughts lacked consistency—that her swiftly uttered exclamation was definitely half-hearted!
‘We’d never make a success of it,’ she murmured at last, rather feebly.
‘Certainly it will be a success.’ He passed that off as of no importance whatever. But then he made a pronouncement that swept away all her indecision, submerging every other emotion except the profound desire to become his wife. ‘Who knows, Joanne, one day—quite unexpectedly—love might enter into our relationship.’ The odd inflection in his voice, and the manner with which he looked at her, seemed at variance with his former casual assertion that there existed no love between them. It would almost seem that he did in fact already have some slight affection for her— Joanne pulled herself up. What impossible notion was this? Her thoughts were so chaotic that they were shooting off in all directions.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ she quivered, on the point of capitulation.
Manoel sat down, and took her hand in his. Her fingers were icy cold and he used his other hand caressingly, imparting to her some of its warmth.
‘You’re tired, my dear. Go to bed; and tomorrow you’ll be able to think more clearly. Then we can talk, and fix the date for our wedding.’
She turned to him, her lovely grey eyes wide and searching.
‘I haven’t said yes, Manoel,’ she faltered, rather like a frightened child.
Her expression was not lost on him and he said, rather gently,
‘You don’t trust me to be good to you? Ah, but you must, Joanne. There’s absolutely nothing for you to fear.’ And as if to strengthen his words—and perhaps expel that last faint trace of resistance, he placed a gentle kiss upon her cheek.
A few minutes later, after they had been sitting there, Manoel apparently absorbed in nothing more important than the last flickering gleam from the dying embers, and Joanne wondering how long she could put off the evil moment of revelation, Manoel told her to go up and fetch her shoe.
‘Or use one of those,’ he added, glancing down at her feet. She took off her silver slippers and, rising, placed one on the mantelpiece. And then she turned. Manoel sat there, looking quite good-humoured and accessible. Should she tell him now—take advantage of this opportune moment to get the whole thing off her mind? She actually opened her mouth and then her courage failed her. Better to leave it until after Christmas, she decided, and finding no valid reason for doing so—reluctantly admitted to being a shirker.
She bade him good night and went out, taking her other shoe with her, and making no sound as she crossed the hall to the corridor at the other end from where the staircase rose in an ornate ironwork spiral to the upper floor of the house. The library door was ajar and from within came the sound of voices—Dona Clementina’s raised, and that of her husband soft and mildly tolerant. So they hadn’t yet gone to bed. About to pass on, Joanne heard her name mentioned, and although the two spoke in their own language she instinctively stopped. Dona Clementina was speaking, her tones as haughty and cold as ever. Her husband replied in English.
‘You mean Rosa’s not going?’
‘Why should she? Manoel promised, and he must abide by it!’ Dona Clementina now spoke in English.
‘He didn’t promise to give Rosa a home for ever.’
‘He promised his uncle he’d never turn Rosa out of the Solar de Alvares.’
‘But now he’s engaged he’ll expect her to leave of her own accord.’
‘It’s her home; has been ever since Manoel made the promise.’
‘I should imagine, my dear,’ commented Senhor Pedro after a pause, ‘that your son made the greatest—No, the only mistake of his life, probably, when he gave his uncle that promise.’ And he added, ‘When they’re married, then, is Rosa going to have the nerve to stay on in their home?’
‘Manoel’s home, if you please, Pedro! Naturally if Manoel were married to this girl, Rosa would have no alternative but to leave. But it so happens that there isn’t going to be a marriage.’
Joanne’s eyes opened wide. She could not have moved now even though she was well aware that she had no right to listen.
‘I see ... I wondered what you were talking about when you had your heads together this evening—and looking across at Joanne, who must have known she was being discussed.’
‘Who cares?’ A small pause and then Dona Clementina inquired curiously, ‘When did you reach the conclusion that there wasn’t to be a wedding?’
‘I didn’t, but the idea kept on troubling me. You believe Manoel got engaged for the specific purpose of forcing Rosa to leave his house?’
‘I do. For some obscure reason he’s turned against Rosa—’
‘If you’ll excuse me, my dear,’ interrupted her husband mildly, ‘the reason is far from obscure. Rosa just isn’t nice to know, and in my opinion Manoel’s been a hero to tolerate her all this time, for not only does she interfere in his life and his business, but she never allows him to forget the fact that their uncle hoped one day they would marry.’
<
br /> ‘And so they ought to do! As for Rosa’s not being nice—she’s a charming girl—with the manners, the breeding and the fortune which my son desires in a wife. This other girl has nothing!’
‘Except her beauty. It might in time turn even Manoel’s head.’
‘He’ll never marry the girl, never! This engagement’s merely a conspiracy between them. He’s probably bribed her with some stupidly high offer for her farm, and so she agreed to help him. Manoel fully expected Rosa would decide to leave when the children went home to Helena, and if you were to question that girl, and she told you the truth, you’d discover that the engagement’s to last for only another week.’
‘Does Manoel know yet that Rosa isn’t leaving?’
‘He knows, because she was talking earlier on about inviting these English friends over for their summer holiday. She said Manoel looked dumbfounded, but made no comment about it.’
‘So Manoel is fully aware that his plan has failed?’
‘Certainly.’
‘And you honestly believe—knowing your son as you do—that he’ll allow Rosa to get the better of him in this way?’
‘What can he do about it?’
A long silence. Joanne’s heart missed a beat as she heard the door of the salon open.
‘What can he do? Go all the way and marry the girl! That’ll move Rosa quickly enough,’ were the last words Joanne heard as she sped towards the stairs.
She lay awake a long while, going over what she had heard. Everything was explained. Having made the promise, Manoel would never break it. But, with Rosa’s attitude becoming intolerable, and, therefore, her presence more and more irksome, he had decided to put her in a position where she would quit his house of her own accord. At first, Rosa had formed the opinion that there was some mystery about Joanne, and that she was not free to marry. Eventually she appeared to become resided, although she had made subtle insinuations that she might make some inquiries whilst in England. Now, however, she had guessed the truth—or, more probably, it was Dona Clementina who had hit upon the idea that her son had taken measures to rid himself of Rosa’s presence.