“I am not an ogre, senhorita,” the man assured her, with a whimsical curve of his lips that she found strangely attractive just then. “And although I blunder sometimes—” and she had little doubt he was referring to Richard’s decision to try and track her down—“I do not wish to make your life a misery while you are here at the Quinta de Fonteira. You will look after Richard in the way that you have been looking after him for the past few months, and unless either of you does something outrageous I shall not interfere.”
He rose, and suggested that they had coffee in the main sala.
“After which I must go to my own house, which is about a couple of miles from here.”
He remembered something, and produced it from his pocket.
“By the way, this was addressed to you at the Aviz, and I should have handed it over to you before.”
Caroline took the letter, and the round, school-girlish handwriting on the thick cream envelope that still smelled faintly of highly expensive Paris perfume informed her at once whom the letter was from. She knew that she would find the signature, Ilse de Fonteira, scrawled inside, and still looking upon the latter as her employer she asked permission to open the envelope and read the contents.
“Of course.” Dom Vasco walked to the magnificent tall window that looked out over the garden, and while his back was turned and Richard studied the portraits on the white walls with childlike curiosity, Caroline digested the brief message his mother had written—in haste, judging by the poor quality of the writing.
“Who is the man who took you and Richard off the ship? The old Marques could never look like that, unless I’ve been deceived about his age! Write to me at my London address, and be sure and give me as many details as possible.
Yours,
Ilse de Fonteira
Dom Vasco turned from the window.
“Well, I will leave you now, Miss Worth.” He watched Caroline fold her letter and put it away in her handbag. “Spend the rest of the day getting accustomed to the house, and Ricardo can run in the garden.” He lightly rumpled the boy’s hair in passing. “In the morning I shall be here to conduct my usual business, and will see you both again. Anything you require will be provided by the housekeeper.”
“Thank you, senhor.”
She returned his stiff little bow with a slight inclination of her fair head, and took Richard’s hand as he left the room. But she was not thinking of Richard or Dom Vasco as she stood there in the dimness of the great drawing-room, while outside the sunlight made a splendour of the surrounding garden.
She was wondering how Ilse had managed to see Dom Vasco, and she realised that having seen him she was impressed by him. And Ilse was the type of woman who liked to follow up her interests, and keep tabs on them.
Even although she was planning to marry she could still not overlook an attractive—in this case intensely attractive, in an extremely masculine way—member of the opposite sex.
CHAPTER SIX
FOR the next few days Caroline found that she and Richard were to be allowed a degree of freedom that surprised her considering her early encounters with Dom Vasco, and the views he had not hesitated to express about the bringing up of children, and small boys in particular.
There was to be no feminine interference, and no weakness. Certainly, if he had been depending on the housekeeper at the Quinta de Fonteira to take charge of Richard, there would have been no weakness. She was a woman who went about her duties with that tight-lipped look on her face that had caused Caroline’s heart to sink a little when she first met her, but otherwise she was a model of efficiency and almost certainly had her employer’s interests at heart above everything else. The de Fonteira family, as—she once or twice observed to Caroline when she condescended to open her mouth to her, had lived in that part of the world for generations. They were great landowners. The present Marques still held almost as much land as his forebears had owned, and he was a great gentleman. It was a pleasure to serve him, and every other surviving member of the family.
She drew herself up to her elongated height, handled the keys at her waist as if they were weapons to defend the family honour, and condescendingly added that Master Richard—as the next in line for the Marquisate—could command her at all times, and trust her with his life if need be.
But when it came to creating a playroom for him she was not so helpful. Every piece of furniture in every beautifully cared-for room had a history which demanded it be left where it was; the paintwork gleamed to such an extent that she plainly shuddered at the thought of small fingers marking it, and as to train-sets careering over the polished tiles—lovely aubergine tiles that melted and merged into the surrounding colour-schemes—and chinoiserie screens cleared out of the way to make room for Meccano and building bricks and a litter of childish books, such vandalism was something she couldn’t countenance until she had word from the Marques himself.
“But Senhor de Capuchos—I’m sorry, I mean Dom Vasco,” Caroline corrected herself, “said you would provide all that was necessary for the wellbeing of Richard. And a playroom is a necessity, especially on days when the weather isn’t very fine.”
“In this part of Portugal the weather is nearly always fine at this time of the year,” the housekeeper returned, her lips so thin that they practically disappeared into her head. “And it is much healthier for a child to play in the garden, or to be taken for walks, or trips to the beach. The sea is not very far away, and Joachim, the chauffeur, has instructions to drive you wherever you wish to go.”
“I know the garden is beautiful,” Caroline conceded, “and at the moment the weather is marvellous. ...We never have anything quite like it in England!” hoping to conciliate that cool glint in the other’s black boot-button eyes. “But it is important that a period of every day is set aside for lessons, if not for play, and that means we must have somewhere where we can be undisturbed and work. If Richard is to be sent to school very soon he has a lot of leeway to make up.”
Senhora Lopes looked entirely unconvinced.
“The arbours,” she suggested. “Why not work in one of the arbours? I will give instructions to Maria to have one prepared.”
Caroline gave up.
“When I see Senhor—Dom Vasco, I will mention it to him,” she said. “I don’t expect he will have to get in touch with the Marques before insisting upon a schoolroom. He seems to have a lot of authority.”
The Portuguese woman drew herself up.
“But naturally he has a lot of authority. Dom Vasco is a blood relation of the senhor Marques, and in addition he himself is a landowner. His wishes are always carried out without any hesitation at the Quinta de Fonteira.”
“Then perhaps you could tell me where he lives? And if he doesn’t come here in the next day or so Richard and I could drive over and discuss the matter with him.”
But Senhora Lopes could not approve of that.
“In Portugal unmarried ladies do not go calling on single gentlemen,” she said stiffly, as if it amazed her that she should have to make such a convention clear. “Not even on married gentlemen, unless their wives first pay the visit and issue the invitation! Dom Vasco has business of his own to attend to, I have no doubt, but he will be here in the course of the week, or perhaps next week. The senhorita must contain her impatience until he comes!”
Caroline shrugged, and went out into the garden, taking Richard with her. There seemed little point in continuing such a conversation with a woman as obstinate as Senhora Lopes.
The garden of the quinta was certainly a world of enchantment contained within high stone walls that were covered in climbing roses. Roses, in fact, were everywhere ... formal beds of them, arbours smothered in them, walks bordered by them. There were lemon trees, too, and orange trees, creating a film of green with bright globes of fruit caught up amongst them.
At one corner of the garden a flight of steps led up to a music-room that was also used as a kind of ballroom on occasion, and Caroline loved to w
ander here and admire the statuary and the one or two magnificent pictures on the walls, as well as a series of murals that had been painted in more recent times. There were long couches covered in beautiful tapestry, little tables and bronzes supported by pedestals in addition to a fine Bechstein piano and a baby grand piano. There was also a harp that stood against a wall, and a collection of native drums that fascinated Richard.
“Do you think I might play them?” he asked, when he first caught sight of them, and promptly pounced on a pair of drumsticks. But Caroline prevented him just in time to prevent the housekeeper making an irate appearance, or sending someone to discover what the noise was all about, and discovering that the precious set of drums collected by the Marques on one of his trips abroad—very possibly Portuguese East Africa—was being put to inconsiderate use, by a child who ought to be content to walk in the garden.
As day followed day, and still Dom Vasco did not come, Caroline began to wonder what she ought to do about it. Their quarters were luxurious, but somewhat confined, as they were never expected to use the main rooms, except for meals, when the dining-sala was thrown open to them. And then it was somewhat of an ordeal, just the pair of them at the enormous table, with so much crystal and valuable china in use that Caroline was terrified lest Richard should have an accident and break something irreplaceable. And it seemed absurd to have a manservant waiting on them as well as a parlourmaid, when in a room of their own they could have dispensed with being waited on at all, or had one of the under-housemaids deputed for the task.
The drawing-room, or main sala, was always kept locked, and the only time Caroline had had an opportunity to study its furnishings was on the day of their arrival, when she poured out coffee for Senhor de Capuchos, as for some reason she preferred to think of him, after their first lunch in the impressive dining-room.
Now that there was no Senhor de Capuchos everything was a little flat, although certainly without any stresses. Their day began at seven in the morning, when they were aroused by one of the maids, and then breakfast was served to them at that solemn, long table—a breakfast of fruit and fruit juice, coffee, rolls, and many kinds of preserve. It was with difficulty that Caroline obtained milk for Richard, but she did obtain it by gentle insistence; and she also arranged for him to be supported by cushions at the, table, otherwise he couldn’t possibly reach it.
After breakfast they went straight out into the garden, and from then on there was nothing much they could do apart from admire the scenery, play games when it wasn’t too hot, and watch the fish in the pond. Caroline wrote letters after lunch in her room, while Richard enjoyed a nap—she knew he was getting a little old for an afternoon nap, but it seemed rather pointless starting to deprive him of it when there was nothing very much to put in its place.
It was true that they had one or two books, which they had brought with them from Africa, and they dipped into these faithfully. Richard’s reading improved with great strides as a result of his concentration on these books, and Caroline provided him with notepaper so that he was able to practise handwriting. But it was English handwriting, and they were English books he read, and if he was to go to a Portuguese school it seemed highly desirable that he should get to know Portuguese characters as well as English before very long.
For toys he had a somewhat moth-eaten lion, which had been bought him in Africa, and a pocket Solitaire which neither he nor Caroline could fail to work out successfully, even with their eyes closed.
After a week of this sort of unvarying day-to-day routine Caroline decided that it must end. She had had an airmail letter from Ilse announcing dramatically that her marriage was OFF, and demanding news of Richard as if he was the one thing she lived for. And she thought this demand for information was a sufficient excuse for her seeking out Dom Vasco, if—as it seemed—he had no immediate intention of re-seeking out her and her charge.
So, although it greatly upset Senhora Lopes, and even Joachim, the chauffeur, looked distinctly dubious when given instructions about the destination to which he was to convey them, they set off one afternoon when the heat of the day had subsided a little, in the old-fashioned Daimler which was the means of transport placed at their disposal, and glided sedately through the lanes until they came to a surprisingly modern-looking white house set in a delightfully shady garden and she pressed the bell on a gleaming, white-painted door, and Dom Vasco himself flung open the door and stared in surprise at his visitors.
He had been standing in the middle of a hall that was all cool black and white marble tiles and graceful arches, beneath which one could catch glimpses of other parts of the house, such as an open door to an enclosed courtyard, or patio, and a staircase that wound upwards like an uncurling fan to unseen rooms above, and with him was a woman of such elegance and quiet, restrained beauty that Caroline was fascinated by her. She was like an exquisite portrait viewed through gauze, or a faded photograph of someone very beautiful ... someone who must, once, have been absolutely ravishing. Her hair was still dark, and she wore it in a neat little knot on the nape of her neck; her eyes were dark—magnificent, pansy-like eyes; she had a skin like a paper-white rose. And she was dressed by a top-ranking couturier with modern ideas.
A slim dress in elegant black and white, a hat that sat jauntily on the sleek hair and was a kind of white straw sombrero, long white gloves and elegant shoes. She carried a neatly furled white sunshade, and was plainly about to depart. Her hand had actually been in Dom Vasco’s at the moment that Caroline rang the bell.
Dom Vasco could plainly hardly believe the evidence of his eyes.
“There is something wrong?” he demanded. “Ricardo is ill...?” And then he saw that Ricardo was obviously well, and standing beside—or a little behind—Caroline in the entrance.
“I’m sorry if we arrive at an awkward time, senhor...” Caroline began awkwardly, and he forgot his surprise and became extremely urbane and polite and invited her and his employer’s great-nephew to come inside out of the hot afternoon sun. He made some sotto voce remark to the effect that quite a lot of people found it necessary to rest in the afternoon, particularly in a country where the temperature was so consistently high at that hour of the day, and then without enquiring further why they had come presented them to his lady visitor.
“Carmelita, this is Ricardo’s governess, Miss Caroline Worth. You have not yet met Ricardo, but he has already acquired the knack of making of himself something of a nuisance ... and will be an excellent Portuguese subject one of these days!” He smiled quite amiably at the boy, who was beautifully brushed and gleaming with cleanliness, and looking very handsome in a dark, slightly undersized, Portuguese way. “Say ‘how do you do’ to the senhorita, Ricardo,” he ordered. “You will be seeing quite a lot of one another in the future.”
Richard obeyed, using the Portuguese words with which he had been familiar for years, since his father was a Portuguese; and Carmelita smiled at him, also, and took his hand and murmured to him softly, in a really enchanting voice.
“Welcome to Portugal, Ricardo,” she said. “Welcome home!” she added, with delicate emphasis.
Dom Vasco completed the introduction by letting Caroline know to whom she had been presented.
“My cousin, the Senhorita de Capuchos. By some odd coincidence I was discussing you with her just now.”
“Oh, really?” Caroline said, feeling ridiculously nonplussed.
Carmelita de Capuchos looked faintly amused.
“Nothing to your detriment, Miss Worth, I assure you,” she said. “As a matter of fact I was hearing how extraordinarily successful you are with young men as youthful as this,” laying a slender, gloved hand on Richard’s head. “Apparently they become almost unbelievably devoted to you!”
She glanced round at her cousin and her glorious eyes fairly danced with amusement for a moment. “It is a pity you have not the same qualities, querido. Poor Ricardo must have been in much awe of you from the start.”
“Quite terrif
ied,” Dom Vasco admitted in an unruffled manner, looking at Richard as if he was not yet quite certain of their attitude to one another. “However, I have hopes that one day we will be friends, eh, Ricardo?” he added. “Possibly at some distant future date very good friends.”
Senhorita de Capuchos laughed.
“You will have to be married before that happens, Vasco,” she told him. “Only marriage will soften you sufficiently to enable you to meet on equal terms such a one as this,” and again the gloved hand fluttered , lightly and rested on Richard’s head.
Dom Vasco looked as if the prediction merely amused him, although two pairs of rather remarkable dark eyes met and held one another’s gaze for rather a long moment, Caroline thought. And then Carmelita moved purposefully towards the door.
“I must leave you, my dear. Not only does Miss Worth wish some conversation with you, but I have promised to take tea with Senhora d’Albrantes. We will meet again soon, I hope? It would be good if you would dine with us one evening soon.”
“How soon?” He was smiling down at her as he accompanied her to the door.
“Tomorrow evening?” The graceful head was bent backwards as the slender brows rose a little archly.
“Tomorrow evening is perfectly convenient for me. In any case I would make it so in order to be with you and my aunt. Convey my warmest regards to her, won’t you?”
“Of course.” She gave him her hand, and he put back the glove a little and kissed the inside of her warm white wrist. “That is understood as always.”
“As always,” he murmured, and opened the door. “Your car is waiting? Or had your chauffeur instructions to pick you up later?”
“Here he is,” she answered, as a sleek black limousine made a faint crunching noise on the drive. “I had no idea how long I might be detained by you,” with laughter in her eyes as she turned and waved carelessly to Caroline. “Au revoir, Miss Worth! I have no doubt we will meet again soon, and the next time I see you, Ricardo, I promise you an outsize box of sweets! You may even receive them before we meet again!”
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