A Cottage in Spain

by Rosalind Brett

  “They’re not mine,” said Linda briefly.

  “It’s a case of relieving Toby,” said Philip Frensham. “I wonder if you could get your servant to run through the books in my sitting-room? She’d be less likely to pass any over than mine.”

  “Very well. When would it be convenient?”

  “Straight after breakfast tomorrow morning; I generally take a walk at that time.” He moved round so that he was nearer the door. Light shone behind him, bronzing his head and darkening his skin, so that when he smiled his teeth were extraordinarily white. “The last time I came into this house there was more warmth in it. The Senora de Meriaga was an hospitable woman.”

  Maxine gave her clear laugh. “So you’ve noticed a coolness, too! It’s Linda, you know. The Bradens have rose-water in their veins.” She lay back in her chair, looking like the polished, expensive article she was. “Are there any more English about here?”

  “Not within four miles,” he answered. “There’s a colony up the coast.”

  “Then why don’t we three get together?” suggested Maxine. “If we don’t, it’s going to be deadly.”

  “Mr. Frensham,” stated Linda, “is one of the world’s workers, and he doesn’t care for interruptions.”

  “True,” he murmured lazily.

  “But he has to eat,” Maxine pointed out, “and for a change he might as well eat with us, or we with him.”

  “True again,” he conceded.

  There was something about Philip Frensham this morning that Linda could not quite fathom. For one thing, that eagle-eyed quality was overlaid by a casualness which seemed out of character. And for another, this friendliness of his, after her previous encounters with him, was suspect. Unless, of course, he had formed a swift desire to see more of Maxine; presumably even he was capable of sudden reactions to a beautiful woman. With him, she felt, desire would come positively and ruthlessly, but he would keep it very much within bounds because, at base, he was contemptuous of women.

  They were apparently waiting for her to speak, so she commented, “Go ahead and make your arrangements. I’ll fall in with them.”

  “How sweet of you, darling,” said Maxine. “Will you come to dinner tonight, then, Philip?” At the use of the mime Linda started slightly; but Philip didn’t. Maxine nodded, “We’ll get Sebastian along for Linda. I believe he’s great fun.”

  “Sebastian’s a true Latin,” said Philip, his mouth sardonic. “He’s able to fall in love with a potential income. He feels particularly lucky in Miss Braden, because she has a modicum of good looks into the bargain.”

  “Thank you,” said Linda, “though I don’t believe you meant that as a compliment. Sure you won’t have a drink?”

  He shook his head, said abruptly, “See you at eight-thirty,” and went out.

  Maxine reached for her box of cigarettes and lit one. She looked relaxed and pleased with herself, and Linda decided It was no use getting worked up inside over the other woman; that way she could only hurt herself. Maxine came from a background where poise and self-confidence came naturally, and she saw to it that she was never involved in any situation which might turn out to her disadvantage. Witness the way she had seized the appropriate moment to slide out of her engagement to John.

  “The man’s marvellous,” she said now. “Honestly, Linda, you amaze me. You have Sebastian aching to marry you and Philip only a couple of hundred yards away, and you’re as unmoved as a stone ornament. Do you know what I’d do, in your position?”

  “No, tell me.”

  “I’d probably fall for one of them, but if I didn’t I’d play them against each other; the strong, masterful Englishman against the tenacious, volatile Spaniard. I almost wish I were staying here indefinitely.”

  Linda said coolly, “You don’t care a rap for what you’ve done to John, do you? You’re ready to make another kill the moment another man presents himself,”

  The bare shoulders lifted, gracefully. “You’re awfully young, Linda. You respond too much to other people’s reactions. My lack of emotion puts your back up, but if I were the warm and confidential type, you’d be the same. It’s not clever to be like that with men, you know. They like flattery spiced with challenge.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t care what they like. The sooner I get back to England the better pleased I shall be.”

  “That’s because you’re a bit fed up with me, and frightened.”

  “Frightened?” In spite of herself Linda paused on her way out of the room. “Why should I be frightened?”

  Maxine smiled, turning down the corners of her lips. “I’m not sure. Maybe that simple little heart of yours is beginning to wake up, and you don’t know it. Or maybe you do know it, and realize that some things are way up, out of reach. Never mind, there’s consolation in knowing that the fruit at the top of the tree isn’t always sweeter than that lower down.”

  “You should know,” said Linda, and this time she did go from the room.

  * * *

  Linda had never before felt bitter towards a woman, and for a while it was bound to taint her existence, particularly as there was no avoiding frequent contact with Maxine. Obviously, Maxine did not consider Linda important enough to bother with evasions and subterfuge; she had left England to get away from trouble and to find for herself a good time, and she didn’t mind Linda’s knowing it. Because she had learned a great deal about Braden steadfastness, she took Linda’s loyalty for granted. No one here in Montelisa would ever learn that Maxine Odell had led John Braden to propose to her and spend far more than he could afford on a solitaire, and then written him off in a few callous words. She could rely on Linda’s complete silence on that point.

  So Maxine ate her light lunch that day with enjoyment, and after she had rested for a couple of hours she luxuriated in the bath and changed into a stiff sea-green silk. Later, while Linda was cleaning out the bath after her, and preparing to use it herself, she heard gramophone music from the sitting-room; Maxine was playing something lively by Granados, and probably taking a drink at the same time.

  Linda took care not to come down till eight-fifteen. She finished setting the table in the dining-room, found a few fullblown, roses to float in the flat center bowl, and placed the branched candlesticks where they would give most light. Anna assured her there was nothing whatever for her to do in the kitchen, and the ormolu clock in the sitting-room had just chimed the half-hour when she went in to join Maxine. All the lamps were lit, so that the light was bright but soft. In a long, gilt-framed mirror Linda saw herself, rather pale and somewhat ordinary in one of her white frocks. Well, it didn’t matter. Maxine could do enough dazzling for two.

  Oddly, Philip and Sebastian came in together. Philip looked incredibly distant and suave in a light lounge suit, but Sebastian’s dinner jacket seemed to accentuate his slightly swash-buckling manner; he had not subdued those thick black curls. He bowed over Maxine’s hand, murmured something extravagant in Spanish, and turned to Linda. Philip’s greeting, cool and half-smiling, had embraced both women, and it was he who naturally took possession of the drink cabinet and supplied their wants. Which was strange, really, thought Linda, because Sebastian knew every crack and corner of the house yet had not demurred.

  Anna served dinner almost at once, and what a dinner it was! Lobster bisque that melted on the tongue, fish patties that were like large snowflakes, escalopes of veal, very thin and garnished with peas, new potatoes and asparagus tips, tiny delicious pastries filled with a mixture of pineapple and raisins and sprinkled with chopped nuts, and a really superb cheese with coffee. When, as the courses followed each other, Linda looked her alarm, Anna pressed one finger to the side of her nose and nodded towards the men, who ate on, undismayed.

  Philip complimented Anna on the meal and the old woman was pleased. But it was Sebastian’s laughing remark in Spanish which brought a sparkle to her eyes.

  Maxine said, “One would pay almost anything to get a cook like Anna in England. I’m going to
find it awfully hard to diet here.”

  “But you do not need to diet,” Sebastian assured her gallantly. “You two English girls are already much too thin. In Spain, our women eat what they like, and they are thought very beautiful.”

  Unexpectedly, Philip put in, “On the whole, young Spanish women are the most beautiful in the world; the bone formation of their faces is very similar to the Egyptian. Northern races are so mixed that there’s no longer any purity about their features.”

  “Maybe what we lack in feature we make up in breadth of character,” said Linda hardily.

  “There are exceptions,” Philip stated, unperturbed. “Maxine’s profile is pure Greek. Your own would be pure English, if there were such a thing.”

  And his, thought Linda with some belligerence, was Roman in its arrogance, and quite detestable. She did not know that the glance she flashed him was hot and hostile, but she did notice a change in his expression; a faint hardening and sharpening, as though merely with a look she had tilted at a tender spot in him which he had not known to exist. As if he had spoken his intention, she knew he meant to get back at her, some time. And the knowledge sent a peculiar electric shock feathering over her scalp.

  “Shall we go outside?” she said.

  Anna was hovering. “It will be cold, senorita, and I have lit the fire in the sitting-room.”

  She did not mention that she had also put out bottles of fino and glasses, and dishes of home-made sweetmeats! She intended not only that the men should stay, but that they should come again.

  Maxine put on some more gramophone records and asked Sebastian if he would take her to the pelota game the following weekend. He, of course, not only agreed but decided to make up a party. Very politely, he begged Philip to be of the number.

  “Thanks, but no,” was the answer. “I just can’t afford the time.”

  Sebastian looked relieved, but Maxine turned to Philip and said, “May I ask a question? What’s the hurry about your work? That stuff you unearthed has been lying around for centuries, and a week or two either way now can’t matter much.”

  “No, it doesn’t. But I parcel out my year: the winter at the diggings, the spring collating and writing up all we’ve learned, and about three months travelling and being sociable with my own kind. I’ve already promised to leave for the Far East on a geological survey at the end of June.”

  Maxine’s eyes were very wide and green. “Is that supposed to be your holiday?”

  “Why not? A spot of work during a holiday gives it pep.”

  “How do you live while you’re on these jobs?”

  He smiled and lay back in his chair, got his pipe from his pocket but decided against lighting it and put it back again. “At the diggings we’re under canvas; there are three of us and we have a tent each. After that, my place next door is complete luxury. My trip to the Far East, though, promises to be the outside edge. I’m going as the guest of one of those fabulously wealthy princes and most of the time I shall be living in a palace.”

  “Really?” Maxine was fascinated; you could see it in the fixed glitter of her eyes and in the sudden tenseness of her fingers, clasped together in her lap. “Seems a pity to waste all that on a man who’s just as happy in a tent. It takes a woman to appreciate that kind of magic and excitement.”

  Sebastian had been silent long enough. “You are presuming that there is no magic and excitement in Spain,” he said gaily. “But I will show you! We will start on Saturday with the pelota, and go on another day to one of the clubs in Barcelona. Linda,” he turned upon her a brilliant and tender smile, “has said she will not go to the bullfight, and I will respect her qualms. But you, Maxine, would find pleasure in such a spectacle, no? You love excitement! With Linda’s permission I will take you with my brother and his wife.”

  At this final remark Philip raised his eyebrows and made no comment.

  Maxine said sweetly, “You already consider yourself engaged to Linda, don’t you, Sebastian? I wonder if it’s necessary to warn you that she’s shy and needs to be rushed? You’re Spanish, so perhaps it isn’t.”

  Linda had colored slightly. On the point of saying, “That kind of joke is never very funny, Maxine,” she changed her mind, and took a cigarette from Philip instead. He snapped on a solid-looking gold lighter and she leaned to it, becoming conscious of the long brown fingers holding it so steadily, and a male fragrance which already seemed familiar. “Smoke your pipe if you want to,” she said.

  “A cigarette will do.” He lit it, and added, “It’s been very pleasant, but I’m afraid I have to go. My usual evening meal comes on a tray while I work.”

  “We’re honored that you’ve spared us a couple of hours,” she told him evenly.

  He paused, and under cover of Maxine’s lively conversation with Sebastian, observed, “You’ve lost something, little one. You certainly had it the first time I met you, but now it’s gone.”

  “Couldn’t you put a name to it?” she suggested guardedly.

  “Quite easily,” still in those low tones. “It was a small, but sturdy flame.”

  “I expect I’m tired.”

  “You weren’t tired when you came in from the beach this morning, and that was when I first noticed it.” When she did not reply he leaned back his head and blew smoke towards the ceiling. “All right, leave it. Can you be down in the village tomorrow morning, at about nine?”

  “I think so.” She stared at him. Why?”

  “I’ll see you there, outside the pottery shop on the plaza. Put your servant on looking out those books of the old senora’s and come straight down. And I wouldn’t mention it to your friend, if I were you.”

  The mystery of it all was too much for Linda, and as Sebastian was trying to attract her attention she merely murmured, “Very well,” and turned away from Philip.

  Ten minutes later he got up to leave them, and as it would not have occurred to Sebastian to stay on after the Englishman had departed, he too made his elegant farewells and promised that he would bring up some of the new wine his father had just released in the bodega.

  After the men had gone Linda lingered in the patio. A thin high moon made a wavy line across the ocean and the stars were aloof in a dark sky. But it was not very cold.

  Behind her, Maxine struck a match, and said, “I’ve quite enjoyed my first day in Montelisa. It must be the men.”

  Linda ignored the implication. “I certainly didn’t think Philip Frensham would ever dine here. You managed that very expertly.”

  “My dear, it was nothing. You’ll never grow up till you realize that it’s possible to do anything, with any man. I’ll make a bet with you that before the week is out we’ll have an invitation from him.”

  “You don’ realize what a colossal job he’s doing. He puts that first.”

  “Don’t you believe it. That well-cut mouth of his doesn’t belong to an ascetic. He’ll get the work done somehow, but he’ll find time for us as well.” She paused, and her next words were impregnated with a kind of anticipatory relish. “Imagine it! He’s going to live for three months in one of those bejewelled palaces you read about. He knows that kind of people, Linda—the terribly wealthy, the absolute upper crust! He chooses to live in a tent at his diggings, but he needn’t; a man of his kind must be friends with the sultan, or whatever it is, and he could live like a potentate if he wished.”

  “He doesn’t wish.”

  “No, darling, but he might if he were married.” Maxine prettily smothered a yawn. “I’m turning in. Good night.” For minutes after Maxine had gone Linda’s whole being was curiously taut. Maxine’s final light observation hung on the air like a spider which might or might not be poisonous. Then gradually, Linda relaxed, and a moment or two after that she went indoors to collect the glasses and put away the bottles and sweet dishes. Maxine, she told herself with as much firmness as she could summon, could not possible become more of a menace than she was at present. One had to believe that.

  CHAPTER FO
UR

  MONTELISA was blue and gold and white under the morning sun. Shopkeepers lazed in the doorways of their stores and talked together, women swept dust out on to pavements and into the gutter, and at one corner of the plaza stood a forsaken barrel-organ upon which a puppy lay sleeping in the gathering warmth of the sun. In the center of the plaza the fountain played fitfully, as if it, too, had to be soaked with heat before it would perform satisfactorily, and a young man who had apparently been crossed by his ladylove the night before sat scowling on the cement edge of the basin; his dark flashing eyes looked through Linda at the gleaming raven hair and almond-shaped eyes of his amada.

  She smiled at her own foolish imagining; possibly the poor man was simply bemoaning his lack of luck in the lottery!

  She saw Philip before he saw her. He was speaking to the owner of the pottery shop in fluent Spanish but scarcely gesturing. The man laughed and threw up his shoulders as he turned to meet Linda, was still smiling from the exchange. His eyes were very grey, his throat dark against the open white collar of his shirt. A sudden embarrassment made her look beyond him, at the lovely orange and white teacups and saucers that marched along the top shelf inside the window.

  “Hallo,” he said. “You’re on time. Sorry it had to be so early, but I daren’t mess up two consecutive days. The cafe will be open, though. We can talk over a cup of coffee.”

  “Will it take that long—what you have to say?” she asked stiffly.

  He answered sharply. “Don’t get high-handed with me. I’m here for your benefit—not my own.”

  He slipped a hard, impersonal hand under her elbow and guided her across the plaza. She felt a faint spray from the completely resuscitated fountain, and then they were past it and had reached the tiny cafe which had overflowed on to the pavement and utilized all but a foot or so near the curb.