'To discover if your skin is as silken to the touch as it appears to the eye.' Rafael's voice was barely audible, and Judith stared, mesmerised, as the familiar brilliance returned to the eyes holding hers, their gleam hypnotic between the thick dark lashes. 'You should not have come, Judith,' he said softly.
'I know that,' she said flatly. 'I was a fool.'
'No, not a fool, Judith. A warm, caring woman, and I am sorry I gave you such a cold reception.'
'I understand, Rafael.' She jumped to her feet with decision. 'I'll leave now.'
He was before her, his hands on her shoulders.
'Don't go, Judith.'
She eyed him with distrust. 'You said you wanted to be alone.'
'I have changed my mind. I want you to stay. Please.'
'Why?'
'Because we—enjoy each other's company,' he said, with a cajoling note in his husky voice. The limited time we have spent together so far has not been enough. Stay and talk to me, Judith, please.'
'I thought you had your own personal private devil for company,' she retorted, still smarting from his earlier rebuff. 'What about him? Will he be one of the party?'
'Not if you stay. With you here perhaps I can forget him for a time.' There was an odd, wild light in his eyes that rang warning bells in Judith's head, but she chose deliberately to ignore them.
'All right,' she said casually, and released herself from his grip. 'Does that mean you're offering me dinner? I tend to eat rather a lot, I should warn you.'
Rafael laughed huskily, the first sound of genuine mirth she'd heard from him since her arrival. A warmth rushed through Judith involuntarily, and she grinned back at him.
'You may eat as much as you like, chica,' he assured her with a glint of white teeth, 'but only on condition that you cook it as well, unless you want the same as lunch—my culinary talent is very limited.'
'We can't all be perfect,' she said pertly.
'I try my best,' he said piously, and smiled, holding out a hand. 'Come. I will show you the giant freezer in what Bryn calls the "back kitchen". I think you say utility room, no?'
Giant was the word. Judith had never seen such a mammoth freezer. It was stocked with everything imaginable, from pheasant to blackcurrant pies. Judith chose some lamb chops and put them to thaw, then peeled potatoes for roasting, and decided on peas and stuffed tomatoes to go with them. Rafael sat on the kitchen table, legs swinging, and watched her, listening with amusement to her account of her first day back at work in the hospital, all traces of his earlier coolness gone.
'My colleagues, to a woman, thought my grievous bodily harm nothing against the thrill of being delivered at Casualty by you,' she concluded, turning to smile at him cheekily. 'It was the blood-stained frilly shirt that really got everyone going, would you believe.'
'But yes. I still have it,' Rafael said solemnly.
'No doubt you do.'
'Unwashed, Judith—how could I bear to part with your life-blood.' He laid a hand on his heart dramatically.
'Ugh!' She threw a tea-towel at him, and he caught it neatly, grinning. 'Do you have to be so melodramatic, Rafael? I suppose the whole thing was just your cup of tea.'
'I do not care for tea,' he said with dignity.
'You know very well what I mean,' Judith said crossly. 'I have this feeling you're following a libretto every now and then—it's very disconcerting.'
'But not dull!'
She regarded him thoughtfully, head on one side.
'No, Rafael; certainly not dull. In fact you might say the even tenor of my existence has been severely disrupted lately—' She gurgled suddenly. 'Did you hear that, Rafael? That must be the only musical pun I've made in my entire life!'
To her surprise there was no answering smile on his face, which was suddenly suffused with a look of such intense melancholy her smile died and she put out a hand questioningly.
'I fear I am a very uneven tenor now, querida,' he said hoarsely, and slid off the table, seizing her in his arms. Instead of the kiss which she half expected he laid his cheek against her hair and spoke rapidly in an expressionless monotone. 'I had no intention—no desire to speak of this, but I am not, and never can be, the noble, silent type, Judith. For over half my life I have made my living by expressing emotions through my music, showing what I feel, suppressing very little. Oh Judith, Judith, I did not mean to burden you with my problem, but never in my wildest dreams did I imagine I would see you here like this, and I find I cannot keep silent. The operation has done permanent damage. I can speak, but I cannot sing. At least not in the way I could before. That is the particular devil who is to be my life companion.'
CHAPTER SEVEN
Judith was stunned. She locked her arms round Rafael's body in an agony of compassion. Tears thickened her throat and she turned her head to rub her cheek wordlessly against his. This had been her fear all along, Martin's too, but to hear it as fact from Rafael's lips was a shock to the system for which nothing could have prepared her.
For a long time they stayed in silence, until she finally asked,
'Did—did you know beforehand?'
'Yes. I had no choice. If the growth remained the prognosis was—not good.' Rafael's arms tightened convulsively. 'Dios, Judith, what can I do with the rest of my life? Without the voice I am nothing.'
Judith emerged from her anguish abruptly at this, and held him at arms' length.
'Hey. Now come on—so you can't sing,' she said, with brutal bluntness. it may be the end of your particular world, but you'll just have to find another world to interest you, that's all. Are you short of money?' she added practically.
'No. I suppose I am a rich man. My mother left me money as well as what I earn—have earned, myself.' He stared at her like someone in shock, his eyes glazed, his face devoid of colour beneath the olive skin. He flung away from her suddenly, his face angry. 'I was a fool to think you could understand. I was not referring to ways to earn my daily bread.'
Judith stood with arms folded, her eyes unwavering.
I'm well aware of that, Rafael. And perhaps I don't understand fully. Music doesn't play any part in my life. And I know you're a big star, used to adulation and excitement. But in a few years or so you'd have to retire anyway, wouldn't you? It's come early for you, while you're right at the top of your particular tree—is that so bad? To be remembered always at the very height of your career?'
Rafael went over to the window, to stare unseeingly at the garden outside, his hands clenched at his sides.
'What I am trying to get through to you, Judith,' he said harshly, 'is that I have no idea how to occupy myself. I am not concerned for the moment with the things you mention. But my life is—was—filled to overflowing with rehearsals, recordings, incessant travel, interviews; many many things besides the actual performances. Without a voice all that is over. Finished. And my life stretches in front of me like a desert. I never married again after Lucia. I have no close family; all my friends, apart from Martin, are concerned with music. So what do I do? And when I come up with an answer, where shall I pursue this new occupation? In Granada—where people come to stare at my house because I was born there? Or in Milan, or New York or London, where people used to point me out in the street. If they did so now it would be with curiosity, even pity for a has-been.'
Judith had had enough.
'At least I now know the name of your private devil,' she said bitingly. it's self-pity. For God's sake get things into perspective, Rafael. You could have died— and spare me the "better if you had" bit! Quite a few singers have died with cancer of the throat; you were one of the lucky ones.'
'Your definition of luck does not coincide with mine,' he said coldly, not turning his head.
Judith ignored this. in my job I see a lot of people in pain, and sometimes nothing can be done and they die—young men in their teens, children too,. who've never had a chance to live, let alone experience all the things you've packed into forty years of life—'
; 'Thirty-nine,' he muttered unexpectedly.
Judith cast her eyes heavenwards and went on doggedly.
'What I'm trying to say is that if you do sit on your rear end for the rest of your life, Rafael David, you have still achieved more than most. Not just the triumph and personal satisfaction for yourself, but all the wonderful pleasure you've given to the public with your voice—and will continue doing on recordings. Oh what's the use!' Judith gave up. 'I'm going back down to Morfa.'
'No!' Rafael leapt across the room and caught her as she made for the door. 'Don't go, Judith. Stay, please. For dinner, at least.' He bent gracefully and kissed her hand, looking up at her from beneath the celebrated slanting eyebrows. 'I do not know what to do with lamb chops.'
Judith was rather baffled by the abrupt volte-face. She looked at him thoughtfully as he straightened, at a loss how to respond.
'Very well,' she said unwillingly at last. 'But just for dinner. I must get back before dark—and I should let Owen Morris know at the Anchor. I said I'd be eating there tonight.'
Rafael waved a hand at the wall-telephone near the kitchen door.
'Please do. Then we find something pleasant and neutral to talk about, and spend a friendly hour or two together—no more heart-searching, I promise. I apologise for my lapse of control; a regrettable lack of your British stiff upper lip, no?'
Judith went over to the telephone without answering. Rafael leaned in the doorway, watching her as she spoke with Owen Morris, his eyes never leaving her face. She put the telephone back on its rest and turned to him, frowning.
'Why are you looking at me like that?'
He shrugged. 'I have been alone all week—and you are very easy to look at.'
'I'd appreciate the compliment rather more if it were my face you were looking at,' said Judith drily. 'I'll go up and see if my track-suit's dry.'
'Such a shame to hide those beautiful legs.' His smile flashed in the gloom. 'Do not be long then, Judith. We shall have a drink before you start demonstrating your culinary skill.'
They had more than one glass of the very dry sherry Rafael produced for an aperitif, and Judith began to feel warm and relaxed. They chatted comfortably together, like old friends, as she coped with the unfamiliar cooker, Rafael lounging in a kitchen chair, watching her supple, co-ordinated movements with enjoyment, and eventually Judith even confided her hopes on the subject of Honor and Martin.
'Don't you think it would be great for them both if they got married?' she asked. 'It seems such a waste for them to lead separate lives when I'm certain they're ideally suited to each other.' He smiled indulgently at her. 'Then perhaps you should tell them so. Martin is rather shy.'
Rafael proffered the sherry decanter. 'A little more?'
'If I do I'll never get the dinner to the table—I can only just about see straight as it is!' Judith grinned at him and turned back to the chops, then inspected the potatoes and tomatoes in the oven and put the peas to cook. 'Right, then. Five minutes and everything's ready.'
'Good. I am starving.' Rafael rose indolently to his feet, stretching like a great cat. He put out a hand to touch Judith's hair, but she dodged deftly, her cheeks flushed from the heat of the oven.
'No distracting the cook—and don't do a disappearing act just as I serve the meal, please!'
'With you, Judith, I put on no act, ever.' The effect of his words was rather spoiled by the dramatic hand he laid on his heart.
'You don't say!' Judith's eyes held a sceptical gleam.
'Yes, I do say. And I am your obedient servant, I promise—two minutes to wash, two minutes to open the wine,' he promised as he sauntered to the door, 'and afterwards I shall even wash the dishes.'
Judith smiled as he left the room, privately very doubtful that Rafael David had washed many plates during his celebrated career, though to do him justice the house was immaculate, as though he had taken pains to keep it in rigorous order during his time alone there. He returned quickly, as promised, and within minutes both were at the table before plates full of appetising food, their glasses filled with the smooth claret Rafael had produced as a suitable accompaniment to the lamb. He was extravagant with his compliments on Judith's cooking, his eyes sparkling wickedly as her colour rose when he said,
'So beautiful, and such a good cook also, Judith; what more could a man want? No other attributes are necessary!'
'Sexist!' she returned without heat, uneasily aware that her defences were by no means what they should be under the demoralising effect of the warmth and bonhomie prevalent in the atmosphere. She put a resolute hand over her glass as Rafael made to refill it. 'No more, or I shall never be able to walk back down to the village.'
'Then do not,' he said instantly, the levity suddenly gone. 'Stay here.'
Judith surveyed him dispassionately. 'And just exactly what do you mean by that?'
'What I say. Sleep here, then there is no necessity for you to walk back to Morfa.' He leaned towards her a little, communicating an urgency that made Judith retreat instinctively, wary of the immediate tension between them.
'And where would you want me to sleep, Rafael?' she asked bluntly. 'In your bed?'
Rafael's shoulder moved in the negligent gesture she was beginning to know well, and he got up to take their plates over to the sink. 'There are five bedrooms here, Judith,' he said over his shoulder. 'You can choose which one you like—including mine.'
Judith contemplated his broad shoulders thoughtfully. 'I'm not sure what you're suggesting.'
He swung round, his eyes unreadable. 'I am lonely, Judith. When I first came here I craved solitude; I needed very much to wrestle uninterrupted with my problem. I was determined to stay here until I had come to terms with being unable to sing. But now you have changed all that. I detest the thought of being alone again.' He spread his hands, a smile of self-derision twisting his mouth. 'Not very heroic, am I? More a child afraid of the dark. But I have need of your calm good sense, chica. Stay with me. Please!'
Judith stared at him for a moment in silence, then dropped her eyes, feeling uncertain and oddly gauche in response to his intensity. 'I don't know that it's a very good idea,' she murmured eventually.
'For you, no, I realise that,' he agreed. 'I am selfish to ask you to give up your holiday.' He moved across the room to turn her face up to his, meeting her eyes with a look of such entreaty Judith's heart turned over. 'I will pay for the fortnight at the inn in the village. Tell them you have been called away to a sick friend—not so far removed from the truth, querida.'
'And what would I tell Honor?' asked Judith, but she was wavering and a gleam of triumph lit Rafael's eyes as he sensed victory and pressed home his advantage.
'Tell her the truth—that you are with me. She would not give my secret away, I know.'
'She'll think I'm mad, and she's probably right, too.' But Judith had given in and they both knew it. She made one more protest as a face-saving gesture. 'Only for a few days, then, Rafael.'
'I am in your hands, Señorita Russell—where are you going?' as Judith jumped to her feet.
'I have to get back down to Morfa and then drive back up that horrendous road, amigo, which is something I'd like to accomplish before dark.' Judith looked at Rafael steadily. 'I hope I shan't regret this, Señor David.'
He bent his dark head and raised her hand to his lips, a sincerity in the gesture which was oddly reassuring. 'I shall endeavour to cause you no regret, I promise, Judith. I am grateful. Muchas gracias.' Rafael straightened, suddenly brisk. 'Now. I shall walk part of the way with you—'
'No,' she said at once. 'Someone will be sure to see you and then the hounds will be at your door. I shall run—it's all downhill. And I'll be back some time tonight in the car, if you'll tell me where to turn off the Cardigan road again—always supposing Honor's car ever makes it up those bends, that is!'
Rafael gave her precise instructions, the numb, dead look gone from his face, his entire manner changed as he instructed her repeatedly to be c
areful, then took a wallet from the pocket of his black cords and tried to give her money.
'No you don't,' said Judith firmly, stepping back. 'No money, Rafael. I'll pay my own bill.'
'But I wish to pay it for you,' he insisted, his face darkening.
'And I wish to pay it myself,' she countered steadily, 'or I don't come back.'
Their eyes clashed for a moment, then Rafael reluctantly replaced the wallet.
'Very well. You are very obstinate, Judith.'
'Yes—well, that's just one of the disadvantages you may have to accept with this situation.' Judith gave him a cheerful smile and took herself off, waving Rafael back into the house.
The rain had cleared, leaving a chilly, damp evening and Judith set off at a brisk pace down the winding road. The way back down to Morfa took much less time than the climb up, and she arrived at the Anchor sooner than expected, though a trifle more breathless than she would have preferred.
She found Owen Norris and explained that she was unable to stay after all, hurriedly assuring him that she would expect to pay the full amount nevertheless. He was shaking his head before Judith had finished speaking.
'A shame you have to leave, Miss Russell,' he said, 'but what's all this nonsense about paying for two weeks' board? One night you stayed, and one night you can pay for.'
'But I can't possibly do that,' said Judith quickly. 'I'd hate you to lose by it—'
There was a great deal of argument before the landlord was finally made to accept at least one week's payment to assuage Judith's conscience. She finally set out to negotiate the steep main street of Morfa, bracing herself for the ordeal of coaxing the Morris up the endless succession of bends that lay between the village and the Cardigan road. It took intense concentration and far more gear changing than the Morris cared for before Judith finally made it to the main highway, feeling limp with strain as she drove along it for the short distance to the turn-off Rafael had indicated. She turned down the narrow road and was obliged to slow down to a crawl to make out the bramble-disguised turning into the farm track. When Judith reached the gate it stood open, and Rafael appeared immediately at the sound of the car to close the gate behind her, waving her on towards the open door of a large double garage where Judith parked the Morris with great care alongside a black Lotus Elan that crouched, panther-like in the fading light.
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