Oh dear, Laurel thought to herself. It all seemed to be quite a hopeless mix-up.
When they had finished the tea, refilled the pot and then emptied that as well, there was an aura of general contentment over the room.
Anthea turned her head lazily to look at Laurel. ‘I came down originally to suggest that we go swimming.’ She glanced at the others. ‘What about it?’
Both Laurel and Barbie agreed instantly, but Ned gave a mock groan. ‘What—one male among all you females? I’d be hopelessly henpecked!’
‘That’s what he tells us. He probably feels like a sheik surrounded by his adoring harem,’ Anthea jibed.
‘One of these days, young lady, you’re going to get soundly smacked on a certain tender portion of your anatomy,’ Ned threatened mildly.
‘Want to try it, Ned darling?’ Anthea asked sweetly.
‘I wouldn’t have the courage to.’ He heaved himself up out of the chair. ‘I’ll clean up a bit and be back in a minute, since I’ve been bulldozed into this swimming party.’
Anthea muttered something in an indignant undertone and nibbled on the last remaining iced cake. Laurel had noticed before her predilection for such temptingly fattening foods, but some quirk of metabolism kept her entrancingly slim. She finished the cake and licked her fingers absently, as if she was no older than Angel, then glanced over at Barbie.
‘I think it might be an idea if we used the pool at Castelanto. We can keep an eye on Angel easier there.’
Barbie nodded and Angel piped up on her own behalf, ‘I want to paddle in the fountain.’
‘So you shall, pet,’ Anthea agreed obligingly.
Ned came in a moment later, looking fresh and lanky in a white suit that somehow made him look like an overgrown schoolboy, and Laurel felt a quick rush of affection for him in her heart. Whatever else happened in life, it was good to feel that this bond would always be between them.
‘Here he is, the fine upstanding figure of a man,’ Anthea said impudently, with an outrageous Irish accent.
‘What’s the Irish accent for?’ Barbie asked, as Ned made a strangling motion with his hands, as if he was wringing a chicken’s neck. Anthea wrinkled her nose at him with the same provocative impudence, like a kitten tapping with a velvet paw.
They went outside to where Ned’s car stood side by side with Anthea’s rakish sapphire blue roadster, and after a little discussion and friendly argument they split up. Anthea driving herself and the rest in Ned’s car.
They drove off, as usual in a cloud of dust, and bumped along the road until everyone gave a sigh of relief at reaching the smoother highway that led inland. Laurel remembered too well the occasion of her last drive along this road, sitting at Stephen’s side trying to control her dislike and antagonism; trying to fathom out just what sort of man existed under the cynical mockery when he admitted his affection for his sister.
She was strangely eager to reach Castelanto and yet at the same time reluctant, because Stephen would be there. She tried to tell herself that both feelings did not arise from the same cause, that her eagerness was only brought into being by anticipation of the cool waters of the pool, but there was something in her heart that was not quite convinced by that argument and she was too frightened to investigate further, so she buried it deeply and gave her whole attention to talking to Angel, who was now going through a mischievous phase and climbing all over her sister like a happy puppy.
Barbie groaned, digging Angel’s small but quite weighty feet out of her stomach.
‘Sometimes I think Angel is a bit of a misnomer, brat,’ she muttered, tenderly fingering the afflicted part of her anatomy, while Angel laughed up at her with sparkling eyes from which every vestige of solemnity had disappeared.
Laurel watched the child, completely astounded that someone like Mrs. Bertram-Smythe could have produced such an unexpected pair of offspring like Barbie and the irrepressible Angel, who on occasion definitely did not deserve her nickname. Somewhat intrigued, she wondered what the unknown and deceased Mr. Bertram-Smythe had been like.
Both cars turned at last into the well kept private road that led to Castelanto, through the brightly flowering gardens, to draw up in the now familiar patio.
There were no cats on the terrace this time, but Stephen leaned on the balustrade, idly smoking a cigarette and looking down at them. Laurel found that she was quite unable to stop her glance going immediately to his dark, pirate face and saw a hand raise in half-mocking salute as she emerged from the car. She could not think that there was anything at all personal in it, since the greeting could be meant to include all of them, but his eyes were certainly on her as he made it.
‘I’ve brought everybody back for a swim,’ Anthea announced, mounting the steps to the terrace in a swirl of blue linen and shimmering blonde hair.
‘Good idea,’ Stephen nodded lazily. ‘I think I might join you.’
‘Thank heaven for that,’ Ned said wholeheartedly. ‘I was beginning to feel henpecked,’ he added, and then shrank back as all three girls made threatening motions towards him.
It seemed to be one of those golden afternoons when nothing could go wrong. It started that way and just went on like it. They followed the terrace around to the back of Castelanto and down another flight of steps into a part of the gardens that Laurel wished she did not find so familiar. At least the path they took was a different one and did not end up against the low, creeper-covered wall that had stopped her flight the last time. This time, at its end, there was an ornate sunken pool, the sun glinting on its clear, sparkling water and drawing gleams of pale blue from the tiles that lined it. A low, ornate stone wall was built around the edge and at each end a small fountain tinkled into a marble bowl. A third fountain, triple-tiered, throwing out countless jets of water, almost cut the gigantic pool in half, except for a narrow channel on each side.
‘Obvious why they called it the pool of fountains, isn’t it?’ Anthea commented.
Laurel nodded mutely, her eyes still on the great pool and the incredible fountain growing out of it. There were signs of modernization around the pool, but so skilfully done that they did not clash with what had been there far longer. A sunbathing platform had been constructed and a dressing-shed shaped like a small, ancient temple, to merge in with the creatures of legend that threw jets of water from the fountains. Small tables and chairs stood at one end of the sun platform and two diving boards, one high and the other for the not quite so brave, stood at the other end. In both sections of the pool, a round platform floated in the water and somebody, presumably Anthea, had left a gigantic and somewhat ridiculous rubber duck bobbing around in the vicinity of the centre fountain.
They undressed and slipped down into the caressing warmth of the water. Anthea was wearing a two-piece white costume and had bundled her blonde hair up beneath a tight-fitting cap, but Barbie, boyish and lithe in a plain black costume, went into the water with her head bare, like Laurel, who for a moment, when she encountered Stephen’s faint grin, felt self-conscious in her own plain green costume. As she slipped quickly into the water she was sure that she heard him murmur something about schoolteachers.
Stephen himself looked more than ever like a pirate, his tanned skin gleaming in the sunlight and the black hair wet and sleek as a seal’s.
They splashed around in the water for a while, then the men left them for the deeper half of the pool, where the diving boards were. Angel paddled in the small fountain at the end of the pool her sister occupied and was quite happily engaged there until she saw Anthea astride the absurd rubber duck, then she had to be brought into the pool to be given a ride.
Eventually they tired themselves out and lay down on the sun platform, talking in the lazy, desultory fashion of people warmed by the sun and quite content with life as it was at the moment, whatever came afterwards, until one of the servants came down to them with the news that a Senhor Manoel de Valente had arrived.
For a moment Laurel saw the imperturbable Stephe
n shaken off balance by surprise.
‘Manoel!’ He came to his feet quickly, with a nod of dismissal to the man who had brought the news, then glanced down at the others. ‘No need to break up the party. Manoel will probably join us.’
He did not stop to dress, but merely belted a short towelling robe around him and went towards the house. From the informality of his attire—and Stephen knew when to be formal and when not to be—Laurel guessed that the unexpected visitor was someone close to the family. It was not until Barbie spoke that she remembered that Anthea had once mentioned somebody by the name of Manoel and realized that the name of Valente was also familiar.
‘Who is this Manoel de Valente?’ Barbie asked, with an inquiring glance at Anthea.
‘A sort of cousin, I suppose—very far removed,’ Anthea informed her. She wrinkled up her brows in a faint frown, then shrugged. ‘I never have been able to work out the exact relationship. It’s probably so remote as to be nonexistent, but we like to consider him one of the family. His people are descended from the son of old Dom Miguel who built Castelanto,’ she added, and then Laurel remembered just where and when it had been that she had heard the name Valente before.
Barbie appeared to be indulging in a little frowning thought. ‘I think I remember meeting him once before,’ she said slowly. ‘It was at your eleventh birthday party. Wasn’t he the horribly fat little boy who sat in a corner all the afternoon and looked startled when anyone came near him.’
Anthea laughed. ‘That’s him—but, my pet, he’s changed out of all recognition, although he’s still as shy as he ever was. He came to my twenty-first birthday party as well, when you were over in England. I tried to flirt with him, but...’ she grinned impishly, ‘the poor boy almost blushed!’
Laurel shook her head with a whimsical smile. ‘Now what happens to all my ideas of the bold, bad Latin?’ Anthea rolled over on to her stomach with a chuckle and dug her toes luxuriously into the foam rubber she lay on.
‘I have an idea Cousin Manoel might be a little hard to handle if he was really roused. He seems so shy and easy-going I sometimes wonder how he’s managed to avoid the hooks,’ she added pensively. ‘There have been plenty of matchmaking mammas and designing daughters after him, but somehow he has drifted clear.’ There was the sound of footsteps coming along the path that led to the house, and then Stephen came in sight with another man walking by his side. If Manoel de Valente had been fat as a boy there was no sign of it now. He was of medium height and slimly built, carrying himself with quiet, unobtrusive pride, the type of man, Laurel thought, one likes on sight. His features were almost thin, sensitively carved, with a Latin darkness that was not too heavily swarthy. The same sensitivity was in the curve of his mouth—and she could not help comparing it with the ruthlessness of Stephen’s and the hint of cruelty she had noticed before and hoped she never came up against again.
Manoel acknowledged the introductions with a faint bow and a murmur of something instinctively courteous and fitting for the occasion, reserved without being remote and very attractive in his slightly shy composure. Anthea’s words seemed to indicate that he was very eligible for more than his looks, and Laurel did not have to look far to find the answer as to how he had avoided the snares set for him. The shyness of his dark eyes was not altogether unworldly and there was a determined firmness to his clean-shaven chin. Manoel de Valente probably had quite a will of his own, unobtrusive though it might be.
Anthea he greeted as cousin, in spite of the fact that the relationship was far removed, and Laurel found herself the recipient of a pleasant, friendly smile; but when he turned to Barbie there was a faint ripple, almost of shock, over his features. His eyes narrowed and there was a flicker of some inexplicable light in their darkness, before he was again the polite, charming guest.
Barbie did not seem to have noticed, nor did any of the others, and for a moment Laurel wondered if her imagination was playing tricks on her—or for one brief second she really had witnessed something she had not quite believed in—the proverbial love at first sight.
‘What brings you to Ladrana?’ Stephen inquired with casual friendship.
Manoel shrugged, with a negligent gesture of one slim hand. ‘No reason, my friend—except perhaps to make a nuisance of myself,’ he added with a surprisingly boyish grin.
‘Never that,’ Anthea murmured softly, slanting a look up at him through curling lashes, half teasing, half provocative in her irrepressible delight in flirting with almost any attractive and unattached man she liked the look of.
By her side Laurel felt Ned stiffen and forced herself not to look round at him. She knew he had been hurt by the softly murmured words and the blue glance Anthea had given the young Portuguese, but she knew too that she could never dislike the younger girl. She could understand only too well why Ned loved her. Anthea Barrington was like a gaily coloured butterfly, flitting lightheartedly in the sunlight, but one day she would come to rest and whoever held her then would hold the flame of life itself.
At that moment Angel, who had fallen asleep some time ago, temporarily quietened and exhausted by her paddling and more strenuous efforts in the pool, even though supported by adults, came drowsily awake and to the awareness that there was a stranger present. For a moment she fixed him with huge, wondering eyes and then bestowed on him a melting smile that brought a groan of protest from Anthea.
‘Cut it out, infant. Not him too!’ Her glance at Angel’s sister was almost pleading. ‘Blinkers, Barbie, I insist!’
Barbie gave her unaffected tomboy grin. ‘Might be an idea.’
Angel, however, decided to go back to sleep and promptly lay down again on her own foam rubber cushion. Within seconds her bewitching eyes had closed and she had lost interest in everyone around her.
Manoel laughed, ‘It seems that she finds us of little interest.’ His smiling glance went to Barbie. ‘She is an enchanting child, Miss Bertram-Smythe.’
‘Lord, what a mouthful!’ Anthea cut in inelegantly. ‘You’d better call her Barbie. Everyone else does.’
‘With your permission, Barbie?’
‘Of course.’ Barbie nodded towards the sleeping child. ‘The brat is called Angel with those eyes, but she doesn’t always live up to her name.’ Her glance at Angel, though, was affectionate and it was quite evident to everyone that, however much Angel might not live up to her name, her elder sister would never allow anyone else to comment on her often unangelic behaviour.
The conversation became general, sliding easily from one topic to another. Manoel, it seemed, had been to the mainland on his yacht, which was moored in Milton’s harbour at the moment, and had decided to pay a call on his relatives on the way back.
After a time Anthea yawned and stretched. ‘I feel hungry,’ she said, and jumped to her feet with surprising energy considering the languor of her yawn. ‘Suppose we all go inside now for lunch.’
Barbie uncurled herself and directed a glance at the sleeping Angel.
‘Don’t worry about her. I’ll keep an eye on her while you dress,’ Stephen offered, and fell into conversation with Manoel. Laurel was surprised to hear him speaking fluently in a language she guessed to be Portuguese. It had a pleasant, musical sound and she glanced at him with quick curiosity. For once he did not notice, and she was able to turn and accompany Anthea and Barbie into the dressing pavilion without any unwelcome comment in his mocking, too-perceptive manner.
They showered and dressed and then set about the more serious business of making themselves presentable to the male audience outside. Barbie merely flicked a comb through her damp curls and outlined her young mouth lightly with lipstick, the latter action carried out as if it was against her will and only bowed down to through parental insistence. Murmuring something about seeing how Angel was getting on, she wandered out, leaving Anthea more carefully combing out her own long fair hair.
Laurel herself was also ready, her skin softly tanned and glowing, her tobacco brown hair a shining mass of damp
curls, but Anthea started chattering to her immediately Barbie went out, so she remained in the room, watching the younger girl uncap a brilliant pink lipstick.
As on that other memorable occasion, the first time she had visited Castelanto, she watched Anthea swivel round in her chair before the mirror, the lipstick, still unused, held between her slender fingers.
‘Know something?’ she said suddenly. ‘I think Manoel has fallen for our Barbie.’
So it had not been imagination. Anthea at least had noticed, and if she had it was probable that Stephen had also come to the same conclusion, since there was very little that he missed.
‘What do you think?’ Anthea asked, watching her speculatively and making it clear that she expected an answer.
‘I don’t know,’ Laurel began hesitantly. ‘I didn’t really believe it could happen quite like that.’
‘Oh, it can,’ Anthea assured her. ‘Pouf! Just like that!’ She snapped her fingers to illustrate.
Laurel gave her a faintly whimsical smile. ‘Lot you would know about it,’ she retorted.
‘Oh, I’ve heard of it happening before,’ Anthea said airily. She gnawed on her lips with pensive satisfaction. ‘It’s really quite the best thing that could have happened.’
‘What is?’
Anthea threw her a surprised glance, as if the other girl should have known quite well what was in her mind. In any event, Laurel did have some intuition of what was coming.
‘Why, Manoel falling in love with Barbie, of course. She’ll make him a wonderful wife.’
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