‘I’ve already more or less promised, so I would have to go on with the show, even if I didn’t want to.’ She gave Anthea a restrained glance. ‘I thought you might have been interested in taking part in it.’
Anthea chuckled. ‘I’d love to, so long as you give me the part of the nymph who’s chased by the satyr!’
‘Most probably it would end up with the satyr being chased by the nymph,’ Ned retorted, at which Anthea wrinkled up her nose at him. ‘Or more likely the goddess Venus chasing some unfortunate male.’
‘Who said he’d be unfortunate?’ Anthea demanded indignantly, and with some surprise Laurel realized that her good-natured, easy-going brother was quite a match for the female half of the Barrington family. Whatever his personal feelings might be, he put up a good front in dealing with his unfortunate love for Anthea. Somewhat intrigued, she wondered if she presented the same undisturbed appearance to Stephen.
It was hard to know the exact impression one made on another person, even though quite a lot could be guessed at. If she could do as well as Ned she would feel a lot safer from Stephen finding out how much he really meant to her, but Anthea knew, and she had an uneasy feeling that the other girl would not hesitate to inform Stephen himself if it suited whatever plan she might be hatching at the time. That did not stop her liking Anthea though, which seemed another effect of the Barrington charm.
Once or twice during the afternoon she noticed Anthea watching her speculatively, with just a hint of exasperation, and wondered what was causing the expression.
She had no need to ask. Anthea had no hesitation in bringing up the subject herself.
The two girls had gone up to Laurel’s room, so that Anthea could renew her make-up before she left, and she swung round from the stool set before the dressing-table, pointing her lipstick at Laurel in a way that was oddly reminiscent of the first evening they had met.
‘You’re not trying nearly hard enough,’ she stated positively.
‘What do you mean?’
Anthea made an impatient little movement. ‘You know as well as I do what I mean. Every time Stephen comes near you, you just freeze up.’
Laurel turned away, looking out of the window. ‘I suppose it hasn’t occurred to you that I might be afraid of giving myself away?’ she asked quietly.
Anthea came across to her side instantly. Her hand caught at Laurel’s bare arm in instant contrition. ‘I’m sorry, Laurel. I know it must be hard for you, but...’ She gave a whimsical little smile and added persuasively, ‘Don’t treat him like a contaminating disease.’
Laurel turned round, a look of surprise and dismay on her face. ‘Do I...? Do I treat him like that?’
Anthea made a deprecating little gesture. ‘Well, not as bad as that, I suppose ... but you certainly make it quite plain that you’re not keen to have him near you.’ She shrugged. ‘I don’t suppose Ned noticed. He’s quite obtuse about that sort of thing and he likes Stephen, so if he did notice he would probably put it down to shyness on your part.’
Laurel looked thoughtful as she picked up a comb to run through the cap of short tobacco-brown curls that clustered all over her head, but there was an eminently satisfied expression on Miss Barrington’s face as she went downstairs with her hostess.
Stephen and Ned were waiting for them in the little hallway. Anthea tripped downstairs, gaily swinging her white handbag by its strap, but Laurel followed more slowly. Stephen’s powerful maroon car was parked outside. He handed Anthea into the front seat and slammed the door on her impertinent remarks, but she quickly shot down the window and continued to chaff Ned through the opening.
Laurel hesitated a moment, then moved closer to Stephen and lifted her head for the goodbye kiss that would be expected. He grinned and accepted the invitation, expertly and thoroughly, then kissed her again for good measure. She could not quite decide whether she wanted to hit him for his very evident amusement.
‘Courage, my child. You’ll survive,’ he murmured, and then slid into the front seat of the car to start the engine softly purring.
Laurel watched the car receding into the usual cloud of dust and yearned for a miracle to happen.
Barbie was the next visitor to the Shannon ménage. She arrived on the morning following Anthea’s dressing down, dusty, hot and with swollen, red-rimmed eyes.
Laurel gave her a glance of dismay. ‘Barbie! Whatever has happened?’
Barbie bit her lips and seemed to be on the verge of more tears. ‘I’ve had a row with Mother,’ she muttered finally.
Ned chose that moment to show up in the doorway, but Laurel signalled to him silently to leave her alone with Barbie. He took one look at the miserable Barbie, who had bowed her head in her hands and consequently had not seen him enter, nodded understandingly and disappeared.
Laurel sat down on the couch at the younger girl’s side and gently but determinedly drew her hands down from her face.
‘Now, suppose you tell me what happened,’ she said quietly. She was just a little surprised that Barbie should have come to her in her distress, rather than gone to Anthea, who she had known longer.
Barbie made a pettish little movement. ‘Oh, it’s Mother! Always wanting to marry me off to someone!’
Laurel smiled, but hastily erased it. ‘Who is it this time? Manoel?’
Barbie nodded. She looked up, her eyes still bright with tears. ‘I feel so humiliated. We were in Milton ... I hoped she hadn’t seen him, but of course she had. She was all over him in no time and ... and it was so obvious. I don’t know what he must be thinking now.’
Laurel had a good idea what he was probably thinking, since if he had his way he would be a willing catch in Mrs. Bertram-Smythe’s too obvious net.
‘I’m sure he didn’t think anything of it,’ she suggested soothingly.
‘But he must have,’ Barbie insisted. ‘I know Mother means well, but she makes me feel awful sometimes. Besides ... besides, I’m in love with someone else,’ she added in a hesitant whisper.
This time Laurel felt real consternation, because she could guess only too well who had become the recipient of Barbie’s young, inexperienced heart. The girl had avoided men so much she simply had no idea how to tell the difference between the experienced, blasé philanderer and sincere affection.
‘Congratulations,’ she said with a smile, hiding her dismay as best she could and finding that her experience of hiding her true feelings from Stephen had made her quite expert at it. ‘This is rather a reversal of opinion after the scathing denouncement of men only a few days ago. Who is responsible for it?’
‘Paul Brenton,’ Barbie said, and blushed.
‘But you only met him two days ago,’ Laurel attempted to point out. ‘How can you be so sure?’
‘You fell in love with Stephen the first day you met him,’ Barbie said triumphantly, and Laurel accorded her a silent salute, finding herself hoist with her own petard, or rather one of Stephen’s fabrications.
‘Yes, I suppose I did,’ she admitted. ‘But you don’t know anything about him really, do you?’
Barbie waved her tentative warning aside. ‘I know all I need to know about him, that I love him and that he loves me.’
Heavens, the man was a quick worker! Laurel felt her dismay rise sharply, because she was quite certain that, even from her limited experience of him, Paul Brenton felt nothing of the kind. Whatever attraction Barbie had for him, there was little doubt that it went no further than the attraction of novelty. When the newness wore off he would have no qualms about leaving her. If she gave way to what could only be infatuation, Barbie was just laying herself open to heartbreak and disillusionment possibly even danger. She had a horrible suspicion that Paul Brenton was the type of man who would not even respect Barbie’s total innocence of men. However, no good would come of trying to dissuade her outright. It would only make her all the more determined. There was a lot of child in Barbie still and luckily Laurel knew just how to deal with children.
�
�Well, I suppose you know your own mind best,’ she said briskly, as she rose to her feet. ‘The main problem at the moment seems to be your mother’s intentions to pair you off with Manoel. Suppose we get that settled first?’
Barbie gave her a look of trusting confidence. ‘What can we do about it? She’ll only give up when he becomes engaged to somebody else. I suppose there’s no chance of that?’ she added hopefully.
Laurel shook her head. ‘Not that I know of,’ Anthea had more or less admitted that he was quite free and did not have any entanglements that she knew of, and Anthea’s knowledge of such matters was usually quite extensive. ‘I suppose you couldn’t pretend to your mother that he is interested in someone else,’ she suggested.
Barbie shook her head instantly. ‘Not a hope. That would only make her work quicker—and more obviously,’ she added gloomily.
There’s only one thing for it, then—we’ll have to explain the whole matter to Manoel himself.’
Barbie’s eyes opened wide in horror. ‘I couldn’t!’ she gasped. ‘I feel bad enough about it as it is.’
Laurel smiled down at her. ‘I was not suggesting that you should do the explaining. I’ll speak to him for you, if you like.’
Barbie brightened up instantly. ‘Oh, would you?’ The next moment she looked a bit doubtful. ‘He’ll probably think it rather strange.’
‘I doubt it.’ She handed Barbie her own handkerchief as the younger girl seemed to be hunting helplessly for something to dry her eyes with. ‘Don’t forget he comes from an environment where parents often arrange their children’s marriages. This sort of thing must happen quite often, the parents wanting their daughter to marry some particular man and the girl having entirely different ideas about who she wants to marry. He’ll probably think it’s quite romantic and want to help you.’
If the help included throwing Barbie into Paul Brenton’s arms, she knew that would be the last thing Manoel de Valente would desire, but between them they could probably circumvent such an unwelcome climax. For a moment it occurred to her that she might have appealed to Stephen for help of some kind, but she dismissed it almost immediately. There was little that he could do and, in any case, it was Manoel’s right to give any help that was needed, as he loved Barbie.
She left Barbie mopping up her eyes and went into the kitchen, where Ned was hovering around anxiously, having dismissed Pepita out to the region of the kitchen garden. He had already put the kettle on.
‘I’m making some tea,’ he almost whispered, as if his voice could reach Barbie.
‘That will make her feel better.’ Laurel smiled at his assumption that tea was the cure for everything, even love affairs.
‘Thanks, Ned.’
‘What’s the matter with her, anyway?’
‘Just that matchmaking mother of hers.’ She hesitated a moment, then decided to tell Ned everything she knew.
He whistled softly when she finished. ‘Paul Brenton! I’ve heard of him.’ He glanced at his sister and shook his head. ‘He’s bad medicine, my pet. We’d better get her out of his clutches if we possibly can.’
‘What have you heard about him, then?’
Ned made a deprecating gesture. ‘I don’t like to gossip,’ he said hesitantly, ‘but I heard one or two things about him when I was on holiday about a year ago in Lourengo Marques. He apparently lived around there for a time and acquired rather a bad reputation with women. He was mixed up in a particularly unsavoury divorce case at one time. The woman committed suicide afterwards. There was a rumour went round that she was going to have a baby and did it because he refused to marry her.’
‘Good heavens!’ Laurel sounded startled. She had instinctively felt that Paul Brenton was bad, but her intuition had never led her this far. It now became all the more imperative to free Barbie from an infatuation which could be actually dangerous.
‘Want any help?’ Ned inquired, as his sister filled a tray and prepared to depart.
‘No, I can manage her all right. Do you mind having your tea alone, Ned? I think she’d rather not have an audience to have to play up to. I won’t tell her that you know.’
Ned shook his head instantly. ‘Of course I don’t mind. Just pour me out a cup before you go.’ He started to reach for the teapot, then changed his mind. ‘No, better still, I’ll make myself another pot in this one.’
He hauled a tiny blue china teapot down off the shelf, and Laurel reached up to kiss his cheek affectionately. ‘You’re a darling, Ned.’
He grinned down at her and slipped his arm around her shoulders to hug her swiftly.
‘You’re not so bad yourself, Miss Shannon.’
Laurel returned to the lounge to find that Barbie had recovered enough to feel ashamed of her outburst. She came across the room swiftly and took the tray from the elder girl, and, because she guessed that it helped her, Laurel let her take it and set it down on the table.
‘I’m beginning to feel ashamed of myself for bothering you with all my troubles,’ she said apologetically.
‘Don’t be silly,’ Laurel retorted. ‘You know I’m glad to help.’
‘I just didn’t think about it ... just came barging in. I felt so upset I ran out of the house and started to walk as fast as I could. I found myself near here when I came to.’
‘Just as well that you did,’ Laurel told her briskly. ‘Everything will work out all right. Don’t worry about it. Drink up your tea and then we’ll go and see if we can find Manoel.’
‘He’ll probably be on his yacht He was going back there when we left him in town this morning.’
‘Then we’ll go and beard him in his den.’ She grimaced. ‘I hope I can make his crew understand that I want to see him. I don’t know a word of Portuguese.’
‘I do. You tend to pick it up on the island, as there are still quite a lot of Portuguese here,’ Barbie explained. ‘I could come with you, although I would rather not see Manoel myself until you’ve explained.’
For what Laurel had in mind, she was quite sure she did not want Barbie there, so she shook her head.
‘You go home. I’ll manage all right’
Barbie finished her tea in a far happier frame of mind and Laurel then borrowed Ned’s car and dropped her off home, prior to going in to Milton. As Barbie stood at the gate of the house, Laurel put her head out of the car window and smiled, leaving the engine still running.
‘Don’t worry. Everything will be all right. Come to lunch tomorrow and you can find out what happened.’
‘Thanks, I’d love to.’ She grimaced as Mrs. Bertram-Smythe appeared inquiringly in the doorway. ‘I’d better go in now and make my peace with Mother.’
She turned with a wave of one hand that silently conveyed her gratitude and Laurel efficiently put the car in gear and drove off, hoping that if she ever chanced to do so in Stephen’s vicinity she would do it just as smoothly, but knew that she would probably do just the opposite from nervousness.
On the smooth road that led to Milton she had plenty of time to think about Barbie’s problem and rather welcomed its advent, because it kept her thoughts off Stephen.
As Ned had said, they had to get Barbie out of Paul Brenton’s clutches somehow, and although she did not have the faintest idea how to go about it, unlike Anthea’s demand that she should make Stephen fall in love with her, she was sure that this problem at least would work out successfully by some means or the other.
The scattered buildings grew closer together and then she found herself quickly in the small town’s wide streets that were bordered by lovely flower gardens. The harbour itself was bordered by a wide esplanade where she was able to leave the car and she quickly scanned the boats moored on the sparkling blue water.
It gave her an odd little shock of surprise to find the coastal freighter that had brought her to the island was still there, loading up this time. There was a miscellany of small craft and, right down near the southernmost curve of the harbour, Stephen’s own yacht rode the water like a graceful
white bird. There were only two other yachts in the harbour. She walked along to the first of them and found that the name on its side proclaimed it to be the Firebird—the yacht which had brought Roberta Fransom to the island. With a quick, cold little feeling she passed on to the remaining one, painted white like Stephen’s, but with the name Rosaritos on its sleek hull, which would have told her it belonged to Manoel, without the confirmation of a burst of conversation from its decks that was quite incomprehensible to her.
She approached the neat little gangway somewhat tentatively, under a sudden silence from the deck, as the two men lounging at the head of the gangway turned their attention fully on her. One was young and rather attractive, the other grizzled and old, but both were regarding her with quite open admiration that would have made her blush if she had not been amused by it.
‘Senhor Manoel de Valente?’ She put inquiry into her voice, hoping it would be enough for them to guess that she wanted to know if Manoel was aboard. Both of them burst immediately into voluble Portuguese and she repeated Manoel’s name, more firmly this time. Finally she was invited aboard, the older man dismissed the younger one with something that had the sound of a definite order, and escorted her to a deck cabin, still talking, blithely unconcerned that she did not understand a word of what he was saying.
The cabin door opened and Manoel himself appeared in the opening. He looked faintly surprised to see her, but instantly smiled.
‘Laurel! This is an unexpected pleasure.’
‘I hope you think so after you hear what I have to say,’ she retorted, returning his smile.
‘I am sure I shall,’ he replied with his habitual courtesy. He dismissed the seaman with some instructions in Portuguese, then closed the door and turned back to her. ‘Please sit down.’
She complied, looking round the cabin interestedly. There was evidence of wealth everywhere, but it was very tasteful evidence. Because she did not quite know where to begin, she occupied herself for long moments in examining her surroundings.
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