Teachers Must Learn

by Nerina Hilliard

‘Smells good. What is it?’

  Laurel smiled. ‘It doesn’t have a name. Just something of my own concoction. You can name it after you’ve tasted it.’

  ‘Right.’ He disappeared outside with another grin, leaving Laurel to her thoughts again, which thoughts seemed to have a bad habit of catching up with her whatever she was doing.

  Anthea, of course, was quite capable of asking Stephen outright what the quarrel had been about, but it was extremely doubtful that Stephen would give her a satisfactory reply. She found that she had to revise her estimate of him somewhat and admit that he was not in the least conceited about his personal attraction, but he would no doubt still find that it rankled a little that the girl he was supposed to be engaged to, in the eyes of the world at least, found him of so little interest that she was already allowing her name to be coupled with someone else. In one way, though, she could not help being rather glad he had received the impression that she was in love with Manoel and that he returned her supposed affection. The young Portuguese was attractive and quite as eligible as Stephen himself. It was also an additional safeguard against Stephen learning the full extent of her change of heart about him. If he thought she was in love with somebody else, he would not be so quick to pick up any slip she might make as to the true state of affairs.

  Ned came back into the kitchen, his hair still wet from his bath and his sun-tanned skin glowing with health. His own hopeless love for the other member of the Barrington household did not seem to be affecting him as much as it did her, his sister decided, although of course appearances were very deceptive. She was continually surprised when she looked into her mirror and saw the reflection of her own glowing youth, apparently burdened with no cares, when she was certain she should look quite haggard after a sleepless night spent trying to reason out just why she should have fallen in love with someone so eminently unsuitable. Ned probably felt just as hurt inside as she did. In fact she was sure of it sometimes when she caught a weary, dispirited look on his face, or a painfully wry smile in his eyes when he looked at Anthea. His eyes at the moment, though, were unusually perceptive. They even in a way reminded her uncomfortably of Stephen.

  ‘Something wrong, pet?’ he asked quietly after a moment.

  Laurel shrugged, stirring the fragrant brew on the stove. ‘What should be wrong?’ She attempted a smile which she hoped was quite gay. ‘It’s a beautiful day and I have my favourite brother home to lunch.’

  Ned grinned, but he quickly became serious again. ‘Quarrelled with Steve?’

  On the point of denying it, Laurel changed her mind. Ned in this mood could be obstinate.

  ‘Not exactly,’ she said carefully.

  ‘Anything serious?’ He picked up her hand and twisted the emerald ring with something like relief. ‘At least you’re still engaged to him.’ He gave her a sharp glance. ‘Better watch out for that Fransom woman, pet. She’ll cause trouble if she can. She’s out to get him back.’

  ‘She will get him back.’

  The words were out before she could stop them, coming so naturally, because it was what she believed herself.

  Ned shook his head. ‘No man would take back a woman who had treated him the way Roberta Fransom did Stephen.’ He grinned, but his expression was still faintly worried. ‘Brace up, pet. Stephen’s no fool.’ Again he threw her that sharp, perceptive glance. ‘Did you quarrel over her?’

  ‘No ... well, not exactly.’

  Suddenly, with no warning, with no intention of doing so, she found herself pouring out the whole story and Anthea’s incredible part in what had happened, watching her brother’s face grow blank with astonishment.

  Ned whistled softly when she finished. ‘No wonder you look down in the dumps!’ He turned her to face him gently. ‘There’s one thing that Anthea didn’t make up, though, isn’t there?’ As she remained silent, he added softly, ‘You really are in love with him.’

  She nodded wordlessly. There seemed no point in denying it. In a way it even helped, because Ned was undergoing exactly the same thing.

  He laughed wryly and released her. ‘We certainly are a pair of prize idiots.’ He saw a suspicious brilliance in her eyes and immediately slipped his arm round her again. ‘Want to have a cry?’

  ‘No, thanks, Ned,’ She freed herself and turned back to the stove, flicking away a surreptitious tear. ‘Can’t afford it at the moment. The lunch might burn,’ she added in an attempt to bring the conversation back to normal. Mentally though she echoed his words. If ever a pair of prize idiots were born, it was the Shannon brother and sister, to fall in love with Anthea and Stephen Barrington.

  With the perversity of fate in such matters, the next time Laurel saw Stephen she was actually in the company of Manoel and, because the situation between the young Portuguese and herself was so well defined and uncomplicated, her attitude was far less strained than it had ever been with Stephen, a fact which was apparently not lost on him as he came up to them, standing together on the quay, with the trim shape of Rosaritos behind them.

  One black brow jerked up in the irritating way that was supremely his own and, in spite of the longing in her heart, she felt an uprush of the familiar annoyance.

  ‘Good morning, Stephen,’ she said quickly, before he could get in first with any telling remark which would send the colour to her face and perhaps give cause for Manoel to look rather puzzled. It was all very well to allow Stephen to believe that the attractive young Portuguese was in love with her, but an altogether different matter to have her bluff called in front of Manoel himself.

  ‘Good morning, pequena,’ Stephen replied, but there was still a rather devilish lift to that dark brow which told her there was more to come. ‘I’m sorry I can’t greet you more warmly, but I don’t think it would be appreciated at the moment.’

  ‘Much too public,’ she agreed, deliberately misunderstanding him, although both knew quite well that he referred to Manoel not appreciating the sight of another man kissing the girl he was in love with.

  Manoel chose that moment to smile in amused understanding, which she was quite sure only strengthened the altogether wrong impression in Stephen’s mind.

  ‘Will you join me for a drink?’ The attractive smile flashed across his dark face again. ‘I was about to invite Laurel aboard until I remembered that her fiancé probably has enough Portuguese in him to regard it as rather incorrect.’

  Manoel’s words were plainly joking, to Laurel at least, knowing him as she did now, she was quite certain he would have never said a word out of place to her, even had he been in love with her, while she was still bound by the outward appearance of her engagement to Stephen, but the other man of course again entirely misinterpreted the remark. There was no mistaking the narrowing of the grey eyes and the derisive lift to the thin, almost cruel mouth.

  ‘Most incorrect,’ he drawled, and those too sharp eyes flicked to his fiancee’s desperately controlled smile, which felt as if it had become fixed there. ‘Just lately I’ve been wondering whether I might be more of a throwback to old Dom Miguel than I’d realized before.’

  Again Manoel smiled and again he only plunged them further into the morass of misunderstanding.

  ‘I do not think that Laurel will have cause to complain. She will at least agree that those with Portuguese blood know how to make love to a girl.’

  Laurel saw the smiling amusement in his eyes and knew that he was once again only teasing her, with the usual Latin lack of embarrassment when speaking about love, looking directly at her and putting an altogether different construction on the flags of embarrassment that warmed her face.

  ‘Well, my sweet, do you agree?’ he drawled.

  Laurel tilted her head defiantly. ‘Of course.’ She forced a smile she hoped was good enough to deceive. ‘It’s more than I dare do to disagree.’

  ‘You show wisdom,’ Manoel laughed. ‘And now, will you join me for that drink?’

  ‘Well, shall we, darling?’

  With Stephen’s almo
st cruel grip on her elbow already turning her towards the yacht, Laurel found she had no choice but to agree, so once again she tilted her head with that defiantly gay smile.

  ‘I’d love to, Manoel.’

  They mounted the gangway to the well-scrubbed decks she remembered so well from her last visit. This time there seemed to be more of the crew around and a loud, excited burst of Portuguese came from the forward end of the vessel, to be quelled in one short sentence from Manoel. Almost as he spoke, he turned to them with the teasing smile once again evident.

  ‘You must get Stephen to teach you Portuguese, Laurel. He will no doubt find it useful on occasion.’

  ‘I should imagine it would be quite a good language for making love in,’ Laurel agreed, deciding that to take the war into the enemy camp was the only way to keep her head above water, with which bunch of mixed metaphors running through her mind she glanced unobtrusively at Stephen to see how he had taken it. By his expression she guessed she had only just forestalled the same sort of remark coming from him.

  His eyes glinted with a strange, grey fire. ‘An excellent language for the purpose,’ he agreed, with almost a snap in his voice. ‘But I rather think that Laurel has someone else in mind as an instructor.’

  ‘But what better way than to learn it from the man one loves?’ Manoel asked her teasingly.

  The question was quite obviously directed at her, but it was Stephen who replied, tersely and to the point.

  ‘Precisely.’ He swung suddenly towards the rail. ‘I’ll have to miss that drink after all. Something slipped my memory. I think I’d better get back to Castelanto straight away.’ The mocking grey glance slid over to Laurel, held her own shrinking one for a moment, then went on to Manoel. ‘I don’t think the conventions would be outraged if Laurel stayed for a drink.’

  Without another word, before they could even make an attempt to stop him, while the look of surprise was still on Manoel’s face, he swung quickly and lightly down to the quay and they watched his tall, arrogant figure striding along the stone flags to where the powerful maroon car was parked at the far end.

  There was a puzzled silence for a long moment. Even the vociferous crew members had chosen that particular moment to cease every scrap of conversation. Hardly a breeze played over the sea. The yacht was still, the sails close furled and mute.

  ‘Pequena, you have quarrelled with Stephen?’ Manoel asked at last, very quietly.

  Laurel nodded. A quarrel was as simple an explanation as anything and he would understand what he thought was a lovers’ quarrel.

  She felt a gentle touch on her shoulder and turned to find him smiling sympathetically.

  ‘It will pass, little one. Do not worry.’ The smile grew a little teasing again. ‘These quarrels make the reconciliation all the sweeter.’

  For her and Stephen though there would be no reconciliation. She bit her lips deliberately, to still their trembling, and nodded with a brave acceptance she was far from feeling.

  ‘I suppose so. But they hurt at the time.’

  Manoel smiled again and turned her towards a gaily painted deck lounge.

  ‘I will get you that drink, because I think you need it, then I will take you home, because I do not think Stephen would like you to stay here long in his present mood,’ he added, with the teasing inflection back in his voice.

  She felt like saying that Stephen would not care how long she remained on Rosaritos, but bit back the retort and nodded gratefully as he turned to go into the cabin.

  Had ever a holiday been more blighted? She had come out to Ladrana with such high expectations in her heart. True, she had not meant to stay here permanently, because her independent nature would not allow her to live off Ned without giving anything in return. Then for a time she had believed that she could stay on the island, that Mrs. Dalkeith’s idea of a kindergarten and vacation school would work, but she knew differently now. It would be impossible to stay on Ladrana after her engagement to Stephen was broken off, as very soon it must be. She could not endure much more of the strain those last two encounters with him had caused her, nor could she remain and watch him marry Roberta.

  No, the safest and best thing was to go back to England, to put all thought of this beautiful island and the man it would always remind her of, far from her mind, even though she knew that she was going to find that so hard as to be almost impossible. But hard work would help. She would go back to teaching and try to forget that a deliberately provoking voice had once drawled, ‘Even teachers must learn,’ and every time she involuntarily remembered what he had taught her, the bittersweet inevitability of falling in love, she would throw herself just a little harder into her work and not think about a man with grey eyes and an aquiline, tanned face, she would not remember a voice that could be caressing as well as mocking, nor lean brown hands that could render her helpless with a touch—and above all she would not think of lips that had proved quite ridiculously false her professed dislike of him and turned it into love.

  Laurel looked up with a smile she hoped was not as false as it felt when Manoel reappeared from the cabin. He handed one glass to her and then stood at the side of the lounge, holding the second glass in a thin, sensitive hand, looking down at her with a rather shrewd light in his dark eyes.

  ‘Is it Roberta Fransom?’ he asked quietly after a moment.

  She gave him a swift, upward glance, then looked as quickly away.

  ‘No ... not entirely.’

  He smiled and shook his head. ‘Do not let her worry you, pequena. A woman who has once revealed herself as she did... He broke off and shrugged. ‘She can have no more influence.’

  Much he knew, she thought, with a bitter little twist to her lips.

  ‘You do not wish to talk about it? Then come, I will drive you home.’

  He held out his hand to assist her to her feet, took the empty glass and placed it by the side of his own on a small, painted table by the side of the lounge, not in the least offended by her reluctance to discuss the matter, but conveying a quiet sympathy and understanding that was more welcome than any words could have been.

  When they reached the quay Stephen’s car had long since disappeared, but Roberta was idly smoking in the bows of the Firebird with the other members of the yacht party. Her keen eyes no doubt took in every gesture of the couple who had just left Rosaritos, which would in due course be reported cleverly and subtly to Stephen, Laurel decided, with a quick uprush of the bitterness she was beginning to know so well where Roberta was concerned.

  Roberta waved to them languidly as they passed, but none of the party made any effort to detain them as they went along to where another of those dark, powerful monsters was parked, hired by Manoel for the duration of his stay on the island.

  By tacit consent neither of them said a word until the car was moving and the quay—and Roberta—behind them and out of sight. Then Manoel gave a grim little nod.

  ‘I find my dislike for that one increasing with the passing of each day.’

  Laurel gave him a rueful little smile. ‘I agree with you entirely.’

  ‘Do not worry, little one. Soon she will be gone, and...’

  ‘And there will be peace again?’ she finished as he paused. ‘I hope so,’ she added, in a little bitter jest at fate. It would be Laurel Shannon, though, who would be leaving the island, not Roberta. She would stay in triumphant possession of the man she had meant to win back from the moment she set her dainty and expensively shod foot on the island.

  ‘But of course there will be peace again—and happiness,’ Manoel said softly. ‘How else could it be?’

  ‘Yes, how else could it be?’ she echoed, but she was careful to turn her head away, so that he could not see the expression on her face. Much as she liked him, she had no wish to confide in Manoel. It was more than her pride could stand and, since that was just about all she had left, she felt she was justified in pandering to it. Ned and Anthea knowing was quite enough.

  For some time they
drove in silence, the town behind them now, the road rising steeply to the flower-surrounded bungalows that were splashes of colour as they passed, then when they were almost at the ridiculously belligerent little cottage Ned and she occupied, Manoel reduced speed suddenly and backed the car. It was not until then, so deep had she been in her own thoughts, that she noticed Barbie standing on the side of the road.

  Manoel leaned across and opened the door. After a moment’s hesitation Barbie climbed in.

  ‘I was just on the way to see you...’ she began, looking over at Laurel. ‘If it’s not convenient, though...’

  Once again she broke off, and Laurel shook her head swiftly. ‘Don’t be such a silly little goose. Of course it’s convenient.’ Her eyes twinkled. ‘Escaping from parental intrigue again? That’s why you were walking?’

  Barbie chuckled and nodded. ‘More or less, but I felt like a walk as well. Angel has been most unangelic all the morning.’

  ‘Good. You can help me get tea—or better still you can entertain Manoel while I get it,’ she added, and intercepted an amused side glance from Manoel. Matchmaking, she told herself sternly.

  One good sign she discovered was that Barbie this time showed no reluctance at being left alone with Manoel. Her constraint had entirely disappeared and Laurel heard her chattering gaily as she paused outside the door, then she smiled, shut the door firmly behind her and went along to the kitchen.

  When she returned, after an absence which she had deliberately extended because she wanted them to have time to get to know one another without anyone else around, Barbie was looking not merely cheerful but very much like a young woman who had made a discovery that surprised her. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes several shades brighter than they had been before Laurel disappeared, and it was quite plain that Manoel had been taking the utmost advantage of the sudden precious opportunity with which he had been presented.

  Laurel couldn’t say for sure, of course, but she could have sworn that in that moment Barbie was giving little or no thought to Paul Brenton.

  Laurel set the tea tray down on the table and smiled at the youthful ingenuousness of Barbie. Whenever she thought no one was observing her she glanced thoughtfully at Manoel, and it was plain from her glances that she was taking stock of all the little things about him that had escaped her before. She was, in fact, discovering the young Portuguese for the first time.