Master of Hearts

by Ives, Averil

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE next morning there was a rose on her breakfast tray—a glorious, dark red bloom, heavy with scent—and the maid explained that the head gardener himself had requested her to see that it was delivered to Miss O'Farrell.

  That was all . . . No message, no word. But Kathleen's heart leapt, and all in a moment she was wonderfully, blissfully happy, because the rose, she knew, was Miguel's thought—an expression of his love, which after all was real and not just part of one of her dreams during the night.

  And somewhat to her surprise, she had slept all night. She had expected to lie wakeful, thinking of the Conde, determined to be awake when he took his departure in the early morning. She had thought that

  from her balcony she might catch a glimpse of him--a discreet glimpse, that would offer him no embarrass—

  ment—but the waves of sleep had rushed up over her, and she had been quite unaware of the moment when the man she loved so much left the house.

  But the rose was like a reviving draught, a burst of hope. It didn't seem to matter, when she held it in her hands and pressed it to her face, that so much that was unexplained had tormented her the night before. The trip to Paris that was so essential, and Carmelita--Carmelita and the white wedding-gown!

  The morning passed very quietly, and she felt very happy wandering in the garden with a pair of twins who were certainly much more disciplined than when she first took over the charge of them. At lunch time she slipped into her room to see her rose gracing the slender crystal vase in which she had placed it, and she once more held it against her face and felt a surge of strength and confidence that would see her through the rest of the day.

  For a week life was very uneventful, but very peaceful—singularly, almost blissfully, peaceful. Inez seemed suddenly to have developed an urge to go out and about and meet her friends, and Kathleen nearly always lunched and dined alone. But the huge, empty dining-room no longer worried her, or made her feel forlorn. She could sit and gaze at Miguel's chair—at the great, carved chair at the head of the table — and imagine that he was sitting in it, and that there was no Carmelita on his right hand, and in fact no one but their two selves — Miguel and Kathleen — content in a world where other human beings were not essential.

  She never asked herself what her future was likely to be, or what Miguel proposed when he finally returned. He had said nothing about marriage, and the very thought that he might ask her to be his wife set her heart thudding so painfully that she could scarcely breathe. Yet if their relationship was to be a satisfying one — the only possible relationship when they were so much in love! — what else could he intend but to ask her to be his wife?

  That night — that blissful last night in the garden—had not provided him with an appropriate moment for a declaration of his intentions, and she couldn't honestly say that it had struck her as strange that he had omitted to do so. She had been in such a bemused state of emotion that practical considerations had not seemed of much importance, although the thought of Senhorita Albrantes had weighed upon her even while Miguel held her in his arms.

  She had wanted so badly to ask him about her, but she couldn't find the words . . . Or was it that she had lacked the necessary courage?

  When this thought occurred to her she changed the water in her crystal vase, which stood on the little table beside her bed. And when the red rose finally died she placed it in her handkerchief-box, where she would see it every time she went to look for a handkerchief.

  Peggy came to tea with her, and she gained permission from Dona Inez to take Jerry and Joe to tea with

  Peggy. The children got on famously with Shane, who appeared to have a similar knack to his sister with high-spirited youngsters. They were greatly intrigued by his studio, and he showed them how he mixed his paints, and made rough sketches, and this kept them quiet until tea was ready, after which he took them down on to the shore, which was an unusual treat for them.

  While Shane was keeping her charges out of the way, Kathleen talked to her sister-in-law and helped cut bread-and-butter and afterwards to wash up. Peggy found it difficult to keep her eyes off her, and she was a little afraid Kathleen would remark the slight amazement in her own face. For without being aware of it—except, of course, deep down inside her, where contentment reigned supreme—Kathleen was an entirely different person to the girl she had met out walking with her charges only a week or so before. Then she had looked as if nothing would induce her to smile and be completely relaxed again, but now she exuded radiance as if a light had been kindled within her. Her eyes were clear and shining and confident, and her voice was eager.

  Peggy was most curious to know the reason for the change, but she didn't dare ask. For one thing, her imagination could be running away with her—but she didn't think so; and for another, Kathleen was not as easily approachable as some girls of her age, and if she wished to hug some joyous secret to herself she had the right to do so. But Peggy hoped it wasn't a secret that was like a bubble that could be pricked. She hoped, too, she wasn't deluding herself about Kathleen.

  In possession of certain half-truths, that could easily happen.

  When Kathleen took the children home she was so much happier than Peggy suspected that the splendour of the sunset was not as magnificent as the hues that were colouring her whole future. The first thing to bring her just a little down to earth was the sight of Dona

  Inez in the hall, sorting cards that had been left on the huge silver salver on one of the glistening side-tables. She was still wearing the chic little hat and glistening silk suit she had worn for an afternoon tea-party, but her expression was anything but festive. She glanced at Kathleen in a way that made the other wonder what it was that she had done wrong, and then ordered her to hand the children over to one of the servants.

  "I want to talk to you, Miss O'Farrel," she said sombrely. "Come with me to the library!"

  She entered the library as if she looked upon it as entirely her own domain while her brother was away, and flung her gloves down carelessly on the desk. Her gold mesh handbag followed them, and then the little cap of white flowers that had clung to her jetty curls. She shook out the curls impatiently once she was free of the slight feeling of constriction caused by the pressure of the small hat, and then her slim, scarlet-tipped fingers reached for a cigarette in the cedarwood box on the desk. She didn't however, offer Kathleen one.

  "I heard from my brother this morning," she said, releasing a cloud of fragrant grey smoke into the air. "So you did something I didn't expect you would do! You gave me away to him about Fernando?"

  "Gave you away—?" Kathleen stared at her, not at first realising what she meant.

  Inez surveyed her with harsh cynicism and dislike.

  "In modern English parlance you 'ratted' on me! And yet I could have sworn you were not the type! . . ." She took a vicious pull on her cigarette. "You're pretty enough for Fernando to chase after — but don't imagine for one instant that he wouldn't do so to anyone with your looks, and even if they were a little more mediocre!—and it wasn't hurting you to let Miguel think Fernando was amusing himself with you! Miguel has other interests, and it wouldn't cause him to lose any sleep because a little nursery-governess was being made occasional light love to! Or I wouldn't have thought so until I received his letter this morning."

  Kathleen asked quietly, "What did the letter say?"

  "It said that he hoped I was remembering my dignity fit for the mother of a pair of sons while he was away, and that I would be wise if I stopped encouraging Fernando!" The glorious dark eyes sparkled with annoyance. "He also requested me to keep you out of my affairs in future!"

  Kathleen was silent.

  "So that means you gave me away! And as far as I can make out you'd nothing to gain by it!"

  Kathleen stared down at the carpet.

  "I had this much to gain," she said, in a composed voice. "In the first place the letter you wrote me was such a fabrication that I very nearly
showed it to your brother straight away, and in the second — I don't permit young men of Senhor Queiroz's type to make what you call 'light love' to me." Her blue eyes were raised, and looked condemningly at Inez. "Whatever, if you'll forgive me for saying so, you may do yourself!"

  "I see!" But Inez's eyes were suddenly shrewd. "You would, however, permit a man of my brother's type to do so, if he felt so disposed? Is that it?"

  Kathleen flushed painfully, and in a hopelessly revealing fashion, and Inez laughed, as if she was suddenly intensely amused.

  "Don't tell me he has already done so, and that that was the reason why you decided to make a clean breast? My poor child," still laughing with shrill amusement, "Miguel is by no means a philanderer, but I've known him take note of quite a few pretty faces in his lifetime, and the fact that he won't have an opportunity to do so much longer must have acted like a goad." She looked closely at Kathleen. "Have you any idea at all why he's gone to Paris with Carmelita? I wonder what he told you before he left?"

  "Why should he tell me anything?" Kathleen returned, with a stiffness that seemed to be spreading through all her limbs.

  "Then he didn't tell you?" Inez took a step towards her, as if she was slightly amazed. "But I thought

  everybody knew by this time! Why on earth do you think Carmelita has practically lived here during the past few weeks, and why did I put her in touch with my own dressmaker who wouldn't fail to turn her out a superb wedding-dress? One doesn't do that for one's casual acquaintances, you know, and I have every prospect of acquiring a sister-in-law before very long!"

  Kathleen wondered whether it was the careless casualness of the other's tone that carried conviction, or whether she had secretly known this all the time. Carmelita, and the back-thought of Carmelita, had haunted even her pleasantest dreams during the past week, and even in her happiest moments she had never been entirely free from . . . What was it that she hadn't been entirely free from? Fear?

  Inez suddenly looked slightly and politely shocked.

  "My poor child," she exclaimed again, "no wonder you wanted to disprove that story of mine about you and Fernando! . . . But you can take it from me Fernando is all on the surface, and there are no dangerous depths to him!" Her brow puckered. "I simply can't understand my brother . . . Unless, of course — you are pretty! .. . Frightfully pretty, and he and Carmelita have been betrothed since they were children . . . And men are not like women — even Portuguese men slip up sometimes! . . . By that I mean the formal, correct type, like Miguel. He wouldn't want to do you any harm, but—"

  Kathleen turned away. She felt as if something had caught her a glancing sideways blow that had partially stunned her, and she also felt a little sick.

  "If you have said all you wish to say to me, Dona Inez, may I go?" she asked, with a blind look in her eyes. "It's the children's supper time."

  Inez regarded her in silence for several seconds that were sheer agony to Kathleen.

  "Yes, you may go," she said at last. "But don't allow yourself to be upset over this news about Miguel — and apparently it is news! I know most women find him attractive, but you English are so sensible...

  Like my American husband, Joe! A Portuguese girl would be badly upset, but with you it will be your pride that will suffer most. And you won't run out on us, will you?" with sudden concern.

  "Run—out on you?" Kathleen framed the words as if even her tongue was stiff.

  "Yes — run out on me and the children! Decide that you don't want to stay here, and that you'd like another job. In the circumstances I suppose it wouldn't be strange if you did feel like rushing back to England . . . But," appealingly, "it wouldn't get you anywhere — except away from Miguel! — and remember that he's not the only good-looking man in the world! Even if he is rich," rather drily.

  Kathleen felt in those moments that if she had the urge to run out on anyone just then it was Inez herself. For she had uttered those last words deliberately, with an intention to wound: "Even if he is rich!"

  So that was what Inez thought about her, but what she thought about herself was far more contemptible. Knowing about Carmelita — having actually handled the material of Carmelita's wedding-dress — had opportunities (so many of them!) to watch her and Miguel de Chaves together, she had yet been so blinded and besotted by her own love for him that she hadn't waited for any protestations on his part but had simply hurled herself into his arms the very first moment he gave her any indication that they were willing to receive her!

  Now she could understand with painful clarity why, on that last night in the garden, Miguel had talked so sadly about Life having its obligations, and things that were unavoidable. Possibly — just possibly — he wasn't really in love with Carmelita, but he was going to marry her.

  Then --- and as she climbed the winding staircase, with its marble treads and handsome baroque handrail, Kathleen felt a tiny hot flush sting the whiteness of her cheeks — what had he meant when he said that

  he and she belonged, and why had he spoken of the bliss of their reunion? What sort of place was he planning for her in his future?

  The hot flush spread wildly, and she was glad that she had to force herself to behave rationally, and take over the charge of the children.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  DURING the next three weeks there were many moments when Kathleen all but decided to pack her cases and slip away from the quinta without informing anyone of her intentions. Not even Peggy and Shane, who would ask all sorts of awkward questions which she would find it impossible to answer. She could send them an evasive letter when she reached England, merely giving them the excuse that she had felt overwhelmingly homesick, and they would have to be content with that.

  And then she knew that they wouldn't be content with it. And, in any case, she couldn't possibly do such a thing as go home to England without saying goodbye to them, and that meant that she would have to stay where she was. Until the Conde returned, at least.

  Once again she had got into the habit of thinking of him — she forced herself to think of him — as the Conde.

  So far as she knew Inez received no further letters from him, and the days passed, bringing them nearer and nearer to the final celebrations of the wine-harvest. Already the grapes were being pressed, and many of the vineyards were bare. The fruit that had been swelling and ripening all summer was now to become a source of income, and the Conde's coffers would benefit.

  The splendid summer was loath to draw to a close, and the days were still golden and warm. There were fewer holidaymakers, but the sea was just as brilliant, the skies as clear. If Kathleen's own skies had been as unsullied she would have felt that her heart had every reason to be light. As it was, even amidst so much colour and charm, her heart was mostly leaden, and when Peggy ran in to her nowadays by accident she didn't think she looked as if she was bubbling over with secret happiness.

  But Kathleen was careful to keep out of Peggy's way. She knew that her sister-in-law was shrewd, and although she wouldn't actually ask questions, her eyes would do so. And there was always the possibility that Shane might prove curious, and say something. Shane had always had his only sister's interests very much at heart.

  Taking the children for longer and longer walks, which they thoroughly enjoyed even if she did not, Kathleen found herself dwelling constantly upon the thought of the Conde in Paris, unable to tear himself away from it — or perhaps Carmelita was unable to tear herself away from it, and naturally he wouldn't leave her. They would be lunching and dining at smart restaurants, watching fashion parades, visiting the theatre, night-clubs, the houses of Parisian friends. Very likely they had quite a number of friends in Paris, and there would be week-ends in the country, in stately chateaux. Carmelita would be accepted everywhere as Miguel de Chaves' fiancée, and perhaps one of those dreamy, romantic chateaux would be offered to them for their honeymoon.

  Kathleen was certain Carmelita would want to accept. Who wouldn't . . . ? If she was to be married to Miguel
!

  About the middle of the fourth week after his departure from the quinta the Conde returned to it, and Dona Inez received an intimation just before lunch on the day he returned. She went up to the nurseries and told the children, with a bright, cool smile on her face, that their uncle would be back, and very likely he would bring them each a present — at least, he might if they behaved themselves! And then she carefully avoided Kathleen's eyes and said that if she wanted it she could have the afternoon off. Possibly she might like to pay a visit to her relatives, and Maria could take charge of the children.

  For the first time since she had known Dona Inez Kathleen felt grateful to her. She accepted the after-

  noon off with alacrity, but she had no intention of visiting Shane and Peggy. She dressed herself in a simple little blue and white linen dress, took a cardigan and her handbag and walked into Amara. It was crowded with people from the surrounding districts, and en fete and thoroughly carefree, for the next day there was to be a procession, and all the gala accompaniments that market the final celebrations of the wine-harvest.

  Kathleen hadn't realised it would be so crowded, and she found it difficult to get herself served with even a coffee at one of the open-air cafés. There were gay groups of young men and girls who had toiled for days in the sun, and were very brown, who were in the mood to oust everyone else, and the holidaymakers who were left caught the atmosphere of carnival, and behaved as they probably would never have done in their own countries. They clamoured for souvenirs in the crowded shops, and talked in loud voices to prove their nationality. They packed flower-draped hotel balconies, and insisted upon prompt service in the restaurants and bars, and overflowed into the middle of the narrow streets, so that traffic became jammed. A young American who made it possible for Kathleen to extricate herself from a solid wedge of people outside the post-office, wanted her to join forces with him and do 'a round of the sights', as he phrased it.