Stars of Spring Page 4

  ‘I don’t know, because they started talking in Portuguese.’ Her eyes twinkled as she glanced up at her aunt. ‘I ran along the hedge for a little way, just in case they began to speak English again, but they didn’t.’

  ‘Really, Glee, that was very wrong of you.’

  ‘But you wanted to know what they said, didn’t you? I understood a few words they were saying,’ she added. ‘Dom Manoel said you’d be glad to come to him and say you were sorry. Why should he say that?’

  Joanne gazed pensively across to where the solar stood majestically on its low hill. The imposing seventeenth-century senhorial great house, with the autumn sun glinting on the carved armorial crest which occupied a large part of the colonnaded facade, had about it an essence of mediaeval grandeur and nobility that seemed to reflect the character of those who dwelt within its walls. Did warmth ever encompass those people? she mused. Did they ever experience the emotions of kindness and love? How could people be so cold, so unfeeling, and yet be happy? But their magnificent house, and the vast wealth of the quinta, seemed to be all that the great Dom Manoel and his fiancée required for their supreme contentment, concluded Joanne, her eyes wandering away from the house to where, sweeping down from its garden boundaries, lay part of the Douro valley. On its vine-clad sides scores of men, women and children worked, harvesting the grapes and transporting them in huge baskets to the adegas where the men would begin the treading, first stage in the wine-making process.

  ‘He meant I should have to apologize for being rude to him,’ Joanne submitted as Glee waited for her to speak.

  ‘Will you apologize, Mummy?’

  ‘Certainly not!’

  ‘But you always say it’s wrong to be rude, and if I’m rude you make me say I’m sorry.’

  ‘Yes, Glee, that’s quite true, but this is a little different.’ And with that Joanne abruptly changed the subject, for judging by her niece’s interrogating glance the conversation seemed likely to become involved.

  CHAPTER THREE

  With slow reluctant steps Joanne made her way past the lovely lake and proceeded towards the imposing front door of the Solar de Alvares. She paused, turning to view the tranquil scene from the top of the white marble steps. Fountains decorated with carved stonework and azulejos sprayed their sparkling water into small ponds; peacocks strutted on the lawns, proudly spreading their fans before the less spectacular swans and ducks and guinea fowl that stood preening themselves on the banks of the pools and lake.

  The bell echoed through the hall and a moment later the door was opened by an elderly, white-haired butler; his eyes ran over her impassively when Joanne asked if she could see Dom Manoel Alvares.

  ‘I haven’t an appointment,’ she added, ‘but I think he’ll see me.’

  ‘Step inside, senhora, and I will find out for you.’ Returning a little while later, he invited Joanne to follow him along the wide hall to a room at the far end. Then, standing aside for her to enter, he announced her in tones so stiff and formal that the slight nervousness she felt was immediately increased.

  Dom Manoel sat at his desk, idly fingering a quill pen. He appeared to be totally absorbed in something he had written and Joanne was left standing there for several seconds before he at last raised his eyes from the pad before him. The delay in giving her his attention provided an opportunity for Joanne to glance around her, and she gave a little inward gasp at the luxury of the apartment. Although a study, it was also a sitting-room, with two large french windows opening on to a covered verandah and overlooking the steep-sided valley below. Persian rugs were strewn about the floor and an immense tapestry covered the whole of one wall. The other walls were hung with blue embossed satin, the couch and chairs were of blue damask and the two great cabinets were filled with rare Indian and Chinese porcelain.

  ‘Sit down, Mrs. Barrie.’ Negligently Dom Manoel flicked a finger, indicating a chair, and Joanne seated herself on the edge, aware that Dom Manoel’s intention was to make her feel extremely uncomfortable before ever she made her request. That he knew what that request was became evident immediately she spoke, for apart from an indifferent flickering of his eyes he betrayed no emotion whatsoever. He was neither surprised by nor interested in what she had to say.

  ‘So you’ve decided to sell your property?’ Dom Manoel shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘But why have you come to me, Mrs. Barrie? Can it be that you have failed elsewhere?’

  No fool, the arrogant Dom Manoel Alvares. He was fully aware that the offer was made to him as a last resort.

  ‘You were eager to buy my farm,’ she reminded him, her heart sinking as, once again, he shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘I was interested, certainly, but you refused to sell.’ The pen was placed in its silver stand with a firm, deliberate movement. ‘I’m no longer interested, Mrs. Barrie.’ He glanced past her to the open window, and his attention appeared to be riveted on two white doves which had settled on the low wall of the verandah.

  Joanne spread her hands helplessly. There was no time for pride now or for a stubborn refusal to admit defeat. The farm would never pay, even could she have procured the necessary labour for the efficient working of it. The soil was poor, having been so long neglected; the vines were old and the buildings practically falling apart. She had been a fool not to have approached Dom Manoel immediately on her arrival. Instead, because of a stupid pride, she had spent her last penny on trying to succeed—and now she had lost everything. For although she had advertised the property for over two months, no one was interested in buying so dilapidated a place.

  True, one young man had called many times ... but Joanne knew by now that his interest was in her rather than the farm, for there was no mistaking those flattering glances which Ricardo Lopes invariably bestowed upon her.

  ‘Dom Manoel,’ Joanne murmured pleadingly, ‘surely you will make me an offer.’

  From under dark brows his eyes moved indifferently over her.

  ‘I seem to remember making you several offers—excellent offers, Mrs. Barrie, that far exceeded the value of the land. I also warned you that you’d come to regret your insulting behaviour to me. Unless I’m mistaken you’re already most bitterly regretting it.’

  Joanne flushed. What arrogance and pomposity! What could Dona Rosa see in such a man? Was she attracted by his wealth? Joanne wondered, for there surely could be nothing else in which she was interested!

  ‘I believed I could make a success of the farm,’ she said, keeping her dislike of this man hidden only by the greatest effort. ‘I find I’ve made a mistake—which after all can happen to anyone—and I now know I can’t cope with the problems resulting from the previous neglect of the place.’ She waited, but Dom Manoel merely leant back in his chair and lifted one lean brown hand to stifle a yawn. ‘You won’t make me an offer, then?’

  ‘I’m no longer willing to buy your farm, Mrs. Barrie.’

  ‘But what can I do?’ she blurted out in sudden desperation. ‘I haven’t even enough money to take us back to England.’

  ‘My dear Mrs. Barrie,’ he said, quite unimpressed by her words, ‘your financial difficulties are entirely your own affair—and, I should imagine, private.’ Thrusting his hands in his pockets, he regarded her in silence for a moment and then added, ‘In any case, I can’t be expected to become involved. If through your own obstinacy and foolhardiness you’ve bankrupted yourself, it isn’t any concern of mine.’ He cocked her a glance, half amused, half interrogative. ‘I think you’ll agree with me about that?’

  No answer. Joanne felt she hated him, and yet she could in a way understand his exploiting the situation. Several times she had snubbed him. To a man so used to respect, a man so steeped in his own superiority, her insults must have come as a blow which would not easily be forgotten—and probably never forgiven. This was his revenge; he had known all along that his chance would come, had guessed that, finally, she would have to approach him, begging him to take the farm— Begging? she would never beg. If someone woul
d give her the price of the fare home she would sell. But even as she made these mental resolutions Joanne was seized with a sudden fear that however little she was prepared to accept, no customer would be forthcoming.

  ‘Won’t—won’t you give me anything for it?’ she whispered desperately. ‘Surely you still want the land?’

  A silence fell on the room; it seemed to Joanne that Dom Manoel was reluctant to reply to her question. Unwilling to lie, yet too proud to admit the truth Was that it? Impossible to tell, for his face was a mask, a mask of haughty indifference. With an easy, graceful movement he leant forward and rang the ornate little silver bell lying on his desk beside the blotter.

  ‘I don’t think there’s any need for you to waste any more of your time,’ he remarked in cool and even tones. ‘If I remember correctly you did remind me that it was most valuable,’ and, as the butler entered softly from the hall, ‘Show Mrs. Barrie out, Diego, will you?’

  The man stood there impassive, door in hand, and Joanne rose unsteadily to her feet. She seethed with anger at providing Dom Manoel with this opportunity for revenge. And yet what else could she have done? She’d been forced to approach him, and even though prepared for a rebuff she had felt confident of selling out to him in the end.

  Without a word she followed the butler from the room, humiliated in a way never before known to her. The sooner she left this country the better, she decided, still choked with fury as she crossed to the field gate leading on to her own property. She would write to her brother for the money— But no, he wouldn’t have it to spare. Chris would, though. Yes, she’d get in touch with her sister right away.

  Her intention was never carried out, for by the very next post a letter arrived from Chris saying Miles had been unable to settle in his new job and they were leaving Scotland immediately.

  ‘The expense of this upset has had pretty grim effects on our finances,’ Chris added, and went on to say they would be living from hand to mouth for the next month or so until Miles managed to get himself fixed up in a post back in England.

  Ricardo called that evening. Already they were on Christian name terms and after only the slightest hesitation she dejectedly related what had happened.

  ‘Dom Manoel won’t buy?’ He frowned in puzzlement. ‘But everyone knows how he’s wanted this place. He even tried to buy it from Dona Amelia. It’s most odd he’s now refused to buy it from you.’

  Disinclined to explain, Joanne changed the subject, asking Ricardo about his mother who, he had said, had been ill in bed but was now up and about again.

  ‘Perhaps you’d like to visit her?’ he suggested eagerly. ‘She speaks a little English, so you’d be able to converse. She’d love to have someone new to talk to. Will you come?’

  ‘Yes,’ Joanne agreed after a slight hesitation. ‘I don’t see why not. I’ll have to bring Glee, of course. It won’t be too much for your mother, will it?’

  Ricardo shook his head.

  ‘She loves children; she has two grandchildren—my brother’s boys. Henrique is just about Glee’s age and Fernando’s a year older.’

  ‘They don’t live around here?’

  ‘They live in Lisbon, but my brother and his wife travel up often to see Mother.’ He paused, glancing across the field as Glee came bounding towards the house. ‘When will you come?’

  ‘Whenever you like. This evening?’

  ‘Better make it tomorrow evening, so I can give her a little warning.’ Ricardo looked around as Glee made her whirlwind entry. Her face was flushed and she was breathless from running.

  ‘Hello, Mr. Lopes! Oh, it’s hot!’ Glee flopped into a chair and wiped the perspiration from her forehead with her hand, leaving a smudge that made her look decidedly grubby.

  ‘It’s only hot because you’ve been running,’ laughed Ricardo, reaching over to ruffle her hair. ‘She’s cute, this young daughter of yours?’ His gaze returned to Joanne; he seemed puzzled and slightly uncertain. ‘You must have been very young when she was born?’

  The same question as Dom Manoel had once asked, but this time Joanne answered it.

  ‘I was eighteen.’

  ‘Eighteen!’ he ejaculated, then instantly recovered himself, though there was a flush on his face as he added, ‘So you’re twenty-four. You’re too young to be working your fingers to the bone on this place. The sooner you get rid of it the better.’

  ‘I’m very much afraid I’ll never get rid of it,’ she said pensively. ‘I’m thinking of trying to borrow the money to take us back to England.’

  She watched Ricardo’s changing expression, saw his handsome face cloud. Equally as dark as Dom Manoel, and with firm and well-defined features, he was, to Joanne, much more pleasant in appearance. For there was an attractive youthfulness about him, and he had an amiable expression which contrasted sharply with the severity of Dom Manoel’s cold and aristocratic face. Did Dom Manoel ever laugh? Joanne wondered, and suddenly found herself trying to visualize what change such a possibility would produce. Chris had declared him to be handsome, despite his severity, and Joanne grudgingly had to admit that what her sister said was true, and still more grudgingly she owned to the fact that, should Dom Manoel ever relax those taut features, allowing humour or compassion to soften them, he would be just about the most breathtakingly attractive man she had ever met.

  ‘Must you go back?’ Ricardo’s voice cut into her thoughts and almost angrily she shook them off, experiencing a faint disgust at the idea of wasting her time on the man whom she had come to dislike with an intensity she would never have believed possible.

  ‘There’s no means of my making a living here,’ she returned flatly. ‘I shouldn’t have come in the first place.’

  ‘I hate the idea of your going away.’ He glanced at Glee as if wishing she weren’t there. ‘I’m getting to know you, Joanne, and—well, I might as well tell the truth. I like you very much.’

  Absently Joanne shook her head.

  ‘I like you too, Ricardo, but I can’t stay here. At home I can easily get a job.’

  ‘It’s so awful thinking of your having to bring up Glee all on your own.’ Again he looked at the child; she was listening with interest to all that was being said. ‘Look, Joanne, I’ll come back this evening, and perhaps we could have a talk?’

  ‘There isn’t anything to talk about.’ She looked at him, her lovely eyes grave and faintly apologetic. ‘We hardly know each other,’ she reminded him gently.

  ‘I’ve known you two months,’ he objected. ‘That’s plenty long enough to fall in love.’

  ‘Please, Ricardo, don’t talk to me like this.’

  ‘Are you in love with my mummy, Senhor Lopes?’ interposed Glee, her eyes sparkling. ‘If you get married can we stay here always?’ she added, turning to Joanne. ‘I don t want to go back to England.’

  ‘I’m not thinking of getting married.’ Joanne spoke sharply, and Glee, who had sat up straight on hearing Ricardo’s words about love, instantly sank back again in her chair, acutely sensitive to the hint of anger in her aunt s voice.

  ‘You’ve upset the child,’ protested Ricardo, casting Joanne a glance of censure. Then, to Glee, ‘Your mummy might change her mind and stay here. We’ll have to try to persuade her.’

  But Joanne firmly shook her head.

  ‘We can’t stay. Glee dear.’ She spoke gently, smiling at Glee. ‘As I told you, our money has all gone—and you can’t buy food if you haven’t any money, now can you?’

  ‘Is it really as bad as that?’ Ricardo spoke hesitantly, wondering if his blunt question would bring a frown of annoyance to Joanne’s eyes. But she merely shook her head, giving him a faint smile.

  ‘It’s really as bad as that, Ricardo. I meant what I said when I spoke of having to borrow money in order to get back to England.’ Why should she confide in him like this? Puzzled, Joanne looked straight at him, noting the shadowed brow, the pursed lips and the unmistakable anxiety in his dark eyes. An odd feeling swept over her and her puzzleme
nt grew. Was this warmth in her being the first germ of love? Attractive as she was, Joanne had had her share of admirers, and consequently there had always been a ready escort to take her to a dance or a theatre, but no tender emotion had sprung from her friendships with these escorts. Never had she known the least pang of jealousy or regret when, eventually, they had found permanent girl-friends and she had lost the pleasure of their company.

  Aware of Ricardo’s curious stare, and inexplicably confused by it, Joanne hastily lowered her head, conscious of the colour rising in her cheeks.

  ‘Don’t make a decision just yet.’ Ricardo’s voice, low, persuasive, increased Joanne’s uncertainty—and her confusion. It was impossible to make a firm, negative reply and to her utter astonishment she found herself saying she would try to manage for a little while on the money she was receiving from the man who bought her chickens and eggs. Bewildered by this pronouncement she glanced up ... and again that peculiar feeling assailed her. It must be the beginning of love, she decided, for there was a certain charm about Ricardo which she now realized had made itself felt at their very first meeting.

  Should she go home, and so avoid becoming more deeply involved? If she stayed, and this friendship did develop into love then she would have to enlighten Ricardo as to her relationship to Glee, inform him that she was not a widow. That he would be glad she had never been married she did not doubt, but what did trouble her was whether he would be willing to take Glee on learning she was not hers. This question had remained with Joanne ever since her sister once remarked,

  ‘When you do find a prospective husband, Joanne, it’s more than likely he’ll expect you to return Glee to her father.’

  She would never do that, Joanne had firmly asserted. If the man didn’t love her enough to take Glee as well, then she, Joanne, would consider his love not worth having.

  ‘Do you mean we’re not going home yet?’ Glee asked, jerking Joanne back to the present and to the problem that had caused her thoughts to stray to that remark of her sister’s.