Rachel Trevellyan Page 16

  ‘Luis’s appearance?’ Rachel stared at her. ‘I haven’t seen Luis. How could I? I only arrived in Portugal yesterday afternoon?’

  ‘You arrived in Portugal yesterday afternoon?’

  ‘That’s right.’

  ‘And you haven’t seen Luis?’ The Marquesa rose unsteadily to her feet. ‘Oh, how can I believe you?’

  ‘It’s the truth!’ Rachel was indignant. ‘I don’t tell lies. And nor do I want your money! I’m young, I can work. I don’t need that kind of support.’

  The Marquesa’s eyes were still disturbingly penetrating in spite of her physical weakness. ‘If only I could believe you!’ she breathed.

  Rachel spread her hands desperately. ‘You can! But why should it be so important to you?’

  The Marquesa moved her head slowly from side to side. ‘Because two days ago Luis left for England to find you!’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  NOW it was Rachel who felt weak, whose legs felt they would not continue to support her. The Marquesa’s face swam dizzily before her eyes and she grasped a nearby chair rather desperately. She had left the hotel very early that morning and the heat in the car coming here had been overpowering. That was what it was, she told herself severely—the heat. She hadn’t really heard the Marquesa say that Luis had gone to England to find her, had she?

  ‘I—I——’ she began weakly, but she got no further. The Marquesa was by her side, a firm hand propelling her down into the chair, pressing her head down to her knees.

  ‘Relax, senhora!’ she said calmly. ‘Luisa! Luisa! Venha ca!’

  The housekeeper appeared so swiftly Rachel suspected she had been listening outside the door to assure herself that nothing untoward happened to her mistress.

  ‘The senhora is feeling faint,’ said the Marquesa when Luisa opened the door. ‘Bring us some coffee—oh, and some sandwiches. Depressa!’

  ‘Sim, senhora.’ Luisa cast a startled look in Rachel’s direction and then hurried away. When she came back some few minutes later with a tray Rachel was resting her head back against the stiff upholstery and the Marquesa was seated close by.

  ‘Will the senhora be staying to lunch, Senhora Marquesa?’ Luisa asked, placing the tray on a low table beside her employer.

  ‘Yes, of course, Luisa. I think you had better make up a room for her also. The senhora will not be returning home this evening.’

  Rachel felt too enervated to protest, and Luisa bowed and walked to the door. ‘Oh, and Luisa!’ The Marquesa was not yet finished.

  ‘Sim, senhora?’

  ‘You will prepare a room on the first floor, yes?’

  ‘As you say, Senhora Marquesa.’

  After Luisa had gone the Marquesa poured the coffee with a remarkably steady hand and handed a cup to Rachel. Rachel took it nervously, half afraid she would drop something again.

  ‘Have a sandwich.’ The Marquesa proffered the plate.

  Rachel shook her head. ‘Thank you, no, I couldn’t.’

  ‘Nonsense, of course you could. A young girl like you. You’re much too thin.’ She continued to hold out the plate and Rachel had, perforce, to take one, but she felt sure it would choke her.

  However, it didn’t. The sandwiches were so delicately made that they went down quite easily with several sips of the delicious aromatic coffee, and Rachel eventually had three.

  The Marquesa sat opposite her, watching her, sipping her coffee slowly and thoughtfully.

  When Rachel finally refused anything else, the Marquesa took her empty cup, replaced it on the tray, and folded her hands. ‘Now,’ she said, ‘we can talk.’

  ‘Yes, Senhora Marquesa.’ Rachel had never felt less like talking in her life. ‘What—what about?’

  ‘First of all I must tell you that I accept your word about Luis. I do not now believe that you have seen him.’

  ‘You mean he—is in England?’ Rachel stared at the other woman.

  ‘Of course. I do not lie either, senhora.’

  ‘No. No, of course not.’ Rachel shook her head dazedly. ‘But why? Why is he there?’

  ‘We will come to that in a moment. First of all, I want to tell you about your husband.’

  ‘That’s not necessary——’

  ‘Oh, but it is. You see——’ The Marquesa paused. ‘You see, when Malcolm’s mother died the certificate fell into his hands. Until then no one had known the truth.’

  ‘That you were his cousin?’ ventured Rachel quietly.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. My—my mother was his mother’s sister, as you’ve no doubt guessed. She was, so I believe, a kind and generous girl. Just before the First World War, she met and fell in love with a young man whom her father totally rejected. He was a man—if I dare to say it—like Malcolm. He was cold and cruel and insensitive, and Rosemary—that was my mother, of course—couldn’t persuade him to change his mind. Then—then——’ The Marquesa was obviously finding this part of her story hard to tell. ‘Then—she became pregnant. Oh, I don’t excuse her. She shouldn’t have—have done what she did. But it was too late then for recriminations. She went to her father and told him what had happened. He was incensed. I believe he beat her. They planned, the young man and my mother, to run away together, to elope. But war broke out and he joined the Army before they could make any arrangements. Then, within a month of him going to France, he was killed and Rosemary was completely without hope.’

  Rachel felt a tremendous sense of compassion for the lonely girl. She could imagine what Malcolm’s grandfather had been like. She could imagine his rage when he discovered his daughter wanted to marry someone who didn’t agree with his conceptions of what her husband should be. And later, when he found she was pregnant ...

  ‘Well,’ went on the Marquesa heavily, ‘I was born. Elizabeth, Malcolm’s mother, was married by this time but apparently unable to have children. She and her husband agreed to care for me—there was no question of adoption in those days. Then Malcolm was born, and the rest you know.’

  ‘And Rosemary?’ asked Rachel quietly.

  ‘She died within a year of my being born. They said it was consumption, but I’ve never believed that. I think she just died of a broken heart.’

  Rachel shook her head. ‘How terrible!’

  ‘Yes.’ The Marquesa sighed. ‘I don’t suppose I thought a great deal about the fact of my illegitimacy until Malcolm discovered it. He wrote to me, quite nice letters at first, and I thought he just wanted to be friendly. Ricardo, that was my husband, was ill, and I was glad of someone to confide my anxieties to.’ She curled her fingers into a ball. ‘But then Malcolm began making demands. Just small ones at first; in the nature of loans to tide him over difficult situations. It wasn’t until much later that I began to see what was happening.’

  Rachel gripped the arms of her chair. ‘But why did you invite him to Mendao?’

  ‘Invite him? I didn’t invite him.’ The Marquesa spoke vehemently. ‘Malcolm was ill, as you know. He said he needed to rest and recuperate. He said if I would just allow him to come and stay for a while, he’d make no further demands on me.’

  ‘But of course that wasn’t the end, was it?’ murmured Rachel gently.

  ‘Oh, no. No!’ The Marquesa dragged a handkerchief from her sleeve and pressed it to her lips. ‘No, you’re right. Things just got worse.’

  ‘So you stayed at the Alejentos’ deliberately?’

  ‘Yes and no. I was ill; I was sick with worry. You see—Luis knew none of this. I have never confided in anyone, not even Ricardo.’

  ‘I see.’ Rachel bent her head. ‘And the day Malcolm came to Alcorado? That was the final confrontation?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ The Marquesa raised her eyes to the ceiling in mute remembrance. ‘What a terrible, terrible day that was.’

  Rachel nodded. ‘If you don’t want to talk about it——’

  ‘No. No, I must tell you. Malcolm came to the sala where Manuela and I were sewing. I was horrified to see him. I couldn’t imagine why he ha
d come.’ She tugged distractedly at the handkerchief. ‘He—he came right out with it. He told the Alejentos that I was—was a—a bastard!’ Her voice almost broke. ‘They were flabbergasted, too. They thought he was lying, but I suppose my face gave me away. There was the most terrible row. I thought Carlos, Manuela’s husband, would kill him. But Malcolm said that was just the beginning. He said that he would make sure everyone learned of the parentage of the Marquesa de Mendao!’

  Rachel felt sick. It was worse than even she had suspected. She had not realised he had revealed everything to the Alejentos. No wonder Senhora Alejento had treated her with such distaste.

  The Marquesa’s shoulders sagged. ‘Then—then, of course, there was Luis.’

  ‘What about Luis?’ Belatedly Rachel realised how easily she had spoken Luis’s name.

  ‘Malcolm said that Luis was involved with you—that he had tried to make love to you!’

  ‘Oh, no!’

  Now Rachel understood why Malcolm had not objected those last two occasions when Luis had sought her presence. They had been his evidence, indisputable facts that could be twisted to mean so many things.

  ‘Oh, yes. And—and Amalia was there to hear it.’

  Rachel shook her head. ‘But—but surely they didn’t believe him!’

  ‘No. No, I don’t believe they did—at first.’

  ‘What do you mean—at first?’

  The Marquesa shook her head impatiently. ‘Nothing, nothing. Well, there it is. The whole sorry mess.’ She moved her shoulders helplessly. ‘Malcolm had overreached his strength; the attack he had was brief but fatal. Carlos laid him on the couch, but it was too late. He must have died instantly.’

  Rachel rose to her feet. It was an incredible story, but it fitted the facts so well. Everything was clear now. She turned back to the Marquesa. ‘So Luis learnt the truth, too.’

  The Marquesa nodded. ‘Yes. He was—very angry. He said I should have confided in him from the beginning—that he would have dealt with Malcolm himself. But I doubt whether anyone could have reasoned with Malcolm. He was totally selfish.’

  Rachel heaved a sigh. ‘And you say—Luis is in England? Why? Why?’

  The Marquesa made a casual gesture. ‘He wanted to find out how much you had known about—about everything.’

  ‘I see.’ Rachel’s spirits plummeted. She might have known it would be something like that. ‘He knew about the cheque you sent me?’

  ‘Not at once, no. He—it was when he found out about that that things came to a head between us.’

  ‘Oh!’ Rachel could imagine Luis’s reactions. She had had the cheque ten days. No doubt he thought she had cashed it. Or was it possible to find out about such things? She supposed it must be. She plucked nervously at the strap of her handbag. ‘Well, that’s that, isn’t it?’

  The Marquesa looked up at her. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well, I’ve said everything I came to say, and you’ve been—very kind, talking to me, explaining everything. I—there’s no need for me to stay. I feel perfectly all right now.’

  ‘On the contrary, of course you must stay, tonight at least.’ The Marquesa was adamant. ‘I wouldn’t dream of allowing you to return to England today. Besides, I doubt very much whether you would be able to get a flight. It’s very busy at this time of the year.’

  Rachel shrugged. ‘I’m sure I shall manage.’

  ‘No, you will stay here. I have informed Luisa to that effect. Would you have had her waste her energies unnecessarily?’

  Rachel half smiled. ‘I suppose not.’

  ‘Very good.’ The Marquesa looked relieved. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me, I will go and prepare for lunch, Luisa will show you to your room. You might care to wash, too, before sitting down to table.’

  During the afternoon Rachel rested in her room. It was a very sumptuous room, even more sumptuous than the rooms she and Malcolm had occupied on the ground floor. Clearly these were the family rooms, and they were cooler and more comfortably furnished.

  Rachel’s room had blue and gold draperies, and a blue and gold tapestry bedspread. The walls were gold, too, and there were french doors which opened on to the balcony which overlooked a small courtyard below. When she opened these doors and stepped on to the balcony, she realised she was looking down on the courtyard where she had spent so many hours, and her heart raced. Did Luis’s apartments open on to this balcony, too? Had he been able to observe her from the shadows up here? It was quite a thought.

  Dinner was served in a dining room which would have accommodated thirty people. The Marquesa, dressed completely in black, explained that this was the small dining room, and Rachel felt an uneasy sense of amusement at this piece of information. What an enormous place the quinta must be. What would it feel like to be mistress of such an establishment? She was not likely to find out anyway. Besides, it was too big, too impersonal. If ever she got married again, she would want to play some part in the running of her home that meant more than simply issuing orders to an army of servants. But no doubt Amalia found it all very much to her liking. And if one was marrying Luis ...

  Thinking of Amalia, she ventured quietly: ‘It must only be two or three weeks to the wedding, Senhora Marquesa. Will you continue to live at the quinta after—afterwards?’

  The Marquesa looked at her sharply. ‘The wedding? Oh, yes, Luis’s wedding.’ She drew in her lips. ‘No, I don’t suppose I shall continue to live at the quinta after Luis is married. His wife will be the Marquesa then. I shall merely be the Dowager Marquesa.’

  ‘I see.’ Rachel applied herself to the fish soup in the bowl in front of her.

  ‘There is a small house in the grounds, a suitable home for a dowager,’ went on the Marquesa. ‘Sara and I shall be quite happy there.’

  ‘Oh, yes, Senhora Ribialto!’ Rachel remembered she had not seen the elderly companion. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Sara is visiting her mother for a few days. She’ll be back next week.’ The Marquesa smiled. ‘I miss her.’

  ‘I expect you do.’ Rachel pushed the soup aside. Talking about Luis had destroyed her appetite.

  The meal dragged on. Talk was infrequent and desultory, and Rachel was relieved when after the meal the Marquesa excused herself because of a headache.

  ‘You don’t mind, do you, senhora?’ she queried, almost gently. ‘I will see you in the morning.’

  ‘No, I don’t mind.’ Rachel stood as the other woman walked across the room. ‘But I shall be leaving tomorrow.’

  ‘Of course, of course.’ The Marquesa opened the door. ‘Boa noite, senhora. Ate amanha!’

  Rachel herself went to bed soon after, nine-thirty, but she couldn’t sleep. The quinta aroused too many memories, not all of them unpleasant ones, and she found herself wondering what it would be like when Amalia was mistress here. The thought of Amalia as Luis’s wife made her restless, and unable to stay in bed under such stress, she got up and walked out on to the balcony.

  Her cotton nightdress blew against her legs in the cool breeze and she felt much better out here. Fortunately, she had brought an overnight case with her in case of emergencies, but she had not expected to stay overnight at the quinta.

  She looked down into the courtyard below. There was no moon tonight and everywhere was in darkness. But then, in that shadowy gloom, something moved.

  She drew back, half afraid that she had been seen, but it did not seem likely. All the same, she couldn’t help wondering who it could be, and a prickle of apprehension alerted her nerve ends. Apart from the servants, she and the Marquesa were alone in the quinta, after all, and she was sure it could not be a servant prowling around in the darkness. So who was it?

  She moved silently to the balcony rail and took a second look. Perhaps she had been mistaken, perhaps it had been a trick of the light.

  But no, there was the glow of a cigarette end, and her eyes widened in surprise. Whoever it was was not afraid of being observed; and suddenly she thought of Luis!

/>   She drew back aghast into her bedroom, closing the french doors and leaning against them. It couldn’t be Luis, could it? Her palms felt moist. She had resigned herself to not seeing him, relaxed really because she had thought that ordeal had been averted, but if that was him down there she would be almost bound to encounter him in the morning.

  Her pulses raced. She had the most ridiculous desire to pack her things, put on her clothes and leave right away, without waiting for the morning, but of course she couldn’t do that. Apart from the fact that there was no way she could travel these roads around the quinta at night, it would only be the cowardly thing to do. And besides, it would be better to face him and be done with it as live all her life wondering whether her feelings for him had simply been the result of an overcharged imagination.

  With a sigh she moved away from the french windows, and as she did so there was a knock at her bedroom door.

  Her heart pounded noisily in her ears, so noisily that she was sure it was audible. Who was knocking on her door at this time of night? She looked down at the watch. The pointers were vaguely visible to eyes that had adjusted themselves to the gloom. It was almost midnight.

  The knock came again, and she moved jerkily across the room to press her ear against the door. ‘Who—who’s there?’ she asked huskily, and there was a muffled exclamation from whoever it was outside.

  ‘Open the door, Rachel!’ said Luis forcefully. ‘I have to speak with you!’

  Rachel felt frozen to the spot. It must have been Luis down there in the courtyard, but she would never have dreamed that he would come to her bedroom. What did he want? How dared he knock at her door at this time of night? What if any of the servants saw him?

  ‘Go—go away, Luis,’ she managed. ‘We—we can talk in the morning.’

  ‘Now, Rachel!’

  ‘No. Go away, please! I—I’m tired.’

  ‘I saw you on the balcony, Rachel. You can’t sleep and nor can I.’

  Rachel looked down at the door handle. Beside it was a keyhole, but there was no key to turn the lock against him.