Rachel Trevellyan Page 7

  Malcolm’s face glowered. ‘I don’t need your help,’ he retorted. Then he looked at Rachel. ‘You can help me to the bathroom. But I’m not getting dressed.’

  ‘But you must!’ Rachel’s voice was filled with dismay. ‘Our breakfast table has been laid outside, on the patio. Oh, Malcolm, do get dressed and I can wheel your chair outside and we can have breakfast together.’

  ‘I don’t want to sit outside.’ Malcolm was apparently in an obstructive mood. ‘It’s too damn hot already.’ He pushed off the bedcovers, and then realised Eduardo was still standing there. ‘And send him away! I’ve told you, I don’t want anyone else fussing me.’

  Rachel sighed. She looked towards Eduardo regretfully. ‘I’m sorry, Eduardo,’ she said. ‘But apparently your services won’t be needed.’

  Eduardo hesitated for a moment and then seeing Malcolm’s grim determination he made an eloquent little movement of his hands and left them.

  By the time Rachel had assisted Malcolm into the wheelchair, taken him to the bathroom and brought him back again, and then helped him on to the bed, she was streaming with perspiration. Although he was thin now, his bones were large and heavy, much too heavy for someone as slight as herself, but Malcolm never showed her any consideration. He levered himself back on to the pillows and then said: ‘We’ll have breakfast now.’

  Rachel sighed, fanning herself with one hand. ‘Couldn’t we sit outside?’ she appealed. ‘In the shade of the balcony? It’s so much more refreshing out there than in this stale air you’ve been breathing all night long.’

  Malcolm ignored her, reaching for the paperback thriller he had brought with him for the journey and which as yet was unread. ‘Go and ring for breakfast or whatever else you do around here to get service,’ he remarked, and she was forced to comply.

  If Eduardo thought it strange that Rachel should not enjoy the experience of having breakfast outside on the patio and chose to eat inside instead with her husband he managed to disguise it. Perhaps after his own experiences at Malcolm Trevellyan’s hands he was beginning to appreciate how much easier it was to placate him, and as the windows stood wide to the air and the warm rolls and conserve and strong black coffee were delicious, Rachel managed to forget her own disappointment.

  After breakfast was over, she unpacked the remainder of Malcolm’s belongings from his suitcase and hung them away in the capacious wardrobes that lined the walls. Then she washed her own underclothes in the bathroom handbasin, leaving them on the bath to dry, and returned to the bedroom to find Malcolm staring broodingly into space.

  ‘Where did you disappear to last night?’ he asked, as she entered the room.

  Rachel frowned. ‘Disappear? I didn’t disappear. I went to bed—in my room next door.’

  ‘Next door?’

  ‘Well—a few doors away, then.’

  ‘I told you I expected you to sleep in here. What if I’d needed you through the night?’

  ‘Malcolm, you know since your illness we’ve had separate bedrooms. Besides, it was so hot. And if you had needed me you could have done the same here as at home. You could have shouted for me.’

  Malcolm hunched his shoulders. ‘You’d never hear me in this place.’

  ‘Of course I should. Heavens, even footsteps echo along these corridors.’

  Malcolm frowned. ‘Have you seen any of the family this morning?’

  Rachel hesitated. ‘Have you?’

  ‘You know I haven’t. Joanna said she’d come along this morning for a chat. We have a lot to say to one another. You can read outside if you want to.’

  Rachel was grateful for the predicted dismissal. She had no desire to listen to the Marquesa making small talk with her husband. But she did have something more to say. ‘Malcolm,’ she began slowly, ‘if you’re going to stay in your rooms all the time we’re here, what point was there in coming? I mean—don’t you want to get out in the sunshine? To see all the beauty that’s around you?’

  ‘I don’t intend to stay in my rooms all the time we’re here,’ Malcolm retorted calmly. ‘On the contrary. I expect Joanna will put a car at our disposal. I shall get out and about, but there’s no hurry. We have plenty of time.’

  Rachel sighed. What was Malcolm trying to do? Why did his words arouse such a feeling of unease inside her? How long did he intend to stay here?

  The Marquesa came just before eleven. This time only Sara Ribialto was with her, soberly dressed as before in a dark gown. Rachel was relieved that Luis was not with them. She felt it was too soon for her to face him again. This morning’s confrontation had left her feeling strangely vulnerable and she didn’t altogether understand why.

  The Marquesa had arranged for coffee to be served to them during the visit and Rosa performed this service. She brought Rachel’s out to the patio and smiled apologetically.

  ‘You do not wish that I should serve yours indoors with the Marquesa and your husband, senhora?’ she queried in surprise.

  ‘Thank you, no.’ Rachel looked up from the magazine she had found in the sala and which she had been studying with concentration. ‘I’m quite happy here, Rosa.’ And it was true. Seated here on the patio, in one of the low basketwork loungers with their pretty flower-splashed cushions, shaded from the sun by the chair’s canopy, she was almost content. ‘But tell me,’ she added, ‘is there anywhere I might find a Portuguese phrase book? You know the sort of thing; with words and phrases in English and then Portuguese.’

  Rosa frowned, ‘There are such books in the library, senhora. I have heard that when the Senhora Marquesa first came here she had to learn our language. But I could not get such a book for you without permission, senhora.’

  ‘No. No, of course not.’ Rachel leant across to pour herself some coffee from the jug which Rosa had placed on the glass surface of the table nearby. There was a jug of cream, too, and Rachel added two heaped spoonsful of sugar for good measure.

  Rosa looked anxious. ‘You wish me to ask the Senhor Marquês, senhora?’ she ventured.

  Rachel shook her head quickly. ‘Oh, no, don’t bother. I expect I’ll be able to pick one up some time if we’re near some shops. Thank you, all the same.’

  Rosa smiled, nodded, and departed, and Rachel carried her cup to her lips. The magazine she had been studying was a Portuguese magazine and she had been thinking that learning the language might give her something with which to fill her days. For although it was very pleasant there in the sun, her mind was too active to allow for complete inactivity for very long.

  There was the sound of footsteps echoing lightly on the mosaic tiling of the patio and she glanced round expecting to see Rosa returning for the coffee cup. But instead she encountered the Marquesa’s grey eyes, which right now had an anxious expression in their depths.

  Rachel got to her feet at once, and then chided herself for so doing. Joanna Martinez was not royalty, and just become she acted that way did not mean that Rachel should do likewise. But she was on her feet now and perhaps it was easier to feel on equal terms with the woman when she was not actually looking up to her.

  ‘Bom dia, senhora.’ The Marquesa was coolly polite. ‘I see you are enjoying the sunshine.’

  Rachel took her cue from the older woman and nodded. ‘Good morning, Senhora Marquesa. And yes, I find it quite delightful out here.’

  The Marquesa plucked at her pearls. She seemed nervous, and Rachel wondered what Malcolm had said to create this impression on her. For what else could it be? The Marquesa was not nervous of her.

  ‘These courtyards are part of the older section of the building,’ the Marquesa said at last. ‘The Moorish influence is strongest here. I imagine quarters like these were used to house the female members of the household—the seraglio.’

  Rachel tucked her thumbs into the belt of her jeans. ‘I didn’t realise it was so old.’

  ‘Most of the building isn’t. Naturally, much restoration has had to be done, senhora. But the character of the building, the influences that create
d it, they have been maintained.’

  ‘Yes.’ Rachel listened with interest.

  The Marquesa moved a little nervously. ‘My son’s fiancée, Senhorita Alejento, is coming this afternoon. I wish you to join us in the main sala at four o’clock for afternoon tea.’

  Rachel was flabbergasted. After the way the Marquesa had acted the evening before, this invitation was most unexpected. Why should she be invited to meet the Marquês’s fiancée? It was nothing to do with her. And besides, the idea of taking tea with two aristocratic women was not at all to her liking.

  Then, to her surprise, Malcolm appeared through the wide french doors, being propelled in his wheelchair by Eduardo. The astonishment of seeing him so unexpectedly shocked her into silence.

  The Marquesa had heard the swish of tyres too and turned slowly, her expression enigmatic. ‘Hello, Malcolm,’ she murmured, and Rachel was amazed at the change in her voice. ‘I’ve just been—inviting your wife to our little tea party this afternoon.’

  Rachel almost gasped. So Malcolm was to join them in the sala! She would never have believed it.

  ‘I’m sure we’re both looking forward to meeting your son’s fiancée, Joanna,’ remarked Malcolm calmly. ‘Aren’t we, Rachel?’

  Rachel didn’t know how to reply. The whole situation seemed unreal somehow. Last night the Marquesa had been scarcely civil, obviously unwilling to welcome either of them into the household except in a purely superficial way. They were to be offered the Martinez hospitality, but that was all. And now ...

  ‘I—I—if you say so, Malcolm,’ she murmured awkwardly.

  Malcolm frowned. ‘Of course, we’re looking forward to it, Joanna. Rachel’s a little—overawed, that’s all.’

  Overawed! Yes, Rachel supposed she was. But not in the way Malcolm was implying.

  Sara Ribialto had been hovering in the background, but now she said: ‘You won’t forget that we have some letters to do before lunch, will you, Dona Joanna?’ in rather disapproving tones, as though she at least objected to so much attention being given to these English interlopers.

  The Marquesa turned, with relief, Rachel thought. ‘Oh, no, Sara, I haven’t forgotten. I will come now. You will excuse me?’

  Malcolm smiled, ‘Of course.’

  The Marquesa’s lips moved in the semblance of a smile and then she held her head high as she preceded Sara through the french doors.

  As soon as she was out of earshot, Malcolm dismissed Eduardo, and looked impatiently towards Rachel. ‘Well?’ he said. ‘Haven’t you got anything to say?’

  Rachel shook her head in a confused way. ‘You’ve dressed,’ was all she could think of.

  ‘That chap Eduardo helped me. Clumsy devil! He almost overturned the wheelchair when I was lowering myself into it. He won’t do that again!’

  A faint smile touched Rachel’s lips. She could imagine the reaction that would have had. She dropped down on to the lounger again, and said: ‘So we’re to have tea with the family.’

  ‘Why not? I thought we might as well get to know the bride-to-be as we’ll probably be invited to the wedding.’

  Rachel’s lips parted. ‘The wedding’s ten weeks away. We won’t even be here then.’

  Malcolm’s expression hardened. ‘Why won’t we?’

  ‘Well——’ Rachel looked about her helplessly. ‘I mean—how could we be?’

  ‘Why shouldn’t we be here? The invitation I was issued had no terminal date upon it.’

  ‘No, but—well, that was different. And they thought you were alone—and lonely. They didn’t know you had a wife.’

  ‘So? What of it? You won’t be too great a drain on their resources. They can afford it, believe me!’

  ‘That’s not the point, Malcolm. We can’t just hang on here indefinitely, until someone kicks us out.’

  ‘Why not? I think I’m going to like it here. The food’s damn good, and the weather is definitely more reliable. Besides, it’s years since I took a holiday. I’d have thought you’d welcome a break from housework.’

  Rachel stood up again, unable to sit still suddenly. Malcolm’s words had made her worried and restless. She didn’t want to sponge upon these people. She had never dreamt when she packed their things a couple of days ago that Malcolm was putting no time limit on their stay. Apart from anything else, she didn’t want to feel beholden to them, and nor did she want to be forced to see much more of Luis Martinez ...

  ‘Oh, Malcolm,’ she pleaded now, ‘summer’s coming. It will be very hot here. Are you sure you’ll be able to stand it? You know how delightful the summer months can be back home. Couldn’t we leave after a couple of weeks——’

  ‘Stop talking such drivel!’ Malcolm’s mouth had turned down at the corners. ‘I’ll decide when we go home, and that’s that.’

  Rachel turned away. There was nothing more she could say. Malcolm was her husband, after all, and these were his friends, not hers. If he chose to stay here and be humiliated, what could she do about it?

  CHAPTER FIVE

  RACHEL dreaded the prospect of taking tea in the main sala, and despised herself for doing so. Surely she should have more confidence, she told herself severely, as she brushed her hair before returning to Malcolm’s suite later that afternoon. What was she? A woman or a mouse? Had she so little sophistication that she considered herself incapable of holding her own with an arrogant old woman and a girl who could surely not be so very different in age from herself?

  Since lunch, thoughts like these had buzzed in her brain, preventing her from sleeping even though Malcolm had agreed to rest and given her permission to do likewise.

  Lunch had been served late by British standards, but the meal of sopa de camarao or creamed shrimps, a fresh green salad and grilled sardines, rounded off by cheese and fruit and more of the strong aromatic continental coffee, had been delicious.

  But now it was time to wheel Malcolm along to the main sala, Rachel felt nervous. She had scanned the contents of her wardrobe several times already, but although she possessed several simple cotton dresses which she had made herself, she had eventually discarded the idea of wearing one of them.

  She had done so for two reasons: firstly because she knew that whatever she wore would be eclipsed by the elegance of the two other women and her clothes would not stand their kind of scrutiny; and secondly she was reluctant to dress in a way which would give Luis Martinez the misguided notion that she had been intimidated by his remarks about what she should wear.

  All the same, it took an enormous amount of stamina to stick to her decision to wear trousers, although she did make the concession of changing from sweater and jeans into a long-sleeved cream cotton shirt and pink cotton slacks.

  Malcolm was irritable as she propelled his chair along the corridor. His short sleep had been interrupted by the arrival of Eduardo, sent by the Marquesa to assist him to dress. His grey flannels were slightly creased and he had refused to put on a clean shirt, and consequently he was not at his most charming.

  They encountered Rosa in the hall, and she hurried forward to knock at the doors of the sala for them. At a summons, she threw open the doors and then stood back to allow Rachel to wheel Malcolm’s chair into the room.

  The main sala was immense and imposing as Rachel had expected it to be after having experience of the lesser apartments in the building. Walls with hanging tapestries reached up to a ceiling which was high and curved, inlaid with lapis lazuli. A bronze lamp was suspended above stiff-back chairs and highly polished furniture, small carved tables on which rested glazed bowls and Turkish vases, ewers inlaid with silver and copper, delicately sculpted figures in marble, silver and bronze. It was obvious, even to the most unknowledgeable observer, that these articles were priceless, and Rachel wondered how anyone dared to lift them to dust the winking brightness of the shining surfaces beneath.

  There were four people gathered already in the sala; the Marquesa and her companion, Sara Ribialto; Luis; and a strange young woman who was cl
early Amalia Alejento. The three women were seated when Rachel and Malcolm entered, with Luis standing slightly behind his fiancée’s chair.

  Rachel looked at Amalia. She was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen. She was dark, as only a Portuguese is dark, but with a magnolia-white skin and deep limpid eyes. Her rounded figure was shown to advantage by a slim-fitting dress of navy linen with a white Puritan collar that accentuated the curve of her neck. She sat in the high-backed chair, her hands folded in her lap, an expression of benign complacency on her face. No doubt as she grew older her present curves might thicken into plumpness, but that cool hauteur would never change, and she had all the attributes necessary for a future Marquesa de Mendao.

  Rosa closed the doors behind them and Luis came forward to take Malcolm’s chair and propel it towards the others. He did not look at Rachel and she followed him slowly, conscious of the Marquesa’s disapproving stare. However, the Persian rugs on the floor, glowing with colour, attracted her and she forgot the Marquesa as she wondered whether she dared bend and run her fingers over their soft surfaces. Touch was so much a part of her artistic ability, the actual feeling evoked by examining an article, by feeling its texture, was something that could not be simulated.

  For a brief period she had forgotten where she was and she was suddenly brought back to the present by Luis’s impatient, ‘Senhora! I wish to present you to my fiancée, Senhorita Alejento.’

  Rachel moved jerkily towards them, conscious of Malcolm’s displeasure, realising that he had already been introduced and that she had done the unforgivable thing of forgetting her place.

  Amalia’s hand was limp and unenthusiastic. She smiled faintly at the English girl and made some polite comment, but afterwards Rachel, for the life of her, couldn’t remember what had been said. All she could remember was the feeling of hostility which emanated from all of them, including Malcolm.

  Tea was served by another maidservant whom the Marquesa addressed as Juana. She was of a similar age and appearance as Rosa but without her composure. She was nervous as she served the tea, and when Rachel smiled encouragingly at her she received a look of gratitude which was quickly dispersed by the Marquesa’s biting tongue. Rachel thought with irony that servants in England would not submit to such tyranny.