Authors: Averil Ives
Just now she wasn't thinking very much about the depleted condition of Peggy's wardrobe, she was thinking about something else. She finished her cake, dusted the crumbs from her fingers and the front of her dress, and then asked as if the matter was not of any very great importance and she was merely suffering from a mild form of curiosity:
"Who is Carmelita Albrantes, Peggy? And have you ever met her?"
Peggy frowned a little. She was mentally trying to decide which of two evening-dresses she possessed—a dull gold taffeta or a somewhat outmoded black net — would make her look less like a rather hard-up English
artits's wife if she did decide they ought to accept the invitation to the Quinta Cereus.
"Carmelita Albrantes?" She knitted her brows, finally dismissing the black because it was at least three years old. "The Albtantes family is remotely connected to the de Chaves family, and their estates run side by side in this corner of Portugal. Papa Albrantes died about six months ago, and Carmelita, who is the only daughter—in fact, I think, she's the heiress to the estates—has been staying with a relative in Lisbon. I've never met her, but I was once presented to her mother who, like Dona Inez, likes to be thought of as a kind of semi-invalid. That's to say, she doesn't mix very much even with her own set, and I think poor Carmelita would have rather a thin time but for this aunt, who takes her about and chaperones her, and so forth."
"And she's very attractive?"
"Who? The aunt, or Carmelita?" Peggy rushed to the oven to rescue a batch of cakes that were beginning to burn. "Rumour has it that she's quite passable—Carmelita, I mean—and some say that the Conde plans to marry her one day. I wouldn't know, because I'm not in on these family matrimonial counsels."
"You mean that if it takes place it will be one of those arranged marriages? The kind of thing they have in Portugal?"
"Again I wouldn't know. But a lot of marriages in Portugal are arranged, especially when the families are important ones. Often the parents fix everything up when the victims are quite small, and sometimes it's a question of linking estates, or boosting failing fortunes. The Conde's fortunes are quite secure, so if he plans to marry Carmelita I'd say it's simply and solely because he wants to, or just possibly because he thinks she'll make a suitable wife. That again is important; a wife who knows how to conduct herself, and will be the right sort of mother for sons. And you can bet your life the Conde will want a son one day!"
Kathleen was aware of a curious feeling of revulsion —almost of actual nausea—at the thought of Miguel de
Chaves, with his brilliant good looks, marrying for the purpose of producing sons.
"Why?" Peggy looked up at her suddenly. "Why all this sudden interest in the domestic affairs of your em-employer? And, if it comes to that, why should your employer suddenly decide to invite us to the quinta?"
Kathleen was certain it was because the Conde had overheard Shane's criticism of the way she was being treated, and he wanted to make her feel more at home, and she heard herself saying: "Why shouldn't he? He met you once, and he told me he thought you were very charming—an opinion, I believe, you also formed of him! So why shouldn't he invite you to the quinta, and why shouldn't you accept?"
"Because, as I've explained to you, I haven't anything suitable to wear," Peggy replied dispiritedly. But she was obviously intrigued by the Conde's admission that he thought her charming. "Did he really say that about me?" she asked. "Or are you making it up?"
"I am not making it up," Kathleen assured her.
"Then you do have conversations sometimes? You are not as stiff with one another as you were?"
"We have conversations—sometimes," Kathleen admitted, and was annoyed because she could feel the uncontrollable colour rising to her cheeks. "We have also agreed to bury the hatchet for the time being, and he is satisfied with the way in which I am handling the twins. He took all three of us for a short drive the other morning, and bought us ice-cream in Amara. And had one himself!"
"What!" Peggy looked as unbelieving as if she had been informed that a maiden aunt had been seen dancing the tango. "You mean that he actually consumed ice-cream in public—under one of those café umbrellas!—with a couple of small boys and a nursery-governess, and no one else to protect him from the three of you?"
"There were only the four of us," Kathleen said, dimpling suddenly and rather deliciously, as if her sister-in-law's astonishment aroused in her a rather pleasurable sensation of humour. "Although I must admit it wasn't
under a cafe umbrella that we consumed the ices, but in a highly reputable hotel — Amara's leading hotel I believe it is! But to offset that the Conde wasn't in the least upset when Jerry let a large lump of ice-cream fall off his spoon, and land on his knee. He even offered his own handkerchief for the cleaning-up operations!"
"We-e-ll!" Peggy exclaimed, and was still staring at Kathleen as if she had never really seen her before when Shane came in sniffing hungrily at the air, and she had to break off her absorbed inspection in order to prevent him carrying away to his studio a whole plateful of cakes.
"But I'm working," he protested, "and I'm hungry!"
Gently but firmly she removed the plate from him.
"Listen, Shane! We're invited to dinner at the Quints Cereus! That is to say, you and I are invited. Naturally, Kathleen will be there. But I haven't a thing to wear. . Not a thing! What are we going to do about it?"
"Nothing," Shane replied, with masculine calm. "For one thing I have no particular desire to dine at the quinta—I've survived all this time without seeing the inside of it!—and new dresses are out just now. I require new shirts!"
"Your shirts can wait." Peggy gripped his arm. "Listen, darling, I've decided that we simply must accept this invitation, and that being so I've got to have a new dress! Got to, because we can't let Kat
hleen down! So will you drive me
into Lisbon tomorrow morning, and I'll try and pick up something reasonably cheap?"
Shane looked definitely perplexed.
"I simply can't see the necessity. . . ."
Peggy's grip on his arm hurt like a lobster's tenacious tentacles, or, rather, claws.
"You can't, darling," his wife said softly, "because you're only a man. But I can! . . . Now, leave it to me! Perhaps after all a certain amount of extravagance will be justifiable for once, so I take back the bit about looking for something reasonably cheap!"
Kathleen gazed at her in the same sort of perplexity as her brother.
KATHLEEN had always been very proud of Shane, particularly in the days before he grew his little golden beard. But on the night of the Conde's dinner-party she thought he looked like a handsome Viking, with his tanned skin and dark blue eyes, and in his well-pressed dinner jacket. Really, Peggy had turned him out very well, and his linen was as pristine in its whiteness as the Conde's.
Peggy had been successful on her shopping expedition to Lisbon, and in addition to a new pearl-grey brocade dress that was just right for a young and blooming matron, she wore pearl-grey satin sandals and had her mother's real pearls round her neck. It was a very shapely neck, and the pearls were good, and Peggy's
soigné
darkness, that she also owed to the distaff side of her family, was far removed from the somewhat heavy darkness of several of the Portuguese women who were also the Conde's guests that night.
In fact, apart from Dona Inez and Carmelita Albrantes —and Kathleen—the women present were hardly a handsome selection, Peggy decided.
Kathleen was like a bright flower in the midst of cloudy darkness. Her dress was scarlet-flowered cream silk, with a scarlet velvet ribbon looped through the skirt. She looked young and delectable, clear-eyed and
clear skinned
—the sort of milk-an-roses skin only a young English girl of her age would be likely to possess—and by contrast with Senhorita Albrantes she was as vivid as a poppy in a cornfield. The gentle Carmelita—and Inez had inferred that she was very gentle—had distinctive pale hair that set her apart from her countrywomen, but her eyes were the mournful brown of a doe on a mountainside. Her complexion was slightly sallow, and her mouth drooped a little, but was very full and soft and red as a cherry. She was tall and graceful, and her black
lace dress had probably cost a great deal of money, but black didn't altogether become her.
Kathleen thought she might be a little difficult to dress, with that flax-pale hair and unhealthily-toned skin. And then was conscious of relief, because she really wasn't a beauty, although there was something about her that was undoubtedly appealing. Her eyes when she met those of her host flattered and invited and besought all at the same time, but she was quite skilful at lowering her lashes when admiration flashed into his.
And, there was no doubt about it, Miguel de Chaves admired Carmelite Alinantes. To what extent a mere observer would have been unable to tell, but when he put a glass of sherry into her hand before dinner he did so as if that hand was made of porcelain, and he was plainly solicitous about her comfort. The chair in which she had seated herself was straight-backed and antique, and although it enabled her to pose gracefully it was a little hard on her slim shoulders. The Conde placed a velvet cushion between them and the hard wood, and she thanked him with a doe-eyed smile.
Kathleen, on the other hand, he scarcely noticed during the early part of the evening. To Peggy he made himself charming, and Dona Inez went out of her way to be charming to Shane. It occurred to Kathleen that his virile good looks probably appealed to her.
In the huge sala before dinner the scene was one of glitter and surpassing elegance, which in the dining-room had much more of positive sumptuousness. Kathleen knew without looking at her that Peggy's eyes grew round with appreciation when she saw the long table, ablaze from end to end with priceless glass and silver and flowers of peerless perfection; but they grew even rounder when she was able to take in the splendour of the room's appointments.
For a 'summer villa'—and that was how the Conde looked upon the quima — it was wonderfully luxurious, and the evidences of wealth were just a shade depressing to one who had sacrificed her husband's need for shirts to the beauties of a pearl-grey evening-dress. The only
comforting thought Peggy had was that if they were invited again the dress would prove its value.
She looked along the table at her sister-in-law and felt her heart warm because she was so young and fresh and appealing. And then she looked into the dark, devastatingly handsome face of her host, who had placed her surprisingly near to him at the table; in fact, she had the honour of sitting at his left hand, while Senhorita Albrantes sat at his right, and wondered why she and Shane had been invited at all.
For a year they had lived in Amara, and this was the first time they had been guests inside the quinta. Was it anything to do with gratitude because she had provided him with a governess for his troublesome nephews? Or was it because he wanted Kathleen to feel that her social status was not so low that her relatives were permanently excluded from all social functions?
Or was it something else to do with Kathleen?
The Conde met her eyes, and as if he realised she was being vexed by an unanswerable question he smiled and lifted his glass. It was glowing with one of the finest wines of Portugal, and above it his eyes were deep and dark and faintly mystical.
"To our better acquaintance, Senhora O'Farrell" he said. "You and your husband must visit us often!"
Farther down the table Shane also felt perplexed, but when he saw that smiling look in the Conde's eyes as they met his wife's he began to feel a little uneasy as well. Ople him Kathleen was toying with the rich food on her plate, and as if she was a magnet who drew her gaze her eyes went constantly to Carmelita Albrantes. Carmelita—who was sitting on the right hand of the host! The place of honour!
Already Kathleen seemed slightly changed to him. She was not as relaxed, as cool, as carelessly poised as when she first arrived in Portugal. There was a slight tenseness round her mouth, and every time her look shifted from Carmelita to the man who paid her a salary to look after his nephews the awareness in her watchful eyes was not merely of her surroundings. She was not altogether happy
about the bond she had established between the Conde and Carmelita. So much Shane was certain about.
And then he felt a sharp prick of anxiety. Kathie was one of the most sensible girls he had ever known, and she would never even for a moment begin to think of the Conde as anything other than employer. Or would she? The anxiety persisted. Peggy was always teasing her about falling in love—about waiting for 'Mr. Right'. But 'Mr. Right' and Miguel de Chaves could never be incorporated in the same person for Kathie. For one thing, it was rather more than an unfounded rumour that he was going to marry Carmelita.
After dinner Kathleen was conscious of as much relief as her brother when they returned to the sala, and coffee was handed round. Somehow these Portuguese meals seemed to spread themselves out interminably, particularly when there were guests. And although it had been pleasant having Shane and Peggy at the same table with her, it had also been for some reason a good deal of a strain. Perhaps it was the awareness that she and her relatives were not of the same social status as the Conde and his sister and the majority of their guests.