The House of Adriano (6 page)

“Perhaps they do.” He shrugged. “However, they don’t make an absolute fetish of it nowadays.”

“Anyway, I suppose the question doesn’t arise now, since Mandy and Eric are both dead.”

Jenton shook his head. “A pity. I would have liked to have seen them reconciled.”
H
e grinned whimsically. “I can’t get over the fact of them searching the country for Eric - and the one person who could have told us exactly where he was was actually working in my office.”

“I didn’t know anybody was looking for Eric and I didn’t connect you with them in any way.”

“You didn’t think of contacting them yourself? I suppose Eric had told you about his illustrious Spanish relations?” He grinned slightly as he said that.

“He ... mentioned them,
but he didn’t want to contact them. That’s why I didn’t do so either when I adopted Peter.”

He gave her a suddenly sharp glance at that. “You adopted him legally?”

“No. There didn’t seem any need to do so. I merely took him to live with me as there wasn’t anybody else to look after him - and I haven’t regretted it for one moment,” she added with a smile.

Jenton gave her another of those oddly sharp glances, seemed about to say something, then abruptly turned right away from the subject, picked up a letter and started dictating.

Aileen was so busy for the rest of the day that she hardly had time to think about Duarte Adriano, but she was sharply reminded of him when she saw him come into the vestibule of the hotel just before five o’clock. Quite aware that Betty’s eyes were just about popping out of her head with surprise and envy
-
and probably excitedly imagining all sorts of absurd things -
Aileen allowed herself to be steered out to that by now familiar black car and installed inside with the type of care and courtesy that seemed natural to him, so natural that it seemed he could not help extending it even to an insignificant nobody like Aileen Lawrence.

The drive out to Bronte was remarkably silent, except for polite, conventional remarks which had nothing to do with the purpose of their being together. She did not have to direct him, since he appeared to remember the way exactly. When they arrived, Peter was waiting at the gate as usual, his dark eyes widening in surprise and interest to see her emerge from the large black monster that slid into the kerb. He had not yet quite reached the age when small boys begin to give cars precedence over everything else, and so after one intrigued glance at the car he seemed to be more interested by the novelty of her arriving in company with a stranger and by car, instead of alone and by the familiar, noisy, jolting tram.

Aileen watched as the dark eyes, so much like those of the man at her side, went over him interestedly.

“I haven’t seen you before,” Peter remarked chattily. “Do you work with my Auntie Aileen?”

“No ... no, he doesn’t,” Aileen denied hastily. The very idea of Duarte Adriano being in any way connected with her work at the hotel was ludicrous.

Some odd impulse made her introduce the two almost formally, adding the information that Duarte had been Eric’s cousin.

“Oh.” Peter regarded the tall, dark man with added interest. “Are you my uncle, then?”

“Well, not exactly,” Aileen said, before Duarte could reply. She had the feeling that Peter might be on the point of remarking that Paul was his uncle - or hoped he might be - but to her relief he made no such embarrassing remark. It might not be embarrassing in itself, but she was quite sure Duarte would somehow contrive to make it so.

A few minutes later Peter was installed in the car, sitting between them in the front seat and looking out of the window with interest and mounting excitement.

In a quiet voice she gave the further directions necessary to take them on to where she lived, and with a swift stab of some indefinable emotion suddenly became aware of how shabby the house looked. It was clean and
well-kept
inside, but outside it looked as if it could do with a coat of paint and even the neat curtains at the windows did not disguise that the woodwork outside had on it only the remains of some very ancient green paint.

Quite involuntarily, she found herself shooting a quick glance at Duarte as they left the car, but whatever his inner thoughts might have been, the dark face was quite inscrutable.

They went inside, Peter prancing up the path ahead of them. Mrs. Margetson was in the hall when they entered and smiled a greeting to Aileen, he
r
glance flickering curiously over the man, widening slightly as if she too found him somewhat out of the ordinary and no doubt wondered what he was doing with someone like Aileen Lawrence, then Aileen saw a little ripple of shock cross her face as she glanced from the boy to the man, no doubt recognising the resemblance between them.

Aileen led the way down a narrow passage, opening a door into a small but shabby room that was nevertheless as neat and tidy and
well-polished
as the rest of the house.

“Perhaps you’ll wait in here for a moment. I won’t keep you long.” She allowed a trace of a conventional smile to cross her face. “Mrs. Margetson doesn’t like us to bring visitors up to our rooms, so this lounge is always at our disposal. I’m sure you will approve of such a convention,” and here she allowed just a faint trace of something mocking to creep into her smile.

The dark eyes narrowed as they met hers, but his face was quite unreadable. An odd apprehension began to grow in her. She had the feeling that his expression was kept unreadable for a purpose. He was planning something she would not like.

“Your ... landlady is obviously a person of good sense.”

“Yes - and she’s a thoroughly nice person too,” with which remark she turned and left him, to seek out the landlady in question.

Mrs. Margetson was just turning into the kitchen when Aileen caught up with her. She turned with a smile.

“At a guess, I would say your friend is related to the little boy.” She knew all about Mandy and Eric and, like the thoroughly nice person she was, never harboured the least suspicion that Peter might really be Aileen’s own child.

Aileen nodded. “Peter’s father was his cousin,” she explained. “Would you mind looking after Peter for a few minutes? I think he wants to ... to talk about Peter and it might be difficult with him present.”

“Of course,” Mrs. Margetson said instantly. “Come and help me lay the table,” she added, holding out her hand to Peter, and the boy went off with her quite willingly, as Aileen turned with quite unwilling steps to return to the lounge.

Duarte was standing by the window when she entered, but she had the impression that those dark eyes of his had already taken in everything about the room - and indeed the whole house - that he wanted to know,

“Please sit down,” she said as he turned to face her, and he lowered his long length into an armchair, meticulously waiting until she had seated herself.

“Well, now that you’ve met Peter
...
?”
She did not realise that her voice was just a little defiant.

“You are to be complimented on the way he has been brought up.”

“Thank you.”

Her voice was conventional this time. The sense of apprehension was growing. Was this the sugar to coat some bitter-tasting pill? Why had he insisted on meeting Peter?

“You are no doubt wondering why I came here.” The dark eyes flickered over her face, but his expression was still as unreadable as ever.

Aileen shrugged, endeavouring to keep her voice quite even. “I suppose you naturally had a certain amount of curiosity to see what Eric’s son would be like.”

“Not only that.” There was a pause, then he went on quite deliberately, “I suppose you realise that I intend to take him back to Spain with me.”

CHAPTER III

Aileen
felt herself stiffen. In one flash of knowledge she realised that this was what she had subconsciously dreaded. This was what had caused that strange feeling of apprehension. Far from refusing to acknowledge Peter as an Adriano, he actually wanted to take him away from her.

With a swift uprush of antagonism and defiance she lifted her head and blue eyes met black quite determinedly.

“I’m afraid I wouldn’t agree to that, Mr. Adriano.”

“No? It would be to your advantage.”

A spark of fire showed in her eyes. “You’re not thinking of offering me money, I hope?”

“No, I had no intention of insulting you.”

“Thank you.” Her voice was level, yet subtly impregnated with the intense dislike and very active hostility she felt towards him.

“I meant that, earning your own living, you must find a
dependent
rather a strain,” which was almost the same words that Marius Jenton had used.

She replied to them in the same way. “I manage quite easily
-
and even if Peter had been a strain on my resources, I still would not regret it.”

He shot her a sharp glance, then abruptly got to his feet, moving over to the window with the smooth, lithe grace she had noticed before. He half turned from her, apparently occupied with an inspection of the pattern on the cretonne curtains. “And Peter himself?”

“I think he is happy with me if that’s what you mean,” Aileen replied evenly.

“That is not quite what I meant.” He turned to face her fully again. “I have already seen that he is happy with you.”

“Then perhaps it might be as well if you told me just what you did mean.”

It was best surely to get the position absolutely clear, although
that same sense of apprehension was telling her something of what was apparently in his mind.

“Peter is a member of my family. I wish him to be brought up as an Adriano.”

“His name is Balgare - and Eric was quite emphatic that he did not wish to have anything further to do with his Spanish relatives.” She saw something vaguely speculative flash into the dark eyes and a queer stiffening ran through her body, followed almost instantly by a flash of hot, furious dislike. “You’re thinking that I was in love with Eric, aren’t you?”

“You are mistaken
...” he b
egan, but she cut across that smooth, urbane voice with cutting distaste.

“That was the worst thing anyone - even you - could have thought of. My mother and myself came to live with Eric and Mandy when I was little more than a child. I was as fond of Mandy as I would have been of a sister, and Eric was like an elder brother to me. When they died it was quite natural that I should take over responsibility for Peter - and in refusing to let you take him away I’m only carrying out his father’s wishes.”

He moved away from the window and came nearer to her. She did not recoil, but stood stiffly facing him.

“I am wondering if you will answer some questions for me, Miss Lawrence - answer them truthfully, I mean.”

Aileen shrugged. “I can’t very well answer them until they’re asked, can I?” she countered.

That drew a slightly taut smile. “Eric had become very prejudiced against us, hadn’t he?”

“With reason.”

“And had prejudiced ... others against us also?”

She shrugged again. “I suppose so.”

“And you accept this second-hand prejudice?”

Her eyes narrowed as her head went up a little defiantly. “I hardly think it’s second-hand now, Mr. Adriano. I have had a chance to meet one of Eric’s Spanish relatives. If it was once second-hand it’s not so now.”

She saw his mouth set at that and felt a little stab of satisfaction. It was quite possible that nobody had ever spoken to him like that before. Serve him right. Maybe it would jab that self-assurance of his. The rich, attractive Conde de Marindos
-
she could not deny that he was attractive, whatever she felt about hi
m
personally - was obviously too used to getting his own way, especially with women, who no doubt became bemused by those dark good looks and the thought of becoming the Condesa de Marindos. Idiots!

“You are exceedingly frank,” he said, slightly tight-lipped.

“You asked me to be truthful,” she pointed out. “Are there any other questions?”

“I don’t think so, except - you knew that I had been looking for Eric for some years?”

Aileen nodded. “Mr. Jenton told me so this morning - but that doesn’t mean you would have been able to persuade him to go back. He said that he had found more happiness and freedom here than when he had been living with your family in Spain. He had no wish to return and he would not wish Peter to go there either.”

“Not even knowing that Peter will eventually inherit a fairly large estate?”

“He must have known that when he made the decision to sever all contacts.” She smiled a little distastefully, congratulating herself on her surface calmness, because she was absolutely seething inside. “Money doesn’t make up for everything. It couldn’t compensate Eric for having to grow up among outmoded restrictions and the final straw of actually having to bow down to having his marriage arranged for him. I don’t think it would compensate Peter either. He is, after all, Eric’s son.”

“And Eric, however much he might like to deny it, was still a member of the Adriano family. His son is also.”

“He might look it, but he is an Australian by birth. As for this estate - let him choose for himself later on.”

He was silent for a moment and she felt those very dark eyes going over her with another trace of speculation in their depths.

“How much of this is because you think you are carrying out Eric’s wishes or personal prejudice, I wonder?” There was a little pause and she had to again force herself to remain coldly composed beneath that dark glance. “Would you have refused to allow Peter to come back with me if you had not decided to dislike me personally?” he asked quite deliberately.

“That’s beside the point,” Aileen evaded, although she could not help feeling that she probably would not have been quite so determined if this acute dislike had not been present. She might have thought that Eric had exaggerated slightly.

“There is one other question,” he said evenly. “You have adopted Peter legally?”

It was then that real coldness swept over her. She remembered Mr. Jenton asking the same question and the abruptness with which he changed the subject.

“No, I haven’t adopted him legally,” she admitted. There was no point in denying it, when he could always find out from Mr. Jenton that she had already admitted there had been no legal adoption.

“You realise of course that it would be easy to have myself appointed his guardian?”

Her head lifted defiantly again. “And why shouldn’t it be easy for me to also apply to have myself appointed his legal guardian?” she asked. “I’ve been taking care of him for the last couple of years.” Quite suddenly the rein on her temper slipped. “You can do what you like - but I won’t let you take Peter from me. If you want to fight it out legally, I’m quite prepared to do that too - although I’m sure you’ll hate having the illustrious name of Adriano dragged through the courts.”

His eyes narrowed at that and the thin mouth compressed again. “If that is to be your attitude there seems little more to say.”

“That is my attitude,” she retorted. “And now I suggest that you go,” with which parting shot she went to the door and held it open, again feeling a little stab of satisfaction at the knowledge that he had probably never before been told to leave.

When he had gone and the last glimpse of that powerful black car had long since disappeared, Aileen felt the defiance and dislike that had buoyed her up slowly ebb away, leaving an empty, frightened feeling. Only then was it becoming evident to her just what she was up against.

As she went up the stairs to her room, after thanking Mrs. Margetson and collecting Peter, she could not stop her eyes going around her little flat with new vision. She had been proud of it once, but quite suddenly she was aware of its shabbiness. The wallpaper was discoloured in one
corner
where the gutter had leaked, and the curtains, although clean, were definitely old and faded. She had more than once thought of replacing them, but had not done so, not only because she had not liked to hurt Mrs. Margetson’s feelings, but also because, despite what she let everyone think, Peter was rather a drain on her salary. The furniture too was old and the carpet rather threadbare.

When an application for legal adoption was put through and it was contested by someone else, did the court take into consideration the background of the two people who both wanted the child? Quite obviously they would, she told herself, and felt the birth of sheer panic. How could she possibly win against the background that Duarte Adriano possessed? Her shabby little room and limited income against the Conde de Marindos and all that he had to offer. The estate he had said Peter would one day inherit no doubt from his grandmother.

It was not even as if she was a relative - and he was.

Somehow she managed to get through the rest of the evening without letting Peter himself sense there was anything wrong, but that night, as she had expected, she did not get a single moment’s sleep. All night, listening to the clock striking hour after hour from the main road only a few blocks away, she was thinking of Duarte Adriano and hating him more every minute.