Читать книгу Innocent Invader - Anne Mather - Страница 7

SARAH did not dare to look at Jason. She had never felt so de trop in all her life, and she would never have believed that such hate and passion could be conveyed in one simple sentence. The woman was obviously waiting to see what reaction her remark had had, and Sarah sought about wildly in her mind for a reply. But what was there to say?

To her relief, Jason himself spoke, but not to his wife. “Romulus, take Miss Winter to her room, please. And have Constancia go to her in half an hour to bring her down to meet Señora de Cordova. Señora Serena de Cordova.”

“Yes, señor.” They had spoken in English and Sarah moved swiftly to follow the manservant up the stairs. She had not been introduced to the woman down there in the hall, but just now she had no desire to be so. There was a bewildered feeling in her heart and stomach, and she needed time to digest the events of the last few minutes. It had been startling enough to discover Jason de Cordova's identity, without the advent of his wife and her revelations. The children had silently disappeared at the sound of Señora de Cordova's voice, and Sarah thought she did not blame them. In truth that was what she had wanted to do. How could any woman speak to her husband like that? And in front of a stranger? It was inhuman.

Romulus looked rather compassionately at her as he led her into her room which was along the left hand passage at the top of the flight of stairs. The passage was lined with portraits of earlier members of the Cordova family, but Sarah had taken little notice of them. She was too absorbed with her thoughts, and with the feeling of apprehension which had descended on her.

After Romulus had taken his departure, she looked round her room with pleasure. Unlike the rather austere quarters she had occupied at the convent, this room was positively luxurious, with a thickly waxed floor strewn with woollen rugs which she suspected had been hand-made here on the island. The rugs were in vivid colours which complemented the light Swedish furniture and the orange and yellow curtains The adjoining bathroom which Romulus had told her was for her personal use was just as luxurious, with a deep step-in bath and shower attachment, and taps of beaten gold.

Back in her bedroom she discovered the wide french doors opened on to a balcony which was at the side of the house which overlooked the stretch of lawn behind which a swimming pool glimmered greenly in the sunlight. To the right she could see the sea, blue and transparent, the line of the reef vaguely visible from this distance. Nearer, the breakers surfed in to the shore and disappeared on sands as white as Sarah's silvery hair.

She spun round, hugging herself again, unable to prevent the surge of freedom she suddenly experienced. Whatever problems she might have to cope with here, she felt sure she had done the right thing in coming. Until this moment, she realised, she had never known what it was like to be really free, free to eat when she liked and sleep when she liked and act as she liked. For although she was employed as a governess they did not own her spirit as the sisters at the convent had seemed to do, and there was no one to whom she felt she owed her existence. She would support herself, and be independent!

With great daring she stripped off her clothes and stood for a moment studying her reflection in the long wardrobe mirror. Until now, she had never considered herself attractive to men, but suddenly she realised that she was twenty-two and a woman, and that there was more to life than she had ever dreamed.

Smiling at her thoughts, she wrapped the massive orange bath-towel sarong-wise round her body, and marched into the bathroom to take a shower.

Constancia was a pleasant-faced pretty girl of obviously mixed parentage. Although she was more Spanish than African in features, her hair was as tightly curled as Romulus's, and she had a rather squat nose, but Sarah took an immediate liking to her.

Sarah had bathed and was dressed now in a loose shift of a honey-beige colour which she had made herself, and she had combed out her long hair and rewound it in the coronet of plaits. She wore only a coral lipstick for make-up and looked young and fresh and ready for anything.

“La señorita es muy hermosa,” said Constancia admiringly, and Sarah, understanding this simple phrase, replied:

“Thank you. I feel rather nervous.”

Constancia smiled. “You speak Spanish?” she asked haltingly.

“Only very little,” admitted Sarah. “Do you understand English?”

Constancia's teeth were very white as she laughed. “Si, I understand English. But I do not speak well.”

“I think you do very well,” remarked Sarah, and then glancing round the room to see that everywhere was tidy, she said: “I only brought a change of clothes in my bag with me. When will my suitcases arrive from the ship?”

Constancia spread wide her hands. “Eh, eh,” she said, rolling her eyes. “That lazy pig, Abraham Smith, will send them when he gets round to it. Do not worry, señorita. If they have not arrived by … lunch … they will be sent for. The señor will not forget.”

“Thank you,” Sarah smiled. “Shall we go?”

She followed Constancia out of the room and along the corridor to the head of the stairs. As they went down, Sarah was relieved to see that the hall below was empty. She did not desire another encounter with her employer's wife for the moment. It was nearing lunch time and she wondered what the arrangements for meals would be. If there was to be a schoolroom perhaps she and the children would eat there. She expected she would be shown their rooms later.

She began wondering what the children's mother would be like. She hoped she would be far different from her employer's wife. That aspect of the situation had not occurred to her either, and it seemed that her only thoughts had been of whether she would like it here and not whether they would like her.

They passed along a marble-tiled corridor at the foot of the stairs leading to the opposite side of the house from that which the Señora de Cordova seemed to inhabit, and Sarah breathed a sigh of relief and began taking a more concentrated interest in her surroundings. There were several statuettes of saints which they passed, and a magnificent portrait of the Virgin and Child which caught her interest. That this was a Catholic household she was left in no doubt, and she wondered whether they were expecting her to be a Catholic and whether it would present any problems. Deciding not to worry about something which had not as yet happened, she stiffened her shoulders, and prayed that Serena de Cordova was a pleasant Spanish female of middle years, with no pretensions to intrigue whatsoever.

At the far end of the corridor, when Sarah was beginning to wonder how much farther they were going, Constancia stopped before a white door, and tapped gently.

“Si,” called a voice, and Constancia smiled encouragingly at Sarah.

She pushed open the door, and said: La Señorita Winter, señora,” and ushered Sarah into the room.

As the door closed behind her, Sarah found herself in a spacious lounge, overlooking the terrace at the front of the house, and beyond to the fruit trees visible in the gardens. The ceiling was high and arched, and the plain cream walls were a background for the scarlet leather armchairs and ebony furniture. The french doors stood open admitting a cool breeze, and Sarah for a moment was so absorbed in her surroundings that she did not take a great deal of notice of the woman on the low couch.

And then, transfixed, her eyes met those of Serena de Cordova, and she hardly suppressed the gasp of pure astonishment that almost escaped her. Serena de Cordova was of mixed blood, a very beautiful woman, but the complete antithesis of any of Sarah's speculations. It seemed to Sarah that for a brief instant time stood still as she stared at the mother of the three children she had met earlier, and then gathering her composure, she said:

“You must forgive me. But nobody prepared me for this!”

Serena rose to her feet. She was almost as tall as Sarah and was dressed in a green satin pyjama suit, a long cigarette holder with a cigarette smouldering at its tip between her fingers.

She studied Sarah for a moment in silence, and then she said:

“Well, at least you're honest. Didn't Jason explain?”

“He – well –” Sarah ran a tongue over her dry lips. “To be honest, I mistook him for somebody else. We didn't speak of you or the children on the trip up from the harbour.”

Serena indicated an armchair and said: “Sit down, please.” She drew on her cigarette. “You found Jason quite unconventional, I gather.”

Her English was almost faultless and Sarah wondered how she had come to have such a good education if she had been born here on the island.

“Yes, I suppose I did.”

Serena smiled. “Don't concern yourself. Jason can be as correct as any Englishman if the situation demands it. Now, tell me about yourself. Have you had much experience with young children? I should warn you, my children are quite uncontrollable by anyone except Jason, and he doesn't have the time to spend with them.”

“I've already encountered the children,” said Sarah, relaxing under the other woman's casual manner. “They seemed to resent my coming here. Have they had previous governesses?”

“No. You're the first. Eloise, as you'll have been informed, is eight now, and can't read or write. She's quite sharp at picking things up orally, but the written word means nothing to her,”

“Have you tried to teach the children yourself?”

“Me?” Serena sounded flabbergasted. “Good lord, no! I'm no schoolmistresss!”

Sarah wanted to ask her what she did with herself all day, but it would have sounded impertinent. And yet, coming from a household where every member was supplied with tasks to be performed every day, Serena's life sounded quite empty and pointless. “I see,” she said.

Serena lounged back on to the couch and picked herself a handful of grapes from a nearby fruit bowl.

“Jason has been spending a little time with them,” she said, munching the grapes speculatively. “But they're getting too old to be left to run free all day long. Not that there's much else for them to do here.”

“Were you born on the island, señora?” asked Sarah tentatively.

“Here? Me?” Serena laughed. “No, I come from Trinidad. My parents own an hotel there. That's how I met Antonio – he stayed at the hotel. He left the island, too, you know. Sold out to Jason years ago and went to Port of Spain to make his fortune. Needless to say he didn't succeed, and when we got married we came back here so that Antonio could work for Jason.”

Sarah swallowed hard. In two minutes Serena had told her quite a lot about herself and explained her different attitudes.

“I would have liked to go back to Trinidad,” went on Serena, sighing a little, “but my parents haven't room for me and three kids as well, and besides, how would I support them?”

Sarah nodded. Serena's dilemma was quite understandable. Besides, if Jason was fond of the children, it seemed unlikely that he would allow this girl to take them to another island where he would not be able to supervise their upbringing. They were his brother's children, and from what she had gathered from the solicitors in London, he was their guardian as well.

Looking at the other woman, she realised that she must be at least twenty-five, but she looked little more than a teenager. She was very slim and boyish in appearance, and her curly hair had been allowed to grow and was a mass of ebony confusion about her small face. She was elegant but unsophisticated; a mother yet a child still.

“And what do you suggest the arrangements should be?” asked Sarah, reverting to less personal matters. “When will I have charge of the children? Where will we take our meals?”

Serena drew on her cigarette and watched a smoke ring disappear in the air above her head. “Now, let me see,” she said slowly. “The children and yourself, of course, will eat lunch with me here, in the adjoining dining room. They always eat lunch with me, so I see no reason to change that state of affairs, do you?”

“No, señora,” Sarah agreed.

“Good. As to the other, I think you'd better wait and let Jason give you your instructions. You're his employee, not mine. Although,” her eyes grew a little taunting, “I have the say-so as to whether you stay or go.”

Sarah flushed, and at once Serena leaned forward and touched her hand, like a child asking for forgiveness when it knows it has done something wrong. “Of course you'll stay,” she said, leaning back against the red upholstery. “I like you. You're my own age. It will be nice to have someone other than that bitch Irena in the house. Have you met dear Irena?”

Sarah's colour deepened. “That is Señor de Cordova's wife?”

“Yes.”

“I … er … we met as I arrived.”

Serena grimaced. “Old cow!” she muttered, stubbing out her cigarette and leaning forward to take another from the ebony box on the table.

Sarah clasped her fingers together. She did not want to become involved in a discussion about her employer's wife. Their personal affairs were nothing to do with her. Her only concern was the children.

She was relieved when a shadow appeared in the French doorway, and they looked up to see a small, attractive Spanish girl standing there. She was dressed in a flame-coloured swirling skirt and a peasant-type off-the-shoulder blouse of white chiffon. Her dark hair was short and straight and shaped her head like a cap of black velvet.

“Serena,” she said, smiling vividly, “darling how are you?”

She came forward and smoothly kissed the other girl's cheek before turning to Sarah and giving her the benefit of her gleaming smile, which Sarah privately thought was rather too effusive.

“You must be the Señorita Winter!” she exclaimed. “But you are so young! Whatever has Jason been thinking of, Serena?”

Sarah hated to be treated as though she were a child, and that was exactly the impression which this girl was creating, so she rose stiffly to her feet and said: “The señor seemed quite prepared to give me a trial.”

The girl's laugh trilled merrily. “My dear, don't be so quick to take offence.”

“This is Señorita Dolores Diaz,” said Serena, intervening. “Her father and Jason are partners in the distillery. Dolores is a good friend of mine.”

Sarah shook hands with the other girl, but felt strangely intuitive that this Spanish girl's assumed friendship with Serena was merely a ruse to gain access to this house. But why? Shrugging these thoughts away, Sarah allowed herself to be wafted into a seat again, while Serena rang a bell and summoned the African housemaid who appeared to bring them pre-lunch aperitifs.

Sarah, who did not smoke, watched the other two girls light cigarettes, and seated together begin to discuss the coming fiesta which was to take place on the island.

“There is even to be a bullfight this year,” said Dolores proudly. “Have you ever seen a bullfight, Miss Winter?”

Sarah shook her head. “I'm afraid not. Have you?”

Dolores clasped her hands excitedly. “But of course. I have visited Spain, you understand, and in the great bullring in Madrid I saw El Cordobes.”

Recognising the name of the famous young bullfighter, Sarah nodded her understanding. “I don't think I would like to see a bullfight,” she said quietly. “I'm afraid I'm very English. I don't like blood sports.”

“And yet you hunt the fox until it is caught and torn to pieces by the hounds,” exclaimed Dolores, at once.

“Not me,” said Sarah, with a half-smile. “And we do have societies that try to prevent that sort of thing.”

“Pah!” Dolores said something in Spanish which Sarah felt sure was not very pleasant, and Serena, seeing the flashing eyes of her Spanish friend, said soothingly: “What does it matter, anyway? The subject bores me. Tell me, Dolores, are your family having guests for the fiesta?”

After a while, during which Sarah had been sitting quietly sipping her aperitif, Dolores again turned her attention to her. It seemed that the Spanish girl resented her for some reason, and Sarah hoped she was not going to have to do battle with Dolores Diaz every day.

“You are very young to have undertaken a post so far away from your home,” she said sharply. “Do not your parents object?”

“I have no parents. I was brought up in a convent, by the nuns.”

“I see.” Dolores studied her insolently. “But even so, were these sisters of the faith not concerned that you should journey so far to live with people of whom you know nothing?”

“I had contact with the solicitors in London, and Reverend Mother herself corresponded with Señor de Cordova. Also, Father Sanchez of the church here was a sponsor. What more could I ask?”

Dolores shrugged her slim shoulders delicately. “I am glad I do not have to work. I should not care to be tied to some job all day.”

“To become a teacher one must attend a college,” said Sarah carefully. “I don't suppose the señorita has done this.”

After saying these words, she felt penitent. Had all the nuns’ work been in vain? Why was she behaving like this? It could only be that this haughty Spaniard had got under her skin, and she could not help but retort. Linking her fingers behind her back, she said placatingly: “But of course your education will have been at a good public school, will it not?”

Dolores, who had been looking extremely annoyed, now looked slightly mollified, but her tones were acid, as she replied: “I had a governess from a very early age, and afterwards, as you said, I did attend a public school. But I think that travel is the greatest teacher. Why, to have history and geography unfolding before your eyes instead of in some story book is wonderful! I doubt whether you can claim, as I can, that you have travelled all over the world. You may have read a lot, señorita, and have had a college education, but second-hand knowledge can never be anything else than second-hand!”

Sarah swallowed hard. She would not be baited. She merely smiled, albeit a little tightly, and said: “The señorita is right, of course.”

Dolores was obviously astounded at Sarah's acquiescence, and also a little disappointed, and as it showed in her face, Sarah again felt she had scored a victory. But again she felt rather ashamed of her feelings, and was glad when the maid returned to say that lunch was served.

“You're staying to lunch, of course,” said Serena to Dolores.

“Thank you. I would be delighted,” Dolores smiled prettily, and Sarah compressed her lips and followed the other two through the double doors which led into the dining room.

The dining room, although smaller than the huge lounge, was a long room with a polished mahogany dining table set with place mats and shining silver cutlery. Cut glass wine glasses were set at every place, and the sun glinted on the bone china plates and dishes. As they entered the room, the three children appeared from the direction of the garden, through open terrace doors where was glimpsed the sweep of lawn and pool. Their red shirts and shorts were stained with earth and sea water, and their once-tidy hair now looked rough and uncombed. Their faces were smudged and sticky, and they looked defiantly in Sarah's direction as though expecting some horrified reaction from her.

But in this they were disappointed, for it was not Sarah who gasped in disgust, but Dolores. “Serena! Surely these children do not expect to take lunch in that condition!”

Serena gave them a cursory glance, and turning to a tall manservant who was attending to the food on a serving table, she said: “Max, take these horrors to Constancia. She'll deal with them.”

“Oh, but no!” exclaimed Eloise, and lapsing into Spanish she launched into a tirade of anger. “Tengo hambre!”

Serena shrugged indifferently. “You should have thought of that before you got yourselves in this state,” she replied easily.

Sarah bit her lip. No wonder the children were rebellious if they were left in the charge of servants all the time. Did not Serena have any interest in them at all? It did not sound as though she was greatly concerned.

“I'll take them,” she offered. “If you'll tell me where to go.”

Serena looked at her askance, and then shrugged. “All right. Max will show you then. Go along, Max. Anna can see to that.”

Sarah followed Max and the three children out of the room. They did not welcome her intervention, that much was obvious from the glances which were cast in her direction, and she wondered why they resented her so much. After all, they did not even know her!

Max led the way down the corridor, to where, at a bend, a flight of stairs led upwards. “The bathroom is to your right at the top of the stairs,” he said, smiling cheerfully. “The children will show you their rooms themselves.”

“Thank you.” Sarah viewed the three youngsters with some trepidation, and then urged them forward.

The bathroom had obviously been re-designed for their needs, for it contained three baths and three washbasins and three sets of towels. The floor was of the same mosaic as in Sarah's bathroom, but here there were no shower fitments. Two of the porcelain baths were pink and the third was blue, and Sarah thought it all quite beautiful. She shut the bathroom door and studied the three mutinous faces before her solemnly.

“Now,” she said, in a firm voice, “we're going to get something straight. I didn't ask to come here, I was employed by your uncle to teach you not only simple lessons, but some social manners as well, and having met you I can see that I'm going to have quite a job.” She looked at them all to make sure they were listening and went on: “If you considered the exhibition you've just made of yourselves down in the dining room would shock me, I should tell you that I've been used to teaching five-year-olds recently, and although Maria comes into that category, you certainly do not.” She was addressing Eloise and Ricardo now.

Eloise shrugged. “If you think I acted like a five-year-old, I will have to think of something worse to do.”

Sarah sighed. “Then tell me why. You don't know me. Why this stupidity?”

Ricardo turned his back on her and walking over to the washbasins he began taking off his clothes. Sarah watched him for a moment, wondering whether he was going to prove he was different from the other two, when something warned her he was hardly likely to have been converted so easily. Her suspicions were proved when he stripped off the last of his clothes and stood naked before her. The two girls turned away, giggling helplessly, and Sarah felt a rising sense of frustration.

“Ricardo,” she said, shaking her head, “what do you intend to do now?”

“Nada!” he replied clearly, and walked to the bathroom door as though intending to walk outside.

“Now wait a minute,” exclaimed Sarah hotly. “Put on your clothes, Ricardo. You're not very amusing.”

Ricardo shrugged and leaned insolently against the bathroom door.

Sarah looked round to find that the girls were watching her with interested eyes and wondered what her best tactics would be. She was half afraid that the girls would follow his example if she did not think of something soon. To attempt to dress him would be admitting defeat when she knew full well he was quite capable of doing so himself.

“Are you going to get dressed?” she asked brightly.

Ricardo shook his head, and Sarah managed a smile. “Very well. As you seem determined to stay that way, I shan't prevent you. However, nude males, no matter how small, do not take lunch in the dining room.”

She filled one of the basins with water from the tap as she was speaking, and seeing them exchange startled glances she squeezed out a soapy face-cloth and carried it across to him. Taking him firmly by the arm, she turned his back to her and applied the face-cloth to his grimy countenance. He resisted vigorously, but Sarah was young and strong, and quite capable of handling him. After he was clean and dry, she threw the face-cloth back into the bowl.

Then, taking him by the arm, she led him out of the bathroom and into the corridor. She did not bother to ask him which was his room. She was sure he would not tell her anyway, and it was easy enough. The heap of boys’ toys in one room confirmed her belief, and she pushed him inside firmly. Keeping a tight hold on him she closed the door.

She drew down the coverlet on his bed, and lifting his struggling body she put him between the sheets and drew them up to his chin. Tears were vying with his anger now, as his dark eyes met hers over the bedclothes. But she would not allow him to see that she felt any regret whatsoever, and merely said: “If you decide you're hungry at teatime, I'm sure if you put on some clothes, you might be fed!”

Ricardo grimaced, and said: “I hate you!”

Sarah raised her eyebrows. “I'm not too keen on you either,” she retorted, and went out swiftly, closing the door.

Then she opened it again, only a few inches, and put her head round. “Oh, and if you do decide to get up and leave this room before teatime, I've got quite a firm hand with a slipper!”

She closed the door firmly, and leant back against it for a moment. What a beginning! She had hardly been here three hours and already one of the children hated her! Stiffening her shoulders, she walked back to the bathroom. Now for the other two!

Eloise and Maria were standing where she had left them, their faces revealing their mixture of anger and fear as she entered. Sarah sighed. This was not what she wanted. She wanted the children to like her, not fear her. But just now, with Ricardo, force had been the only solution. Was that how Jason de Cordova kept order? By brute force? She doubted it. The children seemed to adore him!

“Well,” she said now, “shall we get washed and go down for our lunch? If you're not hungry, I certainly am!”

When they appeared downstairs again, minus one, Serena looked surprised. “But where is Ricardo?” she asked. “Did he not want any dinner?”

“She put him to bed,” said Eloise, glaring at Sarah. “He's not going to be allowed to have any dinner.”

Dolores Diaz looked triumphantly amused, Sarah thought. “Oh, but surely, Miss Winter, you cannot starve the children!”

“In this instance, it was necessary,” replied Sarah calmly. “Please carry on with your lunch. Eloise, Maria and I can catch you up.”

Maria stared at Sarah blankly. “Aren't you going to tell them what he did?” she asked, in her small, childish treble.

Sarah shook her head. “Eat your lunch.”

Dolores could not leave it alone. “What did he do?” she persisted.

“Nothing of consequence,” replied Sarah. “This scampi is delicious, señora.”

And with that Dolores had to be content. Sarah was conscious that both Eloise and Maria exchanged glances, and she hoped they considered her action that of a friend and not an antagonist.

When lunch was over, Serena said: “If you would like to look around, please feel free to do so – outside, I mean,” she added as an afterthought.

Leaving the two other women, Sarah went out through the French doors, seeking the warm air and the sun on her shoulders. Serena had given the girls permission to leave while they were drinking their coffee, and Sarah had no idea where they were now. Serena had also told her that both she and Dolores indulged in the Spanish habit of siesta, and consequently she was free to do as she liked until five o'clock when tea was served for the children and she would be expected to supervise them.

“We take tea, too,” Serena had said, “but lunch is the only meal the children take with me. They're naturally in bed before dinner is served, and I always breakfast in my room. It's up to you whether you want to take your first meal of the day with the brats!”

Both she and Dolores had laughed at this, but Sarah thought it rather sad. Although the children were antagonistic towards her, they seemed to regard their mother with a kind of repressed admiration, and it seemed a pity that she took so little notice of them.

Leaving the formal front terrace, Sarah walked round to the rear of the building, coming upon the sweep of lawn she had seen from her bedroom window. She walked past the swimming pool which looked as though no one ever used it, and reached the copse of trees which hid the stables from the house.

She saw the African stable boy, and said: “Hello. I'm Sarah Winter. I've come to teach the children. Tell me, are there any ponies for them?”

The boy smiled his broad smile. “Me, Jacob,” he said. “No comrendo inglés, señorita!”

Sarah linked her fingers, and in halting Spanish she asked the question again, and this time he smiled firmly and drew her round to the stable doors, over which she could see the three ponies Jason had bought for his nephew and nieces.

“Oh, good!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands. Recently she had learned to ride at a stables near the convent, and perhaps the horses would provide a link between herself and her charges.

She was allowed into the stall and fed the ponies lumps of sugar which Jacob provided for her. She loved the feel of their soft noses nuzzling against her hand, and said so to Jacob, who nodded his approval.

He showed her the two other horses in the stable, and Sarah guessed without being told which was Jason de Cordova's. Like him, Apollo was dark and powerful and handsome, for although Jason's cheek was disfigured by that stark scar, he was nevertheless a very attractive man. She was surprised at her thoughts about her employer. Coming up from the harbour, she had thought him an employee, of the Cordova family, like herself. To find he was himself the head of that family, and also a married man, had been disconcerting; and she could not understand her interest, for hitherto men had meant nothing to her other than separate beings with whom she could discuss her interest in Catholicism. At college she had encountered young men of her own age, but had refused all overtures by them to become closer acquainted. She had had no inclination to delve into any association with a member of the opposite sex.

But Jason de Cordova had been different somehow. She could not understand the strange feeling she experienced when she thought about him, and felt ridiculously aware that in matters of this sort she was very naïve. Altogether, so far, this day had provided her with rather too many surprises to be thoroughly accepted at one go, and she assumed Jason de Cordova had been just another of those surprises. After all, in truth, she had expected an elderly Spaniard, strong in the hauteur and aloofness of generations.

Leaving the stables, Sarah found herself at the top of an incline which led down to the white sand of the beach. The temptation was too great to miss, and with a feeling of anticipation she ran childishly down on to the sands Releasing her feet from her sandals, she ran impulsively to the water's edge, allowing the creaming water to curl about her ankles. It was incredibly warm, and she curled her toes appreciatively. The air was wonderful, and she felt it was great to be alive. This was worth anything she might have to face here – this feeling of complete independence!

When she returned to the house, carrying her sandals in her hand, her face flushed from the sun, she entered the house by the rear terrace, where the glass doors opened into the corridor that led through to the front hall. Hoping she would not encounter anyone in such an untidy state, she walked swiftly through to the staircase, and was about to climb it when a voice which she recognised immediately said: “Señorita Winter, I would like a word with you.”

Swallowing hard, Sarah turned to face her employer's wife, Irena. “Yes, señora,” she said politely.

“Come in here.” The woman indicated a small ante-room which opened from the hall.

Sarah hesitated for only a moment, before preceding the woman into the room. She felt nervous and apprehensive, and hoped this would not be a long interview. She took in little of her surroundings. She was too concerned with the woman before her.

Now Señora de Cordova was wearing a long, quilted satin housecoat in a deep shade of green, which gave her olive complexion rather a sallow appearance, but she was still startlingly lovely, and Sarah wondered why she treated her husband as she did. There was something faintly repulsive about the fanatical gleam in her eyes, and Sarah hoped there was not going to be a scene. She could feel herself growing hotter as the señora's eyes raked her appraisingly, taking in every detail of her crumpled dress, windswept hair and bare feet. Sarah felt enormous beside the delicate fragility of the Spanish woman, who could not have been more than five feet in height even in her high heels.

“Now,” said Irena, her eyes cold, “just where have you been?”

Sarah twisted the strap of the sandal in her hand. “On the beach, señora.”

“I thought as much. And who gave you permission to go on the beach?”

“The Señora Serena told me I might explore. I decided of my own accord to go down to the beach.” Sarah's voice was cool and clear.

“Oh, you did! Well, the beach is private. It's not to be used by so-called governesses!” Her gaze swept Sarah contemptuously. “And while you're in this house, you will refrain from going around looking like a gipsy.”

Sarah compressed her lips. She did not know what to say in reply. Her position here as yet was so nebulous, she did not feel entitled to retaliate.

“Is that all, señora?” she asked politely, longing to escape from the confines of the room, and the aura of cold hauteur which surrounded this woman, along with something else, something more sinister. Irena was quite a frightening person, and to a girl who had rarely come into contact with frigidity, she was doubly so. And yet Sarah did not feel scared so much as repelled.

“Yes, that is all, for now.” Irena stood aside to allow Sarah to leave the room. “But remember what I have said, señorita.”

“Yes, señora,” said Sarah, with relief, and escaped before she could say anything else.

She crossed the hall and mounted the stairs as though the devil himself were at her heels, and once she had reached the sanctity of her room she sank down on to the bed, her legs giving way beneath her. What a day!

Lying back, she stared at the ceiling. She suddenly felt incredibly tired and unwillingly her lids drooped.

When she opened her eyes the room was dark and for a moment she thought she was back in her small room at the convent. Then the sweet scents from the garden, coming through the open windows, reminded her of her situation, and she sat up with a start, reaching for the switch of the bedside lamp.

A glance at her watch confirmed her worst fears. It was almost nine o'clock. She scrambled off the bed, smoothed her creased dress, and noticed irrelevantly that her cases had arrived from the Celeste and had been carefully unpacked for her and the clothes put away. They must have been dealt with during her walk that afternoon, but she had not noticed them earlier.

She was about to open the door and make her way downstairs in an attempt to discover what was going on, when Constancia herself opened the door and smiled her pleasant smile.

“Ah, the señorita is awake! You are hungry, yes? I will bring you a tray. What would you like? There is chicken, or salmon, or shellfish. You tell me what you would like and I will fetch it –”

Sarah lifted her shoulders helplessly. “But, Constancia, I've been asleep for over four hours. I was supposed to supervise the children's tea at five o'clock. Whatever will Señora Serena think of me?”

Constancia moved her hands in a soothing gesture. “Max supervised the children's tea, as he had done for many months now. And the señor said you were not to be disturbed.”

“The señor? Oh!” Sarah pressed the palms of her hands to her hot cheeks. “Did the señor expect to see me?”

Constancia nodded, and then as Sarah began looking agitated, she said in reply: “At six o'clock, before dinner, he asked me to come and fetch you. When I found you were asleep I told the señor, and he gave his instructions. It is natural that you were tired. You have had a long journey and the weather here can be tiring if you are not used to it.”

“Did the señor say that?”

“Si. Do not worry, señorita. The señor is not a slave-driver.”

Sarah smiled and allowed her arms to fall to her sides. “Do you think he'll want to see me now?”

“No, of course not, señorita. Besides, he is not at home. He left after dinner to visit with the Diaz family. He took the Señorita Dolores home.”

“I see.” Sarah felt that strange feeling stirring in her stomach again. She did not know what it was, but it was not pleasant; it was disturbing.

“He told me to tell you that he would see you in his study tomorrow morning at nine o'clock sharp.” Constancia smiled wider. “You will not sleep in tomorrow, señorita. I will see that you have plenty of time to prepare yourself.”

Sarah had to smile in return “And will you show me where his study is, Constancia? I have no idea where to go. And what time do the children have breakfast?”

Constancia shrugged. “Sometimes seven, sometimes eight – why? Surely you do not intend to breakfast with them? Everyone breakfasts in their rooms, except the señor, of course.”

“That's exactly what I do intend,” said Sarah firmly. “After all, I'm not a guest, Constancia. I'm here to work.” She bent her head. “But will you please call me about six-thirty, please, as I doubt whether I shall wake of my own accord.”

“Certainly,” Constancia nodded. “That is the time I begin my work. I will call you then.” She turned to go. “And now you will leave it to me and I will provide you with a delicious supper, si?”

“Very well.” Sarah allowed herself to relax, and with a flourish of her full skirt, Constancia left to get the meal.

Sarah wandered over to her balcony and leaned against the rail listening to the steady lap of the waves. It was a wonderful night. The sky overhead was an arch of dark blue velvet inset with diamonds, while a sickle of a moon floated behind wispy clouds. Never in England had she felt this aching longing to be out in the night, doing something exciting. Faintly, she could hear the sounds of music and voices, far away, and she thought it must be a party going on at one of the other villas. The music was the throbbing beat of the calypso, and Sarah felt she wanted to move in time to its compelling rhythm.

She thought about Dolores Diaz, and wondered whether it was from her home the sounds were coming. Was she there, dancing with Jason de Cordova? Was that why she was so friendly with Serena, to gain access to this house to see the señora? It did not seem unreasonable. The señor and his wife did not seem on the best of terms with one another. Could it be that he was seeking consolation with another woman? The thought was repulsive. She had liked Jason de Cordova, and she did not like to think of him with Dolores Diaz.

Constancia returned to interrupt her reverie and she was glad. Whatver was going on in the personal lives of the occupants of this house was none of her business, and the sooner she realised it the better.