Dancing in the Shadows Page 13

  * * *

  Doña Madelena stayed for five days. Dorcas was overjoyed to be appointed chauffeuse. Rose Ruiz broached the idea at breakfast that first morning.

  ‘Dorcas, not so long ago you came to me and told me the inactivity of having nothing to do was getting on your nerves. You asked me if there was anything you could do. Well, there is. No, don’t give your consent until you’ve heard me out, because what I have in mind might not appeal. And before I say anything, I must check a few facts. I am right, aren’t I, in thinking you are qualified to drive?’

  ‘Yes. In the latter years, when grandmother couldn’t get around very well, she bought an old car. I took a course of driving lessons, went in for and passed my test, and drove her wherever she wanted to go.’

  ‘It seems you are better qualified for the job I have in mind for you than I first thought. But what about in this country? Are you permitted to drive here? Look, I’ll explain. My mother-in-law has friends in the district whom she likes to call on while she is staying with us. The usual thing is to put a car at her disposal and someone to drive it for her. I can’t drive. I never made the effort to learn when I was young and I’m too set in my ways, and too much of a coward, to try now. So it’s usual to appoint a member of the staff to drive her around. It’s always a bit of a headache finding someone with sufficient tact and stamina. I hardly need to go into that . . . you know what she is. Anyway, as you seem to get on so well with her, I thought it might seem friendlier if you drove her about. So what do you say? If you haven’t got the necessary cover to drive here, I suppose it could easily be arranged.’

  ‘No problem there. I made provision to drive in Spain before I came. I rented a car at first. I suppose I never mentioned this before because the subject never cropped up. I quite like driving. And it’s true that I seem to get on well with doña Madelena. So . . .’

  ‘You mean you’ll do it? Brave girl, not to be intimidated by my mother-in-law.’

  ‘I wouldn’t go as far as to say that. But even taking all my qualms into consideration, I think I shall quite enjoy it.’

  And Dorcas did enjoy it. She remembered how it had been when she drove her grandmother to see her friends. No matter how tranquilly she sat, they didn’t want a young girl listening to their reminiscences, and so her grandmother had insisted on Dorcas dropping her off and calling back later to collect her.

  Dorcas mentioned this to doña Madelena, and asked if this method might also suit her. The señora’s bright eyes searched Dorcas’s face thoroughly as though looking for some flaw. She shook her head on some private thought of her own, but still made no attempt to speak.

  Finding such scrutiny uncomfortable, Dorcas asked: ‘Have I a smut on my nose or something?’

  ‘You are without blemish. This is what my eyes tell me. Then I remind myself that the eyes are simply windows that let in images for the brain to interpret. My brain comes up with the same message. You are a truly remarkable girl. Very kind, very thoughtful of what is best for others. It is wrong of me to question such a selfless outlook—it is a rare and beautiful thing to meet such unselfishness in these modern times—but I am going to say this to you, child. Just occasionally, give a thought to what is best for you.’

  The praise brought a blush to her cheeks and a deprecating croak to her throat.

  Doña Madelena continued: ‘It is true that my friends and I prefer to be left to ourselves while we wallow in memories. If you were present, they would feel the need to entertain you. But if you leave me as you suggest and call back to collect me later, how will you fill in the time?’

  ‘With so much to see of your beautiful countryside, señora, how can you ask that?’

  ‘A most predictable reply. We will strike a compromise. You will deposit me, but you will return half an hour before I am ready to leave, so that my friends can share the delight of knowing you.’

  This arrangement, which had much to commend itself to all parties, worked well. It enabled Dorcas to see more of the surrounding district. Sometimes she abandoned the car by the roadside and walked, skirting round olive groves and orchards, and if she trespassed nobody seemed to mind. Other times she absorbed herself by looking in the local shops. She still had a limited amount of her holiday money left, and she looked with an eye to buying suitable thank-you presents for her host and hostess. So far she hadn’t seen anything special enough. She saw, and bought, a casket of English chocolates, which would later do duty as a needlework box, and which she knew would appeal to doña Madelena. The señora had a passion for the dark English chocolate that was not as sweet as the Continental variety. A taste that her English daughter-in-law had very probably introduced her to. Then, shop or countryside browsing done, she would call at the particular friend’s house doña Madelena was visiting and enjoy the resultant fuss that was made of her. It was not one-sided; the ladies of doña Madelena’s acquaintance took equal delight in meeting Dorcas, finding pleasant diversion in a new—and so happy—face.

  Dorcas couldn’t ever remember feeling this happy before. She was so happy, she was afraid. Because she felt that nobody was allowed to be this happy. All the worries, the prickles and irritations, had gone to ground. Michael still went out most evenings, a pointer that he was seeing someone, but did it have to be Isabel Roca? Don Enrique, despite the occasion of that talk in his study when putting her in the picture seemed to be putting her out of Carlos’s life, had never stopped being her kind señor; his manner was as benign as ever towards her. Her relationship with Rose Ruiz was without strain and had found its own friendly level. And—best of all—Carlos telephoned her every evening.

  The separation had not hindered the progress of love, but had given it a new sweetness and impetus. Carlos said intimate and loving things to her that stung her cheeks a lively pink. He called her his own precious love, and told her how empty his heart had been until she came to fill it. He said that when he returned he would give her no respite, he would plague her by day and haunt her dreams by night, until she gave him the reply he wanted to hear.

  The distance between them made her bold and spiced her replies with coquetry. ‘I cannot think what this question can be, no matter how hard I put my mind to it.’

  ‘That is where you make your mistake. It is no use looking to the mind. You must search your heart.’

  Dorcas smiled cryptically on the thought that her heart wouldn’t hold still long enough for a lengthy probe. Its erratic beat told her it was time to take a graceful step backwards from the easy intimacy they had fallen into. To proceed, to allot it greater importance than a moment of fun, was the way to folly and heartache. Fun? She had always credited herself with an elastic imagination. Her imagination’s notion of fun would not stretch to cover this situation. She felt as though she was poised on a high thin wire. She could neither move forward nor backwards, nor keep her balance. Her perspective had gone haywire. She had only a fingertip hold on self-preservation.

  ‘Won’t it create too many problems, Carlos?’ she asked, trying to sound normally conversational, but failing to keep the catch of excitement out of her voice.

  ‘Problems, yes. But with the substance of mist, and beyond . . . sunshine.’

  Her hope, his belief, melted over her features. She could no more evict the smile from her lips than she could stop herself falling under the spell of charm and cajolery Carlos dispensed without effort. Her will to remain cool and untouched sank to meet the upsurge of tears she savagely blinked from her eyes as she spoke the explicit fear. ‘Your memory is playing you false. Your mind has painted a picture of me that I cannot live up to. When you return and see me as I am, you will not want to ask your question.’

  ‘I could not be so ungallant. Having dishonoured you . . .’

  ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t quite catch that.’

  ‘In thought.’

  ‘In thought?’

  ‘You were with me all last night.’

  ‘Oh, Carlos.’

  ‘Where were your t
houghts?’

  ‘With you,’ she said in a voice that barely rose above a whisper.

  ‘What did I tell you? You are compromised. Have you no shame? You admit to spending the night with me . . .’

  ‘Only in thought, Carlos,’ she butted in urgently.

  ‘There you go again. Arguing with me, instead of being grateful that I am offering to make an honest woman of you.’

  It was a deliciously absurd, delightfully wicked conversation that could never have taken place with eye to eye contact.

  ‘I am grateful, Carlos,’ she said demurely. She was grateful for his . . . He hadn’t come out in the open and said he loved her yet. He had not said ‘I love you’ in those precise words, but surely that’s what he meant. So . . . grateful for his love.

  ‘Nothing else?’ he said.

  ‘Of course something else,’ she replied with shy reserve.

  His laugh was throaty. ‘It’s all right. I won’t make you own to it first.’

  Own to what? Love?

  ‘Buenas noches, querida. I’ll hold you in my dreams.’

  And I’ll hold you in mine, she thought, shivering on the implication. But all she said was a sedate: ‘Buenas noches, Carlos.’

  She put down the telephone receiver and turned to see Michael pretending to look detached, while selecting a carnation from the vase on the hall table for his buttonhole. He looked across at her. His face was painfully easy to read. She had lived with Michael long enough to know she was in for a bout of unkind teasing.

  ‘Carlos beginning to show his gratitude, eh?’

  She thought back to her telephone conversation with Carlos. Gratitude had been mentioned, but her gratitude not his. Had Michael latched on to the wrong meaning? No, she thought, spotting the calculated gleam in his eye.

  Her inside seemed to sink away from her into a vast emptiness. Although had never truly believed that Michael could alter, she had hoped he might.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said levelly.

  This man was her brother, yet she felt as far removed from him as any star in the universe.

  ‘Don’t you?’ he taunted. Adding obscurely: ‘It’s all right, Dorcas. I won’t take your pride from you. You need it.’

  What did he mean? What made him say she needed her pride? She felt as awkward and as exposed as if he had indeed taken it; she didn’t know the words to say to get it back. She didn’t say anything.

  ‘I suppose gratitude is as good a basis as any, and sufficient for a woman’s needs.’

  His bland smile jarred even more than his sneering tone. Dorcas found herself wanting to clutch her arms to suppress the shivers.

  ‘You are insulting me. Please tell me why.’

  For several seconds they found common interest in just looking at one another. Michael did a surprising about-turn and became very contrite.

  ‘I have fairly recently been told that I am not a very nice person, so could that be a possible reason?’

  Being told this home-truth—by whom?—had obviously shaken him. His cool and poise were less evident, and for an incredible moment he looked as vulnerable as Dorcas felt. ‘Who told you that?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘I think it does,’ Dorcas said perceptively, ‘to you. You know, Michael, if you used your golden little-boy charm for good instead of the other, you could be quite an engaging asset to have around.’

  ‘Being good is such a taxing exercise,’ he drawled.

  ‘You don’t have to be all good. I’m not suggesting you discard your horns for a pair of wings. Couldn’t you be middle of the road?’

  ‘I very much doubt it. I’ve always excelled in everything I’ve done.’

  ‘That’s true,’ she said, heaving up a big sigh.

  ‘Don’t sigh for me, little sister. It will all come right.’

  ‘I’m quite sure of that. You’ll make it come right.’

  ‘I’m not sure I like that, but I’ll forgive you.’

  ‘Forgive me?’ she gasped, feeling once again that the situation had been twisted round on her.

  Two blinks later, his step as jaunty as ever, Michael was marching down the hall away from her. It occurred to her that she was letting the opportunity to nail him about his activities calmly walk away. She caught up with him at the door. But before she questioned him about his affairs, she wanted to know what he meant when he said she needed her pride, and what else had he said? Something about gratitude being as good a basis as any.

  ‘Not so fast, Michael. What’s this about the gratitude bit?’

  ‘I shouldn’t have said that. I was hitting back. My plans have received an unexpected set-back. I didn’t see why yours should be all smooth-running.’

  ‘But you did say it. And having said it, you must explain.’

  ‘It’s unpleasant medicine.’

  ‘Something for my own good, you mean, that will leave an unpalatable taste in my mouth?’

  ‘Very explicitly put.’

  ‘You’re not just leaving it there.’

  ‘I am. If you want to know more, you must ask Carlos.’

  ‘Ask Carlos? But . . . ?’

  While she was stupefying on that thought, Michael made his escape. Dorcas still hadn’t extracted from him the name of the person he was going to meet.

  * * *

  The next day was doña Madelena’s last full day. Contemplating the thought over a breakfast-time cup of tea, Dorcas wondered how she would cope with the inactivity once the señora had returned to her own home. A demanding and sometimes querulous-tongued matriarch she might be, but Dorcas had grown fond of her and would miss being at her beck and call. The thought of having sixty minutes in every hour to call her own rested dully on her brain. Perhaps she would pay Tom Bennett’s fiancée a visit. She had spotted the English girl—no prizes for guessing this was Tom’s fiancée—on at least two occasions while passing through the small Spanish town. Each time she had been chauffeuring the señora to one of her friend’s houses. Had she been alone she would have stopped and introduced herself.

  But she would think about how she was going to fill in her time tomorrow. No time now to waste on pensive thoughts. She was going to enjoy today to its last precious moment.

  The programme was hectic. So many dear friends to be visited for a last farewell, with innumerable stops on the way for old, but still sparkling eyes to soak up a memory of a favourite view. The shadows that crept over the earth as night fell were repeated as shadows of tiredness beneath those same eyes, their lustre impaired by the demands of a day which would have jaded a much younger person.

  They returned to the villa with scarcely time to change for dinner. Dorcas stepped under the shower, dropping with fatigue. The stinging missile points of water revived her. She dressed quickly, selecting a favourite dress of deep aquamarine that complemented both her tan and her figure. There was insufficient time to shampoo her hair, so she attacked it with long, crackling strokes, brushing out the dust of the day until the curling tips blazed gold.

  She was ready and there was still time to take the señora the casket of chocolates she had bought as a farewell gift. Dorcas was glad of the excuse to slip along to the señora’s room. She wanted to check that doña Madelena hadn’t overtired herself. It was a bit late to think about it now, but it had been irresponsible of her to allow an old lady of eighty-plus to hare about like an eighteen year old. She should have insisted—no, much too emphatic—so gently and discreetly introduced a slower pace.

  What Dorcas expected to find she did not quite know. It was a relief to see the tiny figure dressed and putting the final touches to her toilette. In basic black, her silver hair shining through a lace mantilla that dipped to a peak on her forehead, she was perfect in every detail. A serenely beautiful face, a frail little body, a backbone of steel. The sheer physical impact of her took Dorcas’s breath away.

  Dorcas advanced, sweetly hesitant, paying homage with her eyes as she offered her gift. ‘It isn’t
much. I didn’t know what to get you.’ She felt awkward, but looked as appealing as a child.

  ‘How very sweet of you, niña.’ And the señora produced a jeweller’s box. ‘I have a little something for you. I hope you like my gift as much as I like yours.’

  The box was long and thin in shape. Dorcas opened it up and took out a choker length necklace. She spent several moments exclaiming how beautiful it was. When she realized it was not a pretty costume piece, but that the fragile links of chain were gold, she spent several moments protesting that it was far too expensive for her to accept.

  Fixing Dorcas with an innocent look, doña Madelena said: ‘Suddenly I cannot understand a word you say. Yet only a short while ago I was thinking how well you were coping with our language. It is very strange.’

  ‘Very strange indeed,’ said Dorcas. Oh well . . . nothing else for it. ‘Thank you very much for the necklace, señora.’

  ‘Now that is much better. I understood every word. I am so pleased you have regained your fluency. Your arm, Dorcas,’ she said imperiously.

  Enrique Ruiz elected to drive his mother home the next day. It was Rose Ruiz who suggested: ‘Perhaps Dorcas would like to go with you for the ride?’

  Dorcas’s mouth gave a quick lift of delight.

  Enrique Ruiz pulled at his beard. ‘An excellent idea. I would have mentioned it myself had I thought of it. I take it from your smile that you agree, Dorcas?’

  ‘Oh yes! I’ll go and get ready. I won’t be long. I promise not to keep you waiting.’

  Rose Ruiz walked with them to the car to wave them off. Kisses were exchanged between mother and daughter-in-law; goodbyes said.

  Rose Ruiz turned to her husband. ‘It might amuse you to let Dorcas have a turn at driving.’