Love is for Ever (12 page)

Since the night of their dinner and dance at
The Golden Cockerel,
as Jacqueline had discovered it was called, Jacqueline had formed the habit of avoiding Dominic’s glances whenever possible, and the friendship which had seemed to be ripening between them appeared to have received a very definite check.

Jacqueline avoided every possible occasion which would cause her to be alone with Dominic; and although sometimes she had the feeling that he was seeking to be alone with her—perhaps to apologize for his behavior on the night of their outing—she was quite determined that this opportunity should not be afforded him.

She had been so shocked by the realization that he could kiss her in a way that shook her to the very roots of her being—kiss her in a way she was never likely to forget, however long she lived, and however many fresh experiences were destined to be hers—and then calmly attempt to throw dust in the eyes of his friends (and particularly Martine!) by declaring that she had stumbled, and that was all there was to it, that she felt he had once more become a stranger to her—a stranger it was certainly best, in her own interests, to keep at arm’s length.

No doubt, she thought, Martine had taken him severely to task for that lapse on the night of the dance, for he was once more her constant attendant. But he was also Jacqueline’s host, and as such his behavior, whenever she thought about it, upset her all over again—for somehow she had never expected him to behave like that.

In his position, and as the grandson of the Senora Cortina, she would have been prepared to swear that, if he wished for a light flirtation—apart from Martine—he would have conducted it well away from the background of his own home. He would not have taken advantage of a girl who was his grandmother’s guest, and who had little or no defence save to ignore him. She was secretly, rather bitterly, disappointed in him.

On the day of Senor Montez’s birthday celebration, as he helped each girl from the car, he did so with a grace and courtesy which came naturally to him, and he smiled first at one and then the other. But Jacqueline did not smile back. She looked aloofly and instantly away.

Dominic’s mouth grew cold and set.

“You are both so beautiful,” he told them, “that you make me think of an old Spanish proverb.” And he quoted:
“La mujer y el vidrio siempre estan en peligro
.”

“What does that mean?” Martine asked, as if she suspected it was highly flattering.

Dominic translated: “A woman and glass are always in danger!”

“Oh!” said Martine, with upraised eyebrows, but Jacqueline looked faintly disdainful.

“It rather depends, doesn’t it,” she murmured, “on whether the woman is the type whom dangers might beset? Whether, for instance, she is the type who is protected, or not!”

And then she turned away, and surveyed the brightly milling throng around her, and even greeted a woman whom she had met for the first time when she dined with Senor Montez during her

first week on the island.

Martine, looking curiously at Dominic, was surprised to see something like a faint flush rise up under his olive bronze skin as his eyes followed Jacqueline, and the expression in the eyes themselves she found most difficult to read, although she did realize that he appeared to be gnawing at his lip, and that meant he was temporarily either perturbed or uncertain about something.

Jacqueline didn’t see him again to talk to for several hours, and during those hours she found that she really did manage to enjoy herself. Senor Montez, when she had presented him with Senora Cortina’s cuff links, told her very flatteringly that he intended to keep his own eye on her throughout that day, and that he had something important to say to her as soon as an opportunity arose.

The opportunity didn’t arise until after lunch, when nearly everyone appeared to feel the need to relax and take a brief siesta in the shade—everyone, that is, except some of the very young and active ones, who disappeared down to the beach, which was easily reached from the garden—and then, foregoing his own siesta, Senor Montez took Jacqueline by the arm and led her indoors to his library, where he put her into a comfortable arm chair in the delicious coolness which prevailed in the big, book-lined room.

“Now, my dear,” he said, once he had seated himself opposite her, and requested her permission to smoke one of his rather highly-smelling cigars. “I’ve a plan for you, and personally I think it’s a very good plan. Now, what would you say if I suggested that, instead of going home to England when you feel that your visit to the Senora Cortina must end, you came to me as my secretary?”

“As your—secretary,
senor
?”

Jacqueline both looked and felt amazed.

“Yes. Or my assistant, shall we say—someone to help me look after all the things I have here, and keep them in order, catalogue them, and so forth. And you can always write my letters, if you like to do so—or better still type them, if you know how to type—and generally keep me up to scratch when it comes to keeping appointments, and remembering things I ought to do.” He smiled at her, very kindly. “My dear child, I was really fond of your father, and he talked about you to me so often that I feel I know you very well. If I were twenty years younger,” taking in the picture she made in his handsome leather chair, with the lavender-blue background to her flowery frock making her eyes look rather deep and dark like cornflowers, although they were really more grey than blue, and her skin highly reminiscent of the petals of a flower, “I would ask you to marry me without a moment’s hesitation, and that would simplify matters without bothering about secretaries, and secretarial posts!”

“Oh, Senor!” Jacqueline exclaimed, and a deep blush dyed her cheeks. “How—how delightful of you!” she added, and her eyes suddenly glowed a little with real appreciation.

“Not at all, my dear,” Senor Montez replied gallantly. “A young woman like you—utterly charming, as you are—should be snapped up in the winking of an eye on an island like Sansegovia—or would have been when I was twenty years younger! But young men today are a little, well—” he shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands “—perhaps cautious is the word I want. Take Dominic Errol, for instance—Although, in the case of Dominic, there is, of course, the little Carlotta!”

Once again Jacqueline found herself echoing, only this time with a decidedly unpleasant, hollow sensation inside:

“The little—Carlotta?”

Senor Montez drew luxuriously at his cigar, and surveyed the white ash as if it interested him.

“That’s right, my dear—Carlotta Consuello, whose people live somewhere near Madrid Senor Cortina has always wished for them to marry, and as Dominic has waited so long for a bride I should imagine his thoughts are seriously set on Carlotta.” He glanced quickly across at Jacqueline, as if anxious to discover what kind of expression there was on her face, but she was looking down at her belt and playing with the buckle. “In Spain, my dear, these things are arranged, you know,” he said to her gently, and she stole a look at him and then away again.

“Yes,” she said, and knew that the betraying color was quivering in her cheeks, and that there was nothing she could do about it. “I did know—that is to say, I have always understood that Spanish marriages are more often than not arranged.”

“And often with the happiest results,” he assured her. But his handsome old eyes rested on her with sympathy. “This Senorita Howard—” he paused for a moment—“you do not imagine for one moment that he is serious with her?”

“I—I don’t know,” Jacqueline stammered, and felt the color in her cheeks actually burning them a little.

Senor Montez shook his head most decidedly.

“Nothing,” he told her with emphasis, “will come of that, my dear. Nothing! ... I know our Dominic, and there are certain things he does which we who are older do not always approve, but it is also possible to predict his reactions to certain sets of circumstances when they arise, and I can assure you that the present circumstances are by no means extraordinary—there is nothing in the least special about them, do you understand?” She felt that he was trying to make her understand, but she found it impossible to look directly at him. “But, where the little Carlotta is concerned—well, that is a different matter altogether! I
think
that Dominic will marry her one day, in his own good time, and that being the case I wouldn’t like also to think that you—who are young, and very gentle—would ever be hurt!...”

There was no doubt about it, he was trying to warn her— perhaps because he considered she needed the warning, or because something, in her expression had given away the fact that a warning would have to be issued sooner or later—in the nicest possible way, and in spite of the confusion which welled up over her she felt grateful to him. Dr. Barr had warned her against Dominic because he had known her father, and Senor Montez had also known and appreciated her father—but she felt that he was very much concerned for her personally, and she had great difficulty in preventing actual tears of gratitude from welling up in her eyes.

For Dominic might philander, but he knew what was due to the Cortinas! He was half Cortina himself, and he was not in the least likely to let the family down!

Which meant that a certain amount of sympathy might well be extended to Martine!...

“But none of these matters concern us, do they?” Senor Montez said quickly, as he noted her confusion. “But whether or not you would like to come and live here and act as my secretary is something which does concern us—and I hope very much that you will make up your mind that my plan has its advantages.” “Oh, I’m quite sure it has—many advantages,” Jacqueline assured him. “And whether I accept your offer or not,
senor,
I hope you believe that I am— terribly grateful.”

“There is no need for any gratitude, my dear,” he responded, in his paternal fashion. “And of course you will want time to think the matter over. In any case, there is no hurry, for the Senora Cortina would not thank me if I took you away from her too soon.” He smiled. “And now, they will be serving tea under the trees, and it will be cooler. Shall we go in search of some ourselves?”

And Jacqueline accompanied him as he rejoined the rest of

his guests.

Later she found herself suddenly accosted by Dominic as she was wandering alone along a flower-bordered path and thinking what a blaze of color the beautifully laid out gardens were. Dominic looked a little serious, and his voice was quiet as he spoke.

“I have been looking for you,” he said. “I find that I have to return rather hurriedly, and if you can bear to leave just now I will take you with me. Martine is already in the car.”

“Oh!” Jacqueline looked at him quickly, anxiously. “It isn’t— there is nothing wrong with the
senora
?”

“Nothing,” he assured her. “But I am flying to the mainland tomorrow, and I have to pack hurriedly and see to other details. If it is not convenient for you to leave now I will send the car back for you.”

“Oh, no, of course I’ll come.” But Jacqueline felt as if her heart had sunk like a plummet right into her shoes, and she was afraid that the actual shock she had received must show in her face. “I—I wouldn’t put you to the trouble of sending for me when you have so much to think about.”

He said nothing, but walked at her side along the flagged path until they arrived at last at the front of the house, where the car was waiting. Martine, looking extraordinarily well pleased with herself, watched their approach from her usual front seat, and when Dominic had put Jacqueline into the back she actually turned and smiled at her.

“Do you know Madrid, Miss Vaizey?” she asked.

“N-no,” Jacqueline answered.

“Neither do I,” Martine told her. “But I’m going there to be considered for a film part—a
leading
film part! Isn’t it marvellous? Dominic has arranged it all!”

“Oh,” Jacqueline said.

Dominic concentrated on driving the car. He did not appear to be in a very conversational humor just then.

“I certainly hope you’ll be successful,” Jacqueline felt it was the right thing to add, as she wondered with a curious feeling of desolation and aloneness what it was going to seem like on Sansegovia once Dominic was no longer there. And she also wondered how long he would consider it necessary to remain in Madrid.

“Thank you,” Martine flashed another brilliant smile at her. “But I’m sure I shall,” she added, quite obviously having no doubts at all where her talents were concerned.

That night dinner seemed rather a quiet and formal meal, although Martine was still as noticeably radiant. Dominic watched her occasionally with a smile on his face, as if she was a thrilled and excited child who amused him a little, but whenever he looked at Jacqueline the smile faded.

After dinner
Tia
Lola retired early, and Jacqueline decided that it was up to her to accept her hint and leave the two who were leaving tomorrow for Spain alone together to discuss the final details of their journey, and other things which they no doubt wished to discuss, and she made her excuses almost immediately after
Tia
Lola had left the verandah where they had all had their coffee and went indoors.

“I expect I shall see you in the morning before you leave,” she said, a little shyly, including them both, before she said goodnight.