Vengeance in the Sun (2 page)

“It's nothing to get upset about, sweetheart,” he had said, pouring himself a drink.

“But it is, Max. You lied to me.…”

“No I didn't,” he'd said firmly. “When I telephoned you I told you the truth. I had to go down to Oatlands to test the car. I didn't know then I would be seeing Claudette.…”

“It was my birthday,” I'd said stubbornly, feeling myself weaken as he put his drink down and moved purposefully towards me.

“It was my love … and I hadn't forgotten.” He lifted a delicate pendant of gold and lapis lazuli from his pocket. Two tiny cherubs floated heavenwards against the deep blue surface. “Like it. Brat?” he asked softly, fastening it around my neck, pulling me against him.

“Yes,” I said. “But Claudette.…”

“Forget Claudette,” he'd said, the dark eyes gleaming as he held me fast, silencing my protests with kisses.

Then last Sunday I had swung happily into Lacey's to be met by the sight of Max and Claudette at a corner table. They were sat close together, hands clasped, and Claudette's eyes were radiant. Sick and trembling I had turned, running blindly up the street, knowing the truth and knowing what I must do.

Max did not want to marry me. Had never wanted to marry me. His rash proposal had been nothing but reaction when he had found me half-drowned on the beach. He was still as unable to resist the company of the beautiful women who flocked the racing circuits as he ever was. I had an old magazine clipping of an interview he had once given, where he was quoted as saying ‘I like having lots of beautiful women around me', when asked about his playboy image. Well, I wasn't beautiful. Pretty, yes. Beautiful in the way of film stars like Claudette Claustre, no. Max had made a mistake and been too kind to admit it. Admitting it was going to be up to me.

It hadn't been easy. Max had merely laughed when I had handed him my engagement ring back.

“Don't be ridiculous, Brat,” he had said, leaving it where it lay on the table.

“I'm not being ridiculous,” I said, my throat painfully tight. “I've given it a lot of thought and I'm not marrying you.”

“Well I'm damn well marrying you!” he had said, his eyes flickering dangerously as he made a grab for me. Once in his arms I knew my good intentions would be gone forever. The telephone began to ring and as he glanced towards it I pushed him, knocking him off balance, darting under his outstretched arm, slamming the door behind me as I flew from the room. Suicidally I ran into the street, the sound of the telephone still ringing in my ears as I frantically flagged a taxi and scrambled into it, seeing Max hurtle out of the house and stand, panting and cursing in the dust behind me.

That evening I had answered Helena Van de Naude's advertisement for a nanny for her daughter, the attraction being the chance to leave Max far behind me and start life afresh. Helena Van de Naude had rung me immediately, and three days later I had gone to see her at the Dorchester and now, only a week later, I was on my way to the villa D'Este and my first meeting with Danielle.

I opened my eyes, looking around me. Another plane was circling the airport and a couple of mini buses had drawn up ready to ferry more tourists into Palma and the resorts nearby. The villa D'Este lay in another part of the island, high in the mountains. Helena Van de Naude had stressed to me how remote the villa was but I hadn't cared. All I had wanted was to get away from Max and Crailsham Place, to be spared the misery of seeing him and Claudette together and knowing I had been right, for in all that long, never-ending week. Max had neither written nor telephoned me.

I had liked Helena Van de Naude immediately. She was in her late thirties, tall and athletically built. Her skin was darkened by the Mediterranean sun and her hair was thick and wavy. She wore it swept away from her forehead, accentuating hazel eyes and glossy winged eyebrows. She was full of energy and vitality, the wide mouth smiling easily and often.

“Have you been a nanny before?” she asked pleasantly.

“No.…”

“Is it something you have always wanted to do?”

“No,” I answered truthfully, feeling the job slipping away from me.

“You want the opportunity to travel, perhaps?”

I thought of the past jet-setting year with Max. Monaco, Japan, Germany, South Africa.…

“No,” I said.

She stared at me in amusement, then said directly: “You look like an educated girl who would have no difficulties in getting a good job. What are the attractions in burrowing yourself away with a six year old girl? You will have very little company, you know.”

“I don't want company.”

The perceptive eyes flickered to the naked white band on the third finger of my left hand.

“Divorced?”

I shook my head. “No. It was an engagement.”

She stretched her long legs. “And I was to be your refuge?”

“Yes,” I said, standing up and picking up my shoulder-bag. “ I'm sorry I've wasted your time, Mrs Van de Naude. Goodbye.”

She didn't move. “You haven't wasted my time, Miss Matthews. Quite the reverse. There is every chance in the near future that my family will be moving to Africa. A new nanny may not find the idea of Africa as congenial as that of Majorca, and so whoever I engage may only be with us for a short time. I think you would suit us very well.”

“You mean I can have the job?”

“Can you drive?”

I nodded. She motioned me to sit down again.

“Then if you want it, the job is yours.” She curled her legs beneath her on the sofa. “ We are very isolated. The villa is on a headland a good three miles from the nearest road, and that's only a mountain road that leaves a lot to be desired. Danielle has a tutor. A Mr Lyall. He will have care of her in the mornings, your duties will start after lunch. My housekeeper is English and her husband, a Majorcan, speaks excellent English so you will have no language problems. Mario is our gardener and odd job man. He will meet you at the airport when you arrive. The only other member of the staff is Miss Blanchard, my secretary.”

I wondered why a married woman living in isolation should need a secretary.

“Now that I have found someone I shall fly straight back home. There is a ten-o'clock flight on Saturday morning which I shall book for you. If you run into any problems telephone the villa.” She rose to her feet and handed me a card embossed with the name of the villa and telephone number and several ten pound notes. “These should tide you over until you arrive,” she said generously. “My husband spends a lot of his time away from the villa, but he is there at the moment. I am sure you will fit in with us very well. We are a very casual household.” Her large hand gripped mine firmly. “ Till Saturday then. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye,” I said, slightly dazed. “And thank you.”

It was Uncle Alistair who cast the first ripples on the apparently smooth surface of life at the villa D'Este.

“Van de Naude?” he had asked vaguely. “ John Van de Naude?”

“Yes. Do you know him?”

“Know of him, m'dear. Fellow's a South African, lives in exile now. Made a fortune in mining or diamonds … or are they both the same? I know he couldn't take his wealth out of the country. I only hope you know what you're doing … seems a bit drastic to me … haring off to Minorca.…”

“Majorca.”

“Just because you and Max have had a tiff.”

“It wasn't a tiff. I never want to see Max again.”

“Quite, quite,” Uncle Alistair said, totally untaken in by this lie. “When is the wedding? Never did have a head for dates?”

“There isn't going to be a wedding,” I said for the hundredth time.

“Bad as that, is it?” he said sympathetically. “ Well, well, still think this jaunt of yours is a mistake. Where there's smoke there's fire and all that.”

“All what?”

“Nasty business, remember thinking so at the time.”

“I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about. What was a nasty business?”

“The whole thing. Him being a politician as well. Wasn't on m'dear. Wasn't on at all.”

“Uncle Alistair,” I said patiently. “What are you talking about?”

“You mean you don't know?”

“No,” I said, wondering if it wouldn't be better to put the telephone down and forget all about it. “Tell me.”

“He was a widower with a young son when he met this second wife of his. A high ranking government minister. Couldn't have been worse.”

“What couldn't?”

“Marrying her.”

I counted to ten slowly. “Why?”

“I should have thought that was obvious when you met her. I mean, if someone is black as the ace of spades you notice, don't you?”

“Generally. Helena Van de Naude isn't.”

“Rubbish,” Uncle Alistair said crossly. “Of course she is. That's what all the fuss was about. Can't go marrying who you want in South Africa. Against the law.”

“She's hardly any darker than Max.”

“Can't help that. She's coloured and that's that. It was the ruin of Van de Naude. Lost his wealth and became an exile. I think they said at the time she was a communist, but governments always say that if they want to discredit someone. Only hope you know what you're letting yourself in for. Don't mind her being coloured,” he said generously. “But don't want you coming back a communist. Your Aunt Katherine wouldn't like it. She's set her heart on becoming a Justice of the Peace!”

“Then I'll try not to jeopardise her chances. Don't worry about me, Uncle Alistair. I shan't come to any harm!”

A car horn tooted loudly. The driver slammed his door behind him and walked across to me, a wide smile on his face.

“Miss Matthews?”

I nodded, rising to my feet. He was a big man with a head of untidy hair and friendly eyes, wearing a white tee-shirt that had seen better days and a pair of creased cotton trousers.

“Mario Arteche,” he said, shaking my hand vigorously and picking up my case, throwing it easily into the rear of a battered cream-coloured estate car. “ I am sorry I am late.”

We swerved recklessly out onto a sun bleached road: “Is this your first visit to Majorca?”

“Yes.”

“The villa D'Este is not near the tourist resorts. It is high in the mountains. A little lonely perhaps, but very beautiful.…”

I leant back against the musty leather of the seat, content to let him do the talking, enjoying the sun and the sounds and smells of a new country. Trying not even to think of Max.…

“In another few minutes we will be among the mountains,” Mario said, pointing ahead to where white granite peaks rose sheer against the vibrant sky. With an ear splitting blast on the car horn he scattered a group of laughing children and the dust blown streets were left behind us as the land fell away steeply at the roadside and we began to climb.

Soft green trees, silvered in the brilliant light, gave the otherwise barren mountain-sides a milkish hue. Waist high pampas grass brushed against the car as the road narrowed in its tortuous ascent, winding tirelessly round curve after curve, each fresh view one of blinding blue sky and searing white rock.

“Daniella is looking forward to meeting you,” Mario said, the wheel spinning beneath his large brown hands.

“Good. I'm looking forward to meeting her too.”

“She is a nice little girl. You will like her. And,” he turned and gave me a dazzling smile, “ she will like you.”

“What about the others? Mrs Van de Naude's secretary and Danielle's tutor. Are they easy to get on with?”

“Miss Blanchard is very sophisticated,” he took his hands from the wheel, to show that she also had a very good shape. “Mr Lyall is … quiet.” Mario dismissed Mr Lyall with a shrug. “The next lot of hairpin bends are known as the Devesas. Lots of accidents happen here.” As he spoke the car swung dizzily to face nothing but sky and far below, the glittering turquoise of the sea. “ It is best to drive slowly round here,” Mario said unnecessarily, “especially at dusk.”

The road swung briefly away from the sea, leading into a narrow gorge between the mountains. Soaring slabs of rock plunged us into shadow, only the higher flanks catching the golden glitter of the sun. We climbed even higher, and then the gorge widened and we shot off the road onto a sun scorched promontory, the mountains closing in behind us. Ahead of us the headland jutted out over the sea and doll-like, poised precariously with nothing but a background of sky and cloud, stood the pale bleached walls of the villa D'Este.

We bucketed over the rough grass, weaving expertly between shoulders of serrated rock as the courtyard walls loomed nearer. Then we swept through wide gates and into a riot of colour. In the centre of the courtyard a bronze fountain sprayed a mist of water over a pool full of water lilies. On three sides were shaded colonades and delicate archways, and everywhere there were flowers. They wound up the white pillars, massed the balconies and covered the walls, the scent thick in the heat. Helena Van de Naude stepped towards me, her hands outstretched.

“Welcome to the villa D'Este, Lucy. I hope you will be happy here.”

“I'm sure I will,” I said confidently.

“Take Miss Matthews' case to her room and ask Peggy to bring drinks out to the pool, Mario. Come this way, Lucy. It's rather a maze at first but you'll soon get used to it.”

We stepped under the arcade and into the coolness of a high ceilinged corridor with pretty tiled floor and brilliant white walls. Walking quickly past innumerable doors and then up a flight of shallow steps, the tiles gave way to polished floors of pale gold wood, the walls hung with big, bold paintings, all with an African theme. An open door gave a glimpse of deeply piled carpet and silk lined walls and then we were once more in the heat of the sun. A long terrace stretched the length of the villa with sun-chairs and loungers around the edge of a large swimming-pool.