Authors: Isobel Chace
CHAPTER IV
Senora Vallori was waiting for them outside the airport in the car. Carlos hurried their suitcases through the Customs and then led Megan out into the sunlight. He kissed his stepmother on the cheek and introduced Megan to her, leaving them to get into the car while he stowed the luggage away in the boot.
‘Have you known Carlos long, Miss Meredith?’ Senora Vallori asked her.
Megan shook her head.
‘
I don’t know him well
,’
she admitted.
‘But you like him?’
‘I like both him and Pilar
,’
Megan answered carefully.
‘
They both came to lunch with my parents.’
‘Pilar is
my
daughter,’ Senora Vallori said with pride. ‘She is devoted to Carlos—always has been. He takes her about with him quite often. Isabel, my other daughter, is more reserved. You haven’t met her?’
‘No
,’
Megan agreed.
Senora Vallori sank back into the car with a sigh of relief. Looking at her, Megan could hardly believe that she was English. To begin with, she was the only person she had ever seen who wore the traditional Spanish comb in her hair, complete with mantilla, which she used to veil the sides of her face. She was not particularly tall, but she looked shorter than she was, for she was more than a
little
plump and her legs were shorter than is usual in an Englishwoman.
‘Do you mind sitting in the back?’ she asked Megan
indolently
. ‘We only have this
little
Seat in Mallorca—not at all comfortable
!
—but they are excellent for the narrow streets in Palma, and just adequate for the rest of the island.’
‘I don’t mind at all,’ Megan assured her. She
p
ushed the driving seat forward and struggled into the back, watched lazily by her hostess who made not the slightest effort to help her.
‘
You have two houses here, don’t you? I expect you have a lot to do, running both of them and the almond orchard too?’
The Senora laughed in the back of her throat. ‘Not
I!
My husband spoilt me dreadfully when he was alive and I never had to stir hand or foot. Carlos doesn’t approve of the result, but he realises it’s too late to change me now
!
’ She said this with such satisfaction that Megan was faintly shocked, but she said nothing. Carlos folded his long length into the driver’s seat and turned on the ignition key, nosing the car away from the kerb and away from the airport.
‘Well, how are things, Margot?’ he asked his stepmother lazily.
‘
I have been in flat despair,’ the Senora answered placidly. ‘I can’t think why you suppose it’s a good idea for me to live here,
caro.
It’s only February, but the whole place is swarming with tourists
!
What will it be like in the summer?’
‘You’ll shut yourself inside behind the shutters whatever it’s like,’ he retorted callously,
‘
so I can’t see that they need bother you much
!’
‘If your father could hear you—’
‘
Come on now, Margot, you know it was his idea that you should live here
!’
‘
Was it?’ The Senora smiled bravely.
‘
Perhaps it won’t be as bad as I think, but I should have liked to have gone to England.’
‘It isn’t as you remember it,’ he told her flatly.
‘
Ask Megan
!’
The Senora stirred herself to look over her shoulder at Megan. ‘Carlos will have it that London has changed in the last few years, but I don’t believe him. London has always had a quality of its own
!’
Megan wasn’t sure whether she was being asked her opinion or not. ‘I like London too,’ she admitted.
‘T
here you are
!
’ the Senora said complacently. ‘Megan agrees with me
!’
‘
Megan would hardly remember the London you are talking about,’ her stepson said dryly. ‘She’s
j
ust a baby!’
‘She looks fully grown to me,’ the Senora drawled.
Megan felt herself blushing, but she was grateful that
somebody
thought she was old enough to have an opinion.
‘Do you think so?’ Carlos laughed.
‘She’s a bit thin,’ the Senora went on, ‘but that’s better than the other way about. How old are you Megan?’
‘She’s eighteen,’ Carlos answered for her.
‘Old enough
!
’ the Senora grunted enigmatically.
Carlos grinned at his stepmother. ‘Don’t get ideas, Margot
.’
The older woman chuckled comfortably.
‘
I won’t, if you don’t! How is Pilar?’
Megan shut her ears to the family chat going on in front of her and stared out at the strange sights all about her. The windmills were almost all stationary, and some of them looked to be in bad repair, but there were so many of them, drawing up the water to irrigate the land, that they dominated the area, only losing their importance when they slipped on to the motorway that led straight into Palma.
The little car sped along the highway, slowing only as they came into the city just below the Cathedral. Carlos drove fast and well, even when the traffic grew thicker, turning this way and that without apparently giving any warning at all of their intentions. At the major crossroads, a traffic policeman was stationed on a high red and white stand, blowing his whistle frantically whenever some intrepid driver ignored his instructions; at other junctions there were traffic lights, the red light twice the size of the green and amber, but even so rather difficult to see.
Then, in hardly any time at all, Carlos turned off into the Plaza Santa Eulalia and down the narrow Calle Morey. He drew up in front of the heavy wooden doors of one of the houses, that were left open to reveal the patio inside, around which the house was built. Megan leaned forward eagerly, delighted by the patterned marble tiles that covered the floor, the flowering plants that had been placed about the playing fountain, the elegant steps that led up into the house itself, half hidden behind the upstairs terrace that rested on fluted columns taking the eye upwards from the patio below.
‘It’s beautiful
!
’ she breathed.
‘Do you think so?’ the Senora asked, surprised.
‘
I’m not very keen on the Italian influence myself. It looks nice enough, but it doesn’t make for comfort
!’
‘I’d put up with quite a lot of discomfort to have a patio and a staircase like that
!’
Megan exclaimed.
The Senora looked amused.
‘
You must ask Carlos to tell you the history of the house. If you like it, the inside is a gem of its kind too. I don’t like it.’
‘I don
’t see how you could help it!’
The Senora smiled. ‘You’re younger than I thought,’ she remarked. ‘Age brings a desire for comfort, and there’s very little
of that in this house!’
‘Still complaining?’ Carlos asked his stepmother cheerfully as he pushed the suitcases through the open doors into the patio. ‘Take Megan inside, will you, Margot? I’ll get rid of the car.’
The Senora stood beside the fountain, eyeing the suitcases with distaste. ‘What a lot of luggage you have
!
’ she exclaimed.
Megan felt uncomfortable. ‘Only one suitcase is mine,’ she defended herself.
‘
The other two belong to Carlos.’
The Senora’s face brightened.
‘
It looks as though he means to stay a little while this time. You
’
ve no idea how lonely it is when I am all by myself
!’
Megan was just about to say something comforting when she was interrupted by the arrival of two maids who came scurrying out of the house, scolding the Senora for not calling them immediately. They grasped the suitcases and hurried up the wide staircase, chattering to each other as they went.
‘
We
’
d better go inside too,’ the Senora said reluctantly. ‘Don’t worry about your things. Juana will unpack your clothes. She speaks a little English, by the way. She worked in one of the hotels until recen
tl
y, but she prefers to be in a proper home and I pay excellent wages.’
Megan followed her up the stairs, pausing at intervals to admire the carved intricacies of the stone banisters. At the top was a long picture gallery, full of sombre paintings of the various Vallori ancestors. Megan would have liked to have studied them more closely, but the shutters kept out any light that might have crept into the house, and all she could see was the occasional pale, aristocratic face amongst the shadows.
The gallery led direc
tl
y into a lofty salon, hung about with Flemish tapestries and full of Renaissance nailed seats, and a few chairs upholstered in leather. Megan was forced to agree that comfort had been sacrificed to the strict formality of the furnishings. It was hard to imagine anyone actually sitting in such a room, let alone relaxing.
‘Do you use this room much?’ she asked nervously.
The Senora screwed up her nose in horror.
‘Never
!’
Megan was relieved. It was beautiful of course, there was no denying that, but she couldn’t feel at home there.
‘We sit here,’ the Senora went on, sweeping Megan into the next room. ‘Once you’ve got used to the red pine panelling and the draughts that haunt the marble floors, and the total lack of any proper heating, it’s just tolerable.’
Megan tried not to look as though she were too curious, but this room too was quite unlike any other sitting room she had ever seen. The few chairs were arranged in straight lines, facing each other, and there was a curious bronze contraption in the middle of the floor, held by a wooden frame, that had no possible use that she could see.
‘
When it’s cold, we put a fire in that,’ the Senora explained, her amusement getting the better of her apathy. ‘It smokes rather, and it gives out remarkably little heat, but we’re seldom here in the winter, so we never put in central heating like most of our neighbours.’ She thrust open a shutter, allowing a shaft of light into the darkened room. ‘Can you understand why I don’t want to be banished here?’
‘
Yes,’ Megan said flatly.
The dark eyes of the older woman met hers, a twinkle lurking in their depths. ‘I thought you would fall in love with the place?’ she said.
‘I have
!
’ Megan agreed. ‘But it is cold, and it is a little like a museum. Couldn’t we make it a little more comfortable,
senora
? Then it would be a truly lovely place to live
!’
‘It would be such a lot of trouble,’ the Senora objected.
‘Not really
!’
Megan’s quick enthusiasm was now thoroughly aroused. ‘You could have an English style room for your own use! Think how much more comfortable you would be then
!’
The Senora shrugged. ‘You can suggest it to Carlos if you like,’ she said with apparent indifference. ‘He wouldn’t like it if I were to suggest such a thing
!
He’s never liked changes in anything connected with his family.’
‘
But that’s ridiculous
!
’ Megan exclaimed. ‘Most of the house would be just as it was
!
Besides, one can’t live entirely in the past, no matter how beautiful
!
I’m sure your son will see that
!’
‘My stepson,’ the Senora corrected her automatically.
‘It makes no difference
!’
Megan said warmly.
‘What makes no difference?’ Carlos asked from the doorway. He looked very much at home in the rich, formal room. He might even, Megan thought, sit upright in the uncomfortable chairs and think nothing of it. He shared the same elegance, the same richness as the ancient house.
‘Megan wishes to make this room more habitable,’ his stepmother drawled. ‘She agrees with me that it is not very comfortable as it is.’
Carlos looked about him in surprise.
‘
What’s wrong with it?’ he demanded.
For an instant Megan thought he was angry, but the lift of his eyebrows reassured her. ‘It doesn’t look as though anyone ever sat in here in their lives,’ she told him frankly. ‘It’s—it’s like a museum
!’
‘
I suppose it is,’ he agreed, looking amused. ‘It is certainly very different from your parents’ house
!
But I am not sure that you can make this room look the same as theirs?’
‘
I wouldn
’
t try
!’
she exclaimed. ‘My parents’ room is
comfortable,
but it isn’t—’ She broke off, blushing uncontrollably.
‘
You wouldn’t choose it?’ the Senora put in helpfully
.
‘N-no,’ Megan agreed quickly. ‘It isn’t
elegant
.’
Carlos gave her an interested look. ‘I agree with you. It is warm and comfortable, but there are pieces
of
furniture that I should not care to live with myself.’ He hesitated. ‘Very well, Megan, I give you a free hand to do what you will with this room. But the rest of the house shall be kept as it is for the time being.’
‘But your stepmother—’
Carlos stiffened. ‘Margot cannot be bothered with domestic matters,’ he said tersely.
The Senora shrugged her shoulders. ‘Why should
I?’ she said. ‘I prefer that other people should do these things for me.’
Megan looked from one to the other of them. ‘I’ll do my best,’ she promised. ‘But it might cost a bit of money.’
‘Undoubtedly,’ Carlos agreed dryly.
‘
English type furniture is expensive anywhere but in England.’
‘And you don’t mind?’ Megan pressed him.
‘Not if the results are satisfactory,’ he confirmed. ‘Have you seen your room?’ He waited for her to shake her head. ‘I suppose Juana is unpacking for you. Meanwhile, you may as well see the rest of the house.’
He took her consent for granted, pushing open the door at the far end of
t
he salon. ‘In the old days,’ he told her, ‘when we held dances here, we would open all the doors and make use of the whole floor. But that was a long time ago. These doors have become stiff with lack of use since then.’
‘It would make a magnificent setting for a dance,’ Megan said dreamily.
‘You like it?’ Somehow the question seemed important to him and she considered it carefully before answering.
‘Yes,’ she said at last, ‘I love it
!
’
‘You love easily
!
’ he taunted her.
Megan stepped through the open door ahead of him, embarrassed. He had a knack of making her feel gauche and peculiarly naive.
‘I don’t think I do,’ she said seriously. ‘I like easily—but loving is a different matter
!’
‘
So it is
!
’ he agreed laconically.
The room was so dark that she could only make out dim shapes that she took to be bookcases. Carlos opened the shutters and turned to face her.
‘This is my particular sanctuary. The rest of the family doesn’t often come in here.’
And never without his permission, Megan thought
wryly. She was surprised, though, at his choice of room to make his own. This had originally been the library, and books still lined the walls, but it was now a study-cum-workroom, with a huge, elaborate desk at one end, a couple of easy chairs placed negligently before the carved stone fireplace, and a huge heraldic emblem covering the far wall, as aggressively arrogant as Megan felt Carlos to be himself.
‘The Va
l
lori arms?’ she asked, keeping her voice as blank as possible.