The Bay of Moonlight Read online

  THE BAY OF MOONLIGHT

  Rose Burghley

  The lovely Bay of Moonlight, in southern Portugal, was the perfect setting for romance. But Sarah was only too conscious that she could have feelings for no other man while Philip Saratola was around - feelings, unfortunately for Sarah, shared by Philip's formidable sister-in-law, Venetia.

  CHAPTER ONE

  While her aunt packed feverishly in the hotel bedroom Sarah sat on the balcony and watched the Saratola children playing in the garden.

  It was a delightfully secluded garden, a little like an English garden with its fine lawns and shady trees, but essentially Portuguese in that it abounded in neat clipped hedges and tucked-away arbours approached by ordinary tiled paths. The flowers, too, were quite un-English, and so was the overhanging arc of intensely blue sky ... and, above all, the wonderful golden shower of sunlight that created lilac shadows beneath the trees, and criss-crossed the paths with white-hot bars that had the qualities of a burning-glass if one ventured on to them heedlessly without the protection of either; a hat or dark glasses.

  The Saratola children spent hours of every day in the garden, and although their play was conducted soberly there was no doubt about it, they enjoyed themselves. Their mother, who had brought them to the hotel in the charge of an elderly nannie, had flown off to England almost immediately after their arrival, and it seemed there was no one else to take an interest in them during the long, hot hours of daylight.

  Sarah had made a point of speaking to them on several occasions, and she had learned that their names were Maria and Roberto. Maria was two years older than Roberto, but so small and thin and generally under-developed that he appeared to be far older than she was. He had rather a charming air of recognizing his physical superiority and extending to her some highly necessary protection. ... And she, with her sloe-black eyes and slightly furtive glances, was never more than a foot or so away from his side.

  The hotel treated them with impressive respect, and turned a blind eye to any depredations they caused in the flower borders. It was quite obvious that the name of Saratola meant a good deal to the management, and as a result the two lonely but strikingly attractive youngsters - each, however, in an entirely different way - received something in the nature of V.I.P. treatment. Their mother, who was a strikingly beautiful and very elegant young woman with the same shining fair hair and Anglo-Saxon blue eyes as those which set Roberto apart from his sister, had received rather more than V.I.P. treatment on arrival, and her departure had been watched with openly regretful looks by the entire assembled staff, or so it had seemed to Sarah when she encountered them all in the entrance while a long black Mercedes car took the Senhora away to the airport.

  The children had been pelting one another with brightly coloured balloons while Sarah's Aunt Constance had been preoccupied with her packing; but at the very moment that she appeared on the balcony to announce that it was all completed Maria's balloon burst, and she quite uninhibitedly burst into tears.

  Sarah leaned from the balcony and addressed her urgently.

  'It's all right, Maria, I'll buy you another,' she promised.

  Roberto put his arm about his sister's shoulders and called politely:

  'There is no need, senhorita. She can have mine!'

  Aunt Constance spoke in an amused voice.

  'Really, my dear, the way you fuss over those children! I'm not surprised you've decided to take up child welfare, or whatever you call it, when you get home to England. You seem to have a positive bent for it! But it would be much better, in my opinion, if you got married and had children of your own!'

  Sarah turned and smiled at her.

  'All finished, Aunt Constance?' she asked her. 'I really should have helped you, but I know you prefer to do these things on your own.... You've done so much packing in your life that you must be quite expert by now.'

  Constance Cunninghame conceded that in her own not particularly humble private opinion there were few people who could more expeditiously dispose of their wardrobe and immediate personal possessions in the short space of time that she could, and have them ready for collection by hotel porters.

  'But as a matter of feet, I'm feeling terribly guilty,' she admitted, sinking into a chair and stretching her long, slim feet in hand-made shoes out in front of her, and delving into her crocodile handbag at the same time for her cigarette-case. She was , a handsome woman of forty-five who travelled constantly from one part of the globe to the other, and having plenty of money with which to indulge her every whim it troubled her that Sarah, who had very little money and was extremely young, was being left behind in Lisbon to while away another week without anyone to afford her close companionship.

  It was true that she had done her best for her at the reception desk. She had settled her bill for her, and added the necessary ten per cent for her tips and other charges, and there was a little wad of notes in a notecase that was being left for her personal expenditure; and, of course, her return fare to London was all taken care of.

  As a relative without obligation she had acted quite generously ... very generously, she personally considered. But all the same, her conscience troubled her.

  'You do understand why I've got to dash off and leave you like this, don't you?' she said. 'That telegram I received yesterday... well, I simply couldn't ignore it. Kate Meadows and I are such close friends, and the fact that she's in Istanbul and I've never seen Istanbul ... you do understand, don't you, darling? And in any case, she's counting on me not to let her down. And we have had two whole weeks together—'

  'We've had an absolutely wonderful two weeks,' Sarah enthused, understanding perfectly, and leaning towards her impulsively. 'I shall never be able to thank you, Aunt Constance, for giving me this holiday ... this wonderful opportunity to get away from England and see something of the world. I was expecting to be able to afford one week in Bournemouth or somewhere like that ... and then your exciting telegram arrived and I was whisked off to Lisbon! This place' - she indicated the hotel - 'is the sort of place I could never, never have hoped to stay in, even if I could have managed a package conducted tour, and the quality of the luxury really shook me at first. You see,' a trifle naively, 'I always thought Continental hotels - the smart, luxurious ones - were just smart and luxurious. But this is - this is quite different.'

  'It is indeed,' Aunt Constance agreed. 'But then I never stay in very modern hotels. I like the old-established ones, the ones with high standards and traditions of comfort and the finest food in the district. And there is not another hotel in -Lisbon, believe me, that will offer you the standard of comfort that you have enjoyed here.'

  'I'm quite sure of that.' Sarah sighed blissfully and gazed over the parapet at the billiard-table surface of the emerald green lawn that was in her immediate line of vision ... the lawn over which Roberto was at that moment being chased by Maria. 'But then of course it's expensive ... horribly expensive, I should imagine!'

  'I like expensive things, and fortunately there is no reason why I should not indulge myself,' Constance Cunninghame admitted with complacency.

  Sarah's eyes shifted to her a trifle wonderingly. She admired this handsome aunt of hers enormously - this very rich aunt who had never married and burdened herself with a family - but there were occasions when, as a result of some particular indulgence, she did feel inclined to wonder...

  She was not censorious, nor even mildly critical. But she did - wonder...

  If her father, for instance, had inherited a very minor portion of the sum that his sister had inherited from their very wealthy old aunt who had accumulated her wealth from sources that had completely baffled the rest of the family would he have found life so hard? Would he have died quite so yo
ung without realizing any of his ambitions and oppressed by the knowledge that he was a failure?

  Very likely not. But then one could never tell.

  'Take my advice, dear,' Aunt Constance observed, as she inserted her cigarette in a long ivory holder, and then walked through into the bedroom to press the bell for room service, 'never allow yourself to be attracted by second-best. The best always gives satisfaction, and that goes for hotels, clothes, travel arrangements - even people. The best people are not the easiest to get to know because they are reserved, aloof... like the atmosphere inside this hotel. One would not expect to meet a bevy of third-class tourists downstairs in the entrance here, would one?'

  'No,' Sarah admitted, and felt inclined to smile as she thought of the possible expressions on the faces of the dapper little manager and his exceptionally well-trained staff if a bevy of third-class tourists threatened to invade the hotel. This was essentially a retreat for the 'best' people as her aunt was pleased to describe them, and not even loud-voiced American tourists seemed happy within its cloistered precincts. They often removed to one of the brasher hotels that had gone up more recently.

  She heard herself adding rather thoughtfully:

  'I suppose the management prefers people like the Saratolas. In their eyes they are almost certainly "best people".'

  'You make it sound a little snobbish, dear,' her aunt reproved her after she had ordered aperitifs to be sent up as well as the lunch menu, and her cases to be collected immediately after lunch and a taxi for the airport waiting outside to receive her. 'But the Saratolas are undoubtedly a very good local family. I believe Philip Saratola, who has several houses in Portugal, is expected here within the next few days to collect his small family and take them home with him. I gather that that elderly woman who is in charge of them is finding them something of a handful.'

  'Then I wonder why the mother went off and left them without making adequate arrangements for them,' Sarah wondered aloud.

  Her aunt, returning to her chair, shrugged her shoulders.

  'From all I've heard of Mrs. Saratola she is not entirely obsessed by her children. She is English, you know - in fact, very English, and I once knew a close connection of hers who seemed to be of the opinion that the marriage might not last long. However, I do not enjoy discussing subjects like that, neither do I think it is good taste to do so. The Saratolas' family concerns are their own private business, and I know old Jose Saratola would have been horrified by the merest breath of scandal. If it's of any interest to you he once proposed marriage to your grandmother.'

  'Did he?'

  'Yes, and she nearly accepted ... or so I've been given to understand. But she didn't, and the link between us and the Saratolas was never forged.'

  'She married my grandfather Cunninghame instead?'

  'Yes.' Aunt Constance was already a little tired of Portugal, and all her thoughts were concentrated on Istanbul, where new delights, she felt sure, awaited her. 'It was probably a wise decision.'

  'Oh, I don't know.' Sarah lay back in her chair and looked up at the incredibly deep blue of the sky, and she remembered how wonderfully blue were the jacaranda trees beneath which she had walked in Lisbon, and the sun was so golden that was flooding all around them, and it would surely have been a good thing for a family deprived of quite so much colour and warmth to be linked with a place like Portugal? Which would have meant that she herself would be partly Portuguese now ... or would she? What would have happened to the Cunninghame half of her?

  Her Aunt Constance glanced at her smilingly.

  'I'll tell you something else,' she said, feeling in an exceptionally amiable and therefore communicative mood. 'You are very like your grandmother. She had your long fair hair, and those dark blue eyes of yours. I don't know whether you realize it, my dear, but you're very pretty... quite exceptionally attractive. Instead of becoming so obsessed with the idea of looking after children I should have thought you might have gone in for modelling.'

  Sarah shook her head.

  'I should hate that,' she said. 'Besides,' taking a hasty peep at herself in her handbag mirror, 'although you flatter me by calling my hair fair, Aunt Constance, it's really mousy ... and I've got fair tips to my eyelashes.' She fluttered them. 'Unless I use mascara all the time they look as if I've been left out in the sun and got bleached... only, unfortunately, my hair doesn't bleach as much as I would like it to do!' touching it disparagingly.

  Her aunt patted her knee comfortingly.

  'Don't worry, my dear. I've told you you're attractive, and you are ... with some of the money I've left in that wallet for you I hope you'll buy yourself some really pretty clothes while you're here. It will be something to do, going round the shops.'

  Sarah was immediately diverted.

  'Yes, it will, won't it?' she said, but rather dubiously. 'I don't feel I ought to allow you to be so generous, Aunt Constance. You've done so much already! • I think you should take back some of the money out of that wallet—'

  'Don't be silly, child.' Her aunt patted her knee again. 'As I've already explained, I feel guilty, and I want you to have a good time. After my taxi has left go to the shops, buy yourself something you've wanted for a long time. There must be something!'

  'Oh, there is,' Sarah admitted, and casting a mental eye over the contents of her wardrobe she knew that it lacked quite a few things. A cloudy black chiffon evening dress, for instance, or something shadowy and dark in cobwebby lace, such as Senhora Saratola had worn and caused all eyes to swing round to her when she entered the main dining-room of the hotel on the one night that she spent there before flying off to England.

  Then she frowned, thoroughly displeased with herself.

  Why was she so obsessed with Mrs. Saratola? And her amazing good looks! It was the Saratola children who really interested her!

  Her aunt's departure lasted them throughout lunch as a topic of conversation, and after lunch they kissed one another affectionately on the hotel steps and Miss Cunninghame was borne away in a gleaming new taxi.

  Sarah waved to her until the taxi took a bend in the road and disappeared from sight, and right up until the moment that that occurred Miss Cunninghame waved back and Sarah could see her white-gloved hand protruding from the rear window and acknowledging the farewell salute of the girl who was left behind.

  It was Sarah's first trip abroad, and she felt a little strange and abandoned once the realization really sank in. that she was alone. Alone, that is, save for absolute strangers, and with only a very superficial knowledge of the ways of the country she found herself in. And as for a knowledge of the language... well, she had learned to say good morning, and good afternoon, and what marvellous weather and things like that, in the two short weeks of her stay, in what she feared was badly accented Portuguese, but nothing that could open the way to a conversation, or anything in the nature of a conversation, with anyone who didn't speak English.

  Fortunately, everyone in the hotel, apart from the chambermaids, spoke very fluent English, and there was no real difficulty there. The manager beamed at her when he caught sight of her out of the tail of his eye, and bowed when she crossed his line of vision, and she gathered that he looked upon her aunt as quite a valuable patron. He always wore a flower in his buttonhole and had fiercely waxed moustache ends, and by no means went out of his way to acknowledge everyone who sojourned there for a day or so.

  From which she deduced that anyone who could afford a private suite for three weeks without looking a little glum when the bill was presented was, according to his views, really worth the occasional touch of subservience.

  They had lunched early in order that there should be no danger of Miss Cunninghame missing her plane, and the main restaurant and dining-room were only just beginning to fill up when she turned back into the hall from the steps. She returned to the dining-room for her handbag, which she had left beside her chair, and noticed that at a table near to hers an extremely distinguished-looking dark man was lunching a
lone. He had an air of being completely withdrawn from the pleasant buzz of chatter in the room, and was consulting the menu while a waiter stood stiffly at attention as if he was a Guards officer, and the waiter was a somewhat inexperienced and over-anxious corporal.

  Sarah retrieved hear bag, and as the waiter was also the waiter who attended at her table she smiled at him. He did not smile back, but the dark man glanced up as if he sensed her sudden presence.

  Sarah felt mildly startled. She had seen those inquiring eyes before. They were very, very dark and deep, like water at the bottom of a well studied with some difficulty in the light of a very few stars. There was a certain gleam of starshine about them, and yet they were opaque - unfathomable.

  'Oh, I - I'm so sorry!' she exclaimed, as she collided with an empty chair at his table that was protruding rather more than it should have been doing into the thickly-carpeted aisle. She turned away swiftly, in embarrassment, and the same chair became entangled in some inexplicable way with the strap of her handbag, the latter was wrenched out of her clasp, the flap torn open and the contents scattered about her feet and the feet of the gentleman who was just about to begin his lunch, all before she could take a single step in the direction of the dining-room door.

  It was the sort of thing that happened occasionally, and it was always accompanied by a lot of confusion and several people reaching for ball-point pens and compacts and a trickle of coins that escaped from improperly zipped purses. Only on this occasion the coins were foreign, and rolled far and wide, the compact actually alighted on the dark gentleman's foot, and a packet of brilliantly-coloured cards of Lisbon and its environs lay spread out like a fan very close to his foot, and was one of the first items to be returned to her as he dived and scooped them up with the particularly shapely fingers of a slim brown hand.

  His sleek dark head emerged from under the startling whiteness of the tablecloth, and he looked up at her. without any change of expression in his oddly familiar eyes.