Man of Destiny Read online

  She disappeared into the sunshine on the drive with a soft swish of silk and a faint stirring up of the perfume she used rather lavishly, and Caroline waited until Dom Vasco returned after putting her into her car and watching it gliding away beneath the trees and out on to the road. And because she feared she had been guilty of an intrusion she apologised with a stiffness that sounded just a little ungracious.

  “I realise that I shouldn’t have come here, senhor, not without some sort of warning. I’m afraid Senhorita de Capuchos might have been driven away because of me.”

  The man appeared mildly surprised.

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” he answered, casually, but his expression was preoccupied and he walked to the door of a room that was obviously his study and held it open for her and Richard to enter. “Please sit down,” he requested formally, pushing forward a deep leather chair for her, while Richard was plainly expected to stand, and then walked away to the , window and remained as if in a brown study staring out into the garden.

  Caroline felt certain she had blundered badly, and in addition she had made a discovery. This tall, aloof, extremely masculine man whom she would have credited with little softness was preoccupied because a woman—to whom, it is true, he was related—who smelt like a whole bed of violets and looked like an enchanting Goya that had been subjected to rather too much strong sunlight had paid him a whirlwind visit, and gone away leaving much of her personality behind.

  In fact, even this room, with its book-lined walls, reeked of it ... unless her imagination was working overtime. The glowing colours in the Bokhara rugs that strewed the polished floor, the warm chrome of the chairs, the amber of the curtains, might have been chosen by her, because although in appearance she was a paper-white rose, the whole essence of her was something that was quite intoxicating, Caroline felt sure.

  And the fact that she was a cousin couldn’t matter very much, when she was such an enchanting woman ... and in Portugal, in any case, those things didn’t matter. Far more important was why a marriage took place, and what purpose it would serve. Carmelita de Capuchos had the aura of a very rich woman, and Dom Vasco had the aura of a very rich man, despite the fact that he looked after another relative’s estates. Possibly it was a marriage that had been arranged for years. Possibly it was planned to take place any moment now!

  “Well, senhorita?” The cool voice addressed her across the room, while he thoughtfully smoked a cigarette and studied the tip of it. “What can I do for you and Ricardo? What brought you here this afternoon?”

  She explained in an awkward rush. She felt positively gauche after the departure of Carmelita.

  “Richard hasn’t any books ... or only one or two. We have no schoolroom in which to work. I thought perhaps that something could be arranged ... It is important that we should have some system of working together.”

  “But of course.” He strolled leisurely across the room to her and studied her, instead of the tip of his cigarette, with an embarrassing directness. “It was very sensible of you to come and complain that you are both too idle. Boredom naturally results when there is not enough to do to keep the mind occupied. But this young man,” taking him by the shoulders and drawing him between his knees after seating himself in a chair, “is entitled to a little leisure while he is still so young ...” He glanced at her ironically. “I quote you, Miss Worth, that the young are entitled to quite a lot. And when school is only a few months ahead, well, why not enjoy a period of idleness.”

  Richard, standing very stiffly between his knees, naturally enough didn’t answer. But Caroline did so for him.

  “I mentioned boredom, senhor. It would be different if there was a library of books to which we had access.”

  “Portuguese books?” One of his black eyebrows lifted, and his expression was drily amused.

  She coloured faintly.

  “Well, no, I’ll admit I was thinking of books in English, and possibly one or two on the subject of the Portuguese language. It is high time Richard started to learn Portuguese seriously, since he is to go to school here, and to all intents and purposes is Portuguese.”

  “You mean his father was Portuguese, and he gets his nationality from him? Quite right! And if his father had had any sense he would have seen to it that his son spoke his native tongue fluently by this time.”

  Caroline looked down at the pleated skirt of her dress, and fingered it a little nervously. She admitted that she knew little or nothing about Richard’s father, except that it had been his wish that his son should be handed over to his relatives.

  Dom Vasco said, “Quite right,” again. “There, at least, he showed sense. Although naturally we would not have expected the widow to be responsible for the upbringing of her son.”

  “I had a letter from her the other day,” Caroline admitted, still pleating and unpleating the skirt of her dress. “She is very anxious to receive news of Richard. That is partly the reason why I am here.”

  “Then she shall receive it.” He put back a lock of dark hair from Richard’s forehead, gave him a light pat on his small rear and advised him to go out through the open window and play. “We will call you when Senhorita Worth is ready to leave.”

  “Very well, sir.” Richard escaped thankfully. Dom Vasco started pacing up and down the room. Then he came back and stood in front of Caroline.

  “I realised that your charge was confronting me with a problem, so I contacted his uncle, the Marques,” he explained. “His health has recovered very much in the past few weeks, and he will be joining you at the quinta in a matter of days. He has a particular desire to see Richard for himself, and between us we will decide whit his future is to be. Have no fear,” as she looked suddenly almost alarmed, “that he will send you about your business as hurriedly and inadvisedly as I did,” very drily, “or attempted to do! The Marques de Fonteira is, above all things, a reasonable man, and I have already given him a report of you that should incline him to look upon your retention with favour!”

  “Thank you, senhor,” she heard the words escape her in surprise.

  He smiled in a way that, she realised, had a great deal of curious charm—for a woman. Although there was something about it that was still distinctly hard, and aloof.

  “Don’t thank me, senhorita. As you once told me, it was my fault that Richard ran away.”

  She blushed with a kind of mixed horror and confusion.

  “Oh, but I didn’t really mean it, senhor. You must realise that I was upset...”

  “And if I’d had my way you would now be back in England.” He studied her with an interest and a curiosity that caused the flush to burn more deeply in her cheeks, especially as his dark eyes were gazing at her quizzically. “Tell me, senhorita, had you no desire to return to your own country? Has it so little appeal for you?”

  She answered with complete truth.

  “It is my country, and I love it, but I have few friends and hardly any relatives there now.”

  “Your parents?”

  “Are both dead.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly, and his eyes were suddenly all softness, too. “I had no idea you were an orphan. In fact I knew very little about you.” And wanted to know less, she thought.

  But he contradicted her.

  “The Marques de Fonteira would like to know quite a lot about you, Miss Worth. I’m afraid you will have to answer quite a number of questions when he is here. In the meantime perhaps you will give me a little information concerning yourself that I can pass on to him.”

  “Information about what?” she asked, instantly so plainly on the defensive that it amused him.

  He spread his hands in a typical, Portuguese gesture.

  “Information as to your future plans, senhorita. You may be planning to marry. Young Englishwomen marry without making very many plans, I am aware, but still it is an important step,” with an extremely cynical expression, “even for an Englishwoman.. Is there someone whom you are planning to marry, Miss Wo
rth?”

  “There is no one,” she answered and the indignation in her voice caused his lips to twitch, although he also looked surprised. “No one at all. But even if there was,” she added, with growing indignation, “I fail to understand how it could concern the Marques.”

  He spread his hands again, almost indolently. “There is a simple explanation to that. A young woman who was planning to marry would be unlikely to settle down for a year or so.”

  “Then—” her heart giving an eager bound—“there is some possibility that he may wish me to stay for—a year or so?”

  “There is a possibility, yes,” Dom Vasco admitted. He sat looking at her with an inscrutable smile on his lips, an utterly unreadable expression in his eyes.

  “Does that prospect afford you any pleasure?” he enquired. “Or does it simply appall you?”

  “Why, no ... no, of course not! I mean,” she explained herself, “I would be happy to stay here if— if it was thought necessary, and Richard needed me—”

  “Then the fact that you have been bored for the past few days doesn’t mean you are bored with Portugal?”

  “Oh, no, no, no!” she exclaimed with emphasis, as if it was important to convince him of this. “And it is quite untrue to say that I have been bored for the past few days. It was simply that we seemed to be wasting time, and Richard could easily become bored with nothing to do. He is a child, and children need variety and something practical to occupy their minds. But as to becoming bored with Portugal—” she paused, as if she was giving the matter her serious attention. “To be honest, I’m rather bemused by it at the moment. It’s rather like a slice of very rich iced cake after a diet of plain bread and butter.”

  He elevated his eyebrows a little, as if the simile intrigued him.

  “And you are not afraid that the very rich iced cake will give you indigestion? In time, if not immediately?”

  She shook her head, quite vigorously.

  “Oh, no. On the contrary, I’m a little afraid that it will spoil my palate ... for the plain bread and butter,” with a tiny smile in her eyes as she glanced at him quickly, and then away. “I will let you know, senhor, when Portugal gives me indigestion.”

  “Yes, do,” he returned, with a certain dry inflection, and then stood up. She stood up, also, and he accompanied her to the door. “As to the child’s mother writing to you for information, I wouldn’t bother about that. The senhor Marques is in touch with her, and any information it is desirable she should receive will reach her through him.”

  Richard came running to join them on the drive, and he put them both into the back of the car. Then, just before he closed the door on them, he said, addressing Caroline directly:

  “We mustn’t allow you to become dull and dispirited. I will arrange for some friends to call upon you, and perhaps some excursion can be arranged for you and Richard. As yet you have seen nothing at all of Portugal or Portuguese people. We must do our best to eradicate any unfortunate impressions you received when you first arrived here, and when the time comes for you to go back home to England we will hope you will leave us with regrets.” He bowed, and the car moved forward slowly over the gravel. “In the meantime, take advantage of our wonderful climate. Order your day in any way you please, so long as you have good care of Ricardo!”

  As the car glided smoothly back to the quinta, Caroline lay back against the well-upholstered seat and thought over certain of his words.

  He had used the expression ‘back home to England’... but nowadays she had no real home in England. And—she glanced about her at the brilliance on either hand, and felt Richard wriggling childishly on the seat, but humming perfectly contentedly under his breath—home is, and always will be, where the heart is. She kept seeing Dom Vasco’s graceful, tall form as he turned to stride back to the house, and she thought of Carmelita de Capuchos, and how warm his voice was when he spoke to her—and tender? A kind of indulgent tenderness...

  And she wished he hadn’t made use of that expression ‘home.’ It made her feel restless, and even under the brilliant sunshine everything seemed a little futile.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  DURING the next few days several people called upon her and Richard, and without exception they were pleasant and affable in their slightly unbending, Portuguese way. Although she was only an employee they didn’t condescend to her, and they made suggestions about dinner-parties and afternoon tea-parties, to which, they intimated, she would sooner or later receive invitations.

  They spoke about the few English people there were in the district, and thought it would be nice for her to get to know them. They also brought presents for Richard, and praised him for being such a charming, well-behaved little boy.

  The realisation began to sink in that they had been more than half afraid that, having an English mother, he would not be well-behaved. And the fact that he had an English governess could hardly have filled them with reassurance, either.

  Amongst the visitors was Carmelita de Capuchos, who arrived without warning and stayed for less than twenty minutes, but during that twenty minutes she managed to convince Caroline that she, at least, was on excellent terms with Dom Vasco, and that anything that interested or concerned him interested and concerned her, also.

  At the moment Richard was a major concern of his, and therefore he had automatically become a major concern of hers. She was full of plans for a picnic into the surrounding sierra, and intimated that she would fix a day and time. Then she departed, her dark eyes smiling as if she was very well aware that she had gone halfway to fulfilling a duty, and left behind that exotic smell of violets that Caroline found cloying, although violets, as it happened, were her favourite flowers.

  Ilse wrote again rather mysteriously. Don’t be surprised at anything that happens! Give my love to Richard!

  Richard received it without much enthusiasm.

  “I thought she was going to get married,” he said, looking up at Caroline in faint perplexity. “She promised to send me a piece of wedding-cake!

  “Did she?” The promise struck Caroline as in rather bad taste. “But I don’t think she is going to get married after all,” she explained. “At least, in her last letter she said that the marriage was off.”

  “Then that means I won’t have a stepfather after all?”

  “Do you mind?” slipping an arm behind his shoulders and drawing him against her.

  Richard shook his head.

  “No, of course I don’t. I probably wouldn’t have seen much of him in any case,” philosophically. “And if I’ve got to have a stepfather I’d rather have someone—different.”

  She looked down at him, startled.

  “How do you mean? Different?”

  Richard’s beautifully marked, slim black brows knitted themselves together. He shook his head, as if he was slightly surprised at himself.

  “Well, my father wasn’t a very tall man, but he was kind—and he was dark. Like me!” He touched a lock of his dark hair. “Dom Vasco is dark like me.” Caroline felt even more startled.

  “But I didn’t even know you liked Dom Vasco—” she was beginning, when a car driven at speed raced up the drive, and emerging from the arbour where they had been reading poetry together they saw Dom Vasco leap out of a neat white coupe that he had been driving himself and stand for a moment in the white-hot sunshine on the drive, looking about him impatiently as if anxious to discover where they were.

  When he saw them advancing towards him from the arbour, hand in hand, he quite obviously heaved a sigh of relief. He started to stride briskly to meet them.

  “Good morning, Senhorita Worth,” he called out clearly. “Good morning, Ricardo!” Then he delivered his bombshell. “The Marques de Fonteira is on his way here from Estoril, and he is bringing with him a guest.” His glance dwelt for a moment on Richard.

  “It is the boy’s mother. She flew out from England forty-eight hours ago, and will stay for a while in Portugal to be near her son.” A certain d
ryness invaded his tone as his eyes returned to Caroline, and for several seconds they met and held her astounded sea-blue ones. “It would seem, after all, that she is not to marry again. The Marques is very pleased about that, as he believes that a mother has prior claim to her child. Would you say,” still more drily, “that mother-love has triumphed after all?”

  Caroline found it difficult to answer him, for, although she was surprised, the astonishment she might have felt was lessened by the fact that she had recently received two letters from Ilse, and in each of those letters she had professed the utmost concern for her son’s welfare. She had even, apparently, gone so far as to break off her engagement because the arrangement that deprived her of Richard had suddenly appeared to her as not quite satisfactory ... Or had the glimpse she had obtained of Dom Vasco, when he collected the child on the ship, anything to do with it?

  “I suppose it’s quite natural ... that she should dislike being parted from Richard,” she offered as explanation, but Dom Vasco was obviously not impressed, for his eyes remained cold and critical. “After all,” she added, “he is her only child.”

  “He has been her only child for nearly seven years,” Dom Vasco remarked curtly. “From all I have gathered of the mother-and-son relationship it has not been precisely close in all those years. You yourself have looked after him for nearly four months now.”

  “Well, he had to have someone to teach him first lessons, and things like that.” Caroline felt Richard’s small hand slip into hers, and she squeezed it convulsively. “Senhora de Fonteira hadn’t a great deal of time to devote to him. She had a very busy social life in Africa,” she defended her recent employer.

  “And on the ship, apparently?” with the utmost dryness.

  “Mr. Robert Prentice was with her on the ship.”

  “Exactly!” he exclaimed, his voice like the crack of a contemptuous whip. He turned away and stared at the front of the pink-washed house, that looked almost dreamlike in its dignity and beauty against the morning blue of the sky, and with the sunlight falling like a golden shower all about it. Then he turned back, and his tone was merely businesslike. “Well, I must interview the housekeeper, and we must make arrangements for the reception of the Marques and his guest. It is possible your rooms will have to be changed, Miss Worth. If the Marques is remaining for any length of time he will probably prefer it if the nursery wing is opened and you and Ricardo are accommodated there.”