Innocent Invader

Sarah shook her head. “Eat your lunch.”

Dolores could not leave it alone. “What did he do?” she persisted.

“Nothing of consequence,” replied Sarah. “This scampi is delicious, señora.”

And with that Dolores had to be content. Sarah was conscious that both Eloise and Maria exchanged glances, and she hoped they considered her action that of a friend and not an antagonist.

When lunch was over, Serena said: “If you would like to look around, please feel free to do so – outside, I mean,” she added as an afterthought.

Leaving the two other women, Sarah went out through the French doors, seeking the warm air and the sun on her shoulders. Serena had given the girls permission to leave while they were drinking their coffee, and Sarah had no idea where they were now. Serena had also told her that both she and Dolores indulged in the Spanish habit of siesta, and consequently she was free to do as she liked until five o'clock when tea was served for the children and she would be expected to supervise them.

“We take tea, too,” Serena had said, “but lunch is the only meal the children take with me. They're naturally in bed before dinner is served, and I always breakfast in my room. It's up to you whether you want to take your first meal of the day with the brats!”

Both she and Dolores had laughed at this, but Sarah thought it rather sad. Although the children were antagonistic towards her, they seemed to regard their mother with a kind of repressed admiration, and it seemed a pity that she took so little notice of them.

Leaving the formal front terrace, Sarah walked round to the rear of the building, coming upon the sweep of lawn she had seen from her bedroom window. She walked past the swimming pool which looked as though no one ever used it, and reached the copse of trees which hid the stables from the house.

She saw the African stable boy, and said: “Hello. I'm Sarah Winter. I've come to teach the children. Tell me, are there any ponies for them?”

The boy smiled his broad smile. “Me, Jacob,” he said. “No comrendo inglés, señorita!”

Sarah linked her fingers, and in halting Spanish she asked the question again, and this time he smiled firmly and drew her round to the stable doors, over which she could see the three ponies Jason had bought for his nephew and nieces.

“Oh, good!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands. Recently she had learned to ride at a stables near the convent, and perhaps the horses would provide a link between herself and her charges.

She was allowed into the stall and fed the ponies lumps of sugar which Jacob provided for her. She loved the feel of their soft noses nuzzling against her hand, and said so to Jacob, who nodded his approval.

He showed her the two other horses in the stable, and Sarah guessed without being told which was Jason de Cordova's. Like him, Apollo was dark and powerful and handsome, for although Jason's cheek was disfigured by that stark scar, he was nevertheless a very attractive man. She was surprised at her thoughts about her employer. Coming up from the harbour, she had thought him an employee, of the Cordova family, like herself. To find he was himself the head of that family, and also a married man, had been disconcerting; and she could not understand her interest, for hitherto men had meant nothing to her other than separate beings with whom she could discuss her interest in Catholicism. At college she had encountered young men of her own age, but had refused all overtures by them to become closer acquainted. She had had no inclination to delve into any association with a member of the opposite sex.

But Jason de Cordova had been different somehow. She could not understand the strange feeling she experienced when she thought about him, and felt ridiculously aware that in matters of this sort she was very naïve. Altogether, so far, this day had provided her with rather too many surprises to be thoroughly accepted at one go, and she assumed Jason de Cordova had been just another of those surprises. After all, in truth, she had expected an elderly Spaniard, strong in the hauteur and aloofness of generations.

Leaving the stables, Sarah found herself at the top of an incline which led down to the white sand of the beach. The temptation was too great to miss, and with a feeling of anticipation she ran childishly down on to the sands Releasing her feet from her sandals, she ran impulsively to the water's edge, allowing the creaming water to curl about her ankles. It was incredibly warm, and she curled her toes appreciatively. The air was wonderful, and she felt it was great to be alive. This was worth anything she might have to face here – this feeling of complete independence!

When she returned to the house, carrying her sandals in her hand, her face flushed from the sun, she entered the house by the rear terrace, where the glass doors opened into the corridor that led through to the front hall. Hoping she would not encounter anyone in such an untidy state, she walked swiftly through to the staircase, and was about to climb it when a voice which she recognised immediately said: “Señorita Winter, I would like a word with you.”

Swallowing hard, Sarah turned to face her employer's wife, Irena. “Yes, señora,” she said politely.

“Come in here.” The woman indicated a small ante-room which opened from the hall.

Sarah hesitated for only a moment, before preceding the woman into the room. She felt nervous and apprehensive, and hoped this would not be a long interview. She took in little of her surroundings. She was too concerned with the woman before her.

Now Señora de Cordova was wearing a long, quilted satin housecoat in a deep shade of green, which gave her olive complexion rather a sallow appearance, but she was still startlingly lovely, and Sarah wondered why she treated her husband as she did. There was something faintly repulsive about the fanatical gleam in her eyes, and Sarah hoped there was not going to be a scene. She could feel herself growing hotter as the señora's eyes raked her appraisingly, taking in every detail of her crumpled dress, windswept hair and bare feet. Sarah felt enormous beside the delicate fragility of the Spanish woman, who could not have been more than five feet in height even in her high heels.

“Now,” said Irena, her eyes cold, “just where have you been?”

Sarah twisted the strap of the sandal in her hand. “On the beach, señora.”

“I thought as much. And who gave you permission to go on the beach?”

“The Señora Serena told me I might explore. I decided of my own accord to go down to the beach.” Sarah's voice was cool and clear.

“Oh, you did! Well, the beach is private. It's not to be used by so-called governesses!” Her gaze swept Sarah contemptuously. “And while you're in this house, you will refrain from going around looking like a gipsy.”

Sarah compressed her lips. She did not know what to say in reply. Her position here as yet was so nebulous, she did not feel entitled to retaliate.

“Is that all, señora?” she asked politely, longing to escape from the confines of the room, and the aura of cold hauteur which surrounded this woman, along with something else, something more sinister. Irena was quite a frightening person, and to a girl who had rarely come into contact with frigidity, she was doubly so. And yet Sarah did not feel scared so much as repelled.

“Yes, that is all, for now.” Irena stood aside to allow Sarah to leave the room. “But remember what I have said, señorita.”

“Yes, señora,” said Sarah, with relief, and escaped before she could say anything else.

She crossed the hall and mounted the stairs as though the devil himself were at her heels, and once she had reached the sanctity of her room she sank down on to the bed, her legs giving way beneath her. What a day!

Lying back, she stared at the ceiling. She suddenly felt incredibly tired and unwillingly her lids drooped.

When she opened her eyes the room was dark and for a moment she thought she was back in her small room at the convent. Then the sweet scents from the garden, coming through the open windows, reminded her of her situation, and she sat up with a start, reaching for the switch of the bedside lamp.

A glance at her watch confirmed her worst fears. It was almost nine o'clock. She scrambled off the bed, smoothed her creased dress, and noticed irrelevantly that her cases had arrived from the Celeste and had been carefully unpacked for her and the clothes put away. They must have been dealt with during her walk that afternoon, but she had not noticed them earlier.

She was about to open the door and make her way downstairs in an attempt to discover what was going on, when Constancia herself opened the door and smiled her pleasant smile.

“Ah, the señorita is awake! You are hungry, yes? I will bring you a tray. What would you like? There is chicken, or salmon, or shellfish. You tell me what you would like and I will fetch it –”

Sarah lifted her shoulders helplessly. “But, Constancia, I've been asleep for over four hours. I was supposed to supervise the children's tea at five o'clock. Whatever will Señora Serena think of me?”

Constancia moved her hands in a soothing gesture. “Max supervised the children's tea, as he had done for many months now. And the señor said you were not to be disturbed.”

“The señor? Oh!” Sarah pressed the palms of her hands to her hot cheeks. “Did the señor expect to see me?”

Constancia nodded, and then as Sarah began looking agitated, she said in reply: “At six o'clock, before dinner, he asked me to come and fetch you. When I found you were asleep I told the señor, and he gave his instructions. It is natural that you were tired. You have had a long journey and the weather here can be tiring if you are not used to it.”

“Did the señor say that?”

“Si. Do not worry, señorita. The señor is not a slave-driver.”

Sarah smiled and allowed her arms to fall to her sides. “Do you think he'll want to see me now?”

“No, of course not, señorita. Besides, he is not at home. He left after dinner to visit with the Diaz family. He took the Señorita Dolores home.”

“I see.” Sarah felt that strange feeling stirring in her stomach again. She did not know what it was, but it was not pleasant; it was disturbing.

“He told me to tell you that he would see you in his study tomorrow morning at nine o'clock sharp.” Constancia smiled wider. “You will not sleep in tomorrow, señorita. I will see that you have plenty of time to prepare yourself.”

Sarah had to smile in return “And will you show me where his study is, Constancia? I have no idea where to go. And what time do the children have breakfast?”

Constancia shrugged. “Sometimes seven, sometimes eight – why? Surely you do not intend to breakfast with them? Everyone breakfasts in their rooms, except the señor, of course.”

“That's exactly what I do intend,” said Sarah firmly. “After all, I'm not a guest, Constancia. I'm here to work.” She bent her head. “But will you please call me about six-thirty, please, as I doubt whether I shall wake of my own accord.”

“Certainly,” Constancia nodded. “That is the time I begin my work. I will call you then.” She turned to go. “And now you will leave it to me and I will provide you with a delicious supper, si?”

“Very well.” Sarah allowed herself to relax, and with a flourish of her full skirt, Constancia left to get the meal.

Sarah wandered over to her balcony and leaned against the rail listening to the steady lap of the waves. It was a wonderful night. The sky overhead was an arch of dark blue velvet inset with diamonds, while a sickle of a moon floated behind wispy clouds. Never in England had she felt this aching longing to be out in the night, doing something exciting. Faintly, she could hear the sounds of music and voices, far away, and she thought it must be a party going on at one of the other villas. The music was the throbbing beat of the calypso, and Sarah felt she wanted to move in time to its compelling rhythm.

She thought about Dolores Diaz, and wondered whether it was from her home the sounds were coming. Was she there, dancing with Jason de Cordova? Was that why she was so friendly with Serena, to gain access to this house to see the señora? It did not seem unreasonable. The señor and his wife did not seem on the best of terms with one another. Could it be that he was seeking consolation with another woman? The thought was repulsive. She had liked Jason de Cordova, and she did not like to think of him with Dolores Diaz.

Constancia returned to interrupt her reverie and she was glad. Whatver was going on in the personal lives of the occupants of this house was none of her business, and the sooner she realised it the better.

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