Innocent Invader

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.

CHAPTER THREE

SARAH dressed the next morning in a lemon cotton dress and the slip-on sandals of the day before. Her hair as usual was bound round her head in the plaited coronet. She wore no make-up, but her time spent in the sun the previous day had not gone unwasted, and her skin was very lightly tanned. She looked much younger than her twenty-two years, although she was unaware of it, and as she went down to breakfast there was a spring in her step.

There was no one around when she reached the dining room, but Max soon appeared and asked her what she would like. She decided on fresh fruit, rolls, and several cups of strong, continental-flavoured coffee.

At about seven-thirty, when she was finishing her third cup of coffee, Ricardo appeared, alone. He had washed and combed his hair, and was wearing blue denim jeans and a white tee-shirt. He looked taken aback when he saw Sarah, and she said, smiling: “Good morning, Ricard.”

Ricardo hesitated for a moment, and then he said: “Buenos dias, señorita.” He seated himself opposite her, and when Max appeared he ordered rolls and butter and some fruit juice.

After Max had gone, Sarah poured herself another cup of coffee, and resting her chin on her hands, elbows on the table, she looked across at Ricardo. He looked up at her, and then involuntarily he smiled, and said: “I got dressed at tea time, but you weren't here.”

Sarah sighed. “I know. I fell asleep.”

“You went on the beach yesterday afternoon,” he said. “I saw you from my bedroom window. You went in the water.”

“Yes, do you? Can you swim?”

“Yes, I can swim, but we are not allowed to swim in the sea without supervision.” Ricardo pulled a face. “We are considered too young to take risks.”

Sarah frowned. “And the pool? Do you use that?”

Ricardo bent his head. “We are not allowed to use the pool. The Señora Irena can see it from her windows and she doesn't like to see us there.”

“Indeed!” Sarah felt indignant. What was the use of a pool if no one was allowed to swim in it? “And why do you call her the Señora Irena?” she was puzzled. “She is your aunt isn't she?”

“Yes, she is our aunt.” Ricardo said nothing further, for at that moment the two girls came bounding into the room, stopping abruptly at the sight of Sarah.

“Good morning, girls,” said Sarah, but the two girls did not answer. They merely gave Ricardo a killing glance and seated themselves at the table.

Sarah bit her lip. “I said good morning,” she remarked easily. “I would like to hear your answers.”

Eloise looked indifferent, and Maria, who seemed to follow her elder sister's lead, did likewise.

Sarah sighed, and looked at Ricardo, who shrugged almost imperceptively, and growled: “Answer her, Elly.”

Eloise stared at him. “Traidor!” she spat at him angrily.

“Eloise,” said Sarah wearily, “please. You will soon be a young lady. Kindly try to act like one.”

Eloise looked at her. “Why should we care what you think of us?” she cried furiously. “Nobody cares about us, and we care about nobody!”

Sarah felt a kind of compassion. The children were entirely too conscious of their background, and Irena was probably to blame, if yesterday's episode in the ante-room was anything to go by.

“You'll just be another one like her,” Eloise hissed, at Sarah. “She hates us, you know – really hates us! She spat at us once!”

Sarah was shocked now and showed it, but gathering her scattered wits she managed to say: “To me you are just three children whom I have come to teach. Why, back home in England I taught lots of girls and boys. I can assure you I won't spit at you, so can't we be friends?”

Eloise looked sceptical still, and Sarah turned to Maria. “Maria, can you ride? I can. I thought we might take the horses out after breakfast if your uncle gives his permission. Would you like that?”

Ricardo gave a whoop. “Can we, really?” he exclaimed. “We never get to take the ponies out unless Uncle Jason is with us. Will you really take us?”

“If your uncle has no objections,” agreed Sarah thankfully, aware that two of the children at least were weakening towards her. Eloise still looked unsure of herself, but Sarah felt that given time the other two would bring her round.

Thus it was that she was feeling quite a lot more sure of herself as Constancia led the way along the opposite corridor from the hall to Jason de Cordova's study. A glance at her watch showed her it was still two minutes to nine as Constancia knocked at the door, and they heard the señor's voice call: “Come.”

Constancia indicated that Sarah should go in, and then walked firmly away down the corridor. Sarah stiffened her shoulders, and pressed down the handle of the door and allowed it to swing inwards.

As she closed the door, she found herself in a book-lined room, panelled in dark wood, with a restfully coloured tawny carpet on the floor and heavy drapes of a beige colour at the long windows. Set square in the centre of the room was a heavy ebony desk with a black leather armchair behind it. In front of the desk were placed a couple of easy chairs, also in black leather; and several filing cabinets and a telephone indicated that this was a room where work was done and not merely a den. The desk was littered with papers, and a typewriter stood on a side table beside a comprehensive array of bottles containing various wines and spirits.

A man was standing by the open French doors, his back to her, and although he was tall and dark, Sarah thought for a moment she had been mistaken in thinking that it was Jason de Cordova. But as he turned to face her, and her eyes were drawn irresistibly to the blatant scar on his cheek, she saw indeed that it was her employer. But this man looked nothing like the Jason of yesterday. He was casually but immaculately dressed in a suit of light fawn silk, and his cream shirt contrasted favourably with the tan of his skin. A dark red tie was slotted about his neck, and he looked thoroughly businesslike this morning. His rather sinister attraction was enhanced by his appearance, and Sarah felt as though she was staring quite helplessly at him. Gone was the friendly stranger of yesterday, and in his place was a man who frightened her a little by his detached manner.

“Ah, Miss Winter,” he said, moving to the desk. “Won't you sit down, please?”

Sarah subsided on to an armchair, feeling her earlier fears materialising again. She had thought her success with the children this morning had removed all her tension, but back it came flooding over her at the sight of this man, so cool and aloof.

“I … er … I'm sorry I feel asleep last evening,” she ventured awkwardly. “I understand you wanted to speak to me.”

“This morning is just as convenient,” he replied easily. “Have you met the children again?”

Sarah had to smile. “Indeed I have,” she said impulsively. “Several times.”

“I see. And what do you think? Can you handle them?”

“I'm sure I can,” she said, without conceit. “I think they're lonely, that's all.”

Jason studied her a moment and then said: “Lonely? I should never have believed it. What makes you say that?”

“Lots of things!” She sighed. “Perhaps I'll be able to explain better when I've had more time with them. Eloise is going to be the most difficult, but I'm confident that given time I'll be able to change her.”

Jason looked a little amused now. “And you've discovered all these things in twenty-four hours,” he said, with some sarcasm.

“Yes.” Sarah looked down at her hands and studied the ovals of her finger nails, not wanting to look at his face, too conscious of her own vulnerability. She had never been able to hide her feelings and she did not want to see the mockery in his eyes and feel the nervous tension that it would bring.

As though aware of her feelings, Jason said: “Would you like a cigarette?”

Sarah looked up. It was on the tip of her tongue to explain that she did not smoke, but then she decided against it. Why not, after all? Perhaps a cigarette would rid her of some of this nervousness.

“Thank you,” she said, and accepted one from the box he held out to her.

He lit hers and one for himself from a gold table lighter and with some trepidation Sarah drew on the cigarette. It did not make her cough as she had been half afraid it would, but instead the room swam round dizzily. Pressing a startled hand to her throat, she sat up straight, and prayed for the feeling to pass. She had heard from other girls that a first cigarette sometimes caused this kind of reaction, but she had not believed them.

Jason looked at her strangely. “Are you all right?”

The room steadied, and Sarah managed a half-smile. “Of course. What suggestions have you regarding the children's lessons, señor?”

Jason seated himself behind his desk, leaning back in his chair looking at her, and with great daring, she thought, she drew again on the cigarette.

“You were not surprised to learn that Serena was not wholly Spanish, then,” Jason was saying, as the room swam even more giddily, and Sarah gripped the arm of her chair painfully, feeling the colour receding from her face. Leaning forward, she managed to hit the ashtray on the desk with the cigarette, and then she lay back weakly, fighting for composure. She was aware that Jason had risen from his seat and crossed to the tray of drinks on the side table. He returned with a glass full of amber liquid, and putting it in to her hand, he said quietly: “Drink this and you'll feel better”

Gratefully, Sarah did as he asked, and immediately she felt the room begin to steady and her head stopped spinning.

“Now,” he said, on his haunches beside her, “what's wrong?”

His nearness disconcerted her There was in his eyes the kind of understanding that was quite overwhelming, and she had the feeling that he was again the man she had met on the quay the previous day. At close quarters the scar was an ugly sight, and as though conscious of her scrutiny, he ran his finger lightly along its length. He rose to his feet, and said: “I'm sorry if this upsets you. I suggest you try to ignore it.” His voice was cool again.

Sarah rose too. Even as tall as she was, he was much taller, but she felt at less of a disadvantage standing. “It doesn't upset me,” he said, looking at him candidly. “It fascinates me!” Then she flushed as she realised what her impulsive tongue had said now, but was relieved when he did not appear to consider her remark personal.

“So,” he said, looking down at her. “You will now tell me what was wrong with you.”

Sarah sighed. “I'm not used to smoking. I'm afraid it was the cigarette; it made me dizzy.”

Jason smiled. “Was that all?” he asked, amused.

“Yes, why? Did you think you had an ailing governess on your hands?” Sarah laughed, albeit a little nervously.

Jason shook his head. “You look very well to me,” he remarked, his eyes surveying her thoroughly, making her acutely conscious of the shortness of her skirt.

Sarah subsided again, clasping her hands together. “Sh – shall we discuss the timetable as we were going to do before I acted so foolishly?”

Jason shrugged, and moved back round the desk. “You tell me what you suggest,” he said slowly, “and I'll tell you what I think.”

For several minutes they discussed the children. Jason told Sarah that he had had a room cleared on the first floor and three desks installed for the children and one for herself. He had also provided exercise books and textbooks and plenty of paper and pencils.

“If there's anything else you require, you just have to ask,” he continued. “At what time of the day do you intend to work? Mornings, I think, would be the most convenient. The afternoons could then be your own until tea time, and of course after the children are in bed in the evenings, you're free to do as you wish.”