had considerately fixed eight o’clock as the approximate time for guests to start arriving so that they could descend the rough path to the beach while it was still daylight.
Nicola decided to go down to the main patio in case Patrick had already arrived. On the way she remembered a further query in the current chapter of Dr. Montal’s book and hurried to the study to make a note before she forgot the point. The doctor entered as she scribbled a note on the pad next to the typewriter.
“Oh! Sardana costume,” he commented. “It suits you very well. D’you know our local dance?”
“Not yet, but I shall learn.”
He stood facing her, his eyes showing a half-veiled, unwilling admiration, but his mouth was a taut line.
“Perhaps I should show you some of the steps now?”
She was aware that Patrick might be outside, alone, not knowing a soul, but she could not refuse Dr. Montal’s offer.
He took her hand and began to hum a tune. She followed his intricate tip-toe pointings, occasionally making mistakes.
“The right foot there, to the centre,” he instructed.
What fun he could be when he unbent and threw off his sombre surliness, she thought. Then the door of the study flew open and Adrienne was in the room.
“Tell me the meaning of this latest insult!” she exclaimed, her face flushed, her eyes stormy with tears. “Dona Elena says you have invited her to stay in this house indefinitely.”
“And what are your objections?” asked Sebastian.
Nicola threw a wild look at the doctor and his distraught niece, then she dodged behind Adrienne and escaped through the arched window, but the girl’s angry words followed her. “... now I have two jailers ... one young, one old. Elena is too old. Too old even for you!”
Adrienne then lapsed into a torrent of Spanish, and by that time Nicola was farther away. She hurried to the patio where Patrick was waiting, leaning against a pillar of the main archway.
“I’m sorry, Patrick. I ought to have been here to greet you when you arrived, but I was delayed. We’d better go straight down to the beach.”
“This is quite a place, isn’t it?” he commented. ‘Take me on a tour first before we go down below.”
Nicola was agitated by the violent scene of which she surmised she had seen only the beginning. Probably it was still going on, with Adrienne becoming more intense and angry every moment. Nicola was not exactly in the mood to point out the beauties of the Villa Ronda and its setting, yet as she conducted Patrick through one patio, down flights of steps to another, showed him the swimming pool, she felt tranquillity flow into her mind. It was usually easy to be companionable with Patrick and she was grateful to him for unwittingly giving her time to recover.
When she and Patrick arrived down by the shore, tables and chairs were already set out on the fiat raised part of the rocks which formed a natural platform. Many of the tables were already occupied by groups of people and at one end a small band of musicians was settling itself. Lanterns and strings of coloured lights in the shape of oranges, lemons or peaches were in position but not yet lit.
“So this is the Montals’ private beach,” said Patrick. “ Their very own little piece of Spanish coastline.”
“Over there is the beach chalet,” Nicola pointed out, “where there are several rooms for changing into swimsuits and so on.”
“All mod. cons!” Patrick’s tone was slightly derisive.
Ramon approached Nicola and she introduced him to Patrick.
“ Bienvenido !” Ramon welcomed Patrick and raised Nicola’s hand to his lips at the same time. He was dressed in white shirt, black knee-breeches with a wide orange sash and cap.
“Should I have come in fancy dress?” enquired Patrick when he and Nicola had moved away so that Ramon could greet a crowd of guests just arriving.
“Not at all,” returned Nicola. “You look very smart. I wonder why men at home don’t wear white
Nicola decided to go down to the main patio in case Patrick had already arrived. On the way she remembered a further query in the current chapter of Dr. Montal’s book and hurried to the study to make a note before she forgot the point. The doctor entered as she scribbled a note on the pad next to the typewriter.
“Oh! Sardana costume,” he commented. “It suits you very well. D’you know our local dance?”
“Not yet, but I shall learn.”
He stood facing her, his eyes showing a half-veiled, unwilling admiration, but his mouth was a taut line.
“Perhaps I should show you some of the steps now?”
She was aware that Patrick might be outside, alone, not knowing a soul, but she could not refuse Dr. Montal’s offer.
He took her hand and began to hum a tune. She followed his intricate tip-toe pointings, occasionally making mistakes.
“The right foot there, to the centre,” he instructed.
What fun he could be when he unbent and threw off his sombre surliness, she thought. Then the door of the study flew open and Adrienne was in the room.
“Tell me the meaning of this latest insult!” she exclaimed, her face flushed, her eyes stormy with tears. “Dona Elena says you have invited her to stay in this house indefinitely.”
“And what are your objections?” asked Sebastian.
Nicola threw a wild look at the doctor and his distraught niece, then she dodged behind Adrienne and escaped through the arched window, but the girl’s angry words followed her. “... now I have two jailers ... one young, one old. Elena is too old. Too old even for you!”
Adrienne then lapsed into a torrent of Spanish, and by that time Nicola was farther away. She hurried to the patio where Patrick was waiting, leaning against a pillar of the main archway.
“I’m sorry, Patrick. I ought to have been here to greet you when you arrived, but I was delayed. We’d better go straight down to the beach.”
“This is quite a place, isn’t it?” he commented. ‘Take me on a tour first before we go down below.”
Nicola was agitated by the violent scene of which she surmised she had seen only the beginning. Probably it was still going on, with Adrienne becoming more intense and angry every moment. Nicola was not exactly in the mood to point out the beauties of the Villa Ronda and its setting, yet as she conducted Patrick through one patio, down flights of steps to another, showed him the swimming pool, she felt tranquillity flow into her mind. It was usually easy to be companionable with Patrick and she was grateful to him for unwittingly giving her time to recover.
When she and Patrick arrived down by the shore, tables and chairs were already set out on the fiat raised part of the rocks which formed a natural platform. Many of the tables were already occupied by groups of people and at one end a small band of musicians was settling itself. Lanterns and strings of coloured lights in the shape of oranges, lemons or peaches were in position but not yet lit.
“So this is the Montals’ private beach,” said Patrick. “ Their very own little piece of Spanish coastline.”
“Over there is the beach chalet,” Nicola pointed out, “where there are several rooms for changing into swimsuits and so on.”
“All mod. cons!” Patrick’s tone was slightly derisive.
Ramon approached Nicola and she introduced him to Patrick.
“ Bienvenido !” Ramon welcomed Patrick and raised Nicola’s hand to his lips at the same time. He was dressed in white shirt, black knee-breeches with a wide orange sash and cap.
“Should I have come in fancy dress?” enquired Patrick when he and Nicola had moved away so that Ramon could greet a crowd of guests just arriving.
“Not at all,” returned Nicola. “You look very smart. I wonder why men at home don’t wear white
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