for them.
They went along an arched corridor that apparently ran between rooms that on one side overlooked the patio and on the other side gardens or the street. At the end they came to another and smaller lobby, where a wooden staircase with a carved balustrade swept upwards. It was only a small staircase, but it somehow had a hint of restrained magnificence about it.
At the top of the staircase they came out into a little hall - she supposed it could be called that - a square room with a polished wooden floor, quite bare except for an enormous vase that stood upon a wooden pedestal and was filled with exotic and quite unknown flowers. An archway led into another corridor, presumably directly over the one below, and they proceeded along this for a short distance, until the girl threw open the door into what could only have been described as a suite of rooms.
There was a large, airy sitting room, furnished rather like the one where she had met Dona Teresa, with windows overlooking the patio and shutters that could be drawn across them, because shade was all-important in Spain, as she soon learned. Leading off, on one side, was a smaller room that had been prepared for Peter, with bright modern furniture. She wondered whom they had to thank for that. The way the rest of the house was furnished would have been quite overwhelming for a small boy.
Even the sitting room had a hint of that same restrained magnificence, which was carried out also in her own bedroom, which led off from the other side of the sitting room. The curtains at the windows were of heavy silk that was again richly embroidered. Drapes of the same material covered the doors and there was a wrought-iron balcony that overhung the patio. Leading off her bedroom was her own private bathroom, complete with shower, a symphony of green and black tiles that was most definitely modern .
She stood there for a moment completely breathless, then realised that the girl, Vanetta, in very jumbled English, was asking her if she needed any assistance, but Aileen quickly assured her that she could manage on her own. She had managed on her own long enough, she added to herself.
Once she was alone, she wandered over to the balcony, looking down into the patio where flowering shrubs and acacia trees grew, together with many of those exotic-looking flowers. Some of them she recognised as having seen in Australia, but she had never had a head for remembering the names of flowers, except the more common ones, so she did not even try to recall their names.
Peter at that moment chose to exhibit an inclination to try to swing on the wrought iron of the balcony, and she hastily caught him by the waistband of his small trousers and hauled him back, explaining that to do such a thing was exceedingly dangerous. He nodded and promised not to do it again, once again showing that amazing adult understanding.
Just as she was about to draw back from the window she heard Duarte’s voice speaking to somebody below. It sounded different, and it was not until a few seconds had passed that she realised he was speaking his own language.
Realising suddenly that he might see her and finding a strange embarrassment in the thought, she quickly left the balcony, settled Peter down for a rest, because she could see that he was tired, in spite of his protestations, then had a shower and changed her dress. She had just come back into her sitting room when somebody tapped gently on the door. Dona Teresa was revealed standing there when she opened the door.
“May I come in?”
“Of course.” She stood back as Dona Teresa entered, adding, “Please sit down.”
“I felt I had to thank you again for taking such good care of Peter all that time, especially as he was no real relative to you,” she said, sitting down on the damask couch as Aileen closed the door and turned back to her. Her voice when she spoke English had a slight touch of Irish brogue, as Aileen had already noticed. That, she
They went along an arched corridor that apparently ran between rooms that on one side overlooked the patio and on the other side gardens or the street. At the end they came to another and smaller lobby, where a wooden staircase with a carved balustrade swept upwards. It was only a small staircase, but it somehow had a hint of restrained magnificence about it.
At the top of the staircase they came out into a little hall - she supposed it could be called that - a square room with a polished wooden floor, quite bare except for an enormous vase that stood upon a wooden pedestal and was filled with exotic and quite unknown flowers. An archway led into another corridor, presumably directly over the one below, and they proceeded along this for a short distance, until the girl threw open the door into what could only have been described as a suite of rooms.
There was a large, airy sitting room, furnished rather like the one where she had met Dona Teresa, with windows overlooking the patio and shutters that could be drawn across them, because shade was all-important in Spain, as she soon learned. Leading off, on one side, was a smaller room that had been prepared for Peter, with bright modern furniture. She wondered whom they had to thank for that. The way the rest of the house was furnished would have been quite overwhelming for a small boy.
Even the sitting room had a hint of that same restrained magnificence, which was carried out also in her own bedroom, which led off from the other side of the sitting room. The curtains at the windows were of heavy silk that was again richly embroidered. Drapes of the same material covered the doors and there was a wrought-iron balcony that overhung the patio. Leading off her bedroom was her own private bathroom, complete with shower, a symphony of green and black tiles that was most definitely modern .
She stood there for a moment completely breathless, then realised that the girl, Vanetta, in very jumbled English, was asking her if she needed any assistance, but Aileen quickly assured her that she could manage on her own. She had managed on her own long enough, she added to herself.
Once she was alone, she wandered over to the balcony, looking down into the patio where flowering shrubs and acacia trees grew, together with many of those exotic-looking flowers. Some of them she recognised as having seen in Australia, but she had never had a head for remembering the names of flowers, except the more common ones, so she did not even try to recall their names.
Peter at that moment chose to exhibit an inclination to try to swing on the wrought iron of the balcony, and she hastily caught him by the waistband of his small trousers and hauled him back, explaining that to do such a thing was exceedingly dangerous. He nodded and promised not to do it again, once again showing that amazing adult understanding.
Just as she was about to draw back from the window she heard Duarte’s voice speaking to somebody below. It sounded different, and it was not until a few seconds had passed that she realised he was speaking his own language.
Realising suddenly that he might see her and finding a strange embarrassment in the thought, she quickly left the balcony, settled Peter down for a rest, because she could see that he was tired, in spite of his protestations, then had a shower and changed her dress. She had just come back into her sitting room when somebody tapped gently on the door. Dona Teresa was revealed standing there when she opened the door.
“May I come in?”
“Of course.” She stood back as Dona Teresa entered, adding, “Please sit down.”
“I felt I had to thank you again for taking such good care of Peter all that time, especially as he was no real relative to you,” she said, sitting down on the damask couch as Aileen closed the door and turned back to her. Her voice when she spoke English had a slight touch of Irish brogue, as Aileen had already noticed. That, she
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