The Portuguese Escape by Ann Bridge

utmost pleasure—but if they do not, I will not go.’
    At that he burst out laughing. This waif from the wilds of Hungary, issuing her ultimatum to a prince of the blood!
    â€˜I thought you considered any desire to attend royal ceremonies—unimportant,’ he said. He had seen Richard Atherley since that little luncheon, and been told of Hetta’s outburst. But she was ready for him.
    â€˜My
ideas
on this must be quite unimportant, since I am so ignorant. But I do not wish to be entertained by people who do not know Mama.’ She paused. ‘I am sure Pappi would not have wished it,’ she said, her face suddenly quivering.
    Mgr Subercaseaux leant over and patted her hand.
    â€˜My child, you are perfectly right,’ he said, in an unwonted burst of sincerity. ‘Leave it to me—your mother shall attend the wedding.’

Chapter 5
    Julia Probyn’s party at the Guincho took place on one of those soft warm spring evenings which can make April in Portugal a heavenly thing. The two girls drove through Cascais and on into open country, a broken shore of pale rocks and Atlantic rollers on their left, to the right the landscape swelling up towards the seaward end of the Serra da Cintra—ahead the blunt bulk of Cabo da Roca, the westernmost cape on the mainland of Europe, stood up with its lighthouse. They parked the car and strolled down through sand to the restaurant, past outcrops of rock studded with small bright flowers, and big silver clumps of sea-holly growing in the creamy sand. The restaurant was certainly shack-like, as Julia had said; it was built of wood, and approached by a wooden outside staircase—but passing in from the balcony, set with a few small tables, one entered a pleasant room gay with bright cotton tablecloths, and on each table an array of bottles, and bunches of the yellow flowers of the sea-holly. It was all simple, homely, and rather quaint—Hetta was delighted.
    â€˜Oh, what a nice place! Our country
csardas
at home are like this.’ She fingered one of the check table-cloths almost lovingly. ‘I did not know that there were such places here.’
    â€˜Oh yes, lots of them, in almost all countries,’ said Julia. ‘Look, the men haven’t come yet, I can’t think why they’re so late—but you and I might start on our drinks. Inside or outside?’
    â€˜Oh, can we be outside? There, please.’
    Julia had learned from Richard Atherley that Hetta had an aversion to cocktails, and it was a fine, dry Portuguese champagne that she caused to be brought out to the small table on the balcony. ‘I think cocktails before sea-food are a mistake,’ she said—‘and here one eats nothing else.’
    â€˜Sea-food? What is this?’
    â€˜Oh, it’s an American expression, but rather a good one—whatever comes out of the sea. Tonight we’re having bisque of langouste—well that doesn’t come out of the sea, it’s a sort of fresh-water lobster—and then crab, cold, and sole, hot, and cheese and salad to finish off with. But the cooking is rather good in this funny little place; I shall be interested to know what you think of it, as a professional.’
    Hetta laughed.
    â€˜Do not make fun! Me a professional! And as we have no “sea-food” in Hungary, I shall not be able to judge of it very well.’
    â€˜I’m sure you
will
, Hetti. By the way, Townsend Waller is coming; he heard somehow that we were dining here, and he’s dying to meet you again, so I asked him.’
    â€˜I am glad. He is so
nice.
’ But Hetta’s gaze was constantly straying seawards, where big breakers surged in to fall on a narrow stretch of sand between two points of rock. ‘Yulia, I wish so much to swim!’ she exclaimed. ‘Can I not? This water is so much more
alive
than at Estoril—I would love to swim in it.’
    â€˜Have you brought