Three-Cornered Halo by Christianna Brand Page B

the same breed as El Exaltida’s, and if necessary this animal could be produced: the Grand Duke asked for his dogs very seldom and then only through caprice, and would never know the difference. “And Cristallo, is someone looking after Cristallo?” Cristallo was currently the favourite cat, inevitably white but wearing a collar of pearls with his blue ribbon bow. Being a cat, he was very efficiently looking after himself.
    In her apartment next door to the Grand Duke’s in the little pavilion, La Bellissima, however, was wide awake. She arose and went to the doorway and looked out at the groves of olive trees. “Senor Tabaqui!”
    â€œBellissima?”
    She said in French: “I wish to walk down through the trees to that little stream. Must I take a guard?”
    He went even greyer than usual. “But, Bellissima——!”
    â€œWho would harm me?”
    He shifted his eyes. “No one, of course, Bellissima Bienquista—Most Lovely and Much Belovéd.… But it is due to your position, you cannot go without a guard.”
    â€œAnd a woman?”
    â€œAt least two of your ladies.”
    â€œTell them to keep back, then,” she said. “Tell them not to press round me. I want to be alone a little.” Without further ado, she walked quietly away from him, down through the olive groves and the sleeping groups to the little stream. Her guard sprang to arms, shuffled their feet hurriedly into their sand-shoes and slouched down after her. The secretary spoke to the women and they followed, keeping their distance. These foreigners, they said among themselves, who had no respect for the siesta hour!—nor did they trouble to subdue their voices for she could not understand a word.
    A woman was sitting at the edge of the stream, who did not move as she approached; such commoners as had awakened to see her pass, had scrambled hurriedly to their feet and humbly taken themselves off. Her guard ran before her. “Go! Depart! You can’t stay here.”
    She was an elderly lady with a squashed straw hat and carrying a large green-lined parasol. “Go?” she said. “Certainly not.”
    â€œYou must leave at once, you cannot be allowed to remain.”
    â€œNonsense,” said the elderly lady. She added loudly: “English. Inghlesi. No comprendo.”
    â€œBut you must go. La Bellissima is coming: be good enough, Senora, to retire immediately.”
    â€œOh, well, that’s different,” said Miss Cockrill, reverting immediately to quite fluent Juanese. She looked past the guard and for the first time saw the Grand Duchess. “I beg your pardon,” she said, getting up to her feet and doing a little bob. “If I’d known it was your Highness … Milles—er—milles regrets.…”
    La Bellissima stood staring at her for a moment. “Madame—un moment, s’il vous plait. Vous parlez-Français?”
    â€œErn per,” said Miss Cockrill; an overstatement.
    â€œVous etes Anglaise?”
    â€œOnglaise, oui, certainmong.”
    â€œEt bien …” She thought it over and made up her mind. “Ayez la gentillesse, Madame, de vous assesoir un petit moment; et parler avec moi.” Her small hand waved imperiously, the attendants melted back thankfully into the shade of the olive trees, and she sat down, all in her satins and laces, on the grass beside the stream. “Asseyez vous, Madame, je vous en prie.”
    â€œMademoiselle,” corrected Miss Cockrill, obediently sitting down too.
    â€œPardon: Mad’moiselle.” She sat for a little while, looking down into the water, her hands very still in her silk-embroidered lap. She said at last, always in French: “May I ask your name?”
    â€œMy name is Harriet Cockrill, Bellissima.”
    â€œMiss Cockrill? But was not that …?”
    â€œThe inspector, yes: he’s my brother.”
    â€œEl Exaltida