Innocent Invader. Anne MatherЧитать онлайн книгу.
this instance, it was necessary,” replied Sarah calmly. “Please carry on with your lunch. Eloise, Maria and I can catch you up.”
Maria stared at Sarah blankly. “Aren't you going to tell them what he did?” she asked, in her small, childish treble.
Sarah shook her head. “Eat your lunch.”
Dolores could not leave it alone. “What did he do?” she persisted.
“Nothing of consequence,” replied Sarah. “This scampi is delicious, señora.”
And with that Dolores had to be content. Sarah was conscious that both Eloise and Maria exchanged glances, and she hoped they considered her action that of a friend and not an antagonist.
When lunch was over, Serena said: “If you would like to look around, please feel free to do so – outside, I mean,” she added as an afterthought.
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.