The Guilty Secret Page 5

  ‘Presumably she was English,’ Phil said, lounging comfortably on the floor cushions. ‘Was she holidaying by herself?’

  I sank down beside him, cradling the drink in my hands.

  ‘It wasn’t a she, Phil. It was a he.’

  He stiffened, and I hated myself for the hurt I knew I was going to cause him. I said, taking hold of his hand.

  ‘His name is Jonathan and he was holidaying alone.’ It seemed useless to beat about the bush. I said simply. ‘And I love him.’

  Phil’s glass remained perfectly steady. There was a moment’s silence and then he said:-

  ‘You were only in Viana a week, Jennifer.’

  ‘I know. But it happened.’

  Slowly he put his glass down, looking at me steadily. ‘I don’t think you’re well enough to make those kind of statements yet.’

  ‘But I am Phil. I’m perfectly well.’

  ‘You weren’t when I last saw you and that was only a few weeks ago, do you think at the moment that you’re the best judge?’

  ‘Yes I do. You’re quite right when you say I wasn’t fully recovered a few weeks ago. I was still depressed and having nightmares and feeling life would never be the same again. Meeting Jonathan has changed all that for me. Please be happy for me Phil. When you meet him, you’ll understand.’

  He raised his eyebrows. ‘You mean you’ve brought him with you?’

  ‘No. He’s visiting friends in Vigo. He’s coming down next weekend.’

  ‘For the official seal of approval,’ Phil said, and I could tell by the tone of his voice that the worst was over.

  ‘Something like that. You’ll like him, Phil, I know you will.’

  ‘Any friend of yours is a friend of mine,’ he said wryly. ‘Tell me about him. Where does he come from?’

  I shrugged my shoulders. ‘ I’ve no idea,’ and then laughed at the expression on Phil’s face.

  ‘No, really Phil. I’m telling the truth. He’s English, twenty-nine, has blond hair and his eyes …’ I paused, feeling my spine tingle as I remembered the effect Jonathan’s eyes had on me when he looked at me with desire. ‘His eyes are hazel and he’s about five foot ten and has nice hands and …’

  ‘For goodness sake,’ Phil said with fond exasperation. ‘ You’ll be telling me what shape his feet are next! I’m not interested in whether he’s blond, black or covered in navy-blue dots. What is he? Butcher, baker, or candlestick-maker?’

  ‘I haven’t a clue. He could be a stockbroker or a postman. All I know is that I love him.’

  ‘For two people who have spent a week in each other’s company you’ve made up your mind dangerously fast without knowing much about him.’

  ‘I know enough to have said I’ll marry him.’

  Phil’s eyes widened, and it was a few seconds before he spoke. When he did he let his breath out through his teeth. ‘Well, I suppose a proposal of marriage is proof his intentions are honourable.’

  I thought of the beach at Viana. ‘His intentions,’ I said, ‘are strictly honourable. Where is everyone? All the other villas are deserted.’

  ‘They’ve all gone to visit friends of Miles in Oporto.’

  ‘Miles? Miles who?’

  ‘Rozalinda’s last leading man. You’ve met him before. He was at my party …’ he broke off, his face flushing.

  I squeezed his hand. ‘I’m over it, Phil. I wasn’t joking. I remember him vaguely. Good-looking in a flashy sort of way. Somewhere in his mid-thirties.’

  ‘That’s him,’ Phil said, relief in his voice. ‘He’s down here trying to persuade Rozalinda to take up a film part she’s been offered.’

  ‘What’s the matter? Is it too small for her?’

  ‘No. According to Miles it’s tailor-made for her. It’s a million dollar film with Rozalinda as the Queen of Sheba. Only Rozalinda isn’t interested.’

  ‘What bait has been more attractive?’

  ‘That’s just it. Nothing. She says she’s in need of a rest.’

  I stared unbelievingly. ‘ You mean Rozalinda’s turned down this part to stay on here with Harold?’

  Phil nodded.

  I shook my head in disbelief.

  ‘Actually, she does look a bit off it. Very nervy these days. Old Harold’s being very protective towards her.’

  ‘He always is and she usually can’t wait to get away.’

  ‘Not this time. Anyway, you’ll be able to see for yourself in a few hours time. They’re coming back for dinner. We all eat en masse over at Rozalinda’s.’ He grimaced at the prospect and I laughed.

  ‘Poor Phil. Is she beginning to get you down?’

  ‘She always gets me down. I can’t imagine why she invited me in the first place.’

  I could have told him but didn’t. Instead I said:-

  ‘And how is Mary?’

  ‘Seems all right. I think she’s missing the children but Tom is having a great time. The lap of luxury suits him.’

  ‘And Aunt Harriet?’

  ‘Oh, she’s fine,’ Phil sounded vague which didn’t surprise me. He generally had to be hit on the head before he noticed anything. The fact that he was aware of Rozalinda’s nervous state was probably only due to Miles spelling it out for him, and I couldn’t believe he’d got it right. Rozalinda being temperamental, yes. Suffering from nerves to the extent of turning down a major film role, no.

  ‘Play some more Liszt,’ I said, settling myself comfortably back against the cushions. ‘It was heaven listening to you play. I hadn’t realised how long it’s been.’

  Phil knew how long it had been. It had been the night of his party when he had played ‘Claire de Lune’, at Aunt Harriet’s request. After that there had been no opportunity to listen to Phil play again. Only various cells and then the psychiatric clinic.

  Understandingly he put his glass down and seated himself at the piano. This time he played the Hungarian Rhapsody and before the last beautiful strains had died away I was sound asleep.

  When I awoke I could hear the distant slamming of car doors and Phil was saying unenthusiastically:-

  ‘They’re back. I suppose we’d better go and let them know you’ve arrived.’ His face brightened. ‘And give them your news. That will give Rozalinda something to think about!’

  Arm in arm we walked over the soft pine needles towards Rozalinda’s villa. I could hear Aunt Harriet saying briskly:-

  ‘Her car is here so she must be down at Phil’s …’ and Mary saying:- ‘If I’d known she was coming this afternoon I would never have gone out. How awful for there to be no-one to have welcomed her.’

  ‘Phil isn’t no-one darling,’ Rozalinda was saying in her affected drawl, and then we were in the doorway and Rozalinda’s arms were spread wide in an extravagant gesture as she said:-

  ‘Darling …’ kissing me on the cheek, and I was once again surrounded, quite literally, by family and friends.

  Chapter Seven

  With difficulty I extricated myself from Rozalinda’s extravagant embrace. She seemed to think the more demonstrative her affection the more she was helping me over the crisis in my life. Her sense of drama would be quite affronted to find that I was no longer suffering but joyously happy. Aunt Harriet kissed me and as my arms folded round her I realised with shock that she was losing weight, her small body almost bird-like in my arms. I looked at her with concern. Her eyes were alight with welcome, but there were signs of strain on her face that Phil had been too blind to see. I mentally decided that at the first suitable moment I would have a private chat with Aunt Harriet about her health. It wouldn’t be easy. She regarded herself as immune to any sort of bodily weakness and when my father had been alive had driven him to distraction by stubbornly refusing to take any notice of him.

  Mary hugged me tightly. ‘Jenny, we were so worried. Why on earth didn’t you come straight here?’ then, without waiting for an answer. ‘Phil wanted to go to Viana and fetch you, but Aunt Harriet said she had spoken to you and that you sounded fine …’ he
r expression of anxiety changed to one of surprise as she let go of me and saw my face clearly for the first time. ‘You look fine! Dearest Jenny, you look really well!’

  ‘I am, Mary. I am.’ I said, as Tom grasped my hand. ‘ There’s been no need for you to worry at all.’

  ‘Yes, but …’ Mary began protestingly.

  Our eyes met and a silent message passed. It meant what it had meant since we were children and wanted to talk about something in private, see you later. Her anxiety faded, but like Aunt Harriet I thought I could detect lines of worry that had not been there when I had last seen her in Templar’s Way. The thought that the strain on the two faces of people I loved had been caused solely by my week in Viana came with an onrush of guilt. I squashed it almost immediately. I had finished with feelings of guilt. If I had wanted to take a week’s holiday by myself I was perfectly entitled to do so, and as I had spoken to Aunt Harriet, reassuring her as to my health, there had been no reason for anyone to have worried to the extent that even my arrival didn’t dispel the anxiety. It was something else that was disturbing Aunt Harriet and Mary. I would know what it was in due course.

  ‘Darling, you remember Miles Sullivan, don’t you?’ Rozalinda was saying, leading me by a perfectly manicured hand to a darkly handsome face.

  Miles smiled. ‘Nice to meet you again, Jenny. I hear you’ve been staying at the Santa Luzia. Nice hotel. I stayed there myself a couple of years ago. Very Rivieraish if I remember.’

  ‘Yes. It’s very quiet at the moment. There’s only a handful of people there. The rush starts this next couple of weeks.’

  ‘Then you were wise to leave,’ he said, his smile intimate as if we shared a secret.

  I smiled and turned back to Mary. Rozalinda flung her arms wide, spinning round in a circle and collapsing onto a plushly upholstered chair.

  ‘Isn’t this just too, too much. Darling Jenny with us and our party complete! I think it calls for a celebration. Champagne, Harold, tell Maria we want iced champagne.’

  I had only had the briefest glimpse of Harold, hovering with beaming smile on the edge of the circle, Rozalinda’s back firmly seeing to it that he kept off the centre of her stage.

  Her expression changed to one of deep sorrow, the sympathy of one who fully understands another’s suffering.

  ‘Jenny. Jenny Darling. You shouldn’t have stayed in that silly old hotel moping by yourself when we were all here waiting for you and knowing only too well what you were going through. No …’ she raised a hand dramatically to prevent my protests. ‘We do know, and that’s why we wanted you here. To forget, amongst those who love you most.’

  ‘She’s not likely to forget anything with you reminding her all the time,’ Phil said bluntly.

  She looked sorrowfully at him. ‘You’re a man. You couldn’t possibly understand. But we do. Don’t we, Mary?’

  Mary smiled and tried not to look embarrassed … I laughed.

  ‘You’re wasting your sympathy, Rozalinda. I’m going to enjoy holidaying with you all here, but I’m not in need of it. I’m not an invalid you know.’

  Rozalinda pouted prettily. ‘Not bodily, darling, but …’

  ‘Oh, cut it out, Roz,’ Phil said bad-temperedly. She glared at him. Being called Roz wasn’t part of Rozalinda’s image.

  ‘Yes,’ Harold said unexpectedly, ‘No more references to the past, what?’

  Before his wife could shoot him down in pieces, Aunt Harriet rallied to the rescue.

  ‘Very sensible, Harold. That champagne looks frozen not chilled. I’m sure it would help if one of us could speak enough Portuguese to tell Maria what we want properly. Poor child, it’s not her fault …’

  ‘It is,’ Rozalinda said, rising from her languorous position as it was no longer claiming attention. ‘Good God, the girl should at least speak English. I thought everyone could speak English!’

  A smile hovered on Phil’s lips. He knew she was perfectly serious.

  ‘I think she does very well,’ Harold said with the air of one who knew he was being brave and was justly proud of the fact. ‘At least the other maids do everything she tells them.’

  ‘Where are the vast army of servants?’ I asked. Rozalinda never travelled without a private secretary, her own hairdresser, her personal maid, as well as cook and butler and several dogs-bodies.

  ‘They come every morning,’ Aunt Harriet said. ‘There’s not enough room for them to live in. Only Maria stays through the day. She cooks and serves the evening meal and then goes home.’

  ‘Where to? There doesn’t seem to be a village for miles.’

  ‘There’s one the other side of the estuary. I think she comes from there,’ Rozalinda said airily. It was typical of her that she didn’t know.

  ‘I’ve seen to it that a taxi comes to collect her and also brings her and the other girls every morning,’ Harold said. I smiled at him. He might not be the best company in the world, but at least he was human. Seeing that the girl got home safely in the dark would never have occurred to his wife.

  ‘And what about your hairdresser, etc., etc., etc.?’ I asked.

  Rozalinda shrugged. ‘I wanted a complete rest, darling. Only those who are truly close to me.’

  For a dreadful minute I thought Phil was going to put his foot in it, but then Tom was saying:-

  ‘And that’s what you’ve got. An intimate house-party with no outsiders. Who could ask for anything more?’

  The champagne popped and frothed, our glasses were filled, and Rozalinda was radiant once more as Tom toasted her as hostess, her arm protectively around my shoulders, her heavy perfume filling the air.

  A young girl stood hesitantly on the threshold and Harold turned to her. ‘Ready are we, Maria? Good. Come on. Into the dining-room.’

  Rozalinda sat at the head of the table. Harold at the foot. On either side of Rozalinda sat Tom and Phil, then Mary and I were seated opposite each other, and then Miles next to me and opposite Aunt Harriet. There wasn’t going to be much opportunity for private conversation with either Aunt Harriet or Mary, and the more I saw of them, the more worried I was becoming. The signs of strains, partly hidden by relief at my arrival, were now only too transparent. Rozalinda’s seating arrangements gave Mary no chance for any words of privacy with Tom, and throughout the meal she kept trying to catch his eye, but she was no match for Rozalinda who kept up a constant flirtatious chatter with both him and Phil. As she was their hostess, neither man could do much but respond. Though Phil’s eyes kept glancing in my direction, a smile of secret amusement on his mouth. I knew very well that he was going to steal Rozalinda’s thunder and at my expense. I would have preferred to tell Aunt Harriet first about Jonathan and privately, but could see the temptation was going to be too much for Phil.

  As Rozalinda finally paused for breath and daintily speared a mushroom with her fork, Phil said:-

  ‘I believe Jennifer has a friend she would like to ask down for a few days.’

  Only Phil ever referred to me as Jennifer. His smile as he turned towards me was filled with so much complicity that my exasperation changed to one of shared amusement.

  ‘Darling, but of course! Is it someone you met at Viana?’

  I nodded.

  ‘How lovely. Of course she can stay. There’s plenty of room in your villa for two people. I’ll get one of the maids to make up the extra bed tomorrow.’

  I tried to avoid Phil’s eyes.

  ‘I’m afraid it isn’t so simple, Rozalinda.’

  ‘Why of course it is.’ She leant impulsively forward, brushing between Tom and his dinner, clasping my hand. ‘ If she’s a friend and you would like her to stay then of course she can stay. I know …’ she went on as I opened my mouth to explain. ‘I know Tom’s just said how lovely it was to be together with no outsiders, but you can’t possibly think I would object to a girl friend of yours staying for a few days.’

  ‘It isn’t a girl friend,’ I said as Rozalinda released me, allowing Tom to see his plate once
more instead of Rozalinda’s over exposed breasts. ‘It’s a man.’

  For once the centre of attention was taken well and truly away from Rozalinda.

  Phil said with blatant pleasure:- ‘So you see Roz. Making up the other bed in Jennifer’s villa could be a little compromising. I don’t think Jennifer is quite into the film scene set of morals yet.’

  Rozalinda ignored any insult Phil’s remarks disguised.

  ‘Darling, how wonderful! So that’s why you’ve been hiding away from us. You must tell us all about him. Who is he and where did you meet …’

  ‘His name is Jonathan Brown and I met him at the Santa Luzia.’

  ‘Don’t ask for any more details. She doesn’t know them.’ Phil said wickedly.

  Aunt Harriet cut across Rozalinda’s stream of questions, ‘When is he coming, Jenny?’

  ‘At the end of the week. He’s visiting friends in Vigo at the moment.’

  ‘A holiday romance!’ Rozalinda was rhapsodising. ‘What a wonderful start to your stay in Portugal!’

  ‘It’s not a holiday romance,’ I said, this time not looking at her but at Aunt Harriet. ‘I’m going to marry him.’

  I saw the same thoughts chase through Aunt Harriet’s mind as had gone through Phil’s. My eyes smiled at her, willing her to understand that I wasn’t acting unreasonably or in reaction to what had happened in the past months. Something of my new found confidence must have transmitted itself, because I saw her shoulders, which had stiffened at the news, relax.

  ‘Marry him!’ Mary said happily. ‘ Oh Jenny, I am pleased.’

  ‘Me too,’ Tom said, turning and shaking my hand. ‘Congratulations Jenny.’

  ‘Allow me to offer you my congratulations as well,’ Miles said, holding my hand for longer than necessary. ‘I think this calls for more champagne, don’t you Rozalinda?’

  For a fleeting second there was an expression on her face that made her look suddenly old, something that wasn’t meant to be seen. Then she was her usual self, clapping her hands high above her head, her gold bracelets tinkling down sun-tanned arms, demanding that Harold uncork more champagne and saying she just couldn’t wait to see Jenny’s Jonathan.