Prelude To Enchantment. Anne Mather

came and they could drive back to the city.

      On the journey back to town, Eduardo said: ‘Sancha, is anything wrong? You've seemed particularly constrained this weekend and I'm sure your aunt was concerned about you.'

      Sancha looked up quickly. ‘Oh, surely not,’ she exclaimed quickly. ‘I—I had a headache on Saturday evening, I didn't want to go out.'

      ‘Was that all it was?’ he probed, glancing her way.

      Sancha shrugged. ‘What else could it be?’ she countered.

      He frowned. ‘I don't know,’ he said slowly. ‘But perhaps you have been thinking that I neglect my wife——'

      Sancha's lips parted in protest and he went on:

      ‘Elizabeth's world is complete—without anyone else—without me!'

      ‘Oh, no!’ Sancha stared at him.

      ‘Oh, yes.’ Eduardo's hands changed gear automatically. ‘She has her sewing, her cooking, her gardening! She has her friends! She has whist clubs and bridge clubs and golfing parties! She doesn't need me—except perhaps as a meal ticket.’ He said it without bitterness and Sancha felt a tremendous feeling of responsibility suddenly. ‘It might have been different if we had had children,’ he added. ‘But we were not lucky enough to be so endowed, and so——’ He spread a hand. ‘Does what I'm saying mean anything to you?'

      Sancha bit her lip. ‘I think so.'

      ‘Good. Good, I'm glad.’ Eduardo gestured towards the sea on their left, the sun turning its waters to a pale rose gold. ‘We have so much to be thankful for, don't you think, Sancha?'

      Sancha bent her head but said nothing. Without actually mentioning the subject which was uppermost in both their minds, Eduardo had carefully succeded in explaining to her that sometimes things, and people, were not always what they seemed; that there were faults on both sides, not all of which were recognisable as faults.

      It didn't excuse him; nothing could do that. But she appreciated his confidence and his perception.

       CHAPTER THREE

      ON Tuesday evening, Sancha emerged from the office building with Maria Peroni, one of the secretaries she shared the flat with. Teresa Bastini, the other secretary, was working late, so the two girls were going home together.

      It was early evening, the shadows were lengthening across the sidewalks and the velvet touch of darkness was not far away. Even so, the calle was brightly illuminated by the neon signs of the commercial buildings and almost the moment she emerged from the offices Sancha saw Count Malatesta.

      She had not been consciously looking for him, but every day since that first encounter she had found herself tensing apprehensively every time she left work. And now he was here, and she glanced swiftly at Maria, wondering whether the other girl was aware of Sancha's sudden withdrawal.

      The Count was lounging indolently against the basin of a fountain at the entrance to the square beyond the narrow street in which Parita magazine had its offices. He looked devastatingly attractive in a dark dinner suit, the whiteness of his linen complementing the smooth tan of his skin. But to Sancha he was an alien being in more ways than one and his presence there was more than a little disturbing.

      She could be completely wrong, of course. He could be waiting for someone else, someone not attached to the magazine at all, but she had little confidence in that supposition.

      Maria suddenly became aware that Sancha was dragging her feet. ‘What's the matter?’ she queried. ‘Have you forgotten something?'

      Sancha seized on the excuse. ‘Yes—yes, I have. My—er—my make-up.'

      ‘And will you need it?'

      Sancha coloured. ‘Oh, yes, I think so,’ she said, conscious of the bulge of her toilet case in her handbag and feeling rather uncomfortable.

      Maria sighed. ‘Well, you know I have this appointment this evening——'

      ‘That's all right, Maria.’ Sancha shook her head. ‘You go on. I'll follow you. If we don't meet, I'll see you back at the flat.'

      ‘Well—if you're sure.’ Maria looked doubtful.

      ‘Of course I'm sure,’ Sancha smiled. ‘'Bye for now.'

      Maria hesitated only a moment longer and then nodded and hastened off down the narrow calle towards the main thoroughfare. Sancha cast one glance in Count Malatesta's direction, saw him straighten as Maria came towards him, alone, and then she turned and hurried back into the office building.