In a while, the events of the last few minutes assumed rather less serious proportions, as she saw the amusing side of it all. What a situation! She wished Rosemary were here to share it with her.
A tap at the door heralded the arrival of a young maidservant with a tray containing her lunch. There was a fresh fruit cocktail, pork fried with rice, and a kind of ice cream gateau, followed by coffee and more fruit. It was a very delicious meal, and after she had finished, Juliet felt a little more like work. She opened her cases, hung away her clothes in a capacious fitted wardrobe, and then went into the bathroom to shower before resting on her bed for a while. She had closed her window shutters, and the light slatted through the blinds cast dancing shadows on the ceiling. She watched them for a while, and then her eyelids drooped and she slept.
She awoke refreshed, but startled, with a firm tapping going on at her door. Sliding off the bed, she wrapped herself in a nylon wrapper and opened the door about six inches. Consuelo was outside.
‘It is after four, senhorita. I have told the Senhorita Teresa you are to have tea with her.’
‘Lord!’ Juliet gasped. ‘I’m sorry, Consuelo, I’m not ready. Will you wait five minutes?’
‘Very well, senhorita,’ Consuelo agreed, but she sounded less than pleased.
Juliet fumbled her way into a white crimplene dress, sleeveless, with a high cuffed neckline, and not too short a skirt. Her hair, immaculately pleated earlier, now hung in wisps and with careless fingers she wrenched out the hairgrips and brushed it savagely. It fell, thick and straight to her shoulders, sherry-coloured and very attractive. Cursing to herself for sleeping so long, she began to wind it back into its pleat, when Consuelo tapped again.
‘Senhorita,’ she said persistently, ‘please hurry.’
Juliet lost control of the hair, and it fell loose again. ‘Oh, blast, blast, blast!’ she exclaimed angrily, and then with decision, she combed it smooth and looked at her reflection disconsolately. It was no good. She needed plenty of time and patience to dress it in the pleat, and anyway, she might be going to get the sack, so what did it matter?
She emerged from the bedroom and Consuelo looked at her in surprise. ‘Such pretty hair, senhorita,’ she exclaimed delightedly.
Juliet looked rueful. ‘But rather impractical,’ she said, smiling. ‘I’m sorry I kept you waiting, Consuelo. I fell asleep, I’m afraid.’
Consuelo seemed unperturbed now. ‘It is the climate,’ she said, firmly. ‘Most have the siesta! It is a good idea, sim?’
‘Hmm,’ agreed Juliet enthusiastically, feeling more ready to face any challenge which might come her way.
They descended the main staircase to the wide hall, and then out on to the patio that surrounded the central courtyard. The patio was tiled with mosaic in a variety of colours, while tubs of flamboyants and the ever-present climbing bougainvillea added their own tropical beauty to the scene. A glass-topped table supported a jug, some ice cubes and several glasses, and beside this table a girl was sitting in a wheelchair, glancing carelessly through a magazine. As though aware of another presence, she turned and looked at Juliet, and Consuelo murmured something about getting the tea and left them.
The girl was dark, like her uncle, with long hair worn in a single braid over one shoulder. But her expression was remote and perhaps a little sulky, and Juliet advanced towards her with sòme trepidation.
‘Hello,’ she said, in a friendly fashion. ‘You must be Teresa. My name is – Rosemary.’ She almost slipped up altogether and said Juliet.
The girl viewed her critically, putting aside her magazine. ‘Who else would I be?’ she asked pointedly, glancing down at the wheelchair.
Juliet drew a little closer. ‘Yes, perhaps it was a stupid remark. However, I couldn’t think of any other way of introducing myself.’
Teresa’s eyes flickered for a moment, and then she resumed her sullen expression. ‘Where have you come from? London?’
‘Yes, that’s right.’
‘Estelle never gives up, does she?’ Teresa gave a short laugh.
Juliet deemed it better not to answer this. She had no desire to take sides without first knowing all the circumstances of the case. So she seated herself in a basketwork chair, also placed near the table, and sighed. ‘What a beautiful place this is. You must love it here.’
Teresa shrugged her thin shoulders, and Juliet noticed how painfully thin she really was. ‘It’s all right,’ she said. She spoke with little accent, and Juliet could only assume she had attended a British school. ‘It’s better than hospital, anyway.’
Juliet bit her lip. ‘Yes. Were you in hospital long?’
‘Long enough.’ Teresa was scrutinizing her intently. ‘What did you used to do, before you came here?’
Juliet felt the colour seeping into her cheeks. ‘Well, I – er – this and that!’
Teresa sniffed. ‘Why did you come here? Did you think it would make a nice holiday.’
‘No.’ Juliet was swift to deny this. ‘No. I came because there was an advertisement in a British newspaper and I thought the job sounded interesting.’ This at least was true.
Teresa wrinkled her nose. ‘I hear my uncle did not exactly welcome you with open arms.’
Juliet had to smile at this. ‘That’s true,’ she answered.
‘I expect he was good and mad,’ said Teresa, a little enthusiasm entering her voice now. ‘After the last time!’
Juliet did not ask the question that trembled on her tongue, but Teresa went on: ‘Estelle keeps trying to get me off her neck, you know! I think she’s jealous!’ This was said with some satisfaction.
Juliet frowned. ‘Jealous? Senhora Vinceiro? Why should she be jealous?’ This was one question she could not help but ask. She was only human after all.
Teresa fingered the pleat of the blue skirt she was wearing. ‘Estelle wants Felipe – it’s as simple as that! She wanted him ten years ago when she married his cousin because he lived on Venterra also, and my uncle was obviously not prepared to marry her then. And Pépé – her husband – died two years ago, he was years older than Estelle, of course, and she was granted her wish. To live on Venterra – and to have a second chance with my uncle.’
Juliet swallowed hard. This – from a sixteen-year-old!
‘I think you’re dramatizing the situation, Teresa,’ she said, glancing round with relief as the young maid appeared with the tray of tea.
‘I am not!’ Teresa sounded angry. ‘Estelle hated it when Felipe brought me here, installing me in his house, making her plans doubly difficult.’
‘Oh really,’ exclaimed Juliet disbelievingly. ‘You’re his niece!’
‘Only by marriage,’ retorted Teresa, at once. ‘My father was not Felipe’s brother. My mother had been married before. My father died ten years ago. He suffered from heart disease.’
‘I see.’ Juliet thanked the maid, and stood up. ‘Shall – shall I handle this?’
Teresa nodded with some dignity. ‘Of course now I am an orphan. And family ties are strong among Portuguese families. I am just as much Felipe’s responsibility whether my relationship to him is distant or otherwise.’
‘I see,’ said Juliet again. Heavens, she thought to herself, what a situation!
The