Last April Fair Page 6

  ‘Sercial, I think, before we eat,’ said the doctor, glancing at her still pale face. ‘It’s very dry but splendid before a meal. We’ll have Malmsey afterwards. This is a fish restaurant, but if you don’t like fish, there’s chicken or omelettes.’

  ‘I like fish.’ Phyllida took a gulp of her Madeira.

  ‘Good. We’ll have bifes de atum—that’s tuna steaks—and sweet potatoes in fritters and pudim Mareira to follow.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘A caramel flan with Madeira sauce. Very nice.’

  She took another sip and began to feel better. ‘You know Madeira well?’

  ‘I come here from time to time.’ And that was all he had to say, so that to break the silence she said awkwardly:

  ‘It looks very beautiful. I must try and come back one day and explore.’

  He didn’t answer at once; the fish had come and she eyed it with pleasure, her appetite sharpened. It wasn’t until they had made inroads into the delicious food that he spoke. ‘How much money have you?’

  She paused, her fork half way to her mouth. ‘Oh, enough, I think. I’ll find a small hotel until Monday and book a flight home then.’

  ‘Do you know how much the fare is?’He mentioned a sum which made her catch her breath.

  ‘That’s the return, I expect,’ she said hopefully.

  ‘No, single. I think you should stay with my friends until the next ship calls on its way back to England.’

  ‘Oh, but I couldn’t—that’s a week… besides, the fare…’

  ‘I’ll telephone their head office. The de Wolffs paid for your round trip, didn’t they? So unless they’ve claimed a refund, your passage is already paid.’

  Relief almost choked her. ‘Oh, I hadn’t thought of that. I can stay here until it comes—I’m bound to find an hotel.’

  He finished his fish and leaned back in his chair. ‘Phyllida, if you were me and I were you, would you offer to help me? And expect me to accept?’

  ‘Of course I would!’She had spoken before thinking and he smiled.

  ‘Well, that’s all I’m doing. My friends will love to have you; Metha is rather crippled with arthritis and will enjoy your company.’

  ‘Yes, but I can’t…’

  ‘We’ll go back to the hotel presently and pick up your things and I’ll drive you out there. I’ll give them a ring while you’re packing.’

  She said weakly: ‘But supposing they don’t want me to stay? They don’t know me.’

  ‘How could they when they haven’t met you?’ he asked reasonably. ‘Ah, here is our Madeira pudding— they do it very well here. There are some excellent restaurants in Funchal and quite a few scattered round the island. We must take you to some of them before you go back.’

  They had almost finished their pudding when he asked: ‘Do you want to telephone your family?’

  She swallowed the last delicious morsel. ‘Well, they’re rather—I think they might worry; I thought a letter. If I send it today?’

  He shook his head. ‘No good, the Blenheim will get there long before the letter. Were you going straight home?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then telephone. You could say that plans have been changed and you’ll be back a week later.’

  The waiter brought two glasses of Malmsey and the doctor ordered coffee. Phyllida, who could think of no reason for disputing his suggestion, agreed.

  They went unhurriedly back to the hotel presently, and she went up to her room to pack her things, leaving the doctor to tell the receptionist and telephone his friends. When she went down half an hour later, he was sitting on the terrace, his feet on a chair, reading an old copy of the Telegraph. There was a tall glass at his elbow, half full, and as he got to his feet he waved to a waiter and ordered her a drink. ‘I’m drinking lager, but I’ve ordered you a lemonade and lime. Will that do?’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ She sat down opposite him and he lounged back in his chair again.

  ‘The de Meesters—my friends—are delighted to have you for as long as you like to stay. They want us up there for tea.’

  ‘Do they live far away?’ she asked.

  He waved vaguely towards the mountains which swept up and away behind the town. ‘No—in a village about five kilometres to the north—Monte. It used to be the island’s capital and it’s full of lovely old houses. There’s a magnificent church too.’

  He finished his drink and stretched out again, and Phyllida had the impression that if she hadn’t been there he would have closed his eyes and had a nap. She sipped her own drink, relaxing under his casual calm, knowing that he didn’t expect her to make conversation. When she had finished he sat up, all at once brisk. ‘Right, did someone bring down your luggage?’

  She nodded. ‘Yes, it’s at reception.’ She hesitated. ‘You’ve been very kind, Doctor van Sittardt.’

  He smiled, a warm slow smile that transformed his rather austere good looks and made her feel safe and secure. ‘The name’s Pieter.’ He got to his feet and stretched out a hand and pulled her out of her chair. ‘Let’s go and see if that car will start.’

  The little car was certainly shabby, but there was nothing wrong with its engine. They went slowly through the town and then into the Rua 31 de Janeiro, and presently turned right into the Rua do Til. The drive might have been only five kilometres, but it was uphill all the way, and Phyllida, who had seen nothing of the island, was enchanted by the scenery as they climbed steadily up into the mountains. The doctor slowed down from time to time so that she could take it all in—the towering grey heights, the little green meadows tucked between them, with eucalyptus, mimosa and juniper trees, the small red-tiled houses, and from time to time a luxurious modern villa. He pointed Monte out to her before they reached it, to one side of the road, cloud hanging above it, its houses, and church clinging to the summit. The houses on its outskirts were modern, white-walled and red-tiled like the farms and each with its trailing vines and bougainvillea, with wisteria and the blue of the jacaranda trees adding splashes of bright colour. But once in the centre of the small place, they were back in the eighteenth century, for its square was lined with balconied houses of great age, overshadowd by the church and the mountains around them. The doctor turned the car down a narrow side street and then turned again through a wide arched gateway leading to a paved courtyard, enclosed on three sides by grey stone walls pierced by high narrow windows and with a massive door in its centre.

  He stopped the car and leaned across Phyllida to open her door. ‘We’re here, and in case you find it rather forbidding, it’s much nicer inside.’

  The door was opened before they reached it by a small dark woman who smiled gravely at them and led the way across a wide dim hall to a door at one side. She flung this open, said something to whoever was inside, and stood back to let them pass.

  The room was dim too with dark panelled walls and a plain white ceiling. The floor was tiled and covered by thin rugs in lovely colours and the furniture was dark and massive. There were two people in the room, a man and a woman, and the man got up at once and came towards them, his hand held out.

  ‘Welcome, Miss Cresswell. You cannot know how glad we are to have you as our guest.’ He engulfed her hand in his and beamed down at her. He was almost as tall as Pieter van Sittardt but inclined to stoutness, with a pleasant rugged face and fair hair already receding from a high forehead. ‘You will forgive my wife if she doesn’t get up.’ He held her hand still and led her across the room to where a youngish woman was sitting in a high-backed chair. She was still very pretty with fair hair and dark eyes and she was dressed with great elegance. Only her crippled hands gave away the fact that she was an invalid. But that was forgotten when she spoke.

  ‘I shall not call you Miss Cresswell,’ she declared in a pretty voice. ‘Phyllida is such a pretty name—mine’s Metha,’ she nodded towards her husband, ‘and he is Hans. It is lovely to have you and I am so happy—these two talk about their work all the time and d
o not care for clothes.’ She lifted a face to Pieter who bent to kiss her cheek.

  ‘I should hope not indeed,’ he declared, ‘but you and Phyllida can talk to your hearts’ content. I expect you miss the children.’

  Metha nodded. ‘Oh yes, very much—but now I have Phyllida and shall speak English all the time so that I will be occupied all the time and be happy.’

  She smiled at Phyllida. ‘You do not speak Portuguese, or Dutch?’and went on in a satisfied voice: ‘No? That is splendid for me, for I shall improve my English and teach you a little besides.’

  The solemn-faced woman brought in tea then, tea in a pot, Phyllida saw with pleasure, and plenty of milk in a jug, as well as a plate of little cakes and sugary biscuits. ‘We like our tea,’ explained Metha, ‘it is for us a pleasant hour of the day, just to sit and talk.’

  And very pleasant it was, Phyllida agreed silently, and how very at home Pieter looked, stretched out in one of the heavy tapestry-covered armchairs. It was evident that he was a friend of long standing but all the same, they all took care to include her in their talk, touching lightly on her reason for being there and then ignoring it to talk about Madeira and their life there.

  Metha did most of the talking in her pretty English with her husband joining in frequently, only Pieter van Sittardt remained almost silent, looking, Phyllida decided, almost too lazy to open his mouth.

  The pleasant little meal came to its leisurely end and Phyllida was taken upstairs by the solemn woman, who led the way along a corridor to a room at the back of the house, with a balcony overlooking a small paved yard with a fountain in its centre. Phyllida heaved a sigh of pure pleasure at the sight of it; things could have been so much worse—a small hotel and the worry of wondering if her money would hold out and business of getting a ticket for home. She would have to see about that on Monday morning; she couldn’t impose on her new friends, whatever the doctor had said.

  She unpacked and hung her things away, took a shower, changed her dress and went downstairs again.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THERE WAS ONLY one occupant of the sitting room as she entered, the doctor, lounging back in a great armchair, his enormous feet on a convenient coffee table. He appeared to be asleep, but he wasn’t, for he was on his feet before she had taken two steps into the room.

  ‘Hullo,’ he smiled disarmingly at her, ‘the others will be down directly. Metha said I was to give you a drink.’ He pulled forward a chair and she sat down. ‘Have something long and cool; they dine rather later than we do at home.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Phyllida went on hurriedly: ‘I’ve not had the chance to thank you properly for everything you’ve done—you’ve been simply super.’

  ‘I think that we agreed that you would have done the same for me?’He dismissed her thanks with casual ease. ‘Now, this drink—how about a Pimms with not too much gin?’

  He mixed the drink, handed it to her, poured himself a whisky and sat down again. ‘Metha thinks it might be fun if we drove round a bit tomorrow and showed you the sights. She wants you to see Cabo Girao—that’s a very high sea cliff to the west of Funchal. It’s a pretty drive there and afterwards we might go on to Ribeira Brava, it won’t be crowded yet—we might even swim, but Metha’s a bit shy of going into the water if there’s anyone about. Hans carries her in; he swims on his back and takes her with him.’

  ‘She’s so pretty and young.’ Phyllida’s eyes searched her companion’s face. ‘Isn’t there anything to be done?’

  ‘Not much, I’m afraid. She had acute rheumatoid arthritis after the second child was born; she doesn’t have much pain now, but it’s left her with limited movement. She’s a wonderful person, never complains and always looks so serene and marvellously turned out. She and Hans have the kind of marriage one hopes for and seldom achieves.’

  ‘Are you married?’

  He smiled slowly. ‘No, I’ve always considered myself to be a dedicated bachelor. However, I think it very likely that I shall change my mind; there’s something very appealing about a wife and children to comfort my old age.’

  She looked a question, not quite daring to ask it.

  ‘And I’m thirty-nine.’ He glanced at her from under heavy lids. ‘You, Phyllida? Are you married, divorced, engaged or having what I believe is called a close relationship with some lucky man?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t believe in that,’ declared Phyllida. Her blue eyes met his candidly. ‘And I’m not married or divorced.’ She added after a pause: ‘Nor engaged.’

  ‘Thinking about it?’ he asked lazily.

  She shook her head. ‘Not any more—it was just— well, we sort of slid into supposing that we might get married later on and then I discovered that I didn’t love him at all, only liked him very much.’

  ‘Now it’s so often the other way round with me,’ murmured the doctor. ‘I fall in love with a girl and then discover that I don’t like her.’

  She wondered what kind of girls he fell in love with and then told herself that it was none of her business. All the same she was trying to think of a way of putting a tactful question or two when Metha and Hans came in. Metha was walking with two sticks, but she looked so pretty and happy that it went almost unnoticed; besides, she broke into lively chatter as soon as she was in the room.

  ‘We’ll have dinner in half an hour and then have coffee on the terrace,’ she declared happily. ‘It’s such a beautiful evening and the sunset is always a delight. Phyllida, come over here and sit with me and tell me where you bought that pretty dress. There are one or two good shops here, but not very much choice. Twice a year we go to Holland for a visit and I do as much shopping as I can while we’re there, but you know what men are; you put on a hat and they say: “that’s fine, dear”, and there you are saddled with something hideous, suitable for an aunt!’

  They all laughed and Phyllida looked across at the doctor and found him staring at her, his eyes half shut, as usual. She pinkened faintly; he would think her horribly unfeeling to be enjoying herself so much, with Gaby…

  He had read her expression unerringly. ‘Now, Phyllida!’He shook his head at her and smiled so kindly that she had the sudden urge to run across the room and bury her face in his shoulder and howl her eyes out. But she wasn’t given the chance; he went on: ‘Why don’t you two girls do some shopping tomorrow afternoon? We could go to Cabo Girao in the morning, lunch at Camara de Lobos at that nice place—the Riba Mar, isn’t it?—and drop you both off at that boutique you go to in Funchal, Metha. Come to that, we’ll park the car and come with you.’ He grinned at Phyllida. ‘I might even buy you a hat.’

  The dinner was delicious, although Phyllida wasn’t sure what they ate most of the time, and she was too shy to ask. The two men ate hugely, leaving most of the talking to the two girls and keeping their glasses filled with a light table wine which was presently replaced by Malmsey which they drank with their coffee.

  It was still warm on the terrace and the view over the mountains and down towards Funchal and the sea was breathtakingly lovely in the late evening. The talk was quiet now, an effortless flow which Phyllida found very soothing. Presently the doctor got up and came over to where she was sitting. ‘Come to the end of the terrace,’ he suggested, ‘we can see the sunset from there and with any luck you’ll see the green flash.’

  She got up willingly. ‘What’s that?’

  He shrugged huge shoulders. ‘I’m not sure—it sometimes follows a Madeira sunset.’

  The back of the house overlooked a sloping garden which in turn led to a banana plantation, sweeping down to the ravine far below, and on the other side the mountains towered, but the valley between allowed them a clear view of the sun, setting in a blaze of colour. It was all so beautiful and Phyllida, looking at it, found to her horror that she was on the verge of tears. She muttered: ‘Oh, poor Gaby, not to be able to see all this.’

  A great arm was flung across her shoulders. ‘There’s no one but us,’ he told her gently. ‘Have your cry, my
dear, you’ll feel better for it.’

  She sucked in her breath like a little girl. ‘It’s all such a waste,’ she stopped to sniff, fighting the tears still, ‘and I can’t see why.’

  ‘My dear child, I say that every day in my work, but I don’t expect to be given the answer.’ He turned her round so that her head rested comfortably on his chest and stood patiently while she sobbed, and presently he said: ‘Feel better? Turn round, the sun’s just going down.’

  They stood together, his arm still round her, and watched the sky deepen its colour, and then as the sun sank from sight, they saw the green flash.

  ‘That’s something you can tell your friends about when you get back to the hospital.’ He had fished a handkerchief from a pocket and handed it to her and she was mopping her face.

  ‘I’m not going back. I—I left St Michael’s just before I came on this trip.’

  ‘Want to talk about it?’ His casual voice invited confidence.

  She hadn’t realised how much she had wanted to talk to someone; it all came tumbling out and when she had finished: ‘And the awful thing is I’m sure—at least, I’m not sure, but I think I may have made a frightful mistake; Philip’s so—so safe.’ She added quickly: ‘I’m boring you.’

  ‘No, you’re not, and if I might offer my opinion for what it’s worth; the frightful mistake would be if you were to marry Philip.’

  He looked down at her thoughtfully, his eyes almost hidden under their lids. ‘I think you’re a girl who needs to marry for love and nothing else—you don’t have any doubts if you love someone, you know.’

  ‘I know you’re right. I’m just being cowardly about looking for another job—all those forms to fill in and the interviews and then getting to know everyone.’

  ‘In your English you say: “Don’t cross your bridges until you come to them”. Such a wise piece of advice. Why do you not take a holiday?’ He gave her shoulder a brotherly pat. ‘You have a family?’

  She found herself telling him about her home, her mother and father and Willy who was going to be a doctor like his father, and Dick who was in his last year at a veterinary college and Beryl, just twenty, who was at Bristol University. ‘I think I will have a holiday,’ she finished, ‘just for a couple of weeks while I make up my mind where I want to go.’