SARAH did not dare to look at Jason. She had never felt so de trop in all her life, and she would never have believed that such hate and passion could be conveyed in one simple sentence. The woman was obviously waiting to see what reaction her remark had had, and Sarah sought about wildly in her mind for a reply. But what was there to say?
To her relief, Jason himself spoke, but not to his wife. “Romulus, take Miss Winter to her room, please. And have Constancia go to her in half an hour to bring her down to meet Señora de Cordova. Señora Serena de Cordova.”
“Yes, señor.” They had spoken in English and Sarah moved swiftly to follow the manservant up the stairs. She had not been introduced to the woman down there in the hall, but just now she had no desire to be so. There was a bewildered feeling in her heart and stomach, and she needed time to digest the events of the last few minutes. It had been startling enough to discover Jason de Cordova's identity, without the advent of his wife and her revelations. The children had silently disappeared at the sound of Señora de Cordova's voice, and Sarah thought she did not blame them. In truth that was what she had wanted to do. How could any woman speak to her husband like that? And in front of a stranger? It was inhuman.
Romulus looked rather compassionately at her as he led her into her room which was along the left hand passage at the top of the flight of stairs. The passage was lined with portraits of earlier members of the Cordova family, but Sarah had taken little notice of them. She was too absorbed with her thoughts, and with the feeling of apprehension which had descended on her.
After Romulus had taken his departure, she looked round her room with pleasure. Unlike the rather austere quarters she had occupied at the convent, this room was positively luxurious, with a thickly waxed floor strewn with woollen rugs which she suspected had been hand-made here on the island. The rugs were in vivid colours which complemented the light Swedish furniture and the orange and yellow curtains The adjoining bathroom which Romulus had told her was for her personal use was just as luxurious, with a deep step-in bath and shower attachment, and taps of beaten gold.
Back in her bedroom she discovered the wide french doors opened on to a balcony which was at the side of the house which overlooked the stretch of lawn behind which a swimming pool glimmered greenly in the sunlight. To the right she could see the sea, blue and transparent, the line of the reef vaguely visible from this distance. Nearer, the breakers surfed in to the shore and disappeared on sands as white as Sarah's silvery hair.
She spun round, hugging herself again, unable to prevent the surge of freedom she suddenly experienced. Whatever problems she might have to cope with here, she felt sure she had done the right thing in coming. Until this moment, she realised, she had never known what it was like to be really free, free to eat when she liked and sleep when she liked and act as she liked. For although she was employed as a governess they did not own her spirit as the sisters at the convent had seemed to do, and there was no one to whom she felt she owed her existence. She would support herself, and be independent!
With great daring she stripped off her clothes and stood for a moment studying her reflection in the long wardrobe mirror. Until now, she had never considered herself attractive to men, but suddenly she realised that she was twenty-two and a woman, and that there was more to life than she had ever dreamed.
Smiling at her thoughts, she wrapped the massive orange bath-towel sarong-wise round her body, and marched into the bathroom to take a shower.
Constancia was a pleasant-faced pretty girl of obviously mixed parentage. Although she was more Spanish than African in features, her hair was as tightly curled as Romulus's, and she had a rather squat nose, but Sarah took an immediate liking to her.
Sarah had bathed and was dressed now in a loose shift of a honey-beige colour which she had made herself, and she had combed out her long hair and rewound it in the coronet of plaits. She wore only a coral lipstick for make-up and looked young and fresh and ready for anything.
“La señorita es muy hermosa,” said Constancia admiringly, and Sarah, understanding this simple phrase, replied:
“Thank you. I feel rather nervous.”
Constancia smiled. “You speak Spanish?” she asked haltingly.
“Only very little,” admitted Sarah. “Do you understand English?”
Constancia's teeth were very white as she laughed. “Si, I understand English. But I do not speak well.”
“I think you do very well,” remarked Sarah, and then glancing round the room to see that everywhere was tidy, she said: “I only brought a change of clothes in my bag with me. When will my suitcases arrive from the ship?”
Constancia spread wide her hands. “Eh, eh,” she said, rolling her eyes. “That lazy pig, Abraham Smith, will send them when he gets round to it. Do not worry, señorita. If they have not arrived by … lunch … they will be sent for. The señor will not forget.”
“Thank you,” Sarah smiled. “Shall we go?”
She followed Constancia out of the room and along the corridor to the head of the stairs. As they went down, Sarah was relieved to see that the hall below was empty. She did not desire another encounter with her employer's wife for the moment. It was nearing lunch time and she wondered what the arrangements for meals would be. If there was to be a schoolroom perhaps she and the children would eat there. She expected she would be shown their rooms later.
She began wondering what the children's mother would be like. She hoped she would be far different from her employer's wife. That aspect of the situation had not occurred to her either, and it seemed that her only thoughts had been of whether she would like it here and not whether they would like her.
They passed along a marble-tiled corridor at the foot of the stairs leading to the opposite side of the house from that which the Señora de Cordova seemed to inhabit, and Sarah breathed a sigh of relief and began taking a more concentrated interest in her surroundings. There were several statuettes of saints which they passed, and a magnificent portrait of the Virgin and Child which caught her interest. That this was a Catholic household she was left in no doubt, and she wondered whether they were expecting her to be a Catholic and whether it would present any problems. Deciding not to worry about something which had not as yet happened, she stiffened her shoulders, and prayed that Serena de Cordova was a pleasant Spanish female of middle years, with no pretensions to intrigue whatsoever.
At the far end of the corridor, when Sarah was beginning to wonder how much farther they were going, Constancia stopped before a white door, and tapped gently.
“Si,” called a voice, and Constancia smiled encouragingly at Sarah.
She pushed open the door, and said: La Señorita Winter, señora,” and ushered Sarah into the room.
As the door closed behind her, Sarah found herself in a spacious lounge, overlooking the terrace at the front of the house, and beyond to the fruit trees visible in the gardens. The ceiling was high and arched, and the plain cream walls were a background for the scarlet leather armchairs and ebony furniture. The french doors stood open admitting a cool breeze, and Sarah for a moment was so absorbed in her surroundings that she did not take a great deal of notice of the woman on the low couch.
And then, transfixed, her eyes met those of Serena de Cordova, and she hardly suppressed the gasp of pure astonishment that almost escaped her. Serena
