again, a winding road along terraces cultivated with coffee beans. Nearer sea-level, they branched on to a side road which brought them to tall gates, standing wide, and a drive which led up to the home of the Duque de Castro.
Juliet caught her breath in a gasp when she saw the quinta for the first time. Built of mellowed grey brick, it stood on three sides of a central courtyard, but Miguel brought the car round to the front of the building and halted on a gravelled forecourt. Surrounded by trees which provided a backcloth for its almost medieval beauty, with the sun turning its windows into golden tongues of flame, the quinta was imposing and impressive, and wholly unlike anything Juliet had even vaguely imagined. Without waiting for Miguel to assist her, she slid out of the car, and stood looking up at the arched portals of its entrance, emblazoned by the crest of the de Castro family. Through an arched hallway, the central courtyard could be seen where a fountain played in its centre, providing a constant and cooling sound of running water.
Miguel smiled at her expression, and said: ‘Come. Consuelo will show you to your room. You will have time to relax before meeting the Duque and his niece.’
Juliet looked down at her dark blue slack suit, and felt relieved. At least she was to have the opportunity of changing before meeting so autocratic a personage as the Duque de Castro.
They entered through heavy doors which stood wide to the morning air, into a hall, marble tiled and panelled with rosewood. A white-painted wrought iron rail supported a wide, shallow staircase, which curved gently up to a long gallery. There were flowers everywhere, on pedestal stands, or simply in huge urns, artistically arranged. There was the smell of beeswax mingled with the perfumes of the flowers, and Juliet thought she would never remember Venterra without recalling the fragrance.
She was looking about her with interest, as Miguel brought in her suitcases, when a dark-skinned woman, with tightly curled hair, approached from along a passage to the left of the hall. Dressed all in black, apart from a white apron, she looked warm and friendly, and Juliet responded to her smile. Was this Consuelo whom Miguel had spoken of?
As though in answer to her unspoken question, Miguel returned at that moment, and standing down the cases he was carrying said: ‘Ah, there you are, Consuelo. As you can see, Senhorita Summers has arrived.’
Consuelo eyed the young man with twinkling eyes. ‘You are late, Miguel!’
Miguel raised his shoulders indignantly. ‘The plane has just landed – is this not right, senhorita?’ he appealed to Juliet.
Juliet nodded, fingering the strap of her handbag, and Miguel seemed to realize her position, for he said: ‘Senhorita Summers, this is Consuelo Rodrigues, housekeeper to the Duque, and my mother’s cousin.’
Juliet smiled, and made a perfunctory greeting, and Consuelo folded her arms. ‘Welcome to the Quinta de Castro, senhorita. I hope you will be very happy here.’
‘Why – thank you.’ Juliet moved uncomfortably This was her first taste of being an employee and she was not aware of what was expected of her.
‘The Senhorita’s room is ready?’ questioned Miguel. ‘I think she would like to wash and relax for a while before meeting the Duque.’
Consuelo gave a vigorous nod. ‘Everything is ready. Muito abrigado, Miguel. I can manage now. José is waiting for you in the orchard.’
Miguel smiled once more at Juliet. ‘I will probably see you later, senhorita,’ and then he turned and went out through the wide doors.
Juliet sighed after he had gone. His friendliness had been a kind of balm, and now she felt tense and nervous again. Not that Consuelo was an alarming person. With her round, ample girth and beaming face, she seemed amiable enough, and when she picked up two of Juliet’s cases and made for the stairs, indicating that Juliet should follow her, Juliet picked up her hand luggage and did so.
The shallow staircase was lined with portraits, and Juliet stared at them, entranced. There were dark, swarthy men and camellia-skinned women, single portraits and family groups, with children dressed in heavy velvets and satins, totally unsuited to the hot Venterra climate. Juliet wondered how long there had been Duques de Castro on the island. Probably for hundreds of years, since the first Spaniards discovered the West Indies. It was a period of history that had always interested her, and her thoughts occupied her to the exclusion of everything else.
Consuelo surged ahead, but Juliet had barely reached the curve of the stairs when footsteps sounded across the tiled courtyard and entered the hall below. She looked down curiously, when a man appeared, wondering who he might be. Tall, dark-haired and deeply tanned, a midnight blue silk shirt open at the throat to reveal the smooth column of his neck rising from the rippling muscles of his chest, he was easily the most attractive male Juliet had ever seen, and she couldn’t help but stare until he turned icy grey eyes in her direction.
‘Por dues!’ he swore angrily. ‘Miguel was right! Come down here, senhorita!’
There was no please or thank you, no apparent sign of anything remotely resembling politeness, and Juliet froze with indignation. The man tapped a slender riding whip against the highly polished leather of his boot.
‘Did you hear what I senhorita?’ he asked coldly. ‘I am not used to being kept waiting!’
Consuelo had turned now and was coming back down the stairs. ‘This is Senhorita Summers, senhor,’ she said, by way of an introduction.
Juliet stiffened. This then must be her employer, the Duque de Castro. Oh lord, she thought dismally, isn’t he charming!
‘I am aware of the young woman’s name!’ the man snapped. ‘Senhorita! Are you paralysed, or merely petrified!’
Juliet felt something flare up inside her at his arrogant words. Just who did he think he was? Just who did he think he was talking to? For a moment she was tempted to reveal her real identity. After all, Robert Lindsay’s was a name to be reckoned with in financial circles. And then the temptation died. She doubted whether anything she might say in that direction would achieve more than her instant dismissal. This man lived many miles away from the mercenary capitals of the world, and obviously considered himself a law unto himself.
But she did not intend that he should see that he had either annoyed or disturbed her. With the control of years of training she slowly descended the staircase, until she made contact with the marble floor of the hall. At this level, he was even more overpowering. Tall herself, he was still much taller, with a width of shoulder and a litheness of movement not out of place in an athlete.
‘I am neither paralysed nor petrified, senhor,’ she said, with more confidence than she was feeling. ‘I gather you are my employer.’
The man looked down at her with narrowed eyes. ‘I am the Duque Felipe Ricardo de Castro, senhorita. I do not recall employing you!’
For a moment Juliet was nonplussed. Then, gathering her scattered wits, she said: ‘I do not understand, senhor. I was employed by a firm of solicitors in London, as companion to your niece, a Senhorita Teresa de Castro.’
The man studied her insolently for a moment, then turned to Consuelo. ‘You knew about this, Consuelo?’
‘Sim, senhor!’
‘Since when?’ he thundered angrily.
‘Since
