The Arrogant Duke. Anne Mather
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wearing, but at least it gave her an added sense of confidence.
‘Well,’ she replied carefully, ‘the advertisement did say that she had some degree of disability.’
‘Some degree!’ the other girl sniffed. ‘I don’t call an invalid in a wheelchair only partially disabled! Heavens, I thought maybe she had only one arm or something like that!’
Juliet felt a sense of distaste at the girl’s words. ‘I don’t see that it matters,’ she said quietly. ‘Surely a girl so young, confined as she is, deserves companionship.’
‘It’s a nurse they want, not a companion,’ retorted the girl shortly. Then she stood up. ‘Oh, anyway, I don’t think I’ll stay. I don’t want that kind of a job. It was the locality that appealed to me. Tell them I changed my mind, will you?’
Juliet’s eyes widened. ‘All right. But are you sure?’
‘Of course I’m sure. G’bye. Hope you get it, if you want it!’
After the girl had gone Juliet felt uncomfortable. What would the interviewers think when she had to tell them that one of their applicants had changed her mind? She hoped they wouldn’t think she had said anything to deter her.
But when a man who she later discovered to be Mr. Forster came to ask Miss Laurence, as the girl had been called, to come in, and Juliet explained what had happened, he merely shook his head sadly, and said:
‘I’m afraid we worded the advertisement wrongly, Miss Summers – it is Miss Summers, isn’t it?’ and at Juliet’s nod: ‘All the applicants appear to have believed Miss de Castro had some mild disablement that would not inconvenience themselves too greatly. I gather Miss Laurence advised you of the facts of the matter.’
Juliet rose to her feet. ‘Yes, she did.’
He nodded. ‘I see. It was very kind of you to wait and see me.’ He sighed. ‘We must advertise again.’
Juliet drew her brows together. ‘Do I take it then that I’m unsuitable?’
Mr. Forster stared at her. ‘You mean — you’re prepared to take the job?’
Juliet bit her lip. ‘Well, yes, if you’re prepared to interview me.’
Mr. Forster rubbed his hands together. ‘Oh, indeed, yes, indeed, Miss Summers. Come in – come in! I’m sure we can work something out.’
And so they did.
Juliet felt the plane bank slightly, and looked down, feeling the bubble of excitement rising inside her again. What had Mr. Forster said? That the girl, Teresa, had been injured in the same car crash which had killed both her parents; that she was paralysed from the waist down; that the accident had happened six months ago, and since she came out of hospital she had been living on Venterra with her uncle, Felipe de Castro.
They were losing height rapidly now, flying low over the island, giving Juliet a marvellous view of a thickly wooded central area, high peaks emerging above the tops of the trees; a coastline of bays and coves, with the inevitable line of a reef some distance out from the shore; villages nestling at the foot of the hills, fishing boats nudging stone jetties; pastel-painted houses, and the tiles of more sophisticated dwellings, standing in their own grounds. The brilliance of the sun accentuated the greenness of the foliage and the exotic colour of the flowers and trees. She breathed a faint sigh, half relief, half apprehension, for now she had to face her future employer, and her future charge.
She was the only passenger on the hydroplane, apart from Louis, the steward, who had welcomed her aboard. She had gathered from his comments that the plane belonged to Senhor de Castro, her future employer, and was used because there was nowhere smooth and flat enough to support an airstrip. Mr. Forster had told her that Senhor de Castro was a Portuguese gentleman, who had sugar estates on the island, and that apart from herself his household accommodated several servants, including an American nurse for Teresa. Altogether it sounded quite delightful, and Juliet, enchanted with her own freedom, was revelling in it all.
The hydroplane came down on the smooth surface of a bay, which was edged by a small community of cottages, the boats by the jetty rocking as the plane caused the water to swell considerably. Juliet loosened her seat belt, looked back at Louis, and said:
‘We’ve arrived?’
Louis nodded his head. ‘Sim, senhorita,’ he said. ‘This is Venterra. You like?’
Juliet smiled. ‘Yes, I like. What do we do now?’
Louis stood up and came to her side. ‘See, Pedro has already started for the plane with his boat, eh!’
Juliet looked through the window as he pointed, and saw the small rowing boat approaching them. ‘Oh, yes. Thank you, Louis.’ Then: ‘How will I get to the de Castro home?’
Louis unstrapped her suitcases from their position in the rear, and then said: ‘Do not worry, senhorita. A car will have been sent for you.’
‘I see.’ Juliet wished she could dispel the apprehension which was rapidly overtaking all other emotions. ‘Is it far to the house?’
‘The quinta, senhorita! No, it is not far. Miguel will take you.’
Juliet decided she had asked enough questions. It would not do to sound too curious about her employers. She wondered if Senhor de Castro was married. It seemed likely, and yet Mr. Forster had not mentioned it. He must be quite old. Mr. Forster had said that Teresa was the daughter of his younger brother, and as Teresa was sixteen it did not take a great deal of mathematical skill to work out that this man must be in his forties at the very least. She hoped, feeling a twinge of nervousness assail her, that he was not the kind of man to make passes at his employees. Such an idea had not occurred to her before, and yet now it loomed large and rather disturbing.
The small craft touched the hydroplane, and the pilot threw open the door so that Juliet could emerge and climb into the boat. She had decided to wear a slack suit for the journey, and now she was glad she had. Getting in and out of small rowing boats was not the easiest thing to do while endeavouring to hold down a skirt.
The heat here was tempered by a faint breeze, and the boat rocked gently. The scents of the island, a tang of salt and sea and the perfumes of the flowers, mingled with the sweet smell of the cane, and Juliet took a deep breath, shedding a little of her apprehension.
Pedro, the boatman, was dark-skinned like Louis, but with more European features. He grinned cheerfully at the pilot and Louis, and gave Juliet a speculative glance before taking the cases and stowing them in the bottom of the small boat. After a brief conversation with his compatriots, he again took the oars and rowed rhythmically back to the stone jetty. Juliet was aware that their progress had attracted quite a deal of attention from women and children on the jetty, and she tried to interest herself in her surroundings to exclude her embarrassment. There was certainly plenty to see, the attractively painted cottages jostling each other, the fishing vessels with dark nets stretched out to dry, the palms that encroached almost to the water’s edge in places, and most incongruous of all a low-slung cream convertible which was parked on the road which wound between the narrow houses.
Pedro nodded to the automobile. ‘Miguel,’ he said, by way of an explanation. He pointed to himself. ‘Er – Pedro’s – brother.’
‘Oh yes,’ Juliet nodded politely, recalling that Mr. Forster had not said she needed a foreign language here. It would prove awkward if they all spoke mainly Portuguese. Although she knew Spanish, Portuguese was not one of her languages.
They reached the jetty, Pedro threw out the painter, and another man who was very much like Pedro caught it and tied the boat securely to the capstan.
He helped Juliet to climb on to the stone pier, and grinned down at his brother. His gaze turned back to Juliet, his eyes indicative of the appreciation he felt. ‘You are Senhorita Summers?’
‘Yes,’ Juliet nodded again. ‘Did Senhor de Castro send