Doctor at Villa Ronda by Iris Danbury

said, “Nicola, you must watch carefully for Elena. She is hatching something very bad.”
    “Oh, never mind,” returned Nicola carelessly. “Let’s go to bed. I’m sleepy after that luscious dinner and all that wine.” She yawned exaggeratedly.
    She was just as certain as Adrienne, though, that Dona Elena was out to manipulate matters to suit her own purposes.
    During the next few days, Nicola spent a great deal of her time working for the doctor on his book. Adrienne divided her days between painting, mostly in her studio, and arranging the forthcoming party on the beach.
    “How lucky you are in this country,” sighed Nicola, “to be able to invite people to an evening outdoor party and not have to worry about the weather. In England, we should have a week’s beautiful summer before the party and on the night a thunderstorm would wreck everything.”
    “No thunderstorms until end of September,” remarked Adrienne. “That is when they come, so we do not make arrangements.”
    Nicola had diplomatically suggested that while she was engaged on her secretarial work, Adrienne could perhaps not visit the Gallitos’ house or go out of her way to see Barto, and without actually mentioning the family, Adrienne had tacitly agreed.
    “This young man, Patrick,” Adrienne said, consulting her list of guests. “What is his address?”
    “I’ve no idea where he lives,” confessed Nicola. “I know only his office address. Perhaps I could telephone and ask him to the party?”
    Adrienne wrote down his name. “Patrick Holton,” she murmured. “I am longing to meet him. Make sure, Nicola, that I do not snatch him from you.”
    “I thought you said that was the object—to snatch each other’s men,” Nicola reminded her.
    A drienne giggled. “I will see that you have a wide assortment to choose from. There is Ramon, of course, and Felipe, Isidro and Vicente, Pablo and many others.”
    On the day of the party Sebastian gave Nicola more work than usual, and because she was anxious to finish quickly she made more mistakes and had to re-type pages. There were queries for which she had to leave blank spaces and footnotes indicated too late to go on the appropriate page. When he came into the study at six o’clock and found her still hard at work, he seemed surprised.
    “Aren’t you attending Adrienne’s party?” he asked.
    “Of course. But I haven’t finished the work yet.”
    H e came to stand close by her side. “But I didn’t intend you to finish the whole chapter. Have you no sense of proportion?”
    A fine time to tell her now what his intentions were or were not when she had slaved all day long!
    “My training as a secretary has made me conscientious,” she said stiffly, “but I’ll leave the rest if I may.”
    H e smiled. “I’m sorry.” Then he added, “Adrienne tells me you have invited your English friend from Barcelona.”
    “Yes. She suggested that I should ask Patrick.” As the doctor made no reply, she continued hurriedly, “Perhaps I should have asked your permission, too?”
    “Certainly not. You’re quite free to invite anyone you choose.”
    Yet she still had the impression that he resented her friendship with Patrick, or perhaps he wanted all her interests concentrated within the Villa Ronda so that she would never neglect her various duties.
    She took extra trouble with her appearance tonight and put on the sardana costume lent her by Adrienne, a full-skirted dress of blue and white cotton, with a small fringed shawl in deep violet, an apron and flowing headdress to match, the latter secured with two pink roses on a velvet band. Rope-soled espadrilles tied with criss-cross ribbons round the ankles completed the outfit, and Nicola looked in the mirror well pleased with herself. The fact that she had as yet not the slightest knowledge of the sardana, Catalonia’s own regional dance, did not matter, she thought. She would pick up the steps when she saw it being performed.
    Adrienne