dinner jackets, at least in summer.”
“Summer?” echoed Patrick. “After a couple of years in Spain, I don’t really miss English summers. What frightens me is that I might even have to spend a winter there.”
“You’ve gone soft!”
Patrick’s eyes glinted with amusement, but he did not reply to her gentle teasing.
Adrienne’s appearance was the signal for the party to start in earnest. Since most of her friends were Spanish, she spoke in that language, but with a minimum amount of help from Patrick, Nicola understood that everything was to be free and easy and nothing too formal arranged. The guests could swim or dance or eat or merely sit in secluded corners as they chose. The band struck up a gay tune, the Villa staff and a few extra helpers were there to serve drinks and food, and Patrick nimbly lifted two glasses of wine from a tray momentarily set down.
“Here’s to us,” he said, toasting Nicola. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that you decided to stay here after all.”
Nicola supposed he meant that he thought her suitable and congenial company during the next two or three months until he returned to England. But surely he must know quite a number of other girls? Perhaps they were all Spanish and engaged to jealous and fiery young men.
At the back of her mind while she chatted and laughed with Patrick was the remarkable appearance of Adrienne, cool, poised, and smiling, the perfect hostess despite her youth, and no trace of that stormy outburst less than half an hour ago. To Nicola it was an example worth studying. If such a scene had happened to me, she thought, I wouldn’t be fit to be seen for hours.
A drienne also wore a sardana costume, but in different colours from Nicola’s—a pink and white dress, with deep green shawl and apron, a green headdress with a filet of tiny pink flowers.
Patrick decided that he would like to bathe in the Montals’ private patch of the Mediterranean. “Coming, Nicola?”
She hesitated. She had taken some trouble with her make-up and hair-do and was not particularly anxious to swim just now, but she agreed for Patrick’s sake.
“Afraid of mussing up you r hair?” Patrick read her thoughts correctly.
“It’ll be all right,” she assured him.
Together they went to the beach chalet and she pointed out to him the men’s changing room. Then Ramon seized her by the waist and whirled her about.
“Come, please, and dance with me,” he invited.
“But I was just about to go in swimming,” she objected.
“Time for that later, when it is really dark and the moon has risen.”
By this time he had guided her away from the chalet and towards the flat space below the platform where a number of couples were already dancing.
“I don’t know what Patrick will say,” she murmured doubtfully.
“The young Englishman? No doubt he will explore the sea trying to find you, and that will occupy him for a short while.”
The dance was an unfamiliar one to Nicola, a cross between a waltz and a galop danced to paso doble time, but she managed not to make too many mistakes, and Ramon was such an energetic dancer that he practically lifted her off her feet at every opportunity. By the end Nicola was so hot that she would have welcomed a bathe in the sea. Instead, Ramon conducted her to a table in deep shadow, commandeered platefuls of food, a bottle of wine, and proceeded to combine the business of eating with many exaggerated compliments. Sometimes he spoke in Spanish, then gave her a ludicrous translation.
“Tonight is for romance!” he exclaimed, raising his glass to her and thrusting his arm around her shoulders, so that she could scarcely raise her own glass. “I drink to your most beautiful eyes.” He gave her his most genial smile.
“ I shall drink to the return of your sense, Ramon,” she told him, laughing.
“ Oh, no. Nonsense is for the night-time and sense for the morning,” he protested.
“ The morning after?”
Y et it was
“Summer?” echoed Patrick. “After a couple of years in Spain, I don’t really miss English summers. What frightens me is that I might even have to spend a winter there.”
“You’ve gone soft!”
Patrick’s eyes glinted with amusement, but he did not reply to her gentle teasing.
Adrienne’s appearance was the signal for the party to start in earnest. Since most of her friends were Spanish, she spoke in that language, but with a minimum amount of help from Patrick, Nicola understood that everything was to be free and easy and nothing too formal arranged. The guests could swim or dance or eat or merely sit in secluded corners as they chose. The band struck up a gay tune, the Villa staff and a few extra helpers were there to serve drinks and food, and Patrick nimbly lifted two glasses of wine from a tray momentarily set down.
“Here’s to us,” he said, toasting Nicola. “I can’t tell you how glad I am that you decided to stay here after all.”
Nicola supposed he meant that he thought her suitable and congenial company during the next two or three months until he returned to England. But surely he must know quite a number of other girls? Perhaps they were all Spanish and engaged to jealous and fiery young men.
At the back of her mind while she chatted and laughed with Patrick was the remarkable appearance of Adrienne, cool, poised, and smiling, the perfect hostess despite her youth, and no trace of that stormy outburst less than half an hour ago. To Nicola it was an example worth studying. If such a scene had happened to me, she thought, I wouldn’t be fit to be seen for hours.
A drienne also wore a sardana costume, but in different colours from Nicola’s—a pink and white dress, with deep green shawl and apron, a green headdress with a filet of tiny pink flowers.
Patrick decided that he would like to bathe in the Montals’ private patch of the Mediterranean. “Coming, Nicola?”
She hesitated. She had taken some trouble with her make-up and hair-do and was not particularly anxious to swim just now, but she agreed for Patrick’s sake.
“Afraid of mussing up you r hair?” Patrick read her thoughts correctly.
“It’ll be all right,” she assured him.
Together they went to the beach chalet and she pointed out to him the men’s changing room. Then Ramon seized her by the waist and whirled her about.
“Come, please, and dance with me,” he invited.
“But I was just about to go in swimming,” she objected.
“Time for that later, when it is really dark and the moon has risen.”
By this time he had guided her away from the chalet and towards the flat space below the platform where a number of couples were already dancing.
“I don’t know what Patrick will say,” she murmured doubtfully.
“The young Englishman? No doubt he will explore the sea trying to find you, and that will occupy him for a short while.”
The dance was an unfamiliar one to Nicola, a cross between a waltz and a galop danced to paso doble time, but she managed not to make too many mistakes, and Ramon was such an energetic dancer that he practically lifted her off her feet at every opportunity. By the end Nicola was so hot that she would have welcomed a bathe in the sea. Instead, Ramon conducted her to a table in deep shadow, commandeered platefuls of food, a bottle of wine, and proceeded to combine the business of eating with many exaggerated compliments. Sometimes he spoke in Spanish, then gave her a ludicrous translation.
“Tonight is for romance!” he exclaimed, raising his glass to her and thrusting his arm around her shoulders, so that she could scarcely raise her own glass. “I drink to your most beautiful eyes.” He gave her his most genial smile.
“ I shall drink to the return of your sense, Ramon,” she told him, laughing.
“ Oh, no. Nonsense is for the night-time and sense for the morning,” he protested.
“ The morning after?”
Y et it was
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