Mask Of Scars. Anne Mather

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СКАЧАТЬ tables on the forecourt of the hotel had been cleared now, and lights gleamed from all the windows. There was music, too, emanating from the general direction of the bar, and the sound of men’s voices. Christina entered the hall gratefully. Even Sheila’s maliciousness was preferable to what had happened down there on the beach.

      She stood hesitatingly in the hall, wondering where Bruce might be, and even as she moved in the direction of the passage leading to their private rooms Bruce himself appeared from the bar, followed closely by her sister-in-law.

      ‘Christina!’ he exclaimed, and she saw that there was a look of strain about his eyes. ‘Where the hell have you been? We’ve been worried sick!’

      Christina made a helpless gesture. ‘I’m sorry,’ she was beginning, when Sheila burst out:

      ‘You see! I told you she’d be all right. She didn’t even consider we’d be at all perturbed at her disappearance! Why is your hair wet, Christina? Surely you haven’t been swimming while we’ve been worrying—–’

      ‘That will do, Sheila!’ Bruce looked wearily at his sister. ‘Well, Christina? Where have you been? Do you realise you’ve been gone almost two hours?’

      Christina ran a hand over her damp hair. ‘I am sorry, Bruce, truly, I am. I didn’t realise it was so late.’

      ‘But where have you been? You can’t have been swimming without a bathing suit. Why is your hair wet? It hasn’t been raining.’

      Christina sighed. ‘It’s a long story, Bruce—–’

      ‘What she means is, she has been swimming!’ Sheila accused, triumphantly. ‘I told you, Bruce, she doesn’t fit in here. Porto Cedro isn’t Faro! We’re just beginning to make headway here—–’

      ‘Sheila, please!’ Bruce hunched his shoulders tiredly. ‘Leave this to me. I’m sure Christina must be hungry. She hasn’t had a thing since she arrived and knowing her I doubt whether she stopped to eat en route.’

      Sheila stared at him. ‘You want me to make her something?’ she asked resentfully.

      ‘Well, Maria’s long gone, hasn’t she?’ Bruce ran a hand round the back of his neck. ‘Sheila, please—do as I ask.’

      Sheila shrugged, but with ill grace she went to do as she was bidden and Bruce indicated that Christina should follow him. They went round the reception desk into a small office behind and after the door was closed Bruce looked at her reproachfully.

      ‘Well?’ he said. ‘I want the truth now. Where have you been all this time?’

      Christina thrust her hands awkwardly into her pockets. ‘Oh, Bruce!’ she said helplessly.

      ‘I want to know, Christina.’

      She heaved a sigh. ‘Well, all right. I—I—er—went swimming, like Sheila said.’

      ‘My God!’ Bruce raised his eyes heavenward. ‘Haven’t you any more sense than that, Christina?’

      Christina coloured defensively. ‘I was hot. And I couldn’t come back here, could I?’

      Bruce shook his head impatiently. ‘You could have. You needn’t have left at all. Not the hotel, at least. You could have sat outside and waited until I came out to you.’

      Christina bent her head. ‘I was bored,’ she said. ‘And the lights attracted me.’

      Bruce lit another cigarette. ‘You do realise you could have been molested—or arrested!’ he observed sombrely.

      Christina turned away. Now was the moment to tell her brother what had happened, but she found she couldn’t. He seemed to have accepted that she had been swimming from the public beach and she didn’t want to disabuse him. To do so would create a whole series of new arguments. So she said nothing and Bruce puffed grimly at his cigarette and then said:

      ‘Well, I suppose I’ll have to tell Sheila she was right. But you do realise this will only make matters worse so far as she’s concerned?’

      ‘Yes, I realise that.’ Christina sighed again. ‘Look, Bruce, I meant what I said before. I’ll go back to England. I can easily get a job—–’

      ‘No, you won’t.’ Bruce ground his cigarette out in an ashtray. ‘I sometimes wonder how you manage to get by without running yourself into serious trouble. You’re so—so—–’

      ‘Irresponsible!’ inserted Christina dryly. ‘Yes, I know. But honestly, Bruce, I don’t mean to be, I saw no harm—–’

      ‘No harm!’ Bruce cut her off sharply. ‘If I let you go back to England now I’ll spend the rest of the summer vacation wondering where you are and who you’re with.’

      Christina flushed. ‘You make me sound like a liability.’

      Bruce half smiled. ‘Perhaps you are, at that.’

      Christina looked at him appealingly. ‘Why didn’t you tell me Sheila didn’t know anything about your invitation?’

      Bruce looked discomfited now. ‘Oh, Sheila’s all right. I’ve just got to present her with the fait accompli, that’s all, or she makes so many complaints that I eventually end up by changing my mind. Besides, I had thought you could be of some assistance here.’

      ‘But I can!’ Christina’s features brightened considerably. ‘I told Sheila when I arrived. I’d do anything—wash dishes, make beds, anything! I don’t mind working. I shall enjoy it.’ Then she frowned. ‘But not if Sheila’s going to make—make—well, things difficult for you.’

      Bruce shrugged. ‘I can take it, I guess. In any case, that’s what’s going to be, so she’ll have to accept it.’ Then he hesitated. ‘But maybe some of what she says is good sense. Tonight, for instance. You could have offended the local population if anyone had seen you, and you do tend to act first and think later. Portugal is still a rather masculine-dominated society, and women are expected to behave with decorum. The way you dress, too. It’s not very feminine, is it? Don’t you have any skirts—or dresses?’

      Christina looked down at her worn jeans. ‘Yes, I have dresses. I make my own, mostly. But quite honestly, Bruce, I’m more at home in trousers. I never wear anything else back—back—–’

      She had been about to say back home, when it suddenly occurred to her with rather shattering poignancy that there was no back home any more. There was back in England, or back at the university, but that was all.

      Bruce seemed to sense her sudden remorse, for he moved towards the door, swinging it open and saying: ‘Come on! Sheila should have that supper made by now. I’ll show you round the hotel tomorrow. I guess tonight all you need is something to eat and then bed!’

      Christina’s room overlooked the sub-tropical brilliance of the walled garden at the back of the hotel. It was not a large room, but it was attractively furnished with light walnut and apricot coverings and curtains. Obviously all the rooms at the front of the hotel overlooking the sweep of beach and ocean were reserved for paying guests, but Christina didn’t mind. The scents from the garden floated in through her open windows and she could hear the sea even if she couldn’t see it.

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