Eva Ibbotson - A Company of Swans

He briefly turned his head. ‘It’s already done, my dear. And it’s only a scratch.’

Oh, God, thought Rom, this is going to be hell. I will not touch her until I can cut the legal tangle and ask her to marry me. She shall have sanctuary at Follina and nothing else — but she should not say such things to me.

‘Marie-Claude told me about Madame Simonova’s injury,’ he said, determined not to be personal. ‘It’s serious, I understand?’

‘Very serious. The doctors don’t seem to know what it is. They’re trying everything — electrical pads, injections of bee venom… one old doctor even suggested leeches — but nothing seems to help.’

‘The Metropole must be an awful place in which to be ill. I’ll offer Dubrov the Casa Branca until they leave — if she is strong enough to be moved. Carmen and Pedro will look after her.’

There was still one other thing, which Rom told her as they drove down the hazardous jungle track. That he had decided to return to Stavely — and in doing so would make himself responsible for Henry as she had asked.

‘I think I would have done so anyway, once my brother was dead. The place meant everything to my father. He was one of the best men who ever lived and I don’t think I could bear to think of it going to rack and ruin. God knows I love Follina, but the Amazon is no place to bring up children.’

‘No. I don’t think Henry is exactly delicate, but—’

Rom smiled, for it was not Henry that he had had in mind. But he would say no more to Harriet now. When MacPherson confirmed that the purchase of Stavely was completed he would speak to her of the future, but not now — not to a tired child just plucked from danger.

So he is going back to Stavely now that Isobel is free, thought Harriet. It was what I expected and I am glad. I must be glad. It was because of Henry that I came here and was allowed to know Rom and I must not — I must not — make a fuss when it happens, because it’s what I want. It has to be what I want. Only, let me not waste one minute of the time that I am allowed with him. That’s all I ask, God — that you give me the courage not to waste one minute, not one second of that time…

An hour later they drove up the sweep of gravel to Follina. Late as they were, light streamed from a window; Lorenzo came running down the steps and other servants, their dark eyes bright with relief at their master’s safe return, clustered round them.

I have only been here once before in my life, Harriet told herself. It is not my home. But the sense of homecoming, the lovely familiarity of everything she saw was overwhelming. The coati coming to rub itself against her legs, Lorenzo’s gold-toothed smile… Maliki and Rauni, her bath attendants, who had tumbled out of their hammocks at the sound of her voice and now bobbed their welcome, fingering admiringly the skirts of her white tarlatan — so much prettier than the brown dress they remembered.

Though Rom had been absent for a week his rooms were filled with flowers, the furniture gleamed with beeswax, the chandeliers blazed…

‘You must be starving. I’ve asked Lorenzo to serve supper in half an hour — I must clean myself up; I’m not fit to join you like this. Only listen to me carefully, Harriet.’ Rom was very tired and his frown as he groped for the right words was formidable. ‘The only way you can be safe now, for a while at least, is here at Follina. My estate is guarded and no harm can befall you here. If Edward gives up and goes back to England, then it will be different — and once de Silva returns from Ombidos there will be no nonsense from the police. The laws on extradition and repatriation are far more complex than poor Carlos realises. But for the moment, it would be disastrous for you to leave here.’

‘Yes. I see that.’

‘However, in view of what happened the last time you were here… I want to assure you that what I offer you is sanctuary pure and simple. You are very young and—’ He broke off, too weary to make a speech about her youth. People, in any case, were apt to know how old they were. ‘I expect nothing from you, Harriet. I’m arranging for you to have the guest-rooms on the other side of the house — they are completely self-contained and private. The last person to sleep there’ — his mouth twisted in a wry grin — ‘was the Bishop of St Oswald. So you see!’

‘Thank you. You are extremely kind.’

Rom looked at her sharply as she stood before him in her favourite listening pose: her hands folded, her feet in the third position. It occurred to him that neither in her face nor her voice was there the relief and gratitude that he expected — that indeed he felt to be his due.

He went away to take a shower then and Harriet was led by the Rio-trained chambermaid to the rooms which had been occupied by the bishop, where she washed her face and hands and combed her hair. She could see how suitable the accommodation had been for the eminent cleric: the rooms were panelled in dark wood, books lined the wall, there was a high and unmistakably single bed. Nothing less like the Blue Suite, with its exotic bathroom and voluptuously curtained bed, could be imagined.

Lorenzo had set a meal in the salon, at a table by the window. In order not to embarrass Harriet, Rom had dressed informally in a white open-necked shirt and dark trousers. Showered and shaved, his hand lightly bandaged, he had shaken off his fatigue and felt tuned-up and expectant, a change that he regretted. There was nothing that he must expect.

‘I’m afraid I couldn’t put on anything different,’ said Harriet apologetically. ‘I suppose I must do something about getting hold of my clothes.’

He smiled. ‘There’s nothing more becoming than what you’re wearing. Most of the clothes women buy are aimed at achieving just that effect — ethereal… a bit mysterious… and exceedingly romantic.’

No, that was a mistake. He must not be personal; he must pay her no compliments and quite certainly he must not stretch out a hand to where her winged and devastating collarbone curved round the hollow in her throat. A ‘neutral topic’, that was what was required. Her work, then…

‘They’re a strange lot, those Wilis,’ said Rom. ‘Why are they so determined to dance all those poor men to death?’

‘Well, they’re the spirits of girls who died before their wedding day — because they were deserted by their fiancés, I think, though one is never told exactly.’

‘But Albrecht seemed to be all right? Maximov was still going strong when I pulled you from the rock, as far as I could see.’

‘That’s because Giselle saves him by dancing in his stead. She goes on and on, throwing herself in front of him, until the dawn comes and the Wilis have to leave.’

‘Why, though? Surely he betrayed her, didn’t he, in Act One?’

Harriet lifted her head from her plate, surprised. ‘She loved him. Him. Not what he did. So of course she would try to save him.’

The topic was not turning out to be as neutral as he had hoped. He began, in response to her shy questions, to tell her a little about Ombidos now that the horror was past, and of Alvarez’ courage once he had decided to go.

And another ‘neutral topic’ ran into the ground as he recalled the Minister’s voice when he spoke of Lucia, who had had Harriet’s eyes… and who must have looked at Alvarez as Harriet was looking now, her lifted face full of trust and happiness.

Only why, thought Rom a little irritably, for he felt that Harriet somehow was not really helping. Why does she look like that? She must be aware of my reputation… of what everyone would think.

‘It’s late,’ he said abruptly. ‘You must be tired — don’t let me keep you up.’