Innocent Invader

She pushed open the door, and said: La Señorita Winter, señora,” and ushered Sarah into the room.

As the door closed behind her, Sarah found herself in a spacious lounge, overlooking the terrace at the front of the house, and beyond to the fruit trees visible in the gardens. The ceiling was high and arched, and the plain cream walls were a background for the scarlet leather armchairs and ebony furniture. The french doors stood open admitting a cool breeze, and Sarah for a moment was so absorbed in her surroundings that she did not take a great deal of notice of the woman on the low couch.

And then, transfixed, her eyes met those of Serena de Cordova, and she hardly suppressed the gasp of pure astonishment that almost escaped her. Serena de Cordova was of mixed blood, a very beautiful woman, but the complete antithesis of any of Sarah's speculations. It seemed to Sarah that for a brief instant time stood still as she stared at the mother of the three children she had met earlier, and then gathering her composure, she said:

“You must forgive me. But nobody prepared me for this!”

Serena rose to her feet. She was almost as tall as Sarah and was dressed in a green satin pyjama suit, a long cigarette holder with a cigarette smouldering at its tip between her fingers.

She studied Sarah for a moment in silence, and then she said:

“Well, at least you're honest. Didn't Jason explain?”

“He – well –” Sarah ran a tongue over her dry lips. “To be honest, I mistook him for somebody else. We didn't speak of you or the children on the trip up from the harbour.”

Serena indicated an armchair and said: “Sit down, please.” She drew on her cigarette. “You found Jason quite unconventional, I gather.”

Her English was almost faultless and Sarah wondered how she had come to have such a good education if she had been born here on the island.

“Yes, I suppose I did.”

Serena smiled. “Don't concern yourself. Jason can be as correct as any Englishman if the situation demands it. Now, tell me about yourself. Have you had much experience with young children? I should warn you, my children are quite uncontrollable by anyone except Jason, and he doesn't have the time to spend with them.”

“I've already encountered the children,” said Sarah, relaxing under the other woman's casual manner. “They seemed to resent my coming here. Have they had previous governesses?”

“No. You're the first. Eloise, as you'll have been informed, is eight now, and can't read or write. She's quite sharp at picking things up orally, but the written word means nothing to her,”

“Have you tried to teach the children yourself?”

“Me?” Serena sounded flabbergasted. “Good lord, no! I'm no schoolmistresss!”

Sarah wanted to ask her what she did with herself all day, but it would have sounded impertinent. And yet, coming from a household where every member was supplied with tasks to be performed every day, Serena's life sounded quite empty and pointless. “I see,” she said.

Serena lounged back on to the couch and picked herself a handful of grapes from a nearby fruit bowl.

“Jason has been spending a little time with them,” she said, munching the grapes speculatively. “But they're getting too old to be left to run free all day long. Not that there's much else for them to do here.”

“Were you born on the island, señora?” asked Sarah tentatively.

“Here? Me?” Serena laughed. “No, I come from Trinidad. My parents own an hotel there. That's how I met Antonio – he stayed at the hotel. He left the island, too, you know. Sold out to Jason years ago and went to Port of Spain to make his fortune. Needless to say he didn't succeed, and when we got married we came back here so that Antonio could work for Jason.”

Sarah swallowed hard. In two minutes Serena had told her quite a lot about herself and explained her different attitudes.

“I would have liked to go back to Trinidad,” went on Serena, sighing a little, “but my parents haven't room for me and three kids as well, and besides, how would I support them?”

Sarah nodded. Serena's dilemma was quite understandable. Besides, if Jason was fond of the children, it seemed unlikely that he would allow this girl to take them to another island where he would not be able to supervise their upbringing. They were his brother's children, and from what she had gathered from the solicitors in London, he was their guardian as well.

Looking at the other woman, she realised that she must be at least twenty-five, but she looked little more than a teenager. She was very slim and boyish in appearance, and her curly hair had been allowed to grow and was a mass of ebony confusion about her small face. She was elegant but unsophisticated; a mother yet a child still.

“And what do you suggest the arrangements should be?” asked Sarah, reverting to less personal matters. “When will I have charge of the children? Where will we take our meals?”

Serena drew on her cigarette and watched a smoke ring disappear in the air above her head. “Now, let me see,” she said slowly. “The children and yourself, of course, will eat lunch with me here, in the adjoining dining room. They always eat lunch with me, so I see no reason to change that state of affairs, do you?”

“No, señora,” Sarah agreed.

“Good. As to the other, I think you'd better wait and let Jason give you your instructions. You're his employee, not mine. Although,” her eyes grew a little taunting, “I have the say-so as to whether you stay or go.”

Sarah flushed, and at once Serena leaned forward and touched her hand, like a child asking for forgiveness when it knows it has done something wrong. “Of course you'll stay,” she said, leaning back against the red upholstery. “I like you. You're my own age. It will be nice to have someone other than that bitch Irena in the house. Have you met dear Irena?”

Sarah's colour deepened. “That is Señor de Cordova's wife?”

“Yes.”

“I … er … we met as I arrived.”

Serena grimaced. “Old cow!” she muttered, stubbing out her cigarette and leaning forward to take another from the ebony box on the table.

Sarah clasped her fingers together. She did not want to become involved in a discussion about her employer's wife. Their personal affairs were nothing to do with her. Her only concern was the children.

She was relieved when a shadow appeared in the French doorway, and they looked up to see a small, attractive Spanish girl standing there. She was dressed in a flame-coloured swirling skirt and a peasant-type off-the-shoulder blouse of white chiffon. Her dark hair was short and straight and shaped her head like a cap of black velvet.

“Serena,” she said, smiling vividly, “darling how are you?”

She came forward and smoothly kissed the other girl's cheek before turning to Sarah and giving her the benefit of her gleaming smile, which Sarah privately thought was rather too effusive.

“You must be the Señorita Winter!” she exclaimed. “But you are so young! Whatever has Jason been thinking of, Serena?”

Sarah hated to be treated as though she were a child, and that was exactly the impression which this girl was creating, so she rose stiffly to her feet and said: “The señor seemed quite prepared to give me a trial.”

The girl's laugh trilled merrily. “My dear, don't be so quick to take offence.”

“This is Señorita Dolores Diaz,” said Serena, intervening. “Her father and Jason are partners in the distillery. Dolores is a good friend of mine.”

Sarah shook hands with the other girl, but felt strangely intuitive that this Spanish girl's assumed friendship with Serena was merely a ruse to gain access to this house. But why? Shrugging these thoughts away, Sarah allowed herself to be wafted into a seat again, while Serena rang a bell and summoned the African housemaid who appeared to bring them pre-lunch aperitifs.

Sarah, who did not smoke, watched the other two girls light cigarettes, and seated together begin to discuss the coming fiesta which was to take place on the island.

“There is even to be a bullfight this year,” said Dolores proudly. “Have you ever seen a bullfight, Miss Winter?”

Sarah shook her head. “I'm afraid not. Have you?”

Dolores clasped her hands excitedly. “But of course. I have visited Spain, you understand, and in the great bullring in Madrid I saw El Cordobes.”

Recognising the name of the famous young bullfighter, Sarah nodded her understanding. “I don't think I would like to see a bullfight,” she said quietly. “I'm afraid I'm very English. I don't like blood sports.”

“And yet you hunt the fox until it is caught and torn to pieces by the hounds,” exclaimed Dolores, at once.

“Not me,” said Sarah, with a half-smile. “And we do have societies that try to prevent that sort of thing.”