The Japanese Screen

Señor Castana made some deprecatory comment before showing her out, but after the study door was closed, Susannah stood for several minutes in the hall thinking over what had been said before returning to the schoolroom. She was still standing there when the maid came down the stairs.

‘Oh, there you are, Miss King,’ she exclaimed. ‘I’ve been up to the schoolroom looking for you. There’s a letter been delivered for you.’

‘A letter? For me?’ Susannah forced herself to remain calm. ‘Where – where is it?’

‘It’s here, miss.’ The maid drew an envelope out of the pocket of her apron. ‘Delivered by hand, it was. Do you know who it’s from?’

Susannah took the envelope from the maid’s inquisitive hands, turning it over with trembling fingers. It was parchment-stiff, the quality evident, and there was a monogram on the flap. Making no attempt to open it, she stared at the scrawling handwriting and her heart skipped a beat. It had to be from him, it just had to.

Aware that the young maid was watching her eagerly, waiting for her to open it, she went towards the stairs and ran up them lightly. ‘Thank you,’ she called over her shoulder, and guessed that her concealment of the letter’s contents would become the topic of much gossip and speculation in the kitchen. But she couldn’t bear to open it in front of anyone else.

She went to the schoolroom first and checked that Eduardo was still busy, then she went to her own suite of rooms. Once inside she tore open the envelope and drew out the sheet of thick paper it contained. It was a letter, and an urgent glance at the signature at the end assured her of its writer’s identity.

Dear Susannah, she read,

As you do not wish me to come to the house and as I cannot telephone without revealing my identity, I am forced to use this method of contacting you. I would like to see you again. I am expected to return to Spain on Sunday and therefore I would hope that we might dine together this evening or tomorrow evening. I realize that this is very short notice, that you may have some previous engagement, but I very much want to see you again, Susannah, and I shall wait in anticipation of your reply. You may reach me at the hotel at the head of this page.

Yours, Fernando Cuevas.

She re-read the letter twice, sitting on the edge of her armchair, conscious of a rising sense of exhilaration out of all proportion to the situation. But she couldn’t help it. To know that she was going to see him again filled her with excited expectation.

Putting the letter away carefully in her handbag, she returned to the schoolroom. As soon as she could she would ask Señor Castana whether she had any objections to her going out that evening. Now that Señor Castana was home surely no one would mind. Then she would telephone Fernando Cuevas’s hotel while she and Eduardo were out walking this afternoon.

To her delight, Lucie Castana came to the schoolroom some fifteen minutes later and after speaking to Eduardo and complimenting him upon his painstaking work, she said: ‘Señorita, my husband and I will be dining out this evening.’ She didn’t seem to notice Susannah’s consternation, but continued: ‘It is a little celebration, you understand? He has told you, has he not, of this most excellent appointment in the United States?’ She hugged herself delightedly. ‘Oh, can you not imagine how wonderful it will be, señorita, living in such an exciting city? Meeting so many interesting people? There will be so much to do – so many places to go! I was becoming bored with London, and I can’t wait to get away. Carlos has said we are to have a house on Long Island, and Eduardo will learn to swim and have other children to play with—’

She broke off suddenly as she became aware of Susannah’s dismayed expression. ‘What is the matter, señorita?’ she demanded. ‘Are you not pleased that my husband has gained this promotion? Why are you looking so – so miserable?’

Susannah tried to compose herself. ‘Nothing’s wrong, señora,’ she denied. ‘So you’re going out this evening to celebrate.’

‘Have I not just said so?’ Lucie looked annoyed. ‘Is there something wrong in that? Surely you do not object to staying in this evening, señorita?’

‘No. No, of course not, señora.’

Susannah shook her head trying not to feel too disappointed. There was always tomorrow evening, and it was something to look forward to.

Lucie’s nostrils flared. ‘If you have made arrangements for this evening, señorita, then you must change them to tomorrow!’

Susannah nodded. ‘Very well, señora.’

Lucie gave her one last impatient stare and then turned and left the room. Obviously she considered Susannah’s attitude lacking. She had no doubt expected some enthusiasm about the proposed move to New York, but Susannah couldn’t think about that now. For the present her thoughts were obsessed with the desire to get to a telephone and tell Fernando Cuevas that she would have dinner with him the following evening.

CHAPTER THREE (#u73c95c7b-deb1-5852-920f-e35732a4c1d2)

IN fact, Susannah did not get to speak to Fernando on the telephone. When she rang his hotel that afternoon, the receptionist politely informed her that Señor Cuevas was out and could she take a message. As Susannah could not be sure of being able to telephone at some other time she had to leave a message with the girl, but it was an unsatisfactory arrangement and she hoped it would reach him. She spent the evening chafing at the restriction she had placed on herself by deciding not to involve anyone else which prevented her from making any call from the Castana house.

On Saturdays, Eduardo had lessons in the morning as usual, but in the afternoon if his father was at home he was taken out by his parents. It gave Susannah a couple of hours to go shopping or attend to her own personal affairs and this week she decided to wash her hair. It was thick and long and took some time to dry, but she used no hair-dryer, allowing it to dry naturally on a towel about her shoulders. Newly washed, it was smooth and silky and she decided that tonight she would leave it loose.

It was not until Eduardo was in bed and she was changing in her room that she realized that no actual arrangement for meeting Fernando had been made. She decided to go to the end of the terrace as before and hoped that her employers would not notice that she appeared to be walking out in a long dress.

It had taken her some time to decide what to wear. At first she had considered wearing trousers. She had several pairs of trousers that looked good when combined with a smock or a lurex tunic, but a feline desire to display a certain femininity forbade such casual attire. Instead she was wearing an amber-coloured caftan, edged with blue and green lurex braid, that dipped deeply to the cleft of her breasts in front and had wide sleeves that displayed her slender arms to advantage. She wore little make-up, adding only a green eye-shadow and a colourless lustre to her lips. Gold hoops swung out from the ashen fairness of her hair and she knew she was looking her best.

As it was a cool evening, she wore a navy blue velvet cape over her dress as she hurried towards the corner just before eight o’clock. As before there was no sign of her escort, and she linked her arms under the cape praying that he had received her message and that he did intend meeting her.

By ten past eight she was feeling chilled to the bone, and it wasn’t entirely due to the cold air about her. Where could he be? Should she go and find a telephone and ring his hotel? Perhaps he had not received her message after all. Perhaps he had left for Spain a day earlier than planned!

The horror that this aroused in her frightened her a little. She was allowing things to get out of hand. Heavens, she had only been out with the man once. She could hardly count that visit to the zoo as an invitation to her. And never at any time had he given her reason to suppose that he found her more than ordinarily attractive.

At twenty minutes past eight she gave up hope. He wasn’t coming and she hadn’t the courage to ring his hotel and find out why. She turned miserably and began walking slowly back along the terrace. Perhaps she would be able to slip indoors again without the Castanas knowing. The last thing she wanted was to have to explain why her evening had ended before it had even begun.

She had taken only a few steps when a voice that she ought not to have been so overwhelmingly aware of shouted: ‘Susannah! Susannah! Por dios, I thought I would miss you!’

She turned rather unsteadily. Fernando was leaping out of the gold Granada at the kerb, running towards her. She stood motionless, unable to show either delight or dismay at his sudden appearance, a choking emotion threatening to devastate her.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ he was saying, a smile in his voice. ‘Your London traffic is – how do you say it – el diablo, si? I have been stuck in a jam for the best part of forty minutes, and—’ He broke off, suddenly becoming aware of her quivering immobility. ‘Que? What is it? Susannah – what is wrong?’ He lifted her chin with his fingers looking down into her eyes penetratingly. ‘Dios! You are upset! I am a clumsy fool, am I not? But you knew I would come – surely you knew that!’

Susannah couldn’t trust herself not to give her feelings away. She drew her chin away from his hand and made an indifferent little movement of her shoulders. ‘How am I supposed to know anything?’ she demanded unsteadily.

His dark brows drew together in a frown. ‘But of course you knew. Why else would I have issued the invitation?’ He reached for her impatiently, his fingers closing over the fine bones of her shoulders, his rings digging into her flesh, giving her a little shake. ‘Do you not know how frustrated I felt, sitting in the car, unable to contact you?’

He was close, too close. His body was only inches away from hers. His warm breath was fanning her forehead. Had her hands not been trapped within the enveloping folds of her cape she felt sure she would not have been able to prevent herself from reaching out and touching him. Instead, she looked up into his face. There was concern in the fine darkness of his eyes with their fringing of thick black lashes, concern and something else, something that caused a sudden breathlessness, a sudden inexplicable weakness in her legs.

‘Sagrada Maria, Susannah!’ he muttered huskily, ‘do not look at me like that! Do not make me do something we would both regret!’

Her face flamed and she would have pulled away from him, but he shook his head a trifle grimly and with a kind of rough determination propelled her towards the car. Once inside, she averted her head and he got in beside her without a word, driving away from the quiet terrace with his usual expertise.

As they turned into the main stream of traffic he spoke again. He had evidently got himself well under control, and his voice was cool as he said: ‘I suggest we dine at my hotel. It’s a little late to be leaving London, do you not think so?’

Susannah made no response and he took her silence to mean acquiescence. They drove through the busy streets thronged with theatre-goers, down Shaftesbury Avenue and into the Strand. Susannah had never been into the Savoy before, and she was glad now that she had chosen to wear a long dress. Fernando for his part seemed totally unimpressed by his surroundings, but in his expensively-cut charcoal lounge suit, a dark red shirt and tie giving him a somewhat alien air, he slotted effortlessly into this background.

He left her for a moment in the reception hall to speak to a man who looked like a manager of some sort. When he came back he put his hand beneath her elbow and led her towards the lift. She looked at him with startled eyes and his expression relaxed a little.

‘I thought we might dine in my suite, Susannah,’ he explained quietly. ‘Do you have any objections?’

Susannah sought about in her mind for a suitable reply. She felt sure that in Spain he would never dream of taking a woman to dine in his suite, but she didn’t know how to make the protest.

‘Is – is there something wrong with dining in the restaurant?’ she inquired unevenly.

‘No.’ Fernando halted, looking down at her. ‘Would you prefer that?’

Susannah pressed her lips together rather unhappily. If she was honest she would admit that she would not prefer that at all. But what respect could he have for a woman who would agree to dine in his suite?

Now, she licked her lips and said: ‘If you would – rather not be seen with me—’

She had never seen anyone look so angry. Without a word, he turned and walked back across the reception area, leaving her again while he spoke to the man she had thought was the manager. Then he came back to her. She had shed her cape, but not even the attractiveness of her appearance lifted the cold anger from his eyes.

The next hour was the worst period of Susannah’s young life. The exceptional quality of the food was lost on her, and she noticed that Fernando ate little himself, merely drinking liberally of the wine and making a pretence of enjoying the steak and salad he had chosen. She was unutterably relieved when it was over and he suggested they should leave the restaurant.

In the reception area again, she collected her cape and looked at him nervously. ‘If – if you’d rather not take me home, señor, I shall quite understand,’ she murmured, in a small voice.