Mask Of Scars. Anne Mather

her shoulders resignedly. Julio, turning back to his own chores, closed one eye deliberately, and a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth before she followed Sheila down the hall to a door at the far end.

      They entered an enormous kitchen. It was partially tiled and spotlessly clean, with many modern amenities. A rotund Portuguese woman of indeterminate age was in the process of taking a tray of newly baked rolls out of the oven as they entered, and she beamed cheerfully as she placed the tray on the scrubbed wooden table in the centre of the room. The rolls smelt delicious, and Christina’s mouth watered in anticipation.

      ‘Bom dia, Maria!’ said Sheila coolly. ‘This is Senhor Ashley’s sister. She’s come to help us for a while.’

      Maria nodded smilingly, but Christina didn’t altogether care for Sheila’s method of introduction. It seemed obvious that so far as her sister-in-law was concerned, she was to be treated in exactly the same way as the other employees.

      Now Sheila looked round, seemed satisfied with what she could see, and went on: ‘I’ll leave Menina Christina with you, Maria. After she’s had something to eat, perhaps you could give her something to do. Preparing breakfast trays—something like that?’

      ‘Sim, senhora.’ Maria was polite.

      ‘Good.’ Sheila nodded and walked to the door. ‘I expect I’ll see you later, Christina.’

      Christina didn’t bother to make any comment. Sheila expected none, and besides, what could she say that had not already been said? So she merely nodded, and after Sheila had gone she looked expectantly at the cook.

      ‘You are hungry, menina?’ Maria’s face was never long without a smile. It was evident from the upward tilt of her wide mouth and the laughter lines beside her eyes.

      Now Christina nodded eagerly. ‘Starving,’ she agreed, smiling in return. ‘Do you think I could have some coffee and rolls?’

      ‘Why not?’ Maria moved to the dresser which stood against one wall and came back with a dish of yellow butter and some plates. ‘There you are, menina.’ She moved back to the stove. ‘I will make the coffee.’

      The meal that followed was one of the most delicious Christina had ever had. Maria’s rolls were light and crisp, oozing with butter, while the coffee was strong and creamy. Maria sat with her while she ate, having coffee, and watching her with obvious satisfaction.

      ‘You English!’ She shook her head. ‘You are so thin! You do not eat the good food there, I think.’

      Christina wiped her mouth. ‘In England it’s considered a crime for a woman to be fat.’

      ‘So?’ Maria shook her head impatiently. ‘Me—I am always like this. Since I am a young girl, I have always these—these—dimensaos!’

      ‘Proportions,’ put in Christina smilingly. ‘Yes, but then it suits you. It would not suit me to be like you.’

      ‘There is no fear of that, menina. While you are here I think I do my best to put a little flesh on those bones, sim?’

      Christina laughed. ‘I’m sure I shall if I have many breakfasts like this,’ she said. ‘Oh, could I have just one more cup of coffee? That was marvellous!’

      After breakfast, Christina helped Maria lay the trays ready to be taken into the dining room to serve the breakfast. Maria told her there were twelve guests in the hotel which meant it was filled to capacity. There were no young children, she said, but there were two boys with their parents as well as several couples. The hotel only catered for bed and breakfast and consequently the guests were out for most of the day, coming back in the evenings sometimes to drink at the bar.

      Christina wondered whether she would be expected to serve in the dining room, but she was disabused of this assumption when Sheila returned and summoned her upstairs to help her change the beds of two couples who were leaving that morning.

      Unlike while she had been helping Maria, Sheila worked in silence, but whether this was a sullen rejection of Christina’s presence or merely her normal way of going about things, Christina could not be sure.

      Downstairs again, Bruce was sitting at the reception desk and Christina greeted him warmly.

      ‘Where have you been?’ he asked, glancing at his watch. ‘It’s barely nine.’

      Christina chuckled. ‘You may not believe this, but I’ve been up since before seven. I’ve had breakfast with Maria, helped to lay the breakfast trays, and changed the beds with Sheila.’

      ‘Good God!’ Bruce shook his head impatiently. ‘Sheila certainly doesn’t believe in wasting time. Tell me, how do you feel this morning? Happier about everything? I know last night must have been pretty much of an anti-climax for you.’

      Christina touched his hand gently. ‘I’m fine, Bruce, really, I am. And I don’t mind helping. I shall enjoy it.’

      Bruce rose to his feet. ‘I’m glad. But if you’ve been up and about since early this morning I should take it easy now. You don’t want to overdo it and the heat can be quite enervating. The main rush of the day is over. Why don’t you go out and take a look round the village?’

      Christina’s eyes twinkled. ‘Is that permitted?’

      Bruce grinned. ‘I don’t see why not. You’re suitably attired. But if I can get these accounts finished, I’ll come with you, if you like.’

      ‘Could you?’ Christina nodded eagerly, and Bruce bent his head, studying the register.

      Julio appeared from the bar just then. ‘I have finished, senhor!’ he said, his eyes flickering over Christina with interest.

      Bruce looked up. ‘Fine, Julio. By the way, did that crate of special lager arrive?’

      ‘This morning, senhor. With the other delivery.’

      ‘Good.’ Bruce nodded. Have you been introduced to my sister?’

      Julio smiled. ‘We met earlier, senhor.’

      ‘Did you?’ Bruce considered them both for a few seconds, and then he shrugged. ‘Okay, Julio, you can go. Be back around twelve.’

      ‘Obrigado, senhor.’ Julio inclined his head politely, and walked towards the door with lithe easy strides.

      Christina watched him go half-regretfully. She would have liked to have suggested that Julio might show her around, but perhaps he had other commitments.

      Bruce watched her expression frowningly. ‘I shan’t be long,’ he said, drawing her attention back to himself, and Christina sighed and nodded, before walking slowly outside.

      The sun hit her like a tangible force, the heat burning through the thin poplin of her dress. She longed to be able to go indoors again and collect her swimsuit and spend the morning on the beach. But somehow she sensed that this was not what Bruce had in mind. Was that what Julio intended to do?

      She walked out of the forecourt of the hotel and across to the cliff edge, looking down on the harbour below. Away to the right the rocky promontory which guarded the private beach beyond from the public sector looked grim and forbidding. From here it was impossible to discern any breach in its defences, and she sighed again.

      Last night, exhaustion had played its part and she had slept dreamlessly, but this morning she was wide awake and everything that had happened down there came back to her with piercing clarity. She could not help but wonder who the man was who lived beyond the headland, who owned that wild and beautiful stretch of shoreline, who had been so badly disfigured by that jagged scar. And yet she did not dare to ask, for to do so would arouse the kind of speculation she did not want to arouse. No one was aware that she knew of that private beach, let alone its owner.

      She frowned. The whole interlude had a dreamlike quality somehow. Maybe it had all been a figment of her imagination.

      But