'How could you have agreed to go?' Catherine demanded later. Fiona had retreated to her room immediately after lunch and Catherine was free to express her feelings.
'You did,' the Major pointed out justifiably.
'Yes, but how could I refuse when everyone was against me? How could I tell that wretched man what I thought of him when Jenny and John seemed to approve of him? They're your friends, I couldn't insult them. Why did you accept?' she asked again.
The Major seemed uncharacteristically indecisive, smoothing his crisp grey moustache with nervous strokes.
Why had he changed? He wasn't behaving at all like his normal self, when he had unalterable opinions and didn't care what people thought of him.
'Oh, Catherine! Let's hope he leaves soon,' Margaret said. 'I can't say I liked him.'
'Preferably before tomorrow!'
Catherine's wish came to nothing. The following evening they again walked along the road to the Thorns' house. Catherine saw some friends sitting at one of several small tables squeezed in wherever there was space, and crossed to them.
Millie was dancing nearby, singing to herself as she did so. Then her father came out of the house and she ran across to him, talking excitedly. He took her hand and came across to Catherine.
'Millie is dancing in the flower festival procession on Sunday,' he explained, 'and practising all the time. I'm afraid she'll be far too exhausted to dance when it actually happens.'
'No I won't, Daddy!'
Millie laughed, and seeing Selina and Charlie arrive, abandoned her father and went dancing over to them.
'Where's Bernie?' Catherine asked as Dominic pulled up chairs for the girls.
'He had to wait for a phone call from the States. He'll be along soon.'
Before Bernie arrived, however, Keith Livermore, dressed in skin-tight jeans and a black t-shirt with a skull and crossbones displayed on the front, came in, with a blonde, underdressed and over-painted girl, who looked no older than Fiona clinging possessively to his arm.
He shook her off with what looked, from her expression, a rebuff, and made at once for Jenny, who was standing near them, talking to another neighbour, grabbed her round the waist and swung her round.
'You don't mind my bringing Sammy, do you?' he asked as he set a flushed Jenny down. 'She'll be no trouble. If she is I'll spank her.'
Sammy, who had followed him across the terrace, giggled and pushed him in the arm. He turned and growled playfully, then bent and kissed her full on the mouth, at which she flung her arms round his neck and pressed herself against him. It lasted far too long, and many of Jenny's guests were looking at him in astonishment or disgust.
John came across to them with tall glasses and the girl reluctantly let go, but glanced round at the other guests with a smug expression on her face.
'Here, try this poncha,' John said.
Livermore looked at it suspiciously.
'It looks like fruit juice, man. Haven't you anything stronger?'
'I think you'll find this strong enough,' John said, and Catherine detected a note of disgust in his voice. She didn't blame him, the wretched man was behaving abominably. 'It's made with made with Aguardente de cana, which is distilled alcohol made from sugar cane juice, honey, sugar, lemon rind and lemon juice.'
Livermore shrugged, took a glass and sipped cautiously.
'Mm, not bad,' he said slowly.
Sammy took the other glass and drank deeply. Then she almost choked and turned a bright red.
'It's lethal!' she managed. 'I gotta lie down!'
'Great idea, chick! Lead us to a bedroom, then, Thorn,' Livermore said, grinning at John.
Dominic, who had been watching this exchange with a deep frown, stood up abruptly and took a few paces towards Livermore.
'I think you have outstayed your welcome,' he said quietly, taking Livermore by the arm. 'That's the way out.'
Livermore glared at him.
'Let go of me, you peasant! I'll go when I'm bloody good and ready,' he said, his voice slurred.
That one glass, and he hadn't drunk half of it, couldn't have had so big an effect, Catherine thought. He'd been sloshed before he arrived.
'Just because I sell more than you do, with your poncy little outfits, doesn't give you any right to give me orders!'
'Are you going quietly?' Dominic asked.
'That horrid man's going to hit Daddy!' Millie whispered, clinging on to Catherine, who could feel her shaking.
Catherine pulled her onto her lap and gave her a hug.
'Of course he isn't. If anyone is going to hit someone, it will be your father hitting him. Look, he's decided to go.'
John, the Major, and some of the other men had drawn near. Sammy clutched Livermore's sleeve.
'Come on, Keithy,' she urged, looking round at the grim-faced men in some alarm.
He looked round and shrugged.
'We know when we're not welcome at your poncy little parties. Poncha little parties,' he added, and giggled. Then he and Sammy turned and with some assistance from John and Dominic found their way to the gate and staggered away down the road.
Jenny was pink with mortification.
'Oh dear, I'm so sorry, everyone. If I'd had any idea what he was like I'd never have invited him!'
'Not your fault,' they all reassured her, and began to talk animatedly, but the party never properly recovered, and much earlier than usual the guests began to leave.
*
Catherine relaxed when they saw no more of Livermore during the next few days. Bobby Scott came to visit Fiona, and suggested he show her some of the island sights.
'We could go walking on some of the levadas,' he suggested eagerly. 'I need the exercise,' he added ruefully, patting his stomach.
He was quite plump, Catherine thought judiciously, but not fat as Fiona had so scornfully claimed. He looked reliable, a kind and gentle boy she could trust to look after her daughter.
Fiona was looking puzzled. 'Levadas?'
'You know what they are, Fiona,' the Major said, rather impatiently. He had been withdrawn and unusually preoccupied the last few days. 'They were built originally as an irrigation system, channels dug round the contours to carry the water where it is wanted. They make pleasant walks.'
Fiona nodded. 'Oh yes, I remember. I saw those pictures of the men building them in that book you have. They seemed to be hanging off the side of a mountain.'
'They were,' Bobby said.
She suddenly smiled at him, and Catherine breathed a sigh of relief.
'Might be fun. How do we get there?'
'By bus, then we can catch another one back into Funchal at the far end. If we took a car we'd have to double back.'
'Just the easy ones, Bobby,' the Major said, and Bobby reassured him he would not permit Fiona to attempt anything but the simplest walks.
'No tunnels, or those narrow bridges with vertical drops each side,' he promised.
Catherine, thankful that she showed an interest and seemed to have forgotten her initial disparagement of the young man, took Fiona into Funchal to buy suitable walking boots and a warm, waterproof jacket.
'I know it's warm here but the temperature can drop a great deal higher up, and occasionally there's even snow on the mountain tops in winter. And mists or cloud can close in without warning.'
On Sunday Bobby organised a tour of the eastern part of the island, and he and Fiona returned to an impromptu supper with the Simkins, full of enthusiasm. She had been so delighted with the first levada Bobby had shown her she wanted to explore as many others as she could. On several afternoons during the following week, after dutifully spending the morning with her books, she announced she and Bobby were planning another walk and set off by bus to meet him. Catherine was thankful that he seemed able to take as much free time as he wished, and told herself she need be less concerned about Fiona being bored now she had a friend near her own age.
She had other preoccupations. Depite her mother's protests she had insisted on moving to somewhere on their own.
'There isn't room here for me to work,' she'd explained. 'I'm in your way and I always meant to find an apartment after the first week or so with you.'
When Margaret found a small villa nearby, which some friends were happy to rent to her, she agreed to take it. It had the disadvantage that Fiona, much as she loved him, felt herself to be close enough still under the constant and critical surveillance of her grandfather, but she was friendly with Selina and Charlie, spent time with them and Bobby, so was reasonably content, not likely to rub against his rules.
The Major's abstraction was more worrying. As she organised her sketchbooks and patterns on the big table she had placed under a window overlooking the harbour, Catherine puzzled over his mood. Margaret had questioned him once or twice, but retreated when he tetchily denied being in any way changed.
'I'm just the same as ever,' he declared. 'For goodness' sake, woman, stop fussing over me!'
'But why does he drive into Funchal every day?' Margaret asked when she came to see how Catherine was settling in. Her face, with the fine bones Catherine had inherited, looked drawn, and with a pang Catherine saw more clearly than before the deepening lines. 'He's off the minute breakfast is finished. He isn't gone long, barely time to stop for a coffee, and he never brings anything back, not even a newspaper, so he's not shopping. Not that he ever does any apart from his own clothes and wine, which he doesn't trust me to buy.'
'Have you asked him where he goes?'
'Yes, but he refuses to answer. You know how he either turns away or changes the subject.'
Catherine laughed suddenly.
'His usual tactic is to make some ridiculous accusation you are so anxious to deny that by the time that's dealt with you've forgotten he hasn't answered the question. Are you really worried?'
'Puzzled, I suppose. It's so unlike him. He's normally so predictable.'
'And can be found after breakfast for precisely an hour reading the paper, on the terrace if it's fine, in the sitting room if it's not. Then he answers letters in his study until the hall clock strikes eleven, when coffee has to be ready. I know! It used to infuriate me and I wondered how you could endure it.'
Margaret shrugged. 'I used to get irritable. It frustrated me when I wanted him to break the routine, but if you love someone you accept things like that. They aren't important enough to cause rows, and it did mean stability. I always knew where he was and what he was doing! This change is much more unsettling.'
*
The opportunity to spy on her father – though Catherine would have vehemently denied any such charge – came the next day. Selina appeared as Catherine was clearing away the breakfast dishes.
'Catherine, come into Funchal with me. Bernie's busy, Charlie's inseparable from her new painting, and I'm stuck in the middle of Chapter two, which I'm rewriting. We'll go shopping in the Dolce Vita, have coffee somewhere, maybe lunch, and just gossip.'
Catherine readily agreed. She wanted to work, but she could do that later.
Selina drove much faster than most people, and long before they crossed the Via Rapida and were heading down into central Funchal Catherine was clutching her seat apprehensively. Then she forgot her nervousness, for on the bend below she saw her father's car sedately waiting behind a bus.
'Selina! I'll explain why as we go, but please can you follow my father? He's in front of us.'
'I can see him. Where's he going? I've seen him driving off several times recently, and thought it was unusual.'
'He goes every day but we don't know where. It's obsessing Mum, though she tries to pretend she doesn't really mind.'
'The girl sleuths to the rescue!' Selina chortled, and Catherine clutched at the seat again while Selina steered nonchalantly past a jeep and waved cheekily as she narrowly avoided a huge lorry toiling up the long hill.
They trailed the Major through the crowded town centre, past the town hall, and out along the Avenida do Infanta which ran alongside the Santa Caterina park.
'He must be going to one of the hotels, but I can't imagine why,' Catherine said, puzzled. 'He hasn't mentioned knowing anyone staying at one of them.'
They could see the Major's car ahead as it climbed the gentle slope out towards the far side of the town. They passed several hotels but the Major drove steadily on.
'This only leads up to the Lido and the hotels there,' Catherine said. 'He's never away long enough to go much further.'
At that moment the Major signalled and turned into a discreet, elegant yet unobtrusive gateway.
'Reid's! But why on earth? Selina, can you stop?'
'It's a bit early for coffee, but why not?' Selina swung across the road, to the fury of a taxi driver, into the small car park beyond the hotel. 'Why has he stopped there? Right outside the door. He'll be in the way. He should use one of the special parking places.'
'We can't go in. He'd know we'd followed him,' Catherine said as Selina began to get out of the car.
Selina glanced at her, then pointed to the front door.
'No need. He's going, look.'
The Major could be seen stepping out of the doorway, pressing something into the hand of the doorman who held open his car door. As they watched he drove away, back towards central Funchal.
In the small foyer Selina tried, unsuccessfully, to discover from the receptionist what had brought the Major to the hotel. Disgruntled at her failure she shrugged, and followed Catherine along the corridor to have coffee in the lounge. It was furnished, she muttered under her breath, like an English drawing room from the nineteenth century.
Catherine refused to speculate, and soon Selina was recounting the problems with the romantic novel she was trying to write. At intervals throughout the day, while they were shopping in the Dolce Vita shopping centre, and lunching in one of the small restaurants in the Old Town, she reverted to the question of how to bring her hero and heroine into plausible conflict while at the same time contriving imaginative sexual encounters.
'It just can't be done,' she declared as they began to eat their espada cooked in wine and garlic. 'Mm, this is the most delicious fish. I never tire of espada however it's cooked. It's one of the best things about Madeira. I'd like to turn to crime instead of beastly romance, but I'd never be able to write it half as well. I'm lazy, and there would be too much research, into guns and poisons, and police and courts. Talking of crime, what do you really think your father was doing at Reid's?'
'I don't for a moment imagine he was committing a crime,' Catherine said, laughing.
'Will you ask him?'
'I don't think so. But I'll tell Mum, she might have some idea and it will give her something to ponder.'
'A counter-irritant. You haven't mentioned Fiona all day. Is she more content now? And working for her exams?'
'She seems to have settled down and is happy going out with Bobby. He's a nice lad and it keeps her occupied. And I think she's working. She says she is.'
'You can't force her. Let's go to the market now before it closes.'
At the house Catherine helped Selina carry in the armfuls of flowers she'd bought at the market, then said she really must go home and see if Fiona was back.
*
On Saturday Dominic came to ask Catherine if she would like to go with him and Millie to place a flower on the wall of peace in the Municipal Square.
'What's that?'
'Another tradition,' Dominic explained. 'Each child takes a flower and climbs up onto a platform, where they place it, helping to build a big flower wall. This symbolises peace and the hope for a better world.'
'What a lovely idea.'
'Besides, at the end of this ceremony doves are released, also representing a wish for a peaceful and a better world.'
Millie was bouncing with excitement as they walked down into the town. She'd been placing her flowers since she was three years old, she told Catherine, but this was the first time her father had been with her.
There was a short queue and they joined it, smiling at the children clutching their offerings. At last it was Millie's turn, and they watched as she clambered up onto the platform, then spent a considerable time deciding exactly where to place her flower. When she came down Dominic said they would go and have ice cream at one of the cafés by the marina, and watch the boats.
'I want to see if that man's friends are still here,' Dominic said quietly to Catherine.
The yacht with the garish red stripe had gone, and when, later that day, Dominic asked the neighbours by the apartment Livermore had rented he was told the man had left a couple of days earlier. Presumably he'd gone on the yacht with his friends. He hoped the man would have concluded Dominic was not interested in his proposition, and had left Madeira. He went back to his own apartment and discovered Helene in the bedroom, methodically packing her suitcase.
'Where are you going?'
'You know I only came for a few weeks. I have to be back in London next week. It's this new job. They want to meet me.'
He shrugged. Helene had her own life, and had made it abundantly clear she had no intention of changing it for him. A few weeks spent with him in Spain or Portugal, while he looked after his shops, was fine, but there was no commitment.
'Take it and me as I am,' she'd said, and until now he had accepted the situation, but it no longer appealed to him.
'Do you want me to run you to the airport?' he asked. 'Is there a flight?'
'I'll stay till after the Flower procession tomorrow,' she said. 'I'll try and find a seat on Monday. There are lots of charter flights then.'
'Monday is a major change-over day for many of the time shares,' Dominic explained. 'You might be lucky, but those flights are usually pretty full, and people will be going home after the flower festival.'
'I'll catch the first airport bus and trust to luck.'
'I'll drive you.'
'No, it's too early. I'll be fine. Right, that's all but last minute things packed. Let's go and eat.'
*