Flower for a Bride Read Free Page B

into the quiet peace of the courtyard, and thinking what a delight it would be to wander there in the cool of the evening, when the door behind her opened, and a man stood regarding her with a faintly puzzled frown between his infinitely black brows.
    Lois had to summon up all her resolution to turn and confront him, and she was not in the least surprised at the note of interrogation in his voice.
    “The Senhorita Fairchild?” he said, without moving. “Carlos said the Senhorita Lois Fairchild.”
    “That is quite right, senhor.” Lois’s fingers fastened on the clasp of her handbag as if it were something to give her support, and she hoped ardently for his sake—that when the servant mentioned her name he had included the Christian part of it before mentioning the Fairchild. Otherwise he might have imagined, for a few moments which would be followed by disappointment, that it was Jay who had called on him. “I am—Lois Fairchild, Jay’s cousin.”
    The words left her lips jerkily, but if he had suffered any disappointment recently there was absolutely no sign of it in his face. It was a curiously emotionless mask of a face, and the only thing about it that did not surprise her was the quality of his good looks. Jay had waxed lyrical about them in her letters, going so far as to mention the unusual length of his eyelashes, and the soft brilliance of his dark eyes. She had also mentioned the fact that he was of spare but athletic build, that he looked like an aristocrat who could never quite forget that he was an aristocrat, and that he was always dressed as if his tailor and shirtmaker and so forth not only loved their various tasks, but were richly recompensed for turning out faultless examples of their craft.
    The thing, therefore which did surprise her about his appearance—apart from that strange lack of expression in any single one of his features—was that in some ways he was younger than she had imagined, while one or two faint silvery threads in the night blackness of his hair above the temples seemed determined to try and indicate that he was even older.
    A young-oldness—a curiously attractive, if somewhat peculiar, young-oldness! A suggestion that experience, and a knowledge of Life in several distinct phases, had crowded upon shoulders a little too youthful for them, with the result that he was prematurely aged.
    She had expected him to enquire immediately about Jay’s health—perhaps leaping to the conclusion that it was worse than he had been given to understand—but he did not do so. He studied her with a kind of quiet deliberation for several seconds, and then moved towards her with sinuous grace.
    “I am delighted to meet a cousin of Jay’s,” he told her, in perfect if slightly stilted English—unless it was his manner of enunciating each word carefully—and offered her his hand. A brief, cool grip, and he drew forward a chair for her. “You will be seated, Senhorita?”
    “Thank you.” It was a Louis Quinze chair, covered in pale rose-colored brocade that matched the pale rose of the curtains, and Lois had found time to admire it, as well as other items of furniture the room contained, before he entered. “I must apologize for taking you by surprise like this,” she began.
    “Not at all,” Dom Julyan said smoothly. You are here, no doubt, for the wedding?”
    “I—yes, I—That is. . . ”
    “I seem to recall that Jay mentioned a cousin who would be acting as bridesmaid.” His eyes flickered over her as if he was looking for a likeness, but Lois was afraid he would be disappointed for such likeness as there was, was very faint indeed, and as Jay always wore clothes created especially for her, and Lois’s simple ice-blue linen had been bought straight off the peg, there was nothing at all to enhance it. “Lois,” he uttered her name softly, with his attractive Portuguese intonation. “Yes, of course, I have heard quite a lot about you. You are from London, and you work in