Man of Destiny Read Free Page B

make any alterations to their appearance that they might wish, such as the washing of a small boy’s hands and the brushing of his hair, and Caroline seized the opportunity to extract a clean dress from one of her cases because in the short journey in the launch someone had accidentally smeared her with a light smear of oil; and Richard’s determination to sit in her lap had badly creased what had once been an immaculately pressed skirt.
    The fresh dress was a strawberry-pink linen, and with it she wore white shoes with moderate heels, and carried a white handbag. She knew that she didn’t look like the accepted version of a nursery-gove rn ess—not one who had received any training, that is; and she didn’t look very much like an employee, either, once her hair was brushed and floating out behind her like a golden cloud, and she had added just a touch of lipstick to her shapely mouth, and the merest touch of eyeshadow to her white eyelids.
    Mrs. de Fonteira, who made up heavily herself, had never raised any objections to the girl she employed to take charge of her son resorting to moderate make-up, and if she wanted to look like a young woman on holiday that was perfectly all right by her.
    But from the moment Caroline appeared in the doorway of the dining-room—with Richard still clinging like a leech to her hand—and Senhor de Capuchos came forward to meet them, she could tell by the expression on his face that something was not altogether right. That is to say, something was very definitely wrong.
    In a manner that was quite determined he detached Richard from her side, and led him to the table that had been reserved for them, and at which a couple of waiters were already standing as if at attention, ready to attend to their wants.
    Richard glanced appealingly at Caroline as he was aloofly allocated a chair, and it was clear he was terrified that she was not going to be allowed to occupy the chair nearest to him. But the senhor pulled out the all-important chair for the girl himself, and once she was seated sat down opposite the two of them, his black brows still drawn together in that ominous and warning frown.
    While Caroline was indicating to Richard by signs that he should unfold his napkin, and a waiter bent forward to place a menu in front of her eyes, Senhor de Capuchos spoke to her in a low aside.
    “You will allow me to order for both of you on this occasion. I think I am more fitted to choose—certainly for Richard!—what you are likely to enjoy, and also what I consider suitable. You are as yet unaccustomed to Portuguese food, and that which is untried must be treated with respect.”
    “We had Portuguese food on the ship,” Caroline said demurely, looking down at the menu which seemed to her to contain so many dishes it would be almost impossible to choose. “And in Africa,” she added.
    “Did you?” But he didn’t ask what her opinion of Portuguese food was. Instead he frowned more blackly than before, and referred to a subject that had apparently troubled him from the moment he set eyes on her. “You must forgive me, Senhorita Worth, for mentioning this matter, as you may consider it quite outside my province. But did Senhora de Fonteira countenance your wearing your own clothes instead of something more easily recognisable as a uniform while you were actually in charge of the Marques de Fonteira’s great-nephew ? ”
    Caroline’s brightly tipped eyelashes flew upwards . Her grey-blue eyes—and now that he had an opportunity to study them at close quarters he realised they were very much the colour of English summer seas— looked more amazed than surprised.
    “Why, certainly, senhor. As a matter of fact, it was never even suggested that I should wear a uniform.”
    “No?” He was sampling the cl ear red wine that had been poured into a glass for his approval, and he devoted a few seconds to the all-important business before nodding his head curtly and then once more permitting her his