‘Yes,’ he replied and sighed heavily, his face suddenly sagging with wistfulness. ‘Europe seems to be suffering an eternal winter. Here it’s spring, and with spring comes new life and hope. One forgets misery when the sun is shining.’ Audrey looked at him in puzzlement, silently wondering what he meant and how to respond. Isla giggled and smirked across at her sister who pretended she hadn’t seen in case they offended their guest.
‘Spring is very beautiful here,’ she said, hoping that she didn’t sound stupid. Then she added impulsively, ‘Spring always follows winter, even in Europe.’ At that Louis turned to look at her, his face suddenly flushed pink. Audrey swallowed as his expression softened with surprising tenderness.
‘You’re right, it does,’ he replied, frowning at her, trying to work out whether she really did understand him or whether she had spoken without thinking. ‘But why the winter in the first place?’ he continued. ‘Sometimes I wonder why God put us all down here if all we do is fight each other.’
‘That I don’t know,’ she said, shaking her head, ‘but I do know that if it was spring all the time we’d never appreciate it, human beings have to suffer to know what happiness is. I don’t think life is meant to be easy. War is a terrible thing, a terrible thing. But it tests the human spirit to its limit and can bring out the very best in people,’ she added, recalling the incredible stories of human kindness her father had told her.
‘And the very worst,’ he retorted cynically. ‘It should never be allowed to happen.’
‘Did you fight in the war?’ Isla asked brightly. Audrey winced because one only had to look at him to know that he hadn’t. A sudden blush of shame stung his cheeks pink and his lips twitched in discomfort. Cecil’s shoulders hunched but he continued to talk politely to his hosts.
‘No, no, I didn’t,’ he replied quickly. Audrey tactfully changed the subject to avoid any further embarrassment.
‘I gather you play the piano most beautifully,’ she said with enthusiasm. He regained his composure and his eyes smiled down at her with gratitude.
‘Aunt Edna said you kept the whole Club awake and gave them nightmares,’ Isla interjected with a laugh.
Louis chuckled. ‘I was playing from the heart and even I don’t understand my heart.’
‘You say the strangest things!’ Isla remarked, curling her lip and looking at him quizzically.
‘Isla!’
‘Don’t worry, Audrey, I like people who say what they think. Very few people do.’
‘Well, I’m afraid Isla always says what she thinks. Or rather,’ Audrey added, smiling, ‘she often doesn’t think at all.’
‘Audrey thinks too much. Much too much,’ Isla giggled.
Once more Louis looked down at her, probing her features with distant eyes. ‘So I see,’ he mused and Audrey stared at the ground in front of them, embarrassed by the intimacy of his gaze that she felt was inappropriate and intrusive. Yet she found to her horror that it excited her. Isla filled the heavy pause that ensued.
‘Did you leave a sweetheart behind in England?’ she asked, gulping back another swig of champagne.
‘If I had a sweetheart I would not have come,’ he replied. ‘After all this is a Latin country. The land of tango and romance, is it not?’ Isla giggled again. Audrey felt herself blushing and sipped from her glass in an attempt to hide it. There was no breeze, just the humidity, thick with the fertile scents of nature and Audrey’s tumultuous spirit.
‘Aunt Edna says we’re short of suitable men because so many went off to fight in the war and never returned,’ she continued. Audrey wished their mother hadn’t allowed her to drink champagne. It had clearly heightened her senses.
‘Really, Isla!’ she protested. ‘Poor Mr Forrester has only just arrived, you’ll have him married off before dinner.’ Louis laughed and shook his head.
‘Don’t worry, Audrey, I’m getting the measure of your sister. She says what’s on her mind, a bit like mine.’ Then he turned to her and added softly, ‘Please call me Louis, Mr Forrester makes me feel very old. Mr Forrester belongs to someone else – Cecil, for example, he carries Mr Forrester very well, very well indeed.’
‘Does your sister live in England?’ she asked, following her parents who were now making their way to the dinner table under the vine on the terrace.
‘Cicely, yes, she does. She lives in a freezing old farmhouse,’ he replied.
‘She must be terribly sad to lose you both to the Argentine.’