Page 30 of A Captain For Clarissa
Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of a carriage, its polished wooden panels gleaming in the sun. The driver doffed his cap to Rafael, who nodded in acknowledgement.
“After you, my lady,” Rafael said, offering his hand to help her into the carriage.
“How gallant,” Clarissa said, but she put her hand in his anyway. He lifted her up and she sank down with a sigh of pleasure into the well-padded seat, surprised by the unexpected luxury. However impoverished Rafael’s family might be, he himself had the manners of a nobleman, as was evidenced again when he assisted Marianne into the carriage after her, then Jean and the twins. Taking both children from Jean, he handed them into Marianne and Clarissa’s waiting arms before assisting the maid to climb in.
“He’s a proper gentleman, that one,” Jean remarked as Rafael closed the carriage door. He and Alex swung up onto their horses, and the little cavalcade started forward.
“Captain de Silva is indeed a very fine gentleman,” Marianne agreed. “Don’t you think, Clarissa?” She exchanged a knowing smile with Jean.
Not ready to discuss her feelings about Rafael, Clarissa murmured something noncommittal and turned her attention to the twins. It was going to be a long and boring day for them, she knew, and she would do her best to keep them entertained. Rafael had told them that his estate lay several hours’ travel north and east of Lisbon, and they should reach it within a day, so there would be no need to find an inn to stay overnight.
A jolt on the rough road brought Clarissa back to her surroundings, and she leaned forward, gripping the window frame, her mouth falling open further and further with each mile they travelled. The Portuguese countryside spread out before her; rolling hills covered in green and gold, dotted with white cottages and olive groves. The air smelled sweetly of jasmine andcarried the hum of cicadas, a natural orchestra that moved her deeply.
“What beautiful country,” Marianne said softly beside her, and she nodded, unable to tear her eyes from the view.
The coach entered a picturesque village and drew up outside an inn. Rafael was at the door before Clarissa could even reach for it.
“We will change horses here, and take a meal,” he said, offering his hand to help her down. “I have stopped here many times and know the innkeeper well.”
A smiling man came out to greet them warmly, ushering them inside and, to Clarissa’s surprise, through the building and out onto a covered terrace on the other side.
“Oh, what a wonderful view!” she exclaimed, stepping to the low wall which bordered the terrace and looking out over the wide valley beyond.
“See that gap in the hills?” Rafael came to stand beside her and pointed. She squinted to follow his direction before nodding. “That is the way to Torre do Rochedo.”
“Your estate?” She turned to look at him. “What does the name mean?”
“Tower on the rock. Cliff.” He shrugged. “You’ll see; it’s an apt name!”
“I look forward to it.”
The innkeeper came out again then, with two servants in tow, all of them bearing platters laden with food. Clarissa sat down beside Marianne, her mouth watering as a veritable feast was set before them.
There was a crusty yellow loaf called broa, made with cornmeal, sharp white sheep’s cheese, smoked chicken sausages, olives, figs, and a dish of very salty, addictive little yellow dried beans, all served with a light white wine. It was simple fare, but Clarissa found it delicious and told the innkeeper so in her halting Portuguese, which made him grin even wider.
“What did he say?” Clarissa asked Rafael when the man spoke quickly in Portuguese before hurrying back inside.
“He said, the best is yet to come.” Rafael chuckled at her expression. “He takes pride in his desserts, and I must agree - his pastéis de nata are some of the best I have ever tasted, and his toucinho do céu - ah!” He kissed his fingertips. “Truly heavenly!”
The pastéis de nata were delectable little egg custard tarts in delicate flaky pastry that melted in her mouth, and the toucinho do céu, which Rafael explained meant ‘bacon from heaven’, was actually a dense sweet lard cake with a strong almond flavour.
Clarissa had to agree. The desserts were indeed better than the meal. “I think we’ve been spoiled,” she said, looking wistfully at the platter of custard tarts and realising she could not eat another bite. “Considering this was our first meal in Portugal, your home has quite a lot to live up to, Captain de Silva!”
“Your first meal in Portugal,” Alex corrected her. She glanced at him, surprised, then remembered he had spent many years in the army fighting the French. His gaze was dark as he stared out over the terrace and she wondered what thoughts occupied his mind; certainly not of the verdant, fertile valley which stretched before them now, she guessed.
Marianne placed a hand on Alex’s, giving it a brief squeeze. He seemed to shake himself back into the present and smiled faintly.
“Though I must agree, I’ve never eaten such an excellent meal in your country before, Rafael. It was superb.”
They lingered awhile longer, allowing the food to digest. Clarissa found herself returning to the edge of the terrace, sitting on the low wall this time and admiring the view. After a few minutes, Rafael came to join her.
“Is it time to leave?” Clarissa asked.
“Soon enough. We’ll let the horses rest another fifteen minutes or so.” He did not seem inclined to conversation, simply taking a seat beside her and gazing out over the valley.
“Tell me,” Clarissa said at last, unable to bear the silence any longer, “what awaits us at your home?”
“Memories,” Rafael said after a moment, his expression distant. “And perhaps ghosts.”
