An Undefended City

by Sophie Weston

  rabbit,' said Barbarita with ineffable scorn.

  Olivia shuddered. 'Then why does he want to marry me?' she wailed.

  `I wonder.' Barbarita settled among her pillows, plumping them up on either side so that they dwarfed her. She considered the girl perched beside her and a smile dawned.

  `Perhaps he's in love with you,' she suggested.

  It was instantly repudiated. 'Oh no, impossible. Besides, he said he wasn't.' Olivia sighed. 'After all they've done to him, I shouldn't think he'd want to marry into my Uncle Octavio's family, I mean, we've been taking advantage of him long enough.'

  `You are hardly to be blamed for your Uncle Octavio's activities. If Luis was attracted to you he would not bother that you were Octavio's niece.'

  Olivia stood up. She felt that the interview should be brought to a close, as much for Barbarita's sake as her own. The old lady's face was paper-white and she was breathing shallowly. Only her eyes still looked alive and they were vivid.

  `I think perhaps you should sleep,' Olivia told her gently. `You have talked for a long time and I am not sure that you haven't over-excited yourself.' She gave a wry smile of self-mockery. 'You've certainly set me over endways, at least. I need some time to recover.'

  Her hostess considered her benevolently, with the oddest look of mischief about an otherwise prim mouth.

  `I suppose I've given you food for thought,' she acknowledged, not without satisfaction. 'You'd better go away and sort it out.' She reached for a silver handbell on the bedside table and shook it with surprising vigour. 'I'll tell Emilio you're resting and not to be disturbed.'

  `Oh, but I'm going out with Luis, this evening,' protested Olivia. Then the bald statement sounded rude and she added, 'If you don't mind, of course. We are your guests and—'

  `If Luis wants to take you out,' said Barbarita with obscure relish, 'I shall reserve my reproaches for him.' And then, as Olivia looked troubled, she relented and said, 'What

  nonsense, my dear, as if I would dream of preventing you. Didn't I tell Luis last night that he should have taken you to the fiesta? Go and enjoy yourself. If you're off to Cuernavaca tomorrow you'll have precious little chance of fun there.'

  Olivia shuddered. 'You may be right.'

  `I know I'm right. I know Octavio—a pompous killjoy. You'll have to make tonight last for a long time. Dance till the last moment. Go and sleep now so you don't fall asleep tonight.'

  Olivia laughed. 'I don't know that I shall be able to sleep, exactly,' she demurred.

  Barbarita waved a hand. 'Well, go and dream daydreams and paint your nails. That's what I always used to do when I was going out with a delicious young man.'

  `Yes, ma'am,' said Olivia, and curtsied.

  Barbarita's smile widened. 'You are a good girl,' she informed her. 'And Olivia—' Her guest paused, arrested in the doorway. 'You are not just Octavio's niece,' said Barbarita in a voice of profound wisdom. 'You are also your mother's daughter. Don't forget that, child.'

  Olivia returned to her room without seeing anyone. There were no signs of life in any of the rooms she passed, nor could she hear any noises indicative of housework or cooking rising from the lower stories. She might almost have been alone in the building.

  In her room she went to the window. It looked out over a courtyard, small and surrounded by a high wall, full of climbing plants in tubs. There was no sign of anyone there either. She supposed it was the siesta hour and decided to obey Barbarita's dictates and rest.

  She undressed, showered, and put on the nightdress she had been loaned the night before. Now she was able to appreciate how soft it was against the skin. It had long, full sleeves, gathered to the wrist and trimmed with lace and a drawstring at the neck. Surveying herself in the bathroom mirror, Olivia decided that she looked as prim as an Edwardian schoolgirl.

  `How appropriate,' she thought, and wrinkled her nose at

  her image. For the first time in her life she was not wholly displeased with what she saw in the mirror. This in its turn led to self-accusations of vanity. Flushed and bright-eyed, she twirled in front of the mirror admiring the swirling nightdress. The pallor of the ancient material highlighted her own subtle colouring and its fullness made her look unexpectedly tall and graceful. She wondered whether Luis would like it, stopped twirling, blushed deeply and returned to the bedroom with subdued gait.

  For a time she sat looking into the courtyard, but soon she began to wander about the room picking up objects and examining them with perfunctory interest before replacing them. In this she was unwise. Barbarita had been a noted artist in her day and had received many presents from admirers all over the world. The dark forest green paperweight that Olivia returned disparagingly to its place beside the blotter was a Colombian emerald set in glass. The blotter itself was the finest tooled Argentine leather and the desk came from Java, the gift of a besotted diplomat who had hoped, by presenting Barbarita with this elegant piece of furniture, to persuade her to write to him when he left Mexico for other capitals—without success, because Barbarita never wrote letters except to her family and, though she thanked him charmingly, never really understood the purpose of the present. Most of her admiring audience showered her with flowers or chocolates and, if they wanted to present her with a lasting token, jewels. Furniture had been new and bewildering in Barbarita's experience, which was why it was promptly banished to a seldom used guest room rather than her own boudoir.

  All this Emilio could have told Olivia. But he had been given incontrovertible instructions not to disturb the señorita with offers of tea or rambling stories about the mistress. So Emilio, together with the rest of the staff, curbed his curiosity and Olivia was left alone to meditate.

  Her conclusions were confused and in many cases contradictory. Part of her wanted to return home without delay, leaving Mexico, Uncle Octavio, Luis and Barbarita well behind. She became almost indignant when she thought of

  the quandary she had been cast into by the machinations of these people. On the other hand, if she were allowed to return it would not be alone and Aunt Betty's comments would be neither kind nor easy to rebuff. Olivia shivered and felt sick at the very thought of them.

  However, she felt even more sick when she considered the alternative of being pitch forked into marriage with Diego. She remembered him only as an adolescent, cheerful enough but remote. She could not imagine ever growing sufficiently close to him for their marriage to be anything but a social arrangement. There again, on the other side, Aunt Betty and probably Uncle Octavio as well would say that she had never really been close to anyone. It was not simply that she had never had boy-friends, there had been no intimate relationship within the family or outside it since little Olivia's first governess had left. Mama had been too magnificent and Father too unpredictable, while the staff had come and gone. Olivia's companions had been books and, in so far as she was allowed to see them, animals. And though there was a strong body of rural Shropshire opinion that held that she had been treated shamefully by Sir Ronald and that there sister of his, Olivia did not know it and had never been able to take advantage of it as a result.

  Which brought Olivia to the third impossible possibility. Indeed, it was so improbable that she wondered why she contemplated it at all except as a fairytale solution to her dilemma. There were in real life no fairy princes who wandered up in the nick of time to carry off afflicted maidens from under the noses of wicked stepmothers and roaring tyrants. It was sheer fantasy.

  And yet Luis had offered to do so. Olivia had not dreamed that she could call on anyone else and would certainly never have turned to an associate of her uncle's for assistance. But then, just as she thought the walls of family were finally closing round her to stifle whatever independence of mind she had left, a sudden escape route had been offered as if by divine dispensation. And while she was still breathless at her good luck she was still alarmed by it.

  Marriage to Luis was not, she realised in some surprise,

  an unattractiv
e prospect. Although it would never have occurred to her to wish for it, once offered the idea seemed enticing. In two days they had become closer than she and Diego could manage in twenty years. Olivia sighed. Whatever else she doubted, she was positive on that score. He laughed at her, but not unkindly; he looked after her, but not officiously. She decided that he was quite perfect and went off into a prolonged daydream as Barbarita had predicted.

  But in the end she had to come back to her inner debate. It hardly seemed fair, when he already carried such burdens, to add herself to the list of his responsibilities. And although she would make great efforts not to be a burden, she recognised that it was inevitable that she should be, at least to begin with. Olivia began to pace about the room. Of course, she could free him from his obligation to Uncle Octavio, financially if not morally. But money alone was not very much to bring to marriage. And what else had she? Unless you counted the fact that they had both, for very different reasons, had the power of self-determination wrested from them at an early age. She sat down, biting a finger. Luis would recognise that. He was a subtle man and he had shown every sign of comprehending her relationship with Aunt Betty and the rest of the family from their earliest acquaintance.

  He was not in love with her, she could not expect it, and he did not make any such avowal, but perhaps he did feel, on this point at least, a certain sense of fellowship. So that, in spite of all appearances to the contrary, she might actually have something to contribute to this marriage.

  The final point then was, did she dare to do it? However alike they might be in some ways, nothing could disguise their divergence. He was considerably older not just in years, which might be ten or so, but in experience which, as far as she could judge, might just as well have been centuries. Olivia quailed at the thought of the differences that experience would entail in the assumptions they made about each other and their relationship.

  But I can talk to him, she told her palpitating self crossly.

  I like him. I'm not afraid of him crushing me if I'm being silly or sending me to a doctor if I want to do something like go somewhere alone. Aunt Betty thinks foolishness is a crime, but when did I ever have the opportunity to learn sense? And any desire for solitude is suspect and has to be treated with drugs. Luis is more like me, over that. He wouldn't bully me.

  No, he won't bully you, said the other, shrinking Olivia. He'll probably just lose interest. Think of all the other girls he has known. They've all told you about them. And he's an attractive man, not just someone that you find attractive, but the sort of man any girl, even a sophisticated, efficient girl, could fall in love with. Why should he bother with you? And even if he's sorry for you now, why should he stay with you later?

  Well, I won't expect him to, said Olivia stoutly. Or rather, she temporised, I won't rely on him staying with me. Then I won't get hurt if he leaves me.

  When he leaves you, said the other one discouragingly. All right, when he leaves me, snapped Olivia. It will have been worth it.

  Just to get away from your Uncle Octavio? said timid Olivia. If you can't get away on your own, how do you think you can get away at all? When Luis leaves you you'll be bolting back home like a runaway horse.

  There was no answer to that one. Olivia closed the debate and tried to sleep, but without remarkable success. She was no nearer a decision than she had been in the morning, when Emilio eventually scratched on the door to say that Señor Luis had returned and would wait for her downstairs.

  Emilio, in fact, was rather pleased with the turn events were taking. Luis had returned from the farm much earlier than was his usual practice, whereby he stayed till dark and had supper with the estate manager. In this way he could transact not only Barbarita's immediate business but also bring himself up to date on the recent events. As he kept a watching brief on Barbarita's affairs this was always useful. Her manager was a steady and reliable sort of man, but Barbarita never left the house at all nowadays and it would

  have been all too easy to deceive her on the farm's progress. But there was a considerable disincentive when a man of Luis Escobar's perception might at any time be paying an inspectorial visit.

  This was known to all the servants in the house, whose devotion to Luis was a direct result of their affection for Barbarita. The fact that he skimped this self-imposed task on this occasion augured well for the little English senorita. Lovers, in Emilio's opinion, ought to be impatient, and he was pleased to see Luis did not despise the convention. When he went to tell him that the señorita was changing and would be down as soon as possible he was quite, fatherly. And, as Luis began to prowl round the fountain, his eyes unwaveringly on the stairs, Emilio's benevolence became positively blatant.

  `They'll be married within the month,' he told the kitchen, approvingly.

  Luis himself, when face to face with Olivia across a check-clothed table, said much the same thing.

  `A month,' he told her. 'Unless you wanted a monster wedding, of course. We could have it all over and done within a month and then we would be on our own.'

  Olivia said in a low voice, 'Do you think it's a good idea? I mean really?' She raised her eyes quickly, caught his intent look, and lowered them again, confused. 'I'm so muddled,' she told him. 'I don't know what I ought to say. I've been arguing it out with myself all afternoon until I've almost got a split personality and I still don't know what to do.'

  `What,' said Luis very gently, `do you want to do?'

  But she shook her head and did not answer. The meal progressed. Both were preoccupied, but the tension or, worse, exasperation, that Olivia had feared were not forthcoming. Once or twice she found him looking at her consideringly as if wondering what to do, but he did not press her and indeed maintained a flow of objective conversation which it was quite beyond Olivia's powers to respond to. She was, however, grateful for it.

  When they had finished eating and only a bottle of wine

  and their two glasses were left on the table, they danced. As Luis had foretold, it was an energetic but unregulated form of exercise. The floor was crowded and of only medium size and the group of musicians had amplification equipment which must have carried their rendering of 'Dixie' across the border. It was all very friendly and Luis was known to a number of the other participants. Olivia deduced that he was held in some awe, but whether this was because he was only an occasional visitor and therefore not familiar, or for some other reason, she could not make out. It was manifest, however, when any of the other men asked her to dance. They first asked Luis's permission and, while dancing with her, maintained a covert surveillance of Luis himself. What Olivia did not know was that he had never before brought a girl to such a party, though he had frequently attended them himself, and the neighbours were speculating.

  Eventually, at past three in the morning, the lights were dimmed, the band modified their guitars, and the music became more homespun. Luis took Olivia a-waltzing to the melancholy tale of a miner's last journey.

  `Well?' he said into her hair. The note of amusement was still present. 'You can't put it off much longer. They'll pack up in about half an hour and we'll all have to go home. And if you don't make your decision tonight, you won't sleep a wink, will you?'

  Shamed, Olivia shook her head. Her face was buried in his shirtfront.

  `So?'

  They were in one of the darkest corners. The floor, which had thinned out towards the end of the beat recital, was now full again. People were absorbed in their own partners and no one, thought Olivia innocently, was looking at Luis and herself. They had almost stopped dancing and were swaying gently to the music.

  `I'm frightened,' she said unhelpfully but with commendable honesty.

  He did not reply for a second. Then he said, 'Look at me.'

  She did. He kissed her—carefully, deliberately and with

  an effect for which she was wholly unprepared. When he at

  last raised his head, Olivia opened her eyes, shook a dazed head, and found she was clinging to
him so tightly that her fingers' ends were numb.

  'I don't,' said Luis, 'want to hear any more about you being frightened. Stop dithering and tell me what you want to do. Then you can leave everything else to me and forget it.'

  This course of events, attractive as it sounded, seemed to Olivia to be somewhat unlikely. She would have told him so had she possessed any command at all over her voice.

  `What,' repeated Luis, 'do you want to do?'

  Olivia gulped, shut her eyes and then said with a conviction bordering on the desperate, 'Marry you.'

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THEY arrived in Cuernavaca about two in the afternoon on the following, day. Olivia, who had been afraid that some embarrassment would follow her bald acceptance of Luis's proposal, was tense. True, there was nothing in his bearing to alarm her. He had been the pattern of consideration when they returned to Barbarita's house, neither teasing her nor ignoring her confusion.

  He had seen Barbarita himself that morning and, during an extended interview, apparently had confirmed that the old lady's assumptions about their relationship were correct. He had then, as he subsequently informed Olivia, been treated to a homily on marriage and the proper treatment of prospective brides so that he was almost afraid to address a word to her.

  `What nonsense!' protested Olivia.

  `Well, according to Barbarita, virtually anything I do between now and when we get married is a slight, an insult, or unwarrantably selfish,' he reported with a droll sigh. 'I think the sooner we get married the better. I wasn't prepared for all these social subtleties and I don't think I can support them.'

  Olivia was grateful for this good sense. And she was even more grateful for his companionship on the flight to her uncle's house. The pilot was a dour individual who inspected Olivia with more curiosity than kindness and was inclined to be curt with her softly voiced requests. Luis's presence, when he arrived, produced a marked increase in the man's respect and he actually unbent so far as to instruct Olivia in the use of the complicated seat belt. It almost seemed as if he was prepared to buckle it for her, as she struggled in vain, but Luis stopped him.