`This receiving of the guests, one by one,' he amplified. `It's quite unnecessary. It's all curiosity on their part and vainglory on your Aunt Isabel's. You don't have to go through with it.'
`It's all right,' she said, grateful for his consideration, hurt by his personal indifference. 'If it pleases my Aunt Isabel. I wouldn't want to be difficult.'
Luis snorted but said no more and the second and lengthier ceremony began. Before it was half over Olivia was wilting, even though her lace dress was as light and cool as could be contrived. The familiar tightening in her chest which presaged pain made itself felt. Automatically she put her hand to her side and he saw it.
`You are tired!' He had no time to say any more because the next family of guests were having their names sonorously rolled about the veranda. Olivia summoned up a smile and thanked them for the gifts they had sent. She became aware of a supporting arm about her. It was unexpected and she was startled as well as moved. It remained throughout the rest of the half hour during which she came to lean more and more heavily on Luis's shoulder. That too made a touching photograph, as the city expert was quick to perceive.
In fact the best souvenirs of the afternoon were not the formal, posed pictures, good as those were. It was the unguarded moment that best revealed character and the bride, in the photographer's estimation, was sufficiently sweet-natured not to have to fear such revelation. True, there were some nasty pictures of Señorita Cisneros, frowning blackly, her mouth so thin it had nearly disappeared. And Octavio Villa too did not look at his best: when he was not smiling and playing the genial host it was to be seen that his eyes were too close together and there was a calculating look in them. The bridegroom, properly
impassive in the posed pictures, looked altogether more human when seen laughing with his brother, or unhooking his wife's veil from a splintery balcony rail with a mischievous flourish.
The best photograph of all, however, was not one of the elaborately attired guests, nor of the bride in all her finery. When Olivia had slipped away to change her clothes towards the end of the afternoon, he had been at first surprised and had then decided that she and Luis were following the English custom of leaving their own party for the wedding journey. There should therefore be the opportunity to discover further good material for his camera and he followed her. By this time the party had spread far and wide down almost as far as the paddock but the back and side of the house was deserted. When Olivia came downstairs again he was waiting in the shadows with his camera poised,
She came slowly, almost reluctantly, down the sweeping staircase. Her hair, which had been put up to facilitate the attachment of the veil, was now loose about her shoulders. Her face, he realised, framed by glowing hair and set against darkness, was a perfect shape. As she paused, dreaming no very pleasant dreams by the look of her, he slipped from his hiding place and took his photograph.'
Because it was indoors he had to attach a flash to the camera, and it almost blinded Olivia, who had not heard him. She gave a jump and an instinctive scream worthy of a more threatening terror.
Instantly Luis was in the hall.
`What is it? What has happened? Are you hurt?' he demanded anxiously.
But Olivia was collecting herself, blushing. She explained confusedly, apologising to the photographer, to her husband, to the people who had followed Luis in from the garden. The photographer was thoughtful.
`Well, never mind,' said Luis, drawing her possessively to his side. 'It's been a nerve-racking day. It's not surprising you're on edge.'
'It was so foolish of me. I should have expected it,' said
Olivia. 'I mean, he's been hovering all day. Even this morning when they were doing the flowers.' She gave a weak giggle. 'Aunt Isabel was terrified he would gatecrash my room and catch me with cold cream on or my curlers in or something.'
Luis laughed. 'And did he?'
Olivia was affronted. 'I don't use curlers.'
He touched a gentle finger to a tendril that curled into her neck. 'You amaze me! What about cold cream?'
She gave a little shiver at the contact but said with praiseworthy aplomb, 'Never!' She looked at him sideways under her lashes and added demurely, 'Mind you, there was a mud pack facial mask that Aunt Isabel gave me. . . and went off into gales of laughter at his look of horror.
`And he's got a photograph of you with green mud all over your face? How ghastdy!'
`No, he hasn't,' she comforted him. 'I didn't use it, though I didn't think it would be quite kind to tell Aunt Isabel that. So I just sort of lost it.'
`You're a kind little thing, aren't you?' he observed, a warmth in his eyes. 'And resourceful, if you managed to just sort of lose a hundredweight of green mud.'
`It wasn't quite a hundredweight,' demurred Olivia. 'And it wasn't green. It was really quite indistinguishable from the real thing and there are lots of houseplants in my room.'
`You mean you spread heaven knows how many dollars' worth of herbal mud around the aspidistras?' demanded Luis, impressed.
`Oh dear, I didn't think it might have been expensive,' gasped Olivia. 'Do you think it was very foolish and extravagant of me?'
`I think it was very sensible of you, darling,' Luis assured her, only the slightest tremor in his voice. 'Most practical.' His voice quivered and he gave an irrepressible chuckle. `It is to be hoped it doesn't kill the lot of them.'
Olivia agreed and they went out together into the sunlight, her arm linked through his, both smiling. It made another perfect picture for the album.
So perfect, indeed, that Miss Lightfellow began to wonder
whether her forebodings were unfounded and bade them both an equally affectionate farewell. She was returning to England within the week. Octavio had made it plain that she was an upsetting influence in his house. The last thing he wanted was a strong-minded woman making his nice comfortable wife rebel. Aunt Betty told him so roundly, and booked her return flight.
Señora Escobar, less sanguine by temperament, was nevertheless impressed by this appearance of amity. She had long decided that Olivia did not know what she was doing while Luis knew very well, but at this juncture began to revise her opinion. And so she told Luis when he came over to say goodbye to her.
His good humoured smile faded. 'What have you been saying to Olivia?'
'I?' queried his mother, trying, and failing, to look innocent.
'You most certainly. Since I presume Olivia did not accost you to discuss me and I'm fairly certain, from my knowledge of you, Mama, that you are more than capable of accosting her.'
'Well, we did have a little talk,' she admitted.
Luis groaned. 'Heaven preserve me from your "little talks" ! What on earth about? You don't know Olivia.'
'Then it was time I did,' returned his mother triumphantly. 'We talked about you.'
'Don't tell me,' said her son. 'You told her that I was selfish, arrogant and totally unreliable.'
'Of course I didn't.' His mother stared at him. 'Why should I?'
'It's what you've told me often enough,' he pointed out. Then remorselessly, 'What did you say to her, Mama? If you don't tell me I shall ask Olivia.'
Thus threatened his mother said as casually as she could manage, 'Oh, nothing very much. I just asked her—as she seemed such a lonely little thing and you were rushing it all along at a great rate—if she was quite sure.'
'Oh, is that all,' said Luis with irony. 'Did you offer to break it off for her, too?'
'Oh, not break it off, darling. Just postpone it.'
There was a pregnant silence while Luis regarded his mother with an unflattering expression. She became restless under it.
'What did she say?' he demanded at last, all signs of tolerance banished.
'Oh, she was very sweet,' Señora Escobar assured him. 'Much nicer than I deserved really. She more or less told me to go away and mind my own business, but in the nicest way.'
The hooded eyes lifted, took it in, and slid away to contemplate the horizon.
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'Did she indeed?' said her son, a faint smile playing about his mouth, 'That's very interesting.'
'I thought it was a hopeful sign,' agreed his mother, anxious to make amends.
'You could be right at that,' said Luis, into the middle distance. 'I wonder. . .
But the object of his musings came round the corner of the house at that moment and he broke off. There was no further time for private conversation with anyone. Anamargarita achieved a prolonged embrace on her own initiative. Putting her away from him firmly, but politely, Luis looked round for his bride and found that she was deep in farewells with her cousins and had apparently not noticed. Anamargarita drew the same conclusions and was annoyed. She bade Luis an affectionate goodbye and remarked in a stage undertone to Elena that only an English girl would go off on honeymoon in a pair of trousers: So unfeminine, and exactly what Mexican men did not like.
Olivia did hear that, as she was meant to, and her eyes flew to Luis. His face was duly solemn as he kissed Aunt Betty but, over her shoulder and with great deliberation, he winked at Olivia. She gave a little choke of laughter, feeling warm and reassured, and brushed cheeks with Señorita Cisneros in truly saintly fashion.
'What a cat that girl is,' remarked Luis, settling himself into the driving seat and waving a lordly hand at the assembled guests. He let in the clutch and they were off
down the drive in the merest sputter of gravel. 'I'm sorry for the unfortunate man who marries her.'
`Yes,' said a subdued Olivia. By this time she had remembered that Anamargarita was his lost lady and he might well be feeling some pain.
She remained uncommunicative throughout the drive and Luis, who was concentrating on the unmetalled road, did not observe it. By the time they had swung on to the highway, Olivia was slumbering deeply.
Weeks of troubled dreams had taken their toll and now, though she was by no means at peace, her most pressing problem had been resolved. There was no longer the possibility of running out on Luis and a fatalistic calm took hold of her. Her head drooped down to his shoulder where, despite ruts and innumerable bumps, it eventually remained.
They drove all the way to Mexico City in this posture. They arrived late, and Olivia stirred in a dazed fashion. For a moment, confused by sleep, she thought she was back arriving from her English flight. The car, although she had not noticed it, was the same one in which had met her that night at the airport. They were making their way through the palm-centred avenue again.
`Where are we going?' she murmured, her voice blurred with sleep. 'Uncle Octavio's house?'
A shade of annoyance crossed Luis's face. 'No, my love. I too have a house, you know—or rather an apartment. It's yours now. You haven't asked, but I thought you might like to see it.'
She thought that there was a hint of hurt in his voice and, as always when she had offended, was filled with compunction.
`I'm sorry,' she said. 'I didn't think. Of course I want to see it. It's just that everything has been overshadowed by the wedding. . .
`Yes, I know,' Luis told her gently. 'But you can forget that now. It's all over, behind you, you don't have to dread it anymore.'
`How did you know I was dreading it?' gasped Olivia.
He swung an enigmatic look at her before going back to the windscreen.
`You're not the most efficient girl in the world at disguising your feelings,' was all he said.
Olivia, now thoroughly awake, was thrown into panic. Did that mean that he knew of her fugitive love for him? Had he discovered it from his own observations or had his mother enlightened him? She was very: nearly sure that Lucia Escobar knew she was in love with her son. And what did he feel about it, if he did know? Was he embarrassed? Sorry for her? Amused?
She took a quick glance at his unreadable profile. She did not know which of his imagined reactions she dreaded most. Sitting bolt upright, her hands clenching and unclenching in her lap, she concentrated on the wholly irrelevant debate the rest of the way to his apartment.
When they arrived Olivia followed him indoors silently. Luis was instructing her in a matter-of-fact voice on the domestic details—the underground garage, the modern but erratic elevator, the key to the block, two keys to the apartment, the hours the servants arrived. . . . It all flowed over her and she said `yes' and 'no' at suitable intervals without even pretending to pay attention. Luis observed the fact but maintained an even tone.
At last he said with amusement, 'Well, I've done my duty and told you everything; it will be entirely your own fault that you can't remember a word of it. Shall we not have the conversation you started in your head about ten minutes ago?
Olivia acknowledged the sally with a smile. It was an effort. He saw that too.'
`What's wrong?' he said in a more serious voice. 'Did the wedding really upset you so much?'
She shook her head.
He was sitting opposite her. He leant forward and took her hand comfortingly between his own. Olivia allowed it to rest there, neither withdrawing it nor returning the pressure of his fingers. Luis began to frown.
`Olivia, what is it?' He gave her hand a little impatient
shake. 'I told you : the big production number is behind you. We'll be all right now. No more uncle and aunts getting in the way.' His voice lightened. 'Or have you got cold feet now you're abandoned to my tender mercies?'
Her head snaked up and she flinched. His voice died away and with it the laughter. He regarded her blankly.
`Good God,' said Luis at last very softly, 'you're afraid of me.'
Olivia dragged her hand away and sprang up.
`No, I'm not,' she contradicted, in a high breathless voice. `I'm not afraid of anyone. It's silly being afraid of people, I've learnt that. People—p-people can't hurt you,' she concluded. It was a wail.
Luis stood up too and put his arms round her. She turned her head away, the fall of hair disguising her expression, but he brought her chin round to face him.
`Can't they?' he asked gravely. `But somebody's hurt you, haven't they? Is it me? What have I done?'
But Olivia bent her head in a defensive movement and refused to look at him. All she was aware of was humiliation. Luis obviously suspected that she had been so stupid as to fall in love with him and, because he was a kind man, would probably do his best to disguise from her that he could not reciprocate.
She wrenched herself out of his arms and turned her back to him, fighting for control. There seemed to be a chasm opening in front of her. Either she abandoned all dignity and grovelled for his love, or she pulled herself together and behaved like an adult. If she could hide her weakness now, he might eventually come to respect her. If not—she swallowed. All the kindness and the precarious friendliness could explode under the assault of her unwanted and unasked-for passion.
Olivia blinked and said with care, 'Of course you haven't done anything to hurt me. You've been very considerate, and I'm grateful.'
`Then why are you trembling?' he demanded reasonably. Undeterred, he drew her back into his arms. 'Don't shake so, little one. Only tell me what's wrong.'
It would be heaven to fling her arms round his neck and beg him to love her. And irretrievably foolish. She broke contact.
`I—oh, I just feel strange,' she said, telling him half the truth and not the important half. 'When I was getting dressed this morning I kept asking myself what I was doing in your life—and what you were doing in mine. I don't know you at all.'
Luis did not attempt to touch her again. He sat down on the arm of a sofa and surveyed her.
`But you knew that,' he pointed out.
`I didn't think of it. All I knew was that I had to get away from the family and be my own creature. My own,' said Olivia with intensity. 'Not yours.'
If she had been watching him, instead of her own toes, she would have seen that he lost colour. He would never be pale, but the blood drained out of his cheeks, leaving grey shadows round the eyes and mouth. Suddenly he put a hand up to his eyes to shade them,
as if the low lighting gave him a headache.
`It's not your fault,' said Olivia, warming to her theme. `You were quite honest—about the money and everything—but I feel like a factory that's been taken over. As if I still don't have any say in what goes on in my life.'
`Damn the money,' said Luis ferociously. 'Look, Olivia, I should never have said what I did. The money was there, at the start I admit. But now—oh, it's nothing, it doesn't matter, it's a fringe affair—can't you see that?'
`Would it be equally unimportant if there weren't any money?' she demanded.
Luis stared at her. 'Of course it would. Now that we're married what is important is to make the marriage work. Isn't it? For heaven's sake, Olivia, what do you think you're doing? Issuing equity in yourself? You're my wife, not my property. What do you think I am?'
There was a critical moment when Olivia contemplated throwing herself on the alpaca rug at his feet and telling him. Then shyness overwhelmed her in a paralysing fog.
She heard herself saying, 'Dangerous.'
`What?'
Olivia was twisting her hands together. like—like those Spaniards you told me about the first night I arrived, do you remember? How the Aztecs thought they were gods who would protect them. That's what I feel about you—sort of hesitant, and suspicious. I can't help it.'
She was so evidently distressed that he flung up a hand to halt her.
`It's all right,' he said bleakly. 'I understand. I should have realised. You're vulnerable and you want someone to hide behind while you put some defences together.' Luis raised his eyes and looked at her very straightly. 'I want you to be happy, little one. You must do whatever you want.'
Contrary as ever, she flinched, reading into his forbearance nothing more than a kindly indifference. 'You don't know what I want,' she retorted.
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