That this wise old man had glimpsed her heartache was perhaps inevitable, but Lyn, even yet, did not wish to believe that anyone could ever take the place of David in her heart and in her life. She shrank from the idea, pushed it from her thoughts ... sadness was her citadel and she would brook no invader.
“So you have known Rick Corderas from a boy, Father?” She turned the conversation into another avenue.
“Ah, yes!” Father Ilario lifted his hands in a gesture both indulgent and expressive of the torments inflicted upon him and everyone else by that devil of a boy. “Perhaps it can be said of Ricardo that he is stamped with the best and the worst in our ancient ancestry. He is autocratic, perhaps even a little cruel, yet closely study his work, my child, and you see there his deep insight into fundamental human nature. The core of things, not the gloss. The ruthless beauty in pain and pleasure. Spain alone produces this type of artist.”
“You refer to Goya?” Lyn murmured. “And to El Greco, perhaps?”
“El Greco in particular,” he agreed. “He depicted the soul, and I believe that Ricardo Corderas can depict the heart.”
Lyn sat thoughtful, the sharp citrus tang of a nearby lemon tree in her nostrils. What a new and startling idea, that a heart alive with human feeling might beat within Rick’s iron-hard frame.
“You find the young man alarming?” Father Ilario asked her, a whimsical look in his eyes.
“Yes,” she admitted.
“Perhaps he will grow less so, in a while,” the priest suggested.
“I somehow doubt it.” A smile dissolved away the gravity of her expression and she glanced towards the mission. Someone was ringing the bells and the sound was sweet on the morning air, with the sun on the walls in fragments of gold, and downy clouds bouncing across the blue sky. She saw Rick stride out of the chapel and approach her with his supple freedom of movement. There was indeed a conquering look about him, while his bold physical attraction was undeniable. He was born out of his century and should have lived when galleons sailed the seas in search of new territory, fierce glory, and plunder.
He held out a lean hand and Lyn allowed him to pull her to her feet. “Gracias, senor,” she said involuntarily.
“Dios! She actually gives me a smile, Father!” Deep grooves etched his tanned face, while he stood tall above her. “For once in a while we are simpatico, eh?”
“Give the credit to Father Ilario’s delectable breakfast,” she retorted, pulling free of his warm hand.
It was on the way back to the hacienda that Lyn’s filly stumbled into a jack-rabbit hole and pulled a tendon in one of her forelegs. Rick at once stripped off her saddle and tossed it behind a bush, allowing her to hobble home without any weight on the injured leg.
“You must ride with me, Lynette.” He spoke decisively and firmly refused to let her ride pillion. “You are no peoncita!”
Against her will she sat in the warm circle of his arm, there to breathe the tang of sage and wild mountain air on his person. They arrived home only moments after Glenda Martell had driven into the courtyard in her car. As she witnessed their arrival on the one horse, she slowly arched an eyebrow and ejected a narrow stream of cigarette smoke from her nostrils. She was looking attractive in a white sharkskin dress, plainly cut to show off some spectacular Peruvian jewellery that on anyone else would have looked overdone. Heavy earrings clinked with significance as Rick swung Lyn off Tarik’s saddle, her slim-trousered body brushing against his for a moment.
“And where have you two been?” Glenda demanded.
Rick glanced at her in his sardonic way. “To eat breakfast among the madrone trees of Father Ilario’s garden. I think Lynette enjoyed the experience.”
“Lynette?” For a sharp moment Glenda’s sea-green eyes dwelt on Lyn. Tiny pieces of orange-flower still clung to her windblown hair, while those same breezes had kissed a wild- rose flush into her cheeks.
“Did Father Ilario make any startling predictions - Lynette?” Glenda’s lips curled like flames, just showing a glint of white teeth. “He has, according to the locals, a gift for clairvoyance.”
Lyn felt the flick of Rick’s glance, and she turned to pat her filly, who was nuzzling her as if for comfort. What the good priest had hinted was her secret ... in any case she didn’t want a heart alive with a new love, a thrill with desires that might once again be doomed to give pain instead of delight.
She was more than relieved when Julio came through the fretted archway into the courtyard. Leoni skipped at his heels, a large slice of melon in her hand and her dark hair still uncombed. The child badly needed a haircut, and Lyn used her pocket comb on Leoni while Rick explained to his brother how the sorrel had come to pull a tendon. Julio took a look at the injured foreleg and told Lyn to stop looking so worried. The filly would not be permanently damaged, and was not bred for sale to the polo club.
Lyn smiled her relief and went upstairs to change her clothes. Afterwards she decided to ask Concetta if she could take Leoni into town to have her hair trimmed.
Concetta was curled up on her chaise-longue, and her black lace negligee heightened the paleness of her pointed face, while a pair of heavy gold bracelets made her wrists seem extra frail. “Yes, by all means have the child’s hair trimmed,” she said, without very much interest. “She has such thick dark hair, just like her father, and if it isn’t kept under control she is inclined to resemble a shaggy chrysanthemum.”
Lyn broke into a smile. “She’s a pretty child, Mrs. Corderas, and an elfin style might suit her.”
“I leave the choice of style entirely to you, Miss Gilmour. Will you have a sweet?” Concetta held out a box of expensive bonbons, but Lyn shook her head and explained that she had not long had breakfast. It also seemed to her that Concetta was rapidly turning into a fretful, boudoir wife. She rarely dressed until dinner time; she just sat brooding in her bedroom all day, eating sweets until they nauseated her.
“You are looking at me as if you would like to scold me.” Concetta smiled rather wistfully. “Do you disapprove of me, Miss Gilmour?”
“I - I do wish you would go out more, senora. The air of Monterey is so wild and fresh and it would do you so much good.”
“I think you have taken to Monterey, eh? You find it picturesque and full of charm, as I did when I first came here as a bride. You like the people?”
“Yes—”
“Admitted with a hint of reservation. Perhaps you find me less charming than you find my husband? Julio can, when he likes, be the personification of Latin gallantry. Don’t you agree?”
The conversation had veered into a channel Lyn would have preferred to avoid. Julio, in Lyn’s estimation, was a courteous, hard-working man who found very little relaxation in his wife’s company, and she felt an impulse to say: “You have a rather splendid husband, Mrs. Corderas, but you’ll lose him if you don’t buck yourself up and behave like a woman instead of a whining child.”
“You have very expressive eyes, Miss Gilmour. You are vexed with me even as you struggle not to voice your vexation. You think me a self-pitying neurotic and your sympathies are obviously given to my husband.” Concetta sighed and dragged a lace handkerchief through her restless fingers. “I was not always like this. I was a very difficult person - before the loss of my baby son.”
Lyn bit her lip, for she knew herself what it felt like to have your hopes and dreams smashed into irreparable pieces, but Concetta had not lost everything.
“May I say, Mrs. Corderas, that you have Leoni still, and the child needs all your love. You hurt her when you pine after your loss.”
“Leoni is not a son! Julio wants a son!” Tears shimmered in the great dark eyes. “Perhaps you have never loved a man, Miss Gilmour. The longing and the fear and the jealousy of it can tear at a woman until only in screaming or in weeping can she relieve herself of some of the pain. That is why I scream at Julio. That is why I weep. I would die for him, but he - he no longer has any use for me. I am a vacuum to him, echoing with em
pty emotions.”
The words were terrible, and infinitely sad, if they were true. Lyn was still an outsider who could not fully judge the truth. She only knew that love was a kind of warfare between some people and they could cause each other more pain than those who hated one another.
Concetta uncurled off the lounger and drifted over to the dressing-table, littered with gold-topped bottles and jars, embossed brushes and discarded oddments of jewellery. Lyn decided to make an exit. “I will take Leoni into town after lunch,” she said. “She should be made to look nice for the birthday party to which Rosa is taking her on Saturday.”
“Ah yes, the children’s party.” Concetta stood staring at her reflection in the mirror. “She will probably misbehave, but that is Rosa’s problem.”
“Yes, Mrs. Corderas.” Lyn left the room with a set face. The party was being given for the small son of some local friends of Rosa’s, and when Saturday came Lyn was at a loose end and Rosa said she might have the use of the small roadster for a jaunt of her own.
Lyn took grateful advantage of the offer, for she had now grown less nervy of the sweeping mountain roads, and she drove into town feeling unfettered and in the mood for a saunter around the shops.
A couple of hours later, carrying her few parcels, she made for the parking lot. She was passing the bank and right away she recognized the long dark car standing there, and even as she noticed it, Julio Corderas came striding out upon the sunlit pavement. He looked tall and distinguished in stone-grey, and a smile lit up his rather austere face when his eyes alighted on Lyn.
“Hullo, Miss Gilmour.” He paused to gaze down at her. “Have you left Leoni at home?”
Lyn reminded him that his sister was taking Leoni to a birthday party.
“Ah, of course! Which leaves you free to come and lunch with me.” He seemed suddenly lighthearted, and Lyn was assisted into his car before she had time to catch her breath. He really was at times as breathtaking as Rick Corderas, tossing an invitation at a girl and taking her acceptance for granted! Her parcels were tossed to the other seat and he smiled down at her. “You have no other date?”
“N-no, senor—”
“Excellent!” He strode round to the driving seat and slid in beside her. He was tall like Rick, lean and hard, and very Latin, but there was an indefinable difference. Was it that he was kinder? Lyn could not be sure, for Concetta had implied that he now rejected her love because she could have no more children. Lyn had the strangest feeling that of the two brothers Rick would be less likely to reject a wife for that reason. He would marry to be a lover rather than a father!
She was a little shaken to have arrived at such a conclusion, but she knew it to be a true one. But it didn’t alter the fact that she found Julio an easier, less disturbing companion.
He drove to the El Ronda, where they had drinks in the smart lounge before going into lunch. Away from the hacienda Julio seemed younger, more relaxed, with a brandy cocktail in his hand. Lyn was enjoying a grapefruit cocktail, and a glint of amusement mingled with a quiet appreciation in Julio’s eyes. “I wish to say that you are handling Leoni extremely well,” he said. “Several times I thought of having a younger companion for her, but these days they are not easy to acquire. Young women have far more opportunities open to them, and they want careers. It was fortunate for us, if not for you, Miss Gilmour, that you were able to come to us for a while.”
His dark eyes slipped over Lyn, who was clad in a leaf-green tailored dress whose collar and little hip pocket were appliqued with tiny lace flowers. The green linen, and the glossy wings of her hair, threw into attractive relief the soft tan which her slender face and throat had acquired. Lyn knew from the softening of her employer’s eyes that she was looking her best today.
“Perhaps you find the management of a child very little different from the management of air passengers?” he suggested. “I have found myself, when travelling in a jet plane, that the buoyancy of being so far aloft has a tendency to lighten my spirits. As though for a short while my earthly cares drop from my heels.”
Talking to Julio about her airline work was far less painful than Lyn would have believed. Perhaps it helped that he didn’t know about David, and facing him like this she could see that his features were more aquiline than Rick’s, and his eyes less like chips of blue ice off a wild mountain peak.
She found herself relating some of the amusing incidents which had occurred on some of her flights, and he listened with a charming attentiveness, a most pleasing person in his impeccable suit, with a clove carnation in his lapel. The clove so beloved of the Latin.
Lyn, warmed by his mood, was almost tempted to tell him how worried she felt about Concetta. But it was such a personal matter and he might be annoyed, and she didn’t wish to spoil this hour with him. A waiter came to lead them to their table, and they went into the restaurant, Julio’s hand lightly holding her elbow. They were halfway to their wall table when Lyn felt a pair of eyes upon her. She glanced over and there sat Glenda Martell with a man, her hair burning in a rich knot at the nape of her neck and a Chanel suit thrown open to reveal a silk blouse that matched her eyes.
Julio noticed her and briefly inclined his head. As he seated Lyn, he remarked that the man with Glenda was her cousin, Felipe del Rey. Lyn received a strong impression that her employer didn’t approve of the beautiful widow or her cousin. He probably regarded them as a pair of opportunists, and he wouldn’t be too pleased if his brother made Glenda a member of the Corderas family.
Lyn bent her head to her avocado pear with prawns, but all through lunch with Julio she was aware of sea-green eyes upon her, avidly curious that once again Lyn Gilmour, paid companion, should be eating alone with one of the Corderas brothers.
It was a relief that Glenda and her companion had departed by the time Lyn left with Julio. Before they went out to the car he paused beside a confectionery display in the foyer and bought a lavish box of pralines and fondants, which he handed to Lyn. She accepted the gift in some confusion, and he smiled down deliberately into her eyes.
“Enjoy the sweets as much as I have enjoyed your company,” he said. “It was an unexpected pleasure that I didn’t have to lunch alone.”
Lyn slid into his car, and as it moved away from the El Ronda she wondered why he had not asked his wife to come into town with him. Had he asked, and had Concetta wearily declined to exert herself?
“Senor,” Lyn spoke with sudden courage, “I don’t want to sound a busybody, but Mrs. Corderas seems to be looking so wan and listless. Perhaps there is something physically amiss with her.”
She felt the glance which he shot at her profile, saw his hands clench on the wheel until his knuckles gleamed white under the brown skin. “My wife suffers with her nerves and she will do nothing to fight against them. She gives in to them, and it would be the worst thing I could do to encourage her pretensions to real illness.”
The hard note in his voice jarred on Lyn. He had been so kind to her and he seemed so out of patience with the woman who loved and needed his understanding. Could it be true that he no longer loved Concetta? Had his shattered hopes of having a son to carry on his name so shattered his marriage?
The car came to a halt in front of the parking lot where Lyn had left Rosa’s much lighter car. “Thank you for lunching with me, and don’t think me too unfeeling,” Julio murmured. “Concetta is my wife and I do worry about her, but her hysterical outbreaks are a form of self-indulgence which I find repellent.”
His eyes dwelt on Lyn’s face for a long, silent moment, then she sought the door handle beside her and slid out on to the pavement. She bade him goodbye without meeting for a second time that lost, unhappy look in his eyes.
The following weekend there was a rodeo, and though Rick was invited to attend with Glenda and her cousin, he chose to act as escort for his sister, his niece and Lyn.
They drove away from the hacienda in his Mercedes, Leoni in occupation of the seat beside him. “I wish Concetta had ag
reed to come.” Rosa looked impatient and worried at the same time. “With Julio away on business it would have made a break for her.”
“Rodeos are hardly the sort of function enjoyed by Concetta,” Rick threw over his shoulder. “I hope Lynette is aware that she will swallow half a pound of dirt before the afternoon is half over, and that delicate green dresses are hardly suitable for the occasion.”
“I’m sure I shall enjoy every moment,” Lyn rejoined.
Rosa swept a glance over Lyn. “You cool, peachy types are to be envied. Take no notice of my boorish brother. He’s only pretending that he doesn’t approve of the way you look. He’s too darned male not to fancy a bite out of you, honey.”
Lyn flushed slightly, and heard him give a sardonic laugh. Leoni prattled away beside him, having made up her excited young mind that she was going on the helter-skelter at the rodeo fairground, though her mother had asked Lyn not to take her on it. “I’m not a baby and I won’t be sick, so you’ll take me on it, won’t you, Uncle Rick?”
“Anything to keep you quiet, magpie,” he agreed lazily.
Lyn heard him, and she was annoyed that he should promise the child something she had been told not to give her. “I’m afraid the helter-skelter is out, Leoni,” she said firmly. “Your mother assured me you would be sick—”
“I shan’t, so there!” Leoni turned in her seat and glared at Lyn. “Momma takes me for a baby!”
“The child will be all right,” Rick drawled. “I’ll put her in my pocket
“Will you nursemaid her when she comes off the thing with a bilious attack?” Lyn demanded.
He didn’t answer for a moment or two, his concentration on his driving and avoiding some fallen rock on the ravine road. Then he casually informed her that he was perfectly capable of nursemaiding a child ... even a woman, come to that.
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