The Overlord

by Susanna Firth

  'The way you're looking at the moment, it'll be a pleasure. I promised your father I'd stay with you until you were feeling more like your normal self. I think you're restored to your usual bad temper, aren't you? I'll reassure him on that point when I see him.' Ramón opened the door and prepared to leave. 'Oh, and don't bother about a meal tonight. Your father and I will be eating in town. He's promised to introduce me to a couple of people and it'll be more convenient to talk business over a meal.'

  'And what am I supposed to do?' she demanded. 'While you're out enjoying yourselves?'

  'Cool your heels, I should think. There won't be anyone to listen to that sharp tongue of yours. We won't be late back, but don't pace the floor, will you? I think I've had quite enough of your charming company for one day.'

  'The feeling's mutual, believe me. I wouldn't wait up for you if you were the last man on earth!' she raged.

  He laughed. 'Fine words, Verity. Take care I don't make you eat them one of these days.' And with that the door shut behind him and she heard his footsteps going away.

  'Oh, you—you—' She could not find words bad enough to describe him. Instead she punched her pillow hard, wishing that it could have been his arrogant head. One day, she vowed, she would be even with Ramón Vance for all she had suffered at his hands. She lay back and dreamed of that time, a slow smile curving her lips.

  She must have fallen asleep because a glance at her bedside clock showed her that it was nearly six when she roused herself again and thought about getting up. Emotional upsets took more out of one than she realised before, although she would have been hard put to it to decide whether it was the encounter with the snake or the later tussle with Ramón Vance that had left her feeling so tired and drained.

  She was hungry—she remembered that she had not had any lunch. Perhaps she would get up and find herself something to eat. She stretched reluctantly, preparing to get out of bed, then crouched back among the bedclothes, clutching them to her in a defensive attitude as a knock came at the door and it opened before she had a chance to ask who was there.

  She relaxed when she saw that her visitor was her father, her convulsive grasp of the sheet slackening with relief. So that was what a bout with Ramón Vance did to her!

  'How are you feeling, love?' Mark Williams looked anxious. 'Vance and I are due to meet some cattle men in Campo Verde, but I'll cry off, if you don't want to be left on your own.'

  'You'll do nothing of the kind,' she told him firmly. 'I'm fine. Anyone would imagine that snake had actually taken a bite out of me instead of just scaring me rigid!'

  'It might so easily have done,' her father said soberly. 'I shudder to think what might have happened if Vance hadn't acted so quickly. He was wonderful—'

  'Yes, marvellous,' Verity cut him short. She had had enough of Ramón Vance's quick actions to last her a lifetime, and to hear her father singing his praises was more than she could take at the moment.

  'I hope you thanked him.'

  'Oh, yes,' she assured him, wondering what her father would say if he knew exactly what form those thanks had taken. Ramón Vance's shining armour might be a little tarnished if he did.

  'He's a kind man, Verity. And thoughtful. He knew I was needed back with the men, and he insisted on staying with you to set my mind at rest.'

  'Really?' She was sceptical. She could not imagine Ramón Vance doing anything that did not suit his own purposes in some way.

  'So, after we'd got you to bed, I left you in his hands. He's trained in first-aid, apparently. He—'

  'After you what?' Verity jerked upright. 'You're not telling me that Ramón Vance undressed me, are you?' She would never be able to face the man again if she knew that!

  'Such outraged virtue!' Her father was laughing at her. He would laugh on the other side of his face if he knew the whole story. 'Relax, will you? He carried you up here, dumped you on the bed and left the rest to me. Satisfied?'

  Her cheeks were flaming. At least she had been spared the worst indignity. 'Sorry,' she mumbled. 'I thought that—Well, I'm not a little girl any more and—'

  'And I'm as aware of that as anyone.' Mark Williams was amused. 'And I'm only your poor old dad. I don't think it's escaped our guest either. He was giving you quite a few looks over the breakfast table.'

  'He wasn't dazzled by my beauty, that's for sure,' she said lightly. 'I expect he was intrigued. He's probably never seen a woman brought up on the pampas before and was surprised to find that I didn't actually have straw in my hair and eat with my fingers.'

  'Hardly that. He was telling me that he was brought up not far from here. His father had an estancia this side of Rosario.'

  Hence his skill with the stockwhip, she supposed. She ought to be thankful for that skill. She probably owed her life—or at least her health—to it. 'It's a great pity that he didn't stay there,' she said peevishly. 'He wouldn't be bothering us if he had.'

  'If it hadn't been him, it would have been someone else. And maybe someone a good deal worse.'

  Impossible, she thought, but she did not say it. 'He seems to have won you over,' she commented.

  'I like what I've seen of him so far. He knows what he's doing. He's straight, Verity, a man to trust. I'll get a fair deal from him, I'm sure.'

  'You mean it's going to be all right? We can stay?' she asked eagerly. 'Did he say so?' At that moment she was ready to forgive the man almost anything.

  'No. It's too soon yet for him to say anything and I wouldn't expect him to. He's looking at everything and weighing it up. He wants to know all the facts. He'll tell me what he's decided when he's good and ready, and I think enough of him to accept his conclusions.'

  'Even if he kicks us out?'

  'Yes, even if it means that.' Her father frowned. 'He's not a man to do that lightly. I'll abide by what he says.'

  'Well, I won't,' Verity said firmly. 'He'll have to carry me off this property feet first if he wants me to go.'

  'Let's hope it doesn't come to that, then.' Mark Williams was not going to argue with her. 'Although I'm sure he's got more persuasive methods of dealing with recalcitrant females that he may encounter.'

  Except that he had probably never needed to use them until now, Verity thought grimly. 'He likes his women to be sweet and submissive,' she said.

  Her father's smile was indulgent. 'And what would you know about that? Did he tell you so?'

  'Not in so many words.' She shrugged. 'But he looks the type, that's all—as if he expects everyone to jump when he gives the word.'

  'And that's what I'm going to have to do right now.' Mark Williams consulted his watch. 'We were due to leave five minutes ago. Are you sure you'll be all right, love?'

  'For the last time of asking, Dad, yes. Now run along and don't keep the nice man waiting.'

  'Minx,' he said fondly, laughing as he went.

  Verity got up, dressed and made herself some supper. For all her hunger she did not really feel like eating. She pushed her plate aside before the food was half finished. After she had cleared away the dishes that she had used and washed them up, she wandered back into the living room and paced up and down, strangely restless.

  This would not do. It was not like her. There were any number of things waiting to be done when she had a spare moment, and now that it had arrived she did not want to tackle any of them. There was a pile of mending: her father would be going barefoot if she did not darn some of his socks soon. There was that dress that she was halfway to finishing. And, if sewing palled, there was always lots of cleaning to be done. Ramón Vance had made it quite clear what he thought of her attention to that department of the house.

  She walked over to the radio and switched it on. It seemed to be a programme in homage to Jorge Borges, Argentina's celebrated literary genius. Verity listened for a few minutes and then, suddenly bored, turned it off. She went to the window and peered out into the pitch darkness of the pampas night. There was no sign of life except the whirr of insects and the gentle croaking
of the little green frogs that inhabited what had once been a delightful lily pond not far from the house.

  She gave a quick, impatient sigh. What was wrong with her tonight? She kept posing the question, although she knew the answer perfectly well. She did not want to think about her first encounter with physical passion, her first real contact with a man. There had been boys whom she had met at the carefully chaperoned, rather decorous gatherings that the nuns had held so that their pupils could be accustomed to the outside world. But the blushing, uncertain adolescents that she had dealt with easily were on a different planet from the man that had kissed her today.

  And it had not just been a kiss. Verity's flesh tingled at the memory of the sensations his hands had aroused as they had roamed over her body with unlicensed freedom. Instead of fighting him off she had encouraged him, her response showing him exactly what pleasure he was giving her. It was he who had called a halt, not her. He could have done as he pleased with her and she would have let him without resistance. She burned with shame now as she remembered it all, dwelling on every detail. How could she have done it?

  She picked up the latest detective story that she had bought last week and had not had time to read until now. It was by one of her favourite authors. She curled up in a chair and opened the book firmly. There was no point in brooding. Ramón Vance would no doubt have dismissed the episode from his mind, and she must too. If only it was not such an effort to forget what had happened between them. She focussed determinedly on Chapter One and started reading.

  She partly succeeded. It was an interesting story and the characters were well drawn. But the murderer, a man with a cast-iron alibi, revealed his hand too soon and Verity found her attention beginning to wander. She caught herself straining for the sound of the car that would signal the two men's return to the estancia. Twice she jumped up, thinking that she saw the headlights of the ranch Land Rover coming along the drive.

  She was being stupid, she told herself. If she had any sense she would be safely out of the way when they got back. After all, Ramón Vance had as good as ordered her from his sight for the rest of the day, and she had grave doubts as to her ability to greet him with any degree of normality in front of her father. She was sure that something would reveal her shameful behaviour, however hard she tried to act naturally. But why should she hide herself away? It was his fault, just as much as hers, she thought rebelliously, sitting down and taking up the book again.

  At ten o'clock, however, discretion got the better of valour and she went to her room and got ready for bed. But not for sleep. She lay back against her pillows, her head tossing restlessly from one side to another as the thoughts ran around her head. For the first time it occurred to her to wonder who Ramón Vance and her father were meeting. Cattle men, her father had said. Dealers? Buyers? Financiers? No doubt she would discover in the morning. Still listening for the sound of the car, she slid into a troubled sleep.

  She learned next day from her father that their dinner guests had been from neighbouring estancias, Seňor Fernando Delgado from the enormously prosperous Los Molinos which lay to the east of Vista Hermosa and Seňor Manuel Castillo who farmed to the north. Verity knew them both, although she preferred the jovial Seňor Castillo, who had always made a fuss of her when she was a child and who had never been too busy to sit her on his knee and tell her stories about gauchos and their folklore.

  It was funny how Seňor Castillo who had no children and whose wife had died young was so much more approachable than the rather snobbish Seňor Delgado who had three children, all daughters. His eldest child, Isabel, had been two years ahead of Verity at school. She shared her father's condescending attitude to those she considered her inferiors. She also shared his dark, rather saturnine features and his thin, slightly aquiline nose.

  'Why on earth did you have to eat in town?' Verity asked in surprise. 'We know them. They've been over here before. It's not as if they were total strangers to be entertained at the best restaurant.' She frowned. 'I could have cooked you—'

  'After a fright like you had yesterday, you weren't in a condition to cook anything, and we'd no intention of asking you to.'

  'You mean Mr Vance had no intention,' she said coldly. It was strange how she always accorded him that English title, as if he was indeed the old, rather fussy Anglo-Argentinian that she had first imagined him. 'I suppose my cooking's not up to his standards, is that it?'

  'There's no need to fly off the handle, love,' her father rebuked her gently. 'I'm sure he didn't mean any slight to you. But we were talking business and you would have been bored to tears, you know. It was much more convenient doing it the way we did. And you didn't have any washing up to do either.'

  Why argue? It was not worth it. Verity let the matter drop and asked instead why the meeting had been arranged. 'I don't suppose Ramón Vance would fix something like that without some ulterior motive?' she enquired sourly.

  Mark Williams laughed. 'He's an astute man, Verity. He wanted confirmation of the local picture that I'd given him and to talk about the problems that they'd been encountering on their own ranches. He wanted them to come clean about their affairs without giving away too much of ours. Not that they don't know a fair amount of my troubles by now.'

  She grinned. 'Seňor Delgado's as close as a clam. I bet he gave you a hard time!' She relished the prospect of their arrogant visitor trying in vain to obtain the information he wanted. 'Was it heavy going?'

  'Not a bit of it. Ten minutes into dinner and he and Vance were as thick as thieves. I've never seen anything like it. I heard more about the inside workings of Los Molinos than I've gleaned in twenty years. And Castillo was lapping it up too. I tell you, Verity, that man's a marvel!'

  'At pulling wool over people's eyes, perhaps.' Verity was unconvinced. She knew what the man was really like and was not going to change her opinion.

  But it seemed that she was out on a limb where her judgment of Ramón Vance was concerned. As the days went by it became increasingly apparent that the newcomer was charming everyone. His visit to Campo Verde had set female hearts fluttering all over the town, as those who had actually seen him communicated the news of his dark good looks, his breadth of shoulder and air of command to those who had had the misfortune to miss them in the flesh. Any stranger in town aroused interest, but this one was causing more than the usual stir.

  'Que hombre!' Maria Lopez, who owned the largest store in town and who had supplied goods to Vista Hermosa since before Verity was born, enthused over the handsome Seňor Vance, the pleasant Seňor Vance, the gallant Seňor Vance, who had come into her shop and talked to her with as much deference as he would have given to the President's wife. 'And me in my old working apron, niňa, with stains down the front. Such a man!' Her shrewd, button black eyes glinted craftily as she looked at Verity. 'Y soltero tambien! There's a chance for you to get a fine husband there, chica, if you make a set at him.'

  'I'm not in the market for a husband,' Verity said coldly. 'He can stay a bachelor for all I care. I'm certainly not interested.'

  'Rubbish! Every woman is interested in a man like that. She cannot help but be.'

  'So it seems. Everyone I meet wants to know about him. Let's hope it's a nine days' wonder. Maybe a circus will come to town and we'll have something else to talk about. That's one subject that I'm heartily sick of.'

  Maria chuckled. 'So you don't like him, eh? Is that what you're trying to tell me?'

  'Not much,' Verity said briefly. 'I'll grant you he's good-looking, but he's not my type.'

  'We'll see, niňa. Somehow I don't think you're quite as indifferent as you make out.' And old Maria had laughed until her sides had shaken. 'Que hombre!'

  What a man indeed, Verity thought as she left the store. And it was not just the women who approved of him. He had won over the men too. The gauchos, traditionally slow and reserved in their dealings with outsiders, approved of Ramón Vance. He had machismo, they said. They admired the ease with which he rode their
horses, dealing with the sheepskin saddle and the leather stirrups with consummate skill. They respected the way he could talk to them about cattle and the problems that they encountered with them. They liked the fact that he was able to keep up with the stiff pace they set as he accompanied them about their daily tasks around the estancia. Strangely, they did not seem to resent the notes that he took down or his suggestions for improvements about the place. He was a man's man, they told her father admiringly, someone they would willingly trust with their lives if they had to. And that was no mean compliment.

  Even her father liked the man. He had respected him from the first, approving of the straight, no-nonsense approach that he took. The episode with the snake had admittedly been a short-cut to Mark Williams' favour, but, if it had not taken place, Verity was sure that it would not have been long before her father had offered his hand in friendship.

  Ramón Vance had everyone eating out of his hand. It suited him to play it that way. It made his task easier if he got co-operation. But she was equally certain that he would have gone ahead with his job in the face of opposition. He was that kind of man. He would have bulldozed his way through any kind of barriers set to hinder him. A good man to have on one's side; a bad man to cross.

  But he could be sure of one thing: Verity had no intention of joining the chorus of people singing his praises. Let him cajole everyone else into his way of thinking, but he need not think that she had changed her views by one iota. She avoided him as much as possible and took great care never to be alone with him. She did not trust him an inch.

  He noticed, of course, although she took pains to conceal her manoeuvres from her father, knowing that it would worry him. At first it seemed to amuse Ramón Vance that she refused to capitulate, fighting on when all around her had surrendered to him. She was faintly puzzled by his reaction: she had thought that he would see her behaviour as a challenge. It was a relief, she told herself. She did not want any more sparring matches with the man. He was impossible. But, underneath, she admitted to a slight feeling of disappointment that he should have accepted his lack of success with her so readily. A real man would not have given up so easily, she argued to herself. Not that it mattered in the least to her. She was totally indifferent. Just let him finish his survey of Vista Hermosa, make up his mind what was to be done there and leave them alone.