The Overlord

by Susanna Firth

  But hot much wiser, if she thought that she was going to ensnare Ramón Vance just by setting her sights at him. He must have had more matrimonial snares laid out for him than the average man and he had dodged them all up till now. Was it likely that he would fall prey to Isabel Delgado? Verity doubted it somehow. Not that there was any point in arguing further with the girl—she was too used to getting her own way to anticipate any problems of that nature. But she would find out soon enough that she had bitten off more than she could chew.

  And, talking of chewing, Isabel would have to watch her consumption of sweet, sticky cakes, if she wanted to attract any man, let alone Ramón Vance. She would be as plump as her mother if she did not take care, Verity thought as she poured her guest more tea and offered a plate of biscuits to her. Pleasing curves were one thing, but a double chin and a weight problem were something else again.

  Isabel lingered as long as she could. Her frequent glances 'through the window to the pastures outside showed that her interest lay in the prospect of Ramón's return to the house rather than in Verity's conversation. But, as time wore on, and it became clear that she would have to leave with her curiosity about him unsatisfied, she was forced to get to her feet and take her leave with as good a grace as she could manage.

  'How stupid of me! I nearly forgot my mother's invitation—and that was the only reason that I came.' She gave a false laugh that did not deceive Verity for a moment.

  Not quite the only reason, Verity thought, but did not say so, 'An invitation?' she queried. 'How very nice of your mother. It must be nearly a year since we were last over at Los Molinos.' And even then it had been as fill-ins to make up the numbers round Seňora Delgado's vast, antique dining table when someone else had been taken ill. Good manners forbade her mentioning that, but her tone conveyed a pointed reminder of the fact.

  'Is it really that long? Surely not.' Isabel contrived to sound surprised. 'Doesn't time fly? I'd never have thought it. All the more reason for you to come over as soon as possible. What about Thursday evening? Just a simple family meal, you understand. Nothing elaborate, of course.' Her glance rested again on Verity's clothes as if to underline the point that there was no need to dress up. 'I suppose you'll be free?' Her tone said, you usually are.

  Verity suppressed a sigh. She would have liked nothing better than to reject the invitation with every appearance of distaste. Let Isabel have a refusal for once! What a pity that she had been brought up good-mannered. Instead she had to smile and say thank you with apparent sincerity.

  'Yes, I think that we're free that evening,' she said, trying to sound enthusiastic. 'I'll have to check with Dad, of course, but we should be able to manage it. Please thank your mother for inviting us both.'

  Although goodness knew why she had bothered. Unless Seňor Delgado felt that he owed a meal in return for the dinner that he had had with her father and Ramón Vance a short time ago. He was a fairly punctilious man about returning favours.

  'The three of you, actually,' Isabel corrected her.

  'You mean—'

  The other girl gave her a faint, pitying smile that explained all. 'Seňor Vance will be coming with you, naturally. He will be a very welcome guest.'

  Unlike Verity and her father, who were only there because Ramón Vance happened to be staying with them. 'I see,' said Verity. 'Well, I'll certainly pass on the invitation. But I can't say whether he'll be able to accept.'

  'Oh, I think you'll find that he will. Poor man! After Buenos Aires he must be finding life in the sticks abominably dull. He must be pining for some decent entertainment among civilised people.'

  'As if we were peasants or something!' Verity told her father indignantly when she passed on the news of the invitation to him later that day. 'And I suppose she thinks that they're the cream of society. She makes me sick, that girl. I suppose she can't help it. She must get her manners from her parents. No one could actually be born that rude!'

  Mark Williams laughed. 'You must have had quite an afternoon putting up with her.'

  'I did. I don't know how I kept my hands off her.'

  'We'll have to go, of course. They'd take offence if we didn't. But they'll probably be so busy lionising our guest that they won't have time to waste on making us feel out of place and underlining the difference between us.'

  'Pack of snobs,' commented Verity inelegantly.

  'What's Isabel doing with herself these days?'

  She shrugged. 'Waiting for a husband to come along. She thinks Ramón Vance might fit the bill nicely.' She smiled at the thought. 'What with Seňora Delgado sounding out his prospects and Isabel throwing out inviting glances he should be in for quite an evening, if he deigns to honour them with his presence.'

  'No reason why he shouldn't. I'll ask him.'

  The necessary consent obtained, Verity rang Los Molinos with the news. Seňora Delgado was at her most gracious and when she had rung off Verity permitted herself a smile of amusement. It was amazing how differently people reacted to Ramón Vance. At Vista Hermosa he was an unwelcome visitor—at least as far as Verity was concerned. But at Los Molinos he was an honoured guest to be wooed and flattered as a prospective catch for Isabel. Well, she was welcome to him if she succeeded.

  Verity hoped the Delgados would not make too much fuss over the arrangements, but she had a horrid suspicion that they would. She reviewed her wardrobe gloomily, knowing that she had nothing to compare with Isabel's expensive gowns. A simple evening with the family, that was how Isabel had described it, but Verity had no doubt that the women of the Delgado household would be dressed up to the nines.

  On Thursday evening she stood in front of her mirror and regarded her reflection with something like despair. She had only one outfit that was remotely suitable for the occasion: a long, severely cut black skirt that teamed with a white blouse, vividly decorated with embroidered flowers in all colours of the rainbow. Verity had always felt confident that she looked good in the ensemble, but now she had doubts.

  She looked what she was—a schoolgirl. There was nothing remotely sophisticated about her. She frowned. As an experiment she dragged back her hair, fastening it in a slide, but chestnut tendrils escaped from it even as she stood back to look at the result and she wrenched it off again with an impatient hand, cursing as she did so. Even her make-up was simple. She did not know how to make dramatic eyes with the skilful application of shadow and mascara. And now was clearly not the time to experiment. Ramón Vance would only laugh at her if she turned up looking like a clown, because the effect had gone wrong.

  She took a final dissatisfied look at herself, then picked up her shawl and went to join her escorts for the evening. It was all right if you were a man, she thought a little bitterly. You wore your best suit and a clean shirt and tie. No need to worry what the other men would be wearing, and if someone was spotted in the identical outfit it was a matter for self-congratulation, not horror. Men did not have to think about colour combinations or shades of make-up or care if their noses were shiny. And women went through all those agonies just for male gratification. It was so unfair!

  The two men were standing in the entrance hall, and Verity apologised swiftly for keeping them waiting.

  'It was worth it, love.' Her father had no complaints to make—she could tell from the look of pride on his face as he studied her appearance. 'You're charming this evening. Isn't she, Vance?' He turned to the silent man by his side for confirmation.

  The dark eyes swept her from head to foot with a slow deliberation that made her feel acutely selfconscious—as he no doubt intended. Did he have to look at her as if she was a prime piece of beef on the hoof?

  'Very attractive,' he said gravely at last, and she could have hit him for taking so long.

  'Shall we go?' she asked hastily. 'It's a tricky drive in the dark and we don't want to be late.'

  'Seňora Delgado would have our blood,' Mark Williams agreed, and led the way to the car.

  It had been decided that Ramón
would drive them to Los Molinos, his Land Rover being more respectable than the battered jalopy that was used for work about the estancia. 'We can't turn up smelling of cattle disinfectant,' her father had said jokingly, and Verity had concurred. Now she moved ahead of her father, intending to sit in the back seat, but he forestalled her.

  'Spread yourself out in the front seat,' he told her firmly. 'You'll only crush your dress getting into the back.'

  There was no point making a fuss, although she was sorely tempted to argue the question. Ramón Vance was standing there, holding the door and waiting for her to get in. She submitted meekly, hunching herself up at one end of the long front seat, keeping as much distance as possible between herself and the driver.

  Ramón gave no sign of noticing her strategy as he took that seat, but, as the car lurched off the main road and on to the twisting track that was the shortest route to Los Molinos, she saw a look of amusement cross his features as he registered the difficulty she was having in maintaining her position as the movement of the vehicle became jerkier and less easy to predict.

  'Still keeping me at arm's length?' he mocked her softly after one pothole in the road, which would have jerked her nearly on to his lap if she had not clutched the window-frame like grim death. 'You'll give in eventually, you know.'

  'Not if I can help it,' she said fiercely, then glanced anxiously behind her, wondering if the noise of the engine had masked her words from her father. He liked Ramón Vance and she tried hard to spare him the knowledge that, for once, they did not agree.

  It was a relief to see the lights of Los Molinos coming into view. They were honoured indeed, she noticed, for the Delgados, hearing the sound of the car approaching, had come to the door of the house to greet their guests, instead of following their usual practice of leaving the duty to the resident housekeeper.

  Introductions were made and they were shepherded inside to the salon, a long, gracious room, exquisitely decorated and furnished with tasteful antiques. A little different from its counterpart at Vista Hermosa, Verity acknowledged ruefully, and, catching the guest of honour's eye, could tell that he was making the same judgment. Her chin tilted in defiant response and she saw him smile at the gesture. Damn the man! Did he have to be a mind-reader?

  'You'll take some sherry before dinner.' It was a statement rather than an invitation, and Seňor Delgado waved to a smartly-dressed servant, indicating that she should serve the tray of drinks that she was holding in readiness. That was the trouble with the Delgado family, Verity thought as she accepted her drink and sipped it meekly. They liked to take control and it never occurred to them that other people might have different ideas. She wondered what Ramón Vance would make of that approach. It was one he used himself with total success. Would he resent it in others?

  If he did, he certainly gave no sign of the fact. His dark features were urbane as he allowed Seňora Delgado to monopolise him for a few minutes before a quick, imperative jerk of her head summoned Isabel to their side to join the conversation. Verity saw the look of appreciation she received from Ramón, very different from the complacent glance that her mother gave her. It was the way a man looked at a woman in whom he was interested; a lingering, admiring gaze that caressed as it roved over her figure and rested slightly longer on the glowing face that was turned eagerly up to his.

  Verity had to admit that the other girl was looking good tonight. Of course it helped to be able to patronise any shop in Córdoba without having to think too much about the price one was paying, and having a maid who could dress one's hair to perfection was a distinct advantage. The scarlet dress that Isabel wore outlined every curve of a distinctly unboyish figure, clinging in all the right places where a man was concerned. Perhaps it was cut slightly on the low side, showing off rather more of Isabel's ample bosom than good taste would have suggested, but Ramón was not offended. On the contrary, he was smiling down at her in a most suggestively intent way.

  Verity turned away and, listening to her father's conversation with Seňor Delgado, tried to distance herself from what was happening across the room. But last year's alfalfa figures were not of absorbing interest to her, however hard she kept her mind on them, and she found her glance straying more than once to the other side of the room.

  Isabel had drawn her guest to a small sofa and was patting the seat by her side in an inviting manner that seemed to be entertaining him greatly. Of Seňora Delgado there was no sign. Presumably she had slipped away to make sure that the final touches were being correctly added to the meal. Neither of them seemed to be missing her, Verity thought, as she studied the two dark heads bent close, sharing some joke together.

  It meant nothing to him, of course. It was just a highly skilled technique that years of practice had polished to perfection. He did not really care about Isabel. Or did he? One never knew with a man like that, Verity told herself bitterly. He could don any number of masks and, unless he chose, no woman would be able to dig below the surface to the real man and his thoughts underneath. She gave herself a mental shake. What was there for her to brood about? Let Isabel try her luck and welcome. She should be glad it wasn't herself. She was glad, Verity told herself.

  And then, suddenly, he looked up and caught and held her gaze in a quizzical, slightly mocking hold. Verity wanted to turn away, but somehow she wasn't able to, that mesmerising glance pinning her like a butterfly, a reluctant captive.

  She amused him, she could tell, as a dark brow quirked in pure devilment at her, registering her isolation before returning his interest to whatever Isabel was saying to him. A gentleman would have come over and rescued her and included her in a conversation more to her taste than farming facts and worries. But Ramón Vance was no gentleman—he had told her as much himself. As far as he was concerned she could stew for the rest of the evening while he amused himself in his own way.

  He continued to do so at the dinner table, when they moved from the salon into the equally splendid dining room. Seated between Isabel and her mother in the position of honour, he was an attentive guest, dividing his time between his hostess and her daughter, with Isabel receiving the lion's share of his notice. It was just as well that the girl had the field to herself, thought Verity bitchily. In her best outfit she was no rival to Isabel, and she acknowledged it. But either of Isabel's sisters might have given her a run for her money. They were both more attractive than she was. Verity supposed they had been sent to bed early. At sixteen and eighteen respectively they were still young enough to find dinner parties a bore—although Verity was willing to bet that they would have found something to interest them at this one.

  'And how is life with you now that you are a lady of leisure?' Seňor Delgado was asking with the heavy gallantry that he always affected with the female sex. 'Time must lie very heavily on your hands now that you are no longer at school.'

  What different worlds they inhabited! The Delgado girls would know nothing of her life, struggling to keep the rambling, enormous estancia house in some kind of order, as well as cooking and cleaning for her father and now for their uninvited guest. At Los Molinos there were servants to deal with that sort of thing. What boring lives Isabel and her sisters must lead! Not that she could say so. It might sound like sour grapes.

  'Oh, I manage to find quite a lot to keep me busy.' With an effort she turned her attention from the other side of the table where Isabel was devoting herself wholeheartedly to Ramón. 'I run the house, you know.'

  'Yes. What will your father do when you marry and leave him?'

  'I shouldn't think that will be for a long time yet.' If ever, she added silently. Marriage seemed an impossible prospect at the moment. She had nothing to recommend her to a man. Not looks, not money, not anything.

  Seňor Delgado wagged a roguish finger at her. 'He'll be along before you know it, will Mr Right. It happens to every girl sooner or later. My own Imelda was only seventeen when we were married, but Isabel here is over twenty and still single. And her sisters catching her up
fast.' His eyes strayed to his daughter, who was listening, wide-eyed, to some anecdote that Ramón Vance was telling. Verity caught a look of faint satisfaction on his face. Seňora Delgado was not the only matchmaker in the family, although she was more obvious about it than her husband. Ramón Vance would do very well as a prospective son-in-law.

  Verity did not enjoy the meal, although the food and drink were superb. At any other time the seafood cocktail, followed by steak garnished with ham and pate de foie gras, would have delighted her. Tonight it could have been completely tasteless for all the pleasure that she derived from it. She drank slightly more than usual, although the heavy red wine was not really to her liking. The evening seemed interminable. She tried to look surreptitiously at her watch, but Ramón saw her and she started guiltily, knocking over her wine glass in the process.

  'Oh, I'm sorry!' Verity watched the red stain spread over the immaculate linen and dabbed ineffectually at it with her napkin.

  'It doesn't matter. The servants will deal with it later.' But Seňora Delgado's voice held a note of frosty disapproval. Clearly it would be the last time that peasants who did not know their table manners were invited to Los Molinos. Verity drank her coffee in silence, hardly daring to draw attention to her presence at the table, although she was grateful for her father's whispered words of encouragement, before he engaged Seňora Delgado in a long discussion that was calculated to take her mind off Verity's shortcomings.

  It was after midnight before the Delgados let them go. Or rather before they were willing to part with Ramón Vance, Verity thought sourly as they bumped their way back along the track to Vista Hermosa. As far as she and her father were concerned they could have left hours ago with the Delgados' blessing. It was their guest who. had made a big hit.

  'We will see you again soon?' Isabel had asked anxiously, her small, beautifully manicured hand resting against the dark sleeve of his jacket as the Vista Hermosa party had made their farewells.

  If ever a girl was throwing herself at a man, this was it. Verity watched the scene scornfully. She would never wear her heart on her sleeve quite so openly for any man—let alone a wolf like Ramón Vance!