'Yes?'
'About that fly in the ointment that you mentioned—'
So she had been right. 'Well?' she asked him.
'You were right when you suspected I might put a younger man in. But in a supervisory capacity only Your father's perfectly capable of running the place, but he needs a little support and advice. And I intend to see that he gets it.'
There was a sudden cold feeling at the back of her neck. Verity was suddenly certain of what was coming next. 'You're going to be keeping in close touch from Buenos Aires?' she hazarded.
'I shall be around here for a while yet to see the start of the improvement operation. And then, if it all seems to be going according to plan, I'll be back every weekend to keep everything on the right track.'
Her face must have shown how appalling she found the prospect. 'What about your other work? How will you manage?'
'I think you can safely leave that to me to worry about, don't you?' he rebuked her. 'And I'm sure your father will welcome the idea even if you don't. Try to think of somebody besides yourself for a change, Verity.'
On that disagreeable note he left her. He hadn't had any breakfast either, but she wasn't going running after him. He could starve as far as she was concerned, Verity told herself. She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down at the table, cradling the cup absently in her hands while she attempted to sort out the muddle that her thoughts were in.
It was good news about Vista Hermosa. Whatever Ramón said, she was glad for her father's sake as much for her own that the only home that they had known was not to be taken from them. But the prospect of Ramón's continual presence about the place was an entirely different matter. She could bear the fact that she was in love with him. She could bear the fact that he intended to marry someone else—just, and only just. Given time she might even get over him one day. But not if he was constantly under her nose.
Now that matters were settled and her father's job was safe, she supposed she could look forward to university and her trip back to her parents' homeland. But that wouldn't be for a while yet. How could she exist in the meantime, eating her heart out for a man who cared nothing for her and resenting the girl he would be courting in her place? Verity felt ill at the thought.
At least he did not know her secret. She had that consolation. Nobody did, not even her father, from whom she had never kept any important matter in her life. This was her problem and it would remain entirely hers to solve as best she could. Outwardly she made every effort to share Mark Williams' enthusiasm over the news of their reprieve. She listened patiently while he detailed every change to be made, every new piece of equipment that was to be bought once the money was available at the bank.
'We're taking on another ten men initially. We'll see how it goes with them. We may get a few more on a temporary basis later,' he told her. Already, she noticed, he was talking as if he and Ramón were a team. He showed no resentment of the other man—if anything he seemed almost glad that the decision making was to be a dual responsibility in future. 'I feel like a new man,' he said, when she cautioned him about overdoing it. 'I've got a sense of purpose again. It's wonderful!'
'Yes, it is,' she agreed. It was ages since she had seen him so happy about his work. She was grateful to Ramón for that at least and, making an effort, she told him so.
It was evening, the light fading fast over the flat landscape, as he stood on the edge of the verandah, gazing out into the distance. Verity wondered if he was expecting Isabel to drive over from Los Molinos. She had heard him fixing something with the other girl over the phone. She had not intended to listen, but somehow she couldn't help herself. In a strange way she almost enjoyed tormenting herself with the knowledge of his involvement with Isabel. It was as if, by reminding herself of the fact, her own feelings became more bitter-sweet.
She realised when he turned and she saw that he was still in working clothes that he could hardly be waiting for Isabel. She would expect him to be immaculately dressed for her benefit. Outward appearances mattered overmuch to her. Clothes didn't make the man. Although, looking at Ramón now, Verity could have been fooled by his appearance into thinking him a true man of the pampas. Dark jeans clung to his long powerful legs and the shirt that he wore emphasised his breadth of shoulder. At his waist was belted the rastra, the traditional gaucho belt, ornamented with silver coins and studs, and his tattered leather jerkin was tossed aside on a chair next to him, along with the slouch hat that he wore to keep off the blazing force of the midday sun.
He swung round at her approach and an impatient look crossed his face when he realised who it was. 'Does your father want me?' he asked, preparing to head indoors.
'No.' She could hardly blame him for assuming that she was a reluctant message-bearer. She had not sought him out on her own behalf for a long time. 'I wanted to speak to you.'
'Go ahead.' He leaned back against the post of the verandah, one booted leg resting against the chair. 'What's the problem?'
He assumed it wasn't a social encounter. He was right, she supposed. Verity was silent for a moment, wondering how to begin. He was not being exactly encouraging. But she probably deserved that.
'I wanted to thank you,' she said baldly at last.
'For what?' He looked taken aback, or as much as he ever could be.
'For helping Dad, for giving him this chance. I don't know if you realised what Vista Hermosa meant to him. I don't think he did until there was a possibility that someone might take it all away from him. Since you gave him the good news he's taken on a new lease of life. You said I was selfish and I didn't care about him, but I do. And I just wanted you to know that.'
Having said her piece, she prepared to leave him, but he stopped her by the simple means of reaching out a hand and grasping her arm. The feel of his fingers against her bare arm sent a ripple of sensation through her and she forced herself to stay calm. He's not interested in you, she told herself. Forget it.
'I'm glad you think I can do something right,' he said. 'It makes a refreshing change.'
'I haven't altered my opinion of you overall.'
'Oh, hardly that,' he mocked her. 'Tell me, Verity, how long are you going to cling to that vision of me as a bold, bad beast seeking to devour you?'
'For as long as I believe it to be true.'
'And there's nothing that I can do to convince you that my intentions are entirely honourable?'
He was stroking her forearm now, his touch tantalisingly light against her skin, deliberately seeking a reaction from her.
'Save your pretty speeches for Isabel,' she advised him. 'She might appreciate them—I don't.'
'Most women like pretty speeches,' he said. 'You're the exception. You prefer actions to words, don't you?'
She should have tried to get away, but some force held her fast, rooted to the spot. She breathed a little faster as he captured her hand and raised it to his mouth, nibbling the soft skin of her palm. 'You like this, don't you?' he asked her.
'No,' she lied.
'Then tell me to stop.'
She didn't want him to. Her lips moved to protest, but no sound emerged. He pulled her closer to him, his hands caressing her as he did so, stroking the supple length of her spine and sending shivers through her as she reacted to his touch.
'Look at me, Verity,' he insisted and, when she tried to turn her head away from him, scared that he would see the telltale feeling in her face and interpret it correctly, he put a hand under her chin and forced her to obey him. Surely he must see how much she cared. It must be shining out of her face, that mixture of love and desire, combined with a reluctance to admit her need of him.
Whatever he saw seemed to satisfy him. Before his lips claimed hers she saw a flicker of expression in his usually impassive features. Sometimes he seemed to put a deliberate guard on his feelings where she was concerned. Now it was stripped away and she could see desire flame on his face. He wanted her as much as she wanted him—there was no doubt of that.
She could never have called a halt. But Ramón did, pushing her from him with firm insistence.
'No!' she protested, and tried to push back into his arms, seeking the warmth and passion that they had shared.
'No,' he echoed, but he meant something different. He was rejecting her.
Realisation hit her like a douche of cold water when she heard his muttered expletive and felt him step away from her. She felt cheap and used. 'All right,' she said with effort. 'I think you proved your point successfully.'
He was breathing faster than usual, she noticed. Perhaps he wasn't as much in control of himself as he imagined. 'I wasn't trying to prove anything,' he said. 'Believe that, Verity.'
She gave a laugh that just missed being a sob. 'How can I?'
'You go to a man's head. I couldn't help myself.' Was that intended as an apology? Was he sorry he had kissed her? She didn't know what he meant. Suddenly she felt tired of fencing with the man, tired of wondering what made him tick.
'I'm sorry,' she said, but she didn't know why. She supposed that it was a plea for understanding, a regret that things between them had not gone differently, that they hadn't been friends.
'Don't be,' he told her. 'It'll come right in the end.' But happy endings were the stuff of fairy stories not of real life, Verity thought as she drifted off to sleep later that night. If only life was as cut and dried as that, with villains defeated and heroes triumphing and everyone getting their just deserts. She fell into a troubled dream in which Isabel, clad in spotless white, her dark hair secured in a medieval headdress, lured Ramón away from her. 'He's going to fight my dragons for me,' she said, her face gloating with pleasure at her triumph over Verity. 'Find your own man. This one's mine.' And, even in her dream, Verity was conscious of an overwhelming sense of loss.
CHAPTER NINE
Verity was awake early on the morning of her birthday. It was a habit that stretched back to childhood when first light had always revealed a heap of interesting packages by the foot of her bed to be opened and gloated over in relative silence until a reasonable time had elapsed and she could go and safely wake her parents to share in the thrill of it all.
She remembered the time when she had begged for a pony of her own. She had been six then. Or was it seven? She had woken up to hear a snuffling sound and see a shaggy brown head scrabbling at the flimsy window screen. For a terrified instant she had retreated under the cover of the bedclothes, until curiosity had got the better of fear and she had emerged to recognise what it was and had gone over to make friends. How her parents had laughed when she had told them the story!
Those times were past now, as were her youthful shrieks of glee at discovering exactly the presents that she wanted and had been hinting at for weeks beforehand. Since her mother had died a lot of the joy had gone out of the family times that they had always made so much of. Christmas, birthdays and anniversary occasions came and went without the same happiness that used to surround them.
Her father tried his best, of course. But it wasn't the same. He knew it and so did Verity. And this year she was even more aware of the fact that the thing that she had set her heart on, the one present that would bring her happiness, was completely beyond her father's power to obtain for her. There was no way that anyone could hand her Ramón Vance's love, tied with a silk bow and with a card saying, 'For Verity, for a lifetime'. It couldn't happen, however much she wanted it.
She sighed heavily. This wasn't going to be a special day. It wouldn't be particularly happy. If Ramón chose to take himself off with Isabel, she would spend the time brooding. If he stayed at the estancia, there was a fair chance that there would be heated words between them. She had a very low boiling point where he was concerned and, unable to tell him that she loved him, she found herself going to the opposite extreme and doing everything in her power to demonstrate how little she cared if she provoked him.
Perhaps it would be a normal working day for everyone. Usually her father made every effort to spend the entire day with her. 'Birthdays are special,' he said. 'Work comes a long way second.' She had been assuming it would be the same this year, whatever the problems at Vista Hermosa. But perhaps Ramón wouldn't see things that way. Her father wasn't really his own master any more. He jumped at Ramón's command. And she couldn't see him halting ranch business just because a slip of a girl that he didn't particularly like was one year older.
There was a tap at the door. 'Verity? Are you awake?' Her father's head appeared.
'At six o'clock on my birthday morning? I've been awake for ages,' she told him indignantly. 'Come in, Dad.'
'I've brought you a cup of tea.' He brought the tray to her bedside and set it down. He had made it gaucho-style, strong yerba mate, brewed in silver gourds with small silver straws through which the hot, slightly bitter brew was drunk. 'Happy birthday, love.' He bent over to kiss her and hugged her to him. 'May you have many more, and may all of them be happy ones.'
'Thanks, Dad,' Verity smiled up at him.
'I'm sorry there hasn't been time to go shopping,' he said apologetically. 'You know what the last few days have been like. I haven't known whether I've been coming or going, what with taking on new staff and seeing reps about improvements to the place—'
'Stop worrying—it doesn't matter. I'm a big girl now, too old for heaps of presents,' she reassured him, although she was conscious of a faint feeling of disappointment.
'You deserve a mountain of presents, love. You've been a marvel these last weeks. I don't know what I'd have done without you, and that's the truth. Anyway, here's your card and a little something besides.' He handed her an envelope.
Verity opened it and smiled at the humorous message that he had chosen, ignoring for the moment the other piece of paper that slipped on to the sheet beside her.
'Hey, don't lose that,' Mark Williams cautioned, and she picked it up quickly.
'A cheque?' She noted how much it was for and raised anxious eyes to him. 'Dad, can you afford it?'
'What kind of thank-you is that?' he teased her. 'Yes, I can afford it now. Vance has given me a pay rise too. Now that my job's secure it looks as if I'll be able to put a bit on one side for the first time in my life.'
'Not if you waste it on me, you won't,' Verity told him. 'This is a small fortune.'
'I think you'll find it vanishes pretty rapidly when you get round to spending it. And it's about time that you splashed out a bit and got yourself some new clothes. It's the sort of thing that your mother would have attended to, if she'd been with us. She wouldn't want to see you looking dowdy.'
'Do you think I am?' Verity didn't think her father ever really noticed what she was wearing. Like most men, he took female dress pretty well for granted unless stunned by something that was completely out of the ordinary.
'To tell you the truth, I hadn't thought much about it,' Mark Williams confirmed her thought. 'It was Vance who said something to me.'
Verity's face flamed in sudden humiliation. 'I suppose I must seem a bit homespun after the women he meets in everyday life. But I didn't think I was that bad.'
The hurt must have registered in her voice, because her father glanced at her in concern. 'I'm putting it badly, Verity. It wasn't like that at all. He just pointed out that you were growing up fast. You weren't a child any more, but a young lady. And young women like to dress up occasionally.'
'I've nothing to dress up for,' Verity said. 'Jeans and blouses are what suit me best, and they're practical wear for the estancia. Unlike dear Isabel Delgado, I can count the number of social
events I attend in a year on the fingers of one hand.'
'That'll change too, now that the ranch is taking on a new lease of life. There'll be times when I'll be entertaining, and I hope you'll act as hostess for me. At least until you leave home. And you enjoy new clothes—all women do.' Her father sounded slightly pained by her reception of his gift. 'I thought you'd be pleased.'
What a churlish beast she was! Just because the gesture had been prompted by Ramón there was no reason to throw it back in her father's face. He thought it would make her happy. He had seized upon the idea once Ramón had put it to him. Verity forced a happy expression to her face. 'Of course I'm pleased—just a bit taken aback, that's all. And I'll enjoy spending it. You're right, you know. You'll be surprised just how frivolous I can be when the mood takes me. I can be as extravagant as the next girl when it comes to re-stocking my wardrobe.'
'That's my girl!' Mark Williams looked relieved. 'You can take the car into Córdoba today. Have a splurge while you're in the mood, otherwise you won't feel as if you've had a birthday.'
Obviously he was going to be engaged elsewhere. Verity swallowed her disappointment and her childish urge to say, 'But I want to be with you.' She was not a child any longer. She was an adult, and grown women didn't give way to impulses like that. 'That would be nice,' she agreed instead, and saw from his expression that she had said the right thing. 'I'll go straight after breakfast. Are you sure you can spare the car?'
'We've another one now, besides Vance's Land Rover,' Mark Williams reminded her of the recent purchase of another ranch vehicle. 'You'll be all right on your own, won't you?'
'Fine,' she assured him. 'It's ages since I've driven, for all I passed my test first time a year ago. It'll be great to get some practice at the wheel.'
'You'll be careful?'
'I'll be careful, Dad. When am I anything else?' she asked him teasingly.
She could have supplied the answer herself, she thought, as she lay back in bed after her father had left her, sipping her tea and brooding. She had tried her best to remain unaffected by Ramón Vance's presence.
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