But somehow he had got under her guard. She had been stupid enough to let him. And now, when it was too late to remain unhurt, she suddenly realised how careless she had been. But love was like that. It crept up on one unawares and left one feeling totally vulnerable.
She didn't feel in a birthday mood at all, she thought, as she pulled on her pink dress after she had bathed herself. She felt rather flat and full. Perhaps her father was right, and shopping in Córdoba would restore her spirits. Anything would be better than mooning round the house feeling sorry for herself. She glanced at her dress and accepted another unpalatable truth. Ramón was right about her clothes. She supposed she'd been aware of it for some time, without feeling any great need to do anything about it. And when she had thought about it recently she hadn't liked to bother her father with demands for money. He had had enough problems to contend with.
When she entered the kitchen, prepared to get breakfast ready as usual, she found her father already, busy there.
'Out!' he commanded. 'It's my turn today. I'll probably burn the lot, but you're having a rest from cooking for the day. Go and sit down.'
Touched by his thoughtfulness, she obeyed him. There was a small vase of flowers by her place, and she bent down to smell them appreciatively.
'It would have been a large bouquet if the flower shops of the Calle Florida had been a little nearer. In Buenos Aires you can be out to buy flowers before breakfast and get them freshly picked.'
So they were Ramón's contribution. She wouldn't be ungracious about it. 'Thank you,' she said briefly. 'They're very nice.'
If he registered the cool politeness in her tone, he didn't show it. 'I'm glad you like them. But they're only instead of a birthday card. Here's your present.' He held out a small, neatly-wrapped package. 'Go on, take it,' he said as she hesitated. 'It's no use to me.'
There were better ways of offering someone a gift, Verity thought indignantly. But, if that was how he wanted to play it, she would oblige him. 'Thank you. You're very kind.' She took the present and put it by the side of her plate. It felt like a small box and her fingers itched to open it. But a sudden desire to show that she was totally indifferent both to him and to his presents made her leave it there. That would prove something to him.
'Aren't you going to look at it?' She thought she could detect a note of pique in his voice.
'After breakfast,' she said calmly.
'Please yourself,' he shrugged, but she could tell that the gesture had annoyed him. Strangely enough she didn't feel as triumphant as she expected, just rather petty.
Breakfast, under her father's direction, was less palatable than usual. He had, as he had threatened, managed to burn the toast and the coffee was slightly bitter from being percolated too long. But these mishaps served only to lighten the atmosphere as Verity forgot her feelings against Ramón and joined him in teasing the older man about his shortcomings as a cook.
'You're determined to make my birthday a day to remember,' she told her father with mock horror. 'The day I went down with food poisoning, thanks to your cooking!'
Ramón tackled a steak that was overdone at one end and slightly underdone at the other. 'Let's hope the housekeeper that's coming will manage better than this. You did say that she could cook, didn't you, Williams?'
'Housekeeper?' Verity queried blankly. No one had mentioned a housekeeper to her.
'This place is too much for a slip of a girl to try to run,' Ramón told her arrogantly.
'I think I've managed pretty well so far,' she retorted, stung by his assumption that she couldn't cope.
'Managing isn't what's needed, Verity, and you know it. With a house this size you need to be in control, completely on top of everything. And you're not, are you? Admit it.'
She wanted to argue, but she couldn't. He was right, damn him; he was always right. She was getting tired of it.
'Ramón's only trying to lift your load a little, love.' Her father added his comment.
'Oh, is that it? I thought he was just telling me that I'd become redundant about the place,' she said angrily. 'I'm sorry if I didn't understand him properly.'
She heard Ramón give an impatient sigh. 'There's no need to jump to hasty conclusions.'
'Is that what I'm doing?' she challenged him.
'It looks rather like it to me.'
'Calm down, love!' Her father could see the upset behind the show of temper. 'No one's trying to replace you. But now that there's more money available and we can have more staff, it makes sense to have help in the house. We've fixed for a permanent live-in housekeeper and a couple of maids to help out on a day-to-day basis. The place should soon be looking spick and span again, the way it used to be. Verity, when your mother was alive.'
'I suppose it makes sense,' she said grudgingly. 'If you put it like that.'
'Of course it's the right thing to do.' Ramón said impatiently. 'What did you think was going to happen when your father was left on his own, without you to do any work about the house? Or were you planning to battle on in your own sweet way for ever more? You weren't cut out to be a drudge, Verity.'
There were two ways of taking that remark. Verity was sure that he meant the uncomplimentary one. She wasn't any good in the house, just as she wasn't any good in any sphere that he considered womanly. She didn't dress well either. She couldn't make sophisticated conversation. She wasn't a flirt. And she dreaded to think how he rated her performance in making love. Enthusiastic, but totally lacking in skill, she supposed, or words to that effect. Verity glowered resentfully at him.
'You needn't worry, there'll still be plenty for you to do,' he told her kindly.
'And you'll have more time to yourself, love. I've felt guilty about you. You should be enjoying yourself a bit more while you're young, instead of wearing yourself out on housework.' Mark Williams was trying to coax her out of her obvious bad humour.
More time to sit and brood about Ramón Vance. More time to feel inadequate about herself. She wasn't sure that she wanted that. But whether she wanted it or not, it appeared to be all settled. She would have to make the best of it. Clearly she wasn't going to alter matters by protesting. 'It'll be nice to get the place properly to rights again,' she agreed, and saw her father's smile of approval. She could tell from Ramón's quizzical look at her that he wasn't entirely convinced about her sudden capitulation. She seethed. She was fed up with the way he just walked in and took over. Her father might enjoy the experience, but she certainly didn't.
Was it possible to love a man and hate him at the same time? Verity pondered the problem after the meal was over and the men had left the room. How could she resent Ramón so fiercely, yet still ache for a smile or a sign of tenderness from him? It wasn't logical. But she supposed love hadn't much to do with that. It was a madness that seized one and tossed one about, incapable of rationalising the situation. She just wished she had managed to steer clear of it.
She pushed her plate aside and saw the small parcel, half hidden by it. Ramón's present. She had forgotten it in her wave of outraged feelings. She reached for it now and opened it, ripping off the paper with sudden eagerness. There was a box inside, as she had supposed when she felt it earlier, and it bore the name of the most exclusive jeweller in Córdoba. Lifting up the lid, Verity parted the protecting fluff of cotton wool, to reveal a beautifully dainty pendant. It was silver, she thought, as was the chain on which it hung. It was a thistle, exquisitely designed and executed, the petals of the flower delicate in contrast to the sturdy spikiness of the stem. She caught her breath in pleasure.
'It reminded me of you.' She started nervously as Ramón's voice sounded just behind her. She thought he had left the house, but he must have come back for something. And now he had caught her mooning over his present like a lovesick girl. But that was what she was, wasn't it?
'I always think of the thistle as the flower of the pampas. In some places it's the only thing that'll grow, because the climate's so extreme and the landscape's so
exposed. It's stubborn and it's prickly and it soldiers on regardless. And, when it flowers, it's beautiful.' Ramón's explanation continued.
'But I'm not beautiful.' Womanlike, she concentrated on the last part of his remarks.
'You haven't flowered yet.' He sounded faintly amused.
She swung round to confront him, the pendant in her hand. 'Do you think that I'm going to?'
'I'm sure of it.' He was looking at her appraisingly. Was he comparing her with Isabel's smooth, controlled beauty?
'Is that why I'm being despatched to Córdoba to buy myself some new clothes?' she asked him. 'I understand from my father that you think that I'm shabby.'
'I didn't say that. But I suppose I can rely on you to assume that I did.'
'What did you say?'
'Does it matter?'
'Not much,' she said carelessly, knowing that it did.
'I said you were an attractive girl who, with a little help, could be an attractive woman. Are you going to take offence at that?'
'How can I? Coming from an expert such as yourself I should take it as a compliment.'
'Most women would,' he agreed. 'But you can turn anything round so that it supports your own warped viewpoint.'
'That's not fair!'
'Isn't it? Think about it some time. You might concede that I'm right. If you can face up to the fact, that is.'
'I can face up to anything,' she told him defiantly, and knew that it wasn't true, even as she spoke the words. She couldn't really face the fact that she loved him, couldn't come to terms with it. But she wasn't going to tell him that.
'How about thanking me for the present, then?'
She looked down at the pendant that she was still clutching like a talisman in her hand. The silver thistle was digging into her skin and it was hurting, she realised suddenly. She hadn't noticed until now.
'Thank you,' she muttered.
'Can't you do better than that?'
'What do you want?' Unwisely she raised her face to his and saw exactly what he was expecting from her mirrored in his eyes. She couldn't kiss him, she told herself. She couldn't bear to touch him. It would be too much for her. The feel of his mouth against hers would spark off too many memories, light too many stoked fires. But Ramón was waiting. He would act if she didn't. Reluctantly she reached up and brushed her lips against his tanned cheek. 'Thank you for my present,' she whispered, suddenly breathless.
'You sound like a little girl.' He made no attempt to pull her into his arms and, perversely, she was disappointed.
'Isn't that how you think of me?'
'Sometimes,' he agreed.
'One day you'll take me seriously,' she vowed to him.
'Who says I don't already?' The brown eyes were suddenly serious.
Verity shrugged. His manner never gave much indication of it.
'Shall I put that on for you?' Ramón indicated the pendant.
So that she could feel the touch of his fingers against the bare nape of her neck? So that sensation would flood down her spine, pulsing deliriously through her entire body? And then what would happen? She knew only too well the effect that he had upon her, and it was a danger that she had no intention of courting.
'No, thank you. I don't want to wear it.' She moved away to put it back in its box and shut the lid with a snap.
'Please yourself,' he said. He turned abruptly and made for the door. 'See that you're back in reasonable time from Córdoba, won't you? I don't want you driving at dusk. It's dangerous.'
He spoke out of. concern for her welfare, she was sure, but she felt her hackles rise nevertheless. He expected her to obey just because he was giving the orders. Did he have to make everything sound like an army command? And, what was worse, he hadn't even waited for her answer, but had disappeared through the door. People didn't disobey Ramón Vance and he didn't expect them to.
But the bad mood faded as she drove out along the drive and turned into the main road. It was a glorious day and somehow she could not be at odds with the world. Ramón and the problems that he caused her were left far behind at Vista Hermosa as she put her foot down on the accelerator and the car ate up the miles between the ranch and Córdoba. This time there was no dark figure sharing the front seat and inhibiting her by his presence. She could please herself. There was no one to criticise her actions or to overrule them.
She made good time, even allowing for a brief stop along the road at a transport cafe to rest and refresh her parched throat with some cold orange juice. It was nearly lunchtime when she swung triumphantly into the city and parked not far from the bus station. Ramón had negotiated the traffic with his usual competence, unworried by narrow streets and aggressive fellow motorists, but Verity took the coward's way out. It would be easier driving out of town, too, she excused herself.
She locked the car and walked briskly to the area off the Avenida General Paz where, in a pedestrian precinct, all the city's most interesting shops were situated. She stopped at a pavement cafe to grab a quick bite to eat, a bocadillo, made from fresh crusty bread filled with cheese and meat, and a long, cool drink. She timed things well, finishing long before the office crowds spilled out around two o'clock, making it almost impossible to get served rapidly. As she ate she planned her purchases, comparing the mental list she had made of what she needed with the shops that she knew best. Then, having paid the bill, she set off again.
There wasn't a great deal of time. She would have to leave reasonably early, if, in accordance with Ramón's instructions, she wanted to get back before the light went. That was the time when there were most road accidents, when the dusk cloaked objects in a sort of haze and made it difficult to judge distances and speeds of approaching vehicles. Verity allowed herself three hours and no more.
She enjoyed herself. As she went from one small boutique to another she was conscious of her spirits lifting. She hadn't felt this carefree since long before Ramón Vance appeared on the scene. It was good to relax for once. And choosing new clothes was a joy that could rapidly become an addiction, she realised as time went on.
It was a pity that she had no girl friend with her to consult about her choices and to giggle with over some of the extremes of fashion that were displayed. If she had had more notice, she supposed that she would have contacted one of her old school friends who lived nearby. But it didn't really matter. Verity had a good eye for colours and she knew what suited her, and before long she had a pile of bags and parcels attesting to her enthusiasm for the task.
She had cashed the cheque that her father had given her and determined to spend the lot. Surveying the results of her purchases while she sat and had a well-earned glass of iced tea, she thought that she had not done badly to make it stretch so far. She had concentrated on a few colours that she knew suited her and had managed to achieve a co-ordinated look by buying wisely and not being tempted to rash impulses.
She found herself with an array of tops, a couple of skirts, two dresses in crisp cotton, a pair of sensible shoes and a pair of lightweight sandals that were decidedly frivolous. She had renewed her underwear drawer too, discarding sensible schoolgirl things for scantily-cut bras and bikini briefs and a couple of nightdresses that were far removed from the prim, semi-Victorian ones that she usually wore.
'Shopping for your honeymoon? Your novio will appreciate these on your wedding night,' the shop girl who served her said with a knowing smile as she packed up the almost see-through nightdress and negligé set in shell pink that Verity had fixed upon.
'No, I'm not getting married,' she said without thinking, and then wished she hadn't when the girl gave her an even more suggestive look. Nice girls didn't anticipate the wedding in this part of the world!
Not that she could blame her, Verity thought, almost ready to say that she didn't want the items after all. Girls didn't buy that sort of lingerie for their own pleasure. It didn't belong in a virgin's bed. She wondered why she was wasting her money. She supposed it would all keep. Maybe one day she would
have a husband to admire her in what she had got today. One day when she had forgotten Ramón Vance and all that he stood for and found herself a kind, caring man who loved her to distraction, faults and all. Did men like that exist? she wondered. And would she fall in love with that type even if it did?
The trouble was that a man like that would not begin to appreciate the last purchases that she made at an exclusive shop that Verity suspected Isabel patronised fairly often. The window display showed only two dresses, but one of them was sufficiently attractive for her to take her courage in both hands and ask the elderly, rather intimidating saleswoman to take it out so that she could try it on, once that she had established that it was her size.
Verity was amazed at the transformation that the mirror showed her. The schoolgirl was gone, banished for ever, and in her place was a cool, attractive young woman. The dress she had chosen was for evenings, the sort of thing that a sophisticated young woman about town might wear for soirees and cocktail parties. It was white and made from a silky material that clung, emphasising every curve of Verity's slim figure.
The vendedora came to the door of the changing room and nodded approvingly. 'Muy guapa, seňorita,' she said approvingly.
Verity looked at her reflection rather dubiously. 'I look different somehow,' she said aloud, wondering that a dress could make such a change in anyone.
'You look good. That dress is not for everyone, but you—you have the style to carry it off. A combination of innocence and daring, seňorita. That is a dress to provoke a man!'
Was it? Verity wondered, and then, turning one way and then another, seeing the effect that it had as it was caught by the different shades of light, she realised that the woman was right. What would Ramón make of her, wearing a dress like this? She certainly didn't look like a child in it, she thought, as she smoothed the material over the curve of her hips and noted how trim her figure appeared.
'I'll take it,' she said, coming to a sudden decision.
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