A quick flush stained the young Spaniard’s brow.
‘I do not come to spy, senorita,’ he returned with some spirit, ‘even if that is what you think of me. Always I perform my duties as I am supposed to do, and I am not your servant.’
The quiet dignity of the man spoke volumes. He had been more or less accused of being Lucia’s informer, but he would have none of it. There was injured pride in the dark eyes as they looked back into Teresa’s and a certain amount of boldness which Catherine found strangely disquieting. He was young, he was handsome, and he had a fiery temper which only seemed to be subdued in Lucia’s presence. He was her personal servant, but there was something more than that between them. In public Lucia treated him with a haughtiness relevant to their respective stations, but the evening before they had stood close in the garden beside the fountain, half hidden in the shadows of the colonnade, half revealed as the moon fled across the sky.
For an hour they rode along the narrow dirt road which skirted the hacienda wall, passing tiny adobe houses smothered in vines and great packing-sheds where the estate workers were busy in the cool dimness of the cavern-like interiors packing a consignment of bananas for the journey to Santa Cruz in the morning. Several lorries with the Madroza name on their sides waited, ready to be loaded, the drivers sleeping soundly beneath them, out of the sun. Teresa flicked her riding-whip.
‘If Jaime came along they would think of something better to do,’ she declared. ‘Ramon will not tell them to work harder. He is too eager to be one of them and drive on a lorry to Santa Cruz.’
They halted where the road began to climb out of the valley, sitting in the shade of a young dragon tree to survey the vast panorama of terraced vines and bananas spread out beneath them. It was a whole kingdom, Catherine thought, bounded on the north by that high brick wall which must have taken years of patient labour to build and by the distant sea in the south. Until now, she had had no idea how vast the Madroza possessions were, and even her untrained eye could see that the irrigation dykes had been newly maintained so that a regular flow of water would enrich the land. If all this had been Don Jaime’s doing he had every reason to feel satisfied.
‘My father did much to enhance the estate,’ Teresa said proudly, ‘but Jaime has also worked very hard. At one time Soria was badly neglected; there was no money to put back into the land.’ Her voice hardened. ‘The necessary money came with Lucia. Her father was a rich merchant and she was his only daughter.’
So Soria owed much to Lucia in a material way and Don Jaime, if not Teresa, would be grateful.
As they reached the high road and were approaching the first of the packing-stations a cloud of red dust ahead of them announced the presence of a horse and rider travelling at speed.
‘It’s Ramon,’ said Teresa, ‘making up time.’
The rider emerged from the red cloud into the sunlight of the dirt road as they reached the sheds, drawing up abruptly when he saw them.
‘Where have you been?’ Teresa demanded. ‘To the Gran Hotel los Dogos, I suppose.’
‘You suppose wrongly, but I did go to the Puerto,’ Ramon admitted, obviously looking for someone else. ‘Has Jaime been around?’ he asked casually.
‘Luckily for you, he hasn’t,’ Teresa returned. ‘It’s a working day, or hadn’t you noticed?’
Ramon gave her a disparaging look.
‘I was up at the crack of dawn,’ he informed her, ‘long before you were even awake.’ Brushing some of the dust from his clothes, he dismounted, coming to stand beside Catherine. ‘Did my brother approve the pony?’ he enquired, looking up at her with one dark eye closed against the sunlight. ‘Vivo is very tame.’
Catherine glanced sideways at the powerful horse he had been riding. It was the colour of sand and would be hardly noticeable in the high reaches of the mountains, a spirited animal now pawing the ground restlessly as he waited.
‘I’m a very indifferent horsewoman, so Vivo suits me very well,’ she said. ‘You must have ridden most of your life.’
‘My father used to say I was practically born in the saddle,’ Ramon acknowledged. ‘My mother was a fearless horsewoman, although most women rode behind their husbands in those days. Teresa takes after her,’ he added. ‘She is her true nieta, full of spirit and wilfulness which my brother does his best to curb.’
Teresa got down from her pony to stretch her legs.
‘Why is it always a girl who must be subdued?’ she demanded. ‘You are not exactly placid, Ramon, but you have a very good way of hiding it which is perhaps what I need.’
‘I wouldn’t try anything on with Jaime, if I were you,’ he warned her with a half-smile. ‘He is not easily deceived.’ He turned to help Catherine from the saddle. ‘You must need a rest,’ he suggested.
‘If I get down I’m never going to be able to mount again,’ Catherine declared. ‘As it is, I feel permanently bent in the middle!’
He was standing close beneath her, one hand on the pony’s glossy flank, the other on the stirrup, and there was a small flame of anticipation in his eyes as he looked up at her.
‘Come with me to the puerto this evening,’ he begged. ‘I will show you what life on this remote little island can really be like.’
‘The puerto is no longer Tenerife,’ Teresa declared with amazing candour. ‘You would not be showing her the true island, only a few sophisticated hotels.’
‘You’re jealous,’ Ramon shot back, ‘because it is out of bounds as far as you are concerned. But perhaps we can all go,’ he added. ‘I ran into Alex Bonnington while I was down there this morning and she was greatly impressed by Cathy. She would like us to visit her. Lucia, too, of course,’ he added. ‘Alex is nothing if not polite.’
Catherine had liked Alex Bonnington on sight, feeling that the advice and friendship of a fellow-countrywoman might not come amiss during her stay at Soria. She had been vaguely troubled by Alex’s warning, however, but since she was not going to stay at the hacienda for the rest of her life it didn’t seem to matter very much.
‘Perhaps we could learn to paint,’ Teresa suggested. ‘At least that would be something different to do. Oh, here comes Jaime,’ she added. ‘In a bit of a hurry, by the looks of things.’
Ramon did not move. When his brother rode up he was still standing with his hand on Catherine’s stirrup, looking up at her, something insolent in his manner now that he was discovered idling away his time in conversation.
Wondering why she should also feel guilty, Catherine looked over the pony’s shaggy head into Don Jaime’s hostile eyes, and for a moment he held her gaze before he rode into the shade of the packing sheds to dismount.
There are four lorries at San Bartolome waiting to start for Santa Cruz,’ he said to Ramon. ‘None of them have the necessary bills of lading. Can you advise me what has happened to them, or is that too much to ask on a pleasant afternoon when you have other distractions to take up your time?’
‘Heavens, I forgot!’ Ramon looked truly contrite. ‘I meant to see to the bills yesterday, but it slipped my mind.’ He vaulted on to his horse. ‘It won’t take me long to get them. They’re back at the house.’
He turned on a tight rein to gallop off by the way he had come and something about the sharp, contrary movement seemed to disturb Catherine’s pony. The docile little animal shivered where he stood and then, without warning, he took to his heels and flew off in the wake of Ramon and his spirited steed.
Taken completely by surprise and sickeningly aware that Manuel had let go of the leading-rein while they had stood talking, she flung her arms around the pony’s neck and clung on like grim death, praying that the little animal would stop of his own accord before final disaster overtook them. The narrow road with its fringe of palms and scrub flashed past her as the thunder of heavier hooves came up behind them.
Don Jaime spoke sharply in his own language and the pony slackened its pace and was soon standing still by the roadside. Catherine turned her head sideways to
look at her rescuer.
‘I’m sorry,’ she managed because it always seemed necessary to apologise for her actions. ‘I couldn’t stop him once he got going.’
‘Get down,’ Don Jaime ordered.
She saw how hard his mouth was.
‘I can’t!’ She was still clinging to the pony’s neck.
‘Certainly you can.’ He dismounted, but he did not try to help her. ‘You will strangle the horse if you don’t let go.’ Cautiously she regained an upright position, straightening in the saddle.
‘Now take your foot out of the stirrup and swing towards me,’ he commanded. ‘I will not let you fall.’
What a fool he must think her! Catherine bit her lip and obeyed his instructions, leaning heavily against his shoulder as she struggled to remove her foot from the second stirrup. In an instant his arms were about her, holding her securely before he finally put her on the ground.
‘What an exhibition!’ She tried to laugh. ‘I told you I wasn’t very good on a horse.’
She was trembling visibly, aware of his nearness and the contact of their two bodies as he had held her for that one brief second in time.
‘You have had a nasty shock,’ he said quite gently.
Was that all? His hands were still on her arms, his face close as he looked down at her with genuine concern in his eyes, but after a moment he put her gently away from him, steadying her on her feet, although he must have been aware that she was still trembling.
She wanted to explain how terrified she had been but couldn’t. Her heart was pounding madly, and every nerve in her body seemed to be jarred, yet in that first moment when his arms had closed about her she had felt secure.
The clamour in her heart would not die down, even now that there was no further cause for alarm. Physically she was safe enough and probably there had been no real danger. She tried to meet his eyes complacently, but her errant heartbeats seemed to fill the silence between them with overwhelming sound.
‘You must get straight back into the saddle,’ he advised in a matter-of-fact tone which steadied her a little. ‘It is the only way. If you allow yourself to be afraid now you will never ride successfully.’
She hardly heard what he said, turning her head away, still conscious of the pounding of her own heart. I can’t fall in love with him, she thought. I couldn’t complicate a situation which is already dangerous enough!
‘I’m all right now,’ she managed to say. ‘It’s like—riding a bicycle, isn’t it? One spill shouldn’t mean defeat.’
‘Let me help you,’ he said, cupping his hands to assist her into the saddle. ‘We must be thankful that nothing more serious has befallen you.’
‘Don’t blame Ramon too much,’ she begged, meeting his eyes with a quiet entreaty in her own. ‘It wasn’t really his fault.’
‘Ramon is always going off at a tangent,’ he said. ‘I dare say he has no idea what happened.’ His dark gaze swept the empty road ahead of them. ‘He will be almost home by now.’
‘I should have been more attentive,’ she blamed herself. ‘I never dreamed that Vivo would actually bolt.’
Her words dropped into a little confused silence while he looked up at her.
‘All right now?’ he asked as Teresa and Manuel appeared round a bend in the road.
‘Quite all right, thank you.’ She had cleared her voice to answer him with confidence. ‘I won’t make the same mistake again.’
‘Cathy!’ Teresa cried when they were within hailing distance, ‘Are you all in one piece?’ She looked greatly relieved when she saw Catherine still in the saddle. ‘You gave us a great fright, I must say, but now it seems that you have not taken any harm, after all.’ She began to laugh. ‘If you had seen yourself!’ she exclaimed. ‘All yellow bottom and flying hair! I thought you were going to strangle poor Vivo before you fell off!’ She looked from Catherine to her silent uncle. ‘Did you fall off?’ she enquired tentatively. ‘Or did Jaime catch you?’
‘He caught up with me,’ Catherine allowed, made suddenly uncomfortable by the speculative look in Teresa’s eyes. ‘I think I was ready to fall,’ she added lightly, ‘but he saved me the indignity.’
‘Will you ride home with us now?’ Teresa asked Don Jaime. ‘Perhaps you do not trust us to go carefully any more.’
‘I have other things to see to,’ he assured her, ‘but I will be home quite soon. You may tell Ramon that I will be waiting at San Bartolome.’
He would not return home until the last lorry with its consignment of bananas was well on its way to Santa Cruz, and no doubt Ramon would be kept working later than usual to make up for his unexplained visit to the puerto. The two brothers were evidently not seeing eye to eye about Soria, and possibly there was another bone of contention between them. Ramon was something of a philanderer, a charming latter-day Don Juan whose idle lovemaking would incense a man of Jaime de Berceo Madroza’s calibre and make him impatient, to say the least. What, then, must he have thought when he had come across the little tableau outside the packing-sheds? Ramon had been standing in the centre of the group holding Catherine’s stirrup while he looked up at her with frank admiration in his eyes, and Catherine knew that she had responded with a happy smile. Ramon was so easy to like, but the fact that his work had been neglected would be far more important in his brother’s eyes.
When they were almost at the high wooden door in the surrounding wall they met Ramon riding swiftly in the opposite direction.
‘I’ll be back in under an hour,’ he promised, ‘and then we will have some music. Jaime cannot possibly work in the dark!’
He flourished the mislaid bills of lading as he rode off in his efforts to make amends for his irresponsible forgetfulness.
‘Ramon will never make a farmer,’ Teresa commented as they rode in under the creeper-covered arch. ‘Jaime should let him go to Santa Cruz or Madrid.’
‘He must need him on the estate,’ Catherine found herself saying. ‘Otherwise, I think he would let him go.’
Teresa drew a deep breath which was half a sigh.
‘How little you know of Jaime,’ she said. ‘If he thinks it will be best for Soria he will keep Ramon here for ever. But perhaps if he marries Lucia. Ramon will be free to go.’
There was an abrupt movement at Catherine’s side as Manuel dismounted to lead her pony across the cobbled yard. Half hidden by the wide-brimmed hat he wore, she could not see his face from where she sat in the saddle, but something about his hunched shoulders and the way he moved suggested despair and an inner abandonment to grief.
Lucia was waiting for them on the patio. She had changed out of her habitual black dress into a long evening gown of some soft, clinging material, not grey, not blue, but somewhere between the two colours, which was both mysterious and attractive allied to her jet-black hair and sombre dark-lashed eyes. Once again her only jewel was the magnificent ruby which she wore close to her throat.
Manuel, who was leading the ponies, stopped in his tracks to look at her, the light of adoration burning in his eyes, though he thought that none could see.
‘What is the matter with you, Manuel?’ Lucia asked imperiously. ‘Why do you stare? Are you afraid to be reprimanded for some indiscretion or other? You are like a nervous peon who has not done his work properly.’
The fact that she had reduced him to the status of a field labourer sent a wild colour into her servant’s cheeks.
‘I have only done your will, senora,’ he said with admirable patience. ‘I can do no more.’
‘Then be off with you!’ Lucia commanded, amused by the havoc she had wrought. ‘I will ride tomorrow morning early,’ she added, ‘before the sun is strong.’
‘Si, senora.’
He led the ponies away across the yard and Catherine was suddenly overwhelmingly sorry for him. Poor Manuel, who dared to love the lady he served! Poor Manuel, destined to worship her for ever with no hope of love in return!
‘You look dishevelled,’ Lucia observed, glancing in
her direction. ‘Have you met with an accident?’
‘Not quite. Vivo took fright and bolted, but he did not go very fast or very far,’ Catherine explained.
‘Jaime rescued her,’ Teresa interposed. ‘He was off in pursuit before Manuel or I were in the saddle. I think he imagined she might be killed.’
Lucia turned away with an angry gesture which indicated that she had no desire to hear the details of their little adventure or to learn exactly how her brother-in-law had come to the rescue.
‘In future I think you had better ride inside the walls, Miss Royce,’ she suggested coldly. ‘The valley roads are too rough for a—novice.’
‘We’d better go and change,’ Teresa decided, ‘and then we can listen to Ramon’s music. He plays quite well, as a matter of fact, and sings like an angel.’
An hour later the sound of a guitar played softly beneath her window took Catherine on to her balcony, although she did not look beyond it to discover who might be serenading her so romantically by the light of the moon. She knew that it was Ramon and she listened half impatiently until the poignant love song came to an end. It finished on a long-drawn-out note, like a sigh, and something of its intensity lingered in the still night air before Ramon broke into the lively music of a gay Catalan sardana. All the Spanish dances had their own individuality and charm and soon her foot was tapping out the rhythm of the tune she already knew.
‘Come down,’ Ramon called to her softly when he had ceased to play. ‘It is better if I can see you than just knowing that you are there.’
‘Don Juan in person!’ Teresa observed, coming into the bedroom behind her.
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