by Flora Kidd
She went into the hallway. Its cool airiness was enhanced by the tinkle of the fountain, by the clever use of wrought iron and the diffused light slanting in from the ceiling, and more than ever she had the impression that the whole house was a beautiful cage from which she must escape before she was tempted into staying in it for ever.
She opened the front door and stepped outside. The heat hit her like a blast from a furnace and she nearly retreated into the coolness of the hall. Then she heard the high-toned drone of the engine of a light plane and went down the steps to the driveway. Looking up, she shaded her eyes with a hand against the brilliant sunlight. A small blue and white plane which had just taken off nearby zoomed over her and swooped off in the direction of the misty purple mountains which she could see soaring against the blue sky beyond the fringe of palm trees which marked the boundary of the land surrounding the house.
She watched the plane until it was only a twinkle of light in the hot hazy sky, aware of a longing to be in it, sitting beside its pilot as it swooped higher and higher to cleave its way through a gorge between the mountains. Then the twinkle was swallowed up in the heat haze and even though she stared hard she couldn't see it any longer.
Her hand dropped to her side and she felt a strange sense of having been abandoned, left behind. Resentful of the feeling, she shook it off and stepped into the shade provided by the line of palm trees on one side of the driveway and began to walk away from the house. She would walk down to the road. Perhaps she might be able to thumb a lift into Manzanillo. Once there she would go to the police station and ask if the police would help her to get in touch with the Canadian Embassy.
Ahead of her heat waves shimmered above the hard bright surface of the path. It was noon, not the best time to go walking in this climate. Even yesterday at four o'clock it had been very hot when she had walked down this driveway. Then she had been wearing a wide-brimmed Mexican straw hat to protect her head and neck and shade her eyes. She had worn tough canvas rubber-soled tennis shoes. Yet still she had suffered from sunburn on the tops of her arms which had been left bare by the sleeveless cotton T-shirt she had been wearing with her jeans.
Now her arms and shoulder tips were covered by the sleeves of the cotton gown. But she had no hat and her neck was bare. The sandals she was wearing were no protection against the rough stones of the road.
So much had happened to her since yesterday afternoon when, disappointed because she hadn't found Judy, she had trudged down this driveway to look for Farley and tell him. She felt like a different person. Yesterday she had been so sure Farley would come up with another idea on how to approach Roberto Suarez. Now she was confused and not really sure that what she was intending to do next was right.
But she couldn't stay in that beautiful gilded cage of a house and wait. She was afraid that if she stayed she would never want to leave. She was afraid of the man who owned it and to whom she owed her life. She was afraid of what had happened to her when he had taken her in his arms. Instinctively she guessed he could show her what heaven was like, but once he had shown her what then? She wasn't so naive that she could believe they would live happily ever afterwards.
And anyway she had still to find Judy, had still to carry out her father's dying wish that his eldest daughter, the one who was so like him and who had followed in his footsteps to be an entertainer, should be found and be told of the small amount of money he had left to her in his will. Dawn's lips twisted into a wry smile. She had spent her own small amount on flying out to L.A. and what was left of it had been in her purse and for all she knew could have been spent by now.
She was coming to the end of the driveway, thank goodness, and already she was limping. Before swinging open one of the big wrought iron gates she stopped and with her finger eased out a small pebble which had become caught between the rope sole of the sandal and the bottom of her left foot. Then she wiped the sweat from her brow on the back of one hand. For a moment she stared through the delicate black tracery of ironwork and looked out at the road. Bare and dusty, it stretched away towards the mountains, edged on either side with swampy-looking land, and she remembered with a slight sinking of her spirits that the peninsula of land on which the Suarez house and several other luxurious hideaways were built was a dead end. To reach the north-south highway linking the coastal towns she would have to walk about three miles.
Taking a deep breath, she pulled back one of the gates and slipped through the opening. It clanged shut behind her. She was out of the cage at last and freedom beckoned to her. Bracing her shoulders, her head held high, she stepped out. At first she sang to herself, songs which her father had sung and which had been a part of her life ever since she could remember, but gradually as she grew hotter her throat became drier so she stopped.
There was little or no shade on the road and the sun's rays beat down unmercifully on her uncovered head, her face and the back of her neck. Several times she paused and looked back to the trees which surrounded the houses which clung to the tops of the cliffs and wondered if she should go back, and each time she decided against it.
She had been marching along doggedly for some time when she heard the sound of a car's engine coming from behind her. Someone was coming this way—perhaps a car from one of the other houses. She looked around hopefully and was alarmed when the land about her whirled drunkenly, the mountains seeming to topple sideways. Then everything went black for a second and her head seemed to want to burst. Hand to her head, she blinked rapidly, hoping that everything would become stable again, but the road seemed to have become a seesaw, swinging up and down, and she was falling down towards it, lying on it and swinging up and down, up and down, while her head went round and round.
She must get up before the car came so that she could signal to it to stop. Slowly she managed to roll over and get to her knees, but she couldn't stand up. Every time she tried something seemed to knock her down again. The sound of the car's engine was very loud now, thundering in her ears, and she was in panic in case it ran over her.
Then the engine stopped. A door slammed and she heard a voice speaking to her.
'Seňorita, seňorita, what is wrong? Why did you leave the house?'
The voice was Carlos's and he was there beside her helping her up, but she couldn't stand properly. She kept wanting to fall down.
'I want to go to Manzanillo. Please take me there?' she said, and her voice sounded peculiar, slurred as if she had had too much to drink.
'No, seňorita, you cannot go there. You are ill. I must take you back to the house. Come this way, to the car.'
With his arm about her he urged her forward towards a big white Cadillac. Sebastian Suarez would have a Caddy, she thought, just for Carlos and Manuela to drive to market to fetch home the groceries. Then her head whirled again and nausea heaved in her stomach, and the last thing she knew was Carlos exclaiming in Spanish as he caught her in his arms.
When she came round she was in the house, lying on one of the couches in the blessed coolness of the hall, and Carlos and Manuela were leaning over her. As soon as they saw her eyes were open they spoke to her, one in English and one in Spanish. She asked them again to take her to Manzanillo, told them she didn't want to stay in the gilded cage, but they only shook their heads and then gabbled to each other in Spanish. Dawn tried to sit up and everything whirled about her and she blacked out again.
And so it was for a long time. She kept coming and going while a hammer kept banging away in her head just behind her eyes. Sometimes she was very hot and sometimes she was very cold. Often she was very sick to her stomach. Sometimes she heard a voice talking in a dull monotone and looked around to see who was talking, only to find she was in bed and Manuela was sitting in the chair under the lamp doing her embroidery and it was herself who was muttering feverishly. Once when she came round and felt conscious she saw Sebastian sitting in the chair, the lamplight slanting across his impassive face as he read a book.
But nothing was really clear
until she opened her eyes and saw the pale pearly light of dawn streaking the sky beyond the window. Manuela was there, bending over her, and behind her hovered Carlos, his usually inscrutable face creased with anxiety.
'What time is it?' Dawn asked faintly.
'Six-thirty in the morning,' said Carlos.
'What happened?'
'We think a touch of the sun, seňorita. How you say it? Sunstroke. Also, perhaps, some stomach upset. You have been ill three days. But you are getting better now and will go to sleep.'
It seemed a good idea to go to sleep, so she nodded, closed her eyes and slept at once.
When she awoke she knew it must be past noon because the long window of the room was shuttered against the brilliant sunshine. For a while she lay looking around thinking ruefully that her attempt to leave this house had been a dismal failure. Here she was right back where she had started in this lovely room.
Cautiously she sat up. To her relief her head didn't whirl. She pushed aside the bedclothes and swung her legs out of bed and slid to her feet. She felt a little wobbly, but she made it to the bathroom where above the wash basin she studied her reflection. Pale face, wide grey eyes, slightly slanted, black-lashed, 'put in with a smutty finger', as her father had been fond of telling her, a small straight nose, a soft pink mouth which could be firm, all framed by a cloud of ash-blonde hair.
'What a mess you look!' she whispered to the reflection, and turned on the taps.
After a wash she felt even better and went back to the bedroom to search for the cotton robe and the sandals she had worn the day before. They had gone and there was nothing else for her to wear.
She glanced down at the green nightgown she was wearing. Its lace-edged neckline plunged into a deep V far below her breasts, and the stuff was very sheer so that the outline of her body could be seen through it. She needed a robe to put over it before she ventured out of the bedroom and downstairs to find Manuela and ask her for something more substantial to wear.
There was a long closet covering one wall of the bedroom. Its sliding doors were painted white and gold. Was it possible there were clothes in it? She slid back one of the doors. There were a few women's clothes, including a dressing gown made from thin raw silk. She took it down and slipped it on wondering about those other clothes, about the room and to whom it belonged. To Sebastian Suarez's last mistress, since he didn't have a wife? She almost ripped the dressing gown off at the thought. Then, secretly shocked by the surge of primitive hate for a person who might not even exist, she drew a deep breath to steady herself and tied the sash of the dressing gown tightly round her small waist.
Through the archway she went, stepping out on to the gallery. As she strolled along her glance slanted sideways to the archway which led into the next room, seeing a wide king-sized bed covered in green.
From downstairs came the sound of men's voices speaking in Spanish and the click of leather-soled shoes on tiles. Wandering over to the railings which edged the gallery. Dawn looked down. Near the front door stood Sergeant Moreles. He was just smoothing back his already smooth black hair before putting on his uniform cap and he was talking to Sebastian Suarez.
The sight of the sturdy wide-shouldered figure and crisply curling hair of her rescuer gave Dawn a strange sharp shock. Her heart beat faster and she clung to the railing with one hand. He was back and she was still here, trapped by her own foolishness. If she had had the sense to wait until sundown on Monday before she had tried to walk to Manzanillo she wouldn't have been ill and brought back here by Carlos. She would have been away by now, perhaps even out of the country.
But the policeman was leaving, opening the door and stepping out into the sunshine, and she must stop him.
'Wait, oh, wait for me!' she shouted as loudly as she could, and without waiting to see if either of the men had heard her she hurried along the gallery to the circular staircase. It wasn't possible to go down that quickly, although she tried. As she went round the last curve she lost her balance and fell, rolling down the last few steps to lie in a breathless heap on the tiled floor.
'Madre di dios!' Sebastian's voice was sharp and concerned. 'What is it with you that you must always be hurting yourself?'
He helped her to her feet and held her steady, his hands at her waist, his shapely eyebrows tilting with mockery as he looked down at her.
'You're a glutton for punishment, chiquita,' he taunted. 'As if it wasn't enough to be half-drowned last Sunday you go walking in the heat on Monday and get sunstroke and now throw yourself downstairs.'
'I didn't throw myself. I tripped, I wanted to speak to the sergeant. I called to him to wait for me. Didn't you hear me?'
'No, I didn't. And now he has gone.' His clear eyes roved over her slowly, searchingly. 'Are you sure you've recovered from the sickness?' he asked gently. 'Do you think you should be up yet?'
'Oh, I'm fine,' she asserted jauntily, and stepped back from him so that his hands were no longer at her waist. He was wearing a casual shirt of pale gold linen and the deep v-neckline revealed the gold chain he wore glinting against his sun-dark, hair-sprinkled chest. Trousers of thick cream-coloured cotton were moulded close to his lean hips and heavy thighs. He was strong, handsome and excitingly attractive to her, so she stepped back further, afraid of that attraction.
'I wish I could have spoken to Sergeant Moreles,' she said. 'He could have taken me to Manzanillo.'
'Dressed like that?' he scoffed, amusement glinting in his eyes. 'Why do you want to go there all the time? Carlos says that when he found you on the road you kept going on about it.' He moved towards her and raised a hand to lift a tress of her hair which swung beside her cheek and tuck it behind her ear. 'Didn't I warn you you'd be hurt if you tried to fly away, pretty bird?' he murmured gently. 'Why didn't you take notice of what I said to you?'
Her glance faltered before the intent-ness of his and she moved away from him, away from the fingers which had lingered against her cheek and her ear when he had pushed back her hair. She went to the edge of the pool and looked down into its silvery green depths, seeing tiny striped tropical fish flicking slowly and elegantly in and out of trailing water plants.
'You should have told me Sergeant Moreles was here,' she said, ignoring his question because she had no answer to it, at least not one she wanted him to hear. 'He brought news of the rented car, didn't he?'
'Si, but when I told him you had been ill he asked me not to disturb you,' he replied easily.
'But I should have had the news first-hand from him, not through you,' she retorted, swinging round to look at him.
'Whether it comes to you directly from him or through me it isn't good news,' he said quietly, and reaching out a hand, grasped one of hers. 'Come and sit down and I will tell you.'
For a moment she was tempted to resist the pull he exerted on her hand. She didn't want to sit with him on one of the luxurious velvet couches. She didn't want to be close to him because she didn't trust the reaction of her own senses to his warm vibrancy. But anxiety about the car and about Farley overrode that fear and she went with him to curl up in a corner of the divan, her feet tucked beneath her. Removing her hand from his, she pushed it into the wide kimono sleeve of the dressing gown.
He sat close to her, one leg bent so that it rested on the padded seat the knee just touching her bent-up bare legs, one arm stretched out so that his hand rested on the back of the couch. In that position he faced her and she was more or less trapped in the corner of the divan. He seemed in no hurry to tell her what the policeman had told him and for a while they studied each other in silence, with a sort of intimate curiosity, as if they had expected changes to have taken place in the past few days.
Dawn broke the silence, made nervous by the tension between them.
'What did Sergeant Moreles say?' she muttered, pulling the skirt of the dressing gown over her legs.
'That the car has been found abandoned in Acapulco. There was no sign of your friend or his companion.'
'And my purse and clothes? Were they in it?'
'There was nothing in it and the petrol tank was empty. The police are assuming that when they ran out of gas Farley and Brett just left it by the side of the road making sure to take anything which would incriminate them. The Sergeant is arranging to have the car returned to the rental agency in Los Angeles.'
'Oh, but…' She broke off, flashed him a wary glance and chewed on her lower lip.
'Oh, but what?' he prompted.
'Won't there be some payment to be made on the hiring of the car and the expense of returning it?'
'Si. I will pay it for you.'
'Thank you. I'm very grateful! And one day I'll pay you back.'
'No importa.' He shrugged his shoulders. 'It won't be necessary for you to do that.'
'But I must. I always like to pay my debts.' She broke off as she realised how much she had been hoping that the car would have contained her money, her passport. Now there was no doubt she had nothing, and she should never have trusted Farley in the first place.
'Oh, what am I going to do?' she whispered. 'What am I going to do?'
'I've told you, chiquita, you can stay with me,' was the imperturbable reply.
'And I've told you that I can't,' she retorted.
'Not even to pay that large debt you owe me, hmm?' he challenged, and her eyes fell before his bright ironic glance.
'I have to find Judy,' she muttered. 'I promised Dad I would find her.'
'How will you do that if you have no money and no means of earning any?' he demanded.
'I don't know yet, but I'll find a way,' she replied with a lift of her chin.
'You'll also find a way if you stay with me,' he said smoothly. 'Have you forgotten? Roberto Suarez is my half-brother. I can take you to meet someone who will know where he is.'
She stared at him, wanting to trust him, yet strangely suspicious of him.