by Flora Kidd
Dawn sat for a long time at the table, moving only when Carlos came to clear it. His dark unwinking eyes studied her closely, noting perhaps the marks of dried tears on her cheeks.
'You tired, seňorita. You go to bed,' he urged quietly as he might have spoken to his daughter, and for the first time she saw him for what he was, not a close-mouthed, sharp-eyed watchdog, set by his employer to watch every move she made and prevent her from leaving the house, but a kindly middle-aged fatherly man.
'It doesn't seem long since I got up. I slept until noon,' she said.
'I know, but you have been ill and it isn't long since you nearly drowned,' he said. 'You need sleep and rest to make you better, give you strength.'
He was right. She was going to need all her strength tomorrow now that Sebastian had withdrawn his protection and help. So she smiled and nodded.
'Buenas noches, Carlos, y muchas gracias—for… for… everything.'
Tears brimmed again in her eyes and turning quickly she sped with a rustle of silk and the whisper of rope-soled sandals towards the staircase.
4
She went to bed and surprisingly fell asleep straight away, worn out both emotionally and physically. But she slept barely a couple of hours, coming awake moaning and sweating, disturbed by a nightmare about drowning. It was a relief to open her eyes and to find she was still in the comfortable bed and for a while she lay bathed in sweat and entangled in sheets, blinking at the dim light which slanted in through the archway of the room from the hallway, showing up shapes of furniture, glinting on the glass of pictures hanging on the wall, casting weird shadows.
With a sigh of contentment because she was still in that luxurious haven, the gilded cage which had been built for a beautiful talented woman who had given up everything to live with the man she had loved, Dawn turned on to her other side. And then she remembered. Tomorrow she would have to leave. Tomorrow the door of the cage would be set wide and she would be free to fly away as she had been wanting to do. She would be helped on her way. She would be taken to Manzanillo.
But what would she do when she got there? To go to the police as she had once planned would be to walk right into trouble. A chill of dismay swept through her as she recalled reading in newspapers about innocent travellers going abroad and being arrested by foreign police because drugs had been found in their luggage, put there by smugglers. She couldn't go to the police for help because they would hold her for questioning and Sebastian would do nothing to help her. She had forfeited his help by her own wilful behaviour.
With a groan she turned over on to her other side. Muffled by the sheets, she could hear the sound of mariachi music, still being played, a haunting. insistent serenade designed to titillate the mind as well as the senses, to fuse them together creating a yearning to be loved and to love in return.
With her hands over her ears she tried to shut out the message of the music and her thoughts turned again inevitably to Sebastian, remembering how his kisses had lit so easily the flame of desire in her. He had said he wanted her, had offered to marry her, but in the end he had rejected her before she had had a chance to put into words her acceptance of his proposal.
How angry he had been—and who could blame him after the way she had behaved? Lying there now, dry-eyed, staring at the archway of light, Dawn could see quite clearly why she had been confused. Her mind had been speaking with a different language from that of her body. Her mind had said that marriage to him was crazy and she didn't have to go through with it. But her body had said she wanted him just as much as he wanted her, and it was still saying it.
She wanted to be with him now and make love with him in the warm tropical night while the bitter-sweet music outside unified mind and body, making of them a gift of love. A hot surge of excitement pulsed through her and an idea flashed into her mind, shocking her with its suggestiveness so that she rolled over hands clutching her head, her eyes tightly closed as she tried to blot it out. How could she go and offer herself to him now? He would think she was doing it because she was afraid of what was going to happen to her after she had been taken to Manzanillo tomorrow.
The music stopped. All was quiet; she couldn't even hear the surf booming on the rocks below the terrace. Now perhaps she would go to sleep again. But light still slanted into the room, and although it was diffused it was enough to keep her awake now that the music had stopped. She had always preferred to sleep in a room that was completely dark.
Perhaps the light had been left on by accident. If she could find the switch and put it off she would go to sleep more quickly. Sitting up, she switched on the lamp by the bedside and slid from the bed. Moving silently on bare feet, she went through the archway on to the gallery overlooking the hall. To her surprise there was no light on in the hall, but light was shafting out of the room next to hers.
On tiptoe she walked carefully along the gallery and peeped into the next room. Mellow golden light from a bedside lamp slanted on to the bed and burnished the sun-bronzed bare skin of the back and shoulders of the man who was lying there on his stomach, only his legs and hips covered by the sheet. Sebastian had apparently fallen asleep without switching off his lamp.
Drawn into the room by the sight of gleaming skin and tousled black hair, Dawn walked as if in her sleep right up to the bed and looked down at him. His face was turned away from her and from the light. As she stared she felt again that hot surge of excitement and longed to thrust her hands into the tangle of his hair, to wake him and plead with him to let her stay with him and be married to him.
The longing was strong enough to send her to her knees beside the bed. All sensible thought in abeyance, completely at the mercy of her desires, she reached out a hand and touched his back, just below the top of the spine. Hardly had her fingers felt the supple smoothness of his skin than she snatched them back. What was she doing? Supposing he woke up? What would he say to her? What would he do?
Again imagining what he might do, she felt desire flame through her and again her hand reached out. Slowly, the fingers stroking and cosseting, greedily her hand moved to the broad nape of his neck beneath the clustering black hair before thrusting into the curls which as if they had a life of their own coiled about her fingers trapping them. Her breathing quickened and the nerves in her stomach fluttered. It was no use. She could no longer resist the desire to lie down beside him and wind her arms about him…
Sebastian moved his head, twisting it on the pillow. Once more she snatched her hand back and knelt there, silent except for her quick shallow breaths, her eyes wide and her heart racing. He sighed, muttered something, but didn't move again, and she took one long breath, not sure whether she was relieved or disappointed. Then common sense came back. She had come in here to switch the light off, so she had better do that right now, and go back to her own bed, quickly before she was tempted again to slide into his bed and fondle him until he awoke.
She raised her hand to the lamp, not looking at what she was doing. Her hand collided with the bedside telephone, knocking off the receiver. Clattering loudly enough to wake the whole household, or so it seemed to Dawn, it fell to the floor with a bump and stayed there, its wire trailing over the edge of the table, and the high-pitched dialling tone seeming to fill the room with its sound.
Still on her knees, petrified by the result of her own clumsiness, Dawn watched Sebastian heave over on to his right side so that he was facing her. A frown drew his shapely eyebrows together and his eyelids lifted. Their clarity hazed with sleep, the golden eyes looked right at her before the thick fringes of lashes dropped again. The frown cleared, he settled his head more comfortably on the pillow and seemed to sleep heavily.
Dawn waited, looking down at the dark eagle-like profile of his face set off by the white sheen of the pillow. In sleep he looked more aloof and more proud than usual and she wondered how she had dared to say the things she had to him; how she had dared throw lemonade in his face. The sticking plaster which still slanted across his cheekbon
e gleamed lividly in the lamplight, reminding her that she had only herself to blame for his withdrawal of help. In return for his generosity she had given him only hard words and a gash on his cheek.
Moving with caution this time, she lifted the telephone receiver and replaced it with as little noise as possible. Then she raised her hand to the switch below the lamp's bulb, beneath the shade. Click, it was off, and the room was shrouded in intimate dimness, saved from being completely dark by the light which slanted into it from her room.
Dawn put a hand on the edge of the bed to steady herself before rising to her feet and gasped loudly when hard sinewy fingers closed round her wrist and Sebastian lunged up from the bed, a dark shape in the dimness, his eyes and the medallion on his chest glinting as they reflected the small amount of light.
'Surely you're not going without what you came for,' he whispered derisively, and his breath, warm and sweet with the tequila and wine he had drunk, drifted across her lips and nostrils, revealing how dangerously close he was to her. The heat of his body beat out to her temptingly and she tried to move away.
'I didn't come for anything,' she retorted. 'I wanted to switch off the light, that's all. The glow from it was shining right into my bedroom and keeping me awake.'
'I don't believe you,' he scoffed.
'It's true,' she protested shakily.
'Then why did you touch me?'
'Please let me go,' she muttered. Now that he was fully awake and threatening she was in retreat again. She tried to pull her wrist free, but at once his fingers entwined with hers as they had done the morning they had met on the terrace and she was caught again in a wrestle to prove who was the stronger.
'It wasn't only the light which was keeping you awake, was it, chiquita?' he murmured. 'It was regret because I'd withdrawn my proposal of marriage. Right?'
'Yes,' she gasped. 'But how did you guess?'
'I've been going through a similar sort of hell myself,' he replied with a self-mocking laugh. 'So you want to marry me, hmmm?'
'Oh, yes, yes I do,' she sighed.
'Then show me that you do.' The softly-uttered suggestive words and the caress of his thumb against her wrist sent tingles of excitement racing through her.
'You mean…' she whispered, and broke off, the thunder of her heart loud in her ears.
'I mean show me that you want me.'
His voice was merely a breath in the night, tantalising and seductive, and her resistance was very low. Slowly she leaned forward and her lips found his mouth to press softly against its bold hard shape.
He didn't respond at first and aggravated by his coolness, she tried again, her lips pressing harder, her breasts, only half sheathed in silky chiffon and lace, pushing against the rib-ridged, hair-crisped hardness of his chest. Still he remained unmoved and desperate to convince him that she was his for the taking if only he would respond, Dawn parted her lips so he could savour her mouth more intimately if he wished and placed her hands on the pulsing warmth of his body, her fingertips drifting shyly over his skin. At last, with a sound of surrender, half-gasp and half-groan, Sebastian pulled her down on to the bed with him to return her kiss with a passion which sent a thrill of exultation through her.
After that time passed in a haze of sweet voluptuousness as they lay close together, kissing and caressing, each learning by experiments how to please the other, and just when it seemed to Dawn that she was about to tip over the edge into a raging torrent of sensuousness from which there would be no return, Sebastian rolled away from her and sat up, his arms around his haunched knees, his head bent down to his knees as he took several long sighing breaths.
'So you have made your point, chiquita, I'm convinced,' he said huskily. 'And now you must go back to your bed.'
'Why?' she whispered, and was grateful for the darkness which hid the hot colour that seemed to sweep over her from head to foot at her own temerity.
'Why?' He turned to look at her and she saw the golden chain shimmer against his neck. 'Why?' He laughed, a short crack of amazed laughter. 'Because I don't sleep with a virgin unless I'm married to her, that's why,' he retorted.
'But…' She broke off as that tide of colour swept over her again and she was conscious of confusion again, disappointment mingling with a new feeling of respect for him.
'But what?' he prompted softly.
'Nothing,' she whispered.
'Listen, querida,' he murmured. 'I know what you would like to do and I would like it too. It would be very easy for us to anticipate our marriage night. But I don't want it to be that way between you and me. God knows it's hard for me to refuse you, but I think it would be in the interests of both of us if we don't. In the morning you might have changed your mind again or I might have changed mine. Let's leave the option open to the very last minute, shall we? Go to bed now and sleep, for we'll have to leave early in the morning to fly to Guadalajara.' He gave her a little push to help her on her way. 'Hasta luego amada, until later, my love,' he whispered.
Back in her own bed, with the light out and the velvet darkness hiding her shame at her own wantonness, Dawn lay with her eyes closed, but sleep seemed even further away. More than an hour ago she had lain there trying to blot from her mind the idea of going to Sebastian in the hopes of changing his mind, to persuade him to ask her to marry her again. Now it was done and she should be feeling happy and triumphant. But she didn't. Instead she felt more confused than ever, confused by his gentleness and his refusal to take what had been so freely offered.
She didn't fall asleep until dawn and was wakened almost immediately by the sound of dishes rattling on a tray. The touch of cool fingers on her shoulder brought her reluctantly out of oblivion. Her head was heavy and her eyelids seemed glued together as she sat up and replied to Manuela's cheerful Buenos dias with a muttered one of her own.
The fruit juice was icy and refreshing and the tortillas, light and fluffy, were drenched with honey. After a wash she went to the closet and took out the day dress made from ivory-coloured silk crepe. It was simple in style with a low round neck gathered by a drawstring and a calf-length gypsy-style skirt. It fitted her perfectly. Sebastian had sized her up well, but he had forgotten about shoes and she could hardly wear rope-soled sandals with this elegant dress.
At that moment Manuela appeared and with a few gestures Dawn explained her predicament. The woman understood, nodded and left the room. Within a few minutes she was back, a pair of wedge-heeled white leather sandals in one hand and a pair of pale panty-hose wafting from the other. Dawn took the panty-hose gratefully and eased them on. Miraculously the sandals, merely narrow strips of leather attached to soles, fitted her.
'Muchas gracias, Manuela,' she said, and with a sudden exclamation the woman flung her arms about Dawn and kissed her heartily on both cheeks.
'Vaya con Dios, seňorita. Buena suerte,' she whispered. Did Manuela know? Dawn wondered as she went along the gallery to the spiral staircase. Had Sebastian told Carlos and his wife that he and she were going to be married? Was that why the woman had blessed her and wished her luck?
Sebastian was in the hallway talking to Carlos. He was wearing a suit of pale fawn and a cream shirt which set off his dark colouring and she felt her pulse leap at the sight of him. Handsome and dynamic, he would soon be her husband. She could hardly believe it and for a moment she took fright. Then he turned and saw her, smiled and came towards her, a spray of red roses in his hand which he presented to her.
'What's this?' he asked, touching with a finger-tip the blue shadows beneath her eyes.
'I didn't sleep for a long while last night, and then I was wakened so early,' she replied defensively.
'So you passed a night of doubt, did you?' he said with a mocking twist to his lips as he pretended he didn't know how she had spent part of the night and putting a hand beneath her elbow he turned her towards the front door. 'It's common enough, so I believe, for brides-to-be and bridegrooms-to-be to have last minute doubts about the wisdom of their
decision to get married. Do you like to fly?'
They were outside now, in the warm mistiness of the early morning, crossing a well kept lawn.
'I've only flown twice, once when I was a child from Ireland to Canada and then two weeks ago when I flew to Los Angeles,' she replied. The short grass was pearled with tiny glistening drops of sea-mist which wet her feet. Each globule of water quivered with rainbow colours as the sun came up swiftly from behind the mountains, flushing the eastern sky with rose-tinted golden light and glinting on the blue and white two-seater plane which was parked at one end of a landing strip in a flat cliff-top field adjacent to the lawn.
Sebastian swung open the door of the plane, then turned to help her up into the cockpit.
'You'll find flying in this a very different experience from flying in a jet-liner,' he said.
It all happened so quickly. There was a swift rush along the landing strip and then they were in the air, wobbling a little and rising slowly, only just clearing the tops of tall palms which edged the fields. And suddenly everything, the glittering white house, the deserted golden, palm-dotted beach, the other houses half-hidden in their trees tilted sideways as the plane turned and flew straight at the sun, which was now a ball of golden fire blazing down from between purple mountains.
Immediately below a river gushed in a foaming torrent between the walls of a steep gorge. The gorge widened out and the river widened with it, became a small lake, of silvery blue, caught in a bowl of biscuit-coloured rock. Then the lake had gone, sliding beneath as the plane turned to follow another river which wound like a bluish-green snake through a valley patterned with fields coloured brown and sand, flecked with the pale dusty green of sage bushes.
The plane lost height suddenly, seeming to fall towards the ground, then swept up again.
'What happened?' asked Dawn.
'We hit an air-pocket. It happens all the time when flying among the mountains.'