The Dragon's Cave

by Isobel Chace

  Inez laughed with real amusement. ‘But would you know?’

  Megan blushed a little. ‘I think I would,’ she declared. ‘In fact I know I should!’ Not that I should ever marry anyone like Carlos!’ she added for good measure.

  ‘No?’ Inez still looked amused. ‘Perhaps not,’ she agreed. ‘You are too prim and too English for a juerguista like Carlos. I think you would be frightened if he paid court to you! You would not like it that he takes what he wants! It is as well that I am Spanish and understand these things!’ She consciously preened herself, smiling maliciously at Megan. ‘Am I not right?’

  Megan’s eyes filled with tears. She made a play of drinking the last of the tea, remembering that Carlos had kissed her and that he had said that he hadn’t disliked it, but what had her reactions been? Not the first, brief thrill of being dose to him, but afterwards, when she had finally been allowed to go to her room and climb into the bed that had been Carlos’ when he was a boy? She had thought about it from every possible angle, or so she had thought. Now she was not so sure. She had thought all the time as though she were the only woman in the world and, of course, she was not. Even Inez admitted that Carlos had other female friends, and she was hoping to marry him! But, for that short moment, Carlos had been the only man in the world for her. No one else had ever aroused that feeling of wonder and exultancy within her before. Perhaps no one ever would again!

  ‘Probably,’ she said at last. ‘Even when I marry I want to keep my independence—’

  ‘Claro!’ Inez nodded vigorously. ‘That is very English! In Spain we want to be looked after by our men.’ She giggled. ‘It is so much more comfortable!’ she added languidly. ‘If you don’t believe me, ask Margot! She is more Spanish in that way than we are!’

  Megan couldn’t imagine herself doing anything of the sort. She didn’t know why, but the thought of Carlos marrying Inez depressed her. She thought the Spanish girl was too light a character to find happiness with Carlos, but then she knew very little of Spanish ways. Probably Inez would be content enough, but Carlos—? What happiness would he have? It was none of her business, she reminded herself. Carlos was well able to look after his own interests. Only, somehow, the nagging ache of worry about him wouldn’t go away.

  Inez walked home with her so that she wouldn’t get lost. ‘I want to come anyway,’ the Spanish girl confided, ‘because my parents are coming to dinner with Margot tonight and I want to explain to her why I won’t be there. I am promised to another party,’ she added by way of explanation, ‘and Carlos won’t hear of my breaking a previous engagement—even for him!’

  She rushed up the stairs ahead of Megan, pushing her way into the gallery, her high heels tapping importantly on the marble floor.

  ‘Tia Margot?’

  A sleepy voice answered her from within and Inez hurried into the small sitting room, a flood of Spanish falling from her lips. Megan followed more slowly, giving her eyes time to grow accustomed to the comparative darkness of the interior by pausing and looking at the stiff paintings of Carlos’ ancestors. She paused in front of one of a woman that was plainly more modern than all the rest.

  ‘That is my mother,’ Carlos’ voice said behind her shoulder.

  ‘I thought it must be,’ she managed, a little embarrassed to be caught looking at the portrait. She turned back, studying the representation before her with greater care. The first Senora Vallori had been a striking-looking woman. She had the same leaf-green eyes as Carlos and a slightly cynical expression that caught at Megan’s ready sympathy. It was sad that she had been parted from her son before she had been able to see him grow to manhood.

  ‘I am said to favour her in my looks,’ Carlos drawled slowly. ‘Perhaps you don’t agree?’

  Megan stared up into the painted eyes. ‘Why isn’t your stepmother’s painting here too?’ she asked.

  ‘My father preferred to have it in the Barcelona house,’ he answered indifferently. ‘Do you think I ought to have it brought back here?’

  Megan shook her head. ‘This is your mother’s house,’ she said.

  He looked at her with renewed interest. ‘That is how I feel,’ he said. ‘But Margot is probably right, I am too inclined to make the house a memorial to a woman I never knew—’

  ‘But you did know her!’

  ‘Not I, the boy who knew her is as dead as she is, and a good thing too! Now that Margot has decided to live here, the house will once again be used by the living, as it ought to be.’ His lips twisted into a cynical expression that was the image of his mother’s. ‘It is time the Valloris laid their ghosts, or not even the intrepid English will come and visit us here.’ His laughter mocked her as much as himself. ‘May she rest in peace!’

  CHAPTER VI

  Megan settled into the ways of the Vallori household more speedily than she had thought possible during those long first days when everything had seemed strange to her. She still thought of that first dinner party with something like a shudder, when Inez’s parents had come to dinner and had showed their disapproval for herself so plainly. She had thought at first that it had been because she was English and, because she spoke no Spanish and they very little English, they had done no more than smile at one another which had inevitably led to a certain stiffness. Then she had become conscious that they disapproved of her clothes and were discussing her freely amongst themselves. She was wearing an evening trouser suit that flashed in the light and which suited her. Her first reaction had been one of hurt and then she had been angry.

  Senora Vallori had smiled at her across the table.

  ‘You should hide your feelings better,’ she had said in an aside. ‘We don’t want our friends to think of you as just another English tourist, do we? They are apt to wear trousers too.’

  ‘I thought everyone did nowadays,’ Megan had replied evenly.

  ‘Not in Spain!’ her hostess had said comprehensively.

  ‘I have seen young girls wearing them in Barcelona,’ Carlos had put in.

  ‘Spanish girls?’ the entire family had demanded, horrified.

  ‘Spanish girls,’ he had insisted, ‘and not all of them looked as well as Megan does in them. Too much bottom and too little leg!’ He had watched the colour mount into Megan’s cheeks and had laughed unkindly. ‘Isn’t there an expression in England about whether it is men or women who wear the trousers?’

  Megan had not worn trousers again, either in the house or out of it. On the other hand, she had learned not to mind Senora Vallori’s pinpricks and resigned herself to the fact that whatever she did was not destined to find much favour in that quarter.

  She set about refurnishing the small sitting-room, enlisting the help of Inez to translate for her in the shops. She enjoyed choosing some English type chairs in which even Carlos could lounge in comfort, some brightly coloured rugs that helped with the winter draughts, and a modern gas heater in front of which they could all toast themselves without being asphyxiated by charcoal fumes. When she had finished, she felt that there was still something lacking, but Senora Vallori was quite content with her efforts, so she kept her doubts to herself.

  She was standing in the middle of the room eyeing the bare rooms with some dissatisfaction, when Carlos found her. He stood in the doorway, watching her for a long moment.

  ‘Well,’ he drawled, ‘haven’t you spent enough money on the room yet?’

  Megan lifted her head indignantly. ‘It didn’t cost very much,’ she protested.

  ‘I have just been paying the bills,’ he told her. ‘Like all women, you obviously have no idea of how much money you can get through in a short time! However, my stepmother is pleased with the results, and I suppose that is all that matters!’

  Megan’s eyes widened. ‘But truly, I know the chairs were costly, but the rugs were extraordinarily cheap—or at least, I thought so! I don’t believe you could have done much better!’ she ended defiantly.

  His dark green eyes watched her closely, but not, she thought, with a
ny pleasure. ‘I don’t like changes,’ he said.

  Her mouth twitched with amusement. ‘It was you who said the Vallori ghosts should be laid to rest,’ she reminded him.

  ‘So I did. Well, Miss Impertinence, how much more money do you need to finish off this room?’

  Megan shook her head slowly. ‘No money. I was just thinking that the walls look bare. May I—may I look round the other rooms and hang some of the pictures in here?’

  ‘Which pictures?’ he demanded.

  Megan hesitated. She would have liked to have hung his mother’s portrait over the fireplace in the place of honour, but she knew that he would never allow her to move it from the gallery. There were other pictures in the house though that she liked: modern, colourful paintings that appealed to her imagination even while she knew very little about them.

  ‘There’s one in the dining-room—’ she began.

  He laughed sardonically. ‘Move it if you like,’ he said.

  ‘May I really?’ She was inordinately pleased. ‘Can we move it now and see what it looks like? I love the colours in it! The rugs will pick up some of them too as they have the same red in them.’ She grinned at him, delighted. ‘It’s just the touch I needed!’

  ‘Indeed?’ he said dryly.

  She looked at him uncertainly. ‘You don’t mind do you?’ she pleaded.

  ‘I don’t mind.’ He gave her an amused glance. ‘I think your taste impeccable, pequena, but I don’t want you to be disappointed when my stepmother wishes to banish the picture back to the dining-room again.’

  ‘Oh!’ Megan exclaimed. ‘Perhaps she won’t notice?’ she suggested.

  ‘Original paintings by Paul Klee are usually noticed!’

  ‘Oh,’ she said again. ‘I didn’t know it was valuable!’

  He smiled. ‘Does it make you love it any more?’

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t know much about art,’ she admitted. ‘But if I did, I hope I shouldn’t be mercenary about it!’

  He laughed out loud. ‘You know what you like!’ he accused her.

  ‘I suppose so,’ she murmured. ‘But I may still move it, mayn’t I?’

  ‘If you like,’ he said indifferently. ‘If Margot doesn’t object.’

  His stepmother made no comment at all about the picture when Megan called her to have a look at the finished room. She sat in one of the chairs and approved the warmth from the new fire.

  ‘I think it is more comfortable,’ she said in her cool voice. ‘It will take some getting used to, of course—this house has always been so unwelcoming and cold somehow. I don’t like red myself, but I suppose I shall have to put up with it.’

  Carlos straightened the picture over the fireplace with a careless finger. ‘As there is only a touch of red in the carpets, I take it you like the whole effect?’ he pressed her.

  Senora Vallori shrugged. ‘I’m not particularly interested. You know I’m only living here because you say I must! It doesn’t matter to me what you do to the house!’

  ‘Not even if we have the new bathroom installed?’ he asked in frighteningly polite tones.

  ‘I prefer to be reasonably civilised,’ Margot answered him. ‘Your father liked me to be comfortable.

  Carlos’ eyes met hers in a long, level look. ‘I’m not prepared to discuss your living in England again, he said abruptly. ‘If you don’t like it here, Margot, you can live in any one of my other houses, but not in England.’

  Senora Vallori got to her feet in a single sinuous movement. ‘You always were a selfish person,’ she said smoothly. ‘I don’t think you’ve ever considered anyone but yourself in your whole life!’

  Carlos shrugged easily. ‘Probably not,’ he said. Megan stood very still, hoping not to call attention to herself, for she couldn’t help but be embarrassed by this exchange between the two Valloris. But her very silence made Margot angrier than ever.

  ‘As for you,’ she turned on Megan, ‘you needn’t think that I agreed to having you here. What did Carlos offer you in return for spying on me?’

  ‘N-nothing,’ Megan stammered.

  ‘That is enough!’ Carlos said sharply. ‘Whatever you may think, Margot, I will not have you insulting a guest under my roof.’

  ‘Your roof? Can’t you think of anything else?’

  Carlos put a gentle hand on her shoulder. ‘Cheer up, darling,’ he said lightly. ‘You’ll have to get used to it in the end.’

  ‘Never! It’s so unfair!’

  Carlos’ mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘Life is unfair, my dear, but don’t take it out on Megan. Our quarrels are nothing to do with her!’

  Margot hid her face in her stepson’s broad shoulder.

  ‘I miss him so much!’ she whispered.

  ‘We all do,’ Carlos soothed her.

  Megan would have slipped out of the room, but when she went towards the door, Carlos shook his head at her. ‘Don’t go, Megan. I wish to speak to you.’ Senora Vallori pushed herself away from Carlos. There was a glint of tears in her eyes, but she was also smiling. ‘I don’t suppose you will need me,’ she said with all her usual calm. ‘I think I’ll go to my room for a while.’

  She hurried out of the room, slamming the door shut after her. Megan jumped at the sound, wondering at her own nervousness. She threaded her fingers together, not looking at Carlos at all. It had not been her fault that Senora Vallori had broken down in her presence, but she wished that she hadn’t because she was still a stranger to the whole family.

  ‘Why don’t you let her go to England and see what it’s like for herself?’ she asked when she could stand the silence no longer.

  ‘That is hardly your business.’

  She peeped at him through her eyelashes. ‘I don’t like being called your spy,’ she said.

  ‘Why not? You know it isn’t true.’

  Megan wiped her hands on the sides of her skirt, looking very young and vulnerable. ‘Why did you bring me here?’ she asked abruptly.

  He smiled. ‘Do I have to have an ulterior reason?’

  ‘No, but your stepmother doesn’t want me here. She doesn’t need a companion, whatever you and Pilar say. I don’t think she particularly likes me, or—or anyone young.’

  ‘And you are very young?’

  She thought he was teasing her. ‘Not very young,’ she denied with dignity, ‘but too young for your stepmother to confide in.’

  Carlos looked amused. ‘I don’t suppose Margot has ever confided in anyone of her own sex,’ he commented. ‘Do you want to go back to England and the perils of your life in London? Is that it, amada?’

  Megan licked her lips. She was shocked to discover that it was the last thing she wanted. On the contrary, the idea of going away and never seeing Carlos again gave her a sinking feeling that alarmed her. Carlos! Carlos, who regarded her as a child to be protected from herself and the seamier side of life for no other reason than that she was about the same age as his half-sisters and had appealed to his sense of responsibility.

  ‘I—I don’t want to go away.’

  He raised an eyebrow, considering this confession.

  ‘Good,’ he said. ‘It would be a mistake to let Margot frighten you away.’ He put a finger under her chin and lifted her head to see her face the better. ‘Don’t worry if you don’t immediately please my stepmother. It isn’t she who is employing you.’

  ‘No,’ Megan agreed, sighing. ‘But I don’t seem to have any real job here. I—I must have something to do! Carlos, you do see that, don’t you?’

  His finger moved up her cheek, tracing the line of her jaw. ‘Isn’t transforming the house enough for you?’

  She shook her head, taking the opportunity to back away from him because she liked the touch of his hands against her face too much for her own comfort. ‘There isn’t anything for me to do, is there?’ she said.

  ‘It’s an opportunity for you to have the freedom to discover yourself,’ he answered. ‘Don’t you think you might enjoy that?’

  �
�At your expense?’ she countered.

  His eyes met hers. ‘I can afford it.’

  ‘That isn’t the point!’ she argued.

  ‘Perhaps not,’ he admitted. ‘It will have to be enough for you, however, that your parents have agreed to your coming and here you will stay until I am ready to let you go home.’

  ‘As your stepmother’s companion?’ she asked, angry at his light dismissal of any say that she might have in the matter.

  ‘As anything I care to make you!’

  Megan gasped and then she laughed. ‘You’re too arrogant to be true!’ she told him. ‘What would you do if I decided not to stay?’ she added.

  ‘You’ll stay!’ he told her lightly.

  ‘How do you know?’

  He grinned. ‘It’s a challenge, and I can’t see you running away from that!’

  Megan could see herself running away only too easily, but she said nothing. ‘I must have something to do!’ she repeated doggedly.

  ‘All right,’ he agreed. ‘You can fetch your coat and come with me to the farm. There’s always plenty to do over there.’

  She eyed him uncertainly, but his attention had already left her. He turned on his heel and walked out of the room, calling over his shoulder: ‘Ten minutes! I’ll wait for you in the patio.’

  She stood there for a long moment, looking after him and then in a sudden mad rush, she whirled out of the room, up the stairs and into her bedroom to get her coat.

  It seemed that Carlos had a car of his own wherever he happened to be. Megan stepped into the comfortable Porsche waiting outside the patio, giving a little wriggle of pleasure as she explored the width of the seat and the ample leg room in front of her. Carlos gave her a sardonic look, but he said nothing, only letting in the clutch, moving the car slowly forward down the narrow street.