by Anne Mather
'Where are we?' she asked, trying to remain cool. 'What is this place? Why have we stopped here?'
Esteban smiled, but the mobility of his mouth did not reach his eyes. They were still as hard and calculating as ever, and Caroline felt the sweat break out on her palms. 'One moment, seňorita,' he told her lightly, pushing open his door and climbing down from the cab. 'I have some small business to attend to. I will join you shortly!' and slamming the door behind him, he sauntered through the sagging gates.
Caroline could hardly stop her knees from shaking. Specks of rain splattered the windscreen, and the sky had grown darker, casting gloomy shadows down the main street. Where were they? she wondered, too conscious of her own vulnerability to try and investigate. If only she understood the language, she thought desperately. But it was too late now to wish something like that.
Another van stopped behind them, and glancing round, she saw two men unloading some crates. Their contents appeared to be bottles of some sort, and she watched them half idly, still absorbed with her own problems. It was only when they pushed the wooden gates wide and she could see the back of the building that comprehension dawned. It was the inn, she could swear it. The man were carrying in crates of beer and tequila. And as if to confirm this, Esteban emerged from the building at that moment, accompanied by Seňor Allende. He was gesturing towards the Range Rover as he spoke, evidently unaware that she could see them, but judging by the malicious amusement that his words were engendering, her own predicament was being discussed.
Panic flared inside her. If Esteban was speaking to the innkeeper, a man whom previously he had despised, he had to have an ulterior motive. And she did not need a crystal ball to guess what he intended.
Battening down the hysteria that threatened to overwhelm her, she acted purely on instinct. Esteban had left the keys in the ignition, obviously never expecting her to touch them, but now she levered herself across the central console into the driving seat, and turned the ignition.
Esteban saw her as the engine fired, but although he broke into a run, with the fat little proprietor at his heels, they were much too late to stop her. Releasing the clutch at the same time as she pressed down hard on the accelerator, the vehicle practically leapt forward, and a giggle of hysteria escaped her as she careered wildly down the street.
She had no idea which way the bus station lay. She drove purely on instinct as she had done everything else, but fate, or the gods, call it what you will, must have been on her side, for as she emerged into the main street again she saw the roof of the bus station only a few yards ahead of her.
She guessed Esteban would follow her, but she had to risk it. Somehow, it didn't matter how, she was taking a bus out of Las Estadas tonight, and she didn't much care where it took her.
An hour later, seated on the bus to Merida, she reviewed the events leading up to her departure with a sense of incredulity. As she had expected, Esteban had come after her, but for once the fact that she was English proved a blessing. Waiting at the bus station, for the very bus she wanted to board, was a party of British tourists, who had been spending three days visiting archaeological sites in the area, and hearing their familiar voices, she had quickly introduced herself. Her explanation that she had taken a job in the area which hadn't worked out evoked some raised eyebrows among the older ladies of the group, but her smile, which felt glued to her face, was so appealing they were forced to believe her.
Esteban arrived, hot and irate, as they were boarding the streamlined vehicle which was to take them to Merida. Seňor Allende was still with him, panting to keep up with Esteban's longer stride, and Caroline suspected it was to him she owed her freedom. Alone, Esteban might have inspired some credibility, but with the fat, perspiring little proprietor beside him, he assumed an air of seedy respectability, which was not at all convincing. His story that Caroline was leaving his employ without gaining permission or giving notice was received with tight-lipped disapproval, and it was soon obvious that the ladies of the party thought Caroline had had a lucky escape. Esteban's imperious attitude did not impress them, and they grew quite indignant on her behalf when he threatened her with legal action.
'I suggest you take it up with the Consulate,' suggested one elderly female, viewing the innkeeper's sweat-streaked face with distaste. 'I'm sure they'll be quite willing to help you, if you feel some compensation is necessary.'
'Oh, yes,' Esteban's mouth twisted as he watched Caroline climb aboard the bus, 'I shall have compensation, seňora. You can be assured of that!' and as he strode away, Caroline realised that someone else would pay for this afternoon's work.
She hoped it would not be Emilia. As she remembered the child as she had last seen her, her heart ached abominably. But what could she do? she asked herself despairingly. Esteban held all the cards, and she could only blame his father for the unjust terms of his will. If he had cared for Luis's mother, as he must have done to marry her and remain faithful to her, why had he not kept faith with their child? Esteban and Luis should have shared the estate, and any honourable man would have known that. But Esteban was not an honourable man; he was coarse and insensitive, vindictive to the point of cruelty, and incapable of inspiring anything but bitterness and fear in the people who served him.
CHAPTER TWELVE
There was an autumn chill in the air as Caroline walked home from the station. Already the summer was over, and the previous night's wind had brought a showering of gold and amber leaves to cover the grass. It would be October soon, the start of the university year, but for her there were no new beginnings.
She had managed to find a job in a travel agent's. It was not really the kind of occupation she wanted, but all the teaching vacancies had been filled by now, and besides, she had not yet decided that that was what she wanted to do either.
Somehow, since her return from Mexico four weeks ago, she had found it almost impossible to settle to anything. What had once absorbed her now seemed only faintly interesting, and the idea of going on and furthering her career had lost its initial spark. How amused Esteban would be, if he knew, she thought bitterly, unable to dispel the images that persistently tormented her mind. She, the quintessential career girl, would have given everything she possessed to be one man's wife…
Luis! She thrust her hands more deeply into the pockets of her creamy leather jacket, feeling the familiar weakness the thought of him evoked. She wondered if he ever thought of her in his lonely monastic cell, or whether time and separation had achieved for him what it could not achieve for her. Perhaps his religion was enough. Perhaps it was sufficient compensation. But for her, there was only pain and emptiness, and the certain knowledge that this time there was no escape.
Seeing Andrew again had not helped. She had wondered whether, meeting him again, she would feel any of the old excitement his presence used to generate, but it hadn't worked. He was like an old friend, nothing more, and she was glad she had never permitted their relationship to extend beyond the bounds of a tender flirtation. She liked him. She supposed she always would. And certainly she sympathised with the difficulties he experienced in his marriage. But her own feelings for him had fallen into perspective, and what she had imagined was love had been merely hero-worship.
Now she crossed the square and turned into the quiet mews where her parents' house was situated. It was early evening, and already the shadows were casting pools of darkness between the burgeoning illumination of the street lamps. Soon it would be dark before she left the office, and the real winter nights would begin, nights when she would have more than enough time to fear the future and regret the past.
There were lights already in her parents' house, flooding out over the neatly-painted windowboxes that her mother tended with such care. The cobbled court before the house was occupied by her father's shabby Rover, that he refused to part exchange despite her mother's urgings, and the doors to the garage had been opened to reveal her mother's smarter Mini. That her father hadn't immediately put the Rover
into the garage was a source of wonder to her, and she guessed something must have happened to interrupt his usual routine.
Without feeling any real sense of apprehension, she inserted her key in the lock and entered the house as usual, calling out a greeting to her mother as she hung her coat in the hall. So far as she was concerned, she was glad to be home, and the warm sense of security it gave her wrapped itself around her like a second skin. Her parents had never interfered in her life, and they had accepted her explanation that the job in Mexico hadn't worked out with only a degree of speculation. But now, when her mother emerged into the hall to confront her, there was a definite look of anticipation on her face, and Caroline felt her own colour falter when Mrs Leyton hastily closed the sitting room door behind her.
'You have a visitor,' she said at once, in an undertone. 'Two visitors, in fact. Seňor de Montejo, and—and Emilia!'
Caroline groped weakly for the banister. 'Did—did you say—Seňor de Montejo?'
'That's right.' Her mother wrung her hands anxiously. 'You'd better come in. Your father's just offered him a drink, but I think you ought to come and speak to him.' She paused. 'He—well, he wants you to go back and take up your teaching job again, and when I told him you were not likely to agree, he said he hoped he'd be able to make you change your mind.'
Caroline was trembling. She had never expected this to happen. When she had left Esteban at the bus station she had known he was angry, but she had never dreamed he would follow her to London, or involve her parents in his sordid affairs.
'I—I don't want to see him,' she said now, glancing about her anxiously. 'Oh, Mum, I really don't want to see him.'
'Why not?' Her mother looked at her reprovingly. 'Caroline, I really think you ought. He's travelled all this way. Don't you think it's the least you can do?'
'No—'
'Caroline, be reasonable!'
'I am being reasonable.' Caroline could feel the panic rising inside her. 'I—I—it's four weeks since I left Mexico. If—if he was so keen to retain my services, he should have contacted me before I got another job.'
'Well, apparently his brother died—' began Mrs Leyton thoughtfully, marshalling her argument, then exclaimed: 'Caroline! Oh, dear heaven!' as her daughter slumped in a dead faint at the foot of the stairs.
'Do you think I should call the doctor?'
Caroline came round to the sound of her mother's voice speaking softly somewhere nearby, but when her eyes opened it was not either of her parents who was gazing down at her.
'Luis?' she breathed, convinced she must be dreaming, and then more strongly: 'Luis, what are you doing here?' as he came down on the side of the couch on which she was lying.
'Salud, pequeňa,' he murmured softly, laying one of his hands over both of hers where they were pressed together at her midriff. 'I did not realise my arrival would be so traumatic for you.' He paused, his grey eyes dark with emotion. 'Would you prefer we should leave and come back later?'
'No—'
Caroline's involuntary denial, and her feeble attempt to struggle up from the pillows, attracted her parents' attention. They had been talking quietly together, near the sitting room door, but now they turned and gazed anxiously at her, and at the man towards whom she was gazing so eagerly.
But it was someone else who interrupted them, someone small and dark and excited, dressed more suitably than Caroline had ever seen her, in a pretty fringed suede skirt and jacket, and a simple woollen jumper.
'Seňorita, seňorita!' she exclaimed, jumping up from the chair on which she had been sitting, as soon as she saw Caroline was conscious. 'Seňorita, we have come to take you back to San Luis with us. Say you will come, please, say you will come! Tio Vincente so much wants you to live with us.'
Caroline could only shake her head, staring at Emilia as if she couldn't believe her eyes, and this time Luis intervened, drawing Emilia to his side with a gentle insistence, raising his finger warningly as she started to protest.
'It is too soon,' he assured her quietly, as Caroline glanced round at her mother and father, wondering how they were taking all this. 'Miss Leyton got quite a shock to find us here. I think we should go away now, and leave her to recover.'
'No!' Caroline's voice was firmer, as she clutched at Luis's hand. 'No, please—' She cast another imploring glance at her parents. 'I mean, I have got over it. I am all right, honestly.' She struggled into a sitting position, gazing at him wonderingly. 'Luis, please—tell me why you're here.'
'You know that already,' put in Mrs Leyton dryly, crossing the floor to the couch and looking down at her daughter with half impatient eyes. 'Caroline, I told you what Seňor de Montejo had said, but you refused to see him. Do I take it now that you've changed your mind?'
'She was shocked, Elizabeth.' Caroline's father joined the group around the couch. 'How are you feeling, darling? I've never known you pass out like that before.'
'I'm fine, Daddy.' Caroline was clinging to Luis's hand as if she would never let him go, and her parents exchanged helpless glances. 'I—I didn't know you meant— Luis, you see.'
'I think we've gathered that, Caroline,' her mother responded dryly. 'I suppose it was my fault. I should have explained. But how was I to know you were likely to react so violently?'
Caroline shook her head, looking at Luis urgently. 'She—she said you—your brother is dead. Is that true?' She caught her lower lip between her teeth as she met Emilia's dark eyes. 'I—I can hardly believe it.'
'There was a car crash.' It was Emilia who spoke. 'On the way back from Las Estadas. Seňor Allende was driving, but the roads were slippery—'
'What?' Caroline gasped, and her returning colour receded again. 'Luis—do you mean—'
'I think we ought to leave them alone, Elizabeth.' Mr Leyton could sense the tenseness of the atmosphere, and Caroline's mother pulled herself together and nodded in agreement.
'Yes. Yes. I—I'll make some tea,' she said, and then, glancing at Emilia, she said: 'Would you like to come and help me, young lady? I think your uncle would prefer to speak with—with Caroline alone.'
Emilia looked doubtful, but Luis finally extracted his hand from Caroline's and rose firmly to his feet. 'I think that is a very good idea, Emilia,' he averred, propelling her gently away from him. 'Miss Leyton and I do have some private matters to discuss. Perhaps Mrs Leyton will let you pour out the milk for her, while her daughter and I discuss the possibilities of her returning to Mexico with us, hmm?'
'You won't go away?'
Obviously, for all her apparent indifference to her father's death, Emilia was still very much a child, and as a child she craved security, and Luis shook his head.
'I promise I shall be here, all the time,' he assured her softly. 'Thank you.' This to Caroline's mother. 'I am most grateful.'
Caroline's mother made a deprecating gesture, then ushered Emilia ahead of her out of the room. Mr Leyton closed the door behind them, and the silence that followed their departure was broken only by Caroline's unsteady breathing.
'Esteban is dead,' she whispered, still hardly able to believe it. 'Because—because of me—'
'Porqueria, of course not.' Luis turned to face her tautly. 'Tomas was to take you to Las Estadas, and I hazard a guess that Tomas would not have turned the car off the road. Esteban was drunk, and so was Allende, so far as we can gather. He must have been, to have attempted the journey in that condition.'
Caroline shook her head. 'It doesn't seem possible.'
'Why?' Luis paced restlessly across the hearth and back again. 'Because of what he threatened you with? Because you were afraid it was he, and not I, who had come to find you?'
Caroline swung her legs to the floor, pushing back her hair with an unsteady hand. 'How—how do you know about that?'
'How do you think?' Luis made a sound of impatience. 'Where do you think they did their drinking? At the hotel, of course. There are a dozen witnesses there willing to say that Esteban threatened you with beating, raping, a
nd worse!' His dark face was grim. 'God knows what he might have done had he reached San Luis alive. One thing is certain: Emilia and Tia Isabel would have borne the brunt of his fury.'
Caroline's tongue circled her lips as she looked up at him. 'How—how did you find out?'
'About what? The fact that your departure had been delayed—or Esteban's accident?'
Caroline frowned. 'Well—the accident, I suppose.'
'I arrived on the scene only minutes after it had happened,' Luis retorted curtly, and as she gazed at him incredulously, he went on: 'It was Emilia who told me what had happened.'
'Emilia?'
'Yes,' Luis nodded. 'You see, you had not told her you were leaving, but when, that afternoon, she visited her friend Benito, he confided what had happened.'
'A—about Esteban?'
'But of course. By then Tomas had come back, and the servants knew what was going on. It was a source of excitement to them, that the patrón should get up from his sick bed to follow the young English lady to Las Estadas.'
'But—Emilia—'
Luis sighed, spreading his hands. 'She thought he had dismissed you. You know how her imagination works. She was afraid, but for different reasons.'
'And she sent for you?'
'Tomas—reluctantly agreed to call at the seminary.'
Caroline shook her head. 'And?'
Luis made a sound of self-derision. 'Dios mio, you can have no idea how I felt when I heard what had happened.'
Caroline got rather falteringly to her feet. 'He—he might have had the best of intentions.'
Luis bent his head. 'He might. But I had to be sure.' He thrust his hands behind his back, and she could see the tautness of his muscles beneath the fine cloth. 'I was afraid—I was afraid that he—'
'—might touch me?' she ventured softly, and he nodded.
'Did he?'
'No.' She shook her head again, and quickly explained what had happened. 'I don't know what I'd have done without the others,' she admitted, mentioning the tourist party she had joined. 'They—they were very kind to me. I—I flew back to London with them.'