The Mountains of Spring

by Rosemary Pollock

  Caroline was certain that beneath his breath Diego swore violently in Spanish, and she felt all the colour drain away from her own cheeks as, without a word of explanation to herself or Dick Weldon, he strode straight off towards the pair he had recognized. The American, who had also seen what was happening, whistled softly.

  ‘Your brother’s for it,’ he observed. ‘I rather gather Senorita Dominguez isn’t expected to accept invitations that Rivel hasn’t vetted.’

  Caroline bit her lip, but she said nothing, for she was watching Diego, who had just caught up with her brother and Isabel. The two men were standing close together, and she could tell that Diego was expressing himself as incisively as was possible without providing the interested passers-by with too much entertainment. Peter looked as if he were making a gallant effort, at least, to stand his ground with resolution, and Isabel, surprisingly, looked as far as she could see as if she might be preparing to fly into a rage—a rage of positively prima donna-ish proportions, at that. It was quite impossible to hear what was being said, but Peter seemed first to flush and then to turn rather white, and after a minute or two, having glanced at Caroline’s set face, Dick Weldon suggested that they should go over and join the other three.

  ‘We might as well find out what’s actually going on,’ he remarked, placing a hand beneath her elbow. ‘Though I daresay your brother’s more than a match for our friend Diego.’

  In actual fact it was painfully obvious that Peter was anything but a match for Diego. By the time Caroline drew near he had reached the stage of being reduced to stubborn silence—and his employer was white to the lips with what was apparently a kind of partially controlled fury. Isabel’s small brown hands were tightly clenched upon the arms of her wheelchair, and as she looked up at the Englishman, who was still standing beside her, there was a strong hint of colour in her thin cheeks.

  ‘We will go now, Peter?’ she was saying, and it struck Caroline that the Mexican girl was positively appealing to her brother to stand his ground, and to take her home—or at least somewhere out of sight of Diego Rivel—without any further hesitation or delay. That Peter was hesitating—just a little—was obvious; his character had never been phenomenally strong, and the casting of such a deliberate and irrevocable insult in the face of his employer was undoubtedly something that was going to require courage.

  ‘Isabel, in a few minutes I will take you home.’ It was the voice of Diego. After a moment he added: ‘We will discuss this—this interlude later.’

  ‘Senor, I brought Miss Dominguez here, and unless she would prefer me not to do so I will take her home.’

  Peter had made up his mind.

  Isabel directed another appealing glance at her companion. ‘Please, why do we wait so long?’ she demanded. ‘I wish very much that you will take me home, Peter. I have said so.’ She swallowed rather hard, and Caroline could see that she was biting viciously on a suspiciously tremulous lower lip, but her eyes when she looked at Diego were alight with furious resentment, and Caroline was conscious of feeling a little astonished.

  ‘Very well, Isabel. I have no control over you.’ Diego’s voice was quiet, and incredibly cold. He turned to the Englishman. ‘But as for you, senor … over you I have some control. Or I have had,’ with icy significance. ‘You will not, I imagine, expect to remain in my employment.’

  There was a brief silence, and then Peter’s pent-up Anglo-Saxon wrath burst its bounds at last. It was obviously a bad moment for him, but it was equally obvious that he intended to derive what satisfaction he could from the situation by allowing himself to give voice to a few home-truths.

  ‘I—I wouldn’t stay in your employment if it were the last job in Mexico!’ he stated bluntly. ‘You’ve treated Isabel like a—like a slave … as if she were something that had belonged to you from birth. You haven’t allowed her to have a mind of her own—it’s your attitude that drove her into that wheelchair, and it’s kept her there. She might be a six-year-old, the way you treat her, and she’s had enough. She’s going to break away from you, and she’ll have all the help I can give her!’

  ‘Indeed!’ the Mexican’s eyes narrowed. ‘You would be well advised to remember, I think, that you are an alien in this country.’

  All at once something in the lean dark face terrified Caroline, and without thinking she stepped forward quickly and intervened.

  ‘I don’t think Peter means what he says, senor. I’m sure he doesn’t! He’s—he’s a bit worked up—’

  ‘Is he?’ Diego swung round to face her, and his eyes seemed to grow colder than ever. ‘You are going to plead for him, are you? The charming little sister, attempting to avert the anger of the tyrant!’

  ‘No,’ said Caroline shortly, sudden sparks in her own blue eyes. ‘No, I’m not going to do anything of the kind.’

  ‘I am glad, because for one thing I am sure your brother does not wish you to plead for him.’

  ‘Come along, Caro,’ said Peter, looking past him. ‘Come with us—oh, I forgot, you’re with Dick Weldon, aren’t you?’ He acknowledged the American’s unobtrusive presence with a brief nod. ‘He’ll look after you. I’ll phone you some time—tonight, probably. We’d better be going, Isabel.’ With an almost proprietorial air, he turned the invalid chair about, and within thirty seconds they were lost to view amid a crush of hurrying racegoers.

  Diego Rivel looked at Caroline.

  ‘There is something you would like to say to me, senorita?’

  She shook her head, and turning away rather awkwardly, almost stumbled. Dick Weldon caught her arm.

  ‘Come on, honey. I’ll find you some tea—if there’s such a thing to be had around this place.’

  She looked up at him dazedly. ‘Thank you. But I don’t think I want any tea. I just want to get away from here!’

  Almost in silence, they walked towards the carpark. Caroline’s anger had quickly subsided into an extraordinary feeling of stunned misery, and as she meekly allowed herself to be guided through the still jostling crowds she almost forgot the presence at her side of the quiet, sympathetic American. But when she found herself being put into the front passenger seat of his magnificent low-slung car she came back with a jolt to a consciousness of what was going on around her, and looked up at him anxiously.

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to—I mustn’t drag you away. There must be other races … aren’t there?’

  ‘Maybe. Who cares? I’m not a racing maniac myself.’ He stood looking down at her, smiling, she thought, just a little wryly. ‘The main thing is that you’re upset—and, as you said a few minutes ago, you want to get away from here.’ And without waiting for a reply he closed the door on her.

  She watched him as he walked round in front of the car, and as he climbed into the driving seat. Then, when he had turned the key in the ignition, she said:

  ‘I’d like to go back to the Casa Rivel, please.’

  He turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow.

  ‘Now? You’re sure? I thought maybe we’d drive for a while … run that tea to earth, or something. Then we could drive on again until dinner. Wouldn’t it suit you better? You’re … you’re a little upset, you know. That scene back there—it shook you, didn’t it?’

  She said nothing. His arm was lying along the back of the seat, and as if he were unable to resist the temptation he lifted his hand and lightly touched her hair. Instantly she stiffened, and he sighed, and immediately returned both hands to the steering-wheel.

  ‘Well, what’s it to be?’ he enquired more briskly. He began to reverse out of the line of cars in which they were parked, and Caroline came to life again with a start.

  ‘Please … I want to go back to Senora Rivel’s house. I shall have to pack.’

  ‘Very well, my child. No tea, no dinner. No drive in the moonlight.’ His voice was teasing, but there was something slightly sombre about it too. Caroline looked at him guiltily.

  ‘I’m awfully sorry. Thank you—thank you so much fo
r offering. I know I’m behaving ridiculously.’

  ‘Oh, no, you’re not. You’re making,’ he said cryptically, ‘far too much sense.’

  She was silent again, and for a minute or two he said nothing further. Then he spoke abruptly.

  ‘Won’t the old lady be rather upset at parting with you? I’m sure she’s taken to you.’

  Caroline’s brow creased, and her dull, nagging misery grew more intense, a thing she would not have thought possible. ‘I’m sure she’ll understand—after what has happened. And in any case,’ she added, ‘there’s no reason why she should be upset.’

  ‘Well, she’s going to lose you,’ he said seriously. ‘Anyone would be upset.’

  They had almost reached the Casa Rivel when he spoke again, and this time it was the practical aspect of the situation that was troubling him.

  ‘Where are you going?’ he wanted to know. ‘Some hotel?’

  She nodded. ‘When I’ve got everything fixed up I’ll leave my new address with Senora Rivel’s maid, so that if Peter telephones she can give it to him. I don’t suppose she’ll mind doing that.’

  ‘You don’t know where your brother’s staying?’

  She glanced at him hopefully. ‘Do you?’

  ‘No. I did, but I tried to call him last night, and he wasn’t there. I guess he’s moved, but I’ll probably be able to find him for you.’

  She sent him a look of such gratitude that if he had seen it his day would have been made. ‘Could you really do that?’

  He looked round at her and smiled. ‘Yes, I can really do that—and anything else you’d like me to do!’

  She flushed. ‘That’s very kind of you. I do want to get in touch with him, of course. I shouldn’t have let him go like that—but it was all so bewildering, and—and horrible.’

  They had reached the Casa Rivel now, and the long car was swinging under the archway.

  ‘It wasn’t pleasant,’ he agreed. The engine died into silence, and he turned to face her. ‘I take it you’re feeling pretty badly about Rivel.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said. Her voice sounded stiff.

  ‘Well, I think you’re right.’ He hesitated. ‘At the same time. … If I were you I’d warn Peter to leave the little Mexican girl alone. These people can be pretty dangerous, especially when it comes to anything that concerns their womenfolk. He’s already lost himself a decent job.’

  There was a short silence, and then suddenly, almost fiercely, she burst out: ‘It wasn’t a decent job! I think he’s lucky to be free.’

  ‘Do you?’ For a moment, in the golden sunlight of late afternoon, he studied her pale, mutinous face. Then he smiled briefly. ‘I hope you do,’ he remarked enigmatically.

  As he helped her out of the car he asked her when he might stand a chance of seeing her again, and instantly her eyes, huge, worried and very blue, were lifted to his face.

  ‘I’m awfully sorry… It was a wonderful afternoon—at least, it should have been. I spoilt it for you. I even spoilt your pleasure in Castaneta’s win—’

  He put a hand over one of hers. ‘Forget Castaneta. I’m getting rid of the animal, as you heard. And in any case, you’re the important one.’ He was gazing down at her, and something in her eyes seemed to hypnotize him.

  She blushed, and drew her hand away rather hastily. ‘Thank you very much, anyway. I must go in now. I—I’ll have to pack.’

  ‘Very well, my child.’ He accompanied her to the door, and stood watching as she opened it. ‘I’ll find out where Peter is, and phone you.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she smiled at him. ‘You really are kind.’

  ‘No, I’m not in the least kind. I’m acting from purely selfish motives. But I’m at your service whenever you want me … any time. Here’s my phone number.’ He fumbled in his pockets for a pen and a piece of paper, and when he had found them and written the number down he gave it to her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said for the third time, and grateful as she was to him, she wished with all her heart that he would go.

  He stood looking at her for a moment or two longer, and then, at last, with a final wave of the hand, he climbed into his car and was gone. The smooth purr of the engine faded gradually into the distance, and she quickly closed the door and fled upstairs to her room.

  It didn’t take her long to pack her things and tidy the room and as soon as she had finished she ran a comb through her hair, powdered her nose, and rang the bell for Manuela. She had hardly given herself time to think, and when the maid appeared in the doorway she was still a little breathless from the speed with which she had been working. She asked Manuela if she thought it would be possible for her to see the Senora, and the Mexican woman looked from her to her luggage in puzzled curiosity.

  ‘You are leaving, senorita?’

  ‘Yes, I have to.’ She bit her lip. ‘The Senora will understand. Can I see her, do you think?’

  ‘The Senora is resting.’

  ‘Yes, I know, but … I think I’d better see her now, to say goodbye. I’ve packed my cases, and I—I ought to leave tonight.’

  Manuela’s black eyes became inscrutable. ‘I will tell the Senora.’

  She was away for about five minutes, and when she came back her expression was definitely disapproving. ‘The Senora is not well,’ she said.

  ‘She has been very tired. But she will see you.’ Caroline followed the maid along the cool white corridor, and when they came to a door that stood slightly ajar Manuela knocked softly. They were instructed to enter, and as they did so they were met by a scent faintly reminiscent of freesias, and a sudden burst of barking from a tiny dog which had evidently discerned the approach of a stranger, and objected to it.

  ‘Come and sit down, Chiquita.’ It was the Senora s voice, and although it was a little fainter than Caroline had so far heard it, it was certainly no less amiable. Its owner was sitting up in bed, a lacy white bedjacket about her thin shoulders, and she was leaning against the pile of pillows behind her as if she were rather glad of their support.

  Caroline was startled and shocked, and concern for the older woman temporarily drove every other thought out of her head.

  ‘I didn’t know you weren’t well.’ Because she was so startled, she spoke jerkily.

  ‘My dear child, I am perfectly well. A little tired, perhaps, but I assure you that my condition is not at all giving cause for alarm, as you say in England. Sit down, as I asked you to do, and tell me about your afternoon.’ She glanced at a pretty little Swiss clock on her bedside table. ‘You are really rather early. Was the heat too much for you? Or could it be …’ The dark eyes twinkled a little. ‘Could it be that the poor young man was too much for you?’

  Caroline moved closer to the bed, and sank slowly into an antique rocking-chair. Manuela had left the room, closing the door behind her, and it was quiet and cool and peaceful. The small dog came up and sniffed at her ankles, and as she looked down at it the Spanish woman smiled.

  ‘You have not met Pepito before? It is a pity, for being English I am sure you like dogs. Pick him up, he won’t harm you.’

  Obediently, Caroline bent and lifted the tiny animal, placing him on her lap. He was a chihuahua, silky and fragile, with spindly legs and enormous, alarmingly intelligent eyes, and as she held him he started to lick her fingers. She smiled, and carried him up to her shoulder. ‘I think he’s enchanting,’ she said sincerely.

  ‘Yes, so I think.’ The Senora shifted against her pillows. ‘And now,’ she said after a moment, ‘you will tell me what is troubling you.’

  Caroline looked up quickly, and lowered the dog to her lap again. ‘You—you know that something is troubling me?’

  ‘It is in your eyes, chiquita. If you do not wish to tell me I will say nothing more. But I think that perhaps you would like to tell me … yes?’

  The English girl bent her head. Her slim fingers were toying with Pepito’s ears. ‘I must tell you senora.’

  The expression in the dark eyes grew keener, but
there was no change in the smooth tones of the old lady’s voice. ‘You must? Well, that is excellent, for I am an inquisitive old woman, and like to know everything. Tell me then.’

  ‘Your grandson—Senor Rivel—has dismissed my brother.’ Caroline spoke wearily, and a little bluntly. ‘That is to say, there was an—an argument. If your grandson hadn’t dismissed him he would still have left.’ Without looking up, she hurried on. ‘It was over Senorita Dominguez. Peter took her to the races, and—they ran into Senor Rivel. I’m afraid he wasn’t very pleased.’

  There was silence in the room for about half a minute. The old lady was lying back with her eyes almost closed, and she was so motionless that by the time she spoke again Caroline was actually beginning to feel a little alarmed. Beneath their heavy white lids, however, her eyes were keen and alert.

  ‘How tiresome of Diego,’ she said at last, turning her head to stare thoughtfully at the girl in the rocking-chair.

  Caroline thought this an understatement, and was mildly surprised. ‘I don’t think it was Peter’s fault,’ she said, loyally sticking up for her sole surviving relative, despite the fact that some curious conflicting emotion made her want to bite her tongue out as she spoke. ‘I don’t think he quite understands the—the relationship between Senorita Dominguez and your grandson.’

  ‘Who does?’ enquired the Senora enigmatically.

  Caroline stood up. This leisurely discussion was getting on her nerves. ‘The point is,’ she said hurriedly, ‘that after what has happened I can’t possibly go on staying here. I mean … you’ve been so terribly kind. But this makes everything different, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I don’t think it does. Sit down again, my child, I dislike looking up at people.’

  Caroline obeyed. She was still hanging on convulsively to Pepito.

  ‘Tell me’ said the Senora, ‘do you want to go home to England?’

  ‘Why, I …’ She hesitated.

  ‘You know, I don’t think you do.’