‘Yes.’ Isabel put her handsome dark head back, and dreamily surveyed the ceiling. ‘And when I thing about that—when I really think about it—I am not afraid of anything. I am not upset by anything … even by Diego.’
‘I’m glad. But you were upset this afternoon?’
‘Yes, because it was so horrible. Diego attacked Peter and Peter lost his job, and it was my fault. But now that I am calm it is all different.’ She smiled across at Caroline. ‘You know, while Peter was driving me home he kept saying that it did not matter about losing his job. He said he didn’t care, that it meant nothing at all to him, because I was worth ten thousand jobs.’ She laughed again.
‘That was silly, perhaps. But I think—perhaps I am very conceited, but I believe, you see, that it was the truth. And I believe it will always be like that. So, when I think about it, I understand that—that our falling in love really is more important … More important than ten thousand jobs.’
Her happiness and confidence were almost tangible, and Caroline, oddly impressed, felt a little pang of something like envy.
‘But will you be able to marry?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘I mean, without waiting a long time. What does Peter think?’
‘He thinks there will be no difficulty.’ She obviously had a sublime faith in Peter’s judgment. ‘He has such a great experience of horses and soon, I think, he will find a very good job. Then we will be married and when he has made enough money we will go to England. In England everything will be all right.’ She looked rueful as she added: ‘I have money of my own, of course, but it is…’ She hesitated.
‘Held in trust?’ suggested Caroline.
‘Yes, that is it. It is held in trust. Diego controls it, and I am afraid…’ She shrugged resignedly. ‘I am afraid that if I marry Peter it will be a long time before Diego will let me have any money.’
Caroline felt shaken and almost upset. ‘But surely once you were actually married he wouldn’t be so pointlessly cruel?’
‘I do not know,’ Isabel looked serious. ‘Diego is a good man, but sometimes he is hard, and—and unrelenting, and I am afraid of him. He does not like to be opposed. And if he wants something he always gets it—in the end.’ She smiled, and tossed her head as if to dispel a cloud that had suddenly hovered near to her. ‘I don’t think he really wants me, though—I am sure of it. And that is a great comfort, yes?’
Quietly, Caroline agreed that it was a great comfort. They talked for another half hour or so, and then the English girl stood up to go.
‘I’ve stayed too long,’ she said, feeling rather alarmed because it was almost eight o’clock, and she still had to settle the question of whether or not she ought to spend another night under the roof of the Senora Rivel.
Isabel looked distressed. ‘But you must not go yet. You must have dinner with me. Please? They will bring it up here to me, you see.’ She looked slightly mischievous. ‘They are a little afraid of the tiger, so it must be fed in its cage.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Caroline smiled warmly down at the figure in the wheelchair. ‘I’d love to have dinner with you, and it’s very kind of you to suggest it. But I must go.’
Isabel sighed. ‘I understand. But you will come and see me again? ‘An anxious look flashed into her eyes. ‘You are not angry? You will not perhaps be sorry if Peter marries a—a Mexican girl?’
Impulsively, Caroline bent and kissed her. ‘No, I won’t be sorry. I’ll be delighted. Really! And now I’ve got to go, but I’ll keep in touch with you, I promise.’
Outside in the corridor a figure pounced upon her. It was Isabel’s mother and she looked as if she might at any moment burst into tears of gratitude.
‘Senorita, you are magnificent! She is all right now?’
‘Yes.’ Caroline smiled at her. ‘She is all right.’ She supposed she ought to mention Peter, perhaps make some attempt to discuss the situation with Isabel’s mother, but at that moment she simply didn’t feel equal to it.
‘It is wonderful. And now, if you do not mind, the Senor Rivel would like to speak with you, I think. Afterwards, of course, you will have dinner with us.’
Caroline stood quite still, feeling suddenly exhausted. She couldn’t face it. Not another interview with Diego. She was tired of everything and everybody … she was tired of talking to them all. She wished she had never come to Mexico, and, more than anything else, she wished she had never met Diego Rivel. She was on the point of thanking Senora Dominguez for her invitation to dinner, and informing her quite categorically that she couldn’t possibly afford to delay a moment longer. And then something made her look down into the oak-floored, lantern-hung hall, and her eyes encountered the eyes of Diego.
He came halfway up the stairs to meet her.
‘My congratulations, senorita.’ His voice was discreetly soft, so soft that it could not possibly reach the ears of Isabel. ‘I gather that she is herself again?’
‘Oh, yes, she’s quite herself.’
‘Senora Dominguez and I are grateful to you.’
He looked up at her as she stood above him on the stairs with an expression in his eyes that startled her. There was a softness in the inky black depths that so far she had believed he reserved exclusively for his grandmother and Isabel. ‘May I speak with you?’ he asked. ‘Just for a few minutes?’
She felt as if his eyes were hypnotizing her, making her feel slightly dizzy. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘of course.’
They went downstairs, and while the Senora vanished again, apparently to check on the dinner arrangements, he took Caroline into a long quiet salon at the back of the house. All the windows were wide open to the warmth of the night, and the room was full of the scent of bougainvillea. Caroline drew a deep, appreciative breath.
‘Sit down,’ Diego instructed, switching the lights on. She sank into a straight-backed armchair near one of the windows, and he came and stood near to her, studying her face.
‘You’re tired,’ he remarked, rather sharply.
She shook her head, causing her pale hair to swing gently. ‘Not really.’ The chair she had chosen was provided with scarlet cushions and against their glowing warmth her small face looked white and ethereally transparent. She lifted her eyes to his face.
‘You wanted to talk to me, senor?’
‘Yes.’ He was still watching her fixedly. ‘But first you will have a glass of wine. I will ring—’
‘No, thank you.’ She shook her head again, this time emphatically. ‘I really couldn’t drink it.’
‘Very well.’ But he looked far from satisfied. ‘This has been a trying day for you,’ he said abruptly.
‘Yes, I suppose it has.’
‘And it is my fault, yes?’
She supposed that if she were to be honest she would agree without hesitation. But she simply shrugged rather bleakly, and glanced out of an uncurtained window at what she could see of the garden that lay beyond.
He sat down in the wide window embrasure, and bent his head to study the carpet.
‘You do not help me, senorita.’
‘Help you?’ she repeated wearily. ‘How can I help you?’
He smiled, very wryly. ‘You could make things a little easier for me. I am trying to say that I know I have done things that have made you unhappy, and I wish to apologize.’
‘Apologize? To me?’
‘Your amazement scarcely does me credit,’ he observed dryly.
‘I wasn’t expecting an apology.’
‘No, obviously. However, will you believe me if I say that I am conscious of having treated both you and your brother rather badly?’ She didn’t answer, and he went on: ‘I wish to atone in some way—to make amends, as you say in England. In the case of your brother it is easily done … even if he refuses to return to me, it is in my power to make it extremely easy for him to find fresh employment. With you it is different, but—’ He hesitated. ‘Would it please you to stay in Mexico?’
She looked bewildered. She hadn’t been prepared for t
his new mood of his and she didn’t understand it. Was he really just trying to be nice, or was there something behind it? All she knew was that all at once she wanted desperately to believe he was really being kind.
‘I don’t know what I want to do,’ she said. ‘It depends on Peter. But—’
‘Peter, I think, will be happy to stay here.’ He spoke as if he knew a great deal about Peter. ‘And why should you wish to go back to England? You have no relatives there now—your brother has told me.’
‘I have friends in England,’ she said stiffly. There was no need to let him know how much she did want to stay in Mexico.
‘Friends?’ he repeated sharply. He had been leaning a little towards her, but now he straightened himself and stood up. ‘Ah! There is, no doubt, one particular friend?’ His voice was harsh and cold again, and as he spoke she almost winced.
‘No, I didn’t mean that,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m not engaged, or anything like that. There’s no … real reason for me to go back to England. But—’
‘But, on the other hand, you feel that there is no real reason for you to stay in Mexico.’ His whole manner had softened again, and in his strange, inexplicable eagerness to convince her he dropped down on to one knee beside her chair. ‘I could suggest to you many reasons,’ he told her.
‘C-could you?’ she asked. His nearness was having a peculiar effect on her. Her heart seemed to be beating so fast and so loudly that she was uncomfortably sure he must be able to hear it, and she was conscious of the fact that her fingers were trembling.
‘Many reasons,’ he repeated. For a long moment he seemed to hesitate about something. And then he stood up, and when he spoke again his voice was a little more businesslike.
‘One reason however, will perhaps be enough.’ He began to move restlessly about the room, lifting books and ornaments and setting them down again. A small Aztec relic in a glass case held his attention for quite a number of seconds, and it was not until he had finished inspecting it with apparent care that he turned back to face her. ‘Would the fact that somebody needed you—needed your companionship and your guidance—would that induce you to stay?’
She looked up at him. ‘How could anyone here … possibly need me?’ she asked. Her voice was low and husky, partly from tiredness, and partly for another reason.
There was a short silence, while black eyes and blue ones met and held. Then he looked away from her.
‘Surely you realize … Isabel needs you,’ he told her. ‘You could be an invaluable aid in handling her. It would be a great relief to me if you would stay … for Isabel’s sake!’
CHAPTER IX
Later that evening, as she dined alone with Senora Dominguez in a room overlooking the lamplit street, Caroline repeatedly wondered whether she were in some kind of a dream, and whether, if she were, she ought possibly to be awakened.
The only thing of which she was reasonably certain was the fact that she had agreed to remain in Mexico for a period of some months, and during that time to act as a kind of companion to Isabel Dominguez. Whether or not she had been wise to agree to such a thing she couldn’t begin to say— there were moments when the whole situation alarmed her considerably—but the fact remained that she had agreed, and for the time being that seemed to be that. Diego had decided that she could be of use to Isabel, and she had meekly fallen in with his plans. She still felt a little bewildered by the apparent change in his attitude to herself and to Peter—especially his attitude to Peter—but she thought she was beginning to understand it. He had, she decided, great confidence in his power to control Isabel, such confidence that once he had had time to think the matter over there didn’t seem any necessity to fear the influence of Peter. Isabel, he clearly believed, would always come round in the end—when it came to the point it would always be him she would obey. The only thing necessary, therefore, was not to make too much of a martyr of Peter. He and his sister must be treated cordially—he could even be offered the chance to return to his old job, although somehow Caroline felt Diego would be happier if Peter didn’t agree to that. And, in the meantime, Isabel could be worked upon until she saw the error of her ways. It seemed rather peculiar psychology, but perhaps that was because it was Mexican psychology.
And she, Caroline, had humbly accepted the crumb thrown to her. She had let Diego arrange a job for her, and she had fallen in with every suggestion he made—just as if she herself had been Isabel Dominguez.
It was still intensely warm, and the long-drawn-out dinner was served with a rather wearisome formality. Her hostess didn’t talk very much, and it wasn’t until after the coffee had been brought in that she made any attempt to discuss arrangements. And when she did make the attempt she gave Caroline the impression that she would very much rather have left the whole thing to Diego.
‘When would you wish to begin,’ she asked anxiously. ‘Diego did not say when he thought—but of course,’ with a touch of embarrassment, ‘it is for you to say.’
‘I don’t mind when I begin,’ Caroline assured her.
‘Then perhaps tomorrow…? Isa would be so pleased.’
‘Yes, of course. Tomorrow.’
But the following morning, when Caroline left her room at the Casa Rivel, it was to discover that Diego had rather surprisingly made plans for them all which left little time for any formal moving into the Dominguez household on that day. On the previous evening, when she returned to the house, she had seen Senora Rivel for a few minutes, and had told her everything. The old lady had seemed delighted, and this morning, to Caroline’s amazement, she was already up and sitting in the hall when her English guest came down the stairs.
‘Ah, chiquita!’ She eyed Caroline appreciatively. ‘That shade of blue could not be better. Many colours suit you well, but that—it is enchanting.’ She put her head on one side. ‘And it is good that you are looking so quite exceptionally pretty, for today we are going on a grand expedition!’
‘A grand expedition?’ Caroline stopped on the bottom stair.
‘Yes, my child. Diego has arranged it. We are going to visit Teotihuacan.’ She looked bright and alert and extraordinarily pleased with herself. ‘It will be a great thing for you. You will see a city of the Aztecs.’
‘W-will I?’
‘But yes. It is one of the most beautiful places in Mexico, and very interesting. You will enjoy it. And so will I.’
‘You’re going too ?’
‘Certainly I am going too. And the troublesome little Isabel, she also is going. But not her mother.’ A mischievous smile. ‘That is good, I think. I should not say it, for she is not at all a bad woman, but often I say what I should not. You are ready to go out, chiquita? Diego will collect us in half an hour.’
Caroline, who had been standing like a statue, came to life and stepped down off the bottom stair. ‘Senora,’ she asked rather quickly, ‘would you mind very much if I didn’t go?’
‘Yes, I would mind very much indeed, and so would your friend Isabel. And so would Diego.’
She coloured painfully. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘And I do not know what you think, my dear child, but you have to believe that the … disagreement between you and my grandson is at an end. It is quite finished.’ She paused for a moment. ‘He is now much in your debt, and he knows it. So,’ smiling lightly, ‘instead of behaving like a little girl you will be grown-up and sensible, and you will come with us to Teotihuacan.’
At the mild reproof contained in the last few words Caroline coloured again, and after hesitating only a moment longer said that of course she would love to visit the Aztec city.
‘I’m sorry if I seemed—well, ungracious,’ she said rather huskily. ‘It’s just that—’
‘Yes, yes, I know exactly what it is,’ the older woman assured her soothingly. ‘But now we will forget all about it, and concentrate simply upon being gay!’
Diego arrived punctually at half past ten. He was driving his white sports car, and beside him, comfortably
established in the passenger seat, was Isabel Dominguez. She was wearing a wide scarlet band in her hair, and she looked very young, and unusually lighthearted. Any feelings of resentment that she might possibly have been expected to harbour against Diego seemed to have vanished with the wind, and as they drew to a halt she was laughing. Her escort had not forgotten that on this occasion it was incumbent upon him to provide transport suitable for his grandmother, and no sooner had the sports car’s engines died into silence than it was followed under the arch by the huge silver-grey bulk of his chauffeur-driven Mercedes. The Mercedes drew up alongside, and as the old lady was carefully helped into it Caroline was temporarily overlooked. It was several minutes before Diego and the chauffeur seemed absolutely satisfied as to the comfort and security of the tiny, fragile figure whom they had placed with such elaborate care in the comfortable rear of the car, and when they had finished Caroline, who hadn’t had a chance to help, hung back, looking uncertain. She had no real need to feel nervous or unsure of herself, for nothing, as the Senora had told her, could have suited her better than the cornflower blue of her linen dress, and there was a kind of bandbox freshness about her that on a hot Mexican morning made her quite an enchanting sight. But she did, nevertheless, feel very nervous, and when Diego finally recollected her existence and turned to look for her nothing in his eyes did anything to restore her morale. The warmth which she had sensed in him the night before had vanished as if it had never been, and in its place there was a touch of impatience. He seemed to look through her, as if his thoughts were on something totally different, and she felt as if a cloud passed across her, spoiling her pleasure in the brightness of the morning.
‘I think,’ he told her, ‘it will be best if you travel with my grandmother. She was anxious to come with us, but I am not happy about her health, and I feel she should not be alone.’
‘Of course, senor,’ Caroline agreed coolly. ‘I’ll look after her.’
‘I’m sure you will.’ His voice was formal and detached. ‘I believe,’ he went on, ‘that Isabel wishes to speak to you. Before we set out.’
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