Fallen Angel

by Anne Mather

  Miss Holland came knocking at her door a few minutes later, raising her eyebrows in surprise when Alexandra answered, wrapped in her dressing gown.

  ‘You were in the bathroom all the time,’ she accused softly. ‘Oh, my dear! I was so worried.’

  ‘There was no need,’ replied Alexandra tautly, and the other woman shook her head.

  ‘Didn’t you hear me talking to Mr Tarrant? I’m afraid I disturbed him unnecessarily.’

  ‘Yes,’ Alexandra nodded, ‘he told me.’

  ‘Oh, dear!’ Miss Holland looked, if anything, even more concerned. ‘He found you, of course. He seemed rather—annoyed about the whole affair. But if only I’d known…

  ‘Can we talk about this in the morning?’ asked Alexandra, interrupting her. ‘I—well, I am rather tired, Miss Holland…’

  ‘Oh—oh, of course.’ Miss Holland was apologetic, which made Alexandra feel even worse. ‘Goodnight, my dear. Sleep well.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Alexandra closed the door and leant against it for several minutes before moving to the bed. Then when she did seek the comfort of the mattress, it was only to sit staring blindly into the darkness. Jason wouldn’t come now, she knew it, and she also knew that by blurting out her feelings for him she had humiliated herself completely.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE next morning Alexandra slept in, and it was after nine o’clock before she dragged herself downstairs to find Miss Holland just taking a tray of bread rolls out of the oven. The Alberoni girls were there, too, peeling vegetables at the sink, and Alexandra felt an intruder in the kitchen.

  It was a beautiful morning outside. The storm had left a certain lushness in the air, and the pasture sloping down to the river looked rich and succulent. The sun was already high, and a smell of damp warmth invaded the open door. The chickens were scratching noisily about the yard, and somewhere a blackbird was singing its heart out. It was the kind of day when it was good to be alive, but Alexandra only felt the crushing weight of depression.

  She hovered awkwardly beside the scrubbed table, and Miss Holland set a mug of coffee and a plate containing a hot roll and some butter in front of her.

  ‘Help yourself,’ she offered briskly. Then: ‘Luisa, when you’ve finished those beans, you can go and ask Chan where Mr Tarrant keeps his wine.’

  Alexandra subsided into the chair beside the table, but although she sipped desultorily at the coffee, she made no attempt to touch the food. Miss Holland looked so at home in the kitchen, so calm and efficient, while she was struggling to remember the enthusiasm she had had the previous day.

  With Luisa gone across the yard to speak to the Chinese cook and Elena outside, emptying the peelings, Miss Holland turned her attention to the girl hunched so dejectedly over the table.

  ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d say that Mr Tarrant had found the time to tell you what a disaster supper was last evening,’ she remarked candidly, and Alexandra was shocked into attentiveness.

  ‘My supper!’ she gasped. ‘What was wrong with it?’

  Miss Holland uttered a mirthless laugh. ‘What was right with it, you mean?’ She shook her head. ‘My dear child, you don’t roast shoulder of beef, at least, not unless you have several hours to spare.’

  Alexandra stared at her, her own miseries forgotten in defence of her cooking. ‘Are you saying the meat was tough?’

  ‘A little,’ commented Miss Holland dryly.

  ‘It’s that oven!’ declared Alexandra at once. ‘It wasn’t hot enough.’

  ‘On the contrary, if anything it was too hot.’

  Alexandra pursed her lips. ‘And the Yorkshire puddings?’

  ‘They were all right, I suppose. A bit lumpy, but that couldn’t be helped.’

  Alexandra’s breathing came in shallow gulps. ‘What—what did—what did they say?’

  ‘Who? Mr Tarrant and Señor Goya?’ Miss Holland shrugged. ‘They were sympathetic, I think.’

  ‘Sympathetic!’ Alexandra almost choked with frustration. ‘I don’t want their sympathy!’

  Miss Holland shrugged again. ‘I thought I ought to warn you,’ she declared evenly. ‘I would have woken you last evening, but Mr Tarrant said it was kinder to let you sleep.’

  Alexandra’s bubble of indignation burst. ‘You mean—you mean Jason—stopped you from waking me?’

  ‘That’s right. He went upstairs, and when he came down again he said you’d fallen asleep.’

  ‘Did he?’ With tremulous awareness, Alexandra recalled her eventual wakening during the storm. Tentative fingers strayed over her breast, its pointed tip probing her palm through the thin material of her cotton shirt, reminding her of her nakedness. Her mouth was dry as she added: ‘Did he say anything else?’

  ‘Not then, no.’ Miss Holland poured herself a cup of coffee, before continuing: ‘What happened? Did you intend to have a nap or what?’

  ‘No.’ Alexandra shook her head vigorously. ‘I just—closed my eyes. That’s all I remember.’

  ‘And then I suppose you got undressed before you went to the bathroom?’

  ‘What?’ Alexandra felt her cheeks turning pink. ‘Oh—oh, yes, that’s right. I—I must have disturbed you.’

  ‘Yes.’ Miss Holland sipped her coffee, viewing the girl over the rim of the cup. ‘What did Mr Tarrant say when he discovered where you were?’

  ‘N-nothing much.’ Alexandra made an offhand gesture. ‘Only—only that you were looking for me.’

  ‘I see.’ Miss Holland nodded slowly. Then, as if dismissing the topic, she turned back to the stove. ‘Well, I suggest you go and get some air now. You’re looking rather peaky. I’d join you myself, only I want to make a pie for supper. Does steak and kidney appeal to you?’

  Alexandra sighed. ‘I can’t just go and—and leave you to it!’ she protested.

  ‘You can and you will,’ insisted Miss Holland firmly. ‘You’ve already had one dose of illness. Don’t invite another. You worked hard yesterday. Today you can get some sun on those pale features.’

  * * *

  Ricardo came upon her as she was helping old Jave to sweep out the stables. It was cool and musty in the stables, the smell of the horses a balm to her troubled spirit. She enjoyed the exertion, too, and the comradeship she shared with the elderly Indian who understood her stumbling attempts at Spanish.

  When Ricardo’s huge shadow darkened the doorway, she thought for one heart-stopping moment that it was Jason come to find her. Then the foreman’s hearty laugh rang out, and he exclaimed reprovingly: ‘What’s this? I thought the old one told me you were taking a rest, niña!’

  Alexandra straightened, her back aching a little from the stooped position she had been adopting. But she managed a faint smile of greeting, and said lightly: ‘I wanted to go riding, but you weren’t around to take me.’

  ‘Ah-ha!’ Ricardo tapped the side of his nose significantly and grinned. ‘But I am here now, no? And I have brought someone to meet you. My son—Manuel.’

  ‘Your son?’ Alexandra followed him out into the bright sunlight of the yard. She had heard Ricardo speak of his son before. She knew he worked for Jason, too, but like the other men, he seldom ventured up to the house.

  She would never have recognised the young man leaning against the bole of the gnarled old eucalyptus tree outside as Ricardo’s son. He was of a much slighter build than his father, and his features were pale, not swarthy. His eyes were shy, not bold like Ricardo’s, and his hair was as smooth and straight as his father’s was unruly. Only his clothes matched those of the other men—shirt, waistcoat and pants, with leather chaps to protect his legs.

  He straightened at their approach, and although his smile was gentle and unassuming, Alexandra was immediately conscious of the state of her hands and of the fact that her face was probably streaked with dirt, too.

  ‘My son,’ said Ricardo again, rather unnecessarily. ‘Manuel, this is Señorita Durham.’

  ‘I know.’ Manuel spoke as good English
as his father, if not better, and his voice was quieter, more cultivated.

  ‘Manuel has been working at the estancia since he finished college three months ago,’ stated Ricardo proudly. ‘But it is only a temporary arrangement. He is going to be an engineer—like the patrón!’

  ‘What my father really means is that at present I am unemployed,’ put in Manuel, with a grimace. ‘There are not as many vacancies for engineers as there are for gauchos.’

  Alexandra found herself smiling at him. He really was a handsome young man, she thought approvingly, glad that there was at least someone else besides Jason who could disconcert Ricardo.

  ‘And do you like being a gaucho?’ she asked easily, and Manuel nodded.

  ‘In summer, the work is good,’ he conceded. ‘Much better than some stuffy office. But come winter—’

  ‘Come winter, you will be working in Brazil,’ declared Ricardo uncompromisingly. ‘You know Fredriksons have offered you a job!’

  Manuel shrugged. ‘I do not know that I want to go and work in Brazil,’ he retorted, winking at Alexandra. ‘And in any case, my plans can be of no interest to Señorita Durham.’

  ‘Oh, they are—’ Alexandra was beginning, when Ricardo interrupted her.

  ‘It is true,’ he agreed ruefully. ‘Señorita, Manuel is here to take my place for a few days, no? The patrón has need of me, and it was his suggestion that Manuel might be a suitable replacement. If you have no objection, por supuesto.’

  Jason’s suggestion! Alexandra felt the hot colour invading her cheeks even while a feeling of deflation filled her. Jason’s suggestion that this handsome young man should take his father’s place and keep her company. Should waste his time escorting her! And why? Because he had no time for her? Because he wanted to keep her off his back?

  On the point of telling Ricardo that she needed no one to accompany her, resentment gripped her. Why should she satisfy Jason’s ego to that extent? If he thought she could find a replacement for him as easily as for Ricardo, he might lose a little of that arrogance he possessed in such abundance. And Manuel was a very handsome young man…Handsome, and intelligent, she amended bitterly, and nearer her own age, if she was not mistaken.

  Now she rubbed her dirty hands over the seat of her pants, and said tautly: ‘That was—very kind of him—of all of you. Particularly as I’m sure Manuel has more important things to do than provide me with an escort.’

  ‘You have to be joking!’ declared that young man, with gratifying eagerness. ‘I shall be happy to be at your service, señorita,’ and his father added his assurances.

  ‘Manuel will take good care of you,’ he promised, glancing up towards the sun, climbing to its zenith. ‘And don’t forget to wear your hat, no?’

  It was good to feel the chestnut’s flanks beneath her once more. Leaving the hacienda behind, Alexandra gave the mare her head, lying low over her neck as they galloped recklessly across the turf. Manuel was hard put to keep pace with her on his sturdy animal, which was built more for stamina than for speed, and eventually Alexandra relaxed and waited for him to catch up.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ she apologised ruefully. ‘But it’s ages since I came out here.’

  ‘You’ve been ill. My father told me,’ commented Manuel, reining in his palomino beside her. ‘I hope you are fully recovered now.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ Alexandra gave a wry laugh. ‘It was only a chill.’

  ‘But serious enough to get the doctor from Puerto Novo.’

  ‘Oh…’ Alexandra kicked her heels into the mare’s sides and the horses ambled on together. ‘That was Miss Holland’s idea. You haven’t met Miss Holland, have you? She’s my—er—companion.’

  ‘I have seen her,’ nodded Manuel humorously. ‘We see her riding about the estancia. She wears a round hat and trousers—like this!’

  He pulled the leather chaps out from his legs in imitation of Miss Holland’s jodhpurs, and Alexandra smiled. ‘That’s right,’ she assented laughingly. ‘Actually, they are what people wear to go riding in England. Only hers are rather—old-fashioned.’

  ‘Hmm.’

  Manuel showed his agreement, and they rode on for some way in silence. They followed the track Alexandra had learned with Ricardo, carving along the river for some distance, and then climbing steadily into the foothills. The scent of pine and juniper was strong after the rain, and the heat of the sun sent little swirls of mist rising from the undergrowth. Alexandra was glad of the coolness provided by the brim of her hat, but her hand went often to push the weight of her hair back from her brow.

  If she turned sideways in the saddle, she could see the roof of the hacienda below them in the valley, the river swollen by the storm surging greedily downstream. She could see the rainswept branches of the acacia behind the storeroom, and the strewn petals of the blossoms that had been devastated during the night.

  Turning back to Manuel, she said suddenly: ‘Do you think we might see the black stallion today? He’s a beautiful beast, isn’t he? So strong and powerful! I’ve seen him a couple of times already, but what I’d really like to do is get close to him.’

  ‘Would not we all?’ Manuel replied dryly. Then, quellingly: ‘I do not think it is likely, señorita. It is safer if we do not ride into the gullies until the prowler has been caught. My father said—’

  But Alexandra had stopped listening to him. ‘What prowler?’ she demanded tensely, and she could tell immediately from Manuel’s expression that he knew he had said the wrong thing.

  ‘It is not important,’ he protested, turning aside to point to a flock of geese rising from the reeds beside the river. ‘See the colours of their tail feathers, señorita. Are not they beautiful, too? I had a friend, at the university, he used to paint the birds—’

  ‘Manuel!’ She leant across to grip the horn of his saddle, staring impatiently into his face. ‘I’m not interested in birds, and nor are you. I want to know what you meant by a prowler! Do you mean there is someone—some man—’

  ‘Man? No!’ Manuel shook his head, looking down at her fingers restlessly massaging the iron hook that he used when he was roping cattle. ‘No human prowler this, Señorita. Not at San Gabriel.’

  ‘Then what?’ Alexandra stared at him, but already an idea was occurring to her. ‘An animal of some sort?’ she questioned. ‘A—a cat? A big cat?’ Watching his expressive features as she spoke, she felt sure she was on to the right track. ‘A lion?’ she asked, with deepening apprehension. ‘That’s it, isn’t it? A mountain lion?’

  Manuel’s shoulders sagged. ‘A jaguar, most likely,’ he agreed heavily, ‘and my father will have my hide for telling you.’

  ‘So that was why Jason—’ Alexandra broke off abruptly as she felt the first twinges of real fear. Turning wide eyes in Manuel’s direction, she exclaimed: ‘But I thought wildcats kept to their own territory. Surely they don’t venture down into the valley!’

  ‘Not normally,’ Manuel conceded. Then, as if deciding that as she already knew the worst there was no harm in talking about it, he sighed and went on: ‘Cats are predators, but as you say, they don’t usually prey near men. However, there are exceptions to every rule, and when an animal is old…or sick…’

  Alexandra licked her dry lips. ‘You mean—this animal is one of those things?’

  Manuel hesitated. ‘I believe so,’ he admitted at last, but she sensed he was still holding something back.

  ‘Have—have you seen it?’ she asked, involuntarily tightening her hand on the mare’s reins, but Manuel shook his head.

  ‘Not me, no.’

  ‘But your father? Or Jason?’

  ‘They may have done,’ he conceded, but she was not satisfied.

  ‘Manuel!’ she cried frustratedly. ‘If you know something else, tell me! I—I have to know.’

  Pictures of Jason riding alone into the mountains in search of some dangerous wild animal were flooding her brain. And even while she accepted that he would not take unnecessary risks, that he would b
e armed, she knew now that that was what he had intended to do the previous day had the weather not prevented him.

  Manuel shifted uncomfortably in his saddle as she continued to gaze at him and finally he said: ‘Está bien, she is wounded! Carlos, one of el patrón’s men fired on her three weeks ago.’

  ‘You’re sure?’

  ‘Estoy seguro,’ declared Manuel, speaking Spanish in his agitation. ‘El patrón himself has seen her. Unfortunately, he did not have his rifle with him at the time.’

  ‘Oh, lord!’ Imagining the worst that could have happened, Alexandra moved her head in a helpless gesture. ‘And—and this creature has come down into the valley?’

  ‘After dark, yes,’ said Manuel reluctantly.

  ‘Has it killed?’

  Manuel uttered a harsh sound. ‘Do cats not always kill? Si, señorita, she has killed. Sheep—cattle—and two nights ago, a horse.’

  ‘How awful!’ Alexandra looked round at the low range of hills ahead of them with new eyes. ‘And—and it’s hiding somewhere in there?’

  ‘Somewhere,’ agreed Manuel flatly. ‘And now, come! I think we should be turning back, no?’

  Alexandra’s lips twisted. ‘Are you frightened?’ she taunted, and then felt remorse as the young man showed his indignation.

  ‘No!’ he declared fiercely. ‘But my father—’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Alexandra pulled an appealing face at him. ‘Your father told you not to take me into the mountains. Come on, then. I’ll race you back to the river.’

  ‘Take care!’ he cried anxiously, as she swung the mare’s head round and dug her heels into its flanks. But Alexandra only grinned at him, finding release from her own anxieties as the breeze’s errant fingers tore the sombrero from her head.

  She had almost reached the river when she saw him. Closer now than ever before, the stallion stood proudly on a ridge just across the swiftly-flowing current. He seemed to be staring straight at her, although she guessed his attention was more for the mare than for its rider, but she reined in wonderingly, her lips parting at his unconscious symmetry.

  Manuel thundering up behind her was caught off balance, and his mount reared protestingly as he hung on the bit. The sudden commotion startled the stallion, and with an arrogant flick of its tail, it turned and plunged away across the pampa.