The Eagle and the Sun

by James, Dana

  'He cannot go on the way he is.' Miguel stated the unpalatable truth gently.

  'But if they force him out, and someone else is put in his place…' For the first time Teresa seemed to grasp what her father was up against. 'Miguel, it would kill him.' Her voice wavered.

  'It may not come to that,' he allowed, almost reluctantly.

  'How so?' she demanded, tears trembling on her darkened lashes. 'You say Papa has no choice.'

  'There is a possibility of another company making an offer. If all aspects of the proposal are acceptable to your father, then it is feasible he could remain on the board of directors and continue to have a substantial say in the overall running of the company.'

  Teresa's face lit up. 'Then of course he must accept this new offer.' She clutched his arm. 'Miguel, you must persuade him.'

  He gently disentangled himself. 'Your father will make his own decision.' Cass detected a slightly grim note as he added, 'He will have much to consider.'

  By the time they sat down to lunch Teresa had

  completely recovered and was a picture of vivacity which, Cass suspected, was more than partly due to Derek's presence beside her.

  Apart from a slight pallor, Derek showed no ill- effects from either the alcohol or the blow to the back of his head. He was smartly but casually dressed in cavalry twill trousers, tweed sports jacket, a cream shirt, and brown patterned tie. His shoes had a mirror gloss on them, his fair hair was neatly brushed and the scent of his aftershave wafted across the table. Talking with charm and wit, he appeared totally relaxed, but beneath the surface Cass sensed a suppressed excitement. She had seen him like this during the wheeling and dealing he used to secure business agreements and it made her deeply uneasy. He was behaving as if the last forty- eight hours had never happened. Surely he had learned something from the debacle? It had been due only to Miguel’s intervention that he had not ended up in jail.

  As she watched him pass serving-dishes to Teresa with meaningful glances and murmured remarks that made her laugh and blush even as she playfully slapped his hand, it seemed to Cass that he was brazenly tempting Miguel and fate to do their worst.

  Then it hit her. Surely Derek could not be the other party interested in Teresa's father's business? No, she told herself firmly, it was impossible. He had no experience of textiles. Yet hadn't he always maintained that business was business whether you were selling cornflakes or carpets? Once he inherited his father's company it was his to do with

  as he liked. But why would he… of course. If he bought into Morelos Textiles he would immediately have access to a network of contacts in Mexico which even Miguel's influence would not be able to deny him. And she realised now that Derek was capable of anything when it came to repaying what he saw as a slight.

  She felt Miguel's gaze on her and glanced up. He was regarding her with a quizzical expression that contained an element of anger. It puzzled her until she realised she had been so busy watching Derek and Teresa that her lunch had grown cold. She lowered her eyes quickly and began to eat.

  To her surprise and delight Miguel stipulated that she sit next to him for the journey. She expected Teresa to argue but she was too busy talking to Derek. As soon as all the luggage was stowed and everyone fastened into their seats, Senor and Senora Morelos with their backs to the cockpit, Teresa and Derek facing it, they lifted off and turned north-west towards San Miguel.

  Magnificent scenery unrolled beneath them as they left the dry, agave-covered hills. Miguel pointed out places of interest. 'That is Real del Oro. It's almost a ghost town now.' She could hear him clearly through the headphones. 'The fabulous Descubridor vein of gold was discovered there in the eighteenth century by the Spaniards. For a while, as miners and prospectors flooded in from all over the world, there were almost fifty thousand people crammed into the town.'

  In a beautiful mountain valley Cass saw another little town situated at the edge of an expanse of

  water that glistened in the sunlight. 'I wouldn't have expected to see a lake up here,' she remarked.

  'It is not natural,' he told her, 'but one of a chain of artificial lakes which are part of a vast hydro- electric project. It is well stocked with fish, and any tourist brave enough to venture there can go boating or swim as well as try their luck with a rod.'

  'Why should they need to be brave?' Cass watched him grimace.

  'Because outside the main cities my countrymen have still not awoken to the fact that to attract tourists you have to offer facilities of a similar standard to those they have at home. All too often the accommodation that does exist is totally inadequate and badly maintained.'

  'Perhaps the Mexican people simply do not want tourists,' Cass mused. 'There is often a high price to be paid for the money they bring into a country.'

  He gave her a thoughtful look. 'How much I still have to learn about you.'

  'Why bother?' she retorted lightly, turning her head away to stare out of the side window.

  'Flippancy does not become you,' he chided. 'Nor is it necessary.'

  'You think not?' She kept her head averted. 'Well, how much can you learn about me in the short time I shall be here?' She was torturing herself. But she had to face the truth. Twenty days was all she had, and the longer she stayed the more agonising would be her departure.

  'What have you learned about me and yourself in the brief time since your arrival?' he responded.

  She was silent as a kaleidoscope of images

  danced before her eyes. She shivered and grew warm again reliving fragments of the intense emotions she had experienced.

  'Exactly,' he murmured in quiet triumph. 'Now tell me why Prentice and Teresa deserved so much of your attention this morning.'

  'Miguel,' she hesitated, diffident, 'aren't you worried? The way Teresa is encouraging Derek—'

  'Teresa's behaviour is her own business,' he cut in, 'not mine, and certainly not yours.' His tone softened. 'Let it be, querida.' He smiled at her. 'There is no cause for worry.'

  Built on the slopes of Cerra de Montezuma overlooking the Laja river valley, San Miguel was thronged with people. Plazas and patios blazed with masses of flowers and the colourful costumes of the dancers. From all directions they came, streaming into the town, on foot, on mule back and in horse- drawn carts laden with baskets, pots, toys, handwoven serapes, embroidered blouses, fruit and vegetables, all to be sold from the stalls being set up in every street and plaza.

  Cass barely had time to take in the rows of tall houses faced with brown stucco or terracotta stone with wrought-iron balconies in front of the long windows.

  Miguel broke the silence, pointing to a beautiful pink stone edifice in the central plaza. In front of it, circles of dancers swayed and bobbed. 'That is the church of San Miguel. It was originally a plain Franciscan building, but it was refaced by an illiterate Indian stonemason who also happened to be an architectural genius. He based his design on

  picture postcards of French cathedrals.'

  'Who are they?' Cass leaned forward to point down at a group of striking-looking women in starched headdresses, white blouses thickly embroidered with floral designs, and purple skirts with a lace ruffle at the hem, who swayed gracefully to music played by a band comprising guitars, drums and maracas.

  'Tehuantepec women,' Miguel replied. 'You would feel at home with them, they are noted for their beauty and their fierce independence.' He raised one dark brow and Cass couldn't help smiling.

  'There's something in the air, isn't there, a sort of excitement?' She glanced at him and he nodded.

  'The Mexicans are a formal people, not given to revealing their true feelings.' Cass listened intently. 'But during the fiesta there is a complete reversal of the reticence of everyday living. People get drunk, weep, laugh, make love, exchange confidences, and sometimes kill each other. It is an explosion of the soul. It cleanses, revitalises and touches the inner fires of the spirit. One does not leave a fiesta unchanged.'

  Cass looked out of the window,
blind to the colour and spectacle below, as a battle raged within her. Should she remain aloof, an observer rather than a participant, and so attempt to minimise the effect on her of all that was happening? Or, like a non-swimmer plunging off the high board, should she leap into the unknown and live each moment to the fullest, making the most of whatever came? The risks were enormous, but at least she would really

  have lived.

  'Did you win, querida?' Rich with laughter and tenderness, Miguel's voice penetrated her reverie. She looked at him and drew in a deep breath. 'Yes,' she announced. The air between them was charged.

  'And?'

  She spoke softly, 'There is always the possibility the sun may not rise tomorrow.'

  His jaw tightened and a muscle twitched at the corner of his mouth. Slightly hoarse he said drily, 'The spirit of the fiesta has touched you already.'

  'Is that what it is?' she asked, all wide-eyed innocence, and laughed aloud at his muttered oath. Beneath the banter the invisible cord that joined them thrummed with tension.

  As he brought the helicopter down, she groaned. 'What is it now?' The laughter in his eyes belied

  his mock impatience.

  'You know perfectly well.' Cass removed her glasses and stared out of the window. 'You might have warned me.'

  Miguel switched off the engines and the rotors began to slow. Adopting his most imperious glare which moved her not one bit, he demanded, 'Where else would you expect me to live?'

  'In a pyramid like any other emperor,' she retorted. 'You implied a little place in the country on the edge of a small town.'

  'Well? ‘he said blankly.

  'There was no mention of a palace!'

  Miguel tilted his head on one side and appraised the sumptuous house standing in landscaped gardens that were a riot of colour. He had brought

  the helicopter down on a flagged circle in the centre of the lawn.

  'Hardly that,' he demurred. 'Though we do have a swimming pool,' he fell into the ingratiating whine of an estate agent, '… full-size… heated… with a complex of changing cabins, showers, and bar. Plus a selection of swimsuits for guests who come unprepared.'

  Cass pretended to consider. 'All right then,' she said wearily. 'I'll stay.'

  'Gracias, senorita!' He stretched his mouth in an inane grin.

  For Cass the contrast between the natural dignity and imposing demeanour of the Miguel she was used to and the clown he had suddenly become was too much and she was convulsed with laughter.

  Miguel clipped both sets of headphones out of the way as the motor noise ceased. Cass was still chuckling.

  'You two certainly seem to be enjoying yourselves,' Derek observed acidly.

  'That is what the fiesta is about,' Miguel replied. 'I hope you also will enjoy it.'

  'Oh, I plan to,' Derek muttered, but Miguel was already out of the pilot's seat and walking towards the manservant who had come out to greet him.

  The pulsing rhythm of a hundred different dances floated on the warm air. Firecrackers exploded and now and then a rocket shot skyward leaving a trail of red sparks.

  In spite of its exquisite furnishing, cool spaciousness and priceless antiques, the house was no museum. It had the warm, welcoming

  atmosphere of a much-loved home.

  Cass could hardly believe her room. It was enormous. The bed, a four-poster with curtains of silver and pearl brocade, looked large enough to accommodate a family. There was an enormous wardrobe and two large chests of intricately carved black wood. But the high ceiling and two long windows gave the room a light airiness that counterbalanced the heavy furniture.

  As the maid insisted with smiling firmness on unpacking for her, Cass decided to go down for a swim.

  Several costumes were arrayed on a shelf in the cabana. Selecting an emerald one-piece, she quickly changed and pinning her hair up, padded out on to the terrace.

  One end of the pool had wide, semi-circular steps leading down into the limpid blue water. Cass walked down until she was waist deep then glided forward in a leisurely crawl. The water was like silk. She had done two lengths and was halfway down a third when she was suddenly aware of someone beside her.

  She missed her stroke and swallowed a mouthful. As she coughed and spluttered two strong arms slid around her.

  'You will please not drink the pool,' Miguel ordered.

  'You brute!' Still gasping, her eyes streaming, Cass thumped his naked shoulder. 'You could scare a person to death.'

  Miguel's arms held her close against his warm, muscular body. 'If I intended to kill you,' he

  grinned, his eyes narrowed to glittering slits, 'I could think of a much more… satisfying method.'

  Involuntarily her hands tightened on his shoulders. Blushing furiously, she stared as if mesmerised at the drops of water sparkling in the curling black hair that covered his broad chest. The quickening rhythm of his heartbeat echoed through her breast and she was vaguely surprised that the water around them wasn't boiling.

  Obeying a reckless impulse, she fastened her legs around his hips, meaning to tip him off balance and give him a retaliatory ducking. Only he didn't fall, and his deep-throated groan and the convulsive tightening of his arms as he crushed her hard against him revealed the extent of his arousal, and sent a liquid sweetness through her loins that made her shudder. She heard voices and Teresa's high-pitched laugh as she called to Derek.

  'Miguel,' Cass whispered urgently, straightening her legs and pushing away from him.

  He released her, but with evident reluctance. 'I must swim a while.' He shot her a look that made her blush even as she giggled, and set off in a powerful crawl that sent him through the water like an arrow.

  Cass did a couple more lengths on her back, mainly to force the bone-melting weakness from her limbs, then climbed out and went to collect her things.

  Teresa was stretched out on a lounger wearing a gold lame bikini which was plainly not designed for swimming in, and did little to hide her opulent curves. Derek, in blue shorts, was smoothing

  protective lotion into her plump shoulders. He glanced up as Cass passed.

  'Leaving already?' Malice lurked in his pale eyes as he went on rubbing Teresa's back with a deliberate sensuality calculated, Cass knew, to worry her.

  But if Miguel wasn't worried—however odd that seemed—why should she be? 'I think you missed a bit,' she said and walked past into the house, leaving Derek staring after her and Miguel still cleaving a relentless path through the sparkling water. Biting her lip on a smile, she went upstairs.

  Setting down her perfume spray, Cass walked across to examine the total effect in the cheval-glass and sighed with happiness and anticipation. Her dress looked stunning. Cream low-heeled pumps peeped out from beneath the lowest frill. Her hair, arranged in a soft chignon, gleamed like burnished copper. She had used a subtle green-grey shadow on her eyelids and coral lip-gloss on her mouth. Blusher would have been superfluous. She was already glowing! She clipped on her coral and gold earrings and fastened a fine gold chain around her neck. She was ready.

  She pushed open the double doors of the salon where they were all to meet before dinner. The room was empty save for Miguel who stood at the small bar adding ice cubes to the whisky he had just poured.

  But this was yet another Miguel, breathtakingly handsome in tight-fitting black suede trousers with a silver stripe at the side and a waist-length jacket of black leather embellished with silver embroidery

  which emphasised the width of his shoulders. A gun belt was slung low on his lean hips with a silver- handled pistol in the single holster strapped to his right thigh. There were silver spurs on his black boots.

  With his bronze skin and black hair curling thickly on the collar of a frilled white shirt, he was a strikingly dramatic figure, a piece of history come to life.

  He picked up the crystal tumbler and as he raised it, caught sight of her in the lighted mirror behind the bar.

  He was utterly still for a moment then, lowering
the glass without touching a drop, he turned to face her.

  Cass held her breath as his burning gaze swept her from head to toe.

  'Madre de Dios,' he whispered, and her heart gave a great leap. 'Turn,' he commanded, gesturing with his free hand. Cass made a graceful pirouette, glancing shyly at him over her shoulder.

  'Enough!' he grated, tossing back half his drink, his lip curling as the spirit burned its way down.

  Cass was exultant. 'You like my dress, then?' she asked demurely.

  'It is… acceptable,' he drawled.

  'Oh, you—' She started towards him. 'One of these days, Miguel Ibarra—'

  'A glass of sherry, perhaps?' he offered, cutting loudly across whatever she had been going to say, and following his gaze, she turned as Teresa, in a flamenco-style dress of black with scarlet flounces and a poinsettia in her sleek hair, came in with her

  parents and Derek.

  After dinner they set off. It wasn't far to walk and the night air was balmy and redolent of wood smoke and hot, spicy food.

  Cass could make out at least four different tunes and doubtless there were dozens more being strummed, blown and beaten out by the seemingly tireless bands of musicians. Yet they did not clash but seemed to melt into a strange, multi-layered pulse-beat.

  The streets were illuminated with row upon row of electric bulbs, slung between trees, across buildings and over the supporting frames of stalls. The sky exploded in bursts of colour as fireworks were set off. Women gossiped and laughed, men drank and sang, and children stared, round-eyed. Groups of Indian peasants with bare, calloused feet, blankets around their shoulders and straw hats set squarely on their heads, danced to the beat of a single drum, their brown, age-old faces immobile.