Maria did her best to give Reggie directions to a post box, but either her translatory cogs hadn't woken up with her that morning or Maria was going too fast, because they ended up in a dreadful muddle, both seeing the funny side when Maria, a shade desperately, gave up and held out her hand for the letter, saying something Reggie was able to translate.
`I post,' she said.
Reggie handed her letter over, grinning, while Maria's ample bosom moved in unison with her laughter.
Feeling the need to be outside, Reggie collected her sunglasses and was soon in glorious sunshine, her feet unhesitatingly making for the belt of trees at the bottom of the hill, hope in her heart that the same magic she had experienced yesterday would still be there.
It was. The perfume from the wild rose caught her senses. Worries, never far from her mind, bolted. There was no room in this idyllic spot for the recurring perplexed thought of how she was to get out of going through with this marriage; to fret that she hadn't had chance to disguise her butter-soft heart—Severo had seen how much Bella's happiness meant to her and was playing on that for all he was worth.
Losing all sense of time, Reggie stood in the shade of the trees, her eyes feasting afresh, becoming fascinated by a bee busily at work, totally absorbed. The sudden arrival, and departure, of a dove, fitting for the peaceful scene, disturbed yet added to the magic. She followed the direction the bird had flown, not hurrying, finding new delights as she walked beside the stream.
She must have walked about half a mile when suddenly, in the middle of nowhere, the thought not entering her head that someone else might appreciate the beauty too, she stumbled upon a woman of about thirty seated before an easel and canvas, brush in hand. The way the woman turned her head, a frown at the intrusion creasing
her brow, told her her appearance was something the artist could well do without.
`I'm sorry,' the apology came automatically and in English. 'I didn't know ...' Realising the woman wouldn't understand her, Reggie was about to apologise in her halting Spanish, when the frown left the woman's face and she stood up, changing the paintbrush to her left hand and carelessly wiping her paint-smeared right hand down her jeans.
`You are Severo's fiancée,' she beamed.
`Er—yes, I ...'
'Carlota Mendoza,' the woman introduced herself, her hand coming out, a smile of such friendliness on her face Reggie just had to reciprocate, her own hand coming out to shake hands, 'though everybody calls me Lola.'
`My friends call me Reggie,' she offered, feeling her hand warmly taken, Severo back with her as she recalled that she had once told him that. 'I'm sorry to have interrupted you. I didn't expect to ...'
`That is quite all right. I was just thinking I had done enough for today.'
Her command of English was so good, Reggie felt quite ashamed of her lack of fluency in Spanish, and felt guilty too that the artist—and from what she could see of her painting, she was very good—should pack her things away on account of her. But Lola, as she insisted Reggie call her, was at pains to assure her she really had been about to finish, adding that she was something of a coffee addict and felt the need for a cup.
`Perhaps you would care to come to my home and share coffee with me?' she invited. 'It is not far.'
Having taken to Lola, and with the invitation sounding so genuine, Reggie thought there was nothing she would like better.
Together they carried Lola's equipment and crossed
the stream by a sturdy footbridge, going over a field and to where several houses came into sight, Lola explaining, on hearing Reggie had done very little exploring so far, that this was where the village proper began.
`Francisco, my husband, he is—er—overseer, I think you call it, for Severo. We have this end house here. The other houses in the village are for people who mostly work for Severo too.'
They went through a gate to the house, flowers in glorious colour, wallflowers and pansies flanking the path, tall hollyhocks standing guard at the front door. Lola complained that when Reggie commented on how magnificently everything grew, that unfortunately, so did the weeds.
Reggie spent an hour with Lola, and the time simply flew as instant empathy flowed between the two. It was from Lola she learned more of Uruguay—when admiring a painting of a matador in full regalia, she learned that Lola had painted it from a drawing for Francisco. Bullfighting, Lola said, was abolished in Uruguay over fifty years ago, though there was still a bullring to be seen at Colonia. From there, conversation easy, Lola acquainted her with the fact that of the country's three million population nearly half lived in or near Montevideo. How they could when the interior was so beautiful amazed Reggie, and having said so and hearing that Lola shared her view, she felt her spirits lift to have found a friend.
But they dipped when Lola mentioned that she had attended Severo's grandfather's funeral, and had spoken with Doña Eva, who had seemed at that time to be at death's door herself.
`But,' said Lola softly, 'Doña Eva has a strong heart,' Reggie took her to mean will, 'and I know how much she was looking forward to your arrival. Your wedding day will put fresh life into her. Have you set the date yet?'
`The twenty-fourth of this month,' was out before Reggie could stop it, and she could have groaned at her stupidity. Now there were two people to be told the wedding had been called off. More, possibly, because Lola was certain to mention it to her husband, and she couldn't very well tell her it was a secret with the date less than three weeks away. And anyway, with Lola looking so absolutely delighted with the news, if she wasn't to let Severo down—though why that should bother her she didn't know—she thought she had better show some enthusiasm. And then she looked at her watch.
`Good heavens, it's gone twelve!' she exclaimed, feeling dreadful that she had taken up so much of Lola's time when she had only meant to stay for a cup of coffee.
`Time does fly when you are compatible with someone,' Lola observed, making her feel a whole lot better at the sincerity of the other girl's tone.
She stood up, saying she had better get back to the estancia and apologising if her visit had delayed Lola in preparing her husband's lunch.
`Oh, Franco doesn't often come home to lunch. They feed very well on asada.'
Asada?'
Reggie's curiosity delayed her further while Lola explained that it was a type of barbecue where a whole beast was roasted, every scrap eaten.
`Everything?'
`Except the hide. Stay and have lunch with me, Reggie,' Lola further invited.
But Reggie had to excuse herself. 'Maria will have cooked something for me, I think,' she refused regretfully, only then the thought came that she had forgotten to tell anyone where she was going. `I'd better get back—erSevero might come home to lunch.'
Lola's understanding smile at her last remark was with
I
her when she crossed back over the little wooden bridge. Not sure how long it would take to get back and mindful that Maria's efforts could be ruined, she hurried on, grateful to keep in the shade of the trees.
On rounding a bend near to the place she had dubbed as her spot, she stopped short. For there on the very ground she had stood to look her fill earlier was the most splendid-looking stallion she had ever seen, its coat entirely black, and astride him the man she had sent that satirical note that morning. Watching for her, waiting for her, she knew it. The look on his face was not at all pleased.
For the moment she was too stunned by the sudden vision of horse and rider—they seemed so well matched as to appear one—standing there in her spot, just as though Severo had known that that was where he would find her. Then a gust of wind, coming so suddenly, and from nowhere, had lifted her skirt waist-high and she was too busy battling to cover the long length of thigh, not to mention the laciness of her briefs that Severo couldn't avoid having a full view of.
As suddenly as it had sprung up, the wind died down, but not so her colour. She moved forward, pink in her cheeks te
lling of her embarrassment when, closer, she looked up at Severo. The displeased look had left him, she saw, and in its place was the most devilish grin she had ever seen.
`Perhaps I should have warned you about the pampero, darling,' he had received her note, then, 'a south-west wind that springs up unexpectedly. Its consequences have been known to sweeten the sourest feelings in any man's heart.'
Undoubtedly he had been feeling sour because she had disobeyed his instructions to tell someone where she was going.
`I forgot,' she said simply, lamely. 'I just came out—and I forgot.'
`Maybe you will remember another time,' was all he said, then he reached down a hand, the reason for which she couldn't understand as she looked back at him in puzzlement. 'Don't you want a lift home?' he enlightened her.
On the back of that brute of a, horse? 'No, thanks it's—er—too much for one horse to carry you and me—and besides, it's uphill all the way.'
She turned and had gone perhaps two steps, when her feet left the ground. In one movement she was sitting across the stallion, her back hard against Severo's chest.
She was too frightened initially to make any protest at all. Then Severo had set his steed in motion and she was too busy then being afraid she would fall off and hit moving ground that seemed to be a mile away to make any protest.
But she need not have worried. Severo had no intention of allowing her to fall. For while he had full control of the stallion, mainly from his knees, she thought, his arms were firmly about her waist, the strength and muscle of them vibrating through the thin material of her dress.
As one, the horse with its two riders cantered up the hill. Modesty a thing of the past, Reggie was more intent on staying put than in attempting to cover her knees.
At what point the ride became enjoyable she couldn't have said, but enjoyable it suddenly was. Excitement stirred in her, making her aware of the superb horseman holding her safe, the whipcord strength of him totally reliable. It's only excitement at the unexpectedness of it, she told herself, then forgot everything but the pleasure of having the cooling breeze of movement fan her cheeks, playing tangling games with her hair.
Severo was first off the stallion at the house, his arms coming to assist her down. Those arms were again round her as automatically she clung on to him till her feet touched the ground. Her eyes alight, it didn't seem at all unnatural to stand in the circle of his arms, her face delicately flushed, hair in wild disorder, animosity for the moment forgotten.
`That was super!'
She thought a flame of some kind lit his eyes, and felt the arms about her tighten fractionally, then he had let her go, remarking drolly, 'I enjoyed it too,' causing her to wonder if he had meant he had enjoyed purely the ride or the fact of having her up there so close to him.
It must have been the ride, she thought, relaxing, for he didn't follow up the remark but looked past her to where a bow-legged stable hand was walking up to them.
Handing over the reins to Pancho, Severo turned to her saying he would see her in the dining room in ten minutes. Eleven minutes later, changed from her full-skirted cotton dress into a more fashionable one, Reggie entered the dining room. Severo was already there, she saw; he had showered, if his damp hair was anything to go by, and was now dressed in fawn slacks and a sports shirt.
`Would you care for a sherry?' he asked in the polite manner of the perfect host. It was clear that any remembrance of their closeness atop the stallion not too long ago had been wished from him under the shower. So why couldn't she so easily have washed that remembrance away? It was crazy, she thought, to have her mind dwell on it so much.
`No, thank you,' she answered equally politely, her expression cool.
Throughout the meal Severo conversed with an ease she found very attractive. Any fears she might have
nursed that this meal like all others would end in full-fledged flight were not realised as they reached the pudding stage without so much as a cross word coming from either of them.
She could see no point in repeating herself by bringing up her refusal to marry him. It appeared he had no wish to talk of it either, as he asked how she had spent her morning, the only note of tension coming when she said she owed Maria for a stamp.
`I will settle with Maria,' he said, and before she could get out she could afford to pay her own postage, he was asking sharply, 'Who did you write to?'
The sharpness of his tone had her struggling not to retort in kind. 'Not that it's any business of yours,' she replied, only just managing to keep her voice even. Who did he think he was anyway to assume he had a right to know with whom she communicated? 'I wrote to my sister.'
`I trust you sent her my love.'
Sarcastic devil! 'You didn't even get a mention,' she said sweetly. Then she realised things were very close to blowing up, and just at this minute—again she recalled those firm arms about her, and frowned—she didn't want to fight with him. 'After that,' she said, forcing herself to concentrate on what else she had done, 'after that I went for a walk and met Lola Mendoza. I had coffee with her.'
She had earned a good point, apparently, for the tightness left his face. 'You got on well with Lola, by the sound of it.'
`Very well. She's a lovely person, isn't she?'
`She is,' he agreed. 'A fine artist too. Her husband Franco is a first-class overseer. I am fortunate to have him.'
Reggie guessed then that Francisco must be his right-hand man. He must have been a great help to him when
because of his grandfather's health Severo had had to remain near the house.
She finished her coffee and stood up. There was nothing now to keep her in his company. He rose too, but when she would have left him with a polite word, he said:
`I think my grandmother would appreciate a visit from you this afternoon, Reggie.'
Desperately trying to think up some reason why she shouldn't go, certain he had not yet acquainted Doña Eva with the news that there was to be no wedding, and unhappy to let the old lady believe there would be a wedding, Reggie could come up with nothing.
`Must I?' she asked.
`It is a long day for her without visitors.'
Oh, he knew how to pull on her heart-strings, didn't he? She gave him a speaking look he received imperturbably, and forgot all about politeness as she flounced out. He knew damn well after his remark that she could do no other than visit his grandmother.
But when she went to visit Doña Eva, despite a mutinous, 'I won't go, I won't!' that attacked her in her room, she found the old lady looking far more frail than she had the previous day. She determined then to keep her visit short so as not to further exhaust her.
The will Lola had spoken of was there strongly as Doña Eva made her welcome, sending Ana to make tea and making every effort to sound more lively than she looked. Her own grandmother had lived only six months after her husband had died, Reggie thought sadly as she answered Abuela's question of was she comfortable in her room. If appearances were anything to go by it didn't look as though this dear old lady had so much as six months in her.
`May I pour?' she offered impulsively when Ana had brought the tray, remembering yesterday the shaky hands
that had lifted the silver teapot, and hoping Doña Eva wouldn't think she was being impudent.
`Why, thank you, my dear,' said Doña Eva, settling back in her chair, her snowy white head resting against the support. And when Reggie had placed her cup on the table where she could easily reach it, she went on to enquire if she minded very much giving up her dancing to come to be married to her grandson.
Since Reggie had missed entirely that Severo must have told his grandparents about Bella being a dancer, her brain sped into overdrive before she settled for, 'It was an easy decision,' and saw she had said the right thing. Doña Eva smiled warmly as though to acknowledge that once bowled over by Severo she could understand that nothing else on earth would matter for her but that she be with him.
Shortly after tea was dr
unk Reggie made her departure, but not before Abuela had her promise that she would again come and take tea with her the next afternoon.
Two days following her meeting with Lola Mendoza, Lola telephoned her asking her to share coffee with her if she was free.
It was in that week that a pattern her days were to follow emerged. During the morning she would walk, discovering more and more of the countryside. Sometimes she would come across Lola, who would insist she went back to her home with her for coffee. Having packed a swimsuit in the hope of perhaps doing a spot of sunbathing, having no idea then that there was a swimming pool at the estancia, she would spend part of the afternoon, first making sure Severo was nowhere about, swimming in the pool, before going to shower and dress and then have tea with Doña Eva.
A week later, having just left Doña Eva, she wandered
into the sala, her mind heavy with the thought that she seemed to be getting deeper and deeper into the tangle of this marriage business. Doña Eva had casually let out that the wedding cake had been made and was ready for icing. Since Severo had said nothing to Abuela about the wedding being put off to some obscure date in the future Reggie had decided it about time she exerted herself and did it for him. But just looking into those blue eyes so like his, eyes that had known such recent sorrow, she just hadn't had the heart to say anything.
Cowardly, that was what she was being, Reggie fumed against herself as she stared out of the window on a day that was still warm for all it was clouded over. There was nothing for it but that she would have to bring the matter up with Severo again. There had been ample opportunity since they had dined frequently together, but the conversation, pleasant, she realised now, as it had been, had been on purely impersonal matters. He hadn't said a word about marriage since that night she had wanted to empty her pudding over his head. But she could see if she had hoped he had accepted she wasn't going to marry him then with the wedding cake already being made, he had done nothing to stop it—and the twenty-fourth was getting closer and closer.
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