by Anne Mather
There was a moment’s silence and then Rafael sighed. “All right, all right. I am sorry.” He paused. “Tell me, how are you getting along with Lucy?”
Miranda looked up at him through her lashes. “I’m not.”
“Qué?”
She shook her head. “I’m not getting on with her. I don’t think I ever shall. Not here, anyway.”
“Por qué?”
Miranda made a dismissing movement of her shoulders. “Your brother doesn’t make it easy.”
“No. No, he would not” Rafael expelled his breath through his nostrils. “Have you talked with the child?”
“Alone? No.”
Rafael withdrew a hand from his pocket and ran it round the back of his neck, over the thick vitality of his hair. The gesture drew Miranda’s attention to the muscles of his shoulders rippling easily beneath the fine cloth of his jacket. She wondered what he would do if she stretched out her fingers and touched the fine lace which ran down the front of his dress shirt. She knew what his skin was like beneath the silk—it was smooth and brown and covered with fine dark hair—
“—away from the hacienda.”
Miranda came out of her daydream to find Rafael staring at her with impatient eyes.
“Did you hear what I said?” he demanded curtly, and when she shook her head apologetically, he stifled an expletive and went on: “I was saying that it would be better if you could talk to Lucy without my brother’s presence. But not here. Away from the hacienda.”
Miranda nodded. “And how do you propose I achieve that?” she enquired dryly. “Your brother will never permit me to take her anywhere—not alone at any rate.”
Rafael scowled. “No. I don’t suppose he would at that. Unless…” He paused. “Unless I take you both.”
His offer was reluctant, she could sense it, and she didn’t want to feel beholden to someone to whom her presence aroused distaste.
“It’s quite all right. I’ll think of something,” she declined in a tight, polite little voice.
Rafael sighed. “Now what is wrong?”
“Well! You don’t really want to take me anywhere, do you?”
He thrust his hand back into his pocket. “I would be prepared to do this.”
“Oh, big deal!” Miranda was angry now. “Well, I can do without your assistance, thank you!”
“Rafael!” Doña Isabella’s cultured tones broke into their exchange with cool inquiry. Neither of them had been aware of her approach and there was frowning speculation in the gaze she cast upon both of them. “Rafael, what is going on?”
Rafael half turned towards his mother. “I am sorry, Madrecita. You were wanting me, were you not?”
“I asked you what is going on, Rafael,” insisted Doña Isabella, looking coldly at Miranda. “You seemed to be—arguing.”
Rafael withdrew his hands from his pockets and buttoned his jacket. Then he linked his hands behind his back. “You are mistaken, Madrecita. Miss Lord and I were not—arguing, Al contrario, we were discussing the possibility of my taking Miss Lord and her niece to see the lake.”
Miranda caught her breath, but Doña Isabella did not notice her surprise. She was too obviously surprised herself. “You, Rafael?” she queried doubtfully.
“Si, Madrecita. I am sure Juan will be glad to be relieved of his responsibilities for one morning, no?”
“I don’t think—” Miranda was beginning indignantly, when he interrupted her.
“Miss Lord does not think my brother will object, Madrecita,” he insisted, and short of contradicting him there and then Miranda had no choice but to remain silent.
Besides, deep inside her, a churning anticipation was weakening her resistance, turning her lower limbs to water. The prospect of a morning spent at some lake in Rafael’s company was as exciting as being able to talk to Lucy away from the overriding influence of the family. It was strange, she thought, how she seldom regarded Rafael as a member of the family.
Juan, however, was a different proposition. When he was told of the proposed expedition by his mother he immediately suggested that they all went. “We could—how you say?—picnic no?”
“No,” said Rafael with quiet authority.
“Por qué?” Juan was sulky. “Is good idea!”
“Are there not jobs about the estate requiring your attention, mi hermano?” enquired Rafael coldly. “I hesitate to condemn your affection for the child, but are you not neglecting the affairs of the hacienda?”
Juan’s plump face was flushed now. “You are not in a position to talk, Rafael!” he declared resentfully, but Rafael was not intimidated.
“No obstante, Juan. Miss Lord and myself will take the child alone. It is agreed?”
“When?” Juan was truculent.
“I am not certain.” Rafael shrugged his shoulders. “Not tomorrow, por lo menos. Perhaps the next day, si?”
Miranda hid her disappointment. She should have known that Rafael would not be free the following day. And one more day would soon pass.
The party split up soon after this and Miranda did not have another opportunity of speaking to Rafael before he had Father Domenico departed together. Doña Isabella and Constancia went to see them off, while Juan helped himself to a liberal amount of cognac from the decanter on the side table. He was clearly put out after this unexpected turn of events and she hoped he would not do anything to make matters more difficult.
She was hesitating over whether or not to go on up to her room when Carla approached her. Miranda didn’t want to speak to the other girl, but as Juan was there, albeit out of earshot, she could hardly ignore her and walk away.
“Well señorita,” he commented Carla mockingly. “So you have decided to change your tactics, no?”
Miranda looked away. “I’d really rather not discuss it, señorita, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, but I insist.” Carla uttered a short laugh. “I find it most amusing. But you are wasting your time with Rafael. He cannot help you.”
“I think I shall go to bed, señorita.“ Miranda would have walked away then, but Carla’s hand on her arm detained her.
“Momento, señorita. A word of advice, if you like. Make Juan the object of your futile assault if you will, but leave Rafael alone. He is not attracted by your so obvious charms!” A malicious smile curved her lips. “He is not attracted by any woman, señorita!”
CHAPTER SIX
MIRANDA slept that night, although she had not expected to do so. Carla’s parting words had disturbed her as the other girl had known they would, and she pondered them all the while she was taking off her clothes, showering her heated body, sliding between the silk sheets. But fortunately once her head touched the pillow oblivion came to claim her and she didn’t awake until the sound of Lucy’s shrill voice in the garden below her balcony made her aware that the sun was already high in the heavens.
Blinking, she struggled into a sitting position and then saw the untouched tray on her bedside table. The maid, Iñez, must have brought it earlier, but perhaps had been given instructions not to disturb her.
Frowning, she swung her legs out of bed and laid a hand beside the coffee pot. It was still quite warm and with a shrug she rose to her feet and taking up a silk robe walked to the windows. When she stepped on to the balcony, she could see that Lucy was not alone in the garden. One of the twins was with her, although Miranda couldn’t be sure which one. She hesitated only a moment before shouting a greeting, and relaxed as Constancia’s gentle face was turned up to hers.
“Hey, lazybones!” she called. “Do you know it is after ten o’clock?”
Miranda smiled. “I do now. If you give me a few moments to dress I’ll come and join you.” She switched her attention to the little girl, who was listening to their interchange silently. “Hello, Lucy. How are you this morning?”
Lucy shrugged indifferently. She was wearing another of the cotton dresses which Constancia had told Miranda had been made especially for her by Doña Isabella’s s
eamstress. She thrust her hands into the deep patch pockets and kicked aimlessly at the ball with which she and Constancia had been playing.
“Basta, Lucy! Say good morning to the señorita!”
Miranda’s lips tightened as Lucy glanced indifferently up at her and said: “Good morning, señorita.”
It was useless remonstrating with her, trying to persuade her to say Aunt Miranda, or even just Miranda. Even Constancia persisted in the formal mode of address.
Leaving the balcony, Miranda went into the bathroom and in a matter of a few minutes she had washed and cleaned her teeth, and tugged a brush through her tumbled hair. She poured herself a cup of lukewarm coffee as she dressed in a sleeveless white sweater and navy blue jeans, and ate one of the croissants also provided before leaving her room.
However, when she reached the bottom of the stairs she encountered Juan coming out of the room to the left of the hall where he had been on the night of her arrival.
“Ah, Miss Lord!” he exclaimed, and his ill humour of the night before might never have been. “May I see you for a momento?”
Miranda’s relief at his change of heart was short-lived when she nodded and he invited her into his study. She had not seen this room before and looked about her with interest as he indicated she should sit opposite him at his desk.
“Now, señorita,” he murmured, flicking through some papers on his desk. “I have—how you say?—a favor to ask of you.” He pointed to the wire trays on the desk which were overflowing with unanswered mail. “Oiga! I am—most late with my replies, si? Father Esteban, he tells me you work as secretario in England, no?”
Miranda hands were clasped tightly together in her lap below the level of his gaze. “That’s right, señor. I’m secretary to a merchant banker.”
“Ah, so,” Juan looked well pleased. He leaned back in his chair, making a pyramid of his fingers. “Conque, perhaps you will help me, no?”
“Help you, señor?”
“Si. As you see, there is much letters to write.”
“You want me to write your letters for you, señor?” Miranda was not being deliberately obtuse, but his request had taken her by surprise.
“I wish you to—type my letters, señorita. Por favor. Is too much to ask?”
Miranda bent her head. It wasn’t, of course. She was accepting his hospitality here and it was only right that she should try to repay that hospitality in any way she could. But he must know that by confining her to his study he was destroying any opportunity she might have had to spend the time with Lucy.
She looked up impatiently. Of course! That was why he was asking her this. It was his way of attempting to negate Rafael’s offer of the night before. And she had thought he had forgotten that!
“When do you want me to do these letters, señor?” she asked formally.
Juan’s eyes narrowed. Perhaps he was surprised that she had acquiesced so easily. “I—er—why—now, señorita?”
Miranda held up her head. “If it’s all the same to you, señor, I’d prefer to work in the evenings. I do nothing in the evenings anyway, so—”
Juan’s lips thinned. “I do not think so, señorita.”
“Why not?” Miranda was prepared to argue for her rights.
“Is not suitable, señorita. He attempted a different approach. “Come, señorita. They not take long, no?”
“You have prepared your replies?” Miranda was cool.
Juan shrugged. “We do—dictato, si?”
Miranda guessed he meant dictation and hid her irritation. After all, this was only one morning, and tomorrow… tomorrow…
But the tomorrow Miranda had envisaged did not take place. Much to her dismay, when she awoke the next morning, she found it was raining. And not just the steady drizzle she was used to back home. This was a torrential downpour, falling in a heavy curtain of water from a leaden sky. Lightning flicked from the mountain peaks and the rumble of thunder was a terrifying assault on her ears. Pools of mud appeared in the courtyard, and although the fountain was turned off it overflowed its stone basin. From the upper windows, it was possible to see the raging torrent which was the river; swollen with the waters running down from the mountains, it swirled dangerously on its way, and there was talk of the emergency measures which might have to be taken if it rose any higher up its banks. Valdez, the estate manager, came up to the hacienda for urgent discussions with Juan, and there was an air of suppressed excitement about the place.
No one had mentioned Rafael, it was obvious he would not come to take them out in this downpour, but Miranda wondered where he might be. Was he safe and dry in his stone house or was he, more likely, engaged in helping the villagers to protect what few possessions they had? She had plenty of time to indulge her imagination in this direction, for no one had the time to go and fetch Lucy, and as Juan was too busy to find jobs for her to do, Miranda spent the morning in her room. She sat by the balcony, watching the incredible demonstration of natural energy that was being enacted before her, and although she found this unexpected phenomenon fascinating, she couldn’t help but feel anxiety at the fact that she had been in Guadalima almost a week and was no further forward in her plans for Lucy.
But what were her plans? What could she do? What was she going to do? Take the child away by force if necessary? She had that right, and yet—did she? The conversation she had had with Rafael on the way here troubled her continually. His implication had been that Juan had other plans for the child, and certainly Juan himself had reiterated that opinion by his actions. And Lucy was happy with Juan, that could not be denied, but how long would that happiness last if Juan grew bored with her, if he married and had children of his own? Rafael had said he was betrothed, that old-fashioned expression for being engaged, and although as yet she had seen no sign of his fiancée that fact could not be overlooked.
She stared unhappily at the rain streaming off the roof. Oh, if only it had been a fine day! If only she could have had Lucy to herself for a while, she might have been able to decide with more authority what was best for her. If it was fine tomorrow, would Rafael come then?
By late afternoon the rain had eased and the immediate fears of an emergency were relieved, and by dinner time it had ceased altogether. When Miranda stepped on to the floodlit terrace before going in for dinner the fragrance of the garden intoxicated her senses. The rain had driven away the faintly musky odour of putrescence that sometimes drifted up from the river, and everywhere felt fresh and invigorated. She was still standing there, a slim figure in her short-skirted apricot tunic, her palms warming the cooling flesh of her upper arms, when she saw headlights coming up the valley towards the hacienda.
Her immediate reaction was to turn and go into the house, but the suspicion that it might be Rafael forced her to remain where she was. A few moments later the mud-splashed Landrover churned its way into the courtyard, and sure enough, Rafael himself swung down from the cabin. A grubby khaki shirt was plastered to his shoulders, jeans, also covered in mud, were pushed into rubber boots, and his hair was artificially darkened in its damp state. When he saw Miranda, a wry expression crossed his face, and he indicated his appearance expressively.
“I am not staying, señorita,” he told her, one foot raised to rest on the shallow steps leading up to where she was standing. “It is you I came to see. As today was—how shall I say—washed out, si?—would tomorrow be suitable to you?”
Miranda licked dry lips. “To—to go to the lake with Lucy?”
“Where else?”
She shook her head. “That would be fine. Thank you.”
Rafael nodded and would have turned away when she said: “You’re soaked to the skin! What have you been doing?”
He looked back at her. “It has been raining, señorita, or have you not noticed?”
Miranda sighed. “I know. But—well, how did you get so wet?”
Rafael dug the toe of his boot into the mud. “One of my brother’s labourers was swept into the river, señorita.
Fortunately, we were able to get a rope to him and haul him out. Unfortunately, one of his rescuers was not so lucky.”
“You mean—someone has been drowned?” Miranda was distressed.
“Did Juan not tell you?” Rafael shook his head. “No, perhaps he would not. However, that is the way of things, is it not? And now—” He looked down at his dishevelled appearance. “Now, I must go and get dry.”
“You need a hot bath,” exclaimed Miranda impulsively. “Why don’t you have one here? I am sure Juan has some clothes you could borrow—”
Her voice trailed away as she realised what she was saying, how casually she was using his brother’s Christian name, but Rafael was swinging himself back into the Landrover. “I do have hot water at my house, señorita,” he commented curtly, and without another word drove away.
As Miranda entered the wide hall of the hacienda she encountered Constancia, who looked beyond the English girl expectantly. “Was that not the Landrover, señorita?” she exclaimed.
Miranda tossed a strand of hair over her shoulder. “As a matter of fact, yes.”
Constancia withdrew her gaze from some point beyond the terrace and focussed on the other girl’s face. “It was Rafael?” she asked in surprise.
“Yes.” Miranda felt more and more uncomfortable under that penetrating stare. “He—he didn’t stop. He just came—to tell me that—that he’ll take Lucy and me to the lake tomorrow.”
“I see.” Constancia looked impatient. “Was that all he said, señorita?”
Not knowing whether or not she ought to tell the other girl about the drowned man, Miranda nodded. “I’m—I’m afraid so. He—he was soaked. I expect he’s gone home to get dry.”
“This is my brother’s home, señorita,” declared Constancia, with a little of her mother’s hauteur, and Miranda hoped she was not going to behave as unsociably towards her as did her sister.
Over dinner, Constancia informed the rest of the family that Rafael had called and spoken to Miranda. They all seemed surprised that he had visited the hacienda without making his presence generally known, and Doña Isabella looked positively distressed. Miranda was left with the feeling that they all thought she had been responsible for his abrupt departure. She was glad when the meal was over and she could seek the solitude of her own room. Beautiful though the hacienda might be, she was not happy in its imposing surroundings.