Mills & Boon is proud to present a fabulous collection of fantastic novels by bestselling, much loved author

ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the publishing industry, having written over one hundred and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful, passionate writing has given.

We are sure you will love them all!

I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

Lure of Eagles
Anne Mather

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

HE really was the most disturbing man she had ever met, Domine reflected broodingly. It was not that he was good-looking, though she had to admit his dark-skinned features were not unpleasing. But no one could call that aggressive nose and those hooded eyes handsome, or compliment the thin-lipped cruelty of his mouth. His eyes, too, were a contradiction of the melting Latin eyes she had expected. Dark, so as to appear almost black at times, and without any conceivable warmth that she could see. He wore his clothes well, of course, and the dark suits he favoured accentuated the lean strength of his body, the long legs so casually crossed as he spoke politely to her brother.

Yet it was something more than that which prompted Domine’s conclusion. Perhaps it was inherent in the man himself, she considered. A combination of the charm he could wield when he chose, the air of indolence which they had learned could be so quickly discarded, and the ruthlessness of purpose he could exhibit when he spoke of his reasons for being in England. When he spoke, Domine always seemed to find herself listening, which was disconcerting to someone accustomed to finding the opposite sex somewhat boring and immature. But then what else could she expect, when from her earliest years she had been cosseted and admired by every male she came into contact with?

Was that it? she pondered, her thoughts fastening to this possibility. Was his lack of apparent interest responsible for the strange fascination he had for her? It was possible, she supposed, but hardly likely. He was not the kind of man she would have expected herself to be attracted to. She was a modern girl, with modern ideals, while he came from one of the most ancient civilisations of the Western World, with all its conventionality and taboos, and it was obvious to her, if not to her brother, that he had no intention of relaxing his rigid control of the situation.

He was an alien being in that very English room, she thought, her nerves tightening a little when she contemplated the uncertainty of their future. When Grandpa was alive, everything had seemed so safe and secure, their lives stretching ahead of them smoothly, without any sign of difficulty or upheaval. Of course, Grandpa and Mark had rowed a lot, particularly when Mark went on one of his gambling sprees and lost a month’s allowance in one night, but Domine had never seriously believed that Grandpa would deprive her brother of the cotton mills from which he had made his fortune. It was all a little unreal—Grandpa’s will had been unreal, the existence of their cousin seemed unreal, and the presence here in their drawing room of Señor Luis Delgado Aguilar was the most unreal of all.

Trying not to listen too blatantly to what Mark was saying, Domine forced her attention back to the room. It was a nice room, a pleasant room, the room she remembered from that awful morning when she was six years old, and Grandpa broke the news that her father’s yacht had capsized in the South Atlantic. Then it had not seemed at all a pleasant room, but Grandpa had held her close in his arms and told her that from now on she and Mark must consider Griffons their home, and the terror had receded. She had never known her mother. She had died a few weeks after Domine was born, and although her father had recovered from the blow, he had not married again. Consequently, Grandpa had become the pivot, the focal point of their whole world, and only Mark’s excesses had served to create trouble between them.

When Domine was younger, she had not understood all that Grandpa accused Mark of. Mark was ten years older than she was, and had already seemed grown up when their father was drowned. She had not known who ‘Edward’ was, or why Mark should so continually be identified with him. Later, she had learned that Edward was, or had been, their uncle, Grandpa’s eldest son, who he had disinherited when he ran away and married some flibbertigibbet showgirl, or at least, that was how Grandpa had described her. Apparently he had given up his studies at the university, and taken to painting birds and wild flowers, encouraged, it appeared, by his feckless wife.

Of course, Grandpa never had any time for artistic things. Brains and brass, he used to say, they were all that mattered, and naturally Mark’s penchant for the good things of life had given birth to the friction between them. Perhaps Mark was more like his uncle than his father. Certainly, James Temple had never disappointed his father. His only weakness had been sailing, and the holiday he had taken when his yacht capsized had been his first for many years.

It was strange that they had never heard what had happened to Edward and his wife, but then why should they? They had never imagined Grandpa would relent. In his considered opinion, Mark was as irresponsible as Edward used to be, therefore any change of heart was highly unlikely. What they had not known, but which Grandpa had, apparently, was that Edward and his wife had been killed some eight years ago in an earthquake in Peru, and their only child, a daughter, Lisel, had been put in the care of the nuns at the convent of the Holy Sceptre in Puerto Limas. What Edward and his wife had been doing in Peru had not been explained, but obviously their grandfather had kept in touch with the Sisters at the convent, and assured himself regularly of the girl’s welfare.

Why he had left the mills and their considerable income to Edward’s daughter was not so easy to understand, or forgive, but Domine still felt too stunned to nourish any resentment. Only Griffons remained, as a bulwark against the future, given to herself and Mark jointly, to live in or sell as they wished. Mark had been left an income, but knowing his extravagant life-style, it would hardly be sufficient to keep him in pocket money, and although Domine’s own allowance was to be increased to one thousand pounds a year, it would hardly be enough to pay the rates on Griffons, let alone support and feed her. Grandpa had left her a message, something about expecting her to use the education he had given her, and not to let Mark sponge upon her, as he had done frequently in the past. She guessed, rather wryly, that even if her grandfather had been tempted to leave the mills to her, he would never have done so. He distrusted Mark, and he distrusted his influence over her. He would never believe that she had a will of her own, strong enough to stand up to Mark, when she chose to do so. The trouble was, she had seldom felt inclined to oppose him, and no doubt that had been her downfall.

She sighed, somewhat cynically. Well, it was too late now. Their cousin Lisel was the heiress, and in a curious way Domine was relieved she had not been burdened with the responsibility for so many lives. There were three thousand men and women who relied on the Temple Mills for employment, and in her more generous moments she sympathised with Mark in his rebellion against such responsibility. Their grandfather had never understood why Mark had felt that way. He had thrived on work, and responsibility, and up until the day he died he had been ordering the day-to-day life of the mill offices.

Even so, that did not alter the fact that things were bound to change now, and not necessarily for the better. Her education had been sound, as Grandpa had pointed out in his last words to her, but an ability to write good English and understand half a dozen other languages was not in itself a qualification. She had never considered going to university. She had been a bright and willing pupil, but when at seventeen she had succeeded in passing her ‘A’ level examinations, she had happily left the schoolroom behind, and devoted herself to enjoyment.

Last summer she and Aunt Barbara, her great-aunt really, on her mother’s side, had toured Italy, and the countries of the Mediterranean, and at Christmas she and Mark had joined a group of other young people at a ski resort in the Bavarian Alps. This summer she was hoping to persuade her aunt to chaperon herself and a friend on a camper holiday from the east to the west coast of North America, but somehow that no longer appealed. It wasn’t just that now that Grandpa was dead there was no one to demand she take a chaperon along. It was simply that she felt too uncertain of her future to contemplate a holiday, and her longed-for independence seemed curiously flat now that it had been realised.

She could see Mark’s face getting redder and redder, and wondered what Señor Aguilar was saying to him. This morning in the solicitor’s office she thought Mark had handled himself remarkably calmly, considering the predicament he was in, but in private he was furious, and seething with resentment, an emotion he was trying hard to hide in the face of such implacable opposition.

Would it have been easier if Lisel had come herself? Domine frowned, adjusting the folds of her long velvet skirt. Of course it would. But equally, it would not have been so easy for Lisel. For one thing, she had been living with the nuns for more than eight years, since she was eleven or twelve, and naturally she was rather unworldly—or at least, that was Señor Aguilar’s description. She was, in his words, a shy retiring sort of person, a charming personality, much admired by the Peruvian Indians she served. The convent where she had been living was also a small hospital, catering to the needs of the villages around Puerto Limas, and she had recently completed her training as a nurse. Her visits away from the convent had been few and far between, except to visit the villages, and the small town of Aguilas close by, and the idea of travelling to England to meet the lawyers who presently controlled her inheritance, was naturally a terrifying proposition. That was why Señor Aguilar had come in her stead. To attend to the outstanding business on her behalf, and to meet the relatives from whom Lisel would have to learn so much.

Personally, Mark had been infuriated when they first received Aguilar’s cable. ‘Damned cheek!’ he had fumed, stamping around the house for days, and threatening to walk out before the man even arrived. ‘What the hell does he mean by interfering? Inquisitive old so-and-so! I bet he wants to see what’s in it for him, before he gives her his advice about what to do next! What in heaven’s name will he know about running a mill, or the price of wool, or where the next pay rise is coming from?’

Well, Señor Luis Delgado Aguilar was not old, at least not by Mark’s standards. He was probably thirty-five or thirty-six, at the most, and contrary to their beliefs, he knew a lot about wool and its value. He had staggered Mark by explaining that wool was in fact one of the most important exports of Peru, and continued to add that if he didn’t know that, he knew less about the wool industry than he claimed. Of course, Mark had blustered, and said that he had had better things to do than worry where the wool was coming from, and Señor Aguilar had countered this by remarking that it was just as well his grandfather had not felt the same way.

That had been at dinner. Since then, Mark had calmed down a lot. Domine guessed it had occurred to him that by incurring Señor Aguilar’s antipathy, he might also incur the antipathy of their cousin, before he had even met her, and Domine also knew that Mark was not going to walk away from a small fortune without making a fight of it. How he intended to proceed she was not quite sure, but she was convinced it must have occurred to him, as it had to her, that if Lisel was young and unmarried, she might well look with favour on a sympathetic and handsome cousin who wanted to help her.

Pressing her lips together, Domine returned her attention to the tall Peruvian, lounging with evident ease in the armchair opposite Mark. What was his interest in all this? Why had he come all this way on Lisel’s behalf? Was it merely philanthropy, or had he other motives for his generosity? Obviously Lisel had complete confidence in him, but she could hardly be experienced in the ways of the world.

Domine frowned, subjecting their guest to another puzzled appraisal. He was obviously an educated man—he spoke English with only the faintest trace of an accent—and his clothes were tailor-made and expensive. Yet for all that he was not like any man of her acquaintance. There was a single-mindedness of purpose about him that belied his studied courtesy, and although he exhibited all the refinements of Western society, Domine wondered what lay beneath the veneer. He exuded a powerful aura of cold strength and hostility, that no amount of charm or politeness could hide, and she doubted Mark’s ability to fool him about anything. He had all the contempt of the conquistadors for their victims, and recalling the little she had learned of the Spanish conquest, she knew she ought not to imagine his courteous façade was anything more than that.

Chiding herself for being so imaginative, she looked up then and found his eyes upon her. It was a disconcerting experience, particularly after her thoughts of a few moments ago, but she managed to return his stare without flinching, determined not to be intimidated by his scrutiny. He would not reduce her to the stammering wreck he had made of Mark. She had done nothing to be ashamed of, and just because he was different from the men she usually met, it did not mean he was any the less susceptible to her beauty. The conceit of her thoughts did not occur to her. She was so used to admiration, it never crossed her mind that the Peruvian might not find eyes the colour of violets appealing, or be enchanted by the coil of silvery hair that was presently confined at the nape of her slender neck.

‘Can I get you another brandy, señor?’ she suggested, meeting his gaze with enquiry, but Señor Aguilar was already rising to his feet.

‘I regret I must be leaving, Miss Temple,’ he refused politely, the faint smile that played about his thin lips belying the bland courtesy. ‘I have a long day tomorrow. There are matters which must be attended to, before I return to Peru. But perhaps you will both …’ he glanced at her brother,’ dine with me at my hotel tomorrow evening.’

Domine badly wanted to refuse. Not because she had any objection to dining with him, or indeed because she had made other arrangements, but simply to thwart him in some way. However, Mark was already accepting on their behalf, and she inclined her head with reluctant grace to signify her own acceptance of the invitation.

‘Good.’ The Peruvian walked across the room, and Mark hastened after him to open the double-panelled doors. ‘I shall look forward to it.’

His glance licked Domine like an abrasive tongue, but she was obliged to accompany them into the hall, and waited while Bayliss produced Señor Aguilar’s overcoat. His choice of dark colours accentuated the dark cast of his skin, the thick dark hair that lay smoothly over his forehead and brushed the collar of his overcoat. A kind of Mephistophelean character, she thought, giving in to her imagination again, and then stiffened when those dark eyes swept her from head to toe in a look that was as contemptuous as it was devastating. Immediately she was conscious of the off-the-shoulder neckline of her smock, and of how the belt she had tightened round her waist drew attention to the swelling fullness of her breasts. Only the long velvet skirt seemed acceptable, hiding the long slender length of her legs.

‘Until tomorrow, then.’

Señor Aguilar was already descending the flight of steps which led up to the heavy oak door with its iron facings, and Mark was acting the perfect host. She heard the sound of the hire car’s engine, and presently Mark’s words of farewell, and then, as she endeavoured to recover from the state of frozen immobility that scornful appraisal had induced, her brother came back into the hall and slammed the door with unconcealed fury. He scarcely looked at Domine. He passed her, muttering to himself, and presently she heard the sound of the decanter rattling against the rim of his glass.

Bayliss, who had been at Griffons almost as long as her grandfather and was equally old, was waiting for her instructions, and after reassuring him that there was nothing else they would need that night, Domine turned back into the drawing room. As she had anticipated, Mark had poured himself a generous measure of brandy and had thrown himself down on to the couch where she had been sitting, one leg draped carelessly over the arm. He looked up at her entrance, then swallowed the remainder of the spirit in the glass and held it out to Domine to be refilled.

‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough?’ she asked shortly, in no mood to suffer his self-pitying recriminations, and he pulled an angry face.

‘Don’t try to organise me,’ he directed, ‘just fill the glass!’ but she ignored him and went to sit in the armchair which earlier their guest had occupied.

Muttering once more, Mark levered himself up from the couch and refilled his own glass, swallowing another generous portion before returning to his previous position. Then he looked moodily at Domine across the rim, the tightness of his lips belied by the anxiety in his eyes.

‘What the hell are we going to do?’ he demanded, and it was more of an appeal than a question. ‘Dom, tell me what we’re going to do!’

Domine shrugged, running her palms over the arms of the chair, flinching a little as they encountered a trace of warmth left by its last occupant. It was odd why she had chosen to sit in this particular chair, but thoughts like those were not acceptable, and she tried instead to concentrate on what her brother was saying.

‘You could get a job,’ she pointed out now, trying to be practical, but Mark only snorted with impatience.

‘A job!’ he echoed. ‘What kind of job? At the mill, you mean? If you think I’m going to work in my own mills——’

‘They’re not your mills,’ retorted Domine firmly. ‘They belong to Lisel——’

‘To hell with Lisel!’

‘That’s not going to get you very far.’ She sighed. ‘Mark, you had a good education …’

‘A good education!’

‘Well, you did. We both did. We should be able to find some kind of work.’

‘Where? In Manchester? What on earth is there to do in Manchester? You know the job situation.’

Domine shook her head. ‘You’re just being obstructive.’

‘If it was London, now …’

‘But it’s not. This is our home, Mark. If you went to London, we would have to sell Griffons.’

Mark grimaced. ‘Well, I expect we will anyway.’

‘No!’

‘Yes, Domine. Be reasonable. How can we afford to keep a place like this going? Heavens, we can’t even afford Mrs Radcliffe’s wages any more.’

‘We could do without Mrs Radcliffe,’ exclaimed Domine, her heart plummeting at the thought of selling their home. ‘We could manage …’

‘Oh, yes?’ Mark was sceptical. ‘And who will do the housework? You? You’ve never picked up a duster in your life.’

‘That’s not true.’ Domine pursed her lips. ‘I’ve looked after my own room for years.’

‘Big deal.’ Mark hunched his shoulders. ‘That means you only have half a dozen other bedrooms to look after. Oh, and three reception rooms, of course, and the dining room, and the kitchen——’

‘All right,’ Domine broke in on him then. ‘All right, so we need some help in the house. Why shouldn’t we be able to afford it, if we both had jobs?’

Mark sniffed. ‘I do not intend taking some grubby little job, just to keep this place in cleaning fluid!’

‘Mark!’

‘I’m sorry, but I’m not.’ He was adamant. ‘All the same, something has to be done.’ He frowned. ‘I wonder what Lisel is like. Really like, I mean. Not this sainted creature Aguilar talks about.’

Domine moved her shoulders uncertainly. ‘She can’t be like Uncle Edward, or Grandpa wouldn’t have had a good word for her.’

‘She can’t be like me, you mean?’

Domine half smiled. ‘No one could be like you.’

‘Thanks!’

‘Oh, Mark …’ She got up from the chair and moved slowly across the room. ‘Couldn’t you try——’

‘Don’t say it,’ he interposed quickly. ‘Accept it. Griffons is going to have to be sold.’

‘No!’

‘Yes. Unless I can work something out.’

‘Like what?’ Domine was sceptical now.

‘I don’t know.’ Mark looked thoughtful. ‘If only I could get to meet Lisel! If only I could talk to her. I bet she’s not as virginal as Aguilar makes her out to be.’

‘Mark!’ Domine stared at him impatiently. ‘Can’t you ever consider practical solutions? It doesn’t really matter what Lisel is like, so far as I’m concerned. I have no intention of asking her for money.’

‘Not for money, no,’ remarked Mark slowly. ‘But a job, perhaps. A legal adviser. How’s that? A sort of—right-hand man.’

‘Señor Aguilar will never allow that.’

‘But Señor Aguilar won’t be here, will he? Lisel will.’

‘Did Señor Aguilar say that?’

‘Well—no.’ Mark was evasive. ‘But she’s got to come to England, hasn’t she? I mean, how else is she going to run the business?’

Domine raised her dark eyebrows. ‘I suppose she could appoint a—legal adviser, as you say.’

Mark jack-knifed off the couch, a white line appearing round his lips. ‘You don’t think—no! She couldn’t.’

‘Couldn’t what?’

‘Appoint Aguilar as—her legal adviser?’

Domine hesitated. ‘Well, I shouldn’t think so. I mean, he probably has an occupation of his own. In Lima, or where-ever he lives.’

‘Then why has she sent him over here?’

‘Mark, don’t ask me, ask him! I don’t know, do I? He says he came because Lisel was too shocked by the news to make the journey, that naturally, for someone like her, making a trip to England needed to be thought about, considered——’

‘I know what he said,’ snapped Mark irritably. ‘But is anybody that unworldly? In this day and age?’

‘I expect so,’ said Domine. ‘After all, she does live in a rural area. Why shouldn’t she be shy and retiring?’

‘Because, if she’s Uncle Edward’s daughter, she would be more like him!’

‘Why? You’re not at all like Daddy.’

‘No. But you are.’

‘Oh, Mark …’ Domine was tired. ‘I don’t want to talk about this any more tonight. I want to go to bed.’ She walked towards the door. ‘Are you coming?’

‘Shortly,’ replied Mark, resuming his position on the couch. ‘You go on up. See you in the morning.’

‘Yes.’ Domine was reluctant to leave him, but she really had no choice. When Mark was in this mood, he was better left alone. ‘Goodnight, then.’

‘Goodnight.’

With the doors closed behind him, Domine mounted the stairs slowly, absorbing the peace and beauty of the building. The staircase had been hand-carved by a master of his craft, and the chandelier which illuminated the square hall below was a brilliant example of cut glass. The portrait at the head of the stairs was Grandpa’s with a smaller one of Grandmama and her two sons further along the gallery, but Domine’s favourite was the painting of her horse, Minstrel, that Grandpa had bought her for her fourteenth birthday. She supposed he would have to be sold, too, and she made a mental note to speak to Mrs Grant at the riding school, to see if she would take him. He was a gentle creature, and she would rather he was sold to someone she knew so that she might see him again from time to time. And then she remembered what Mark had said about selling Griffons, and a lump came unbidden to her throat. If the house was sold, she didn’t think she would be able to bear living in the neighbourhood, so it didn’t really matter who bought Minstrel.

Her bedroom was a quiet sanctuary, and she closed the door wearily, leaning back against it as she surveyed her domain. It was a spacious room, made the more so by the use of light colours and pale wood. Her bed was wide and comfortable, its sprigged coverlet a hangover from the days of her childhood. The old-fashioned wardrobes she had once had had been replaced by a modern vanity unit, and there was a walnut desk where she used to do her homework, and a stereo music centre, with speakers set up near the ceiling. She had always been given everything she wanted, but she realised, too, how much she had taken for granted.

Moving away from the door, she tugged off her belt and then, on impulse, surveyed herself in the long mirrors. Her outfit was not so outrageous. At least the smock was not transparent, and she had worn a strapless bra. She dreaded to think what he might have thought of her in tight jeans and a skinny-knit sweater, and then decided she would like the opportunity to find out. It might be quite amusing to shock a man like him, to show him exactly how far she dared go. What had she to lose, after all? After tomorrow she might never see him again. No, tomorrow evening she would wear the black satin cat-suit she had been saving for a suitable occasion. Then let him look at her with that supercilious, holier-than-thou expression!

Of course, by the next day her indignation had waned. The cold light of a February morning was sobering, and the more immediate anxiety of deciding her future dispelled her aggression of the night before. Mr Holland, her grandfather’s solicitor, had asked her to come and see him at ten o’clock, and in the activity of preparing for the appointment she had little time to think of childish retaliations. She dressed in a brown suede pants suit, with leather fringing at the cuffs and hem, and was gathering up her handbag preparatory to leaving the house when the telephone rang.

As she was right beside it, she answered it, picking up the receiver automatically and giving their number.

‘I would like to speak to Miss Temple, please,’ said the deep accented tones which had haunted her dreams, and she was tempted to drop the receiver there and then, and get Mrs Radcliffe to tell him that she had already left. But before she could formulate any defence, he added: ‘That is Miss Temple, is it not? How fortunate that I caught you.’

‘Caught me?’ Domine spoke faintly. ‘I—don’t understand …’

‘You have an appointment with Holland this morning, do you not?’ he suggested. ‘I hoped to reach you before you left for his office.’

‘Oh?’ Domine was gathering herself with difficulty, holding the phone with both hands to disguise the tremor of her wrist. ‘Why?’

‘Because I wanted to invite you to have lunch with me,’ he replied smoothly. ‘And because I also wanted to ask you not to make any decisions about your future until you have spoken to me.’

Domine was aghast. ‘But we’re having dinner together——’

‘With your brother, yes, I know,’ he interrupted flatly. ‘However, what I wish to discuss with you I would prefer to discuss in private, therefore I am requesting you join me here, at the hotel, at one o’clock.’

‘I’m afraid——’ Domine was beginning coldly, when she became aware of a movement behind her, and glancing round she found her brother coming stealthily down the stairs, still in his pyjamas.

‘Aguilar?’ he mouthed silently, and half impatiently, she nodded.

‘Are you still there, Miss Temple?’

The Peruvian’s voice was coldly demanding, but Mark was gesticulating urgently. Obviously he had heard her responses to what was being said, and had guessed what Señor Aguilar wanted.

‘Go!’ he mouthed, gesturing positively. ‘Find out what he wants.’

Domine sighed, and shaking her head uneasily, she said: ‘I’m still here, señor.’

‘Well?’ He was impatient now. ‘Will you join me for lunch?’

Mark was nodding vigorously, and much against her better judgment Domine found herself agreeing. The appointment was made, but when the receiver was replaced, she turned on Mark with angry resentment.

‘Don’t you ever do that to me again!’ she exclaimed, aware that her palms were still moist and her heart was beating twice as fast as it should have done. ‘I didn’t want to have lunch with him, as it happens. I’d promised to meet Susie at half past twelve in Lewis’s.’

‘I’ll meet her, if you like,’ declared Mark laconically, sinking down on to a stair about a third of the way up, but Domine repudiated his offer.

‘Thanks, but that won’t be necessary,’ she retorted, looping the strap of her handbag over her shoulder. ‘I’ll phone her—later.’

‘What you mean is, you don’t really have an arrangement at all,’ Mark commented, with wry humour. ‘Anyway, what did he say?’

‘Don’t you know?’ Domine moved towards the door.

‘I heard the phone ring, that was all,’ Mark replied. ‘Then as I came downstairs I heard what you were saying.’

‘Mmm!’ Domine was still infuriated at her own submission. ‘Well, I’m late. I have to go …’

‘Do you think he fancies you?’

Mark could be infuriatingly sensitive at times, and Domine was glad she could turn away and swing open the door to cool her heated cheeks. ‘I think that’s the last thing he’s aware of,’ she remarked, stepping out into the damp, misty air, and the annoying thing was, she was almost certain she was right.

CHAPTER TWO

THE four-star Crillon Hotel stood in a side street, just off Manchester’s main square. Domine did wonder why he had not checked into the five-star Piccadilly, but perhaps he preferred the less hectic conservatism of the smaller hotel. In any event, it was nothing to do with her where he chose to stay, inasmuch as neither she nor Mark was expected to foot the bill.

She was still absently considering the things Mr Holland had told her, and finding the Crillon car park was full, she spent several fruitless minutes driving round and round the square, trying to find somewhere else to leave the small Porsche which her grandfather had given her six months ago on her eighteenth birthday. Eventually she managed to ease it into a limited-period parking area, and hurried across the park, aware that she was going to be rather late. It was all very well telling herself that she didn’t care whether he had waited for her or not, but the fact that she was virtually obliged to see him again this evening quickened her step, realising as she did that Mark might well be made to suffer for her tardiness.

One of several hall porters opened the swing glass doors for her as she mounted the shallow steps, and thanking him she looked apprehensively round the reception area. There seemed to be no sign of Señor Aguilar, and she looked anxiously at her watch. It was already after quarter past, and she wondered if he had gone into the restaurant without her.

She was just considering what she ought to do next when a voice said: ‘Miss Temple?’ and she looked up to find herself confronted by a black-coated waiter.

‘Yes?’ she nodded, swallowing her alarm, and he gave her a polite smile.

‘Mr Aguilar is waiting for you in the bar, Miss Temple,’ the man said, indicating the archway behind him. ‘If you’ll follow me …’

With as much self-possession as she could muster, Domine followed the man through the archway and into a discreetly lit bar-lounge. There were tables and armchairs, low banquettes upholstered in red leather, and tall stools at the bar, with circular red seats. There were several people in the room, some seated at the tables, others just standing around, and others occupying the stools at the bar. She saw Aguilar at once. He was seated at the bar, but at her approach he slid off his stool and came to greet her.

‘Miss Temple,’ he said, bowing over her hand. ‘How nice of you to come.’ Almost as if he had doubted she might.

Domine waited until he had released her hand and then thrust it awkwardly into the hip pocket of her pants. She saw his gaze flick over her, and wondered what his opinion was today, but then he was asking her what she would like to drink and she endeavoured to concentrate on the mood of the moment.

He looked very little different from the previous evening. He had discarded his dinner jacket, of course, but his lounge suit was just as dark, the grey silk tie he wore with it matching his shirt. She couldn’t help noticing that he attracted the attention of other women in the bar, and when he seated himself on the adjoining stool and his knee brushed her thigh, she was made disturbingly aware of the effect he had on her.

Having accepted her usual Martini, Domine allowed her gaze to move sideways, alighting on his dark profile, trying to guess why he had invited her for lunch. It would have been flattering to think he was attracted to her, but after the look he had given her the night before, she distrusted his suave courtesy. Whatever he wanted, it was not personal, though remembrance of that fleeting contempt rekindled her desire to make him squirm.

With this in mind she rested one elbow on the bar, and turning towards him, gave him the full benefit of her most winning smile. As she moved, the tantalising fragrance she wore drifted to his nostrils, her hair a silky silver curtain about her shoulders.

‘It was—kind of you to invite me to lunch,’ she said now, allowing the fingers of her other hand to lightly touch his sleeve. Her nails gleamed with polish, long and silvery, like her hair, her lips parting over even white teeth. ‘It was so unexpected, Señor—or may I call you Luis?’

His sleeve was withdrawn from her fingers, and she was subjected to a glacial scrutiny. ‘I think you misunderstand my motives, Miss Temple,’ he declared harshly. ‘My reasons for inviting you to lunch were not—personal ones.’

‘No?’ She pretended disappointment. ‘Then what?’

He raised his glass to his lips, swallowed a mouthful of the pale lager he was drinking before replying. Then he said severely: ‘I wanted to speak with you about your cousin.’

‘Lisel?’

‘Lisel, yes.’

Domine was intrigued. This was not what she had expected. ‘What about her?’

Aguilar frowned, and sought about in his pocket until he brought out a small cigar case. Putting one of the narrow cheroots between his teeth, he continued: ‘You will recall what I have told you about her already? She is—how shall I say?—not used to meeting strangers.’ He paused as he lit the cheroot with a slim gold lighter. ‘Coming to England, if indeed she ever does, will be a terrifying experience for her.’

Domine pulled a wry face. ‘So?’

His mouth tightened, the lines that bracketed it deepening. ‘You are not at all like her, are you? You do not begin to understand how she might be feeling.’

Domine felt indignant. ‘How could I? Does she know how I’m feeling right now? Of course not. We’re two different people. We’ve had a different upbringing.’

‘That, alas, is true,’ he responded curtly, and she did not misunderstand his preference. ‘But it may be that you could—help her.’

‘Me?’ Domine was astounded. ‘How could I help such a—a paragon?’

It was hardly wise to taunt him, but his evident admiration for her cousin was irritating, and Domine was not used to being ignored. Besides, he was expecting too much if he thought she could stick around, knowing Griffons would have to be sold, seeing everything she had ever loved come under the auction hammer, just to help the one person who was responsible for destroying her and Mark’s lives.

‘You are bitter,’ Luis Aguilar said now, irritating her even more. ‘That is understandable. But I must point out that your cousin cannot be held responsible for your grandfather’s aberrations.’

Domine glared at him. ‘Thank you, but I don’t require a lecture from you concerning my grandfather’s behaviour, aberrant or otherwise! And while we’re on the subject, I am not bitter; sad, perhaps, but not bitter!’

Her outburst had annoyed him, she could see that, and his next words confirmed it. ‘It seems to me that Sir George knew what he was doing when he made his last will and testament,’ he commented crushingly. ‘Neither you nor your brother seem to have any self-discipline whatsoever, and behave for the most part like a pair of irresponsible children!’

Domine clenched her fists. ‘Then what could we possibly do to help Lisel?’ she demanded, uncaring in the heat of the moment what Mark might think of her behaviour, and was almost gratified when he retorted:

‘I cannot for the life of me imagine!’ in cold chilling tones.

Of course, after that there was nothing more to say, thought Domine rather tremulously. Deciding she would not wait for him to walk out on her, she would walk out on him, she made to slide off her stool, but to her astonishment his hand came out and gripped her arm, preventing her from making her escape. She parted her lips to make some angry objection, and then closed them again when he turned those night-dark eyes in her direction. She did not comprehend the meaning in their hypnotic depths, but she could not move under that paralysing appraisal, her breath coming in shallow gulps as she returned his stare.

‘Wait!’ he commanded, and she realised how close he had been to losing his temper. ‘Perhaps my words were—careless, reckless; call them what you will. However, I tell myself, I would rather you were honest with me than—than merely paying lip service to my position.’

His position! Domine gazed at him in bewilderment. What position? What did he mean? As Lisel’s friend? Her adviser? Or was he hinting that he had power of attorney to act on her behalf?

She became aware that his fingers were numbing her wrist, but she had no desire for him to relax them. On the contrary, she liked him touching her, and there was the growing realisation that she was arousing him to show emotion. Until that moment he had displayed a singular lack of any kind of feeling, except perhaps contempt, and there was a curious satisfaction in knowing she had succeeded where Mark, even at his most objectionable, had not.

As if he was aware of what she was thinking, his hand was immediately withdrawn, and she looked down at the livid marks his fingers had left on her skin. She did not bruise easily, but she would be surprised if she had nothing to show for this afternoon’s violence, and his warring expression revealed his consciousness of that fact. No doubt he was regretting his behaviour bitterly, and the opportunity it had given her to expose his lack of self-control.

‘I am sorry,’ he said now, not looking at her, but hunching his shoulders over his glass, staring concentratedly at the row of coloured bottles which highlighted the back of the bar. ‘I did not mean to hurt you. I simply wanted—time to explain why I had brought you here.’

‘Yes?’

She refused to help him, and he went on more slowly: ‘My intention was to ask whether you would be agreeable to visiting your cousin. I would like you to come to Puerto Limas, to stay near your cousin, to befriend her. To prepare her, if you can, for the way of life she will be expected to contend with if she comes to England.’

He looked at her then, but now Domine was so shocked she found it impossible to sustain the advantage she had gained. ‘You—want me to—to come to Peru?’ she gasped, and when a movement of his head implied his consent: ‘You can’t be serious!’

‘Why not?’ The dark features were a mask hiding his true feelings. ‘She is your cousin, after all, a blood relation. Surely that must mean something to you.’

‘We probably don’t put as much emphasis on blood relationships as you do,’ replied Domine dazedly, trying to come to terms with his new disclosure. He was asking her to visit Peru, she kept telling herself incredulously, he was actually suggesting she should travel more than six thousand miles to stay with a cousin she had not even met!

Shaking her head, she looked at him doubtfully, trying to understand his reasoning. ‘But you don’t even like me,’ she protested, incredulity giving way to practicality. ‘Do you?’

His hesitation was scarcely flattering. ‘I would rather not discuss personalities, Miss Temple,’ he declared at length. ‘I am prepared to concede that the women of my acquaintance do not behave as you do, but I am equally disposed to admit that Englishmen do not treat their women with the same—respect. Therefore no analogy can be made.’

Domine’s indignation was superseded by her curiosity. ‘Are you married?’ she asked, unable to use the formal señor as she asked the unpalatable question, and his dark brows ascended with evident impatience.

‘I suggest we go and have lunch,’ he essayed firmly, making no attempt to satisfy her inquisitiveness. ‘I took the liberty of ordering for us both when you were delayed, and the waiter has just signalled that all is now prepared.’

The dining room of the Crillon was all ornate carving and fine lace curtains. The tablecloths were lace, too, and their table was set against the wall, partially concealed by a huge rubber plant. The head waiter himself saw them seated, and after the smoked salmon had been served Domine spent some little time looking about her.

‘It’s very—Victorian, isn’t it?’ she remarked absently, not really thinking to whom she was speaking, and then grimaced when she realised she had his undivided attention. ‘I mean …’ she shrugged awkwardly, ‘all lace curtains and potted palms. Or in this case, a potted rubber plant.’

‘You don’t like it?’ he queried, watching her with an intentness that was unnerving, and she hastened to correct his impression.

‘It’s not that. It’s just—well, different, that’s all.’

‘From reinforced steel and plate glass?’ he suggested drily. ‘Yes, I thought so, too. Although the plant looks out of place to me. I am used to seeing them in the wild. I regret this is a puny thing at best.’

‘You have rubber plants in Peru?’ Domine was interested.

‘Trees, mostly,’ he amended. ‘They grow wild in all parts of South America, most particularly in the rain forests of the Amazon basin.’

‘That’s in Brazil, isn’t it?’ Domine’s geography was not brilliant, but she knew a few elemental facts. ‘Have you been to Brazil?’

A faint smile touched the corners of his mouth, increasing the disturbing activity of Domine’s nervous system. ‘Oh, yes,’ he replied tolerantly. ‘I have been to Brazil. And to the Amazon basin.’

Domine was fascinated. ‘Have you seen the Angel Falls?’ she asked, resting her elbows on the table and cupping her chin in her hands. ‘It’s the highest waterfall in the world, isn’t it? I saw a programme about it on television. It looked beautiful!’

‘It is,’ he agreed quietly. ‘But the falls are not in Brazil. It’s Venezuela you’re thinking of. Not the Amazon at all, but the Churun river.’

‘Is it?’ Domine pulled a wry face. ‘I’m sorry, I’m afraid geography was not my strong point.’

He shook his head. ‘South America is a long way from Manchester. I doubt, for instance, if I could tell you the source of the river Thames.’

‘I doubt if I could either!’ confessed Domine, with a gurgle of laughter, and for a moment their eyes met without either hostility or antagonism. He smiled, and it was miraculous how much younger he looked, the deeply-etched lines ironed away, his mouth mobile and sensitive. She wanted to go on looking at him, and a crazy impulse made her say: ‘You’re not disliking me so much now, are you, Luis?’ but as soon as the words were uttered she knew she had gone too far.

‘Whether or not I like you, Miss Temple, is not in question,’ he told her severely. ‘I suggest we return to the real reason for this meeting. Have you considered the suggestion I made to you?’

Domine pressed her lips together, irritated by his apparent ability to switch off any human feelings. For a second time she had had a brief glimpse of another side to his character, but he seemed determined not to allow any emotion to colour his judgment.

‘You didn’t answer my question,’ she said now, refusing to be coerced. ‘And my name is Domine, as you know very well. You don’t call Lisel Miss Temple, and yet that’s her name as well.’

He gave her an impatient look, but the arrival of the waiter to clear their plates created a diversion. By the time their chicken casserole had been served, Domine had had time to wish she hadn’t brought Lisel’s name into their conversation, and she applied herself to the meal without expecting any response.

‘I have known—Lisel for a number of years,’ he surprised her by remarking, after the waiter had departed. Filling her glass with the mildly sweet hock he had chosen to go with the meal, he added: ‘I knew her father and her mother, and when they were killed, naturally I did what I could for the child.’

Domine’s eyes were wide. ‘You knew Uncle Edward, then?’

His mouth twisted. ‘As Edward Temple was Lisel’s father, that seems an unnecessary question.’

Domine flushed. ‘I was surprised, that’s all. I shouldn’t have thought Uncle Edward was your type.’ She paused. ‘Mark’s supposed to be very like him.’

‘Really?’ He raised his wine glass to his lips. ‘I find that hard to believe. When I knew Edward Temple, he was not at all like your brother. For one thing, he had abandoned the material world. Money meant nothing to him. He wrote poetry—and he painted; I have two of his water-colours myself. He seemed totally out of touch with your society, as I know it.’

Domine forked a piece of chicken into her mouth before replying. Then, thoughtfully, she said: ‘Perhaps it would be more to the point to say that the material world had abandoned him. My grandfather never forgave him for running away to get married, and I believe he never had a steady job for years. Writing poetry and painting water-colours might be very pleasant, but it seldom pays the bills.’ She produced a smug smile. ‘Grandpa’s words, not mine.’

‘I see.’ A frown drew his dark brows together for a moment, then he seemed to dismiss the thought that had caused it. ‘Well, it is of no matter. Lisel’s parents are dead now, and beyond the reach of any retribution but God’s. However, the problem of your cousin still remains.’

Domine shrugged. ‘Why do you think I might be able to influence her? Aren’t you afraid I might—contaminate her?’

The downward curve of his mouth revealed the irritation he was keeping in check, and pressing on, she exclaimed restlessly: ‘All right, tell me about Peru, then. I know the capital is Lima, but that’s about all. Do you live in Lima? Does Lisel? Is this place—what did you call it?—Puerto Limas?—is that near Lima?’

Helping himself to more wine, he said: ‘Puerto Limas is almost six hundred miles from Lima. I told you, it is a village, in the mountains. With very little civilisation as you know it within easy reach. However, there is an air service between Lima and Arequipa and road links to the outlying villages.’

‘Six hundred miles!’ Domine was amazed. She had not imagined it was so far. It was almost frightening contemplating the implications of its remoteness, and isolation. Then she realised he had still told her nothing about himself, and her lips tightened with impatience.

‘That disturbs you?’ he enquired now, misunderstanding her expression, and she held up her head, regarding him frustratedly.

‘You disturb me, señor,’ she declared, emphasising the title. ‘What do I know about you? What have you told me about yourself? Nothing! I think that’s rather disturbing. How do I know what you tell me about Lisel is true? She could be dead, for all we know, and you——’

‘I advise you stop there,’ he interrupted her sharply, his eyes glittering coldly, like black ice. ‘Your solicitor, Mr Holland, verified my position long before I came to England, and if you have any doubts about my reputation, I suggest you take them up with him.’

Domine was unrepentant. ‘Well, why are you so reticent? Why don’t you tell me about yourself? Or is there some ghastly skeleton in your family cupboard that you’re afraid is going to come out?’

She did not think he was going to answer her, and she was beginning to wish she had not spoken so recklessly when he said harshly:

‘I am inclined to regret issuing that invitation, Miss Temple. My motives seemed simple enough—that you should get to know your cousin, so that when she comes to England she will have at least one friend. But you seem to think that gives you the right to question me about my private affairs. I assure you, it does not.’

Domine played with the handle of her fork for several moments after his quelling injunction, and then, deciding she might as well damn her chances completely, she replied:

‘You’re a bore, do you know that? And just too conventional to be true! Why shouldn’t I be curious about you? I don’t know what the people are like in that way-out country you come from, but if they’re like you, then believe me, I don’t want to come!’

His features were rigid after this little assertion, and a peculiar shiver of fear ran through her. It was not so much that she was afraid of him, rather that she was afraid she had destroyed for ever her chances of getting to know him better. He would never forgive her for this, and no doubt he was already thinking of ways he could leave the table without arousing any unnecessary comment. She hunched her shoulders, telling herself she had been justified in her outburst, that he had been absurdly reserved and uncommunicative, and that she had no wish to go to Peru anyway. But the feeling of disaster persisted, and she knew she would have given anything to retract what she had said.

‘Is that your final word?’

She lifted her lids to find him looking at her, and immediately a wave of hot colour surged into her cheeks. ‘You mean—I have a choice?’ she gasped.

His expression was not flattering. ‘As I regard your outburst in much the same way as I would any irresponsible statement, the question does not arise,’ he retorted, making her feel ridiculously childish. ‘You are young. You lack self-discipline, as I stated earlier. But you do not dissemble, as I believe your brother does, and I am persuaded that Lisel may teach you as much as you can teach her.’

Domine stared at him indignantly, but she made no attempt to defend herself. The opportunity she had thought lost had been restored to her, and for the moment that was enough.

‘Very well,’ she said, moving her shoulders in an offhand gesture. ‘I will come to Peru—to Puerto Limas. But I won’t promise to behave like one of your Peruvian maidens, all demure and sweetly biddable!’

There was a moment’s pause while he digested this, and then he said, surprisingly: ‘I would not expect you to, Miss Temple.’

To Domine’s surprise, Mark was not enthusiastic.

‘What the hell is the point of travelling all the way to Peru to meet someone who’s eventually going to have to come to England anyway?’ he demanded. ‘Making friends with her! Why do you want to make friends with her? I thought you weren’t interested.’

Domine helped herself to a cup of tea from the tray Mrs Radcliffe had left on the low table on the hearth. It was a grey day outside, with a fine drizzle dampening the tiles around the fountain, but the drawing room was warm and comfortable, an open fire supplementing the heat convected from the radiators. Spooning sugar into her cup, she said: ‘I thought you would approve. After all, you were the one who wished you could get to know her.’

‘Me, yes. You, no.’ Mark was sullen. ‘Why did he ask you, that’s what I’d like to know? Why not me? After all, I’m the man of the family, now that Grandpa’s dead. Surely I’m the one he should have asked.’

Domine sipped her tea reflectively. ‘I expect he thought Lisel would respond more easily to another woman,’ she shrugged. ‘Having lived with these nuns for years, she probably doesn’t know many men.’

‘Huh!’ Mark paced aggressively about the room. ‘All the same, I am her cousin.’

Domine shrugged, deciding it would not be politic at this time to point out that she was, too, and eventually Mark got around to asking her when she planned to leave.

‘I’m not sure,’ she admitted doubtfully. ‘But soon, I suppose. I called at the library on my way home, and apparently it’s summer in Lima at the moment. Summer is the best time to visit. Though where Lisel lives, the temperatures don’t vary too much from winter to summer. They have a rainy season——’

‘Save it!’ interposed Mark impatiently, his lower lip jutting angrily. ‘I don’t want a geographical run-down of the country. I only wanted to know whether you planned to travel back with Aguilar.’

‘No.’ Domine could be certain of this anyway. ‘Mr Holland told me he plans to leave the day after tomorrow. I couldn’t possibly be ready in that time.’

‘Holland? Oh, yes …’ Mark nodded. ‘You went to see him. What did he have to say?’

Domine put down her cup, choosing her next words with care. ‘Well,’ she began slowly, ‘he suggested that we ought to think carefully before selling Griffons.’

‘Oh, did he?’

‘Yes.’ Domine hesitated. ‘He also suggested that we might consider—offering Lisel a home here, until—until she finds her feet.’

Mark scowled, but she could see the agile brain working. ‘Offer Lisel a home here,’ he echoed broodingly. ‘While we do—what?’

‘You know Mr Villiers would give you a job,’ Domine ventured cautiously, but Mark vetoed that suggestion straight away.

‘What? Me work for old Villiers! You’ve got to be joking!’

‘Why?’ Domine stuck to her guns. ‘Despite Grandpa’s opinion of you, you do know quite a lot about the business. If you went to work for Mr Villiers, you would eventually get his job. And in a few years——’

‘Oh, yes.’ Mark’s tone was ironic. ‘In a few years, I might work myself into the position I occupy now!’

‘No.’ Domine pursed her lips. ‘Mark, you don’t have any position now, and you know it.’

‘Lisel doesn’t.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You remember what I said last night? Lisel knows nothing about the mills. As you’ve just pointed out, I do. Why shouldn’t I become her managing director? Boss in everything but name.’

‘The board would never agree.’

Mark’s scowl returned. ‘Why not? They won’t be able to stop me, if I have Lisel’s backing.’

Domine shook her head. ‘You’re completely unscrupulous, aren’t you?’

Mark shrugged. ‘Just practical, that’s all. Exactly what you asked me to be.’

Domine made a frustrated gesture. ‘Aren’t you forgetting Señor Aguilar. We still don’t know what his interest is. What if he plans to come back to England with Lisel? To help her——’

Mark’s balled fist smote the palm of his hand. ‘You don’t really believe that, any more than I do. In any case, it’s up to you now, to persuade Lisel that she doesn’t need any outside help. That her—long-lost family are more than willing to do everything they can to make things easy for her.’

‘Me?’ exclaimed Domine in dismay. ‘Up to me? Oh, no, Mark. You can’t expect me to persuade her to put her trust in you. Besides, I don’t suppose she’d believe me. She knows Grandpa left the business to her because he didn’t trust you. She’s not a fool, you know, only shy.’

Mark snorted. ‘I doubt whether the subleties of the situation have even occurred to her,’ he retorted. ‘And your friend Aguilar doesn’t seem the type to spread that kind of rumour.’

‘He’s not my friend,’ said Domine crossly, munching a ginger biscuit with more vehemence than enjoyment.

‘Isn’t he?’ Mark was guessing again. ‘It was you he invited to lunch, not me.’

‘He invited us both for dinner,’ Domine countered shortly, remembering her intention of wearing the black satin cat-suit. That could wait, however, she decided sensibly. She would take it with her to Peru, though. There might be another occasion.

They drove to the hotel that evening in Mark’s Mercedes. His enthusiasm for her trip was increasing by the minute, but Domine’s doubts were just as fertile. It might have been easier if she had felt some emotion towards the girl she was going to meet; resentment or curiosity, or both. But being absolutely honest with herself, she had to admit that without Luis Delgado Aguilar’s intervention, she would never have agreed to such a request.

Her choice of gown that evening mirrored her intention to show him that she was not the tiresome child he so obviously thought her. Like the cat-suit, it was black, but its draped chiffon bodice and flowing skirts were unmistakably feminine. It left most of her slender arms bare, and she wore a broad slave bracelet on her forearm, to complement the slim gold chain about her neck. Her hair was coiled into a swathed knot on top of her head, and even Mark had commented on the elegance of her appearance.

Luis Aguilar was waiting for them in the foyer this evening, suave and immaculate in his dinner jacket, the long powerful legs carrying him swiftly to greet them. If he found Domine’s appearance appealing, he made no show of it, summoning an attendant to take her velvet cape, before leading the way into the dining room.

‘You will forgive me if I do not offer you a drink first, Temple,’ he said, as they approached a table set for four. ‘But my other guest does not drink alcohol, and I do not care to keep her waiting.’

It was then that Domine saw the other woman already seated at the table. She was also dark, like their host, with the same kind of sheen to her cap of dark hair. Domine estimated her age to be around thirty, but she had one of those ageless Spanish faces that could have been any age from thirty to forty. High cheekbones, and a finely-sculpted mouth, a black gown, like Domine’s, only different in the respect that she showed very little of her magnolia pale skin, and a tall slender body as she rose, that dwarfed Domine’s five feet and four inches. Whoever she was, she would curtail Mark’s plans to spend the evening ingratiating himself with Luis Aguilar, Domine thought rather spitefully, angry herself that he should show so much respect to this woman, and so little to her.

‘Allow me to present Lisel’s cousins, Inez,’ he was saying now, as the woman’s lips parted in a polite smile. ‘This is my sister, Miss Temple,’ he explained, meeting Domine’s incredulity with sardonic eyes. ‘She is staying in London at the moment, and I invited her to join us this evening.’

Inez Aguilar—Domine could only think of her as unmarried, as she did not mention a husband—had little to say for herself. When she did speak, she addressed herself to Mark, asking him about his likes and dislikes in the way of food and entertainment, emitting little about her own activities. She seemed quite content to sit back and allow her brother to dominate the conversation, and he did so, talking about general things mostly, giving Mark little opportunity to introduce a more personal note.

The meal was excellent. Domine had seafood, and steak, and finished with puree of strawberries, served with ice-cream. She had a good appetite, and seldom had to worry about her figure. Occasionally, if she thought she was gaining an extra inch, she went on a diet of crackers and lemon juice for a couple of days, but she was always glad when she could revert to her normal eating habits.

She was aware of Inez Aguilar watching her from time to time throughout the meal, but it was not until the coffee was served that she addressed herself to her.

Then she said: ‘My brother tells me you are to visit Peru, Miss Temple. To meet with your cousin, no? I am sure Lisel will be delighted to meet one of her own countrywomen.’

Domine felt this was open to discussion, but she nodded, and answered: ‘That’s right. I’m—er—I’m looking forward to it. I’ve never visited South America before.’

Inez wiped her lips with her napkin and then dropped it on the table. ‘You—you will probably find it much different from your expectations,’ she said at last. ‘Not only are we in another hemisphere, we seem also to be in another century.’

‘I think Miss Temple is aware of that, Inez,’ remarked her brother drily. ‘Will you have some cognac, Temple? I can recommend the St Helena. Napoleon’s best, I believe.’

Domine cast a resentful look in his direction, but he was summoning the waiter, and taking the opportunity, she asked: ‘Do you and your brother live in Puerto Limas, señora?’

If he had heard her question there was nothing he could do about it, for the waiter had taken his full attention, and Inez answered without hesitation.

‘My brother’s house is just outside Aguilas, which is some three miles from Puerto Limas, Miss Temple,’ she said. ‘I, of course, live at Puerto Limas.’

Of course? Domine shrugged to herself, and as she did so she saw she now had their host’s undivided attention. However, she pretended not to notice this silent intimidation as she went on: ‘Aguilas? Oh, yes. Er—Luis told me. That’s the nearest town to Puerto Limas, isn’t it?’

It was difficult to decide who was the most annoyed by her deliberately casual reference. Inez was obviously taken aback, and even Mark was regarding her with a mixture of amusement and irritation. The silence around the table was itself intimidating, but above the murmur of conversation around them, Domine could hear the distinct sound of music. It was a lifeline, she thought, looking appealingly to Mark for deliverance, and holding his indifferent gaze she said:

‘There must be a dance going on next door. Shall we have our coffee in there?’

Before Mark could answer however, Luis interposed. ‘Regretfully, my sister does not dance,’ he said, pushing back his chair. ‘But if your brother will be so kind as to keep Inez company, I will show you the ballroom.’

It was the last thing Domine wanted, but her silent signals to Mark produced only the most resigned of apologies. No doubt he was not too overjoyed at the prospect of keeping Inez company, and he probably thought she deserved all she got.

Luis was standing now, waiting for her to get to her feet, and with a determined stiffening of her shoulders she did so. Mark made a perfunctory gesture of rising, and then she was walking swiftly across the floor, trying to keep pace with Luis’s longer strides.

Outside the restaurant he turned sharp right, and now she could see the small ballroom that opened at the end of the corridor. The sound of music was louder now, predominantly violins, with none of the throbbing rhythm of guitars that Domine was used to dancing to.

‘So,’ he said, as they halted in the open doorway to the ballroom, ‘you seek to inquisition my sister with your questions.’

His voice was low and angry, and Domine felt the increasingly familiar feeling of frustration where he was concerned. ‘There’s no such verb as inquisition,’ she declared crossly, glancing up at his taut profile. ‘Inquisition is a noun. One can conduct an inquisition, but one doesn’t inquisition anyone.’ She pursed her lips. ‘You should know that, coming from the race of people who introduced the word.’

His antagonism was palpable, but she knew there was no point in trying to reason with him. Someone, perhaps this sister of his, had given him this inflated opinion he had of himself, and it was time he realised that not all females bowed before his rampant superiority.

‘Thank you for that lesson in English, Miss Temple,’ he said now, his eyes narrowed and hostile. ‘But I beg to correct you, on one point at least. The Spaniards introduced the inquisition, and I consider myself Peruvian, not European!’

Domine shrugged. ‘You speak Spanish in Peru, don’t you?’

‘They speak English in the United States, but I doubt if they consider themselves British,’ he retorted brusquely, and then made a sound of impatience. ‘But this is ridiculous. I am allowing myself to be drawn into one of these pointless arguments that you seem to thrive on. I did not bring you out here to discuss my poor grasp of the English language.’

‘You know your English is faultless,’ exclaimed Domine indignantly, and suffered another of those belittling stares.

‘That tempts me to an obvious retort, does it not?’ he demanded, shaking his head. ‘But I refuse to make it. My reasons for bringing you out here were——’

‘—to show me the ballroom,’ interposed Domine wickedly, and the thin lines of his mouth relaxed into reluctant humour.

‘You are incorrigible!’ he affirmed, with resignation. ‘Did your mother never teach you that it is unfeminine to be so presumptuous?’

Domine hesitated. ‘My mother died soon after I was born,’ she replied slowly. ‘Grandpa was the only parent I’ve ever known.’

‘Your father?’

‘He was drowned, when I was six.’

‘Perdone!’ For the first time since she had known him she heard him lapse into his own language for a moment, and the betraying sensitivity was disturbing. But he quickly recovered himself. ‘I regret,’ he said, his words still a little shaken, ‘I mean not to pry into your private affairs.’

‘That’s all right.’ Domine was offhand. ‘I don’t mind. I have nothing to hide.’

The ironic twist to his lips revealed his understanding of her last statement, and with an inclination of his head he said: ‘No more do I, Miss Temple,’ but he made no attempt to elaborate.

Deciding to take the initiative yet again, Domine stepped through the doorway into the small ballroom. It was not an attractive room, unless one liked Gothic mirrors and gilt decoration, but in spite of its heavy carving and gloomy lighting the acoustics were remarkably good. There were few people circling the floor to the music of the string quartet playing on a dais at the far end, and the musicians themselves were making hard work of a popular tune of the day. Most of the guests present seemed quite content to sit at the tables surrounding the dance floor, or congregate together near the doorway where Domine was standing. It was a typical gathering of middle-aged to elderly people, and she wondered what Luis’s reactions were to this collection of Englishmen taking their leisure.

Glancing round, she saw he had come to join her, standing slightly behind her, surveying the scene with enigmatic eyes. Domine wondered if they had dances like this in Lima, or whether the young people were allowed to indulge in more exciting rhythms than the jerky quickstep at present being executed.

‘Do you dance—Luis?’ she enquired irrepressibly, and he regarded her tolerantly.

‘I do not recall giving you permission to call me by my given name,’ he said without heat. ‘My sister was most shocked, as you may have noticed. In Peru, one does not do such things. It may seem terribly old-fashioned to you, but we are brought up to respect our elders.’

Domine couldn’t suppress a gurgle of laughter. ‘Your elders?’ she echoed. ‘Are you saying that you are my elder?’

‘I am much older than you are,’ he agreed smoothly, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. ‘Shall we return to the others?’

‘No.’ Domine was mutinous. ‘I want to clear up this point about names here and now. Are you saying, if I got to know you in Peru, I would be expected to call you Señor Aguilar all the time?’

He sighed. ‘No. Once we had been introduced, you might call me simply señor, or perhaps Don Luis.’

‘Don Luis?’ Domine shook her head. ‘But why? Why shouldn’t I call you Luis? That’s your name, isn’t it?’

He gave a resigned shrug of his shoulders. ‘Why can you not accept that that is our way? It is not your way, I know, but I cannot help that.’

Domine hunched her slim shoulders. ‘Well, if you think I’m going to call you Señor Aguilar, you’re mistaken. It’s too archaic for words. This is the twentieth century—the fourth quarter of the twentieth century! I’m not some Victorian miss, meeting a man for the first time!’

‘No one could doubt that,’ Luis retorted drily, and she knew an unexpected impulse to please him.

The rhythm of the music had changed to a slow waltz, and the musicians were evidently more capable in this tempo. The tune was one of Domine’s favourites, usually sung by a group with their guitars, but still as haunting, played by the Percy Manfield quartet.

With an appealing eagerness she turned to Luis, putting a hand on his sleeve and saying: ‘Dance with me!’ in low breathy tones.

His reaction was predictable. ‘You do not give up, do you, Miss Temple,’ he exclaimed tersely. ‘And even in this liberated country of yours, surely it is still the prerogative of the male to invite the female to dance?’

‘Are you inviting me?’ she enquired, arching her eyebrows interrogatively, and he expelled his breath with impatience.

‘No,’ he retorted, and she could see the way his fists had balled in his pockets. ‘But as I know you will persist in this foolishness until you get your own way, I am forced to the conclusion that it might be easier to give in to you.’

Domine’s expression mirrored her delight. ‘Then you will?’

‘If you insist,’ he conceeded shortly, and she cast him a mischievous smile as she preceded him on to the dance floor.

However, her ideas of dancing and his were as converse as their opinions. Luis held her stiffly, with one hand in the small of her back and at least six inches of space between them. His other hand held hers at the required angle, and although his fingers were firm around hers, there was no feeling of intimacy between them.

‘Can’t you relax?’ she demanded, removing her hand from his shoulder and twisting it around her back to shift his fingers from her spine. ‘Hold me closer, for heaven’s sake!’ She looked up at him appeasingly. ‘I won’t explode, you know!’

Luis permitted her to draw a little nearer, but he made no response to her teasing provocation. Nor did he relax the stiffness of his body, and driven beyond reason, Domine drew back from him abruptly, right into the path of another couple. The man’s hard heel crunched painfully down on to Domine’s sandal-clad instep, and she could hardly suppress the cry of agony that rose into her throat. The man’s immediate apologies were sincere, and she managed to assure him that it was really her fault, but she had to limp off the floor, refusing as she did to take Luis’s arm once more.

But once they had gained the comparative privacy of the corridor, his fingers gripped her upper arm without her volition. ‘Let me see it,’ he commanded, gesturing towards her foot, and in spite of her previous intentions, she extended it for his inspection. ‘Idiota! Imbecil!’ he muttered savagely, squatting down beside her and massaging her foot with exquisite gentleness, and Domine caught her breath.

‘Who?’ she asked jerkily. ‘Me? It wasn’t my fault really. It was an accident——’

‘I did not say I meant you, did I?’ he objected, looking up at her with those dark enigmatic eyes. ‘Perhaps I meant myself, for allowing such a thing to happen.’

Domine’s breathing felt constricted suddenly. ‘It—it wasn’t anybody’s fault,’ she got out unevenly. ‘I—will it be all right?’

‘Nothing seems to be broken,’ he reassured her, making a final searching examination. ‘It may be a little stiff tomorrow, but that is all.’

‘Thank you.’ Domine slipped her foot back into her sandal as he rose to his feet. Already most of the stinging pain had left it, and only the bruising of the flesh remained to remind her of the incident. That, and the disruptive tenderness of Luis’s hands upon her skin. ‘I—I suppose we’d better go back to the restaurant now.’

‘I suppose we better had,’ he agreed gravely, supporting himself against the panelled wall of the corridor, but he made no attempt to move away, and Domine’s pulses raced. ‘Tell me,’ he added, the hooded lids shading his expression, ‘how soon can you be ready to leave for Lima? One week? Two? I myself must return in a day or so, but I should like to know when you expect to make the journey.’

Domine’s smile was quizzical. ‘Do you really care?’ Then, when he made no effort to answer her, she continued: ‘I don’t really know—I haven’t thought about it yet. Will I need a visa? And are there injections I should have?’

Luis frowned. ‘You will not need a tourist card, but as for inoculations—yes, I suppose there are certain precautions you should take. Yellow fever, smallpox and tetanus, certainly. And perhaps typhus, too, although that is not absolutely essential.’

Domine grimaced. ‘So many!’

Luis’s expression softened. ‘But necessary, do you not agree?’ His eyes moved over her face to the creamy skin rising from the folds of black chiffon. ‘You would not like to see that smooth skin scarred with pockmarks, would you? And I assure you, typhus has equally unpleasant symptoms.’

‘All right.’ Domine adjusted her sandal strap under his intent gaze. ‘I’ll make the necessary appointments.’ She hesitated. ‘I just wish you weren’t leaving so soon.’

‘Why?’

For once he responded to her wistful anxiety, and she looked up at him with appealing candour. ‘Because—well, because I’ve never made such a long journey alone. In fact, I haven’t made any journeys alone before. Grandpa always insisted I had a companion, usually my mother’s Aunt Barbara. She came with me to Italy last summer.’

His expression was thoughtful now, the finely-chiselled lips drawn into a considering line. ‘Your grandfather,’ he said, as if speaking his thoughts aloud. ‘You feel no antagonism towards him, do you? Do you not feel any resentment towards your cousin either?’

‘Why should I?’ Domine was philosophical. ‘Grandpa did what he thought was best. Perhaps he was right. If he’d left me the mills, he knew Mark would have——’

But she broke off there, realising suddenly what she was saying, and to whom she was saying it. She was not supposed to take sides, and certainly not with the man who represented her cousin. If Mark could hear her …

‘I see.’ Luis straightened away from the wall now, and she could tell from his expression that he understood very well what she had been about to say. ‘So you will come in two weeks, yes? And your brother shall remain here, and we will see what kind of success he has in running the mills.’

Domine gulped. ‘You’re leaving Mark in charge?’

‘Temporarily,’ he agreed. ‘Answerable to Mr Holland, and ultimately to his own board of directors, of course.’

Domine shook her head. ‘I don’t believe it.’

‘You do not recommend me to do this thing?’ he enquired, and she made a helpless movement of her shoulders.

‘No! Yes! I mean, why are you doing this?’

‘We have a saying in my country,’ he said, beginning to walk back to the restaurant, and she had, perforce, to accompany him. They reached the glass doors, and through them she could see Mark and Inez still sitting stiffly at their table. ‘It is: if a man can float, he will not drown; but if he can swim, he will reach the shore safely.’

Domine sighed. ‘You—expect Mark to—prove himself?’

‘Or not, as the case may be.’

‘You don’t trust him, do you?’

Luis put a hand on the glass door. ‘I trust you,’ he said quietly, and Domine would never have believed those three words could be instilled with so much meaning for her.

CHAPTER THREE

IT had been a long and frustrating journey.

The flight left London in the middle of the morning, but although they reached Antigua in the Caribbean afternoon on schedule, there was a three-hour delay at St Johns before their take-off for Caracas. Consequently, it was quite late in the evening when they landed at Maiquetia, the narrow airstrip that served the capital of Venezuela.

Domine was exhausted. Her initial enchantment with vistas of blue skies and even bluer waters had given way to weariness, and she was almost relieved when she learned that the flight for Lima had been postponed until the following morning. Darkness had fallen during the trip from Antigua, and now wrapped around the airport like a velvety blanket, reminding her acutely that in England it was already the middle of the night.

Yet it was not only the time change that made her welcome the delay. She was travelling alone for the first time, but that had not really worried her. The feeling of doubt and uncertainty that had gripped her ever since Luis had returned home owed little to her nerves about flying. She was more concerned with the consequences of what she was doing, and the unsettling realisation that her anticipation was not to meet her cousin for the first time, but to see Luis Aguilar again.

Mark thought she was mad for making the trip, but then Mark was unaware of her feelings, feelings she scarcely understood herself. He thought she saw the whole thing as a chance holiday, a break before she was obliged to seek some kind of employment, and fortunately he was too wrapped up in the affairs of the mill to see through her carefully erected defences. He seemed to regard the opportunity he had been given as a challenge, and she guessed Luis’s contempt had achieved what her grandfather’s anger had not. Mark was determined to succeed, and she supposed she ought to be grateful for that.

For her own part, she had been occupied with arranging the necessary injections, and indulging in last-minute bouts of shopping for clothes suitable to a Peruvian summer. She had refused to brood over the rights and wrongs of what she was doing, or allow the doubts she cherished to interfere with her sleep. Whatever happened, she was committed to spending at least two weeks in Peru, and at the end of that time she would know exactly where she stood.

It had taken longer than she had expected to arrange her departure. For one thing, her vaccination against smallpox had reacted painfully on her, and she felt so ill, her doctor had advised her to wait the recommended three weeks before having her typhus inoculation. Consequently, it was three weeks, instead of two, since Luis had departed, and each succeeding day had strengthened her need to see him again, while weakening any faith she had in his attitude towards her. He had treated her politely at the last, shown sympathy when she hurt herself, and interest in her travel arrangements—but that was all! Anything else was pure fantasy on her behalf, and she knew part of her desire to prolong the journey was compounded of the knowledge that she could delude herself for a little longer.

In fact, Domine had little time the following morning to feel any kind of apprehension. Awakening early, her body still attuned to European time, she watched the sun gild the waters of the Caribbean, visible from the window of her hotel room while she ate breakfast. There was freshly-squeezed orange juice, recommended by the black-skinned waiter who served her supper the night before, hot rolls with jelly, and strongly-flavoured coffee. She even made a good meal, in spite of her lack of appetite on the flight out the previous day.

She was glad of the opportunity it had given her to change. The jersey suit she had worn in London was stowed in her case, and out came cotton pants and a short-sleeved cotton shirt. Even her hair felt heavy in the humidity of the coastal plain, and she listened with interest when the elder English man who sat beside her in the Boeing explained that it was much cooler in Caracas itself.

‘It’s the altitude,’ he explained, ‘or in this case, the lack of it. Caracas is over three thousand feet above sea level. They call it the city of eternal spring.’

Domine was intrigued and tempted to ask whether he knew Lima as well, but she decided against it. She would see the city for herself soon enough, and besides, she would not be staying there. Her destination was Puerto Limas.

Luis had left instructions that she should communicate the date and time of her arrival to a firm of solicitors in Lima, who were acting on her cousin’s behalf. They in their turn would make the onward arrangements for her trip south, and no doubt Lisel herself would meet her at the airport in Arequipa.

The flight from Caracas to Lima was the most spectacular stage of her journey, and she could understand any pilot not wishing to make the trip without having complete confidence in the reliability of his aircraft. Climbing out of Caracas, the awesome majesty of the Guayana highlands gave way to the foothills of the Andes, looming before them like an insurmountable barrier to the west. Range upon range of the most treacherous mountains in the world, their snow-capped peaks possessing a terrifying fascination, a cruel beauty, that both excited and repelled. The high plateaux and deep gorges were clearly visible once the shield of rain-cloud rising from the Amazon basin in the south had disappeared; but their size was encapsulated, their vastness condensed, so that the scene was represented in miniature, a compact landscape of mountains and valleys, hiding the jagged rock formations, the icy citadels, where man was as helpless as a lamb in a snowstorm.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.