Counterfeit Bride
Sara Craven

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Former journalist SARA CRAVEN published her first novel ‘Garden of Dreams’ for Mills & Boon in 1975. Apart from her writing (naturally!) her passions include reading, bridge, Italian cities, Greek islands, the French language and countryside, and her rescue Jack Russell/cross Button. She has appeared on several TV quiz shows and in 1997 became UK TV Mastermind champion. She lives near her family in Warwickshire – Shakespeare country.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

COVER

TITLE PAGE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

ENDPAGE

COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

‘YOU know something?’ Elaine Fairmont announced. ‘I’m really going to miss Mexico.’

Nicola looked up from the files she was packing into a carton, her lips curving in amusement.

‘What’s prompted this sudden, if belated, change of heart?’ she enquired. ‘I thought nothing in Mexico City could possibly compare with Los Angeles?’

‘Well, I’ve been giving the matter some thought, and I’ve decided that actually they have quite a lot in common,’ Elaine said solemnly. She began to count off on her fingers. ‘There’s the traffic and the smog—and the possibility of earthquakes—we mustn’t forget those. Of course L.A. isn’t actually sinking into a lake as far as I know, but the San Andreas fault could change all that.’

‘It could indeed,’ Nicola agreed, her eyes dancing. ‘I suppose there’s no chance that you’ll change your mind a step further and come with me on my sightseeing trip?’

Elaine shook her head. ‘No, honey. To me a ruin is a ruin, and who needs them? I’m no tourist, and besides, I’ve read about those Aztecs, and they had some pretty creepy habits. I’m not going back to L.A. with nightmares.’ She paused. ‘I suppose you haven’t changed your mind either?’

‘About returning to California with Trans-Chem?’ It was Nicola’s turn to shake her head. ‘No, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed working for them, but this contract was really just a means to an end—a way of letting me see Mexico.’ And a way of getting me as far away from Zurich and from Ewan as possible, she thought with a pang.

‘So, sign another contract and see the U.S.A.,’ Elaine suggested amiably. ‘Martin’s all set to fix you up with a work permit the moment you say the word, and all my folks are dying to meet you.’

Nicola smiled. ‘It’s very tempting, I admit. But I’m not sure where I want to work next time. I think it will almost certainly be Europe again.’

‘Then why not Spain?’ Elaine asked. ‘Your Spanish is terrific, thanks to Teresita’s coaching. It would be a great chance to make use of it.’

‘Perhaps.’ Nicola gave a slight grimace. ‘Actually I’d planned on finding somewhere a little more liberated next time.’

Elaine laughed. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve gotten tired of all this guera preciosa as you walk down the street?’

‘I hate it.’ There was a sudden intensity in Nicola’s tone which made Elaine glance curiously at her before she returned to her task of feeding unwanted documents into the shredder. ‘It’s insulting. I haven’t any illusions about my attractions, such as they are, and I don’t need my ego boosted by meaningless compliments from total strangers. “Precious light-haired one” indeed! It’s not even a particularly valid description,’ she added, tugging at a strand of her tawny sun-streaked hair. ‘Surely you of all people can’t go along with this incessant reduction of women to mere sex objects?’

Elaine lifted a negligent shoulder. ‘It doesn’t really bother me. It’s harmless as long as you don’t take it seriously, or respond in any way, and I quite like being admired. The Women’s Lib movement isn’t the whole answer, you know. I’ve seen what it’s done to people—to my own sister, in fact. She was happily married, or she sure seemed to be until someone started raising her consciousness. Now she’s divorced, the kids cry all the time, and there’s endless hassle with lawyers about alimony, and who gets the car and the ice-box.’

Nicola closed the carton and fastened it with sealing tape.

‘That’s rather going to extremes,’ she said. ‘What I can’t get used to is the attitude here that a woman is just—an adjunct to a man. Industrially, Mexico is making giant strides, but there are some things still which haven’t changed from the days of the conquistadores—and that’s what I find so hard to take. Well, look at Teresita, for instance.’

‘I’m looking,’ Elaine agreed. ‘What’s her problem?’

‘Everything.’ Nicola spread her hands helplessly. ‘There’s this guardian of hers. She’s been sharing our apartment for three months now, and she still hasn’t told him. He thinks she’s living in that convent hostel, and from things she’s said, I gather even that was a concession.’

Nicola’s tone became heated, and Elaine smiled.

‘Calm down,’ she advised. ‘If there was ever anyone who doesn’t need our sympathy, then it’s Teresita.’

‘You mean because she’s actually going to escape from the trap?’ Nicola reached for another carton. ‘I suppose you’re right.’

‘No, that wasn’t what I meant,’ Elaine said drily. ‘Nor am I too sure she is going to escape, as you put it.’

Nicola put down the files she was holding, and stared at the other girl with growing concern.

‘But of course she will, when she marries Cliff. He won’t keep her chained up. Or are you saying you don’t think they will get married?’ When Elaine nodded, she burst out, ‘But that’s ridiculous! You’ve said yourself you’ve never seen two people so much in love. Why, she’s living for him to get back from Chicago, you know she is.’

‘Sure,’ Elaine said. ‘Teresita and Cliff are the year’s most heartwarming sight—but marriage?’ She shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. Do you imagine that guardian of hers is going to allow her to throw herself away on a mere chemical engineer?’

‘Perhaps he won’t care,’ said Nicola. ‘After all, he doesn’t take a great deal of interest in her. He never comes to see her—which is just as well under the circumstances—and his letters are few and far between.’

‘True, but that doesn’t mean he won’t get good and interested if she plans to marry someone he doesn’t approve of.’

‘But why shouldn’t he approve of Cliff? Apart from being one of the nicest guys you could wish to meet, he’s well qualified, has a good job, and is more than able to support a wife.’

Elaine shrugged. ‘I have a feeling that he’ll need a lot more than that to be acceptable as husband material for Teresita. Just consider—since we’ve known her, how many paying jobs has she had?’

‘Only one,’ Nicola acknowledged. ‘The couple of weeks she spent here as receptionist.’

‘Right,’ said Elaine. ‘And were we surprised that other offers didn’t come her way—considering that as a receptionist she was a walking, talking disaster area?’

Nicola grinned, remembering the mislaid messages, misunderstandings, and interrupted telephone calls which had distinguished Teresita’s brief sojourn at the reception desk. No one had the least idea how she had ever got the job while the regular girl was on holiday, or how she had lasted in it for longer than five minutes, although Elaine had commented that the management had probably been too dazed by the whole experience to fire her.

‘No, we weren’t in the least surprised,’ she said, and hesitated. ‘But she does work.’

‘Social work—with the nuns—unpaid,’ Elaine pointed out. ‘And very estimable too. So, where does she get the money to pay her share of the rent, and buy all those gorgeous clothes that she has—all those little numbers from the boutiques in the Zona Rosa? Not to mention her jewellery.’

‘What about her jewellery? It’s rather flamboyant, but …’

‘It’s entitled to be flamboyant. It’s also real,’ Elaine said drily.

There was a small, shaken silence then Nicola said, ‘You must be joking.’

‘I promise I’m not. I have an uncle who’s a jeweller in Santa Barbara, and I spent some of my formative years learning to pick the fake from the real stuff. I’m not making any mistake.’

‘My God!’ Nicola put her hands to her face. ‘She lent me—she actually lent me her pearls that time we all went out to dinner.’

‘I remember,’ Elaine nodded. ‘They looked good on you.’

‘That isn’t the point,’ Nicola almost wailed. ‘Suppose I’d lost them—or they’d been stolen?’

‘You didn’t, and they weren’t, and they’ll be insured anyway,’ Elaine said reasonably. ‘But we’re getting away from the subject here. What I’m saying is that Teresita isn’t just a nice girl we met, who shares our apartment and cooks up the greatest enchiladas in Mexico. She’s also a rich lady, and if this guardian of hers knows what he’s doing, he’ll want to marry her money to more money, because that’s the way things are, so Cliff and she may have some problems. That’s all.’

It was enough, Nicola thought unhappily. She said, ‘Teresita’s of age, so there’s nothing to stop her getting married, if she wants to, and she does want to.’

‘Don’t sound so fierce! Okay, so she and Cliff are Romeo and Juliet all over again, and she is a very sweet gentle girl. No one would argue. But she’s led a very sheltered life. She was practically brought up by nuns, after all, and she’d still be living in that hostel if we hadn’t invited her to move in with us. I’m amazed that she ever agreed anyway, and she still trails round to the convent to see if there’s any mail for her each day because she’s scared her guardian may find out that she’s left—because basically she knows in her heart that if he cracks the whip she’ll jump, whether she’s of age or not.’ She paused, giving Nicola a quizzical look. ‘And if she dare not tell him she’s sharing an apartment in a good part of town with a couple of gringas, then just how is she going to break the news that she’s engaged to a norteamericano?’

‘It’s rather different,’ Nicola argued. ‘If he’d forbidden her to leave the hostel, she’d have been unhappy perhaps, but it wouldn’t have been the end of the world. But if he makes any objection to her marrying Cliff, then it will break her heart. She might have yielded to pressure over the apartment issue, but not over Cliff. I’m sure of it.’

‘Well, you have a touching faith in her will power which I don’t share.’ Elaine turned back to her paper-shredding. ‘I guess we’d better get on with the packing. The place already looks as if we’d moved out.’

‘Yes,’ said Nicola with a little sigh.

She hadn’t expected to enjoy her stay with Trans-Chem. She knew very little about the technicalities of chemical plants and their construction and was happy in her ignorance. She’d just been desperate for some kind of contract which would take her away from Zurich, and ensure that she wasn’t there to see Ewan marry the stolid blonde daughter of his company chairman.

Nor had she really expected to get the job, although she knew that the fact that she already spoke Spanish, garnered from an intensive course at the Polytechnic where she’d undergone her secretarial training, would stand her in good stead. Trans-Chem were after all an American company, and most of their personnel were recruited in the States, as Elaine had been.

But the job was offered to her, and she accepted with a growing excitement which helped to alleviate some of the pain and humiliation Ewan had made her suffer. She had fallen so deeply in love with him that it seemed impossible for him not to share her feelings. In fact, he did share them. He admitted as much, but it made no difference to his plans. Ewan intended to marry well, and a mere secretary earning her own living didn’t fill the bill as a potential bride at all. Although he did have other plans for her, as Nicola had shamingly discovered when finally he had been forced to tell her that his marriage to Greta was imminent.

She’d sat in the circle of his arms, feeling as if she’d been turned to stone, while part of her mind registered incredulously that he was telling her that his marriage needn’t make any difference, that it could even be an advantage. When the promotion which his future father-in-law had promised as a certainty finally materialised, then he would have Nicola transferred to his office as his own secretary. There would be business trips which they would make together, he’d said, and he would help her to find a bigger flat where they could be together as often as possible.

She sat there in silence, listening to his voice, to the confidence in it as he made his sordid plans, and wondered why he should have thought she would ever agree to any such thing, when they had never even been lovers in the generally accepted sense. She had often asked herself what had held her back from that ultimate commitment, and could find no answer except perhaps that there had always been a deep, barely acknowledged instinct which she had obeyed, warning her not to trust too blindly, or to give herself without that trust.

When she was able to think more rationally about what had happened, she knew she ought to feel relief that she hadn’t that particular bitterness to add to her disillusionment, but it had seemed cold comfort then, and still did.

She had come to Mexico determined not to make a fool of herself again, and her bitterness had been her shield, not merely against the Mexican men whose persistent attempts to flirt with her had at first annoyed and later amused her, but also against the mainly male American staff of Trans-Chem, many of whom would have shown more than a passing interest in her, if she had allowed them to.

Sometimes she wished she could be more like Elaine, who uninhibitedly enjoyed a series of casual relationships, and wept no tears when they were over. Nicola was aware that some of the men had privately dubbed her ‘Snow Queen’, and although it had stung a little at the time, she had come to welcome the nickname as a form of protection.

What she hadn’t realised was that some men, observing the curve of tawny hair falling to her shoulders, the green eyes with their long fringe of lashes, the small straight nose, and the wilful line of the mouth, would still be sufficiently attracted to find her determined coolness a turn-on, forcing her to an open cruelty which she wouldn’t have been capable of before Ewan came into her life.

‘My God,’ Elaine said once. ‘You don’t fool around when you’re giving someone the brush-off! Poor Craig has gone back to the States convinced he has terminal halitosis.’

Nicola flushed. ‘I can’t help it. I try to make it clear that I’m not interested, and then they get persistent, so what can I do?’

‘You could try saying yes for once.’ Elaine gave her a measuring look. ‘Whatever went wrong in Zurich, sooner or later some guy’s going to come along and make you forget all about it, only you have to give him a chance.’

‘Perhaps,’ Nicola said woodenly. ‘But I can promise you that it’s no one I’ve met so far.’

Probably there never would be anyone, she thought. She was on her guard now. Indeed, she had sometimes wondered if she would have fallen for Ewan quite so hard if she hadn’t been confused and lonely, away from home for the first time.

Travelling, seeing the world, had always been her own idea ever since childhood, and her parents, recognising the wanderlust they did not share, had given her the loving encouragement she needed. Her undoubted gift for languages had been the original spur, and she was fluent in French and German before she had left school.

Nicola wondered sometimes where the urge to travel had come from. Her parents were so serenely content on their farm at Barton Abbas in Somerset. It was their world, and they needed nothing better, no matter how much they might enjoy her letters and photographs and stories of faraway places. And Robert, her younger brother, was the same. One day the farm would be his, and that would be enough for him too. But not for her. Never for her.

Now, she wasn’t altogether sure what she wanted. Working for Trans-Chem had been more enjoyable than she could ever have anticipated. The company expected high standards of efficiency, but at the same time treated her with a friendly informality which she had never experienced in any previous job, and certainly not in Zurich. And they had been keen, as their contract to assist in a consultative capacity with the building of a new plant in Mexico’s expanding chemical industry began to wind up, for her to work for them in the States on a temporary basis at least.

Nicola didn’t really know why she’d refused. Certainly she had nothing better in mind, and there would have been no problem in fitting in her longed-for and saved-for sightseeing tour first. Yet refuse she did, and for no better reason than that she felt oddly restless.

Perhaps it was the anticipation of her holiday which was making her feel this way. The last months had been hectic, and the past few weeks of clearing out the office and packing up especially so.

She would miss Elaine, she thought. She’d been a little taken aback when she first arrived in Mexico City to find that she had a readymade flatmate waiting for her. How did she know that she and this tall redhaired Californian were ever going to get along well enough to share a home? And yet from the very first day, they’d had no real problems. And then, later, Teresita had made three …

Nicola smiled to herself. Had there ever been a more oddly assorted trio? she wondered. Elaine with her cool laconic humour, and relaxed enjoyment of life, Teresita the wealthy orphan, shy and gentle and almost morbidly in awe of the guardian she never saw—and Nicola herself, a mass of hang-ups, as Elaine had once not unkindly remarked.

In some way, Nicola almost envied Teresita. At least she had few doubts about the world and her place in it. Her upbringing in the seclusion of the convent school had been geared to readying her for marriage, and a subservient role in a male-dominated society. The purpose of her life was to be someone’s wife and the mother of his children, and she seemed to accept that as a matter of course.

Even her one small act of rebellion against her strictly ordered existence, her decision to move into the apartment with Nicola and Elaine, had contributed towards her chosen destiny, because without it, it was unlikely that her relationship with Cliff Arnold could have prospered.

They had met during Teresita’s brief but eventful spell at the Trans-Chem reception desk. Cliff had been one of many finding himself suddenly cut off in the middle of an important call, and he had erupted into the reception area looking for someone to murder, then stopped, as someone remarked later, as if he’d been poleaxed, as he looked down into Teresita’s heart-shaped face, and listened to her huskily voiced apologies. His complaints forgotten, he had spent the next half hour, and many more after that, showing her how to operate the switchboard.

As Elaine had caustically commented, it had improved nothing, but at least they’d had a good time.

Cliff had been a constant visitor at the apartment after Teresita moved in. He had adapted without apparent difficulty to the demands of an old-fashioned courtship, bringing gifts—bottles of wine, bunches of flowers, and once even a singing bird in a cage. Teresita sang too, all round the apartment, small happy songs betokening the inner radiance which showed in her shining eyes and flushed cheeks.

That was how love should be, Nicola thought, bringing its own certainty and security, imposing its welcome obligations. Perhaps it was the constant exposure to Teresita’s transparent happiness which was making her so restless. Not that there’d been much radiance about lately, she reminded herself drily. Cliff had been sent to Chicago for a few weeks and in his absence Teresita had drooped like a neglected flower. But he was due to return during the next few days, and Nicola was sure they would be announcing their engagement at the very least as soon as he came back.

That was if Teresita managed to break the news to her guardian, the remote and austere Don Luis Alvarado de Montalba. She seemed very much in awe of him, reluctant even to mention his name, but Nicola had still gleaned a certain amount of information about him.

He was wealthy and powerful, that went without saying. At one time, his family had owned vast cattle estates in the north, but later they had begun to diversify, to invest in industry and in fruit and coffee plantations, apparently foreseeing the time when the huge ranches would be broken up into smaller units and the landowners’ monopolies broken.

Not that any government-inspired reforms seemed to have made a great deal of difference to the Montalbas, she thought. They still owned the ranch, although its size had been reduced, as well as a town house in Monterrey where much of their industrial interest was concentrated, and a luxurious villa near Acapulco. Nicola gathered that Teresita’s father had been a business colleague of Don Luis, and this was why she had been assigned to his guardianship after her parents had been tragically drowned in a flash-flood some years before.

Clearly, his guardianship operated more on a financial and business level than a personal one. Teresita had admitted candidly that it was over a year since he had visited her, and she seemed more relieved than otherwise at this state of affairs.

Clearly he was the type of aloof and imposing grandee who would be incapable of putting a young girl at her ease, Nicola thought. Teresita always behaved as if even to talk about him was a form of lèsemajeste.

Nicola could just picture him—elderly with heavy moustaches, perhaps even a beard, probably overweight, pompous and arrogant. She hoped fervently that Elaine was wrong and he wouldn’t make an attempt to interfere in Teresita’s happiness. There was no reason why he should, she thought. Cliff was no fortune-hunter, even if he didn’t have the sort of wealth that the Montalba family had at its disposal.

She fastened the last carton, sealed and labelled it, then sat back on her heels with a sigh.

‘So that’s done. I could murder a cup of coffee. Do you think the machine’s still working?’

‘If so it’s the only thing in the building that is, apart from us,’ said Elaine. ‘In my next life, I’m coming back as a boss. You finish up here, and I’ll go see about this coffee.’

She was gone for some time, and Nicola guessed that the machine, never enthusiastic about its function at the best of times, had finally given up the ghost and that Elaine had called to buy coffee at the small restaurant a few doors away.

She wandered over to the window and stood looking down into the square. The noise of the traffic seemed muted in the midday heat and from the street below she could hear the plaintive strains of a barrel-organ. The organ-grinder was there most days, and she knew his repertoire almost by heart, but today the jangling notes seemed to hold an extra poignancy, and she felt unbidden tears start to her eyes.

She was being a fool she told herself. What had she got to cry about? She’d had a marvellous time in Mexico City, and within a few days she would be embarking on the holiday of a lifetime. Unlike Elaine she had always been fascinated by the history of the New World, and her tour had been carefully planned to take in as many of the great archeological sites as possible. She found herself saying some of the names under her breath—Palenque, Uxmal, Chichen Itza. Great pyramids, towering temples, ancient pagan gods—she’d dreamed of such things, and soon, very soon, all her dreams would come true. So why in hell was she standing here snivelling? She heard the outer door open and slam in the corridor, and turned hastily, smearing the tears from her face with clumsy fingers, hoping that Elaine would not notice or be too tactful to comment.

As the office door crashed open, she made herself smile.

‘You’ve been long enough,’ she began teasingly. ‘Did you have to pick the beans personally or …’

She stopped short, her eyes widening in disbelief as she studied the dishevelled, woebegone figure in front of her.

‘Teresita!’ she gasped. ‘Querida, what is it? Has something happened? Are you ill?’ Her heart sank as she saw Teresita’s brimming eyes. ‘Cliff—oh, my God, has something happened to Cliff?’

‘No,’ Teresita said. ‘He is well—he is fine—and I shall never see him again.’ And she burst into hysterical tears.

Nicola had got her into a chair and was trying to calm her when Elaine returned with two paper cups of coffee.

‘I guess I should have brought something stronger,’ she remarked as she put the cups down on the nearest desk. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘I wish I knew.’ Nicola scrabbled through drawers until she came across a box of tissues in the last one. ‘All she keeps saying is that she wants to die, and begging our Lady of Guadeloupe to take her.’

Elaine raised her brows. ‘Clearly, she means business. Talk to her in Spanish, Nicky. She may make more sense that way.’

Nicola mustered her thoughts and said crisply ‘Stop crying, Teresita. If we can help you we will, but first we must understand why you’re so distressed.’

Teresita was still sobbing, but she was making an effort to control herself. When she spoke, Nicola could just make out the whispered words, ‘I am to be married.’

‘Yes, we know that.’ Nicola passed her another tissue. ‘To Cliff, just as soon as it can be arranged—so what is there to cry about?’

Teresita shook her head. ‘It is not so.’ Her voice was steadying, becoming more coherent. ‘Today I visited the convent to pray in the chapel for Cliff’s safe return. The Reverend Mother, she tells me there is a letter for me, and I see at once it is from my guardian, Don Luis. I read the letter. Madre de Dios, I read it and I wish only to die!’

‘You mean he’s forbidden you to marry Cliff?’ Nicola asked sharply.

‘He does not yet know that Cliff exists,’ Teresita said bleakly. ‘Always I have waited for the right time to tell him, because I feared his anger.’

‘Will someone please fill me in on what’s going on?’ Elaine demanded plaintively.

‘I wish I knew myself,’ said Nicola, hurriedly outlining the gist of the conversation so far.

‘It’s obviously this letter,’ Elaine said. She crouched beside Teresita’s chair, taking her hands in hers. ‘Hey, honey, what was in the letter? Does the mighty Don Luis want you to marry someone else? Is that it?’

Choking back a sob, Teresita nodded, and Elaine darted Nicola a sober glance which said ‘I told you so’ more clearly and loudly than any words could have done.

‘Tomorrow,’ Teresita said. ‘Tomorrow I must leave Mexico City and travel to Monterrey with Ramón. Later we shall be married.’

‘You and this Ramón? Just like that?’ Nicola demanded, horrified.

Teresita’s eyes widened. ‘Not Ramón, no. He is just the cousin of Don Luis. I met him once when I was a child.’

‘For heaven’s sake,’ Elaine muttered, and Nicola said hastily, ‘I’m sorry, darling, we’re trying to understand. But if Ramón isn’t the bridegroom then who …?’

‘It is Don Luis.’ Teresita’s voice was flat.

Nicola muttered ‘My God!’ and Elaine’s lips pursed in a silent whistle.

‘Nice one, Don Luis,’ she approved. ‘Nothing like keeping the cash where it belongs—in the family.’

‘It is what my father intended. I have always known this,’ Teresita said tonelessly. ‘But, as time passed, and he said nothing, I began to hope that it would never happen. A man so much older than myself, a man who has known so many women.’ For a moment, a world of knowledge that the good sisters had never instilled showed on the heart-shaped face. ‘I—I allowed myself to hope that perhaps he would choose elsewhere—perhaps even marry Carlota Garcia.’

‘Just who is that?’ Elaine asked.

Teresita gave a slight shrug. ‘A—a friend of his. Her husband was a politician. She has been a widow now for several years, and their names have been coupled together many times. A girl—one of the boarders at the convent—told me it was known that she was his—amiga. She said it was impossible that he would marry me because I was too much of a child for him, accustomed as he is to women of the world.’

Disgust rose bitterly in Nicola. Not just elderly and arrogant, but mercenary and a womaniser into the bargain.

She said hotly, ‘You can’t marry him, Teresita. Write to him. Tell him it’s all off. He can’t make you.’

Teresita almost cowered in her chair. ‘I cannot disobey.’ Her voice shook. ‘Tomorrow I must leave for Monterrey in Ramón’s charge. You do not know Don Luis—his anger—how he would be if I wrote him such a letter.’

‘But he must know that you don’t love him—that you’re even frightened of him,’ Nicola argued stubbornly.

Teresita sighed. ‘My mother would have said that it is a good thing to respect the man that one must marry—and that love can follow marriage,’ she added doubtfully.

‘When you already love Cliff?’

Teresita’s mouth quivered. ‘That was craziness, a dream. I must forget him now that Don Luis has spoken at last.’

‘Oh, no, you mustn’t,’ Nicola said forcefully. ‘Teresita, you can’t let yourself be pushed around like this. Your father may have intended you to marry Don Luis at one time, but if he was here now, and knew Cliff, and realised how you felt about him, I know he’d change his mind.’ She looked across at Elaine, who gave a silent shrug. She tried again. ‘Why don’t you and Cliff elope?’

For a moment, a hopeful light shone in Teresita’s eyes, then she crumpled again.

‘He is in Chicago.’

‘Well, I know that, but we could cable him, tell him it’s an emergency and he has to get back right away,’ said Nicola.

Teresita shook her head. ‘I must leave tomorrow. There is no time for him to return.’

‘Then he’ll just have to follow you to Monterrey and make Don Luis see reason.’

‘It would be no use. Don Luis would not receive him, or allow me to see him.’ Teresita spread her hands helplessly. ‘Nicky, you do not understand.’

‘On the contrary, I understand only too well,’ Nicola told her grimly. ‘You’re not prepared to stand up to this guardian of yours.’

Teresita seemed to shrink. ‘Nicky, it is not possible to stand up, as you say. He follows his own will at all times, and always he is obeyed.’

‘Oh, is he, indeed?’ Nicola said wrathfully. ‘I just wish I could meet this lordly gentleman. I’d do anything to stop him getting his own way for once in his life!’

‘Then why don’t you?’ said Elaine.

‘Why don’t I what?’

‘Stop him.’ Elaine gave a shrug. ‘Correct me if I’m wrong, Teresita, but you’re not very well acquainted with this Ramón, are you?’

‘No.’ Teresita gave a puzzled frown. ‘As I said, he is Don Luis’ cousin, and many years ago I met him at La Mariposa and …’

‘Right,’ Elaine interrupted. ‘And all he knows is that tomorrow he has to collect you someplace—the convent, I guess—and escort you to Monterrey. Well, Nicky can go in your place.’

There was a shaken silence, then Nicola said, ‘That’s the silliest idea I’ve ever heard.’

‘It’s not so silly,’ Elaine said calmly. ‘Stop and think. You speak Spanish like a native, and if we fitted you out with a brunette wig, some dark glasses and a heavier make-up, you could pass for Teresita—especially with a guy who saw her once when she was a kid, for God’s sake.’

Nicola gasped, ‘But I’d never get away with it! Just supposing I could fool this unfortunate man—which is by no means certain—what would happen when I got to Monterrey? I couldn’t hope for the same luck with Don Luis.’

‘You wouldn’t need it. You take your big leather shoulder bag in which you have one of your own dresses, and your papers and vacation tickets. When you get to Monterrey, you make some excuse to stop off somewhere—a store or a restaurant, and you go to the powder room, where you take off the wig and dump it, change your dress—and—voilà. Goodbye, Teresita Dominguez and hello, Nicola Tarrant, leaving Don Luis with egg on his face because his novia has run away. Oh, he’ll be looking for her, but he won’t be equating her with any blonde English chick, and he won’t be searching in Mexico City, where she’ll be marrying Cliff, with me as chief bridesmaid. When she’s ready, she can write and tell him she’s already married, and let him figure out how she did it.’

Nicola was about to tell Elaine that this time she had finally flipped, when she saw Teresita looking at her, with the dawning of a wild hope in her eyes.

She said, ‘Teresita, no—I couldn’t! It’s crazy. It’s impossible. It wouldn’t work.’

Teresita’s hands were clasped tightly in front of her as if she were praying. ‘But we could make it work, Nicky, in a wig, as Elaine said, and some of my clothes. It will take two days, maybe even three to drive to Monterrey, because there are business calls which Ramón must make on the way for my guardian. Then when you reach Monterrey, there could be at least one more day while Don Luis searches there …’ She turned eagerly to Elaine, who nodded.

‘We’ll cable Cliff right away,’ she said. ‘Maybe Nicky could play for time in other ways on the trip—pretend to be sick or something.’

‘I wouldn’t have to pretend,’ Nicola said desperately. ‘Stop it, the pair of you. You’re mad!’

Elaine gave her a steady look. ‘You said you’d do anything to stop this happening. What Teresita chiefly needs is time—time for Cliff to get back here and marry her himself—and this you could give her.’

‘Yes,’ Teresita said with a little sob. ‘Oh, yes, Nicky. If I go to Monterrey, then I shall never see Cliff again. I know it.’

‘But I really don’t think I could get away with it,’ Nicola said, trying to hold on to her sanity. ‘Oh, I know people congratulate me on my fluency and my accent, but all it would need would be one small mistake and I’d be finished. And I can hardly drive hundreds of miles in stony silence.’

‘But why not? Ramon would not expect me, the novia of his cousin, to talk and chatter to him. It would be indecoroso. And if you pretended that the motion of the car was making you ill, then he would not expect you to speak at all. He is much younger than Don Luis, and when I was a child, he was kind to me.’ She was silent for a moment, then she said pleadingly, ‘Nicky, I beg you to do this thing for me. I could not love Don Luis, and he does not love me. He marries me only because it is time he was married, and because he wishes for a son to inherit this new—empire that he has made. Would you, in your heart, wish to be married for such a reason?’

Nicola was very still. As if it was yesterday, she saw Ewan smiling at her, and heard his voice. ‘Of course I’m not in love with her, darling. It’s you I care about. But Greta knows what the score is. She understands these things. Once I’ve married her, there’s no reason why you and I shouldn’t be together as much as we want, as long as we’re discreet.’

She suppressed a little shudder, remembering how, even through the agony of the moment, there had been a flash of pity for Ewan’s wife, who would never possess the certainty of his love and loyalty. A marriage of convenience, she had thought bitterly. Very convenient for the man—but heartbreak for the woman.

Teresita didn’t deserve such a fate.

She said, ‘All right, I’ll do it.’

CHAPTER TWO

NICOLA stood nervously in the shadow of the portico and stared down the quiet and empty street. Ramón was late, and at any moment the door behind could open and one of the nuns emerge, and ask what she was doing there.

For the umpteenth time she had to resist the impulse to adjust the wig. It was a loathsome thing, totally realistic, but hot and itchy. Orchid pink silky dress, strapped sandals with high heels in a matching kid, and two of Teresita’s expensive cases as window dressing. The only thing out of place was the bulky leather bag on her shoulder, but it would just have to look incongruous. It was her lifeline.

She glanced at her watch, biting her lip nervously, thinking how funny it would be if it was all for nothing and Don Luis had changed his mind—and then she saw the car and her stomach lurched in panic.

It was too late now to run for it. She could only cross her fingers that the wig and cosmetics and the large pair of dark glasses would be sufficiently convincing. Swallowing, she adopted an air of faint hauteur as Teresita had suggested and stared in front of her as the car came to a halt in front of the convent steps.

There was a uniformed chauffeur at the wheel, but Nicola barely registered the fact. She was too busy looking at the man who had just emerged from the front passenger seat and was standing by the car watching her.

Young, Teresita had said, or at least younger than Don Luis. Well, he was at least in his mid-thirties, so that figured, but what she hadn’t mentioned, either because she’d forgotten or had been too young to notice, was that Ramon was a disturbingly, even devastatingly, attractive man. Tall—unusually so—with black hair, and eyes darker than sin. Golden bronze skin over a classic bone structure that went beyond conventional good looks. A high-bridged aristocratic nose, a firm-lipped mouth, the purity of its lines betrayed only by a distinctly unchaste curve to his lower lip, and a proudly uncompromising strength of chin.

‘Ye gods,’ Nicola thought, ‘and this is only the poor relation! What the Mark II model is like makes the mind reel.’ Somehow the image of the plump, pompous grandee didn’t seem quite so valid any more.

He walked forward, strong shoulders, lean hips and long legs encased in a lightweight but very expensive suit. His black silk shirt was open at the throat, allowing a glimpse of smooth brown chest.

He was smiling faintly, and Nicola thought, her hackles rising, that he was clearly under no illusion about his effect on women.

‘Señorita.’ He stood at the foot of the steps and looked up at her rather enquiringly.

‘I am Teresita Dominguez, señor,’ she said coldly. ‘And you are late.’

Now that the words were uttered, and the charade begun, it was somehow easier.

If Don Luis had informed his cousin that his future wife was a submissive doormat of a girl who would speak when spoken to, then Don Ramón de Costanza had just had the shock of his life, she thought with satisfaction. She was pleased to see that he did look taken aback.

‘My apologies, Señorita Dominguez. I was detained. And of course I could not know—I was not warned what a vision of loveliness awaited me.’

No one warned me about you either, she thought silently. And Don Luis must be off his head to let you out of your cage to prowl round the girl he’s going to marry, cousin or no cousin.

She primmed her mouth disapprovingly as he came up the steps to her side. ‘Don Ramón, must I remind you who I am?’

‘Indeed no, señorita. You are the novia of Don Luis Alvarado de Montalba, the most fortunate man in Mexico. Welcome to our family, Teresita—if I may call you that?’ He lifted her hand as if to kiss it lightly, then at the last moment turned it over, and brushed his mouth swiftly and sensuously across the palm instead.

‘Señor.’ Nicola snatched her hand away, aware that she did not have to pretend the note of shock in her voice. Her flesh tingled as if it had been in contact with a live electric current. ‘I hope I do not have to inform Don Luis of your behaviour.’

‘Forgive me.’ He didn’t sound particularly repentant. ‘I forgot myself. You will have nothing further to complain of in my conduct, I swear. Will you allow me to put your cases in the car?’

She assented with a cool nod, and followed him down the steps, her heart still thumping.

‘And your bag?’

She swallowed, shaking her head and taking a firm hold on the strap.

‘I prefer to keep it with me.’

He surveyed the bag in silence for a moment. ‘It lacks the charm and elegance of the rest of your appearance.’

‘It has sentimental value,’ she said shortly.

‘I’m glad it has something,’ he said smoothly. The chauffeur was holding the rear door open, and she climbed in, taking pains to do so without displaying too much leg. The door was shut and she saw her travelling companion detain the man with a hand on his arm and tell him something which clearly caused the chauffeur some surprise before he nodded and turned away.

The next minute Ramón came round and also got in the back of the car beside her. She saw the chauffeur watching covertly in the mirror, his face deliberately stolid and expressionless.

Keep your eyes on that mirror, amigo, she addressed him silently, and if he puts a hand on me anywhere, call in the army.

She leaned back in her seat, forcing herself to relax, reminding herself that she was occupying a very spacious, luxurious air-conditioned vehicle, and the fact that it felt crowded was purely imaginary.

The car began to move, and she felt tiny beads of perspiration break out on her top lip. They were on their way. So far so good, she thought, then stole a glance at her travelling companion and realised that there was absolutely no room for complacency on this journey. And she had promised Teresita that she would use delaying tactics, and make it last as long as possible. She swallowed, and turned her attention as resolutely as possible to the scenery outside the car.

They had been travelling for over half an hour when he said, ‘You are very quiet.’

It was her chance. She produced a lace-trimmed handkerchief from her bag, and dabbed her lips with it.

‘I am not a good traveller, Don Ramón. You must excuse me.’

She hiccuped realistically, and settled further into her corner of the seat, relishing the slightly alarmed expression on his face. She closed her eyes and pretended to doze, and eventually pretence was overtaken by reality, and, lulled by the smooth motion of the car, she slept.

She awoke with a start some time later. Her eyes flew open and she saw that he was watching her, the dark face curiously hard and speculative. As she looked at him uncertainly, the expression faded, and there was nothing but that former charm.

‘Welcome back, señorita. Are you feeling better?’

She said, ‘A little,’ and sat up, her hands automatically smoothing some of the creases out of the skirt of her dress. His eyes followed her movements, observing the rounded shape of her thighs beneath the clinging material, and she flushed slightly, thankful that her bag was on the seat between them, an actual physical barricade.

‘Where are we?’ They seemed to be passing through a town. He mentioned a name, but it meant nothing.

‘I had intended to stop here for lunch,’ he said, after a pause. ‘But as you are unwell, perhaps it would be unwise.’

Nicola groaned inwardly. She could hardly confess the truth, that she was starving. Tension seemed to be giving her an appetite.

‘Please don’t let my indisposition interfere with your plans, Don Ramón,’ she said meekly. ‘While you eat, I can always go for a walk. The—the fresh air might do me good.’

Again she was conscious of the speculative stare, then he said, ‘As you wish, señorita.’

The chauffeur, whose name was Lopez, parked in a small square behind the church.

Ramón helped her out. ‘Are you sure you will be all right?’ He paused. ‘It is only a small place, you can hardly get lost.’

‘I’ll be fine,’ she assured him, reaching for the strap of her bag.

‘You don’t wish to take that heavy thing with you. Leave it in the car,’ he suggested.

Rather at a loss, she said, ‘I’m used to carrying it. It—it doesn’t worry me.’

‘Clearly you are not as frail as you seem,’ he murmured.

She waited to see what direction he took with Lopez, and made sure she went the other way. In one of the streets off the square a small market was in full swing, and there were food stalls, she saw thankfully. Black bean soup, she decided with relish, and sopes to follow. She had learned to love the little corn dough boats filled with chili and topped with cheese and vegetables and spiced sausage which were to be found cooking on griddles at so many roadside foodstalls. She ate every scrap, and licked her fingers.

She felt far more relaxed, and in a much better temper as she sauntered back to the car. Ramón de Costanza was standing outside the car, looking at his watch and tapping his foot with impatience as she approached.

‘I wondered if I would have to come and find you,’ he said silkily. ‘Did you enjoy your stroll?’

‘Gracias, señor. Did you enjoy your lunch?’

‘It was delicious.’ He looked faintly amused as he surveyed her and Nicola wondered uneasily whether she had left any traces of black bean soup round her mouth.

As he took his seat beside her in the car, Ramon said, ‘I have a business call to make a few kilometres ahead, and then we will find somewhere to stay for the night.’

‘Already?’ she asked with a frown.

He looked surprised. ‘It will soon be the time for siesta. You don’t want to continue our journey through the full heat of the day, or ask Lopez to do so.’

‘No, of course not,’ she said, feeling a fool. ‘I—I wasn’t thinking.’ That had to count as a slip, she thought. Surely by now she should be used to the way life in Mexico slowed to a crawl in the late afternoon. She was taking too much for granted, losing her edge, and it couldn’t happen again, or he might begin to suspect.

They eventually arrived at a motel, a large rambling white building surrounded by lush gardens, fountains and even a swimming pool. Nicola stared at it longingly, and then banished even the thought regretfully. Ladies wearing wigs stayed on dry land. Besides, her bikinis were all in her own cases on the way to Merida by now, and that was just as well, because the prospect of appearing before Ramón de Costanza so scantily clad was an alarming one.

Every time she had as much as glanced in his direction, he had been watching her, she thought broodingly. And that was putting it mildly. What he had actually been doing was undressing her with his eyes, and in her role as Teresita she couldn’t even make a protest, because the innocent Teresita wouldn’t have known for one moment what he was doing.

But I know, she thought, grinding her teeth, and longing to embed the delicate heel of her sandal in his shin.

The cabin to which she was shown was spotlessly clean and comfortable, with a tiny tiled bathroom opening off the bedroom. She turned to close the door and found Ramón on her heels. He gave the room an appraising look, which also encompassed the wide bed under its cream coverlet. Then he turned to her, taking her hand and lifting it up to his lips.

‘A pleasant siesta. You have everything you need?’ He looked straight into her eyes, and with a sudden rush of painful and unwelcome excitement she realised she had only to make the slightest sign and the door would be locked, closing them in together.

She snatched her hand away, seeing the mockery in his eyes.

‘Everything, thank you, señor,’ she said in a stiff little voice.

‘Can I hope for the pleasure of your company later at dinner?’

She gave him a cool smile and said that it would be very nice. When he had gone, she turned the key in the lock herself. She wanted to collapse limply across the bed, but first she took off the orchid pink dress, and the wig. She saw herself in the mirror across the room. Except for the slightly heavier make-up, she was herself again. She ran her fingers through her sticky hair and moved towards the bathroom. As she did so, she had to pass the bed, and just for a moment she let the tight rein she kept on herself slacken a little and wondered what would have happened if she had given him the signal he wanted—a smile would have been enough, she thought, or even the faintest pressure of her fingers in his.

And just for a moment her imagination ran wild, and he was there in the bed waiting for her, his golden skin dramatically dark against the pale sheets, his eyes caressing her as she moved towards him.

She stopped the pictures unrolling in her mind right there with an immense effort of will.

Then she said, ‘Hell,’ quite viciously, and went to have her shower.

She had managed to recover her composure by the time she was due to join him in the dining room. She was wearing a simple dark red dress with black high-heeled court shoes, and a small evening bag. Her precious leather holdall was safely stowed in the closet.

The verandah bar outside the motel restaurant was crowded with people, many of them tourists, but she saw him at once. He was sitting at a table near the verandah rail, with a glass in his hand, and he was frowning. Nicola noticed wryly that a party of American women at the next table couldn’t take their eyes off him.

She threaded her way through the other tables, and joined him. ‘Buenas tardes, señor.’ She meant to sound cool, but only succeeded in being shy. He rose immediately, holding a chair for her to sit down and summoning a waiter with a swift imperious flick of his fingers. She asked for a tamarindo and it came at once.

She sipped, relishing the coolness of the drink and its faintly bitter flavour.

‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘those dark glasses—surely you don’t need them in the evening. I hope there is nothing the matter with your eyes.’

‘Oh, no,’ she said calmly. ‘I’ve just been advised to wear them all the time for a short while.’ And that, she thought with satisfaction, was nothing less than the truth.

‘A pity,’ he said. ‘One can learn so much about a woman from her eyes.’

She said sweetly, ‘And about a man, señor.’

His mouth quivered slightly. ‘As you say,’ he agreed.

It was pleasant, looking out into the darkness with the scent of the flowers wafting to them on the night air, and hearing the distant splash of water from the fountains interspersed with the bursts of laughter and conversation all around them. Nicola had to suppress a little sigh. She would have other memories to take with her, apart from ancient pagan artefacts, when she came to leave Mexico. She was conscious of a feeling of recklessness, and decided it would be wiser to stick to fruit juice for the remainder of the evening.

She tried to remember everything Teresita had told her about Ramón. There wasn’t a great deal. He lived at the hacienda La Mariposa and ran the cattle ranch for his cousin. His mother, Doña Isabella, and his sister Pilar lived there too, and Teresita had said he was ‘kind.’ Nicola had got the impression that Teresita would not have applied the same epithet to his mother and sister, however, even though there had only been that one meeting all those years ago.

She had asked Teresita why the hacienda was called La Mariposa—the Butterfly, but Teresita had simply shrugged vaguely and said it was just a name.

Anyway, what did it matter? Nicola told herself. She wasn’t going to the hacienda, but to Monterrey, and none of the Montalba residences would be available for her inspection.

She wondered what Ramón would say when he realised how he had been fooled, and whether Don Luis would be very angry with him. She stole a glance at him. The arrogant set of his jaw indicated that he might have quite a temper himself.

It was a delicious meal. He had ordered chicken for them cooked in a sauce made with green peppers and a variety of other tantalising flavours she didn’t have time to analyse. And, in spite of her protests, there was wine, one of the regional varieties, cool and heady.

And she sat across the table from him, hiding behind her dark glasses, and weaving silent fantasies where she was no longer playing a part, but was herself, Nicola Tarrant, free to talk, to smile, to laugh and enjoy herself in his company.

Because in spite of her instinctive wariness of him, in spite of the strain of having to maintain a conversation not in her own language, she was enjoying herself. It was a pleasant sensation to encounter covertly envying glances from other women, to notice the deferential service they received from the staff. Some tourists at a nearby table were sampling tequila for the first time, getting in a muddle over the salt and lemon juice amid peals of laughter, and Nicola smiled too as she watched, her fingers toying with the stem of her wineglass. She looked at her companion and saw that he shared her amusement, and the moment seemed to enclose them in a bubble of intimacy. His hand was very near hers. If he moved it as much as an inch, their fingers would brush. Nicola took a deep breath and moved, picking up her glass and pretending to drink.

She was playing a dangerous game with this crazy charade she had embarked upon, but in a way it might prove to be her salvation. As Nicola Tarrant, she could be fatally tempted to respond to any further advances he might make. As Teresita, she could not be.

All the same, she found his attitude a puzzling one. Teresita had given her the impression that Ramón was Don Luis’ trusted and highly regarded employee as well as cousin. She would have supposed that under those circumstances he would have treated his cousin’s future wife with the greatest respect. Perhaps he was a man who could not resist a flirtation with any attractive woman who crossed his path, she thought, conscious of a vague feeling of disappointment. Or maybe there was some deeper, darker motive for his behaviour. Perhaps he secretly hated Don Luis, or out of loyalty to him was testing his novia’s virtue to make sure she was a worthy bride for a Montalba.

She wondered wryly how the shy, unworldly Teresita herself would have made out on this journey. Would she have even recognised the kind boy she remembered from her childhood? Or would the predator in him have been defeated by her gentleness? After all, Cliff had not been a model of rectitude before he began to associate with Teresita, but now he was tenderly protective towards her.

Some musicians had appeared and were moving among the tables, playing guitars and singing. Nicola recognised the tune they were playing. It was a love song, which had been popular in Mexico City only a few weeks earlier, and she began to hum it softly under her breath. The musicians were approaching their table. They had clearly noticed her enjoyment and were coming to continue the serenade just for her. The leader was smiling broadly and looking at her companion, then Nicola noticed his expression change. She sent a swift glance at Ramón and saw that his face had become a dark mask. His fingers made a swift imperious movement, and the mariachi band turned away, and serenaded someone else.

She drank her wine, trying to hide her disappointment. A private flirtation conducted in the car was one thing, and a public serenade quite another, apparently.

Pushing back her chair, she said coolly, ‘The journey has tired me. I think I will go to my room. Goodnight, señor.’

There was faint mockery in his eyes as he rose courteously. ‘Of course, Buenas noches, Teresita.’ There was a brief hesitation before he used her name, as if to emphasise his rejection of her own formality.

She walked away, wondering in spite of herself why he had not offered to see her to her cabin. Perhaps he had decided that it was wiser to call a halt after all, to treat her with appropriate reserve. Probably that was why he had sent away the mariachi musicians.

She undressed slowly, and lay for a long time in the dark, tired, but unable to sleep. It was a relief to know that she had to disappear when they reached Monterrey. It was also a warning not to relax, or forget even for a moment what she was doing on this journey. Playing a part, she thought, and playing for time. Nothing else. And it’s just as well that I’m committed to vanish completely in a couple of days.

She breakfasted in her room early the following morning, enjoying the sweet rolls and strongly flavoured coffee a maid brought her. Then she dressed and made up with care and went to find Ramón. She found him in the main reception area, just coming out of one of the private telephone booths.

He said coolly, ‘Thank you for being so punctual. We have a long and tedious drive ahead of us. I hope you will not be too bored. Was it explained to you that I had business calls to make on the way?’

‘Yes.’ She was puzzled by this sudden aloofness.

He gave her a swift sideways glance. ‘I have been speaking to my cousin. I have a message for you from Don Luis.’

Her heart gave a little panicky jerk. She said, ‘Is that so?’

‘Don’t you want to hear it?’

‘No,’ she said, ‘I do not. If your cousin has anything to say to me, then it can be said when we meet, and not relayed through a third person.’

He said evenly, ‘As you wish, señorita,’ but she saw a muscle flicker in his cheek, and guessed he was annoyed.

This time the journey was very different from that of the previous day. He sat in the back beside her, but there was a briefcase with him and his attention seemed riveted on the papers it contained. There was a distance between them that wasn’t purely physical, and today she didn’t even need to use her shoulder bag as a barricade.

She sat and stared out of the window at the purple and grey shades of the sierras in the distance. This was a region of Mexico she hadn’t expected to see, and normally she would have been fascinated by the changing scenery, the unrolling fertile farmlands they were passing through, but she was unable to summon much interest at all.

Nicola bit her lip. She was altogether too distracted by the presence of her fellow-passenger, and while that might have been forgivable the day before when he had apparently been deliberately making her aware of him, there was no excuse at all today when he was doing quite the opposite.

Clearly the conversation with Don Luis had reminded him of his obligations and responsibilities, she thought.

They made several stops on the way. Nicola wondered whether she was expected to remain obediently in the car on each occasion, but the first time Ramón glanced at his watch and said briefly, ‘I shall be not longer than twenty minutes,’ which seemed to indicate that she was to be left to her own devices.

And yet that was not altogether true, as she discovered when she left the car and stretched her cramped limbs. Ramón had disappeared inside some large official-looking building, and the car was parked between this and a large ornate church.

Nicola strolled towards it and found Lopez behind her. She gave him a cool smile and said that he could remain in the car.

‘This is a very small town,’ she added ironically. ‘I shall not get lost.’

But Lopez was civil yet determined. It was the Señor’s wish that he should accompany her, he said, and his tone made it clear that that was that. She was a little disconcerted, to say the least. No watchdog had been considered necessary yesterday, so why today? She visited the church, first tying a scarf over her head as she guessed Teresita would do, then wandered round the streets, examining pottery and fabrics on roadside stalls, and looking in shop windows full of leather goods, but conscious all the time of Lopez’ silent presence at her shoulder.

And when the twenty minutes were up, he reminded her politely that they were keeping the Señor waiting.

That, she found to her annoyance, was to be the pattern of the day. The swift and silent drive along the highway, while Ramón read documents and made notes on them, then the brief stopover and the saunter round the neighbouring streets.

At last, exasperated, she said to Ramón, as the car moved off once again, ‘Is it on Don Luis’ instructions that I’m being taken round the streets like a prisoner under guard?’

He glanced at her. ‘I thought you were not interested in his instructions.’

‘Am I expected to be?’ she demanded. ‘For months on end he behaves as if I don’t exist, and then on his command I must go here and there, do this and that. What else can he expect but my hostility—and resentment?’ she added for good measure, sowing the seeds to provide an explanation for her disappearance in Monterrey.

For a moment he was silent, then his mouth slanted cynically. ‘I think you will find that he expects a great deal more than either of those.’

‘Then he’s going to be be bitterly disappointed,’ Nicola snapped. ‘Now please call off your sentry!’

She wasn’t just acting. She meant it. Having Lopez following her everywhere was going to cause endless difficulties when she eventually made her bid for freedom.

‘Don Luis wishes you to be adequately protected,’ the even voice said.

‘Does he?’ she asked bitterly. ‘Then perhaps he should be informed that I’m in far less danger wandering round the towns than I am in this car, Don Ramón!’

He looked at her with open mockery. ‘Then why don’t you tell him so when you meet him? I am sure he would be fascinated.’

She hunched a shoulder irritably, and turned to stare out of the window, hearing him laugh softly.

‘I am glad your travel sickness has not troubled you today,’ he said after a pause. ‘Perhaps before the trip is over I may also he able to persuade you to remove your glasses.’

Still with her back turned, she said calmly, ‘That is quite impossible.’

‘We shall see,’ he said softly, and she turned and looked at him sharply, only to find he was once more immersed in his papers.

They ate lunch in a hilltop restaurant overlooking a lake. Nicola ate fish, probably caught from the same lake, she thought, and incredibly fresh and delicately flavoured. Ramón ate little, but he drank wine, staring broodingly into the depths of his glass.

She had expected that he would instruct Lopez to stop at a motel again before the siesta hour, but he did not do so. Instead the car sped on through the heat-shimmered landscape, and eventually, lulled by the motion, Nicola dozed.

She awoke eventually with a slight start, aware that she had been dreaming, but not sure what the dreams were about. Until she turned her head slightly, and then she remembered.

In his corner of the car, he was asleep, his lean body totally relaxed. Nicola felt herself draw a deep shaken breath as the memory of her dreams whispered enticingly to her mind. He had discarded his jacket, and his brown shirt was half unbuttoned, showing the dark shadow of hair on his bronzed body. The shirt fitted closely, revealing not an ounce of spare flesh round his midriff or flat stomach.

Nicola moistened dry lips with the tip of her tongue, conscious of a pang of self-disgust. She had never stared obsessively at a man like this, not even Ewan whom she had loved. Still loved, she thought.

She looked back at him slowly, reluctantly. He wasn’t her idea of a rancher, she thought. His shoulders were broad, but his body seemed too finely boned. Her eyes drifted downwards over the long legs and strongly muscled thighs—the result, she supposed, of long days in the saddle. Yet his hands were a mystery, not calloused and rough as she would have imagined, but square-palmed with long sensitive fingers.

She caught back a sigh, as her eyes returned to his face, then gasped huskily as she realised too late that he was awake and watching her.

She sat motionless, thanking heavens for the dark glasses which masked any betrayal there might be in her eyes, but her breathing was flurried, and she saw his eyes slide down her body to her breasts, tautly outlined inside her dress, the nipples hard and swollen against the softly clinging fabric. She saw the dark eyes narrow as they assimilated this shaming evidence of her arousal.

He said softly, ‘You overwhelm me, querida. Shall I tell Lopez to drive further into the hills and lose himself for an hour or two?’

She felt the hot rush of colour into her face. She wanted to die.

She said icily, ‘You are insulting, señor.’

‘I thought I was being practical.’

‘Your vile suggestions are an outrage!’ she accused, her voice shaking.

‘Of course.’ He smiled slightly. ‘What a lot you will have to tell Don Luis—when you meet him.’

‘You can even think of him?’

‘I have been thinking of him a great deal,’ he said coolly. ‘And always with you, naked and more than willing in his arms, querida. A disturbing vision, believe me.’

Her lips parted, then closed again helplessly. Nicola couldn’t think of a single word to say, but she knew she had to say something, for Teresita’s sake. Although there was no way Teresita would have ever got into this situation, she realised despairingly. She couldn’t really believe that she herself had done such a thing.

She said haughtily, ‘Please do not speak to me again, Don Ramón.’

It was weak, but it was the best she could manage. She turned her back on him resolutely and stared out of the window, totally unseeing, praying that the blush which seemed to be eating her alive would soon subside.

She couldn’t think what was wrong with her. She wasn’t completely unsophisticated. He’d made a verbal pass, that was all. It wasn’t the end of the world. It had happened to her before, and she’d demolished the perpetrator without a second thought. She was Nicola Tarrant, the Snow Queen, who could cut a too ardent male down with a scornful look. She had never fluttered or flustered in her life, and especially not over the past year. And it wasn’t enough to tell herself that her outrage was assumed, part of the role she was playing. She was shaken to the core, and she knew it.

When the car finally stopped, she almost stumbled out of it, barely aware that they were at yet another motel, but smaller this time and far less luxurious. She knew that Lopez was watching her curiously, and tried desperately to pull herself together and act normally.

Ramón came to her side. ‘Will you have dinner with me?’ His voice sounded constrained.

She avoided his gaze. ‘No—I have a headache. I’ll ask for some food to be sent to my room.’

‘As you please.’ He made no attempt to detain her, and she fled. Safe in her room, she made no attempt to order any food, knowing that she wouldn’t be able to swallow as much as a morsel. She undressed and showered and lay down on top of the bed, staring into the gathering darkness, her whirling thoughts refusing to cohere into any recognisable pattern.

There was one rock to hang on to in her sea of confusion—that tomorrow they would be in Monterrey, and this whole stupid, dangerous masquerade would be over. She should never have embarked on it in the first place, she knew, and she could only pray that she would emerge from it relatively unscathed.

Just let me get through tomorrow, she thought, and then it will be all right. I’ll be able to take up the rest of my life, and forget this madness. I’ll be free.

She kept repeating the word ‘free’ as if it was a soothing mantra, and eventually it had the effect she wanted and the darkness of night and the shadows of sleep settled on her almost simultaneously.

CHAPTER THREE

IT was a maid knocking on the door which woke her eventually. She sat up, pushing her hair back from her face, to find to her horror that it was broad daylight.

‘Señorita, your car is waiting,’ she was reminded, and heard the woman move away.

She glanced at her watch and groaned. She had overslept badly. She dressed rapidly, and almost crammed the loathsome wig on to her hair. She smothered a curse as she adjusted it. She had wanted to meet Ramón in the clear light of day, looking well-groomed and in control of the situation, and instead she was going to appear late, harassed and looking like something the cat had dragged in.

She grabbed her bag and left precipitately, aware that a porter was waiting in the corridor to fetch her cases.

As she emerged from the reception area into the sunshine, she made herself slow down and take deep, steadying breaths, as she saw the waiting car. Lopez was standing beside it, looking anxiously towards the entrance, but when he saw her he smiled in relief and opened the back door.

Nicola, steeling herself, climbed in. But the other seat was unoccupied. She twisted round, looking out of the rear window, but she could only see Lopez supervising the bestowal of her luggage in the boot. When he took his place in the driving seat, she leaned forward.

‘Where is Don Ramón?’

He turned. ‘I am to give you this, señorita.’ He handed her an envelope, then closed the glass partition between them.

Nicola opened the envelope and extracted the single sheet it contained.

‘I regret that urgent business commitments take me from your side,’ the writing, marching arrogantly across the page, informed her. ‘I wish you a safe journey, and a pleasant reunion with your novio.’ It was signed with an unintelligible squiggle.

Nicola read it several times, relief warring with an odd disappointment. So she would never see him again. On the other hand, it meant she only had Lopez to shake off when they reached Monterrey, and that had to be welcome news.

She read the terse words once again, then folded the note and stowed it in her bag, biting her lip.

Later, making sure that Lopez’ whole attention was concentrated on the road ahead, she reached into her bag and drew out the itinerary for her trip. There was an airport at Monterrey, and she would have to find out whether there were direct flights from there to Merida. There had been no time to finalise every detail before she left Mexico City. Teresita had seen to it that she had enough money for any eventuality, firmly cutting across her protests.

‘You are doing this for my sake, Nicky. It must cost you nothing,’ she had said.

In retrospect her words seemed ironic to Nicola now, but she dismissed that trend of thought from her mind, and began reading the brochures for her trip, trying to recapture her earlier excitement at the prospect. But it wasn’t easy. The names, the jungle temples no longer seemed to work the same potent magic with her as they had done. Nicola sighed and replaced them in her bag, arranging the crush-proof blue sundress she was going to change into on top of the papers.

She yawned, feeling earlier tensions beginning to seep away. Her little adventure was almost over, and she could begin to relax. Her sleep last night had been fitful, which probably explained her failure to wake this morning. She put her feet up on the seat, and relaxed. Next stop Monterrey, she thought.

It was the car slowing which woke her at last. She struggled to sit upright, putting an apprehensive hand up to touch the wig. She was stiff, and her mouth was dry, as if she had slept for several hours, but surely it couldn’t be true.

She expected to see suburbs at least, and signs of an industrial complex, but there wasn’t the least indication they were approaching a city. On the contrary, it seemed as if they were in the middle of nowhere. There were vestiges of habitation—a few shacks, and a tin-roofed cantina. And the road had altered too. They were no longer on a broad public highway but on a single track dirt road.

There were petrol pumps beside the cantina and this was clearly why Lopez was stopping. But where were they?

Lopez came to her door and opened it. ‘Do you wish for coffee, señorita? I did not wake you for a meal because I thought you would be glad to reach your destination at last.’

‘I would be glad of coffee.’ She got out of the car. ‘When do we reach Monterrey, Lopez? Is this a shortcut?’

The stolid face expressed the nearest thing to amazement it was probably capable of. ‘Monterrey, señorita? But surely you know—we no longer go to Monterrey. It is Don Luis’ order that we should go directly to La Mariposa instead.’

Nicola’s lips parted in a soundless gasp. For a moment, she thought she was going to faint, and caught at the edge of the car door to steady herself. She saw Lopez look alarmed, and pretended she had turned her ankle slightly on Teresita’s high heels.

She managed to say, ‘No—I didn’t know.’ This must have been the message Ramón had tried to give her, she thought frantically. ‘When—when shall we arrive at the hacienda?’

‘In less than two hours, señorita’ He spoke as if expecting to be congratulated. ‘You will be pleased, I think, to reach your journey’s end.’

Journey’s end, Nicola thought as she negotiated with some difficulty the patch of dry and barren ground which separated the cantina from the road. Journeys end in lovers’ meetings—wasn’t that what they said? But there was no lover waiting for her—just a formidable and justly enraged man whose path she had dared to cross.

Inside the cantina, a girl was frantically wiping off a table and chairs, and Nicola sank down on to one of them, trying to control her whirling frantic thoughts.

What was she going to do? She knew from Teresita that the Montalba hacienda was miles from anywhere, with no nearby stores where she could unobtrusively perform her transformation, or crowded streets for her to fade into. And there was nowhere to hide, or means of escape here. This looked like the kind of place where there might be one bus a week to the nearest town.

The girl brought coffee, black, hot and freshly brewed. Nicola gulped hers. It didn’t quench her thirst, but at least helped to revive her a little.

She had been mad to let herself fall asleep again, she reproached herself. If she’d been awake, she would have seen they were turning off the highway, and asked why. She might even have put some kind of a spoke in Don Luis’ plans, although it was difficult to know what.

Lopez had come in, and was drinking his coffee at an adjacent table. Moistening her lips, Nicola asked him a little falteringly if he knew why Don Luis had changed his mind about their destination.

‘The Señor did not honour me with his reasons,’ Lopez said a little repressively, then his face relaxed a little. ‘But I think, señorita, it is because of the chapel. There is a beautiful chapel at La Mariposa and no doubt Don Luis wishes to be married there. It is a family tradition.’

‘A family tradition,’ Nicola echoed weakly. All Teresita’s forebodings had been right, it seemed. If she had taken this journey in person, there was no way Cliff could ever have traced her. She tried to feel glad for them both, but inwardly her stomach was churning with fright.

She stole a glance at Lopez, wondering what he would do if she threw herself on his mercy and confessed everything. She had money, perhaps she could bribe him to drive her to Monterrey. Then she remembered the note of respect in his voice when he had spoken of Don Luis—the way he had said, ‘It is a family tradition’, and knew there was no hope there. He would take her straight to his employer, and a search for Teresita would be mounted immediately. And if by some mischance she and Cliff were still unmarried, then it would all have been for nothing.

She got up abruptly from the table, and asked the girl who had brought the coffee to show her the lavatory which was housed in a rough-and-ready corrugated iron shack across the yard at the rear of the building, where a few scrawny chickens pecked in a desultory manner among the dirt and stones.

The flushing apparatus didn’t work, and the tiny handbasin yielded only a trickle of rusty water. Nicola took off her dark glasses and stared at herself in the piece of cracked mirror hanging above the basin. Her eyes looked enormous, and deeply shadowed, and she felt as taut as a bowstring.

It had all gone hopelessly, disastrously wrong, and she had not the faintest idea how to begin to put it right. All she could do, she supposed, was go with the tide, and see where it took her. And if that was to the feet of a furious Mexican grandee, then she had only herself to blame for having got involved in the first place.

As she crossed back to the cantina, she noticed a battered blue truck standing in the yard. The driver was standing talking to an older man, probably the cantina’s owner. Nicola looked longingly at the truck as she passed. She’d asked for a way out of here, and now one was being presented, dangled in front of her, in fact.

But could she take it? The driver had stopped presumably for petrol and a drink, which meant that the truck would be left unattended at some point. But would the driver be obliging enough to leave the keys in the ignition? And how far would she get anyway in a strange vehicle, when only yards away there was a powerful car with a driver who knew the terrain, and would overtake her quite effortlessly because it was his duty to do so?

As she looked away with an inward sigh, she encountered the driver’s smiling eyes.

‘Bonita rosita,’ he called, his glance devouring her shamelessly. She saw the cantina owner put a hand on his arm, and say something in a low voice. It was obviously some kind of warning, and she heard the word ‘Montalba.’ The truck driver sobered immediately, his expression becoming almost sheepish, and he turned away shrugging, and moving his hands defensively.

Nicola shivered a little. What kind of man was Don Luis that the mention of his name could have such an instant effect?

On her way back to the table, she saw a telephone booth in the corner. If it hadn’t been so totally public and within earshot of anyone who cared to listen, she would have been tempted to try and get through to Mexico City and say to Elaine a loud and unequivocal, ‘Help—get me out of here!’

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.