The Mountains of Spring Page 7

  ‘What is it that interests you, senorita?’

  ‘That statue… It’s so beautiful!’

  ‘Statue?’ He looked around. ‘What statue?’

  ‘I mean the angel at the top of the column. It’s catching the last of the sunlight. It looks almost real.’

  He smiled. ‘A sentimental fancy, senorita. There are those who would say that neither the column nor the angel is in particularly good taste. They have not the advantage of being old. They were erected at the beginning of the century, and for that reason are not much respected. If they had been placed where they are either much earlier or much later they would probably be considered worthy of attention.’

  They swept around the foot of the column, and Caroline gazed upwards. ‘It doesn’t matter when it was put there. I think that angel is wonderful.’

  Diego glanced at her. ‘I like it myself,’ he confessed. ‘So let us place on record the fact that on one point at least we are in agreement.’

  The Casa d’Espana, which they reached after a drive of about twenty minutes, turned out to be an old and very exclusive establishment with a clientele largely drawn from the foreign embassies and the rich upper strata of Mexican society. As its name implied, its character was very much more Spanish than Mexican, and, Caroline was told, it was famous for its displays of traditional Spanish dancing.

  They were the first of their party to arrive, and at Diego’s suggestion they waited for the others in the softly-lit, thickly carpeted foyer. Caroline, coming to the conclusion after a minute or two that her companion was in anything but a talkative mood, picked up a copy of a Spanish fashion magazine and perched herself on the arm of a massive embroidered armchair which would have looked much more at home in the audience-chamber of the Escorial Palace., Diego lit himself a cigarette, and stared frowningly at the floor.

  He looked, Caroline decided, quite shatteringly handsome in evening dress, and it struck her that it was a pity he didn’t make more of an effort to be attractive in other ways. Quite possibly, of course, it was only a few people like herself who actually saw the less attractive side of his personality—he certainly seemed to show a very different side to Isabel Dominguez, for instance, and to his grandmother he appeared to be invariably charming—but the fact remained that the aspect of himself which he exhibited for her personal benefit was very far from prepossessing. She had not yet been able to decide whether his attitude to her arose simply from the fact that as the sister of an employee of his she was of no particular importance, or whether he had actually taken a personal dislike to her, but whatever the reason, he didn’t treat her as he treated other women.

  They hadn’t very long to wait before Senora Dominguez arrived with her daughter, and Caroline at least felt rather relieved to see them. Isabel, whose chair appeared in the doorway escorted by a chauffeur and two commissionaires, was wearing a long, slender, gold-embroidered sheath which emphasized the graceful slightness of her figure as she sat in her wheelchair, and it occurred to the English girl that she looked almost beautiful. Her thick brown hair, which during the afternoon had been piled on top of her head, had been brushed until it shone and allowed to fall about her shoulders in a soft, dark cloud, and she was wearing a vivid lipstick that did quite remarkable things for her generous mouth and her smooth, pale skin.

  Her mother, plump and matronly in crimson brocade, was wearing the expression of perpetual mild anxiety which seemed to be characteristic of her, and watching the two of them Caroline wondered whether Isabel was very much of a handful. Certainly, Diego seemed to know how to cope with her, but it was possible that he was the only person who did. And if Diego seriously intended to make her his wife one day it was to be hoped that he did know how to cope with her.

  Tonight, however, in addition to looking at her best, she seemed to be in reasonably good spirits, and she even flashed a vivid smile at Caroline when she caught sight of her.

  ‘Soon you will be meeting your brother, yes?’ she enquired, expertly wheeling herself closer to the slim golden-haired figure of the English girl.

  Caroline smiled back at her. ‘I hope so,’ she acknowledged.

  ‘That will be nice for you.’ The Senorita glanced restlessly around the foyer. ‘I have never had a brother … or a sister. I think perhaps it must be nice to have one.’

  ‘Well, yes, I suppose it is—on the whole.’

  Isabel glanced up at her casually. ‘Are you very angry because your brother has been working for Diego?’

  Completely taken aback, Caroline hesitated, and the Mexican girl added: ‘Diego says you are.’

  ‘Oh!’ Suddenly annoyed, Caroline felt little patches of warm colour appear in her cheeks. So Diego had been discussing her with his fiancée—quite possibly they had talked of little else all the way to Mexico City that afternoon. What right had he to discuss her?

  ‘My brother came out here to buy a ranch,’ she said rather stiffly. ‘He did buy a ranch, but—’

  ‘But Diego spoilt everything for him. You think that?’

  ‘I don’t know what to think.’

  ‘That is because you do not know Diego. When you know him, you will know what to think.’

  Caroline opened her mouth to reply to this decidedly cryptic observation, but she shut it again almost immediately. For at that precise moment the swing doors opened again, and two men walked into the foyer. Both were somewhere in their late twenties; one of them, a slim, brown-haired young man, Caroline hardly noticed. But the other was very tall and almost startlingly fair, and as soon as she caught sight of him she rushed forward.

  ‘Peter!’

  He laughed and hugged her. ‘Caroline!’

  Behind them, an expression of very slight distaste on his face, Senor Rivel carefully extinguished his cigarette in an enormous glass ash-tray. Then he turned and extended a courteous welcome to the other new arrival.

  Peter Ashley put his hands on his sister’s shoulders, and held her away from him. She thought that he looked surprisingly well and cheerful, but more than a little sheepish.

  ‘Well, what are you doing here?’ he demanded, the uncomfortable look in his blue eyes betraying the fact that he knew all too well what she was doing there.

  She studied him, taking in his well-ordered appearance and his undeniable air of self-assurance, and felt just a little resentful.

  ‘I’m here to find out what has been happening to you,’ she told him quietly. ‘Why didn’t you write, Peter?’

  He looked more uncomfortable than ever, and even coloured slightly. ‘There were all sorts of reasons … Honestly, I was going to write to you soon. But I didn’t think you’d worry—you knew I could take care of myself.’ He glanced over her head at his employer. ‘Things didn’t work out too well at first. You’ve probably heard about that.’

  ‘Yes, I’ve heard.’ There were so many things she wanted to say, but they would have to wait for a more suitable moment. Senor Rivel, with what he himself probably considered was quite masterly tact, had allowed them a minute or two for private conversation, but he was very likely thinking that the proper time limit had already been over-stepped, and although Peter looked in no way cowed she sensed that he was very conscious of his employer’s presence. ‘I was worried,’ she admitted, more quietly than ever. ‘I know we can’t talk here, but we must have a talk—a long one. We will, won’t we?’

  ‘Of course we will.’ He grinned down at her quite expansively, and although there was a shade of embarrassment about the grin he was obviously relieved because he felt that for the time being at least the worst was over. ‘I’ve got a lot to tell you. You’ll never believe half of it.’

  And then he became aware that Diego Rivel was quite definitely looking in their direction, and he swung his sister round to face the rest of the party.

  ‘Good evening, senor. You’ve met my sister, of course.’

  ‘Of course.’ Diego bowed. ‘Miss Ashley and I have already seen quite a lot of one another.’ From his tone, it w
as difficult to decide whether this was a source of satisfaction to him or not.

  Peter laughed, and if there had been a subtle suggestion in his employer’s tone that he and Caroline did not get on particularly well it was quite obviously lost on him. ‘She came over here to find out whether I was still alive,’ he said cheerfully. ‘She feels it’s her duty to keep an eye on me.’

  ‘So I gathered,’ said Diego. His cool dark eyes rested on Caroline for a moment. ‘I hope you are satisfied, senorita? Your brother is, at least, alive!’

  ‘Yes.’ Just at that moment, Caroline didn’t feel like taking very much part in the conversation.

  Diego turned away, and embarked upon the task of presenting the two young men to Senora Dominguez and her daughter. Caroline was a little surprised by the fact that her brother had evidently not yet met the Mexican ladies, and as the possibility immediately occurred to her that until tonight he had not been thought socially good enough she was naturally stung to further resentment. For two or three minutes she held herself a little aloof from the central group, and it was not until they were all turning to make their way towards the dining-room that her host realized that he had been guilty of an omission.

  ‘Miss Ashley… He drew closer to her, but she didn’t notice because she was looking straight ahead, and he had to touch her arm to attract her attention. ‘Miss Ashley … forgive me, but I don’t think you have met Mr.. Weldon.’

  She stopped and turned round, and found herself face to face with the man who had arrived with Peter. Rather hesitantly, he was smiling at her, and because there was something in his face that was curiously nice she found herself smiling back.

  ‘How do you do,’ she said, and held out her hand. In addition to being rather slightly built he was very tall, which made him seem positively thin, and his brown hair formed itself, just above the forehead, into a rebellious-looking wave which he had obviously made repeated unsuccessful attempts to get rid of. His grey eyes were kind and a little humorous, and she decided that she liked him.

  ‘Mr.. Weldon has just had the privilege of buying my horse,’ Diego Rivel informed her. ‘He is an American, and therefore is able to buy such luxuries, while I merely sell them!’

  As it was pretty obvious to most people that their host was at least as secure financially as the proverbial Croesus this was evidently intended as a joke, and Mr.. Weldon obligingly smiled. He looked as if he would probably do his best to oblige most people, as far as he could manage it.

  ‘If I had the knack of rearing horses like Castaneta,’ he observed, ‘I shouldn’t need to buy them.’

  This obviously pleased Diego. ‘She is a good mare,’ he admitted. ‘You are satisfied?’

  ‘Perfectly. If I hadn’t been satisfied I wouldn’t have bought her.’

  The tables at the Casa d’Espana were scattered around a wide central expanse of polished floor which was intended for displays of flamenco and other dances, and there was no doubt that the dancers were generally considered the establishment’s main attraction, but in between displays the lights were subdued, and it was remarkably peaceful. Caroline was grateful for the dimness of the lights, because although she couldn’t really have said why she felt somehow as if she wanted to hide. For one thing she was very tired, and she was also extraordinarily depressed. She didn’t know why she was depressed, for after all she had found Peter, and he was obviously both very well and very pleased with himself, but it didn’t make any difference. She didn’t feel like talking—and this was just as well, for at least during the first half of the meal neither Diego nor her brother, between whom she was seated, said very much to her at all.

  Peter, to the alarm of his sister, was paying a good deal of attention to Senorita Dominguez, and the fact that the Mexican girl seemed more than a little frightened of him didn’t deter him in the least. The pale-skinned, brown-eyed Isabel clearly fascinated him, and Caroline, listening uneasily, heard him try an extraordinary number of conversational gambits in the course of his efforts to draw her out. She suddenly seemed to need a good deal of drawing out, and Caroline, who earlier in the day had received the impression that silence on her part could only be an indication of boredom or fatigue, was astonished. Isabel had seemed to her extremely sophisticated, and quite unlikely to be afraid of any man she might reasonably be expected to meet, but the tall, blond Englishman seemed to be something new in her experience, and she didn’t know what to say to him. She eyed him rather as a kitten might eye a fully-grown mastiff, and once or twice she stammered as she answered the questions he put to her.

  Feeling increasingly uneasy, Caroline wondered whether Diego might be likely to become jealous easily, and a glance in his direction did nothing very much to relieve her mind. He was ostensibly engaged in conducting a polite conversation with Senora Dominguez, who was seated on his right, but there was little doubt that he was covertly watching his fiancée. Caroline shifted uncomfortably in her chair, and wished there was something she could do to create a diversion.

  Facing her across the table, Mr. Weldon, as neglected as herself, had evidently become resigned to concentrating his attention upon the imitation Andalusian decor, and even this irritated her, as if the young American had only had the initiative to say something to Isabel, who was seated between himself and Peter, the tension might have been eased a little. It didn’t occur to her that she could just as easily have done something to distract her brother; perhaps because she was tired, her thinking processes weren’t really functioning very efficiently.

  The meal being served up to them was very Spanish and very protracted, and by the time they reached the third course, an exotic dish from the Malaga district, Caroline’s appetite deserted her completely. She stared at her plate as if something about it offended her, and then, quite suddenly, she became aware that she was being watched.

  ‘You are not feeling well, senorita?’ Diego enquired.

  She very nearly jumped. ‘Oh, yes—I’m quite well, thank you.’

  ‘You are not hungry, however?’

  ‘No … not very.’ There wasn’t much point in saying anything else.

  ‘This is a very old Spanish dish, but if it doesn’t please you no doubt something else could be prepared for you.’

  Everybody else was looking at her now, and she felt herself flushing. She would not have expected her host to be so embarrassingly considerate.

  ‘Thank you very much, senor, but it’s just that I’m not hungry.’

  He refused to let the matter rest. ‘Perhaps you are still feeling the heat.’

  ‘Still?’ said Peter, with a touch of unexpected brotherly concern. ‘Have you been feeling the heat, Caro?’

  ‘Your sister is not accustomed to our Mexican climate,’ his employer reminded him rather bleakly. ‘This morning she fainted from the heat.’

  ‘Fainted?’ Peter looked astounded. ‘I say, do you think you ought to stay out here, Caro? I mean, if you find the heat as bad as all that—’

  ‘No doubt Miss Ashley will become used to it. When she fainted she had been waiting for some time in a small, air-tight room. It closely resembled an oven. Nevertheless …’ Diego stared searchingly at the person under discussion, who looked very much as if she wished the floor would open and swallow her. ‘I hope you are quite recovered, senorita?’

  ‘Yes, really. I’m perfectly all right.’

  ‘That is excellent.’ He drew his chair back a little. ‘Then perhaps you will dance with me?’ She hadn’t really noticed the fact before, but during the intervals between exhibitions of traditional dancing the musicians of the Casa d’Espana played more or less conventional dance music for the benefit of all those from the surrounding tables who felt like stretching their legs. There were never many people on the floor at any one time, but at this particular moment the lively rendering of a well-known tango had drawn several couples into circulation. The throbbing of the guitars was rhythmic and fascinating, and at any other time Caroline would have been dying to dance, bu
t as things were she simply stared at Senor Rivel as if she thought it possible that he had taken leave of his senses, and once again the colour flared into her cheeks.

  ‘D-dance with you?’ she repeated, with an apparent stupidity which for a long time afterwards covered her in confusion whenever she thought of it.

  ‘Yes.’ His lips narrowed a little. ‘But perhaps you are, after all, too tired.’

  Once again she had the unpleasant feeling that everyone was looking at her. Peter certainly was.

  ‘Go on, Caro,’ he urged. ‘You always were the dancer of the family!’

  And from her place on his left-hand side, Isabel Dominguez put a word in.

  ‘You must not be embarrassed because of me, Miss Ashley—I would dance if I were able to!’

  Caroline bit her lip. She only wanted to escape from them all, but she couldn’t. So instead she forced a smile to her lips, and looked at Diego. ‘Of course I’d—I’d love to dance, senor.’

  By the time they got out on to the floor the tango had ended, and the guitarists had temporarily abandoned the rhythms of Spain in favour of a hauntingly sentimental waltz tune. Diego, as she had expected, danced well, and after the first uncomfortable few moments her own nervousness began to fade and she became conscious of the fact that she was almost enjoying herself.

  Diego looked down at her. ‘This is not too old-fashioned for you, senorita?’

  ‘Old-fashioned?’

  ‘I was afraid that you might dislike waltzing.’

  ‘Oh, no.’ She shook her head. ‘I—I like it very much.’

  ‘I should have guessed that. You’re very good at it.’