Читать книгу Pale Dawn Dark Sunset - Anne Mather - Страница 8

THE international airport at Mexico City was a seething mass of humanity in the heat of the late afternoon. More and more people were discovering the fascination for the past which gave the Aztec civilisation such an irresistible appeal. Where once only scientists and historians came to investigate the relics of that ancient culture there now thronged safari-shirted tourists, slung about with cameras and binoculars, and all the other paraphernalia of the cult fanatic.

Rafael disliked the crowds. He avoided them whenever possible. And the reasons for his being here at all were gradually arousing an unmistakable feeling of irritation inside him. The aircraft bringing this woman who might or might not be the child’s aunt out from England had developed an engine fault and had been delayed twenty-four hours in Kingston, which had meant that Rafael had had to book in at the airport hotel and spend a whole day kicking his heels. But finally the flight’s arrival had been announced, and he walked reluctantly towards the reception area. His hands were thrust deep into the pockets of his close-fitting corduroy pants and as he wore no jacket because it was so hot, his thin cream knitted shirt clung to his skin. He was hardly aware that several pairs of female eyes turned speculatively in his direction. He was simply not interested. He was totally absorbed with the disruptive quality of his own thoughts.

The plane had landed by the time he reached reception, and because of the delay in Jamaica and certain formalities which had been conducted there the passengers were quickly dealt with. Luggage was unloaded and gradually the passengers trickled through to collect their belongings and be greeted by welcoming relatives and friends.

Rafael stood to one side, his feet slightly apart, assessing all the women who emerged with equal penetration. There were several middle-aged women and his stomach muscles tautened when he contemplated approaching one of them with his brother’s proposition. But fortunately they were all quickly encompassed into welcoming groups and Rafael viewed the men that followed without interest. Most of the passengers looked relieved that the journey was over and he conceded that knowing one’s aircraft had developed an engine fault on the first leg of the journey could not make for a comfortable completion.

A woman in a wheelchair came next, propelled by a tall girl who looked round the reception area with curious eyes. Rafael frowned. Could this perhaps be Miss Lord? This woman in the wheelchair who looked rather pale and drawn.

But no! He stifled his increasing impatience as a man and a woman approached them and bent to speak consolingly to the woman in the chair. Then they spoke to the girl and she smiled, and said something which from her manner appeared to be deprecating their obvious gratitude.

Rafael looked away. Where was the woman? he silently demanded, feeling his reserves of tolerance running desperately low. Surely she would have the sense to realise that someone would be sent to meet her! Surely she wouldn’t leave the confines of the airport and seek accommodation at some hotel?

“Excuse me, señor!”

The feminine voice to one side of him broke into his absorption and his brows drew together in a scowl as he turned to look at the girl who had spoken. She was the girl who had been propelling the wheelchair and at once his spirits rose a little. Could it be that the woman in the wheelchair was Miss Lord, after all?

“Si?” He was abrupt, but he couldn’t help it.

The girl smiled, seemingly unconcerned by his uncompromising attitude. Objectively, he had to concede that she was an unusually attractive young woman. She was tall, perhaps five feet six or seven, and without the angular thinness sometimes associated with girls of her height. She was slim, but not excessively so, and firm breasts were moulded beneath the thin cotton of her shirt. A mass of straight red-gold hair fell in a heavy curtain about her shoulders, her features were even, her eyes an amazing shade of green and fringed by dark, gold-tipped lashes, her mouth full and mobile. She was dressed in the kind of casual attire affected by the youth of the day—cotton denim jeans that clung to her hips and tapered at the ankle, thonged sandals on her bare feet. A canvas holdall was draped over her shoulder drawing attention to the open neck of her shirt where the smooth column of her throat was clearly visible. Without a doubt, he decided, she was not unaccustomed to the ready admiration of the opposite sex. It was there in the slightly slanting eyes, in her awareness, in the confidence she exuded—and Rafael withdrew behind a façade of coldness that was totally alien to him.

“Excuse me,” she said again, and her voice was warm and husky and unmistakably English. “But you’re not by any chance—Señor Cueras?”

Rafael stiffened. “I am Rafael Cueras,” he agreed politely.

“Oh, I see. Rafael!“ The girl looked disappointed. “I’m sorry. It was a Señor Juan Cueras I was looking for.”

Rafael drew himself up to his full height and looked down at her. “Juan Cueras is my brother, señorita. Do you speak to me on behalf of Miss Lord?”

“On behalf of—” The girl broke off. “Oh, no, señor. I don’t speak on behalf of anybody. I am Miranda Lord!”

To say Rafael was surprised would be a masterpiece of understatement. He was astounded, flabbergasted! He stared at the girl as though she had just announced her intention to stick a knife in his ribs. He couldn’t believe it, he couldn’t. That this female—this girl—was the expected aunt from England! It wasn’t possible. Aunts in his country were middle-aged to elderly women attired in black, not slips of creatures little more than children themselves.

Miranda Lord was smiling at his amazement. “Is something wrong?” she enquired in an amused voice. “Am I not what you were expecting?”

That she should so precisely put her finger on what was wrong irritated him. He disliked the way she was looking at him, the way her eyes mocked his confusion. “I—no, señorita,” he retorted curtly. “You are perhaps—younger, that is all.”

She nodded. “Well, my sister was twelve years older,” she conceded, a cloud of remembered grief darkening her eyes for a moment. Then she shook her head impatiently. “I’m sorry if I’m a disappointment to you.”

The amusement was back again and Rafael cast a swift look around them. He realised they could not go on standing here when at any moment another aircraft would be landing and other passengers would be crowding this lounge, but he was curiously loath to take responsibility for her. Still, it had to be done.

“You will please to come with me, señorita,” he directed, his English worsening as his irritation irrationally increased. “You have suitcases?”

Miranda looked across the room. “Only one. That’s it over there. I’ll get it.”

“I will get it, señorita.”

Rafael strode away and picked up the square black case, noting its battered edges with a tightening of his lips. It was obvious that the situation was as Juan had suggested. This girl had no money, and was certainly not the kind of guardian he would have chosen for a child of eight years. For the first time he felt a small sympathy towards his brother’s cause. Perhaps Juan was right after all.

He came back to the girl, and she said: “You don’t have to keep calling me señorita. My name is Miranda. I’m used to that.”

Rafael made no reply to this but merely indicated that she should accompany him across the well-lit entrance hall and out into the cooling warmth of the late afternoon.

“I expect you’ve been waiting since yesterday, haven’t you?” Miranda suggested, as they walked to where Rafael had left the car. “I’m sorry. The plane developed a fault. It was quite nerve-racking really.”

But she didn’t appear to be suffering any ill-effects, thought Rafael with unusual cynicism, and despised himself for feeling that way.

“Aren’t those flowers beautiful!” she was exclaiming now, spreading her hands and giving a little shake of her shoulders. “I can hardly believe it, you know. That I’m here—in Mexico. I’ve done very little travelling, I’m afraid.”

Rafael’s nostrils flared. “I should have thought that the reasons behind this journey were less than stimulating, señorita.”

She glanced sideways at him, and her eyes were coolly appraising. Tall as he was, she did not have to look up far into his face and it was rather disconcerting to him. Most of the people he associated with, men as well as his mother and sisters, were much smaller than he was.

Now she said quietly: “My sister and her husband went missing more than four months ago. I’ve had to adjust myself to the fact that they’re never coming back.”

Rafael felt reproved and didn’t care for the experience. He was guiltily aware that he was making a very poor impression, but he said nothing and she looked away again, making some further comment about the banks of blossom that fronted the airport buildings.

The grey Mustang gleamed metal-like on the stark concrete apron of the parking area. Miranda silently admired its sleek elegance and then asked: “Yours?”

Rafael shook his head. “My brother’s, señorita.“ He swung open the passenger door. “Won’t you please get in?”

With a shrug she curved herself into the seat and he stowed her case in the boot before joining her. It was some time since he had driven any woman other than a member of his own family, and he could smell the faint aroma of some perfume she was wearing and feel the warmth from her skin close beside his.

They swung out of the parking area and he was relieved to have the traffic to rivet his attention. He was conscious of her looking about her with interest and in an effort to behave naturally he pointed out the twin mountain peaks which have become world-famous since the Spanish conqueror Cortes viewed the Aztec city from the tableland between them. They did not drive into Mexico City, however, but swung away south towards Puebla. If she was disappointed that she was not to have some time in the capital Rafael couldn’t help it. If she wished to go sightseeing when the business which had brought her to Mexico was over, that was her affair.

All the same, he realised belatedly he had not offered her a meal before embarking on this journey, and sooner or later he would have to bring up the question of the child. He was not looking forward to that.

“How far is it to Guadalima?” she asked suddenly, as clouds began to obscure the slanting rays of the setting sun.

“Some distance yet, señorita.“ Rafael paused. “I did not think of it at the airport, but perhaps you are hungry?”

Miranda shook her head. “Not particularly. We had a meal on the plane.” She looked down at her nails. “Tell me—I understood your brother was to meet me—is—is he ill or something?”

Rafael’s fingers tightened on the wheel. “No. No, not ill, señorita.”

“But there must have been some reason, mustn’t there?” she insisted, her eyes challenging his. “After all, you didn’t want to come, did you?”

Rafael was taken aback. “Why do you say that.”

“It’s obvious.” She slid lower into her seat, drawing up her foot and draping her arms round her knee. “I get the feeling I’m something more than a nuisance.”

Rafael was contrite. “I’m sorry,” he said stiffly.

She wrinkled her nose. “No, you’re not. I’m just trying to work out why you should come to meet me if you feel this way.”

Rafael sighed and a little of the tension went out of him. “You must forgive me, señorita. I am a little—tired.”

She shook her head. “Tell me about Lucy.”

Rafael hesitated. “You’re sure the child is Lucy, then?”

“Well, I’ve seen a photograph of her, sent by this priest, Father—Estoban?” He nodded and she went on: “It’s not the best photograph I’ve seen of her, but it certainly looks like her. And I don’t suppose there are too many children wandering about Mexico answering her description.”

“No.” Rafael had to admit that.

“I understand your—brother—has been very good to her.”

This was his opportunity, but Rafael did not immediately take it. He had the feeling that this girl was different from any contingency Juan had considered. And he wasn’t altogether sure that she would be prepared to abandon her niece however tempting the offer.

Now he said: “My brother has grown very attached to—to the child.”

She nodded. “So I understand from the priest. I must thank him for taking such an interest in her. Does your brother have no children of his own?”

“My brother is not yet married, señorita,” replied Rafael dryly, but she merely smiled.

“I see.” Her eyes danced. “Then of course he couldn’t have, could he?” But he sensed she was laughing at him again.

Rafael’s lips thinned. “As a matter of fact Juan is—betrothed, señorita.”

“Oh!” She drew her lower lip between her teeth. “And you, señor? Are you married? Do you have children?”

“No!” Rafael shook his head.

She raised dark eyebrows. “You sound very definite about that.” She shrugged. “Nor am I. But I always imagined people married younger in Latin countries.”

“Not everyone wishes to get married, señorita,” he was stung to retort.

“No. No, I realise that. It’s going out of fashion, isn’t it?”

“That was not what I meant, señorita.”

“Wasn’t it?” Her eyes flickered over the open neck of his shirt, lingering for a while on the hair-roughened skin of his chest before continuing down to his bare forearms where he had rolled back his sleeves. She contemplated the plain gold watch on his wrist and then dropped her eyes to her hands.

No woman of his own race that Rafael had ever known had looked at him in quite that way before, and he felt annoyed. Had she no respect, this girl from England? Did women there consider themselves the equals of men in every sense of the word? He had heard that this was so, but he had found it hard to believe.

With a heavy sigh, he said: “Do you have any intentions of getting married in the near future, señorita?”

Her eyes widened and she turned to look at him. “Not in the near future, no. Why?”

Rafael moved awkwardly. Such personal questions were alien to him. “I—wondered, that is all, señorita.“ It was growing dark and he was impatient to reach the airport at Puebla. “If—if the child is your niece, what are your intentions?”

Miranda frowned. “My intentions, señor?” She shrugged. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I phrase myself badly.” Rafael braked and changed gear as a handcart suddenly appeared on the road in front of them. “What I mean is—will you take her back to England?”

“Of course,” She sounded surprised. “Where else would I take her? I’m her only relative now. Susan—that is, my sister and I have no parents. They’ve been dead for more than eight years. When Bob—Susan’s husband—got a job in Brazil, I was still at college. I hadn’t seen either of them for over a year when—when I had news that they were missing.”

“I see.” Rafael paused. “So you may find it—difficult to cope with a child?”

Miranda half turned in her seat towards him. “Do you really care, señor…?”

Rafael stiffened. That she should ask him that! He made a dismissing movement of his shoulders. “Of course it is the duty of anyone to care, señorita. The child is young—impressionable. She needs a firm hand as well as a secure background. She needs good food and clothing, someone to whom she may turn in times of trouble someone who is always there in the background, always ready to offer assistance and advice.”

Miranda traced the grain in the leather at the back of his seat with a careless finger. “And don’t you think I can provide these things? Is that what you’re getting at?”

“I did not say that, señorita. But you are young, you have your own life to lead. What place in it would there be for an orphaned eight-year-old girl?”

She swung round in her seat. “I get the feeling you’re trying to tell me something, señor,” she remarked coldly.

Rafael sighed, wishing for the umpteenth time that he had not agreed to become a part of this impossible situation. “It is simply that my brother is concerned for the child’s welfare, señorita,” he stated flatly. “Is it not natural that this should be so. These past weeks she has been—how shall I say?—the centre of attention.”

“But she doesn’t remember who she is, does she?” Miranda retorted. “How do you think she’ll feel when she discovers that her—her parents are dead?”

“That is impossible to answer, of course.”

“Of course.” She hunched her shoulders. “But don’t you think that for a child of Lucy’s age, having someone she knows, someone she really knows, to care for her, is more important in the immediate term than anything else?”

“Perhaps so, señorita.”

“But you’re not sure, are you?” She tossed her head impatiently. “I’m beginning to think I know why your brother did not come to meet me himself. He wanted you to plead his case—didn’t he? Be his advocate! But why? What does Lucy mean to him?”

Rafael saw the lights of Puebla looming ahead of them with some relief. “We will complete our journey by helicopter, señorita,” he stated stiffly. “Then you will meet my brother and judge for yourself what his motives may be.”

At the airport, formalities were soon dealt with, and he led the way to that quieter corner of the airfield where a silver and blue helicopter glinted in the dull lights. Miranda had said nothing since leaving the car, and if she was surprised to find herself expected to complete the journey in a helicopter she made no demur. It was Rafael who found himself growing increasingly disturbed and after securing her in the seat beside him he fastened his own straps with impatient fingers. He should never have come on this mission. If anything he had prejudiced the girl against Juan by his own carelessness.

In the air he felt a little more relaxed. Flying, whether in the helicopter or in the monoplane also owned by the estate, always relaxed him. His father had been a keen pilot and some of Rafael’s earliest memories were of being taken up in an aeroplane and subjected to the kind of aerobatics calculated to shake the hardest nerves. But Rafael had loved it, and by the time he was fourteen he could handle a plane almost as well as his father. Of course, his mother had not known, not then, but as soon as he was old enough to hold a licence it had become one of his greatest pleasures. A pleasure he had denied himself of late.

Now as he turned the helicopter towards the valley of the Lima, he reflected that he could afford to be pleasant to the girl when in a little over an hour she would no longer be his responsibility. He knew the terrain like the back of his hand, and felt he could have flown the chopper in blindfold. He glanced towards his passenger and saw her taut features revealed in the diffused lighting from the instrument panel. He felt a sense of remorse. He had been cold and unyielding, totally unlike his normal self. It was not her fault that he instinctively recoiled from her easy familiarity. What must she be thinking of him?

He shook his head. Juan should not be too disappointed. After all, he, too, had been expecting an older woman. What he would say when he confronted this emancipated specimen of womanhood might be interesting to hear. But something had to be said now and Rafael sought for suitable words.

“No one has any intention of trying to—take your niece—if indeed the child is your niece—away from you, señorita,” he averred at last.

She looked sideways at him. “No one could.”

Her determination was irritating. She was obviously unaware of the power of the Cueras family if she imagined her words would carry much weight here.

“I—should not take that attitude, señorita,” he replied quietly. “You are not in England now.”

“Are you threatening me, señor?” she demanded incredulously, and his knuckles showed white through the skin of his hands.

“No, señorita, I am not threatening you. I am merely offering sound advice.”

She directed her attention towards him. “And what do you do, señor? Do you work for your brother on this estate Father Esteban mentioned in his letters? Are you working for him now?”

Rafael could not remember feeling so angry for a very long time. “No,” he managed, through clenched teeth. “I do not work for my brother, señorita. I have no connection with the estate.”

“I see.”

But she was puzzled. He sensed that. However he had no intention of enlightening her further. She would learn soon enough no doubt. But not from him. He did not altogether understand his antipathy towards the girl, but he wanted nothing more to do with her.

Thereafter there was silence between them. They flew in over the mountain ranges, dropping low into the valley where lights pricked the gloom below them. A fugitive moon slid from behind clouds long enough to illuminate the grey walls of the Hacienda Cueras, but then they fell behind them as the helicopter dropped down to the valley floor where a narrow airstrip flanked by adobe buildings provided a necessary landing area. As they landed Miranda looked curiously about her., probably noticing the lack of formal buildings.

“Is this it?” she asked, and he nodded.

“This is it, seˉnTorita,” he agreed coolly, thrusting back the sliding perspex door as the propellers slowed to a stop. “Only a short journey in a Landrover and you will be at the Hacienda Cueras.”

“Oh, but—” Miranda broke off. “I thought Lucy was staying at the mission with Father Esteban.”

“She is, señorita. But the mission is small, accommodation is limited. My brother insists you accept his hospitality. Besides, it would not be advisable to upset the child at this time of night.”

He thought she was about to refuse, but although her mobile mouth tightened she tossed back her hair with a careless hand and bent to unfasten her safety harness. He offered her his hand to climb out, and after a moment’s hesitation she took it, her fingers slim and cool in his. It was the first time he had touched her, and he could tell from the way her eyes darted to his face that she was not unaware of him. But he withdrew his hand as soon as he could and turned away with relief to speak to Gerardo Sanchez, the mechanic, who lived in one of the adobe buildings. They spoke in a swift patois, a mixture of Mexican and the native Nahuatlan, which successfully excluded Miranda. All the same, Rafael was conscious of her standing there, behind him, slim and elegant, in spite of her casual attire, looking about her with interested eyes.

It was quite cold now, and after a moment he dismissed Gerardo and turned back to her.

“Come,” he said. “The Landrover is waiting, and so, too, is my brother. Gerardo tells me that he did not get my message last evening informing him that your plane had been delayed.”

He set off across the tarmac and she fell into step beside him. “What do you mean?” she asked in surprise. “Didn’t you telephone.”

Rafael cast her an impatient look. “There are no telephones in the high valleys of the Chiapas, señorita.“ He shrugged. “No doubt both he and my mother have convinced themselves by now that I have either run the Mustang off the highway, or crashed the helicopter!”

Miranda bit her lip, looking at him anxiously, and in the fleeting light of the moon she saw the amusement touching his mouth. She smiled suddenly, and a gulp of laughter escaped her.

“It is not funny,” he asserted, straightening his lips, but her smile was infectious and in spite of himself he grinned back.

“You look so much nicer when you smile,” she exclaimed impulsively, and he was glad that they had reached the Landrover and thus was not obliged to make any response.

Gerardo slung the luggage into the back and raised his hand in farewell, and then they bumped off across the grassy sward that led to the track. The scent of pine and underbrush filled the air, mingling with the baser scents of earth and humanity. Rafael handled the Landrover expertly, accelerating as they left the airstrip behind and began the ascent into the foothills.

The Hacienda Cueras looked particularly beautiful in the light cast from its many windows, and Miranda exclaimed at the mosaic tiling on the stone fountain in the forecourt which he usually took for granted. He found the sound of its falling waters cooling on a hot afternoon, but that was all.

He had hardly stopped the vehicle before the shallow steps which led up to the shadowed portico when the mesh door was opened and his mother stood silhouetted against the light beyond. She spread her hands welcomingly and came hurrying down the steps towards him as he stepped from the Landrover.

“Rafael! Oh, Rafael!” she exclaimed weakly. “Dios gracias, estas aqui! De donde—”

“No ahora, Madrecita,” said Rafael soothingly. “Estoy seguro.” He took her clinging arms from around his neck, glancing back to where Miranda Lord was just getting out of the Landrover. “Esta Miss Lord, Madrecita. Miss Miranda Lord.”

Doña Isabella’s eyes widened in surprise as she took in the informally clad girl behind him. “This is—the child’s aunt from England?” she asked in that language.

Rafael hid his amusement at his mother’s astonishment. If he had been surprised, his mother was shocked.

“That is correct,” he agreed. “Miss Lord, this is my mother, Doña Isabella Cueras.”

Miranda held out her hand and Doña Isabella shook it politely, but her expression was far from welcoming. However, politeness was an inbred instinct, and she managed to say: “I hope you had a good journey, señorita.”

Miranda nodded. “Reasonably so. The flight was delayed twenty-four hours in Jamaica through engine trouble. I’m sorry if you’ve been worried, but your son did send a message.”

Doña Isabella’s dark eyes turned to her son. “Is this so, Rafael?”

“Of course. Gerardo told me you did not receive it.”

Doña Isabella made an impatient sound. “No, we did not. We have been most concerned about you, Rafael. And—and about you, too, of course, señorita.“ This last was clearly an afterthought.

Rafael leaned into the back of the Landrover and hauled out Miranda’s belongings. “Well, it is over now. We are arrived safely. And if you will excuse me, there are matters which require my immediate attention.”

Miranda stared at him in dismay. “You’re—leaving?”

Rafael made her a slight bow. “I am afraid so. As I told you, señorita, I do not live at the hacienda. My mother will take care of you and presently my brother will show himself.”

She made a helpless gesture. “But—”

Rafael turned away from the appeal in her eyes and ignoring his mother’s reproachful: “Rafael!” he climbed back into the Landrover. “Adios, amigos. Nos hablaremos pronto. Adios!”