Читать книгу Counterfeit Bride - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 6

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.