Abby translated the words in her head and nearly laughed aloud. She knew exactly how the tennis player felt. Maybe he was bad at mingling, too.
‘That means he’s the guest of honour, Abby,’ said the friend, translating kindly.
She did not need to translate. Abby had prepared for this trip by applying herself hard to Spanish. If she had to learn a new language, she thought, it might just as well be one where there were audio tapes available. But ever since she arrived, all the Montijos and their friends had brushed aside her halting attempts to speak their language. Abby did not know whether that was because they were too courteous or too impatient to let her fumble. But it had depleted her small store of confidence even further.
Rosanna emerged with a long burgundy dress. It was a sophisticated colour, too sophisticated for a sixteen-year-old, Abby thought at once. But they insisted that she try it on. So she did.
It swirled nicely round her legs when she moved. Only then they insisted on her borrowing some high, strappy shoes and she did not dare to move any more.
‘I’ll fall off,’ she said, hanging on to bedpost.
‘Not if you practise. You can’t wear kitten heels with a dress like that,’ said Rosanna fairly.
Abby tried to say that she did not want to wear the dress, either. There was a lot more wrong with it than the too subtle colour. It was more low cut than anything she had ever worn in her life. It made her feel uncomfortable. She said so. Rosanna gave her a shimmery scarf to wear with it but could barely hide her impatience.
‘Honestly, Abby, I don’t see the problem. It’s summer here, for heaven’s sake. Everyone wears low necklines in the summer. No one will even notice.’
‘I’ll notice,’ said Abby, dragging the designer fabric higher over her small breasts.
A bootlace strap slid off her shoulder. She hauled it back. The front of the dress slid back to its former anchorage. She grabbed it with both hands. In the long mirror she looked flushed and stubborn and acutely uncomfortable.
‘Well, you can’t wear a T-shirt and shorts to a party,’ snapped Rosanna, losing patience. ‘Not in Argentina. Your father,’ she added, clinching it, ‘would really mind.’
The others agreed. They turned a deaf ear to Abby’s reservations about the shoes, the straps, the sheer backlessness of the dress. They had done their best for her and now there were more interesting things to discuss.
‘My father says he’s going to go a long way,’ said the friend at the dressing table.
The one painting her nails shrugged. ‘Who cares? He’s gorgeous now.’
Abby was in no doubt who they were talking about.
‘My grandmother’s terrified he’ll seduce me.’ That was Rosanna in her underwear, inspecting her smooth legs.
The others hooted. ‘Fat chance.’
‘Wish he’d seduce me.’
‘He’s got his own fan club, you know. My sister told me that in Paris last year, the girls followed him everywhere. Once even got into his bedroom at the hotel.’
They all paused to consider the prospect, sighing enviously.
‘Well, tonight,’ said Rosanna with decision, ‘he’s going to seduce me or no one.’
They teased her.
‘In your dreams.’
‘How are you going to manage that?’
‘I shall tell Papa,’ announced Rosanna superbly. ‘He wants Emilio to meet the right people? Fine. I’ve known the right people since I was born. I shall take him round and introduce him to everyone here. And then,’ her eyes went brooding, ‘he can thank me properly.’
They all giggled.
Abby eased out of the door.
Nobody noticed.
So later, as twilight began to fall and more guests arrived, Abby went out into the famous gardens and tried hard to lose herself behind a tree. It was not difficult. Rosanna had too many friends to greet to spend time making sure that Abby circulated. The young people went to the paddock where the great barbecue was alight, while the older, glamorous crowd went up to the house.
The columned veranda glittered with diamonds and champagne and the tinkle of sophisticated laughter. No refuge with the older Montijos tonight then. Abby sighed and clutched the glamorous scarf round her as if it was a granny shawl. Oh, well, there had to be somewhere in the extensive grounds where she could take refuge. She slid away.
From his place on the terrace, Emilio Diz watched the girl with detached interest. She was not much more than a child. Not a Montijo, he thought. Not with clothes that fitted that badly. Her long arms and legs seemed out of her control, like a newly hatched crane fly. But she certainly knew what she wanted. She kept smiling and nodding to groups as she passed, but he could see that she did not let anyone delay her progress.
Where was she heading with such determination? He speculated idly. Maybe she was going skinny-dipping in the creek Felipe Montijo had told him about. But no, he shook his head at the thought. You didn’t go skinny-dipping on a warm summer night alone, not even if you were still at the crane fly stage.
Oh, God, he was so bored, he was making up stories about a teenager he did not even know. With an effort, he brought his attention back to the group of businessmen he had been invited to meet. They wanted to meet him and they wouldn’t for long. His celebrity was already on the wane. He had to capitalise on it before it died. He had a family to provide for, a growing family after Isabel’s bombshell.
At the thought of his sister’s news, his mouth tightened. Isabel was not much older that that little crane fly girl. Maybe if he had been home more when she was as young as that girl out there, she would not be in the terrible mess she was now.
Still, there was nothing he could do about that. All he could do was use his talents to provide for them the best way he could. Talents and contacts, he reminded himself, turning to look at his host’s hundred best friends. Designer dresses and diamonds, even at a barbecue. And they had all known each other all their lives.
Make the most of it, he told himself dryly. If you don’t bring this deal off, you won’t be asked again. These people wouldn’t have had you past the gate three years ago. And they won’t again if you don’t make it. Listen and learn!
CHAPTER TWO
ABBY had found the rose grotto at the Hacienda Montijo almost by accident. It had been planted by a Montijo groom for a romantic bride who was missing Europe badly. The design owed more to illustrated fairy books than any classical garden. The bride, taken aback, had not had the heart to tell him that the rose beds at Versailles were neither so crowded nor so cobwebby. Soon enough, she had a baby and stopped missing her old home altogether. But the rose grotto was established and Montijos held on to what they owned. Gardeners pruned and weeded and replanted, even though the family never came there.
To Abby it was heaven. Not as tangly and scented as the overgrown roses at home, of course. This garden was still properly cared for by professionals. But it was still recognisably natural. She sometimes thought that it was the only thing in this place that was, apart from the horses.
Now she tucked herself onto a mossy stone seat and leaned back, inhaling the evening scents. Content at last, she felt her tense shoulders relax. Immediately both borrowed shoulder straps fell down her arms.
‘Blast, bother and blow,’ said Abby peacefully and left them there. There was, thank God, no one to see.
She tipped her head back, dreaming…
Emilio did not like champagne. It was the first thing he discovered after he won his first big tournament. The second thing was