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,