‘No!’ Carolyn was horrified. ‘Bananas are terribly fattening. I don’t want to look like a house-end by the time I leave here!’
‘Now, Carolyn, I’m not going to stand here arguing with you.’ The professor looked adamant. ‘This is Mexico, not London, England, and when in Rome you do as the Romans do, and in this case it means obeying my orders.’
‘Oh, Dad! Honestly, coffee will be fine.’
Professor Madison frowned. ‘Get dressed. I’ll see José and discuss it with him.’
Carolyn slid out of bed, rubbing her eyes. ‘All right. All right. But don’t be surprised if I only have coffee, anyway.’
After her father had gone, she made a cursory examination of her luggage. Last evening, the cases had been stacked in a corner, and she had only unpacked what she needed. Glancing around she realised that she would not have nearly enough space to unpack all her cases, so she contented herself by hanging a couple of crushable dresses in the polythene stand, and searched through another case for a pair of denim pants, and a pale blue shirt. With her hair tied into a pony tail, she felt more businesslike, and emerged from the tent feeling more ready to face the day.
The men greeted her in a friendly fashion, and she had a few words with Tom Revie before seating herself beside Bill Anderson.
‘How did you sleep?’ he asked, and she smiled.
‘Now I wonder why you should ask that,’ she said, lightly. ‘Do I look a physical wreck or something? There’s a shortage of mirrors around here, so I don’t know.’
Bill grinned. ‘No, you don’t look a physical wreck,’ he said. ‘You know you look great, as usual.’
‘Why, Bill! I do believe that’s a compliment,’ she teased him, and he flushed, and bent his head to his meal.
The men all seemed to favour the English breakfast, but Carolyn was relieved to find only toast and fresh orange juice beside her plate. The butter was too soft to be really enjoyable, but Bill said that she was lucky to have toast on any terms. Tortillas were the Mexican substitute for bread.
After breakfast, Professor Madison came across to Carolyn. ‘I’m going up to Don Carlos’s hacienda,’ he said, solemnly. ‘I think it might be a good idea for you to come with me. That way we can get the apology and the explanation all over in one fell swoop.’
Carolyn twisted her fingers together. ‘Have you to go? I mean, you’re not just going because of me?’
‘No. I have to go. Don Carlos has kindly given us the use of a large salon at the hacienda in which we can store all the valuable finds we make. I go up there from time to time to continue with the illustrated inventory I am making. I’m hoping you’ll be able to help me with this.’
Carolyn looked interested. ‘Oh, really? How good! I shall like having something to do.’
‘Good. I’ll just have a word with Don and then we’ll go.’
The drive to the Alvarez home took them along the borders of the tumbling, restless river which seemed deeper and wider now that they were on a level with it.
‘Much of the transport around the state is done by river steamer,’ remarked Professor Madison. ‘I believe much of the adjoining states is completely unnegotiable except by air and river steamer.’
‘Is that a fact?’ Carolyn was impressed. ‘It seems incredible in this day and age to be so out of touch with civilisation.’
‘Parts of Yucatan are still completely unexplored,’ said the professor. ‘There may yet be ruins of other Mayan cities lying hidden in the thick jungles.’ He sighed. ‘If I were a younger man, I should try to get an expedition up to explore more of central America. I find these almost prehistoric tribes, living in circumstances which have not changed for thousands of years, completely fascinating.’
Carolyn shook her head. ‘Well, I’m glad you can’t go,’ she averred, firmly. ‘There are head-hunters and cannibals among these tribes. I should be terrified you might not get back alive. I should imagine dozens of explorers have disappeared without trace.’
‘I expect many have disappeared, but imagine, Carolyn, what they may have seen before they were—well—possibly killed.’
‘I can’t see that anything like that could be worth losing your life for,’ exclaimed Carolyn.
‘Maybe not. You’re a woman.’ The professor laughed. ‘I suppose you are also one of these creatures who abhor bull-fighting.’
‘Bull-fighting? I’ve never really thought about it. I once saw one, in Madrid. It was nauseating.’
‘You see,’ the professor laughed. ‘You haven’t the stomach for it. I mention bull-fighting because here it is very popular. In Mexico City there is the largest bull-ring in the world.’
‘Of course.’ Carolyn nodded. ‘The Spanish influence. I didn’t think of that.’
‘Don Carlos has bred bulls for the bull-ring himself,’ went on her father. ‘He has also fought the bulls.’
‘Don Carlos!’
‘Yes. Do you find that surprising?’
Carolyn looked thoughtful, recalling Don Carlos’s tall, lean, hard body. There had been something savage and untamed about him. A kind of leashed violence which was not in keeping with the cold hauteur he had adopted when she had dared to defy him.
‘No,’ she said, now, shivering a little for no apparent reason. ‘I should imagine he could be cruel, and no matter what you say, fighting bulls is a cruel pastime.’
The professor chuckled. ‘I would hardly call dicing with death a pastime,’ he remarked, dryly. ‘However, as we’re almost there, we’ll leave that discussion for another time.’
The track was winding through semi-cultivated land now, through narrow stretches between the plantations. Then they emerged into the open for a moment before entering tall iron gates and penetrating a belt of tropical trees that was the entrance to the Alvarez hacienda. The scent of jacaranda was almost overpowering, and then Carolyn had her first glimpse of the huge Spanish-designed dwelling. Below the house, lawns and gardens provided a profusion of colour, while the perfumes of the flowers were heady and sensual.
The Land-Rover halted at the entrance to an inner courtyard, and Carolyn slid out, looking up at the colonnaded façade. Tiling of many-coloured mosaics caught the sunlight, and she was impressed. Through the arched entrance to the inner courtyard, she could see a central fountain spilling its sparkling contents into a shallow basin.
Professor Madison came round the Land-Rover to her side. ‘Well?’ he said, softly. ‘What do you think?’
Carolyn shook her head.
‘Not exactly what you expected, is it?’ he persisted. ‘What did you expect anyway? Mud huts?’
Carolyn smiled. ‘No, not that. But this is such an isolated spot. One can’t believe such a place exists. It’s like a small palace.’
‘It is beautiful,’ agreed her father, preceding her through the archway. ‘Come on. It’s even better inside.’
Carolyn followed him more slowly, looking about her with interest. The house was built round the central courtyard with balconies to the upper windows. There was a profusion of wrought ironwork and jalousies and shady cloistered arches. Carolyn supposed that was the Moorish influence. She had been in many beautiful houses—stately homes and town dwellings. But