Flame of Diablo (18 page)

foisted on her, and believing that she

was immune from passion's arbitrary

demands. Now she knew differently, and

much good might it do her, she thought

bleakly.

They were emerging on to a track which

actually looked as if it was used. It was

dusty and pitted with stones, and there

were the marks where wheels had

passed. At the sound of their horses'

hooves, a scrawny chicken flew across

the road in front of them and vanished

into the undergrowth with an indignant

squawk, and somewhere up ahead of

them a dog began to bark.

A few yards more and they would be in

sight of the house, she realised

thankfully, as it registered with her just

how tired and generally grimy she felt.

From what she could see as they passed

it did not look as if the
finca
was part of

a large plantation. She could see no

signs of large-scale banana or coffee

cultivation anywhere. She hoped that the

owners would not be too poor, or find

offering them hospitality too much of a

burden, because she felt as if she might

drop out of the saddle with weariness.

Even as the thought came to her, the

bushes parted and a man carrying a hoe

on his shoulder stepped out on to the

road. For a moment he stared at Vitas as

if he did not believe his eyes, then leapt

forward, his teeth gleaming in a broad

grin, uttering a shout that could only have

been of welcome.

She watched as Vitas swung himself out

of the saddle to return the greeting. The

conversation which followed was in

Spanish and too rapid for her to catch

more than a word here and there, but she

guessed that Vitas was being asked to

explain why he was there and why he

was leading an extra horse laden with

baggage. Rachel gathered that he must

often use this
finca
as a stopping-off

place. The two men walked ahead

leading the horses, and she followed on

behind, resentment boiling up inside her.

Apart from one brief glance, the

newcomer had paid her no attention

whatsoever, and Vitas had made no

move to introduce her or bring her into

the conversation. Whatever they were

discussing, their heads so close together,

their voices low and serious, had to be

man's talk, she thought impatiently.

She caught her breath as the house itself

came in sight. It was little more than a

shack, with a corrugated iron roof, and a

broad rather shaky verandah running its

full-length. There was some kind of

stove on the verandah and a plump

woman was bending over it absorbed in

cooking. She wore the cotton dress and

all-encompassing overall that Rachel

had noticed the women wearing back in

Asuncion, and her hair was plaited and

wound round the top of her head. At the

sound of approaching voices she looked

up and gave a little crow of delight,

throwing down the spoon she was using

and jumping down from the verandah

with a fair turn of speed to throw herself

into Vitas' arms.

From the doorway Rachel saw two

dark-eyed

children

watching

the

approaching cavalcade intently. She

swallowed. The house barely looked big

enough to house the little family. There

certainly couldn't be room for them as

well.

She reined in her horse and sat staring at

the tumbledown building. Vitas came

and stood looking up at her.

'These are my good friends Ramon and

Maria,' he said. 'They speak no English,

so you will have to take my word for it

that they welcome you to their house.'

She said in a low voice, 'But we can't...'

'We cannot what?' He was frowning, his

face, his whole stance grim and

unyielding.

'They have so little,' she whispered. 'We

can't intrude— take from them.'

'Por Dios!
' he breathed furiously. 'You

are an expert at the insult,
chica,
but you

will sharpen your claws on me alone.

You will not hurt Maria by implying that

her house is not good enough for a

haughty
Inglesa.
Now get down from

your horse before I drag you from it and

administer the beating you so richly

deserve!'

Rachel descended hastily, sending him a

fulminating glance. So he thought her

hesitation had been prompted by disdain

instead of concern, she raged inwardly.

Well, damn him to hell and back and let

him think what he wanted! She walked

past with her nose in the air to greet her

host and hostess and spoiled the effect

by tripping over a stone in the road and

nearly falling flat on her face. Vitas

stood watching her performance acidly,

but Ramon and Maria rushed to her side

chirruping with distress, and tugging her

towards the verandah and the ancient

cane rocking chair which stood there.

And there she was ensconced like

visiting

royalty

while

Vitas

accompanied Ramon and Maria into the

house. If he had private things to say to

them, he might as well have discussed

them in front of her, she thought crossly.

But she had to admit that it was a relief

to be able to sit still on something that

only moved if she really wanted it to.

There was even a fan of sorts on a

rickety table just within reach, and she

waved it gently to and fro, enjoying the

faint draught on her face.

She had lost track of the route they were

taking. Its twists and turns and ups and

downs combined with her own tortuous

thoughts had finally defeated her, but the

heat humidity told her they were back at

a lower level again. She had closed her

eyes, but she opened them again with a

start when she felt a light tap on her arm.

One of the children was standing beside

her, holding a glass containing fruit juice

of some kind.

'
Muchas gracias.''
Rachel accepted the

glass, and tried to remember her phrase

book Spanish for 'What is your name?'

and 'How old are you?' But the little girl

giggled shyly, putting her hands over her

mouth and backed away.

Rachel sipped her juice. It was

amazingly cool, and probably chock-full

of germs, she thought pessimistically.

But at least a sharp bout of dysentery

would be one way of preserving her

from Vitas' embraces.

She heard a footfall beside her and all

her senses jangled.

He said coolly, 'Maria is going to cook

us some
empanadas,
but she wants me to

ask you if you would like to have a bath.'

He saw her give a startled look around

her and went on sardonically, 'You are

quite right, of course. There is no

bathroom, but there is a tub, and Maria

has also offered to wash our clothes.'

'But we can't let her do all this for us,'

she protested.

His brows slanted together. 'Why not?'

'I should have thought it would have

been obvious,' she said hotly. 'It may be

part of your system to exploit people, but

it isn't mine.'

'Maria does not consider herself to be

exploited,' he said. 'And as for you,

Raquel, I warn you now you will pay in

full

for

any

further

unpleasant

insinuations that you make about me.'

She decided to ignore the last part of his

remarks. 'I wonder what Maria feels

about that,' she said. 'Of course, as she

conveniently doesn't speak English, I

can't ask her. But do you really think she

enjoys living here in the back of beyond

in a house that looks as if it would blow

down in the next stiff breeze and—and

no proper sanitation?'

'Thus speaks the spoiled child of the

affluent

West.'

He

gave

her

a

contemptuous look. 'And yes, she does

enjoy it, you cold, selfish little bitch.

And do you know why? Because Ramon

is her man and her heart belongs to him.

Wherever he went, she would follow.

Whatever life he led, she would choose

to lead also. In your countries of quick

divorces, you seem to have forgotten that

marriage is a sacrament that lasts until

death.'

'It seems odd to hear you preaching

about

marital

fidelity,'

she

said

sarcastically. 'From what I was told in

Asuncion, you specialised in married

ladies.'

'Then you should not believe all you

hear,

querida
,'

he

returned,

too

pleasantly. 'You have a tongue like a

scorpion's sting. I think I shall be forced

to commence your taming with a sound

thrashing.'

She got to her feet in one swift, angry

movement, oblivious of the fruit juice

which splashed on to her dusty jeans.

'You'll never tame me, Vitas de

Mendoza, no matter how many ways you

think of to degrade me.' She was

surprised to hear how steady her voice

sounded. 'Because I'm my own person,

and I belong to no one else. I can close

my mind against you, and nothing that

you say or do can reach me.'

He shrugged. 'If the behaviour I have

seen recently comes from this "own

person" then I am not sure that I want to

reach you,' he said icily. 'Do you wish

me to tell Maria that you don't want to

bathe?'

She bent her head, staring down at the

rough planking beneath her feet, fighting

a desire to cry. 'No—I'd love a bath,' she

said in a low voice. 'Shall—shall I come

now?'

'No, she will call you presently.' He

turned and went back into the dark

interior of the house.

Rachel sank back again on to her chair,

her legs shaking under her. What

madness had prompted her to say the

things she had? she wondered in

desolation. She had wanted to hurt him,

but all her barbs had rebounded on

herself. She sighed. It seemed that no

matter what she said or did, in the end

she would be the one who was

wounded.

She might still be able to evade his

embraces, but even so there was no use

in pretending that she would travel back

to England heartwhole. Even if she was

not forced to share his bed, she knew she

would not be able to forget him. In a

matter of days, her life, her ideals had

been turned upside down, and she would

have to live with the reality of that long

after she had left Colombia behind.

She had no idea how long she remained

on the verandah, staring into space and

seeing nothing, but at length she roused

herself. She stood up, glancing down

with distaste at her sticky jeans. Perhaps

she would take up Maria's offer of

laundry after all. And she would

certainly take up that offer of a bath.

Surely it would be ready by now?

Perhaps Maria had been calling her

while she sat on the verandah dreaming

impossible dreams.

She went into the house and found

herself in a large square room. No

matter how primitive the conditions, the

cleanliness was almost fierce, she

realised as she looked around her. The

furniture was sparse, and much of it

looked home-made, and the rough walls

were covered in gaudy pictures, some

obviously cut from magazines, and

others of a religious nature. On adjacent

walls, hectically coloured prints of the

Sacred Heart and Our Lady of Sorrows

glowered at each other. .

The room was empty, and she called

tentatively. Almost at once a door at the

back of the room opened and Maria

appeared

smiling

broadly,

and

beckoning.

Rachel went towards her.
'Donde esta el

bano
?' she began doubtfully, but she

must have made her meaning clear