Flame of Diablo (32 page)

thought, or the passion she had tried to

escape. Had her bitter rejection of him

after they had escaped from the tunnel at

Diablo changed him so much?

she wondered. Thoughts went spinning

through her mind in hazy confusion.

The Senora was right, she told herself

sleepily. I am tired. In fact I'm

exhausted. And it will all seem very

different tomorrow.

But it was no different the following

day, or the day after that, or any of the

weeks which followed.

Rachel felt as if she was living in a

dream. She stood like an automaton

while a small dark woman pinned and

tacked, prodded and pulled at her,

endless yards of cream silk chiffon

spilling around her. She walked in the

gardens beside the fountain. She visited

Mark while he was confined to his room

on doctor's orders. She talked with the

Senora. She swam in the swimming pool

wearing a bikini of Juanita's, which

Josita also adapted for her. She

sunbathed. She changed for dinner and

descended the staircase to the
salon

where the Senora and the ever-growing

number of relations summoned, to attend

Vitas' wedding waited. After dinner, she

sat and made stilted conversation

designed to improve her Spanish, trying

not to let her eyes stray too often to the

other side of the room where Vitas sat.

And when the small tinkling clock on the

side table sounded the hour of ten, she

would rise, receive the Senora's

goodnight kiss and walk to the door

where Vitas waited to kiss her hand and

then her cheek coolly and swiftly.

The first time it happened, she almost

hadn't believed it. She had walked up to

her room in a daze, and let the round-

faced girl waiting nervously there help

her undress and put on a delicate lace

nightgown. Then she had lain there in the

darkness staring across the room at the

closed door, waiting almost painfully for

it to open and for him to come to her.

She had no doubt that he would come.

He had warned her at Diablo that her

debt to him was by no means paid. But

there was more to it than that. She

wanted him to come. She lay, watching

the darkness and wishing him beside her.

Even when the entire house was quiet,

she still waited for him to come to her.

But her bedroom door remained closed,

not just for that night, but for each night

that followed. He never came near her.

In the daytime—on the rare occasions

when she saw him—he was charming to

her in an aloof way, as she guessed he

would be to any woman guest under his

roof. She saw him exercise the same

charm on a bevy of wide-eyed young

cousins and a dragon of an aunt from

Magdalena.

But for much of the time, he was absent.

The Senora explained that he was much

occupied with business.

'He works twice as hard now,' she said

smilingly, 'so that after his marriage he

can devote his time to his lovely young

bride.'

The lovely young bride returned the

smile with an effort and wondered

bleakly whether she featured in his

future plans at all.

Yet she could not deny that he was

thoughtful. He had arranged for a

diplomat friend based in London to call

on Sir Giles, and the reassuring news

had been sent back that her grandfather,

though anxious, was continuing to make

excellent progress. Her luggage had

been brought from Asuncion, and her

wardrobe added to during two delightful

shopping trips to Bogota with the

Senora.

In many ways her days could not have

been more completely filled, yet they

were empty. And when she realised that

in just over a week she would stand in

the family chapel and be married to a

man who was becoming more of a

stranger with every minute that parsed, a

cry of silent panic rose within her.

And there was no one she could turn to,

not even Mark, who had made a rapid

recovery and was now mobile again

with the help of a crutch. He had become

friendly with one of Vitas' male cousins,

a young man of his own age but double

the sophistication called Jaime who

shared Mark's passion for fast cars, and

was quite content to drive him into

Villavicencio or around the dirt roads of

the vast estate.

Rachel had gone with them once, but she

had not enjoyed the trip because Jaime's

style of driving did. not impress her. But

she thought she could learn to love the

rolling grasslands that stretched for

miles as far as the eye could see, if she

could be shown them by her lover. But

Vitas had not offered to show her the

ranch, and she was determined not to ask

him. She had discovered through talking

to Jaime and the others that he not only

bred cattle, but had vast industrial

interests too, which he had never

mentioned. Rachel thought with a pang

that the more she found out about him,

the less she seemed to know, and yet

soon she would belong to him in the

most intimate relationship of all.

It couldn't go on like this, she told

herself.

She

couldn't

marry

him,

expecting

to

be

excluded

from

everything that was meaningful in his

life. He couldn't really expect her to turn

into a docile Colombian wife, without a

thought in her head except the latest

fashion and how to prevent her

husband's eyes from straying ...

This was the thought which plagued her

the most, she admitted miserably to

herself. Every time she remembered the

photograph she had seen at Maria's, pain

slashed at her like a knife. She could be

looking at herself, she thought, hungry,

pleading for a warmth, a love that would

ever be denied her.

She wanted to be alone with him, she

thought. She wanted to go to him and tell

him all her doubts, her uncertainties, and

feel his arms close around her. He still

wanted her, she thought bleakly, or so he

had led her to believe. Perhaps that was

not even true any more. But one way or

another, she needed to find out before

they took an irrevocable step that could

ruin both their lives.

She chose a morning when she knew he

would be in the estate office at the back

of the house. The door to the office was

open, and she saw with a lift of her heart

that he was alone, packing papers into a

briefcase, his dark face absorbed and

rather remote as he bent over the

massive heavily carved desk which

dominated the room.

He did not see her at first, and she was

forced to clear her throat to attract his

attention. His head came up immediately

and she saw his brows lift with surprise.

'An unexpected honour,
querida
,' he

drawled. 'Was there something you

wanted?'

Rachel was tempted to say baldly, 'Yes

—you.' But he was too much of a

stranger these days for that. She came

forward slowly, her eyes fixed on his

face. In spite of his constrained manner

to her and the formal suits he wore these

days, the eye-patch gave him an

undeniably rakish air.

'I wanted to talk,' she said. 'I—I seem to

see .so little of you these days.'

He glanced at his watch. 'Unfortunately I

have to leave for a business appointment

almost immediately. But I am flattered—

and surprised that you should seek me

out. It was not long ago you told me you

never wanted to set eyes on me again.'

She moved her shoulders defensively.

'Well, that was then. But we're going to

be married, aren't we?' She tried to

smile. 'I can hardly avoid seeing you

sometimes when you're my husband.'

He gave her an ironic look. 'How true. Is

that why you've come here, Raquel? To

find out exactly what demands I intend to

make of you once you are my wife?'

'No,' she protested, 'it isn't that at all. I

just want to talk—to get to know you,'

she added in a low voice.

He fastened the catches on his briefcase.

'Again you flatter me. Yet there are those

who would say that we are already more

—intimately

acquainted

than

any

unmarried couple have any right to be.'

'That isn't what I mean, and you know it.'

She watched him pick up the briefcase

and take another swift glance at his

watch. 'Don't let me detain you.'

'We'll talk tonight, if that is what you

want,' he said. 'Perhaps it's time we did.

But you must forgive me now.'

He walked towards the door, but as he

drew level with her, he slowed almost

imperceptibly, and she felt his brooding

gaze rest on her face, on her parted lips.

She felt herself sway towards him as if

he had hypnotised her, her body yearning

towards his. She wanted his mouth on

hers, his hands to discover all the sweet

secrets her body longed to offer him.

And then the moment was over. Vitas

strode to the door, gave her a brief,

unsmiling bow and was gone.

Rachel stood still in the centre of the

room as if she had been transfixed. She

felt rejected, outcast, totally alone. She

swung round and caught the edge of the

desk with her hands, pressing the sharp

carving which decorated it almost

convulsively into the soft flesh of her

palms, welcoming the ache it brought

her. At least it still proved she was alive

and had feelings. She wanted to throw

herself down on the floor and cry, but

she knew she had to leave. The two

secretaries who worked in the office

must be at their coffee break, but they

would be returning soon, and she had no

wish to be caught by them standing alone

in Vitas' office, looking as if she was

about to faint. She was just walking

towards the door, when one of the

telephones

on

the

desk

rang

imperatively. Rachel halted, looking

back at it doubtfully. She wasn't sure

whether the call was coming in on the

house telephone or the outside line. If it

was an outside call, she didn't think her

Spanish would stand up to coping with

any long explanations that she was not

one of the secretaries. On the other hand,

it might be important.

With sudden decision she went back and

picked up the telephone.

It was a woman's voice that spoke,

warm, and with an unmistakable

American accent.

'Vitas, honey? There's been a change of

plan. It will be easier if we meet at the

hotel.' There was a pause as if she was

waiting for a reaction, and then she said

sharply, 'Vitas? Are you there?'

Rachel passed her tongue over suddenly

dry lips. She said, 'I'm sorry,
senora.

Senor de Mendoza has already left. I'm

afraid the original arrangements will

have to stand.'

And she laid the receiver very gently

back into its rest.

Rachel sat huddled on the back seat of

Jaime's car. She still didn't know what

impulse had prompted her to run through

the house and out into the sunshine, and

she had found Jaime there, helping Mark

into the car. They were just off to

Villavicencio, and they were clearly

amazed when she asked if she might go

with them.

'Jump in.' Mark studied her white face.

'Though you don't really look as if you

ought to be going anywhere,' he added

with brutal candour. 'And what about

your handbag? Don't you want...'

'It doesn't matter,' she interrupted. 'Can't

we just go— please!'

Mark and Jaime exchanged a long look,

and she heard Jaime murmur something

about bridal nerves. Let them think what