Flame of Diablo (4 page)

because her legs felt like jelly.

'But he was staying with you,' she

persisted.

'Si.
He was with Miguel. He likes to

bring friends here to stay.'

'Perhaps Miguel would know exactly

where he was,' Rachel said half to

herself. 'Could—could I have a word

with him?'

Isabel's eyes widened. 'He is not here,

senorita.
He has gone to Cartagena to

stay with the family of his
novia.'

The
senora
broke in, clearly intrigued

by the exchange between the two girls

and wanting to know its subject. While

Isabel explained to her mother, Rachel

sat her head whirling. She didn't know

what to do next. She supposed she ought

to try and make contact with the

Mordaunt Clinic to see if Mark had

turned tip there. She pressed a hand

against her throbbing head, willing

herself to think straight. Perhaps there

was some way she could enquire if

Mark had left the country. She would

have to arrange to see Senor Arviles. He

was a lawyer, after all. He would be

able to advise her.

She looked up, and that was a mistake

because the room swam around her, and

she could see Senora Arviles rising, her

face full of concern.

'Ay de mil'
Isabel was at her side. 'What

is the matter, senorita?'

Rachel said through dry lips, 'I'm afraid

I'm going to be sick.'

The next few hours in retrospect were

like a nightmare. She knew that

somehow they had got her out of the

salon
and upstairs to a bedroom. Then

someone was there called Dolores,

helping to remove the cream suit with

warm capable hands, holding a basin

while Rachel vomited until her stomach

was sore and bathing her forehead with

a cool damp cloth in between spasms.

Rachel wanted to tell her that she was

grateful, but she was too dizzy and too

weak, and every attempt to raise her

head from the pillow seemed to bring on

another attack of nausea. She wasn't

even aware that at last she had drifted

into ah exhausted sleep.

When she opened her eyes, the room

was dark except for one heavily shaded

lamp in the corner. She stirred and

stretched cautiously, but her body

seemed to respond normally to the

action, and she risked sitting up. As she

did so, the door opened cautiously and

Isabel's head came round it.

'Ah, you are awake,' she exclaimed.

'That is good. Do you feel better now?

Well enough to speak to my father?'

Rachel nodded, thankful that there was

no return of that appalling dizziness as

she did so. 'I'm sorry to have put you to

so much trouble,' she said contritely.

'What trouble?' Isabel shrugged. 'It is the

altitude which makes one suffer in this

way. Many
turistas
are afflicted when

they first arrive here, but one soon

becomes acclimatised.'

She produced a large silk shawl which

she proceeded to drape carefully round

Rachel's bare shoulders, then sending

her a flashing smile she went back to the

door and admitted her father.

Senor Arviles was a dapper man of

medium height with an intelligent,

humorous face. He bowed slightly over

Rachel's hand, then drew up a chair and

sat down beside her bed. Rachel was

amused to see that Isabel remained in the

room, presumably to act as a youthful

chaperone.

After an exchange of civilities, he came

swiftly to the point.

'I am grieved that we Can give you no

news of your brother,
senorita.
But we

all understood that, he was to return

home to England. Has he not done so?'

Rachel shook her head. 'Apparently not.

And I need to contact him urgently,

senor.'

'So Isabel has told me. A family illness,

is it not?' Senor Arviles gave her a

sympathetic look. 'Believe me, I would

help if it were possible, but your brother

merely stayed with us for a short while,

then went on his way. His visit was

shorter than we would have liked,' he

added courteously, 'because he knew

Miguel was to go to Cartagena.'

'I see.' Rachel paused. 'He didn't give the

impression that he intended to stay in

Colombia, maybe?'

'No,
senorita.''
Senor Arviles shook his

head. 'While he stayed with us, Miguel

and he made tours, and paid visits to

places of interest. There would be little

left for him to see, I think.'

'No,' Rachel said desolately. 'I suppose

he must have— moved on somewhere.'

She would have to go home and confess

failure, she thought unhappily, and what

would that do to Grandfather's already

precarious health? She could only be

glad that it was she who had had the

wasted journey to the other side of the

world, and not Sir Giles.

Senor Arviles'

eyes

studied

her

downbent head attentively.

He said, 'In the meantime,
senorita,
you

will spend a few days with us? We are

happy to welcome the sister of Marcos

to our house.'

'Oh, but I couldn't.' Rachel shook her

head.

'I've

caused

quite

enough

disruption already. Besides ...' She

broke

off,

stricken,

suddenly

remembering. 'My God, I had a taxi

waiting and...'

Senor Arviles laughed. 'It was paid off a

long time ago,
senorita
, and the driver

told us the name of your hotel so that we

could contact them also. They might

have become anxious if one so young

and lovely had gone out into Bogota and

not returned.'

Rachel returned his smile rather wanly.

'That's hardly likely.'

'You think not?' Senor Arviles shrugged.

'Yet you must remember,
senorita,
that

this is Colombia, not Gran Bretana. Our

history has blood in it, and some of it is

recent. You would do well to remain

here with us, I think, and allow my wife

and daughter to entertain you while I

make what enquiries I can about

Marcos.'

His tone was firm. It was the one he

would use, Rachel decided, when he

was giving a client some unpopular

advice.

'So it is decided, then.' He rose briskly

from the chair before she could utter a

further protest. 'Rest,
senorita,
and we

will make all necessary arrangements.

Presently Dolores will bring you some

soup.'

He bowed again and walked to the door.

Isabel following him, her pretty face

wearing

a

curiously

thoughtful

expression.

The soup when it came was delicious,

almost a meal in itself, thick with beans

and spiced meat, and served with

delicately flavoured corn muffins.

Recalling how ill she had been only a

short time before, Rachel was amazed

that she could eat anything, but she

finished every mouthful. When she heard

the knock on the door, she imagined it

was Dolores coming to remove her tray,

and was surprised when Isabel came in.

She exclaimed with pleased politeness

about Rachel's return to health, and sat

down in the chair that her father had

vacated, folding her hands in her lap.

Watching her, Rachel thought suddenly

that she looked troubled, and saw that

her fingers gripped each other, tight with

tension.

'There's something wrong, isn't there?'

she

said,

cutting

across

Isabel's

somewhat dutiful recital of the museums

they would visit and the sights they

would see while she remained in

Bogota.

Isabel's eyes filled with sudden tears.

'Perhaps,
senorita.
I—I do not know.'

'Well, tell me what it is,' Rachel urged.

'But first you must promise that you must

not tell my father.' Isabel's tone was

equally urgent. 'He would be so angry—

because I tell you and not him.'

'I promise I won't mention anything to

him about this conversation.' Rachel's

eyes never left the younger girl's face.

'Do you know where my brother has

gone?'

Isabel lifted her shoulders in a deep

shrug. 'Maybe— that is all I can say.

Senorita,
I must tell you something now

of which I am much ashamed.' She

paused. 'I love my brother, but

sometimes he is not kind. Sometimes,

when he has his friends, he tells me to go

away, to leave them in peace, and this

hurts me. So they go to his room and they

talk, and sometimes I go to my room

where there is an
amario
on the wall

next to Miguel's where there is also an

amario
.' She paused again. 'You know

what I am trying to say?'

'I think so,' said Rachel. 'There are

adjoining—wardrobes, perhaps, and you

can—hear what they are talking about.'

Isabel blushed unhappily
'Si,
it is so. I

am much ashamed now, but before I used

to laugh to myself because Miguel

thought he had his friends to himself, and

I could not share in the things they talked

about.'

Her eyes gleamed for a moment and

Rachel thought that the sheltered

daughter of the house had probably

found her eavesdropping on purely

masculine conversations more than

enlightening at times.

She said, 'So you listened and you heard

Mark and Miguel talking. Is that it?'

Isabel nodded. 'It was then I knew my

father would be angry because Miguel

had spoken to Marcos of forbidden

things.'

'What forbidden things?'

Isabel looked down at her lap again.

'Emeralds,' she said in a low voice.

There was a long taut silence, then she

went on. 'Our emerald mines here in

Colombia, Senorita Raquel, are the most

famous in the world. They make much

money for our country. But not all the

emeralds , that leave Columbia do so

with the will of our government, you

understand.'

There was another pause and Rachel

made

herself

say

dry-mouthed,

'Smuggling? You mean Miguel and Mark

were talking about smuggling emeralds?'

'Si, and from what Miguel is saying I

know that he has done this thing, and that

if my father ever finds out he will be

angry, because it is so much against the

law, and the law means everything to my

father. He would think that Miguel had

dishonoured him.'

Rachel said in a hollow voice, 'Do you

mean that Miguel was suggesting that

Mark should become an emerald

smuggler?'

'No, not that. He seemed to be warning

him. Many people die all the time

because of emeralds. There is much

danger. He says that he thinks your

brother is a little mad. And then Senor

Marcos says "You would not think I was

so mad if I came back with the Flame of

Diablo."'

'What is the Flame of Diablo?'

'It is a legend, Senorita Raquel, a story

that I heard when I was a child, as did

Miguel. It is said that somewhere in the

hills to the north there is a mine where

one can find emeralds worth many

millions of
pesos. But
it is also said that

no one has set eyes upon this mine since

the days of El Dorado, the Golden One

who used emeralds from the Diablo

mine to ornament himself before he

made the offering in the Sacred Lake.'

'Then Diablo is a place?' Rachel

queried.

Isabel shuddered. 'It is truly named,' she

said in a low voice, 'for it is a place of

the devil. Many people seek the Diablo

mine and the green flame which burns

there, but they do not return. My father

says the reason is simple. It is a

dangerous place. Often there are

landslides, and the rivers are deep with