Going through Teresita's dresses and choosing those that could be adapted to her needs filled in the time before lunch quite adequately. Maria bloomed with new importance. She sighed with admiration over the colour of Nicola's hair, but shook her head at its condition. She also hinted that Nicola was too thin. Perhaps the Señor Don Luis' taste ran to plumper women, Nicola deduced with exasperation from the girl's demure smile.
She told herself that it was a matter of indifference to her what his tastes in that direction might be, but believing it was a different matter. Unwillingly she remembered that first evening at the motel-the way those women tourists had watched him-the odd pang she had felt ...
Resolutely, Nicola closed her mind against that. All she needed to recall now was that he was the man who was forcing her into an unwanted loveless marriage to satisfy his injured pride. Not that that was the sole satisfaction he required, she thought, suddenly dry-mouthed as she remembered the searing effect of his lips and hands, the little shaken storm of desire he had so effortlessly aroused in her.
And Maria had her orders, she thought, to make sure that the bride was desirable at all times because the dueno's will was paramount.
She had no wish at all to go down to lunch, but nor did she wish to face the inevitable questions, probably from Don Luis himself, if she remained in her room. Her blue dress had been returned, freshly laundered and pressed, and she changed into it with a feeling of relief.
When she entered the comedor, an instant silence fell, forcing her to the conclusion that she had been the subject under discussion, and she checked for a moment, flushing a little, until Ramon's friendly smile welcomed her.
Luis wasn't there, she discovered, looking round her.
'My cousin apologises for his tardiness,' Ramon told her in an undertone. 'He is interviewing one Pablo who drivers a truck.' He gave her a conspiratorial side-glance. 'A truck driver?' Pilar's ears were as sharp as her voice apparently. 'Why doesn't Juan Hernandez speak to such people?'
Ramon shrugged, clearly wishing he had said nothing. 'Because this is a matter which Luis prefers to deal with himself.'
Pilar subsided, but there was a speculative look in her eyes.
Thoroughly embarrassed, Nicola looked round her, and saw the portrait which had so intrigued her earlier. Surely it wasn't just a trick of the light that put such an expression of dancing mischief in the dark eyes as she surveyed her descendants.
'You are admiring Dona Manuela, little cousin?' Ramon leaned forward.
'Ramon!' his mother snapped. 'Please remember that there is as yet no established relatvonship between our family and-Señorita Tarrant.'
Ramon jerked a shoulder unabashed. 'The relationship will be established soon enough,' he said with an ill-concealed grin. If I were in Luis' shoes I would wait no longer than it takes for Father Gonzago to get here from the mission.'
'Well, you are not in his shoes, and never will be,' Dona Isabella's voice was even snappier, 'I must apologise for my son, señorita. His manners have apparently deserted him.'
'On the contrary,' Nicola said sweetly, 'Don Ramon has been all that is kind ever since I arrived here.'
Dona Isabella's frankly fulminating glance indicated that Don Ramon was an idiot, but she said nothing.
The door swung open and Luis strode in. 'My regrets for having kept you waiting. You should have told Carlos to begin serving.'
'It was of no importance,' Dona Isabella assured him with an acid smile.
'Why have you been talking to a truck driver?' Pilar demanded.
Luis lifted a shoulder in a cool shrug. 'I found myself in his debt, and preferred to repay him in person. I am
grateful to you, Pilar, for this concern, in my affairs,' he added silkily. 'But perhaps we can now consider the matter closed.'
Pilar's eyes flashed mutinously, but she said nothing as the door opened to admit Carlos bearing a large silver tureen of soup.
It was a delicious meal from the soup itself, full of spicy meatballs and aromatic with herbs, to the pork cooked with chili and vegetables and served on a heaped bed of rice, and ending with cocada-a concoction of syrupy, sherry-flavoured coconut.
Many more meals like that, and all Maria's wishes about her figure would be fulfilled, Nicola thought wryly as she put down her napkin.
'You like Mexican cooking, Señorita Tarrant?' Pilar leaned forward, smiling with patent insincerity. 'I thought our food would have been too warm, too highly spiced for pallid Anglo-Saxon tastes.'
If food were all that she was talking about, Nicola thought with sudden anger. She said, 'Bat you forget that I've been in Mexico for more than a year. I've had plenty of time to accustom myself.' She turned to Ramon, smiling at him. 'Please don't forget you promised to show me the hacienda.'
'Certainly.' Ramon rose gallantly. He looked at Luis, leaning back in his chair at the head of the table, his dark face enigmatic. 'You permit, Luis?'
'You are the expert on the house, amigo.' His tone sounded bored, but Nicola sensed that he was not pleased, and found it oddly exciting.
As they crossed the hall, Ramon said with a trace of awkwardness, 'You may think it strange that my mother did not offer to act as your guide, but...'
'I don't find it strange at all,' she returned drily. 'I'm sure that she and your sister would much prefer to continue their listing of all the ways in which I fall short of being a suitable bride for your cousin.'
He sighed. 'So they make it so obvious? Nicola, I am truly sorry. In truth, my mother has become so accustomed to being the mistress here that she will find it hard to take second place to another woman-to any woman. It is not a personal thing, believe me.'
Nicola wasn't so sure, but she smiled at him. Thank you for the reassurance.' They were in the salon, and she glanced around, wanting to turn the conversation from the personal to the general for Ramon's sake as much as anything. He couldn't be blamed for his mother and sister's behaviour.
'What a beautiful room this is.' She made her words deliberately conventional. 'The furniture is very old, I suppose.'
'Most of it was brought from Spain on sailing ships and then hauled here on waggons drawn by mules.' He grimaced comically. 'What a journey! What an undertaking! It makes one feel ill to contemplate it even in these modern times.' He smiled. 'Dona Manuela must have had a singularly persuasive way with her.'
Nicola remembered- that he had referred to the portrait she had admired earlier as Dona Manuela.
'Then it was all her doing?' She gestured round her.
'To a great extent,' Ramon nodded in confirmation. 'It is a romantic story. I am surprised that Luis himself did not wish to tell it to you. She was a great beauty and an heiress, but she fell in love with a soldier who had little but his own courage, so her family forbade her to think of him. She could have married anyone, it was said. She was used to court life, crowded gatherings, balls and festivals. She was a wonderful dancer, so light on her feet that she was called La Mariposa, the Butterfly.'
'Then the hacienda was named after her?'
'Si. Her lover became a conquistador and made himself a fortune. This time when he sought her hand, her family did not refuse, although they begged her not to come to this wild and primitive land-not to leave Spain. And she laughed, and said that she would take a little of Spain with her.'
'She certainly did that.' Nicola's fingers moved appreciatively over the ancient, heavily carved wood. She wondered if the hacienda had altered very much from those days. It had developed, and become more luxurious with succeeding generations, but if Dona Manuela were here at this moment, walking beside them with her silk skirts rustling, it would probably still be familiar to her.
What could she have thought, coming from her pampered and cossetted background in Spain to this wilderness! Compared to a castle in Spain, the hacienda would have seemed primitive indeed to the conquistador's bride. Had she still smiled as she rode in her waggon with her servants and outriders to protect her from the hostile Indians, or had even her lively spirit quailed as she contemplated what lay in front of her?
She asked, 'Was she happy here- after all that?'
Ramon shrugged. 'She did not have long to enjoy her happiness. She died in childbirth about a year after the portrait of her was completed, and her husband nearly went mad with grief. It was only the son she had borne him that saved his sanity.'
Nicola shivered. 'You said it was a romantic story. I think it's a sad one.'
He looked faintly surprised. 'Cannot it be both? To love and be beloved in return-isn't that what every woman secretly desires, no matter how short such happiness may be?'