Counterfeit Bride(23)

He shook his head. 'There will be no talk, because you are not leaving.  How could you, anyway, without this?' He reached behind him and picked  up her passport which had been lying on the desk. He opened the cover  and looked down at it. 'I see I am required to allow the bearer to pass  freely, and without "let or hindrance."' He smiled faintly. 'Much as I  respect your Queen, I have no intention of obeying this request.' He  slipped the passport into his pocket. 'This stays with me, amiga, and so  do you.'

She went on looking at him. 'Oh God, why are you doing this?' she asked ruggedly. 'What do you want from me?'

His voice was silky 'I want a wife, Nicola. And I want a son. You will  give me both. You forced your way into my life. Now you will remain  there-always.'

She said tonelessly, 'For the last time, Luis-please let me go.'

Mockingly he shook his head. 'Jamas, amante. Never.'

She left him without another word, and went straight to her room. That  morning in the car on the way to Santo Tomas they had sat like  strangers, without a word. In fact she wasn't sure if he'd even looked  at her properly until much later, as she came into the chapel on his  godfather's arm. All the way to the altar, he had watched her with  arrogant possession in his eyes.

Now Father Gonzago was pronouncing a final blessing, and Luis was  helping her up from her knees. His eyes were enigmatic as they met hers,  and her own glance slid nervously away.                       
       
           



       

People were smiling and bowing to her as she moved with her bridegroom  towards the open doors and the sunlight Many of them were now familiar  faces from previous visits to the hacienda, and Nicola forced herself to  respond to the greetings, pretend to be the happy bride they all  expected.

Yet there was one face that was not in the slightest degree familiar.  Nicola noticed it at once, because she knew she would not have forgotten  if she had ever met such an outstandingly beautiful woman. Her jet  black hair was drawn severely back into a chignon, and she was  exquisitely dressed and made up, her heavy lidded eyes and full-lipped  mouth being particularly accentuated.

Then they were outside in the late sunlight, and there were others  crowding round, the peons who worked in the fields, the vaqueros who  rode with the cattle, the servants, all offering their congratulations.

The religious ceremony had been held after the hour of siesta, because  it would be followed by a party. Soon there would be music in the  courtyard, as she had once imagined, and dancing and the inevitable  fireworks. All the hallmarks of a celebration, and she, who was the  centre of all these festivities, felt as if she was dying inside.

Presently she would be expected to dance, and to dance with Luis.  Everyone, she supposed, would want to dance with the bride, but he was  her husband, so it was his right. She didn't want to think about those  other rights which he would demand later, much later, when the music had  stopped. Perhaps she could bribe the musicians, she thought, to play  and play all that night, and through the following day and the one after  that . . . She caught at herself as a little bubble of sheer hysteria  rose within her.

Inside the house Carlos, all smiles, was opening wine-imported vintage  champagne. Nicola took the glass she was offered and sipped, still with  that mechanical smile on her lips.

Dona Isabella and Pilar came and embraced her, their cheeks brushing  hers swiftly and formally before they stepped away, their duty done.  Ramon kissed her hand and whispered, 'Luis is the most fortunate of  men.'

She went on smiling until she thought her face would crack into a  thousand little pieces as the guests filed past to utter their  congratulations. So much good will, so many good wishes, and yet she  could believe in none of it. It was all still part of the charade she  had begun back in Mexico City. She was like a puppet, dressed in  garments which didn't belong to her, and manipulated by strangers. But  all too soon there was coming a time when the doll would change into a  woman. She might have come to this place as a counterfeit bride, but  tonight Luis would exact full recompense from her in a currency which  was only too real.

Suddenly she knew she had to escape from the smiles, the torrent of words, and the knowing looks.

She turned to Luis. 'The mantilla is making my head ache. May I remove it before the dancing?'

'Of course.' He studied her pale face frowningly. 'Shall I send Maria to you?'

'Oh, no, I can manage,' she said hastily.

The quiet room upstairs was no longer hers alone. The bed had been  re-made, she saw at once, with lace-edged sheets and extra pillows, and  Señora Mendez' nightgown was laid across the foot of it like a cloud of  foam.

Nicola removed the pins which held the mantilla, working carefully to  avoid tearing the delicate lace, then started violently as a knock came  at the door.

It was Carmela, smiling broadly. 'This letter came for you, señora. Señor Don Luis said I should give it to you at once.'

Nicola took it wonderingly, her brow clearing as she recognised her  mother's handwriting. It was just a note, brief but full of love, to  tell her that they would all be thinking of her, and sending  affectionate messages to Luis that she would never dare pass on, because  it was her fault that they believed that this was a conventional  marriage, and that they were getting a son-in-law who would value such  sentiments.

There was also a postscript. I'm enclosing this letter which came for  you the other day from Switzerland. I think it's probably from Tess. Did  you manage to keep in touch with her?'

The short answer to that was no, Nicola thought wryly. She had avoided  writing to any of her Zurich friends in case they inadvertently included  news of Ewan which she didn't want to hear, although, most of them knew  what had happened.

She glanced at the other envelope, then slipped it into a drawer. She would read it later.

It was getting darker outside, and out in the courtyard she could hear  the sound of musicians tuning up. The dancing couldn't start without  her, so it was time she went down.

Luis advanced to meet her, an elegant stranger in his black suit, its  short jacket embroidered in silver. Nicola let him take her cold hand in  his, and put his arm round her waist. She had been frightened that she  might go to pieces altogether when he touched her, but his clasp was too  light and formal for that. At any other time, she might have enjoyed  moving with him in a swift waltz round the circle of smiling faces,  while they applauded and showered them with flower petals. Her dress  billowed out as he swung her round, and then it was over, and someone  else was eagerly claiming her hand, and she was whirled away. She caught  a glimpse of him over her new partner's shoulder, and saw that he was  smiling faintly. He could afford to smile, she thought, because he knew  however many men she might dance with, in the end she would be alone  with him. Wherever she went and whoever she danced with, his glance  seemed to find her. He was the hawk of her nightmare, she thought,  hovering, knowing his prey is there for the taking.                       
       
           



       

She ate food she did not want, replied to questions she barely heard,  and eventually turned to a touch on her arm to find Pilar confronting  her.

'Nicola.' Her smile was sugary. 'There is someone here who so much  wishes to meet you. May I present the Señora Dona Carlota Garcia?'

It was the woman she had noticed in the chapel. In close-up she was even  more striking, Nicola thought numbly, and her dark red dress was  exquisitely cut to draw attention to her slim waist and full voluptuous  breasts.

Her voice was low and charming. 'It is a pleasure to meet you, Dona  Nicola. I would have called before, but since my husband's death I have  myself become deeply involved in politics, and I travel a good deal. But  I would not miss the wedding of such an old friend as Luis for anything  in the world.'

A number of replies occurred to Nicola, but a glance at the spiteful triumph in Pilar's face kept her silent.

She said at last, slowly, 'It is a-pleasure for me also, señora. I have heard a great deal about you.'

Señora Garcia laughed, displaying perfect teeth. 'Not from Luis, I hope!  We know each other so well that he is hardly a reliable informant. He  flatters me too much.'

Nicola raised her eyebrows coolly. 'I don't think Luis has ever mentioned you to me. No, it was someone else who spoke of you.'

Señora Garcia looked slightly disconcerted, she was pleased to note. 'I-  see. Well, I hope we can be friends.' She gave Nicola another smile and  walked away, followed by Pilar.

And I, Nicola silently addressed her departing back, hope we never meet  again. She was surprised how angry the unexpected encounter had made  her, but told herself defensively that it was not the fact that Luis had  a mistress for all she knew he had half a dozen--but that he had had  the unmitigated gall to invite her to his wedding. But then he had no  reason to believe that his bride even suspected her existence, she  thought.