Counterfeit Bride(6)

The cabin to which she was shown was spotlessly clean and comfortable,  with a tiny tiled bathroom opening off the bedroom. She turned to close  the door and found Ramon on her heels. He gave the room an appraising  look, which also encompassed the wide bed under its cream coverlet. Then  he turned to her, taking her hand and lifting it up to his lips.

'A pleasant siesta. You have everything you need?' He looked straight  into her eyes, and with a sudden rush of painful and unwelcome  excitement she realised she had only to make the slightest sign and the  door would be locked, closing them in together.

She snatched her hand away, seeing the mockery in his eyes.

'Everything, thank you, señor,' she said in a stiff little voice.

'Can I hope for the pleasure of your company later at dinner?'

She gave him a cool smile and said that it would be very nice. When he  had gone, she turned the key in the lock herself. She wanted to collapse  limply across the bed, but first she took off the orchid pink dress,  and the wig. She saw herself in the mirror across the room. Except for  the slightly heavier make-up, she was herself again. She ran her fingers  through her sticky hair and moved towards the bathroom. As she did so,  she had to pass the bed, and just for a moment she let the tight rein  she kept on herself slacken a little and wondered what would have  happened if she had given him the signal he wanted a smile would have  been enough, she thought, or even the faintest pressure of her fingers,  in his.

And just for a moment her imagination ran wild, and he was there in the  bed waiting for her, his golden skin dramatically dark against the pale  sheets, his eyes caressing her as she moved towards him.

She stopped the pictures unrolling in her mind right there with an immense effort of will.

Then she said, 'Hell,' quite viciously, and went to have her shower.

She had managed to recover her composure by the time she was due to join  him in the dining room. She was wearing a simple dark red dress with  black high-heeled court shoes, and a small evening bag. Her precious  leather holdall was safely stowed in the closet.

The verandah bar outside the motel restaurant was crowded with people,  many of them tourists, but she saw him at once. He was sitting at a  table near the verandah rail, with a glass in his hand, and he was  frowning. Nicola noticed wryly that a party of American women at the  next table couldn't take their eyes off him.

She threaded her way through the other tables, and joined him. 'Buenas  tardes, señor.' She meant to sound cool, but only succeeded in being  shy. He rose immediately, holding a chair for her to sit down and  summoning a waiter with a swift imperious flick of his fingers. She  asked for a tamarindo and it came at once.

She sipped, relishing the coolness of the drink and its faintly bitter flavour.

'Tell me,' he said, 'those dark glasses-surely you don't need them in  the evening. I hope there is nothing the matter with your eyes.'

'Oh, no,' she said calmly. I've just been advised to wear them all the  time for a short while.' And that, she thought with satisfaction, was  nothing less than the truth.

'A pity,' he said. 'One can learn so much about a woman from her eyes.'

She said sweetly, 'And about a man, señor.'

His mouth quivered slightly. 'As you say,' he agreed.

It was pleasant, looking out into the darkness with the scent of the  flowers wafting to them on the night air, and hearing the distant splash  of water from the fountains interspersed with the bursts of laughter  and conversation all around them. Nicola had to suppress a little sigh.  She would have other memories to take with her, apart from ancient pagan  artifacts, when she came to leave Mexico. She was conscious of a  feeling of recklessness, and decided it would be wiser to stick to fruit  juice for the remainder of the evening.

She tried to remember everything Teresita had told her about Ramon.  There wasn't a great deal. He lived at the hacienda La Mariposa and ran  the cattle ranch for his cousin. His mother. Dona Isabella, and his  sister Pilar lived there too, and Teresita had said he was 'kind.'  Nicola had got the impression that Teresita would not have applied the  same epithet to his mother and sister, however, even though there had  only been that one meeting all those years ago.

She had asked Teresita why the hacienda was called La Mariposa-the  Butterfly, but Teresita had simply shrugged vaguely and said it was just  a name.                       
       
           



       

Anyway, what did it matter? Nicola told herself. She wasn't going to the  hacienda, but to Monterrey, and none of the Montalba residences would  be available for her inspection.

She wondered what Ramon would say when he realised how he had been  fooled, and whether Don Luis would be very angry with him. She stole a  glance at him. The arrogant set of his jaw indicated that he might have  quite a temper himself.

It was a delicious meal. He had ordered chicken for them cooked in a  sauce made with green peppers and a variety of other tantalising  flavours she didn't have time to analyse. And, in spite of her protests,  there was wine, one of the regional varieties, cool and heady.

And she sat across the table from him, hiding behind her dark glasses,  and weaving silent fantasies where she was no longer playing a part, but  was herself, Nicola Tarrant, free to talk, to smile, to laugh and enjoy  herself in his company.

Because in spite of her instinctive wariness of him, in spite of the  strain of having to maintain a conversation not in her own language, she  was enjoying herself. It was a pleasant sensation to encounter covertly  envying glances from other women, to notice the deferential service  they received from the staff. Some tourists at a nearby table were  sampling tequila for the first time, getting in a muddle over the salt  and lemon juice amid peals of laughter, and Nicola smiled too as she  watched, her fingers toying with the stem of her wineglass. She looked  at her companion and saw that he shared her amusement, and the moment  seemed to enclose them in a bubble of intimacy. His hand was very near  hers. If he moved it as much as an inch, their fingers would brush.  Nicola took a deep breath and moved, picking up her glass and pretending  to drink.

She was playing a dangerous game with this crazy charade she had  embarked upon, but in a way it might prove to be her salvation. As  Nicola Tarrant, she could be fatally tempted to respond to any further  advances he might make. As Teresita, she could not be.

All the same, she found his attitude a puzzling one. Teresita had given  her the impression that Ramon was Don Luis' trusted and highly regarded  employee as well as cousin. She would have supposed that under those  circumstances he would have, treated his cousin's future wife with the  greatest respect. Perhaps he was a man who could not resist a flirtation  with any attractive woman who crossed his path, she thought, conscious  of a vague feeling of disappointment. Or maybe there was some deeper,  darker motive for. his behaviour. Perhaps he secretly hated Don Luis, or  out of loyalty to him was testing his novia's virtue to make sure she  was a worthy bride for a Montalba.

She wondered wryly how the shy, unworldly Teresita herself would have  made out on this journey. Would she have even recognised the kind boy  she remembered from her childhood? Or would the predator in him have  been defeated by her gentleness? After all, Cliff had not been a model  of rectitude before he began to associate with Teresita, but now he was  tenderly protective towards her.

Some musicians had appeared and were moving among the tables, playing  guitars and singing. Nicola recognised the tune they were playing. It  was a love song, which had been popular in Mexico City only a few weeks  earlier, and she began to hum it softly under her breath. The musicians  were approaching their table. They had clearly noticed her enjoyment and  were coming to continue the serenade just for her. The leader was  smiling broadly and looking at her companion, then Nicola noticed his  expression change. She sent a swift glance at Ramon and saw that his  face had become a dark mask. His fingers made a swift imperious  movement, and the mariachi band turned away, and serenaded someone else.

She drank her wine, trying to hide her disappointment. A private  flirtation conducted in the car was one thing, and a public serenade  quite another, apparently.

Pushing back her chair, she said coolly, 'The journey has tired me. I think I will go to my room. Goodnight, señor.'

There was faint mockery in his eyes as he rose courteously. 'Of course,  Buenas noches, Teresita.' There was a brief hesitation before he used  her name, as if to emphasise his rejection of her own formality.

She walked away, wondering in spite of herself why he had not offered to  see her to her cabin. Perhaps he had decided that it was wiser to call a  halt after all, to treat her with appropriate reserve. Probably that  was why he had sent away the mariachi musicians.