Anne Mather The Black Eagle

 

THE BLACK EAGLE

 Anne Hampson Hampson Roxanne had always been rather used to doing as she was told without question  —which was presumably why why,, when the mysterious Mexican Don Juan Armando Ramires, known as ‘the Black Eagle’, swept into her life, married her, and carried her off to his hacienda, Roxanne found herself meekly submitting to it all. And so she embarked on this curious marriage—for certainly it was no ordinary marriage. The hacienda, she was told, was haunted still by the spirit of Marta, the girl Juan had worshipped, and always would worship. Indeed, it was only because of her striking resemblance to Marta that Juan had married her. In time, Roxanne’s hatred of her husband turned to love—but what chance had she of reaching his heart?

 

 

CHAPTER ONE GAILY she allowed herself to be swung round and round, her long full skirt rising and twirling and falling in soft graceful folds. ‘I must kiss you!’ Joel’s lips were close to her ear and she made no demur on finding herself being propelled towards the great oaken doors leading off into the heated conservatory.  ‘Say you love me!’  begged Joel when the shelter of foliage afforded them privacy from the hundred or so other guests at the wedding. ‘I love you, Joel,’ Roxanne’s voice was soft and sweet, and tender as a breeze in summer. But it contained a hint of obedience also, resulting from the strictness of her upbringing. ‘I love you very dearly—’  The rest was smothered by a kiss, and  when at length she was able to look up into the frank blue eyes, her own eyes shone like stars, her lips were quivering, her heart racing joyously. Life was wonderful, for she had found her ideal, the only man she had ever loved, or ever would love. Tall and handsome, Joel was about as attractive as any man could be; he could have had any girl he wanted, but he had chosen her. ‘I can’t wait for you, darling.’ ‘Oh—!’  She shied away from him like a frightened child.   ‘Don’t say such things, Joel!’ ‘Darling, you’re so out of date with your ideas. We shall be married when I’ve saved enough, so why are you so averse to a bit of love?’

 

She frowned at the expression. ‘I want to go back, Joel.’ He drew her to him and kissed her. ‘It’s that silly old woman—yes, it is, sweetheart, so please don’t deny it. She’s a narrow old spinster who has no trust in any man.’ Roxanne said nothing, but became thoughtful for a space as she brought the woman in question into focus. Bent and aged, with watery grey eyes and hands twisted with rheumatism, Deborah was a very dearly loved and respected member of the household. Brought in when on Roxanne’s birth her mother had died, Deborah had brought the girl up in the way she believed was best. ‘The man who will one day love you will put you on a pedestal,’  she had often said, ‘and, Roxanne, see that you do nothing to fall from that pedestal. No matter how unfailing a man’s love might be, his memory will be equally unfailing. All his life he’ll cherish you if you stay where he has placed you. Fall and he won’t ever forget.’ Joel had laughed at this, reminding Roxanne that she was nineteen and her own mistress. She should not listen either to her old nurse or to her father. But the drilling of years was not so easily forgotten, and the respect and awe in which she held her father was as strong now as when she was a child. Also, she would never do anything of which she knew Deborah would not approve, hence her continued resistance to Joel’s persuasions. ‘I want to go back,’ she repeated, and with a sigh Joel pulled her arm through his and took her into  the large room in the hotel where an orchestra  played a haunting waltz, and the guests laughed and chatted as they danced to it. It was after midnight when Roxanne, undressing before the mirror, and humming softly to herself, heard the door open and smiled as she turned to the

 

old woman who had entered. ‘Oh, Deb, I’m so happy!’ ‘I just came to say good night. I heard you come in,’  Deborah moved silently on the thick carpet and stood in the centre of the room, the pale grey eyes fixed on Roxanne’s flushed face. ‘You were awake? But, darling, you should have put out the light and then you would have slept.’ ‘I like to know you’re in, my love.’ ‘Since I’ve been going out with Joel you haven’t been anxious. I’m quite safe with him.’  She was, despite his periodic suggestions, for he always admitted defeat. A small pause and then, ‘Did you hear me say I was happy?’ ‘Of course. How could I miss it? Even if you hadn’t spoken, it was there for me to see; it has been for some weeks. When are you getting married?’ ‘We haven’t enough money—at least, Joel says we haven’t. I’d get married on ‘We nothing!’ ‘Joel’s a wise young man. Your Your father agrees that he must save first.’ The old woman’s eyes stared unseeingly at some spot on the wall. Roxanne looked at her, frowning a little. ‘What are you thinking, Deb?’  she wanted to know, and the stare was transferred to her. The old woman shook her head. She had disliked Joel at first, Roxanne recalled.

‘Nothing of any importance, child.’  She smiled then and Roxanne instantly

 

responded. She regarded with tenderness the face that in age had become ugly, the skin sagging and the cheeks riddled with red veins, like roads on a map. The wispy white hair was straight and tightly drawn to form a ridiculously small bun at the back.  ‘Good night, dear.’  Cold and colourless lips touched Roxanne’s forehead. ‘And pretty dreams.’ Pretty dreams ... This was a familiar wish, spoken since Roxanne could ever remember. The door closed softly behind the old woman and Roxanne turned once more to the mirror. Slipping off the long flared skirt, she stepped out of it, her eyes taking in what the mirror revealed. A slender figure, perfectly proportioned; a face of classical beauty, the high cheekbones and contours beneath fashioned exquisitely by a more than generous nature. The long neck was arched, the high forehead unlined. mass hair, flecked shades of copper-bronze, fellA on to of thehoney-brown soft white shoulders. Thewith cleardelightful violet eyes shone like stars, reflecting the happiness within her. Life was good, she thought again; it held heaven and more, following a path where no shadows fell. ‘Dear love,’ Joel was saying a week later, ‘I have to go to London for the firm on Wednesday Wednesday and won’t be back until Monday.’ ‘Oh...’  Her disappointment was such that he might have just made the declaration that he was off for a year or more.  ‘I shall die!’ Joel laughed, and playfully flicked her cheek. ‘I hope, my sweet, that you’ll do no such thing!’ ‘You ‘Y ou won’t be at Claire’s party.’ ‘No, dear, but you must go.’ ‘I couldn’t go anywhere without you now.’

 

‘There’s no reason why you shouldn’t go. You mustn’t disappoint Claire. After all, she’s your friend rather than mine.’ This was true. Claire had been at school with Roxanne, and had got to know Joel only through her having introduced them to one another. ‘Yes, ‘Y es, I suppose I really ought to go.’ But as she dressed for Claire’s birthday party on the Saturday evening Roxanne had no real interest in what she was doing. To dress for her beloved Joel was a different matter altogether. However, once she was dressed, in a long creation of filmy nylon and lace, and standing in the hall before her father and Deborah, both of whom wore expressions of deep admiration, she felt a little better. ‘Ready,, dear ‘Ready dear?’ ?’  Her father was driving her to the party, since Joel could not, and the purr of the car outside told her that he was warming it up.   ‘You look very charming.’ She blushed a little and said thank you. Always he had overwhelmed her, being an Army man, tall and straight and stern. Between him and Deborah, with their ideas of a strict upbringing, Roxanne had developed a trait of instinctive obedience and on occasions she would silently rebel, wishing she could be more self-assertive. When she was married, she thought, her own personality would be free to blossom as it should, for Joel would never be so masterful that he would subdue her. ‘I’ll come back for you about eleven,’   her father promised as he drove on to the forecourt of the magnificent Fortuna Hotel. Only the rich could afford to hold parties here, but Claire’s people were  in the property business.  ‘You’ll be ready by then?’  It sounded like a request, but Roxanne knew it was an order. Her father liked to be in bed long before midnight and his coming to fetch her at eleven was in fact a concession for which she was grateful.

 

‘Hello, Roxanne,’  Claire greeted her.  ‘I was sorry to hear that Joel couldn’t come.’ ‘I was terribly disappointed...’ Roxanne’s voice trailed away to silence as she stared, hypnotized by theNerves piercing blackunaccountably eyes that had caught held hers from the far side of the room. tingled as she and continued to stare, caught like a helpless prey fixed by the eyes of a pitiless predator.   ‘Who—who is th-that?’  she faltered at last, her mouth so dry that her voice had become husky and low. Claire answered her, but the words went unheard as the black eyes moved in the immobile face, travelling over Roxanne’s slender body, absorbing every tender line and curve. She shivered and spread her hands automatically along her arms to her bare shoulders. She realized with a sense of awed shock that she was trembling, that nerves in her stomach fluttered in the way they did during pangs of hunger. Through a haze of indistinct thought she managed to take in his great height, his litheness of body, the copper-bronze of his skin. He had features of striking severity, a severity emphasized by the unusual eyes and the shining jet hair that cut a deep widow’s peak into the low and heavily lined forehead. The jaw was angular and strong, the thin-lipped mouth an inevitable adjunct to a face of aquiline ruthlessness and arrogance. The devil himself, she thought, another shiver passing through her. Why did he stare so? And why couldn’t she drag her own eyes away?  ‘Who is that?’ ‘Don Juan Armando Ramires.’  Claire cast her friend a sideways glance, a strange glance. ‘Y ‘You ou seem fascinated by him.’ ‘He’s so—so unusual.’  At last she withdrew her gaze.  ‘He’s Spanish—or Portuguese?’ ‘His home is in Mexico.’ ‘How do you come to know him?’  Claire had linked her arm through Roxanne’s and they strolled towards a group of young people all of whom were

 

well known to Roxanne. ‘Y ‘You’ve ou’ve never mentioned him bef before.’ ore.’ ‘I don’t even know him. He’s a friend of Martin’s. He met him on his travels last November.’ ‘A friend of your brother? He’s here on holiday?’  Roxanne looked down, feeling faintly embarrassed, for Martin had badly wanted her to be his girlfriend, and when she refused he had gone off, hitchhiking all over the place, and Roxanne now recalled his having written to Claire saying he was on his way to Mexico, having travelled down from the United States. ‘I expect so. I only heard last evening that he was coming to my party. Martin has his own flat now, as you know, and he rang to say he was bringing a friend with him tonight.’  Claire shrugged her shoulders.  ‘You know Martin; he’s erratic in all he does. Any other brother would have mentioned that this friend was coming over, but not Martin. He just springs things on you. I was horrified when I saw this Juan. He reminds me of the devil himself.’ ‘That’s how he struck me.’  Roxanne’s eyes sought those of the man under discussion; he seemed faintly  unreal as he stood there, his facial muscles unmoving, his black eyes staring at her from across the separating distance. Roxanne struggled to free her gaze, and at last succeeded.  ‘He’s a very strange type of man.’ ‘I did get a bit of information out of Martin, just a few moments ago,’ confided Claire, then added in a whisper,  ‘I’ll tell you about it later, when we can be alone.’  She raised a charming smile for the guests towards whom they were moving. ‘Hello, everyone,’ she said. ‘Thank you for coming.’ ‘Thank you for inviting us.’  Glenda Hartnett paused a moment and then, ‘Who in heaven’s name is Lucifer over there?’

 

‘A friend of Martin’s from Mexico.’ ‘He’s not a very good go od mixer, is he? Why doesn’t Martin bring him around and introduce him to us all?’ ‘He will do. I think Martin was wanted on the telephone. One of the waiters approached him and the next moment he was going out into the foyer.’  Roxanne fell silent, scarcely hearing as the others joined in a conversation together, and it was with a sort of mechanical compulsion that she accompanied  j  them to a lounge where they were served with drinks. She was still affected by a   nervous tension and this increased rapidly, as did her heartbeats, on perceiving Martin approaching with his friend. The introductions began with Claire, and went round; Roxanne was the last to be introduced. She felt her hand taken in a firm grip; she was compelled by the strange power of the man to force a smile to her lips and to say a polite, ‘How do you do?’ ‘I’m most happy to meet you, Miss Hutton.’ The voice was quiet, but rich and deep-toned. Roxanne’s hand was retained for longer than was necessary and she sensed suppressed giggles from her friends as they watched. She felt the colour rise in her cheeks, was conscious of the man’s strange unfathomable stare.   ‘W ‘Wee must talk together, later.’  Roxanne blinked and her lips formed the word, why? But it was never uttered, for Martin was speaking to his friend and the next moment he was introducing him to someone else. ‘Tell me about him?’  pressed Roxanne later, on finding herself next to Claire at the table to which they had both gone after choosing their food from the cold buffet. ‘Don Juan? Well, it’s an interesting bit of information, or gossip, or whatever you’d care to call it. He’s a throwback from wicked invading ancestors   who pillaged and murdered—No, Juan didn’t  tell my brother; someone he met while

 

visiting Juan told him. Every so often one of these throwbacks appears in an otherwise handsome family, a family more fair than dark. But that isn’t all. Juan was engaged to a very beautiful girl who died. He became embittered and shut himself away on his estate, keeping to the hacienda and grounds. No one was allowed in and out except the servants—he has an army of them, so Martin says.’ Roxanne said thoughtfully thoughtfully,, ‘It’s a sad story—but I can’t imagine any girl agreeing to marry him in the first place. He’s—frightening.’ Claire nodded. ‘I agree. Yet it might be his bitterness that makes him worse. There’s   something rather attractive about him, in a way. It’s his severity and those thin lips that make him appear so formidable.’ Mechanically Roxanne inclined her head in agreement. ‘If no one was allowed into the grounds of his home then how did Martin come to meet him?’ ‘It was a strange thing, but the gates happened to have been left open and, feeling thirsty, Martin decided to go into the grounds and find someone who would give him a drink of water. He’d been tramping around, with his rucksack on his back, and the heat had got him down. Juan was walking about in the garden and at first he was furiously angry that Martin had been allowed to enter. However, they got talking—you know how charming my brother can be—and the result was that Juan invited him to stay for the afternoon, as he could see how welcome a bath would be. He allowed him to take a siesta afterwards and as it was dark before Martin awoke. Juan said he could stay to dinner. They had a very pleasant time, apparently, and the result was that Martin stayed the night. In fact, he remained as a guest at the Hacienda Ramires for three days. They’ve been corresponding since, and Juan said he would visit Martin just as soon as he

 

got back to England. Well, Martin got back only a fortnight ago, as you know, so Juan didn’t waste much time.’ Roxanne was frowning. ‘It all sounds most odd to me.  ‘Why, if this Juan had become such a recluse, did he have no hesitation in coming here?’ ‘That puzzled me too, but Martin was delighted that he would come. He said it was awful to think of him being so completely cut off from the outside world, pining, as it were, for his lost love.’ ‘I can’t imagine his pining, somehow.’ ‘Oh, I can: That type usually loves deeply—once in a lifetime.’ Roxanne had to smile at this knowledgeable pronouncement. However, her voice was serious as she asked how long it was since Juan’s  fiancée had died. ‘Ten years!’  she repeated when Claire had answered her question.  ‘He’s fretted all that time?’  It seemed quite impossible, for despite what Claire had said Roxanne had a different opinion of Don Juan Armando Ramires.   ‘I can’t believe it!’ ‘It’s true, nevertheless,’  Claire assured her.  ‘Juan was twenty-three when it happened. The girl caught a germ of some sort and died within a week of entering hospital. Juan was inconsolable, and there were some who thought he would take his own life.’ Roxanne was shaking her head. ‘He’s too much strength for that,’ she asserted.

 

‘Yes, I agree. But this man whom Martin got talking to—when he was in a cafe one day during his stay at the hacienda—said that all the people in the villages round about expected to hear of Juan’s death.’ ‘This man seems to have been very expansive to a stranger.’ ‘Everyone knew of the Englishman who had managed to enter the grounds and, unbelievably, get himself installed as a guest. The news spread through the servants, I suppose. It usually does. So it was to be expected that, having met Martin, this villager became expansive if only in order to draw Martin out. He failed, of course, because Martin  knew that Juan would be both angry and disappointed if it came to his ears that his guest had gossiped about him after receiving his hospitality.’ Roxanne became lost in thought. Her nerves were calmed and she deliberately refrained from glancing round, in case she should see Juan again and become affected by him in the way she had at first. ‘It’s a most strange and sad story,’  she murmured at length.  ‘Imagine his being a throwback. One does not often hear of such things.’ ‘The crest of the ancestors I mentioned was a black eagle, and so when one of these throwbacks is born he’s immediately called the Black Eagle.’ Roxanne shuddered violently, wishing her friend had kept silent about this part of the story. And yet she asked, ‘Did this same man tell Martin this?’ ‘Of course. Martin didn’t speak to anyone else.’ Roxanne looked up into the black piercing eyes and all her nerve-ends rioted again. Don Juan had come to ask her to dance, and although she opened her mouth to refuse she found instead that she was in his arms and being swung on to the floor.

 

‘You dance so lightly, Miss Hutton,’ he told her after a while. ‘You must do a lot of it?’ ‘Not a lot. I go to parties, and sometimes my boyfriend takes me dancing.’ A strange silence followed before her companion spoke. ‘Your boyfriend? Tell me about him?’ She glanced up, frowning a little. The man seemed fascinated by her expression. ‘I’m sure you don’t want me to talk about him,’ she said. ‘On the contrary, I’m interested. Are you engaged to be married?’ Roxanne shook her head. ‘Not yet, but we are intending to marry.’ marry.’ Faintly the thin lips curved. Roxanne had the extraordinary impression that the humourless smile was a result of some private thought of his own.   ‘When are you intending to marry?’ ‘When Joel has saved enough money.’ ‘So money is all that important?’ ‘Not to me,’ she replied artlessly artlessly.. ‘I would marry now, if Joel would agree to do so.’ Juan looked down into her glowing face and she wondered if his lips really had compressed, or if she had imagined it.

 

‘You must be very much in love?" ‘Of course I am. Otherwise I wouldn’t be willing to marry Joel.’ Absently he nodded, his manner one of brooding, and she wondered if he were thinking of his fiancée. ‘How long have you known Joel?’ How strange that he should be so interested. Roxanne felt hesitant about answering all these questions, deciding that they were aimed more at getting to know her as a person than gaining information about Joel. But she knew the power again, the power that seemed to hold her, as a net might hold her, and she had no strength to say anything that would inform Juan once and for all that his questions were unwelcome.

‘Only three months.’ ‘Three months,’ he repeated, more to himself than to her. ‘It isn’t very long at all.’ Again the words were spoken to himself; Roxanne wished she could regain her calm, but this speaking to himself set her nerves fluttering again, and now an unfathomable hint of fear was entering into her. She swallowed hard to remove the sudden blockage in her throat and managed to say, ‘Do you mind if—if we don’t dance any more? I—er—feel a little unwell.’ The lie brought colour her tighten cheeks;slightly. the black eyes comprehendingly and the thin mouth didtonow But theflickered suave voice was pleasant enough as Juan agreed to take her off the floor. But if she thought to be rid of him she was mistaken. ‘I said we must talk,’  he reminded her, and she was led unresistingly to a small alcove in which was a table for two. Wildly she glanced around, unconscious of what she did. How absurd to be scared, when there were so many people about.  ‘You are very beautiful,’  he was saying even as he pulled out a chair for her to sit down.  ‘How old are you?’

 

‘Nineteen.’  Roxanne became angry with herself for lacking the strength to refuse to answer him. ‘A charming age for a woman.’  He seemed to heave a deep sigh; Roxanne knew instinctively that his  fiancée was nineteen when she died.   ‘Your eyes are an unusual colour—between violet and blue. They change colour—did you know that?’ Shyly she said yes, she knew this. ‘Joel likes it,’  she added, although she had no idea why—unless it was that the mention of Joel seemed to afford her some protection ... from what?

Passing off the remark about her boyfriend, Juan continued, ‘Your ‘Y our hair also is unusual. The copper tints...’ He was not with her at all, she suddenly realized. His eyes were glazed; he was in the distant past. Had his  fiancée possessed her own colouring? Roxanne wondered, and all at once there was a reason for his interest.   ‘Your figure, your face...’ Roxanne went icy cold; unsteadily she got to her feet. ‘I want to go back to the others,’  she stammered hastily hastily,,  ‘please t-take me—  back!’ He came to, regarding her in some surprise. ‘Is something wrong?’ he asked, rising. ‘Are you really unwell?’ So revealing, the question. Plainly he had suspected her of inventing a white

 

lie when, just a few moments ago, she had told him she was not well. ‘I’m just—just tired,’ she replied lamely. ‘Of my company?’ Startled, she said no, of course not. ‘I would rather go back to the others, though,’  was her rather untactful addition when, his face clearing, it would seem that he might invite her to sit down again. ‘Very ‘V ery well, Miss Hutton, but perhaps we shall dance together again later?’ ‘I—I...’ She wanted so much to say no, but how could she? If only Joel were here. If only she had refused to come without him. But he was not here, and she was—alone, it seemed all at once, alone with this strange foreigner, this recluse whose contact with Martin had miraculously brought him from his seclusion all the way to England, where he had met her, Roxanne. She was overcome by a sensation of impending doom, of the Sword of Damocles being suspended above her head. ‘You appear to be afraid of something.’  Softly spoken words, edged with the trace of a foreign accent, but also with an indefinable emotion. ‘Of what are you apprehensive, Miss Hutton?’ She shook her head bewilderedly bewilderedly.. ‘I don’t know,’ she whispered, and her eyes were pleading and her lovely lips quivering. He looked deeply into her eyes ... and she thought she heard him catch his breath. ‘You are afraid, then?’ he asked, and automatically she nodded her head.  ‘But

 

why, my child?’ My child ... It was an extraordinary way of sspeaking—for peaking—for a total stranger. ‘I really don’t know,’  she replied shakily.  ‘I think my nerves are not very calm this evening.’ The black eyes pierced; she wondered if he could actually read her mind. ‘Have I anything to do with this—er—lack of calmness you mention?’ Again an extraordinary way of speaking. Roxanne was at a loss as to how to answer him. ‘I haven’t ever met anyone like you,’  she said frankly at last, and saw an unexpected gleam of humour enter the hard eyes. ‘You ‘Y ou find me strange—after your fair and good-looking compatriots?’ She had not expected bluntness such as this and again she found herself at a loss. ‘You’re different, certainly...’  She tailed off,  appalled on realizing that she had almost intimated that he was not so good-looking as most of the men she knew. But Juan was eyeing her perceptively. She saw at once that he had no illusions about his appearance. ‘Shall we return to the ballroom?’  he suggested in a calm and even tone.  ‘I won’t ask you to dance again with me, as it’s clear that you would find it an ordeal.’ There was a note of hopelessness in his voice and Roxanne’s soft heart went out to him, for she was thinking of the  fiancée he had lost and knowing

 

how she herself would feel should she lose Joel. And in her surge of compassion she said s aid impulsively, ‘No, don’t say that, Mr.—I mean, Don—Oh,  dear, how must I address you?’ She actually managed a light laugh as she spoke and was rewarded by a glint of humour entering his eyes. ‘Juan would sound delightful, I’m sure ... coming from you.’ She shied away, a gesture which Joel would instantly have recognized. r ecognized. Oh, but—’ She shook her head. ‘It wouldn’t be right.’

‘I see no reason why it should not be right. Juan,’ he added softly, and even yet again Roxanne knew the power of him. Obediently  she repeated, ‘Juan.’ Fleetingly he seemed to savour the sound and then, inquiringly, inquiringly, ‘You were about to say something ... Roxanne?’  The name rolled, slowly and with an almost gentle inflection, off his tongue. Roxanne was startled by his use of it and, confused, she averted her head, aware that she was blushing.

‘Was I?’ she returned vaguely vaguely.. ‘Oh, yes! I was going to say that to dance with you would not be an ordeal at all.’ ‘It wouldn’t?’ The angular face was bent and she raised her eyes to meet his. ‘In that case, Roxanne, I shall seek you out later.’ She nodded, and Juan stepped aside to allow her to come from between the table and the chair she had occupied. The space was narrow and she caught her ankle on the leg of the table. She winced and gave a small cry. Juan’s hands were on her, guiding her out, quite unnecessarily unnecessarily..

 

‘My dear child, have you hurt yourself?’ ‘It was only a momentary pain.’   She spoke in shaky tones, profoundly, and awesomely, aware of his touch, of the warmth of his hands through her dress, of the dark face above her ... and of the undeniable fact that his lips were touching her hair...

 

 

CHAPTER TWO THE  Hacienda Ramires was situated on a spur overlooking a valley, while high above, and to the rear of the grounds, rose the crags and peaks of the Sierra Madre. Roxanne stared at these crags, but her eyes were unseeing. All that her vision had held, since that fateful day when she had known she must marry Juan, had been the picture of her beloved Joel. His bitter disillusionment, his protests and finally his resignation. These differing expressions on his handsome face would haunt her till her dying day; this she knew without a shadow of doubt. ‘Lunch is served, Roxanne.’  Her husband’s stern and icy tones added to the weight she bore. She turned; he stood a short way from her, so tall and lean, one hand thrust into his jacket pocket.   ‘Why  do you wander out here all the time? What are you thinking?’ Obedient she had always been; and it was owing to this obedience that she had allowed herself to be hustled into marriage with Juan. But now, very slowly and gradually it was true, she was gaining some self-assertion, and she lived subconsciously for the day she would resemblance have sufficient leave the husband who—because of when her remarkable to courage his deadtolove—had created a situation where she had to choose between disgrace for herself and heartbreak for her father and Deborah, or marriage to Juan. She had chosen marriage, because her father all but ordered her to marry Juan, had chosen it because Deborah had also told her she must marry Juan, and because she knew that Joel, though loving her still, would never marry her when she had belonged to another man. This was what they all believed, but it was not true. Juan had framed her, then offered her marriage.

‘I suppose I can spend my time as I want to spend it.’  Venturesome words for

 

the girl who had always been kept under, who had been brought up to respect her elders and to obey them. And Roxanne’s words were all the more venturesome because of the formidable character of her husband, who more than once had lost patience and allowed her to taste the lash of his temper. ‘I prefer to be out here, alone.’ ‘Than with your husband?’ She looked at him as he stood with his back to the ornamental fountain that was one of the most beautiful features of the garden. The spray rose behind him, tinted with rainbow colours as the sun’s fierce rays were trapped in the rising waters. ‘Yes, ‘Y es, I prefer to be here rather than with my—husband.’ ‘Do you know how long we’ve been married, Roxanne?’ The pallor of her face became more pronounced as she replied. ‘I’m not likely to forget that. It’s two months and  three days and—’  She glanced as her wristlet watch before adding—‘twenty-two hours.’ He turned away; it was a swift movement and she felt he was concealing his expression from her. ‘You ‘Y ou count the hours?’ ‘I shall count them till the day I die—and I hope that might not be long.’   She hadn’t meant to say a thing like that, but she wanted to hurt him, to keep him for ever aware of his perfidy, and the terrible consequences it had meant for her. She wanted him to remember, all the time, that it was Joel she loved, Joel whom she wanted as her lover, and not the dark, eagle-like man who, immune to her cold aversion, came to her almost every night, came to her demanding and conquering, his arrogance heightened by the act of possession.

 

‘Don’t say a thing like that!’  Harshly the command was given; Roxanne’s thoughts went automatically to Marta, whose photograph had been shown to her by the old hag who went under the name of housekeeper, the ancient retainer who had been so devoted to the girl that she had hoarded everything belonging to her that she had been able to lay her hands upon.   ‘You’re not going to die! Not before I do! I won’t let you!’  He made a move towards her and she stepped back. But he caught her arms in an evil grasp and shook her, as he had   shaken her several times already.  ‘Don’t!’  he snarled close to her face.  ‘Do you hear me? Don’t you ever mention dying again!’ White to the lips, Roxanne stood trembling before him, swaying as he released her, fear rising up to block her throat. It were better to lay down the arms she had begun to use defensively, better to allow him to assert his mastery and his will. the pastshe shecould had deplored herconfidence own weakness in being overridden byOften others,in wishing gain more in herself and retaliate. Now that some small measure of self-assertion—born of approaching maturity, perhaps—had come to her she was again experiencing regret, for this rebellion was bound to widen the already yawning gulf existing between Juan and herself. ‘Shall—shall we g-go in?’  She managed haltingly to speak, but rising emotion choked her and she had great difficulty in not giving way to tears.  ‘The lunch will be getting cold.’ Even before she had finished speaking he had turned on his heel and his long strides were swiftly covering the distance between her and the house. She followed slowly, passing through gardens kept immaculate by five gardeners who, for the first six years after the death of Marta, had been unemployed, but paid a retaining fee by Juan. The grounds, like the house, had fallen into neglect, but now both combined to form a striking picture set in a lovely frame. The house, a two-storied   palacio,  had wide french windows and high arches festooned with the bougainvillaea vine; it had a sun-filled loggia; it had a patio of Moorish design and a sixteenth-century facade of Aztec influence. The

 

vaulted ceilings were ornately decorated, the doors heavily carved. Furnishings were of subdued taste, but betrayed the fact of the owner’s wealth for all that. ‘Where have you been?’  demanded Juan when at last she entered the diningroom after having been upstairs to wash her hands and face and brush her hair. ‘It’s a quarter of an hour since I came for you.’  He had been waiting and she apologized, accepting the chair which he always punctiliously drew out for her. ‘I didn’t realize I was taking so long,’   she added, meeting his eyes across the table as she unfolded her napkin. ‘Have a care, Roxanne,’  he warned softly.  ‘My patience is unpredictable, as you should have learned by now.’

Pale andthe silent, eat what Luis, theword manservant, had putbetween before her. And mealshe wasbegan eatentowithout one more being spoken them. It was a long time before with a sigh of relief Roxanne arose and accompanied Juan to a small lounge where the tall and unsmiling Luis served them with coffee. All the meals took an unconscionable length of time, simply because, as today, they were taken in silence. Roxanne sometimes wondered how she would endure the many thousands of meals she must take with her husband before escape in one form or another took her from him. He spoke while they were drinking their coffee, telling her he was going into town the following morning on business. ‘Perhaps you would like to come with me, Roxanne? It will be a change for you and you could buy yourself some clothes.’ She shook her head without even considering the proposal. ‘I don’t need any clothes.’

Silence for a moment and then,

 

‘You don’t seem to have many things to wear, Roxanne. Let me buy you some ‘You pretty dresses and underwear.’ Her eyes raked him contemptuously, for the first time this ability to portray contempt being part of her increasing confidence in herself. ‘Underwear? For you to stand and admire? I’m your plaything, I admit, but I do have a little pride. I’m not dressing up in the kind of revealing things you have in mind!’ The black eyes glinted suddenly, and the hand holding the cup seemed to quiver a little. Roxanne was afraid now now,, regretting her temerity. temerity. ‘Plaything?’ he repeated harshly harshly.. ‘Is that how you look upon yourself?’ She managed to keep her eyes on his. ‘Isn’t that the way you regard me?’ Juan made no answer to this and she coloured slightly. It was clear that he considered an answer beneath his dignity. dignity. ‘And how do you know what I had in mind?’ he queried at length. ‘I took it for granted that you meant the sort of things women wear for their husbands.’ That appeared to amuse him, but the slight curve of the thin lips was so fleetingly held that Roxanne was not at all sure she had seen it at all. ‘You seem to know what women wear for their husbands,’  he commented with a hint of satire. ‘When did you learn this?’

 

‘I knew what I would have liked to wear for Joel,’ she ventured, then held her breath. So unwise this attitude, so filled with unnecessary risk. Her eyes dilated as she saw the dawning expression in his. The black depths were a smouldering inferno; the thin mouth was drawn back to show his strong white teeth clenched together. ‘My God, Roxanne, you’re going to live to regret these taunting remarks you continually make! I’m your husband, and the sooner you accept that the sooner your life will take on a more comfortable aspect. Don’t tempt me, for if you do you’ll be sorry for yourself.’ She had expected something more forceful than this, judging by his expression, and as she had escaped a more severe and frightening reaction she prudently fell silent, helping herself to more coffee from the silver pot on the table before her. Juan spoke again after a while, and this time he quietly told her that she was to go into the city with him the following morning. ‘And,’ he added, ‘you shall buy some of those pretty things a husband likes to see.’ She coloured, thinking naturally of the nightclothes she wore—long thick nightgowns high in the neck and with long sleeves buttoned at the wrist. ‘You are ordering me to go to town with you?’   she queried at  last, and he nodded his head. ‘If that is how you want it, Roxanne. Y Yes, es, it is an orde orderr I’m giving you.’ She wondered how she would have reacted to this had she been one of those strong-willed women, like Claire for example, Claire who had always said no man would master her. Could a girl of Claire’s strength defy a man like Juan? Unconsciously Roxanne shook her head. No woman could combat the power of this dark foreigner, this throwback from the dangerous men of the past, this man whom all the villagers—his tenants, many of them—called the Black Eagle. Roxanne’s eyes strayed to his dark face. Aquiline and angular, it most certainly

 

possessed an eagle-like quality, a pitiless quality that at times—when his fury was at its height—became a mask of evil from which Roxanne would fearfully turn and run. On these occasions he would make no attempt to follow her, and when next they met he would seem to be endeavouring to spread a veil over the whole episode, as if attempting to erase it from her memory. But nothing could erase anything from her memory. All he had ever done to her was stored away, and she  would  continue storing, day in and day out, supplementing her grievances so that she would always have access to reminders of his treachery, reminders that would keep alive her hatred for him, never allowing her for one single moment to lessen that hatred—and most certainly never to approach even the borderline of forgiveness. He rose at last, when he had finished his coffee, and went off somewhere, to a small room which he used a great deal. Roxanne knew not whether it was a study or a sitting-room, and she cared even less. For herself, she spent her time wandering in the grounds or sitting in her bedroom reading, curled up on the wide window-seat. Here before the open window she would find a measure of peace, listening to the birds in the trees outside, enjoying the scent of   flowers from the gardens down below. below. It was March and the jacaranda outside her southfacing window was a shower of misty mauve-blue blossom, while in the distance one of the many avenues in the grounds was one long canopy of colour as these lovely trees bloomed along the whole of its length. Another avenue was lined with cypress trees with green lawns either side where rose gardens and colourful parterres intruded in many shapes and sizes. Beyond the grounds the mountains shone in the sunshine, and down below was the valley and beyond that the exotic golden sands of Acapulco, Mexico’s tropical resort on the Pacific coast. Roxanne had been asked to go there with her husband, but she had refused. She would go on her own one day, she had decided, when the time came that she could take an interest in this country to which she had come, her heart dead inside her. ‘Senora.’ At the quietly-spoken word Roxanne turned her head. She was still sitting at the small table in the lounge, lost in thoughts of home, and she felt a prickling sensation on hearing herself addressed by Lupita, the aged housekeeper.

 

‘Yes?’ ‘If you have finished I will clear away the tray.’ tray.’ ‘Where’s Luis?’ inquired Roxanne haughtily haughtily..

  ‘It is his afternoon off. Y You ou are aware of that, senora.’ Roxanne’s chin lifted at the woman’s insolent tone. ‘I haven’t finished,’  she said and, picking up the coffee pot, she poured some of its cold contents into her cup. ‘Your pardon,  senora.’  But the woman remained  by the table, to which she

had slowly proceeded as she and Roxanne talked.   ‘Would you like some fresh coffee? That is cold.’ Reddening, Roxanne looked concentratedly into her cup. ‘This is fine, thank you, Lupita. You may go.’ The woman’s eyes, deep grey and sunken into her head, remained fixed on Roxanne’s bent head. ‘You are a proud woman, senora. But the Englishwomen are.’ Roxanne’s head shot up. ‘Get out!’ she ordered in tones which she herself could scarcely recognize, so different were they from the familiar gentle voice which she normally used. ‘And don’t come back until I’ve left this room!’

 

The old woman’s mouth curved; she made an elaborate bow and left the room. Rising at once, Roxanne went up to her bedroom and closed the door behind her. Here she was safe ... at least, during the daytime. This thought brought her eyes to the high oaken door leading into her husband’s room. She had never seen inside it and, some compulsion enveloping her, she moved without thought or hesitation and opened the door. The familiar creak as the door swung on its hinges sent a shudder along her spine. It was the sound she would wait for each night, as she lay wide-eyed in her bed. He must remember to have the hinges oiled, Juan had said, but he had not remembered, and so the door continued to make that strident noise that warned Roxanne of her husband’s entry into her room. She stood for a long moment, her eyes sweeping the room, from the big bed to the heavy oak wardrobe and the dressing-table, to the window with its   view on to the rear of the grounds of the hacienda, and beyond to the mountains. At length she entered the room proper, and stood by the dressing-table, her eyes fixed on the drawer in the centre. This one held her gaze particularly because it was the only one having a lock, the drawers down the sides of the dressing-table merely having ornate gold-plated handles. A hand touched the drawer and eased it forward. So it wasn’t locked. Inside was a pair of gold cufflinks and a gold tie clip. There was a small cardboard file and unable to hold her urge in check she lifted it out and turned back the flap. Papers ... She put it back and closed the drawer. On her return to her own room she stopped dead. ‘What are you doing in here?’  Her eyes blazed as they encountered the sneering face of Lupita. ‘Get out!’ ‘Senora, I was merely bringing up your mail. It has just arrived. Two letters. They are on your desk.’

furious theRoxanne’s corner of the room.gaze moved to the small, beautifully carved escritoire in

 

‘Thank you,’ she said shortly, and flicked a hand towards the door d oor.. ‘You were curious as to what was in Don Juan’s file?’   And before Roxanne could reply she continued,  ‘Photos,  senora  ... photos...’  And with that she withdrew,, closing the door noiselessly behind her withdrew her.. Photos—For a long while Roxanne looked hard  at the connecting door, then, shrugging her shoulders, she turned her attention to her letters. She opened Deborah’s first and read it through. ‘My dear Roxanne, ‘I hope this finds you well, and happy as possible under the circumstances. I was sad on reading your last letter, but neither I nor your father have any regrets about the attitude we took. There is only one right way, my dear, and that is to marry the man to whom you have given yourself. Understand we cannot, since you were so happy with Joel who, incidentally, called to see me last Friday when your father was away on business. He never mentioned you, but he is thinner than he was,  though I expect he will recover—men usually do. Take Take care of yourself, my child, and write soon. Your ever loving, Deborah.’ That was all. Biting her lip hard, Roxanne managed with difficulty to hold back the tears. A bout of self-pity flooding over her, she felt as if everyone had deserted her in her need. For she did need letters from home, letters which despite their references to what she was supposed to have done, brought her some small degree of comfort. Deborah could have found more to say than this. Roxanne looked at the letter again and a tear fell on to the single sheet, causing the ink to run. She returned the letter to its envelope and was just opening the other when she heard someone moving about in Juan’s room. Before she could rise the door opened and her husband stood there.

 

‘Did you hear anyone in here?’ he inquired, puzzled. Roxanne shook her head.

‘No. I don’t know what you mean?’ ‘Lupita knocked on my study door and when I answered she said she’d only knocked to see if I was there, as she believed I was; but someone was moving about in my room. She could hear the footsteps from the lounge.’ A small silence followed. Photos, thought Roxanne, quick to grasp what had happened. ‘Can she hear sounds so clearly as that? The lounge ceiling is high, and also, your room has a thick carpet; Lupita would have to have extraordinary hearing to hear anyone moving about in there.’ Her eyes were fixed on the carpet, just in case Juan should ask how she, Roxanne, knew about his carpet. ‘I must admit I myself thought it strange. As you say, Lupita would have to possess extraordinary hearing,’ Juan shrugged and, stepping back, he closed the door. Roxanne listened for the closing of the outer door and then leant back in her chair, her father’s letter in her hand. Lupita had deliberately tried to set a trap for her, making the subtle statement about the photographs, and then, convinced that Roxanne would return to Juan’s room and take out the file, she had told Juan that there was someone moving about in his room. Roxanne’s heart turned a somersault as she saw herself caught by her husband in the act of looking at the photographs of the girl he had loved ... the girl he still loved, the girl who, every night, he pretended he held in his arms. Roxanne truly believed this. After a while she was able to forget the whole thing and read her father’s letter. He had written, she soon saw, merely as a duty. His letter contained no news whatsoever and it was as short and lacking in real affection as was that of Deborah. Roxanne put her face in her hands and wept, not particularly owing to the disappointment over the contents of the two letters from home, but owing to the fact that both her father and Deborah believed she had let them down by

 

going off and staying the night with a man she had met only a few days previously. Yet it seemed impossible that they had so readily accepted that the girl they had brought up with such strictness could go off like that, not even considering the boy with whom she was in love. As the tears continued to fall Roxanne re-lived that dreadful time in her life, bewildered even now and scarcely able to accept the fact that, simply owing to her resemblance to Juan’s fiancée, her whole life had been ruined. She recalled all too clearly the way Juan had looked at her as they had said good night after the last dance, which they had had together. The expression in his black eyes had terrified her even before he said, with such confidence, that they would meet again very soon.

And they had met very soon—at her own door. ‘Good evening,’  he had greeted her coolly.  ‘I was passing this way and decided to give you a call. I hope you don’t mind?’ Dazedly she shook her head. Deborah had gone out a short while previously, to see her sister whom she visited once a week, and as Roxanne’s father was away on business Roxanne was alone in the   house. Her first instinct on seeing Juan standing there was to slam the door in his face, but of course she restrained the impulse and managed polite reply. could remember exactly what she had said, though, butashe wasreply sure. She she never had not asked him into the house. However, before she knew it he was beside her as she went into the living-room, and she must have invited him to sit down, because the next moment he was comfortably seated and stretching his long legs out on to the hearthrug. She must also have made him a cup of coffee, because she remembered his chatting as he drank it. And then had come the fatal question that was to wreck her whole life.

‘Roxanne, as you’re quite alone, just as I am, would you let me take you out to dinner?’

 

Roxanne recalled that the question had made her think of his  fiancée, and of the life he had entered into on her death. He was a formidable man and he frightened her, but Roxanne was at the same time sorry for him and in her pity she answered with less firmness than she intended. ‘I’m sorry—Juan, but it wouldn’t be right for me to accept your invitation. You see, I’m almost engaged to Joel.’ ‘Almost is not quite,’  he pointed out, and Roxanne thought at the time that it was just possible that in his austere make-up there might be a small element of gentleness, because of his tone and the way in which he looked at her and because of the manner in which his lips seemed to fill out just as if, when they were not compressed, they might not be so cruelly thin after all.   ‘There can be no harm in your coming to dine with me, my dear. I shall be returning to my   with me.’ own country soon and it would be a pleasant memory to take back She made no answer for the moment. She was recalling how, at Claire’s party, she had suspected she resembled his dead   fiancée  in some way, because of the questions he asked and the apparent interest he had  in her. ‘I really shouldn’t,’  she began, her big violet eyes looking at him with a sort of pleading, as if she were begging him not to press her any more. For she knew herself so well; she was already conscious of a deep compassion, of thinking that to afford him the pleasure of her company for a few hours was not too impossible a gesture on her part. Hadn’t Deborah often said that one should never miss an opportunity of spreading happiness? ‘You’re charmingly conscientious, Roxanne,’  he observed, and there was a smile in those black eyes that softened them miraculously.   ‘It’s so refreshing to meet a girl like you. I feel honoured that I have met you.’ The apparent sincerity tipped the scale s cale in his favour, and the flattery might just have gone to Roxanne’s head a little; this she would never know. All she did

 

know was that it seemed very right that she should accept his offer, despite the fact that undoubtedly he frightened her in some way she failed to understand. It could have been his appearance, or the piercing black eyes, or even the story she had heard about his being a throwback from barbarous ancestors, a throwback with the grim name of the Black Eagle. However, she went upstairs and changed, realizing only afterwards that her full trust in him was, to say the least, a little foolish. After all, he was a stranger, and yet she left him sitting there, while she washed and changed upstairs in her bedroom. His eyes widened with pleasure and appreciation when at length she stood at the living-room door, a timid smile fluttering, and said she was ready ready.. ‘My ... dear, you look so very lovely,’ and he came close to her and she was   breath on her cheek, and she still unable to move. She felt his cool clean remained immobile when his lips lightly touched her forehead. This was the moment when mistrust ought to have been born, but the man seemed to mesmerize her and she did not even have any great desire to move away, or to protest or even to stop him when, on putting her wrap over shoulders as they stood in the hall a moment later, he once again lightly touched her fore forehead head with his lips. ‘I ought to have left a note for Deborah,’   she said suddenly, and Juan immediately produced a pen, and tore out a page of his diary. ‘Will this do?’ he asked, and she smiled and nodded and wrote her brief note, which she left on the hall table where Deborah would be sure to see it when she came in. ‘I’ve just said I’m going out with a friend,’ she told Juan, and then she added, ‘Joel never sees me on Thursdays as he drives his mother over to her daughter’s for the evening. They always did this long before he met me, you see, so it’s a kind of routine which he’s kept up.’

 

Juan smiled but said nothing. She gained the impression that he would rather she did not mention Joel, and so she refrained from then on, intending that the evening should be a pleasant memory   which Juan could take back with him to his own country, just as he desired it should be. He took her to a most expensive hotel and she was treated like a queen. And it was a strange thing, but when at last the meal was finished and it was time for Juan to drive her home in the car he had hired, she experienced a feeling of loss, and she knew that the evening would remain in her own memory for a very long while. She never quite knew when her suspicions were aroused; she supposed it was when he took the second wrong turning. The first had occurred as they came on to the main road from a minor road. He should have turned left, she told him, and he said something she could not catch. ‘You can get on to the right road at this next junction,’   she told him. But he failed to do so, and he failed to speak in response to her urgent instructions. She eventually found herself in a lonely drive, saw the dark shape of a house before her as the car lights were switched off. She struggled vainly before being carried into the house. Juan had rented it furnished for the duration of his stay in England, she was to learn later, but for the present, terrified and almost fainting from the horror of her own imaginings, she faced him in the room where, after closing the door, he put her on her feet. ‘Let me go!’  she screamed, but he shook his head. She had a vague impression that he was having a struggle within himself, but the idea passed over her as she continued to cry out angrily and then plead with him to let her go. All the time he kept reassuring her that he would never harm her, but she refused to believe this.

‘You ‘Y ou do mean to h harm arm me!—as why else would you bring me here?’

 

‘Because you’re mine, Roxanne. Mine, do you hear? This Joel is not for you. I want you for my wife; I’m an honourable man and until we’re married I’ll not  —’ ‘An honourable man? You You can stand there and say that?’ ‘It’s hard for you to believe me, Roxanne, but my intentions are honourable. I want to marry you, and as there’s no other way I must compromise you. I’ve learned a lot about your upbringing and I’m staking my luck on the fact of your father deciding that, having stayed with me here, you must marry me.’   For the moment she had not responded in any way to this incredible information he had imparted to her. She was thinking of something else, diverted for f or a brief space. ‘How was it you came to England, after having been a recluse for so long?’ ‘How do you know I’ve been a recluse?’  he frowned. Roxanne explained how the information had come to her. Juan then said, looking frankly into her tear-filled eyes,   ‘Martin showed me a photograph of you, when he stayed with me at my home in Mexico. I—knew I had to see you in the flesh.’ She stared, fascinated. ‘Your fiancée—’ ‘You know about her too?’  His tones were oddly unemotional, surprising Roxanne, who had taken it for granted that he was still deeply affected by her death despite the statement he had just made about wanting her, Roxanne, for his wife. ‘Martin talked to a man from a village close to where you live. He told him many things about you. Martin repeated this to his sister and she told me.’

 

‘You were interested enough to ask?’   he queried, his gaze never leaving her face. Roxanne evaded an answer to that and said instead,  ‘I’m like your late fiancée in looks, aren’t I?’ Juan answered quite frankly, ‘Yes, Roxanne, you are.’ ‘And that is why you want me for your wife?’ ‘It is Roxanne,’  he owned, and she felt as if she herself had become an icy corpse. There was something unhealthy in his desire, something which made her recoil from him and move to the farthest corner of the room. He watched, unemotionally,, aware of the reason for her action. unemotionally ‘Let me go,’ she pleaded, white to the lips.  ‘I beg of you, let me go!’ Without hesitation he shook his head. It seemed that, if he had for a brief space known a measure of indecision, it was forgotten f orgotten now now.. ‘I shan’t let you go, Roxanne. I want you for my wife.’ ‘My father won’t let me marry you! I shall tell him what you have done and he’ll have you prosecuted!’ ‘Will you tell him, Roxanne?’  he murmured, coming close.  ‘Will you have me locked up in a prison?’   The tone was low and the eyes unmoving. Roxanne was bereft of strength to answer in the way she knew she should have answered; she felt his power, his uncanny hold over her that was obscure and yet at the same time vividly real.  ‘As far as he will know you and I have spent the night together here. I shall offer you marriage, as the honourable thing to do, and you

 

will accept me, Roxanne ... yes, you will accept me.’ ‘My father will know I couldn’t do such a thing! I’m in love with someone else!’ ‘You think you are, but how can that be when you are meant for me? Our destinies are joined; I knew it the moment I met your lovely eyes across that room. You You can’t escape, Roxanne, so you might as well accept your fate.’ He had given her a lovely bedroom and she had locked herself in, but she lay awake the whole night long; it was a night of eternity she would never be able to forget in the whole of her life. He took her home late the following day. Her father had returned. Juan knew he would have done so because he had asked Roxanne, the previous evening, when her father was expected home and she had told him, never suspecting that he had an ulterior motive for wishing to acquire the information. Roxanne would never forget the scene. She had tried to put the facts before her father and Deborah, but so affected was she by the power of the dark foreigner that she stammered and hedged, and in all, she acted in a manner so contrary to her normal frank and open personality that instead of convincing her listeners of her innocence she had convinced them of her guilt. ‘You’ll not regret it,’ had been Juan’s astounding assertion on the day of their marriage. ‘It was your destiny and you wisely accepted it.’

 

 

CHAPTER THREE JUAN drove the great car into town the following morning; he dropped her off at the shops and promised to meet her a couple of hours later. ‘We’ll have lunch and then perhaps do some more shopping,’  he said, but Roxanne was staring indifferently in front of her and made no answer.   ‘Take care,’ he said, through the car window. ‘Traffic is busy at this time of the day.’ ‘I shan’t get run over, so you have no need to be anxious about me.’ He said nothing to this and she could not help asking, ‘Aren’t you afraid I might try to escape? You’ve given me a great deal of money,, you know.’ money He was already shaking his head. ‘I’m not afraid that you’ll run from me, Roxanne. Didn’t I say, in the beginning, that our destinies are joined? More than ever now I know this is true. You and I shall never part, my dear, and if only you’d believe this as I do you’d perhaps be happier.’ ‘Happier than what? The comparison is absurd!’   She thought he gave an impatient sigh before he said, ‘I’m not in a mood for argument at this time, Roxanne. I’ve a business appointment in ten minutes’ time. Enjoy your shopping if you can.’ and he let in the clutch and drove away.  

 

Roxanne watched until the car disappeared round a corner, and then made her way to the nearest large store, her thoughts on what had just been said. How confident he was that she would never leave him! Of course, she suddenly remembered, Juan had taken her passport and it was still in his possession. Yes, she was in effect a prisoner in this strange country, this land with so harsh a history history.. Listlessly she strolled around, buying nothing at all, yet fully aware that Juan would make her buy things when he returned. But she had no heart and she left the store and wandered along the narrow streets, streets where traders had set up their stalls and were selling fruit and vegetables. She found herself becoming interested, and she was passing the time trying to estimate how many different coloured skins she could see. There were complexions of chestnut and glowing copper, there were those resembling her husband’s colouring which, she had to own, honest as she was, had a most attractive quality about it. A man with a café-au-lait skin came striding past, and another with a skin of dirty yellow. And there were white skins, of course, and she caught sight of one of these as she passed a small shop and was so surprised that she turned back and entered. ‘You’re English?’  she said and, before the man could reply,  ‘Are you the proprietor of this shop?’  She glanced around at the books and noted some in English. ‘That’s right.’ He looked curiously at her, his eyes taking in everything about her, and widening in admiration as they did so.   ‘I threw up my job back home and came out here. I’m a naturalized Mexican now.’ ‘You are?’ with some surprise. ‘You like it here?’ ‘Love it! Wouldn’t go back for any thing!’ A small pause.  ‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’

 

‘I’m married to a Mexican.’ She spoke with a certain difficulty and hesitation, it being the first time she had had occasion to mention her marriage to anyone. ‘You ‘Y ou are? How long have you been here?’ ‘Just over two months.’ ‘Not used to it yet, I suppose?’ ‘It’s all very different,’ was all she said in response to that. She had not been outside the hacienda grounds very often, and this was the first time she had been into a town. ‘You’ll like it no end once you’re acclimatized. Takes a little time, but that applies to any new place one goes to.’ Again he examined her admiringly while she in turn examined him. Of pleasing countenance, he was of average height and build, with light brown hair and grey-green eyes. His mouth was full and generous, his smile spontaneous as he suddenly became amused by her concentrated stare. Shyly she blushed and glanced away away.. ‘I’d like to buy a book,’  she said, and would have moved over to the stand, but he began to speak. ‘Where do you live?’ ‘In the country—at the Hacienda Ramires. I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of it.’ She was strangely happy at finding this Englishman and she cherished the vague idea that she had made a friend in this alien land. ‘The—?’  He stopped and stared.  ‘Old man  Ramires’  place? Has he popped off, then? He can’t have sold the house; it’s been in his family for generations.’

 

‘He isn’t old!’ The indignant exclamation was out before she realized it.  ‘My husband’s only thirty-three!’ ‘Your husband?’ he repeated. ‘Are you talking of Don Juan?’ ‘That’s right.’ The man frowned uncomprehendingly uncomprehendingly.. ‘He isn’t married—he can’t be.’ ‘I’m his wife,’ she said quietly. The man shook his head dazedly. ‘Do you mind explaining? But first of all I’d better tell you my name. It’s Tom—Tom Wakefield. I’m over twenty-one but under thirty, and single. Now, do tell me how you come to be married  to that old—’  Flushing, he broke off. ‘I’m sorry,’  he said,  ‘but you see, Don Juan Ramires was a recluse—for many years. Er—do you know about this?’ Roxanne nodded her head. ‘He was engaged, but his  fiancée  died.’  She began to wonder how she could be so free with this man whom she had only just met. She supposed it was owing to his being one of her countrymen, and also of course, to her own loneliness. It was nice to hear her own language from someone other than her husband. ‘That’s right. And with him being a recluse he always  seemed old. One never thinks of a young man shutting himself away like that.’

 

‘He did it for ten years,’   Roxanne informed him, but he had obviously heard this because he merely nodded his head. ‘How on earth did you come to meet him?’ ‘He was in England on holiday.’  A white lie, but  how could she say that he had come specifically to meet her—and to carry her away from her home and her people and the man she loved? ‘Well,  I’ll  be blowed!  It was thought that he’d never emerge from his gates again during the rest of his life. And now he’s married. It’s a nice story—happy ending and all that.’

Roxanne said automatically automatically,, ‘Yes ... it is a nice story, as you say.’ ‘So you’re Senora Ramires, but what is your first name?’ ‘Roxanne.’ ‘That’s pretty. pretty. I expect your husband calls you Roxy?’ ‘No, he doesn’t.’ ‘Can I?’ ‘Well ... I don’t really like it.’ By now she was beginning to realize that the conversation was becoming rather too familiar, but she was so delighted at finding Tom that she paid no more attention to it.

 

‘Where is your husband now?’ ‘He had some business to attend to. He’s meeting me for lunch.’ Tom glanced at his watch. ‘It’s almost one o’clock now.’ ‘It is?’ she gasped. ‘I must go!’ ‘The eager bride,’ he laughed. ‘Don’t forget to come in again.’ ‘I won’t,’ she returned emphatically, and hurried from the shop, remembering only later that she had not bought anything from him. Juan was waiting at the appointed place; she saw his tall figure long before she reached him. Her heart was throbbing and she became angry with herself. It was time she stopped being so afraid of his displeasure. If only she could successfully assert herself then this uncomfortable fear would leave her. Breathless when at last she stood beside him, she looked up to see an odd expression in his eyes. ‘You’ve done no shopping,’  he observed.  ‘What have you been doing all this ‘You’ve time?’ Roxanne swallowed the lump in her throat. ‘Just walking,’ she managed lightly. ‘Seeing the sights.’ ‘What sights?’ he wanted to know in his quiet, faintly-accented voice.

 

‘The—the people and the st-stalls and everything.’ A small silence followed this before her husband spoke. ‘Did you happen to go into a bookshop, Roxanne?’ She jumped, and coloured. ‘Yes—as a matter of fact, I d-did.’ ‘And is that where you’ve spent your time?’ ‘Not all of it, Juan. I went around the store—er—that one, over there. And then I strolled about as I said.’ ‘And found the Englishman,’ he finished for her her.. ‘Mr. Wakefield, yes.’ Quietness again, awesome and long. Roxanne fidgeted with the fastener of her handbag, noticed that he was watching her action and determinedly kept her hands still. ‘We had better go for some lunch,’   he said, taking her arm possessively.   ‘I hope you are hungry?’ She said yes, obediently, overwhelmingly relieved at his dropping of the subject of the Englishman. ‘This looks a nice place,’  she was forced to remark on entering the hotel.   ‘I believe I am hungry.’ ‘You have just said so,’  he suavely reminded her. And, when she made no

 

comment, ‘W ‘Was as that merely an automatic response?’ She nodded frankly frankly..

‘I expect it was.’ ‘In order to make sure I remained diverted?’ ‘Diverted?’ ‘Roxanne,’ he murmured gently gently,, ‘don’t be obtuse. You know full well what I mean.’

Her colour deepened. ‘I hope you didn’t mind my chatting with Mr.  Wakefield,’  she said, deciding to take the bull by the horns. ‘It was pleasant to talk to one of my own people.’ ‘Much more pleasant than talking to your husband, I take it.’   Cool tones, but oh!—there was something underlying them that set Roxanne’s nerves quivering. ‘Take us somewhere more secluded,’ he said abruptly as the waiter stopped by a ‘Take table right in the middle of the restaurant. The man said something in Spanish and moved along, turning a corner and indicating a table in an alcove. ‘Thank you,’ Juan’s eyes settled on his wife as they sat down, opposite to one another. ‘Y ‘You ou didn’t answer my question.’ ‘You and I have very little to talk about.’   she returned, a small amount of courage entering into her.

 

‘We don’t seem able to make conversation,’  he agreed.  ‘One must try, you know,, Roxanne. And you never know n ever want to try.’ ‘True, I don’t want to try.’ ‘Are you content to live this alone kind of life?’ ‘I prefer it to anything else I might find in this country.’ Her husband’s eyes glinted dangerously. dangerously. ‘This country is your home, and the sooner you realize this the better. You’ve tried my patience to the limit,’   he continued quietly but emphatically.  ‘I’ve warned you, several times, to have a care. No one, Roxanne,’  he said, staring into her eyes, ‘has ever treated me with contempt, and my wife’s the last person from whom I’d take such treatment. In future you’ll adopt a more respectful attitude; understand?’ With tremendous will-power she managed to retain a high degree of hauteur, and she lifted her chin. She must fight him, she was telling herself fiercely. This subservience which was the result of her upbringing must be cast off, for she could not continue bending to the wills of others all her life. Fleetingly she thought of Joel, then put his dear face from her. He would never have suppressed her will; on the contrary, he had always chided her about her easy capitulation to any orders her father or Deborah might be inclined to make. She thought,  ‘If I hadn’t lacked strength of character I wouldn’t now be married to this man. No other girl of my age would have allowed herself to be forced into it by a submission to the desires of others.’ She brought her mind back to the man opposite her. He was staring at her, arrogance and power in his face, and even in the way he tapped one long  slender finger on the snow-white table cover.

 

‘I don’t consider I owe you any respect,’  she said, surprising herself by the steady strength of her voice.  ‘You tricked me in a criminal way; you lied to my father; you’ve—had your way—’ At this she did  falter, as she was still shy and restrained about matters pertaining to sex. Nevertheless, she meant to continue and, drawing on her will-power again, she went on,  ‘You’ve asserted the rights which you believe you possess, and this in itself amounts to dastardly conduct.’ Roxanne looked straightly at him, elated at her courage. Every day she was improving, acquiring backbone and resolve. True, she was taking one step back for each two forward, but this meant a gain all the same.  ‘I’ve learned that you are a law unto yourself, but I’m not prepared to accept that law.’ The black eyes smouldered; the hand resting on the table clenched. Roxanne clung tenaciously to her courage, but some of it was slipping away. The man was altogether too dominant for her. Even his glance could at times set her trembling. And his fixed gaze now was enough to cause the bravest heart to quail, and this was one of those occasions when had she been at home, she would have fled from him. ‘You will accept that law, Roxanne.’ His voice quivered with rage; he was the predator after which he was named. Roxanne, her heart throbbing painfully, had the momentary conviction that his intent was to bring her to total subjection.  ‘I know what is right for you and me. Our destiny was written long,   long ago—’ He broke off and flicked a hand, an  angry gesture in itself.  ‘You know all this. As for my rights as you call them—of course I assert them, simply because you refuse to come to me willingly—’ ‘How can you expect me to!’  she flashed, with a return of her courage.   ‘I never heard anything so ridiculous as for you to assume I’m wanting your—  your—attentions.’  Blushing with embarrassment, she averted her head. She heard her husband say softly,  ‘Keep your voice down. I detest women who shout.’

 

Her colour deepened under the rebuke, but she protested that she hadn’t shouted. ‘You exaggerate,’  she added, accepting the menu that was thrust at her from the hand of Juan.  ‘I’m not hungry any more,’  she quivered, blinking rapidly as mind and vision soared away, to England and the restaurant where she and Joel used to eat, seated at a secluded table like this.   ‘I ddon’t want anything to eat,’ and she passed the menu back to him. She was spent, utterly, and in this moment she would have welcomed death itself. Her husband’s voice had lost every hint of the anger it had contained as he said,

‘Look at me, Roxanne,’ and when she shook her head she felt his hand under her chin. Instinctively she  would have shied away, but fear of arousing his temper again deterred her. She had come off lightly—perhaps because they were in this public place—and it would be inviting further trouble, when they arrived back at the hacienda, if she made any move to inflame him. And so she left his hand where it was, and obediently looked at him through her tear-dimmed eyes. He stared hard and long, features immobile, and again she was reminded of an eagle. Yet ... was it imagination, or could there possibly be a slight softening of his mouth and eyes? This impression had come to her previously; this time it was not quite so fleeting that it left her in doubt. No, his face  had softened!  She noted the fuller mouth, the absence of that hard glitter that made his stare  so unbearable at times. His voice, too, had lost its familiar flint-like edge when at length he said, ‘Y ‘You’re ou’re crying, Roxanne. Don’t cry, child, there isn’t any need.’ Her mouth trembled piteously. ‘You ‘Y ou might not think so, but I have a great deal to cry about—’ Juan removed his hand, but automatically he looked at the fingers that had been in contact with her soft white flesh. What a strange man, she thought. He

 

seemed to be seeing something on those fingers that wasn’t there! ‘What, child, are all these things about which you must cry?’

‘You know, Juan,’  she replied, her old innate gentleness coming most naturally to the fore. ‘You took me from my home, from my people and friends  —and—and from the man I love.’ Juan turned swiftly and at that moment the waiter appeared. Juan seemed inordinately thankful for his appearance. Without consulting his wife he ordered a bottle of wine and the waiter disappeared. Juan looked at Roxanne and said, ‘Do you spend all your time dwelling on the past?’ ‘Naturally I do.’ ‘You have a future,’ he asserted, ‘if only you’d accept this fact.’ ‘I have no future,’ she told him listlessly listlessly,, ‘not even a present.’ He was silent; she thought he swallowed something that had lodged in his throat. ‘You must try,’  he advised at last, and now the hint of softness had disappeared from his tone. ‘Life is long, and it can be intolerably wearisome—’ His voice trailed away and he was on his own, Roxanne forgotten. She knew he was in the past now, picturing those years of self-inflicted solitude, a solitude so complete that he had obviously become a vague figure to the people round about, people who had come to think of him as an old man. Ten years—What an eternity to shut away from the world Howsovery he must have loved theoneself girl called Marta—the girloutside! who  was likedearly Roxanne in

 

appearance and colouring. For a moment Roxanne wondered about the photograph which Martin had shown to Juan. Martin had taken several coloured snapshots of her, and of course it must have been one of these that had suddenly awakened desire in Juan, bringing him from his seclusion to seek out the girl whom he could pretend was his dearly loved Marta. The idea still revolted Roxanne, and in those unbearable moments of his passion she thought only of the fact that she was being used, that Juan was in imagination making love to a girl who had been dead for over ten years. ‘Yes,’  Juan was saying, bringing Roxanne from her painful reflections,  ‘life can be long and intolerably wearisome. Yet it can hold heaven itself if only we will try—you and I, Roxanne.’ Bewildered by these words, since they could not possibly fit into her own picture—thestared pictureat of using one girl satisfy longing for another  —Roxanne hera man husband across the to table for ahis long moment without speaking. ‘There can be no future for you and me,’   she declared firmly at last.  ‘I love someone else—’ She stopped, having it on the tip of her tongue to add—‘and so do you,’  but she surmised it would be more prudent to leave Marta out of it, since even the mention of her must hurt. And, strangely, Roxanne was loath to hurt Juan in this particular way way.. In any other way way,, yes; she felt sshe he would always go to any lengths to hurt him, but never by the mention of the girl for the love of whom his life had been blighted for so long. ‘You still love Joel?’ Hard tones and edged with anger. ‘Of course. I shall always love him.’ Juan was shaking his head.

‘No matter how strong love is it fades with time.’   Again she stared. Was he

 

saying that his own love for Marta had faded? But it hadn’t faded; his marriage proved this. For had it faded then Juan would never have married another girl simply so that he could possess a constant reminder of his  fiancée.

‘My love for Joel’s so strong that it will last for ever,’   she declared, then stopped to watch her husband taste the wine before the two glasses were filled. ‘Have a drink,’ he repeated, and she picked up  the glass. ‘I don’t want anything—’ ‘Have a drink,’ he repeated, and she picked up her glass.  ‘Now, what shall we eat?’  Brisk tones; he was not intending to continue their conversation.   ‘Come, Roxanne, you will eat with me, for I’m certainly not eating alone.’ An hour and a half later they were wandering round the shops, Roxanne filled with wonderment at the knowledge that she had thoroughly enjoyed the meal eaten in the company of her husband. He had talked to her, telling her things about the hacienda—alterations he had made to it on inheriting the estate twelve years ago; the additions and renovations that had been made by previous owners. And in the course of these informative comments Roxanne learned that he had several younger brothers and sisters, and five cousins. The information had staggered her, since she had automatically formed the conviction that Juan was entirely alone in the world. What were all these relations doing to let him brood in lonely solitude? she wondered, then instantly admitted that if Juan chose a certain way of life then no one would have the temerity to suggest he adopt any other other.. ‘Why don’t your brothers and sisters visit you?’  she had asked. ‘I forbade them to come anywhere near,’  he admitted, aware that she already knew of his retirement from the world.   ‘Now, however, they would like to visit me, but until things improve between you and me I shall not allow them to do

 

so.’  And Roxanne had been silenced with that, and Juan had switched the conversation on to lines that soon removed the awkwardness caused by the reference to his family.

‘We’re going now to buy you those pretties,’  he had announced as they rose at ‘We’re last from the table. ‘I hope, Roxanne, that there won’t be any arguments.’ The old obedience returned, although Roxanne would have wished it to be otherwise, that she could have asserted herself and told him straight that she was not intending to dress up for his pleasure. However, the enjoyment of the meal was still with her and in addition she was too tired to start an argument which she could never hope to win. And so she found herself buying the underwear which her husband recommended, and with this wrapped up and carried under his arm they proceeded to another shop where four dresses were bought. Juan paid, although he had already given her a substantial amount of money. She made only one small protest, then let him pay for everything. Her money would be hoarded—it was the first large amount he had given her—for any emergency that might occur ... or to be used for her escape, if and when this might become possible. That night she dressed as usual in something dark and unattractive. Immediately on entering the dining-room she heard her husband say, say, ‘Go and change, Roxanne.’ She lifted her head. ‘I’ll wear those dresses some other time—’ ‘You’ll ‘Y ou’ll wear one of them now—the gr green een one.’ The green one. Was green Marta’s favourite colour? ‘I won’t,’ she returned fiercely fiercely,, ‘I won’t wear green!’

 

Slightly taken aback by the vehemence of her words, Juan looked frowningly at her. ‘You’re superstitious? Then why didn’t you say so? We’d have got something else.’ Some of the weight that had settled on her unaccountably at his order that she would wear the green dress lifted with a suddenness that bewildered her. So his desire to see her in green had nothing at all to do with his   fiancée. Before she quite realized it she was saying, ‘I’ll go and change—er—no, I’m not superstitious,’   she added in answer to his question. ‘And put a little colour on your cheeks,’ he told her. ‘You’re far too pale.’ She went meekly, returning to see his eyes widen, then flicker as he looked her over. Roxanne was experiencing a most odd sensation. The first time Juan had looked at her in this particular way was on that fateful night when the abduction had taken place. But prior to that she had stood before him and watched the admiration growing in his eyes. Of course, he had gazed at her with admiration at Claire’s party—but not quite in this way. What was this expression? Desire? Roxanne swallowed, aware of some indefinable spark that appeared fleetingly, then went out. Bewildered and with an unconscious desire to see that spark again, she waited for her husband to speak; for the first time since her marriage she was interested in what he would say. ‘My wife ... you’re very lovely lovely.. Come here.’ With a sort of mechanical compulsion she obeyed, drawn to this obedience by the magnetic power he exerted over her almost all the time.

 

‘It seems a b-bit big,’ she stammered, more to break the silence than anything else. ‘I should have noticed it.’ Juan’s hands encircled her waist; she felt their warmth penetrating her clothes and suppressed a shudder. His dark aquiline face was above her; his brow was furrowed, and cut by that widow’s peak which accentuated the almost evil qualities that were so often to be seen in his face. So silent he was. Roxanne felt instinctively that he was with his old love ... Marta—  He bent his head and Roxanne endured without flinching the kiss he placed on her lips. But she made no response either, and without warning she was caught to him and crushed unmercifully. ‘You shall kiss me!’  he snarled, and brought his mouth to hers. Sensuous moments passed, moments of sheer agony for Roxanne, whose sensitive nature was outraged by this pagan treatment. She recoiled inwardly but lay passive, feeling this was the best policy, for surely he would tire of inflicting his unrequited passion upon her. But he did not tire. On the contrary, her coldness only added fuel to his own fire and Roxanne felt she would soon lose her senses if he continued. Her mouth was swollen and bruised, her body protesting at being overpowered. One small tender breast was held savagely, the other crushed against the hardness of his chest.

‘You  shall  kiss me!’  he repeated, shaking her and glaring into her tear-filled eyes.  ‘You shall, if I keep you here all night! Kiss me, I say!’   His voice was raised, but only a little, yet it sent shudders along Roxanne’s spine. Murder itself was threatened in that tone ... murder but torture first. God. what kind of a man was he? Who were those barbarians  from which he had sprung? His strong teeth gritted together. His black eyes seemed filled to their very depths with evil. ‘Kiss me, Roxanne,’ he said, his voice lowered now to a guttural sound, like that of an animal anticipating a kill. The sensuous mouth came down and, every grain of strength having left her, Roxanne once more obeyed her husband.

 

The reciprocation having satisfied him, he released her and she swayed a little, then caught at the back of a chair. White and shaking, she sat down, her eyes moving to one bruised wrist and then from one shoulder to the other. Angry fingermarks were gradually taking on the less definable shapes of dark yellow smudges; she saw his eyes follow hers, but he seemed indifferent to the pain he had caused her. She felt stiff when she moved and she wondered how many more bruises she would find when she undressed. She wondered also just how long she could endure this life; and this trend of thought led automatically to the money she now had. And on from these combined thoughts followed the picture of Tom, Tom, the Englishman, whom she had instantly regarded as a friend. ‘Will he help me to escape?’ she whispered to herself. ‘He’s lived here a long time; he might know of a way I can leave the country without being in possession of a passport.’ ‘What are you thinking?’  demanded Juan sharply, his gaze fixed and, she thought fearfully, fearfully, all-seeing, like those of some omniscient god. ‘Of how you have just treated me, naturally.’ ‘That,’ he told her warningly, ‘is nothing to what you will get if you persist in this attitude. You’re my wife and you’ll respond in the way a wife   should. I’ve had enough of your icy contempt. You’ll be a woman from now on, not an iceberg. Is that clear?’ Her strength was returning and she sent him a flashing glance. ‘My self-respect will never allow me to respond, so you might as well resign yourself to what you have.’ Juan’s mouth tightened, but the edge of anger and arrogance had left his voice when after a long pause he spoke to her. ‘We shall see, Roxanne. The time has not yet come when I have made the

 

decision to bend you to my will, but it is drawing very close ... so I advise you to think carefully before rejecting the warnings I have given you.’

 

 

CHAPTER FOUR  STROLLING along the Avenida San Miguel towards the  zocalo,  zocalo, on the far side of which was the street in which Tom’s bookshop was situated, Roxanne failed to notice that she was being followed. It was the last thing she would expect, and in fact she was walking with a spring in her step because her husband was away from home, and would be for another four days, having gone to Mexico City on business early this morning. The idea of his absence had created such a lightness within her that, for the time being, she almost forgot the tragedy of her life and the dim unpredictable future. ‘Hello,’ Tom greeted her. ‘Come on in.’ He lifted the hinged counter and she passed through, into the cosy living-room at the back.   ‘Take a seat, Roxanne. I’ll be closing in about an hour. Y You’ll ou’ll stay for lunch?’ ‘I’d love to, Tom.’ She leant back on the couch as he went off into the kitchen to make a pot of coffee. The shop door opened and he came from the kitchen again. ‘An old woman—stupid thing!’ ‘What do you mean?’  Roxanne glanced up into his good-natured face inquiringly. ‘She must have realized she had come to the wrong shop. Opened the door, then closed it again and went off. People like her don’t buy books. I expect she’s really looking for eatables—papaya and limes and the rest.’   Dismissing the woman from his mind, he went back to his task of making the coffee. ‘I suppose

 

I could close now,’ he said musingly as, returning to the living-room, he placed the tray on a table. ‘There isn’t much doing.’ ‘You always have a half day?’  she asked, because he had never mentioned this before, nor had she happened to visit him on a Tuesday before. ‘Yes, I like to have some time to myself.’  A small pause and then,  ‘You wouldn’t care to come for a ride in my car?’ Roxanne’s heart gave a little jerk. She said without hesitation, ‘I’d love that, Tom. It would be a marvellous change.’ He busied himself pouring the coffee. ‘Don Juan doesn’t take you out in the car?’ ‘I never want to go with him, T Tom.’ om.’ He shook his head. ‘Sounds a hell of a life to me, Roxanne. Why don’t you leave him?’ Her heart gave another jerk. For the past couple of months she had gradually  —and with an artfulness that neither her father nor Deborah would have recognized—been leading up to this very suggestion, unable herself to make it, because although she had told Tom almost everything, she had sensed that despite his ready sympathy he would be loath to assist her in the matter of leaving her husband. The confidences she had imparted to Tom had occurred on one particular occasion when, her spirits being at their lowest ebb, she had broken down and wept in Tom’s shop. Inviting her into his small sanctum behind the shop, he had first comforted her and then, over a cup of tea, he had urged her to talk if she

 

wished. And out it all flowed, before she quite knew what she was saying. Instant regret had ensued, as it usually does on such unguarded occasions when confidences are outpoured into a sympathetic ear. Tom had been swift to reassure her that what she had told him would go no further, and with this she had felt free from then on to open up her heart to him, knowing he was her friend. ‘I would very much like to leave him,’  she told Tom, and was pleased to see him nod his head. ‘But I don’t have my passport.’ ‘You ‘Y ou haven’t? Then where is it?’ ‘Juan keeps it.’ ‘Surely you can get it from him?’ Roxanne shook her head. ‘I dare not ask. He’d become suspicious instantly.’ Again Tom nodded his head, frowning thoughtfully thoughtfully.. ‘Naturally he would.’ A pause. ‘You really want to leave him?’ ‘I do, Tom. I can’t go on like this much longer.’ ‘I can’t for the life of me see why you married him in the first place.’ ‘It was a mistake, but as I told you, I was forced to do so by my father and my old nurse.’ ‘Girls of your age have usually stopped doing as they are bid  long ago.’

 

‘I explained how strictly I was brought up. It takes a great deal of courage to stand up to people who have always ruled you.’ ‘But Joel ... what did he have to say about it all?’ ‘He was shattered, naturally, and at first very angry at the idea of my marrying Juan, but soon he—well—he seemed to lose interest.’   This was the first time Roxanne had admitted this; she preferred to think she was mistaken about Joel’s attitude, and that his acceptance of the situation had come about owing to the numbness that must naturally have descended upon him on discovering that his loved one had let him down. ‘Surely he didn’t believe that you have done this awful thing?’ ‘He did, Tom. You see,’  she continued hastily on noting the surprised jerk of his head, ‘Father spoke to him when I wasn’t there and seems to have convinced Joel of my guilt.’ ‘I can’t think how he could be convinced. I wouldn’t have been.’ ‘I think you would, Tom. The evidence was damning. I admitted that I’d been with Juan to  dinner at the hotel, and that in itself shocked everyone because it was so unlike me to go out with a strange man. My father and Deborah just couldn’t take it in at first, and indeed I can’t myself now that I come to think about it.’ Tom looked at her with an odd expression.  ‘Don Juan’s a very strange man,’ he said,  ‘and he seems to have had a certain power which he exerted over you from the first. Am I right?’ Roxanne could only admit that this was a correct deduction on her companion’s part.

 

‘Did Don Juan actually lie to your father? You’ve never been quite clear on that point?’ She was unwilling to answer even now. It was something which puzzled her exceedingly, but she could not bring herself to put her husband in too black a position when discussing him with Tom. She owed Juan no loyalty; she hated him more than anyone else on earth, and ye yett she had always held back from Tom the fact of his lying to her father in order to win her for his wife. ‘It was all confused at the time, Tom,’  she said, and in fact there was a good deal of truth in this statement even though it was voiced in order to prevaricate. ‘And I really don’t remember much of what transpired. All I knew was that Father was saying I must marry Juan because I had spent the night with him.’ All the time she had been speaking a thoughtful expression had settled on Tom’s face. He glanced at her several times, with a return of that odd expression and when at length he spoke, having waited until she finished, he said something which startled her and which remained in her mind for a very long time. ‘Are you quite sure, Roxanne that, subconsciously, you didn’t   want   to marry him?’ ‘Want ?’ ?’  She stared speechlessly at him, shaking her head from side to side, slowly and bewilderedly, as Tom’s implication began to penetrate so deeply that it seemed to become an undisputed fact. Where was the instant denial she should by rights have uttered? Want  to marry him? With growing amazement Roxanne found herself giving serious consideration to what Tom had said. The idea should have been absurd ... and yet intruding memory brought back the fact that she had not initially shied away from him—on the contrary, she had actually liked the feel of his lips on her hair; she had not resented it at all. She vividly recalled her lack of firmness when, having called upon her—after previously ascertaining that both her father and Deborah were away from home, she afterwards was informed by him—Juan had invited her out to dinner; she also recalled the fact that his flattery was pleasantly acceptable, despite her very real fear of him. She had made no protest when, dressed and ready to accompany

 

him to the hotel at which they were to dine, she had felt his lips touch her forehead, and then again as he placed her wrap around her shoulders. Then there was the dinner itself; Joel, she blushingly recalled afterwards as she rode in the car with Juan—blissfully unaware of the fate in store for her—was entirely forgotten during the entire duration of the meal and she had so enjoyed it that she actually felt a little flat when it was over. She would remember it for a very long time, she had told herself... Did all these reflections and their resultant admissions add up to the fact that she had found something attractive in the formidable Don Juan Armando Ramires? Impossible ... and yet... ‘I never ever wanted to marry him,’  she breathed at last, her bewildered gaze fixed upon Tom’s interested face.  ‘How could I? I was in love with Joel.’ At this Tom smiled faintly. ‘I was in love with a girl once,’ he said reminiscently reminiscently,, ‘and then I met another and then I wasn’t any longer in love with the first one.’ ‘But that’s fickle,’  she began, when he interrupted her with a shake of his head. ‘Reality, my dear Roxanne, which has to be faced. I and the first girl would have made a mistake had we married.’ Diverted for a space she said, ‘What happened to the second girl?’ ‘She decided marriage wasn’t for her; she’s the independent type who can manage very well on her own. Add a good well-paid job to this-and you have Phil. I almost went into a decline, but rallied and decided to emigrate. I shuffled

 

about with a world map, stuck in a pin—and here I am. Phil has my address and she promised to write some time. She knows I’m game if ever she changes her mind.’ Roxanne’s soft heart was swelling; she spoke with regret and sympathy. ‘I’m so sorry sorry,, Tom Tom.. I hope Phil will marry you one day.’ ‘So do I, but I’m not banking on it. Women are becoming far too free in that part of the world—not like here where the man is dominant.’   Roxanne said nothing and he reverted to what he had suggested earlier. ‘Despite what you say, Roxanne, it very much seems that you did in fact want to marry Don Juan.’ She shook her head, but weakly. The suggestion had taken her aback completely, for the simple reason that she was unable to refute it with the strength and emphasis that was called for. ‘I detest him,’ she pointed out truthfully. ‘Detest—Women are strange creatures, Roxanne. I learned a lot about them from my two experiences. They get a fixed idea into their heads and there it stays until some shock or fright or some other incident brings to their consciousness the realization that the idea was all wrong. I suppose I’m talking vaguely about all this, but it could be that you have the wrong idea about your husband.’ Seeing her hopes of escape being dashed, she hastened to stress that she had not got any wrong ideas about Juan. ‘I really want to leave him,’ she said. ‘Tom—please help me.’ A long hesitation and then,

 

‘Until you’re quite sure you’d better wait. But if, later, you still feel the same, then I’ll help you—but, Roxanne, never breathe a word to anyone. It would be pretty grim for both of us if Don Juan should ever get a hint, either now or in the near future. He’s powerful all around these parts, as you know. In addition to owning practically all the land in your village he owns about a quarter of the property in this town. He also owns sugar plantations—in fact, no one knows what he isn’t in, so do be careful.’ ‘There isn’t anyone I could talk to, even if I   wished to,’  she pointed out. She was bitterly disappointed at the turn of events since on Tom’s suggestion she should leave her husband she had hoped for a fairly speedy release. ‘No, that’s so,’ he agreed. ‘In the meantime, Roxanne, I should try to get hold of your passport if you can. But don’t run any risks.’ ‘I have no idea where he keeps it. Can’t I get another?’ ‘Indeed you can’t. You’ll have to be diplomatic and pump him, or prowl around when he isn’t there.’ She nodded, deciding she would begin looking the very next day day.. ‘By the way,’  she said as the thought occurred to her,  ‘don’t be alarmed if I don’t come to see you at all next week. Juan has taken to being about the house more this past week and I might not be able to get away.’ ‘What excuse have you been making all this time?’ he inquired curiously. curiously. ‘I haven’t had to make any. Juan has been going off to the little room which I now know is his study, and he’s stayed there from after breakfast till lunch time, and then gone back until it’s time for him to get ready for dinner. I always knew I was safe for about five hours after lunch was over.’ ‘And now he’s changed his habits?’

 

‘Last week he began to do so, but on Thursday I managed to get away as you know. He went off in the car and said he wouldn’t be back until about seven o’clock.’

‘It mighta be only a temporary Tom thoughtfully.   suggested   ‘He’s obviously busy man—I believe change,’ that even in his seclusion he never failed to look to his business affairs—and so it’s feasible that he’ll revert to his habit of spending the greater part of the day working.’ ‘I hope so. I love coming here. I feel quite at home now.’   She looked a little shyly at him, nevertheless, and added, ‘I hoped, that first day da y, that you’d become my friend, and you have.’

‘Funny that,’  he returned.  ‘I felt the same way myself. I knew we’d get to know one another better. Of course,’ he went on to add, ‘as we’re both from the same part of the world it was almost inevitable that we should get together.’ Tom glanced at the clock as he collected the coffee things together and put them on the tray. ‘I think I’ll close early and get the lunch. Then we can get away. It’s nice having you for so long. Y You ou needn’t be bac back k at the hacienda until late.’ ‘Not too late, Tom. Tom. I’d like to be back about ten or thereabouts.’ ‘So be it.’ After lunch they washed and dried the dishes and went off in the car. Tom asked her to talk about Joel and this she obligingly did, although the subject was so painful that once or twice she was forced surreptitiously to brush a hand across her eyes in order to prevent a tear from falling on to her cheek. ‘How about going to Acapulco?’  suggested Tom when at length she lapsed into silence. ‘Y ‘You ou haven’t been there, I take it?’ ‘No, I haven’t. Is it far?’

 

‘Would have been too far for an afternoon, but as we’ve plenty of time to spare it’s all right, I’ve got my trunks in the car; it’s a pity you haven’t a costume with you. We We could have gone in the sea.’ The idea of a swim in the warm tropical sea was most attractive and on impulse Roxanne suggested they call at a shop where she could buy a swim suit. ‘I expect there’s somewhere where we can change?’  she added. ‘Of course.’  And so they called at a shop on the way and Roxanne bought a one-piece swimming costume. ‘We’ll have to buy some towels,’   she said, and was relieved to hear Tom say he had a large beach towel in the car. She was averse to spending too much money, as she hoped to be requiring it for something far more important than a towel. The lovely gardens of the haciendas were a picture of colour and Roxanne often gave little gasps or made some involuntary exclamation as they travelled along the road. ‘What are those?’  she would ask, and in some surprise at her lack of knowledge after having spent over four months in Mexico, Tom would answer, ‘They’re breadfruit trees,’ or, ‘Those are vanilla vines.’ ‘That’s a pomegranate tree,’ she said presently.  ‘We have lots of those in our gardens.’ At last they came on to the road leading to the beach and the car was parked in the grounds of an hotel, where, just a short distance away, stood a row of changing huts. ‘It’s marvellous!’ Roxanne was exclaiming a short s hort while later as she and T Tom om

 

swam side by side in the clear calm water.   ‘I never thought, this morning, that I’d be doing this this afternoon!’ No indeed. At breakfast Juan had been morosely silent  until almost the end of the meal, when he asked her what she intended doing while he was away. ‘The same as I do when you’re at home,’   she retorted,  ‘entertain myself somehow.’ ‘It’s by your own choosing that you find yourself alone so much.’ ‘It’s preferable to your company!’ Juan had thrown her an almost murderous look, but for the moment he remained quiet. He was getting used to his wife’s retorts now, since her gradual metamorphosis was making itself felt more and more as the days and weeks passed. Still timid on occasions, Roxanne was nevertheless gaining all the time in self-confidence. Her twentieth birthday was at hand, and this leaving behind of her teens added enormously to her growing confidence in herself. One thing she was always ready to admit was that it had been good for her to get away from the influence of her father and Deborah. Their over-protective treatment of her, which had run alongside the sternness, especially of her father, had without doubt been the chief factor in robbing her of strength of character and selfassurance. Yes, it was a good thing she was away from home, but a bad thing that she was with Juan. Had she married Joel she felt certain that by now she would be blossoming out instead of being at the stage when the bud was still struggling to open. However, progress was being made and now the quarrels were not quite so one-sided as they had been in the very early days of her marriage. Not that Juan was to be defied—by no means!   He let her see his mastery when he felt it to be necessary, but on the other hand he seemed not to be too resentful of the change occurring in  her. Perhaps, she would think sometimes when dwelling on this, he preferred a wife who could stand up to him a little.

 

‘You’re very quiet, Roxanne.’  It was an hour later and she was lying on the lovely golden sands, beside the small table at which they had just a few moments ago been drinking cool lemonade. The table had an exciting little palm thatch, as had all the tables along the beach. The water was like warm indigo velvet and a little way out a water-skiing contest was in progress. The beach was dotted with people but by no means overcrowded. The sky above was clear and blue, with a hot sun pouring down from it, heating the sands and the sea. ‘I was thinking,’ she told Tom dreamily. ‘About what?’  He slid down beside her but kept a small distance from her. ‘Not, I hope, anything which will mar this lovely day.’

‘I must admit I had been thinking about Juan,’ she admitted. ‘Juan, eh?’ He himself fell into a thoughtful mood for a space.  ‘He’s changed very much, obviously. And it’s your doing, Roxanne, you have to own to this.’ ‘I don’t understand?’  She sat up and stared out to sea, to where the skiers raced before great sprays of foam. ‘He was a recluse. No one thought he would ever face the world again.’ ‘I explained how that came about—that he left his home, I mean, and went to England.’ ‘Because he had seen your photograph.’ ‘And seen how like Marta I was.’ Tom cast her a sideways glance. ‘You’re ‘Y ou’re quite sure you’re like her?’

 

‘Of course I’m sure. Juan admitted that this was his reason for marrying me. Besides, I’ve seen a photograph of Marta.’ ‘Shown to you by that witch?’ ‘How do you know she looks like a witch?’ inquired Roxanne with interest. ‘Gossip. People talk. Lupita was devoted to the girl, it seems, having worked for her mother and been present at the child’s birth. Everyone wonders why she left the family to go and work for the Ramires, but she did—your husband’s father was living then, of course. The odd thing is that she kept up a most friendly relationship with Marta’s mother. People remember how she would spend all her free time at her house, playing with the baby or taking it out in the pram. Some say it was because she was so possessive with the baby that she was made to leave, but this doesn’t seem to fit in with the fact that she was still welcome at the home of Marta’s parents. It was said she was in a coma for a while after the girl’s death, and after that she was ill for a very long time. Don Juan was wonderful to her, it’s said.’ ‘How long have you known  all this?’  asked Roxanne curiously.  ‘You’ve never mentioned it before.’

‘As me a matter of fact asking few questions,’ confessed.   ‘You’d made curious, and I’ve whenbeen an old manafrom Don Juan’s  he estate called on me I put a few subtle questions to him and it all came out within minutes. It was he who said Lupita looks like a witch.’ ‘Do you know how old she is?’ ‘In her late fifties—no more, although she looks it.’ Absently Roxanne nodded.

 

‘She’s horrid,’ she said presently presently.. ‘I sometimes feel that my life would not be quite so unpleasant were she to go away. Why doesn’t she retire, I wonder?’ ‘Because she has a comfortable home at the hacienda. Probably she hasn’t anywhere else to go.’ ‘Marta’s mother—is she not living?’ ‘She died as a result of shock caused by the death of her daughter.’ Roxanne’s lovely face clouded. ‘It’s such a sad story.’ she said. ‘Sad but weird, somehow.’ Tom was frowning heavily as he raised himself on to his elbows so that he too could look out at the skiers on the water. ‘There was the death of the girl herself, then the mother. There was this malady of Lupita’s and the strange behaviour of Don Juan himself. For him to retire for a time was understandable, but ten years! It’s too incredible.’ ‘I sometimes feel that Marta is—is still about—’   Roxanne allowed her voice to fade away to silence, aware of the absurdity of her words. ‘She haunts the place, you mean?’ Tom had obviously not caught on to the reason   for cutting her sentence and she answered his question almost immediately immediately.. ‘Her presence seems to hang over the place—only on occasions, not all the while.’ He thought about this.

 

‘When Lupita’s around?’ ‘Yes,’ she returned, her brow furrowing.  ‘Yes, Tom, when Lupita’s around.’ ‘There’s your explanation. She reminds you of the girl, because it was she who showed you the photo.’ Roxanne made no comment and Tom continued, ‘How was it that she came to show it to you, Roxanne?’ ‘She just made an opening. One afternoon she came to me in the garden and began talking, without the least encouragement from me, because from the   first I couldn’t stand her—she seems—sort of—of evil, somehow.’ Roxanne stopped speaking and shuddered. Lupita had seemed a most fitting companion for Juan, during his long years of living as a hermit.   ‘She talked of Marta—that’s how I came to know the girl’s name. And she spoke of her great  beauty—’  Roxanne broke off reflectively and when she resumed she also re-lived the scene herself. ‘You’ll never have her beauty,   senora.  Don Juan thought you could be a substitute, but he’ll soon discover his mistake. Oh, yes, you’re like her in many ways, but there’ll never be another like her this side of eternity!   She was an angel out of heaven; she was pure in mind as well as in body, and that was the basis of her beauty—flawless it was,  senora.  But  you!’  Disparagingly Lupita spat on the ground at Roxanne’s feet. ‘Y ‘You ou are ugly in comparison!’ ‘I’ve never been called ugly in my life!’ ‘Well, you have now! Shall I show you what she looked like?’  Without waiting for an answer Lupita withdrew a small leather wallet from the folds over her bosom. It was stained with sweat and dirt and, revolted, Roxanne turned away. The action inflamed the woman, who with one swift move wrapped her

 

bony fingers round Roxanne’s arm just above the elbow, and let the long horny nails bite into the flesh.  ‘That’ll teach you to turn with disgust  from my lovely child! Look now—’  The photograph, stained like the wallet, and greasy from handling, was thrust up into Roxanne’s face.  ‘Well,’  jeered the crone,  ‘what have you to say now?’ ‘Admittedly she was beautiful—’ ‘Was! My sweet child is here!  Here, and she always will be, in my heart and in that of her lover.’  The dark eyes seemed filled with evil, the wide mouth, a mere slit in a face like decaying parchment, twisted and writhed as emotion—or frenzy—of some kind possessed the woman for several minutes, rendering her speechless. Her throat too seemed to be blocked and the wasted skin stretched as she swallowed, drawn into folds like the wings of a bat. The photograph was still held in front of Roxanne’s white face; the hand of Lupita shook and the edge of the pasteboard touched her chin. She recoiled and before she could even make a guess at the woman’s intention her face was slapped. ‘You—’  Roxanne stared disbelievingly, a  hand to her stinging cheek.  ‘How dare you! My husband husb and shall hear of this! T Take ake yourself away fro from m me—yourself and your precious photograph!’ The old woman straightened up, her face contorted into satanic lines. She frothed at the mouth as she tried to speak; rage had her in its grip—no, much more than rage, thought Roxanne, herself trembling both from anger and a strange unknown fear of this she-devil who seemed now to be in some sort of spasm. It was an unbridled passion that held the woman in its grip, that coloured the parchment lips blue and the fleshless cheeks a dull dark red. The storm seemed suddenly to abate and the woman was able to open her clenched teeth and speak. ‘You’re like her, yes? You see the strange resemblance that made Don Juan take you for his wife? But nothing you can do will transfer his love. He chose you as a substitute and as such you’ll satisfy his physical needs, but that is all,

 

senora, that is all.’

Tom did not speak for a long moment after Roxanne had ended her narrative. He seemed lost in reflection, and a heavy frown had settled on his brow. At last he said, No wonder you say life would be more comfortable if she went. My God, Roxanne, I don’t know how you can stomach having the woman around. Can’t you get your husband to throw her out?’ ‘He’d never do that. I don’t see much of her at all really. She keeps to the kitchen, mostly.’  Roxanne was remembering the incident of the photograph in Juan’s dressing-table drawer, and recalling that the old woman had hoped that Juan would come up and find his wife in his room. But she dismissed the memory without mentioning it to Tom, who, having sat straight up, was still frowning heavily. ‘You’ve described Lupita’s appearance most vividly...’   He appeared to be regretting those few words, even though on examining Roxanne’s face as she turned towards him, he saw that she had no idea what he had been about to say. But much later Roxanne was to learn that it was Lupita who had come into his shop, that she had in fact followed her there.

 

 

CHAPTER FIVE ROXANNE  stood watching the approach of the car as it skirted the spur and sped along the road towards the high gates of the Hacienda Ramires. As it drew into the drive she saw her husband’s dark head above the wheel and closed her eyes for one despairing moment. It had been comfortable at least while he was away, but now he had returned the old familiar misery would be on her again. His ruthless, passionate demands, his insistence that she wear the scanty wisps of lace and nylon he had made her buy. How she hated it all! Hated it because in her husband’s eyes she was Marta, his one and only love. What fiendish impulse had led him to devise a plan like that? To gaze upon her photograph, to see the likeness to the girl he had lost, to ‘arrange with Martin to meet her, Roxanne, and actually to commit a crime in order to force her into marriage. Only a devil could go to such lengths, a devil or a man who was known by the name of Black Eagle. His arrogant eyes flickered over her as he slid from the car after bringing it up to the front of the house. For a long moment he stood at the bottom of the flight of white marble steps and looked up at her. Neither spoke as their eyes met—  Roxanne’s wide and honest and of that delightful colour between violet and blue, Juan’s black as coal, with deep unfathomable depths. His mouth was thin, hers full and generous, his features cold and harsh, hers delicately contoured, warm and compassionate. No two people could have been so different, both in looks and character. An ill-assorted pair would be how  they would always be described, Roxanne had often thought. The silence was prolonged. Roxanne saw him as a statue, standing at the bottom of the steps, steps flanked by huge Italian urns in which grew  nopal —flowering  —flowering cacti with round flat leaves edged with yellow and orange flowers which, seen as now in the slanting rays of the sun, looked like fairy lights scattered among the foliage of a Christmas tree. Behind Juan, and a fair way off, the tall wide arches of an ornamental gateway were supported by white pillars smothered in brilliant scarlet bougainvillaea. The

 

whole formed a frame of sheer beauty, a frame so incongruous to the picture that for one fleeting moment Roxanne’s lips actually twitched in amusement. ‘Something funny about me, Roxanne?’   The curt crisp voice wiped the halfsmile from her face. She stepped aside as, taking the steps like an athlete, he reached the top. ‘Well?’ Arrogance and imperiousness both in his voice and his glance. She coloured a little and said no, there was nothing funny about him. ‘I was smiling at something else,’   she said, and would have gone into the house, but he caught and held her wrist. ‘Did you miss me, Roxanne?’ Was that why he had gone away? She could have laughed now, but she refrained. ‘I missed your unwanted attentions, Juan, if that is what you want to hear.’ Silence, awful and long. ‘You’ll try me too far,’  he warned in a dangerously quiet tone.   ‘You’re changing, and a little spirit in a woman is desirable—oh, yes, I realized at once that  you have been far too strictly brought up,’   he added on noticing that she was about to interrupt him.  ‘Yes, a little spirit is desirable, and I’m willing to tolerate this. What I am not willing to tolerate is insolence! Learn to speak to me with respect or by God you’ll find yourself in trouble!’ A little of the colour receded from her face at this, but she rallied for all her momentary fear fea r. ‘Yes, Juan, I’m changing as you say. You’ve overpowered me, I admit. You managed into marriage because was weak, but were haveI your timeto toforce comeme over again you would be Idoomed to failure fromyou thetostart.

 

have the courage now to make my own way in life and I could have left home and found a job, had I only had this courage  a few months ago.’ Broodingly he looked down at the hand he held in his. He turned it over, and seemed to be interested in the palm. She watched his face, saw the brooding eyes, the mouth that moved slightly, a characteristic out of place somehow, in one so hard and arrogant. ‘Let us go inside,’ he said, but retained her hand. ‘Did you have a successful trip?’  she asked, more for something to say than anything else. ‘Do you care?’ She shrugged. ‘Not particularly particularly.’ .’ Fire seemed suddenly to be ignited in the smouldering depths of his eyes. ‘Stop it,’  he snarled.  ‘Remember who I am!’  And so as not to allow her to forget he took her chin savagely in his hand and jerked it up so that she was compelled to meet his gaze.  ‘Do you want me to  resort to physical chastisement, Roxanne?’ She trembled then and shook her head. Where was her new-found courage now? Had she thought for one moment that the threat was an idle one she could have scoffed at his words, but she was not so unwise as to provoke him further, for she was very sure the threat was meant. He said quietly,

‘You ‘Y ou haven’t answered me, Roxanne.’

 

‘Need I put my answer into words, Juan? Must you humiliate me by forcing me to exhibit meekness?’ He frowned and took his hand away from her chin. She had spoken gently, her voice quivering because she still dwelt on his threat and she wondered if the day would ever come when his control broke and that threat was carried out. She must escape, she thought desperately desperately.. Tom must help her. ‘No, Roxanne,’ came the surprising answer to her question. ‘No, I don’t want to humiliate you.’  He seemed a trifle dazed, somehow, as if he had not quite absorbed what had just been said between them. He seemed strangely softened also, and to add to her surprise he put an arm around her shoulders in the most gentle way, way, and together they went into the house. By rights, she was thinking a short while later as she dressed for dinner, she should have shied away instinctively from that arm that had slipped so unexpectedly round her shoulders, in the manner reminiscent of a loving husband glad to see his wife after an absence from home. But for some inexplicable reason she had not resented his touch or even had the slightest inclination to twist away, because contact with him was so abhorrent to her, as would have been the case before he went away. When she came down he was at the bottom of the stairs and unbelievable as it seemed she had the conviction that he had been waiting for her. And even more unbelievable, he was smiling as she had never seen him smile before—at least, not since their marriage. He had smiled rather charmingly on the night he had been so bent on mischief; yes, indeed, because he had wanted to reassure her so that she would trust him. ‘You look adorable, Roxanne.’  Another surprise. She could only stare, bewildered not only by his attitude but by her own reaction. No longer had she any wish to be hateful with him, and on endeavouring to explain the reason for this she reached the only feasible conclusion: that it were more comfortable, for the present, to refrain from any form of provocation. And so she returned his

 

smile and said a shy  ‘thank you’  in response to his words of flattery. His smile deepened. He said they would have drinks on the verandah. The verandah he had chosen was in the same wing as the dining-room, which was in one of the wings enclosing a quadrangle, but the verandah looked out on to the lovely south-facing part of the grounds. In front was a lake, lying motionless, and coloured a dull silver grey in the fading light. The glory of the garden could still be discerned despite the rapidly falling dusk. Flowers of infinite variety filled the gardens; the air was sweet with the heady scent of tuberoses and limes. Indian laurels formed dark patches against the sky; palms and cypresses swayed gently in the soft zephyr coming from the shore below. Now and then a whiff of jasmine would mingle with the other perfumes and occasionally a bird with a coral-coloured beak would swoop into the purple bougainvillaea vine that showered the low wall behind the lake. It would disappear for a few seconds, reappear, then swoop again. ‘Another drink, Roxanne.’ Her husband’s voice came softly, untinged by that too-familiar arrogance or the warning crispness that she so often heard. ‘Yes, please, Juan.’ ‘You’re ‘Y ou’re very preoccupied,’ he said, and absently she nodded. ‘It’s so lovely out here, and so peaceful.’ ‘You ‘Y ou want to enjoy it in silence, is that it?’ Turning from her contemplation of the garden, she looked at him. Immaculate he was in white dinner jacket and tie ... but nothing could change that formidable countenance. ‘You want to talk?’ she asked, surprising herself as well as him. ‘It would be nice to converse,’ he replied, helping himself to another drink.

 

She said after a pause, ‘Have you and I anything to converse about?’

‘Wee could sur ‘W surely ely find something.’ She gave a deep sigh. ‘I wonder?’ ‘You ‘Y ou don’t want to talk, do you, Roxanne?’ She was puzzled. He was so different. There was a softness about him she had noticed before and for no  reason at all she was recalling Tom’s suggestion that she had, perhaps subconsciously, really wanted to marry Juan. It was a preposterous suggestion, she should by rights have decided, but she didn’t. On the contrary, she had been bewildered   by her own incredible uncertainty. And now, as she sat with him, in the soft purple twilight, she was again bewildered by uncertainty. She loved Joel, she reminded herself ... but somehow Joel’s face was becoming difficult to focus. Her husband’s indrawn breath reminding her that he awaited an answer to his question, she found herself smiling spontaneously and saying, ‘Of course I want to talk. I’ve nothing much to say, though—at least, nothing of interest.’ He seemed to sigh, but inwardly. ‘We’re ‘W e’re awkward with one another, aren’t we?’ She did not think that he was ever awkward. She herself most certainly was, practically all the time.

 

‘Tell me what you were doing in Mexico City,’ she pressed, feeling this might ‘Tell ease the situation. ‘It was a business trip,’  he said.  ‘But I stayed with my married sister, Margarita.’ ‘You ‘Y ou di did?’ d?’ Roxanne was eager e ager now. ‘What’s she like? How long has she been married? How old is  she—?’  A laugh broke the rest and amusement   brought a staggering change to her husband’s face. He could be handsome, she found herself admitting, but qualified that by adding,  ‘In an austere way, though. He would always appear aloof and superior and a tiny bit hard.’ ‘She’s not at all like me—in fact she has light brown hair and blue eyes and she’s very pretty—at least, I think she is. And, question number two: Margarita has been married for two and a half years and has a boy of one year, so you’re an aunt. She’s twenty-five years old.’ ‘She has a child...’  Roxanne’s eyes became dreamy. She and Joel had often talked about children. They both agreed that two was the right number. She had been shy at first, she remembered, but Joel had teased her out of this quite early in their courtship. ‘You like children?’ her husband asked gently, and she nodded automatically. ‘Perhaps one day—’ ‘No!’ The one small word spoke volumes and his face hardened. Roxanne bit her lip till it hurt. She was regretting the thoughtless interruption without knowing why. It wasn’t possible that she could want Juan’s child, she told herself fiercely. No, it was not !

‘It’s time we went in,’  he said harshly after a while. ‘Finish your drink.’

 

‘I’m sorry—’  The apology was as involuntary as  the interruption had been and it only served to increase the hardness of his face. ‘I’m amazed that you should apologize,’ he said.  ‘But you needn’t, Roxanne. It isn’t effective anyway anyway.’ .’ She picked up her glass, aware of misery sweeping over her. She and Juan were back where they had begun, and through her fault alone this time. But why this misery? It was not as if she really desired to improve her relationship with her husband ... or was it? Bewilderment grew; with a sort of frantic urgency she tried to see Joel’s face and failed. What was coming over her?—what unwanted change was taking place? She looked at the man opposite to her, his glass in his hand, his eyes staring broodingly into hers. Incredible as it was Roxanne received the impression that he was sad, and lonely. She shook her head in a dazed kind of way. How could a man who   had learned to live alone, as Juan had, be lonely? It was her own fanciful imagination, she told herself, and yet an uncontrollable surge of compassion rose to take possession of her, and at the same time she had a pressing desire to do something to assuage his unhappiness  —and her own. ‘Must we go in yet?’  she began awkwardly, for she had no clear idea how to go about putting her desire into effect.   ‘It’s so delightful out here. Can’t we at least watch the sunset?’ His dark eyes came up; he now appeared a trifle bewildered, a circumstance that amazed his wife, since bewilderment and the inordinate strength of character possessed by Juan certainly did not go together. ‘Is that what you want, Roxanne?’  Her name rolled attractively; this was the first time she had noticed this since their marriage, for the simple reason that she never really listened with any concentration. ‘I’d like to, yes, Juan. But if you prefer to go  in...?’

 

Slowly, as if with great difficulty, Juan smiled.  ‘We’ll stay out for a while, Roxanne,’ he agreed gently. And then, just as if he too were feeling strange and diffident, he asked her if he could pour her another drink. She didn’t want it, but she said yes, and his eyes met hers as he poured it for her. They smiled at her and her mouth fluttered. Something immeasurably pleasant happened inside her, like the life-giving flow of warm blood after cold unconsciousness. She knew some strange phenomenon was occurring; she never tried to fathom what it was, but entered into conversation with her husband  who had just mentioned his sister again. ‘I’d like to meet her,’ said Roxanne, ‘and some other of your relations.’ ‘You would?’  He seemed to consider for a space and then,   ‘I’ll invite Margarita and her husband over one day. They’re naturally curious,’ he smiled. ‘They must consider it strange that you haven’t let them meet   me before this?’ ‘They accepted long ago that I am a strange, withdrawn sort of man—an introvert. And so they’ve become resigned to my peculiarities. As I said, they’re curious, but never would they intrude on my privacy. They’d never come uninvited, or even ask to be allowed to come here.’ Roxanne was shaking her head. ‘I always wished I had lots of brothers and sisters,’   she said.  ‘I don’t know how you could have cut yourself off from them the way you did.’ ‘There was a reason, as you know.’ How strange that she and Juan could talk like this, thought Roxanne. She herself had held her breath after bringing Marta indirectly into the conversation, wondering if Juan would retreat into his shell as a result of it, but instead he had

 

scarcely been affected at all. Could it be that he was now becoming cured of the pain that had lasted so long? The sun was dropping in the sky; it was a miracle of colour and changing light that Roxanne never tired of watching. ‘Look, Juan,’  she said impulsively,  ‘it’s like a fantastic spray of lacy plumage! It always begins like that.’ He said nothing and she turned eventually. His eyes were fixed on her own animated face and not  the glow that was spreading over the sky. She blushed and lowered her long dark lashes. A soft laugh broke the silence and a hand reached across the table and caressed her cheek. No resentment on her part, no shudder at the contact of his flesh with hers. What was happening to her? she asked herself again, and, as before, she made no attempt to go any further than that. ‘You’ll never see sunsets anywhere like those you see here,’   he murmured at length, draining his glass and rising to his feet. ‘How can there by so many colours?’ Roxanne stared breathlessly as the lacy plumage she had mentioned gave way to a stronger pattern of colour ranging from pale pink through several delightful shades of rose to crimson and deep burnished copper. A great arc of light and colour was now spread over the sky, like the open wings of a fabulous bird. The horizon was enveloped entirely and the still calm sea, vaguely discernible in the far distance, was set on fire. ‘Nature is wonderful,’  Softly the response came to her and she turned her head. Juan’s hand reached for hers and she was assisted to her feet. His arm went around her shoulders, s houlders, possessively, as she expected, but tonight there was a gentleness in his touch that was entirely new. Her mouth quivered a little, portraying emotion within her. Juan bent his head and kissed it, fleetingly.  ‘It’s all over, Roxanne,’ he said. ‘So now we’ll go in and have dinner.’

 

She sat at her dressing-table combing her hair, her mind confused. This evening had been a pleasure and she had not wanted it to end. Yet all the while she was vaguely aware of being poised on a sword edge, that one misplaced remark from her could bring forth all her husband’s arrogance, if not his anger. She had been thetocandle the devil’ were, and why  ‘holding she should have wanted do so.toShe found as noitanswer, butshe shewondered was brought acutely to the knowledge that the relationship between Juan and herself was such that either could soothe the other into a state of superficial amicability or, conversely, they could by a word arouse anger and bring about disunity. She supposed that in reality both were poised on the sword edge; it was an uncomfortable existence, but this evening had proved that, with a little endeavour, life could be made a little more pleasant for them both. Was this what she wanted? She told herself at this stage that the only thing which mattered was the interval between the present and the time when she was in a position to leave her husband. And this interval might as well be passed as comfortably as possible. Her musings were brought to a halt as she heard the creak of the door between the two bedrooms. Through the mirror she saw her husband framed in the aperture. She lowered her eyes, all the revulsion she had ever felt for him returning to flood her whole body. She shivered, but hoped he hadn’t noticed, for there was still compassion in her. She said in a sort of desperation, ‘I’m very tired, Juan.’ He came into the room and stood by her stool. ‘You ‘Y ou don’t want me to stay?’ She gave a small gasp at this, since it was the first time he had said anything like it. At any other time he must surely have responded with some arrogant reminder that he was her husband—with rights. Now, however, his words affected her most strangely, dissolving much of her revulsion, and stemming her

 

own retort that would surely have been, ‘Why ask? I never want you to stay.’ ‘I’m tired,’ she repeated, unable to find anything else to say. ‘Very well.’  And all he did was to stoop and kiss the top of her head.   ‘Good night, Roxanne,’ he said gently, and left her. She stared at the closed door, blinking unbelievingly. What was happening to him? Where was his mastery, his arrogant possessive manner, his indifference to her suffering, her sheer agony every time he made love to her? At all other times he had taken her, subduing her with all the pitiless unconcern of the conqueror. Rising at last, Roxanne got into bed, her mind at rest for the first time since her marriage—except for the past few days, when Juan had been away from home. No tenseness tonight, no lying taut, listening for the creak of the door, no shudder of hate and fear and revulsion as Juan slipped into bed beside her. With a deep sigh of content she turned her face into the pillow and fell into a sound and restful sleep. The following morning Roxanne was out walking before breakfast. She wandered through avenues of trees, across wide velvet lawns, along shady paths and terraces. The private chapel of the hacienda was away in the woods and she went towards it automatically. She had been inside it only once; it had appeared at the time to be neglected and she surmised that it had never been used for many many years. The door was open and, about to pass, she stopped, intending to close it. Her eyes dilated and her breath caught suddenly. For there, kneeling before the altar, was her husband. The discovery was a staggering shock, almost a knock-out blow. Juan to be kneeling there, praying. It wasn’t possible! He was an infidel, a throwback from barbarian ancestors ... the Black Eagle. Roxanne stood for a long while, rooted to the ground, still unable to believe the evidence of her own eyes. Juan praying, her mind kept repeating, as if it required this in order that she could accept what she saw.

 

Juan stirred and this movement galvanized her into action; she trod silently at first, but then began to run. He must never know she had seen him there, in that most humble position. For what was he praying? How could a man like Juan need prayer anyway? Roxanne wouldn’t make any sense out of it, but of course she was forced to accept what she had seen. Naturally she felt awkward when she met him at the breakfast table. She knew she went red, and when he bade her good morning she stammered a reply. Puzzled, he asked her what was wrong and she managed a smile. ‘Nothing, Juan,’ she replied, and sat down on the chair he had ready for her. ‘I’ve been thinking,’  he said after a while,   ‘we could go and visit my sister and her husband; that might be more convenient for them, as my brother-inlaw’s hours of business are erratic anyway, and for him to have time off would most probably throw him all out with his work.’ ‘He works for himself?’ ‘Of course. He’s a manufacturer of electrical equipment.’ ‘I’d like to visit them.’ She looked at him. ‘When are you thinking of going?’ ‘We could go any time.’ Roxanne thought of Tom, and her fairly regular visits to his shop. But she had warned him that she might not be coming so often in future so he wouldn’t become anxious if she failed to put in an appearance for a while. ‘Perhaps we could go next week?’ ‘Fine. Monday?’

 

She nodded. ‘How long shall we stay?’

‘Only a few days. A week at the most.’ After breakfast he went off to the room where he worked and Roxanne brought down one of the books she had bought from Tom and made herself comfortable in the lounge. She had not been reading many minutes when Lupita entered, a duster in her hand. ‘Senora ... I didn’t know you were here.’ The dark sunken eyes flickered over

her insolently. ‘I was going to do some cleaning.’ Glancing all round, Roxanne said, ‘This room’s been done, Lupita. Dolores always does it before breakfast.’ The woman’s eyes glittered. ‘Very well,’  she said thickly,  ‘I didn’t come to work. I came to talk to you, senora.’ Nerves fluttered, but Roxanne remained outwardly cool. ‘What about, Lupita?’ The woman sidled closer; Roxanne turned her face away from the hot foul breath as Lupita bent her he r thin body. ‘You ‘Y ou and your man friend—your lover!’ Uncomprehendingly Roxanne frowned, lifting her face.

 

‘What are you talking about? You’re You’re mad, Lupita. Please go away!’ ‘Mad! You call me mad? Senora, you’ll regret that insult!’ ‘I asked you to go away.’ ‘When I am ready, senora. When I have said all I want to ssay ay.’ .’ ‘Be quick, and then leave me.’ A small and heavy silence fell upon the room for a long moment before the old woman spoke. ‘I followed you to the shop of your lover lover.’ .’ ‘You—!’ Roxanne felt an icy shiver travel along her spine. ‘You followed me to the bookshop? How dare you!’ ‘The  bookshop,  senora?’  purred Lupita, ignoring Roxanne’s last sentence. ‘The shop of your lover—’ ‘Get out!’  Roxanne stood up, her book falling on to the floor. Terror had her in its grip, for she could see ahead to when Juan should be put in possession of the information Lupita would somehow manage to impart.   ‘Go away and leave me alone!’ ‘Afraid ... afraid of the Black Eagle—!’ A fiendish laugh rang out, a laugh of triumph and gloating victory. ‘And so you should be afraid, for he will kill you! Ah, senora, you would never have married him had you known the whole. Don Juan strangled a man once!’

 

‘Strangled?’  Roxanne went white.  ‘I  d-don’t believe it.’  But she was seeing him in the chapel, praying. Was he praying for forgiveness for some terrible crime? ‘Never mind that for now,  senora.  What I came to talk about was this affair you’re having with Thomas Wakefield. Wakefield.’’ ‘My husband knows that I have been to his shop,’  she began when the woman interrupted her. ‘So you fear I shall tell your husband?’ ‘I’ve said that he knows.’ ‘Knows that you talked in the shop, perhaps? Does he know you go into the house? Does he know how often you went there while he was away? Does he know that you went swimming with Thomas Wakefield?’ ‘How do you know about that?’ ‘News travels,  senora.  You were not wise to flaunt your misconduct the way you did. Your lover should have been more careful too, for he is in deadly danger now. Don Juan will kill him when he learns what he has done.’ Despite her terrible fear and her racing heartbeats Roxanne managed at last to assert herself. ‘You’re insolent, Lupita! How dare you use those terms to me, your mistress! I demand an instant  apology—’  She stopped, for on the mention of the  word mistress Lupita’s face had contorted with fury. But she appeared to be incapable of speech and Roxanne continued,  ‘An apology, Lupita, at once!’

 

‘Apology? Me apologize to you? Never,  senora!  And as for your being mistress here—fool that you are! Can’t you see that there was only one mistress here ... and she is still here, in the hearts of those who loved her—No, not only loved, senora, but worshipped, for as I told you, Marta was an angel!’ Roxanne’s eyes flashed with anger. Although sick with fear of her husband and with loathing for this evil creature, she found strength s trength to retain her dignity. ‘Leave this room,’ she ordered in a haughty voice.  ‘And remember, in future, that I require privacy—whichever room I happen to be in.’ ‘So arrogant! An Englishwoman! But this will be crushed when I have told Don Juan about your escapades.’ ‘I’ve told you to leave this room!’ Ignoring this, Lupita spat out, ‘I heard you and him talking about visiting Margarita! Just as if you really were one of the family! I shan’t let you become one of the family. I shall hound you from this house! Ah, yes,  senora,  I have watched with eyes that see everything, and I know that all is wrong between you and Don Juan—it must be, mustn’t it, when he loves the spirit of another, and when you are aware of this? Sometimes I am sorry for you, but my hate is stronger. Marta’s reigned here for eleven years. She and Don Juan were happy for a year. She would come, with her mother as chaperone, every week they would come for a few days, and Marta would run about the gardens, and Don Juan would chase her and catch her and kiss her. Two children they were—young lovers, and it was my joy to watch.’ The woman was carried away by these reminiscences and Roxanne listened, unable to move or speak, fascinated by what she heard and yet not   wanting to hear, as she felt she would have the knowledge with her every moment of her

 

life. ‘No two people ever loved as deeply as they they.. Her lovely face would light up when she saw her Juan come towards her, while his face was a picture to see, so reverent his expression, so clear and innocent, because of the adoration that looked out of it. It was a spiritual love, not a lascivious passion such as Don Juan has for you! And then my angel was called by the others to join them, and Don Juan’s heart was broken.’  Lupita stopped and Roxanne saw that her dark eyes were glassy and staring, just as if she were in a trance. Roxanne shivered violently, down-pressed by the sensation of being in a presence that was not of this world.  ‘He spent all his time in the chapel, praying for death, perhaps.’   A strange pause followed and the eyes became alive with fire now; Roxanne had the impression that all the woman had said had been leading up to this vital sentence,  ‘And he still prays—early in the morning so that you shan’t see. He prays for a release from the pain.’ An oppressive silence followed, with Roxanne’s thoughts naturally on what she had come upon that very morning ... her husband kneeling in prayer. Was this why he was praying? Were Lupita’s words true? Roxanne felt cut in two, unable to bear the thought of Juan praying for death when she, Roxanne was here, the wife he had chosen to fill the terrible gap. With absolute lack of reason or common sense she knew an overwhelming guilt, since, had she not failed him, he would not be praying for release. What was the matter with her that she should feel like this? Juan had tricked her, treated her with merciless unconcern when he took her from her home and from those she loved. And yet here she was, blaming herself in some vague unfathomable way, way, for the terrible misery that was resulting in his losing the will to live. She frowned suddenly. Something was wrong somewhere. Juan seemed too strong a man to want to die. Unable to cope with the questions that flitted into her already chaotic thoughts, Roxanne dismissed the whole matter and told Lupita once again to leave the room. And once again her order was ignored. Lupita, it seemed, would leave when she decided to do so and not when Roxanne told her to. ‘I have said that I watch with eyes that see everything,’  the old woman was

 

saying. ‘I have seen that all is not right. But since last night when he returned, a change has taken place. He was different with you as you were together at the meal, and even before that, on the verandah—’ ‘How do you come to know all this?’  interrupted Roxanne. There was something uncanny in all the knowledge k nowledge the woman had come b by y. ‘I have said I watch. I listen also,  senora, because it is loyal to my dear Marta  —my mistress!’   she spat out, glaring at Roxanne as if she had just recalled the fact that Roxanne had attached the term to herself.  ‘Yes, I listen,’  the woman went on,  ‘and it was plain that he had changed.’  She paused and once more Roxanne intervened. ‘In what way, Lupita? Be careful, for you’re about to be inconsistent.’ ‘Inconsistent?’  Although Lupita spoke excellent English she appeared not to understand this. ‘You’ve just said that my husband is still in love   with Marta, but then you have said he’s changed. I believe you were about to say he is now interested in me?’ ‘Never! I was only going to inform you that he is cajoling you so as to get you to respond to his lustful passion—which is all he’ll ever feel for you!’ Roxanne stared unbelievingly, sickened to the very depths. ‘You’ve ‘Y ou’ve listened at the bedroom door! door!’’ she accused in choking accents. A shrug answered her, and a flick of the long bony fingers.

 

‘I must discover all, for my mistress.’ ‘You’re mad!’ said Roxanne with conviction, and as before the words had the effect of inflaming Lupita. But she suppressed her rising fury and continued with what she had been saying. ‘But this cajoling, which seems to be including an introduction to members of his family, is not what I want. He must remain totally faithful to his first love. And so I work for what is right. I learn things about you, like your affair with Thomas Wakefield—’ ‘You ‘Y ou know it isn’t an affair, don’t you, Lupita?’

‘Never mind know. Juanneither will never isn’tyou an here affair. He will punish you what both, Iyes! ButDon because I norbelieve Marta it want I will assist you to make your escape. I can arrange for you to leave Mexico.’ ‘And supposing I don’t want to leave Mexico?’ ‘It is not what you want! It is what my beloved mistress wants! Her spirit runs about the gardens, but it doesn’t laugh any more! It weeps, because you are here, an interloper! You’ll agree to leave, or I shall tell Don Juan of your affair, and then he will punish you both! Think about it,  senora. I will give you two weeks only!’ And on that threat she turned and left the room.

 

   

CHAPTER  SIX

Two weeks—Roxanne dwelt on Lupita’s threat for a long while after the woman had left the room, but although the idea of escape had been with her from the start, it now seemed far less imperative that she should make plans to carry it out. That some change in her feelings towards her husband had taken place she could not deny, and yet she was faced with the knowledge that she could never reach him, not in a whole lifetime of living with him. His heart, it would seem, had died with Marta; his spirit was always with her. He had needed physical comfort, or relief, and he had chosen her, Roxanne, to fill that need. This was the role he had given her, coldly immune to any sufferings that she herself might endure. Sheweakening should beashating him,passed as sheand hadshe hated at first, but she her hatred the days andhim he were seeming to found come closer together together.. Lupita had asserted that he was cajoling her and this could be true; Roxanne had no means of finding out, and so she could only try to keep this in mind even while it would appear that Juan was beginning to like her a little. And she was sure it was not the case that he wanted to die, for occasionally now and then he would laugh, and when he and Roxanne strolled in the garden in the evening—a totally new departure—he was quite plainly contented and at peace. Lupita had implied that he prayed regularly in the chapel, early in the morning so that Roxanne should not be aware of it, prayed for death as a release from the pain of his loss. Roxanne had doubted this, since Juan’s strength of character was at variance with such a procedure. For what then had he been praying? Forgiveness for a murder? This was now dismissed from Roxanne’s mind altogether. Lupita’s brain was affected by her unhealthy worship of the dead girl and Roxanne suspected the question of the strangling, if not a figment of the woman’s imagination, was invented to frighten Juan’s wife. ‘If he could learn to like me a little,’  thought Roxanne,  ‘then we might be able to make a go of our marriage.’ But close on this came the reminder that she

 

would never be able to reach him, because of his love for the girl who had died. ‘No, we can never make a success of it, so I might as well keep my mind on leaving him.’ These and similar reflections were occupying her mind on the day she and Juan were going off to stay with his sister and her husband. She was in her room and Juan’s voice brought her back to what she was doing. He had entered and asked her if she was ready. She nodded and indicated the suitcase, open on the bed. ‘I’m just going to take something out, because it won’t close.’ He came towards the bed. ‘What have you to take out?’ ‘Those two dresses—I think.’  One was the green that he liked. She saw his expression and it seemed important all at once that she should take that particular dress. ‘I’ll unpack it all again and see what I can do without.’ But Juan was shaking his head. ‘Surely there are some more suitcases about?’ ‘I haven’t looked. These two are what I brought with me.’   She indicated the other, fastened and ready to be taken down to the car. ‘I have some room in one of mine,’  he said. ‘Give me the two dresses.’ Roxanne handed them to him, feeling strangely happy and light-hearted despite the threat overhanging her. Lupita would have to think twice anyway, before denouncing her, because Juan would want to know just how she had come by her information. It was a sign of Roxanne’s growing strength of character that she could dismiss her fears for the time being and give her mind to

 

the diversion to come. She was eager to meet Margarita and her husband; she was actually looking forward to the long drive in the car with her husband at the wheel. She anticipated pleasant meals taken on the way, and little strolls when they would get out of the car to stretch their legs. Margarita’s home was in San Angel, a district about thirty minutes’  ride out of Mexico City and it was very late when they arrived. ‘Are you tired, Roxanne?’ asked Juan, a trifle anxiously, she thought, and she shook her head.  ‘W ‘We’re e’re almost there,’  he added then, and turned into a cobbled lane where high walls rose on either  side.  ‘Here we are.’  He pulled up, but at that moment the wrought-iron gates were opened by a sallow-faced Mexican in sandalled feet who had obviously be sent to await their arrival; Juan drove through the gates and the man closed them after him. In the moonlight Roxanne saw a white house, tall and stately s tately,, standing in a paved courtyard. Juan pulled up and before either he or Roxanne had got out of the car his sister and. her husband were at the front door. This was also of heavy wrought-iron, and it slid open noiselessly on its hinges. Something was said very quickly in Spanish—a special greeting between brother and sister, surmised Roxanne—before the introductions were made.

‘We’reand delighted toRoxanne meet you, Roxanne!’ Margarita while spoke the with sincerity pleasure. waited, a little  breathless, girlobvious looked into her face; but if she saw any likeness to Marta she revealed it neither by word nor expression. They were all in the hall; Roxanne had the impression of gleaming furniture and floor, of paintings in gilt frames and cut-glass chandeliers. ‘We’re charmed, Roxanne.’  The quiet cultured voice was that of Eduardo, who, tall and straight and handsome, stood beside his pretty wife and took Roxanne’s hand in a firm and friendly grip. Roxanne felt warmth spread through her. She was most pleasantly surprised by her husband’s people.

 

‘Come on in. You must be tired and stiff and famished!’ ‘We’re none of those things,’  denied Juan with faint indignation.  ‘We’ve rested a little, we’ve eaten, and we’ve left the car several times and got rid of any stiffness we might have had.’   He turned and looked down into his wife’s face. ‘Isn’t that so, my dear?’ She nodded and smiled and answered quietly,  ‘Yes, Juan, we’ve done all those things.’ ‘Nevertheless, you’ll want something to eat,’   declared Margarita.  ‘And Roxanne will want to freshen up first.’ A few moments’  chatting ensued, with Roxanne being glanced at several times, in an examining kind of way, and then Margarita took them to their room where they found their luggage had already been taken up. ‘Supper will be ready in about twenty minutes or so,’   said Margarita.  ‘Will that give you sufficient time?’ ‘That’ll be fine, Margarita, thank you,’  replied her brother graciously, and Margarita, with a flashing smile for Roxanne, went out and closed the door door.. ‘She’s charming,’  murmured Roxanne in reply to the unspoken question in her husband’s eyes. ‘And so is Eduardo.’ ‘You’ll see the baby tomorrow,’  he said, picking up one of his suitcases and putting it on a chair chair.. ‘It’s late, but I feel I must change.’ Roxanne said nothing. She had never yet undressed before Juan and she felt she could not do so now.

 

‘Shall I use the bathroom first?’ she asked. He looked perceptively at her. ‘I’ll use the one along the corridor,’ he said, ‘and I’ll change in there too—so that you can have privacy.’ She flushed at his observance and then said gratefully gratefully,, ‘Thank you, Juan.’  But when he had gone she stood staring at the door. He surprised her all the time these days, surprised her by his increasing gentleness, by his consideration and by his strange humility which she was not quite sure she liked. Not that the humility was always in evidence, on the contrary, it was only at odd moments that she would detect it, but the fact that it was there at all amazed her. The meal which they ate was prolonged by conversation and it was two in the morning before they all went to bed. As before, Juan used the other bathroom, taking his time, deliberately she knew, so that she would have the privacy which he knew she desired. His thoughtfulness affected her profoundly, warming her heart towards him, but ever at the back of her mind was the knowledge that she was, in his eyes, not Roxanne, but Marta, and although he merely put an arm around her on getting into bed beside her, she had the greatest difficulty in not shrinking from him. The next day passed pleasantly in chatting and drinking coffee and eating. Roxanne, enchanted with little Enrique, was content to sit nursing him, and this she was allowed to do. At six o’clock he was put to bed and Juan teasingly said that as he now had his wife to himself they would go for a walk. On their return to the house Eduardo had arrived back from his place of business in the city and was already washed and changed. Roxanne went upstairs to put on another dress and no sooner had she entered the bedroom than Margarita knocked on the door and entered in response to Roxanne’s invitation.

 

‘We have a few minutes,’  she said brightly.  ‘I’ve been dying to have you to myself for a while. First of all, Roxanne, I want to say how very pleased we were to hear that Juan was married.’ ‘Thank you, Margarita.’ ‘I wonder just how much you know?’  The tentative question was phrased after a small hesitation and now Margarita’s pretty face was a trifle anxious. ‘How do you mean?’  Roxanne was guarded, naturally, as it would seem that her husband had confided very little in his sister. ‘Juan kept himself to himself for a great many years. Did you know that?’ ‘Yes, I did.’ Margarita appeared to be relieved that she had not given away any secrets. ‘Do you know the reason why he kept to himself?’ ‘Yes, Margarita, I do.’ ‘He told you about his previous engagement, then?’ ‘I learned of it from someone else, but Juan is aware that I know about Marta.’ ‘You ‘Y ou don’t mind about he her?’ r?’ ‘It was a long time ago,’ replied Roxanne in her customary gentle tones.

‘Wee despaired of his ever getting over it, Roxanne—’ Margarita broke off and ‘W

 

tears actually  dimmed her eyes.  ‘It was awful. We thought he would remain alone, cut off even from his family family,, for ever. ever.’’ Roxanne could find nothing to say to this, and after a while Margarita recovered, her composure and continued, ‘It’s like a miracle. He’s  changed so. He’s a normal man now. He talks and laughs and—oh, he is happy at last! And I am happy also. It was a blight, Roxanne, and we all have you to thank for bringing my dear brother from his seclusion.’ No more was said, and the two girls went down to dinner together. But Juan stared perceptively as they entered and later he questioned Roxanne. ‘Margarita did come and talk to me, yes,’ Roxanne admitted. ‘And asked you many questions?’ ‘A few questions, Juan.’ ‘About what?’ Roxanne looked at him and told him frankly all that had been said. ‘So they are glad that I am happy...’ he repeated  musingly when she had told him this.  ‘Ah, well—’  He broke off and shrugged.  ‘Tomorrow I am taking you into the city,’  he said, abruptly changing the subject.   ‘That’s the arrangement, Margarita tells me.’ ‘She thought it would be nice for me to see it. But if you don’t want to—?’ ‘Of course I want to. You can’t go home without seeing Mexico City.’ City.’

‘I’m very much looking forward to it. Shall we stay there all day?’

 

‘If that’s what you want? Eduardo’s meeting us for lunch, I understand?’ Roxanne nodded.

‘It’s a pity he has to work, but Margarita says it’s a very busy time for him  just now.’ now.’ ‘I expect it must be, or otherwise he’d have a day off.’ Roxanne awoke early the following morning and slipped from the bed, leaving her husband asleep. She stood for a space gazing down at the dark face against the white pillow. One fist was clenched close to his face; his lips moved silently several times as Roxanne watched. She felt an unaccountable stirring of some unknown emotion and turned away away.. There was power in him even in sleep, and even when his mouth moved like that, as a child’s would move were he lost in a dream. Crossing the room, she threw back the curtains, opened the glass doors and stepped out on to the sunlit balcony. A scarlet bougainvillaea overhung the roof and trailed down in front of her. She touched it idly, her gaze wandering over the lawns and flower beds. She was fascinated by the loofahs hanging down, looking like marrows, and by the slender birds with scarlet tails that kept alighting on them and flying off again. She breathed in the sharp clean air and felt she could have grown to love this bright tropical land if only she had come under more favourable circumstances. A slight slight noise behind her caus caused ed her to turn. Juan was on one elbow, watching her, and she blushed, vexed at not having put on some covering over the ridiculously short nightdress she wore. ‘You’re ‘Y ou’re up early early,, Roxanne. How long have you been out there?’ She came into the room proper and looked around for her dressing-gown. It was hanging behind the bathroom door, she remembered. ‘Not very long. It’s a beautiful morning.’

 

Juan’s eyes were taking in every line and curve.  ‘You look very pretty standing there, framed in the window.’

‘Thank you.’  She spoke stiffly without intending to do so and she saw him frown. ‘You ‘Y ou don’t care for flattery, do you, Roxanne?’ She shrugged awkwardly awkwardly.. ‘It—it doesn’t mean anything.’ ‘Coming from me, you mean?’ She nodded her head. ‘Yes, that’s what I mean.’ Juan said, throwing back the bedclothes, ‘In that case, let’s talk of something else. We don’t  want to spoil today, not when you and Margarita are so much looking forward to it.’ ‘Aren’t you looking forward to it?’  she had to ask. It was of importance, suddenly,, that he too should eenjoy suddenly njoy their day out. ‘Of course,’  and after a pause while he slipped into his dressing-gown, ‘Would ‘W ould it trouble you if I weren’t looking forward to it?’ ‘Naturally I want you to enjoy taking Margarita and me out.’

‘Avoiding a direct answer, eh?’  Juan picked up a small leather case and went along to the bathroom, leaving her to ponder the cryptic remark he had made.

 

‘Good morning, both!’  Margarita was saying half an hour later.   ‘I hope you slept well?’ ‘Very well, thank you, Margarita.’ Juan’s black eyes smiled at his sister. ‘And you?’ ‘Fine. Eduardo had to go early and he asked me to apologize for his not being at breakfast with us.’ Orange and pineapple juices were on the table, also slices of papaya. Roxanne helped herself to one of these slices and sprinkled it with the juice of  small limes. Margarita then ate sweet pastries, but she had toast on the table and boiled eggs were brought in by Mercedes, the girl with the bright apron who had helped to carry the suitcases upstairs. By ten o’clock they were in the city, strolling along a little street with Spanish-style houses, colour-washed in pink and with wrought-iron doors and gates. Pretty gardens were attached to each house, and people were working in them, or playing hoses on to the lawns. Turning a corner, they were in the city’s main thoroughfare—the beautiful avenue of Paseo de la Reforma. Ash trees and eucalyptus lined the road, and every so far a wide circle would appear, with a monument, and with people sitting around on stone seats, having their shoes cleaned by ragged barefoot boys who, Roxanne noticed, applied the polish with their fingers. ‘I think we’d better get the car and do some of our sightseeing with a little more speed,’ suggested Juan when they had been walking for well over an hour. ‘You’re right,’ agreed Margarita. ‘I’m footsore already!’ ‘Nonsense!’ chided her brother. ‘You can’t be.’  Turning to Roxanne, he said, ‘How about you? Are your feet sore?’ She laughed—one of her very rare laughs since coming to Mexico.

 

‘No, I’m too interested even to notice my feet.’ ‘Enjoying yourself?’

She nodded. ‘It’s terrific!’ Juan drove them to the shopping centre, a vast area spreading out in all directions. The car having been parked again they made their way towards Avenida Francisco Madero, where the most magnificent shops were situated. ‘This is equivalent to your Bond Street,’  Margarita informed Roxanne, and as she spoke she sent a surreptitious glance at her brother.  ‘Shall Roxanne and I go

off on our own for a while, Juan?’  she asked with what seemed to Roxanne rather over-exaggerated carelessness. ‘W ‘We’ll e’ll bore you with our window-gazing.’ ‘As you wish, Margarita,’ he readily agreed. ‘We’ll meet in an hour—no later, mind. We have to join Eduardo at one o’clock at the hotel.’

‘Are all these hand-made?’  Roxanne was asking unbelievingly a short while later as she and Margarita stood gazing into a shop window, looking at leather goods of every description. ‘Yes; and they’re not expensive, you’ll agree?’ ‘They’re very reasonable, compared with prices in Britain. I   do  like this country!’

‘You’re nice, Roxanne,’  exclaimed Margarita impulsively.  ‘My brother is indeed lucky—and so are we all, for that matter. My brothers and sister will be

 

quite envious when I tell them we’ve met and that you’re just about the best sister-in-law we could possibly have!’ ‘No, don’t say that—’  Roxanne stopped  abruptly, aware of Margarita’s startled glance. ‘What I mean is—I’m nothing out ou t of the ordinary.’ ‘That’s what you think. My brother wasn’t in any mood to look at a woman, so you must have been out of the ordinary to attract his attention.’ Roxanne walked on in silence. She was thinking of the time when she would leave her husband. What would his people think of her? They credited her with being fully responsible for the change in him, for bringing him back into the world of people again. They would hate her if she left Juan now. But as her desire to leave was rapidly waning Roxanne dismissed matter. In any case, Margarita was speaking again, asking if Roxanne knewthe how Juan had come to go to England, making the visit that had resulted in his marriage. ‘We were so puzzled when we heard of it,’   she went on.  ‘Even now I can’t think what made him suddenly decide to travel all that way.’ ‘He had met a friend of mine,’  Roxanne explained.  ‘This friend happened to get into the hacienda grounds because the gate was open, and he asked for a drink of water. The result was that Juan asked him to stay a while, and when he left Juan promised to visit him in England.’ ‘I still feel there’s a lot we haven’t been told. However, the main thing is that my dear brother is married, and happily so. You’ve no idea how he aged, Roxanne—not that we saw much of him, for he wouldn’t ever invite us to his home. But I did see him last year, and he looked awful. I expect he’ll get younger all the time now,’  she ended with a happy laugh. ‘I hope so—’  The words came automatically,  but Roxanne had no doubts about her sincerity as she thought about them. ‘Y ‘Yes, es, I h hope ope he does, Margarita.’

 

When they met Juan Roxanne saw that he had been shopping and without thinking she asked what he had bought. Another glance from Margarita,   similar to that when she had suggested that she and Roxanne have a short while on their own, brought a puzzled light to Roxanne’s eyes.

   ‘Mind your own business,’ said Juan, but in an easing voice edged with good humour.  ‘Can’t a  fellow do a spot of shopping without having to dis-lose his purchases to inquisitive females?’ Roxanne found herself laughing, and saying she was sorry she had asked, and she found herself wondering at her husband’s almost boyish lightness he spoke those words of teasing censure to her. It was just as if not the slightest degree of disunity had  ever passed between them. She eyed the parcel   several times as they made their way to the hotel  where they were to -have lunch with Eduardo. It was not a very big parcel, but too big to go into his  pocket. She was intrigued because now she realized  that Margarita’s action had been deliberate, so that Juan could go off on his own to make his purchase.  This meant that it was planned previously, so Juan  must have requested his sister to take Roxanne away. After teasing herself with the matter for another  few moments Roxanne put it from her, chiding herself mentally and telling herself to heed what her  husband had said and mind her own business. Two days later they were saying goodbye to Margarita and Eduardo, who was holding little Enrique in his arms and telling him to wave his hand at the departing guests.

 Adios,  my very nice sister-in-law!’  Margarita kissed Roxanne on the cheek ‘ Adios, affectionately.  ‘W ‘Wee will come and see you quite soon, won’t we, Eduardo?’

 

‘Of course, dear.’ Eduardo too kissed Roxanne’s cheek. He never said very much at all, but mostly sat listening to others talking. He was a quiet, thoughtful man, but exceedingly likeable for all that. ‘ Adios  Adios!’  said Juan as he allowed the car to move slowly from the front of the house. ‘W ‘We’ll e’ll look forward to seeing you at the Hacienda Ramires.’ ‘Adios,  Roxanne,’  called Margarita again as their  car gathered speed and

Roxanne hung a hand out of the window. ‘T ‘Take ake good care of my dear brother! brother!’’ Juan turned his dark head and looked fleeting at his wife before driving through the gates on to the road. ‘They like you,’ he said briefly, and then concentrated on his driving.

 

   

CHAPTER  SEVEN

LUPITA  came softly into the summerhouse where( Roxanne was sitting, a book open on her lap, hen violet eyes wide and dreamy, her full lips half: curved in a smile. Her thoughts had been flitting; about in all directions—first to her husband and his; growing gentleness with her which was resulting in: a lessening of her revulsion for him. Then she  had  suddenly found herself thinking of Joel, and wondering if she was ever really in love with him, because for a long while now she had failed to bring; his handsome face into clear focus. Also, with her increasing confidence and awareness of herself as   an individual and not a puppet for others to manipulate as they desired, she found herself condemning Joel for believing she could have let him down. His own experience of her shyness should have been proof and enough that she would never go off and stay with a strange man. She then allowed her thoughts to wander to her Father and Deborah. They too should have known her better than to do a thing like that. Narrow, they were, she saw that now, and much as she still loved them both she condemned them too, not only  for their mistrust and willingness to believe the  worst of her, but also for the strictness of her upbringing which had robbed her of personality. Strangely, she was unable to condemn them for forcing her into marriage with Juan. Lastly,, she had brought all her thoughts to her husband Lastly husba nd again, and this was the reason for the  dreamy gaze and the soft sweet smile on her lips. But it was wiped away by the unwelcome appearance of the old woman. ‘What do you want?’ she asked before Lupita could speak. ‘You ‘Y ou know why I’ve come, senora. Have you made your decision?’

 

‘About what, Lupita?’ Roxanne looked haughtily at her. ‘Speak out, and then leave me!’ The dark eyes glittered, evil in their depths. ‘Have a care,  senora.  You are on the brink of disaster.’   Roxanne sighed impatiently, and quite audibly, and the bony fists clenched as they lay against Lupita’s chest. ‘Must I tell Don Juan about your affair?’ ‘I don’t think I understand, Lupita. Would you  mind making yourself more clearly understood?’

‘Ho, ho! Haughty, eh! Did you learn from Dom Juan—?’ ‘Would ‘W ould you mind referring to him as my husband?’ ‘Never! You’ve noticed the omission, of course?’   Never will he be your husband! He belongs to Marta!’ ‘You’re mad, Lupita. I shall tell my husband that you must be dismissed.’ Roxanne had no such intention, mainly because her courage did not runt to those heights, would do.anIndulgent draw theand linenever at being given order. as her husband was becoming, he would ‘You—!’ A snarl broke from Lupita’s lips. ‘You’ll regret calling me mad! I’m not mad! I’m saner than you are!’   She came closer and bent her head so that her vile parchment face was close to that of Roxanne.  ‘And do you suppose Don Juan would dismiss me? Me, of all people—his only link, with our beloved Marta?’ Roxanne rose from the seat and moved towards, the door, taking in the fresh

 

air as she drew several deep breaths. ‘You may go,’ she said, and stood aside. ‘When I’m ready! I gave you two weeks, which was a long time. Now, do you leave or do I tell Dom Juan what I know?’ ‘Has it occurred to you that my husband will demand to know how you came by your information? Are you prepared to admit to spying on me? To following me? And, Lupita,’  continued; Roxanne imitating her husband’s soft voice which, to her, was more frightening than any of his louder tones,  ‘are you prepared to tell him that you’ve listened at our bedroom door?’ The woman took a backward back ward step, her face turning a sickly yellow. ‘Do you think you have a weapon?’  she snarled, her lips drawn right back.  ‘Is this why you’re not afraid?’ Undoubtedly the woman was quite out of her mind, thought Roxanne, wondering why Juan had not already discovered this. But of course, Lupita was clever, as all mad people are. She was a different person when speaking to Juan. ‘The reason I am not afraid,’  replied Roxanne, ‘is because I am innocent. My husband will accept my word that I have done no wrong.’ ‘Is it not wrong to go with another man, taking off your clothes and wearing practically nothing?’ ‘Where did you get that information?’ ‘You’re not so clever as you think,  senora.  You left this scanty clothing in your bathroom to dry. I saw it there.’

 

Roxanne swallowed hard, for a tiny ball of fear was beginning to settle in her throat despite her outward air of confidence. ‘Shall you own to this when my husband questions you?’ she inquired at last. ‘I have a right to be in your bathroom,  senora ... I was cleaning it.’ ‘You have an answer for that, but not for anything else. My husband will dismiss you instantly if you dare to tell him anything that you have learned by spying.’ The old woman was plainly put out by all this, and she fell silent for a long time dwelling on it and,  Roxanne surmised, endeavouring to find something to say which would turn the tables on the girl she so hated. But Lupita failed and, much to Roxanne’s satisfaction, and in a lesser degree to her surprise, Lupita came from the summerhouse and shuffled away towards the back of the hacienda. A victory at last! Elation soared within Roxanne for several minutes, but then she sobered, facing realities and the fact that this victory was by no means permanent. Lupita with her cunning unbalanced mind must surely devise some way of circling round the obstacle, and when this happened the temporary respite would over. Roxanne haddown spoken confidently of her husband’s believing in herbeinnocence, but deep inside she had grave doubts about this. True, Juan was slowly changing, becoming less dictatorial and frightening, less possessive and demanding in their intimate life. He had acquired a certain gentleness also, and amazed though Roxanne was to admit it, she had been so affected by this gentleness and thought for her: sensitive feelings that not only was her revulsion growing less, but the memory of his former cruelty was beginning to fade. In fact, she found herself making excuses for it, as now she was understanding her husband’s h usband’s nature better.

Unpredictable and possessed of the traitsunto of his wild barbarous ancestors, he was, as she had previously asserted, a law himself. But although there was

 

this arrogant overbearing side to his character there was another. Yes, indeed, thought  Roxanne, recalling incidents that were becoming, more numerous now. Tender he could be, and anxious about her. And there were these occasional traces of humility which she glimpsed; at these times, had she not known of his deep love for the dead Marta, she could almost have believed he was imploring her to give him some affection. Yes, it was true that he was changing, but Roxanne was under no illusions regarding the reappearance of his savagery should he hear of her having gone to Acapulco with Tom. Tom. And to infuriate him more was the fact that she had refused to go with Juan himself when he asked if he could take her there for the day. She still stood by the door of the summerhouse and she looked across, beyond the fountain, as a movement caught her eye. Juan, walking, stopping to look at the flowers. How lonely he seemed—a big man and confident, but lonely. In imagination she saw the lovely young girl, running about as Lupita had described, and the young and happy Juan chasing her and catching her ... and kissing her. They had been like children, Lupita had said, and Roxanne, by nature romantic in spite of her innate shyness, could visualize the gay and carefree couple in each other’s arms—Her thoughts trailed  and she swallowed a little lump that blocked her throat. Such a sad story, she had already said, but one on which she suddenly had no further inclination to dwell. She did not want to imagine another girl in Juan’s arms; she was experiencing a strange hurt at the idea of laughter their deep love through for one the another, of their  joyous ringing gardens of themoments hacienda.of intimacy, of their Restlessly she began to stroll towards the house; her movement was caught by Juan’s eyes and he turned his head. Even across the distance she saw, his smile, a swift spontaneous smile as if he were inordinately pleased to see her. ‘I wondered where you’d got to,’  he said on reaching her side.  ‘I’m thinking of having a swimming; pool—it’s long overdue, but there was no necessity for it  —’  He broke off and frowned at what he  obviously thought was a lack of tact.

 

‘You and I shall find a very good use for a pool, Roxanne,’   he soon continued. ‘Come, help me to choose a place for it.’ ‘Me?’  Absurdly she was happy, just because he had asked this   of her.  ‘You really want me to help?’ ‘But of course,’  His arm slipped into hers.  ‘See what you think about this place over here.’ His hand found hers; for the first time since their marriage she knew that pleasant sensation she had experienced on the night he danced with her. On that occasion there had existed a strange unknown fear alongside the pleasure, but today the fear was absent.

‘This place,’  she said when Juan had taken her to a spot where a wide green lawn was almost surrounded by exotic trees and shrubs.  ‘It’s a fairy glade, Juan, and it is very odd indeed, but I had already thought it would be an excellent place for a swimming pool.’ ‘You had? Yes, it is odd,’   He became thoughtful for a space and Roxanne thought, ‘If we do have a pool it will be something that Marta never saw. It will be part of me and not her.’ Strange musings for a wife who had sworn always to hate her husband, never ever to approach the borderline of forgiveness... ‘It’s so sheltered, so private too.’ ‘We could have ornamental trees planted at the sides, the trailing kind that would bend their branches into the water.’ ‘Not all around, though, because we have all this vegetation already.’

 

 

‘Certainly not all around. What do you suggest?’   Roxanne felt his fingers caressing the back of her hand and she glanced up into his face and a smile fluttered. His eyes, unmoving, watched her expression intently; his lips responded to her smile. ‘I wonder if the trees would look nice at the corners—no, not at every corner. They’d be too uninteresting. We don’t want a severe kind of pattern, do we?’ He shook his head. ‘I did have in mind a kidney-shaped pool—’ ‘But of course! How unimaginative of me! I was thinking of a rectangular one. A kidney-shaped one would give us more scope for the trees.’ ‘And what about rockeries and things around—in the curves, for instance?’ ‘Lovely! And we could have miniature waterfalls.’ ‘With the water running over the rocks.’ ‘It sounds wonderful!’  She glanced around at the setting already established. The vegetation included frangipani trees with their fragrant, creamy blossoms, the orange poincianas and the mauve bougainvillaeas. Pink oleanders formed low hedges, with yellow jasmine and blue plumbago breaking up the line so that severity was avoided. Roses, carnations and poppies splashed their colour in a border, and rising above the whole delightful scene  were taller trees including stately palms. ‘When will it be started?’ she asked, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. ‘Immediately.. I’ll get a contractor in right away.’ ‘Immediately ‘How long will it take?’

 

‘That I can’t say, Roxanne.’  He appeared amused by her impatience, for his black eyes twinkled. ‘W ‘Wee shall have to hurry hurr y them, shan’t we?’ Shy all at once, because of the intimacy of this scene, and the way her husband looked and spoke, Roxanne merely nodded in response to his question, and averted her head, unable to grasp that spark of light which once before had appeared and then elusively flickered out. Her husband’s possessive hand forced her head up and she was compelled to look into his face. ‘Wh-what is it?’ she faltered, because she just had to speak. ‘You’re so beautiful. This hair ... copper tints—And those eyes that change colour—’ ‘Oh!’ Revulsion sweeping through her, she sprang away from all contact with him.  ‘I hate you!’  Tears rose swiftly to blur her vision. All her happiness had fled at his words, spoken half to himself, words so reminiscent of those which were so revealing on a previous occasion—at the dance, when Roxanne had swiftly grasped the fact that her colouring was like that of his dead  fiancée.  ‘I hate you and I always will!’  And without even noticing his amazed reaction to her outburst, Roxanne turned and ran across the lawn, disappearing from his sight as she left the place which only minutes ago she had happily described as a fairy glade. Once in her room she allowed the tears to fall. After so intimate a scene, after they had together planned the swimming pool  —the one thing in the whole of the grounds that could not be in any way associated with Marta—he had then allowed himself to become lost in the past, seeing his old love again, in Roxanne, recalling her looks and colouring, her beauty. Roxanne was no longer the girl he  I  had snatched from her home and her loved ones; she was Marta, his dearly beloved.

 

Roxanne felt so sick she could have vomited. What unhealthy passion kept alive the spirit of one girl in the body of another? Juan was no mere throwback from barbarians, he was a fiend—unclean in deed and thought, sadistic. Without compunction he could make love to her pretending it was Marta he held in his arms; and that pool ... Roxanne saw now that he had planned it with Marta, while she herself had experienced such happiness and pleasure at believing   she was the one in his thoughts, by telling herself that this one thing would be totally unconnected with his old love. Yes, he had planned it with Marta, and he would watch it grow with her ... would eventually swim in it with her—  ‘No, he won’t  —unless it’s with her ghost! I shall never enter it, never!’  And quite without conscious endeavour Roxanne was possessed of great courage and strength. She would no longer participate meekly in his sadistic pretence; she would fight him; would not allow him to come near her any more. And very soon she would leave him. This latter resolve was the one on which she dwelt. There were the alternatives: Tom or Lupita. To  have any dealings with Lupita was too loathsome, she decided one moment, but the next moment she was remembering Lupita’s declaration that she could get her out of the country, whereas Tom would never be able to do so without her being in possession of her passport. The first thing to do, Roxanne decided, was to see if she could get hold of it. It must be either in Juan’s bedroom or his study. Well, the next time he went off somewhere she would search. But she would have to be on her guard, for Lupita would undoubtedly be prying. Roxanne became tensed, ears alert; Juan entered without knocking and stood staring down at her, bewildered yet angry too. ‘Roxanne,’ he said sternly, ‘what was the meaning of that ridiculous outburst?’ ‘You know very well,’ she returned suffocatingly.  ‘I shall not speak of it with you!’

 

He frowned in puzzlement.  ‘I know?’  he repeated.  ‘I’m quite sure I don’t, Roxanne.’ Her violet eyes changed colour as they raked him with contempt. ‘Is there any need to act?’  She turned away from his piercing glance.   ‘You know why you married me; that’s sufficient explanation for my outburst, as you call it. And now,’ she said with quiet dignity dignity,, ‘do you mind leaving me?’ Silence. She supposed his expression was one of anger, but she made no move to turn and find out. ‘The reason why I married you has something to do with that exhibition out there?’  His voice reflected his continued puzzlement.   ‘I don’t think I understand, Roxanne.’ ‘Stop acting!’ she exclaimed angrily. angrily. ‘You’re just wasting time! I’ve said I’m not talking about it!’ ‘Turn around,’ he ordered softly softly..

‘I shall not! I’ve told you to leave ‘me!’ She was almost in tears, yet beneath her misery was the satisfied awareness that her strength was being sustained, much to her own surprise. A few weeks ago she would never have had the temerity to speak to him like this. ‘Turn around!’ he thundered, but gave her no time to obey him as, roughly roughly,, he gripped her arms and twisted her body towards him.  ‘I demand to know what this is all about!’ Roxanne’s contemptuous gaze slid from his face to his feet and back again. Enraged at her action, ac tion, Juan shook her.

 

‘Leave me alone!—and get out of here.’ ‘Get out?’  This time his temper did break and she was shaken till she cried. ‘Don’t you dare talk to me like that! I’ll leave this room only when I’ve had an explanation that satisfies me!’  His face was dark with fury and more than ever she was reminded of his being a throwback, with the name of the Black Eagle. The aquiline features were accentuated by the deep furrows on his brow, the result of his fury; the thin-lipped mouth was drawn back to show his teeth, and a pulse throbbed in his cheek. Roxanne’s courage began to ebb, but only for a second. She would stand up to him—she must! Were she to be overwhelmed by his power now then how should she be able to reject him when he appeared in her room tonight? And she meant to reject him, as her vow to put an end to his unhealthy pretences was unwavering. But how could she explain her conduct out there just now? As she was not intending to mention his dead fiancée she said at last, managing to pull herself from his hold on her arms, ‘If you must know, all my old loathing for you returned. Your words about by appearance brought back similar words you’d spoken to me at our very first meeting, and brought back all that you’d done to me. I hate you, Juan,’   she ended, strangely calm, though very pale. ‘And now please go.’ The dark face contorted. ‘You’re lying!’ he snarled, and took hold of her again, and this time she cried out with the pain he inflicted upon upo n her. ‘I want the truth!’ ‘It was the truth,’ she quivered, eyes brimming as his merciless grip tightened on her bare arms. ‘I swear it was the truth.’ And of course it was ... but not all of it by any means. He examined her face through a narrowed gaze; which she met unflinchingly.

 

‘I see that it is the truth.’  He spoke more quietly now, but he flung her from him with such violence that she staggered back and would have fallen had he not swiftly caught her again. And he drew her close to meet his hard and sinewed body; his lips possessed hers and she suffered for what she had said. ‘So you loathe me, do you?’ Guttural and low the voice as his mouth came from hers. ‘Then we are back where we began, it seems?’

She was under no illusions as to what he meant. All the gentleness she had known of late, the little attentions, the anxious glances when she was tired ... these were to be hers no more. What did she care? Her next move anyway was to make plans for leaving him. She stared at the closed door for a long while after he passed through it, his stride and bearing dignified in spite of the fury consuming him. And then her eyes moved to the other door and she found her footsteps taking her towards it. Was her passport somewhere in there? Sure that her husband would not come up, at least for a while, she pushed the door inwards and entered his room. The drawer she had opened once before now contained only the cuff-links and tieclip. Juan must have had the photographs out, she thought, and felt choked as she imagined his gazing at them ... gazing and gazing, for a long while. She opened several of the other drawers, but they contained only clothes. Another drawer contained several diaries which she ignored, closing the drawer again. With a sigh she looked around. There was only the wardrobe and she did not imagine her passport would be hidden away in there. Nevertheless, she opened the door and looked inside. Many clothes were hanging there, and many shelves were filled with sweaters and undergarments neatly folded. Sliding her hand beneath these, she gave a sigh. No success here, so it seemed the passport was in his study, which would not be so easy to enter, since it was on the ground floor, and Lupita would be about. It was as she was closing the door again that her eyes lighted on a parcel lying in one corner, on the floor of the wardrobe. She stared at it, fascinated by the pretty wrapping-paper and the rosette made of blue and white and pink ribbon. Stooping, she touched it, memory flooding in to bring to mind the parcel her

husband had been carrying on the day   they had gone into Mexico City. The

 

same size—And it was now tied up as a present would be tied up. Sure that it was the same parcel, Roxanne was also sure that it was a birthday present for her. Shuddering, she swiftly closed the wardrobe door ; and returned to her own room. He was intending to give her a present, that was obvious ... and he, would imagine to himself that he was making the gift to his old love... That night when he arrogantly entered her room, she faced him, fully dressed, and told him he could not stay. An astounded silence followed her quietly spoken words, while those black eyes slowly kindled with a light that would have terrified her a short while ago. But now she was a different person, imbued with a courage born of what she knew was right. Their relationship was sordid and immoral; moreover, it was a torture to her, though a pleasure to her husband ... a pleasure that was unbearable to dwell upon, since it was such that only a fiend could derive. ‘What did you say, Roxanne?’  inquired Juan softly after a while.  ‘I don’t think I’ve heard aright.’ The arrogance of him!—dark foreigner that he was! Fury and resentment burned deeply within her, adding fuel to her courage. ‘You heard aright. I’m not willing any longer to endure what I loathe. I’m not intending to continue being a puppet—’  A puppet in the likeness of Marta, she was about to add, but managed to stem the words.   ‘I was forced into marriage because I was weak, but I’m weak no longer. My life is my own, not yours to manipulate as you wish.’  Her violet eyes were changing colour, revealing the strong emotions that possessed her. She was very pale but perfectly composed. Should he decide to use violence on her she would be helpless, but mentally she would be victorious, and unless he was totally insensible to her hatred he would derive not one jot of satisfaction from the physical victory. ‘You appear to enjoy using the word loathe,’  he remarked, and his voice appeared on the surface to have a casual ring to it ... but beneath ... the savage was there.

 

‘It’s a fitting word for my feelings about you.’ He was advancing towards her and instinctively she recoiled from him, aware of the increased thudding of her heartbeats. Unconsciously she extended a hand as if she would ward off a blow and he stopped in his tracks, swallowing strangely. But there was a twist to that thin mouth and the eyes burned into her. She gazed with wonderment, for it had come to her that a struggle of some kind was being effected within him. And gradually, to strengthen this suspicion, his eyes took on a brooding expression which took most of the harshness from his face. The mouth moved strangely as if by some muscle he could not control; his hands fell to his sides, clenched. And without another word he turned and a moment later his bedroom door was pushed to and the catch clicked quietly. quietly. For a very long time Roxanne stood, keeping a watchful eye on the door, unable to believe that he had been the one to retire from the fight. She had fully expected him to swoop with the masterful air of the victorious aggressor, and instead he had gone quietly away and left her alone. That he intended initially to assert his strength she was sure. What then had brought about what could only be described as a capitulation? It was all very puzzling, but the chief thought in Roxanne’s mind was that he had left her in peace. He would not return, she felt sure ... now or at any time in the future. Slowly she undressed and got into bed, but she failed to capture sleep. For all she could see, as she lay there in the darkness, was the kneeling figure of her husband as she looked in through the chapel door, the humble figure of Juan, his head bent in prayer.

 

   

CHAPTER  EIGHT

THE  morning of her twentieth birthday dawned a week later and she had not done anything about making plans for her escape. She kept seeing Juan in that chapel, and this behaviour of his could not be reconciled with the blackness of his character as she herself had painted it. Was there something she did not understand about the whole situation? If she remained at the hacienda would she discover what this something was? As Juan never came to her now she was at least comfortable, so there really wasn’t any urgency about leaving him. That her procrastination was prompted by some exceptional motive never occurred to her—at least, not at this time. She had visited Tom during the past week and learned that Phil had written to him. She had not mentioned a meeting, but Tom was obviously optimistic, and only now did Roxanne realize just how deeply he cared for the girl. ‘Do you think it’s hopeful—her writing the letter, I mean?’  Anxiously he awaited Roxanne’s reply and she gave it instantly—the one she knew he wanted to hear. ‘I most certainly do, Tom. I’m sure there’s some very good reason for her deciding to write to you.’ Tom eventually asked about Roxanne’s relationship with Juan, and naturally she adopted a reticence r eticence which T Tom om regarded with a high degree of perception. ‘You’re not now sure about leaving him,’  he said, and it was a statement rather than a question. She made no response for a space and then, quite truthfully,

 

‘I’ve changed my mind, Tom. I don’t ever want to leave him now.’  And with that admission the staggering truth broke through. She was in love with her dark mysterious husband, the man they called the Black Eagle. How had it come about? she was asking herself as she lay in bed, rather vaguely aware that she had left her teens behind. There had been one or two occasions when a glimmer of light had infiltrated her consciousness, from somewhere in the deep recesses of her mind, but she had failed to comprehend its meaning. And even had a glimpse of the truth seeped through, she would instantly have dismissed it as ridiculous in the extreme, for hadn’t she sworn to hate her husband for all time? Yet now; all he had done seemed to fade into insignificance, even while, paradoxically, the reason for the marriage was acutely at the forefront of her mind. But in this new state of self-revelation, she mustered hope, in a desperate kind of way, determined to find a means of making her husband forget his old love. Surely it was a forlorn hope she harboured? Juan had loved Marta for almost eleven years; he had married Roxanne so that in imagination he could be with his   fiancée  again. So what chance had she, Roxanne, of winning him for her own? ‘I shall try!’  she told herself, deeply conscious of her courage and selfconfidence—acquired only through her contact with Juan and for which she had him to thank.  ‘And when he gives me my present today I shall accept it graciously and not throw it back at him as I intended. I’ll not let myself remember it’s really for Marta—whose birthday isn’t on this date anyway—but I shall accept it as mine, and convince myself he chose it for me and not for her.’ And it was with a light heart that she rose and bathed and dressed. She and Juan had scarcely spoken to one another for the past week and the gap was ever widening. He had kept to his own room and although she still preferred it that way, in spite of her newly discovered love for him, it did seem that, had he come to her, the more easily she could have built up the fortifications of endeavour that eventually might be too strong for her husband to battle against. For surely if she gave freely of her own love, he would in time come to care for her a little?

 

Several birthday cards were brought to her on a tray by Luis as she came down to breakfast. One from her father, she noticed, and one from Deborah. Claire had remembered and so had Margarita. And there was an unexpected card—from Joel, containing an indifferent verse and the words, ‘Wishing you happiness on your birthday, Joel.’ No sign of sadness or longing on reading this. But why should there be, when she now loved Juan above everyone else in the world—? But where was his card? She found herself swallowing a little lump in her throat before realizing that he would most probably have put the card in with the present, and so expectantly she waited for him to come down, rehearsing what she would say to him, and how she would look at him, so that he would forsake the harshness that had fallen upon him since the night she had successfully rejected him. Perhaps they would stroll in the garden, and she would guide him towards the spot where they had planned to put the swimming pool, the pool that had not been started yet despite Juan’s decision to get in a contractor right away. And once there, she must try hard to forget what happened before and pick up from where they had so happily been planning, from the moment before he had spoken those fateful words that had sent such revulsion surging through her body. She turned swiftly as he entered the breakfast-room, and her heart seemed to miss a beat. Where was the present? Surely he hadn’t forgotten it? Roxanne suddenly felt she could not bear it if after all he had forgotten that today was her birthday. ‘Good morning, Roxanne,’  he said in his customary cold indifferent tones. ‘Forgive me if I’m late. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long?’ Her heart lost the measure of joy that had entered into it earlier. When she spoke her voice had a strange sound that did not belong to her at all. ‘Good morning, Juan. No—you h-haven’t kept me w-waiting.’ Why were the tears so close? It was not at all sensible to feel so bitterly disappointed as this,

since not by any stretch of imagination could she have said she had done

 

anything to deserve that he should remember her birthday. And yet it was so strange that he should not only have remembered to buy her a present, but also to have gone to the trouble of wrapping it so attractively—an action which had surprised her in the extreme, as such a tender task was not one which she would have expected of her austere husband. As usual Juan pulled out a chair for her and she sat down, debating on whether or not to venture a hint that this was a special day for her. No, that would not be the thing. Juan would remember later, and she would then be able to carry out her plan to accept the gift in the way that would let him see she was feeling differently about him. However, the day wore on and the present was never given to her, and by the early afternoon she was forced to admit that although he had gone to the trouble of buying it, he had then forgotten when to present it. She saw little of him, as was usual now, since the great rift had opened out between them, and so disconsolate was she that she went off to sit with Tom at the back of his shop. ‘Thank you for the card,’  she said, forcing a smile. ‘It was very welcome.’ ‘I expected it would be, with your being a long way from home. Did you have some nice presents?’ She moistened her lips. ‘I—I haven’t had any.’ ‘Not any?’ he frowned. ‘Hasn’t your husband given you anything?’ He stared at her in disbelief. ‘Not yet. I think perhaps he will give me a present, though, later,’   and to her utter dismay she put her face in her hands and started to cry. ‘I’m s-sorry—’

 

‘You poor thing. So you’ve fallen in love with the Black Eagle. Why hasn’t he ‘You given you a present?’ ‘He’s forgotten my birthday altogether,’   she sobbed, not realizing that she might be creating a situation where Tom would be affected by chivalry.   ‘I—I did th-think he would have remembered.’ ‘He will,’  soothingly, and then, puzzled,  ‘Haven’t you received any presents from home?’ ‘No, only cards.’ ‘The mail is erratic, Roxanne. You’ll You’ll probably get them later in the week.’ She nodded, and searched for a handkerchief. ‘I expected it was the mail. Father and Deborah are bound to have sent me presents. It’s j-just that I wanted something on my birthday—especially from Juan.’  She fell into renewed weeping and, unable to sit and watch, Tom came over to her and took her in his arms. ‘Don’t cry, Roxanne. Your husband’s a very busy man, you know, but he’ll suddenly remember he hasn’t done his duty and he’ll rectify the omission. Men do forget; it’s one of their failings.’ But his words failed to comfort her because it wasn’t merely the omission that brought about her unhappiness; it was the lost opportunity which she herself had desired—the opportunity of making the first move towards an improved relationship with her husband. And, her tears flowing more freely than ever, she sought the comfort of Tom’s shoulder shoulder..

‘The shop bell,’ he began, as the outer door  moved inwards.  ‘I’ll have to go, dear—’  Tom’s  words were cut abruptly as the inner door also was flung open

 

and Juan stood there, fuming with rage, a snarl hovering on his thin twisted mouth. ‘Juan—’  faltered Roxanne, and then seemed  bereft of the power of speech. Wildly she glanced around, while every vestige of colour drained from her face. ‘How did you know I was—? I mean, wh-what m-made you come here...?’  Her voice quivered to a terrified silence as fire shot into the black depths of his eyes. With an instinctive protective gesture Tom unthinkingly stepped between them, a fatal action as it served only to add fuel to the flame of Juan’s wrath. Tom was roughly seized and flung across the room; Roxanne screamed as her wrist was savagely gripped and she was almost jerked off her feet as Juan dragged her to the open door. ‘Outside,’ he snarled. ‘Get into the car and wait for me!’ ‘Don Juan,’ Tom was saying, ‘I can explain—’ Roxanne heard this and no more, since she instantly obeyed her husband and went out to the car. She trembled all over, and terror caused her heart to race r ace and beat madly against her ribs. She felt choked, as if she could never again get her breath properly. What absurd fear! She would not be afraid!  She would stand up to Juan—yes, indeed she would! But the sick and dragging sensation that

  encompassed her could not be thrown off no  matter how she tried. The courageous and defiant resolution was all very well, but Juan was a tall and powerful man despite his leanness; he had the strength of a lion and she was completely at his mercy. And her terror increased as by some cruel flash of memory she heard Lupita saying that Juan had once strangled a man. Roxanne had dismissed this, after having thought about it for only a very  short time, but now—Now she was quite sure  that her husband was capable of murder—and more! He would probably torture his victim first. Roxanne gave herself an inward chiding for such fanciful thoughts. Wicked Juan might be, but she shake, was sure he washerself not quite so wicked as that.

 

And yet she still trembled, and when at length he came out and slid with silent fury into the driver’s seat, she instinctively moved away, into the corner, as if believing the small distance would afford her some measure of protection.

The silent journey was one of the worst ordeals through which Roxanne had ever passed—and she had passed through many since her marriage to the dark Mexican who had ruthlessly taken her from her home. She tried several times to speak, to explain that the scene he had witnessed was not at all what it seemed, but she was so choked by fear that she could not speak. Tears hurt her eyes; she had vowed this morning to try so hard to win some small degree of affection from her husband, and she had been happy, with hope in her heart, until the time when she realized that Juan had forgotten it was her birthday. And if only he had remembered, she would never have gone off to see Tom at all, because she had hoped that she and Juan would have spent the day together. But now she wondered if she had taken much granted. all,been theresuccessful had been in a yawning gulf between themtoo since thatfor night when After she had rejecting him, and so perhaps she had been far too optimistic about the birthday present’s acting as a partial closing of that gulf and her acceptance of it as a prelude to the happy day she had anticipated spending with her husband. And it now occurred to her that he had not forgotten what date it was, but he had felt that, in view of the very strained relationship existing between them, the time was ill suited to the presenting of a gift. When at last they were getting out of the car at the front door of the hacienda aher movement an upstairs Roxanne’s eye, but missed by husband. at Lupita ... and window Roxannecaught just had time to detect the was sheer gloating grin of triumph that spread over the woman’s face before it swiftly disappeared from sight. The scene that followed their entry into the house left Roxanne so drained and shaking that she went up to her room and lay down on the bed. Her birthday   ... Rolling over on her stomach, she buried her face in the pillow and wept until she could weep no more. Great sobs shook her for a long while after she became dry-eyed; she felt physically ill and suddenly the resolve to leave Juan became strong within her again. She could never live with such violence. Why, her whole existence would be spread with perpetual fear of doing something that

 

would  arouse Juan’s wrath. She gave a great shuddering sigh as memory brought back the scene. The smouldering fury burning to a white-hot rage that consumed him; the accusations and condemnation. She had made a laughingstock of him by her wanton conduct; she had tarnished his name. He demanded to know how much she had told Tom and in her confused state of mind she had no guard and Juan’s fury reached conflagration heights when he learned that his wife had taken Tom into her confidence, almost fully. Many times she had attempted to interrupt, but was not given the chance, so she was still uninformed as to how he had known she would be at Tom’s shop, and also that she had been seeing Tom regularly regularly.. That it was Lupita’s doing went without question, but how had the woman managed to impart the information without being forced to admit to spying? What did it matter? Listless as she was, Roxanne had no desire to worry herself by questions she would never be able to answer. But it so transpired that she was to have them answered for her, and by the woman herself. Uninvited, she entered Roxanne’s bedroom just before seven o’clock that evening. Roxanne sat up on the bed and stared furiously at her. ‘Get out!’ she cried before the woman could speak. ‘Get out or I’ll throw you out!’  Was she a match for the woman, physically? Roxanne felt her hatred would give her strength to carry out her threat.  ‘Get out !!’’ ‘Senora,’  murmured Lupita reprovingly,  ‘that is not the way a lady would speak.’  A leering glance and then, softly, as Lupita came a little closer to the bed, ‘I’ve come to satisfy your curiosity, senora. You’ve been wondering how I managed to impart my knowledge to Don Juan without arousing his suspicions as to my means of procuring that knowledge.’  Another pause, and this time Roxanne was ready to listen without comment.  ‘You left your birthday cards on your dressing-table. I took the one you received from your lover and—quite accidentally, of course,’  she added with a rasp of blood-curdling laughter,  ‘yes,

quite by accident I happened to drop it right in front of Don Juan as he was in

 

the hall—’ ‘You took it from my room?’  flashed Roxanne, once more incensed.  ‘You dared to take it from here?’ ‘Necessary, senora, to further my plans. I was of course just too late to pick it up, and it was Don Juan who did so. Naturally he looked at it, and opened it. His face, senora! He had murder in those black eyes.’ ‘Go on,’  said Roxanne when again the woman paused.   I’m most interested.’ How calm she sounded! Was this her own voice? She would have expected it to be edged with sobs—but she had been asleep, she now remembered, and the rest must have restored her calm a little. ‘He was furious, as I have said. And he wanted to know how I came by the card. I said you had left it in the lounge and I was taking it up to your room. I was uneasy, you know,  senora,  as a servant is who shares her mistress’s guilty secret. I am a good actress, and I shuffled and went red and snatched at the card in the end. It was very good acting—’  She  was lost for a space in animated reflection before she continued,  ‘Don Juan wanted to know why I was so embarrassed and of course I tried to allay  his suspicions—’ ‘In such a way as to increase them!’ ‘As you say,  senora,’  agreed the woman obligingly.  ‘As you say. His suspicions did increase and I had to tell him all I knew, unfortunately.’   Another harsh laugh broke; the parchment face was thinner, thought Roxanne, and the woman had a hand pressed to her heart. ‘My husband must have wanted to know how you received your information,’ said Roxanne, and Lupita nodded her head.

 

‘I told him that a woman from the village had discovered you were having an affair, and she had gossiped to me.’ Roxanne gasped at this incredible untruth. No wonder Juan was angry! He must be thinking that everyone was gossiping about her   ‘affair’  with another man. That was why he had said she had besmirched his name, had made him a laughingstock. ‘He would request the woman’s name, naturally?’ ‘Unfortunately I could not bring it to mind.’ ‘I see. Do go on.’ ‘I said I had been greatly troubled, because as he knew I was always concerned about him. I told him I had spoken to you and begged you to give up this Englishman, but you would not. I was sad, I said, because I had believed he had found happiness at last, with the pretty girl from England.’  A small pause and then,  ‘He seemed to get into a frenzy of wrath and wanted to know where you were. I was again embarrassed, and I made an excuse to leave him. He was suspicious and said that I knew where you were. I did suspect you’d gone to see your friend—to demonstrate your thanks for the birthday card, perhaps?’   said the woman with a leer which almost prompted Roxanne to slap her across the face.  ‘Well, I had to tell Don Juan of my suspicions, because he was so angry I was afraid not to—’ ‘You hypocrite, Lupita!’ broke in Roxanne in a suffocated voice. ‘I wonder if you have any idea just how contemptible you are?’ ‘Have a care, senora —’ ‘What are you threatening? You can’t harm me any more than you have. And

as for your so-called concern about my husband—I don t believe you even like

 

him!’ At  that Lupita’s eyes glittered strangely. She had never appeared so evil, so witchlike, so totally deranged. ‘He should have remained faithful to my darling! True, he only uses you to replace her, but in marrying you he has betrayed Marta...’ Something in the woman’s tone, and the way she had allowed her voice to trail away into a sort of reflective silence, caused tingles to run the length of Roxanne’s spine. It was ridiculous, r idiculous, she knew, knew, but she could not rrid id herself of the idea that Juan was in danger from this woman.

Lupitathe waswhite mumbling incoherently, and with a shudder watched froth appear at the corners of her mouth. of loathing Roxanne ‘I listened to what went on when Don Juan brought you home from  your lover’s shop. I come to you now with an offer of help because now you’ll want to leave here?’  She paused after phrasing the words which were part statement, part question. Roxanne’s first reaction was to reject the offer of help, but on second thoughts she hesitated. She had just a short while ago admitted once and for all that to remain here was impossible. Life with Juan would be too much like existing on the edge of a chasm or dark abyss. There might be a few happy moments, but in the main she would be torn by fear of him, or by the knowledge that she could never reach his heart. It was given to another, and although only a few short hours ago she had been filled with hope and optimism, she was now in the depths of hopelessness and despair, flung there by her husband’s hate and distrust. He would not listen to her side of the story, and now she no longer wanted to tell it, since it could profit her nothing—no, not even if he believed her, which was most unlikely. ‘I can get your passport, senora,’ Lupita was saying. ‘And I can arrange for a smooth journey for you. You don’t belong here, and this conviction has come to you this day. Don Juan has no feeling for you—unless it is his feeling of hate

 

because you have disgraced his good name by philandering with another man. He would welcome your departure, you must know that?’ Reluctantly Roxanne nodded. ‘You know where my passport is—?’   She broke  off, flinching at the idea of having any dealings with so vile a creature. And yet she wanted her passport; once she had it in her own possession she could leave, and she would never set eyes on Lupita again—so what did it matter? Degrading it most certainly was to allow Lupita to assist, but in the circumstances it was both practical and necessary. ‘Yes, senora, I know where your passport is.’ ‘Very ‘V ery well, Lupita. Get it for me and I will leave the Hacienda Ramires.’ The gloating eyes roved over her, while the thin mouth moved spasmodically. ‘It is well that you have decided this way, because,   senora, it comes to me sometimes to kill you ... with a gun—’ ‘You have a gun?’ ‘I can get one,  senora.  But if you leave here then it will not be necessary for me to kill you.’  Her voice dropped as she continued, mumbling something disjointed, and although Roxanne, nerves very much on edge after what she had heard, leant forward in an endeavour to hear what the woman was saying, she failed to pick up even one word which might give her a clue to the rest. ‘What are you saying?’  she demanded.  ‘Speak up, Lupita, and let me hear you!’

The woman’s eyes were glazed suddenly, and she regarded Roxanne with an

 

uncomprehending stare. ‘It need not concern you, senora,’ quietly and with less hostility in her voice. ‘You are concerned only with getting back to your own country. I will arrange everything for you.’ Roxanne made no comment. Once she had her passport she could make her own arrangements for getting back to England. She remained in her room and to her relief Juan did not send anyone up for her. When she knew he was at his evening meal she put on a wrap and   slipped out into the garden, her desire being for the   peace and solitude it offered. Moonlight showered  the grounds and the house, which looked, most  strangely, warm and welcoming from the distance  at which Roxanne looked back at it. There was  nothing remotely sinister about it at any time, and tonight, when she was filled with the awareness of her coming departure it seemed to be almost inviting. She had grown to love the hacienda, but unconsciously. The grounds were a delight, the surrounding wilder landscape was a world of enchantment in the silver radiance of the moon. Roxanne wandered from the grounds and began to climb the low spur which swept down from the indistinct blur of the mountains. She saw no one, heard nothing, and with peace descending upon her she was able to think more clearly of her plans. She would not let her father and Deborah know of her return to England until after she was settled in her own establishment, for otherwise they would insist she came to live in her old home. But she was independent now and she was determined to sstay tay that way. way. How her father would take her action in leaving her husband was a matter that troubled her not at all. She had obeyed his order and married Juan; it was the last order he would ever give her. Roxanne walked slowly up the hill, her mind fully occupied by the future. Claire was her best, friend and Roxanne was convinced she would help her once she arrived in England. It should not be difficult to get a job, and then she would find a small flat. Meanwhile, Roxanne hoped to be able to live with Claire,

whose people had always liked Roxanne and to whose home she had always

 

been most welcome. The deep silence engulfed her as she stopped walking for a space and gazed around her. This was like a different sphere, with only the moonlight to shower the countryside—not even the flicker of an artificial light from a window. She had strayed into a valley in the hills, she realized, and lights from the village below were not visible from where she stood. It was awesome yet beautiful in a wild untamed kind of way. Massive crags intruded into the distant purple skyline; grotesque, petrified monsters from pre-history they looked like, their heads misshapen or even cut off altogether. Huge organ cacti reared, knife-sharp against the void between earth and sky, their long pipes of dull grey-green rising in a weird sort of pattern. The whole unreal landscape lay like a silver picture under the brilliance and beauty of the full moon which hung, a huge round disc, above the mountains, whose peaks formed clear-cut wedges through which star patterns could be discerned. At last she turned, retracing her steps, but her thoughts were not on her immediate surroundings; they were on her husband, and once again the only clear picture was that of the man kneeling in prayer. A most peculiar sensation stole over Roxanne. She suddenly felt that if only she knew for what Juan had been praying her own way would be made more clear. More clear...? This in itself was a strange thought, simply because she knew exactly where she was going. Her plans were made. She was leaving him, and she would never see him again as long as she lived. Before she could stem them the tears fell on to her cheeks. Never to see Juan again ... the  husband whom she had learned to love under the most adverse circumstances, the man whom she could have made happy,, if only he would allow her to reach his heart. His heart was dead, happy dead , she had told herself; it had died with Marta. But since then she had glimpsed a softness about him that could never have been portrayed by a man whose heart was dead. He had seemed to be happy—certainly on the visit to Margarita he was happy—  and he had begun to laugh, and to lose some of the austerity which made his appearance so inordinately forbidding. But now he was the Black Eagle again, a being whose fiendish wrath and harsh condemnations had starkly revealed to Roxanne that life with him would

be impossible.

 

Bringing her mind back to her surroundings, she realized she had been wandering rather than retracing her steps, and now she found herself in a region of unfamiliarity. Often she had walked in the hills and by now she knew the paths thoroughly, but somehow she had strayed from the path and was actually treading among ankle-high vegetation. How silly of her!   She stood still and stared into the moonlit landscape, picking out the differing shapes of the hills. But these shapes were not nearly so recognizable as they were in daylight and as she stood gazing around she became more and more confused. She glanced at her watch and saw with a shock that it was past ten o’clock. How had she come to wander about all this time? If only she could see a light, she thought. Usually she could keep the hacienda in sight, but now there seemed to be a series of hills and spurs between her and the house. An hour passed and she sat down, beginning to experience her first tinge of fear. She thought of Juan, but decided he would be unaware of her absence, since he never came to her room now. He would take it for granted that she was in bed and it would be morning before she was missed. Morning! Roxanne shivered already, for the nights were cold. Also, she remembered that wild animals lived in Mexico—but she quickly remembered that they lived in the virgin forests, and not anywhere near here at all. Nevertheless, the reminder of their existence caused a prickly feeling at the base of her scalp, and there it remained in spite of her repeated reassurances that she was quite safe. Best begin to walk on again, she soon decided; lights must surely appear before very long. But the night wore on and the air grew uncomfortably chill. Roxanne became so weary that her footsteps flagged and when she came upon a tiny glade where dead dried grass lay thickly over the ground she lay down upon it and waited for the dawn.

 

 

CHAPTER NINE Awakening to the dull yet gentle light of dawn, Roxanne blinked and sat up and shivered violently violently..  Where—? Memory flashed and it all came back.  She stood up, wincing at the painful stiffness in her legs. Her clothing clung damply to her and she began to cough and sneeze. She had a cold, which was only to be expected, she thought, more angry with herself than ever as, looking round, she was instantly able to recognize the different shapes of the hills. She knew exactly which direction she must take, although she was not by any means sure  just where she was. All she did know was that she had been walking away from the hacienda last night and not merely going around in circles. This she could tell from the distance she now was from home. She began walking, slowly at first because of the stiffness in her legs, but eventually she was able to increase her speed, walking into the sunrise, and even in her discomfiture able to appreciate its magnificence. Deep rose lit the clouds in a great arc above the horizon, heralding the great ball of flame itself. Above and at the sides of this arc the pearl sky was a satin sheen of growing luminescence, quivering on the brink of daylight. Mountains were dappled with molten copper, while the valley sides still slumbered in the shade. The sun made its ascent at last and the sky became arrayed in a transient glory of orange and gold and deep rich bronze. The valley sides awoke, stirred by the advancing cavalcade of colour as the sun rose higher in the sky. Roxanne walked steadily on, and on, tired and with blisters now hampering progress. The sun dried her clothes and she was grateful for its spreading warmth, but she sneezed occasionally and her cough was causing a soreness in her chest. It was incredible how many miles she had covered last night, she thought, as, tramping wearily on, she was nearly two hours reaching a path she recognized.

 

It was half-past eight when at last she entered the house, keeping quiet as she mounted the stairs and not breathing freely until she had reached the safety of her room. Her eyes went to the door behind which she could hear Juan moving about. She went into the bathroom and ran the hot water water.. Satisfied with her appearance after her bath and change of clothes, Roxanne went down to breakfast—not because she had any desire to meet Juan, but because she knew full well that he would send for her if she failed to appear at the breakfast table, especially after missing her dinner last evening. With his customary punctilious attention to manners Juan brought out her chair for her. She sat down, wondering how they would get through the meal, after what had taken place between them yesterday afternoon. She glanced into his face as he took his place opposite to her. The harshness was terrible to see, but some other expression lay brooding in the depths of his eyes, an unfathomable expression, yet one that aroused all Roxanne’s compassion. How strange a man, to be able to confuse her emotions like this, causing her one moment to brand him a fiend, and the next to feel this pity for him. He seemed very tired, she thought, for his eyes were slightly red-rimmed from loss of sleep. He ate little, and drank only half a cup of coffee. He stared at her sometimes, but she knew it was an unseeing stare. Where were his thoughts? With Marta, probably—Marta who would never have let him down as he believed his wife to have done. Should she try to explain? Roxanne asked herself, acutely aware of her love for him, and of a profound yearning which seemed to be doing battle with her firm conviction that life with Juan was impossible. What good could come from an endeavour to impart the truth to him? She shook her head unconsciously. He was in no mood to listen, much less believe her. In any case, she  had been seeing Tom regularly,  had  been to Acapulco Beach and swum with him. She had confided in him, pouring out almost the whole story of Juan’s perfidy that had led to the marriage. Juan’s character was such that he could never overlook all these a things; most certainly could be never forgive Hishepride received blow and Roxanne knewheit would a long whileher. before wouldhad be

able to forget it.

 

He was about to rise from the table, having said a curt  ‘Excuse me’, when Roxanne had a rather bad bout of coughing and instinctively she pressed a hand to her chest, biting her lip as a pain shot through her. ‘Are you ill?’ he asked, not a sign of the harshness of his features penetrating his voice. She shook her head swiftly. ‘No, of course not.’ Juan was clearly unconvinced; his eyes rested momentarily on the place where she had spread a comforting hand. ‘That cough—you didn’t have it yesterday. Have you done anything to catch a chill?’ Another shake of her head. He sounded anxious, she thought, but he was frowning.at her and she realized she might be blushing a little, having lied to him. ‘I went for a walk last evening,’  she admitted.  ‘It became rather chilly after a time.’ His frown deepened. ‘Surely you took a coat?’ ‘I—forgot it.’ His eyes narrowed slightly. ‘You’ve been here long enough to know that you need a coat in the evening,’

he said.

 

‘I went further than I intended.’ ‘How far did you go? She glanced swiftly at him. The narrowed gaze, the set mouth  ...  that movement in his jaw. What was he thinking—or rather, what was he suspecting her of? ‘I have no idea,’ she replied stiffly stiffly,, indignation rising.  ‘I was on my own,’ she added in a challenging tone which appeared to have no effect on him at all, because his expression underwent no change whatsoever.

‘You had better go to bed,’ he recommended after a pause, ‘and stay there for the rest of the day.’ ‘That’s not in the least necessary,’  she began, when his glance silenced her and she heard him say imperiously, ‘You’ll stay in bed today, Roxanne. And tomorrow also if that cough is no better.’ She bit her lip. She had wanted to see Tom today, and ask his advice about fares and flights, and discover whether or not there would be any formalities or obstacles she could expect. But now she would be imprisoned in her bedroom where, she surmised, she would be forced to stay until Juan decided she was fit to leave it. Another protest was on her lips when she began coughing again, and now a very deep frown furrowed her husband’s brow. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said swiftly. ‘I’ll have another drink—’

‘When you’re in bed,’  he interrupted,  ‘I’ll send Dolores up with some cough

 

medicine.’ ‘Thank you.’  Obeying the indicative gesture of his hand as he rose from the table, Roxanne preceded him from the room. She was standing by her bedroom window when the door opened and Juan himself entered, a glass containing some dark-coloured liquid in his hand. ‘Why aren’t you in bed?’ he demanded sternly sternly.. ‘You’re not fit to be up.’ ‘Juan, I—’ ‘The doctor will be here in about half an hour,’   he calmly informed her, ignoring the protest she had begun to make.   ‘Get into bed and drink this.’ Placing the glass on the bedside table, he turned to her.   ‘Did you hear what I said, Roxanne?’ ‘Yes,’ she said meekly at length. She was feeling off colour now, and even as she spoke she was again seized with a bout of coughing. ‘Do you want me to send Dolores up to help you undress?’ ‘No, thank you, Juan. I’ll manage quite well on my own.’ He merely nodded and went out. Roxanne realized that her legs were weak and shivers now passed along her back. How stupid of her to go so far last night! The more she thought of it the less she could understand how she could have put so great a distance between herself and the hacienda. The room seemed to become chilly and yet the warm sun was pouring through the window. Roxanne slid thankfully between the sheets when, five minutes later, she was undressed and in her nightgown.

The doctor, shown in by Juan, was a tall Mexican with a small dark moustache

 

and a brown wrinkled face. He stood by the bed looking down at Roxanne for a long moment without saying a word. Then he took her temperature and frowned. ‘Where have you been,  senora, to have caught a chill like this?’  he inquired in broken English. ‘Y ‘You ou are going to be in bed for at least a week.’ ‘A week!’  Her mouth quivered. She could never remain here, quite alone, for a whole week.  ‘Surely, doctor, you can give me something which will effect a cure sooner than that?’ He sounded her chest, and another frown settled on his forehead.

‘How did you manage to do this to yourself?’ ‘My wife caught the chill last night when she went out walking without a coat,’ replied Juan, saving her the trouble of answering the doctor’s question. ‘Is that all?’ thoughtfully.  ‘Have you any pains in your body?’ Roxanne nodded and said yes. Where were the pains? asked the doctor, still thoughtful. ‘In my legs, mainly, but of course there’s the pain in my chest, which   is caused by the cough.’ ‘It is?’  briefly and with a slight raising of the doctor’s brows.  ‘I think,’  he said very slowly, ‘that you haven’t told me the whole truth, senora.’ Her heart skipped a beat, but before she had time to speak Juan had intervened, and his tones were both indignant and tinged with anger. Whatever his own opinion of her it was clear that he had no intention of allowing the

doctor to intimate that she was lying to him.

 

‘Certainly my wife has told you the truth. I must ask you to apologize!’ The doctor was already shaking his head. ‘I’m sorry, Don Juan, but I have to tell you that there is evidence of prolonged exposure to cold and damp.’ Roxanne’s eyes met those of her husband, but only for one fleeting instant, for she lowered her lashes, and as she did so she knew for sure that Juan would read the action for what it was—a sign of guilt. ‘Prolonged exposure?’ he said, transferring his gaze to the doctor. ‘Several hours—many hours, I should say.’ A silence silence fell, a long and awful silence before Juan said, ‘Well, doctor, the length of time my wife was out is of no real importance. What is important is that you give her something to ease the pain in her chest.’ ‘Of course.’ Ten minutes later, having shown the doctor out, Juan was back in his wife’s room. ‘Well?’  he said abruptly as he stood by the bed, staring at her through halfclosed eyes. She told him what had happened. ‘I couldn’t make the admission before the doctor,’  she went on to explain, ‘because would placed you in an awkward position—because I hadn’t been frankit with youhave earlier earlier.’ .’

 

‘Why weren’t you frank with me earlier?’ he inquired in a very soft voice. ‘I didn’t think it was necessary neces sary.. I mean—when I first came down to breakfast I didn’t think I’d have to mention the matter at all. But then I began to cough and you asked me questions.’ ‘Which you didn’t answer truthfully.’  His voice was soft still, but Roxanne shivered—and this time it was not with the cold. ‘I really don’t know why I wasn’t entirely honest, Juan,’   she said, nerves and heart fluttering, and the pain in her chest becoming worse with every moment that passed.  ‘I—I just can’t explain—’  And  she brushed a hand swiftly across her eyes and turned from him, hiding the sudden trembling of her mouth.   ‘I’m sorry,’  she added in a muffled voice. A long silence followed. She knew an urgent desire to soften him, to feel the touch of his cool hand on her burning forehead, and after a while she said,   ‘If—if we hadn’t quarrelled, Juan, I wwouldn’t have gone off at all, nor would I have gone to visit Tom. But I was so unhappy—so dreadfully unhappy. You see, it was my birthday, and—and I so wanted you to remember—’ Some instinct made her turn her head. She had been talking to herself. Juan had left the room without making a sound. At lunch time a tray was brought up—by Lupita. On it was a box of tablets and a glass of water, in addition to a small, daintily set out piece of white fish. Two thin slices of bread and butter and a small pot of tea were also included, and sugar and milk. ‘If you will sit up, senora?’ ‘Leave it on the table, Lupita.’  Roxanne turned her head away from the

leering gaze of the woman she hated so much.  ‘You may go.’

 

‘Go, senora! I have not said what I came to say.’ ‘I’m not in any mood to listen to you. Leave this room—and in future send Dolores up with my food.’ ‘I saw you go out last evening,  senora,’  said Lupita, ignoring Roxanne’s order.  ‘I waited up, but never saw you return. At four o’clock I came in here because I thought perhaps you had returned without my seeing you. Were you with your lover, senora? I listened while you told Don Juan that you’d been lost, but his expression is one of suspicion. I know his expressions well, because I have been with him so long. He believes you were with your lover, so you must leave here quickly—just as soon as you feel well enough to travel. If you don’t leave he will kill you!’ ‘You ‘Y ou knew I was out all night? Did it not occur to you that I might be lost?’ Lupita’s top lip twisted; she closed her eyes as if she were in pain. ‘I was hoping you were lost, and that you’d never find your way back! But I was disappointed—ah, so disappointed! It was not possible, though, that you would die out there, because even if you hadn’t been able to find your way back here you’d have  been found—’  She broke off and put a hand to   her heart, gasping as if in need of air.   ‘A search party would have been sent out and you were bound to be found. But it would have suited me better if you had died! My Marta could have laughed again!’  Roxanne stared at her; it seemed incredible that even Lupita could have left her out there, after having suspected she was lost. ‘You ‘Y ou know I was lost, don’t you, Lupita?’ ‘I know no such thing,  senora.  I said I hoped you were, but you could have been out in the fields f ields with your lover.’

 

Roxanne looked at her. And suddenly there arose a measure of pity to mingle with the hatred she felt for the woman. She was out of her mind, and this madness had undoubtedly been caused long ago by the death of the girl whom she had loved. It was borne in on Roxanne that the woman had suffered immeasurably during all these years, that she still suffered, and would suffer until death released her. She was frothing at the mouth now, and her face was contorted, as if she were in acute physical agony. Roxanne swallowed and for a brief moment she even forgot her hate as a wave of compassion swept over her. To her rational mind it seemed absurd in the extreme that Lupita should allow her life to be centred round the ghost of a girl who, after all, had merely been the daughter of her one-time employer, an employer whom she had left in order to come and work for Juan’s father. Roxanne frowned suddenly. It was a very strange circumstance that Lupita, loving Marta to the point of adoration, should ever have left the girl’s mother at all. And yet she had. But she still visited Marta’s mother, all her freehadn’t time she withstayed the child, herwith as awhom baby, taking her out in spent the pram. Why with nursing the family she was obviously so happy? Loving Marta as she did, she could yet leave her and take employment elsewhere. Yes, Yes, it was a very ver y strange circumstance indeed. Lupita had a hand to her heart again; Roxanne watched, fascinated, as the long fleshless fingers opened and closed convulsively. At length she said gently, gently, ‘Please go, Lupita. I want to have my lunch.’ Lupita’s eyes glittered, but she seemed enveloped now in a sort of daze, as if she were not fully aware of what had been said to her. ‘You will be well in one or two days. I will arrange for you to leave here, senora —never worry, worry, will you?’ ‘Please go,’ said Roxanne again, and without another word the woman did as she was requested.

Roxanne took two tablets after reading the instructions on the box, which had

been written in English. And then she lay down and pulled the covers up around her shoulders. She was asleep when Juan came up a few minutes later; he stood

 

by the bed staring broodingly down at her flushed face for a long while before, picking up the tray with its untouched food, he quietly left the room. Fever raged for several days and Roxanne scarcely knew what was going on around her. But vaguely she was aware that every time she opened her eyes Juan was there, always there, sitting beside her bed. And through the mists enveloping her brain she would imagine she heard him say,, in soft tones edged with deep tenderness, say ‘Roxanne ... my beloved...’  She would sigh contentedly and succumb once more to the darkness that took her in its grip.

The she day had dawned she felt much better; she voice remembered those flooded dreams when heardwhen her husband’s tender anxious and despair over her. If only she could have gone on and on, waking to hear words that gave her comfort and hope. But reality had now returned and all she could think of was the way Juan had left the room in disgust, just when she was trying to make him understand why she had acted as she did. The first thing she noticed on really taking an interest again was that Juan’s appearance had changed dramatically. His face was thinner, with deep hollows under the prominently-high cheekbones. His skin had lost the attractive copper shade and was grey and drawn; his eyes were no longer piercing, but shadowed, somehow. The mouth was full and as she watched, it moved, soundlessly and spasmodically. What had happened to him? Had he been ill also? She asked him this and he shook his head. ‘No, Roxanne,’ he answered quietly quietly,, ‘only anxious.’ ‘Anxious—about me?’ As yet she was not sufficiently recovered to be able to attach any especial significance to this.  ‘It’s kind of you to be anxious.’  Were her words stiff and cold, or was it her imagination? She had no conscious

intention of being offhand with him—just the contrary.

 

‘You’re my wife, Roxanne—’ a deep sigh cut the words and he was silent for a space. ‘It’s only natural for me to be anxious.’

Hisanxious. wife ... the wifenaturally who tooknot thewanted place of love.a That was whyThat he had been He had to his loseold Marta second time. her musings were both sordid and irrational never for a moment struck Roxanne. She was still dazed in mind; she believed she had the whole situation in clear perspective. She still knew that life with Juan would be impossible, and as the days passed much of her time was occupied by thoughts of leaving the hacienda and returning to her own country. Her progress was steady, but she was thinner by far than she had been, and an d her face was now like creamy parchment, smooth as ever, but lacking the attractive bloom that supplied the evidence of perfect health. Juan seemed to be improving also, but his dark eyes brooded all the time and she surmised that her own illness had brought back vividly the terrible days of torment he had endured when Marta was ill. He would naturally re-live them again, and this was what had caused this brooding expression to remain in his eyes. Marta was continually in his thoughts. And because she was all too acutely aware of this Roxanne found herself becoming more cool than ever with him. Compassion she did feel, but she also felt that it was time he put all thoughts of his old love from him. If only he would do this then Roxanne knew for sure that she could reach him, could, by the strength of her own love, gradually make him love her a little and in consequence they would find happiness together. One day, when Roxanne was resting in a chair in the garden Lupita came to her. Juan was away from home, having gone to Mexico City on business. He rang every day and Roxanne made ready to get up, expecting Lupita to say that he was on the telephone. But the woman had come to talk about the passport,

and the arrangements she could make for Roxanne’s departure.

 

‘It will be simple,  senora  ,’  she said, in that gruff tone Roxanne detested so much. ‘I will buy you the air ticket if you do not have the money—’

‘All I require is my passport, Lupita. You said you knew where it is. Is it in my husband’s study?’  she asked curiously, thinking that she herself might  be able to get it and so dispense with Lupita’s help.   ‘It was,  senora,  but I have it now.’ ‘How dare you have my property in your possession! What would my husband say if he found out that you had taken it from his room?’   No answer; Lupita seemed a long way off.  ‘He would dismiss you,’  continued Roxanne sharply. The woman came to at this and her dark eyes took on the glitter which Roxanne knew so well. ‘Never! Haven’t I said that I am his only link with Marta?’ Roxanne said nothing. Her illness had resulted in bouts of depression which she was unable to shake off, and now she felt an almost unendurable weight pressing down upon her. Even had she and Juan made something of their marriage, she thought, the shadow of Marta must ever be between them, in the form of Lupita ... the link which the woman had more than once mentioned. Defeated and wanting only to find some sort of peace of mind, Roxanne asked Lupita to proceed with the arrangements which she said she could carry out.

 

 

CHAPTER TEN MORE than a month had elapsed since her departure from Mexico and Roxanne, still thin and pale,  was working as nanny to two young children, having been advised by Claire’s mother to find work where she could live in. ‘Once you’re settled and your mind is more at ease you can begin to look around for something else.’  Mrs.  Stockton had been only too willing to take Roxanne, she what wouldwas, haveinhad her stay indefinitely, herself refused to and accept effect, charity, since all but the Roxanne money she had possessed had gone on her fare to England.  ‘You’ll not want to live with your employer, obviously, but for a start, it will be the most suitable arrangement—at least, in my opinion.’ This was of course excellent advice and Roxanne took it, managing to obtain the first post for which she applied. The work was hard and the hours long, for the children woke early and did not go to bed until eight o’clock at night. However, Roxanne was thankful for being fully occupied; it left less time for he herr to think about Juan, and what might have been had, he only been able to forget his dead fiancée. Roxanne had not yet got in touch with her father, but with the passing of the first month she felt she must do so very soon and as Tuesday was her day off she told her employer that she would be away until the evening. ‘Oh—will you?’ Mrs. Thorpe-Utkinson was frowning heavily as she regarded Roxanne. Young, and married to a wealthy business man, she spent most of her time riding, playing bridge, or merely gossiping with other young wives of

similarly fortunate circumstances. Ryewood, in Shropshire, was full of these

 

‘county’  types who normally possessed too-loud voices, inane laughs and far too much leisure time. Boredom was portrayed in their faces, and in the fact of their spending so much time with the  hairdresser, the manicurist or the clever woman who was making a fortune giving them ‘facials’ at the beauty salon she had opened in the town. ‘I was hoping you’d stay in, as I want to go shopping. I haven’t a thing to wear and I’m invited to three dinner-parties. Can’t you put off whatever it is that you were intending doing? It can’t be that important.’ ‘I’m going to see my father, Mrs. Thorpe-Utkinson.’ ‘Is that all? You can have two days off next week.’   In a quandary, Roxanne hesitated. Loath to be treated like this by a girl little older than herself, she was at the same time worried in case she should lose her job. ‘I’d rather go today, Mrs.  Thorpe-Utkinson,’  she said quietly after a while. ‘Won’t ‘W on’t your shopping keep until tomorrow?’ Haughtily the girl shook her head. ‘Tomorrow ‘T omorrow is early closing day.’ ‘Of course...’  Another hesitation and then, quite firmly, Roxanne shook her head.  ‘I’m having today off,’  she said.  ‘I think it’s best to keep to the arrangements we’ve made regarding my day off; otherwise I shall never know quite where I’m up to.’ The girl glared at her but said no more. It occurred to Roxanne that it was not easy to obtain nannies these days, when other jobs were so readily available. It was not without a little fluttering of trepidation that she rang the bell after walking slowly along the drive of her father’s house. She had not even let him

know she was in England, much less that she had   put a permanent end to her

 

association with Juan. Her father was old-fashioned about these things, as she had already proved, but she was no longer under his dominance—far from it. Already the fact of her independence had added considerably to the confidence and self-assurance she had been acquiring during her marriage to Juan. And so, should her father even so much as admonish her for her action in leaving her husband, she would put on her coat and walk out of his house. Deborah started back, unable to believe her eyes as, having opened the front door, she found herself face to face with the girl she had brought up from being a few days old. ‘Roxanne! Am I seeing things?’

A swift affectionate smile leapt to Roxanne’s lips.  ‘It’s me all right, Deb! Aren’t you going to ask me in?’   she added after a moment, when Deborah merely continued to stare as if she were seeing a ghost. ‘Of c-course.’  Dazedly she opened the door wider.   ‘You’re smiling, so there can’t be anything wrong. Where’s your husband?’ ‘He isn’t with me.’  Roxanne entered the hall, surprised to find that its familiarity had gone and she was entering a strange abode. ‘He’ll be coming along later, is that it?’ Deborah put the question as though it was a statement. ‘My ‘My,, but your father will be glad to see you!’ Clouds had been hanging low in the sky from early dawn, and as the porch was dark anyway, it wasn’t until Roxanne was in the living-room that her old nurse noticed her pallor and the fact that she had lost a great deal of weight. Her eyes opened after sweeping rapidly over Roxanne’s figure, but before she could speak Roxanne told her that she had been ill.

‘I was lost, and out all night. I caught a severe chill and didn’t seem able to

 

get over it for a long time. I’m improving now and I’m replacing the weight I lost.’ ‘But you shouldn’t be running around like this if you’re ill—’ Roxanne lifted a hand. This was the old Deborah, telling her what she should or should not be doing. ‘I’ve said I’m improving.’  A small pause and then,  ‘I’m quite fit really, Deb, for I’m working—as a nanny to two young children.’ The old woman stared. Plainly she did not believe the evidence of her own ears. ‘I don’t think I understand. Y You ou have a husban husband, d, so why should you work?’ ‘I’m working here; in Shropshire. I’ve left my husband.’ ‘Left—!’  Deborah threw up her hands in horror.  ‘No! Glory be—your father will die of shame.’ Calmly Roxanne took possession of a chair, having discarded her coat and gloves in the hall. ‘Where is Father, Deb?’ ‘Out—and thank the Lord for it! Tell me all, child. Working as a nanny, you say? Why didn’t you come home? You must. Give me the name of this woman for whom you work and I’ll telephone her. Working Working as a nanny! Indeed it isn’t at all the thing! Your father won’t have it!’ Roxanne had to smile.

‘I’m afraid, Deb, that I must disappoint you. I’m my own mistress now and I

 

intend to continue with my job.’ Deborah stared speechlessly at her. ‘You are ill,’ she declared emphatically emphatically.. ‘Y ‘Yes, es, you must be, for otherwise you wouldn’t be speaking to me like this. And as for leaving your husband—tell me all,’  she said again, and Roxanne then told her as much as she wanted her to know. Marta was never mentioned, since Deborah knew nothing of her, or the fact that Juan still loved her. Roxanne merely said they weren’t suited and she had decided to forsake the life which neither she nor her husband was enjoying. Again her old nurse stared at her, bereft of speech. ‘My child,’  she began gently after a long while,  ‘you must come home, and let me and your father care for you. Then, when your mind is healed, you shall be sent back to your husband.’ ‘There’s nothing wrong with my mind,’   Roxanne returned calmly.  ‘I know what I want, Deb, and it is not to resume the life I left on marrying Juan. I am independent, and that’s the way it stays.’ The old lady frowned, diverted now as she began to absorb the very real change that had come over the girl whose obedience had always been taken for granted. ‘You sound so calm, child. Doesn’t the idea of a broken marriage trouble you at all?’ A lump rose in Roxanne’s throat and a cloud of tears gathered uncontrollably behind her eyes. But outwardly she retained her cool manner as she said, ‘Broken marriages are not uncommon these days. I’m no different from hundreds of other young women. I shall make my own way in life.’ She stopped

 

as the old lady shook her head, dazed still by it all and hurt also; this was so very

 

plain to Roxanne, who knew her every change of expression, and its meaning. ‘I’m sorry if you’re upset, Deb, but Juan and I couldn’t go on like that any longer.’ Which was not the truth, she knew. Juan would have continued like that for ever. ‘A broken marriage...’  murmured Deborah to herself.  ‘Your poor father will never get over it.’ Suddenly Roxanne felt her temper rise. ‘He should never have forced me into it!’ ‘Forced?’ ‘Both you and Father put pressure on to me.’ ‘But, child,’ reminded Deborah gently gently,, ‘you seem to forget the circumstances preceding the marriage.’ ‘They were not what they appeared to be. I tried to tell you that at the time, but neither of you was prepared to listen. I would have staked all on having you for a champion, Deb, but you failed me. I was, as usual, the obedient child who bowed to the wills of Father and you. Well, this is the result. But there does happen to be one benefit which I’ve derived from it all: I’m free from the domination of others. I’m my own mistress.’ ‘What a way to talk!’  Deborah was obviously under a great strain; she had gone quite pale and Roxanne felt sure she was visualizing the scene when her employer arrived home. ‘Y ‘You’re ou’re not the same girl who went away.’ ‘Not by any means.’  Roxanne was quick to agree.  ‘I’ve changed, and I’m glad of it.’

 

‘Juan ... surely he was upset at the break-up of the marriage?’ No answer. Roxanne had no intention of telling Deborah that she had literally run away—when her husband was absent from home. Fleetingly she pictured that day—the packing of her suitcases, the taxi at the door, the receiving of her passport from Lupita, who had provided her with the information about flights and the fare, and the time it would take to reach the airport. The old woman had stood on the step and watched her leave, and Roxanne had wept all the way in the taxi, having to use all her determination not to order the driver to turn around and go back, for even in a situation like this Juan’s power seemed to reach out to her, drawing her to him, weakening her resolve. And even now, with thousands of miles between them, it did seem to Roxanne at times that his magnetism was so strong that, in the end, it would overpower her. ‘The marriage was doomed from the start,’  she said at last, aware that Deborah was looking interrogatingly at her. ‘I expect Juan knows that now.’ ‘It’s so sad. Broken marriages always are.’ Roxanne stared into space for a moment and then, firmly bringing to an end this morbid conversation which Deborah seemed intent on continuing, she asked brightly, ‘Aren’t you going to offer me a cup of tea? After all, I am a guest, you know.’ The woman frowned heavily at her. ‘Don’t say such things! I must say, Roxanne, that I’m more than a little shocked at your attitude. I do hope you’re not becoming  modern!’ ‘In the fashion, you mean? Why shouldn’t I, Deb?’  Her voice retaining its

bright inflection, Roxanne went on to add,  I shall be modern, as you call it, in the sense that I intend to keep my independence. At the moment I have to do this

 

particular type of work, just until I turn around, as it were, and see where I want to go. Then I shall find something more congenial, and also establish myself in a flat or a nice little maisonette.’ ‘You just come home, child,’  advised Deborah in a deeply troubled tone. ‘You’ve ‘Y ou’ve never known what it is to take care of yourself.’ ‘I’m taking care of myself now.’ ‘You’ve changed,’  declared the old woman sadly, and went off to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. They were drinking it when Roxanne’s father came in. His key turning in the lock caused Deborah to give a visible start. Roxanne’s own nerves fluttered, but she was by no means afraid. She looked up as her father entered the living-room, saw his eyes open wide and forestalled the question she saw rising to his lips. ‘Hello, Father,’  she said with a smile.   ‘I’ve just been shocking poor Deb by telling her that I’ve left my husband.’ Silence. Mr. Hutton, tall and straight and so very military of bearing, seemed suddenly to stoop a little. ‘Did I hear aright, Roxanne?’ he managed to inquire at length. ‘Juan and I have parted, Father. I’m back in England for good.’ ‘The child’s working—as a nanny,’ put in Deborah tragically. ‘And before we go any farther,’  said Roxanne,  ‘I’m telling you at once that I’ve no intention of coming home. I’m making my own way in life from now on.’

on. The grey eyes stared in a way that had made many men tremble in their shoes,

 

but Roxanne was entirely unaffected. Her own eyes met his unflinchingly; her head was set proudly on her shoulders, her chin well up, in an attitude of strength and defiance. ‘Do you realize you are speaking to your father?’  he said at last, and the stern edge to his voice was meant to remind her that never in her life had she spoken to him like this. ‘I’ve shown no disrespect,’  she told him quietly.  ‘I’ve merely stated my intentions, just in case, like Deb, you should try to exert your will upon me. I’ve decided to stand on my own feet, and nothing you or Deb can say will make me change my mind.’ ‘I see.’ His own dignity was well to the fore, but he was hurt, just as Deborah had been. Roxanne was sorry, but certainly not intending to weaken.   ‘So you’re not either returning to your husband, or coming back to your home?’ She shook her head. ‘I’m on my own from now on, Father.’ He looked at her, from his position in the open doorway, from where he had never moved since his eyes had alighted on her, sitting there drinking tea in what must have seemed to him the most unconcerned manner. ‘What reason had you for leaving your husband?’   he inquired, and Deborah spoke in reply reply.. ‘Roxanne says they’re not suited.’ ‘Isn’t it a little late to discover that?’ with a sort of acid sarcasm.

Roxanne gave a deep sigh and rose from her chair.

 

‘This is not a happy conversation for either of us, Father,’  she said with quiet dignity.  ‘I’ll leave, and if you wish me to visit you at any time then just phone this number.’  She had drawn a small pad from her handbag and she began writing on one of the pages. Tearing it off, she handed it to him, but he merely looked from it to her face and then walked past her into the room. Roxanne laid the thin slip of paper down on the table and went into the hall to get her coat and gloves. ‘My dear—’ Deborah was crying as she followed her. ‘Don’t go like this—’ ‘Deb, neither you nor Father have expressed one word of sympathy. You’re both too absorbed with what you consider right and wrong. That I might be suffering doesn’t to either you, and Iyou nowgave know that all the love I gave you was not reallymatter returned. It wasofprotection me—overprotection.’ But despite this frank assertion Roxanne put her arms around Deborah’s shoulders and kissed her cheek. ‘Come and see us, dear child,’ the old woman begged as Roxanne opened the front door to let herself out. ‘If Father invites me to this house I shall be glad to come, but not unless.’ And with that she ran down the steps and made her way hurriedly to the bus stop, her heart heavy but her determination strong. She was a married woman despite the fact that she had no husband with her, and as such she should be allowed to conduct her life as she chose. This she meant to do, even if the result was a complete break with her father. It was inevitable that Joel should hear that Roxanne was back in England, and one day about a fortnight after she had visited her father and Deborah, Roxanne was told by her employer that a young man had called to see her. her.

‘I hope you’ll tell him not to call again. Roxanne,’ said Mrs. Thorpe-Utkinson

 

sharply.  ‘I make it a rule not to have my employees’   boy-friends coming to the house.’ Roxanne was in the nursery, having put the two children. Rita aged two and a half, and Emma aged six months, to bed for their afternoon sleep. She had been gathering their clothes together, intending to wash them, and she looked up in some surprise as her employer spoke. ‘A young man?’ she repeated, frowning. ‘A Mr. Joel Bowyer.’

‘Oh...’  Roxanne knew she had coloured a little.  ‘I’ll come at once. Where is he?’ ‘In the garden. I left him on the step. Y You ou heard what I said just now?’ ‘Yes,  Mrs.  Thorpe-Utkinson, I heard,’  replied Roxanne coldly. Already she was looking for another post, in an office preferably, but she had no experience. In addition, she had nowhere to live even should she be fortunate enough to get someone to employ her without experience. However, she knew she could live with Claire’s mother temporarily, and this she did not mind doing as long as she could pay her he r way. She went out to Joel, who was standing by a herbaceous border staring down at the flowers. ‘Roxanne,’  he murmured as she came up to him.   ‘I heard you’d left your husband, and—and—’  He stopped and spread his hands.  ‘I still love you,’  he ended, and she saw him swallow convulsively.  ‘Is there some chance for us?

You re having a divorce?

 

She looked at him, wondering how she could do so without the slightest tinge of emotion, or longing, or regret. But vividly she was seeing the face of her husband; he intruded as if to remind her that she was still his. ‘There has been no talk of a divorce between Juan and me,’   she answered quietly. ‘But—Is the separation permanent?’ Roxanne nodded candidly in answer to this. ‘Who told you I was back in England?’ she asked when for a moment he did not speak. ‘I met a friend of Claire’s. She told me you were working for a Mrs.   ThorpeUtkinson, so I got the address from the telephone book. I hope you didn’t mind my coming to see you?’ ‘Not at all.’ He looked into her eyes and said, ‘You’ve ‘Y ou’ve changed, Roxanne.’ ‘A lot has happened,’ she reminded him. ‘It didn’t work out, though? How could it—a foreigner? Their ways are so different from ours.’  She remained silent and he added,   ‘I feel I let you down, Roxanne. There was so much I didn’t understand. But later—when it was too late,’  he added bitterly,  ‘I realised that you couldn’t possibly have gone with that man. You’d never let me make love to you, so it was unthinkable that you’d

allow him to do so. There was so much that I didn’t understand,’   he said again

 

when she still remained silent. ‘You were made to marry a man you didn’t love, and I think you’ve done right to leave him. Y You ou had every  reason to do so.’

Roxanne looked at him and said gently gently,, ‘I had a reason for leaving him, obviously—but that reason was not because I didn’t love him.’ He frowned uncomprehendingly uncomprehendingly.. ‘You mean—you do love him?’ ‘I mean just that, Joel.’ ‘But why, why, then, are you here?’ ‘I’ve just said I had a reason for leaving him.’ Joel shook his head with slight impatience. But then, as the truth dawned, he said, ‘Your ‘Y our husband doesn’t love you—that’s it, isn’t it?’ She nodded her head. ‘Yes, that’s it.’ ‘He’d have followed you if he had.’ ‘This has occurred to me,’ she admitted sadly.

You were hoping he would follow you?

 

Her lip trembled, but she remained calm and composed apart from this small sign of emotion. Only now, when it had been broached, did she realize just how strong had been her subconscious longing to see her husband suddenly appear ... come to take her back, because he had discovered that he cared, after all. Would she have gone? Yes, joyously and with a prayer of gratitude in her heart. ‘I did hope he would come to me,’ she owned at last, and the frown on Joel’s forehead deepened. ‘Forget him, Roxanne. Make arrangements for a divorce and then you and I can marry. We’ll go right back to the beginning—’ ‘You should never try to go back to the beginning,’ she interrupted gently. gently.  ‘It never works out. I’m here because I won’t go back to the life I knew   before my marriage.’ ‘You’re ‘Y ou’re going to work and slave like this all your life?’ ‘I’m not exactly slaving,’ she was forced to say. ‘What gave you that idea?’ ‘This friend of Claire’s. She said Mrs.  Thorpe-Utkinson wasn’t very nice with you.’ ‘She isn’t, but she doesn’t make a slave of me. I wouldn’t let her.’ ‘Roxanne,’  he began persuasively,  ‘please give my proposition some thought.’ She shook her head.

It s too late, Joel. I love my husband and I always will.

 

She stood by the border and watched him go slowly towards the gate, then she turned and went back to the nursery and the washing she intended doing. The children were still sleeping. Roxanne saw their mother going over to the garage. A moment or two later she was driving off in the car—to spend the afternoon with several of her young women friends, thought Roxanne. They would gossip and drink tea and then all get into their respective cars and be home in time to make themselves up and greet their husbands when they arrived home, having come by train from the city. Roxanne was taking the tiny garments from the washing machine when Dora, the woman who came in three times a week to clean, entered the kitchen and handed her a cable. ‘For me?’  Roxanne’s heart gave a great lurch. Instinctively she knew the cable was from Tom. She had written to him, telling him what she was doing and asking him to write when he had a few minutes  to spare. With unsteady fingers she opened out the sheet of paper, and as she read, every drop of blood drained from her face. ‘Don Juan shot by Lupita. Dangerously ill—’ Lupita  ...  those incoherent mumblings after she had mentioned a gun, and after she had admitted that the idea of killing Roxanne had sometimes come to her. Had the idea of killing Juan come to her? It was obvious that it had.   ‘Why didn’t I guess?’  Roxanne cried in anguish, but the next moment she was over the brief spell of reaction caused by the information contained in the cable and she called ca lled loudly, ‘Dora, come here!’ ‘What—?’

‘You must take care of the children, Dora, until their mother returns. This is an urgent summons—’

 

‘I can’t, Roxanne. You know very well I always   go from here at half-past three—’ ‘You ‘Y ou must stay! My husband is dangerously ill. I’m going to him!’ ‘Your—! I didn’t know you had a—’ ‘Ring for a taxi for me, and then get the airport.’  Roxanne was running upstairs as she flashed out these instructions.  ‘Call me when you get through to the airport.’ ‘But—’ ‘Hurry, Dora—   please!’  cried Roxanne frantically, seeing that the woman made no move to go over to the telephone. ‘Hurry!’ ‘Oh, very well,’  mumbled Dora, and did as she was told. Meanwhile, Roxanne pushed all the money she possessed into a small bag. She also pushed a nightdress into it and her toilet requisites. Her passport joined the rest; she grabbed her coat and ran downstairs. Dora had managed to get through to the airport and Roxanne took the receiver from her hand. Twenty minutes later Roxanne was in the taxi, speeding towards the airport. Juan was in a hospital in Mexico City, to which he had been moved when it was found necessary to operate a second time. Having cabled Tom from the airport in England she was relieved to see him there when she reached her destination. He knew to which hospital to take her and this he did with great speed.

Is—isthat he—dying? faltered when the at last she to voice the dread   sheher question had tortured throughout night onwas the able plane.

 

‘I know only that he’s dangerously ill. The bullet was removed without much trouble, it seems, but then complications set in and he was moved to the hospital here for another operation. I’m sorry if I’m vague, Roxanne, but all I know is from gossip—that old man from the estate comes in to the shop, as you   know, and it’s from him that I’ve got the news—apart from that received from the hospital when I rang. They merely said, each time, that he was dangerously ill.’ ‘How did it happen?’ ‘Lupita suddenly went berserk, got a gun from somewhere, and shot him.’ Tears were rolling down Roxanne’s cheeks as, with terrible agony of mind, she pictured the scene. ‘I can’t bear to think about it,’   she cried, wringing  her hands.  ‘The pain he must have suffered!’ Tom was silent and when she had recovered a little she asked when it had happened. ‘About a week ago, apparently, but I heard only yesterday morning and I cabled you at once. I knew you’d want that, Roxanne.’ ‘Yes ‘Y es ... Thank you, Tom Tom.. I sh shall all always be grateful.’ He merely coughed gruffly and turned into the hospital gates; five minutes later Roxanne was staring down at the dark head on the pillow, wondering whether Juan was unconscious or merely sleeping, for the nurse who had shown her into the private ward spoke no English. However, a doctor soon appeared, and although he looked oddly at her he wasted no time in unnecessary questions as to where she had been up till now, or as to how she came to be here at present.

‘I’m glad to see you,’ was all he said before adding, in an expressionless tone,

 

‘I hope, senora, that you can give your husband the will to live.’ She opened her eyes wide. ‘I don’t understand?’ ‘You’ve been separated?’ She nodded and he went on to say that he learned of ‘You’ve the existence of a wife when Juan was in a delirium, but no amount of questioning later would make him talk about her.  ‘If,’  he then said in the same expressionless voice,  ‘you can make him believe that you love him, then his progress will be rapid. There are no complications whatsoever now—except those caused by the lack of the will to live.’ ‘He—he wants to—to die?’  A terrible pain rose in her heart. Juan was ready to give up the fight; he wanted only to join his beloved. Helplessly she spread her hands. ‘What can I do?’ she faltered f altered bitterly. ‘I’ve just told you, senora.’ ‘But you don’t understand. It isn’t me he—’ She tailed off as Juan’s eyes fluttered open. The next moment, forgetful even of his injury, she had flung herself across him and was crying over and over again, ‘Don’t leave me, Juan! Stay with me—I love you and need you—’  Tears streamed down  her face, and went on to his as well.   ‘Don’t leave me,’  she moaned. ‘Doctor, don’t let him go...’ Gentle hands brought her from the bed and on to her feet, but the doctor held on to her, and it was as well that he did, for she felt her legs buckling beneath her. ‘Don’t let him die—even if he wants to!’

Roxanne.   The word was no more than a husky whisper, but she turned swiftly,, wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand. swiftly

 

‘Juan!’ ‘Come here.’ The doctor let her go and she moved back to the bed. ‘Juan,’  she pleaded, bending down to touch his lips with hers,  ‘don’t leave me. I love you and need  you—I know you can’t ever love me, but I’ll  abide by that—’ ‘Not love you?’  He seemed dazed and very, very tired. Roxanne turned to glance questioningly at the doctor, fearing this was too much for Juan. But a flip of the doctor’s hand reassured her.   ‘Not love you?’  Juan was saying weakly, ‘but I’ve told you so many times...’  He shook his head from side to side on the pillow. ‘Did you really say it?’ Bewildered, but aware of the urgency that had  entered his voice, she said gently, ‘That I love you? Yes, Juan, I really did say it. I love you.’  What was the meaning his ownatwords? Was he rambling? her glance askedand the all doctor, but he wasn’toflooking her. His attention was with the patient, at once Roxanne noticed his expression. The doctor was no longer troubled, as he had been, when she first met him, only a few moments ago.  ‘You’ve told m-me, many times, th-that you—love me?’ ‘It must have been in dreams—’ His brow furrowed as he tried to concentrate. ‘I dreamed, so often, that you were here, telling me you cared. I  told you that I cared also—‘  Again he broke off  and in a little panic-stricken gesture she

indicated to the doctor that she ought to leave.

 

She was terrified that this conversation would exhaust her husband, since it was quite clear that it was proving a great strain to him. But once again the doctor flipped a hand.  ‘When I woke you were always gone. Dreams ...,’  he muttered almost inaudibly inaudibly,, ‘torturing me!’ ‘Darling,’  she whispered,  ‘this isn’t a dream. I’m here.’  Taking one of his hands in hers, she s he pressed it tenderly. ‘Dearest Juan, I’m here.’ His glazed eyes looked into hers. His fingers explored her hand and her wrist. ‘It’s true,’ he sighed, and contentedly closed his eyes. Roxanne turned to stare at the doctor. ‘He loves me,’  she breathed, herself appearing to be in a daze.   ‘My husband loves me.’ ‘But of course he loves you, senora,’ came the quiet response as the doctor’s eyes flickered over her  lovely face.  ‘How could it be otherwise?’   His glance moved to the man in the bed. He was breathing evenly and a satisfied smile touched the doctor’s lips. ‘I suppose,’  Roxanne was saying,  ‘that you’re wondering why I left him, when I love him, but you see,  I didn’t know he loved me. I thought—’  She broke off and fell silent. ‘You were saying, senora?’ She shook her head and said it did not matter matter.. With her heart overflowing with

wondrous joy as it was, nothing in the whole world mattered except the fact that her husband now had the will to live.

 

There were many things to clear up between them, incidents puzzling to both, and these were gradually explained as the days passed and Roxanne visited Juan in hospital. She learned that he had begun to love her quite soon after the marriage, and Roxanne shocked him by revealing her own conviction that he was using her to remind him of Marta, even when he was making love to her. This latter made him so angry that from then on Roxanne became most guarded in what she said, but when he asked why she had run from him after they had talked about the swimming pool she was forced once again to say something that would arouse his anger a nger.. ‘You actually believed I was planning it with her?’  Roxanne felt quite sure that, were he not confined to the bed, he would surely have given her a little shake. ‘You ‘Y ou mentioned my colouring,’  she began lamely lamely.. ‘And so you thought—? Roxanne, you’ve harboured some very strange ideas all these months.’ She said nothing, but merely averted her head, amazed at her own utter lack of perception.  ‘I shall always remark on your beauty,’  he said in a much softer tone. ‘It’s all part of my loving.’ He seemed troubled as he added,   ‘Promise me you won’t ever again misinterpret anything I say, Roxanne.’ ‘I promise. I’ve been an idiot, Juan.’  He made no attempt to contradict this and she ventured, after a small hesitation, to say that he had treated her with near-cruelty at times and this helped to convince her that she could never reach him. His eyes clouded with remorse as he told her that, with his having married her because she resembled Marta, he felt that she must always hate him. ‘And as time passed it became unbearable,’ he went on. ‘I loved you so much

by this time that your contempt and scorn were like a lash on an already open wound, and they brought out the worst in me. Forgive me, darling, for hurting

 

you so.’  She was too full to speak for the moment and Juan added, his tones edged with pain, ‘I bought you a birthday present and was so looking forward to giving it to you—’  He tailed off reflectively and she said, very  near to tears,  ‘I wanted it, Juan, desperately—’  and then she  broke off, because of his look of perplexity. ‘I saw it in your wardrobe,’  she owned, going on to explain that she had been searching for her passport.   ‘What was it?’  she couldn’t help asking, and learned that it was a pigskin handbag. ‘But the important present—the one that would tell you of my love,’  he added,  ‘was inside.’  A pause.  ‘It was a diamond and ruby bracelet. You shall have it when we get home.’ ‘I  feel awful,’  she cried.  ‘I deserve to be hurt for the way I hurt you!’   She looked tearfully at him. ‘I should have told you I loved you!’ ‘No, dear, it was I who should have made the first move, but it was my own guilt that prevented it. I knew I’d taken you from the man you loved—or thought you loved.’  He paused.  ‘That’s the reason why I didn’t follow you when you left me. I convinced myself that I’d find you with this other man.’ She shook her head. ‘I loved you,’  she reminded him simply. And then,  ‘Tom suggested that I really wanted to marry you, even though I did not consciously know it.’ ‘I think you did, Roxanne,’  he agreed,  ‘for otherwise you’d have resisted the pressure.’  He looked deeply into her eyes and she saw the depths of love portrayed in his. ‘Didn’t I say we were meant for each other?’

‘Yes, and you were right, Juan. If only I’d known it at that time,’   she added

 

regretfully. ‘It doesn’t matter, darling. It’s all over now.’ On another occasion they talked about Lupita, both having deliberately left her out of the conversation. But it was as Roxanne was telling Juan of   her hurt, when it seemed she could never reach him, that she let slip something Lupita had said. Aghast at involving the woman, Roxanne cut her words, but Juan insisted that she continue. And, perceptively, he saw she was leaving much out. ‘I want it all, Roxanne,’  he said rather sternly and she had no option other than to relate the whole. ‘You poor child,’ he said when she had finished,  ‘why, my dear darling, didn’t you come to me? I’d very soon have put a stop to such mischief.’ ‘I was sorry for her—underneath.’ ‘I agree she was to be pitied.’   A long pause and then,  ‘Lupita was Marta’s mother,’ he informed her quietly. ‘Marta’s mother!’  Roxanne stared, even while she was telling herself she should have guessed. ‘But how—?’ ‘She had a child by some unknown man when she was working for Senora Lupez. Senora Lupez also had a child about the same time, but it died. Lupita was persuaded to hand over her own daughter—I expect she was actually glad to do so at the time. The transaction was kept secret and only those directly concerned knew about it. I myself learned of it only after Marta’s death. Lupita told me, one day when she was hysterical with grief.’ For a space he seemed to be dwelling on this terrible scene and Roxanne made no attempt to interrupt his

thoughts.  ‘Apparently she became too possessive over the baby and was persuaded to find other employment. She came to my father, but was always

 

allowed access to her child and she went over to the home of Senor and Senora Lupez whenever she had any free time.’ ‘Poor Lupita!’  Roxanne’s lovely face was shadowed with compassion.  ‘Will she ever find peace of mind, do you think?’ ‘She’s found it,’ he returned gently and, when Roxanne merely stared,  ‘I had word only this morning that she died from a heart attack a week after entering the mental home.’ ‘Died—’  Roxanne tried to swallow, but her  throat was blocked. Tears filled her eyes even though she felt that this was the best thing that could have happened, since Lupita’s life had been a misery to her for years. ‘My little darling, don’t cry!’ ‘It hurts me to think of her unhappiness.’ ‘After all she did to you?’ ‘It was jealousy—and because of the way her mind was. She wanted you to go on loving Marta for ever.’ He nodded reflectively and after a moment Roxanne was learning how, after the death of Marta, he felt that life held nothing at all, that there was no future for him. ‘At twenty-three you do feel that way way,’ ,’ he went on. ‘But as the years passed I knew that time was healing and that I would live again. About four years ago I set about repairing the neglect that had overtaken the hacienda and grounds. I found a great pleasure in restoring it all to its former beauty. Lupita hated the

fact thatbut I was and there notice, I wasforgetting stirred byMarta pity pity,, so I let her were stay.’ times when I’d have given her

 

Roxanne said thoughtfully thoughtfully,, ‘You were beginning to live again, Juan, but you still shut yourself off from everyone.’ ‘Not entirely. In fact I never had—not absolutely, as I threw myself into my business interests, and this not only occupied my time but did in fact bring me into contact with those with whom I did this business. You see,’   he continued after a pause,  ‘in a small place like that rumours soon become rife. I expect it gave people something to talk about if they could think of me as a total recluse.’ Another pause.  ‘As I said, I was not entirely cut off. My family visited me on occasions—rare occasions, admittedly.  And in fact, at first, I did refuse to have them at the hacienda, but that was simply owing to the fact that felt I was no fit company for anyone.’ Roxanne said nothing. That he had adored Marta   was very plain indeed, but what was also plain was that her memory had been fading for a very long  while. These exchanges of confidences were carried on n a sort of serial form, since the doctor was firm in making Roxanne keep strictly to visiting hours. So  it was on another occasion altogether that Roxanne earned that he had in fact nearly strangled a man he had inadvertently let out what Lupita said and   Juan explained about the burglar they once had.  ‘He fought like a fiend, and the only way I could  quieten him until the police arrived was to grip his   throat.’  He actually laughed as he added,  ‘Don’t worry worry,, darling, I’ll never come to the point of strangling you, even though you do try me far at times.’ ‘I’ll never do so again,’ she promised. And when he made no comment, ‘Juan

... I once saw you in  the  chapel...’  She tailed off, afraid she had embarrassed him, and yet her glance was a plea, as if he must know for what he prayed.

 

‘I went every morning,’ he told her, ‘to pray that you would learn to love me, and in consequence forgive me for what I did.’ The words came simply, humbly almost, and with a little access of love and  tenderness she leant forward in her chair and kissed him on the lips. ‘It’s a strange thing,’  she said then,  ‘but I somehow felt that if only I knew what you were praying  for my own way would be made more clear. You see,’ she went on to explain, ‘from the first I had it in my mind to leave you.’ ‘You did?’  He swallowed hard and a pulse throbbed in the side of his jaw. ‘I’m glad I didn’t know. Why did you leave me, in the end?’

  ‘It was because I thought I could never reach  you ... because of Marta.’  She told him how she obtained possession of her passport and saw his eye widen in surprise. ‘Lupita said she saw you coming from my study   with it in your hand. This was when I questioned her as to when and how you had gone.’ ‘She wanted me away and she promised to help me—’  Roxanne stopped and after a small  pause she said,  ‘Let’s not talk about poor Lupita  again, Juan. She was wicked it’s true, but that was because of her illness. She was so sad inside. I know how I would feel if my—our—I mean,’  she managed at last in a muffled voice, ‘if I lost a child.’ He nodded and took her hand in his.

‘I can understand,’  he said quietly.  ‘You’re right  dear, we mustn’t talk about poor Lupita ever again Let her rest in peace.’

 

The day arrived when, with heart beating so excitedly she thought it would affect her senses, Roxanne found herself sitting beside Juan as they travelled home to the hacienda by car—by T Tom’s om’s car for he had asked for the privilege of taking them home. ‘You look wonderful!’  she had exclaimed on entering the ward and seeing Juan there, fully dressed  and with his normal colour almost restored. He still reminded her of an eagle, but a gentle eagle—certainly not a bird of prey. His aquiline face was overmasked with tenderness, his black eyes filled with   love and happiness. ‘I feel wonderful,’  he responded, opening his  arms for her to slip into them. ‘Tell me, my own dearest love, how has it all come about?’ She shook  her head, unable to make a start, and Juan asked her  to begin by telling him just when she came to care. ‘It was gradual, and then one day I knew...’  She  shrugged helplessly.  ‘You never know how it starts, do you, darling?’ ‘No, dearest, I suppose you don’t.’  He became  quiet for a moment and she thought he was listening for the nurse who would come to tell them that Tom had arrived. But presently he said,  ‘It seemed  almost at once that I loved you, Roxanne. I began  to  see that you weren’t really like anyone else at all—you were just you, with your own personality which I found so attractive, with your own little mannerism  and dear sweet voice.’  His arms tightened  lovingly around her and he bent his head to kiss her ager lips.   ‘You’re just my own dear

Roxanne ... my wife.’

 

They fell away from one another as the nurse  entered. With a smile she spoke to Juan in Spanish. Goodbyes were said, and words of thanks to  both doctor and nurse who came to the hospital with them. Tom was there with his car, and something in his expression made Roxanne say,   ‘Have you come into money, Tom?’ ‘More than money! Phil’s written to say she’s   coming out to—to—Have a guess!’ ‘Why,, to marry you, of course.’ ‘Why When they were on their way Juan leaned forward from his place in the back seat and said, ‘I owe you an apology, Tom—’ ‘It doesn’t matter matter,’ ,’  came the swift interruption  ‘I’m only too glad that it’s all ended as it should.’ ‘Well, if I can’t make an apology I can certainly   express my thanks, which I do, most sincerely. Roxanne and I owe our happiness to the fact that you  sent for her to come over.’ No more was said for a  while as all three became lost in thought.  ‘I hope  we shall be invited to the wedding?’  said Juan a length, and Tom was obviously delighted. ‘We shall be most honoured, Don Juan,’   he returned, and silence again fell, broken only when having brought them to the front door of the hacienda Tom bade them goodbye. Both Roxanne and her husband thanked him for his trouble in bringing them home, and they stood, hand in hand, watching the car until it

disappeared from view view..

 

‘We’ve come home,’  breathed Roxanne rapturously, turning to look at the house, white and stately and bathed in sunshine.

Yes, we’ve come home,’ echoed Juan fervently and, still clasping each other’s hands, he and  Roxanne  walked slowly up the white marble steps towards the open door.