Pale Dawn Dark Sunset Page 17

  Rafael’s mouth twisted ironically. “I very much doubt that these people had any contact with—what was it you said?—the authorities?” He shook his head. “Autoridad means something different to them, señor.”

  Bob was not convinced. “Well, anyway, eventually I made it down to a place called Suestra. I—I’m partially paralysed in this right leg, you see, and walking is not easy for me. But I was alive! I suppose that was about six weeks ago. It’s taken me that long to identify myself, get some money and fly back to England. It wasn’t until I went in search of her that David Hallam, Miranda’s boss, gave me the news that my daughter might still be alive, too.”

  Miranda cast an awkward glance at Rafael’s set face and then looked encouragingly at Bob. “You know that—that Lucy doesn’t remember—anything, don’t you?” she asked, reluctantly withdrawing her hand from Rafael’s. There was something clandestine about their intense awareness of one another and while she wanted desperately to turn to Rafael she could not allow herself to do so. That way lay disaster and disillusion… Besides, Bob needed her. Rafael didn’t.

  Bob was nodding now. “I know. Don Rafael explained the position to me. I had just arrived at the hacienda and was talking to—er—Doña Isabella? Is that right? Yes? Well, I was talking with her when Don Rafael appeared. Apparently, she was telling me, her other son, Juan, has been quite taken with Lucy.”

  Miranda chanced another glance at Rafael, but he had transferred both his hands to the wheel now and seemed intent on negotiating the uneven terrain that led up to the white-walled monastery.

  “Is that it?” exclaimed Bob, leaning forward and pointing.

  “Yes,” Miranda nodded. “Not very far now.”

  Bob uttered an eager cry and impulsively put one arm around her. “Oh Miranda! he muttered, pressing his face against her neck. “You’ve no idea what this means to me after all these months! Thank God I’ve got you now that Susan’s gone. You’ll help me with Lucy, won’t you? Who knows—” He lifted his head and looked into her eyes. “Who knows, we might be able to make something out, hmm?”

  Miranda was horrified. “Oh, Bob, please,” she began, feeling the hot colour running up her neck to her face. “I—I—” she looked helplessly at Rafael and now encountered the full force of cold dark eyes before he turned his head sharply back to the road again.

  Lucy came running out to greet them as usual. She had recognised the Landrover and perhaps she was hoping that Rafael was going to take her out again. Rafael swung down from the vehicle first, and a shy smile lifted the corners of the little girl’s mouth. Then he reached into the Landrover and taking Miranda’s wrist in a grip of steel drew her out, too.

  “Miranda!” Lucy exclaimed excitedly, and the older girl was warmed by the enthusiasm in her voice which had seldom lifted in quite that way for her.

  “Hello, love,” she said, as Lucy came running towards her. “It’s so good to see you again.” And a lump formed in her throat as the little girl reached up to hug her.

  “It’s good to see you, too,” she declared. “Tio Juan said you were ill and couldn’t have visitors, but I wanted to see you. Tio Juan said we would go and see you together—maybe today!”

  Miranda glanced over her shoulder at the Landrover. “Well, I’m here now, Lucy,” she said encouragingly. “And—and I’ve brought someone else for you to meet.”

  Lucy took an automatic step backward. “Oh, yes?”

  “Yes.” Miranda caught her hand. “Darling, don’t run away, please! Go—go and see who’s in the Landrover. It—it’s someone who’s simply dying to see you. Someone you love—very much.”

  Lucy hung back for a few more seconds and then on reluctant feet she took a few steps forward. She peered into the shadowy interior of the Landrover and then her eyes widened into enormous orbs of disbelief.

  “It—it’s—oh, no, it can’t be, it can’t be!” and she burst into hysterical sobs and would have rushed away had not Rafael caught her and propelled her determinedly back to the vehicle where Bob Carmichael was slowly getting out.

  “Hello, Lucy,” he said, as Rafael continued to hold her struggling little body between his hands. “You remember me, don’t you? Say you remember me! Daddy’s come such a long way to find you.”

  About three-quarters of an hour later, Rafael came to find Miranda.

  She had been sitting on a broken stone wall that had once housed the supplies for the monastery, shadowed by the drunken beams that were all that was left of the roof of the building. She had been sitting there for quite some time after refusing Father Esteban’s offer of refreshment. Bob and Lucy and Rafael had all gone into the building with the priest, but she had pleaded a need for air and been left alone.

  She was trying to burgeon her spirits by reiterating the fact that now her father was here and Lucy was beginning the long haul back to full consciousness of her identity Juan no longer had any hold on her—on either of them.

  But it didn’t seem to work. Whether her days in bed had weakened her or whether it was simply the knowledge that there was nothing now to keep her in the valley, she didn’t know, but she felt utterly depressed. So much for Father Domenico’s machinations, she thought without malice. There was no longer any reason for Doña Isabella to hope that Juan might abandon his position on the estate and leave a gap that only Rafael could fill. No doubt she would not give up, maybe she would find some other method to keep her eldest son close to her, but Miranda would have no part of it.

  She was not aware of Rafael’s approach until he climbed the wall and came to stand in front of her. He was wearing tight-fitting denim pants that clung to his thighs and she would not lift her eyes above hip-level.

  “I am about to take your brother-in-law and Lucy to the hacienda, señorita,” he stated formally. “Señor Carmichael wishes to thank my mother and my brother for their hospitality. Are you ready to leave?”

  Miranda twisted her hands together. “When—when does Bob expect to leave?”

  “This afternoon.” Rafael shrugged. “He came by automobile, but it is a long and uncomfortable journey by road. I have offered to take him to Puebla in the helicopter. His car and its chofer will leave this morning and meet him there.”

  “I see.” Miranda swallowed convulsively. “Well, my things are at your house. I’ll wait there until Bob has been to the hacienda and come back again—if—if you don’t mind.”

  Rafael shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “You are leaving with your brother-in-law?” he asked harshly.

  Miranda had to look up then. “Of course. Bob—Bob will need me. He—he’s not much good around the house.”

  Rafael’s expression darkened angrily. “You will live with him?”

  Miranda made a helpless gesture. “Of course. Why not?”

  Rafael shook his head. “When you are ready, señorita…”

  Miranda got up, looking up at him anxiously. “What did you expect me to say, Rafael? I shan’t be sleeping with him, if that’s what you think.”

  Rafael turned away and climbed back over the wall. “The others are waiting, señorita,” he said, and walked away.

  London was damp and cold, and although it was July, it was nothing like summer.

  Bob and Lucy had no home of their own, the Carmichaels having sold their house and stored the furniture when they first left for South America, so they moved in with Miranda for the time being. Not that Miranda minded. Since leaving Rafael in the reception lounge of the airport building at Puebla, she had felt drained of all emotion, and was glad of their presence to fill the empty flat.

  Bob had no desire to resume working in South America, although the firm he worked for had offered him his old job back again. Instead, they agreed to him being seconded into the London office for a year to enable him to find his feet again.

  Lucy started school the day Miranda returned to the bank, and that was when the problems began.

  Not that individually they had problems. Bob was clearly glad t
o be in harness again; David Hallam was so relieved that Miranda had come back to take over from a rather inferior stand-in that he forgot to be angry that the two weeks’ absence had lengthened into four; and Lucy found school quite a novelty after being free for so long.

  But school finished at four o’clock, and Miranda was first home at around five-thirty, which meant that Lucy would be alone for fully an hour and a half.

  To begin with, Miranda managed to arrange with David to work her lunch hour and leave at four o’clock too. David didn’t like it, but afraid of losing her again, he agreed to a limited period. However, at the end of two weeks when Bob had made no effort to make other arrangements, Miranda broached the subject.

  “I’ve been thinking about it,” he replied, in answer to her queries. “What I really need is a housekeeper, isn’t it? But we don’t have room for a housekeeper here.”

  Keeping her own feelings out of it, Miranda said: “You could move—get another flat, or a house. You could employ a housekeeper, Bob. You can afford one.”

  “I know that.” Bob moved closer to her on the couch. Lucy was in bed. She shared Miranda’s room while Bob slept on this bed settee. “Miranda, I don’t want to employ a housekeeper. I want you to marry me—No! Wait!” as she would have interrupted him. “I know it’s too soon, I know Susan hasn’t been dead a year yet, but can’t you see that would be the ideal solution?”

  Miranda sprang up from the couch. “No, Bob,” she said, definitely. “No. That’s impossible.”

  “Why? Why is it impossible? There’s no one else. No one serious, that is. You’ve told me that your feelings for Hallam don’t match his for you. Why is it such an impossibility?”

  “Because I don’t love you, Bob.” Miranda spread her hands. “Please—you’ve got to believe me. I shan’t change my mind.”

  Bob hunched his shoulders. He had a defeated look and she felt sorry for him, but that wasn’t sufficient basis for a marriage.

  “You realise if you turn me down I shall look for someone else, don’t you?” he asked quietly. “It’s no good, Miranda. I’m not a man who can live alone. Susan knew this. She would understand. Are you sure you’re not letting your feelings for her blind you to the suitability of this situation?”

  “No. No, of course not.” Miranda shook her head vigorously. “Please—do as you like. Look for a house, or a flat. Employ someone for Lucy. I’ll come and see you as often as I can, but I can’t marry you, Bob.”

  After that, the situation between them was somewhat strained. Miranda had not realised how subtly he had insinuated himself into her life, sharing the cooking with her, drying dishes, generally making himself useful. Once he knew Miranda had no intention of marrying him, he took to leaving his things about in an untidy fashion, never drying dishes, never entering the kitchen unless it was to ask her something and she happened to be there. Fortunately, Lucy seemed not to notice the change and for her sake Miranda tried to behave as if nothing was wrong.

  But at last Bob announced that he had found an apartment. He was arranging for the furniture that was in store to be delivered the next day and he and Lucy would be leaving in two days. Miranda tried to show enthusiasm, but Bob’s attitude left little room for friendship. She had never felt so alone, not even in the valley. Always then, she had had Lucy to think of—now she had no one.

  The worst time was coming home on the evening after Bob and Lucy had moved—to an empty flat. David had invited her out to dinner that evening, sensing that she would feel lonely without any company, and she had gratefully accepted. He was calling for her at seven-thirty, and she ran up the steps at five-thirty she reflected that she had only two hours to get through before his arrival. Only two hours… It could seem a lifetime.

  She inserted her key in the lock and opened the door into the lounge. Then she halted aghast at the sight of a man stretched out on the bed settee. She thought for a minute that Bob had come back, that something had happened to Lucy, but her entrance had disturbed her visitor and as he got slowly to his feet her handbag dropped from her nerveless fingers and she fell back against the closing door so that it slammed behind her.

  “Rafael!” she breathed weakly. “Oh, God, it is you, isn’t it? I—I’m not dreaming this, am I?”

  He moved towards her, grasping her wrists and drawing her towards him, wrapping her arms around his back, forcing her so closely against him that she was left in no doubt that this was the substance, not the shadow. For a moment he just held her closely against him, and then he drew back and looked down into her face.

  “Dream—or nightmare?” he demanded huskily, and she felt her lips trembling as she stammered: “Dream—oh, yes, dream, Rafael!”

  And then he was kissing her, over and over again, hungry urgent kisses that left her in no doubt of his need for her. He muttered to her in his own language, between kisses, against her throat and her neck and her mouth, his hands tangled in her hair, caressing her, intimately taking possession of her in a way that hitherto she had not experienced. “Mine,” he muttered, with intense satisfaction. “Mine, are you not?”

  Miranda didn’t answer him. It was enough to be in his arms. She didn’t want to question the rights and wrongs of something that might so easily evaporate in the cooler temperature of common sense.

  But at last Rafael held her away from him, looking with undisguised pleasure at her dishevelled appearance—her tangled hair, her bare mouth and flushed cheeks, the rounded swell of her breasts visible between the buttons he had unfastened on her shirt.

  “Hmm,” he murmured, his mouth frankly sensuous. “You are a witch, Miranda. You have cast a spell on me. Without you, I am an empty vessel.”

  Miranda twisted in his hands, half embarrassed at his intent appraisal, but he would not let her go. “Do not be ashamed, querida,” he said huskily. “You have a beautiful body—and I intend to possess every centimetre of it, do you understand?” Then his hands dropped to his sides. “Do you not want to know why I am here?”

  Miranda’s fingers fumbled for the buttons on her shirt, but his hands stayed hers. “See,” he groaned, pulling her against him again, “I cannot keep my hands from you. Dios come closer to me—closer. Oh, Miranda, I do so badly want to love you!”

  Miranda’s senses were inflamed. His words were more intoxicating than wine. But she tore herself away from him, putting the settee between them. “Why—why are you here, Rafael?” she asked, forcing a calmness she was far from feeling.

  If she had expected him to be angry at her withdrawal she was pleasantly surprised. Instead, he took up a position before the empty hearth and said: “I am here because I am in love with you, Miranda. I think I have been in love with you for quite a long time.”

  Miranda pressed her hands together. “But—but—your career—”

  “What career?” His eyes caressed her. “I have several.”

  Miranda gripped the back of the settee. “Don’t tease me, Rafael. Constancia told me you were—you were to enter the priesthood.”

  Rafael’s expression became grave. “Yes. Yes, I was.”

  “Then how can you give it up so lightly—”

  “I do not give it up lightly,” he corrected her, his voice hardening a fraction. “But since meeting you I have realised that I do not have the vocation I once imagined I possessed—”

  “But you didn’t—” Miranda shifted restlessly. “Rafael, never at any time did you lead me to believe—” She broke off biting her lips. “Has—has Father Domenico persuaded you to change your mind?”

  “Father Domenico?” Rafael frowned. “Why should Father Domenico persuade me to change my mind?”

  Miranda shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together. Then she burst out: “Your mother wanted you to give it up, didn’t she? She thought if—if I were to marry Juan and he had to leave the estate you would be forced to take it over! But then Bob came and—well, the situation changed, didn’t it? I wondered if they’d try something else, and they have—they have!
” Her voice broke on a sob, and in a moment Rafael was beside her, drawing her resisting body into his arms.

  “What are you talking about?” he murmured gently, pressing her face into his chest. She had unfastened his shirt earlier and as he had made no move to button it again her cheek was against the hair-roughened skin. “Do you honestly suppose, knowing my mother as you do, that she would encourage me to leave the priesthood to marry, not only an English girl, but a Protestant into the bargain? Oh, no, querida, you were not her choice.”

  Miranda couldn’t take it all in. Had he actually said he intended marrying her?

  “But you didn’t explain…” she whispered.

  “What is there to explain?” Rafael spoke urgently, as though for not much longer he would continue to control his emotions. “All right, all right. If it is explanations you want, I will give them to you. I was—attracted to you from the beginning. I think you were aware of this, too, were you not? It was my first experience of a doubt which was to fill my days with indecision, my nights with despair. I had set myself above such things, and I was finding myself as sick with longing for you as any unrequited suitor.”

  “Oh, Rafael!”

  “Si. I was so jealous of Juan, of the twins, of anyone who came into contact with you, and yet I myself kept away, unable to guarantee my own behaviour. That day at the lake, when I lay with you on the beach, I think I would have made love to you then had I not been so acutely aware of the child. You knew I wanted you, didn’t you?” And at her half-embarrassed nod, he smiled wryly: “No wonder I was so shaken on the journey back. You thought I was ill. I was—but not from any physical malady.” He shook his head reminiscently. “And finally, there was the night at my house when I so nearly took that irrevocable step. Why did you stop me? Did you not realise that once I had lain with you I would never have left you? I am not like these other men you have known. This time it will be for life, amada, make no mistake.”

  Miranda drew herself unsteadily out of his arms. “I—I don’t understand, Rafael. Do—do you think my refusal that night at—at your house was through fear? Fear that you might leave me? What do you mean—you are not like other men I have known?”