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  'Well—' Left alone once again with Luis, Caroline felt hopelessly embarrassed, as much by her own sense of inadequacy as by what the child had said. 'What do I do now?'

  Luis's mouth compressed. 'You are asking me?'

  'Who else?' Caroline made an encompassing gesture around the otherwise empty room. 'There is no one else.' She expelled her breath unevenly. 'Is she always like that?'

  Luis shrugged, tucking his thumbs into the back of his belt. 'You must make allowances for Emilia. She has had a rather—unusual upbringing.'

  'That I can believe!' Caroline was vehement.

  'Do not misunderstand me, Miss Leyton. I am not saying that Emilia is without—gentleness, compassion. Only that she has never known a mother's care.'

  Caroline shook her head. 'But your aunt—'

  'Tia Isabel is—how shall I say it?—a little unworldly.' He paused. 'Miss Thackeray provided the fulcrum of Emilia's existence. When she died…'

  'But what about her father?' Caroline had to say it.

  'Surely he—' She broke off, and then said inconsequently: 'For two brothers, you are totally different.'

  'Forgive me,' Luis's grey eyes narrowed, 'but is that one of your famous English non sequiturs? I do not see what relevance it has to the purpose.'

  'It hasn't,' Caroline sighed forlornly, bending her head.

  'I mean, it has no relevance, of course. I just wish—'

  She broke off again. 'Are there really vampire bats here?'

  Luis's mouth softened a little. 'And if I say yes, will you go running back to Merida?'

  He was teasing her, but she could not respond to it. 'Perhaps, if I could,' she answered now, and his sudden humour disappeared behind a mask of gravity.

  'I think I must be going,' he said, moving purposefully towards the door. 'I promised Tomas I would ride with him this morning, and it grows late.'

  'Wait—' Caroline went after him urgently, her green eyes wide and anxious. 'Please, you have to tell me— what am I to do about Emilia? Where is she? When do her lessons begin? And—and are we allowed to go outside the grounds of the hacienda?'

  Luis halted in the doorway and looked down at her with studied consideration. His stillness disturbed her. The penetration of those light eyes was disruptive. Her lungs began to feel constricted, and her throat felt tight, and she wondered if this was how a penitent felt in the presence of a confessor.

  'I suggest you ask my brother these things,' he advised her at last, his voice curiously constrained. 'He is your employer, seňorita, not I. Now, if you will permit me—'

  'You're not—leaving!'

  It seemed imperative that she should know this for a fact, and without really thinking what she was doing, she emulated Emilia's example and gripped his sleeve. Only somehow her fingers encountered the hair-roughened skin of his forearm, and the feeling of the taut muscle beneath his skin caused an involuntary tremor of awareness to ripple over her. She looked down at her fingers, spreading them almost experimentally, then her chin jerked upward as he wrenched his arm out of her grasp.

  'I return to Mariposa in three days, seňorita,' he told her harshly, and without another word, he strode away.

  Caroline turned back into the salón, aware that she was trembling. She realised she had done an unforgivable thing by making him aware of her like that, but it had happened completely without her volition. Yet perhaps it was inevitable. He was the only person she could turn to, and she dreaded the thought of his eventual departure. But somehow she had to face that reality, and live with it.

  'Seňorita!'

  For a moment, the whispered use of her name confused her. She had thought herself alone in the room. But now she saw that the door to an inner salón had opened, and a tiny figure, voluminous in folds of black silk, was hovering on the threshold. A headdress, of the kind Caroline had previously only seen on those ancient portraits upstairs, formed a kind of jewelled halo above the woman's coiled hair, and her ears and the gnarled knuckles of her fingers glittered with a veritable fortune in diamonds, rubies and emeralds.

  'Doňa Isabel?' ventured Caroline nervously, at a loss to know how else to address her, and the tiny figure bobbed her head in assent. 'How—how do you do? I'm Caroline Leyton—er—Emilia's new governess.'

  'Governess, pah!' Doňa Isabel released her hold on the door and advanced a few paces into the room, staring at Caroline with unconcealed contempt. 'I know who you are, seňorita,' she admonished her, in a low guttural undertone. 'You are Esteban's latest puta, that is who you are! Do you think you can deceive me? I have lived here too long!'

  Caroline was astounded. Her knowledge of Spanish might not be comprehensive, but she knew exactly what puta meant, and its connotations were not only shocking but insulting.

  'I assure you, Doňa Isabel—' she began, only to have the old lady interrupt her.

  'Be silent! I do not hold conversations with putas!' she hissed arrogantly. 'How dare you enter my sister's sitting room? How dare you show your legs, like any common—'

  'That will do, Tia Isabel.' The cultivated masculine tones came as such a relief that Caroline turned to face her employer with real gratitude in her face. She was fast coming to the conclusion that no one could remain sane in this madhouse, and to see Don Esteban entering the room, apparently composed, and sober, in his elegant grey lounge suit, seemed almost a miracle.

  'Puta! Puta!' cried Doňa Isabel shrilly, her voice rising in her agitation. 'How dare Esteban permit his women to use my sister's—'

  'Tia Isabel, my father is dead,' declared Don Esteban flatly, spreading his hands apologetically in Caroline's direction. 'Seňorita, please forgive my aunt. She is sometimes—forgetful.'

  Caroline shook her head in bewilderment as the old lady frowned, and tried to absorb what her nephew was saying. 'Esteban is dead?' she echoed, thin brows meeting above a long aquiline nose. 'Then—then who is this girl? What is she doing at San Luis de Merced?'

  'Miss Leyton is Emilia's new governess,' explained her nephew calmly. 'You remember? I told you. She has come from England to teach Emilia geography and history, no?'

  Doňa Isabel viewed Caroline with suspicion. 'But she was here, talking with Luis. I saw the way she looked at him!'

  'You are imagining things, mi tia,' Esteban retorted, evidently losing patience. 'Go back to your embroidery, tia, I wish to discuss business matters with Miss Leyton.'

  Doňa Isabel hesitated, but clearly Esteban had the upper hand, and with a gesture that was curiously pathetic she disappeared out the door through which she had entered. Her departure was a definite relief, and Caroline linked her fingers together in an effort to hide their obvious trembling, wishing she had more experience in these matters.

  'Please sit down.' Esteban was all sympathetic affability now. 'I do not know how I can satisfactorily atone for my aunt's behaviour, except to beg your indulgence for her temporary lapses of memory.' He sighed. 'She is—was— my mother's sister, an unmarried lady of uncertain years, and prone, I regret to say, to periods of fantasy concerning my father's behaviour.'

  Caroline, who had subsided gratefully on to a satin-striped sofa, looked up at him. 'You mean your father is the Esteban she talks about?'

  'That is correct. I was named for him.'

  'I see,' Caroline nodded.

  'And of course, Isabel was a little jealous of her sister's good fortune.' He smiled, showing even white teeth, brilliant in his dark face. 'Is it not always the way with unmarried ladies?'

  Caroline made an awkward gesture, not quite knowing how to answer him, and taking advantage of her momentary confusion, he came down on to the sofa beside her, his bulk causing the cushions to slope a little in his direction.

  'Seňorita!' He looked diffident, and for a moment she thought he was going to apologise for his own behaviour the night before, but he didn't. 'Seňorita, I am so glad you have come here. Emilia—my daughter, you understand—is sorely in need of young companionship. I do not know how much Doňa Elena—Seň
ora Garcia, that is—told you, but since my wife's death, Emilia has been brought up by an elderly countrywoman of yours, a Miss Thackerary.'

  'Yes.' Caroline acknowledged this, without explaining how she was so informed, and he went on eagerly:

  'She was not a good influence on the child, seňorita. Many times, she went against my judgment in matters concerning Emilia, and unfortunately my brother Luis took her part.'

  'I see.' This was deeper water. 'I'm sorry.'

  'So am I.' Esteban was grave. 'Luis and I are brothers, and it is always sad when blood turns against blood.'

  'Oh, I'm sure—' began Caroline awkwardly, only to break off abruptly when Esteban raised his hand.

  'You do not yet understand, Miss Leyton. Just as Tia Isabel was jealous of her sister, so Luis is jealous of me.'

  'No—'

  'But yes. I regret so.' And indeed, Esteban did look melancholy. 'I am the elder brother, entiende? I have inherited our father's estate. Luis has nothing, except what I give him. His mother, you see, was the puta of whom Tia Isabel speaks.'

  Caroline's face felt frozen in an attitude of disbelief, and as if realising he had gone too far, Esteban hastened to retract.

  'Forgive me,' he said, as she shrank back against the cushions. 'I should not have told you so brutally. I do not mean to be—callous, but I cannot forget that it was Luis's mother who caused my mother's death. She killed herself, you know, mi madre. She flung herself from a second floor window down to the courtyard beneath.' He massaged his temples with the middle finger and the thumb of one hand. 'Believe me, that is not something one can easily forget.'

  'But—' Caroline swallowed convulsively, 'your— your brother's name is Montejo.'

  'Oh, yes.' Esteban heaved a heavy sigh. 'My father married Luis's mother—afterwards. My brother is no bastard, seňorita. At least,' he paused, 'he is not illegitimate.'

  CHAPTER THREE

  Caroline and her charge were to work in the library.

  After unburdening himself of the reasons for the antipathy between himself and Luis, Esteban became calm and businesslike. With a sense of pride, in complete contrast to his inconsequence of the night before, he showed Caroline around the main rooms of the hacienda, pointing out particular pieces of interest, and relating a little of their history. He was knowledgeable about the myths and legends of the area, making her blood tingle with stories of mindless clay men created by the gods, of soulless wooden men whose tools rose up in rebellion against them, and who were turned into monkeys. He showed her an Aztec funerary mask, and described how the evil goddess Tezcatlipoca had dressed the god Quetzalcoatl in such a mask before forcing him to take part in a drunken orgy of lust and incest. The culmination had been that Quetzalcoatl had flung himself on a funeral pyre, and after several days of purification, his heart had risen to the heavens to become the planet Venus.

  There were many such legends, each attached to some remnant of history. As well as the overwhelming influence of Catholicism, there were also tiny effigies of Totec, the Mayan god of mankind; Yum Caax, the maize god; Kinich Ahau and Tlacolteutl; Xolotl, Quetzalcoatl's brother, and Hanhau, the Mayan god of death. The hacienda was a treasure house of gold and antiquity, and although there was something slightly vulgar about it, it was undeniably impressive.

  It was while they were examining the azulejos in the music room that Caroline became aware of someone watching them, and turning quickly, she saw Emilia hovering reluctantly in the doorway. Esteban turned and saw her, too, and with a gesture of welcome bade her join them.

  'Come, pequeňa,' he beckoned her affably. 'Come and meet Miss Leyton. She is your new governess, and I want you to be friends.'

  Emilia made no move towards them. Clearly, Esteban had not been lying when he said she disobeyed him, but whether that was through Luis's influence or not, there was no way of knowing—yet. Certainly Luis's affection for the little girl had seemed genuine enough, and hers for him, but until Caroline had had a chance to talk with her she could make no real assessment.

  'Emilia! Venga! Inmediatamente!' Esteban's voice had lost a lot of its benevolence. 'Come—see what I have here for you.' He fumbled in his pocket, as if searching for a gift. 'If you do not come and look, you will never know what it is I have here, will you? Now, are you going to do as you are told?'

  Emilia sighed, and then, evidently curious to know what he was holding, she left her position by the door and approached them with measured steps. She scarcely looked at Caroline. Her attention was all concentrated on her father, and as she neared him she tilted her head slightly, trying to see what he had in his hand.

  Caroline was curious, too, but she stepped aside politely, unwilling to intrude on this exchange between father and daughter. It was the first time she had seen them together, but although there was a faint family resemblance, Emilia's features must more closely resemble those of her mother.

  What happened next happened so suddenly, it was over before she could protest, even had she dared to do so. As Emilia stretched out her neck to glimpse what her father was holding, his hand shot out and caught her, biting into her arm with cruel intent, as his other hand delivered a blow to her cheek. Emilia staggered, and would have fallen had he not been holding her. Her face went white, as white as the muslin of her dress, except for the livid marks of her father's fingers that were rapidly reddening, but she did not cry. Caroline could see her steeling herself, forcing back the tears, and realised, as the blood drained from her own face, that she was holding her own breath.

  She expelled it as Don Esteban caught his daughter's chin between his fingers, forcing her face up to his. 'Let that be a lesson to you, pequeňa,' he declared, with cold emphasis. 'You will not make a fool of me in front of Miss Leyton, as you tried to do with Miss Thackeray!'

  'No, seňor.'

  Emilia spoke respectfully, but her voice was sullen. It was obvious from her behaviour that this was not the first time her father had struck her, but she had learned from experience not to answer back.

  'Now, greet Miss Leyton as the daughter of the house of Montejo should do, with politeness and courtesy, and a smile on that sulky little face of yours,' he advised, and Caroline had to face yet another mortifying moment.

  'Welcome to San Luis de Merced, Miss Leyton,' Emilia recited, her eyes downcast. And then, at her father's insistence, she lifted her head and spread her lips in an unholy rictus. 'I hope you will be very happy here.'

  Caroline gathered herself with difficulty. 'Thank you, Emilia,' she replied stiffly. 'I—hope I will be, too.'

  'So, now the formalities are over, we will show Miss Leyton where you are to work,' announced Don Esteban, releasing his daughter's arm. 'I think you will find my choice of venue appealing, Miss Leyton. The library is a soundproof room, and I have many interesting first editions.'

  The library was as impressive as the rest of the house. Books lined the walls from floor to ceiling, leather-bound and highly polished, their gold lettering as distinctive now as it had ever been.

  'As you can see, I insist that this collection must be kept in perfect condition,' Esteban said proudly. 'From time to time, I have an expert come here from the university in Mexico City. He examines the books, and arranges any restorative work that is necessary.'

  Caroline looked round her in admiration. A tiny, iron-railed balcony was situated near the moulded ceiling, enabling any enthusiastic bibliophile access to the upper shelves, and a delicately carved spiral staircase complemented the mobile ladder that provided a means of reaching the volumes out of reach.

  'You will work here.' Esteban indicated a leather-topped desk, set beneath the long windows. 'See—I have arranged for Emilia's books to be placed here for your perusal, and if you require anything further, it can be obtained from the supplier in Merida.'

  'Thank you.' Caroline touched the pile of worn textbooks with a grateful finger. This, at least, was something she knew and understood, and she glanced anxiously at Emilia, expecting to meet resentment or
antagonism. But Emilia returned her gaze with only faintly hostile eyes, and Caroline's spirits lifted slightly at the prospect of making some headway.

  'I will leave you,' Esteban said now, much to her relief. 'I have matters of the estate to discuss, with my overseer. I will see you both at lunchtime, seňorita, when we can discuss Emilia's progress. Until then, hasta luego, Miss Leyton. Hasta luego, Emilia.'

  The door closed, and Caroline sank down rather weakly on to the leather chair beside the desk. The silence that followed Esteban's departure was pregnant with emotion, but anything was better than the tension that had gripped her since Emilia joined them in the music room.

  Emilia moved round the desk now, to lean with her elbows on its surface. She regarded Caroline's troubled face with concentration for a few moments, and then, with an inconsequence mature for her years, she said: 'I told you you wouldn't like it here.'

  Caroline looked at her blankly, then briskly reached for one of the dog-eared textbooks. 'You know, you could be right,' she remarked calmly, and opened the book.

  'You didn't tell him,' Emilia went on insistently. 'You didn't tell Don Esteban what I said. Why not?'

  'What you said?' Caroline frowned, as if she couldn't remember the child's words in intimate detail. 'What did you say?'

  Emilia sighed. 'You know! About your not liking it here. About the spiders and the vampires!'

  'Oh, I see.' Caroline shrugged her slim shoulders. 'I'd forgotten. Besides, of what interest would that be to your father?'

  'Don't call him that!' exclaimed Emilia fiercely. 'He's not my father! I hate him!'

  'Emilia!' Caroline had to protest now. 'He is your father, and you shouldn't say such things about him. It— well, it's rude, and ignorant.'