Country of the Falcon Page 5

  Below them the character of the land had changed. There were still trees and rivers, but it was a much hillier area, and Alexandra realised they were in the foothills of the mountains.

  She couldn’t help the way her heart leapt into her mouth as they skimmed the treetops on the slopes of rocky hillside and closed her eyes as they came in to land on what appeared to be little more than a shelf projecting from the mountainside. She opened her eyes at the feeling of solid ground beneath the plane and saw that in fact it was a tiny airport with white-painted buildings and a proper airstrip.

  Declan taxied up to the buildings and after a final word with airport control, took off the headphones. He undid his safety belt and then turned, saying: ‘You can stop praying. We’re here!’ in lazily derisive tones.

  Alexandra refused to look at him, busying herself with unfastening her seat belt, and he shrugged before swinging open the door and climbing out. Immediately, a dark-skinned man wearing oil-stained overalls came over to him, shaking his hand and engaging him in conversation and Alexandra was left to make her own arrangements.

  Thrusting her legs forward, she grasped the door frame and levered herself out of her seat. Then she turned and slowly climbed down on to the tarmac.

  But the effects of the journey had been greater than she had imagined. As her feet touched the ground everything—the plane, the airport buildings, even Declan O’Rourke and the man talking to him—began to spin round dizzily and a wave of nausea swept over her. She pressed a hand weakly to her throat and saw the recognition of her symptoms in Declan’s eyes. She turned away, only just in time. She was violently, and ignominiously, sick, just behind the plane.

  She wanted to die, she thought miserably. How could she ever face him again? She rested one hand against the fuselage and felt the world begin to subside once more.

  ‘Take it easy!’ Declan’s hands descended on her shoulders and his voice was almost gentle. ‘You’ve had a pretty rough day. Come on! The station wagon’s over here.’

  Alexandra wanted to draw away from him, to show him that she didn’t need his pity, but there was something infinitely reassuring about his arm across her shoulders. The man in the white overalls had tactfully moved away, but at a word of command from Declan he hurried forward to unload their gear from the plane.

  As they walked towards a dust-smeared station wagon parked at the edge of the strip, Alexandra got a brief impression of the accuracy which must have been needed to land here. In the cool aftermath of the storm the air was fresh and clear for miles, and she could see how the thickly foliaged sward fell away to the right into the river basin. To their left rose the granite-hard slopes of the mountains, reaching up to form jagged peaks against the skyline. Even the mountains had an alien quality about them, a remoteness, as if they felt secure within their walls of impenetrable forest.

  But now Declan was swinging open the door of the station wagon and helping her inside, and she felt a sense of relief at the normality of it all after the holocaust she had just experienced. Declan went back to help the other man with their luggage and presently it was stowed in the back of the vehicle and he had bidden the man goodbye. He swung open his own door and climbed in beside her, casting a speculative glance in her direction before starting the motor.

  ‘How do you feel?’ he enquired, and she endeavoured to appear composed.

  ‘I’m all right, thank you.’

  ‘Not feeling sick again?’

  Alexandra pressed her lips together. ‘Must you bring that up?’

  A smile lifted the corners of his mouth. ‘I thought that was your prerogative!’

  Alexandra made an involuntary exclamation. ‘Must you always score points, Mr. O’Rourke?’

  He flicked the ignition. ‘Don’t make it so easy for me.’

  The station wagon began to move, and determining not to argue with him, Alexandra tried to pay attention to her surroundings. Her stomach did still feel rather queasy, but she wasn’t going to give him that satisfaction. She had a strong suspicion that it was all due to that revolting liquid he had made her drink the night before, but such an accusation would be bound to arouse further derision, so she said nothing.

  It was late afternoon already and the sun had lost most of its venom. Here in the mountains the air was much cooler anyway, and the breeze coming through the open windows was most refreshing. The track that led away from the small air-strip was nothing more than a series of muddy potholes after the storm, and as it was no wider than the width of the station wagon, Alexandra lived in fear of their meeting another vehicle head-on. It was hair-raising enough driving on the very edge of a precipice which fell away to the river basin below them without the added hazard of tyres skidding on the slippery surface.

  However, after a while Alexandra gave herself up to the realisation that nothing she could do would improve matters and therefore, as Declan had pointed out earlier, there was no sense in quickening her heartbeats by puerile panic. The trees and shrubs that sprawled up the mountainside were recognisable as pines and gorse bushes, and once there was the spectacular sight of a carpet of gentians and amaryllis growing beside a tumbling waterfall. It was such an unexpected scene that she could not stifle the gasp of delight that escaped her, and for a moment she forgot her own discomforts in the pure delight of discovery.

  ‘It’s not all the ugliness and deprivation you imagined, is it?’ observed Declan wryly, glancing sideways at her. ‘Here one can pass through all the seasons in a single day. Flowers blossom, wither and die all in the space of twenty-four hours.’

  ‘How sad!’ She caught her breath.

  ‘Not necessarily. Who decides the length of a life’s span? For man—beast—or plant? Would you gather them and put them in a vase and allow them to eke out an existence in a totally alien environment just so that you could appreciate their beauty a little longer?’

  Alexandra frowned. ‘You make it sound selfish.’

  ‘Isn’t it? Do you honestly believe that you can artificially extend the life of anything if such an undertaking were not ordained?’

  ‘What are you saying? That you don’t believe in operations, transfusions—transplants, even?’

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m no purist. On the contrary, I find such techniques extremely interesting. But that’s your environment, your life, your expectation of deliverance. From the minute you’re born you are programmed to accept that kind of environment. But everything, every person, has a different programme, and I don’t believe you should attempt to impose your life style on anyone else just because you believe in it implicitly.’

  Alexandra was intrigued, in spite of herself, and his conversation had had the effect of temporarily banishing her nausea. ‘I suppose what you mean is—let nature take its course. Let human nature develop at its own pace. But surely, if you believe this, there would never have been any progress made in technological things.’

  ‘On the contrary, progress is an inborn capacity. It is not cultivated.’

  Alexandra shook her head. ‘I think that some people need assistance …’

  ‘Do you? Why?’ His thick lashes shaded his eyes. ‘Are you so convinced that what you want is right? And what’s it all for anyway? Do you realise that those forests down there have existed for a hundred million years? Can you grasp that? Can your puny mind encompass the limitlessness of such a span? I doubt it. It would be impossible. We all tend to imagine that our lives will go on for ever, that there could have been nothing of importance before we appeared on the scene. But it’s not true. Life went on before our advent and will continue to do so after we are dead, so why strive to achieve the kind of material success we’re talking about? Ultimately a man’s life is judged on its quality. Has he had a happy life—a fulfilled existence? And surely people are the most important thing. And they cannot be bought—at least, the people who matter can’t.’

  Alexandra stared at him. ‘That’s a fascinating philosophy!’ she exclaimed eagerly.


  His expression was wry. ‘Yes. Well, I guess that’s what comes of living in a world where time has lost all meaning. Perhaps one day you’ll understand what I mean. What was it Gray said? Something about many a flower being born to blush unseen …’

  ‘… and waste its sweetness on the desert air,’ finished Alexandra, with a smile. ‘Yes, I think I understand that now. But it’s still a shame!’

  The road was descending quite steeply now, and the undergrowth on each side gave an illusive sense of security which disappeared entirely when they emerged on the rim of a gorge below which a narrow torrent seethed and surged over ragged black rocks. Alexandra cast a horrified look in Declan’s direction, and he said:

  ‘Don’t be alarmed. We don’t have to go down there. At least, not intentionally!’

  ‘But aren’t we nearly there?’ she asked appealingly.

  ‘Oh, yes,’ he nodded. ‘This place is called Ravina de Diablo—Devil’s Ravine. You realised, of course, that Paradiablo means to the devil!’

  ‘No. No, I didn’t.’ She shrugged. ‘I didn’t think about it.’ She looked round. ‘What a lonely place. Where is the village?’

  ‘Across the gorge.’ His mouth mocked her. ‘Relax. It’s not much further.’

  Alexandra wished she could relax, but her earlier tension had returned and with it her nausea. How on earth were they to cross the gorge? There didn’t appear to be any bridge. And in any case, who could build a bridge here, so many miles from civilisation? Her nails curled into her palms. And where was her father? And what kind of accommodation was she expected to occupy? She thought longingly of a bath and a change of clothes, such simple pleasures which now appeared the height of luxury. And somehow the prospect of sleeping again in a hammock filled her with despair.

  She fought back the intense weariness which was threatening to overwhelm her. She was tired, that was all, she told herself, and it had been an exhausting day. She would feel entirely different after she had spoken with her father and had some sleep.

  The station wagon was slowing perceptibly and a sharp bend in the track brought them to the very brink of the ravine. It was narrower at this point, two jutting wedges of rock providing a platform above the chasm, and connecting the two there was slung a rope walk, wide enough for a man to cross.

  Alexandra turned to look at Declan in the fading light, her lips parting in dismay. ‘Do we—have we to cross that?’ she asked in horror.

  Declan brought the car to a halt beside a rough wooden building that stood like a sentinel beside the primitive bridge. ‘I’m afraid so,’ he agreed, switching off the engine. ‘But I promise you the journey is over.’

  Alexandra pushed open her door and climbed out, staring impotently across the gorge. In the fast invading gloom it was impossible to distinguish anything beyond a thick belt of trees that seemed to form a wall at the far end of the rope walk and there seemed no possible sign of a village at all.

  Declan was unloading their gear and she had, perforce, to go round and help him. However, all he would permit her to carry was his haversack which he helped her to sling on her back, while he shouldered her cases and hand luggage.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘follow me. If you hold on to the sides you’ll be all right. If you’re nervous don’t look down!’

  Alexandra was nervous, but of course she had to look down, and her legs trembled violently. The bridge had been made out of plaited creepers worn smooth by the passage of time, and it swung and swayed above the chasm like a pendulum. Declan was obviously used to its unsteady motion and he measured his steps to its oscillating rhythm, progressing much more quickly than Alexandra. She moved slowly, clinging tightly to the ropes, terrified in case her earlier dizziness returned.

  Halfway across she heard a dog begin barking, an eager excited sound that caused her brows to draw together uncomprehendingly. What was a dog doing here, apparently miles from anywhere? She didn’t even know the villagers kept dogs.

  Declan reached the opposite bank and turned to give her a hand to make the final leap from bridge to reassuringly solid rock. ‘All right?’ he enquired, and she nodded without enthusiasm.

  But then she realised that what she had imagined was an impenetrable wall of trees was in fact a high wooden fence, and even as she absorbed this startling fact Declan was opening a gate in the fence and urging her forward.

  The source of the barking was soon evident when two massive wolfhounds confronted them, growling suspiciously at Alexandra. She checked, her whole system freezing before their menacing attitudes, but at a word from Declan their hackles fell and they fussed about him, wagging their tails and licking his hands, and generally showing him how pleased they were to see him.

  He closed the gate and Alexandra looked rather doubtfully about her. They were standing, amazingly, on a paved footpath that disappeared between hedges of flowering shrubs whose perfume was intoxicating on the night air. They could almost have been in a garden, she thought, were such a thing not ridiculous out here.

  Declan gave her a wry smile before going ahead with the dogs and leaving her to follow him along the path. He had switched on his torch and she was glad of that small pool of light moving ahead of her. Darkness had fallen swiftly as it always did in the tropics and the coolness of the air was accentuated by their extra height above sea level.

  She was so intent on looking down to see where she was going that she was not conscious of the lights ahead of her until they emerged into a clearing. And even then she was totally unprepared for the brooding beauty of the rambling, log-constructed house that confronted her. It was a one-storeyed dwelling, backed by trees, with a sloping roof and overhanging eaves that shaded a verandah. Shallow steps led up to a mesh door, while all the windows had shutters, bolted against the onslaught of moths and other flying insects attracted by the light. Tubs of clematis stood beside the posts that supported the eaves, and clustered in clumps between the woodwork. Light spilled through the mesh doorway and even as they approached an elderly woman wearing a long apron appeared at the top of the steps and came hurrying down to greet them. She was small and dark, a mixture of Indian and Portuguese, Alexandra guessed, and she spoke to Declan in that language until he interrupted her.

  ‘English, Consuelo, por favor,’ he enjoined quietly. ‘This is Miss Tempest. She is to be our house guest. She is the daughter of Professor Tempest, you understand?’

  As the little woman nodded and turned to her, Alexandra’s startled brain registered what Declan had just said—that she was to be his house guest! She swallowed convulsively. What did he mean? Was this beautiful house his? And if so, was her father staying here?

  It was hard to take it all in after the anxieties of the journey, and as though sensing this Declan put his hand beneath her elbow and urged her up the steps.

  ‘You have prepared a room?’ he was asking Consuelo, and she replied that she had, and that she would have a meal prepared in next to no time.

  Alexandra looked helplessly up into Declan’s face. ‘My father…’ she began, but he shook his head.

  ‘Not yet,’ he said, and his statement brooked no argument. ‘Consuelo will show you to your room, you can bathe and change, and then we will discuss your father, right?’

  Alexandra gave in. His words—the prospect of being able to wash the dirt of the journey from her body had become the most important thing, and she couldn’t suppress a certain curiosity to see more of the house.

  Inside the mesh door was an enormous living area. The unpolished log walls were a fitting backcloth to the huge brown leather couch and armchairs which flanked the wide stone fireplace. A log fire burned brightly in the grate, glinting on the ornamental shields and hunting spears that adorned the walls. There were skin rugs on the floor, and shelves of books filled the spaces beside the chimney breast. The lighting was provided by two hanging lamps of burnished copper that gleamed from hours of patient polishing. A low table before the hearth supported a solid-looking gold lighter, shaped like a s
mall cannon, and an opened box of Havana cigars. There was a cupboard displaying an elaborate choice of spirits, and a bureau at which someone had obviously been working and had left a disarray of papers. At the opposite end of the room there was an eating area with dark wood chairs and a polished table where a bowl of exotic calla lilies provided a brilliantly vivid splash of colour.

  Altogether it was one of the most attractive rooms Alexandra could ever remember seeing, and her brow furrowed as she followed Consuelo over to a heavy door which opened into a long hallway. She was conscious that Declan had followed them into the room and was presently helping himself from the cupboard containing the alcohol with the familiarity of long use. She shook her head. Who was he? This man who, because of his rapport with the Indians, she had assumed was an adventurer of some sort? And what was he doing living here in such state miles from people of his own kind?

  Her thoughts were interrupted when Consuelo halted beside a closed door some distance along the hall. She indicated that Alexandra should wait outside for a moment and a few seconds later she had lit a lamp and was beckoning the girl to enter.

  It was another attractive apartment, very much like the living room but without the shields and spears on the wall, and of course there was no fireplace. The furniture was huge and old-fashioned, but the wide bed looked wonderfully comfortable beneath its antique tapestry spread. A faint scent of beeswax mingled with the lingering smell of the spirit Consuelo had used to light the lamp, and to Alexandra, expecting to spend the night slung in a hammock beneath the thatched roof of a native hut, it looked like heaven.

  ‘See!’ Consuelo picked up the lamp after assuring herself that their guest had shown a fitting amount of enthusiasm about the sleeping arrangements. ‘You wash in here.’

  Alexandra followed her across to an inner door and allowed herself to be propelled into what appeared to be the bathroom. Consuelo held the lamp high and smiled her satisfaction at Alexandra’s surprise at finding an enormous porcelain bath and basin, fed by a gas boiler, and a throne-like lavatory.