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  Then, shrugging these thoughts aside, she automatically locked the bathroom door and stripped off her clothes. It was refreshing to sluice away that awful clinging damp feeling under the shower, and afterwards she wrapped herself in the huge cream bath sheet which she had found folded on an ottoman. Then, smoothing back the tendrils of hair which had escaped from her braids, she walked to the door of the bedroom.

  Gingerly she opened it, half afraid that Salvador might still be there, but he was gone, and lying on the huge bed was a silk dressing gown.

  She glanced round. The lighting in the room came from a peach shaded lamp beside the bed, while the bedcovers were rose-coloured, like the drapes at the windows. A soft white carpet was underfoot, and rippled against her toes as she moved. It was a beautiful room, the furniture a light teak, with cut crystal dishes and candlesticks on the dressing table.

  She stood for a moment, listening, but everywhere seemed silent up here, away from that side of the house where the party had been going on. She allowed the bath sheet to fall to the ground, and wrapped herself in the pale green silk gown. It was sheer and expensive, and clung lovingly to the curves of her body. It gave her a sensuous feeling, and she wondered rather wildly what she was expected to do now.

  Then there was a tap at the door, and Salvador appeared again at her bidding. 'Ah,' he said, with approval, 'that is better, yes?'

  'Much better,' agreed Dominique cautiously.

  'Good. I will collect your clothes from the bathroom and have them dried for you. It will not take long, Miss Mallory. Do not look so alarmed!'

  Dominique didn't know what to say, so she said nothing. Obviously Salvador was in control of the situation.

  'Er ... Mr. Harding ..she began awkwardly.

  'Mr. Harding is with Senhor Santos's other guests,' replied Salvador. 'Do not concern yourself. He is being looked after, and has been assured of your safety.'

  Dominique wondered. 'Do - do you have a cigarette?' she asked uncomfortably.

  'Of course. In the box on the table beside the bed,' indicated Salvador. 'You would like something to eat, perhaps? Or a drink?'

  'No, nothing else, thank you,' replied Dominique, shaking her head.

  'Very well. You will excuse me?'

  'Yes, yes, of course.'

  Dominique nodded and turned away to help herself to a cigarette, aware that she was beginning to feel more relaxed with Salvador. She was getting used to his competence, and appreciating his silences.

  After he had gone the room was very quiet. Dominique paced about restlessly, wishing the whole evening had never happened. She had made an absolute fool of herself, and no doubt John would think, rightly, of him too. But it hadn't been entirely her fault. Vincente Santos was the instigator.

  If his intention had been to ridicule her for some nefarious reasons of his own, he had certainly succeeded.

  She drew on her cigarette deeply, walking to the doors which opened on to a balcony and stepping out. The sky curved overhead, a cloudless canopy of midnight velvet, the stars seeming larger and brighter than back home in England. The scents of the acacias enveloped her in their fragrance, and she leant her elbows on the balcony rail and sighed. It was such a beautiful night; it was meant for love, not for depression.

  The sound of the door opening behind her brought her back into the room hastily, but it was only Salvador, carrying her folded clothes over his arm. As he had been gone for only about half an hour Dominique was amazed, and showed it.

  Salvador smiled. 'I have a very adequate tumble drier in the basement,' he explained easily, 'and a very competent press.'

  Dominique smiled in return. 'I see. That's marvellous! Thank you, Salvador.'

  Salvador laid the clothes on the bed, and straightened.

  'Have - have Senhor Santos's guests left?' she ventured cautiously.

  'No, senhorita. Why do you ask?'

  Dominique shrugged. 'It's so quiet!'

  'It is a big house, senhorita.'

  'Yes. Yes, I suppose so.' Dominique fingered the material of her dress thoughtfully. 'I - I expect everyone thinks I'm a complete idiot!' she murmured.

  Salvador halted by the door and looked back at her. 'Why should anyone think that?' he asked, almost gently.

  'Well - falling in the pool and so on.'

  'It was an accident, Miss Mallory. No one would fall in the pool fully clothed intentionally.'

  Dominique bent her head. 'They might think I did it to draw attention to myself,' she said, sighing.

  'I do not think so.' Salvador smiled again.

  Dominique looked at him fully. 'Whose - whose gown is this?' she asked, unable to prevent the question.

  Salvador shrugged. 'It belonged to the Senhorita Isabella, Miss Mallory.'

  'Isabella?' Dominique swallowed hard. 'Who is she?'

  'Senhor Santos's sister, Miss Mallory.'

  'Oh, yes!' Dominique nodded. 'She entered a convent, didn't she?'

  'That is correct, Miss Mallory.'

  Dominique gave him an exasperated look. 'You're not a gossip, are you, Salvador?'

  'No, Miss Mallory. I try not to be.'

  'But surely you realize that I'm trying to - well - learn things from you!'

  'I realize that,' Salvador spread his hands expressively. 'However, I suggest if you want to learn about Senhor Santos's family you ask him.'

  'You think he would tell me?'

  'I think he would do a lot of things for you, yes, Miss Mallory.'

  Dominique grimaced. 'Because he can't bear to be thwarted!'

  'Thwarted? What is that?'

  'Oh, never mind!' Dominique ran a hand over her hair wearily. 'Am I expected to get dressed and join the guests again?' Her tone was sardonic.

  'If you wish.'

  Salvador opened the door, and was about to leave the room when a shadow appeared on the landing, and then Vincente Santos was standing in the doorway, looking at them.

  'Salvador,' he said questioningly. 'You were so long ...'

  'We have been talking, senhor,' replied Salvador calmly. 'Did you want me?'

  Vincente's eyes were narrowed, as he looked across at Dominique. 'No, I was curious, that is all. Is our guest recovered? What were you talking about?'

  'This and that,' replied Salvador, much to Dominique's relief. 'Shall I go?'

  Vincente nodded, and stood aside for Salvador to leave the room. Then he entered, and closed the door. Dominique stood by the bed, wishing she had had time to put on her clothes, even though she was aware that the silk dressing gown was vastly becoming.

  However, Vincente did not attempt to touch her. Instead he drew out a case of cheroots and extracted one calmly, lighting it with deliberation, before placing the case back in his pocket.

  Then he looked up, his dark face brooding, his tawny eyes surveying her almost indifferently, as though assessing her qualifications. Then he said, startlingly:

  'I want you to break your engagement to Harding and marry me!'

  'Marry you!' Dominique couldn't believe her ears. 'You can't be serious!'

  His expression was withdrawn but intense. 'Oh, but I am,' he said calmly.

  Dominique pressed the palms of her hands against her burning cheeks. This is ridiculous! You don't want to marry me! You don't love me!'

  'I want you,' he said emotionlessly.

  Dominique turned away, shaking her head in bewilderment. His lack of emotion was uncharacteristic, his indifferent way of stating such assertions was unnerving. She felt like a craft that has been forced out of a safe harbour and is being tossed on a wild and alien sea.

  What manner of man was he that he could attempt to seduce her one minute and then offer her marriage the next? What were his motives? What extra motivations had inspired such a command?

  'I love John!' she managed to say tremblingly.

  'No, you do not,' he replied coolly. 'Do not lie to me, Dominique. At least let there be honesty between us!'

  Dominique swung round. 'Honesty. Hone
sty! How can you talk about being honest? How dare you presume to come here and ask me to marry you, knowing full well that my fiance-is downstairs at this moment, accepting your hospitality, believing in your friendship!'

  Vincente shrugged his broad shoulders. Then he looked at her squarely. 'There was never - can never - be friendship between Harding and myself,' he retorted bitterly.

  Dominique continued to shake her head. She was shaken and disturbed. She was even finding it difficult to believe all this was actually happening.

  'All right, all right, you don't like one another, but that doesn't give you the right to assume—'

  'I've made no assumptions,' retorted Vincente, his voice hard. 'Oh, Dominique, stop deluding yourself! You want me - just as much as I want you! All right, you don't like to admit it, but it's true nevertheless! Why is it that women imagine themselves different from men in that way?'

  'You're talking about lust!' exclaimed Dominique unevenly.

  'So?'

  'So you can't marry a person out of lust!'

  'Did I say that was all it was?'

  'No, but—' Dominique pressed a hand to her throat. 'It is -I know it!'

  'I've told you before, you know nothing about me,' he said bleakly. 'Don't assume too much yourself. Give yourself time to get to know me!'

  Dominique bent her head, her shoulders trembling uncontrollably. Vincente gave a muffled exclamation, and crossed to her instantly, grasping her arms and pulling her roughly to him.

  'See—' he muttered fiercely, 'I'm trembling, too. This is not Santos's way, believe me! I have wanted many women - and I have taken them. You - I respect. You - I am prepared to give my name!'

  Dominique's thoughts ,were incoherent. 'I should be honoured,' she whispered, half hysterically.

  'Stop it!' He forced her chin up with one hand. 'Stop it! Now - what is your answer?'

  Dominique closed her eyes, the lids pale and fragile, arousing his compassion, so that he pressed his lips to her eyes gently, murmuring to her in his own language. She didn't know what he said, she didn't care, she was drifting into a lethargic state of mind, and should he at that moment have decided to possess her utterly, she would have willingly surrendered.

  But Vincente was very conscious of the warmth of her body through the thin material of her gown, and he held her away from him, looking into her eyes, eyes that were drowsy with his lovemaking, and said:

  'Dios, Dominique! Would you have me lose my self-respect as well as my self-control?'

  Her eyes flickered. 'Oh, Vincente,' she murmured achingly.

  Then, without warning, the door burst open, crashing back on its hinges heavily, and John stood in the aperture, glaring at them with eyes that were incensed with fury and jealousy.

  'You swine, Santos!' he snarled violently. 'I'll kill you for this!'

  Vincente released Dominique, and turned towards John calmly. He thrust his hands deliberately into the pockets of his trousers, and walked slowly across to the other man. 'Oh, yes?' he said imperturbably.

  'God damn you to hell!' muttered John heavily, and brought back his fist and hit Vincente full on the chin with a shattering punch. John was a powerful man and the force of his blow, which Vincente made no attempt to defend himself against, sent him staggering back to measure his length on the floor at Dominique's feet.

  'Vincente!' cried Dominique in horror, casting a venomous glance in John's direction. Then she sank down to the floor beside him, pillowing his head on her knees, smoothing his forehead tenderly.

  'Get up!' shouted John savagely, standing over them. 'Get up and fight like a man!'

  Vincente rubbed his chin with one hand, and Dominique looked up at John contemptuously. 'Are you out of your mind?' she gasped. 'Coming in here like this and acting like some - some - wild beast!'

  John wrenched her to her feet. 'You're my fiancee, Dominique. What do you expect me to do? Finding you here with him - half naked!'

  Dominique tore herself out of his hold. 'At least give me a chance to explain!' she cried, rubbing her wrist.

  'And how are you going to explain it?' asked Vincente lazily, getting to his feet.

  Dominique looked at him with tortured eyes. Then she looked back at John whose fists were clenched angrily.

  'Dominique is my fiancee,' said John, controlling himself with obvious difficulty. 'Whatever you say you can't alter that!'

  Vincente straightened, squaring his shoulders. 'Oh, no?' He looked at Dominique. 'And what have you to say to that, carissima?'

  Dominique shook her head, and as John would have stepped forward she put herself between him and Vincente, unconsciously aware that it was the biggest step she had ever taken.

  John was taken aback. 'Dominique!' he muttered incredulously. 'Oh, Dominique, no!' He stared at Vincente Santos. 'Dominique, he's only playing with you as he's played with dozens of women! Don't let him make a fool of you! For God's sake, come away with me now! I'll forgive you anything. Just don't ruin your life!'

  Dominique shook her head. 'I - I can't, John.'

  'Dominique, you're infatuated with him, that's all. All right, all right, I realize you're infatuated with him, but believe me you're making a terrible mistake!'

  Dominique bent her head. 'Please go, John.'

  John hesitated, looked as though he was about to thrust her aside and attack Vincente Santos again, and then with hunched shoulders he turned and went out of the room.

  After he had gone, Dominique moved as far away from Vincente as the room would allow.

  'Well?' he said. 'You have burned your boats, haven't you?' His tone was rather sardonic, and she looked at him bitterly.

  'Yes. What will you do now? Forget you ever made that proposal?' Her breasts heaved swiftly under the silk robe.

  Vincente studied her for a moment longer, then smoothed his hair with both hands. 'No,' he said definitely. 'No, I will not forget that.' He put his hand into his inside pocket and drew out a folded paper. 'Do you see this? It is a licence, a marriage licence. We will be married tomorrow by Father Pesquez, at the church of St. Michel.'

  Dominique was confused. 'But - but - you couldn't be certain—' she began unsteadily.

  'Oh, I was certain,' replied Vincente, straightening his tie and walking to the door. 'I suggest you get some sleep. This room is yours - for tonight. Tomorrow - well, tomorrow there will be different arrangements.'

  'But—' she began.

  'No buts, please. Now I must go and wish our guests farewell. Until tomorrow ...' He gave her a brief nod and left the room.

  CHAPTER SIX

  DOMINIQUE slept badly, but as she had not expected to sleep at all, she supposed she should feel grateful. After so many bewildering experiences her mind could not be expected to relax, and when unconsciousness did overwhelm her, dreams came to torment and confuse her.

  Once, in that deep blackness before dawn, she was awakened by a strange, unnerving scream that penetrated her consciousness and brought her up in the huge bed, terrified. She couldn't imagine what it might be, and in this alien, savage place she felt alone, completely alone, for the first time in her life. Even the death of her father had not affected her this way.

  Eventually, of course, she had to lie down again, and when another scream shattered the silence she realized with relief that it was not a human sound, but the cry of a mountain lion, something she had not as yet encountered.

  But- sleep was not so easy to achieve again at this unearthly hour, and Dominique got up at last and lit a cigarette. Pushing open the balcony doors, she looked out, the air cool and refreshing against her hot limbs. A faint rosy glow was gilding the horizon, and soon dawn would break over the valley, filling their world with light. Dominique leaned on the balcony rail and sighed. Was she really here, or was this just another nightmare? Was she really to marry Vincente Santos? Had the scene with John actually happened? She shook her head. It was unbelievable, incredible!

  And what did she really feel about it? Did she really have any ch
oice? She only knew that since meeting him Vin- cente Santos had dominated her whole existence, in a way no man had ever done before. John she loved, in a purely ^ affectionate way, but he did not inspire the emotions in her that Santos inspired, so that even being near him was a delight, and touching him an obeisance.

  She stubbed her cigarette out jerkily. In spite of everything she might be making a complete fool of herself. After all, divorces were easy to come by these days, particularly if you had Santos's money. He had never said he loved her. He wanted her, oh yes, she didn't doubt that. But was that enough? And if she loved him, would it be enough for her, knowing his feelings were not irrevocably involved? Could she stand by and see him with other women, secure in the knowledge of the circle of gold on her finger?

  She swung back into the room and paced about restlessly. If she had any sense she would pack her cases and leave, not for Bela Vista; her future with John was shattered now; but for England, where at least there were people and places she knew.

  She lay back down on the bed, closing her eyes wearily. What was the good of even thinking such a thing? Santos would not let her go so easily even had she wanted it.

  Unwillingly, she must have slept, for when next she opened her eyes it was brilliant sunlight outside and a glance at her watch told her it was already after eleven.

  Eleven! Dominique slid off the bed shakily, and pressed a hand to her forehead. It couldn't be so late! And if it was, why hadn't she been disturbed?

  She ^glanced round the room. Her clothes still lay where she had left them at the bottom of the bed, but she did not find the idea of putting them on again very appealing. Was this her wedding day, or was it not?

  Then? as though on an invisible cue, Salvador entered the room quietly, as though afraid she might still be asleep.

  When he saw her standing by the bed, looking hot and flustered, he said:

  'Ah, you are awake at last, Miss Mallory.'

  Dominique spread her hands. 'Yes. Honestly, Salvador, it's after eleven, isn't it?'

  'That is correct.' Salvador was his usual calming self.

  Dominique gasped. 'But - I thought - I mean - oh, what is going on?'