CHAPTER SEVEN

YELLOW sunlight dappled the turquoise blue of the swimming pool and glittered brightly on the concrete surround. It was the warmest part of the day, midafternoon, and Sorrel was glad of the shade offered by a big green and blue striped umbrella as she sat in a deck chair beside a round table and sipped an ice-cold soft drink. She and Monica were relaxing after a session of therapeutic exercises in the limpid buoyant water.

`Well, Sorrel, what's your opinion? Aren't I much better?' Monica's voice was cheerful.

`Very much better,' Sorrel agreed. She was really surprised by the progress Monica had made since Wednesday. The woman's whole attitude to learning to walk had changed, and now there was an eagerness where once there had been reluctance.

`I'm pretty sure that worrying about my relationship with Ramon was preventing me from walking,' mused Monica. 'Subconsciously I must have felt that while I couldn't walk he wouldn't leave me and so I made no effort. Do you think that's possible?'

`Psychosomatic, you mean? Could be,' replied Sorrel, looking at without seeing the drooping fronds of a fernlike shrub which formed a hedge about the pool area, screening it from the house and from the rest of the garden.

Today was Friday. It was three o'clock. She had been back in the Angels' house about fifty-one hours, more than two days. Time had crept by, or so it seemed to her, but perhaps she felt that way because the two

 

days previous to her return had been so crammed with action. Or perhaps it was because she was in a state of perpetual expectation; expecting every time the phone bell rang that the call was for her from Juan; expecting every time the doorbell rang that Juan had come looking for her. But why should he come? She had told him not to follow her, and anyway he never ran after women.

Without being aware of it she sighed. She was feeling very tired, the result of two almost sleepless nights. Tormented by regret, she had tossed and turned, wishing she hadn't said all those things she had said to Juan about his brief innocent association with Monica, wishing she had trusted him instead of listening to Isabella.

`You keep thinking about Juan, don't you?' said Monica.

Sorrel looked across at her. A speedwell blue swimsuit made Monica's eyes look the same colour as the pretty flower and her blonde hair, slightly damp from being in the pool, was curling about her round face. Now that she was reconciled with her husband her mouth had lost its wistful droop and the line between her eyebrows had almost gone. It was easy to see how pretty she must have been at eighteen when she had first met Ramon.

'How do you know I'm not planning some new exercises for you to do?' Sorrel parried lightly.

`Would you sigh and gaze off into space if you were doing that?' retorted Monica. 'Somehow I don't think so.' Her full red lips curved into a rueful smile. `Remember I was attracted to the man myself for a while, so I can appreciate a little how you're feeling.'

`Right now I think I hate him,' Sorrel muttered fervently.

'Then you must be in love with him,' said Monica.

 

`He's hurt you, and he couldn't have done that unless you love him.'

But I hardly know him, and what I do know about him isn't exactly endearing,' argued Sorrel stubbornly. `How can I possibly be in love with a man I met for the first time less than a week ago?'

`You married him.'

`Because he made it difficult for me not to,' replied Sorrel in a low voice which shook a little when her mind was suddenly invaded with memories of Juan's lovemaking in the limousine.

`By making love to you, I suppose,' guessed Monica shrewdly, and again Sorrel looked at her, this time with suspicion. 'Now don't get the wrong idea,' Monica went on. 'He never made love to me, and looking back over the few times I've been in his company I realise that he never looked at me, only through me. Physically I had no attraction for him, and I'd guess that for a man like him physical attraction to a woman is nine-tenths of loving her.' Monica laughed. 'There, doesn't that make you more sure than ever that Isabella was lying when she told you that he'd married you just to throw dust in Ramon's eyes so that he could continue to carry on an affair with me?'

`I should never have listened to her,' said Sorrel.

'And I should never have confided in her,' sighed Monica. But she has a way of making you feel she's doing everything she does on your behalf, that she cares only for your best interests, and all the time she's thinking only of her own.'

'I know what you mean, but it doesn't alter the fact that Juan admitted the day after we were married that he had got married deliberately to stop the gossip about you and him. He deceived me, and that's what hurt so much.'

 

'Did he? Are you sure? Isn't it possible that you were hurt because he didn't say what you wanted to hear at that moment?' asked Monica with a touch of dryness. 'You know, I can just imagine what happened. You would come out with your accusation in that forthright way of yours, charging in like a bull at a gate, never considering how he might feel. I expect he's no different from any other man and has his fair share of pride. What did he say?'

'At first he told me to forget he'd ever met you and that anything he'd done before he met me wasn't my concern, accused me of being jealous about something which hadn't happened and wouldn't happen if I behaved myself and trusted him.'

'Just as I imagined,' commented Monica. 'He didn't say what you wanted to hear. How did you react to that?'

'I asked him how could I trust him when he'd done nothing else but deceive me, and he lost his temper then-and I could see why. He was furious because he'd been found out.'

'Are you sure that's why he was angry?'

'There couldn't be any other reason. It was then he admitted he had thought of getting married to stop gossip.' Sorrel's voice shook uncontrollably as she remembered what else he had said to her. 'I don't want to talk about it anymore,' she mumbled.

'All right, don't,' said Monica equably. 'I thought talking about it might help you to sort things out. You'll have to do something about it soon—you can see that, can't you?'

Was Monica hinting that soon she wouldn't be needing the services of a trained physiotherapist because she'd, be able to walk? wondered Sorrel. If so she had better be planning what she should do when the job

 

came to an end. She could go back to England or ... oh, what did you do when you'd walked out on a man after being married to him for only twelve hours? You could sit tight and hope he'd come after you. But supposing he didn't come? What then? Did you go to him and ask him to take you back?

Monica had let down the back of her lounger and was sunbathing. Sorrel sipped more of her iced drink, staring at the glinting water, and tried to imagine herself going to Juan and couldn't. Monica had suggested he had his fair share of pride. Well, so had she, and it just wouldn't let her go to ask him to take her back. She didn't know him well enough to guess what his reaction would be and she was afraid he would spurn her, especially now that the reason for him wanting to marry in the first place had been wiped out, because she doubted very much if Isabella would continue to spread any more rumours about a non-existent love affair between the wife of a prominent businessman and a notorious bullfighter.

Surely if Juan loved her he would have come after her by now. He had run after her twice to get what he wanted ... She quivered with raw pain. He had wanted her, and she had given in and he had taken what he wanted. Now she could only assume from those last biting, critical words of his that he had found her innocence boring and no longer wanted her, had only wanted her while she had been unattainable. Once she had surrendered to him he had lost interest in her. Was that why he had admitted deceiving her? Because not wanting her any more he hoped to be rid of her?

The sound of voices roused her from her unpleasant thoughts, and looking up she saw Laura and Gabriela, home from school, coming to see their mother. As usual Gabriela had the most to say, showing her affec-

 

tion for Monica by sitting on the edge of the lounger and putting her arm round her mother's neck while she chattered. Not until Gabriela paused to catch her breath was Laura able to say anything, and then she spoke casually, her glance straying in Sorrel's direction.

'A girl at school told me today that Juan Renalda was gored in the arena on Wednesday afternoon at the Copaya corrida. She said it was reported in yesterday's newspaper.'

'Oh!' Gabriela expressed her shocked dismay immediately. `Do you think we've still got our copy of the newspaper?'

'Why don't you ask Manuela?' said Laura.

'Yes, go and do that, Gabriela, there's a good girl,' urged Monica. And bring it here if you find it. Was he badly hurt, do you know, Laura?'

'My friend said something about "critical condition". What do you think that means?'

Sorrel didn't hear Monica's answer. It was taking all her strength to pretend she wasn't feeling sick to her stomach and to remain seated until Gabriela returned with the newspaper. It can't be true, she was saying to herself. He fought his last fight on Tuesday. It must be a mistake, a misprint. The newspaper has printed the wrong name. Oh, what shall I do if he dies?

Pressing the back of her hand against her mouth she leaned back in her chair and as she did so her eyes met Monica's concerned glance.

'It's here, it's here!' Gabriela dashed round the corner of the shrubs, waving the newspaper in her hand. 'It's in a corner of the sports section.'

'Let me see.' Laura took the paper from her sister. 'Read out what it says, Laura,' Monica ordered. Laura read slowly and Sorrel felt that every word was

a knife thrust to her heart.

 

'El Valiente gored in spectacular fight,' said Laura. 'After being hurt early in the faena Juan Renalda remained in the arena to the end of the fight, bringing the crowd of enthusiastic fans to their feet to cheer him when he slew the bull. Then he collapsed through loss of blood. He was rushed immediately to St Joseph's hospital in Copaya, where it was stated he was in a critical condition. Only the day before Renalda had returned to the arena after an absence of nearly two years.' Laura paused, then added, 'It goes on to say how the sport needs toreros with his artistry and sense of drama.'

'Excuse me,' muttered Sorrel, and jumped to her feet. Hand to her mouth, she ran from the pool area behind the screen of bushes and into the house.

When she had finished being sick she wandered to her bedroom and lay down on the bed. Juan was hurt and it was her fault. By running away from him she had disturbed him. But she hadn't known he was going to fight again. Why hadn't he told her? Would he have told her if they hadn't quarrelled? Her head seemed to be spinning with questions and she sat up suddenly, swung off the bed and went over to the clothes closet to pull out her overnight bag. She would have to go to Copaya and see him. It was no use staying here torturing herself with questions which remained unanswered. Above all she had to go to him because he was hurt and in need of all the love she could give him.

She packed her bag, dressed quickly in a lightweight green trouser suit, made sure she had enough money and opened the door to leave the room just as Laura was about to knock on it.

'Mummy sent me to see if you're all right. She's told us, Gabriela and me, that you're married to Juan Renalda. Gabriela is quite green with envy.' Laura's

 

glance went to the overnight bag. 'Are you going to see him?'

'Yes. Where is your mother?'

'In the salon. She walked there by herself with just the help of one stick,' replied Laura excitedly as she followed Sorrel down the stairs. 'Isn't it marvellous?'

'Yes, I don't think she really needs me any more,' agreed Sorrel.

In the salon Monica was lounging on one of the comfortably padded brocade covered chesterfields. She had changed into a long blue and white gown and had brushed her gilt-coloured hair into an aureole of curls. She looked pretty and secure as she waited for Ramon to come home.

'I have to go and see Juan,' said Sorrel abruptly. 'You do understand, don't you?'

'Yes. But wouldn't it be a good idea to phone the hospital in Copaya first? He might be off the critical list by now, which would ease your mind a little,' said Monica.

`No. I'd like to go straight to the airport.'

'Then phone about the flights to Copaya. Make sure of the time one is leaving and make a reservation. There's no point in rushing off to the airport just to sit and wait there,' said Monica reasonably. 'Now calm down, Sorrel. It isn't like you to get so worked up. You're usually the cool, collected one.'

Not since I met Juan, thought Sorrel, noticing her hands were shaking as she dialled the airport number. He's got through to where it hurts and I'll never be the same again.

There was a plane to Copaya leaving in half an hour's time. She was driven to the airport by Pedro. The sun was setting in a blaze of crimson and gold when the plane took off from Medellin, but by the time

 

it landed in Copaya the sky was deep purple, hung with glittering golden stars whose reflections shimmered like Chinese lanterns in the dark flat water of the wide river.

St Joseph's Hospital was an old Colonial-Spanish building just off the main plaza with a tower at one end and rows of small arched windows. A lighted cross glittered on top of the tower, indicating that it was run by a religious order, and inside the atmosphere was cloister-like, quiet and unhurried, quite unlike the hospital in England where Sorrel had worked. At a small office marked Enquiries a nun in a dark habit and white coif told her rather stiffly that Señor Renalda had left the hospital that morning.

'But ... but where has he gone?' exclaimed Sorrel.

'I do not know.' The nun managed to look very severe. 'His condition wasn't good, but he insisted on leaving. That is all I can tell you.'

'Thank you.'

More anxious than ever, Sorrel went outside and stood for a moment at the top of the steps leading up to the main entrance wondering what she should do. A taxi drew up and some people got out of it. At , once Sorrel ran down the steps and asked the driver if he would take her to the street where Eugenia and Diego lived, and within ten minutes she was standing on the doorstep under the mellow light of the lanterns waiting for the front door to open.

To her relief Eugenia herself answered the door and greeted her warmly, drawing her inside and embracing her.

'At last ! ' she exclaimed. 'I am so glad you are back. Diego and I are just having a meal. Come and join us.'

'Is Juan here?' Sorrel asked urgently as she followed Eugenia down the hallway and into a small elegant room furnished as a dining room where Diego was sitting at the table.

 

'No. We believe he has gone to the ranch,' said Eugenia. 'You see, Diego, I told you she would come soon.' She pulled out a chair for Sorrel while Diego stood up politely. 'Sit down, Sorrel,' she urged, 'and have a little polio alla cazador. It is our cook's speciality.'

Although she wanted to be on her way to the ranch Sorrel did as she was told and found the chicken cooked with tomatoes, peppers and chickpeas quite delicious.

'Is Juan all right?' she asked.

`As well as can be expected,' said Diego. 'Fortunately it was only in the left arm he was gored—about here,' He indicated the upper part of his own arm. 'Did you get your business in Medellin finished satisfactorily?'

'Business?' repeated Sorrel in bewilderment, looking from him to Eugenia and back again. It seemed to her that they were both staring at her suspiciously.

',Si, when you didn't appear on Wednesday morning I asked Juan where you were when he came back from the arena,' said Eugenia. 'He told me you'd gone to Medellin to see Señor and Señora Angel for whom you have been working. I assumed you'd gone to collect your belongings from their home.'

So he had covered up. He hadn't admitted to his aunt that his wife of one night had deserted him.

`You don't seem to have any extra luggage with you.' Eugenia sounded puzzled and Sorrel realised she hadn't answered her.

`No. It's being sent on,' she said tonelessly.

'Bueno. I thought you'd be back on Wednesday night or pe'rhaps Thursday morning, and when you didn't come I wanted to send a message to you to let you know Juan had been hurt. But he wouldn't hear of it. He said you'd find out soon enough and it would only worry you. How did you find out?' Eugenia gave her another curious glance.

 

'I read about. it in the paper this afternoon,' replied Sorrel in a low voice. 'Oh, please tell me the truth. Is he really all right? The article in the paper said he was in a critical condition.'

'An exaggeration,' said Diego.expect the sports writer thought the story would attract more attention if he put that, although Juan did lose a lot of blood. He should have left the arena and had the wound bandaged as soon as he was gored. But not Juan. He had to put on a performance of having to overcome his own bodily weakness as well as the strength of the bull. The crowd loved it.' Diego smiled as if well satisfied, and Sorrel suppressed an urge to tell him what she thought of the whole business of bullfighting.

'But he did faint at the end,' said Eugenia quietly. 'And at the hospital they gave him blood transfusions. But this morning he suddenly decided he couldn't stay there any longer, and had to get back to the ranch. He said Jovita would look after him better than the nuns. I'm afraid the Sisters were very offended.'

'I must go to him,' said Sorrel, half rising from her chair.

'When you've finished your meal and have had a good cup of coffee,' said Eugenia firmly. 'Tomas will drive you to the ranch in the limousine.'

All the way to the ranch Sorrel kept wondering why Juan hadn't told Eugenia the truth. Why had he covered up? And if he hadn't covered up wouldn't she have been less welcome this evening in the Cortez house? Wouldn't Eugenia and Diego have blamed her for the accident in the arena? Somehow she was sure they would have done.

Lights twinkled from the windows of houses. They were in Ibara. In the small plaza the bus to Manizales was parked in front of the hotel and a few people were

sitting on the steps of the church. Then the town was behind and the powerful headlamps were slicing through the dark again lighting up trees and bushes, glinting on outcrops of rock. The big black car was making good time in spite of the poor condition of the road and in another ten minutes she would be at the ranch.

Sorrel's nerves quivered. What would she say to Juan? What could she say? 'I'm sorry' sounded too weak and hardly expressed the feeling of contrition which was tearing her apart. Anyway, would he believe her after the note she had left? He might not even agree to see her, might tell Jovita to send her away.

Tyres crunched over loose stones as the car turned into the lane leading to the ranch house and the pale trunks of trees which edged the lane flitted by like pale ghosts. White walls overhung with creeper gleamed faintly about the darkness of an archway. The car slowed down, swept through the archway into the shadowed courtyard and stopped by the fountain.

Politely Sorrel asked Tomas if he would like some refreshment before he returned to Copaya. He declined and got out of the car to open the door for her. She stepped out, thanked him and waited until the car had gone. Then she was alone in the flower-scented, water-tinkling darkness.

Jovita was a long time coming to open the front door and when she did open she didn't fling it wide in welcome, but jerked it back cautiously a little at a time and then stood in the opening, a small woman in a brown dress whose wizened monkey-sad face betrayed nothing of what she was thinking or feeling.

`Buenas noches,' Jovita,' Sorrel said nervously. `Buenas noches, senorita.' Surprise rippled through Sorrel as she realised that the woman had addressed her

 

by the title of a single woman. It seemed as if Juan had told his old nurse nothing of his marriage.

`May I come in?' asked Sorrel, and Jovita shook her head.

`Señor Juan is in bed. He says he doesn't want any woman. You come back another day, senorita.'

`But I'm not just any woman,' Sorrel started to object hotly as she saw the door beginning to close, and added urgently, 'I must see him, Jovita. Please let me come in. I've come a long way and I've no car to take me back. Let me stay the night in that room where I slept before so I can see him tomorrow. Please, Jovita! '

The door stopped closing. Jovita's low forehead wrinkled into many creases as she tried to deal with this new problem.

`You know that he is hurt, here in the arm? There are many stitches in it. He needs much rest.'

`Yes, his aunt Eugenia in Copaya told me. She sent me here to help you to nurse him,' said Sorrel, stepping closer and laying her hand on the door ready to push it open. 'Do you remember, Jovita, how strange he was the last time he was hurt, how he wanted to hide from everyone? He's going to be like that again if you won't let me help you. Together we'll make him well again. You'll see, I'm going to make him very happy.'

For a few moments Jovita looked troubled, her submissiveness and loyalty to Juan obviously at war with her love for him and her desire to do what was best for him. Then to Sorrel's relief she opened the door wider and with a gesture invited her to step inside.

'I let you in, senorita, because I know you are good at heart and also because I know you are on his mind,' she said as she closed the door.

'How do you know I am?' asked Sorrel in surprise. 'This afternoon he rested after his journey from

 

Copaya. In his sleep he talked of you,' replied the little woman. 'Yet you · are not like the other woman who came last time he was hurt and who had caused so much trouble here.'

`What other woman?' Sorrel exclaimed.

`I'll tell you while I take you to the room where you will sleep,' said Jovita, and started off down the passage. 'Her name was Teresa Baena. She was from Cali—Señor Juan used to know her when he was younger. He liked her for a while, then it was over for him.' Jovita paused to open the door and switch on the lights in the pretty ivory and gold bedroom where Sorrel had slept on Monday night, then added dryly, 'But it was not over for her.'

Sorrel entered the bedroom and put her overnight bag down. No longer did the absolute femininity of the room worry her. In fact stepping into the room was like coming home.

`Would you like a bath, senorita?' asked Jovita, hovering about her attentively. 'It will relax you, take away the dust and tensions of your journey.'

`Won't the drawing of the water waken Señor Juan?'

don't think so. He has taken some pills, for the pain in his arm, you understand. The doctor at the hospital prescribed them. He will sleep heavily.'

`Then I would like a bath, please.'

`I'll get it ready.' Jovita actually smiled a little because she was being allowed to wait on the visitor. 'Do you have your own robe this time?' she asked, pointing to the overnight bag, and Sorrel nodded.

Once she was sitting in the black marble bath, up to the shoulders in glinting, rustling ivory-coloured foam, Sorrel gave in and let Jovita wash her hair and then scrub her back.

`You were telling me about a woman called Teresa,'

 

she said. It was true Juan had said anything that had happened to him before she had met him was no concern of hers, but she had to know what trouble the woman had caused. 'You said that when Señor Juan broke with her it was over for him but not for her. What do you mean?'

'She still wanted him, and since she couldn't get him she became friendly with his younger brother,' replied Jovita in her simple way. 'You remember I told you he had a brother, senorita?'

'Yes, I remember. What was his name?'

'Andres. Ah, he was a good baby, like a little angel, fair like his mother and always smiling like her too. He was her favourite and when she was killed he was very upset. He was only fourteen at the time.'

'Did he become a bullfighter too?'

'No. He didn't care for the sport. He was gentle and very clever, always reading books. He went to the university in Bogota—he said that one day he would be a great writer. Then that Teresa got hold of him.' Jovita sighed and gently rinsed the soap lather from Sorrel's back. 'He was crazy about her, brought her to the ranch to stay, and that was what she wanted. It meant she could be near to Juan when he was here. She didn't really want Andres. She was using him, do you understand, senorita?'

'I think so.' Sorrel found she was repelled and fascinated by the story. 'Didn't Señor Juan object to her coming to stay?'

'No. You must understand, senorita, Señor Juan is a very generous man. His heart is big. He loved his sister and his brother very much and let them come and go here as they wish. It is their home as much as his, he says, and they can bring all their friends. Always there were parties with many people dancing and singing when Señora Inez lived here, and Juan liked the parties

 

as much as she did. They are alike, those two.'

'And did Teresa's plan work? Did she get to Juan through his brother?' asked Sorrel, determined to bring Jovita back to the point.

'She tried. Every chance she had she flirted with him.' Jovita shrugged her shoulders as she took a towel from the rack. 'He likes to flirt too, but when he saw Andres was upset by Teresa's behaviour he began to ignore her, and, that made her angry.' Jovita came back to the bath. 'Have you ever noticed, senorita, people do strange things when they are angry?'

'Yes, I have. I'm afraid I get angry myself and often I'm very sorry afterwards for what I've done or said in anger,' Sorrel muttered. 'What did Teresa do?'

'She told Andres she didn't like him anymore, that she preferred Juan. She taunted him until he was mad with jealousy of Juan, and he accused his brother of stealing Teresa away from him. At first Juan laughed at him and tried to tell Andres that Teresa was no good. But Andres wouldn't listen. He hit Juan, struck him in the face. You must know, senorita, that the men of this country have much pride and they will fight over anything they consider to be an insult to their honour.'

'I had heard that,' said Sorrel. 'Did they fight?'

`Si. Out there in the courtyard. Señor Juan being the bigger and stronger soon won and he picked Andres up and dropped him in the fountain—to cool him off, he said—and walked away.'

Sorrel tipped her head forward to hide a smile which she couldn't help as she imagined the happening, for she could tell by the tone of Jovita's voice that the story wasn't intended to be humorous. She was beginning to realise that behaviour which she and her English relatives and friends might consider to be funny was not always amusing to Colombians who tended to take themselves rather seriously.

 

'What happened then?' she asked.

'Señor Juan took Teresa back to Cali himself and told her to leave his brother alone.'

'And what did Andres do?'

'He went to Cali too, and we didn't hear of him for a long time. Señor Juan was away much to corridas in other countries and his sister was married and living in the States. Then one day nearly two years ago when Señor Juan was just going into the arena at the end of the lidia at Manizales that woman Teresa turned up. She had come to tell him that Andres was dead, killed by his own hand.'

'Not suicide?' gasped Sorrel.

'Si. She had led him into bad ways, that one. He took an overdose of drugs of some sort. Señor Juan was very upset and blamed himself for not having taken more care of his brother. Then he was hurt in the arena. Ay, ay, ay,' Jovita moaned, showing more emotion than Sorrel had ever seen her show. 'It was a terrible time, and that woman dared to come to see him here while he was convalescing. It was good for him that Señora Inez was here visiting at the time. She soon got rid of her.'

As she had once got rid of Monica, thought Sorrel, stepping out of the bath and letting Jovita pat her dry. But why didn't she try to get rid of me?

'Thank you for telling me,' she said to Jovita, and with the towel draped around her, sarong-wise, she left the bathroom and went into the bedroom. 'It has cleared up some mysteries for me. And now it's my turn to tell you something. I'm not a senorita any more. Señor Juan and I were married in Copaya on Tuesday night. I would have been watching when he was hurt, but I'd had to go to Medellin that day.'

Jovita stared at her, then looked at the wedding ring and her dark eyes filled with tears.

 

'Senora,' she whispered. 'Señora Renalda. I am very happy for you and for Señor Juan. He isn't my son, but I love him as if he were. Now I do not have to worry about him anymore. You will take care of him. Please, senora, put on your gown and I will dry your hair and brush it for you.'

Sorrel dressed in the thin clinging nightgown she had brought and pulled on the loose robe which went with it. Sitting before the mirror she thought of the last time she had sat there on Monday night. How differently she felt now! No longer did she want to run away. She wanted to stay and live with Juan. The trouble was she wasn't sure whether he wanted her any more.

When her hair was dry and brushed Jovita said goodnight and left the room. For a while Sorrel sat thinking about the story of Andres and Teresa; a story of passion and violence and tragedy. The chiming of the antique clock reminded her that it was ten o'clock as it had on Monday night. She should go to bed, catch up on the sleep she had lost during the last two nights so that she would be fresh in the morning and ready to face any punishment Juan dealt her.

She went over to the bed and pulled back the covers and was about to slip off her robe when an idea leapt into her mind. She would go and look at Juan before she went to bed, make sure he was comfortable. After all, Jovita had committed him to her care.

She went to the other bedroom by way of the still steam-filled bathroom, opening the door quietly and standing there for a moment looking round. One bedside lamp was lit, its crimson shade glowing rosily. The light from it slanted on the pillows of the king-sized bed and gave a bluish sheen to the black hair of the man who was lying there.

Sorrel moved into the room and closed the door as

softly as she could. Even so it made a click, and she froze for a second watching Juan. But he didn't seem to be disturbed, so she moved forward, her bare feet sinking into the pile of the luxurious crimson carpet. Beside the bed she stopped and looked down. Juan was lying on his stomach. His right arm was bent upon the pillow and his head was resting on it, with his face turned away from her so that all she could see was the curve of his cheek, the jut of his jaw and thick lashes fringing one closed eye. The bedclothes covered him only to the waist. Above that his back was bare. The top part of his left arm was swathed in bandages and their whiteness was startling against the olive tint of his skin.

She stepped back, looking round for a chair to bring to the bedside, thinking she would sit with him for a while.

'Is that you, Jovita?' His voice was low, a little slurred as if he had only just woken. 'I told you not to come back.' The voice hardened, took on an authoritarian tone. 'But since you're here, you can make yourself useful. Rub my back, por favor. It seems to be aching in every muscle.'

He hadn't turned his head or opened his eyes. Sorrel hesitated, not sure what to do. Then suddenly it came to her. This was something she could do for him far better than Jovita could, something she was trained to do. She knew exactly where his back was aching and why it was aching and she longed to relieve the tension for him. A spirit of mischief, long dormant, awoke within her and she smiled to herself. She wouldn't say anything to him. She would just massage him and let him guess who was doing it.

Leaning over him, she pulled the bedclothes down further, and wasn't surprised to see he was without a stitch of clothing. She laid her hands on the curve of his

 

back on either side of the spine and began to massage with long strong strokes.

She thought he stiffened slightly and expected him to turn his head, open his eyes and look at her. But he didn't. A long slow sigh came from him and he settled his head more comfortably on his arm.

Sorrel had always enjoyed doing massage and had been able to bring to it a professional detachment which had made her a successful masseur. But as she stroked and kneaded Juan's body she slowly lost that detachment. This was the man she loved, whom she had vowed to worship with her body. Looking down at the shape of him, wide flat shoulders narrowing gradually to lean waist and hips, she felt desire curl within her and the movements of her hand became slower, more caressing, enticing him to turn and pull her down beside him, to kiss her in his ruthless, domineering way.

'How many men have you done this for, Sorrel?' he spoke in English and there was a harshness in his voice which warned her he wasn't pleased.

'How did you know it was me?' she countered, breathless not only with exertion but also with the desire to be with him in that closeness which brought such joy.

'By your hands. Jovita's are like a bird's claws. Yours are but you haven't answered my question. How many men have you massaged in the way you've just massaged me?'

She had only massaged female patients in the hospital in England. Body massage of male patients had been done by male therapists.

'None,' she replied, pulling the covers up to his waist again and sitting down on the edge of the bed.

'I'm glad,' he muttered. Tor dios, if there were any I'd have to find them and kill them because they had

 

felt your hands before I had!'

`Do you have to be so violent,' she exclaimed, and added as a thought struck her, 'Or so jealous?'

'So! Now I am violent and jealous as well as arrogant, unprincipled, deceitful, immoral and depraved,' he said in a savage undertone. 'I am the sort of man you don't care for.' He turned and heaved himself into a sitting position. 'Then why have you come back?' he shot at her.

Above the dark blur of his beard stubble his face was pale, the high cheekbones very prominent, but his eyes glittered with pale fire beneath heavy lids as their glance raked her.

'Did Eugenia send for you and tell you it was your duty as my wife to come?' he sneered.

`No, she didn't.' His attitude confused her. 'I came because ...' She stopped. She couldn't look at him because the urge to reach out, pull him into her arms and cradle his head against her breast to comfort him in his pain was overwhelming. She swallowed and said tonelessly, 'Why didn't you tell me you were going to fight on Wednesday?'

`Because I didn't know until that morning. The matador from Mexico who should have performed was taken ill and Diego asked me to substitute for him. I went back to the house to tell you, but you weren't there.' He gave her such a scornful glance that she felt shrivelled and he said dryly, 'Thanks for the note. It was most explicit. That's why I'm surprised you're here —I thought you'd left me.'

She bowed her head, tormented by the knowledge that he wouldn't be lying there half-drugged with painkilling pills if she hadn't left that beastly note.

'Oh, I wish I'd known, I wish I'd known,' she moaned suddenly. 'I wouldn't have gone to Medellin if I'd

 

known you were going to fight. It's my fault you were hurt.'

'Your fault? What the hell gives you that idea?' he demanded stiffly.

'Diego told me that you mustn't be disturbed in an way before you go into the arena. He said that's what happened at Manizales.'

'Did he?' His laugh was short and sardonic, making her look at him in surprise. He was leaning back against the pillows watching her with wary narrowed eyes. 'And so you assumed that note of yours disturbed me

Diego tells a good tale when he wants to.'

'What do you mean?' she asked, quivering again with pain in reaction to his cynicism.

'I asked him to do his best to persuade you to stay and watch the fight on Tuesday,' he drawled. `So he told you that story in order to touch your conscience. Not a bad psychologist, is he? You stayed not because you didn't want me to be hurt but because you didn't want to have a guilty conscience.'

'But you were disturbed before going into the arena at Manizales,' she blurted, in bewilderment. 'Jovita told me you were very upset when you heard your brother had committed suicide.'

Tor dios, you've been having a great time, haven't you, checking up on me behind my back?' he jeered. 'And now that guilty conscience of yours has brought you rushing to my bedside. Why? Are you afraid I'll die

- without forgiving you? Then let me ease it for you. It was my own fault. I was showing off as usual, giving the crowds a few thrills for their money, both at Manizales and in Copaya the other day. I let the bulls get too near and didn't jump out of the way quickly enough. At Manizales it was a big bull which still had a lot of spirit and fight left in it. On Wednesday it was a little bull,

 

young and perhaps timid. It was just coincidence that it happened on the day you decided you'd desert me. The other ,was coincidence too.'

The low-pitched jeering voice stopped. She couldn't have felt more hurt if Juan had taken a whip in his hand and had scourged her with it, Sorrel thought.

It wasn't your fault,' he went on, his voice slightly muffled. 'Now get out, go back to Medellin or England or wherever it is you want to be. I don't want you hanging around me just because your conscience is pricking you.'

She looked at him. He had turned away from her so she couldn't see his face.

`I'm not hanging around you because I feel conscience-stricken,' she said. 'I've come back because I ... I ... think I might be in love with you.'

He turned, his head, opened one eye to look at her and his mouth twisted sceptically.

'Might?' he repeated mockingly. 'You think you might? What good is that to a man with hot blood in his veins like me?'

'It's true,' she retorted, feeling the old familiar irritation flare up in reaction to his taunt.

He turned his head away from her again.

'Go away,' he groaned. 'Leave me alone to get on with my dying.'

`No, no ! ' She was frantic, not knowing what to do or say to convince him. In desperation she pulled back the bedcovers and lay down beside him, putting her arm about him, pressing herself against his back. 'Juan, you're not going to die, I won't let you die because I love you and I want you to live so I can stay and live with you. You said once that was what you wanted, and now I want it too because I've found out I love you, love you. Do you hear?' Tears flowed suddenly from her

 

eyes to wet his skin. 'Oh, Juan, what can I do to convince you? Please tell me!'

He turned slowly until he was facing her, his eyes still narrowed and watchful.

'You could try kissing me,' he suggested softly. 'You don't have to be shy with me now that we're married.'

She put her lips to his mouth. His lips felt dry and hot, but they pressed back with a fervency which sent desire leaping along her nerves so that she reached out a hand to touch his scarred cheek gently and then smooth back the thick hair from his ear.

'Te quiero, Sorrel. I want you, Sorrel,' he said in Spanish. 'I want you now, with every part of me.'

'Wanting isn't the same as loving,' she replied in English, quivering with delight as his lips visited the hollows of her throat and then the cleft between her breasts just revealed by the bodice of her nightgown.

'In Spanish it is,' he said also in English. 'Listen. Te quiero—I want. Te quiero—I love you. Te quiero muchismo—I love you very much. If you didn't know that before, your mother didn't teach you Spanish very well,' he mocked. 'And I always make love in Spanish, so I've been telling you ever since Monday afternoon I love you and you wouldn't listen to me. I love you and want you, and I can't lie close to you like this without wanting to show how much I love you.'

He slipped his fingers under the strap of her nightgown and began to slide it off her shoulder.

'Do you have to wear this?' he asked. 'It comes between us, and I don't want anything to come between us anymore. There have been enough barriers.'

She edged away from him a little, not wanting to go, but afraid he might open up the wound in his left arm if he did anything too energetic.

'I only came to see if you were comfortable,' she

 

`I can sleep in the other room.'

`No,' He dragged her back against him and for a moment she was helpless beneath the passionate onslaught of his mouth against hers. 'You'll stay here,' he added thickly, against her cheek. 'And we'll sleep together tonight and every other night. It will be your punishment for leaving me so soon after we were married.'

`Sweet punishment,' she said, nestling against him. `But in a way I'm glad I left you—I mightn't have found out I loved you if I hadn't. Have you really loved me since we met?'

`Si. Not at first with the mind, you understand? Only with the eyes. When I first saw you in the refugio. In looks you were all I had ever searched for in a woman. You remember how I kept staring at you?'

`Oh, yes, I remember, and I thought ... I thought ...'

`You thought bad thoughts about me,' he accused. `And I began to find out you were different from any other woman I'd ever known. Even though you were hurt and lost you put on a brave show and I admired your independence. You answered back when I taunted you and did some taunting of your own. In fact you presented a challenge I hadn't met before and I began to think what fun it would be to live with you for a while. But I couldn't get through that defensive barrier you'd built up around yourself, in the short time we were together. I didn't know of any way I could meet you again, so I threw out a wild lure, told you to come and see me if you needed help.' He laughed softly on a note of triumph. 'It worked far better than I had expected. You came here. The next move was to persuade you to stay.' He sighed. 'In the process of doing that I discovered how innocent and vulnerable you were and a great urge to protect you as well as keep you for myself

 

made me realise I wanted you to be more than a playmate. I wanted you to be my wife, not just to convince Ramon Angel that I wasn't interested in his wife, although it did occur to me that if I married it would be a better way of convincing him than the way you had suggested.'

'Oh.' Sorrel felt suddenly very humble as she realised what Juan had meant when he had told her he had married her in the hope of stopping gossip about himself and Monica. 'I ... I ... didn't understand,' she muttered. 'Oh, Juan, I'm sorry I was so mean to you that morning.'

'I am sorry too,' he agreed with her with his usual devastating honesty. 'I was very hurt. I can't remember having been hurt by anything a woman said to me before, and it was a new and frightening experience. It made me realise how involved I had become with you, and that made me angry. I said things to you I've regretted saying ever since. I'm not surprised you ran away, and I didn't believe you'd come back.'

'If you hadn't been gored in the arena would you have followed me?' she had to ask.

'I might,' he drawled aggravatingly. 'But then I might not.'

`Pride,' she accused softly.

`Si. You can add it to that long list of my vices you've been making,' he said ironically. 'But tell me, querida, would you have sunk your pride and come back to me if I hadn't been gored?'

'I don't know,' she whispered, reluctantly truthful because he was. 'But I think I might.'

`So let's not talk about it anymore, hmm?' He smoothed the gown away from her with gentle fingers. `Let's make the most of being together here and now. Let's make love to each other, my lovely Sorrel.'

 

But you're weak, from loss of blood,' she protested anxiously.

`You think so?' he drawled. 'Then you'll have to help me, won't you? Let me show you what to do. First you must kiss me again, on the mouth, and while you're doing that I'll show you what to do next. You needn't worry about it being wrong to do it with me, because I'm your husband and it's done in all the best marriages —where there is love, of course.'

He was taunting her gently, lovingly, but when she pressed her lips against his he responded with a fierce passion and at once the melting sensuousness flooded through her body, sweeping away all defences and committing her forever to the of love.