Dear Conquistador Read online

  She exclaimed aloud as her arm was caught and she whirled round, fully prepared to see the deceptively charming Mr. Pereira and do battle for escape. But it was not her late, importunate partner. Her eyes widened and her distress changed to horror as she saw the tall3 furious figure towering over her.

  ‘A charming performance,’ the Conde said icily.

  Shock temporarily robbed her of speech. She could only stare up at his dark angry features and wonder despairingly what evil genie had brought him there at that precise moment.

  He did not wait for her to recover from her shock. His fingers bit like iron into her arm, even as he turned his head and gave a superbly controlled nod of greeting to an acquaintance brushing past. The brief smile vanished and he said in a low, grim voice, ‘We will leave now,’ as he propelled her forward.

  The movement brought her back to mobility. ‘No!’ she said wildly. ‘Not yet. I have to find—’

  ‘If you are referring to my niece and my negligent secretary you may dismiss the thought. I have already attended to that matter. ’

  Something in his tone made her go cold with premonition. What had happened? Where was Juanita? She started to stammer, and he cut her short with icy politeness. ‘Please, senorita ... Juanita is waiting in the car. Did you have a wrap?’

  ‘Yes, but-’

  ‘Go and get it and come back here to me.’

  ‘I - yes, but it isn’t here.’ She hardly knew what she was saying. Everything had happened so quickly, and she only knew that Conde was very, very angry indeed. ‘I - I left it in

  Ramon’s car. It’s so warm tonight I—’

  ‘You have your purse.’ He noted the small silvery brocade evening bag she was clutching. ‘Come, senorita.’

  The hard fingers stayed round her arm. Almost as though she were one of his chattels, to be returned to its proper place in his household - after suitable censure had been passed, she thought bitterly.

  But she could do nothing except accompany him to the car, wherein Juanita was already huddled, small and apprehensive in the back seat. With a chill air of courtesy that made Hilary feel worse than ever the Conde opened the front passenger door and handed her in. He drove away instantly, heading for the road out of the city centre, and she turned abruptly to exclaim: ‘But, senor, does Ramon know that—?’

  ‘He is returning in his own car. One of the maids will bring your wrap to you as soon as possible,’ the Conde said in clipped tones that did not encourage any further protests.

  The big car gathered speed. Dismay gave way to miserable acceptance of the fiasco as she thought of the situation and liked it less with every fresh little recollection of the evening. In one way she was thankful the Conde had arrived when he did, but if only the rescue had been from any other than the ignominious situation in which she had landed. Her cheeks grew hot with the memory and she was thankful for the dimness of the car. How long had he watched her efforts to extricate herself from the amorous attentions of Senor Pereira? Worse, did he think she had encouraged those attentions?

  There was ominous silence at the back of the car. She could only let imagination conjure with what had taken place when the Conde confronted his niece. She longed to turn and speak to Juanita, sensing that the silence of the small figure back there in the shadows was anything but happy, but the cold air of dominance from the aloof man at the wheel was an effective deterrent to her badly shaken courage. Better to wait until they were in the privacy of their own rooms.

  However, there was no opportunity of seeking any reassurance that Juanita had escaped catastrophe. When the car reached the villa the Conde swung out, opened the rear door, and with a crisp command dispatched his niece indoors.

  Juanita did not stop to argue. A small, muffled ‘Buenas noches’ floated over her shoulder as she ran. But escape was not to be swift for Hilary.

  ‘One moment, senorita.’ The Conde closed the car door with unwonted force. ‘There is something I wish to say.’

  Foreboding descended like a leaden weight on her spirits as she walked indoors and passed before him into the sola. Obviously the reckoning was to be demanded; she’d broken the rules - in spite of first seeking his permission - and she had offended his immutable code of convention. Feeling very much like a child caught out in some ghastly misdemeanour, she went stiffly to the great carved fireplace and stood in front of it, looking unseeingly at the intricate pattern of scrolled leaves and florets at eye level while she braced herself to face the chill, arrogant disapproval of the man coming on firm, even steps to her side.

  ‘Well, senorita,’ he said grimly. ‘Are you still so certain that you can look after yourself?’

  She started, having expected censure concerning Juanita, and felt a slight relief. ‘I’ve always fought my own battles, senor,’ she said with a trace of defiance, ‘and tried not to make the same error of judgment a second time.’

  ‘Error of judgment! Par Dios! Do you not recognize a libertino at first glance? Or do you set so little value on your reputation?’

  The intensity of the words jerked her to face him. His eyes had deepened to glittering black and whiteness flared in the taut lines of anger at mouth and nostrils. Never had she seen him so incensed, or visualized the force and strength previously only dimly suspected beneath that polished, urbane control of his. She drew an unsteady breath and moistened dry lips.

  'Senor, I - I do not think it - it is quite as dramatic as that,’ she faltered. ‘I hardly think that a couple of dances with a -with what we call a fast worker is going to ruin my reputation. After all, I made my opinion of him quite clear and left him before you even arrived, so—’

  He caught her wrist as she gestured. ‘You still do not understand. You are not in your own country now, senorita. For a young, unattached girl to be mauled on a public dance floor may count for little in London, but it certainly would not be overlooked in our society. Perhaps you do not care,’ he snapped, ‘but I certainly do.’

  Hilary stared back at him, and anger stirred in her. She looked down pointedly at the autocratic hand fastened on her wrist and shook herself free. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something, senor?? she said coldly. ‘I happen to be the injured party. I had to deal with a two-faced wolf belonging, presumably, to the society you are so proud of. I am the one who should be furious.’

  ‘Perhaps you will be more circumspect in future,’ he said thinly. ‘You should never have allowed yourself to become so vulnerable in the first place.’

  ‘How was I to know?’ she flashed.

  ‘Because already you have been warned about careless attachments. Or is your memory as unreliable as your sense of discrimination?’ His mouth compressed as he surveyed her defiant expression. ‘But you may be sure the opportunity will not arise again. I shall take care of that. Ramon should never have allowed the situation to occur; nor should my niece have become involved. ’

  ‘But she wasn’t!’

  ‘In your opinion, perhaps not.’ He had regained control now and his bronze-chiselled features were set in their familiar autocratic lines. ‘In future you will go out only with an escort whom I have designated, and the same ruling will, naturally, apply also to my niece. I fear she may be entertaining foolish ideas regarding my secretary. However, I shall find it necessary to send him to Huaroya for a while, which should effectively nip any such nonsense in the bud. ’

  Hilary’s emotions were undergoing several wildly fluctuating changes. The surge of fury invoked by his imperious decree regarding herself was abruptly quelled by the statement succeeding it. Horror overcame her and she sought desperately for means to undo the damage.

  ‘Oh, no, senor! She put out her hand imploringly. ‘You are entirely mistaken. You—’

  ‘In what way?’ From his superior height he looked down on her distraught face. ‘Explain yourself, senorita.’

  ‘You must not blame Juanita. Or send your secretary away,’ she exclaimed frantically. ‘It was entirely my fault. I asked Juanita to come with us
. It was entirely my idea. And Ramon’s behaviour was faultless. He—’

  ‘It was he who introduced you to that gigolo, was it not?’ The Conde’s mouth turned down with distaste.

  ‘Yes, but he had no choice. Pereira came and spoke to us -he - he knew Ramon slightly. Surely, senor, it would have been in bad taste not to introduce him to us. And I was taken in,’ she rushed on, almost in tears by now. ‘He seemed a delightful person at first, and - and if he hadn’t danced with me there’d have been an odd one out. Ramon couldn’t partner me and leave your niece sitting alone. It—’

  ‘You went to hear flamenco, not comport yourselves on the dance floor. ’

  ‘Yes, I know.’ She shook her head and let her hands fall despairingly. ‘But I love to dance, and the band was super, and it’s a lovely floor, and it just seemed the natural thing to want to join in. Can’t you understand?’

  ‘Not entirely. I have never heard of three people setting out to dance,’ he said dryly.

  ‘But it just happened.’ She turned away hopelessly. ‘I can only repeat that it was entirely my fault. Please do not blame your secretary, or your niece.

  There was a silence and at last she turned, to find he was watching her with unreadable eyes. ‘Please, senor,’ she begged. ‘Don’t hurt Juanita - or blame Ramon. ’

  After an almost unbearable pause he raised dark brows rather puzzledly. ‘That thought distresses you, senorita?’

  ‘Very much.

  ‘ Such concern does you credit. ’

  ‘No. She took a deep breath. ‘I dislike injustice. That’s why I ask you not to judge too hastily. ’

  There was another brief silence, then abruptly he moved towards the door. ‘Very well, I will think it over. But remember, senorita. Never let me find you in such company again, do you hear?’

  ‘Oh, yes, senor! she breathed fervently, suddenly knowing that this time it was going to be all right. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever be quite so stupid again. ’

  He paused, his hand reaching to open the door, and the first glimmer of a break in his stern mien disturbed his proud mouth. He raised one hand and touched an unruly wisp that curled over her brow, and his searching gaze missed nothing of the over bright sparkle in her eyes or the unhappy spots of colour still clouding her cheeks. He said softly: ‘The lessons of experience are invariably the most painful, are they not, pequena? Especially when one is forced to admit the lesson has been learned. ’

  ‘Yes, senor, the admission is the most painful of all.’

  He inclined his head and held open the door. All the way up the great curving staircase she was conscious of him standing below, watching until the sweep of the gallery above cut her off from sight. She was considerably shaken when she reached the privacy of her room and could allow tension to relax. Thank heaven she seemed to have convinced him that his suspicion about Juanita’s ‘ideas’ were unfounded. The sense of relief made her smile tremulously as she made preparations to retire. But when she was lying in the darkness the swing to relief had lost its impetus and her eyes were troubled.

  She nestled her face against the pillow and crept one hand under her cheek. It was proving very difficult to banish the imprint of a certain autocratic face from her memory. Not only those particular features but a voice as well, and a certain conversation that the bank of memory was throwing up; one phrase especially, spoken quite a long while ago.

  You have a quality of honesty that is rare in a woman. It is for that quality I make my decision. I trust it will be a happy one ...

  Honesty... was she betraying the quality that at times in her life had seemed less a virtue than an inconvenience? The cheek resting against her hand felt uncomfortably hot. This sense of shame was a new and strangely disturbing bedfellow.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The uneasy week drew to its close. Although Ramon was to be seen about the quinta and the Conde had made no further reference to his threat of banishing his secretary the suspicion seemed to hang in the air, or so it seemed to Hilary.

  He had obviously bestowed a stern scolding on his niece -the pains she took to avoid him were extreme - but exactly what he had said remained curiously confused in the somewhat heated and dramatic account she poured out to Hilary. The main gist which emerged was that the matter of the Swiss finishing school was in the air again. The idea horrified Juanita, and she said so volubly and at length every time she remembered it - which was several times a day.

  ‘I do not understand why he wants to punish me! ’ she said in outraged tones. ‘It was not my fault. You do not blame me, my Hilary, do you?’

  ‘Good heavens!’ Hilary stared. ‘What for?’

  ‘That is what I ask him. But he go on and on about my -my lack of discretion and Ramon’s and who is the Senor Pereira and how did you meet him. At first I am so thankful that he does not seem suspicious of me and Ramon, and I dare not say a thing lest I make a mistake.’ Juanita paused for breath. ‘Then he say am I sure that was the one and only time we all go out and meet that - that dago. And then he start on about sending me to school. Oh, Hilary, he won’t send me away, will he? Not now that you are here?’

  ‘He probably thinks you would benefit by the company of girls of your own age,’ Hilary said slowly. ‘It would be a change for you and a wonderful chance to go to Europe.’

  ‘Well, I do not wish a change. Nor do I wish to visit Europe - yet.’

  ‘Then you’ll have to behave yourself - and so shall I - until this blows over,’ said Hilary with a return to her old humour. ‘You’d better pass the word on to Ramon.’

  Juanita nodded fervently. ‘I think we make sure we do not encounter your passionate Pereira - and keep out of Tio’s way until he comes out of his mal gemo.’

  Hilary agreed with equal fervency. Now she thought it over she decided that the Conde had handled the situation with extreme cunning. He had not risked planting any more foolish ideas in his niece’s head by threatening to banish his secretary; instead, he had threatened to banish her, and the effect on that young lady was all that any concerned guardian or parent could wish.

  All the same, even though he was as cool and polite as ever in his attitude towards Hilary she was sure she detected an air of disapproval behind his glance whenever it encountered her. Or was it disappointment?

  Hilary wasn’t sure, and was somewhat surprised to discover that it mattered. Once, his censure or his disapproval would have stung her to defiance and resentment, but now it didn’t. Gradually she was building a picture in which the background was taking shape, and only now was she beginning to grasp the immensity of the responsibility he shouldered. Technically, his mother, the Condesa, had assumed parental care of the two orphans, but the elderly Condesa was Chilean born. She did not care greatly for Lima’s moist, sub-tropical climate and since the death of her husband three years previously she spent a great deal of her time with her brother and sister-in-law on the family estate near Valparaiso, returning for family occasions, holidays and an extended stay during the winter months. But this did not prevent her from demanding full reports of all family events, of the Huaroya estate, and the many business affairs her husband had added to his already considerable holdings in real estate. Then there was Dona Elena, also widowed and in indifferent health, and her not inconsiderable affairs as well as herself to be cared for. There were the tenants, and the workers at Huaroya, all of whom he knew by name, and now there were the children of his sister to care for. No wonder he exuded authority - and automatically extended it to herself ...

  She wasn’t sorry when the sun set on Friday and she was free to look forward to the week-end. Bruce was picking her up immediately after an early breakfast and she would be away for the whole day, and she was planning to spend Sunday exploring - alone. Immediately after the evening meal she made her excuses and retired to her own room, intending to shampoo and set her hair before she went to bed. But first she would decide on what to wear tomorrow in case she had to go downstairs again and seek the loan of Concep
ta’s iron for a last minute pressing. She wandered out on the balcony, mentally going over her wardrobe. It was the old problem of staying fresh and crisp and cool all day in a hot, humid climate. The synthetics didn’t crease but tended to get clammy; the cottons were most comfortable but went limp so soon...

  The night breeze was gentle, bringing a cool whisper of the sea and coaxing and sweetness from the sleeping blossoms in the darkness below. Hilary sighed and leaned on the rail, the dress problem fading from her mind and the niggling sense of guilt returning. Perhaps it was silly to remember all that business about honesty; she hadn’t really connived with Juanita to hoodwink her uncle. The tender little romance was harmless enough, she was sure. But there was another important aspect which had completely escaped her memory until tonight, and now that she contemplated it she had to admit that it made a difference; the matter of Juanita’s inheritance. Certainly the Conde would not forget it, and it was only natural that he should suspect the fortune-hunting motive in any young man who took interest in his niece.

  Poor Ramon; his chances seemed remoter than ever. Hilary was positive that he genuinely cared for Juanita, but would the Conde ever believe that? The ghastly barrier of class was bad enough - obviously the mere thought of Juanita marrying the Conde’s secretary would rock the foundations of the quinta, but Juanita being an heiress put it into the realm of impossibility.

  Hilary shook her head wistfully, a slight smile curving her mouth. She was beginning to take it as seriously as Juanita, yet back home it would be so light a flirtation it would scarcely stir a leaf. It all came back to Juanita being so sequestered. She ought to have lots of friends, both boy and girl, of her own age, then she wouldn’t make a grand passion of the only personable young man with whom she came in frequent contact. Anyway, whom had the Conde lined up for her marriage partner? There would be some young man somewhere, of good family and sufficiently well endowed to be above any suspicion of seeking a wealthy bride. The courtship would be chaperoned in the old tradition, there would be a tremendous wedding celebration to which the families would come from near and far, and only then would Juanita be left alone - to begin getting to know her husband. The smile had gone from Hilary’s lips; even though there were advantages to an arranged marriage - if one looked at it from the viewpoint of the skilful family matchmakers - the very idea was repugnant to Hilary. To be taken for life, jealously guarded, with the chance of true love relegated to very long odds indeed .. . Was it true that love did enter these arranged marriages? That time after time they turned out very happily? Perhaps they did, she conceded reluctantly; propinquity could wield a strange wand. But it could also engender hatred. Nothing, she thought vehemently, could ever compensate for the freedom of choosing one’s own partner, and for the wonder that could be born in the meeting of a stranger’s glance, that could happen when one least expected it; anywhere, any time, across a crowded room or...