Dear Conquistador Page 5

  ‘Joaquin, for a fine soldier you are badly in need of discipline.’ She started towards him. ‘Put those back where you found them. Instantly!’

  For a moment he hesitated, then mischief sparkled in his black eyes. ‘No! I am in command. I shall capture you. Yes! You shall be my prisoner, Senorita Hilary. My Dona Marina, like—’

  ‘Oh no, you villain!’ Hilary made a dive for him and knew even as she did so, that she was making a mistake. This was exactly what Joaquin wanted. With a squeal of mirth he darted away, a small boy daring her to pursue him.

  He was fleet and nimble, and Hilary bit her lip as he dodged behind a tapestry screen and peeped out tauntingly. He was still brandishing the sword and Hilary stopped, terrified lest he trip and injure himself on the blade. She said as calmly as she could, ‘What would your uncle say if he caught you with those?’

  ‘Nothing - because he isn’t here.’ Joaquin made another triumphant scurry across the room, only to be betrayed by the helmet slipping down and obscuring his view altogether. He stopped to adjust it, and Hilary made a lunge for the sword, her one thought to restore it to its place out of reach.

  But she wasn’t quite quick enough. Joaquin grabbed at the same moment and Hilary felt a sharp stinging pain in her arm. She gave an involuntary cry and the sword clattered to the floor as she saw the thin line of scarlet welling on her forearm.

  Joaquin stared at her, his merriment ebbing, and she covered the wound with her other hand. She shook her head at him and an expression of fright crept over his small face, incongruous under the deep peak of the helmet. ‘It was a good game, yes?’ he whispered.

  She smiled shakily. ‘Yes, my little grandee, and you’ve won. I surrender. Now, I think we’d better stop playing and put the sword back where it belongs.’

  She stooped to pick it up, and Joaquin backed a pace. ‘Are you wounded? Really?’

  ‘Yes, really.’ The steel felt cold under her hands and the wound burned, but she tried to ignore it, knowing that Joaquin was hovering between fright and guilt, and that it hadn’t been entirely his fault. ‘Come on, take off that helmet. Then we’ll have to get Juanita to play nurse and bandage me.’

  But he did not giggle. He sidled round and came close to here, to grasp her wrist with fingers which held that remarkable strength children possess. His eyes enormous, he whispered: ‘But I didn’t really stab you? That isn’t real blood!’

  ‘It most certainly is!’

  The chilling tones almost startled Hilary out of her wits. But it was nothing to the effect they had on Joaquin. He stared up at the angry figure neither he nor Hilary had heard enter and cowered back.

  ‘Tio! I didn’t know! I did not mean—’

  ‘I will hear your explanations later,’ the Conde said icily.

  ‘ Send Concepta to me, then go to your room.’

  The little conquistador quailed, became a naughty small boy faced with retribution, and fled. The Conde turned to Hilary.

  She was trying to reach the hooks from which the sword normally hung, and with an impatient gesture he took it from her, closing his other hand round her arm.

  ‘How did this happen?’ he demanded.

  He looked so furious she recoiled. ‘It was an accident. I’m sorry about your things,’ she began quickly, ‘but please don’t blame—’

  The long glance from his dark eyes quelled her, much as it had quelled Joaquin. He was still holding her wrist, staunching the cut with a snowy white handkerchief, then inspecting it with frowning intent.

  ‘It - it’s only a scratch,’ she said desperately, suddenly aware of a most disconcerting warmth flooding over her. ‘Please don’t worry about it. I’ll—’

  ‘I will hear your explanations also - later,’ he said grimly, ‘when we have— Ah, Concepta ... ’

  The little maid hurried into the room, hastily drying her hands on her apron. ‘Yes, senor?? she said anxiously. ‘We did not hear you arrive, senor. We - Sacramento!’ Concepta saw the sword lying on the creamy rug, the bloodstained handkerchief, and Hilary’s flustered face. She threw up her hands and launched into a frantic spate of Spanish.

  ‘ Stop - forget it. Go and make the senorita a pot of her English tea. At once!’ the Conde snapped impatiently, and turned his back on the wildly gesticulating Concepta. He bound the handkerchief about Hilary’s arm and steered her firmly towards the door.

  Aware that it was futile to argue, she submitted to being led to a small cloakroom near the terrace door. There she was bidden to sit down while the Conde himself ran water into the basin and took a clean towel from the cupboard. His dark features still stern with anger, he bathed the wound and applied a pad soaked with antiseptic.

  She could not help wincing slightly at the sudden sting, and his fingers tightened about her wrist with an almost soothing touch until the smarting ceased. Despite this, the strange warmth she did not consciously recognize as pleasure continued to flow over her, along with the sudden, quite uncalled-for activity of her heart.

  The Conde was remarking that he had never approved of the adhesive type of dressing because of the impossibility of removing the rubbery residue they left on the skin and with calm dexterity was binding her wrist with bandage.

  She shook her head, as though to dismiss the odd little spell of enchantment, and said again, ‘It’s only a scratch - you don’t need to bother.’

  ‘It is sufficiently deep a scratch to disfigure your wrist and stain your dress,’ he said calmly. ‘And why should I not bother?’

  ‘Well, it’s - I don’t know.’ Her composure was lessening every moment. ‘I didn’t expect it. I—’ Again she stopped, aware she was saying all the wrong things. She made herself look up at him and all her old honesty came to the fore. ‘You’re all so kind. I expected to have to just do my job and -and look after myself when little things like this happened. But you’re all just the same, after all.’

  He snipped off the two ends and smoothed the neat knot. ‘How do you mean; just the same after all?’

  ‘Well, friendly and - and homely. It’s just as it might have happened at home. My father always used to make a bit of a fuss when I was a little girl and fell down and hurt myself, and—’

  She tailed off. He had straightened, was leaning back against the pale green marble shelf that stretched from the fitted basin to the wall. A shaft of sunlight was catching his lean cheek and throwing the other side of his face into dark shadow, making it difficult to read his expression. ‘You mean,’ he said coolly, ‘you were not sure whether we were going to treat you as a servant or admit you into the atmosphere of a family.’

  ‘Something like that,’ she admitted.

  ‘And you are surprised to find we are not as different as you expected? In fact, we are still considerably more tightly knit within the family framework than in your own country. ’ She made no response, and a glimmer came into his eyes. ‘I trust you are agreeably surprised. I too am agreeably flattered that you realize we are quite human at heart. But I’m afraid I do not feel in the least fatherly in my administrations,’ he added sardonically.

  Hilary went scarlet. She stood up, knew she was going to flounder in whatever she said, and avoided his gaze. ‘Thank you for - for the first-aid, and - and please don’t scold Joaquin. It wasn’t his fault.’

  ‘No?’ He held open the door for her. ‘I know my young nephew; and my young nephew knows he is not allowed the freedom of my personal sala.’

  ‘Yes, I realize that. I would have stopped him, only I was with your aunt and he wakened from his siesta before I—’ ‘There is no need of any further explanation,’ he broke in firmly. ‘I suggest you go and have that cup of tea Concepta should have made ready by now.’ ‘Yes ...’ she recognized the note of finality in his tone and hesitated by the foot of the main staircase, ‘but you are not going to punish Joaquin because of—?’

  ‘Because of you?’

  She nodded, and his brows went up.

  ‘If you have forgiven him, then I must.
You are the one who has suffered.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She smiled at him, unaware of her radiance and filled with a quite inordinate affection for the small cause of her ‘ suffering’.

  The little maid appeared at that moment with the tray and Hilary sighed. She turned away reluctantly, and came face to face with Consuelo.

  The Spanish girl looked puzzled and disturbed, and had obviously heard of the small incident. She stared at Hilary, then at the Conde, and finally at Hilary’s bandaged arm. ‘What happened? You are not hurt?’

  ‘Not in the least.’

  Consuelo looked taken aback, almost disappointed. Then she laughed shortly. ‘That idiot girl had me believing you were in danger of bleeding to death!’

  Hilary said nothing, and a slight smile flickered round the Conde’s mouth. He shook his head. ‘Not at all. The Senorita Martin has merely crossed swords with a Conquistador and come off somewhat the loser. Is that not so, Miss Martin?’ ‘That is so.’ She returned his smile with a composure she was far from feeling. ‘But next time I trust I may be more fortunate, senor.’

  ‘Till the next time, then, senorita.’ He inclined his head mockingly, and she turned away, but she could not help noticing that there was no answering amusement in Consuelo Navarre’s expression. In fact, there was born there suddenly a patent dislike.

  Remembering this, Hilary was surprised to be summoned to the phone the following morning, to be greeted by an affable-sounding Consuelo. Her surprise increased when Consuelo, after brief, polite preliminaries, issued an invitation to Hilary to join the hacienda party.

  ‘You will forgive me the informality of this invitation,’ Consuelo said sweetly, ‘but being English you will not mind, I’m sure. It is all the casual approach with you these days, is it not?’

  ‘Sometimes,’ Hilary admitted, holding some caution in reserve. ‘But I will have to make sure I have the week-end free before I can accept. ’

  ‘That is arranged. I have spoken with Dona Elena, and so it is left to you to accept or decline as you wish. ’

  ‘Thank you.’ Hilary paused, thinking quickly, then made her decision. Why not? ‘I should like to accept,’ she said formally.

  ‘Then we shall look forward to renewing our acquaintance. Good-bye, Miss Martin.’

  Somewhat thoughtfully, Hilary made her way back to the pool and told Juanita of the invitation.

  ‘I am glad,’ said Juanita. ‘It would have been lonely for you left alone here. Although I believe Tio has changed his mind about going. Some business associate is coming to Lima on Saturday and he must see this man. ’

  So the Conde would not be at the hacienda. Hilary’s spirits did an odd little whirl and settled, rather dully, before she had had time to realize they had even begun the flutter of elation. But how stupid to think that mattered! She must be ... She banished thoughts of the Conde as Juanita started to speak, and experienced fresh surprise.

  ‘Did you say you wish you weren’t going, Juanita?’

  The younger girl nodded, and Hilary noticed she was still wearing the subdued look she’d worn for the last two days. She hesitated, sensing that something was worrying Juanita and wanting to offer comfort, but aware that the budding friendship was still young and that certain reticences must be observed for a little while to come. She said lightly, ‘Cheer up, Juanita. It is sure to be a gay affair.’

  ‘I do not like Consuelo, nor do I like their parties,’ Juanita said flatly. ‘ They still treat me like a child and I am seventeen years old. It is ridiculous. They seem to think I am still a nena, like Joaquin,’ she finished indignantly.

  Hilary looked thoughtfully at the beautiful, small oval face. She could see both points of view. At times Juanita glowed with the assurance of a fully mature young woman, at others the childhood so recently left behind was very perceptible. But, thinking of Consuelo, it was not difficult to imagine her being daunted by the older, more domineering girl. Not for the first time Hilary recalled the conversation in Dona Elena’s sala the previous day. Perhaps Juanita’s dislike of Consuelo was not unfounded. The impulse that came then would not be denied. She said casually:

  ‘I am looking forward to meeting Ramon. When will he be back?’

  The tension in Juanita’s shoulders was instantly discernible. She touched the petals of a flower. ‘He should be returning today. Tio sent him to Huaroya where we have our coffee plantation. ’

  ‘Do you often go riding with him?’

  The reaction to this seemingly casual question gave Hilary an answer before Juanita even spoke. She turned like a startled fawn, dark rose suffusing her cheeks, and gasped: ‘How did you know?’

  Gently, Hilary told her. ‘I’ve been wondering since yesterday if I should warn you,’ she said softly, ‘but I didn’t want you to think I was being inquisitive.’

  ‘I don’t know how she knew,’ Juanita said bitterly. ‘Only three times have we been able to meet alone, away from prying eyes, and with the luck of Diablo himself she is in our path. ’

  Juanita’s slender hands twisted together and her lips showed white as they compressed tightly. ‘What are we to do? She will tell the Conde and he will send Ramon away. I know he will. We must think of something,’ she said feverishly. ‘ We must say that we met accidentally, that - that Ramon was riding alone and - and—’

  ‘Have you been forbidden to ride with Ramon?’ Hilary asked, worried by Juanita’s distress.

  ‘No,’ Juanita shook her head and looked up tearfully, ‘not exactly. But I knew it was not wise to do so in secret.’

  ‘ Secrets like that have a habit of leaking out,’ Hilary said flatly, ‘but I still don’t see what it has to do with Consuelo and why she should go out of her way to tell Dona Elena. ’ ‘Because Consuelo is mean. And she is - how you say? — bossy. But both Dona Elena and my grandmother - the Condesa - have always hoped that the Conde and Consuelo will make a match and unite the two families. Once we thought he might choose Sanchia, but she married another, and now that she is a widow ... we do not know ...’ Juanita shook her head. ‘But because of this Consuelo thinks she can interfere in all our affairs. She has even been heard to refer to him as Ruaz, which only the Condesa is allowed to call him,’ Juanita concluded somewhat indignantly.

  ‘I see.’ Hilary gave a sigh almost as heavy as Juanita’s. ‘Do you want to tell me about Ramon?’

  ‘I have loved Ramon in secret for two whole years,’ Juanita said mournfully, ‘and I shall love him till eternity.’ There seemed little to say to this all-encompassing statement, except for the one question Hilary hesitated to ask. A moment later it was answered. Juanita turned suddenly and seized Hilary’s hand. ‘Please,’ she begged, ‘will you help us? Will you promise not to betray us? It means so much to us. You see, Ramon is poor. He comes from a good family, but they are impoverished. And because of this money I will inherit when I come of age they will never allow me to marry Ramon. He himself is desperately conscious of the fact he has nothing to offer me, and that he must work for another. But if I cannot marry him I will marry no one. I will remain an old maid until I die,’ she finished dramatically.

  ‘Old maid!’ Hilary could not help smiling at the quaint expression. ‘How can you remain an old maid when you are scarcely seventeen?’

  But the glisten of tragic tears in the dark eyes quickly banished her amusement. She said softly, ‘Of course I’ll do what I can, but you mustn’t ask me to deceive your uncle. Not if he’s expressly forbidden you to see Ramon.’

  ‘He hasn’t, because he doesn’t know. No one did, till now.’ ‘Are you sure that the Conde will be as unsympathetic as you imagine?’ Hilary asked, after a moment’s reflection. ‘Surely he, not Consuelo, is the one to judge if Ramon is a suitable friend—’

  Juanita’s impatient exclamation checked her. She gave a small gesture and smiled. ‘Yes - friend. There’s plenty of time before you need think of marriage. Surely you’re not barred completely from contact with the opposite sex.’

  ‘I
may as well be,’ said Juanita despairingly. ‘You can’t understand, can you, how we must abide by tradition? Oh, why could we not have a liberating influence in this family? Someone with the courage to break free as others have done. We are still living in Dona Elena’s youth, not today,’ she added bitterly.

  Hilary was silent. There was a modicum of truth in Juanita’s lament, but on the other hand there was the exaggeration of despair. It was obvious that Juanita had been gently nurtured from birth. Her schooling had been strict but sheltered, she had never been thrust into the fast pace of the average English teenager’s life, therefore it was unlikely that she had developed the ability to make judgments or a decision that would not bode heartbreak. She said slowly: ‘I still don’t think you should try to keep this friendship a secret. After all, you tell me that Ramon taught Joaquin to swim last year. You’ve obviously enjoyed holiday pursuits together, when Ramon must have been permitted to join you en famille, so to speak. ’

  ‘That is not enough. I want to marry him.’

  ‘Does Ramon wish to marry you?’ Hilary asked dryly, still not convinced that Juanita wasn’t enjoying indulgence in an adolescent day-dream built round her uncle’s young secretary.

  ‘Of course, but he knows it is useless to ask permission for our marriage. If anyone knew of this he would be sent away.’ For the moment it seemed an impasse. Sighing, Hilary returned Juanita to the diversion of English literature, but she could not help feeling curiosity about the person of Ramon, who had obviously enslaved the young Spanish girl. So she was conscious of a stirring of excitement when she heard that

  Ramon had arrived back that evening.

  At first she experienced disappointment when the moment of meeting came. Beside the Conde, Ramon seemed slight and almost insignificant. He had not the Conde’s height and breadth of shoulders, nor had he the Conde’s arrogant, assured bearing. But on acquaintance it emerged that Ramon was possessed of a certain charm that might well enchant a young feminine heart.

  He was softly spoken, with the liquid dark eyes of the true Latin and the whimsical smile that flashed suddenly - the kind of smile that makes a woman believe it is intended for her and no other woman in the world. His manners were impeccable and his personal grooming immaculate. But was he sincere? And if he was, how would it all work out for Juanita? Certainly he was quite a proficient young actor. There was no trace of a passionate secret lover in his mien as he talked to Hilary in the mellow golden light of the sala at sunset that evening.