got to his feet. “Very well, Madrecita. I will come as often as I can. But now—” He glanced at the plain gold watch on his wrist, “now I must go. I am hot and dirty and I need a shower. Besides, I must tell Father Domenico that I shall be leaving for Mexico City first thing in the morning.”
“You will take the helicopter to Puebla?”
Rafael nodded. “Yes. I presume there is a car there I can use.”
“A Mustang.” His mother inclined her head. “As I recall it, Juan bought two.” She bit her lip. “But you will drive carefully, won’t you, Rafael? The roads can be so dangerous.”
Rafael smiled, revealing his even white teeth. “You worry too much, Madrecita.“ He kissed her once more and then moved towards the door. “I will see you tomorrow evening. When I deliver Miss Lord.”
“Very well, Rafael. Take care!”
Rafael bade her goodbye and went down the stairs slowly. Now that he was free to go he was curiously loath to do so. This house had been his home for so many years and he knew a fleeting temptation to go to his old room and use the bathroom there. He knew his room remained as it was when he had left it. His mother insisted on it always being ready and available to him. But such temptations were never overwhelming and he walked across the wide hall and out onto the steps above the forecourt.
Two girls were dismounting from their horses in the shadow of the Landrover, assisted by a dark-skinned Mexican stableboy, and Rafael recognised his two younger sisters, Carla and Constancia. They were eighteen-year-old twins, the last children his father had sired before his fatal illness. When they saw Rafael they came exuberantly towards him, hugging him enthusiastically and protesting that he could not leave yet.
“I must,” insisted Rafael, disentangling himself from their clinging hands. “I have things to do.”
“I expect Juan has been asking you to go and meet this woman—this aunt of the little one’s—for him, hasn’t he?” suggested Carla perceptively. “Are you going?”
Rafael’s expression was wry. “As a matter of fact, I am.”
“I don’t think you should.” That was Constancia, the quieter, more introspective of the two. “Let Juan meet her himself!”
“I agree,” chimed in Carla. “Why should you have to waste your time going to meet some stuffy old maid?”
“That will do, Carla.” Rafael’s mouth turned down at the corners. “You know absolutely nothing about Miss Lord, and I do not think we should make wild statements about someone who is totally anonymous to us.”
Carla pouted. “Can I come with you?”
Rafael shook his head. “I don’t think that would be a very good idea.”
“Why not? At least you wouldn’t be bored—”
“I am never bored, Carla,” returned Rafael grimly, and climbed determinedly into the Landrover. “I’ll see you both tomorrow evening. When I get back.”
Constancia came to the door of the vehicle and touched his arm. “I wish I could come with you, Rafael,” she murmured wistfully, and for a moment he was tempted. But then he caught sight of Carla’s indignant face and realised he could not possibly take one without the other.
“There wouldn’t be room in the helicopter,” he replied, touching her cheek with a lean finger. “I’ll see you tomorrow, hmm?”
Constancia stepped back reluctantly and Rafael put the Landrover into gear. Then he drove swiftly down the drive and out on to the track to the village.
THE international airport at Mexico City was a seething mass of humanity in the heat of the late afternoon. More and more people were discovering the fascination for the past which gave the Aztec civilisation such an irresistible appeal. Where once only scientists and historians came to investigate the relics of that ancient culture there now thronged safari-shirted tourists, slung about with cameras and binoculars, and all the other paraphernalia of the cult fanatic.
Rafael disliked the crowds. He avoided them whenever possible. And the reasons for his being here at all were gradually arousing an unmistakable feeling of irritation inside him. The aircraft bringing this woman who might or might not be the child’s aunt out from England had developed an engine fault and had been delayed twenty-four hours in Kingston, which had meant that Rafael had had to book in at the airport hotel and spend a whole day kicking his heels. But finally the flight’s arrival had been announced, and he walked reluctantly towards the reception area. His hands were thrust deep into the pockets of his close-fitting corduroy pants and as he wore no jacket because it was so hot, his thin cream knitted shirt clung to his skin. He was hardly aware that several pairs of female eyes turned speculatively in his direction. He was simply not interested. He was totally absorbed with the disruptive quality of his own thoughts.
The plane had landed by the time he reached reception, and because of the delay in Jamaica and certain formalities which had been conducted there the passengers were quickly dealt with. Luggage was unloaded and gradually the passengers trickled through to collect their belongings and be greeted by welcoming relatives and friends.
Rafael stood to one side, his feet slightly apart, assessing all the women who emerged with equal penetration. There were several middle-aged women and his stomach muscles tautened when he contemplated approaching one of them with his brother’s proposition. But fortunately they were all quickly encompassed into welcoming groups and Rafael viewed the men that followed without interest. Most of the passengers looked relieved that the journey was over and he conceded that knowing one’s aircraft had developed an engine fault on the first leg of the journey could not make for a comfortable completion.
A woman in a wheelchair came next, propelled by a tall girl who looked round the reception area with curious eyes. Rafael frowned. Could this perhaps be Miss Lord? This woman in the wheelchair who looked rather pale and drawn.
But no! He stifled his increasing impatience as a man and a woman approached them and bent to speak consolingly to the woman in the chair. Then they spoke to the girl and she smiled, and said something which from her manner appeared to be deprecating their obvious gratitude.
Rafael looked away. Where was the woman? he silently demanded, feeling his reserves of tolerance running desperately low. Surely she would have the sense to realise that someone would be sent to meet her! Surely she wouldn’t leave the confines of the airport and seek accommodation at some hotel?
“Excuse me, señor!”
The feminine voice to one side of him broke into his absorption and his brows drew together in a scowl as he turned to look at the girl who had spoken. She was the girl who had been propelling the wheelchair and at once his spirits rose a little. Could it be that the woman in the wheelchair was Miss Lord, after all?
“Si?” He was abrupt, but he couldn’t help it.
The girl smiled, seemingly unconcerned by his uncompromising attitude. Objectively, he had to concede that she was an unusually attractive young woman. She was tall, perhaps five feet six or seven, and without the angular thinness sometimes associated with girls of her height. She was
