are head-hunters and cannibals among these tribes. I should be terrified you might not get back alive. I should imagine dozens of explorers have disappeared without trace.’
‘I expect many have disappeared, but imagine, Carolyn, what they may have seen before they were—well—possibly killed.’
‘I can’t see that anything like that could be worth losing your life for,’ exclaimed Carolyn.
‘Maybe not. You’re a woman.’ The professor laughed. ‘I suppose you are also one of these creatures who abhor bull-fighting.’
‘Bull-fighting? I’ve never really thought about it. I once saw one, in Madrid. It was nauseating.’
‘You see,’ the professor laughed. ‘You haven’t the stomach for it. I mention bull-fighting because here it is very popular. In Mexico City there is the largest bull-ring in the world.’
‘Of course.’ Carolyn nodded. ‘The Spanish influence. I didn’t think of that.’
‘Don Carlos has bred bulls for the bull-ring himself,’ went on her father. ‘He has also fought the bulls.’
‘Don Carlos!’
‘Yes. Do you find that surprising?’
Carolyn looked thoughtful, recalling Don Carlos’s tall, lean, hard body. There had been something savage and untamed about him. A kind of leashed violence which was not in keeping with the cold hauteur he had adopted when she had dared to defy him.
‘No,’ she said, now, shivering a little for no apparent reason. ‘I should imagine he could be cruel, and no matter what you say, fighting bulls is a cruel pastime.’
The professor chuckled. ‘I would hardly call dicing with death a pastime,’ he remarked, dryly. ‘However, as we’re almost there, we’ll leave that discussion for another time.’
The track was winding through semi-cultivated land now, through narrow stretches between the plantations. Then they emerged into the open for a moment before entering tall iron gates and penetrating a belt of tropical trees that was the entrance to the Alvarez hacienda. The scent of jacaranda was almost overpowering, and then Carolyn had her first glimpse of the huge Spanish-designed dwelling. Below the house, lawns and gardens provided a profusion of colour, while the perfumes of the flowers were heady and sensual.
The Land-Rover halted at the entrance to an inner courtyard, and Carolyn slid out, looking up at the colonnaded façade. Tiling of many-coloured mosaics caught the sunlight, and she was impressed. Through the arched entrance to the inner courtyard, she could see a central fountain spilling its sparkling contents into a shallow basin.
Professor Madison came round the Land-Rover to her side. ‘Well?’ he said, softly. ‘What do you think?’
Carolyn shook her head.
‘Not exactly what you expected, is it?’ he persisted. ‘What did you expect anyway? Mud huts?’
Carolyn smiled. ‘No, not that. But this is such an isolated spot. One can’t believe such a place exists. It’s like a small palace.’
‘It is beautiful,’ agreed her father, preceding her through the archway. ‘Come on. It’s even better inside.’
Carolyn followed him more slowly, looking about her with interest. The house was built round the central courtyard with balconies to the upper windows. There was a profusion of wrought ironwork and jalousies and shady cloistered arches. Carolyn supposed that was the Moorish influence. She had been in many beautiful houses—stately homes and town dwellings. But never had anywhere completely enthralled her as this place did. There was the bright sunlight, glinting on the fountain, the scent of the flowers, the song of the birds, and the plaintive sound of a Spanish guitar echoing round the secluded courtyard.
She became aware of another presence, and swung round to find her father being greeted by Don Carlos. Today he was dressed in a dark-grey lounge suit, his linen startlingly white against the dark tan of his skin. His thick straight hair had been combed smoothly, but still persisted in lying partly over his forehead. He looked cool and immaculate, and completely sure of himself. In consequence, Carolyn felt a wave of inadequacy sweep over her, and felt a succeeding wave of annoyance follow it. Why should she feel inadequate? She had known plenty of men, and none of them had succeeded in making her feel like this. After all, no matter how important he was in Mexico, he was only a man, after all!
Only a man! Carolyn swallowed hard. He was certainly that. She had never known any man emanate such an aura of masculinity, and when his cool grey eyes turned on her she felt young and rather gauche. She knew her father was looking at her expectantly, waiting for her to apologise as she had said she would. But suddenly, she felt rebelliously like forgetting her promise. She remembered how he had crushed the beetle in the shower, and her colour deepened.
With a sigh, she walked across to them. ‘Don Carlos, this is my daughter, Carolyn,’ her father was saying, and Carolyn halted and allowed her hand to be shaken in a cool, hard grip. She snatched her hand away as soon as she could, and said:
‘I—I suppose I should apologise, Don Carlos. I’m afraid I was very rude, the last time we met.’
The man’s eyes narrowed a little, and she saw that his lashes were long and thick, veiling his expression. ‘I’m sure you were overwrought after your journey,’ he answered, smoothly, although there was no warmth in his voice.
Professor Madison looked relieved. ‘That is true,’ he said, quickly. ‘And now, I suppose I should apologise for bringing Carolyn here without asking your permission.’
Don Carlos shrugged his broad shoulders, and Carolyn saw the muscles ripple beneath the expensive material of his suit. She didn’t know why but she was aware of everything about this man, and the knowledge was not gratifying.
‘I think we will talk much better over coffee,’ remarked Don Carlos, suavely. ‘Come. We will go to the library.’
Carolyn walked with her father following the man into the building through the wide glass doors. They were now in a mosaic-tiled hall with a wide marble staircase at one side, the balustrade an intricate design of white wrought iron. Don Carlos led the way across the hall, through another archway and into a long narrow room, lined with books, wide french doors opening on to a veranda which overlooked a wide stretch of glistening water.
‘Oh, the lake,’ exclaimed Carolyn involuntarily.
Don Carlos pressed a button on the desk in the centre of the room, and then turned, looking at Carolyn’s animated expression. ‘Yes, Lake Magdalene. This is your first sight of the lake, Señorita?’
‘Yes.’ Carolyn recovered her composure. ‘It’s very beautiful.’
‘And not so appalling, Señorita?’ he murmured, softly, so that her father who was again lighting his pipe could not hear.
Carolyn stared at him, and then unable to bear the unconcealed contempt in his eyes, turned away. Professor Madison had noticed nothing amiss, and a white-coated servant arrived with a tray of coffee and thin bone china. When the servant withdrew, Don Carlos looked at Carolyn.
‘Will you attend to the coffee?’ he asked, his tone bland again.
Carolyn wanted to refuse, but instead
