me here, at the hotel, at one o’clock.’
‘I’m afraid——’ Domine was beginning coldly, when she became aware of a movement behind her, and glancing round she found her brother coming stealthily down the stairs, still in his pyjamas.
‘Aguilar?’ he mouthed silently, and half impatiently, she nodded.
‘Are you still there, Miss Temple?’
The Peruvian’s voice was coldly demanding, but Mark was gesticulating urgently. Obviously he had heard her responses to what was being said, and had guessed what Señor Aguilar wanted.
‘Go!’ he mouthed, gesturing positively. ‘Find out what he wants.’
Domine sighed, and shaking her head uneasily, she said: ‘I’m still here, señor.’
‘Well?’ He was impatient now. ‘Will you join me for lunch?’
Mark was nodding vigorously, and much against her better judgment Domine found herself agreeing. The appointment was made, but when the receiver was replaced, she turned on Mark with angry resentment.
‘Don’t you ever do that to me again!’ she exclaimed, aware that her palms were still moist and her heart was beating twice as fast as it should have done. ‘I didn’t want to have lunch with him, as it happens. I’d promised to meet Susie at half past twelve in Lewis’s.’
‘I’ll meet her, if you like,’ declared Mark laconically, sinking down on to a stair about a third of the way up, but Domine repudiated his offer.
‘Thanks, but that won’t be necessary,’ she retorted, looping the strap of her handbag over her shoulder. ‘I’ll phone her—later.’
‘What you mean is, you don’t really have an arrangement at all,’ Mark commented, with wry humour. ‘Anyway, what did he say?’
‘Don’t you know?’ Domine moved towards the door.
‘I heard the phone ring, that was all,’ Mark replied. ‘Then as I came downstairs I heard what you were saying.’
‘Mmm!’ Domine was still infuriated at her own submission. ‘Well, I’m late. I have to go …’
‘Do you think he fancies you?’
Mark could be infuriatingly sensitive at times, and Domine was glad she could turn away and swing open the door to cool her heated cheeks. ‘I think that’s the last thing he’s aware of,’ she remarked, stepping out into the damp, misty air, and the annoying thing was, she was almost certain she was right.
THE four-star Crillon Hotel stood in a side street, just off Manchester’s main square. Domine did wonder why he had not checked into the five-star Piccadilly, but perhaps he preferred the less hectic conservatism of the smaller hotel. In any event, it was nothing to do with her where he chose to stay, inasmuch as neither she nor Mark was expected to foot the bill.
She was still absently considering the things Mr Holland had told her, and finding the Crillon car park was full, she spent several fruitless minutes driving round and round the square, trying to find somewhere else to leave the small Porsche which her grandfather had given her six months ago on her eighteenth birthday. Eventually she managed to ease it into a limited-period parking area, and hurried across the park, aware that she was going to be rather late. It was all very well telling herself that she didn’t care whether he had waited for her or not, but the fact that she was virtually obliged to see him again this evening quickened her step, realising as she did that Mark might well be made to suffer for her tardiness.
One of several hall porters opened the swing glass doors for her as she mounted the shallow steps, and thanking him she looked apprehensively round the reception area. There seemed to be no sign of Señor Aguilar, and she looked anxiously at her watch. It was already after quarter past, and she wondered if he had gone into the restaurant without her.
She was just considering what she ought to do next when a voice said: ‘Miss Temple?’ and she looked up to find herself confronted by a black-coated waiter.
‘Yes?’ she nodded, swallowing her alarm, and he gave her a polite smile.
‘Mr Aguilar is waiting for you in the bar, Miss Temple,’ the man said, indicating the archway behind him. ‘If you’ll follow me …’
With as much self-possession as she could muster, Domine followed the man through the archway and into a discreetly lit bar-lounge. There were tables and armchairs, low banquettes upholstered in red leather, and tall stools at the bar, with circular red seats. There were several people in the room, some seated at the tables, others just standing around, and others occupying the stools at the bar. She saw Aguilar at once. He was seated at the bar, but at her approach he slid off his stool and came to greet her.
‘Miss Temple,’ he said, bowing over her hand. ‘How nice of you to come.’ Almost as if he had doubted she might.
Domine waited until he had released her hand and then thrust it awkwardly into the hip pocket of her pants. She saw his gaze flick over her, and wondered what his opinion was today, but then he was asking her what she would like to drink and she endeavoured to concentrate on the mood of the moment.
He looked very little different from the previous evening. He had discarded his dinner jacket, of course, but his lounge suit was just as dark, the grey silk tie he wore with it matching his shirt. She couldn’t help noticing that he attracted the attention of other women in the bar, and when he seated himself on the adjoining stool and his knee brushed her thigh, she was made disturbingly aware of the effect he had on her.
Having accepted her usual Martini, Domine allowed her gaze to move sideways, alighting on his dark profile, trying to guess why he had invited her for lunch. It would have been flattering to think he was attracted to her, but after the look he had given her the night before, she distrusted his suave courtesy. Whatever he wanted, it was not personal, though remembrance of that fleeting contempt rekindled her desire to make him squirm.
With this in mind she rested one elbow on the bar, and turning towards him, gave him the full benefit of her most winning smile. As she moved, the tantalising fragrance she wore drifted to his nostrils, her hair a silky silver curtain about her shoulders.
‘It was—kind of you to invite me to lunch,’ she said now, allowing the fingers of her other hand to lightly touch his sleeve. Her nails gleamed with polish, long and silvery, like her hair, her lips parting over even white teeth. ‘It was so unexpected, Señor—or may I call you Luis?’
His sleeve was withdrawn from her fingers, and she was subjected to a glacial scrutiny. ‘I think you misunderstand my motives, Miss Temple,’ he declared harshly. ‘My reasons for inviting you to lunch were not—personal ones.’
‘No?’ She pretended disappointment. ‘Then what?’
He raised his glass to his lips, swallowed a mouthful of the pale lager he was drinking before replying. Then he said severely: ‘I wanted to speak with you about your cousin.’
‘Lisel?’
‘Lisel, yes.’
Domine
