Arviles laughed. ‘It was paid off a long time ago, señorita, and the driver told us the name of your hotel so that we could contact them also. They might have become anxious if one so young and lovely had gone out into Bogota and not returned.’
Rachel returned his smile rather wanly. ‘That’s hardly likely.’
‘You think not?’ Señor Arviles shrugged. ‘Yet you must remember, señorita, that this is Colombia, not Gran Bretaña. Our history has blood in it, and some of it is recent. You would do well to remain here with us, I think, and allow my wife and daughter to entertain you while I make what enquiries I can about Marcos.’
His tone was firm. It was the one he would use, Rachel decided, when he was giving a client some unpopular advice.
‘So it is decided, then.’ He rose briskly from the chair before she could utter a further protest. ‘Rest, señorita, and we will make all necessary arrangements. Presently Dolores will bring you some soup.’
He bowed again and walked to the door. Isabel following him, her pretty face wearing a curiously thoughtful expression.
The soup when it came was delicious, almost a meal in itself, thick with beans and spiced meat, and served with delicately flavoured corn muffins.
Recalling how ill she had been only a short time before, Rachel was amazed that she could eat anything, but she finished every mouthful. When she heard the knock on the door, she imagined it was Dolores coming to remove her tray, and was surprised when Isabel came in.
She exclaimed with pleased politeness about Rachel’s return to health, and sat down in the chair that her father had vacated, folding her hands in her lap. Watching her, Rachel thought suddenly that she looked troubled, and saw that her fingers gripped each other, tight with tension.
‘There’s something wrong, isn’t there?’ she said, cutting across Isabel’s somewhat dutiful recital of the museums they would visit and the sights they would see while she remained in Bogota.
Isabel’s eyes filled with sudden tears. ‘Perhaps, señorita. I—I do not know.’
‘Well, tell me what it is,’ Rachel urged.
‘But first you must promise that you must not tell my father.’ Isabel’s tone was equally urgent. ‘He would be so angry—because I tell you and not him.’
‘I promise I won’t mention anything to him about this conversation.’ Rachel’s eyes never left the younger girl’s face. ‘Do you know where my brother has gone?’
Isabel lifted her shoulders in a deep shrug. ‘Maybe—that is all I can say. señorita, I must tell you something now of which I am much ashamed.’ She paused. ‘I love my brother, but sometimes he is not kind. Sometimes, when he has his friends, he tells me to go away, to leave them in peace, and this hurts me. So they go to his room and they talk, and sometimes I go to my room where there is an amario on the wall next to Miguel’s where there is also an amario.’ She paused again. ‘You know what I am trying to say?’
‘I think so,’ said Rachel. ‘There are adjoining—wardrobes, perhaps, and you can—hear what they are talking about.’
Isabel blushed unhappily ’si, it is so. I am much ashamed now, but before I used to laugh to myself because Miguel thought he had his friends to himself, and I could not share in the things they talked about.’
Her eyes gleamed for a moment and Rachel thought that the sheltered daughter of the house had probably found her eavesdropping on purely masculine conversations more than enlightening at times.
She said, ‘So you listened and you heard Mark and Miguel talking. Is that it?’
Isabel nodded. ‘It was then I knew my father would be angry because Miguel had spoken to Marcos of forbidden things.’
‘What forbidden things?’
Isabel looked down at her lap again. ‘Emeralds,’ she said in a low voice. There was a long taut silence, then she went on. ‘Our emerald mines here in Colombia, Señorita Raquel, are the most famous in the world. They make much money for our country. But not all the emeralds that leave Columbia do so with the will of our government, you understand.’
There was another pause and Rachel made herself say dry-mouthed, ‘Smuggling? You mean Miguel and Mark were talking about smuggling emeralds?’
’si, and from what Miguel is saying I know that he has done this thing, and that if my father ever finds out he will be angry, because it is so much against the law, and the law means everything to my father. He would think that Miguel had dishonoured him.’
Rachel said in a hollow voice, ‘Do you mean that Miguel was suggesting that Mark should become an emerald smuggler?’
‘No, not that. He seemed to be warning him. Many people die all the time because of emeralds. There is much danger. He says that he thinks your brother is a little mad. And then Señor Marcos says “You would not think I was so mad if I came back with the Flame of Diablo.” ‘
‘What is the Flame of Diablo?’
‘It is a legend, Señorita Raquel, a story that I heard when I was a child, as did Miguel. It is said that somewhere in the hills to the north there is a mine where one can find emeralds worth many millions of pesos. But it is also said that no one has set eyes upon this mine since the days of El Dorado, the Golden One who used emeralds from the Diablo mine to ornament himself before he made the offering in the Sacred Lake.’
‘Then Diablo is a place?’ Rachel queried.
Isabel shuddered. ‘It is truly named,’ she said in a low voice, ‘for it is a place of the devil. Many people seek the Diablo mine and the green flame which burns there, but they do not return. My father says the reason is simple. It is a dangerous place. Often there are landslides, and the rivers are deep with fierce currents and little fish that can eat a horse and rider before a man can utter a last prayer, and leave only the bones. And there is el tigre who kills, and many snakes. Also bandidos and other evil men,’ she added, crossing herself. ‘Perhaps it is all so, but there are those who say the reason why the Flame of Diablo stays hidden is that it is guarded by the old gods who were worshipped before the conquistadores came to this place, and that all who seek the Flame are accursed.’
In spite of herself, Rachel felt a long cold shiver run the length of her spine. It was all very well to tell herself robustly that only the very credulous would believe such a tale, but here in this alien land, in the very shadow of the pagan mountains, it was difficult to dismiss Isabel’s recital as nonsense.
‘And you think Mark has gone to this dreadful place?’ she asked, steadying her voice.
Isabel’s eyes met hers frankly. ‘I did not, because Miguel talks much to your brother, telling him of the dangers. But now you come and tell us that he has not returned to Gran Bretaña, and I worry, because he told Miguel that was what he planned to do. I think perhaps he only told Miguel this to put his mind at ease, so that he would not blame himself for having told him the legend. There are many such stories, you understand. I think Miguel did not believe Marcos would take him seriously.’
‘Mark’s a geologist,’ Rachel said, passing her tongue over her dry lips. ‘I suppose he might think that if this mine existed he had as good a chance
