as the day drew towards evening she had second thoughts. What if, when she did not go to meet him, he came to the house? What would she do then? What could she do? And how incensed Lucie Castana would be!
She put Eduardo to bed at seven o’clock as usual, said good night, and went to her own rooms. Señor Castana was due home tomorrow and Señora Castana had told her that she intended having an early night. There was no reason why she should not slip out of the house, meet Señor Cuevas and explain, and be back indoors again before anyone noticed her absence.
The decision made, she changed out of her uniform into a pair of rather shabby red velvet pants and a cream ribbed sweater, leaving her hair in the coronet of plaits she had worn all day. At five minutes to eight she left the house, not bothering with a coat but throwing a thigh-length cream cardigan about her shoulders.
It was a mild evening and the birds were still making a loud noise in the small park across the way. There were few people about. This small terrace of elegant town houses was occupied by a section of the community to whom walking was something one only did on the golf course, so she met no one she knew as she hurried towards the corner. There was no sign of Fernando Cuevas and unreasonably her heart sank. What did it matter? she asked herself impatiently. If he didn’t turn up, all the better. It would save her having to go into unnecessary explanations.
Reaching the end of the street, she looked up and down the wider thoroughfare beyond, but there was no one around who looked the slightest bit like the lean dark Spaniard she had come to meet. She sighed and consulted the broad masculine watch on her slim wrist. It was only just eight o’clock. He might conceivably be late. Traffic in London at this hour of the evening was notoriously unreliable, and it was quite easy to get trapped in a jam.
She drew her cardigan closer about her, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. She might as well wait a few minutes. If only to satisfy herself that she had been wasting her time.
‘Good evening, Miss King!’
The quiet words spoken somewhere near her ear startled her almost out of her wits and she swung round on her heels staring in amazement at the man who was standing just behind her. He was quite close and she could smell a faint aroma of an after-shaving lotion. He was casually dressed in a tawny-coloured lounge suit and a roll-collared silk shirt that clung to the contours of his chest as he moved. His eyes dropped the length of her body in a swift appraising motion and then returned to her face again as he smiled approvingly.
‘I am glad you have dressed informally,’ he said. ‘I was afraid you might take my invitation to mean a dinner jacket affair.’
Susannah gathered herself. ‘No, no, you don’t understand, señor. I – I didn’t come to meet you, at least – not to go out with you.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘What is that supposed to mean, señorita?’
Susannah folded the sleeves of her cardigan around her arms. I can’t dine with you, señor. I’m sorry. I tried to make it plain yesterday afternoon, but Señora Castana interrupted me, and—’
‘Basta!’ He cut her off with an impatient ejaculation. ‘Why can you not dine with me? You are here. You are ready. Where is the difficulty?’
Susannah gasped, ‘I’m not ready. Not like this!’
‘You look perfectly satisfactory to me.’ He shook his head. ‘Why did you come to meet me if you did not wish to dine with me?’
Susannah shrugged. ‘I – I was afraid you might come to the house. I didn’t want to cause any more – upset.’
‘With whom? Señora Castana?’
‘Does it matter?’ She moved a little away from him. ‘I’m very flattered, of course, but I don’t accept invitations from friends of my employers.’
Fernando Cuevas put out a hand and caught her upper arm preventing her further progress, his fingers hard and compelling. ‘Why not? Do your employers forbid it? Do they subject you to a very subtle form of moral blackmail?’
Susannah shook her head, looking down at his hand on her arm. ‘It doesn’t do to mix business with pleasure,’ she replied. Then she looked up. ‘I’d have thought you would have known that, señor.’
He smiled, the kind of smile that caused her heart to quicken its beat rather dramatically. ‘Please,’ he said appealingly. ‘Would you disappoint a lonely man? A stranger to your country? I promise not to compromise you in any way.’ He glanced over his shoulder. ‘Come. I have a car this evening – I hired it specially for the occasion. I do not care for taxi drivers to listen to all my conversations with you.’
Susannah’s resolve was weakening by the second. Her head was swimming, and she wondered if he could feel the throbbing rate of her pulses through his fingers gripping her arm. She thought it was entirely possible. There was a certainty of purpose about him now which was not completely due to his own self-confidence. Slowly but surely he was drawing her with him, off the pavement and on to the road and across to where a gold-coloured Ford Granada was parked, the reason why she had not observed him earlier.
‘You see,’ he said, unlocking the door with his key. ‘Is this not a most attractive vehicle I have chosen for us?’
Susannah looked into his face, so disturbingly close to her own. ‘Where are you taking me?’
‘Get in and you will find out,’ he advised quietly.
She hesitated for a moment and then with a resigned shrug she allowed him to assist her into the car and close the door behind her. He walked round the bonnet and slid in beside her, giving her a slight smile as he did so, and she thought with a sense of self-betrayal that for once she was allowing a man to call the tune.
Fernando said nothing as he threaded his way expertly through the busy traffic and on to the Hammersmith flyover. She had expected him to be uncertain of his way about London, but it seemed obvious that he was used to driving through its maze of one-way streets and box junctions. Susannah sat in the comfortable leather seat, separated from him by the console fixture of the gear lever, and wondered exactly where they were going.
As the traffic thinned, he had more time to look about him, and settling himself more comfortably in his seat, he said: ‘How old are you, Miss King?’
Susannah was taken aback. ‘That’s a very pointed question, isn’t it?’
‘Hmm. I suppose it is. Are you going to tell me?’ He looked at her out of the corners of his eyes, and she found herself becoming warm under his gaze.
‘As a matter of fact I’m twenty-four,’ she declared shortly. ‘How old are you?’
He chuckled. ‘Much older than that, Miss King.’
‘That’s not an answer,’ she exclaimed indignantly.
‘How old do you think I am?’
She hesitated. ‘I’m not sure. Thirty-five, thirty-six?’
‘You’re too kind.’ His expression was wry. ‘I am forty, Miss King. Almost old enough to be your father, si?’
She bent her head. ‘Why did you want to know how old I was?’ He shrugged, resting his arm on the
