Dancing in the Shadows (10 page)

‘That's my sister! Seeing how the other half lives, that's what! Only you would want to leave it.'

‘I don't like the idea of being dependent on strangers,' she said stubbornly.

He groaned softly. ‘You're a bigger nutter than I thought. Listen to me, girl. They're going to pay for what happened to you. And I'm just the boy to see they pay good.'

‘That's my brother! Just about the most mercenary man I know.' She was really angry now; angry and frustrated—it was impossible to get through to him. It was like hitting a brick wall with a feather. ‘This is what I'm afraid of. I forbid you to make any mention of a reward.'

His eyes narrowed to amused slits. ‘You forbid?' He was perfectly at ease, completely unruffled. ‘On the level, Dor, you're too
independent.
That's always been your trouble. You need someone to look after you.'

‘You?' she suggested, swallowing on mock sweetness.

‘What's so surprising about that? I don't like to see you down.'

‘I've been down before, Michael. I don't remember your bothering about me then.'

She'd needed him then, just after their grandmother died. How she had needed an affectionate older brother to lean on. But Michael had made it abundantly clear that he didn't want the appendage of a grief-stricken kid sister.

Her shaft went home. ‘Point taken,' he said, looking uncomfortable. ‘Kick me if you want to. You can't kick me any harder than I've kicked myself. I'm not going to run away from the issue, or pretend it never happened, because it did happen—I left you when you most needed me—and all the pretending in the world can't wipe it out. I acted like a louse. The thing I ask myself is why did I act like this? Because I was spoilt rotten, or was that my reaction to grief? You tell me because I don't know. I'll probably never know. But I'll tell you this, I'm not going to bury it away in my mind and forget about it. Not until I've learnt from it first.'

Michael thinking deep—regretting. She didn't believe it.
Did
she believe it?

She said tentatively, without condemnation:
‘Everybody
does something stupid at some time or other. One's mistakes and stupidities are supposed to be the stepping stones one climbs to better things.'

Was that what he was saying? Was he hoodwinking her? His apparent sincerity overwhelmed her and she felt pin-pricks of hope attacking her scalp. But she'd known the cynical, unfeeling Michael too long to accept unconditionally this made-to-specification new model brother.

‘What gives, Michael? Really?'

‘If you must know, I'm more than a bit shattered about you. If only I'd bundled you off to France with me.'

She had a sudden crazy urge to giggle. ‘Now I'm sure you don't mean that. What would you want with a sister with all those French birds,' she said with a flash of cruel candidness, using his vernacular.

‘Straight up! I was worried about you.
Am
worried about you,' he repeated insistently.

His eyes were frank and unsmiling; she was no match for the gush of emotion that swamped her.

She blew her nose and dabbed at her eyes and gulped. And perhaps she was a gullible fool at that, but it was a special sort of joy to hear him say: ‘And you're not going to tell me to go away. That would increase the agony now that I've seen how ill you look. It would be criminal of you to ask it of me. If I couldn't
see
you every day I should start wondering if you were making satisfactory progress, or getting worse, and kicking myself afresh for going off and leaving you.'

Dorcas had never professed to be a hardhearted girl and he did look caring. In the event she lulled her qualms and pointed out: ‘It's not up to me to say whether you go or stay.'

‘Señor Ruiz asked me to stay for as long as it pleased me.'

He slanted Dorcas a guarded look and risked: ‘But if my presence makes you feel uneasy, you've only to say the word and I'll pack up and go. I feel as though I've done enough damage already.'

Dorcas touched his hand. ‘You haven't done anything. Nobody can accept that sort of responsibility. Stay.'

‘Do you want me to?'

She swallowed. ‘Yes, I do. Michael?'

‘M'm?'

‘Were you having a good time in France?'

‘M'm.'

‘You seem different, somehow.'

‘In what way?'

‘Nicer. Did you meet anyone on your travels?' She wondered if a special girl was behind his nicer disposition.

‘I met lots of people.'

‘I mean someone special.'

‘There was Sam.'

‘All
right, I get the message. If you did meet a special girl, you're not telling.' A mischievous smile sat on her lips. ‘I hope being dragged here didn't spoil anything for you.'

* * *

Feli, her husband Jaime, and adorable little Rosita arrived for a weekend visit. The exuberance of Feli's greeting brought the tears stinging to Dorcas's eyes.

Clasping her arms about her shoulders and kissing her warmly on the cheek, Feli said: ‘This show of affection is permitted. What we have been through makes us . . . almost sisters.' She looked at Dorcas, shook her head at what she saw, and said amusingly: ‘My almost sister is too thin and pale. Come to my house and I will feed you paella and trout baked with ham in wine, and steak served with stuffed aubergines. And masses of cream-filled pastries. And then,' she said laughingly putting her hands to her own small waist, ‘you will be plump like me. What do you say, Jaime?'

Jaime had a long thin face, interesting looking rather than handsome, with kind eyes beneath thickly defined eyebrows. A moustache followed the line of his laughing upper lip.

‘I think at times you are plump in the head.' To Dorcas he said: ‘I second my wife's invitation. The door of our house will always
be
open to you.' He didn't say ‘For what you did for Feli and Rosita,' but it was there in his eyes.

Without words a friendship was established. She knew that whatever happened she could always rely on the support of Feli's husband.

She had made some good friends. Rose Ruiz, who was genuine in her affection for her, even though she lived in daily dread that her son might also feel affection for Dorcas. Her kindly señor. Dorcas knew she could count on Enrique Ruiz's friendship for life. Feli. Even Carlos's tart-tongued grandmother had warmed to her. And now Jaime. It seemed unjust that if she did have to fade quietly out of Carlos's life, she would have to move herself out of the orbit of his family. Not only would she have to give him up, but she would also have to surrender these good friendships.

Her eyes felt moist—was it weakness that kept sending her in an emotional spin?—and she was glad to bury her face in Rosita's neck and kiss and fuss the little girl with the melting smile.

The seconds whirled off the clock that weekend. With just three extra people, the house seemed to have filled with laughter and light and, as a bonus, Rosita took her first tottering steps. One, two, three and then—smack—down she'd go on her well-padded bottom. Then she would hold her hands out to be picked up by Dor-dor, which was the best
she
could make of Dorcas's name.

Life was all roses. Even Rose Ruiz, distracted by the presence of her granddaughter, was less watchful of Dorcas. Michael was behaving in an exemplary manner. He made a point of seeking her out to slip an arm round her with brotherly predilection. He would nuzzle her neck and his grin incorporated the smiles of a million angels. ‘How goes it, kid? Forgiven me for trying to tilt your pretty ideals?'

This was an old argument. She knew he thought she let sentimentality distort her perspective. Big of him to give in, to allow her her pretty ideals as he called this stubbornness of hers in not wanting to extract financial reward from the Ruizs. Poor Michael, he still considered pride to be cold comfort in comparison with the things money could buy.

Which made his present attitude all the more marvellous. Unless? Well, she hated herself for nourishing the tiniest seed of distrust, but could he be pretending to let her have her own way because he was wise enough to know that an opposed ideal is apt to gain in strength?

The weekend was so much fun that even that thought wasn't sufficiently discouraging to wipe out the sparkle for her.

Carlos remarked at the change in her. ‘You are looking much better.' He took her face between his hands, scrutinizing it fiercely.
‘Perhaps
you should accept Feli's invitation to go and stay with her. My clever sister seems to have acquired the trick of putting a smile on your lips.'

Quite suddenly the smile had to be fixed there, because it was in danger of slithering down into a frown. Did Carlos mean that he wanted her out of the house? Had she overstayed her welcome? Ought she to take Feli up on her invitation and leave with them when they went tomorrow?

‘I have to go away soon,' Carlos told her. ‘There is a business trip I must make. One which I have been putting off.'

Feelings, the impossible love she felt for Carlos, swamped her. As her inside churned she knew clearly that her idea of accompanying Feli and her family in the morning was a passing thought she had no intention of following up. She couldn't tear herself away from Carlos, not while the thought of his going away erupted like a protest . . . a protesting and painful shock in her brain, a desolate coldness in her stomach.

She felt angry. She hadn't asked for this. Completely against her will her life had changed course. Who had given the permission for these drastic changes? She hadn't. It had promised so much . . . was the promise to be broken? It wasn't as if she'd ever thirsted for adventure. In her dull, plodding way she had been content with her drab
existence.
Only it hadn't seemed drab then. She'd had nothing to compare it with. She didn't know that life could contain such colour that her other life—already so remote that it seemed to have been lived by another girl, in another age almost—was no more than a flickering grey image of escaping memories. After knowing all this, how could she go back to
that
?

Her mind stood quietly on that thought for a few seconds. Then reason returned. She had never rated more than a slim chance of holding Carlos. This was the thought she must freeze on her mind. She couldn't imagine spending the rest of her life without Carlos . . . the rest of her life trailed out, an awfully long time . . . but she might have to.

* * *

The Rocas came to dinner for Feli's last evening. Isabel wore a dress of deep apricot shading to a bodice of palest peach. Against her exotic colouring it looked wonderful. Dorcas could hardly take her eyes off her.

When Jaime said of her own cornflower blue: ‘Very becoming,' she took it that he was being kind because he was her friend.

That evening there was much gaiety and just a hint of sadness. In the morning Feli and her family were going home and they would be sadly missed. It added the touch of poignancy
to
the party spirit.

Dorcas found herself being drawn into conversation by don Alfonso, Isabel's papa, and discovered him to be a sensitive and intelligent man. Michael divided himself equally between Isabel and her mama, entertaining them with his quick, witty brain. His clowning made doña Maria laugh until the tears ran down her plump face. Isabel's cheeks were pink with delight.

Observing them, don Alfonso remarked: ‘Your brother is a very talented young man.'

‘Talented, señor?' Dorcas queried. Michael was playing the fool. Delightfully so. But was that a talent?

‘See how easily he eclipses every man present. Without effort he has my wife and daughter sitting in the palm of his hand. Any firm would welcome that sort of flair in an employee. Does your brother speak Spanish or Portuguese?'

‘A little of both. Only enough to get by, though.'

‘No matter. That young man would soon become fluent.'

‘What are you thinking, señor?' Dorcas eased forward, trying to probe beyond the speculative gleam in don Alfonso's eye.

‘I'm thinking several things. Lacking your brother's very special charm, I'm thinking that I'm glad I have reached an age when it is no longer the first importance to compete for the
attention
of the womenfolk. I am thinking that this sort of charm plays a vital part in any sales drive, and that your brother would be capable of squeezing a large wine order from a staunch abstainer. I am thinking that any time he wants to change his employment, I hope he will approach me because he will be an asset to any sales organization.'

‘Do you want me to mention this to my brother, señor?' said Dorcas, frowning slightly. Her biggest hope was that Michael would quickly tire of the quietness of the district. She did not want to be even slightly instrumental in keeping him here.

Don Alfonso moved his thumb thoughtfully across his chin. His observant eyes were pinned on his daughter's animated face.

‘Let us not be too hasty,' he decided. ‘Don't mention anything just yet, There is an aspect of the situation that requires some further thought.'

Dorcas wondered what aspect he referred to, but only fleetingly because Carlos was towering above them enquiring: ‘Is this a select twosome or may I be permitted to join?'

‘How is it,' complained don Alfonso with a buccaneerish twinkle, ‘that when I am making progress with a beautiful señorita, along comes a dashing
caballero
to cut me out?' He stood up, robustly slapping Carlos on the back. ‘Have my seat. It is time I had a word with your esteemed father.'

Before
he walked away his finger went up across his lips, reminding Dorcas to keep quiet about their conversation. He had no idea how happy she was to oblige.

Carlos sat down, stuck out his legs in the inelegant way men do, and smiled intimately into her eyes. ‘Hello there,' he said.