The Mountains of Spring (18 page)

‘
We will go now, if you please. My car is outside.
’
He turned to his grandmother, and once more
his dark head was bent over her hand.
‘
I will see you to-morrow, madame. You are sure that you are better?
’

‘
Much better, my child.
’
She smiled up at
him
from her pillows.
‘
Vaya con Dios
.’

Once they were outside in the corridor his
mann
er became a good deal more brisk, and largely, apparently, with the object of hurrying her along he placed a hand beneath Caroline
’
s elbow. He didn
’
t seem inclined to speak, and they hardly exchanged a word until, down in the courtyard, he was helping her into his car. Then he hesitated for a second.

‘
You do not feel that you are being forced to do this?
’

She looked up, surprised that he should allow such a trifle to worry him.

‘
No,
’
she said, her voice still as flat and weary as she felt.
‘
I
’
m glad to be able to help.
’

It didn
’
t take them very long to reach the tall, Colonial-style house which was the home of Isabel and her mother, and when Diego rang the bell the door was opened to them almost immediately. A uniformed maid admitted them, and they had barely crossed the threshold when Senora Dominguez advanced out of the shadows to meet them. She looked harassed and agitated, and she literally clutched at Diego like a drowning woman at a lifeline. He listened gravely while she poured forth a torrent of excited Spanish, and when she had finished he translated some of it for the benefit of Caroline.

‘
It appears that Isabel is a little calmer, but she has locked herself into her room. The Senora fears that she will make herself ill.
’
He turned to their hostess again, and Caroline guessed that he was
explaining the reason for her own presence on the scene.

Isabel
’
s mother looked, she thought, a little dubious, but nevertheless she smiled quite warmly at the English girl, and held out a hand to her.

‘
It is good of you to come,
senorita.
It is true that Isabel liked you, and perhaps
...
’
She shrugged helplessly, and glanced, as if for inspiration, at Diego.

‘
Perhaps,
’
he supplied obligingly,
‘
Senorita Ashley will be able to handle Isa as we are not able to do. May she go upstairs now?
’

‘
Si
...
but certainly.
’
Senora Dominguez nervously waved a beringed brown hand in the direction of the staircase.
‘
You will come up,
senorita
?
’

As they ascended the stairs together, Caroline realized that the Mexican woman was acutely embarrassed. She was clearly a timid and conservative person, and all her instincts and principles had been outraged by this involvement of a stranger in such an essentially private and rather shameful family concern. Diego
’
s pride, Caroline knew, had suffered in the same way at first, but he had made up his mind to overcome the obstacle, and having overcome it he had virtually dismissed it from his mind. She, Caroline, might possibly be able to render Isabel some sort of service, but from every other point of view she was completely insignificant. How could it possibly matter how much she knew?

Outside what was evidently Isabel
’
s door they came to a halt, and the plump little Mexican woman rapped on the panels with rather more than a hint of nervous timidity. When there was no response, she raised her voice a little and said something in
Spanish, but the occupant of the room did not reply. She gave one of her helpless shrugs, and looked at Caroline.

‘
I have not told her that you are here. Perhaps if you would speak to her yourself
...
? I am sorry, so sorry that you have been troubled,
senorita,
but—but Senor Rivel felt that perhaps a stranger
...
’

‘
Yes, of course,
’
said Caroline quickly. She moved closer to the door and spoke distinctly.
‘
This is Caroline Ashley. Can I—can I come
in?’

The words sounded extraordinarily foolish, and for a moment or two after she had uttered them she felt almost as uncomfortable as her hostess. They stood together in silence, listening for an answer from i
n
side the room, but nothing came. And then, after what seemed like five minutes but couldn
’
t have been more than sixty seconds, the key was turned
stealthily
in the lock and the door was opened by about half an inch.

Senora Dominguez clasped her hands together.

‘
Ah, my little one! She will be reasonable!
’

Caroline, who thought this remark quite extraordinarily optimistic, said nothing. The door opened another half inch and Isabel made herself heard.

‘
Miss Ashley? You are there?
’

‘Yes,
I
’
m here.
’
She did her best to make her voice sound cool and natural.
‘
I—I just wondered if I could talk to you for a few minutes.
’

There was silence, and for something like another thirty seconds nothing happened. Then, suddenly, the door opened wide, and Isabel Dominguez, in her wheelchair, was in front of them. Her dark hair was dishevelled, and judging by her eyes she had been doing a good deal of crying, but it was obvious that she had been making some attempt to repair the ravages by the application of a rather generous amount of make-up, and she was now evidently doing her best to muster what was left of her dignity. She smiled shyly and a little tremulously at Caroline.

‘
You will come in, please,
senorita
? I am sorry to have kept you waiting.
’

Caroline glanced at the Senora who passed a hand across her brow as if the relief were almost too much for her.
‘
Thank you,
’
she said, smiling as brightly as she could manage.
‘
I—I
’
ll see you later,
senora
?
’

‘
Yes ... oh, yes.
’
Her hostess was backing away as if afraid to break the spell.
‘
You will have dinner with us—of course you will. When you have had—a little talk with Isabel.
’

She disappeared, and Caroline, feeling that she had bitten off a good deal more than she could chew, permitted herself to be ushered into the personal sanctum of the Mexican girl.

It was a pleasant room, old and low-ceilinged, and warm with the glow of lamplight, for by now it was getting dusk outside. Here and there were scattered marks of its occupier
’
s femininity ... a collection of bottles and jars on the dressing-table, and a silver-backed hairbrush; a bowl of yellow flowers near the window, and an expensive-looking charm bracelet flung down on an antique table. But there was nothing at all to indicate that the bracelet
’
s owner had been deprived of the use of her legs; no gadgets of any kind, as far as Caroline could see, to help her when once she had left the security of her wheelchair behind.

Swiftly and expertly, Isabel wheeled herself towards the dressing-table, and picked up a tortoiseshell cigarette case.

‘You will
smoke,
senorita
?
’
she asked.

Caroline shook her head smiling.
‘
No, thank you. I don
’
t smoke. I
’
d probably choke on it!
’

‘
Then you have more sense than I,
’
said Isabel frankly.
‘
I smoke, but it is not because I like it.
’

Caroline sat down.
‘
That
’
s unusual,
’
she ventured.

‘
It is, is it not? But I will tell you why I do it.
’
As she spoke she lit a cigarette, making a small grimace as she did so.
‘
I do it because it makes me seem
...
sophisticated. Grown-up, you know? It is silly, I think, but without it I do not always feel very grown-up. To my mother, and—and other people, I am still a little girl you see. A little girl whose health is not good, and who has to be protected
...
always protected.
’
There was a rasp of singularly unchildlike bitterness in the husky voice with the heavy Mexican accent.
‘
They mean to be kind—oh, they mean to be kind. But I am twenty years old, and now I would like to be a woman.
’
With a faint tinge of dryness, Caroline assured the other girl that she had never struck her as being in the slightest degree childish.

‘
Ah, well, I hope not!
’
She exhaled a small cloud of blue smoke, and coughed.
‘
But it is the way they think of me. I am not allowed to have
feelings,
you understand.
’

‘
Feelings?
’
repeated Caroline.

‘Yes.
For instance they—they do not expect me to fall in love.
’

T
his
time Caroline stared in blank astonishment.

‘
But surely
...’
she began.
‘
Senor Rivel—
’

‘
Senor Rivel?
’
The slim dark eyebrows puckered for a moment, and then light seemed to dawn.
‘
You mean that he is planning to marry me himself? Well, perhaps that is so, but it makes no difference. He would not expect me to fall in love with him. He knows that I am fond of him, and for him that would be enough. It would be what in France they call a
ma
rri
age de convenance
.’

‘
But you mean that you
’
re not
...
actually engaged?
’
For some reason, the answer to this question seemed to Caroline tremendously important.

‘
Engaged to Diego?
’
She spread her hands in an expressive Latin gesture.
‘
It may be that he considers we are engaged. But for me
...
no, it is not true. It never will be true,
’
she added with sudden vehemence, and her creamy skin took on a delicate flush.

‘
Never?
’
Whether or not her probing were justifiable, Caroline felt compelled to try and clarify the point.

‘
Never. You see, I would not be content with a
ma
rri
age de convenance
.’
Her colour still heightened, Isabel extinguished her half-smoked cigarette in a cut-glass flower bowl.
‘
Once,
’
she went on in a low tone,
‘
perhaps I would not have minded. But not—not now.
’

Caroline felt a strange feeling of elation beginning to course through her, and she was also conscious of the fact that she felt twenty times more sympathetic towards Isabel than she had done when she entered the room.
‘
Would it be,
’
she asked gently,
‘
that you
’
ve met somebody who—interests
you more?’

‘You h
ave guessed?
’
Isabel smiled with an extraordinary and possibly unaccustomed sweetness.
‘
It is Peter, of course. After that evening when we met—you remember?—he found out where I lived. Was it not clever of him? And after
that ...
oh, we have seen each other every day.
’

‘
But your mother?
’
Caroline asked.
‘
Doesn
’
t she mind?
’

‘
Only a very little. Oh, she is afraid, I think, of offending Diego, and she talks to me very much about not being—what do you say?—imprudent. But she likes Peter, and also she approves of him. She feels he is respectable, and a safe kind of person, so ... I am allowed to go out with him.
’
A little shyly, she added:
‘
He has not spoken to you about
me?’

Caroline admitted that he hadn
’
t.
‘
But I haven
’
t seen anything of him,
’
she went on quickly.
‘
He
’
s been so taken up with you that he
’
s quite forgotten about everybody else.
’

Isabel laughed and blushed. Her face was transformed, her eyes glowing.
‘
He is so wonderful,
’
she said simply.
‘
And so—so kind.
’

‘
And you and he are in love.
’
It
w
as far more of a statement than a question, for the facts of the situation would have been perfectly apparent to a far less perceptive observer than Caroline.

‘
Yes.
’
Isabel put her handsome dark head back, and dreamily surveyed the ceiling.
‘
And when I thing about that—when I really think about it—I am not afraid of anything. I am not upset by anything ... even by Diego.
’

‘
I
’
m glad. But you were upset this afternoon?
’

‘
Yes, because it was so horrible. Diego attacked Peter and Peter lost his job, and it was my fault.
But now that I am calm it is a
l
l different.
’
She smiled across at Caroline.
‘
You know, while Peter was driving me home he kept saying that it did not matter about losing his job. He said he didn
’
t care, that it meant nothing at all to him, because I was worth ten thousand jobs.
’
She laughed again.

‘
That was silly, perhaps. But I think—perhaps I
am
very conceited, but I believe, you see, that it was the truth. And I believe it will always be like that. So, when I think about it, I understand that—that our
falling
in love really is more important
...
More important than ten thousand jobs.
’

Her happiness and confidence were almost tangible, and Caroline, oddly impressed, felt a little pang of something like envy.

‘
But will you be able to marry?
’
she asked hesitantly.
‘
I mean, without waiting a long time. What does Peter think?
’

‘
He thinks there will be no difficulty.
’
She obviously had a sublime faith in Peter
’
s judgment.
‘
He has such a great experience of horses and soon, I think, he will find a very good job. Then we will be married and when he has made enough money we will go to England. In England everything will be all right.
’
She looked rueful as she added:
‘
I have money of my own, of course, but it is
...
’
She hesitated.

‘
Held in trust?
’
suggested Caroline.

‘
Yes, that is it. It is held in trust. Diego controls it, and I am afraid
...
’
She shrugged resignedly.
‘
I am afraid that if I marry Peter it will be a long time before Diego will let me have any money.
’

Caroline felt shaken and almost upset.
‘
But surely once you were actually married he wouldn
’
t
be so pointlessly cruel?
’

‘
I do not know
,’
Isabel looked serious.
‘
Diego is a good man, but sometimes he is hard, and—and unrelenting, and I am afraid of him. He does not like to be opposed. And if he wants something he always gets it—in the end.
’
She smiled, and tossed her head as if to dispel a
cl
oud that had suddenly hovered near to her.
‘
I don
’
t
think
he really wants me, though—I am sure of it. And that is a great comfort, yes?
’

Quietly, Caroline agreed that it was a great comfort. They talked for another half hour or so, and then the English girl stood up to go.

‘
I
’
ve stayed too long
,’
she said, feeling rather alarmed because it was almost eight o
’
cl
ock, and she still had to settle the question of whether or not she ought to spend another night under th
e
roof of the Senora Rivel.

Isabel looked distressed.
‘
But you must not go yet. You must have dinner with me. Please? They will bring it up here to me, you see
.’
She looked slightly mischievous.
‘
They are a little afraid of the tiger, so it must be fed in its cage.
’

‘
I
’
m sorry
,’
Caroline smiled warmly down at the figure in the wheelchair.
‘
I
’
d love to have dinner with you, and it
’
s very kind of you to suggest it. But I must go.
’

Isabel sighed.
‘
I understand. But you will come and see me again?
‘
An anxious look flashed into her eyes.
‘
You are not angry? You will not perhaps be sorry if Peter marries a—a Mexican girl?
’

Impulsively, Caroline bent and kissed her.
‘
No, I won
’
t be sorry. I
’
ll be delighted. Really
!
And now I
’
ve got to go, but I
’
ll keep in touch with you, I
promise.
’

Outside in the corridor a figure pounced upon her. It was Isabel
’
s mother and she looked as if she might at any moment burst into tears of gratitude.

‘
Senorita,
you are magnificent
!
She is all right now?
’

‘
Yes.
’
Caroline smiled at her.
‘
She is all right.
’
She supposed she ought to mention Peter, perhaps make some attempt to discuss the situation with Isabel
’
s mother, but at that moment she simply didn
’
t feel equal to it.

‘
It is wonderful. And now, if you do not mind, the Senor Rivel would like to speak with you, I think. Afterwards, of course, you will have dinner with us.
’

Caroline stood quite still, feeling suddenly exhausted. She couldn
’
t face it. Not another interview with Diego. She was tired of everything and everybody
...
she was tired of talking to them all. She wished she had never come to Mexico, and, more than anything else, she wished she had never met Diego Rivel. She was on the point of thanking Senora Dominguez for her invitation to dinner, and
inf
orming her quite categorically that she couldn
’
t possibly afford to delay a moment longer. And then something made her look down into the oak-floored, lantern-hung hall, and her eyes encountered the eyes of Diego.

He came halfway up the stairs to meet her.

‘
My congratulations,
senorita
.
’
His voice was discreetly soft, so soft that it could not possibly reach the ears of Isabel.
‘
I gather that she is herself again?
’

‘
Oh, yes, she
’
s quite herself.
’

‘
Senora Dominguez and I are grateful to you.
’

He looked up at her as she stood above him on the stairs with an expression in his eyes that startled her. There was a softness in the inky black depths that so far she had believed he reserved exclusively for his grandmother and Isabel.
‘
May I speak with you?
’
he asked.
‘
Just for a few minutes?
’

She felt as if his eyes were hypnotizing her, making her feel slightly dizzy.
‘
Yes,
’
she said,
‘
of course.
’

They went downstairs, and while the Senora vanished again, apparently to check on the dinner arrangements, he took Caroline into a long quiet
sal
o
n
at the back of the house. All the windows were wide open to the warmth of the night, and the room was full of the scent of bougainvillea. Caroline drew a deep, appreciative breath.

‘
Sit down,
’
Diego instructed, switching the lights on. She sank into a straight-backed armchair near
o
ne of the windows, and he came and stood near to her, studying her face.

‘
You
’
re tired,
’
he remarked, rather sharply.

She shook her head, causing her pale hair to swing gently.
‘
Not really.
’
The chair she had chosen was provided with scarlet cushions and against their glowing warmth her small face looked white and ethereally transparent. She lifted her eyes to his face.

‘
You wanted to talk to me,
senor
?
’

‘
Yes.
’
He was still watching her fixedly.
‘
But first you will have a glass of wine. I will
ring
—
’

‘
No, thank you.
’
She shook her head again, this time emphatically.
‘
I really couldn
’
t drink it.
’

‘
Very well.
’
But he look
ed
far from satisfied.
‘
This has been a trying day for you
,’
he said abruptly.

‘
Yes, I suppose it has
.’

‘
And it is my fault, yes
?’

She supposed that if she were to be honest she would agree without hesitation. But she simply shrugged rather bleakly, and glanced out of an uncurtained window at what she could see of the garden that lay beyond.

He sat down in the wide window embrasure, and bent his head to study the carpet.

‘
You do not help me,
senorita
.’

‘
Help you?
’
she repeated wearily.
‘
How can I help you?
’

He smiled, very wryly.
‘
You could make things a little easier for me. I am trying to say that I know I have done things that have made you unhappy, and I wish to apologize.
’

‘
Apologize? To
me?
’

‘
Your amazement scarcely does me credit,
’
he observed dryly.