The Mountains of Spring (6 page)

‘
No?
Well, you know very little about his present position,
se
norit
a.
I know everything about it, and I consider him an ordinary ranch worker. My hostel is
cl
ean and well organized, and the men are well looked after. They have nothing to complain of.
’

Caroline
’
s head began to ache, and she looked away from him, staring through the window at the scattered lights of a shabby, straggling village. The car had slowed to a crawl to negotiate the narrow, uneven streets, and it was just as well, for several times small children darted without any
warning
whatsoever into the glare of the headlamps, and once an old man who seemed to be walking with the aid of a stick stumbled almost under the wheels. From what Caroline could see of the children they seemed to be strangely fragile and insubstantial, and very far from clean, and the old man
’
s clothes were definitely
ragged. Amid all the exhilarating brilliance of the afternoon she had completely failed to notice the dirt and the squalor amongst which these people lived, but now she could sense it all around her. There was dreadful poverty in Mexico—that much she had known long before she had even thought of visiting the country. And there were also rich men like Diego Rivel, whose duty it must surely be to act as benefactors to their less fortunate fellow-countrymen.

But she couldn
’
t imagines Diego Rivel acting as anyone
’
s benefactor. He was callous, hard and unscrupulous, and she was becoming desperately worried because it seemed that Peter was in his power. The whole situation was far worse than anything she had really imagined might be happening, and she knew she wouldn
’
t be able to rest until she had seen Peter for herself.

When they had left the shabby village behind them they began to climb a steep hill. The road wound and twisted alarmingly, and she realized that they had entered mountain country—in fact, they were traversing a mountain road. Here and there, in the glow of the headlamps, she caught glimpses of attractive white houses by the side of the road; houses with pantiled roofs and wrought-iron gateways, vine-covered walls and balconies, and lanterns that swung gently in the night breeze. The air finding its way in through the partly opened windows of the car smelt fresh and faintly scented, as if somewhere not ve
r
y far away there were a great many flowers, and overhead in the distant sky the stars that looked down on the tropics were beginning to emerge in all their fierce white brilliance. Caroline
’
s headache began to lift again, and she knew that in almost
any other circumstances she would by now have been enjoying the drive tremendously. The only thing for which she felt she could be thankful was the fact that the man beside her rarely uttered a word.

When they had been driving for roughly forty minutes the road they were following began to run downwards again, spiralling steeply around what was undoubtedly the rocky, scrub-covered side of a mountain. Then, abruptly, it levelled out, and very shortly afterwards they came within sight of another village. It was a larger village than the one that had shocked Caroline a little while earlier, and in the uncertain light of lanterns and car headlamps its cobbled streets and Spanish-style architecture looked so romantically beautiful that, tired and confused as she was, she felt a little thrill of pleasure.

They finally came to rest in front of a long, low building with a light shining from nearly every window, and without saying anything Senor Rivel got out of the car and came round to open the door for his passenger.

‘
This is the place,
senorita
...
the Hotel Vista de Oro. You will be comfortable here—and also safe.
’
He glanced down at her all at once as if it had just dawned on him that he was dealing with a very attractive young woman, and for several seconds his eyes remained fastened on the silky brightness of her hair as if just for a short time something about it had the power to magnetize him. But although as she got out of the car she swayed slightly, from stiffness and exhaustion, he made no attempt to steady her, and said nothing further until they were inside the tiny foyer of the hotel, and a Mexican girl with a vivid smile and a few words of English was inviting her to sign the register. Then he made her a formal little bow, and recommended her to do nothing further that night.

‘
In the morning, if you go to my house, you will see your brother,
’
he told her.
‘
He will be there to meet you. I will arrange it.
’

Feeling almost unbearably humiliated—though much more for Peter
’
s sake than for her own—she avoided his eyes.
‘
Thank you,
’
she said quietly.

In the act of turning away from her, he hesitated. Then rather as if yielding with considerable reluctance to an impulse of which he disapproved he turned back again.

‘
I will send a car for you,
’
he said.
‘
To find a taxi might be difficult, and you could not walk to my house. It is too far.
’

‘
Thank you, Senor Rivel, but I would rather walk—if I can
’
t find a taxi.
’

He frowned.
‘
That is nonsensical. The car will come for you at ten o
’
clock ... if that is a convenient time for you?
’

There was a short pause; and then she realized the utter pointlessness of arguing any further, and permitted herself a slight shrug of the shoulders.
‘
Almost any time would be convenient for me.
’
She was very tired, and her voice was a little husky.
‘
I only came to Mexico to see Peter.
’

‘
And you shall see him,
senorita
.’
The dark eyes grew quite expressionless.
‘
But only, I
’
m afraid, at certain times. He has work to do
...
and he is employed by me.
’

Hovering between anger and an absurd desire to cry, Caroline
’
s lips felt stiff.
‘
I shall not forget that,
senor
.’

‘
I am glad. Good-night, Miss Ashley
.’

A boy employed by the hotel rushed to open the door for him, and the next moment he had disappeared into the shadowy street. Caroline stood staring after him, and as she heard the engine of his car roar back into life she realized that Diego Rivel was a man she was going to hate. And never before in the whole of her life had she felt like that about anyone.

CHAPTER III

When, punctually at ten o
’
clock the following morning, the grey Mercedes arrived to collect Caroline she had already been ready and waiting for more than ten minutes. She was absolutely cool and unruffled, for she had been waiting in the pleasant shade afforded by the verandah at the front of the hotel, and to Carlos the chauffeur she looked one of the most refreshing sights he had seen for quite a long time. She was wearing a suit of rose-pink linen, with white accessories, and her uncovered hair was like captured sunshine. She was carrying a pair of dark glasses, but she hadn
’
t yet put them on, and she didn
’
t intend to do so if she could avoid it, for it seemed to her that to miss anything of the brilliant Mexican morning would be a crime.

She was feeling better this morning—very much better, for she had had an excellent night, and with the coming of daylight life in general had somehow or other seemed very much less difficult than it had seemed the evening before. She didn
’
t know, of course, what Peter would be like when she eventually got to him—what state of mind or health he might be in—but now that she was here, on the spot, now that she really knew what was going on, she would be able to rescue him from the dreadful situation into which he had got himself. His pride and his obstinacy—the appalling obstinacy which he had inherited from their father—would have made it impossible, she realized now, for him to write home and tell her exactly what had happened to his
magnificent plans, and the same reluctance to have his failure known at home was probably responsible for his having remained in Mexico. But now that she, Caroline, knew everything, now that she was here to discuss it all with him, she was certain that he would see reason.

Within a week, or at any rate a fortnight, he might even be travelling home with her.

She relaxed against the splendid pearly upholstery of the Mercedes, and decided that April in Mexico was on the whole a very pleasant experience. The mountains ranged along the skyline were very nearly as blue as the sky, and everywhere there was a feeling of space which excited her. It was almost a pity that she would probably be going home so soon
...

They turned in through a pair of smart white gates, and with a slight return of uneasiness she realized that they were now actually approaching the house of Diego Rivel, the Casa de la Luz, as it was apparently called. The Casa was reached by means of a long, straight white avenue guarded on either side by literally dozens of dark, slender cypress trees, and the formality and beauty of this approach brought about a sudden violent resurgence of the resentment which she felt in connection with Diego Rivel. He was rich, and probably powerful. He could have helped Peter, but instead he had bought him out, and then taken him on as a ranch-hand.

The Casa de la Luz was a splendid white-walled building, with pantiled roofs, and many windows at present shuttered against the morning sun. By comparison with almost every other house Caroline had seen since leaving Mexico City it was in a state of startlingly immaculate preservation, and even the
formal gardens surrounding it had the flawless neatness of public gardens in London or Paris. Somewhere among the cypress trees on one side of the house her eye caught the gleam of an ornamental pool, and here and there a vivid blaze of hibiscus brightened the shaven lawns and shadowy avenues.

She felt her resentment of Diego Rivel growing with every moment that passed.

Carlos set her down in front of the house, and drew her attention to an archway which evidently gave access to an inner patio.

‘
You go in there,
senorita.
Then you knock at the big door. All right?
’

She smiled at him.
‘
Thank you very much.
’

The car glided away, and for a moment she stood still, trying to steady the nervous hammering of her pulses. And then she walked through the archway
...
and stood still aga
in.

The patio was a garden in itself—a flower garden, in which every imaginable colour ran riot, and the scent of many blooms hung in the warm air like incense. Caroline had never seen so many flowers in one place, and she had never, even in an English garden, seen such wonderful colours. In the centre, the graceful figure of a stone water-nymph poured a narrow cascade of sparkling water into a bowl shaped like a gigantic sea-shell, and on the edge of the shell a small bird with touches of gold about its plumage was evidently trying to decide whether or not to take a bath.

On the far side of the patio there was a doorway, a wide, imposing doorway with a lantern suspended above it, and in obedience to the instructions of Carlos Caroline walked across to it, and firmly wielded the large brass knocker—there was no sign of an electric bell. For about thirty seconds nothing happened, and then she heard the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps, and the door was swung open by a young, smartly dressed maidservant, who stared at her blankly for a moment, and then appeared to recollect something.

‘
You are the Senorita Ashley?
’

Caroline nodded, and the girl smiled.
‘
You come in, please.
’

Beyond the doorway it was cool and a little dim, but the impression that remained with Caroline afterwards was one of polished boards and bright rugs, and walls hung with fine paintings. She was not an expert on
objets d
’
art,
but as the maid led her through room after room she realized that someone—or possibly a succession of people—had gone to considerable trouble to fill the echoing house with things that were both beautiful and valuable. There were ornate marquetry cabinets and gilded console tables, richly carved Spanish chairs and, in one room, a great glowing tapestry depicting the arrival in Mexico of the
conq
uistadores
.

With a curious feeling of revulsion, which steadily increased as she followed the maid through the building, Caroline wondered how many of the impoverished peasant labourers in the surrounding countryside could be given a fresh start in life by the outright sale of Senor Rivel
’
s priceless possessions. And then she felt shocked by her own thoughts, for in normal circumstances she would have been the first t
o
support the right of any man to do what he liked with what was unquestionably his own. And besides, the Casa de la Luz was a thing of perfection,
which it would be a crime to destroy.

At long last they reached the end of their journey, and the maid flung wide the door of a white-walled room which had been furnished as an office, and was in every way plainer and sparser in its fu
rn
ishings than any other room that Caroline had seen. There was no one in the room, and she looked enquiringly at the maid, who smiled again.

‘
You came to see Senor Ashley? Senor Ashley coming soon.
’

And with that she was obliged to be content, for although the girl in the snowy cap and apron had a friendly enough look she evidently had more important things to do than linger for a chat. The door was firmly closed upon Caroline, and she was left in the stuffy loneliness of the office to wonder why Peter hadn
’
t arrived yet. Was his work detaining him—were they insisting, perhaps, that he should finish cleaning out the stables before going up to the house to meet his sister? Or could it—as the minutes passed she began to wonder more and more—could it conceivably be that he didn
’
t want to see her?

The windows, like the windows of almost every other room in the house, were shuttered, and only a limited amount of light penetrated to the small oblong room. High up, near the ceiling, an electric
fan
was in operation, emitting a low whining sound, like the whine of a swarm of mosquitoes, and somewhere a long way away someone was singing tunelessly in Spanish.

Caroline sat down and stood up again, paced up and down and, finally, driven by the heat and a sudden overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia, went to one of the windows and struggled to prise the shutters open. But she couldn
’
t manage it, and she began to feel desperate. The heat was intense, for the electric fan was having hardly any effect at all, and it seemed to her that there was very little air left in the room. She was being stifled
...

Then everything started to heave slightly, and a big desk littered with papers which had struck her as extremely ugly when she first came into the room grew indistinct and wavery, swelling to an enormous size and then shrinking again. The walls were bending inwards, and the ceiling was coming down on top of her
...