Pale Dawn Dark Sunset

In the air he felt a little more relaxed. Flying, whether in the helicopter or in the monoplane also owned by the estate, always relaxed him. His father had been a keen pilot and some of Rafael’s earliest memories were of being taken up in an aeroplane and subjected to the kind of aerobatics calculated to shake the hardest nerves. But Rafael had loved it, and by the time he was fourteen he could handle a plane almost as well as his father. Of course, his mother had not known, not then, but as soon as he was old enough to hold a licence it had become one of his greatest pleasures. A pleasure he had denied himself of late.

Now as he turned the helicopter towards the valley of the Lima, he reflected that he could afford to be pleasant to the girl when in a little over an hour she would no longer be his responsibility. He knew the terrain like the back of his hand, and felt he could have flown the chopper in blindfold. He glanced towards his passenger and saw her taut features revealed in the diffused lighting from the instrument panel. He felt a sense of remorse. He had been cold and unyielding, totally unlike his normal self. It was not her fault that he instinctively recoiled from her easy familiarity. What must she be thinking of him?

He shook his head. Juan should not be too disappointed. After all, he, too, had been expecting an older woman. What he would say when he confronted this emancipated specimen of womanhood might be interesting to hear. But something had to be said now and Rafael sought for suitable words.

“No one has any intention of trying to—take your niece—if indeed the child is your niece—away from you, señorita,” he averred at last.

She looked sideways at him. “No one could.”

Her determination was irritating. She was obviously unaware of the power of the Cueras family if she imagined her words would carry much weight here.

“I—should not take that attitude, señorita,” he replied quietly. “You are not in England now.”

“Are you threatening me, señor?” she demanded incredulously, and his knuckles showed white through the skin of his hands.

“No, señorita, I am not threatening you. I am merely offering sound advice.”

She directed her attention towards him. “And what do you do, señor? Do you work for your brother on this estate Father Esteban mentioned in his letters? Are you working for him now?”

Rafael could not remember feeling so angry for a very long time. “No,” he managed, through clenched teeth. “I do not work for my brother, señorita. I have no connection with the estate.”

“I see.”

But she was puzzled. He sensed that. However he had no intention of enlightening her further. She would learn soon enough no doubt. But not from him. He did not altogether understand his antipathy towards the girl, but he wanted nothing more to do with her.

Thereafter there was silence between them. They flew in over the mountain ranges, dropping low into the valley where lights pricked the gloom below them. A fugitive moon slid from behind clouds long enough to illuminate the grey walls of the Hacienda Cueras, but then they fell behind them as the helicopter dropped down to the valley floor where a narrow airstrip flanked by adobe buildings provided a necessary landing area. As they landed Miranda looked curiously about her., probably noticing the lack of formal buildings.

“Is this it?” she asked, and he nodded.

“This is it, seˉnTorita,” he agreed coolly, thrusting back the sliding perspex door as the propellers slowed to a stop. “Only a short journey in a Landrover and you will be at the Hacienda Cueras.”

“Oh, but—” Miranda broke off. “I thought Lucy was staying at the mission with Father Esteban.”

“She is, señorita. But the mission is small, accommodation is limited. My brother insists you accept his hospitality. Besides, it would not be advisable to upset the child at this time of night.”

He thought she was about to refuse, but although her mobile mouth tightened she tossed back her hair with a careless hand and bent to unfasten her safety harness. He offered her his hand to climb out, and after a moment’s hesitation she took it, her fingers slim and cool in his. It was the first time he had touched her, and he could tell from the way her eyes darted to his face that she was not unaware of him. But he withdrew his hand as soon as he could and turned away with relief to speak to Gerardo Sanchez, the mechanic, who lived in one of the adobe buildings. They spoke in a swift patois, a mixture of Mexican and the native Nahuatlan, which successfully excluded Miranda. All the same, Rafael was conscious of her standing there, behind him, slim and elegant, in spite of her casual attire, looking about her with interested eyes.

It was quite cold now, and after a moment he dismissed Gerardo and turned back to her.

“Come,” he said. “The Landrover is waiting, and so, too, is my brother. Gerardo tells me that he did not get my message last evening informing him that your plane had been delayed.”

He set off across the tarmac and she fell into step beside him. “What do you mean?” she asked in surprise. “Didn’t you telephone.”

Rafael cast her an impatient look. “There are no telephones in the high valleys of the Chiapas, señorita.“ He shrugged. “No doubt both he and my mother have convinced themselves by now that I have either run the Mustang off the highway, or crashed the helicopter!”

Miranda bit her lip, looking at him anxiously, and in the fleeting light of the moon she saw the amusement touching his mouth. She smiled suddenly, and a gulp of laughter escaped her.

“It is not funny,” he asserted, straightening his lips, but her smile was infectious and in spite of himself he grinned back.

“You look so much nicer when you smile,” she exclaimed impulsively, and he was glad that they had reached the Landrover and thus was not obliged to make any response.

Gerardo slung the luggage into the back and raised his hand in farewell, and then they bumped off across the grassy sward that led to the track. The scent of pine and underbrush filled the air, mingling with the baser scents of earth and humanity. Rafael handled the Landrover expertly, accelerating as they left the airstrip behind and began the ascent into the foothills.

The Hacienda Cueras looked particularly beautiful in the light cast from its many windows, and Miranda exclaimed at the mosaic tiling on the stone fountain in the forecourt which he usually took for granted. He found the sound of its falling waters cooling on a hot afternoon, but that was all.

He had hardly stopped the vehicle before the shallow steps which led up to the shadowed portico when the mesh door was opened and his mother stood silhouetted against the light beyond. She spread her hands welcomingly and came hurrying down the steps towards him as he stepped from the Landrover.

“Rafael! Oh, Rafael!” she exclaimed weakly. “Dios gracias, estas aqui! De donde—”

“No ahora, Madrecita,” said Rafael soothingly. “Estoy seguro.” He took her clinging arms from around his neck, glancing back to where Miranda Lord was just getting out of the Landrover. “Esta Miss Lord, Madrecita. Miss Miranda Lord.”

Doña Isabella’s eyes widened in surprise as she took in the informally clad girl behind him. “This is—the child’s aunt from England?” she asked in that language.

Rafael hid his amusement at his mother’s astonishment. If he had been surprised, his mother was shocked.

“That is correct,” he agreed. “Miss Lord, this is my mother, Doña Isabella Cueras.”

Miranda held out her hand and Doña Isabella shook it politely, but her expression was far from welcoming. However, politeness was an inbred instinct, and she managed to say: “I hope you had a good journey, señorita.”

Miranda nodded. “Reasonably so. The flight was delayed twenty-four hours in Jamaica through engine trouble. I’m sorry if you’ve been worried, but your son did send a message.”

Doña Isabella’s dark eyes turned to her son. “Is this so, Rafael?”

“Of course. Gerardo told me you did not receive it.”

Doña Isabella made an impatient sound. “No, we did not. We have been most concerned about you, Rafael. And—and about you, too, of course, señorita.“ This last was clearly an afterthought.

Rafael leaned into the back of the Landrover and hauled out Miranda’s belongings. “Well, it is over now. We are arrived safely. And if you will excuse me, there are matters which require my immediate attention.”

Miranda stared at him in dismay. “You’re—leaving?”

Rafael made her a slight bow. “I am afraid so. As I told you, señorita, I do not live at the hacienda. My mother will take care of you and presently my brother will show himself.”

She made a helpless gesture. “But—”

Rafael turned away from the appeal in her eyes and ignoring his mother’s reproachful: “Rafael!” he climbed back into the Landrover. “Adios, amigos. Nos hablaremos pronto. Adios!”

CHAPTER THREE (#u43f88df8-add0-53ab-a4b7-8ea56c909713)

MIRANDA had never slept between silk sheets before. Indeed, she had scarcely been aware that such luxuries existed, born as she had been into an ordinary household whose budget only ran to flannelette in winter and cotton in summer. Of course, after her parents had been killed there had been no household to speak of; her sister, Susan, was already married and as Miranda herself had been only fourteen and still at school at the time she had had little choice but to make her home with them. It had not been an altogether satisfactory arrangement. She and Susan had vastly different temperaments and Susan’s jealousy over the younger girl’s popularity caused a great deal of dissention. In addition to which, Lucy had just appeared on the scene, and as Susan chose to neglect herself in favour of the child, her husband turned more and more towards Miranda. Miranda didn’t encourage him, but she was naturally friendly with everyone and it wasn’t until it was too late that she defined his intentions. It was perhaps fortunate for all concerned that she was able to leave school and go on to college, and in the holidays she always managed to get work that provided living accommodation. But it was still a shock when they went missing, although she did not miss them as much as she would have done had they always been a closely knit family.

Now Miranda moved her legs lazily beneath the silken coverings and wondered however she was going to sleep with so many disturbing thoughts on her mind.

Her room, to which she had been shown after Rafael Cueras’s departure, was the most beautiful room she had ever seen. The walls were hung with caramel silk, the wide bed and long windows were draped with apricot brocade, and there was a long fitted unit in a dark wood which she felt sure was not just a veneer. There was a circle of fluffy white carpet on the floor and around its edges the wood gleamed from frequent polishings. Adjoining this magnificent apartment was an equally magnificent bathroom whose appointments, while being a little outdated, were nevertheless built on the grand scale. The whole building exuded luxury and elegance and was far more impressive than anything she had expected. As for the owner, Juan Cueras—well, he was apt to be overshadowed, in her mind at least, by his brother, Rafael.

She sighed and rolled on to her back. Don Juan! She said the words deliberately. She had never expected to meet an actual Don Juan in the flesh, although the living being had been far different from the legend. His brother would have suited the name more appropriately. Rafael!

She punched the soft pillows impatiently. Why did her thoughts turn persistently to that man? He had not even treated her with common courtesy. He had behaved as if she were guilty of some crime in coming here to find her niece. All the same, he had been attractive, she conceded moodily, and it was the first time in her young life that any man had treated her with such indifference. His brother had treated her altogether differently, so why didn’t she think of him more favourably?