Innocent Invader

“That's exactly what I do intend,” said Sarah firmly. “After all, I'm not a guest, Constancia. I'm here to work.” She bent her head. “But will you please call me about six-thirty, please, as I doubt whether I shall wake of my own accord.”

“Certainly,” Constancia nodded. “That is the time I begin my work. I will call you then.” She turned to go. “And now you will leave it to me and I will provide you with a delicious supper, si?”

“Very well.” Sarah allowed herself to relax, and with a flourish of her full skirt, Constancia left to get the meal.

Sarah wandered over to her balcony and leaned against the rail listening to the steady lap of the waves. It was a wonderful night. The sky overhead was an arch of dark blue velvet inset with diamonds, while a sickle of a moon floated behind wispy clouds. Never in England had she felt this aching longing to be out in the night, doing something exciting. Faintly, she could hear the sounds of music and voices, far away, and she thought it must be a party going on at one of the other villas. The music was the throbbing beat of the calypso, and Sarah felt she wanted to move in time to its compelling rhythm.

She thought about Dolores Diaz, and wondered whether it was from her home the sounds were coming. Was she there, dancing with Jason de Cordova? Was that why she was so friendly with Serena, to gain access to this house to see the señora? It did not seem unreasonable. The señor and his wife did not seem on the best of terms with one another. Could it be that he was seeking consolation with another woman? The thought was repulsive. She had liked Jason de Cordova, and she did not like to think of him with Dolores Diaz.

Constancia returned to interrupt her reverie and she was glad. Whatver was going on in the personal lives of the occupants of this house was none of her business, and the sooner she realised it the better.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_a4e01870-a3d3-5930-baaf-7415c07e0a13)

SARAH dressed the next morning in a lemon cotton dress and the slip-on sandals of the day before. Her hair as usual was bound round her head in the plaited coronet. She wore no make-up, but her time spent in the sun the previous day had not gone unwasted, and her skin was very lightly tanned. She looked much younger than her twenty-two years, although she was unaware of it, and as she went down to breakfast there was a spring in her step.

There was no one around when she reached the dining room, but Max soon appeared and asked her what she would like. She decided on fresh fruit, rolls, and several cups of strong, continental-flavoured coffee.

At about seven-thirty, when she was finishing her third cup of coffee, Ricardo appeared, alone. He had washed and combed his hair, and was wearing blue denim jeans and a white tee-shirt. He looked taken aback when he saw Sarah, and she said, smiling: “Good morning, Ricard.”

Ricardo hesitated for a moment, and then he said: “Buenos dias, señorita.” He seated himself opposite her, and when Max appeared he ordered rolls and butter and some fruit juice.

After Max had gone, Sarah poured herself another cup of coffee, and resting her chin on her hands, elbows on the table, she looked across at Ricardo. He looked up at her, and then involuntarily he smiled, and said: “I got dressed at tea time, but you weren't here.”

Sarah sighed. “I know. I fell asleep.”

“You went on the beach yesterday afternoon,” he said. “I saw you from my bedroom window. You went in the water.”

“Yes, do you? Can you swim?”

“Yes, I can swim, but we are not allowed to swim in the sea without supervision.” Ricardo pulled a face. “We are considered too young to take risks.”

Sarah frowned. “And the pool? Do you use that?”

Ricardo bent his head. “We are not allowed to use the pool. The Señora Irena can see it from her windows and she doesn't like to see us there.”

“Indeed!” Sarah felt indignant. What was the use of a pool if no one was allowed to swim in it? “And why do you call her the Señora Irena?” she was puzzled. “She is your aunt isn't she?”

“Yes, she is our aunt.” Ricardo said nothing further, for at that moment the two girls came bounding into the room, stopping abruptly at the sight of Sarah.

“Good morning, girls,” said Sarah, but the two girls did not answer. They merely gave Ricardo a killing glance and seated themselves at the table.

Sarah bit her lip. “I said good morning,” she remarked easily. “I would like to hear your answers.”

Eloise looked indifferent, and Maria, who seemed to follow her elder sister's lead, did likewise.

Sarah sighed, and looked at Ricardo, who shrugged almost imperceptively, and growled: “Answer her, Elly.”

Eloise stared at him. “Traidor!” she spat at him angrily.

“Eloise,” said Sarah wearily, “please. You will soon be a young lady. Kindly try to act like one.”

Eloise looked at her. “Why should we care what you think of us?” she cried furiously. “Nobody cares about us, and we care about nobody!”

Sarah felt a kind of compassion. The children were entirely too conscious of their background, and Irena was probably to blame, if yesterday's episode in the ante-room was anything to go by.

“You'll just be another one like her,” Eloise hissed, at Sarah. “She hates us, you know – really hates us! She spat at us once!”

Sarah was shocked now and showed it, but gathering her scattered wits she managed to say: “To me you are just three children whom I have come to teach. Why, back home in England I taught lots of girls and boys. I can assure you I won't spit at you, so can't we be friends?”

Eloise looked sceptical still, and Sarah turned to Maria. “Maria, can you ride? I can. I thought we might take the horses out after breakfast if your uncle gives his permission. Would you like that?”

Ricardo gave a whoop. “Can we, really?” he exclaimed. “We never get to take the ponies out unless Uncle Jason is with us. Will you really take us?”

“If your uncle has no objections,” agreed Sarah thankfully, aware that two of the children at least were weakening towards her. Eloise still looked unsure of herself, but Sarah felt that given time the other two would bring her round.

Thus it was that she was feeling quite a lot more sure of herself as Constancia led the way along the opposite corridor from the hall to Jason de Cordova's study. A glance at her watch showed her it was still two minutes to nine as Constancia knocked at the door, and they heard the señor's voice call: “Come.”

Constancia indicated that Sarah should go in, and then walked firmly away down the corridor. Sarah stiffened her shoulders, and pressed down the handle of the door and allowed it to swing inwards.

As she closed the door, she found herself in a book-lined room, panelled in dark wood, with a restfully coloured tawny carpet on the floor and heavy drapes of a beige colour at the long windows. Set square in the centre of the room was a heavy ebony desk with a black leather armchair behind it. In front of the desk were placed a couple of easy chairs, also in black leather; and several filing cabinets and a telephone indicated that this was a room where work was done and not merely a den. The desk was littered with papers, and a typewriter stood on a side table beside a comprehensive array of bottles containing various wines and spirits.

A man was standing by the open French doors, his back to her, and although he was tall and dark, Sarah thought for a moment she had been mistaken in thinking that it was Jason de Cordova. But as he turned to face her, and her eyes were drawn irresistibly to the blatant scar on his cheek, she saw indeed that it was her employer. But this man looked nothing like the Jason of yesterday. He was casually but immaculately dressed in a suit of light fawn silk, and his cream shirt contrasted favourably with the tan of his skin. A dark red tie was slotted about his neck, and he looked thoroughly businesslike this morning. His rather sinister attraction was enhanced by his appearance, and Sarah felt as though she was staring quite helplessly at him. Gone was the friendly stranger of yesterday, and in his place was a man who frightened her a little by his detached manner.

“Ah, Miss Winter,” he said, moving to the desk. “Won't you sit down, please?”

Sarah subsided on to an armchair, feeling her earlier fears materialising again. She had thought her success with the children this morning had removed all her tension, but back it came flooding over her at the sight of this man, so cool and aloof.

“I … er … I'm sorry I feel asleep last evening,” she ventured awkwardly. “I understand you wanted to speak to me.”

“This morning is just as convenient,” he replied easily. “Have you met the children again?”

Sarah had to smile. “Indeed I have,” she said impulsively. “Several times.”

“I see. And what do you think? Can you handle them?”

“I'm sure I can,” she said, without conceit. “I think they're lonely, that's all.”

Jason studied her a moment and then said: “Lonely? I should never have believed it. What makes you say that?”

“Lots of things!” She sighed. “Perhaps I'll be able to explain better when I've had more time with them. Eloise is going to be the most difficult, but I'm confident that given time I'll be able to change her.”

Jason looked a little amused now. “And you've discovered all these things in twenty-four hours,” he said, with some sarcasm.

“Yes.” Sarah looked down at her hands and studied the ovals of her finger nails, not wanting to look at his face, too conscious of her own vulnerability. She had never been able to hide her feelings and she did not want to see the mockery in his eyes and feel the nervous tension that it would bring.

As though aware of her feelings, Jason said: “Would you like a cigarette?”

Sarah looked up. It was on the tip of her tongue to explain that she did not smoke, but then she decided against it. Why not, after all? Perhaps a cigarette would rid her of some of this nervousness.