Authors: Sara Craven
'Except?' he prompted.
'Except myself,' she said wretchedly. 'Luis, it still isn't too late. You could let me go.'
He came round the desk to her side, his eyes narrowed, and the dark brows drawn together in a swift frown.
'What nonsense is this?'
'It isn't nonsense," she protested. 'You can't marry me—you know you can't. Why don't you just—allow me to leave? There might be talk at first, but Dona Isabella would soon convince everyone you'd had a lucky escape.'
He shook his head. 'There will be no talk, because you are not leaving. How could you, anyway, without this?' He reached behind him and picked up her passport which had been lying on the desk. He opened the cover and looked down at it. 'I see I am required to allow the bearer to pass freely, and without "let or hindrance."' He smiled faintly. 'Much as I respect your Queen, I have no intention of obeying this request.' He slipped the passport into his pocket. 'This stays with me, amiga, and so do you.'
She went on looking at him. 'Oh God, why are you doing this?' she asked ruggedly. 'What do you want from me?'
His voice was silky 'I want a wife, Nicola. And I want a son. You will give me both. You forced your way into my life. Now you will remain there—always.'
She said tonelessly, 'For the last time, Luis—please let me go.'
Mockingly he shook his head. 'Jamas, amante. Never.'
She left him without another word, and went straight to her room. That morning in the car on the way to Santo Tomas they had sat like strangers, without a word. In fact she wasn't sure if he'd even looked at her properly until much later, as she came into the chapel on his godfather's arm. All the way to the altar, he had watched her with arrogant possession in his eyes.
Now Father Gonzago was pronouncing a final blessing, and Luis was helping her up from her knees. His eyes were enigmatic as they met hers, and her own glance slid nervously away.
People were smiling and bowing to her as she moved with her bridegroom towards the open doors and the sunlight Many of them were now familiar faces from previous visits to the hacienda, and Nicola forced herself to respond to the greetings, pretend to be the happy bride they all expected.
Yet there was one face that was not in the slightest degree familiar. Nicola noticed it at once, because she knew she would not have forgotten if she had ever met such an outstandingly beautiful woman. Her jet black hair was drawn severely back into a chignon, and she was exquisitely dressed and made up, her heavy lidded eyes and full-lipped mouth being particularly accentuated.
Then they were outside in the late sunlight, and there were others crowding round, the peons who worked in the fields, the vaqueros who rode with the cattle, the servants, all offering their congratulations.
The religious ceremony had been held after the hour of siesta, because it would be followed by a party. Soon there would be music in the courtyard, as she had once imagined, and dancing and the inevitable fireworks. All the hallmarks of a celebration, and she, who was the centre of all these festivities, felt as if she was dying inside.
Presently she would be expected to dance, and to dance with Luis. Everyone, she supposed, would want to dance with the bride, but he was her husband, so it was his right. She didn't want to think about those other rights which he would demand later, much later, when the music had stopped. Perhaps she could bribe the musicians, she thought, to play and play all that night, and through the following day and the one after that . . . She caught at herself as a little bubble of sheer hysteria rose within her.
Inside the house Carlos, all smiles, was opening wine—imported vintage champagne. Nicola took the glass she was offered and sipped, still with that mechanical smile on her lips.
Dona Isabella and Pilar came and embraced her, their cheeks brushing hers swiftly and formally before they stepped away, their duty done. Ramon kissed her hand and whispered, 'Luis is the most fortunate of men.'
She went on smiling until she thought her face would crack into a thousand little pieces as the guests filed past to utter their congratulations. So much good will, so many good wishes, and yet she could believe in none of it. It was all still part of the charade she had begun back in Mexico City. She was like a puppet, dressed in garments which didn't belong to her, and manipulated by strangers. But all too soon there was coming a time when the doll would change into a woman. She might have come to this place as a counterfeit bride, but tonight Luis would exact full recompense from her in a currency which was only too real.
Suddenly she knew she had to escape from the smiles, the torrent of words, and the knowing looks.
She turned to Luis. 'The mantilla is making my head ache. May I remove it before the dancing?'
'Of course.' He studied her pale face frowningly. 'Shall I send Maria to you?'
'Oh, no, I can manage,' she said hastily.
The quiet room upstairs was no longer hers alone. The bed had been re-made, she saw at once, with lace-edged sheets and extra pillows, and Señora Mendez' nightgown was laid across the foot of it like a cloud of foam.
Nicola removed the pins which held the mantilla, working carefully to avoid tearing the delicate lace, then started violently as a knock came at the door.
It was Carmela, smiling broadly. 'This letter came for you, señora. Señor Don Luis said I should give it to you at once.'
Nicola took it wonderingly, her brow clearing as she recognised her mother's handwriting. It was just a note, brief but full of love, to tell her that they would all be thinking of her, and sending affectionate messages to Luis that she would never dare pass on, because it was her fault that they believed that this was a conventional marriage, and that they were getting a son-in-law who would value such sentiments.
There was also a postscript. I'm enclosing this letter which came for you the other day from Switzerland. I think it's probably from Tess. Did you manage to keep in touch with her?'
The short answer to that was no, Nicola thought wryly. She had avoided writing to any of her Zurich friends in case they inadvertently included news of Ewan which she didn't want to hear, although, most of them knew what had happened.
She glanced at the other envelope, then slipped it into a drawer. She would read it later.
It was getting darker outside, and out in the courtyard she could hear the sound of musicians tuning up. The dancing couldn't start without her, so it was time she went down.
Luis advanced to meet her, an elegant stranger in his black suit, its short jacket embroidered in silver. Nicola let him take her cold hand in his, and put his arm round her waist. She had been frightened that she might go to pieces altogether when he touched her, but his clasp was too light and formal for that. At any other time, she might have enjoyed moving with him in a swift waltz round the circle of smiling faces, while they applauded and showered them with flower petals. Her dress billowed out as he swung her round, and then it was over, and someone else was eagerly claiming her hand, and she was whirled away. She caught a glimpse of him over her new partner's shoulder, and saw that he was smiling faintly. He could afford to smile, she thought, because he knew however many men she might dance with, in the end she would be alone with him. Wherever she went and whoever she danced with, his glance seemed to find her. He was the hawk of her nightmare, she thought, hovering, knowing his prey is there for the taking.
She ate food she did not want, replied to questions she barely heard, and eventually turned to a touch on her arm to find Pilar confronting her.
'Nicola.' Her smile was sugary. 'There is someone here who so much wishes to meet you. May I present the Señora Dona Carlota Garcia?'
It was the woman she had noticed in the chapel. In close-up she was even more striking, Nicola thought numbly, and her dark red dress was exquisitely cut to draw attention to her slim waist and full voluptuous breasts.
Her voice was low and charming. 'It is a pleasure to meet you, Dona Nicola. I would have called before, but since my husband's death I have myself become deeply involved in politics, and I travel a good deal. But I would not miss the wedding of such an old friend as Luis for anything in the world.'
A number of replies occurred to Nicola, but a glance at the spiteful triumph in Pilar's face kept her silent.
She said at last, slowly, 'It is a—pleasure for me also, señora. I have heard a great deal about you.'
Señora Garcia laughed, displaying perfect teeth. 'Not from Luis, I hope! We know each other so well that he is hardly a reliable informant. He flatters me too much.'
Nicola raised her eyebrows coolly. 'I don't think Luis has ever mentioned you to me. No, it was someone else who spoke of you.'
Señora Garcia looked slightly disconcerted, she was pleased to note. 'I— see. Well, I hope we can be friends.' She gave Nicola another smile and walked away, followed by Pilar.
And I, Nicola silently addressed her departing back, hope we never meet again. She was surprised how angry the unexpected encounter had made her, but told herself defensively that it was not the fact that Luis had a mistress for all she knew he had half a dozen--but that he had had the unmitigated gall to invite her to his wedding. But then he had no reason to believe that his bride even suspected her existence, she thought.
'You look cross, little cousin. Has some clumsy fool stamped on your foot?' Ramon had suddenly materialised at her side, and beyond him she could see Luis advancing through the crowd.
She smiled swiftly. 'It's nothing. Dance with me, Ramon.’
He looked taken aback. 'But Luis...'
'Oh, he won't lack for partners, and you've hardly been near me all evening,' she protested with almost a pout. She put out a hand and traced some of the embroidery on his sleeve. 'I shall begin to think you dislike me as much as your mother and sister do/
Nombre de Dios,' Ramon muttered, looking suddenly anguished. 'They do not—I do not—I—oh, very well, let us dance.'
Luois had stopped and was watching them, she knew, and quite deliberately she allowed her hand to slide from Ramon's shoulder towards his collar, smiling radiantly into his face as she did so.
He looked as if he was about to have a heart attack. 'Nicola, I beg of you! Is this some game? I warn you, it is a dangerous one. Luis is my cousin and my friend, but his anger can be formidable.'
'But you're a wonderful dancer, Ramon.' She looked at him through her lashes. 'I am sure my—husband wouldn't grudge me these few minutes of pleasure at my own party.'
'If you think that, then you do not know him at all,' Ramon said bluntly. 'Let me take you to him, Nicola. Please do not provoke him further.'
'Spoilsport!' She pulled a face at him. 'Very well, if you're so frightened of him.'
'I am more frightened for you than for myself. Do you wish to begin your married life with a beating at his hands?'
'He wouldn't dare,' she said defiantly.
He gave her a despairing look. 'If you believe that, then you are forgive me—a fool. Anyway, the dancing will end soon. It is nearly time for the firework display, and when that starts it is the custom in our family for the bride to—to retire.'
'I've no intention of doing anything of the sort. I want to see the fireworks. This is supposed to be my party, and I shall enjoy every last minute of it,' Nicola said coolly. 'Customs like that belong to history, not the present day, anyway.'
Ramon's pleasant mouth set in a line which indicated that he would not be averse to starting off the prescribed beating with a box on the ears on his own account.
In a carefully neutral tone, he said, 'That is an argument which should more properly be directed to your husband, my cousin, señora. I will take you to him.'
Luis was lounging against one of the pillars of the terrace, glass in hand, as they approached. He straightened and smiled, but the smile did not reach his eyes.
Ramon said, 'I have brought you your errant bride, amigo. It seems she does not care for some of our customs.' He took Nicola's hand from his arm and placed it firmly in that of Luis before moving off.
Luis raised her hand to his lips. To a casual onlooker it would have been a charming, gallant gesture, but then a casual onlooker would not have seen the cold rage in his eyes.
He said, 'And which of our conventions do you wish to flout now, chica?'
Her heart thudding painfully, Nicola said, 'Ramon told me that I would be expected to leave before the fireworks display. He said it was a family custom-—but I don't see why I should do so.'
He shrugged. 'Stay, then. It was designed originally to spare the blushes of the bride, I believe, but no one who has witnessed your conduct tonight, clinging round my cousin's neck like a puta, would believe you had any blushes to spare.'
He let her hand fall and walked away, leaving her standing there, the colour fading from her cheeks. Out of the corner of her eye she could see curious glances being cast at her, some of them slightly censorious, and, what was worse, Dona Isabella bearing down on her, bristling with self-righteousness. Nicola took a deep breath, picked up her skirts and fled through the laughing, chattering groups, along the terrace and into the house.
Maria was waiting in her room. Nicola allowed her to unhook the wedding dress and take it away, and then to the girl's obvious chagrin told her that she could go.