Authors: Sara Craven
Nicola flushed. 'I can't help it. I try to make it clear that I'm not interested, and then they get persistent, so what can I do?'
'You could try saying yes for once.' Elaine gave her a measuring look. 'Whatever went wrong in Zurich, sooner or later some guy's going to come along and make you forget all about it, only you have to give him a chance.'
'Perhaps,' Nicola said woodenly. 'But I can promise you that it's no one I've met so far.'
Probably there never would be anyone, she thought. She was on her guard now. Indeed, she had sometimes wondered if she would have fallen for Ewan quite so hard if she hadn't been confused and lonely, away from home for the first time.
Travelling, seeing the world, had always been her own idea ever since childhood, and her parents, recognising the wanderlust they did not share, had given her the loving encouragement she needed. Her undoubted gift for languages had been the original spur, and she was fluent in French and German before she had left school.
Nicola wondered sometimes where the urge to travel had come from. Her parents were so serenely content on their farm at Barton Abbas in Somerset. It was their world, and they needed nothing better, no matter how much they might enjoy her letters and photographs and stories of faraway places. And Robert, her younger brother, was the same. One day the farm would be his, and that would be enough for him too. But not for her. Never for her.
Now, she wasn't altogether sure what she wanted. Working for Trans-Chem had been more enjoyable than she could ever have anticipated. The company expected high standards of efficiency, but at the same time treated her with a friendly informality which she had never experienced in any previous job, and certainly not in Zurich. And they had been keen, as their contract to assist in a consultative capacity with the building of a new plant in Mexico's expanding chemical industry began to wind up, for her to work for them in the States on a temporary basis at least.
Nicola didn't really know why she'd refused. Certainly she had nothing better in mind, and there would have been no problem in fitting in her longed-for and saved-for sightseeing tour first. Yet refuse she did, and for no better reason than that she felt oddly restless.
Perhaps it was the anticipation of her holiday which was making her feel this way. The last months had been hectic, and the past few weeks of clearing out the office and packing up especially so.
She would miss Elaine, she thought. She'd been a little taken aback when she first arrived in Mexico City to find that she had a readymade flatmate waiting for her. How did she know that she and this tall redhaired Californian were ever going to get along well enough to share a home? And yet from the very first day, they'd had no real problems. And then, later, Teresita had made three ...
Nicola smiled to herself. Had there ever been a more oddly assorted trio? she wondered. Elaine with her cool laconic humour, and relaxed enjoyment of life, Teresita the wealthy orphan, shy and gentle and almost morbidly in awe of the guardian she never saw—and Nicola herself, a mass of hang-ups, as Elaine had once not unkindly remarked.
In some way, Nicola almost envied Teresita. At least she had few doubts about the world and her place in it. Her upbringing in the seclusion of the convent school had been geared to readying her for marriage, and a subservient role in a male-dominated society. The purpose of her life was to be someone's wife and the mother of his children, and she seemed to accept that as a matter of course.
Even her one small act of rebellion against her strictly ordered existence, her decision to move into the apartment with Nicola and Elaine, had contributed towards her chosen destiny, because without it, it was unlikely that her relationship with Cliff Arnold could have prospered.
They had met during Teresita's brief but eventful spell at the Trans-Chem reception desk. Cliff had been one of many finding himself suddenly cut off in the middle of an important call, and he had erupted into the reception area looking for someone to murder, then stopped, as someone remarked later, as if he'd been poleaxed, as he looked down into Teresita's heart-shaped face, and listened to her huskily voiced apologies. His complaints forgotten, he had spent the next half hour, and many more after that, showing her how to operate the switchboard.
As Elaine had caustically commented, it had improved nothing, but at least they'd had a good time.
Cliff had been a constant visitor at the apartment after Teresita moved in. He had adapted without apparent difficulty to the demands of an old-fashioned courtship, bringing gifts—bottles of wine, bunches of flowers, and once even a singing bird in a cage. Teresita sang too, all round the apartment, small happy songs betokening the inner radiance which showed in her shining eyes and flushed cheeks.
That was how love should be, Nicola thought, bringing its own certainty and security, imposing its welcome obligations. Perhaps it was the constant exposure to Teresita's transparent happiness which was making her so restless. Not that there'd been much radiance about lately, she reminded herself drily. Cliff had been sent to Chicago for a few weeks and in his absence Teresita had drooped like a neglected flower. But he was due to return during the next few days, and Nicola was sure they would be announcing their engagement at the very least as soon as he came back.
That was if Teresita managed to break the news to her guardian, the remote and austere Don Luis Alvarado de Montalba. She seemed very much in awe of him, reluctant even to mention his name, but Nicola had still gleaned a certain amount of information about him.
He was wealthy and powerful, that went without saying. At one time, his family had owned vast cattle estates in the north, but later they had begun to diversify, to invest in industry and in fruit and coffee plantations, apparently foreseeing the time when the huge ranches would be broken up into smaller units and the landowners' monopolies broken.
Not that any government-inspired reforms seemed to have made a great deal of difference to the Montalbas, she thought. They still owned the ranch, although its size had been reduced, as well as a town house in Monterrey where much of their industrial interest was concentrated, and a luxurious villa near Acapulco. Nicola gathered that Teresita's father had been a business colleague of Don Luis, and this was why she had been assigned to his guardianship after her parents had been tragically drowned in a Slash-flood some years before.
Clearly, his guardianship operated more on a financial and business level than a personal one. Teresita had admitted candidly that it was over a year since he had visited her, and she seemed more relieved than otherwise at this state of affairs.
Clearly he was the type of aloof and imposing grandee who would be incapable of putting a young girl at her ease, Nicola thought. Teresita always behaved as if even to talk about him was a form of lese-majeste.
Nicola could just picture him—elderly with heavy moustaches, perhaps even a beard, probably overweight, pompous and arrogant. She hoped fervently that Elaine was wrong and he wouldn't make an attempt to interfere in Teresita's happiness. There was no reason why he should, she thought. Cliff was no fortune hunter, even if he didn't have the sort of wealth that the Montalba family had at its disposal.
She fastened the last carton, sealed and labelled it, then sat back on her heels with a sigh.
'So that's done. I could murder a cup of coffee. Do you think the machine's still working?'
'If so it's the only thing in the building that is, apart from us,' said Elaine. 'In my next life, I'm coming back as a boss. You finish up here, and I'll go see about this coffee.'
She was gone for some time, and Nicola guessed that the machine, never enthusiastic about its function at the best of times, had finally given up the ghost and that Elaine had called to buy coffee at the small restaurant a few doors away.
She wandered over to the window and stood looking down into the square. The noise of the traffic seemed muted in the midday heat and from the street below she could hear the plaintive strains of a barrel-organ. The organ-grinder was there most days, and she knew his repertoire almost by heart, but today the jangling notes seemed to hold an extra poignancy, and she felt unbidden tears start to her eyes.
She was being a fool she told herself. What had she got to cry about? She'd had a marvellous time in Mexico City, and within a few days she would be embarking on the holiday of a lifetime. Unlike Elaine she had always been fascinated by the history of the New World, and her tour had been carefully planned to take in as many of the great archeological sites as possible. She found herself saying some of the names under her breath— Palenque, Uxmal, Chichen Itza. Great pyramids, towering temples, ancient pagan gods—she'd dreamed of such things, and soon, very soon, all her dreams would come true. So why in hell was she standing here snivelling? She heard the outer door open and slam in the corridor, and turned hastily, smearing the tears from her face with clumsy fingers, hoping that Elaine would not notice or be too tactful to comment.
As the office door crashed open, she made herself smile.
'You've been long enough,' she began teasingly. 'Did you have to pick the beans personally or...'
She stopped short, her eyes widening in disbelief as she studied the dishevelled, woebegone figure in front of her.
'Teresita!' she gasped. 'Querida, what is it? Has something happened? Are you ill?' Her heart sank as she saw Teresita's brimming eyes. 'Cliff—oh, my God, has something happened to Cliff?'
'No,' Teresita said. 'He is well—he is fine—and I shall never see him again.' And she burst into hysterical tears.
Nicola had got her into a chair and was trying to calm her when Elaine returned with two paper cups of coffee.
'I guess I should have brought something stronger,' she remarked as she put the cups down on the nearest desk. 'What's wrong?'
'I wish I knew.' Nicola scrabbled through drawers until she came across a box of tissues in the last one. 'All she keeps saying is that she wants to die, and begging our Lady of Guadeloupe to take her.'
Elaine raised her brows. 'Clearly, she means business. Talk to her in Spanish, Nicky. She may make more sense that way.'
Nicola mustered her thoughts and said crisply 'Stop crying, Teresita. If we can help you we will, but first we must understand why you're so distressed.'
Teresita was still sobbing, but she was making an effort to control herself. When she spoke, Nicola could just make out the whispered words, 'I am to be married.’
'Yes, we know that.' Nicola passed her another tissue. 'To Cliff, just as soon as it can be arranged— so what is there to cry about?'
Teresita shook her head. 'It is not so.' Her voice was steadying, becoming more coherent. 'Today I visited the convent to pray in the chapel for Cliffs safe return. The Reverend Mother, she tells me there is a letter for me, and I see at once it is from my guardian, Don Luis. I read the letter. Madre de Dios, I read it and I wish only to die!'
'You mean he's forbidden you to marry Cliff?' Nicola asked sharply.
'He does not yet know that Cliff exists,' Teresita said bleakly. 'Always I have waited for the right time to tell him, because I feared his anger.'
'Will someone please fill me in on what's going on?' Elaine demanded plaintively.
'I wish I knew myself,' said Nicola, hurriedly outlining the gist of the conversation so far.
'It's obviously this letter,' Elaine said. She crouched beside Teresita's chair, taking her hands in hers. 'Hey, honey, what was in the letter? Does the mighty Don Luis want you to marry someone else? Is that it?'
Choking back a sob, Teresita nodded, and Elaine darted Nicola a sober glance which said 'I told you so' more clearly and loudly than any words could have done.
'Tomorrow,’ Teresita said. 'Tomorrow I must leave Mexico City and travel to Monterrey with Ramon. Later we shall be married.'
'You and this Ramon? Just like that?' Nicola demanded, horrified.
Teresita's eyes widened. 'Not Ramon, no. He is just the cousin of Don Luis. I met him once when I was a , child.'
'For heaven's sake,' Elaine muttered, and Nicola said hastily, 'I'm sorry, darling, we're trying to understand. But if Ramon isn't the bridegroom then who ...?'
'It is Don Luis.' Teresita's voice was flat.
Nicola muttered 'My God!' and Elaine's lips pursed in a silent whistle.
'Nice one, Don Luis,' she approved. 'Nothing like keeping the cash where it belongs—in the family.'
'It is what my father intended. I have always known this,' Teresita said tonelessly. 'But, as time passed, and he said nothing, I began to hope that it would never happen. A man so much older than myself, a man who has known so many women.' For a moment, a world of knowledge that the good sisters had never instilled showed on the heart-shaped face. 'I—I allowed myself to hope that perhaps he would choose elsewhere— perhaps even marry Carlota Garcia.'
'Just who is that?' Elaine asked.
Teresita gave a slight shrug. 'A—a friend of his. Her husband was a politician. She has been a widow now for several years, and their names have been coupled together many times. A girl—one of the boarders at the convent—told me it was known that she was his— amiga. She said it was impossible that he would marry me because I was too much of a child for him, accustomed as he is to women of the world.'