The Lion of Quimera

THE LION OF QUIMERA Amanda Doyle

Teresa felt that she had been lucky, in the circumstances, to get the job of governess at Quimera - although she had not realised that Quimera was not, as she had imagined, in Spain, but was a small, almost primitive island off the coast of South America, and virtually ruled by the imposing Marqués Leonardo Anchorada de Ancoreda y Alonza. León was a benevolent enough employer, but Teresa did wish that she could manage to make a better impression on him somehow she always seemed accident-prone where he was concerned! Then, too late, she realised why she was so anxious for him to think well of her - too late, because by then she had met his future wife, the sophisticated Doña Alicia de Antilla..

CHAPTER ONE IT was because the advertisement was entirely in Spanish that it first caught her eye. It was in one of those heavily blocked squares that capture one's attention whether one likes it or not. Even the print was larger and darker than the rest of the type on that particular page. The fact that it wasn't in English meant, though, that its readers must automatically be limited to those who were familiar with its particular tongue—a preliminary test, so to speak, as if the advertiser were saving himself a part, at least, of the sorting out of his applicants. It was simple, really. If you didn't understand Spanish, then you'd pass it over altogether. If you did understand it, you'd be aware that someone calling himself the Marques de Anchoreda y Alonzo was requiring an English governess for three children at a place called Quimera. 'Sensible age', it stipulated—whatever that might mean!— and then it went on to assure the reader that the 'highest remuneration' would be offered, 'in comfortable circumstances'. Teresa's lips twitched a little at the somewhat stilted phrasing of her own rather literal translation, not to mention the image it conjured up. Could she possibly pass for an English governess of sensible age? she wondered, crossing to the rusted mirror that was all her small bed-sitting room provided, and studying her reflection critically. Certainly her large grey eyes were solemn enough. Very serious indeed, staring back at her almost reproachfully from beneath their heavily fringed lashes. Her face looked small and a bit haunted— small and oval at the chin, a high brow that defied most hats to look anything but an extra and unwanted accoutrement; a neat straight nose; a mouth that was too wide and curly to be called beautiful. Her complexion was good, though. And her hair was fine and silky and

abundant, of a brown that was unremarkable until the sun picked up the glint of red-gold strands among the mouse. It was her best feature, her hair, almost waist- length when she let it down. Just now it was plaited and wound around her head in a neat coil. That seemed to be a more practical fashion in the dinginess of this London atmosphere than her long flowing tresses would have been, and so she had worn it 'wound up', as she mentally referred to it, ever since her arrival. The hair style added years to her age, Teresa decided candidly, and with some satisfaction. Whether it added enough years to be called sensible was something she'd find out soon enough. She needed that job badly. The language presented the least of her problems, because she'd been brought up in the Jerez region, in Andalucia, where her father had been a wine representative for many years. ^ It was ironic that he had only just bought himself the small hotel on the coast near Zaragoza when both he and her mother had been killed in an accident, leaving Teresa alone in the world. It had been a shattering blow to her, and even now she could hardly take it in. It seemed cruelly sad that they had not been spared to enjoy the retirement to which they had been looking forward so very much, and for which they had saved for so long. It was an added blow to their grief-stricken daughter when she found that the hotel hadn't actually been bought at all—not outright. It had been financed on a loan which she had had no option but to repay in full forthwith, since she couldn't possibly continue with the project. The interest had gone off with most of her personal savings, and the remainder she had spent on getting herself back to Britain, after squaring up the outstanding legal fees, regarding her parents' estates.

People out there had been kind. She had had to be firm, with the sturdy independence that was an inherent part of her nature, about refusing help from her parents' elderly friends. 'Neither a borrower nor a lender be', her father had loved to quote to her, and Teresa had followed that piece of Shakespearian advice to the letter. Perhaps she had been foolhardy in doing so, however. Certainly, if she had accepted, she wouldn't now be living in these sordid surroundings, the very cheapest she could find, while she searched— rather frantically—for work. Nor would she have the gnawing pangs of real hunger clutching tenaciously at the pit of her stomach, as was happening now, too. She sighed. It was going to be difficult to overcome her natural reluctance to go along to the Welfare people and beg for help. She'd have to be feeling pretty low before she could bring herself to do that, but the possibility of having to was becoming a real one. She hadn't realised that a city could be so expensive, or so lonely. Now she knew that London could be both. And that was why she was pinning her hopes—rather recklessly, perhaps—on that advertisement. Teresa bathed quickly in the small bathroom on the first landing. When she returned to her own room she began to inspect her wardrobe with some thought. What would one expect an English governess of sensible age wear? she asked herself, a bit hopelessly. Certainly not the bright cotton dresses or skimpy tops and skirts that had seemed appropriate enough on the sunny coasts of Spain, but which now appeared ludicrous, and not a little too cool, in the late summer drizzle that had plagued the south of England for the past week.

About the only half-suitable thing was that rust-coloured suit of heavy cotton, long-sleeved and plainly cut. She put it on, gazed sceptically at the result. If she exchanged her sheer, honey tights for some darker ones of heavier texture, wore those solid brown walking- shoes, it could improve the sensible image slightly. A green scarf would help to conceal the vulnerable slenderness of neck and throat; and that dauntingly severe brown beret—a relic of her schooldays—might do the trick. There, she was ready—or as ready as it was possible to be. She stifled her misgivings as she approached the hotel where the interviews were taking place. Her reflection, glimpsed against the glass of the shop-fronts as she walked, reminded her of an ageing leader of a Brownie pack. She followed a liveried bellboy over an expanse of mottled carpet to the lift, felt her stomach lurch sickeningly as together they shot up to the tenth floor. The boy led her down a wide, well-lit corridor, and then another; knocked briskly on the door, as if he knew exactly what he was doing and had done the same thing not a few minutes before that very day. Teresa found herself ushered into a capacious lounge. It was part of a corner suite, from where she could see the gates of Hyde Park, although the noise of the traffic itself was pleasantly muffled. 'Sit down, please.' The man who had admitted her indicated one of the chintz-covered chairs, then took another,, a tall-backed leather one, for himself. Teresa crossed her legs, folded her hands primly in her lap, and

prayed that she looked the part. More than that she could not do, so she turned her attention to her companion in the room. He was leafing through some notes, and just now he selected a blank piece of paper and took a pen from, the breast pocket of his suit and began to make headings. He obviously intended to be well prepared before commencing this interview. He looked that sort of man— thorough, not to say pernickety. Late fifties, one would think, with receding red hair, grizzled a bit at the sides, a small greying moustache, and a spreading figure. His hands were white, plumpish, and very nimble. He glanced up for a second, as if aware of her inspection, then continued to write busily. 'I'll be with you in a moment,' he murmured discouragingly, then continued again with his writing. Teresa licked her dry lips. If this was a tactic to unnerve his prospective interviewees, it certainly was doing a good job on this particular one, she thought wryly. She could actually hear the uncomfortable thudding of her heart, and wondered if perhaps he could too. It wasn't distracting him, though, so perhaps it was only she herself who was aware of that violent and uncomfortable beating. Her stomach fluttered. She wished now that she had eaten some lunch, but the way she had worked things out expense-wise lunch was not on the agenda at the moment. Coffee and a piece of toast for breakfast usually saw her through to as generous an evening meal as her fortunes could currently afford, with the aid of an occasional cup of tea or coffee through the day, taken at intervals to boost her sagging confidence while she was traipsing around looking for something proper to do, something permanent and rewarding. Something which hadn't as yet turned up.

The trouble was, she wasn't actually trained or professionally fitted for anything. Her father had been a firm believer in formal education, and must have spent a mint in sending her back and forth to the British boarding- school that she'd attended. The result was that, while she could recite the kings and queens of England—and even of Scotland and Ireland—without referring to the lists at the back of the history books; could tell you all about the geological evolution of a rift valley; do a few logarithms; or extol on the life cycle of the palmate newt—they'd had them in the laboratory at school—she couldn't say with honesty that she had a single practical talent which could now be utilised in finding herself gainful employment. Teresa realised, thinking about it now, that her father's earnings must mostly have been spent on her thorough learning, which was probably why the loan towards his tiny hotel had had to be such a big one. He'd have been intending to pay it back little by little. And he'd have done it, too, had he been allowed to live to do it. 'Your name?' The man's voice interrupted her deliberation. He was now looking up at her expectantly, pen poised. 'Teresa Travers.' 'Any other Christian names?' She couldn't see how it could matter, but she obliged all the same. 'Teresa Elizabeth Travers,' she supplied meekly. 'Teresa—Elizabeth.' He wrote it down methodically. 'Age?' She hesitated fractionally, wondering whether to tack on two years or to chance four. Possibly two would be safer. She swallowed.

'Twenty-four.' 'Hmm.' He looked up again, as if that particular item of information didn't appeal much. Four might have been better after all. 'Parents?' 'Dead. Both dead.' Her tone was as flat as his own. 'Family? Other living members?' 'No. I mean, none.' 'Address?' Again she hesitated. 'I'm in lodgings at the moment, a—a bed-sitting room. But I hope to get a flat or something soon. That is, if I don't get this job—but I hope I do.' Oh, dear, how disjointed that all sounded, and she hadn't meant it to. 'Where can you be contacted?' He was looking tired of the whole thing already. 'That is what I mean, Miss Travers, when I ask for an address. I am not particularly interested in your personal hopes and aspirations regarding accommodation in the city.' 'Oh, I see.' She was scarlet with embarrassment. 'Earl's Court, then.' She gave him the name and number of the street. 'You do speak Spanish, of course? Yes, otherwise you presumably would not be here.' 'Yes, that's correct. I'm quite at home in the language.' 'Are you good with children?'

Again she hesitated. 'I don't actually know how good I am with them. You see, I've never actually worked with them. I do like them, though. I love children. I mean, surely that's what counts? That one is fond of them, I mean?' 'I see. Miss—er—Travers, why did you apply for this post in the first instance? Can you define your reasons?' He looked her over consideringly. 'Because I want the job,' she stated, perhaps more baldly than she should have done, because she was terribly anxious, in that moment, to hide just how much she was banking on it. 'You mean you want a job,' he corrected her stiffly, emphatically. 'Well, yes, if you put it like that.' She was beginning to get rattled, and knew that it showed. 'I'd like this one especially, though. Truly I would.' The man sat back, laid down the pen and put his two hands together in front of him, fingers splayed so that they met each other's opposites in a sort of pyramid. It was a curiously ominous gesture to the overwrought Teresa. 'Miss Travers,' he said slowly—and even, it seemed to her, a little bit reluctantly, as if he wasn't enjoying this any more than she was— 'there is no point in leading you on any further. It simply wouldn't be fair. I'm afraid you're quite unsuitable for this particular post.' Her eyes were round with anxiety. 'But you don't know yet, do you? I mean, you've hardly asked anything.' 'I have asked enough to reach a verdict.'

'But couldn't you just try me out? Give me a few weeks on approval. I'd do my best, really I would. I'd do my very, very best.' 'Miss Travers, even your very, very best could not possibly meet the extremely high requirements laid down by my client. Besides, you're much too young.' 'Twenty-four,' she reminded him with quite desperate mendacity. 'I'm sorry, Miss Travers.' He sounded final. She stood up, clutching her handbag in front of her rust- coloured skirt to still the butterflies inside her. They were behaving now more like a plague of bats swooping about. Their blind bufferings made her feel quite ill. 'I'll go, then,' she said woodenly, making for the door with what dignity was left to her. He came across and opened it for her. She heard it close again behind her with a final, decisive little snap. Teresa thought she might be going to be sick. She got herself along the wide, carpeted corridor again, as far as the corner of the next one. There she stopped, and leaned weakly against the wall, bathed in perspiration, watching the carpet in riveted fascination as it advanced and receded before her eyes. She closed them, to shut out the giddying patterns, still clutching her handbag to the pit of her stomach, and waited for the spasm to pass. She was hardly aware, because there was a peculiar ringing noise in her ears, like sea-water rushing, of the footsteps that were coming from the other side of the corner. In any case, their approach was somewhat muffled by the thickness of the carpet.

The next instant she was thrown back farther along the wall, as a tall, hastening form cannoned heavily into her. 'Madrecita! A thousand apologies! Mi culpa!' 'No es nada,' she responded automatically, with what little breath she had left. Already the man was rescuing her handbag. He was kneeling at her feet, scooping up the compact, comb and a cylinder of lipstick that had dropped out of the bag as it had fallen. Teresa, still fighting for breath, was only aware that the hands that were so busily recovering her possessions were brown ones, brown against immaculate white shirt-cuffs, the fingers long, tensile, well kept. He stood up, pushed the catch shut, and handed the bag to her. 'I must have hurt you, I think, senorita.' He was looking down at her from a height, and Teresa, opening her eyes again to deny the fact, found herself gazing rather stupidly into a deeply tanned, imperious face. She took in the high-boned contours, the long, aristocratic nose, determined chin and narrow-lipped mouth. There was a thin seam of a shallow scar running from the left-hand corner of that mouth to a point below the left ear, giving an almost saturnine appearance to its bearer. Not the sort one would want to tangle with, and she'd had enough for one day, anyway, after her brush with the interview man. Dark eyes were regarding her with some concern from under heavilydefined brows. 'You are well, pequena?' 'It's all right.'

'It is of a certainty not all right,' he contradicted, in suave, heavilyaccented tones. 'Allow me, senorita.' The long brown fingers had fastened around her upper arm, and she was being drawn firmly back along the passage. Teresa resisted. 'Please!' He appeared to ignore her croaky plea. 'Do not be alarmed, chica. I merely wish to satisfy myself that you are indeed unharmed, after which you may go upon your way.' It was useless to protest. She allowed herself to be led along the corridor, secretly not ungrateful for the support she was receiving. Only when he stopped outside the very door of the suite from which she had so recently emerged did her senses fully return, with a jolt born of sheer horror. 'Not in there,' she whispered, pulling away. For an instant he hesitated, perplexity momentarily ousting the concern in the sombre eyes still watching her. Then, as if having made up his mind to humour her, he took a key from his pocket and unlocked the adjoining door with a swift, economical movement. 'In here then, if you please. Forward, senorita.' He stood aside, indicating that she should precede him, and Teresa obeyed somewhat witlessly. It seemed to be a bedroom, capacious, 'with built-in furniture and oblique lighting and mirrors all over the place. She felt herself propelled into an armchair, and then the man disappeared. It was good to lie back with one's eyes closed, knowing that he had gone at last. When he came back, he was carrying a small glass of opaque liquid.

'You will be good enough to drink this,' he commanded with quite odious authority. 'What is it?' 'Come. It is quite safe, and more speedily effective than conac. It will restore you.' 'Really, I don't need anything like that.' 'Allow me to decide, if you will, senorita,' he contradicted, unmoved. She hadn't much choice, had she? Teresa took down the mixture quickly, gave a small, reflexive shudder at the taste. The man himself was now perched on the arm of the other chair, watching her attentively. 'Excellent. Already the colour returns. You have been indisposed, I think?' 'Me. No, not at all. I'm just fine, thanks. Fine now, anyway. Much better, thanks.' He shrugged. 'One does not care to see a young lady so pale. So—how you say— languid.' Languid! That was the last thing it was possible to feel under that inscrutably dark inspection! Teresa couldn't stand it for long. She gathered up her bag, settled the forbidding brown beret more securely over her plaited topknot, and stood up. 'I must go.'

'No tiene prisa—there is no necessity for haste. You may rest here a while undisturbed.' 'I'm afraid I really have to go. I—I've things to do. You've been most kind.' He bowed formally. 'I shall escort you to your dwelling, senorita. Come.' 'There's absolutely no need for that.' Teresa almost winced at the vision of this broad-shouldered, elegantly attired foreigner in his immaculate pale grey suit against the background of her dingy stair in Earl's Court. 'I'll see myself out.' The wide shoulders lifted once more. 'As you please. However, I myself have yet to make a small journey presently, therefore I shall have a car await you downstairs, to take you wherever it is that you wish to go. It will then return here for me. Please do not spurn this unimportant gesture. It is the least that I can undertake, after knocking you down in such a careless fashion.' It was her turn to incline her head. 'Thank you, then. I'll accept with pleasure—although it wasn't your fault at all that we collided out there. Goodbye.' She put out her hand, and he took it politely. 'Goodbye, senorita.' The words, or rather the lingering, accented intonation with which he pronounced them, were somehow painful to Teresa just then. Nostalgic, somehow, of the happier life she had left behind.

She thrust the thought behind her, and—for the second time in about half an hour—retraced her steps along the corridors to the lifts. Downstairs the same bellboy who had escorted her up to her interview greeted her as she stepped out at the ground floor. 'Excuse me, miss, I think there's a taxi been ordered for you, is that right?' 'Yes, I expect that's right. Is it here already?' 'This way, miss.' She gave him the address, which he repeated in turn to the driver while she scrambled in. Teresa sat back and removed the brown beret, regarding it frowningly. It hadn't done the trick at all, had it? Not as she had hoped it might. Why couldn't that wretched interview man have given her at least a chance to prove herself? Why had he been so quick to decide she wasn't suitable? As the cab wound in and out of the snarls of traffic on its way to her address, she went over the interview word for word, worrying at it, asking herself just where it was that she'd gone wrong. Somehow, the right answer didn't present itself. She sighed. Perhaps there was no right answer. He'd certainly made up his mind against her very quickly. Was it just that he'd thought her too young, or was she really the complete and utter failure she felt herself to be? Certainly the exchange had done nothing to boost her sagging confidence, her impatience with her own ineptness. She had failed to land herself the one job which had seemed half- suited to her extremely limited capabilities.

A couple of days later, she was feeling no more certain of herself. But she did have a job. Not that she was very good at this, either, but the manager had at least taken the trouble to assure her that waitresses were made, not born. And it was a field in which, he said, practice makes perfect. Encouraged by his comments, and his evident determination not to judge her too hastily, Teresa had taken heart and donned her uniform and cap and sallied forth into the beautifully appointed restaurant of one of the city's conservatively popular night spots. The uniform was the same sober brown as her beret had been, and she found herself hoping that wasn't going to be an omen of ill fate for her newfound employment. The headgear, mercifully, was better—a cap that was pale ecru- coloured, Dutch style and quite jaunty. It had a bright jade green band inside the fluted lace edge, as did the starched apron-bib that she wore over the brown dress. Gladdened by her new image in the floor-length gilt mirror in the vestibule, she picked up her order-pad and made for the line of tables which were to be her particular responsibility. There were four of them, all with high-backed padded leather bench seats facing each other in alcoves along one wall. There were elegantly shaded lamps in gilded brackets casting a muted glow over gleaming cutlery and glinting crystal, giving an air that was at once peaceful and deeply luxurious. As she approached them, Teresa could see that three of her alcoves were already occupied, two parties of four, and at the far one a rather interesting-looking party of eight people, six men and two women, all in evening dress.

She managed the first two orders quite capably, relayed them to the kitchens, and moved on to the large party in the corner. The man at the end nearest her proceeded to order immediately for all of them. Teresa had barely time to notice the elegance of the two women on either side of him, although she couldn't help being aware of it. She applied herself instead to her order-pad. The other diners, the men, remained an obscure blur on the fringe of her vision. Now, let's see. That was avocado vinaigrette for one, avocado and prawns for another, four dozens of oysters, and smoked salmon for two. She repeated it all dutifully, then hurried off. When she returned she was practically hidden under the heavy, professionally stacked tray that they'd given her in the kitchens. All went well until the beginning of the second course. Emile, the phlegmatic head-waiter, was preparing steaks Diane over a flame next to the table, and Teresa was serving the accompaniments to the others' orders when she looked down fleetingly, and caught the side-view of one of the men. It was the one she was about to serve, actually, and he had leaned back a little to give her more room to manoeuvre. The small start of surprise she gave as she recognised the hooded darkness of the eyes, the well-moulded deeply tanned features of that particular diner, was enough to loosen her grip, just momentarily, on the heavy silver gravy-boat that she was carrying. She caught it as she felt it tilt, but not before it had spilt the greater part of its contents over the immaculate white tuxedo. The man exclaimed in annoyance, turned fully, and in that instant she knew that recognition was now mutual. The hauteur in his angry countenance gave way to one of genuine surprise. He was of course none other than the swarthy foreigner who had collided with her in the hotel corridor that day last week.

Teresa, aghast at her carelessness, not to mention its appalling results, muttered frantic apologies and began mopping ineffectually with the damask napkin she had had tucked beneath her arm at the spreading stains on the white jacket front. 'I'm sorry. I'm most terribly sorry!' 'What have you done, you stupid girl?' Emile had abandoned his cooking, and was already at her side, clucking his tongue in vexation. 'Allow me, sir. If you will permit me to remove the jacket—so—one of my boys will bring you another to tide you over in the meantime. Fortunately we have a selection of sizes, but only in black, I regret. The cleaning and returning of your own garment will have immediate priority. Quickly, Guillaume'—he flicked his fingers, and a young waiter came smartly—'A dinner jacket for Monsieur.' He was muttering instructions, assessing the width of her victim's shoulders with a practised eye. While Teresa continued to dab at the stains, which had alas crept also on to the man's crisp white shirtfront, one of the women—young with fair curls and merry blue eyes —could hardly hide her amusement. The other, thirtyish and haughty, was not so disposed. 'The clumsy fool!' she exclaimed in Spanish. 'How could anyone be so stupid?' 'An accident, Alicia. They happen, verdad.' The man in the stained shirt now sounded almost whimsical. His momentary pique had evaporated, and his eyes, as they met those of the fair woman, held a hint of resigned amusement too.

'Such carelessness deserves instant dismissal,' the darker one insisted, still in her native tongue. 'This place is lowering its standards, I fear, since my last visit. I regret that it was I who recommended it, Leon.' And Teresa, who had understood every word of this interchange, felt her face begin to burn with mortification and embarrassment. She could only pray that Emile himself had not registered the purport of that remark, but even if he had not, the tone was unmistakable. The chances were that he had, anyway, for his scowl seemed to deepen as he told her repressively, with exaggerated lack of fuss, 'Leave it to me now, and get on with your work. Deal with those tables over there, and I'll attend here. And I shall see you before you leave tonight.' 'Yes, Emile.' She swallowed miserably at the doomful ring of that statement. Somehow she managed, with downcast eyes, to attend to the needs of the other diners. With the fourth table now occupied, she was kept too busy to brood over her disastrous beginning, but she found that her confidence had gone. Her fingers were shaky and awkward, and she abandoned any attempt she might otherwise have made to keep up with the other, experienced, waiters and waitresses. Out of the corner of her eye, she was aware that the large party were about to leave. Her acquaintance she could distinguish among the men by the deep tan of his complexion and his arrogant carriage. He was still wearing the black dinner jacket as he escorted the two women towards the door. One hand was beneath the elbow of the brunette who had made such scathing comments, while he at the same time addressed some apparently light remark to the -blonde, who laughed in response. He towered over both women, casually attentive, and quite devastatingly hand' some in a devilish sort of way. He seemed totally unaware of the impact his charm was

obviously making on them both, and it was that fact that momentarily impressed Teresa. Arrogant he might be, but not conceited. Well, that was that, thought Teresa wearily, stacking some soupplates and dropping the cutlery into the tall aluminium basket left there for that express purpose. She'd certainly had a fiery baptism tonight! The least she could do would be to offer to pay for the cleaning and returning of the white tuxedo, and just hope that they'd let bygones be bygones. Such, however, was not to be the case. She might have known it, she castigated herself realistically, as she stood there to attention, mutely receiving her notice. It was a kind of dismissal, but dismissal, nonetheless. 'You must understand that, with our reputation, we simply cannot afford to run the risk of a recurrence of such an incident,' the manager pointed out regretfully. 'I engaged you, Miss Travers, because you are obviously an intelligent and well-meaning and willing girl, and a good type as well. It's a rare combination these days, but unfortunately for you, these qualities don't counterbalance the lack of practical experience. We don't train people here, you know. We expect them to have gone through all that before they apply. My advice is to rough it for a while in some of those busy daytime cafes, to get the feel of things, and when you've got a grasp of the basics, you could always approach us again.' He was letting her down lightly, and Teresa was sensible enough to realise the fact. He refused her offer of payment for the cleaning of the jacket, said again that he was sorry they couldn't keep her on, wished her luck somewhere else as he handed her a week's salary in lieu, and pulled down the ribbed glass window through which he'd been addressing her from his tiny office.

Teresa bit her lip but managed to maintain a calm front as she went off as philosophically as she could, to change out of the uniform in the staff cloakroom. Outside it was raining again. She glanced at her watch by the orange glow of the nearest street lamp as she walked away down Beauchamp Place. Past midnight. What did the time matter, anyway? She had all the time in the world. Nothing to get up for in the morning, either. She shivered a little, more at the bleakness inside herself than because the thin drizzle was wetting her shoulders through the light jacket that she was wearing. She didn't have an umbrella, anyway, but she wished she had had the foresight to put on a thicker coat. A car drawing level attracted her attention. It pulled up a little way ahead of her, and the passenger got out, unhurriedly, to stand directly in her path. 'Oh! It's you.' Her breath caught a little as she saw who was standing there, waiting for her to come right up to him. 'Just so, senorita. Permit me to give you a lift. It is unwise, surely, to be walking alone at such an hour.' She hesitated only fractionally in the drizzling darkness. It would be folly not to accept on a night like this, and— in her own mind, at least—the man was no longer a stranger. You could hardly call a man a stranger when you had just tipped a jugful of pork gravy all over his lovely white jacket, could you? 'Thank you very much.' 'No hay de qut. In here, then, please.'

He was already holding open the rear door of the limousine, and when she got in he went around to the other door and climbed in beside her. 'You do not object if I smoke?' 'Go ahead,' Teresa nodded, shrugging. 'It doesn't matter in the least to me, senor, whether you smoke or whether you don't. But I'm grateful for the lift, all the same, after what I did to you in there earlier.' The lighter flared as he lit a cheroot, and in the half- gloom she saw the corner of his mouth lift slightly. 'What a stiff and very British apology, to he sure—or was I perhaps mistaken in taking it as one?' She bit her lip. 'I'm sorry if it sounded ungracious. I didn't mean it that way.' Her voice trembled. 'I really am sorry about the jacket, please believe that.' 'Of a certainty I believe it. It was a small misfortune, nothing more. You must not be so intense about such a trifling episode. In the morning you will laugh at the very absurdity of it.' Laugh! Never! Not tomorrow she wouldn't. Not at that, or at anything else. There was a lump of despair in her throat, and her eyes seemed to have misted over. God, she couldn't be going to cry? Not here, in front of a complete stranger. (Well, almost complete, except for that wretched gravy.) Teresa would have liked to blow her nose, but it might have attracted the man's attention. Instead she sat there stiffly, staring straight ahead

while two large tears overflowed and coursed silently down her cheeks to her jaw- line. She clasped her hands tightly together, willing herself to absolute stillness. Her companion continued to smoke in silence as the car wended its way through back streets that she hadn't known existed. Then the lighter flared again. This time it was held aloft, a little above her head, and then it snapped out again with a small, decisive flick. 'As I suspected, pequena. It is useless to attempt to conceal the fact that you are weeping. There is some deeper trouble, yes?' 'I am not weeping,' Teresa managed to tell him quite evenly, if a little indistinctly because her teeth were clenched in an attempt to control herself. 'I'm not the crying sort.' 'We will not quarrel over it, in any case. Tell me the truth, please. Did they dismiss you tonight?' 'They did.' She took the opportunity to blow her nose defiantly. 'It wasn't your fault, though. Was that why you came back just now?' The broad shoulders shrugged. ' 'In part. I regretted the episode, naturally, and wished to satisfy myself that the consequences for you might not be unduly harsh. It appears that my fears on that account were justified.' 'They were quite within their rights, the management,' she felt bound to point out. 'And quite—well, nice about it. It wasn't their fault, either, any more than it was yours. I'm a rotten waitress.' 'You are unaccustomed, I think.'

'Unaccustomed?' 'To such work.' 'Did it show so much, then?' She gave a brief, bitter little laugh. 'To what are you accustomed, senorita?' 'What?' She looked towards him, puzzled. 'I confess to a degree of curiosity. You had already applied for a position as a governess, had you not? And then I discover you attempting an evidently unfamiliar occupation elsewhere.' 'How on earth did you know that? About the—er--the governess?' 'It is my business to know many things,' was the bland reply. He turned to study her in the unhelpful light of passing signs and shopfronts. 'I know for instance that in this moment you are cursing your impulsiveness in accepting this lift at all, verdad? That you are frightened—of what, who knows?—and that you are altogether very young and somewhat uncertain of yourself. I know, too, that your heart in this moment is beating like a frantic, captive little bird in its fragile cave, partly because of the youth and the uncertainty, but also for the fact that you find yourself alone in a car with a strange and older man, and that you have had an unpleasant experience and a tiring evening at an occupation with which you are disastrously unfamiliar. Shall I continue?' He did, without more than the briefest of pauses. 'You are also,' he added, with a certain dry humour, 'feeling weak and a little tearful because you have overlooked the important fact that food is a necessity which we can ill afford to do without, even in times of temporary distress. Am I not right, Miss Travers?' The dark eyes searched hers quizzically.

She smiled tremulously. 'Well, let's hope that my temporary distress—as you call it—really is temporary,' she replied, in a valiant effort to match his humour. 'I'd certainly hate a repeat performance. My next victim might not be so accommodating.' Then, as a thought struck her—'How could you possibly know that my name is Travers?' This whole affair had taken on a strange, unreal quality that was causing her brain to turn somersaults trying to unravel its oddities. It wasn't mere lack of food that was making her light-headed. "Have I not already told you? You applied, did you not, for a position as governess on my estates. It is therefore scarcely surprising that I should have the relevant details at my disposal.' The car had drawn up outside her building. Teresa scrambled out quickly, even before the man could help her. By the time he got around to her side of the vehicle she had already stepped out and closed the car door behind her. 'Just who are you?' she asked bluntly, gazing up at the darkly aquiline face above her, so enigmatic in the lamplight. 'Leonardo Anchoreda, at your service.' He gave the slightest of bows. 'And in that capacity, senorita, if you still desire the post for which you applied, you will come once again in the morning to my hotel, and we will discuss the question further.' She shook her head. 'It's no use,' she informed him' candidly. 'Thanks all the same, but you see they've already turned me down flat.' 'They are of no consequence,' was the imperious retort, 'whoever you may mean by they. It is I who am offering you the position, Miss

Travers, in which event there is no question of you being "turned down flat" by anyone other than myself. And by the way .in which you speak that phrase, I take it that you imply your case was not thoroughly investigated—or that you yourself consider it was not. We shall see. But there will be no "turning down flat" by anyone other than myself. Is that clear?' 'Not entirely.' She felt helpless, swept along on the tide of his authoritative manner. The proud head lifted haughtily. He produced a card, placed it in her unwilling hand. 'You will listen and comprehend, no. I am the Marques Leonardo Ignacio Jonatan Anchoreda y Alonzo, and I do as I please in the matter, comprende?' The dark eyes, narrowed down upon her, softened suddenly and unexpectedly. 'I am also, as a matter of no more than passing interest, a doctor, and as such one cannot help seeing that you are almost out of your mind with fatigue and reaction of some sort. This is not the time, I think, for further revelations or proposals or discussions. My advice is a glass of warm milk and straight to bed, and if you are further interested in the situation of the governess, you will please to present yourself at my apartments at eleven hours of the morning. Convenido?' Without even waiting for a reply, he re-entered the car and was whisked away, leaving Teresa standing under the street light gazing numbly after him.

CHAPTER TWO NEXT morning when Teresa got up she put on the rust cotton suit again, and the dark stockings and the flat-heeled shoes. She couldn't face the brown beret, but once more wound her hair into the Frenchpleat that was hopefully meant to look severe and sensible. There was little point in trying to fool the man any further. He'd certainly seen her at her worst on both of the occasions on which they'd run into each other, and he didn't look the sort who would be easily deceived or distracted by one's mode of dress or coquetry of manner. She realised now that the bedroom he'd taken her into on the morning of her interview had simply been a part of the suite he already occupied. The lounge must have adjoined it, and the person who had questioned her in there had presumably been an agent appointed for the purpose by him. Today there was no one there but the Marques himself. 'Good morning, Miss Travers? You are punctual, I see.' His voice held neither approval nor disapproval as he motioned her to a chair. Close to, and in her right senses and the cold light of day, the man's composure and austere good looks were disturbing. They gave Teresa an almost claustrophobic wish to escape, but she seated herself determinedly, reminding herself that this was her unexpected second chance, and she'd better make the most of it. 'You are rested, and that is good,' he observed in smooth tones, giving her one of those uncomfortably dissecting glances. 'The recuperative powers of the young spring to action generally with a gratifying rapidity. Today almost you appear robust enough to sustain the rigours of Quimera.' The thin lips twisted a little grimly.

'I can assure you that I'm perfectly strong, senor. You just didn't happen to see me at my best, that's all. If it's the climate you're worried about, I'm used to the sun and the heat. You see, I've lived in Andalucia for most of my life, really, although I used to come over here to school, of course. I was going to tell that to that other man— your agent?—but he never gave me the chance.' 'Andalucia?' An oblique pause, and a passing surprise in the dark eyes. 'My dear Miss Travers, Quimera is about as far removed from a likeness to Andalucia as one's idea of a suitable governess is removed from yourself.' Another pause, and a gesture almost of irritation. 'Canario! I must be mad to even consider offering the position to an inocente such as you. Tell me,' he asked abruptly, treating her to another of those searching looks that seemed to pierce right through her, 'where do you think it is, this Quimera of mine, hmm? Where do you suppose it is?' 'Well, Spain, I had supposed, naturally.' He sighed. 'Yes, that is what I already assumed you supposed. The advertisement was in the Spanish tongue, certainly, pequena, but then much of the world speaks that language, and a great proportion of the developing world. What if I were to tell you that Quimera is not in Spain? That it is indeed an island? An island muy aislada, muy solitaria, off the coasts of South America itself? What would you say, Miss Travers? I think in truth that you would change your tune a little, no?' She managed a jaded shrug. 'It doesn't make all that much difference, the isolation, senor. I've felt more isolated, more alone, in England itself these last few weeks than I've ever done in my whole life.

If one is to feel lonely, does it really matter where one feels it?' The black brows drew together. 'You are too youthful for such harsh philosophies,' he told her severely. 'I have been studying these details which you gave to my apoderado in answer to his questions. You do not have relatives?' 'None.' 'Nor, it seems, experience in any particular capacity.' Teresa swallowed. 'I could learn,' she told him eagerly. 'I've never done much in a domestic sense, I'll admit, but I know I could teach children. I'd enjoy doing it too. I've always liked children, although I've never had much to do with them.' 'You are not far removed from childhood yourself, Miss Travers, therefore I have no doubt that the young would find you simpatica.' A pause. 'Unfortunately, on Quimera, it is not enough.' There was finality in his tone. Teresa stood up. Or rather, she sprang up. Something seemed to have snapped inside her. The colour had rushed into her pate cheeks and her eyes were suddenly blazing with pent-up resentment. It was the last straw, this! 'You brought me here this morning just to give yourself the pleasure of telling me that, didn't you, senor? Well, I can't say you didn't warn me.' She gave a bitter laugh. 'You told me that if there was any turning down to do, it would be you who did it, didn't you? Does it give you some sort of sadistic satisfaction to drag me all this way back here just to do it yourself ? Just to tell me, face to face? Does it make you happy, that? Well, does it?'

'Basta ya! Enough, senorita.' He too, had risen to his feet. He towered over her, black eyes snapping. 'You will not address me in this manner, if you please.' That haughty tone was enough for Teresa. She'd reached the end of her tether. 'What do you want me to do, senor? Grovel, because you happen to be an aristocrato? What did you expect of me when you asked me back here? Did you think I'd lick your boots and say thank you, thank you very much for telling me I won't do? You knew I'd no experience, didn't you, and I can't conjure it up out of thin air, can I? 1 didn't pretend. I—I'd told you already, and—and—him—that other man -' The colour had drained now, leaving her face paper-white. She was swaying on her feet, although scarcely aware of the fact. 'What more can I offer than what I've got? Intelligence, honesty, willingness, a liking for children, the promise of loyalty to my employer. Is none of these things worth anything? Are they worth nothing? If so, if they're not enough—and you say they are not—then I'll go. In fact, I can't get out of here quickly enough, if you want the satisfaction of hearing me say it!' Her voice was furiously determined, but as she turned blindly towards the door it was to find her path obstructed. He was there in front of her, blocking her way. 'Sit down,' he bit out tightly. 'And calm yourself. Aristocratico I may be, senorita, but that is an accident of birth beyond all remedy. My calling, as I believe I have already informed you, is that of a physician, and I can tell you now that if you do not sit down, then you will doubtless fall down, which would somewhat spoil the effect for which you strive, would it not?' He had forced her to step backwards away from him, a step at a time, as he was speaking, and in so doing the edge of a chair found the back of her knees. Since no

further retreat was possible, she had no option but to sink down into it. 'Muy bien.' She stared up hollowly at the swarthily set face above her, as if mesmerised, which in fact she was! 'That's better.' He smiled now, grimly. 'Obedience becomes you more than anger, Miss Travers. Bueno, let us clear the air, as you English so quaintly put it. First of all, we shall tackle the relevance of my noble status, shall we not? You have a particular objection?' There was such evident irony in his framing of the question that Teresa found herself squirming with mortification. 'How can you possibly know how ordinary people think and feel, what problems they have?" she mumbled indistinctly. 'Ah! We? In our ivory towers?' He seemed genuinely amused. 'You must have extremely antiquated notions, I fear, my poor Miss Travers. These girlish visions of the castles of Spain filled with remote and privileged hidalgos, all autocrats and dictators, unaware of what goes on beneath their battlements, unless it be perhaps the persecution of their serfs or the torture of their enemies in their dungeons. Muy romantica! Having lived in the country you should indeed know better, in any case.' She flushed. 'Such situations are rare, believe me, in a modern context,' he pointed out, with a patronising tolerance that succeeded in making her feel doubly foolish. 'And on Quimera, not at all. True, there is a Castillo, and truly also it was once a fort. In truth, again, the island has belonged to the Anchoreda family for many generations. But if I am the ruler of it, senorita, it is as a modern-day leader of a community whose interests are very close to my heart. I think of myself not as a despot, not even a benevolent one, but as a caretaker of an inherited trust—

cuidador, vigilante, guardian. There is much on the island that does not please, many conditions that require improvement. Backwardness in education and agriculture, too much of suffering, too much of disease, too much of poverty, too much of useless drinking and unproductive idleness. The cause of that idleness and profligacy was for centuries the hopelessness born of ignorance and oppression, for which my own ancestors were in no small part to blame. There was an apathy, you understand, that things must be accepted as such, but now it is no longer so. You wish that I continue?' He took her muteness for assent, and did so. 'With the aid of my small team, there is already much improvement. In my own field a modest hospital, regular clinics, inoculations and vaccinations for those who can be persuaded, attention to hygiene, improved drainage, better sanitation—all of these things are having a beneficial effect. I have a man who supervises affairs on the production side. The draining of the northern swamps and the lessening of danger from the mosquito. The cultivation, where possible, of plantations and improved conditions for the coffee bean extractions in the small cafetal, the clearing of land for the plough in the drier southern region, the rearing of cattle on the inland plateau. Many, many projects, some more successful than others.' He gestured fatalistically. 'Some of the local population are willing to help, of course. But few are in a position to be helpers, rather are they the ones who seek that help. They are the recipients of the organised assistance that one is able to offer them. One day, things will be different. Mientras tanto -' he shrugged expressively—'we continue to do what we can. Well, Miss Travers?' Teresa didn't know what to say. She felt chastened and strangely small. 'Where does the governess come in?' she asked humbly.

'The governess I wish for the children of my anaesthetist, otherwise I fear that I shall be unable to persuade him to remain. Having trained him in my ways, his services have become somewhat indispensable.' 'He accompanied you to—er—to Quimera when you first went there?' 'No, not then. Later. When the need had become an established one. He is not Spanish, this man. He is as English as yourself.' 'And his wife? The children's mother? How does she feel about having a governess? Wouldn't she rather teach the children herself?' 'His wife has left him,' she was informed repressively. 'She was unable to adapt to the life on Quimera, even though her little ones were born there. Perhaps he was not strong enough, a strong enough husband—quien sabe? In my opinion she needed, and desired, firm control and clearer dictates than he was able to provide. There are such women, who respond to the challenge of a certain harshness and dominance in the male partner; and regard kindness as a tolerant foolishness to be despised.' Teresa looked at him, at the forbidding thrust to the obdurate chin, the level set of the thin lips, the quiet composure of the assured hands. He would be that sort of husband himself, probably—the sort who'd have to impose his will regardless. But what on earth was she thinking of, allowing herself to ponder on such possibilities? She dropped her eyes, aware that he was watching her changing expressions with interest. 'The poor- thing—the wife, I mean. What happened to her? Where did she go?'

'She ran off with an americano—a turista who came visiting one day in his aeroplane to see of what the islands of Quimera were made. A playboy.' He shrugged. 'He was colourful and intense, so very different from her own Richard. I daresay the contrast proved too great an attraction. In any case, she did not stop to think of the consequences of her impetuous actions, that is a certainty.' 'He must have taken it badly. And the children too, of course. How dreadful for them all.' 'You may reserve the girlish pity for the children alone, pequena,' he told her firmly. 'What Richard Haywell has received out of it he in all probability richly deserves. He has never seen a thing through properly in his whole life.' 'How cruel you sound I Yet you must be sorry for him, or you wouldn't be trying to help him, would you?' He shrugged that off. 'The children are my concern, the ninos. I feel in a way responsible, for it was I, after all, who persuaded him to come to Quimera in the first place.' 'You don't seem to like him much. Why did you choose him in the beginning at all?' 'He is likeable, but weak. I acted for his own sake, Miss Travers. He was in danger of regarding himself as a failure, and Quimera provided him with a prop upon which to lean, if you like. There is a certain instability there, a lack of conviction, of tenacity—it was evident even in those days when we were studying in the medical school.' 'You were students together?'

'Si, and I somewhat the elder. Richard had a sort of breakdown, arid did not in fact complete the course. When I refer to him as my anaesthetist I am inclined to forget that there is no legal qualification to go with such a title. On Quimera, however, it is permissible that he acts for me in this capacity, for I have given him the necessary training. Here it would not be possible. Yet he had the makings of an extremely efficient and gifted medical practitioner. It is a pity that such gifts be wasted, no? I ask myself for a solution on his behalf, and then it comes to me that, on Quimera, his skills need not be wasted after all.' 'He is happy there? In his work, I mean?' 'He feels himself useful, senorita. Such a need is a basic necessity for persons as insecure as the Richard Haywells of our society. Happiness, though? It is a comparative state, is it not? Let us say, he is happier on Quimera than he would probably be elsewhere. Por turno, he was even more happy before his wife deserted him. As I say, senorita, there are degrees of every emotion, even of grief and of desolation. I believe that you yourself will not be unaware of the fact." He looked at her keenly. 'Tell me, Miss Travers, how long is it since you were deprived of your own parents? I note from the reference sheet supplied by my apoderado that they are dead.' 'It's two months now. Yes, two, almost.' He uttered an exclamation. 'So recently!' 'They were killed in a car accident,' she told him dully. 'They died together. At least I'm thankful for that, for their sakes. Why do you ask, senor?'

'It explains much.' He was silent for some minutes, lost in preoccupation with his thoughts. At one point he walked over to the window, gazing out over the park and the crawling traffic almost as if he wasn't really seeing it, with his hands thrust in the pockets of the immaculate pale suit. Teresa remained still in the chair, content to simply wait for him to speak again. She felt drained of all emotion, numb, even when she had spoken of her parents' death just now. Funny that you could talk about it without feeling a thing. The only sensation she could actually experience seemed to be one of guilt that she couldn't feel anything. Maybe there was something wrong with her. Maybe she had a—an inadequate personality, like the poor young anaesthetist whose wife had run off and left him. Maybe The man was coming back from the window. Now he took a chair and pulled it up right opposite the one upon which she was sitting. Then he hitched his trousers and sat down too. He was quite close, eyeing her clinically. 'One regards it as a duty,' he said carefully, when finally he spoke again, 'to point out that you are still in a state of mental confusion and actual physical shock after a personal misfortune of such magnitude, senorita. I cannot help but feel that you would be acting with unwise haste in seeking a position on Quimera in this moment. It is a decision, after all, of almost as great a magnitude as the very misfortune that has befallen you, you understand. A strange and different way of life, much further away than you had anticipated. Perhaps, in a short time, you would regret that you had taken this incautious step? You might feel differently, and then what would you do, stranded so far from Gran Bretana, the land to which you belong, among a foreign community?' 'I wouldn't feel differently, no matter where I was,' she replied with unconscious bleakness. 'I don't belong here, anyway, senor. I don't belong anywhere, so you could rest assured, if you would accept me for the post, that I wouldn't change my mind or have regrets or suffer

from homesickness or—or anything like that. If I don't go to Quimera, I don't know what else I shall do, anyway. I've no plans.' She gazed down at her hands, clasped so tightly over the catch on her handbag. Clasped almost in supplication, she was praying so hard that he'd let her come. His eyes, too, seemed to be fastened upon those nervously clenched hands. 'The situation is yours, then, if you truly wish it, Miss Travers.' He spoke almost with reluctance. 'You may have a day in which to think it over, if you wish. Me es igual.' Teresa shook her head. 'I don't need to think it over. I'll take the job, thanks. The sooner the better, so far as I'm concerned, and I should think that goes for the children, too. I'd like to think that they need me,' she added, with unintentional wistfulness. 'They need you, without question,' he assured her with a certain grimness. 'And I them, senor. Maybe I'm insecure too, like your Mr Haywell, but one needn't despise the desire to be useful and fulfilled, need one? Perhaps you feel that you're taking on another lame dog?' There was a glint in his eye as he considered her last remark. 'You challenge me, I think? Do I appear to despise such qualities, pequena? You know me little. And as for comparing yourself to Richard Haywell, such talk is of the wildest nonsense. You are totally dissimilar, let me assure you. Indeed, Miss Travers -' the dark glint was back, and even more in evidence—'I would put you down as something of a fighter, not easily submissive or willing to

acknowledge a need of any kind; Let us hope that it will not be necessary for us to cross swords too often, chica, for I myself am accustomed to having my wishes obeyed, and on Quimera doubly so.' He crossed to the writing table at the window and sat down, pulled out the middle drawer and withdrew a sheet of paper, wrote at speed for. several minutes. 'Here is a list of requirements, Miss Travers. You will note that I include the necessary preventative innoculations.' She glanced down the list. 'I've had most of them already.' 'You will check carefully, nevertheless, and remedy any omissions.' He was writing again. This time he handed her a cheque. 'Oh, no, you mustn't!' she protested. 'Indeed, I think I must. Here is an advance against your salary, Miss Travers. Your preparations for the journey will doubtless incur for you some additional expenses. The air fare and reservations you may leave to me. I will go to Spain tomorrow for one week and three days exactly. I shall arrange for your ticket and flight arrangements to be delivered to you, and you will join me at Rio, after which we proceed together to Quimera. Is it understood?' 'Yes, senor.' Good heavens, she was sounding submissive already! Teresa licked her lips. Her mouth had gone suddenly dry at the enormity of the step that she was about to take.

It was as if he guessed her thoughts. 'You wish to retract? There is yet time.' Her chin went up. 'Of course not. You have my word I shall be there.' 'Muy bien.' The challenging glint had given way to an expression almost of approval. 'You are not without courage, chica. Continue to sustain it, and all will be well.' She felt a constriction in her throat at the abrupt change in his manner. Sympathy was unexpected, coming from this dark, vital, imperious creature, if sympathy it was. He was too enigmatic a person for one to be able really to tell. One would have to know him much better than she did to be in a position to judge. 'Till Rio, then, senor.' She put out her hand. 'I will be at the airport to meet your flight.' He took her hand, and she was momentarily conscious of the strength of his fingers over hers. 'Hasta pronto, Miss Travers.' 'Hasta luego, senor.'

Ten days later and Teresa was on her way. The short spell at Madrid had upset her equilibrium, and it took something of an effort to make herself rejoin the plane, aware as she had suddenly become that she was leaving behind all that had been familiar and dear in her childhood. They touched down at Dakar, and

by then she felt like a soul in limbo. The heat came in gusts, waves of sickening warmth stirred by the fanning palm-fronds as they crossed the tarmac. After the coolness inside the airport building it was something of an ordeal, and she was relieved to go on board the plane again. Once they had attained some height the temperature dropped to a bearable level, and after a while she even reached for a blanket to clasp loosely around herself. Teresa slept. She had been exhausted with the supreme effort of it all—packing up for good, getting herself to the air terminal. It had been a desolate experience, too, watching others coming aboard together, or hugging and kissing each other goodbye. Ah well, it was over now, and at least there would be someone to meet her at Rio de Janeiro. Someone? Yes, someone. It was better to have him than nobody at all, even if you scarcely knew him, wasn't it? The thought comforted her through the stay at Recife, and then the final haul down over eastern Brazil. Beneath her the torrid forests and jungle stretched endlessly, scored by great brown rivers whose estuaries indented the coastline at intervals, then over the sea for a short space. Then beneath them lay Rio itself—a magnificent arc of sand and skyscrapers girding a pearshaped bay. Fantastically moulded mountains hovered almost on top of the great sweep of city—the gigantic Pao de Assucar, the Sugar Loaf, the rockface of Pico opposite, and more distantly the Corcovado with its imposing statue. The bay's sapphire waters were studded with islands, and in the gentle curve of Copacabana there were palm-fringed boulevards and colourful splashes of flower-filled parks behind the fringe of luxury hotels and soaring buildings. Teresa held her breath as the plane lost height, skimmed low over the water for what seemed an interminable interval with only the sea beneath them, and then suddenly the airport was there, and they swooped gently on to the runway.

There were aircraft everywhere, of every size and nationality and description; tankers refuelling; baggage vehicles driving here and there; people all over the place. Everyone seemed to know where they were going and what they were doing. She followed the other passengers to the terminal buildings. Stepping inside out of the glare of the sunshine, she was temporarily at a loss, and then she felt a firm grasp on her shoulder, turning her halfaround and guiding her out of the crowd. 'Que tal. Miss Travers. You have had a tiring journey, I think.' Her new employer was at her side, and even his suave politeness seemed suddenly just as welcome as the vociferous greetings and warm embraces that others about her were noisily receiving. His lean, autocratic face hovered above her in the jostling throng, darker and even more saturnine than she had recollected against the white of his tropical suit. His grip on her arm did not diminish until they had negotiated the steps. 'Come. We will claim your cases, and then seek refreshments. There is a journey ahead, but more brief, and in a private aircraft where you may relax in less enervating surroundings.' Teresa couldn't imagine being able to relax at all, anywhere, with this particular man for a companion. There was something about him—a restless store of unleashed energy—that was anything but tranquillising. Or maybe it was just that she, in contrast, felt wilted with sheer fatigue, yet uncharacteristically keyed up. At any rate, she allowed him to find her cases and clear them through the Customs barrier. Then he summoned a porter and gave him some instructions in rapid Portuguese, after which cases and porter disappeared and she was taken up to the restaurant. Without consultation he ordered orange juice and omelettes and crisp rolls

with butter and refreshingly strong black coffee to end with, after which they were off on the last hop to Quimera. Teresa followed his brisk strides in an obedient daze, hardly believing that she had actually got this far. She seemed to have been getting in and out of planes for days, and had lost all track of time. Only her ultimate goal remained firmly implanted in her wearied mind. Quimera. Quimera. It couldn't be far now. The final aircraft was a smaller one, brightly coloured. Her spirits lifted at the sheer jauntiness of the yellow and black bands along the fuselage and over the wing-tips. She was helped up a set of shallow let-down steps, over the wing and into the rear seat compartment, while the Marques took his place beside the pilot in the front cockpit. Teresa watched and listened with interest to the exchange with the terminal tower as they waited clearance for take-off. She had never been 'behind the scenes' like this before, and was fascinated by the jargon that went on between the pilot and another voice in traffic control. Both appeared to know just what they were doing, and soon they were away again, lifting like a small, throbbing bird into the vastness of clear skies. Now and then they swooped and rose as they encountered the odd air-pocket, but otherwise they seemed to drone on noisily over the endless expanse of sparkling sea beneath. She watched for as long as she could, and then drowsiness took over. She wasn't sure for how long they flew. Just once she stirred slightly as she felt herself pulled gently forward, but she couldn't have opened her eyes again for anything. When she woke once more it was to find a couple of cushions supporting her head and shoulders. How they had got there she could only guess, but she realised now that she couldn't have dreamed the faint aroma of cigars from the

white tropical jacket as it had brushed her face, presumably as the pillows had been slipped into place. 'Quimera.' He had turned around again, raising his voice against the buzzing of the engines, and pointing downwards. Teresa's eyes followed his gesture. She was unprepared for the beauty of the view from above Quimera. Whether the man had painted such a gloomy picture to discourage her from taking the position at all, or as a hedge against possible disappointment if she did take it, she had no means of knowing, but she gazed now, absorbed as she was enchanted. It was nothing like she had imagined. Nothing. 'There's more than one island.' She, too, raised her voice, and pointed down in surprise to the sprawling archipelago that lay like a thin scatter of pebbles in a sapphire pool. 'Eleven precisely. They should be named Las Quimeras, one would suppose, but the early explorers embraced them in a single name. Indeed they doubted their actuality, and attributed the vision of land at this point to a trick of the light, of cloud accumulation and reflection on the horizons —un espejismo, a mirage, you understand. These islands lie at some distance from the old sail routes. At times they were there, at others they had apparently disappeared, and for many years before my ancestors actually settled here they were referred to as a singular illusion, their very existence in dispute, hence the name, Quimera.' 'That was a very long time ago?' 'From the times of the conquistadores themselves. Look now, Miss Travers, and you will see the other islands better as we approach.

Several, even now, bear no name, but that one there is named Chalupa, then Ambrosia. The small ones there together are the Pasaderas, the one on the right of them is Burro—he is shaped like a donkey, no?—and of course the major landmass is Quimera itself.' 'But it's huge, isn't it? Much bigger than I'd dreamed it would be.' Shadows were lengthening over the main island as they lost height and approached a small landing strip, no more than a clearing in the palm-studded scrub that hugged the coast. Teresa was by this time so travel-weary and confused that her recollection of her arrival on Quimera must always remain a conglomerate of swift impressions tumbling upon her one after the other in a muddled kaleidoscope that was awesome and unreal, staggering in its beauty and its unexpectedness. From the plane a narrow path through shaded groves of coconut and pomegranate and guava, on to a wider, grassy track through more formal orchards to the house itself; a long, low frontage with white stucco walls and colonnaded cloisters that looked dark and cool and secret; lawns and fountains and a sunken garden of colourful shrubs, with exotic, outsized blooms perched amongst shiny, glistening jungles of foliage; at the far end, rising majestically from the alameda in which it was situated, the aged castle fort, a solid, square-towered, ancient edifice that looked as old as time and as indestructible, grey and grim and impenetrable, with tiny slits of windows that kept the sunlight out and the history in; a crumbling tapia embraced its basements, an untidy, .frilly skirt of decrepit adobe and tumbling vines. Like the fortin itself, however, the gateway remained intact; great rounded columns of rock, topped by lions' heads hewn out of the rough stone face on each of the pillars. They presided in the fast-fading light of evening, distant yet menacing, as though permanently on their guard, never sleeping, always watching. She could have sworn their sightless eyes were actually following her curiously, resentful perhaps of an impostor who had come to threaten their peace.

She was reeling with fatigue by the time she reached the tranquillity of the dim cloisters, and followed her employer over the tiled patio, through the portal and into the entrance hall. Not really a hall, this one, either, for again there was no roof above her head. Rather was it a courtyard, a sort- of central garden around which the house ran in a balconied square. There were urns of blooms and a plot of lawn, and creeping vines climbed everywhere, twining over the balustrade that supported the gallery above. A figure could be seen moving along the gallery right now, and a soft, delighted exclamation reached her ears—a woman's voice. 'Leon! You have returned safe and sound, thanks be to God. One little moment, and I will attend you.' 'No need for haste, Enriqueta. A few more minutes added to our journey are of little consequence.' The figure disappeared, and while they awaited her re- emergence into the courtyard below the Marques addressed himself to Teresa once more. 'Enriqueta is my housekeeper, my treasured "llavera", without whose valuable services I should be quite unable to devote myself so constantly to my other responsibilities. She relieves me of the tedium of domestic decisions, and has been in the employ of the Anchoreda family all of my life. All of her life, also—and her days are many more than my own.' His mouth softened affectionately. 'You will do well to attend to the suggestions of Enriqueta at all times, Miss Travers, and consider her advice in moments of uncertainty. She is a veritable fountain of wisdom.' 'Yes, Senor Marques.'

'And you must call me Leon, simply,' he corrected her calmly. 'It is my name on this island, and now that you are a member of our community you too will adopt the custom.' 'Yes, senor,' she murmured a little shyly. Leon? What a strange title, and it surely could not be a diminutive of his own Christian name, for one couldn't imagine such an autocrat as he permitting that kind of liberty. Leon. The lion. Perhaps it had something to do with those great, unyielding stone beasts that guarded the entrance to the fort out there. Recalling their stern, almost menacing aspect and inscrutable regard, Teresa decided that this was a much more probable explanation. 'Enriqueta! We are here, as you see, and as you have already observed, safe and sound.' He stepped forward and took the old woman's outstretched hands in a warm clasp. 'A Dios gracias, Leon. We have missed you, as always when you are gone from us. And you have brought the governess?' 'May I present to you Senorita Travers? No doubt she will wish you to call her Teresa, since she is scarcely more than a child herself.' 'A child, yes! So young!' The elderly housekeeper shot a look of puzzlement at her superior, though obviously it was beyond her to question his judgments in any way. 'Come, Teresa. I will summon Berta to show you to your room, and when you have bathed and rested, you shall come down to the sala and partake of some refreshment. How tired you appear! And your eyes the size of teacups because you are thinking what a strange old woman is Enriqueta, no? Soon we will get to know one another, and

the strangeness between us will wear away. In the meantime, you look as if a good meal is what you need to put some flesh on to those young bones. So thin!' She chuckled disapprovingly, and hurried off to call Berta. Leonardo de Anchoreda remained beside her, waiting patiently, unmoved by the apparent fuss caused by their arrival. No doubt he was accustomed to it, as she herself was not. She could feel his eyes studying her as they stood there together, and presently he said quietly, 'Enriqueta is right. You are much too thin, a veritable delgadita, and it appears to me that you are almost asleep where you stand. You feel alarm at the strangeness. Do you also experience regret that you came at all?' Her chin went up. 'No, of course not. But I'll admit to feeling tired, and a—a little bit unfamiliar with everything. Who wouldn't, after such a long trip?' 'St, chic a, it is natural. And you have had more than your share of adjustments to make, I think. Soon you will reap the benefit of our island climate, a secure roof and pleasant food, and you will come to flourish once again, it is certain.' Teresa flushed. 'You make me sound like a—a stray dog!' she protested hotly. He laughed, amused at her apparent indignation. 'Not a stray dog. Nor even a puppy. A flower, perhaps? A young flower, a little bruised, temporarily deprived and wilting, but which will respond, no question, to fresh air and a change of situation? This

role has more appeal?' He paused, reached out and tilted her chin with the brown fingers so that she was forced to look up at him. 'Come, pequena, you must not mind my teasing. I jest merely to tide you over some difficult moments, because I can see that already your eyes are full of tears. You would do well to release them, and with them the pain that you experience inside yourself. Sometimes it is better to weep, Miss Travers. It must not always be taken as an evidence of weakness, you understand.' 'I came here to work, not weep,' she managed shakily, wishing that she could smile too, but somehow she just couldn't conjure one up right then. 'And so you shall, indeed—and I warn you that I can be a difficult taskmaster. I shall expect much, for have I not abandoned all those other formidable contestants for the post in favour of one who has never before been a governess, but assures me merely that she knows she will be good with children? Let us hope that this illogical knowledge of her untried ability with the little ones turns out to be correct, Miss Travers, for your sake and the sake of all of us. From tomorrow, you may put it to the test. Tonight, though, I shall spare you the effort of returning downstairs for a formal meal and further introduction. Berta will bring a tray to your room, and after you have bathed and eaten you may go to sleep whenever you wish.' 'Thank you, senor.' 'Leon. Is your memory so short, then?' 'Yes—I mean, no. Thank you, Leon.' His lips twitched. 'I wish you goodnight, then, senorita.'

'Buenas noches, Leon.' He bowed. 'Hasta manana pues, Teresa.'' She stumbled away in Berta's wake, thankful for his offer of escape. Teresa, he had called her. Te-ray-sa, in the Spanish way, and spoken quite formally. Even so, she felt warmed and reassured somehow that he had bothered to use her name at all. Berta was no more than, sixteen years old, and shy to the point of complete verbal paralysis. A dark, pleasantly plump little thing, she led Teresa at a breathless pace up stone steps to the upper floor, along to a small bedroom in the farthest wing. It had black carved furniture of modest proportions, and a brass bedstead, covered with a handcrocheted spread of white cotton which looked homely and charming and very old. Berta folded back the bedspread deftly. 'I will run the bath,' she announced, coming to life all of a sudden with the help of something practical to do to cover her embarrassed shyness. 'Please don't bother, Berta. I can do it myself. Or I may even take a shower instead.' Teresa had already inspected the compact tiled bathroom that adjoined the room. 'El Leon told me that I must prepare your bath, senorita,' replied Berta with unexpected firmness. 'I dare not disobey.' 'No, of course not, Berta. It's very kind of you, in any case. I must confess that I feel very grimy after such a journey, and very sleepy. I shall welcome a bath.'

'And then you will eat, senorita. While you are bathing, I shall bring you a tray. Ernesta is even now preparing your supper. Ernesta is a very good cook,' the girl added with pride. 'I'm sure she is. I'm not very hungry, though, Berta, so not too much of anything, please. I think I'm too tired even to eat.' 'You will like what Ernesta prepares, senorita. She is my own sister, and cooks well, as I have said. Here are your towels, and the bath awaits you. I will return presently.' Berta bustled away, and Teresa tipped the top layer of clothing out of her case, found the nightdress she'd been looking for, and made for the bathroom. The warm water was welcome and blessedly soothing. She had plenty of time in which to loll there, enjoying the sheer luxury of it, before drying herself and returning to the bedroom. The tray was already there, on the table by the bed, although she had failed to hear Berta coming back with it. She sat on the edge of the bed and lifted the covers on the plates. Diced avocado shining with some sort of piquant dressing; a piece of cold chicken and accompanying salad; on another plate, a modest finger of what looked like apricot tart, cream-covered and still warm, and quite deliciously appetising; and a dented silver jug that, as she had suspected, contained freshly made black coffee. To her own surprise Teresa ate it all, down to the very last morsel, and even drained the coffee-pot. Uncertain what to do with the empty tray, she stacked the dishes tidily upon it and put it in the corridor of the gallery, just outside her door.

By the time she climbed into bed her mind had ceased to function altogether. She drew the sheet up over her, turned sideways on the pillow, and in minutes was asleep.

CHAPTER THREE WHEN Teresa opened her eyes next morning it was to discover the shutters of the windows drawn against the sun, which was already high in the sky. To her horror she saw that the time was almost midday. Dressing with some haste, she ran downstairs. No one seemed to be about except for Enriqueta, who came from the salita when she heard the sound of footsteps. 'Buenos dias, Teresa. You have slept well?' 'Yes, thank you, Enriqueta. But much too long, I fear. I had no idea it could be so late. I'm sorry about that.' The old woman smiled faintly. 'No need to apologise. On the contrary, Leon will be pleased to learn that you have made good use of the daylight hours in sleeping. It is he himself who has instructed Berta to steal into your room this morning to close the shutters so that the sun shall not arouse you before Nature herself. When you descend, I am to bring the children to meet you. But first, I think, you will wish for desayuno, no? Just a little coffee and a roll and some conserve, because the morning-is so far advanced. If you will sit in the plazuela for a moment, Berta will bring it to you there.' In the central courtyard there were wrought iron chairs and a couple of tables in the shade at one end. The air was still and heavy with the perfume of the flower-filled urns and the creepers of plumbago and lantana that covered the pillars. Small cotorras flew unafraid about the garden, and a blackbird even came and perched on one of the vines quite near her, uttering a throaty, trilling burst of song, as though his heart were overflowing with the sheer joy of being alive.

'Ah, he is back, that one? He is a cheeky bird, that.' Berta had arrived with yet another of her small trays. She put it down with care, and shaded her eyes against the sun in order to see him better. 'He has become a pet,' she explained helpfully, 'because Tomas is forever giving him his biscuits to eat. If you wish him to come right down on to the grass itself, senorita, you will throw him a small crumb of your roll. It is an amusing sight.' Berta seemed talkative this morning. Teresa realised that perhaps her shyness had been a passing phase when she was confronted with a newcomer to their household. There couldn't be many strangers coming and going on an island as remote as this one. Now she took advantage of the easier atmosphere between them to ask a question. 'Where are the children, Berta? Do they live here in the quinta, or elsewhere?' 'No, senorita, they only do their lessons here;—that is, when there is someone who can spare the time in which to supervise them. Me, I would like this very much, but alas, I am no scholar, and besides, the English tongue is quite unfamiliar to me.' 'But you are good at other things, and so is your sister Ernesta. She prepared a delightful supper last night, and you must thank her for me. I am quite a hopeless cook, Berta. I have much to learn about such things.' The dark girl beamed. 'You will not have to attempt such things while Ernesta is here to do it for you, senorita. In any case, I fear you would have little time, for those children are quite naughty, and may not respond readily to discipline, so long have they been without it! I think your task may be a difficult one, because all day they have been running about like wild things, with no one to see what it is they are doing. Ernesta and

I, we have our own work, and Enriqueta declares that her legs are now too old to be running after three mischievous chamaquitos such as they.' 'They are all boys?' 'There was no daughter, senorita. I think perhaps the senora would not have gone away so readily if the third baby had been a girl, you understand.' 'Is that their house down there? I can see it from my bedroom window.' 'No, senorita, that is the clinic, where Leon does so much of his work. And the large building behind it is the hospital, to house the patients, you understand, but only those who are very ill, because there are not too many beds. The children live in a bungalow that one cannot see from here at all, for it is on the other side of the vinedo, and there are tall palmeras about it that hide it from the eye. I think perhaps the senora found it very lonely, because Doctor Hay- well is much of the time at work assisting Leon.' 'One is sad to think of someone being sufficiently lonely to leave her own children, though.' Teresa had a feeling that this conversation was threatening to descend to mere gossip, and it wasn't, after all, her business to indulge in such a pastime. She stood up, throwing the last of her roll to the blackbird, who pecked it up immediately and retired with it to the orange-tiled roof. 'If it were me, senorita, I wouldn't be so foolish as to run away and leave someone like Doctor Haywell. He is truly guapo, that one-—so handsome, and with hair the colour of a ripe ear of wheat-.' She sighed. 'Ernesta says that I am too young to understand such matters, but me, I am as much of a woman as she is, and I know that I would not have left him for anyone—and that turista she went away with

was not nearly so handsome as her own husband, whatever Ernesta may say.' Teresa smiled gently. 'Perhaps I'd better meet the children now,' she interposed, 'if it can be arranged. The sooner I get to know my charges, the better for all, by the sound of things.' 'Certainly, senorita. I will just remove the tray, and then I will bring them to you.' Some half an hour later a small procession came trooping through the portal and into the plazuela. Berta had three children in tow. They came reluctantly, hanging back, eyes round and subdued. The youngest—who couldn't have been more than four years old—had all the fingers of one extremely grubby hand plunged into his mouth with only his small fat thumb protruding from one corner. He stopped some yards away, but the two older ones came right up to the table, prodded on by Berta. 'They will wish to speak to you in English, I've no doubt, senorita. Lately they have had but little practice in their own tongue. This is Jamie, who is seven. Then Michael, who is six. And this one is my own precioso, are you not, Tomas? Tommy had a birthday only last month. How many candles were on the great big cake that Ernesta has made for you, Tommy? Tell the senorita?' The youngster remained impassive, staring solemnly as though he hadn't heard a word. Berta ruffled his fair curls. 'Shall I leave them with you now? Perhaps you will get to know one another better and more quickly if I am not here—and in any case I have much to do.' 'Yes, Berta, I think that would be best. And thanks for introducing us.'

They stood watching her cautiously even after Berta had gone, three rather scruffy little boys, all blue-eyed, and all fair-haired, although Tommy was the only one with curls. Teresa went over to him now. 'How old are you, Tommy? You haven't told me yet. How many candles were there on your birthday cake?' The child ducked his head, still saying nothing. She reached down and gently pulled his wet fingers from his mouth. 'One, two, three, four.' She counted them. 'Was that how many?' He nodded, grinning. 'Well, now that I know all your names I'd better tell you mine. My name is Teresa, and I'm going to be looking after you. Let's all sit on the grass here and you can tell me what you've been doing.' 'We've been playing at the back of the factory,' Michael volunteered as they all sat down together on the lawn. 'It's awful dirty where we've been playing, because they were emptying vats of water out and it's all gone into mud.' 'Yes, I can see it must have done.' 'There was all mud, Teeza. All mud.' 'Teresa, you silly,' Jamie corrected Tommy scornfully. 'Ter—eez—a.' 'Teeza.' 'He can't say it,' pointed out Michael helpfully.

'Never mind. I don't mind if he calls me Teeza. He's only little, after all.' Tommy beamed at her unreservedly this time, sensing that he ha^ found an ally. 'Look what I've got. I got a pet bird. See him up there?' One of the chubby, dirty fingers pointed to the roof where the blackbird sat. 'Here, birdie, Mirlo, Mirlo, Mir—lo!' After a spell of unavailing searching in the pockets of his shorts, he appeared to have more luck in his pocket, and withdrew a mangled piece of biscuit, and threw it on the lawn beside them, and within seconds the bird had swooped down to recover it. They all sat utterly still, watching him, but when Jamie spoke he flew off again. 'Are you going to give us lessons, as well as look after us?' 'But of course.' One couldn't fail to notice the lack of enthusiasm. 'Don't you like lessons?' 'I don't know. We haven't done any for ages now. I don't think we do like them much, do we, Mike?' 'We'd rather be playing. We've some really good places. We can show you if you like.' His elder brother scowled. 'Not all of them we won't. Some of them are secret, tonto.' 'Well, we can show her some,' Michael amended hastily. 'And Iwon't mind getting some lessons again, anyhow.' He turned to Teresa. 'I'm going to be a dentist when I grow up. I like teeth, except when they get toothache in them. I know all the names of the front ones

that Tommy hasn't got yet, see. See where those gaps are? Well, I know what all the new ones will be called when they grow in.' 'Know-all, know-all!' chanted Jamie maddeningly. 'Well, I do, and I bet you don't. Anyway, Leon's glad if I'm going to be a dentist, 'cos it's something he hasn't got, see. He says I can be his dentista for the whole island if I like, when I get big.' 'Indeed it is a promise, young Michael,' came a deep voice suavely from behind them. 'But first you will have to be attentive to all that the senorita will tell you, for there is much to be learned, no, and for a long time now you have done little, I think.' None of them had heard Leon's footsteps approaching over the grass. He was standing looking down at them all with a quietly amused gleam in his dark eyes, one hand thrust deep in the pocket of the white coat he was wearing, the other holding a sheaf of papers. Tommy's eyes lit up when he spotted the stethoscope protruding from the other pocket. He leapt to his feet. 'Can I listen, Leon? Please can I have a listen?' 'Not this time, chiquito, for I am in something of a hurry this morning. I came merely to recover some records which I had overlooked. In any case, your little fingers are much too dirty to hold such an instrument today. Just look at them! If I am not mistaken, you have all paid a visit to the factory this morning.' A pause. 'And what were my instructions about that, muchachitos?' Three blond heads hung low. 'Well, Jamie?' 'We're not to play there,' mumbled the scarlet-faced Jamie.

'And the reason? Come, Michael, it is your turn.' ' 'Cos it's dangerous.' 'Just so. Therefore you will not go there again. And before you take your lunch in the small salita with Teresa you will each wash your hands and face so that there is no mud to be seen. Is it clear? Muy bueno.' He turned to Teresa herself. 'I have given instructions to Enriqueta to serve your luncheon with the children's each day, and I shall be more than grateful if you will pay some small attention to their manners, which at times leave much to be desired.' His hand rested a moment on the top of Tommy's head, belying the severity of his tone. 'You will of course,' he added, 'take yourself to the main dining-room for the meal each evening. Again, Enriqueta will keep you informed, and of the hours. It is well?' The dark eyes met hers, and some expression there told her that he meant the question in a more personal sense this time. 'Yes, thank you. All is well.' Apparently reassured, he went striding off again over the grass— back to his clinic, she supposed. That first day was by far the most difficult one that Teresa had to get through in the next good while. Everything and everyone was completely strange to her, and she hadn't even the vaguest idea of the layout of the house itself. The children sensed it, and it was hard initially to wield any authority over them at all, when they knew so much more about the place than she did. They were a lawless trio, but endearing too, and she found their constant chatter both entertaining and enlightening. They were almost naturally bi-lingual, and it was amusing to hear them supplying a word in one language whenever they couldn't find it in the other.

Their attention in the schoolroom (one of the large corner rooms on the ground floor of the quinta had been given over to this purpose) left a lot to be desired, and so did their manners, as Leon had rightly observed, but gradually, as the days passed, Teresa managed to get them into a routine, and there was quite a noticeable improvement in both their behaviour and their schoolwork. Her day began at ten o'clock, when Berta brought them up from their bungalow, after which they did lessons until twelve-thirty. Then followed an hour of games together, or anything else they felt inclined to do, providing that it was reasonably instructive. After lunch a period of siesta, when only Tommy usually fell asleep, and after that, lessons again. At four o'clock Teresa was supposed to take them back to their own house, where the village woman who looked after their father would take over. Often, though, as she and the children became friends, they would use the hours before darkness in exploring round about. Sometimes they took long walks through the plantations of cacao trees, with their mottled trunks clustered with the large oval pods inside whose pulpy centres lodged the precious beans that would eventually end up, in an unbelievably different form, inside the wrappings of chocolate bars and cocoa tins. At other times they watched the women at the cafetal higher up the hillside deftly winnowing the red coffee berries, sifting out the dirt and leaves before putting them in the large washing troughs to remove the last of the impurities before they went to be dried at the factory down near the loading-pier. The 'factory' seemed to be an all-embracing local term for the sort of open-air workshop where the natives were employed processing or otherwise preparing the commercial products of the islands for shipment. There were woven mats spread out everywhere to dry the fermented cocoa beans, and in the nearby building they were then roasted in big revolving drums, and crushed between rollers to separate off the husks. Then the nibs were crushed again between more rollers until they yielded up their butter and the

sticky brown stuff that was, incredibly, the chocolate itself. The coffee berries, which -came from the dry, higher hillsides, underwent a similar separation of bean from pod and pulp, and were then fermented and dried in a sort of artificial 'hot air' process, before they too were roasted in big revolving cylinders. Teresa could quite see why her employer had labelled the place dangerous and proclaimed it out of bounds. Yet, like all moving machinery, the factory had a peculiar fascination for the children, and they were more than reluctant to come away on the rare occasions that she could be persuaded to take them there. The supervisor of the coffee and cocoa plantations was a go-ahead young Spaniard called Diego Gilberto, who had a degree in commerce and economics from one of the mainland universities. Teresa met him one day coming out of the small wooden office that was situated near the factory, and when he saw her with the Haywell children he seemed to know instantly who she was. Word no doubt got around quickly in a place like this! He introduced himself with ease, and she felt immediately charmed by his effervescent personality. He had the dark vitality of the men of his race, but also a lack of hauteur or conceit of manner that made his enthusiasm for his position, and the achievements he had brought to it, all the more commendable. He was obviously popular, too, with all the people who worked for him. Teresa couldn't help thinking that it was typical of Leonardo de Anchoreda's astute judgment that he should have chosen such a progressive and intelligent manager to oversee a function that he could give little time to himself. He had elected carefully to whom he would delegate this particular position, and having decided upon Diego, was content to leave him to it. Consequently the commercial side of the operation appeared to be running smoothly and efficiently, and she was to learn on many occasions in the ensuing months of the plans that Diego cherished for even further expansion, allied to ever-improving social conditions for the island population.

At these times, when his dark eyes flashed with excitement at the visions which he intended to translate into fact, she felt herself stirred too, as though she could identify with his aspirations and hopes for the islands. It was almost as if they were her islands, too, so great was his gift for imparting this boundless enthusiasm of his to others. 'You must watch out for that Diego, senorita,' cautioned Berta one evening, when Teresa had returned, flushed with enjoyment, from an excursion with him along the foreshore to view the site of a new pier that he envisaged—one that could accommodate better loading facilities for the cargo ships that called for the islands' commodities, and which would provide a natural channel of deeper water to enable larger boats to be berthed. 'He is a devil with the girls, that one, they say. It is told that there were more broken hearts in that foreign place of learning while Diego Gilberto was getting his fine degree than with any other student before or since.' 'I'm disappointed with myself, then, Berta.' Teresa couldn't help laughing at Berta's solemn face. 'I haven't yet heard a word of the language of love from his lips at all— not a syllable. The only things he speaks of are most lamentably safe, like the draughts of ships and how many tons a crane can load, and how a dredger does its work.' 'Ah, but that is Diego's way, senorita. That is only the beginning with him, you must understand. This talk is but a cover for his passions, which are but thinly disguised beneath the surface, as in all such hotblooded young men, is it not?' Teresa's lips twitched, but she managed to hide her smile as she turned to her dressing-mirror to plait up her hair and secure it with pins. 'How old and wise you sound, Berta! Where did you hear all that, for heaven's sake?'

'There is sometimes such talk in the pueblo. Ernesta herself has heard it. She tells me most things, and there are many such tales of Diego Gilberto's conquests. I beg only that you will be discreet.' 'I'll be careful, Berta, I promise. It's kind of you to be concerned.' Teresa stood up and smoothed her dress. 'There. Does that look all right?' The other girl surveyed the plain short-sleeved dress. 'It is a pretty green, senorita. It makes your eyes look the exact colour of the water in the shallows of the bay. Not green, not grey, nor blue. Just the colour of sea-water, I think, yet not cold like the sea.' 'I don't know if that's a compliment or not. What of the dress itself?' 'It is very plain, is it not, senorita? Me, I like more frills about the bodice, and perhaps a flounce around the hem. It is more—well— feminine, do you not agree?' 'But this one is like a governess, isn't it? Plain, but suitable.' 'It is more becoming than the overall you wear in the daytime, certainly. But it does not make you appear older, senorita, if that is what you wish it to do.' 'Doesn't it? I'd rather hoped it did.' Teresa felt temporarily dashed as she surveyed her reflection. Not that it mattered terribly, however. Most evenings when she changed and went downstairs to the large dining-room it was to find herself eating alone. One felt slightly ridiculous sitting at one end of the long rosewood table staring at the portraits of the Anchoreda ancestors on the opposite wall, but she had grown accustomed to it already. The Marques had joined her on relatively few occasions since her arrival, mostly taking a quick meal either before or after the regular dining hour, for emergencies were

always cropping up, as Enriqueta explained with the patient indulgence that she kept especially for him. 'He works too hard, Leon. Always I am telling him that it is bad for the stomach when the meal hour comes and goes and it remains unsatisfied. One day, I tell him, the physician will require a physician himself, and what will happen then, for there is no other on Quimera.' Tonight, as it happened, he was dining at the proper hour, and there in the room before her. It was strange sitting there in an isolated pool of light from the candelabrum with him some distance away at the other end, in the light of its twin. His blue velvet smoking jacket was one that she had not seen him wearing before, but it suited him well, and so did the cream silk cravat at his throat. 'Que aproveche, senorita!' he murmured when Ernesta had served them, and Teresa took that as an invitation to begin. She ate shyly, in silence, until he rose from his chair and came to top up her goblet. 'It is pleasantly refreshing, this wine, d-o you not find? And the dryness goes well with the fish.' 'Is it a local wine?' She had to say something, if only for politeness' sake. 'Fortunately no, pequena.' A wry note there. 'The wine from our own vineda is unhappily less palatable. This bottle comes from France, Teresa—Chablis, from the hillsides just north of the town of that name. I am pleased that you approve of it.' She blushed, realising how gauche she must appear to him. Actually, she couldn't think what could be wrong with her tonight. She had

never before felt so acutely aware of his presence, or so tongue-tied by it. The strength of his personality seemed stifling, as if even this long, high-ceilinged banqueting room was somehow too small for it. Or was it the still, warm atmosphere of the evening? The day itself had certainly been more sultry than usual. He, at any rate, appeared unaware of her inhibition. 'Tell me,' he commanded, putting down his fork and leaning back in his chair so that his face was now beyond the pool of light, 'how are you enjoying your new life on Quimera? Already I note that you involve yourself constantly with the children) and that improvement results. Are you happy in this role of governess that you so eagerly sought?' 'It's very rewarding, working with children, especially those ones. They are darlings at heart, even if they were quite out -of hand at first,' she told him, her voice warming without her even being conscious of it. 'Jamie and Michael have at last caught up with their arithmetic, and even Tommy has mastered his first multiplication table—only because he insists on not being left out, though. Mostly he draws, or colours with crayons, while they are doing more advanced things.' She hesitated fractionally. Then—'He did a drawing of you today. I'll have to show it to you.' 'Did he?' He looked slightly startled at this revelation, but even from here she could see that he was also amused. 'A good likeness, I trust?' 'You had on your long white coat, only he had coloured it red. And a very large stethoscope dangling from your ears, and that was purple. Your ears, too, were very big.' 'A touch of Picasso there!' 'More than a touch. You'll love it when you see it, senor."

'Leon,' he corrected. 'Leon.' 'The added colour in your cheeks becomes you, chica. You are not entirely at ease in my company, I think. At least, not so much at ease as in Diego Gilberto's,' he amended dryly. 'I heard you laughing with him down on the shore when I was visiting one of my patients today. You find him simpatico?' 'Very! And he's been so kind, showing me over everything down at the factory. And this afternoon we walked along the promontory where the new pier will eventually be built. Diego says that you'll only have to dredge one small place in the channel there and it will give enough draught to take far bigger ships. I suppose that would lessen your transport costs considerably, wouldn't it? Only of course you'll need proportionately bigger and more sophisticated loading equipment—much heavier cranes, and an automatic conveyor. But Diego says that the men who are replaced by the automatic machinery will be able to get alternative work in the factory and the plantations, because you'll be able to expand your output accordingly, so he will need more people in the production field itself. You're only running at half-capacity yet.' He was watching her as she was speaking, leaning back and drawing on his cigar, his expression unreadable. 'And does Diego indicate how long this process might take?' 'Not really. But he knows it will be slow, of course.' She thought about it for a moment. 'It could take a lifetime, I suppose, couldn't it, when one thinks of all that there is to do? I don't think Diego would mind that though, so long as he felt he was getting somewhere, so long as progress was being made, and he could see things moving

forward. I'd say his enthusiasm is well balanced by common sense, senor—er—Leon.' 'With that I am thankfully inclined to agree. Diego's ideas always have substance. He is not a mere idealist, nor yet a dreamer of foolish dreams.' There was another pause, and then the inevitable question. 'And what of my other assistant, Teresa? How do you find yourself getting on with Richard Haywell? I do not perceive you in his company very much, for he is most of the time—unavoidably, and because of our mutual profession—in my own. I sense a change in him, however, since your arrival. Naturally there is a lessening of tension, since your presence has relieved him of much of the worry about his young children. Does he confide in you at all? I ask because your own shoulders are young and slender, and have had burdens enough of their own to support recently. I will not have you take on Richard's personal problems, you will understand. I suspect that already he may have transferred his sense of responsibility to a degree, merely by discussing them with you. Could I be right?' He was right, of course, with that rather uncanny and accurate perception with which he appeared to be endowed. She hadn't known Richard long before the whole sad tale of his wife's desertion had come tumbling out into the open, and she felt it was natural that it should. After all, they were his children that she was caring for, deprived of their mother, whom he obviously had loved to distraction, and by whom he had been quite disastrously let down. And she, Teresa, was acting as a sort of proxy mother for them, so what more logical than that he confide his sadness and anxiety to her?

What the Marques would say if he knew how torn Teresa felt after these discussions, heaven only knew! She had felt drawn to Richard from the start, moved by an overriding pity and compassion for him, and a longing somehow to help him in his predicament. The blatant misery in his blue eyes at these moments was enough to make her want to draw his head against her and comfort him like a child. Yet he wasn't a child. He was a man, nearly thirty years old, and with everything he had loved and hoped for shot to pieces. His was an agony of soul that she found tragic and absorbing. In fact, sometimes she lay awake at night just thinking about it, racking her brains as to how she could help him, helpless with frustration because there was nothing at all that she could do about it. Except listen. And she would continue to do that just as long as it was necessary, she decided defiantly. 'Trouble shared is trouble halved,' she murmured now, squirming uncomfortably under Leon's watchful eye. 'I thought as much,' he retorted irritably. 'Yet I have not noticed that you obey this same maxim in sharing your own, pequena.' A pause. 'I wish to extract a promise from you, Teresa.' 'What should I promise?' 'I wish for your assurance that if there is anything which worries you unduly, any anxiety which you find in the least insupportable, you will approach me without hesitation. One cannot foresee what particular problem may confront you in a community such as this, but there are certain possibilities, and you are young, somewhat alone, and untried in the ways of the world, I suspect. I shall feel easier about you if I have this assurance.' 'I'll give it so far as I can, then, of course,' she hedged uneasily. 'But it would take a lot to make me bother you, Leon. You have more than

enough to do, one can see that. Sometimes I hear you going or coming to that hospital of yours at the most impossible hours.' 'Do I disturb you?' He was immediately contrite. 'No, of course not. It's just that I sometimes wish you didn't have to work so hard, and that I could somehow help you.' 'Madre mia! Not I also? You would take on the whole world if it were hard pressed, I think!' He was laughing at her now. 'I shall have to see to it that I tread more lightly along the gallery when I am summoned in the future.' She laughed with him, feeling for the very first time a tiny strand of companionship that had not linked them before. It was almost as if he detected the same thing. 'Would you like to see around the hospital one day, Teresa? It would give me pleasure to show it to you, and the clinic. And the children's ward can be a merry place, even when there is illness. There is a spirit there something akin to your own.' 'Now you're insinuating that I'm a child again, senor.' 'Leon. You find this word difficult for some reason.' 'Leon. I'd like it very much, please, yes. I've only passed by on my way to the bungalow with the boys, and I'd love to see inside.' 'Tomorrow, on your way back then? Some time about half-past four, shall we say?' 'If you are sure you can spare the time.' 'Shall we qualify it to say emergencies permitting?'

'Yes, of course, that goes without saying. I think I'll get to bed now, Leon, if you will excuse me.' 'I bid you a good night, then, Teresa—and an undisturbed one,' he added, twinkling. 'I wish you that too,' she told him a little shyly, reflecting gratefully that the evening hadn't turned out nearly so stiltedly as it might have, after all. She had got to know Leon a little better, at least. It was difficult to know whether what he evoked in her was mere respect, or actual liking, or a combination of the two. She lay in bed, puzzling about it, for quite a while before she slept.

CHAPTER FOUR As it turned out Teresa didn't see the hospital at the arranged time next day, and when she did see it, it could hardly have been called the conducted tour that she had anticipated. The whole thing happened quite early in the morning when she had just finished her breakfast and was walking along the cloister towards the stone steps that led up to her room. Her own name came to her in a hissing whisper from the shadows. 'Oy! Teresa!' 'Jamie? You're up here early!' and then, as she realised how pale and tense he looked—'What on earth's up? Is something wrong?' 'Can you come with me, please, Teresa? Please, please! I have to show you something.' 'What is it, Jamie?' 'You'll see. But quickly, Teresa! We'll have to hurry.' His sense of urgency at last communicated itself to her. 'Tommy?' she asked in alarm, hurrying at his side, for he was half running, and breathless with it. He must have run most of the way to summon her, too. 'Tommy's at the house.' Thank God for that! Partially reassured, she kept level with him, but only just.

'Jamie, where are we going?' she asked in exasperation. 'And what do you want to show me?' 'You'll see. Please do hurry, Teresa. Please!' Teresa thought they'd never get there, wherever it was they were supposed to be going. They skirted the factory and raced through the nearby cocotal, and into the overgrowth of wilder vegetation, following a worn track that ran parallel to the coast, a path that she hadn't so far discovered herself upon her frequent exploratory walks. Then they were heading straight for the sea itself. She scanned the water as she ran after Jamie, relieved that there seemed to be nothing to be seen out there. Nothing untoward, at any rate. Just the peaceful, sparkling ocean blue. When they got almost to the edge, where the descent to the beach stopped short at the cliff edge, Jamie halted. 'There,' he said, leaning over and casting his eyes downwards to where he was already pointing. There was an expression of strange expectancy, almost of horror, on his face. 'Where?' 'There. Can't you see? It's Mike.' Suddenly he began to cry, shaking with fright, sobbing uncontrollably. 'Oh, Teresa, I think he's dead,' She was cold with shock herself. Whatever she had suspected, it certainly hadn't been this! She, too, stood motionless, staring down in stupefaction at the inert little heap that was without doubt Michael, half hidden, some way down, by an overhanging projection of stone. The cliff face was steep at this point—almost sheer, in fact, and covered with guano and dark green mosses. It didn't look a very inviting place to have come in the first place!

'Jamie, whatever were you doing?' she asked faintly, dragging her eyes away from the giddying drop to the sand. 'We were after gull's eggs. This is where they nest, see, Teresa. We got up early to come before school. It was a secret between the two of us. Tommy's too little, and he can't keep secrets anyway. And Mike was nearly down at the nest when he slipped. I called and called, but he never answered. And then I got really frightened, and I ran all the way back for you.' Oh, Jamie! If only he'd told her, back there at the quinta. Then she could have brought some help with her. As it was 'I'll go down and take a look, Jamie. You stay right there, do you hear? I might need you.' He nodded silently. He looked too terrified to do anything else, anyway. As for Teresa, she stood irresolute for just a moment, thankful that she was wearing flat-heeled canvas shoes. She debated whether it might even be better to remove them, in view of all that moss, but decided finally to leave them on. She lowered herself gingerly over the edge, and carefully worked her way down. It was a slow job, but she gave her mind completely to what she was doing. If she fell too, the situation would immediately get quite out of hand, with the terrified Jamie alone at the top. If she could make it, things could work out yet. That was why she must pay particular attention to every individual toe-hold as she got nearer and nearer to the still figure below her, treating every move as a separate manoeuvre before tackling the next. A movement below her threatened distraction.

'Teresa!' 'I'm coming, Mike. Just stay quite still till I get there. It's important. Do you promise?' 'I promise. Only—don't be long, will you?' 'I'm almost there.' She made her eyes stay on the wall of rock in front of her. The beach was too far below for comfort, and she'd already decided that she hadn't much of a head for heights. When she finally edged her way on to the ledge where he was lying, Michael too began to cry. It was unnerving, yet the mere sound was also a relief. There was barely room for them both, but she managed to squat down beside him to comfort and soothe him, and when she had got him calmed down, she got into a better position to inspect the damage. 'Is it only your arm, d'you think?' 'I think so. It's awfully sore. Is it broken, Teresa? I've broken it, haven't I? I felt it breaking, I know I did!' The tears welled again. 'Hush, darling. If it's only your arm, it can soon be mended. Can you move your- legs? Good. Is your head muzzy?' 'A bit. I think I hit that too. Where's Jamie? Golly, I'm glad he found you!' Glad! She'd never felt more inadequate in her whole life, but the longer she could keep him feeling glad, the better! 'Jamie, are you still there?' she shouted.

'Yes, Teresa.' Jamie's subdued reply was muffled by the distance between them. The intervening jut of rock seemed to interfere with their communication. . 'Is he O.K.?' 'Well, he will be, but you'll need to fetch more help to get us up. You'll have to hurry.' 'Who'll I get?' 'Go and tell Diego, he's the nearest. He'll know what to do. Do hurry!' 'I'll be quick, Teresa—you bet I will!' Jamie, presumably, had leapt into action, for she heard no more sounds from above her for a long time. She chatted to Michael, hoping it might take his mind off the pain in his arm. There was nothing available with which to make any form of rough splint, hardly room to have turned around properly to apply it even if she had had something. She stood up cautiously once or twice to ease the numbness in her cramped limbs, taking care not to look down. It was with overwhelming relief that she eventually heard Diego's voice from up above. 'Hallo! Teresa, are you there? Can you hear me? Is the boy all right?' 'We have to get him up somehow, Diego.' 'Do not fret, senorita. One small moment, and I will join you.'

'No, Diego, that's no good either. There isn't room for two of us, none at all. Can I pass him up to you somehow?' 'Momentito, Teressa. I will give this matter some consideration.' Diego didn't take long to make up his mind. 'We will lower a rope, Teresa, and we will bring you up together. I have ropes with me here. Two will be lowered to you, in turn. This first one I have left intact, and you will knot it firmly about you both. Is it clear? Here it comes then. Presta aca, Felipe!' He could be heard talking to someone else. That meant that there were at least two of them up there, and the discovery sent Teresa's morale soaring. 'You can tie a good knot, I trust, Teresa?' Diego himself sounded almost cheerful. 'See to it, then, that you make it fast on this occasion.' Diego didn't hurry her. She knelt with Michael, took the belt from her overall and used it to support his arm against his body as best it might. Then she knotted the rope firmly about the two of them. 'It's done,' she called back, testing it with a good hard tug. 'Now, Teresa, yet another rope will descend. This one I have already tied for you. I want you to slip it about yourself, you alone and not the child, mark you. You will find that as your weight is taken, it will tighten around you. It will be uncomfortable, but we up here will ensure that the other takes the main strain. It is a precaution merely.' She might have guessed that Diego would be practical and resourceful once he had made his quick and difficult decision. "That's it,' she told him again, once she had done as he asked.

'Bueno. Now listen carefully. When we pull you up, we will do so with an even pressure, and your task will be to keep yourself and the boy a little away from the rockface with your feet, as you ascend. We will not hurry you, and if you call out we shall stop, but we prefer that it be done in one prolonged effort. You will face yourself to the rock and when the slack of the rope is entirely taken up, you will in fact walk up. We shall start when you are ready.' To her amazement it was all surprisingly easy, just the way Diego had made it sound. Only the sudden tightening of the second rope, digging into the flesh at her waist, gave her a few moments of searing pain, and Michael whimpered a couple of times, but more with fright than anything, she thought. Then they were up over the edge, the child's weight was taken from her, and she lay on the grass, gasping like a stranded fish while Diego's fingers loosened the noose about her. 'Muy bien hecho!' He was grinning at her in approval as she sat up and tugged down the skirt of her overall, which was stained with moss and grime. 'You are as nimble as a mountain goat, I think, senorita.' There were four men there as well as Diego, all with triumphant smiles wreathing their brown faces now that it was over. She laughed shakily. 'I felt as ungainly as a crab,' she told them, picking herself up and dusting off her overall. 'You are well? Then we will take the child for attention at once.' One of the men already had him in his arms, with his brother hovering anxiously nearby. She followed the small procession back along the coast and through the cocotal again, grateful for Diego's

suggestion that she return to the quinta to clean herself up before coming down to the clinic. She felt more shaken now than she cared to admit, although at the time she had been completely calm. There was no doubt that Diego's positive approach and lucidly cheerful instructions had had everything to do with that. Thank goodness he'd been able to be there! By the time she had washed briefly, changed into clean garments and walked down to the clinic, Diego and his men had gone. Michael was sitting dolefully in the small waiting-room, nursing his arm, which was now supported by a proper sling, and Jamie was sitting beside him, dangling his legs from the bench. 'Daddy and Leon have taken some pictures of his arm,' he reported, 'and now Leon is waiting to look at them so he will know best what to do. Judit says I can wait here too.' Judit was the nursing Sister, the only fully-trained nurse there, although there were more than a few willing auxiliaries who- came on shifts from the pueblo and worked beneath her watchful eye. Teresa had met her on numerous occasions and had come to like and respect her enormously. Sometimes when she was passing with the children, or on her way to collect them for some excursion, Judit would be sitting on the wooden garden seat on the lawn outside the clinic, earning a well-deserved respite while things were quiet inside. Often Teresa would sit too, if she herself could spare the time, while the children amused themselves at the nearby fountain and in the sunken garden, where there was also a lily pond with brightly coloured fish darting about in a weaving manner that always caused the little ones constant fascination. During these talks Judit had told her that she had gone to a large hospital in California to take her training in general nursing,

midwifery and theatre work. Leon himself had arranged it all, because he had seen how dedicated she was, even as a young and untrained helper, to the occupation of caring for the sick. Her sister too had undergone the same training, but soon after her return she had got married to one of the islanders, and then of course the babies followed and her employment took a new and different direction. She lived in one of the bungalows near the factory, explained Judit, and her husband was the foreman in the coffee-drying plant. Such a life would not satisfy Judit herself, for she loved this work of caring for the ailing, and the satisfaction of seeing her patients getting well again was all the reward she asked in return for the long hours, during days and often nights as well, that she put in at the hospital. Michael and Jamie were whispering together as Teresa waited beside them. 'Teresa?' 'Mm?' 'Look, don't tell Leon where we've been, will you? He doesn't have to know where- it happened, does he?' Two pairs of eyes searched her face anxiously, seeking a reassurance that she certainly was not in a position to give. She hesitated. Finally 'Well, I won't tell him, unless he asks me outright, of course, and then I would have to. What about your father, though? You can't escape entirely, Jamie. At least, I'll be surprised if you do, because you really have been naughty, haven't you.' 'Dad won't mind, he's so pleased Mike wasn't hurt really bad.' 'Badly,' she corrected automatically.

'Yes, badly. It's Leon who'll be furious if he finds out where.' Well, as I've told you, he won't hear it from me. That's all I can promise you, Jamie—and I hope you'll never, never do such a silly thing again.' 'No, Teresa.' They appeared chastened, temporarily at least. At that moment the door opened again, and Leon himself appeared. 'Well, Miguelito, I have studied the photographs, and you have had a lucky escape indeed. It is a simple break merely, and we will put a nice white plaster on it for you, and when it is set and dry you may draw some pictures upon it, and Jamie also can print his name. Trato hecho? It will not take long. Come, chico.' 'Will it hurt?' 'Of course it will not hurt. You will sleep for a little, and when you waken up there it will be! See, we do not even go to the theatre, but here in my consulting room. It is but the work of a few moments, as I have already said.' Michael's tears welled up and flowed afresh, in spite of Leon's assurances. He was clinging to Teresa. 'I want her to come,' he sobbed. 'I want Teresa.' 'Judit will be there, little one. You are fond of Judit. You know her well.' Leon's voice was calm and persuasive as he reasoned with the crying child. 'I want Teresa,' came the muffled voice again, more obstinately this time.

Leon's eyes met Teresa's. 'Do you feel that you could do this small thing for him, senorita? He is shaken, and it will make my own task easier. You appear as a mother to him, I suspect.' 'Yes, of course I'll come, if it will help.' 'We shall not keep you long.' Leon stood aside and indicated that she take the little boy through the other door, before he turned to Jamie. 'You, Jamie, will go to the quinta with Tomas to have your lunch. Enriqueta will already be wondering why you are late, so collect your little brother and tell Enriqueta that there has been a small accident, but nothing to become alarmed about. Is it clear?' 'Yes, Leon.' 'Off with you, then. Do not delay further.' Judit and Richard were already in attendance in the other room. There wasn't much for Teresa to do but stay beside Michael as they laid him on the examination couch that was placed along one wall. She held his hand and talked to him, and only seconds after the anaesthetic needle was administered he was asleep, and she was able to stand up and move out of the way. They worked deftly and fast. Leon had rolled up his sleeves and was applying the plaster and bandage himself. Teresa watched, mesmerised, as the bandages went round • and round, white splashes of plaster falling now and then on to his rubber apron and the large mackintosh sheet that Judit had spread to catch any stray spots. Round and found went the brown hands. Round and round.

Suddenly Teresa knew she'd have to get out, leave the room. The smell of antiseptic, and the walls themselves, seemed to be closing in on her. She groped her way to the door, fumbled for the knob. It was Judit who actually found it and opened the door for her, closing it behind them both. 'Here, Teresa, sit here and put your head down. You aren't going to be sick, are you?' She shook her head. 'No, Judit. I thought I was going to fall, all of a sudden. I'm sorry. I feel such a fool.' 'You needn't,' Judit assured her kindly. 'Most of us have done it at some time, so don't worry about it. Do you feel a little better now?' 'Much better, thanks. It was just that funny smell in there. And it's such a—a little arm, isn't it. I think that's what did it. I'd never make a nurse!' Judit sat down beside her on the bench in the waiting- room and smiled. 'You'd be surprised how many of us have said that in our day. I once fell flat on my face in the theatre at the start of my training. I knocked over a tray of instruments,' she reminisced, with a comic gesture of mock horror, 'A whole tray. And they'd all been sterilised!' Teresa couldn't help but smile too. 'You're just being tactful.' 'No, truly. You're feeling better now, aren't you?'

'Quite, thanks, Judit. But I still feel stupid. Please don't tell Leon that I nearly passed out, or I'll feel even sillier.' Goodness, she was being as bad as the boys themselves now about not telling Leon things! This really seemed to amuse Judit. She rocked with quiet laughter. 'My dear Teresa, I doubt if he'd need to be told, in the first place! Have you seen yourself? You're still as white as a sheet. No,' she amended, stopping to look more closely, 'more a nice pale green. Like a bean-shoot.' She stood up as the door from the consulting-room opened again, and so did Teresa—hastily. Leon came out, alone this time. He made no reference to Teresa's hurried exit, just gave her one of those summarising looks as he handed her the belt from her overall. 'Yours, I believe. Diego and his men put it to good use. It was kind of you to lend it for the purpose.' 'Oh, thanks.' Teresa had forgotten all about the white kid belt that she had taken off half-way down the cliff this morning. It all seemed a long time ago now. She rolled it up and slipped it into the pocket of her overall. 'Is Michael all right then, Leon?' 'He is well, yes—already awake. His father is putting him to bed.' He turned to Judit. 'We will keep him under observation for a night, I think, since there is a bruise on his scalp the size of a dove's egg, and there is no woman at hand in his own house. I wish to be sure that a concussion does not follow.' The two of them spoke of professional matters for a few minutes, and then Judit went to restore order in the consulting-room, and Leon turned back to her. Their eyes met.

'Well, I'm glad he's all right,' said Teresa lamely. There was always this slight awkwardness with just the two of them. 'I also am relieved.' A pause. 'I think, Teresa, that we will postpone the tour which we had arranged for this afternoon, if you are agreeable. Already you have had enough of this place for one day, I suspect, .and I myself am late with my visiting because of the interruption. You will understand?' 'Yes, of course, Leon. Some other time perhaps.' She stepped out into the sun and walked slowly back to the quinta, feeling her colour returning with every step. Berta had kept her lunch for her, but she wasn't very hungry in spite of the day's exertions. She ate a little of the fiambre that had been put aside for her in the salita, and then went to find her two remaining pupils. Jamie needn't think that his recent mischievous escapade was going to be an excuse for missing lessons! They worked together till nearly four o'clock, and then walked back together to the bungalow, calling in at the hospital on the way to ask how Michael was. It was Richard who came in response to Teresa's pressure on the little bell marked 'Admissions.' He stepped outside with her and strolled around to the lawn in front of the clinic, where Jamie and Tommy were kneeling by the pond, gazing at the fish again. Yes, he told her, Mike was fine. He was sleeping just now, but that was purely reaction. He seemed completely normal, and it appeared that with any luck he would escape the concussion that they had at first feared might manifest itself after the episode.

'Teresa'—he took both her hands in his own as they stood there together in the sun—'I want to thank you—I have wanted for some time now—for being so sweet to them all, my children, I mean.' His voice was warm with gratitude. 'The way Mike wanted you there with him today—well -' he swallowed, his voice roughening with emotion, 'I felt incredibly touched and grateful. It showed so clearly just how much you mean to him—to us all, come to that. We depend on you so.' 'Richard, it's my job,' she replied, aware of the warmth and strength of the hands clasping hers. 'It's what I was brought here for, remember. Not that that's any reason for us to have become quite so attached to each other, which we have. They're three dear little boys on their own account, and I'd love them whether it was part of my job or not. One can't help it.' A movement of white at the nearby window caught her eye. A white coat. A white-coated figure, in fact, holding photos—maybe more of those X-ray plates like the ones she'd seen this morning?—up against the light. Then the plates went down, and just for a fraction of a minute more the figure remained standing there, quite still, against the glass. Then it moved away, retreated completely. Teresa dragged her hands free. 'Richard, I'll have to go.' 'Yes, I know. So will I. Look, Teresa, why don't you come down tonight to the bungalow after supper? We could play a few records, have some coffee and a chat.' 'I don't think -' 'Please, Teresa.' His voice was persuasive, his eyes pleading with her. 'On a purely friendly footing? No strings or complications, I promise.

But—well, one gets so dashed lonely, and besides, I'd like to thank you properly.' She brushed aside the need for thanks. 'But you will come? Do say you will. You don't know what it's like, being alone night after night, without even a chance of adult conversation. Just kid's talk, and then they go to bed and there's nothing. Please?' 'Well, all right, Richard.' She capitulated as graciously as she could. 'I'd like to, very much, thanks.' His face lit up with pleasure.' 'Good. Till tonight, then. I'll be looking for you. Or shall I come up for you?' 'And leave the kids alone? Heavens, no. It's no distance at all. I'll just stroll down when I've had my meal.' 'Till later, then. And—thanks.' He hurried off around, the corner of the small clinic building, back towards the larger hospital one, and Teresa collected Jamie and Tommy from their fountain and fishes and took them home. It was unusual for Teresa not to find herself alone when dining in the evenings, and tonight was no exception. Leon did not make one of those rare appearances of his at the other end of the long polished table. He was walking up to the quinta from the hospital as she was going in the other direction. His face in the moonlight looked as tired and lined as did his crumpled white coat, and his eyes—always dark and deep-set—were hollow with fatigue. 'Leon, how late you are!'

Her exclamation was involuntary, dragged from her impulsively as she noted the shallow weariness of his expression. He glanced down at her curiously. Her presence there on the path at that hour had obviously taken him unawares. 'Late? Yes, I think I am late indeed, pequena. And I must return yet again shortly.' Even the words sounded uncharacteristically dispirited. 'Is something wrong, Leon?' She was instantly sensitive to a quiet despair in him. 'Are things not going right for you?' 'Asi no mas, Teresa. Things cannot go right all of the time for all of the people, as you yourself know also.' He shrugged. 'If they did, there would be no need for those of my profession. You must not concern yourself with my affairs, chica.' 'But I—I can't bear to see you like this,' she murmured, compassion making her forget the usual constraint between them. 'Is there nothing I can do to help you? I'd like to, very much.' He lifted his head, and she knew that his eyes were upon her for a long moment. Leon stood for that moment completely still, and she felt that she must somehow have surprised him in some way. Yet why should that be? He must know by now, surely, that she'd do anything she could to help any of them on Quimera. 'The thing that you can do to help me, Teresa, is to be yourself in the way I wish most for you to be—young and happy and as carefree as befits one of your years. Already I think that you find a certain degree of pleasure in the company of the children, and in your new life with us here on Quimera. Is it so?' 'Yes, it's so.'

His voice had held a deep note that she had never noticed before. Yet she felt that he had fobbed off her offer of help as if she were still a child, and not mature enough to be of real assistance. 'You are taking a walk before you retire? The island air is pleasant at this hour, is it not? Warm, yet not too warm, after the heat of the day.' 'Actually, I was just going down to Richard's house for the evening. I promised I'd put the boys to bed tonight, and read them a story. They were quite upset about Michael, and Richard was too. There are some records down there that he wants me to hear. It will help to take his mind off his troubles, for one night at least.' 'That it will undoubtedly do, as you say, Teresa,' was the dry reply. 'I will wish you goodnight, then.' A briefly formal bow, to match the formal tone of that goodnight, and he had gone on up the path. The porch light was on at the bungalow to welcome her. Richard must have been watching for her arrival, because he appeared immediately and ushered her in. 'Teresa! This is super of you, it really is! I've actually put the kids to bed, because I thought it'd give us more time together. But they're still awake, and waiting for the story you said you'd read them.' 'I'll go and see them now. Have you been in long?' 'About two hours. Why?' 'Was there something wrong at the hospital this evening? I ran into Leon going up to the quinta for some dinner just now, and I thought he looked depressed, that's all.' 'Just now? That means he didn't make it, then.'

'Didn't make it?' 'One of the patients. Look, Teresa my sweet, I didn't invite you down here to talk shop—I get enough of that at the hospital. I like to leave it all behind me when I'm off duty. O.K.?' She stood her ground. 'Richard, please. I'm asking.' He gave a resigned shrug. 'There was a young chap brought in this afternoon— about sixteen or seventeen, no more than that. He'd suffered some burns, Teresa—not extensive enough to have killed him if he'd had proper attention straight away, but some of the islanders are incredibly ignorant, and superstitious where medical matters are concerned. Well, they'd mucked about with this poor fellow in a way you'd hardly believe. He was literally smothered with herbal ointments and foul- smelling lotions that hadn't worked—daubed all over the place. It took Leon a long time to get him into any sort of shape for the theatre, and we couldn't do much, he was too low when we got him, you see. Advanced septicaemia and severe shock aren't a hopeful combination at the best of times. When I left about a couple of hours ago Leon and Judit were still working on him, but if Leon was as depressed as you say, just now, then I'm afraid this one must have slipped through their fingers. Leon doesn't like to lose a patient at any time, of course, but when they're young, and robbed of life through sheer damn ignorance, he's apt to do his nut.' 'I see.' She was silent for so long that in the end Richard came over and chucked her under the chin.

'Come on, Teresa. Don't let anything spoil our evening. I've been so looking forward to it. Besides, Tommy's waiting for his story.' 'Yes, of course.' She literally read the children to sleep, and when the second pair of eyelids had dropped shut, she got up off the edge of Jamie's bed where she'd been perched, switched out the light, and stole out of the room. Richard was in the tiny kitchenette, making coffee. He had already set a small tray with cups and saucers and a plate of biscuits, and when the coffee was ready they took everything through to the lounge. It was somewhat chaotic, with children's toys and books and other paraphernalia lying about everywhere. At the same time, there was something homely about it, shabby though it was. Teresa's assessing glance was not lost on Richard. 'I miss Christine dreadfully for this bit,' he admitted ruefully. 'In all ways, of course, but she was always the one to pick up all the mess at night—until things began to go wrong between us, that is. After that she didn't much care. She just opted out of everything. I suppose it must seem an awful shambles to you, Teresa. I should've tidied up.' 'I wouldn't want you to do anything you don't normally do just because I was coming, Richard, you silly thing.' She was strolling about the room, looking with interest at the pictures on the walls and the collection of books in the narrow case at the far end. 'You've some really nice books here,' she pointed out. 'Do you read much, Richard?' 'More than I used to. What else is there to do, once evening comes, except read or play the record-player? You can borrow anything there

that you like the look of, Teresa, if you're a reader yourself. Feel free at any time!' 'Thanks, I may do that, actually.' Her eyes moved upwards. 'What a pretty collection of shells too. Who gathered these?" 'They're nice, aren't they, some of them are fairly rare, you know. Christine and I gathered them together—on our honeymoon, believe it or not.' A bitter note had crept into his voice, the note that always jerked her heart with pity for him whenever she heard it. It was never long before it edged its way into their conversations together. • 'We spent it in the Bahamas, you know.' Richard's eyes had a faraway look, but there was pain there too, as if remembering hurt. 'Andros, Nassau. It all seems like a dream now, totally unreal. And yet it did happen, and we were in love. I've never been able to put my finger on exactly what it was that went wrong between us, or when. Do you know, Teresa, it was a complete surprise and shock to me when Christine ran away. You'd hardly believe that, would you? That you could be living with someone from day to day and not have an inkling of what was going on in their mind? I never guessed for a moment that she could even be capable of doing a thing like that, even if I'd been aware that she had remotely entertained the idea. I'd never have thought she could do it.' 'They're lovely shells, Richard. If you had such good times together, maybe they'll come back for you yet. One day she'll get tired of this other life—that sort of superficial brightness of living often doesn't hold charms for long. She'll want to come home, I feel it in my bones. After all, she must have regarded it as home for long enough, mustn't she, to miss it to some extent? And her children?'

'And you,' she could have added, but he was looking so forlorn that she somehow didn't say it, after all. Richard seemed able to place himself beyond comfort even while inviting it. 'Good heavens!' Her attention was arrested by a photograph in a leather frame that stood beside the shells on the top shelf of the book-case. It couldn't be! But it was! She picked it up carefully. 'Richard, is this by any chance your wife?' The fair girl with the wavy hair and laughing blue eyes, who'd been with Leon and the other woman in that London nightclub! It was almost unbelievable that she should be here, on Richard Haywell's bookcase, on Quimera! He glanced up. 'Lord, no. That's my sister. That's Felicity. We're supposed to be alike, actually—or so people always used to be telling us. Can't you see a resemblance?' She was still staring at the photo as though seeing a ghost. 'There is, now that you've pointed it out. I met her once,' she confessed, a little breathlessly. 'Well, not met. I shouldn't say that, exactly, for it's not strictly true.' She felt bound to enlighten him then. Over her coffee she told him all about that awful evening, and how she had spilt the gravy all over Leon's crisp dinner-jacket.

'That's how I became a governess, Richard.' 'I must say I often wondered on that score—how it came about, I mean.' 'I was such a hopeless waitress, and I pleaded and pleaded for this chance. In the end, Leon gave it to me.' 'And a good thing for me—for us—that he did! Lord, what a story!' 'Your sister actually enjoyed the incident.' She couldn't help laughing about it herself now, recollecting the scene after all this time. 'She would! That's just her line of humour. She's the slapstick type, Felicity. Strangely enough, she and Leon got on well together. She's always understood him better than I have. Better than she understood me, come to that.' Again the bitter note. 'They both seemed to see eye to eye about me and my marriage anyway. Both of them seemed to have arrived at the conclusion that it was all more my fault than Christine's.' 'I'm sure they didn't say that, Richard. There are always faults on both sides. They'd know that, surely?' 'Oh, they didn't say as much, but they implied it. That it was up to me to take a stand, that she'd respect me more if I were more manly and firm with her, you know the sort of thing. Felicity likes that sort of domineering male, it seems, and she's always refused to recognise the fact that her own brother has never been one of them.' Poor Richard. How easily he slipped into this mood of selfdenigration and self-pity! Tonight Teresa found it strangely irksome. Perhaps it was because she felt more tired than usual. Her muscles were stiff and aching, and she couldn't summon the energy to jog him out of his despondency as she usually did.

She had hoped that they were going to have a carefree evening, chatting companionably about things that interested them both, playing the records and generally relaxing after such an arduous day. It was difficult to snap him out of this type of mood once it had taken a grip, and tonight she just couldn't be bothered. Now she made a half-hearted effort to change the subject. 'There was a dark woman with your sister that evening, Richard. She seemed to know her well, I would have said. Dark, taller than Felicity? Older, too.' 'That would be Dona Alicia de Antilla, I'm almost sure. She comes and goes to London quite often, and generally looks up Felicity whenever she's there. And of course, where Leon is, there does she prefer to be too.' 'What on earth does that mean?' He shrugged. 'Just exactly what it says, honey. She's a widow, and beautiful. Mature, too, and just the teeniest bit predatory. Knows just the sort of man she likes by now, I should say, and Leon appears to fit the bill.' 'Have they known each other for long?' She hadn't thought of that aspect of life as applied to Leon up till now, though why not, heaven only knew! He was an attractive and vital man, if one went for the dark, commanding type. He'd probably had his share of women in his time, one would be naive not to acknowledge the possibility, at least. And there was no denying, either, that the Dona Alicia woman was a pretty delectable dish, even if she was unbearably haughty and unsympathetic to little waitresses who dropped pork gravy on her escort's tuxedo.

'Her husband was a long-standing friend of Leon's, I believe, so Felicity told me once. Since he died she's turned more and more to Leon for advice. She's even been out here once or twice on the pretext of seeking his opinion about business matters.' 'And he's—fond—of her?' 'So the gossips say. They've pretty well got them hitched already, if the high-society grapevine is to be believed as reliable.' 'Oh.' She thought about that for a moment. 'So what's holding him up, then?' 'The grapevine again, sweet Teresa, has it that Leon will choose his own moment. She's been on his trail for a while now, but he prefers to make the running. You know what he's like, a little, by now, surely ? The timing of the proposal will be his, and his alone, or he wouldn't be Leon, but no one seems to doubt that it will happen. It's just a question of when, and that's going to be his decision, obviously. Machismo and all that traditional rubbish.' 'I see.' It was an amazing revelation, in a way, and she had to consciously drag her mind away from pondering its intricacies in order to listen to the records which Richard now put on. They sat on the floor with a stack of them in piles around them, arguing about the merits of this one and that, and which were their particular favourites. But somehow Teresa had privately to admit that she didn't enjoy herself as she had anticipated. The fault probably lay with her, she chided herself, as she walked slowly back to the quinta at almost midnight. Life could be like that,

couldn't it? You built yourself up, you looked forward to something, and then—flop! It wasn't anyone's fault, really, not even hers. It was just life. That's what she decided, anyway, as she crept up the stone steps and thankfully reached the sanctuary of her own room.

CHAPTER FIVE NEXT morning she had her three pupils back again. Mike was chastened after his escapade, and they'd decided that he would be better to go straight back to the schoolroom rather than be left to his own devices at the bungalow. He was apparently none the worse, save for the lump at his hairline, which was now a violent purple colour. 'Does it hurt much, darling?' Teresa touched it gently with her fingertip. 'Not much now, but it did. So did my arm, but it doesn't now, either.' A pause. 'I do wish we'd got the bird's egg, though.' He sighed, then brightened philosophically. 'Did you see my plaster, Teresa. See, I've got a proper cabestrillo on now.' He pointed importantly to the professional-looking sling around his neck and elbow. 'It's very smart.' 'And see my plaster.' He pulled back the sling and tapped :he cast sharply. 'You can't break it, it's so hard. And the cracked bit of my arm is right in the middle, where nothing can hurt it.' It was good to see that Michael had indeed recovered his high spirits. Children were resilient, and Teresa marvelled at the fact as she opened her table drawer to get some more chalk for the blackboard. 'Look, Teresa.' Mike, was at her elbow again. 'Will you put something on my plaster for me, please? The others have, see. Leon wrote his name, and Judit drew a cat, and Daddy put "love from Dad".' His finger traced each letter as he read it proudly. 'Love—

from—D—A—D. Could you draw a cat too, d'you think? With that chalk?' 'It might be better with a pen. I think the chalk might go all smudgy. And you don't want two cats, surely? I could never draw one as good as Judit's. Would a rabbit do? I'm quite good at them.' 'A rabbit, then.' He pulled back the sling a little and laid his arm obligingly on the table for her to get to work. 'Now then, you others, no staring. You'll make me nervous. Jamie, sit down at your desk and go over your six- times table while I'm doing it. We mustn't waste too much time, because we lost a day yesterday, didn't we. Tommy, you'd better sit down too, and you can draw a rabbit in your own drawing-book, and then you can colour it.' There was silence in the room, except for the ticking of the clock on the marble mantelpiece. When Teresa had finished drawing the rabbit for Mike, he went back to the table he shared with Tommy. He had only just resumed his seat when the door opened and Leon walked in. They all looked up in complete surprise to see him there at all, let alone in the middle of the morning like {his. 'You three boys may go,' he stated without preamble. 'And you need not come back for lessons until after your luncheon and siesta. Berta will supervise you for the remainder of the morning.' And, even while Teresa's eyes were widening with an astonishment that matched the children's at this unexpected intervention, he added, on a severe note, 'Run on now, muchachos. I wish to speak with the senorita.'

Teresa's heart sank at the uncompromising manner in which he saw the boys dismissed from the room, shut the door firmly behind them, and came inside again. He indicated a chair. 'Sit down, please.' Even his gesture was repressive, as though he were having some difficulty in controlling the annoyance that all too obviously had him in its grip. Yes, no doubt about it, Leon was annoyed. He looked almost whitely angry. But why? When he had seen her seated, he perched himself on a corner of the table, folded his arms, and regarded her sternly. Teresa found herself staring back in some apprehension. Now her own role had been reversed. She was the pupil, sitting meekly in Jamie's recently vacated chair. And he was the schoolmaster, sitting at the table where she should be—or rather, sitting on it, which was much the same thing. If she hadn't felt so frightened and flustered she'd have thought it quite funny. As it was, she had no intention pf letting him suspect that he had her rattled even before he'd said anything more aggressive than that innocuous 'Sit down.' She threw back her head and met his eye squarely. 'Yes, Leon? You wished to see me?' 'I do indeed wish to see you. Tell me -' A pause. 'Dios mio! I know not how to begin this inquisition!' He stood up, thrust his hands into his pockets, and began again.

'Tell me,' he invited, more calmly this time, 'is it a fact that it was you yourself, and not Diego, who brought that child up from the cliff yesterday?' She blinked at him a little stupidly. He kept his gaze fastened upon her. 'Diego brought us both up,' she informed him quietly. 'Why do you ask?' 'I ask,' he told her angrily, his control slipping noticeably, 'because you tell me nothing. Nothing! That is why I am driven to ask, Teresa. If I do not ask, it seems I shall not know. I wish the truth now, please, and from your own lips.' She was thoroughly bewildered by his evident fury. 'Leon, what does it matter? It's over now." 'It matters,' he ground out briefly, through clenched teeth. 'I have a right, I think, to know what goes on upon my own island, do I not? Why did you tell me nothing yesterday of the foolish risk you took in descending those rocks by yourself?' She bristled. 'It wasn't foolish,' she defended herself indignantly, in danger of becoming as angry as he was. 'And it was because I was by myself that the risk was necessary. Surely you must see that?' 'Madre mia, how does one get through to you, Teresa? Can you not imagine my feelings when I hear, from the lips of my own caporal, Diego Gilberto, that you have thrown caution to the winds yesterday in attempting to do the impossible on your own? That he is summoned to find you crouched upon a narrow ledge where there is not even room for another to help you? That he must leave it that you

tie this rope about yourselves when he is not even certain if you can make a proper knot in the thing? That you must scramble up that rockface with an injured child in your arms, to arrive at the top no doubt begrimed and shaken— although you took good care that you did not appear before me in this state, did you not?—when there are five men there, any one of whom would have saved you this ordeal? Diego has this morning shown me the very spot. If you had fallen -' He flicked his fingers in a gesture that was descriptive in its finality. Teresa licked her lips. 'I didn't think about it.' 'You see!' he pounced. 'You are impossibly rash and headstrong. You did not think!' 'I mean I didn't let myself think about it, Leon. Can't you at least be reasonable? Put yourself in my place. There I was, and there was a little boy lying unconscious on this ledge, and not a man around for miles. Not anyone, only Jamie.' 'You did not tell me, at any time, that the child had lost consciousness. There was an opportunity, but you did not tell me, because you did, not wish me to learn about this impulsive action that you took, is that it?' 'Well, he had lost consciousness, but—well, I mean—I could see at the clinic that it would be all right. I knew that you'd look after him.' 'For how long would you imagine that he had been knocked out?' 'Not long, or of course I would have mentioned it. I—I thought at first that he was dead. I could see him, and I didn't know, and I thought perhaps that if I got there quickly I could do something. There are times when minutes count.'

He closed his eyes for a moment, passed a brown hand over his face. 'I am aware of such moments.' His tone was dry. 'So. You went down, thinking with every movement down the rock that the boy might not be alive. Go on.' 'That's all, really. Except that I was terribly glad, of course, to hear Diego's voice above me a while later. He took command immediately, and I didn't have to do anything more. I just did as I was told. I do sometimes, you know, Leon.' She risked a tiny, conciliatory smile. There was the merest upward curve of his lips in response, but if it was supposed to be a smile it certainly never reached his eyes. They remained soberly thoughtful. 'You are yourself this morning, and none the worse? You do not suffer ill effects from your awkward adventure?' 'Of course not. Except for a slight stiffness here and there.' She laughed. 'I must have used muscles yesterday that I didn't even know I possessed!' There was the ghost of an answering smile in his eyes this time. 'It was an act not without bravery, chiquita, however one may regard the folly of it. I suppose you think it an injustice that you receive castigation rather than commendation, is it not? Such a reaction is not to be wondered at, and I can read it in your face, I suspect.' 'It's true that I find your intervention high-handed. And I must say I think it's quite typical of you to think a woman incapable of performing any action that calls for the least bit of sustained effort or ingenuity. Or at least you make it . plain that a man could have done it much better.'

'You think that is why I am angry?' 'We might as well be honest with each other now that we're discussing it at all. You're a chauvinist, Leon,' she told him candidly. 'Well, that's all very well, but in this instance there was no man to take the initiative.' 'So you do resent my concern. I thought as much.' 'I don't resent it, but I can do without it,' she retorted with asperity. He strode across to where she was sitting, pulled her to her feet, and placed his hands on her shoulders, almost as if he would have shaken her. His fingers bit, as if to give added emphasis to what he was about to say. 'Listen to me, Teresa, for I wish to tell you something, and you will do well to heed my warning. One day this stubbornly independent attitude of yours will get you into trouble. Your judgments are clouded by youth and inexperience, and there are people in this world who will not hesitate to take advantage of both, whether they are themselves conscious of the intention or not. Even your sympathy is at times misdirected.' Could he possibly be referring to Richard Haywell? Some vague intuition was telling her that in this moment what Leon was saying now had little or nothing to do with Michael's ill-fated expedition or her part in its conclusion. If it was about Richard, then it was none of his business anyway! None! As if he discerned the hardening of opposition and defiance in her, Leon uttered a small, almost despairing groan. His hands dropped, thrust themselves almost savagely into his pockets, as he turned away, to stare for but a few seconds out of the long window that gave

on to the tiled veranda. Then he swung back again, an expression of bleakness in the dark gaze and an unfamiliar roughness in his voice. 'Ah, pequena, why must we always fight, you and I? It is the last thing I wish to do, to quarrel with you, and yet always it happens between us, does it not? I came here to chide you, yes, for the risk you took, at what could have proved an impossibly high cost. But also I came to thank you. What you did was both generous and courageous, and I do not dispute it. It was not my intention to lecture you, chica—yet always when we are together there is this thing between us, and we wound each other with words.' So he felt it, too! There were tears in her eyes as she lifted her head to look at him. 'Leon, this time it was my fault. I provoked you. I don't know why, when I know you have my welfare at heart, and that of all the people on Quimera. It was churlish of me, especially when I was well aware that you must be tired and a bit depressed. I heard, you see, about your patient last night—the young boy with the burns. I'm sorry.' She put her hands into his. 'Let's start again,' she begged impulsively. 'We'll let bygones be bygones, and have a new beginning, shall we?' 'Como no! As you say, Teresa, it will be better that we start afresh.' 'And I'll try not to be too independent,' she told him, with a sudden, impish smile. 'Not so much as to try your patience beyond endurance, anyway.' 'Trato hecho. It is—how you say—a deal.' He glanced at his watch. 'Cielos! Is that the time? I must get back to the hospital for an hour or so before lunch.' At the door he turned.

'One small matter, Teresa, although I do not wish to upset the status quo of this newfound truce between us, which is pleasant, but it must be risked. I perceive that you do not wear your belt this morning— the white leather belt that I returned to you yesterday? The place is tender, perhaps, where Diego's rope has made its mark? He described to me his method in some detail, you will understand.' His expression was daring her to lie to him. 'It's a little tender, yes.' 'The skin is broken?' 'Just a little. It's nothing of any consequence.' 'Nevertheless, one must be careful in a climate such as this, where infections begin and thrive all too readily. You will go to Judit and allow her to dress it for you. If you have not reported to her before evening, I shall attend to it myself.' With that he was gone, leaving her in no two minds that the visit to Judit would take firm priority after she had walked the boys home at four o'clock. It was after that visit of hers to Judit, when they were sitting on the garden seat and talking about things, that Teresa really got her idea. When she had formulated it properly in her own mind, she went to see all the people it involved in turn, to hear their opinions also, and then she went to Leon himself. That meant waiting around for a propitious moment, when he wasn't either hurrying off somewhere to visit one of his patients, or snatching one of those untimely snacks before going back down to the hospital.

Indeed, it was a good ten days after the first germ of the scheme had been born in her mind before her opportunity came to introduce the proposition to him, so she had plenty of time in which to think about it. Now that the time had actually arrived, she felt unaccountably nervous. 'Could I speak to you for a minute, please, Leon?' she asked shyly one evening, as they both got up from the lovely rosewood diningtable and he was about to bid her goodnight. Only the briefest of hesitations revealed the slight surprise he probably must have felt at this bald approach, but she had simply no idea of the best way to go about it, and had resisted the temptation to discuss it at the dinner- table, when—on the rare occasions that Leon was there at all—more trivial topics of conversation were apt to prevail. She wanted this one to be considered seriously. 'Assuredly, Teresa. Come, we will go to the sala where we shall be more comfortable.' He held the door open for her, and followed her inside. 'It is a warm evening, is it not? I think we shall do better with the shutters to the patio opened—so. Now.' He sat down in a chintzcovered chair, twin to the one that she already occupied. 'There is something which troubles you, Teresa? In which case, you must tell me about it.' 'Why must you always assume that whenever I wish to speak to you, it must be to unload some of my troubles, Leon?' He raised an eyebrow, smiling.

'My male chauvinism, perhaps? You accused me of such on one occasion, did you .not? Or maybe it is because you attract troubles to you, pequena, in the same manner as the small, sweet berry in the forest will attract the colibri. So, what is it that you wish to tell me? I am all attention.' 'Well, it's to ask you, really, Leon, because without your approval I can do nothing about it.' Her fingers were playing nervously with the chain at her throat as she explained her idea. If she were permitted to do it, she'd like to start a nursery school. Not a large one; it would mean at most another eight or nine pupils, all under the age of formal learning, and all living in the environs of the quinta and the factory, too far from the village to be able to send such young children there to school. In any case, he'd know that the little school in the pueblo was too full already, even allowing for the minimum age of admission of seven years. 'There are women like Judit's sister Clara, who have in the past been able to make a contribution to the welfare of Quimera because of their qualifications, and who would gladly return to work, even on a part-time basis, if they knew that their young children were being properly cared for during the hours they were away. Clara would love to resume her nursing on that basis, and I'm sure it would make a difference if you and Judit had another fully-trained nurse there, even if she came on a short shift—a "relief shift" as it were. Her face was alight with eagerness as she warmed to her theme. 'Then there's Dora Goncalves, who was secretary book-keeper at the factory. Diego hasn't been able to replace her with anyone trained in that work, and he misses her in the office these days. She'd be more than willing to come back for a few hours a day, to do some of the more complicated writing-up. And there are two women who used to be his head ones in the cafetal itself, who were the best pace-setters he'd had for ages. They intend to return once their children are old enough to go on the school bus to the village, but they'd be only too glad to be able to

come back sooner. That would be'—she counted on her fingers— 'let's see—yes—nine. Jamie would be the eldest, and Albertito Miron the youngest. I would set the older ones their lessons, and correct their exercises and generally supervise them. For the tiniest, it would be more like a play-school, with modelling and colouring and painting, with watercolours and lots of nice splodgy finger- paints— you can get non-toxic ones these days—and I could teach them simple rhymes and have some instructive toys, and in the afternoons we could all join in singing and games together.' Leon was looking thoughtful. 'There is also a mechanic who lost his wife a month or so ago now. There are two young ones there also, but without a mother, and so, in the meantime, he has not resumed his work, because they are sad and fretful. The loss is too recent, you understand.' 'Fourteen, then. What do you say, Leon?' 'You are sure that this additional responsibility would not make too great a demand upon you, Teresa?' 'Of course it wouldn't! Please, Leon.' 'I also detect genuine enthusiasm for such a scheme, I think. It is something that you truly wish to do, pequena? It will make you happy, this extended role of the governess? It is not what you were intended to do, when we discussed the matter originally.' She gave him a direct look, full of persuasion. 'Please, Leon. It is very much what I would like to do. I'll find it both satisfying and rewarding, and I can assure you that the three Haywell boys won't suffer from it, either. It will add a new dimension of companionship and stimulation to their work and play. It will extend

their horizons. It isn't always good, those little brothers being alone together all the time, without any outside competition.' 'Hmm. That could be so.' He stood up, and so did she. 'Leave it to me, Teresa, and I will see what may be done. There are some practical aspects to be overcome, but I have an idea that the old hospital itself could be converted for this purpose. The building still stands adjacent to the other—a single long hut, no more—but it could readily lend itself to such a project. Furthermore, the staff in the hospital kitchens would not mind providing a hot meal for these little ones, I am sure—a simple puchero or cazuela, and perhaps a jicara before they leave in the afternoon. One suspects that all may not receive equal nourishment were they to bring their own.' 'Oh, Leon, thank you.' Her eyes were shining with gratitude. 'No hay de que, Teresa.' He gave one of those slight, impeccable bows that were so much a part of him. 'But remember, if you find that it becomes too much—perhaps more than you anticipate—we will seek another solution. In any case, Berta will relieve you for the odd afternoon when you may be in need of respite. She is not a scholar, but well able to play small games with the ninos to keep them out of mischief.' He held open the door of the sala for her, and wished her goodnight, and Teresa went off upstairs, her heart bursting with excitement that she had got over this first hurdle. Her mind was already leaping with ideas as to how she would go about getting her new nursery school off the ground. There were various materials that she would need to order from the mainland, but Diego would help her over that. The next morning she was humming softly to herself as she walked along the gallery. Berta, too, was humming—or rather, singing— somewhere nearby. Teresa could hear the sound of it coming from a doorway halfway along.

She had never seen these particular shutters open before, hadn't even wondered what might be behind them. Now, as she was about to pass, she could see that it was a large, airy bedroom of quite magnificent proportions, with a rich carpet of Persian design on its floors, and furniture of cream and gold after the style of Louis XV. Tapestries adorned the walls, and there were curtains of gold pleated silk, to match the drapings on the handsome four-poster bed and tone with the flowers on the brocade-covered chaise-longue. 'Good morning, Berta. You are happy this morning. I could hear you singing from along there near my bedroom, like the skylark itself.' 'Ah now, senorita! You flatter me, I think, for I know well that I am no pajaro cantor.' Berta flicked her hair from her eyes and put down her duster. 'Shall I tell you why I am happy this morning? It is because I am in this lovely, lovely room. Do you not think it a beautiful place? Always I am content on these occasions, for just to be inside this chamber is a joy in itself. I look forward to the times when my duties take me here.' 'It is a lovely room. Is it a guest room?' 'Good gracious no, senorita! It is the talamo—the bridal chamber.' 'Heavens above, Berta, I'd no idea such things still existed!' Teresa looked around her with renewed interest. 'See here, senorita. Admire the detail on these tapestries. They are very old—very, very old. The fawn, the tiny deer, and here, if you will look with care, a fox hides in the shrubberies. And the doves of peace are on the branches above.' 'Yes, the detail is incredible.'

'And—mira, senorita! Just look at the view from the balcony. One can see as far as the sea itself, and the cocotal and vinedo so far below!' 'Lovely, Berta.' Teresa gazed about her appreciatively. 'I don't suppose it has been occupied for a century or more,' she observed in some awe. 'Al contrario, senorita. Always it is used—on the occasion of a marriage, that is.' Berta managed to look quite shocked at the mere suggestion that it might not be, after all the loving care that she lavished upon it. 'Of course,' she was forced to admit, though with evident reluctance, 'perhaps Leon himself will not use it when his marriage takes place. Enriqueta says he throws tradition out of the window as if it were an old boot, that one.' She sighed. 'If it were me, senorita, I would insist, would not you, for I think it is muy romantica. Muy romantica! One wonders what are Dona Alicia's views on the matter. Perhaps, when one has been married already and had the great misfortune to lose one's husband, one feels differently about these things.' Teresa had no intention of discussing those probabilities with the romantically inclined Berta just at that moment. 'Who knows?' she murmured with an admirable display of disinterest, before thanking the girl for showing her the beauties of the wallhangings, and making her way towards the stone stairway and thence to the salita. She checked through her books and play materials while she was waiting for the children to arrive, making a list of extras that she would need, and that afternoon she walked down to Diego's office to consult him about them.

Yes, he told her, Leon had already been in touch with him about the conversion of the old hospital, and he had the plan right here of what the carpenters would need to do. There were several good and willing men that he could put on to it. And as for these materials, if she left the order with him now, it would be attended to, and her needs would be met. Did not the cargo ships call twice weekly? It was no problem! And in perhaps two weeks—three at the most— she would have her little school. It was three weeks, actually, before it got going, because some of the supplies from the mainland were delayed, but from its very first day in operation, Teresa's nursery school was a success. There were trestle tables and bench seats at one end of the room, where the more formal lessons took place, and the rest of the hut was devoted to a play area. Some of the hospital's past patients had insisted on donating various items that their own children had outgrown. There was an old home-made rocking-horse, a couple of see-saws, and a miniature sand-pit. Teresa had ordered an inflatable paddling pool to put near the sandpit, and the smaller ones would amuse themselves for hours at that end of the building. Since there were only boards on the floor the mess was easily cleaned up by the simple expedient of hosing down the wood and flinging wide the doors to the hot sun's rays in the afternoons. A blackboard ran right along one wall, and the children all enjoyed using the assortment of coloured chalks to draw pictures and practise simple printing. At lunch-time, two of the auxiliaries from the hospital canteen would carry a couple of pots of vegetable stew, soup, or casseroled fowl and some cassava bread the short distance to the adjacent building, and the little ones ate it at the same tables that they also used for their lessons. Then the siesta, when only the tiniest were willing to lie down on the straw pallets, a cushion tucked under sleepy heads, to

have a mid-afternoon nap. Afterwards they sang the action-songs and nursery rhymes that Teresa had taught them, and sometimes they played hide-and-seek in the gardens outside. It was rough and ready, maybe, but successful in a way that Teresa had not dared to hope. Already, Judit confided, it had made an enormous difference to the situation at the hospital, now that Clara had been able to offer her professional services once more. Richard, too, was full of praise, which he was quick to communicate on the several occasions that Teresa accepted his invitation to spend the evening at the bungalow. To tell the truth, those evenings were beginning to mean quite a lot to her. She recognised the fact that for both herself and for him, the nights were often the loneliest part of an otherwise satisfactory existence. It was an anticlimax to find oneself alone and with no one to speak to after the busiest time was over, and it was natural that, being in much the same situation, they should seek out each other's company, she supposed. One never knew just how one would find Richard from one visit to the next. He was entirely unpredictable, at some times jubilant at the difference in his family since they had more children with whom to mix and play, at others in the slough of despond because he had still heard absolutely nothing from Christine. During these periods he would only shake his head morosely when Teresa pointed out that no normal mother would walk out of her children's lives for ever, and that she was sure that some day she would contact him, even if only for the curiosity and satisfaction of hearing how they were. When that happened, Richard must take his chance to try to win her back. As the weeks and months went by, his mention of Christine became less and less frequent, and oddly enough, his times of depression seemed to have diminished too. Teresa noted the fact, and was glad

that time itself was apparently helping him to come to terms with his domestic situation. Sometimes he came to the school-house during the lunch- hour, and on several occasions he actually ate there with them all. He was good with the children—and not just his own ones—and had them squeaking with delight at the pranks and tricks he would get up to for their benefit. One day when Teresa heard an undoubtedly masculine step coming up the flagged path from the hospital quarter, it turned out to be, not Richard, but Leon himself. A few of the little ones were already asleep, and his expression softened visibly as he stood there looking down at them. He lowered his voice to speak to Teresa. 'How would you like an afternoon off?' he asked, carrying straight on in answer to the immediate question that had leapt into her eyes at this suggestion. 'I have to visit a patient, an old man whom I think you would find simpatico. It is but an hour's ride each way into the hills and up to the meseta, through a landscape that you have not yet seen. Do you ride a horse, Teresa?' 'A little. I used to have a pony once, a long time ago, in Andalucia. A friend of my father's kept him for me at his finca near Jerez, but I'm not an advanced rider by any stretch of the imagination.' 'But you would like to make this expedition?' 'I'd love to, Leon.' 'Then Berta will come down presently to relieve you, and we will be off. And do not fear that your mount will be a fiery one. We shall

select him from the tropilla together, in a short while from now. I will come up to the quinta for you in half an hour.' She was ready and waiting when he came, gratified when he cast a glance of obvious approval over her businesslike apparel—trousers of pale green cotton, white short-sleeved shirt, and on her head an old linen sun-hat, which had actually been her games hat at the boarding school in England. Leon's teeth flashed white against the deep tan of his complexion. 'You look about fifteen,' he teased her in some amusement. 'And very British.' She joined in the laughter a trifle self-consciously. 'I'm not sure if that's meant to be good or bad, coming from you, Leon. Will these shoes do, do you think? They are all I can find that are in the least appropriate.' They were the same canvas flatties that had taken her down the cliffface and back. 'They will suffice. Come, and we shall choose your horse for you.' He took her to a small corral at the back of the quinta, where his own horse was already saddled and tied to the railing. He was a magnificent, restless-looking animal of the beautiful pale honey colour that the locals called doradillo. Teresa had admired him often, but secretly wondered that anyone could possibly want to ride him, because even when unsaddled he was apt to show his mettlesome temperament by pawing at the earth in the larger corral where he often ran. Today he rolled his eye whitely at her as she passed, and snorted gently through velvet nostrils.

'I think, for you, the granizo, no?' Leon selected a small spotted pony, who regarded her amicably as it chewed with preoccupation at the edge of Leon's white drill jacket while he expertly slipped the bridle over its head and slid the saddle into place. 'He is tranquil, this one, therefore you need have no qualms. Then, if you wish promotion to something sterner, the tordo shall be yours for the next occasion.' He pointed to a lovely dappled grey mare that had the delicate, highly- bred appearance of the true Arab. 'I have a friend who always hires that one when she visits Quimera. Such a beautiful animal is well suited to the gentle control of a woman, and Dona Alicia manages her with some perfection. I dare say that you may do the same, but first I wish to assure myself that you are in some measure a horsewoman, pequena.' He smiled reassuringly as he handed her the reins and cupped his palms to take her foot. 'Please don't expect me to be as good as your—er—as Dona Alicia,' she begged anxiously. 'I've already told you I'm not up to much.' 'We all have our strengths and our weaknesses, do we not?' he drawled suavely. 'Perhaps Dona Alicia would not excel in the schoolroom in the way that you yourself manage to do.' Well, that was small comfort, if comfort it was intended to be! thought Teresa, gritting her teeth and springing with as little effort as she could muster into the saddle. Who could possibly compare the glamour of sitting elegantly upon that beautiful mottled grey horse with the prosaic occupation of being a school-marm in a grubby overall that was more often than not bedaubed with paint and plasticine and sand? She could bet—remembering Dona Alicia's dark

beauty and delightfully proportioned figure—that she and the tordo would make the prettiest picture imaginable. She thrust the image purposefully from her mind, and concentrated instead on following Leon's stallion through the gateway and along the track to the foothills.

CHAPTER SIX AN hour each way, Leon had said, but in actual fact it took a good hour and a half to reach Juan-Carlos Corriente's ramshackle cobertizo. Teresa's fat, short-legged pony had some difficulty in matching the loping amble set by Leon's own more powerful mount, and as they zigzagged up the hillside by the bridle path that snaked its way towards the plateau, she had to kick its sweaty flanks to get it to keep up. Finally Leon became aware of her problem, and slowed the golden stallion to a more sedate walk, pointing out the varied scenery as they passed through the coffee plantations on the middle slopes and gained higher ground. The vegetation was dense and rampant, a veritable jungle of tall trees struggling towards the sunlight, entwined with lianas whose coils overhung the narrow path beneath them and brushed her shoulders as she followed obediently in Leon's wake. And then they came out of the forests and on to the altiplano. Emerging so suddenly from the damp, speckled shade of the hillside forests, the sky up here seemed clear and very close to one's head, the air noticeably drier and crisper. There were few trees, and what there were stunted and bent by the winds that swept the plain. Teresa was amazed at the extent of grassland that stretched before her eyes. When she commented upon it to Leon, he pointed out that much of the land had been cleared for this very purpose, although naturally the trees had never grown at this altitude so vigorously as on the leeward slopes below.

'We aspire to carry many more cattle on this tableland, Teresa. See there, this newly ploughed land, the barbecho, which soon will be sown with grasses that will enable more animals to graze here.' 'Who looks after them?' she asked interestedly. 'We passed only one tapera back there, and it obviously hadn't been occupied for years.' 'No, you are right. I cannot in my own time recall seeing inhabitants there. It has always been Juan-Carlos himself who has attended to the livestock up here. Now, of course, he is too old to do as much as he would wish, and Diego sends a couple of men up to help him at times when the cattle must be gathered and handled. But to take from him the entire responsibility would in effect be to kill him, you understand.' Her pony continued to jog along after him on its thick, short legs. 'It must be very lonely for him up here by himself. Or does he have a family to keep him company?' Leon sighed. 'It is a long story, Teresa, and not a very satisfactory one to relate. His wife has been dead for more years than I can remember, and his family have long ago left one by one and settled in the pueblo, but Juan-Carlos himself has steadfastly refused to consider such a life.' 'It's a wonder his family couldn't get him to come with them!' 'Many times they have tried to persuade him—we all have—that it is time for him to leave here and seek an easier existence in the village, especially since he has developed a heart condition that would reward more intensive treatment, but he values his independence too highly to make the move. Nearness to a telephone and water coming always

to hand from an inside tap are not sufficient compensation for the uprooting that would take place, you understand.' 'Yes, I think I can understand,' she said consideringly. 'It makes things a bit difficult from your angle, though, doesn't it?' He smiled a little grimly. 'It does, in truth, for I am fond of this loyal old man, and I owe him more than he can ever owe to me. Furthermore, I am anxious in case he will on some days forget to take the tablets that I leave with him, or that he will mistake the dosage, or even worse, that something may prevent his supply of this drug from reaching him at all, at times when I am away from Quimera. There are many anxieties on my mind concerning him, yet Juan-Carlos himself remains calm and philosophical above it all. It is born in him, this philosophy.' 'Are all the islanders like that? I wouldn't have thought it, from what I know of them so far.' 'He is not an isleno, this one,- Teresa, but came many years ago from the mainland itself, from the northern provinces of Argentina. That is partly why he refuses to go to the village in his old age, for he is not a stranger to isolation, and is content to live with himself. Look, we are nearly there now. Por ahi.' Ahead of them stood a tiny dwelling, low and square, squatting flat on the grassy plain. Beside it were an iron water-tank, a granado and a couple of half-hearted fig trees, and as they approached Teresa could see an open- ended lean-to at the side nearest to them, that housed an old blackened stove with wood neatly piled beside it, a small saw-bench and a variety of buckets, spades, axes and other paraphernalia. Hens scrabbled in the rough ground at the rear, and a wire that stretched from one corner of the shed to the nearby higueras

was hung with bits of charqui, the jerked beef that presumably was the old man's preferred diet. They dismounted, and Leon tied both horses to one of the upright poles that supported the lean-to. He turned to her. 'You will be expected to share a "mate" with him, Teresa. It is the herb infusion that he drinks. But just a sip or two will suffice, for he prefers the cimarron, and you must be prepared for its bitterness.' Leon's eyes smiled down into hers. 'I know I can rely upon you not to disappoint this old man.' He lifted aside a box of dried kidney beans that was half blocking the entrance, and at that moment the old man himself appeared, framed there. When he saw who it was, his dark eyes lit up with pleasure, and his brown face creased into a million seams as he smiled. Teresa thought that she had never seen such a face. It had more folds and wrinkles than a walnut, but the cheekbones were high and prominent, the nose strong, almost patrician. He had a bushy, drooping moustache that matched the whiteness of his hair, and these features combined to give him the appearance of a biblical prophet as he stood there, lean yet unstooped, his head thrown back in welcome. 'Leon! How good it is to see you, mi amigo! And you have brought a visitor to old Juan-Carlos, I perceive. Such is a pleasant but rare experience for me these days, therefore you will understand if my hospitality is somewhat rusty.' He bowed over Teresa's hand. 'Encantado, senorita. Be pleased to come inside.' The old fellow led them in and sat down. His bedding lay in one corner, roughly screened off by a piece of cloth hanging on a string across the room. 'You must forgive the untidiness of my cobija, senorita.' Juan-Carlos had caught her glance in the direction of the rough pile of blankets in

the far corner. 'I am an old man now, and lack the hand of a woman to restore this place to order. No matter.' The thin shoulders shrugged. 'We have more important things with which to concern ourselves. It is time for the cebada, and I will be honoured if you will take a mate with me, yourself and Leon.' They sat around while the old man gathered his utensils and prepared the brew of herbs. To tell the truth Teresa was quite glad to be out of the saddle for a while, off that fat pony's back. It had been so many years since she had ridden a horse that her legs felt strangely wobbly. Presently she was handed a small, globe-shaped bowl from which protruded a drinking-pipe, and Teresa put the bombilla to her lips and drew some of the liquid up into her mouth. It was indeed very bitter, and she was thankful that Leon had half prepared her for it. He took the cup from her now, and solemnly put it to his own lips, after which he kept it. Obviously he was expected to finish it, for the old man had already seated himself on the floor with his own one, and Teresa was content to lean back and listen while the two men talked together. Leon gave him news of his son and daughters in the pueblo, and their families. 'You have a great-grandson now, Juan-Carlos.' Leon put down his bombilla and stretched out his long legs. 'Would you not care to come with me to see this bisnieto of yours? He is a fine boy, plump and healthy, with the placid temperament of his grandmother and a physique that I suspect will be not unlike your own when he is a man. It would please his parents greatly to be able to show him to you, and I would gladly arrange the journey at no inconvenience to yourself.' The old man nodded gently.

'Of that I am sure, Leon. You would do much for me, my friend, yet I suspect that there is little left to do. I have made my peace with God, and there is but one journey left for me to make, amigo—and that one holds no fears for me. I have lived long and fully, and am content to pass the remainder of the days that are left to me here, where I am happiest.' He turned to Teresa. 'El Leon concerns himself for my old age, senorita, and yet he understands my view, for we have discussed these things much.' 'You aren't lonely, here all by yourself?' 'I do not suffer loneliness merely because I dwell in solitude, senorita. These two are different experiences, are they not?' 'Yes, senor, you are right, of course,' Teresa agreed feelingly, remembering the desperation and despair of those days in London, surrounded by people who cared nothing for all the strangers that jostled them elbow to elbow, unaware of the isolation and unhappiness of at least one of those strangers: herself. He glanced at her keenly from the gimlet-bright dark eyes in the wrinkled walnut face. 'But how could you know such things, pequena? For you are young—a mujercita merely—and such experiences should not have touched you.' 'Fate is no respecter of youth when it comes to a question of selectivity, senor.' The old man reached across and took her hand in his. He turned it, so that her palm was uppermost, white and smooth against the gnarled brown one in which it was cupped.

'You have known sadness, I think. I see it here.' 'Yes, I've known it,' she replied briefly. Her eyes met his. 'And loneliness also? For you spoke with some conviction just now?' 'That, too.' He put her hand back gently in her lap. 'Then you know well of what I speak. But one cannot be lonely if one has happy memories with which to comfort oneself, and these I am fortunate in being able to cherish. True, I miss my children—you remind me of one of my own daughters as she was at your age, senorita, with your innocence and the sweetness of trust still in your eyes.' He sighed. 'I would give much to be near them at times.' 'Couldn't you change your mind and go to them? Leon would arrange it—he has just said so.' 'My old bones are too old to move to strange surroundings now. They have their lives to lead, in any case.' 'And your memories are here, in this place. I think I can understand why you choose not to leave.' 'Yes, senorita, my memories are my friends, and must serve also as my companions. And the stars overhead are my friends also. And the wind that sings for me through the higueras at my door, and the chorlito that makes its nest in my grasses, and the bandurria that wades in the rushes of the marsh, and the ciguena that makes its home in the chimney of the tapera yonder, and the guacamayo whose bright plumes delight my eye at the edge of the forest. All these are my friends, so how can I in truth be alone? Even so'—the wrinkles

deepened as his eyes kindled once more—'even so, it is good to pass some moments with a jovencita such as you.' 'May I come a\id see you again, senor? I'd like to, if you wouldn't mind.' He chuckled. 'Were I not so old, I would play for you a tune on my guitarra to honour your youth and the kindness of your heart that you trouble to ride that fat jaca all this way in order to visit a poor viejo such as I. But my fingers are not so nimble as they were, and the vidalita that they still can play might be too melancholy for an occasion such as this.' 'No, it wouldn't be, I assure you. I shall hold you to that promise to play for me, if I'm able to come again, senor.' Leon had been busy getting the medicines that he was about to leave with Juan-Carlos. 'You must bring your friend to see me another time, Leon,' the latter said, as he came to the door of his little shanty to see them off the premises. 'I have much enjoyed her company, even for so short a stay. Vctya usted con Dios, senorita,' he bade her, as he helped her up into the saddle. He stood there waving to them as they turned the horses past the isolated dwelling in the direction of the forest path away in the distance, and when Teresa turned in her saddle as they passed the old ruin further on, she fancied that she could still see him standing there. Looking back afterwards, she realised that that afternoon, when Leon had invited her to accompany him on that unusual ride, was somehow

one of the happiest and most pleasurable to dwell upon of all the days she had so far spent on Quimera. Ever since that day, in fact, she had been able to feel closer to Leon, to understand his aims and appreciate his desires for the improvement of conditions upon the islands to the benefit of their inhabitants. It remained their one shared experience. Normally they were both so busy—he with his professional commitments, she with her school activities—that their paths seldom crossed, beyond 'good mornings' and 'good evenings' and the odd meal taken together in the comedor at the quinta. Now on these occasions a new rapport seemed to have sprung up between them, as though that afternoon ride through the forest to the high mesa had in some inexplicable way brought them closer together in a new understanding. Teresa's little school continued to flourish. Also, it began to improve. Over the next couple of months she acquired two more pupils, thus releasing yet another semi-skilled person to help Diego down at the factory, and with the arrival of some more sophisticated nurseryschool equipment, her actual teaching prowess was called into play. Teresa enjoyed the challenge, and her reward was to notice her little band of charges improving in health, discipline and general welfare. She now had counting frames and simple jigsaws, and a zoo of model animals that kept the children amused for hours on end. The afternoons were given to community singing and games, and Richard had bequeathed her an old gramophone that he had had before he had got his record-player, so that they were able to have music, too, for simple dances and action-play. It was one of those ancient machines where one winds up a spring by turning a handle, and the older children vied with each other for the, honour of 'working the gramophone'. It came to be a recognised reward for good behaviour or distinction in class work.

Sometimes they played out of doors in the shaded gardens, games that children the world over have always loved to play—Hide-andseek, or 'las escondidas' as the Quimera children called it; Grandmother's footsteps; Drop-the- handkerchief; Hunt-the-thimble. All the old favourites of Teresa's childhood came out too, and the sunken gardens and fountain and lily pool echoed with the sounds of childish laughter and shrill squeals of excitement. 'Let's play at la gallina ciega,' pleaded little Maria Valdez one afternoon. 'The blind hen? What is that one, Maria?' Jamie came to her assistance. 'It's the same as Blind Man's Buff, Teresa. You blindfold the person who has the first turn at being the blind hen, and -' There was a positive chorus of instruction and descriptions of what took place after that, and once they had got it all sorted out, they decided that Teresa herself must have first go at being blindfolded. She was groping her way about over the lawn, hands outstretched in front of her, when suddenly there was a tittering among the children, as if they were participating in some secret joke. Up till that minute, they had been as quiet as mice. Now they were all quiet again, although she could sense that something was in the air. She must be very close to some of them. Her hands must at any moment touch— yes—there. A face. But whose? Hair. Such thick hair, too. Puzzled, she allowed her fingers to run gently down over the brow, the nose, the lips, trying to guess just who she had 'caught'.

And at that precise instant the strangest thing happened. As her own fingers were tracing their delicate course over that nose and mouth in front of her, she distinctly felt the lightest touch of hands on her own head. Quickly, deftly now, they moved through her hair, and in the next instant she felt the tug of the pins that kept it secured in its school- marm coil. Released, it tumbled over her shoulders and down her back. Teresa whipped off her mask and looked down at Richard Haywell. He was kneeling in front of her, presumably so as to disguise his real height and add to her confusion. The children were shouting with laughter and clapping their hands at the success of the joke. Richard stood up, laughing down at her—and then, suddenly, he wasn't laughing any more. For an instant they seemed suspended there, just the two of them, isolated in a tiny pool of intimacy, as if Fate had stepped in to play yet another trick, this time on the two of them. Richard's eyes locked with hers, and his fingers found the silken ropes of hair, and the children skipped and somersaulted about on the grass, unaware that the playing had taken an unexpected turn. Only Teresa was uncomfortably conscious that Richard was no longer clowning. An indefinable something in his eyes should have warned her earlier, but it hadn't. 'I've wanted to do that for a long time,' he breathed. 'And this.' His arms went around her and his lips skimmed her forehead. 'That hair! I knew you'd look like a princess with it down. Why on earth do you wear it up all the time, in that severe style? Look, ninos! Your schoolteacher has become a princess—a fairytale princess!' He swung her around, the clown again, and Teresa found herself facing, not only the children, but the tall, white- coated figure of Leon, who now stood among them.

Richard's smile died instantly. Leon's had never begun. Teresa bit her lip. She was blushing furiously. She did wish that Richard would stop looking like some naughty schoolboy caught in the middle of a, misdemeanour. It hadn't even been a very good joke, and now it had gone quite sour, so far as she was concerned. She had never felt more conspicuous or foolish, standing there in front of Leon and the children with her bright brown hair tumbling about her, almost down to her waist. Leon's dark eyes flicked over her face, almost disdainfully. 'You have received the message?' 'Message?' 'No, apparently you have not. The messenger appears to have been— diverted.' Yes, it was disdain, and he was icy with it. He turned to Richard. 'If you will be so kind as to conduct the children back to the schoolroom I will deliver this message myself.' A crisp clap of those brown hands. 'Adelante, chiquitos! I wish to speak with your teacher alone, therefore you will go now with Doctor Haywell,' They trooped off, leaving Teresa abandoned to her fate. At least, that was what it felt like just then. She licked her lips, and tossed her head in an effort to get that flowing mane back behind her shoulders. 'I'm sorry, Leon.' Even her voice sounded husky with guilt, darn it. 'I hope you don't think -' She stopped, because he was looking so incredibly forbidding. 'What do you hope I do not think, Teresa? Come! I should be interested to hear it.'

Her eyes fell. 'It doesn't matter,' she mumbled in embarrassment. 'No, in truth, it is of no consequence whatever—to me, at least,' he emphasised crushingly. 'Of more importance is the message which Richard was sent to deliver.' 'Message?' She seemed to have said that before, too, and in such a witless way it was no wonder he looked as if he were having to keep a rein on his patience. 'There has been an outbreak of mild fever at the school in the village. An angina—a soreness of the throat—and a rise in temperature to accompany it. At the moment I suspect measles, but must await further evidence to confirm my diagnosis. In the meantime I shall be obliged if you will report to me immediately should you observe any early signs of illness or untoward symptoms among your pupils. Is it understood?' 'Yes, of course, Leon.' 'Thank you, Teresa.' How polite and distant he was! 'Is that all?' 'That is all I wish to say. Unless you have something further to add yourself?' His tone could hardly have been less encouraging. 'No. Yes—I mean, no. There's nothing. I'll tell you if I think there's anything unusual—about the children, I mean.' 'I am obliged,' he murmured formally, gave a small, chilly bow, and turned on his heel to stride off over the lawn away from her.

Phew! What an experience! Teresa felt absolutely shrivelled by it. She could only hope that Leon's attitude might soften as the days went on, and that they could get back to their former footing of friendship and understanding, but he remained quite unyielding. Uncaring, rather. He was punctilious in his politeness at all times, and that was as far as it went. But Teresa cared. She couldn't think why it should matter quite so much that Leon should be so—well, indifferent. She supposed that was the most appropriate word to summon up his behaviour these days. Whatever the word for it might be, there was no doubt that, in some strange way, it hurt, to be ignored by him like this. 'Richard, you mustn't do that!' she found herself saying, quite snappily, one afternoon when Richard, back to his tricks, had crept up behind her on the garden seat near the fountain and put his hands over her eyes. 'Why not?' He almost pouted at her disapproval. 'Losing your sense of humour? Or are you afraid that Leon might see me?' 'Don't be silly!' 'So he hasn't forgiven you yet. Does it worry you?' 'There was no question of forgiving. How was I to know that you were going to join our game of gallina ciega in that unorthodox way?' she retorted abruptly. 'Yes, that's what I told him,' Richard said comfortingly, though still trying not to laugh. 'I told him it was all my fault, and that you hadn't had any foreknowledge of what I was going to do.' 'When? Where was this?'

'Well, I got a minor rap over the knuckles, sweetie, which was only to be expected if you knew Leon as well as I do. Something about the responsibilities of our respective positions, and discipline in front of the children. You know the sort of thing.' Teresa ran her tongue over her lips. 'And what did he say? When you said I hadn't known, I mean?' Richard brushed a fly off the seat and sat down beside her. 'Oh, nothing much, really. "It takes two", I think that was what he said.' 'It takes two?' Teresa repeated the words with a slight sense of shock as their underlying implication dawned on her, and Richard, catching her expression, couldn't help grinning. 'Well, it does, doesn't it—for some things, anyway. Listen, Teresa, come on down and see me tonight, and stop looking so haunted about it all. We'll have one of our confession sessions at the bungalow— only this time you'll do the talking. You look a bit down, my sweet. Come down and I'll guarantee to cheer you up a bit. I can't think where your sparkle has got to these days. Not that you aren't quite adorable when you're all wistful and big-eyed as you are now.' 'No, Richard, I—I can't tonight. And I do wish you'd stop saying those things.' 'Why?' 'Well, for a start, you—you're a married man, aren't you?' 'Married?' A bitter laugh. 'Is that what you call it?' 'You know what I mean.'

'Tomorrow night, then?' 'I'll see,' was all she would promise, because he was beginning to look quite injured. Oh, dear, she thought to herself as she walked slowly up to her room at the quinta, why did people have to be so—so complicating? Just for a while she wished she could forget them all, every one of them. Well, not all, but Richard and Leon for a start. She felt truly fed-up with them both at the moment, although in different ways. Perhaps that was why—apart from her natural curiosity, of course—she accepted Diego's invitation with such alacrity the next day. It would be refreshing to find herself in entirely different company for a while, and so far as she was concerned his suggestion that she should look in with him at a fiesta that was taking place on the main island that night could not have come at a more welcome time. 'These festejos are in celebration of the successes of the present year, Teresa, for we have been fortunate in the seasons,' Diego explained, gratified as always at her intelligent interest. 'Soon there will be rains, and it will be time for the giving of thinks for what has been achieved —and then, after Nature sleeps for a while, the cycle of fruitfulness begins once again, with her reawakening. Tonight there will be fires lit along the shore, and dancing and singing and music and much revelry. I think that you will enjoy to see this spectacle, no?' 'I shall indeed, Diego,' she replied with enthusiasm. 'Then I shall call for you at ten o'clock, senorita, and escort you thence,' he told her with equal enthusiasm and one of those flashing white smiles of his.

Teresa felt the stirring of excitement at the prospect of something so entirely different from what she had been accustomed to of late. She could remember, as a child, attending some of the giant ferias in Spain itself with her parents. Of course this would not be anything on the same scale or with the same sophistication, but she could remember yet the heady intoxication of the guitars thrumming and heels clicking, the bands playing, the gaiety of the costumes and masks, the elegance of the young women as they rode sideways behind their black-hatted swains on magnificent horses, clattering over the cobbles of the narrow old streets through which the chanting processions wound their way. Here there were no streets, of course. And when Diego came to collect her, he handed her into a handsome sulky, drawn by nothing more exciting than a pair of mules. Teresa hitched up the gathered cotton skirt she had put on, and climbed up with his aid to the studded leather seat, admiring the winking brass trappings and shining condition of the harness. Diego himself looked vital and quite incredibly Spanish in his tightfitting black trousers and plain white silk shirt. He was bare-headed, but the emerald handkerchief knotted at his tanned neck provided the same dashing note as an Andalusian sombrero-calanes might have done, and Teresa was already in festive mood herself as she sat up there with him while the mules went off at a spanking pace towards the village. Diego's eyes had been raking her over with undisguised approval. 'You look very beautiful tonight, senorita, with the flowers of the hibiscus imprinted upon your skirts, and that touch of ribbon at your white throat. Just one small detail is lacking.'

'What's that, Diego?' She put her hand up a trifle self-consciously to the ribbon to which he had alluded, blushing faintly, for- she was unaccustomed to quite such ardent frankness as this. 'Wait you,' he commanded, and presently, when they came to a certain turn in the track, he stopped the mules, leapt down, and when he came back she saw that he was carrying a pure white wild gardenia in his hand. 'Now.' Aboard once more, he turned to her and with great solemnity and deftness tucked the flower into her hair above her ear. 'There!' he exclaimed on a note of satisfaction. 'Now you are complete, Teresa. Muy mona! It is a pity that you are unable to have the satisfaction, as I am able, of seeing yourself with that 'jasmin next to your cheek. You will be the most beautiful girl at the fiesta, I think.' 'Diego, you really are extravagant in your praise!' She could not help laughing. Suddenly she felt as young and as carefree as he appeared himself. 'Are we nearly there?' 'Yes indeed. Already you can see the glow of the fires in the night.' There were crowds of people all along the beach, thronging everywhere. Diego tied the mules to a branch, and together they clambered down to the sand. Everyone was brightly dressed and in happy mood, laughing and talking in groups around the fires, where the asado was already being prepared. There were large churrascos of meat already being turned, hissing and spitting succulently as the fat dripped off into the hot embers beneath, and on the sand there were chisteras of fish fresh out

of the sea. On long trestle tables there were chorizos and cold meats and ensaladas with avocados and beans, and mountains of appetising fruits—pawpaws and passion-fruits and luscious pineapples, custard apples and peaches. Teresa thought that she had never seen such a banquet. She shared some of the roasted meat with Diego, and he insisted that she should try the fish too. They ate it with their fingers, sitting together on the sands, and from time to time he offered her his large clean white handkerchief with which to wipe her hands. It was all very informal and companionable, and great fun. Everything that she had so far tried had been delicious, but now she shook her head when he offered her more. 'A little more wine, then. And you must end with some fruit, as I intend to do.' 'Diego, I couldn't!' 'Of course you could. You must try a blanquillo. They are of an incredible sweetness.' He passed her one of the succulent white peaches, and sank his teeth into another. 'They remind me of you, senorita,' he observed, sitting down beside her again on the sand. 'Pale and delicious and blushing faintly. Are you enjoying yourself?' 'Oh, yes! Very much, Diego. It's all so relaxed and festive. There's a sort of intoxication about an atmosphere like this, don't you find, and that music is so beautiful wafting out over the water. I love guitars.' 'And the cielito they play is romantic, no? It is a night for romance, this one, do not you think?'

Teresa sat up rather abruptly, aware of the sudden gleam that had come into Diego's expressive eyes. 'Tell me,' she asked quickly, 'will they dance too, soon, Diego? I'd love to see some dancing.' 'Yes, of a certainty soon they will be dancing. And when the jaleo begins, we will stroll along in that direction, and clap the dancers on to even greater efforts.' After a while, as they walked along the beach, the rhythm of the music began to change, and a staccato clapping began. In the distance, they could see couples pirouetting around each other in a circle .of lanterns that illuminated this makeshift dancing arena. Diego and Teresa stood with others a little way off, partly in the shadow, and Teresa watched with some fascination the impassioned and tortuous intertwining of the supple bodies as the feet tapped and the dance got faster and more frenzied. It rose to a final crescendo, after which, for just one suspended moment, the beach was hung over with total silence, before the tempestuous applause broke over it. 'Ole!'' 'Hurra!' 'Viva!' The crowd were shouting their approval. When Diego's lips found Teresa's, she should have been more prepared for it. In the darkness she managed somehow to stay utterly still, submissive, not participating, although the drumming in her blood as a result of that wild music was telling her to do otherwise. Presently he lifted his head and turned her face to the lanterns' light, studying her curiously. There was on his own face an expression so

approximating to amazement that she almost wanted to laugh, but of course she wouldn't have dreamed of doing so. 'You feel nothing? This I cannot believe!' he stated, smiling himself now, with an expression of mock affront. 'Of course I feel something, Diego. I'm a woman, after all.' 'A woman, yes, and young and vibrant. I could feel the quick beating of your heart beneath mine, yet you do not respond.' Her eyes were twinkling with suppressed laughter. 'Diego, I don't dare respond.' 'You do not dare? Why so?' 'Has it not occurred to you that you have a certain reputation? You must know that you are the most charming and handsome man on the whole beach here tonight!' 'Ah!' Understanding had dawned. A wicked grin spread over Diego's brown features, and there was an answering gleam in his own dark eyes. 'And my reputation has preceded me in this instance, is it so? Then, senorita, I am indeed at a disadvantage.' 'Tell me, Diego, would it help to restore your damaged ego if I were to tell you that your advances are very tempting?' 'But you will not permit yourself to be tempted, senorita? This I respect, for it is after all the privilege of every woman to decide for herself on these matters. I have not offended you, I trust, Teresa, for I value your friendship too highly to wish to do such a thing?'

'Of course you haven't. I'm even flattered, Diego, that you invited me out at all, and I've loved every moment of it. It's just that I didn't bargain for anything more, if you know what I mean.' His brow cleared and his white teeth flashed as he smiled down at her. 'Perfectamente, senorita! Then all is forgiven between us,' he told her gallantly. 'That you enjoy yourself is all that I ask.' He looked at her more closely. 'I think, in any case, that your heart is already given elsewhere, is that not so?' Her eyes widened with surprise. Surely he couldn't mean Richard Haywell? That stupid kiss had probably gone right around the island grapevine, even though it had been no more than a brief peck on the forehead in the middle of a game of gallina ciega. 'Certainly it isn't, Diego,' she replied firmly. 'It isn't given anywhere. It's just that until it is—well, I—I -' She floundered, suddenly embarrassed and out of her depth. 'Do not worry to explain your thoughts, Teresa. I understand them and I respect your wishes, naturalmente. For me'—he gave a Latin shrug—'For me it is somewhat different, for I am a man. I am like the honey-bee, no, that seeks out the flowers and takes sweetness where it may find it.' She smiled at the somewhat vivid accuracy of his description of himself. 'I'm sorry if this particular flower has disappointed you.'

'In no way have you disappointed me, Teresa. I have genuinely enjoyed your company this night, and one has a philosophical attitude to any—shall we say—bonuses. There will be no more misunderstandings upon my part, and I shall continue to invite you to anything which I feel may be of interest and enjoyment to you on Quimera, but as a brother, yes?' At that she did kiss him, just lightly, on his smooth brown cheek. 'Thank you, Diego. You are a darling. We've always got on well together, haven't we, and I'd hate that to stop, so —as a sister—I'll be enchanted to come whenever you ask me. Just now though, I think I must get back to the quinta, because it's becoming rather late, and I've school in the morning, remember. It's been a wonderful evening. Perhaps'—she added mischievously, as he helped her up into the sulky once more—'you'll be able to come back and—er —find another flower for what's left of the night.' He didn't answer that, just grinned as he took up the reins and 'shucked' the mules into action. When they got to the quinta, he took her hand and touched it to his lips. 'Goodnight, Teresa. I shall keep you to your promise to attend another such function with me when an occasion presents itself.' He hesitated. 'By the way -' 'What, Diego?' 'I do not think that I will rejoin the fiesta after all, this night. I wish to tell you something, senorita.' 'What, Diego?'

'I think that, when I take a wife, I hope very much that she will in many respects be like you. No, do not speak, for I wish to ask you something—one thing—yet again. Are you certain that your heart is not given, in even the smallest degree, to another on Quimera?' 'Not even the tiniest bit, no.' Why was he gazing at her so earnestly? 'If that is truly so, one cannot help but experience a passing sadness,' he proclaimed gravely, 'for there is nothing more painful, is it not so, than an emotion that is in no measure returned.' With which oblique comment Diego took his leave, and Teresa remained standing there for a moment, seething with sudden helplessness at the prolificacy and inaccuracy of the rumours that apparently were getting around these islands. It seemed one only had to sympathise because a man's wife had left him, and spend the odd quite harmless evening at his home, well chaperoned by his three lovely children, for the gossips to wax eloquent on the subject. And it looked as if that silly 'princess' business, in the middle of the game of gallina ciega, must have been faithfully reported by each and every child in its home on the island, probably even on the very night it had happened.

CHAPTER SEVEN SEVERAL days later her first two pupils went down with measles. Leon had by this time had his diagnosis confirmed in no uncertain measure, and when she called him he came immediately, and arranged for the ailing little ones to be taken to the home of one of his auxiliaries who was meantime taking over the nursing of any cases that couldn't be coped with at home. 'If there are any complications, we shall of course bring them under supervision here at the small isolation unit, but I would prefer not to have to do this if at all possible. Have you had the disease yourself, Teresa?' 'Heavens, yes. Both kinds, and chickenpox too. They used to whistle through the school every couple of years in quite epidemic proportions.' 'That is good to know—it is much better to have them in one's youth. Keep a watchful eye, then, and perhaps we will be spared any further cases here, although I am not hopeful. Although I say that in many ways it is preferable to get these things over when one is small, the situation here is complicated by a lower threshold of resistance to side effects, caused by malnutrition in some instances and other domestic factors which in time we shall overcome.' When more children went down, Leon proposed that they should close the nursery school in the meantime. 'But Leon, why?' 'Because I think it would be best. You have been taking on extra hours by visiting the sick ones after your own school time is over each day. I hear these things, you see, so do not deny it.'

'That's nothing. And it's my own look-out, surely, if I choose to do some visiting in my spare moments. Anyway, I do think I should be consulted if you are , thinking of closing the school, for surely I am the person most closely involved.' 'But I am consulting you, Teresa,' Leon pointed out mildly. 'Are we not talking about the matter at this very moment?' 'You aren't consulting me, you're telling me.' She must be in a stubborn mood today, she told herself, aware that his mouth had tightened visibly. 'So?' 'So,' she stated firmly, 'I don't think it's a good idea to close the school at all. I'm quite prepared to carry on, and even if I'm finally only left with Jamie and Michael and Tommy for a while, (they all had measles a couple of years ago, when Christine was here,' apparently)—even if I'm only left with them, they are all I started out with anyway, and I'll just keep on that way till the others get back. What is the point of Clara having to stay at home just when you need her most? And her children aren't even affected yet, and might notice.' He considered what she had just said for a minute or two. 'Very well, Teresa,' he agreed finally. 'If you truly wish to keep the school going, I shall not interfere. It is just that -' He stopped. Whatever he had been going to say, he evidently must have changed his mind, and she did not press him. 'Thank you, Teresa,' was what he did say, with his customary politeness, and she went off feeling pleased that she had won her way.

The epidemic dragged on, slowly gaining momentum, and then the peak appeared to have been reached, and the new cases became less and less frequent. Teresa was still teaching her depleted class, and one day, halfway through the morning, there was a knock at the door and Richard came in. 'Look, I know you're in the middle of things, but could you step outside for just a moment?' One would have been blind not to see how pale and strained he was, although he was putting up a good show of calm in front of the children. 'I'll be with you in just a second.' She set them all something to occupy them, and stepped outside after him, closing the door behind her. 'Richard, what is it?' she asked anxiously. 'Something's happened, hasn't it?' He nodded, white and miserable. 'I got a message from Christine.' He fumbled in his pocket and brought it out. 'It came in the mail off the steamer this morning. It says she's going to phone me on Tuesday afternoon, and to be sure to be at the house to receive the call. See'—his hands were shaking slightly as he pointed to the date—'that's today, isn't it? I should have got it yesterday, but the boat was delayed a good fourteen hours this week.' 'Richard, where is she?' He shook his head.

'She doesn't say. That's the hell of it. The postmark is Florida, but that doesn't tell me much. Florida! Miami, I suppose, knowing what sort of a life that damn playboy led.' His voice thickened. 'I won't know more till she tells me herself, obviously. God knows what it's about. A divorce, maybe?' He pushed his fingers through his hair, patently distraught. 'Teesa'—he used her pet name, the one that Tommy always called her by—'can you do something for me? I hate to ask you, but I'll be eternally grateful if you can?' 'Richard, of course I can. I'll do anything. Anything.' She ached for him, and she felt a rising anger, too, against Christine. Surely she could have handled things in a kinder way than this! It was tearing Richard apart with uncertainty. 'What can I do?' 'You know old Juan-Carlos Corriente? The old man up on the plateau? Well, I was supposed to deliver some tablets and medicine to him this afternoon. I promised Leon I'd do it.' 'And you want me to? Yes, I'm sure I could. I'll take the little pony.' 'You'd be all right?' 'Of course I would.' 'Teresa, you're a lamb,' he told her gratefully. 'Leon would kill me if he knew I'd asked you, though, so we'll have to keep it from him. It shouldn't be' too difficult, because he's had to go over to Burro by boat today. Some fellow over there has the frios—a recurring malaria—and they were concerned this time, so concerned that Leon had to go immediately. That's why he asked me to do this in- stead of him.'

'He need never know. Perhaps your Mercedes would watch the children in the afternoon for me, and no one up at the quinta need know either. I'd get away after lunch. She'd only have to amuse them and keep them out of mischief.' 'Yes, and that would give me the bungalow to myself, too. Whatever passes between Christine and me, it would be nice to at least be able to have it kept entirely private. You know what Quimera's like for gossip.' She did indeed! 'When Mercedes comes to relieve me, I'll get the tablets and whatever else there is from you, and leave straight away,' she said. 'Let that be the least of your worries, Richard.' 'Teresa, bless you! And I truly can never repay you for doing this for me.' 'Don't be silly,' she chided gently. 'And keep your courage up. It might be good, news, so don't go torturing yourself needlessly while you're waiting.' A few hours later, she was kicking the spotted pony's fat flanks and urging the reluctant animal up the hillside and through the cafetal. Without Leon's stallion to offer competition he was even lazier than on the previous journey, and it took almost two hours to reach the dwelling on the grassy plateau. She was immediately struck by the sense of quiet about the dilapidated shack. The charqui still hung on the wires between the trees, but the hens scratching disconsolately in the yard at the back were the only signs of life or movement.

She stood in the doorway, scuffing the ground with the toe of her canvas shoe. Then she coughed, quite loudly. She would have expected Juan-Carlos to have heard the pony's approach, yet if he had she was sure he would have come to the door by now. Perhaps he wasn't at home, in which case she would have to leave the things she had brought in some conspicuous place inside, where he would be bound to find them. She gave a hesitant knock, and then cautiously opened the door and went in. The room was much as it had been on her other visit, until she saw, beyond the cloth screen, the old man lying there. He was covered by the blanket that had lain in the corner, and his eyes were closed. 'Juan-Carlos? Senor?' She hurried to his side and knelt down, and to her relief his eyes opened. 'Senorita Teresa!' He recognised her immediately, and although his voice was weak his eyes brightened visibly as she took his hand. 'Is it possible that it is really you? I have been lying here alone, looking for an angel, and she comes in an unexpected and earthly form! It is too much to hope. Perhaps it is a dream?' 'I'm no dream, Juan-Carlos, and I've brought your medicine from Leon. He was sorry that he couldn't come himself this time, but he had to go over to Burro in a hurry, so I came instead.' She was alarmed at the weakness, in his voice, and the blueness about his mouth, but there was no hiding the spirited effort he was making to rouse himself to talk to her. There was also no doubt that he was very low.

'I'm going to stay with you till you feel better, senor,' she told him comfortingly. 'You are good to me, my little friend.' 'How long have you been like this?' 'Some days. I do not know. But I have in truth experienced loneliness, for I have been unable even to reach my door. I thought you must be a vision, you understand.' 'Have you managed to take your tablets? When did you have the last ones?' 'I cannot accurately recollect, senorita. But I will have some now, if it will please you. First, though, we will drink a mate together. I wish to make welcome my little angel, and there is nothing so companionable as this ritual between friends.' He was having quite evident difficulty in speaking, yet she didn't want to disappoint him. 'Perhaps, when you feel a little better -' she demurred uncertainly. Juan-Carlos took her hand in his rough brown one. There seemed little strength in his gnarled fingers, but his voice held sudden determination. 'Senorita, I am better now that you are here. That is why I particularly wish that we share this small routine together. You will please to bring me the vicios.' 'Senor, if you will tell me how, I will prepare it.'

'I will prepare it myself, little angel. You are my guest, and I wish to be the host. The vicios, please, if you will be so kind. They are near the oven, through the door there.' Teresa got up and went through the door to the lean-to, and gathered up the necessary utensils. When she returned with them, Juan-Carlos was lying back once more. His eyes were closed again, and when she knelt down to tell him that she had brought the things inside, there was no reply. She waited a little while for him to wake, then called his name, repeated it a little louder, but some inner sense told her that there would be no response. She felt stunned. Surely death couldn't come as swiftly as that? The quiet guttering of a faintly flickering candle, the snuffing of the last brave little flame. She took the old man's hands in hers, willing him to acknowledge her presence. When he didn't, she sat back on her heels, shivering. Suppose she was wrong? She wasn't a doctor, so how could she be sure? He might only be unconscious, or in a deep sleep. There might yet be life in that frail frame, the faintest of breaths that the untrained could not detect. Hardly knowing what she did, Teresa ran outside and gathered up an armful of sticks from the heap at the saw- bench, crumpled some paper and set a fire going in the chimneypiece. She huddled there beside it, but it failed to warm the coldness in her heart that she had come too late. When darkness was coming down and she knew that there was no possible hope, she made the embers of the fire safe and went out with a leaden step to the little pony.

She could see only dimly the path ahead, and after a while not even that, but the horse seemed to know his way across the mesa. There must surely be a more direct way home, though, than the zigzag path down the hillside? The lights of the quinta and its adjacent buildings were much nearer than she had thought they would be, and having identified them, she decided to try a short cut that would rejoin the path lower down. There appeared to be a break in the forest at this point, and she urged the pony off the track and towards the open space. He didn't want to go, but then he didn't want to go anywhere at the best of times, this pony. She put his nose in a direct line with the lights below, and kicked him forward. For a while he stumbled on through spears of grass that were suddenly much taller and coarser than they had been. Then he lurched, taking her completely unawares, and Teresa went flying over his head and straight into a swamp. With relief she found herself unhurt, but she was soaked to the skin, and by the time she had found a firm enough footing in the treacherous slime to work her way out of the mire, the pony had disappeared. What happened after that added to the nightmare that had begun for her back there in Juan-Carlos's cobertizo. Teresa had completely lost her bearings, and now she couldn't even see the lights. She floundered along the edge of the swamp, only to find that the trees among which she finally found herself weren't the ones that contained the path. She pushed her way through a veritable jungle searching for it, to no avail. She refused to allow panic to take over, as it threatened to do, telling herself that she was bound to come upon it again at any minute. She staggered on, pushing, her way past the rough chaparro and vines of wild chayote and the tough lianas that threatened to entangle and trip her. Thorns tore at her trousers, now

so dark with wet slime and mud as to be unrecognisable. Several more times she felt the ground softening treacherously beneath her feet, but with the exception of one more fall—into shallow water of a coldness that surprised her—she somehow managed to skirt the swamps. It was probably more luck than anything else that brought her on to the zigzag trail some hours later, and this time she followed it carefully, working her way down towards the cafetal. She was reeling with exhaustion and her teeth were chattering by the time she got to the corral. The pony was standing there, sniffing over the fence at the other horses, and with her last collected thought she unsaddled him and let him in through the gate. When she finally rang the bell at the front door of the bungalow she was almost beyond speech. Richard came. He was in his dressinggown, and was obviously aghast at her appearance there at this hour. 'Teresa! My God, what on earth -? Whatever have you been doing? I thought you'd have been back at the quinta hours and hours ago. I covered up for you when I realised that you were running late by telling Berta and Enriqueta that you were dining here. Wherever have you been?' 'Richard, can I come in?' He stepped aside and followed her into the hall. 'Teresa,' he broke out despairingly, before she was properly inside, 'she never phoned. Do you hear what I'm saying? She didn't phone at all. I've been through hell.'

And still was there, by the look of him. Teresa realised Richard's voice was verging on hysteria. He hardly seemed aware of her own dishevelled condition, or the small pool her dripping clothes were making. His eyes went right past her, and then he put his hands up to his face and groaned. 'Juan-Carlos is dead,' she told him dully. 'He died, and I wasn't even there. He was all alone, and he's dead. Richard?' Her voice cracked, in spite of her supreme effort at control. 'Can't you listen, for a minute at least? The old man is dead. You'll have to go.' She put her hands on his shoulders and shook him—hard. 'Doesn't it mean anything to you, what I'm saying? An old man has died and I wasn't even there when it happened. You'll have to do something!' He nodded. 'I'll arrange something in the morning. I'm sorry. His heart was very dicey, you know—that's why Leon was giving him tablets. You're in an awful mess, Teresa. Whatever went wrong?' Richard seemed to actually take in her dismay for the first time, and now that he asked, 'she found that she was too weary and sick at heart to go into detail. 'The pony put his foot into a swamp and I fell. I'm not hurt, just soaked and dirty. Richard, could I have a bath? I can't go back to the quinta like this. Perhaps you could lend me some clothes?' 'I'll get something of Christine's. The bathroom's through there.' She ran the water, and when Richard came back he had a clean towel, a pair of shoes and a red shantung dress. 'That's the best I can do. They're hers, but they'll probably fit you. Teresa, I think I hate her now for doing this to me. I knew, you see,

when I was waiting for the telephone to ring, how much she meant to me still, and how much I was banking on it, that call. And then, when it didn't come, I had this feeling that I've never ever had before. I don't know what it is—hate, or despair maybe. Anyway, it's frightening, whatever it is. It's just burning me up.' 'I know, Richard.' Even in her own distress, she could be aware of his. He wasn't exaggerating when he said it was burning him up. She pushed him gently through the door. 'I must get cleaned up. I won't be long.' It took quite a while, though. She found she had to wash her hair, and by the time she had towelled it dry and struggled into the clothes that Richard had brought, another hour had gone by. To her horror she saw that it was almost three o'clock in the morning. The red dress was too tight, and very low-cut at the front. She got it fastened somehow and combed out her hair, leaving it loose the better to get properly dry. 'You'd better have a cup of coffee,' Richard said when she finally emerged. 'No, really, thanks, don't bother. It's so late and we're both tired. I'm sorry I had to knock you up in the middle of the night.' 'I wasn't sleeping anyway, not properly. I don't think I'll be able to, either. I just keep telling myself I don't know what to make of things.' 'Try not to think about it till morning, Richard.' She put her hand on his arm. 'You will see that whatever is necessary is done for JuanCarlos? You will remember? Promise?' 'Yes, I'll see to it.'

'I'll go, then.' 'Goodnight.' 'Goodnight, Richard.' She hardly had the energy to make her way up the path to the quinta. Her muscles were aching, and Christine's high-heeled shoes didn't help either. She had just reached the top step on the stairway to the upper floor when she became aware of Leon standing there in a shaft of light in the gallery. He had on a yellow towelling robe and his hair was tousled, as if fresh from the pillow. There was an incredulous expression on his face. 'Teresa, is it you? I thought I detected an unfamiliar step, and asked myself who it could be at such an hour.' His eyes travelled from the high-heeled shoes to the hair that spilled about her shoulders. They dwelt for no more than a fleeting moment on the indecent cleavage revealed by the tight dress, and then they returned to her face. . There was an almost savage disbelief in his expression and disdain in his voice as he observed tightly, 'You went to the bungalow for supper, did you not? Do you know what time it is now?' She was pinned by his black, blazing gaze. 'Three o'clock,' she hazarded helplessly.

'And a little more, even. Go to your room now, and do not let this happen again—at least, so long as you are living under my roof. Never again. Comprende?' She brushed past, lashed into activity by his searing tone, without another word being said on -either side. It was just her luck, that. To meet Leon, there, and -at this hour, and looking such a sight, too. Those darned high heels! If they hadn't clacked so much on the tiles, he'd never have been woken up! She crawled into bed, too beaten even to worry about it.

In the morning she felt better. She didn't see Richard anywhere, so perhaps he had gone up to the plateau as he had promised. As for Leon, she concentrated on keeping out of his way. The afternoon dragged on, and everything suddenly became an effort. She felt heavy, her head weighted and achey. Her limbs were sore too. Reaction, of course. She must get to bed early, and make up her sleep. Next morning she felt no better, and by the evening of the following day her throat was sore. She spent a restless night, hoping that there would be an improvement, but by daylight she knew that there wasn't. Her chill would just have to run its course. It was no wonder that she had one, having been wet for all that time, and the swamp water had been so cold. Cold. She felt cold now, even though the day promised to be a warm one. She had to concentrate hard to get through the school hours with her depleted class, and was glad when four o'clock came and they could

be dismissed. She was breathless by the time she had walked back to the quinta, and with each breath there was a little knife turning somewhere under her ribs. She excused herself from the meal that night by telling Berta that she was dining at Richard's bungalow. It was the only excuse that came to mind, but she had no intention of going, of course. She made the sanctuary of her room somehow, got into her nightie and into bed. By next morning, she knew she'd have to see Richard. Instead of feeling cold and shivery, she was now hot, with a sort of dry, harsh heat that was consuming her whole body. Her reflection in the mirror, as she battled with her clothes, showed her a face stained high with colour which matched the fire that was burning all the energy out of her, and her eyes shone bright and hard and unfamiliar. She didn't remember the actual walk down to the hospital. She concentrated on little shallow breaths so that the knife wouldn't turn so deeply, wishing she didn't have to take another step at all, but you had to, if you wanted to get there. Then the admission bell was in front of her, and she put her finger on it, fumbling to open the door, but the knob wouldn't turn. She clawed at it ineffectually. It was Judit who opened the door, and Teresa stepped inside and propped herself against the wall. 'Richard?' she said. 'Richard?' He came from the top end of the ward, almost immediately. When he saw her leaning there, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her into a small side-room with a single bed in it. 'Teresa?' He laid her down gently. 'Whatever is wrong?'

'She's really ill, I'd say.' Judit was at his elbow. 'Pneumonia? We'll have to get Leon.' 'No! Not Leon.' She had to shout to make them hear. To understand. 'Not Leon!' 'Teresa, we'll have to,' Judit said firmly. 'Please, not Leon.' 'What is this, not Leon?' He was there, at the entrance to the room. Teresa managed to raise her head to look, and it was Leon himself. Their eyes met for a second, and she saw the recognition in his sharpen into something else. 'Teresa! What has happened?' He came swiftly. 'Qui hay?' to Judit. 'She is ill.' 'Ya se ve!' he bit out. 'Why was I not informed?' 'We've only now learned of it ourselves,' she told him vexedly. 'She just came and rang the doorbell.' He had unfastened the front of Teresa's overall and she felt the cold of his stethoscope against her burning skin. She wished she could speak, he looked so pale and furious, but those stabbing breaths made it difficult, and when he turned her on to her side to sound her back it was even worse. 'We will have her raised up a little in the bed, Judit, if you will bring some more pillows. There, that is better.' He was watching her closely as they hoisted her up, and when the last pillow was in place he put his fingers over her pulse. She reached out and pulled at his hand.

'Please'—she gasped—'Leon—please—don't be—angry.' Leon's expression smoothed, as if by magic. It was as though a mask had been drawn right down over his face, leaving it calm and professional. 'I am not angry, Teresa. Not with you.' 'Not—with—anyone——' she pleaded. 'Do not try to talk just now.' He took the hand that was plucking at his. 'I wish you to take my hand in yours and put it over the place where the pain is worst.' She obeyed, spreading his fingers over her ribs and pressing them there, as if they could somehow rub the pain away, but they couldn't, because the ribs were between his fingers and the knife, so it was no use. 'The right side, as I thought.' He stood back watching her, and Teresa watched him in return, a little warily. The mask was so smooth and impenetrable over his face that, almost, he didn't look like Leon at all. Presently, unexpectedly, he stepped forward and sat down on the bed beside her. He took both her hands in his. 'Teresa,' he said with quiet emphasis, 'we are tal para cual, you and I. Two of a kind. That is why sometimes we fight and disagree. Just now, though, I wish that you will do everything exactly as I say it. Do not talk, but nod your head if you understand what it is I am asking of you, if you are willing to co-operate.' She nodded. She doubted if she could have spoken anyway. She felt altogether too ill, and each breath held a punishment of its very own.

'Muy bien.' Leon smiled. The mask had slipped a little, and the smile had brought the real Leon back again. 'In that case, pequena, you may safely leave everything in my hands. There is nothing to become alarmed about. Just trust me, and all will be well.' She nodded again, and that was the last gesture she made, consciously, of her own volition, for some little time. She was aware that it was an oxygen mask that Judit held to her face, because she could hear the hissing of the old-fashioned cylinder. Then she felt the prick of a needle, and after that a sort of restless oblivion that came and went, confusingly, painfully, exhaustingly. She lost all track of time, or day or night. Someone was there each time she woke. Judit. Clara. Mostly Leon himself. But why was Leon here? Why wasn't he up with Juan-Carlos instead of with her? Maybe he could save Juan-Carlos. If anyone could, it would be Leon. But she knew, in her innermost self, that even Leon couldn't do that. 'He's dead, isn't he?' she managed to croak in a flat, weak voice. Leon looked puzzled. His face was very near, as if he had to lean close to catch the words. 'Who is dead, Teresa?' 'Juan-Carlos. He is dead, isn't he? He died—and I wasn't there.' She felt his hand on her forehead. 'You needn't pretend with me, Leon.' 'I am not pretending, chiquita. I just wish that you will not talk. It does you no good.'

'But I want to talk.' She struggled against his hand. 'Can't you understand? I thought you'd understand.' 'Understand what, Teresa?'.How patient he sounded! So patient, but maddening. She sensed that she was being humoured, like a child. 'I thought you'd—understand—how it was—you see, I couldn't do— anything—for him. I was too late. And—even —when I came—I wasn't there -' 'Shh!' 'When I came—I wasn't there.' 'Hush!' 'You don't believe me—do you.' 'What am I not to believe ?' 'I wasn't there. I went to get—the vicios—that's why. All that way— and then—he was alone—after all.' Her voice broke. She felt her heart was breaking too, with the futility of it all. 'Child, you do not know what you are saying. The vicios, Teresa, they are the things that one has to hand for the brewing of the mate. You are not concerned with such things, little one, so do not distress yourself.' 'They weren't my vicios.' She clutched desperately at Leon's white coat, willing him to understand that he must go to Juan-Carlos before it was too late. 'Please, Leon, say you'll go.' 'Go where, Teresa?' 'Go to Juan-Carlos. Please, Leon. Please!'

His hands grasped her shoulders. His tone was suddenly very stern. 'Teresa, you must stop this, do you hear me? I can do no more for my friend Juan-Carlos. He is dead. You have said so yourself.' 'Yes, I know.' She felt the tears running over, warm, drying almost instantly on her hot, burning cheeks. 'I know. I went—to get the vicios—and he died—just; like that—and I wasn't there -' It was no use trying to talk to Leon, she could see that now. He was taking no notice any more. He had his back turned to her, and when he turned around again, he had another of those needles and a little piece of cotton-wool, and his face had the mask on again, cool and smooth and professional. Only his eyes, as he bent over her, were not cool and professional. Only his eyes were unmasked as he leaned over her and rubbed a little round place on her arm with the cottonwool. His eyes were dark and sombre and held a deep anxiety, and they kept on looking at her even after he had given her the injection. 'Go to sleep, querida,' he said. And then he sat down again and she felt his hand stroking her forehead, and all the irritation she had felt, and the frustration, drained away, and she knew that presently she would sleep because she had promised Leon that she would do exactly what he said. The next time she woke, Judit was there instead. She came over to the bed and bathed Teresa's cracked lips with some cool water. 'Would you like a drink, Teresa?' 'Please.' Teresa sipped from the cup that Judit held for her. 'Thanks, Judit.' She looked around. 'I haven't seen Richard for ages. Is he all right?' 'Yes, he's fine. He's been in and out, but perhaps you were asleep.'

'He's been worried, you see. I hoped it hadn't been too much for him.' Judit gave her an odd look. 'We've all been worried,' she said soberly, and Teresa realised that they were at complete cross-purposes in this conversation. She seemed to be at cross-purposes whenever she tried to make conversation. 'I think I'll go to sleep again,' she told Judit wearily. She slept and woke. Woke and slept. Until the time when she woke up to feel completely free of pain or fever. 'You look like a pirate,' she said suddenly to Leon, who was sitting in the chair where he so often was. His head jerked up when she spoke. 'Como?' Her observation had startled him. 'Your beard. Well, almost a beard.' 'Ah. You refer to my unshaven chin.' He ran his fingers over the dark stubble and chuckled. 'You are better, I think, Teresa. Truly you are yourself again.' 'Quite better.' 'Not quite, but considerably so. You must give yourself time.' He came over and sat down on the bed, feeling for her wrist. 'Soon we will be able to dispense with this apparatus that is attached to your arm. In the meantime, I will help you to turn a little if you will be more comfortable so.' 'No, it's all right. A tired pirate.'

'What's that?' He was concentrating, not really listening to her, and her heart smote her to see the pallor, the deepening of the lines about his mouth, and the dark hollows at his eyes. 'Leon, you look so tired. I hate to see you like that, and it's all my fault. I think you've been here all the time, haven't you. It's been years.' 'Not years.' The hint of a smile flitted over his sallow features. 'A week almost, and we took our turn.' 'No, you were here the most. I wanted, to thank you, but I couldn't seem to get it over.' Something clicked in her mind when she said that. 'I—I didn't talk, I don't think? I hope not. Did I?' She looked at him uncertainly. 'You rambled a little. Why?' 'Nothing. It's just that, when you've been so confused, like I was, you don't know what is real and what isn't.' 'There is something in particular that you wish to establish or confirm?' he asked carefully. 'No, not really.' She licked her lips. 'I suppose I said some silly things, did I?' Leon was watching her intently. 'At the time, perhaps, they sounded so, but in reality they were not so stupid after all. Is there anything that worries you, pequena? If so, it is better that we discuss it. If not, if it is not too pressing, it may be preferable to wait until you are stronger.' 'No, there's nothing,' she said quickly. 'Nothing at all. Only -'

'Only what, Teresa?' She put her hand up to the lines that grooved his unshaven cheek. 'I can't bear to see you so tired and pale, Leon. I wish you could go and get some sleep. Could you do that? It would make me feel much better if I thought you could sleep too.' 'Then I'll need to consider my patient's welfare, will I not?' He paused in the doorway. 'I'll have a couple of hours if you promise to do the same. You must rest all you can, and soon you will be able to come back to the quinta.' He made it sound like home. Her home, too, and not just his. There was a curious little ache inside Teresa when she thought about that—an ache that wasn't like any of the aches or pains of her recent illness. It wasn't identifiable at all, unless perhaps it could be put down to weakness after that high fever.

CHAPTER EIGHT IN fact it was another week before she was allowed back to the quinta, and even then she was made to keep to her bed in the mornings, sitting in her gown at the window in the afternoons, and taking walks along the gallery. Berta brought a succession of tempting trays that Ernesta had obviously taken special trouble to prepare, and sometimes Enriqueta dropped in to sit for a while in the other cane chair, either crocheting in companionable silence or giving Teresa little titbits of information about the children. Leon had found a woman to take over in the meantime, in a supervisory capacity merely, for she was untutored herself, and therefore unable to do more than watch over the children as they drew and painted, modelled with plasticine or played at the sand-pit, and in the afternoons, they— the little ones—were actually teaching their proxy-teacher some of the games and songs that they had learned from Teresa herself. 'They are longing for the day that you will be back among them, but Leon has already forbidden your return for another week at least,' Enriqueta told her kindly. 'So you must not fret, but concentrate on becoming strong again for that moment. Me, I wonder how you manage them even when you are well, they are so exuberant, those little things—or perhaps it is that Enriqueta is becoming too old for their energetic ways.' Teresa felt glad of Enriqueta's undemanding company. For some reason she couldn't overcome the depression that had weighted her spirit ever since her illness, even though physically she felt almost back to normal. It would do her good, she told herself

determinedly, to get back among the children. One couldn't help but be cheered up by their innocent remarks and conversations. Leon looked in twice a day, but briefly, and she supposed that he must be as busy as ever down there at his clinic. One afternoon, though, he came in as she was sitting in her chair at the window, and obviously, on this occasion, he was prepared to make a longer visit, for he lifted the other chair over nearer to hers, and sat down in it. 'You are feeling more yourself these days, Teresa?' 'Yes, thank you, Leon.' He glanced sharply at her, almost as if he detected the lack of conviction in her reply. 'Your progress has been steady and satisfactory, as one might expect with youth and the benefit of normal good health on your side.' A pause. 'I hesitate to put this progress at risk, but there are certain matters that must be put right between us. They can no longer remain unspoken.' She had looked up in some surprise, but now she couldn't think of anything to say. So she waited, feeling a slight tingling of unease, for no particular reason that she could immediately think of. 'You know, I am sure of it, to what I refer?' Teresa shook her head, still silent. 'I mean the business of Juan-Carlos Corriente, naturally.' 'Oh.'

Leon gave her one of those direct looks of his. 'Yes. I am sorry, Teresa, but it must be discussed.' 'Must it?' 'You know it must,' he replied inflexibly. 'I don't see why.' 'I wish to hear what took place that day from yourself, please.' 'But you must already know, Leon, to have mentioned it at all. Please, can't we just leave it?' Her eyes were wide with pleading. 'No, we cannot just leave it, I am afraid. The small picture that I have has been achieved by the unsatisfactory expedient of putting together the slight scraps of information which I gleaned from your own fevered lips—yes, Teresa, you spoke a little, but disjointedly, yet it was apparent that there had to be some foundation for these fantasies. And then, after a severe questioning of Richard Haywell, I learned of his part in the matter, and a little of your own. Valgame Dios!' He bit out the words. 'If he were not a grown man I would have had him flogged for asking this thing of you!' Anger was smouldering in the depths of the dark eyes holding her own. 'You mustn't blame Richard, please, Leon. He was quite distraught about his own private affairs. You must have heard about that, too, by now, if you've been speaking to him about it?' 'It was inexcusable, Teresa, so make no attempt to absolve him from responsibility, if you please. He is already too good at turning from it, it seems to me.'

She pressed her lips together, determined not to be drawn into an argument about Richard. Not with Leon, who was obviously prejudiced against him anyway. There was silence. 'Come, Teresa,' Leon prompted sternly. 'I wish to hear this thing from your own lips, however painful it may be to you to recall it.' Painful, yes. She had shied away from remembering, because it was hardly bearable, and now he was forcing her to. Not until this moment had she thought that Leon could be capable of such cruelty and ruthlessness. 'You may begin,' he told her inexorably. 'Yes. Well'—she plucked at her robe with nervous fingers—'I rode the little spotted pony up to the plateau, and when I got to JuanCarlos's place, it was all so quiet that I thought he couldn't be in. I opened the door, I meant just to leave his medicines in a prominent place where he'd see them, you see, and come away again.' 'Yes?' 'Well, I went inside, and Juan-Carlos was lying on his mattress. He was covered with a blanket, and he—he looked dreadfully ill. So dreadfully ill.' 'Was he able to recognise you?' 'Oh yes, he knew me straight away. He seemed so pleased to see me—very pleased. He said he had been unable to get up for several days, and it had been lonely.' There was a tremor in her voice that she couldn't quite disguise. 'You can imagine how lonely he must have felt, there all by himself, and unable even to reach the door?'

She looked at Leon, to find him watching her attentively, without expression. 'I can imagine. What else did he say?' 'He was too weak to say very much. He thanked me for coming. He said he had been waiting—for an angel.' She swallowed. 'I realise now that he was using the word in a— sort of—double sense. At the time I didn't think of anything like that, I—I'm not very good about illness, Leon. I didn't realise. I just said I'd stay with him until he felt better. I did what little I could to make him comfortable.' 'He knew he could go at any time, Teresa.' Leon's calm voice steadied her a little. 'What then?' 'Well, he wanted me to drink a mate with him. He insisted, you see. It seemed important to him. He said there is nothing so companionable as this ritual between friends. That's exactly what he said. Well'—she clasped her hands between her knees, trying to hide the trembling that seemed to have attacked her—'I told Juan-Carlos that I would prepare it, if he would tell me how, but he said no, that he would like to do it himself. He said he was better now that I was there, and he told me to get the vicios. I went. I suppose I believed him when he said he was better. I told you I'm not very good about medical matters. I should have known, but I didn't.' She was silent then, striving to appear contained, momentarily unable to continue. 'What happened then?' 'That's all.' 'That is not all.' 'Leon—please -'

'You must tell me. Please continue.' 'How can it make any difference?' she flared resentfully. 'What's the point, Leon? Juan-Carlos has gone, hasn't he? It isn't going to bring him back. Why are you being so sadistic? I think you're cruel! Cruel, do you hear me?' She stood up, walked to the window, and stared out bleakly, her throat tight. 'Claro, you think many things of me, I know.' His voice was right behind her. 'Nevertheless you will continue. You went to get the vicios. Where were they?' 'Outside. In that little sort of lean-to place, beside the oven. And when I came back -' 'Yes, pequena? When you came back -?' Teresa leaned her head forward against the window. 'He had died. I couldn't believe it, of course. I was stunned. And I began to think, what if he's just very sick, what if there's hope? And I lit a fire, because it seemed so cold suddenly, and cheerless for him, and I waited. I waited for ages. I don't know how long, but for a long time anyway, there with Juan-Carlos. But it was no use. I think I really knew it all the time, but I stayed till it was getting dark.' She was rushing on now. Anything to get it over with. 'And when it got really dark, I could see the lights of the quinta down below me, and they looked quite near—much nearer than the track that you and I went by—and there seemed to be a clearing in the trees. Or it looked like a clearing—a short cut, you know—but it wasn't, it was really a sort of swamp, quite deep, but the reeds hid the water. The pony tripped and I fell off.' She caught the muffled exclamation behind her ear. 'It wasn't his fault, it was mine. I should have stuck to the track,

but when I tried to get back to it I couldn't find it again, and there seemed to be swamps all around me, just small ones, but they were everywhere, and it was difficult to avoid them in the dark. Then I found the path again, and I came back down through the cafetal.' 'Madre de Dios! You came on foot? This I did not know!' She nodded. 'The pony was already home. He was standing at the corral, so I let him in and got his saddle off, and then I went to the—the bungalow. It was some time after one o'clock, I don't know exactly. I was rather wet and muddy, so I asked Richard if I could have a bath, and he said I could, and he brought me a towel and a dress to put on and shoes and things, and he promised he would go to Juan- Carlos first thing in the morning.' She turned from the window and looked up at him wearily. 'Well, that's it, Leon. That's the whole story. You know it all now, don't you? Are you satisfied now?' She couldn't hide the desolation in her voice, and that implied taunt, that he had more or less bullied it out of her, reached its mark. He put his hand over his eyes for a brief moment, then down to his chin, to rub in some abstraction. Finally he took her hands and put her back into the chair, quite gently. When he spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically gruff. 'Teresa, you must know that I would have done much to spare you this experience. Why did you not tell me this when we encountered each other upon your return?' 'You were angry,' she pointed out.

'Even so, you have faced my wrath before, and countered it very well on other occasions, have you not? Have I then been so unreasonable, so unapproachable?' Something in his eyes touched a chord in her very heart. He was autocratic and imperious no longer. Rather he appeared—well, vulnerable, in some strange way. She found that she was suddenly anxious to avoid hurting him or quarrelling with him any further. '1 couldn't tell you, Leon. I'd promised Richard.' Leon walked back to the window. 'Do you mean to tell me that, because of your feeling for this man, you permitted me to think what I did think that night? That if you had not developed a pneumonia and the complication of a pleurisy that made you talkative with fever, you would have allowed me to go on thinking it? Perhaps for ever? Without enlightenment?' 'I didn't blame you for your attitude. I mean, I could guess what you must be thinking.' She gave a feeble smile. 'It was an awful dress, wasn't it? But it was the best Richard could do, and he was so distracted—and guilty too, at having involved me. I just couldn't let him down by saying anything. I hoped you need never find out.' 'I see.' Leon sighed, and left the window. 'Well, that is that, Teresa. It is better that we are honest with each other, chica. And I wish that you will cease to reproach yourself about Juan-Carlos. You brought pleasure and comfort to an old man by your presence and your compassion. Medically speaking, he was beyond help, but he died in the knowledge that you were there in his dwelling with him, and in the anticipation of acting host to the young lady who had come all that way to visit him and whom he was so pleased to welcome in the traditional manner of his countrymen. You were in truth his angel.' At the door he turned. 'Perhaps Enriqueta has told you already that

we are expecting visitors to Quimera? Richard's sister is concerned for him since Christine stirred up this business so abortively, and she is accompanying a friend of mine, Dona Alicia de Antilla, on this excursion. Indeed, you have already met them both'—the ghost of a smile lifted the corners of his stern mouth—'at a certain restaurant one evening, when a nervous waitress spilt some gravy upon one of the diners. Do not worry, though, for I have written in advance to explain your presence here, and thus to save a possible embarrassment.' 'When will they come?' 'This day week, Teresa. I am not sure, even with the progress that you are making, that you will be back to a normal routine by then. Felicity will of course wish to be with Richard and her nephews for the few days they are here, but Dona Alicia will be our guest here at the quinta.' 'Yes, I see.' She felt winded by this piece of news, glad that she was still sitting in the cane chair. 'It will be very nice for Richard to see his sister—he has been very down lately. And I'm sure you, too, will be glad to see your own friend.' 'Naturally I anticipate her visit with some pleasure, Teresa, for we have known each other over many years.' Leon closed the door behind him as he went out, and Teresa lay back in the chair and shut her eyes. That interview had exhausted her more than she would have thought possible. Oh, well. She should have realised it would all come out somehow, and Leon hadn't been too explosive about it in the end. In fact, he had been quite patient and understanding, considering the way in which they had deceived him. There was something truly endearing about Leon at times, and this had been one of those times.

Just when she had expected him to be really furious, he had been calm and helpful, and now that it was all sorted out, Richard need not feel so bad about it, either. It would be good for him to have his sister here, for she, after all, had known his wife, and could probably offer him more useful support and advice than Teresa herself. He had been going around looking completely lost ever since that wretched day. Nothing had been heard of Christine at all, and she hadn't even let him know that she was well, let alone sent any reason for not making the appointed phone call. No wonder he appeared preoccupied to the point of vagueness. Even Judit complained that he hardly seemed to hear when one spoke to him, and that his concentration had suffered to such an extent that his work was actually affected. When Felicity arrived, Richard did appear to pick up a little. She and Dona Alicia came by plane one afternoon, in fact on Teresa's first day back at the nursery school. She had just seen the last couple of children collected, and was putting away the crayons and rubbing the blackboards clean when the two women walked past on their way to the quinta. Leon and Richard were with them. At the turn to the bungalow they split up, and only Leon and Dona Alicia took the path to the right. Teresa watched them through the end window, thinking what a handsome pair they were, Leon looking relaxed, almost in holiday mood, in pale trousers and a crisp white shirt, and the woman at his side in a beautifully cut linen dress of fondant pink that showed off her olive skin and abundant jet black hair. She was not nearly as tall as Leon himself, but willowy and fine-boned, and she moved with a feline grace that would have done credit to a trained model, swaying her slender hips a little as she walked with long, easy steps that almost matched his. When Teresa came down for supper that night Enriqueta called her as she crossed the plazuela.

'You are to dine later than is customary this evening,' she told Teresa when she had arrested her attention. 'It is Dona Alicia's wish to keep the more formal hour, so Leon is staying a little later at the clinic, since he does not intend to return there at all tonight. Dona Alicia wishes you to join her in the sala in the meantime.' 'I see. Thank you. Enriqueta.' Hesitantly Teresa went towards the sala, knocked on the door and entered. Dona Alicia rose from the chintz chair in which she had been sitting and came over. 'Ah, good evening, senorita. Miss Travers, is it not?' Although she spoke in Spanish, Dona Alicia extended her hand in the English manner. Her clasp was cool, brief and firm. She was evidently quite at home in Leon's sala, and Teresa found herself envying her this exquisite poise. Her dress, too, was one that any woman might covet—simple and black, with deceptively subtle draping across the bust and hips. Teresa, in her own short cotton, felt gauche and dowdy and at an immediate disadvantage. As if sensing this, the older woman contrived politely to put her at her ease. 'Come, let me offer you a sherry. This fino is dry and light and extremely palatable. Yes, please to sit there, where we may converse easily with one another.' Enriqueta had put out little silver dishes of nuts and olives and tiny empanadas that were hot from Ernesta's oven. Teresa accepted one of the delicious pastry envelopes, and sat down uneasily.

'I wish you good health, Teresa.' After the appropriate gesture of salutation Dona Alicia brought her sherry to her lips. 'You do not mind that I use your name, as Leon has done in his letter? He. has told me of the reason for your sojourn on Quimera, and what a good teacher you have turned out to be. Indeed, he quite sings your praises, and this from Leon is a rare honour, I assure you.' Thank heaven Dona Alicia had made no mention of that previous encounter in London! Teresa had half feared that she might, but it appeared that that, at least, was one hurdle that Leon had already cleared for her. 'Did you have a good flight?' she asked, and for a time they exchanged pleasantries about the length of the journey, and the uncertainties of the various climates through which one passed in order to get to Quimera. All the superficial social devices were brought into play to while away an hour successfully, and then it happened. 'Leon tells me that you have been ill, quite seriously so. A neglected pneumonia, is that right?' 'Yes, that's right. But I'm quite recovered now, of course.' 'Even so, you appear tired. I am sure that an early night would benefit your health, Teresa, and I think it would be tactful, do not you, if you requested Berta to take a tray to your room? You will appreciate, I am certain, that being the friends of long standing that we are, Leon and I would prefer to have as much time together as is possible during such a short stay as this one must be.' Teresa had not been expecting this. 'I don't know what Leon will say if I do that,' she faltered. 'I am sure that he will expect me to appear.'

'On the contrary, I am of the opinion that you will manage—very diplomatically, you understand, and only if he should ask—to convince him that in fact you prefer things this way. You are, after all, a part of the serving household, and not a member of the family. I suppose that Leon arranges these things, when he is alone, for Enriqueta's convenience, but when I am mistress here it will naturally be different. I shall see to it that you are given an apartment of your own, quite near to the school building, where you will be closer to the scene of your particular activity, and also very comfortable, of course.' 'I am not at all sure that I shall be here to take advantage of such an offer, senora,' Teresa retorted coldly, although inside, for some reason, she felt a white-hot heat spreading through her veins. 'Do you wish me to take my leave of you now?' 'I should respect this gesture towards our privacy, yes. And I am sure that I can rely upon you—as one woman to another I speak now, Teresa, and not just the future mistress of this household—to treat the situation in such a manner that Leon will not be made to feel that you have been driven from his table. That would be an exaggeration, would it not? I merely ask that we may be together for the few precious hours that he is able to spare. He is too kind, too quixotic, to ask for this himself, you may be sure.' 'I understand you well, senora,' said Teresa tonelessly. 'May I wish you goodnight?' 'And I wish the same thing to you, senorita. I know that you will handle this small episode with a good grace, and intelligently.' Teresa walked from the room with all the dignity at her command, even though she was sorely tempted to slam the door behind her. That would have been childish, and she had no intention of giving the senora that sort of satisfaction.

Her eyes were blazing, her face white, as she gave Berta the briefest instruction to bring her a tray. 'Nothing much, Berta. I am not hungry.' 'Senorita, are you unwell again?' clucked Berta. 'You are so pale! As white as one of Ernesta's eggshells!' Leon asked the same thing some time later. He came bursting into her room with barely a knock, with exactly the same question on his lips, as his eyes took in the hardly- touched tray. By his rapid breaths she knew that he had probably taken the stone steps two at a time. He looked quite startled at her pale, cold calm and the vehemence of her denial. 'If you are not unwell, then why are you here, instead of downstairs at the table where I expected you to be?' 'I'm tired, that's why.' He was instantly concerned. 'You have returned to the school too soon, pequena, as I feared you might.' He came over and took her wrist between his brown fingers, but she shook her hand free immediately. 'Do stop that, Leon!' she snapped irritably. 'Does everything have to have a medical reason, with you?' He did stop then—quite abruptly, almost as if she had struck him. Teresa bit her lip, already wishing the words unsaid. 'What other reason can there be?' he asked quietly.

She sighed, weary to her bones of the whole unsavoury business. 'Look, Leon, I'm tired—just plainly, simply tired. Can't I be tired, like other people can, without you having to ferret out a reason?' She relented slightly in her tone, for there was a baffled expression on Leon's face. She was being cruel now, and she felt sick with herself, sick to her very soul. She'd never been like this before, not with anyone, ever. And she didn't want to behave like this now, and least of all with Leon. Certainly not with Leon. With an awful sense of exploding disaster, Teresa realised that she was jealous of that poised and lovely woman downstairs. She was mad, green, demented with jealousy, because that beautiful, calculating, merciless creature downstairs was going to be Leon's wife, and not Teresa herself. It was unfair, unjust, when that woman couldn't possibly love Leon with the all-consuming wonder and terror and passion that Teresa had just discovered in herself. It was frightening! It was smothering! She felt that she could drown in the very intensity of it! 'Teresa, what is it? Que pasa?' Leon had been watching her changing expressions in some anxiety. 'It's nothing, Leon. I am tired, though. And surely, even though I am only an employee, I'm still a person, aren't I, and have the right to decide where I will dine without the entire household getting into an uproar about it?' A muscle moved near his jaw. 'You have this right, pequena, of course.' 'Then I choose to exercise it, if I may. And any other night too, if I like, without having to offer explanations, or feign illness which I

honestly assure you is not the case, so you mustn't worry about it. You don't mind, do you?' She looked at him defensively. 'I do not mind,' he agreed in some bewilderment, 'if such is truly your wish. But neither do I understand. De verdad, sometimes I understand you very little, I think, Teresa,' he added, half angrily. 'It can be of little consequence anyway,' she managed casually. 'Perhaps we never were meant to understand each other, you and I. Please go back to your visitor now. I shall probably go to sleep quite soon.' She didn't, though, of course. She tossed and turned restlessly until it was almost morning, and then fell into a restless slumber. She was heavy-eyed and listless when she walked down to the schoolroom, but somehow, over the next few days, she took a hold on herself, and told herself that she must buck up. Plenty of people had had to live with this sort of thing, and come to terms with it. She'd just have to face facts, and then tuck them out of sight as if they didn't exist. She would try to, anyhow. It was the only thing to do. One good thing, at least—Felicity's visit seemed to have aided Richard's morale, even if Dona Alicia's had done nothing for Teresa's! When Diego invited her to come down and see the new crane working at the loading bay, she accepted gratefully. 'May I bring a couple of the older children, after school? I know they'd love to see it too.' 'But of course. We will watch together, and take care that they come to no harm,' Diego agreed cheerfully.

His boyish enthusiasm and practicality always did her good. She had found it so in the past, and today was no exception. The steamer was at the dockside, and that was a fascination in itself for the children, whose knowledge of sea-going craft extended little further than the log-built rafts that the local fishermen used around and beyond the shallow reefs that skirted the islands. Diego took them all on board, down to the engine-room, up to the bridge, and then from the wharf they stood and watched the giant crane scooping up its loads and depositing them in the for'ard hold. 'Will it pay for itself in time?' she shouted, above the clanking noises about them. 'It must have been very costly.' 'Initially, yes, as with all these things. But we save much of the previous expense of packaging and smaller containers compared with the bulk method, and soon the debt will be paid off by this means. Also, when we have built the new pier beyond the reef on the other side of the peninsula, we will move this crane there. The larger the vessel the more use we will have for it, you see.' 'Yes. It's marvellous, Diego. What an invention!' 'The next will be an automatic conveyor for some of the other products that do not lend themselves to the bulk method, but this must wait, of course. It is yet a dream at this stage.' 'It'll come in time, I'm sure, Diego. We've had a great time down here, haven't we, children? It was good of you to let us come.' He grinned. 'I knew that you would be interested, and perhaps even a little amazed, at our progress. Your interest is a delight. Always you like to see what is being done, and this is a reward. It is for my own satisfaction that I ask you.'

She laughed with him. 'Now you're teasing me. It's been great fun, anyway— but we'll have to go back now.' 'It is good to see you better, Teresa,' Diego told her, as the children ran ahead of them, 'and happy again, with the colour of the peach on your cheeks once more. All the people were anxious that you were not well, but especially the family of Juan-Carlos Corriente. They wish one day to meet you and to thank you for your kindness to their father and grandfather. Later I will arrange this, if you will allow it. For moments only, and without embarrassment, but it would mean much to them. They are good people and not neglectful, although it may have perhaps appeared so to the uninformed. Sometimes the independence of a viejo can create difficulties for those closest to him, is it not so?' 'I did little, Diego. But of course I should be glad to meet them if it will help.' 'You will see the great-grandson of Juan-Carlos, and he will amuse you. He is lively, and full of spirit like his bisabuelo. He will eat that little locket that lies at your throat if you are not cautious, and the buttons from your overall.' He was telling her this to entertain the children, who were now crowding close to him, laughing as he winked at them. No doubt Diego was a favourite with everyone, young and old alike. They all trooped back in the homeward direction, and Teresa felt more content and cheerful than she had felt for ages. One had to find a compromise, and the company of the children and their constant chatter was as diverting as Diego's was stimulating. She could still find a useful place for herself on Quimera, if she could only get this

feeling for Leon under control, or better still, out of her system altogether. Anyway, to stay at the quinta when Dona Alicia came would not only be unthinkable, it would be unbearable. Once she got right away from there, things might be better. The thought was strangely fortifying, and brought her at least a measure of peace. She surprised herself, therefore, when the very next day, she went quite overboard with anger at little Jamie Hay- well—and all over the simple matter of a butterfly. Although the oldest of her charges, he was only eight years old, after all, and a row of that magnitude over one small butterfly obviously seemed to Jamie something of a storm in a teacup. He stayed behind after class, while she spoke to him about it. 'Now go home, Jamie, and when you come tomorrow, I shall expect you to have learned that Spanish verse word for word. And if you haven't,' she called after him from the doorway, 'I shall speak to your father about it!' He scuttled off, and Teresa went slowly back to Jamie's desk. The butterfly still lay there, a pale, pure yellow, with little black dots in the centre of its rust-fringed wings. Almost she imagined that the tiny wings lifted in the slight draft from the open door. She took it tenderly and laid it on her palm, gazing down at it. Poor little thing. Gallant and bright, and harmful to no one. It hadn't deserved such a fate! When she looked up again, Leon was standing in the doorway. 'Teresa, what is the matter?' 'Nothing, Leon.'

'Then why are you looking like that? What have you there in your hand?' 'Just a butterfly, that's all. Jamie killed it. He did it with a pin, before I could even stop him.' She put it down carefully on the desk again, still gazing at it. 'I'm afraid I lost my temper with him, and I shouldn't have. I do wish I hadn't now. But why should he do a thing like that? Why?' 'Perhaps you were expecting too much of him. He is a boy, and not a saint, chiquita. It cannot be otherwise at his age,' Leon pointed out gently. 'I know.' Her voice trembled. 'I don't know why, but it just got me down, somehow. It looked so—so helpless, so pretty, and he laughed when I got upset. I'm sorry now that I was quite so angry, though.' 'You have punished him?' 'I tried to make him see that it was needless and undeserved. I talked to him about it, and then I gave him a little verse to learn in Spanish, about a butterfly. It goes— "Your jubilation in flight; your restlessness in the air; your life, in the sunshine, in the air, in flight" -' 'I know it. It is Florit's poem, is it not? "How tiny your death, under the light of living fire. How serene the grace of your wings, for all time now open in the book." ' She looked at Leon standing by the door. She couldn't see him very well, because her eyes were brimming with tears. "That's it. He'll never understand it, will he? The words are too big, and the thoughts are too complicated. I shouldn't have asked him to. It's just that I was so foolishly upset.'

'It will do no harm to learn it, none at all. I think'— there was a pause—'I think that, perhaps, it is the other verse that has upset you, if you will admit it, Teresa. The one that you did not ask him to learn?' ' "And in you, so gentle, in your silent death, in your dreamless dream, how many illusions lost in the air, how many despairing thoughts." ' Leon's quiet voice translated the words for her, although she knew them herself, of course. 'I am right, am I not?' Teresa turned away, blindly. She heard him move away from the door, and the heavy tread of his steps as they came past the tables to the desk. Then his hands were turning her around to face him and he was saying in a low, insistent voice, 'If you are going to weep, Teresa, then let it be here, upon my own shoulder.' It was suddenly inevitable, unavoidable. She couldn't hide the tears any longer, couldn't prevent them overflowing down her cheeks in two warm channels that splashed on to the front of her overalls. She was shaken by the sobbing that racked her, ashamed, yet unable to do anything about it. Leon drew her to him and held her there, closely, as if they were one person, and after a time she felt his hand on the back of her head, pressing her face against his coat. 'Hush, querida! Chiton, my little pigeon!' His deep voice soothed her with murmured endearments, as one might comfort a child.

When at last she grew calmer, he held her still, and for a time she was content just to stay there in the shelter of his arms, drained of all emotion. If only she could remain here for ever, how easy life would be! The thought, and the impossibility of it, brought her to her senses. Leon had made no move to release her, but now, when he felt her straining against his hold, he let her go immediately. 'Here.' He passed her a large white handkerchief and she mopped at her ravaged face. 'Thanks.' She drew a shuddering breath or two and sat down at the nearest desk. 'I'm terribly sorry, Leon.' 'On the contrary, you must not be sorry, Teresa. I looked for this to happen some time ago, but it did not. It is better that you have at last given way to. this emotion that you have repressed for so long a time.' 'It was the butterfly,' she explained shakily. 'It—it was just the—last straw.' 'The last straw. You are right. It was the detail, the trigger, but not the root cause. Sometimes these things accumulate, one by one, and then some tiny happening tips the balance. Your little butterfly has performed a useful service. You will feel better now, and you will see the affair of the butterfly in its proper perspective.' He sat down beside her at the desk, and put his arm around her shoulders. 'You do feel better, I think, do you not? Then we will sit down here for a little while, just the two of us, while you collect yourself, and then we will walk back to the quinta.' They walked together in silence, and at the door of her bedroom Leon spoke again.

'Perhaps you will do me the honour of dining at my table tonight? That is, unless it be a moment when you wish to exercise this right of refusal which you so recently have claimed—not that I dispute its validity, you understand, pequena.' There was a definite twinkle in Leon's eyes, although his manner was courteously formal. 'No. I mean, yes,' she amended, flushing and a little breathless, because the twinkle did strange things to her equilibrium. 'I'd like that, very much.' 'Then let us make the most of this harmony between us. Hasta luego, chica.' The words were almost a caress, as though he supposed that she might still be in need of comfort. Well, what was the harm in it? Just one evening, alone with Leon? There wouldn't be many more, so she might as well make the most of it, as he had himself suggested. It was surprisingly .easy to talk to Leon that night. They chatted amicably, and it wasn't only the mellow warmth, brought about by the wine they shared, that loosened her tongue. She felt as if a spring had been released inside her; as if, from now on, life could never be so difficult or so miserable again. It would have to be enough, just to stay on Quimera and help to build it into the sort of place that Leon and Diego wanted it to be, and there was a role that she could play in that. A role that, although it was not all that important, was already making a certain contribution to the island's community. If love couldn't be a part of her life, she would recognise the fact, and be glad that she and Leon were working for the same cause, at least—and one that was very near to his heart. If

being a part of that cause was the nearest she could get to his heart, then that would be a lot better than nothing at all. She was telling him, now, about the walk that she and the children had had, down to see the new crane. 'It's a mobile one, of course, and very big. Diego says it does the work of the men in about a third of the time, and saves them such heavy labour too. It will soon pay for itself in saving on man-hours and packaging costs. He showed us all over the boat that was in as well, even the engine-room. I'd never been in an engine-room before.' Leon smiled. 'I did not realise that you were on quite these terms with Diego.' 'Oh, yes, we're great friends, Diego and I. We have been for some time. He always tells me when he's got something new that pleases him, and he always shows me things that he knows I'll find interesting, too. Why, he even took me to a fiesta at the village one night. We went in a lovely green Sulky with brass trappings and two mules.' 'Did you indeed?' The smile widened. It made Leon look incredibly boyish and devil-may-care when something really amused him like that. 'And how did you fare that evening, Teresa? One is of course aware that Diego Gilberto is not averse to the company of a pretty young woman, nor proof against her charms. I dare say you discovered this? Or, at least, such is his reputation.' 'We're like brother and sister, Diego and 1.1 was warned beforehand, anyway.' 'I am not at all surprised that Richard saw fit to warn you,' he drawled.

'Not Richard—Berta. Berta tells me many things, and this Was one of them. She exaggerates, of course. You can't believe half of what she says sometimes. She's a good girl, though, and she has a way with children.' She paused. Then—'Leon?' 'Yes, Teresa?' 'Do you think that, when I shall be living down there near the schoolhouse, I could perhaps have someone like Berta to help me? Someone I could train, like you have your nursing auxiliaries? I could extend the classes then, and take in even more children. I'd have them reading and able to write a little, before it was time for them to attend the big school in the village. It would be a worthwhile thing to do. What I mean is, seven, which is what the admission age is in the pueblo, is fairly old to be starting one's education without any preliminary grounding whatever, isn't it? I think we could soon improve the standard generally if I could have someone to train into the way of it, Leon.' Leon's fingers were fastened around the stem of his wine goblet. He was holding the crystal goblet quite still in front of him. 'Leon? Do you think I could?' He'd hardly been listening to a word she'd been saying! He had heard, though, it seemed. At last he replied, and when he did, his voice was somehow strained, just a little rough at the edges, as if every word was costing him something in effort and control. 'I am certain that something can be arranged along these lines, Teresa, yes. Let us wait, shall we not, Until that time will come.' 'Yes, of course. And when the time comes, we will talk about it again,' she agreed softly, and her own voice was a little husky too,

just then. How tired Leon's eyes were, and the weary lines were back about his mouth. Tactfully, Teresa hurried with the remainder of the meal, and then excused herself to go upstairs to her room.

CHAPTER NINE IT was some weeks after this that Judit came to the schoolroom in the afternoon, just as the children were packing up. The Haywells were the last to leave, and she waited until they were out of earshot before she spoke. 'Teresa, Richard has asked me to tell you to go to the bungalow straight away, if you possibly can. He's in an awful state, and I really think you'd better hurry, if you can.' Teresa's eyes widened in alarm. She had an awful feeling that she had been through all this before—and not very long ago, at that! 'Whatever is it, Judit?' 'He didn't say.' 'Haven't you any idea?' 'I don't know, but he's asked Leon for a few days off, and Leon has said he can have them. He didn't tell Leon why, but I think Leon thinks he could do with them anyway. The man's a bundle of nerves these days, isn't he? I wish he could get himself sorted out, for all our sakes.' 'I was going over anyway, later, but I'll hurry now, Judit, if he wants me immediately. Thanks for bringing the message.' She pushed the exercise books into the drawer of her table, slammed it shut, and gathered up the few remaining bits and pieces. When she went into his house, she saw that Judit had indeed spoken the truth. Richard was white and distracted, and obviously thoroughly shaken up about something.

'Teresa, thank God you've come! I just felt I couldn't decide on anything until I'd spoken to you. You're the only one I can trust. I simply don't know what to do for the best.' 'What is it, Richard? Look, sit down here and get yourself together, for heaven's sake. We'll get nowhere with you pacing around the place in that demented fashion.' 'Well, I feel demented. That's what I feel—honestly.' He sat down and dropped his head into his hands. 'Christine has phoned,' he said in a strangled voice. 'She's in Florida, right enough. No, not Miami—in Tampa, Ybor City. She's alone. Heaven alone knows how she's landed up there, but she wants me to go to her, to—to talk things out. No, she won't come here. I asked her would she, of course I did, but she says she wants to meet on neutral territory. Neutral territory!' He laughed harshly. 'I ask you! After what we've been to each other, and what she's done to me, how can anything or anywhere be neutral?' 'You'll have to go, of course.' Richard looked up for a moment, dropped his head back in his hands with a groan. 'Teresa, I don't think I can.' 'Richard, you must. You know you have to.' 'What if she does the same thing again?' he demanded. 'What thing?' 'What if I go all that way and she's not there? Or what if she wants to be out of it for good? I don't think I could stand it, Teresa, honestly,

coming back here having been chucked over for good and all.' The words were muffled, from him. 'I've been living on hope, you know that.' 'Look, things will be all right, Richard. And even if they aren't, it's better to know, truly it is. Once you know for certain, you can do something about it, you can come to grips with it.' 'No, I can't.' He shook his head. 'I can't do that, Teresa. I'm not like you. Not strong, like you. Look at the way you bobbed up after your parents went, making a decision to come out here when you didn't even know what might be ahead of you, gambling on it being O.K. I'm just not made that way. Some people are, and some just aren't. I tell you' —he looked up, and his eyes were tortured—'if it goes wrong this time, I won't come back at all.' 'Don't, Richard. You mustn't speak that way.' 'I mean it, Teesa. I just don't think I could go on. And nobody would care, anyway. I'm not much use to anybody these days. I know it, and I despise myself for it, but I just can't help it.' 'You can if you try. You must think of the children.' 'They'd almost be better off without me, too. What use is a father like the one they've got? Someone who never even qualified in his profession? Who couldn't even hold their mother at home for them? They hardly see me these days, and they're better off than if they did.' He pulled at her sleeve. 'Teesa, you'd see that they were all right, wouldn't you, if—if—anything were to—happen? If I didn't show up? They're fond of you. They love you, and Mercedes would look after the household side. They'd be reasonably well provided for. There's not been much to spend my salary on, here on Quimera, since Christine left, and I've saved up a good bit.' He was thinking aloud, his expression almost glazed. He seemed completely unhinged.

'Richard, when are you going? And how?' 'I'll get to the nearest airport by boat, overnight. There's one down there now, leaving in an hour. That's why I wanted you to hurry. And then a plane. I've asked Mercedes to stay here, and she says she will. I just had to have your promise, though, before I went—about the kids. You will give it to me, won't you?' Teresa knew then what she had to do. It wasn't safe to let him go alone, not in this condition. He hardly knew what he was saying or doing. 'I'm coming with you,' she said calmly. 'You're—what?' 'I'm coming with you, Richard.' 'Teresa, I can't ask you to do that. You've done too much for me already. If I know you're here, with the children, if anything goes wrong, that's all I ask.' 'No. Mercedes is here for that, and plenty of other people. I'll meet you on the boat in three-quarters of an hour. Don't wait for me, in case I cut it fine. I'll join you on board. I'll just put a few things together.' 'I don't know why you're doing this.' He put his hand to her cheek, miserable and uncertain. 'I'm just not worth it.' 'You are, to everyone but yourself.' She smiled at him with all the reassurance she could muster, 'Now hurry, and so will I. And as soon as I know everything's going to be all right for you, I'll leave you with Christine. If it isn't, I'll be there, and we can talk about the next step then. I can't let you do something silly, Richard. You're too good a friend for that. I'll see you on the boat.'

She raced back up to the quinta, to her room, slipped out of her cotton overall and into a clean dress. She wound up her hair more securely, slid a few necessities into a holdall, and rummaged through her things to find her writing-pad. 'Dear Leon,' she scribbled hastily, 'I have gone with Richard. I can't expect you to understand just now, but I will explain when I can— there's so little time before the boat goes. I'll phone from somewhere, but I don't know when. Could Berta or that other person that you got before manage the school, please? I'm sorry. I would have liked to tell you in person. Teresa.' She slid the note under his bedroom door, and ran along the gallery, down the stone steps. By the time she arrived at the boat there were only minutes to spare. She could see Richard standing at the rail scanning the pier anxiously, and she had hardly time to run up the slatted gangway before they were pulling it away, and the ship was edging out into the harbour. As she put down her holdall at Richard's side on the deck she looked across the widening gap of water between the boat and the jetty and met the astonished gaze of Diego Gilberto. For a moment their eyes held each other's. Teresa managed a feeble smile and a wave, and then the boat was turning, heading for the open sea, and the islands of Quimera became no more than puffs of mist and cloud- shape among the other clouds already on the horizon. The islands of fantasy and illusion of the old conquistadores. The voyage could hardly have been termed a luxury one, and the boat was certainly no pleasure-cruiser. To add to her difficulties Richard was tense and fraught and uncommunicative, although she tried her best to jolly him along.

The next morning they caught a plane up to Miami, and then a final hop from there to Tampa, and took a taxi the six miles or so in to the city. Outside the address that Christine had given him, Teresa turned to Richard. 'I'll wait for you here,' she told him bracingly. 'It's better that you go in alone, and take your time, too. 1 can sit on that seat over there and read a magazine. I've one that I didn't look at on the plane here in my bag. There's no hurry. Go on, Richard.' She gave him a little push. 'Whatever way things turn out, I shall be waiting here for you. If everything's O.K. I'll just leave you two together. If it isn't, we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.' She found it hard to concentrate on her reading. An hour went by. Then another. And then Richard came out again, and this time there was someone with him—a woman, not a great deal older than Teresa. She had been crying, you could see that, but she looked as if she would be very pretty if she were not so thin and pallid. With it all, her red-rimmed eyes held a certain confidence and tranquillity as she took Teresa's outstretched hand. She sat down on the bench beside her, and Richard sat down too, and put his arm around his wife's shoulder. 'It's going to be all right, Teresa. I can hardly believe it, but that's how it is.' Christine turned to Teresa. 'I came out to thank you? she told her warmly. 'To thank you, from both of us. Richard has told me how wonderful you've been, to him and our children. I've been so incredibly selfish and stupid, Teresa,

thinking about nobody but myself. Well, I don't know what I saw in that awful man I went away with. The magic didn't last, and we didn't stay together for very long. I suppose he represented an escape from what I saw as a life of endless repetition and drabness. I wasn't ready for the predictability—I won't say dullness, because that's hardly fair. The fault was in myself. I married far too young, and I'd never been anywhere or had any adventures before I went with Richard to Quimera. And then the babies came, quite quickly, and I felt sort of— trapped. Can you understand that, even a little?' 'I think I can.' 'I must have been very immature, I realise that now. I've had plenty of time to think about things all this time I've been trying to get along on my own. I've been through the mill, and it's at least shown me what is really precious and lasting in this life, and what isn't. I wasn't old enough, or wise enough—in myself, I mean—to be of much support to Richard as a wife and mother in the sort of pioneering circumstances that we found ourselves in on Quimera, and I didn't try to understand their culture or their ways. That strange mixture of Spanish and Indian and Negro was so totally foreign to me as a rather silly young English girl going out there, and I isolated myself from it all without realising that it could have given me something. In spite of the children, I nearly went mad with loneliness and frustration.' She sighed. 'Never mind, I won't bore you with any more of all that. It's in the past, and things are going to be different from now on—I'm determined on that. 1 wanted to say it all on the phone one time, and then, when the time came, I found I was too cowardly to even make the call.' 'You are coming back to Quimera?' asked Teresa. 'We've been talking about that. We were thinking, weren't we, Richard, that as soon as Leon could get a replacement, we would come back to the States and Richard could get a proper medical

degree. He'd like to do that, and who knows, we might one day return to Quimera, and he'd be a properly qualified doctor, and a lot more help, and a lot happier with himself for having achieved that status. I know that, even if we didn't eventually come back, Leon would understand and approve. He tried so hard to persuade Richard to finish his course, and has stood by us, even though he didn't approve of the way I insisted on us getting married before Richard was out of medical school.' Leon. So far away now, on Quimera. Teresa looked at her watch. 'I'm going to leave you two now. If I hurry, I can just get a plane back.' 'Won't you stay for a little? The night, at least? There's a sofa in the front room.' 'No, truly, I'd rather start back.' Teresa got as far as Caracas that night. From there she put in a call for Leon. It took a long time to get through, but when she did his voice sounded surprisingly clear and close. 'Leon, it's me—Teresa.' 'Teresa!' 'Yes, Leon. Leon, are you there?' There was an interval then, during which she thought they must somehow have got disconnected. Then 'Yes, Teresa, I am here,' came his voice, a little unsteadily. 'Where are you?'

'I'm in Caracas.' 'Caracas! What in heaven's name do you in Caracas?" 'I'm on my way from Tampa.' 'Tampa? Madre. mia, do you jest with me?' A pause. 'Richard is with you?' 'Richard is in Tampa, like I said.' 'You said no such thing, Teresa.' Another pause. Then— 'Teresa, you are not alone?' 'Yes, alone.' She swallowed. 'Leon, you're angry. I can hear it in your voice.' 'Claro! I am indeed! What do you, alone in Caracas, and at this hour?' 'I can't explain it over the phone, and I'm running out of money on this call. I'm on my way back to Quimera.' 'Back? To Quimera?' He sounded dazed. 'Yes, I thought I'd get a boat. One or more boats, that is. I expect I'll just have to get there in stages.' There was silence again. 'Leon? You haven't gone away?' 'No, I am here yet.' 'When I come back, will you be angry? Please don't be. I can explain everything.'

'I cannot guarantee it. Were I there this minute I should be tempted to spank you for this behaviour. You will take a plane in the morning.' 'I thought the boat.' 'A plane. It is quicker. Get the scheduled flight to Rio, and the island plane will be there to bring you to Quimera. Have you sufficient funds for this journey, Teresa? If not, tell me now, and I shall arrange your flight to Rio from this end.' 'No, I've enough.' Her voice wobbled suddenly. 'Goodbye, Leon.' 'Until tomorrow, Teresa. Hasta manana pues. And please do nothing more that is rash and headstrong, there in Caracas. Adhere precisely to these arrangements, do you understand?' 'I understand.' 'Dios le guarde,' he said in a husky voice, and then he hung up and Teresa put down the telephone at her end and went to find a room for the night. When the Quimera plane with the black and yellow wings landed on the strip near the cocotal next day, Leon was there to meet it. He was alone, and when he had a brief word with the pilot and the latter had gone off to get a meal in the pueblo, he picked up Teresa's little holdall, and then he put it down again. There was an indefinable expression on his lean, tanned face, and his eyes held a certain gleam that she had never seen there before. 'Come here, Teresa. I cannot bear that you look at me like this, so defiant and yet apprehensive. I did not truly mean it when I said that I might spank you, chica.' Never had Leon's voice been so gentle, so vibrant, so persuasive.

She stood there, rooted to the spot. 'Come, Teresa. El Leon I may be, but I am not truly a lion that will devour you at one mouthful, I am a man merely. 1 am vexed, yes, but only because you have driven me half mad by running off like that. Where is this Richard, and why has he left you there alone in Caracas?' 'Tampa.' To her own .ears her answer came from some distance. She felt unreal, enveloped in some giddy dream. 'Tampa, then—it matters not. But why?' 'I left him with his wife—with Christine. Leon, I left them together in Tampa. Everything is going to be all right. That's why I went.' A thought struck her. 'Didn't he -? Surely he told you that he was going off on the boat?' He shook his head slowly. 'He did not.' 'Oh, gracious! I'm truly sorry. I naturally thought that he would have done. He was so dreadfully upset, though, that I suppose I'm hardly surprised. He was almost deranged in case Christine either wouldn't turn up at their rendezvous in Ybor City, or else that she would turn him down again. He said that if that happened there would be no point in going on living, and he asked me to look after the children if he didn't come back. He said that they were adequately provided for, and didn't need him anyway, that he was a hopeless father and they'd be better off without him. Leon, if you'd only heard him going on, you'd have realised that I had no choice but to go, in case he did something awful. 1 wished there'd been time to tell you everything, but there wasn't. There wasn't an hour till the boat sailed. You'd have got my note, though?'

He smiled a little grimly, no more than a grimace. 'Your note? Yes. I discovered it much later, after Diego came to tell me that you had left on the boat with Richard. It told me nothing, that note. And yet I thought, when I read it, that it told me everything, everything that I already knew anyway.' His eyes had narrowed. 'Now I am beginning to see that it did not.' 'No, I hadn't time to put it all down.' She looked at him anxiously, his face had gone so very pale under its heavy tan. 'I hoped you'd understand, Leon. You'd have done the same for a friend, I know you would.' 'A friend. Is that what he is? Is that all he is?' 'Yes, a friend, like I've just said. That's all he ever has been. Surely you couldn't have thought he could be anything else? I put it right with you about the—the—er— red dress—and everything, didn't I? At least, I thought I had. I don't understand how you could come to any other conclusion than that we are friends.' 'In truth, I, too, quite fail to understand—so many things I do not understand. You said, did you not, that soon you would be living, not at the quinta, but near to the school?' She stared, wide-eyed. 'But not with Richard. Never with him! I naturally knew I couldn't expect to live on at the quinta with you and Dona Alicia, and I had no right to be so surprised when she told me that you'd decided that I shouldn't. When I said what I did, I meant, of course, the apartment close to the school, the one that Dona Alicia said you would arrange for me.' 'This is beyond belief! Where does Dona Alicia come into all this?'

Teresa glared at him, incensed. 'Well, I must say that's a funny observation to make about the woman you're going to marry!' she told him hotly. 'Or are you going to be all autocratic and feudal, and allow her to come into nothing at all? If you ask me, Leon, she won't take too kindly to that sort of treatment, Spanish though she may be to the core.' 'And what is that supposed to mean?' he asked, dangerously. 'Nothing.' She swallowed. 'I wish you well,' she added lamely, dropping her eyes to the ground. 'Then, if you truly wish me well, you will come here, as I asked you to do at the start of this somewhat incredible and confusing conversation. Come here, Teresa.' Leon held out his arms, and she walked over the little bit of ground that was left between them with the obedience of a sleepwalker, right into his waiting arms. They came about her and drew her close against him. She felt the touch of his lips on her forehead, and then the sound of his voice, deeply, near her temple. 'Cannot you see, vida mia, can I not make you understand that there is only one woman in this, world that I have ever wished to marry, or ever will wish to marry, and that she is right here, next to my heart, at this very moment? Cannot you see that I am half out of my mind with love for you, and that I will spend the rest of my life in trying to make you love me in return? What must I do to convince you? Have I to kiss you, like this? Or like this? Or like this?' She was returning those passionate kisses in spite of herself. Finally she found herself clinging to him for support. 'Leon! How could I know?'

'How could you not know?' His eyes blazed down on her. 'How could you fail to know? Diego knew. He has known almost from the beginning. The whole island knew but yourself.' 'Diego?' 'From the time he has shown me the cliff-face down which you climbed. "Madre de Dios," I said, "she never went down there?"— and when Diego met my eyes, I could not hide from him what was already in my heart. We said nothing, but I had already given myself away. He is no fool.' Teresa could only gaze up at him, trying to take in what he was saying. 'When Diego saw you board the steamer, he knew that I would learn of it, and he came to tell me himself. I was shattered, as he knew I would be. I was of the opinion that you had run away with this man in whom you have always evinced such an interest, and whose cause you have espoused from the moment you came to Quimera, but Diego would not have it. He said that you had told him, on a particular occasion, and with true sincerity, that you felt no attachment for anyone on this island.' He laughed a little grimly. 'I could not believe him, although I would have liked to, for your actions spoke somewhat louder than did Diego's words, did they not? And then, when I finally reached my room that night, your note was waiting, and it appeared to confirm all my worst fears. I have been living truly in hell these past days.' 'Oh, Leon!' She, too, managed a shaky laugh. 'My hell has lasted much longer than that. I've been eaten up with jealousy and longing, ever since Dona Alicia's visit brought home to me just how much you meant to me. What must I do to convince you? Shall I kiss you, too? Like this?' She touched his lips gently with hers, and his arms

tightened around her. 'I'm not very good at it, Leon, but I love you so much I'll soon learn. You have much to teach me.' 'I will teach you! Madrecita, how I will teach you!' He breathed the words huskily. 'I. am beginning, I think, almost to believe what you are telling me. Can it be possible?' 'It's true. We both know it now.' 'How can we have wasted so much time in these misunderstandings, ..Teresa? I want you for my wife, and I must ask you now, querida, if you will do me this honour. I must warn you that, even if you deny me, I shall never let you leave the quinta or Quimera. I shall keep you here, a prisoner of my love, until you will condescend to return it.' 'You will not have to go to such lengths, I promise,' she told him faintly. 'Then let us return there now, and we will tell Enriqueta and Berta and Ernesta this piece of good news. Diego I will enlighten myself.' They went up together, slowly through the cocotal, towards the quinta, and as they walked she told him about Richard and Christine, and their plans for the future. 'This pleases me well,' Leon nodded. 'It is what he needs, a positive achievement upon which to lean, to know that he has made the grade and met a challenge with successful results. Perhaps he will return eventually, perhaps not. In any case, I have been speaking to Diego on this very subject, and we have decided that we must have yet another qualified physician, and that the island economy can now justify this expansion. I shall continue on the surgical side myself, but it will allow me more time, and the nights will more frequently be my own.' He paused, considering. 'They were young indeed, those

two. And yet, in years, she was hardly younger than you are yourself.' 'Twenty-four?' 'Twenty-two, my little pigeon. You forget that your passport came into my possession after I showed it to the authorities at Rio. I can give you ten years, querida. I knew it at the time, for I was not deceived by that stern hair-style and the severe brown shoes and that unbecoming beret. Was this your idea of a governess, perhaps?' Teresa giggled uncontrollably. 'I hoped it might be yours,' she retorted mischievously, 'but it wasn't, was it?' 'Not entirely. And the waitress was even less of a success.' His lips curved, remembering. 'I would have asked your hand in marriage, even then, but you would not have considered it. You looked so young and brave and frightened that I wanted simply to take you in my arms and kiss your anxieties away.' He stopped walking and gathered her to him again. 'This was what I have wished to do all that time ago, and many, many times since.' They stood together, at the edge of the cocotal, and when they turned towards the path that led up to the quinta, Leon took her hand in his and smiled down at her. 'You have no apprehensions any more, I trust, Teresa, about this step that you are about to take?' 'One or two,' she admitted shyly, 'but I'm sure you'll deal with them for me.'

They wended their way in companionable silence, until Teresa broke it again. 'Leon?' 'Mmm?' 'Leon,' she asked, unable to contain her curiosity now that the thought had occurred to her, 'will we be in the talamo, when we are married?' 'The bridal bed? Of course! Como no!' He stopped in his tracks, slightly startled. 'Does the thought hold fears for you? I assure you it need not.' She blushed furiously. 'No, it's not that,' she murmured in sudden confusion. 'It's just that— well, I saw it once, that great bridal chamber. Berta was dusting it, and she showed me the beautiful tapestries that hang there. And she said that it had always been occupied by the Anchoredas whenever they got married. Always, for centuries past. And then she said that Enriqueta had said that you might choose not to be there. Berta said that Enriqueta had said that you throw traditions out of the window as if they are old boots.' Leon put back his head and gave a veritable shout of laughter. 'Did Enriqueta say that? Well, I suppose that in some ways she is right. But the bridal chamber is a tradition with which I have no intention of dispensing. You will look as small and as sweet and as pure as a raindrop on a lily leaf, in that great bed. And when you blush like that you are so adorable that I wish very much to kiss you again, but the buildings are already in sight, and so I - must somehow restrain myself. We shall be married soon, pequena, for already we have wasted much time in quarrels and misunderstandings and in

fighting to disguise our true feelings.' He chuckled suddenly. 'Perhaps I will get married in my white tuxedo with the gravy stains upon it. They were never successfully removed, but I have kept it in my closet ever since, as a memento of our fortuitous second meeting. That would give Enriqueta a talking point, would it not?' 'Leon, did you really keep that jacket?' 'De verdad. You shall see it presently, if you do not believe me. Why, chica, there are tears in your eyes! Why should this be, at the mention of this small reminder that I choose to keep?' 'Because I'm so happy, I suppose. I never dreamed, in Caracas last night, that my homecoming could be like this. I got quite keyed up about it. When I knew how much you meant to me, how much I loved you, Leon, I was tempted not to stay here, you see. At first I thought I couldn't bear to, to leave the quinta and live by myself near the schoolhouse, while you and Dona Alicia were up there together. And then I said to myself, it would be better to see you sometimes than to have to go away for ever, and so long as you never guessed how I felt, there could be no harm done. I thought that if I stayed and worked for Quimera, it would be the one way in which I could remain close to you. Last night, though, I began to wonder if I could be strong enough to carry out such a resolution.' 'You always did have a courageous approach to your problems, little one. I think it was the very first thing about you that attracted my attention. From now on, though, we share them with each other, as we will share this wonderful love that we have discovered exists between us. And in time, if we are blessed, we will share the joy of children also, and as they grow up we will teach them to love Quimera and work for its advancement as we ourselves will have done together, for there is much yet to achieve. More immediately, however, I intend to carry my novia over this threshold.' He swept her into his arms in a single easy movement, and walked with her

through the portal of the quinta. 'I do not intend that Enriqueta may accuse me of discarding yet another of those old boots!'