Counterfeit Bride (10 page)

She drew a deep and shaky breath as she assimilated precisely who was waiting to receive her. She could hear Luis performing introductions, his tone cool and composed as if this was a perfectly conventional meeting.

'May I present my aunt, Dona Isabella de Costanza, my cousin Pilar, and her brother Ramon.'

She was aware of hostility in two pairs of dark feminine eyes, knew that the murmured welcome was words alone. But Ramon was altogether different. He stepped forward beaming.

'Señorita, may I welcome you to this house which is your home.'

His English was hesitant and deeply accented. Luis shot him a caustic look.

'Don't struggle, amigo. She speaks our language fluently.'

Dona Isabella stepped forward. Her bearing was regal, and her face stony as she looked at Nicola.

'No doubt you will wish to go to your room, señorita. I have assigned Maria to wait on you. When you are ready she will bring you to the comedor for breakfast.'

As she walked towards the stairs, following the pretty girl who had shyly come forward at Dona Isabella's imperious nod, Nicola tried to take in something of her surroundings.

The hacienda itself, she had thought as they approached, was more like a fortress, a rambling low building protected by a high wall. The family living quarters, it seemed were built in a large square round an interior courtyard, with separate wings for guests, and for the staff. Inside, the hacienda was incredibly spacious and cool, the fierceness of the sun being kept at bay by shutters on the windows. The floors were tiled, and such furniture as Nicola had glimpsed was clearly very old, opulently carved in dark wood.

She followed Maria along a wide corridor to a pair of double doors at the end. The girl pushed them open and stood back to allow Nicola to precede her into the room.

Nicola paused to look around her, her lips parting in sheer delight. It was a large room, and its charm lay in its utter simplicity, she thought. The walls were washed in a pale cream shade, and the highly polished furniture had probably made the journey to the New World from Spain in the sixteenth century. The bed was enormous, with four carved posts, and a cream silk counterpane embroidered lavishly with butterflies in green, pink, gold and silver. Hanging at the back of the bed was a huge embroidered panel in the shape of a butterfly, using the same colours as the bedcover.

Nicola thought, 'La Mariposa—of course!'

Maria smoothed the counterpane with an almost proprietorial air.

'This was the room of Dona Micaela, the mother of Don Luis, señorita? she volunteered in a hushed tone. 'And before her, may God grant her peace, it was the room of his grandmother. Always the mistress of the hacienda has slept in this room.'

And the master? Nicola wanted to ask. Where does he sleep? She looked across at the wide bed, imagining generations of Spanish-born brides lying there, waiting and wondering if the door would open to admit their husbands.

And soon she too would lie waiting in the shadow of the butterfly.

'The bathroom, señorita,' Maria announced proudly, and Nicola turned away, thankful to have another focus for her attention, It was a charming bathroom, probably converted originally from a dressing room, tiled in jade and ivory, and including a shower cabinet among its luxurious appointments. Nicola noticed toiletries ranged on the shelves, all brand new, the seals on the flasks and jars unbroken, most of them made by names which a girl earning her own living had only heard of. It was a room dedicated to beauty, and to the art of making oneself beautiful for the appreciation of a man, and it made Nicola feel slightly sick. A little cage, she thought, where the bird can sit and preen herself all day.

But the thought of the shower was an irresistible temptation. Her hair was like tow, and she needed a change of clothes. She groaned inwardly as she remembered that the only luggage available to her was Teresita's. The Mexican girl had hastily filled a couple of cases from her vast wardrobe, in spite of Nicola's protests.

'You must have luggage with you, Nicky, or it will seem suspicious,' she had said. 'And all these are things I no longer need, so that you may leave them behind you when you run away.'

All the clothes now hanging in the cupboards and filling the drawers were elegant and expensive, but few of the styles or the colours were what she would have chosen for herself, and the thought of having to present herself downstairs in another girl's dress to the scornful looks of Dona Isabella and Pilar was unpleasant.

The next shock was that Maria clearly considered it her duty to assist Nicola with her shower. Nicola spent several minutes firmly disabusing the girl of this notion, and dismissed her, promising that she would ring if she needed anything.

The shower was delicious and she revelled in it, letting the warm water stream through her hair and down her body. She wrapped herself in a fluffy bath sheet, tucking it round her body like a sarong as she came back into the room. No doubt somewhere there would be some means of drying her hair, but she was reluctant to ring for Maria again. She needed to be on her own for a while.

She sat down on the stool in front of the dressing chest and stared at herself. Could this really be happening? It seemed impossible. Tomorrow or the next day she should have been in Merida, preparing to start her holiday, and instead she was here in this beautiful room, a virtual prisoner.

And somewhere in this house was the man who had made her his prisoner. The man she had promised to marry. She swallowed, fighting back the bubble of hysteria rising in her throat. It was all a monstrous joke—it had to be. She was no demure Spanish dove accepting the gilded cage provided for her, and offering in return her duty and obedience to a comparative stranger.

Not love, she thought, but compliance, surrendering herself to her master's will, but making no demands of her own. Asking no questions.

Men like Luis de Montalba—men like Ewan— expected the wives they had married for convenience to look discreetly the other way while they amused themselves. She wondered whether Greta had learned her lesson yet, and whether it had been a painful one for her. Yet perhaps she simply regarded it as part of the price she had paid for Ewan. Because she wanted him, and always had.

Nicola had seen the hungry way in which the rather blank blue eyes had fastened on him from the first. She had even laughed about it with Ewan, secure in the knowledge that it was herself he wanted to be alone with, to hold in his arms. The possibility that that was all he might want had never entered her head, although it should have done, because she had recognised from the first that he was ambitious, and had even applauded it.

Well, at least Teresita was going to spared that kind of misery, Nicola thought. She had Cliff, and they loved each other, and although nothing was certain in this uncertain world, they had the chance to be happy together. Teresita wouldn't have to spend her life dutifully bearing children and being moved from one expensive prison to another.

She shivered convulsively, pressing her clenched fist against her mouth.

Was this the fate she had brought upon herself when she had unthinkingly embarked on her masquerade?

She reached for her hairbrush and pushing back the stool went towards the window. She unfastened the shutter and stepped out on to a balcony running, she saw, the whole length of the first floor. The heat of the sun was like a blow, and she closed her eyes against its fierceness, moving her shoulders in sensuous pleasure as she pulled the brush through her hair, lifting the soft strands to dry them.

She heard a sound below her and looking down saw that Ramon was standing in the courtyard beneath, his expression a mixture of admiration and embarrassment.

'I did not mean to disturb you,' he said. 'I was on my way to the stables.' He gestured towards a gated archway in the corner of the courtyard.

'You're not disturbing me at all,' she said lightly. 'I've been washing my hair.'

'As I can see. It's very beautiful.' He smiled at her, and Nicola found herself warming to him. He had an attraction all his own, she thought. He was shorter than Luis, and swarthier, and his features were less aquiline, but he possessed an open friendly charm, and Nicola knew that a journey of several days in a car with him would have been pleasant without posing any problems at all.

As if reading her thoughts, he said ruefully 'Luis has the luck of the devil himself.'

She felt herself flushing. 'Then you know—everything?'

He spread his hands, shrugging. 'Luis telephoned me from the first stop he made. He wished me to check on Teresita on his behalf. He could hardly do so without telling me what had happened, although ...' He stopped suddenly.

'Although you never expected that he would bring me here,' Nicola supplied drily.

It was his turn to flush. 'Well—perhaps not. But I am delighted, I assure you. It is time he was married. He has been lonely, I think.'

Nicola lifted her eyebrows. 'That's not the word I would have chosen.'

'Señorita Tarrant!' He looked more flustered than ever. 'He is only a man after all, not a saint. And besides

'Besides, I shouldn't know such things,' she finished for him, making herself smile. 'And please call me Nicola.'

He smiled too, delighted and plainly relieved at the shift in the conversation. 'I shall be pleased to do so. I hope we can be friends.'

'I hope so too.' She looked around. 'This courtyard is charming.'

There was a well in the centre, with a stone seat around it, and above it a parched-looking tree providing shade. Nicola wondered whether the well held water, but looking at the brazen sky she was inclined to think it was purely decorative.

'I am glad you like it,' said Ramon. 'It is cool here in the evenings, which makes it a pleasant place to sit. And when there are parties, the servants hang lanterns in the tree, and around the gallery.'

'Are there many such parties?'

'Not for some time, but all that will change now.'

He meant there would be celebrations in honour of Don Luis' marriage, she thought. Well, as far as she was concerned, the lanterns would remain in storage for the foreseeable future. Yet, she could imagine how the courtyard would look when it was lit by the lights from the house, and the tree, instead of the glare of the sun, and when perhaps a golden moon swung above it in the night sky. There would be exotic foods laid out on white-clothed tables, and the enticing smell of meat grilling over charcoal. And above the murmur of voices and laughter, the swish of silks and the flutter of fans, would rise the sound of a mariachi band.

It was all so real that for a moment Nicola felt dazed, as if she had suffered a time-slip—as if the hacienda was speaking to her in some strange way.

What nonsense, she told herself forcibly. She was merely suffering from the combined effects of emotional stress, a bad night, and an empty stomach.

She watched Ramon cross the courtyard and disappear under the arch, then turned back into her room, running her fingers through her hair to test its dampness as she did so.

She came face to face with Luis who was standing, hands on hips, waiting for her, his face set in grim lines.

He said coldly, 'My aunt is waiting to order breakfast to be served. I came to see what had detained you.'

She said, 'I'm sorry, I washed my hair. I went outside to dry it.'

'And to talk to my cousin Ramon.' He paused. 'Perhaps in future you would wait to converse with him until you are fully dressed.'

Nicola glanced down at herself, then looked at him incredulously. She was fully covered from the top of her breasts down to her feet.

She said heatedly, 'I'm perfectly decent. I'm wearing a damned sight more now than I was last night!'

His voice became icier than ever. 'What you wear, or do not wear, for my eyes only is a different matter. You will please remember that. Now Tia Isabella is waiting.' He turned on his heel and left the room, leaving Nicola staring after him, torn between anger and amusement.

Anger won. 'Who the hell does he think he is?' she raged inwardly, snatching a handful of filmy underwear from a drawer and dragging a dress from a hanger.

But the answer was already formulating in her mind. He was her captor, her jailer, the man with the key to her prison, the man who made his wishes known and was quite capable of enforcing them.

She swallowed, and her hands clenched, her nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms.

She thought, 'Dear God, I've got to escape from here before it's too late.'

Nicola's face was set and mutinous as she sat in the shade of the gallery. A chair and a footstool had been set for her there by Carlos, the grizzled-haired martinet who appeared to be the household's major-domo, and a table bearing a tray with a jug of iced fresh fruit juice and a glass was to hand, but she ignored it.

Breakfast had been a horrendous meal from beginning to end. Entering the comedor in Carlos' wake had been like walking headlong into a brick wall of hostility.

Luis' eyes had looked her over coolly and swiftly, assimilating the ill-fitting bodice and loose skirt of the dress she was wearing, and she saw his mouth tighten in exasperation.

He said, Tia Isabella, Nicola needs a new wardrobe. Perhaps you would arrange for your dressmaker to be sent for.'

'I have plenty of clothes of my own,' Nicola protested. 'They're just—elsewhere.'

He shrugged. 'And there they can remain. In any event they would hardly make a suitable trousseau.'

Nicola sank down into the chair he was holding for her, hearing Dona Isabella draw in a swift breath like the hiss of a snake.

She said, 'Luis, you cannot expect . . .'

'But I do expect,' he said softly. 'I thought I had made that clear.'

There was a silence like knives, and Nicola stared down at the polished surface of the table. She glanced up and encountered an inimical glance from Pilar which brought the colour into her cheeks. She was a pretty girl, but the sullen expression, which seemed habitual, spoiled her looks.

'My nephew informs me that his marriage to you will take place as soon as the arrangements can be made,' Dona Isabella broke the silence at last, her gaze resting pointedly on Nicola's waistline. 'It will naturally be a very quiet wedding.'

'On the contrary,' Luis said coolly. 'Invitations will be sent to the entire family, and to our friends.'

Dona Isabella gasped, her back becoming, if possible, more rigid than ever. 'But under the circumstances -the very doubtful circumstances . . .' She floundered to a halt with a suddenly martyred air. 'As you wish, Luis, of course.'

'Thank you, Tia Isabella,' he bowed. He glanced at Nicola. 'Your own family, querida. Can they be persuaded to make the journey, do you think?'

She moved her shoulders helplessly. 'My father is a fanner. This is a busy time for him—and my mother certainly wouldn't come without him. I just don't know.'

'But when you write to them, you will offer the invitation.' It wasn't a question, it was a command, she knew. Her mind closed completely when she tried to imagine how she was going to break the news to her family— what she could say.

'So you are a farmer's daughter?' Pilar spoke for the first time, her tone openly insolent. 'How sad that Luis spends so little time at the hacienda. You would feel quite at home among the cattle and horses.'

Nicola smiled lightly. 'And pigs,' she said. 'I feel quite at home with them too.'

There was a startled hush as Pilar digested this, then an angry flush mounted in her face and she gave Nicola a venomous look. Another sharp silence descended, and a look stolen under her lashes told Nicola that Luis' face was icy with displeasure at the interchange.

Carlos came into the room followed by a uniformed maid. Coffee was placed on the table, and warm rolls, and then an enormous dish of scrambled eggs mixed with finely minced onion, tomato and chili appeared. Nicola was hungry, but she had to force each forkful down her throat. As she ate, she allowed herself gradually to look round the room, and take in her surroundings, it had a somewhat repressive atmosphere, the dark heavy furniture giving a feeling of solidity and stability, as if reminding the onlooker that this house, this land had been wrested from the wilderness centuries before, and that the Montalbas had set their hand and seal over it. This impression was deepened by the family portraits which hung in gloomy splendour round the wails.

It was inbred in them all, and had been from the beginning, she thought, that look of cool arrogance. Dark patrician faces looked down in command from every canvas, proclaiming their lordship of this New World they had made their own. And the women were cast in the same mould, she thought ruefully. They sat staring rigidly into space, their hands disposed to show their beautiful rings, their rich lace mantillas decorously draped over high combs, expressionless, guarded and without visible emotion.

All except one, and Nicola found her gaze returning to this particular portrait over and over again, fascinated by the wilful expression in the dark eyes, and the faint smile playing about the full lips which seemed to deny the studied decorum of the pose. She was obviously much younger than most of the other women depicted, and while none of them looked as if they had ever given their respective husbands even a moment's anxiety, this girl seemed as if she might have been quite a handful for any strait-laced grandee.

Instead of the conventional head-covering, she wore a silver butterfly gleaming against her dark tresses, and in one hand she held a dark red rose which provided a dramatic contrast against the silvery brocade of her gown.

Nicola would have liked to have asked about her, but it was unlikely that Dona Isabella or Pilar would wish to enlighten her, and Luis was frowningly examining a pile of mail which Carlos had just presented to him and clearly preoccupied.

When the meal was over, he excused himself abruptly and left the room, and after a moment Dona Isabella rose too, followed by Pilar, leaving Nicola sitting alone at the big rectangular table.

She bit her lip as the door closed behind them, but reminded herself that she could have expected little else. She was unwelcome here, an interloper, and if it was any consolation Teresita would probably have fared little better,

Eventually Carlos had found her loitering rather uncertainly in the hall, and had installed her with a certain amount of ceremony on the shaded terrace which encircled the courtyard.

But I can't sit here for ever, she thought. There must be something I can do.

She looked across to the archway. The stables were through there somewhere, and she supposed there would be no real objection to her visiting them, exploring a little on her own account. She rose, and moved slowly and languidly along the terrace to the archway. It was as she had thought. She could see other buildings, rather less impressive than the hacienda itself, and in the distance she could hear a vague hum of voices, and an occasional shrill laugh. She thought she could also hear the faint strum of a guitar, but perhaps that was her imagination.

She pushed open the gate and walked through, half expecting to be intercepted and sent back where she belonged, but if anyone had observed her arrival they gave no sign, and she wandered on without interference.

The kitchens seemed to be a separate wing altogether, she thought, her nose wrinkling appreciatively at the appetising aromas drifting towards her. Everyone would be far too busy preparing the massive midday meal to worry about her.

She crossed another courtyard and turned a corner, her eyes widening as she came upon what seemed to be a small village street lined with single-storey cabins. Washing dried in the sun, and a group of small children played in the dust—some complicated and absorbing game with flat stones she noted as she passed.

She smiled, and said, 'Buenos dias,' but they gaped at her in silence, clearly disconcerted by her appearance among them.

Nicola walked on slowly. Two separate communities, she thought, occupying the same limited space, and totally interdependent. Don Luis appeared to look after his workers well, she admitted grudgingly. The cabins were well built and properly maintained and there was a feeling of tranquillity pervading the entire street.

When she reached the end, she paused, uncertain which way to take next. A dog, lying in the shadow of a wall, lifted its head and barked with the air of an animal prepared to go through the motions, and no more.

Nicola grinned to herself. 'Love and peace, man,' she said half under her breath. She paused and looked around her, shading her eyes with her hand. Over to the right, she could see cultivated land, streaked with irrigation channels, and men working there, so she turned left instead, and found herself in yet another courtyard surrounded by stable buildings. Ramon was there, talking to a small squat man in a broad-brimmed hat. He broke off as he caught sight of her and came across immediately.

'Señorita—Nicola. What are you doing here? Is Luis not with you?'

'I decided to take a look round,' she said, evading the question. 'Isn't it permitted.'

He smiled. 'Of course—this is your home. Perhaps if we can persuade you to like it, then Luis would spend more time here.'

She said drily, 'Please don't overestimate my influence with your cousin.'

Ramon laughed. 'How could I?' He paused, sobering a little. 'Perhaps I should explain. Luis loves La Mariposa and always has done, but in recent years he has spent less and less time here—and not altogether because of his business commitments.' He hesitated. 'It is difficult for me to say this, but Madrecita—my mother and Luis have not always--agreed as I would wish. He is good to her, of course. For years she has been the mistress here, but now that he is to marry all that will change.' He grimaced slightly. 'If--if there was anything—lacking in her welcome, perhaps you can understand. And also she had certain plans of her own . ..'

'She wanted Luis to marry Pilar,' Nicola translated, and he looked embarrassed.

'She did. It was nonsense, of course. Luis had never given any indication—and Pilar herself would never have thought—except . . .'

He paused again, and Nicola prompted, 'Except?'

Ramon sighed. 'Why should you not know? My sister is young and impressionable. A year ago she formed— an attachment for a man, but it was unsuitable, and she was told to think no more of him. At the same time, my mother began to suggest . . .' He shrugged- 'I am sure I need say no more.'

Nicola said ruefully, 'I see.' Poor Pilar, she thought. A double loser. No wonder she had sensed that white-hot resentment!

'Do you think she was—in love with Luis?' she asked.

'I doubt it,' he said. 'He never gave her the least encouragement. I think she was—prepared to be in love with love, for the sake of being mistress of—all this.' He spread his arms wide. 'Not that this is all of it, by any means, as you must know.'

'I know very little,' Nicola confessed. 'Only what Teresita told me.'

'Ah yes. From what Luis told me, I understand you shared an apartment with her.' He smiled reminiscently. 'A sweet child.'

'She spoke well of you too.'

'She did?' He seemed pleased. 'And yet she can have little reason to remember this place or any of us with much pleasure. Her visit was a disaster. She was frightened of horses, and Luis, thinking to please her, took her up on his saddle. Ay de mi!' He gave a groan. 'First she cried and screamed, then she was sick.'

'How clever of her/ Nicola said acidly. 'I wish I'd tried the same thing myself.'

Ramon gave her a puzzled look. 'You too are afraid of horses? That is sad—Luis is an expert horseman.'

'I've ridden since childhood.'

He beamed at her. 'Then that will please him greatly.'

Nicola bit her lip. 'Pleasing your cousin is not the sole object of my life.'

His smile vanished altogether. 'But as his wife . . .'

'We're not married yet,' Nicola said tautly.

'But you will be. Luis is a man of his word.'

'And that's all that matters? Don't my wishes come into this?'

'I had assumed that in this your wishes would coincide with his.' Ramon looked embarrassed. 'You must consider, Nicola, the circumstances of your meeting—all that has happened since.' He paused. 'When Luis telephoned me to say that you had taken Teresita's place, it was clear he had—certain intentions towards you.'

She felt slow colour rising in her face. She strove to make her voice casual. 'But not marriage?'

'No—not then. But something clearly has happened to change his mind and ...'

'Nothing has happened,' she interrupted. 'For heaven's sake, it isn't a question of honour—his, mine or anyone else's. You must believe me.'

'It is not my affair,' he said flatly. 'I should not have spoken at all. Forgive me. You came to see the horses. Will you permit me to show them to you? There is, alas, only one suitable for a woman to ride and that belongs to my sister Pilar.' He added without any real conviction, 'I am sure she would be happy to lend her to you if you wished.'

Nicola took pity on him. 'If I want to go riding, then I'll ask her. What I'd really like is to have a look around the hacienda. It's so old that I'm sure it must have a fascinating history.'

'Oh, it has.' Ramon cheered up perceptibly. 'I would be happy to escort you—perhaps later, after luncheon?'

She smiled and nodded before turning away. For a moment it had occurred to her that it might be possible to enlist Ramon's support in getting away from here, but she had already thought better of that idea. Ramon was his cousin's man to the last degree. It had been apparent in every word, every inflection in his voice. There was no help for her there— or anywhere else, for that matter.

Ramon obviously thought she was a very fortunate lady, she told herself wryly as she made her way slowly back to the house. He thought Luis had seduced her either on the way here or the previous night, and was making honourable amends. She remembered Dona Isabella's gimlet stare and grimaced.