Night of the Condor (15 page)

Leigh awoke smiling, and reached for him, only to find she was alone. She sat up slowly, pushing back her hair, and looking round her, conscious of a deep pang of disappointment. She had fallen asleep, eventually, in Rourke's arms. She had expected to wake in his embrace too.

In the sunlight which poured through the single window, the store-room looked even smaller and more cluttered than it had the previous night. It was the least likely setting for a night of passion that Leigh could ever have envisaged. And she had shared it with a man whom she had known for days rather than weeks, she reminded herself. It should have been sordid, but instead it had been the most beautiful thing that had ever happened to her—beautiful and wonderful and—right.

She basked in the sun for a while, coming to terms with the unfamiliar aches and pains, the slight tendernesses which Rourke's lovemaking had engendered. It was only to be expected, she thought, touching herself consideringly. He had been infinitely skilful over her initiation, but as the night went on they had both become oblivious of everything but their need for each other, and the immediate and shattering response the lightest caress could ignite.

Leigh looked wonderingly down at herself. This was the body she had fed, clothed and bathed, and taken totally for granted. Now a whole new facet of her nature—one that she had never dreamed existed—had been revealed to her. The cool fa
ç
ade she had believed in and presented to the world was shattered for ever now, and she didn't regret its passing for an instant.

She touched the soft gleam of Rourke's signet ring with fingers that shook a little. Oh, why wasn't he here, holding her, reassuring her that they belonged together in every way there was? There was so much she wanted to say to him that she hadn't been able to find words for before. There was so much she wanted to hear him say. She needed, she realised slowly, to hear him say that he loved her.

She shivered suddenly and sat up, looking round for her clothes, but there was no sign of the skirt and blouse she had been wearing the previous evening.

She would have to find something to wear, she thought, frowning a little. She wanted a shower and something to eat.

As the store-room door began to open, she gasped and looked round for cover, then relaxed again when she saw it was Rourke. She stretched slightly, and smiled at him, her whole body innocently provocative. 'Good morning,' she said softly.

'
Buenos d
í
as.
' His voice was curt. 'I've brought you some clothes.'

There were jeans, she saw, and a shirt, clearly brand new.

'Thank you.' She had to resist an urge to snatch them from him, and hold them in front of her like a protective shield. She was being ridiculous, after all. Only a few hours before, his mouth and hands had known every inch of her. But the lover who had given her that first, devastating lesson in sensuality seemed to have vanished in the harsh light of day, to be replaced by some sombre stranger.

She said, 'Rourke, is something wrong?'

'On the contrary, I have some good news for you.' He put the little pile of garments down on an upturned crate making not the least attempt to approach her more closely. 'Greg made radio contact with Atayahuanco at first light. It seems your fiancé has returned, safe and sound.'

Leigh's lips moved stiffly. 'Evan—Evan's at Atayahuanco?'

'And waiting impatiently for your reunion, I understand,' he said. 'Smile then,
querida
. It's what brought you to Peru, after all. And don't look so stricken,' he added cynically. 'I don't—kiss and tell, if that is worrying you.'

'Don't you care?' Desperately, she grabbed the clothes and began to huddle them on.

'On the contrary, I am very happy for you,' he returned courteously.

'I didn't mean that.' She lifted her hand. 'Last night you gave me this.' She touched his ring.

His brows lifted. 'So I did. My profoundest regrets,
querida
. It was a joke—in rather poor taste. Last night was an interlude—enjoyable, of course, but nothing more, provoked by the moonlight and the music, and on my part by too much
chicha
.'

'I see.' The golden bubble of joy and love and physical contentment which had enclosed her since she opened her eyes had shattered into a thousand dull fragments. She hadn't known it was possible to feel such pain. She wrenched the ring over her knuckle and held it out to him. 'You'd better have it back. It's obviously old, and valuable.'

'I should hate to lose it.' Rourke let her drop it into his palm. 'We can leave as soon as you are ready.'

'I'll try not to keep you waiting. But I'd be grateful for a wash—and a comb.'

'I'll send Carlota to you,' he said, and the door closed behind him.

Alone, Leigh wrapped her arms across her body, moaning softly at the agony that was tearing her apart. She was ashamed, as well as wretched, ashamed of the unstinted giving, of her own feverish demands. Ashamed of the naiveté which had deluded her into thinking that their lovemaking had been any more to him than a convenient sexual release.

Now, for the first time, she wanted to run—away from this place, away from Atayahuanco, away from Lima—oh God, away from this whole harsh, beautiful country to the safety of home.

It was, after all, what he had urged her to do all along, she thought painfully. But she had been so sure of herself, so certain of her destination, and the motives which took her there. There were no more certainties now.

But she had to go on with it. She had to complete the journey to Atayahuanco, and meet up with Evan again, if only to tell him it was all over between them.

She found herself wondering incuriously if she had ever really loved him at all, or if their relationship had simply been nurtured by her family's hostility towards him, and her reaction against that.

She bit her lip. How selfish she had been, what a monster of ego to condemn Evan to this year of misery—and for nothing. She dreaded having to face him, having to attempt some halting explanation about this amazing change of heart. What, after all, could she say? At best, it would have to be half-truths.

'I'm no longer the girl you knew in England,' she would have to say. 'I've changed utterly. It wouldn't work any more.'

What she could never say was, 'I belong to another man. What I always denied you, I gave and gave again to him.' Nor the sad postscript: 'But he no longer wants me.'

A shudder tore through her, then another. There were beads of sweat on her face, and her hands were tightly clenched as she fought for self-control. Life goes on. Since she was a small child, she had heard her father saying that buoyantly, bracingly when some crisis, major or trivial, had been weathered. At times, the expression had irritated her. Now it seemed something to cling to.

She was relatively calm when she entered the tiny dining-room to find Greg Mayhew wading through an immense plateful of fried potatoes, topped with a fried egg.

'Sit down. Have some coffee.' He began to fill a beaker from an enamel pot in the centre of the table. 'Rourke's gone to see to the mule,' he added, correctly interpreting her swift, sideways glance round the room. 'Carlota will bring you some food in a minute.'

'I'm not very hungry.'

He shrugged. 'Even so, you should eat something. In our part of Paradise, you never know where your next hot meal is coming from. Or haven't you noticed?'

She drank some coffee. It was black and bitter, but she could feel it putting heart into her, and she was grateful for that.

'You'd better let me take a look at that foot of yours before you leave,' he went on.

'Oh, I think it's fine,' she said hurriedly. 'I was actually dancing on it last night.'

'But not for long,' he said gently, and Leigh felt hot colour rush into her face.

'You don't approve?' She lifted her chin challengingly.

'I try not to make judgements. Women with your looks and style are as rare as flying fish up here. I guess if I'd been in Rourke's shoes, I'd have grabbed for whatever was on offer too.' He paused.

'And your own guy's waiting for you at Atayahuanco, so there's no permanent harm done.'

Leigh took another mouthful of coffee. Her voice steady, she asked, 'Who is Isabella?'

He grimaced. 'My big mouth, eh? I spend so much time shouting at the
campesinos
about their kids' shots, and elementary hygiene, I sometimes forget to keep my voice down.'

She shook her head. 'She's been mentioned before.'

'I see.' There was a brief silence. Then, 'Isabella is the girl Rourke intended to marry.'

'Past tense?'

'Very much so,' he said with emphasis. 'As a matter of fact, the whole thing was pretty much of a disaster.'

'Was she a—a Peruvian girl?'

'Hell, no, she was an American. Her real name was Isabel, but Rourke like to pretty it up. They met at some diplomatic shindig in Washington, and he fell hard. They were engaged in weeks. On the face of it, it seemed an ideal match. They came from the same background, both families were loaded, and she looked like every man's fantasy woman. Then he took her to Atayahuanco, and it all began to come unstuck.' He shook his head. 'She just wasn't ready for that at all.'

'What was the problem?'

'What wasn't?' Greg shrugged again, frowning. 'I guess she'd misread the entire situation. She thought Peruvian Quest was just a job, a stage in Rourke's career. She couldn't or wouldn't accept that it was his whole life. She tried like hell to talk him out of it—got her father to pull strings so that he'd be made all kinds of job offers. She just couldn't see that he'd dedicated a piece of his life to the Quechua, and that there was no way he was going to renege on that. And when talking didn't work, she threw a scene a minute. Only that didn't work either.'

'What happened in the end?' Leigh drained her beaker, and Greg re-filled it.

'They shipped her out, back to Washington. In the fullness of time, she married a corporation lawyer, which was probably the best thing that could have happened.'

'But he still cares for her.' The words weren't easy to say.

'Well, you don't just write off something like that.' Greg pushed his empty plate away. 'She was going to be part of his life. Her problem was she wanted to be all of it, and that wouldn't work for Rourke—or for me either. Which is why we stay single.'

'With the occasional diversion.' Leigh managed to keep her voice steady.

'It works both ways.' He leaned back in his chair. 'When you're a settled married lady, you'll be able to take out your memories and dust them off occasionally. That can be no bad thing—as long as you don't dwell in the past.'

And if the past is all there is, she thought, what happens when there is no future?

Aloud, she said, 'Thanks for the word of warning. I presume that's what it was.'

'Read it how you like.' He gave her a steady look. 'You don't belong here, Miss Frazier, any more than Isabel Crofton Barnes did. Just be glad you're getting out with no bones broken—on either side.'

How could he say that, she wondered numbly when every part of her was shattered into tiny, hurting fragments? He was crediting her with the kind of sophistication she had always used as a fa
ç
ade, a shield to hide behind—a shield, she now saw, was her only means of salvation.

Carlota brought a plate heaped with food, and Leigh made a passable attempt to eat it, turning the conversation to the clinic and the work there, listening to the problems of malnutrition and lack of hygiene which Greg had to deal with every day.

'The conditions are the same at Atayahuanco, aren't they?' she asked, and he nodded.

'If anything they're worse, because the Quechua who still live in the valley there have been cut off from even basic civilisation for quite some time, and they've deteriorated pretty badly. It's amazing people who have so little can survive at all.'

'And that's why Peruvian Quest is there,' she said. 'Trying to revive the ancient crafts and skills, trying to restore their pride in themselves.'

She saw faint surprise in his face. 'How did you figure that out?'

'It didn't take much figuring. After all, much of the financing for the project comes from my father's companies. Or didn't Rourke mention that?'

'No,' he said, after a thoughtful pause. 'I guess it must have slipped his mind.'

When she had finished her meal, he took her into the surgery, and re-dressed her foot, swiftly and deftly.

'No sign of infection there,' he commented with satisfaction. He shot her an old-fashioned look. 'Keep off the dance floor for a day or two, and you should be as good as new.'

She managed a nonchalant shrug. 'Oh, I shan't be doing any more dancing.'

'I'm glad to hear it.' He rested a large hand momentarily on her shoulder, his face and voice softening a little. 'You'll do, Leigh Frazier.'

There was still no sign of Rourke, and she had no idea where he had pastured the mule for the night, so after a brief hesitation she walked up to the square, and stood looking about her.

In the harsh sunlight, it was like another world, last night's fires reduced to piles of ash, the excited throng replaced by a few women squatting on the pavements selling a few, pitiful handfuls of vegetables. No moonlight, no magic, no primitive life-force struggle to carry her away this morning.

Reality had returned with a vengeance. The night of the condor was over.

It was late afternoon when they reached Atayahuanco. Rourke had set a gruelling pace, sparing neither of them, and in a way Leigh was glad of it. It meant she had to apply all her concentration to the sheer physical effort of keeping up with him, so that there was no time to think, or brood. She carried her unhappiness inside her, cold and heavy like a stone.

She looked almost incuriously down at the valley she had battled so hard and so far to reach, for all the wrong reasons.

On the opposite hillside, she could see the remains of the old agricultural terraces and irrigation channels, and high above them the tumbled stones of the excavation, the citadel rearing proudly to challenge the surrounding peaks.