The Mountains of Spring (13 page)

Despite repeated and earnest protests on her part, to the effect that she couldn
’
t possibly continue to accept the hospitality of Diego
’
s grandmother, Caroline was eventually brought to realize that the old lady really wanted to entertain her as a guest, and she gratefully accepted an invitation to remain with her for at least a fortnight. The Senora immediately began to plan a programme of excursions and other projects which she thought the English girl would find amusing, and Caroline, almost embarrassed by her hostess
’
s eagerness to be kind, departed
to telephone the Hotel Vista de Oro about her luggage.

Later in the day, Peter telephoned, to say that for the next two or three days he would be rather tied up, but that some time during the following week he would call for her. They could have lunch somewhere, and she would be able to cross-examine him as much as she wanted to. He repeated that he had a great deal to tell her. She thought he sounded fairly cheerful, and if she was a little disappointed that they would not be able to meet sooner she soon got over it. After all, she told herself, he had a job to do.
He had heard from his employer that she was staying with Senor Rivel, and he agreed that it was good of the old lady to entertain her. He hoped she wasn
’
t going to be bored ... he hoped she would enjoy Mexico. It was a marvellous place, once you got to know it.

It wasn
’
t until after he had hung up that she realized how very little he had said that could be described as being to the point. And he had sounded nervous and evasive ... or so her imagination told her.

She had to clamp down rather hard on her imagination before she was able to feel quite restored to the cheerful frame of mind she had been in before he rang.

CHAPTER VI

The following week was spent by Caroline mainly in getting to know Mexico City. Frequently her hostess accompanied her on her excu
r
sions, and although this worried her a little because she had the feeling that so much activity was a very unusual thing as far as the old lady was concerned she had to admit that she enjoyed her company tremendously, and consequently didn
’
t protest as forcefully as she might have done. The Senora was an invaluable guide, with a comprehensive knowledge of the Mexican capital that would have aroused the envy of a good many hired couriers, and was in fact rather amazing, when one remembered her age, and the decidedly secluded life which it appeared she normally led. The fact that she herself was Spanish, and that she had been
born
and brought up in Andalusia, did not evidently prevent her feeling considerable affection for the country of her adoption, and she took as much pride in both the soaring
modern
skyscrapers and the fascinating relics of the Aztec period as any native Mexican might have been expected to take.

One of their first expeditions included a visit to the topmost storey of the Latin-American Tower, from which vantage point they were able to obtain a fantastic view of the city around them, and Caroline, catching a glimpse of the inviting greenness of the Chapultepec Park, asked if they couldn
’
t go there next.
‘
It looks so cool,
’
she said rather wistfully, and as they sped downwards in the lift and drove off towards the park her companion studied her thoughtfully.

‘
You miss your country
...
you miss England very much?
’
she enquired.

Caroline looked surprised.
‘
Oh, no. Well, I don
’
t think so. Not yet.
’

‘
When you looked with so much longing at the trees of Chapultepec I wondered if perhaps you were thinking of Hyde Park. I thought you might be comparing Mexico unfavourably with the greenness of England!
’

‘
There
’
s no point in making comparisons. England and Mexico are very different countries, and naturally their attractions are different.
’

‘
But you think that Mexico
has
attractions?
’

‘
Of course it has. It
’
s very beautiful.
’

‘
Would you like to live here?
’

The question was very sudden, and Caroline didn
’
t quite see the point of it.

‘
I don
’
t know,
’
she said honestly.
‘
Perhaps I haven
’
t seen enough of it yet.
’

The Senora smiled inexplicably, and settled back in her
corner
of the car.

They spent more than an hour, on that occasion, among the beautiful woods and gardens of Chapultepec, but as the Senora pointed out there was a great deal more to be seen there than could possibly be seen in the course of one visit, and they didn
’
t really attempt to take in ve
r
y much. They strolled beneath the gigantic five-hundred-year-old ahuehuete trees—
t
rees which had seen the arrival of Cortez, and the last great battles of the Aztecs—and Caroline duly admired the fantastic height and girth of the largest of them all, the Tree of Moctezuma—two hundred feet tall, and with a trunk fifty feet in circumference.

They saw the fountain of Netzahualcoyotl and stood before the memorial to the Ninos Heroes—the child cadets of the military academy who had once died for Mexico—and at the park entrance they gazed at the fountain dedicated to Diana the Huntress. But Chapultepec also contained zoological gardens, a castle and three museums of national importance, and these they left for another day. As it was, by the time they climbed back into the car Caroline was a little afraid that they had walked too much for the Senora, who looked rather tired. But when she ventured to mention the fact her companion smiled, and assured her that it was a very long time since she had felt so well.

‘
When one lives alone one does not bother to go out,
’
she said.
‘
And that is not good. I cannot remember when I last visited Chapultepec, but it was quite a long time ago. You have revived it for me.
’
Her dark eyes rested on Caroline
’
s face.
‘
I hope you will revive many things for me.
’

The next day they visited the Cathedral, and in the candlelit, incense-laden hush of the interior Caroline felt herself closer to the heart of Mexico than she had so far been. A large number of people had come into the great building to pray, and several times in the glowing dimness she almost fell over huddled bundles of clothing which turned out to be kneeling Indian women. There were valuable oil paintings, tall candlesticks of solid gold and images of the saints encrusted with precious stones
...
all the exuberant magnificence which is part of the
Ro
man
Catholic tradition. But there was also something else
...
something in the atmosphere that had nothing whatsoever to do with Rome, or even with
European civilization, a primitive, essentially Mexican quality. The Cathedral had been built on the ruins of an Aztec temple, and somehow or other the spirit of the forgotten civilization that had existed there long before the Spaniards came seemed to hang in the air, mingling almost harmoniously with the gentler influence of the Holy Roman Church. It was strange, and rather overwhelming, and as Caroline emerged once again into the blinding glare of the Zocalo, the great square in front of the Cathedral, she felt as if she had just had a curious experience.

During the next few days she visited a number of other churches, but these were gaily beautiful gems of baroque architecture, and the Weight of Mexico
’
s living past seemed to sit more lightly upon them. Their gold-encrusted altars and their brightly painted ceilings, so lavishly and lovingly decorated by the piety and the wealth of early settlers, had a kind of incorrigible cheerfulness about them, and during the heat of the day Caroline loved to wander inside and linger among the lovely jewelled Madonnas and the gilded angels who looked as if at any moment they might burst into song.

One afternoon, when she had been staying with Senora Rivel for about a week, she went out by herself in order to do some shopping. Her hostess, although still stoutly denying that she felt in the least tired, had decided to allow herself the luxury of a brief rest, and as there was no particular reason for her to hurry back Caroline wandered in a leisurely way from shop to shop, fascinated by everything she saw. A dazzling assortment of native craftsmanship and imported American luxury goods crammed the windows on every side of her, and at the end of two and a half hours she had spent a good deal more of her travel allowance than she had intended to spend. It was intensely hot, and as her shoes weren
’
t particularly comfortable her feet had by this time begun to ache appallingly. She had insisted on coming out without the Senora
’
s comfortable chauffeur-driven car, and as she didn
’
t feel in the least like coping with the intricacies of the Mexico City bus service she supposed that if she didn
’
t want to be rather late in getting back to the Casa Rivel she had better start looking around for a taxi.

But it was a bad hour of the day for finding taxis; shops and offices were closing, and people were
making
their way homewards by the thousand. Feeling more than a little helpless, she stood near the edge of the hard, scorching pavement, looking up and down the dusty, glaring length of the Avenida Juarez, unable to glimpse among the tightly packed queues of gleaming motor vehicles anything whatsoever that seemed to have any connection with public transport.

And then a car—a magnificent white car—detached itself with amazing dexterity from the massive jam, and drew into the kerb beside her. She looked up in surprise, and was about to move away rather quickly when she was assailed by a man
’
s voice with a vaguely familiar quality.

‘
Miss Ashley!
’

She paused, and as the owner of the voice put his head out of the window she saw who it was—Dick Weldon, the American who had just bought a racehorse from Diego Rivel.

‘
Can I give you a lift?
’
he asked, opening the car door.
‘
You look just a little stuck.
’

She smiled.
‘
I am ... a little,
’
she admitted.
‘
I thought I should be able to find a taxi, but there don
’
t seem to be any about.
’

He got out, and relieved her of most of her parcels.
‘
Climb in,
’
he instructed.
‘
I hope you don
’
t mind sliding across the driving seat. You could go round to the other side of the car, but the rush hour really brings out the enthusiasm in Mexican motorists, so I wouldn
’
t risk it.
’

She obeyed him, and leaned back with relief against the comfortable upholstery of the car.
‘
It
’
s te
rribly
kind of you. I expect I
’
d have got a taxi in time, but it
’
s so hot out there.
’

Mr.
Weldon got in beside her and let in the clutch, and they moved out once again into the noisy mainstream of the traffic.
‘
I
’
m glad I came along when I did. I
’
ve been hoping I
’
d see you again.
’

She glanced at him. Something in his tone embarrassed her a little.
‘
How is the horse?
’
she asked.
‘
I mean, the one you bought from Senor Rivel.
’

‘
She
’
s beautiful,
’
he answered simply.

‘
Do you keep many horses?
’
she asked.

‘
Not many. I
’
m fond of quality, and that
’
s rather limiting.
’

They came to a halt behind a bus, and an overwhelming stench of dust and petrol fumes began to seep in through the windows.

‘
I
don
’
t know much about horses,
’
Caroline admitted.
‘
I know it sounds absurd, but I
’
m even rather frightened of them, although my brother adores them. I think he almost lives for horses.
’

‘
He
’
s certainly well informed on the subject.
’
The driver of the bus in front of them climbed down
from his cab, and as he slowly made his way through the traffic to enter a tobacconist
’
s on the other side of the street the American took both hands off the steering-wheel, as if resigned to a long wait.
‘
Why didn
’
t he stay in England?
’
he asked abruptly.

She glanced at him.
‘
Do you think he should have done?
’

He shrugged.
‘
I don
’
t know. It
’
s his life, and I daresay he knows best how to run it. But England
’
s a fine country for horse-breeding. Why travel half across the world
...
just to take orders from a man like Rivel?
’

Despite the actual temperature of the atmosphere, she felt curiously cold.

‘
I think Peter felt—well, restless in England,
’
she said.
‘
He came out here to breed horses for himself, and he did for a while, but something went wrong. You don
’
t
...
you don
’
t like Senor Rivel?
’

Dick Weldon
’
s mouth twisted into a whimsical smile.
‘
Oh, I like everybody,
’
he assured her. The bus driver had climbed back into his rightful position, and they were able to move again.
‘
I may sometimes give the impression that I
’
m rather more enamoured of some people than of others, but there have to be gradations in everything, after all. For instance, it wouldn
’
t be possible for me to like Diego Rivel as much as I like you!
’

Caroline felt herself colouring slightly.
‘
I think my brother likes Senor Rivel very much indeed,
’
she told him.
‘
He seems—perfectly satisfied with life in Mexico.
’

‘
Then he probably is satisfied. And there
’
s no need for you to worry about him.
’

‘
I
’
m not worried,
’
she asserted, rather unconvincingly.

‘
Of course you
’
re not,
’
said her companion. They had won free of the denser traffic now, and were travelling at quite an exhilarating speed along one of the city
’
s wide
avenidas.
‘
I
’
m
ta
k
ing
you,
’
said
Mr.
Weldon, as if it had suddenly occurred to him that he ought to mention the fact,
‘
to the Casa Rivel. That is where you
’
re staying, isn
’
t it?
’

‘
Yes.
’

‘
Well, I thought it was. Your brother told me.
’
He glanced sideways, and smiled at her again— rather shyly, she thought.
‘
I—I
’
ve driven past two or three times. I thought perhaps I
’
d see you.
’

‘
Oh! You shouldn
’
t have done that,
’
she said foolishly. He was, she decided, a disconcerting young man.
‘
I mean, you should have knocked or something. I
’
m sure Senora Rivel would have been pleased to see you.
’

Without her realizing it, they had reached the quiet street where the Senora lived, and now the big American car was turning with surprising ease through the open gates into the courtyard. They stopped, and he helped her to alight.

‘
Won
’
t you come inside?
’
she asked.

He looked regretful, and shook his head.
‘
No, thanks. I can
’
t
...
not now. But I have got something to ask you.
’

She looked up at him with a tinge of apprehension.
‘
What is it?
’

‘
I want to ask you to go to the Hipodromo with me to-morrow.
’

‘
The Hipodromo?
’

‘
The races. They
’
re here in Mexico City. Castaneta
’
s running.
’

She hesitated.
‘
It
’
s nice of you to think of me. But I am rather tied up with
...
with what Senora Rivel plans for me
...
’

‘
Doesn
’
t she allow you any freedom? You can tell her that I
’
d look after you meticulously.
’

Caroline smiled at him.
‘
I
’
m sure you would. But I don
’
t expect I
’
d bring your horse any luck. I
’
m not that sort of person.
’

‘
You
’
re bring
me
luck. I
’
m certain of that.
’
There was an appeal in his eyes which she found curiously touching.
‘
I
’
m only asking you to give me one afternoon.
’