FLUTTER OF WHITE WINGS

Elizabeth Ashton

Catherine remembered a song about journeys ending in lovers' meeting, but a lover was the last thing she expected to meet in Seville.

Had she not been named for St. Catherine, who was the patroness of single women and seamstress? And yet, in her heart, did she not believe that the mysterious serenade on her first night at the Casa Aguila had really been played for her-'Cor' sin amor'- 'heart without love?

She was to find out.

CHAPTER ONE

'So you are leaving us to go out into the world, my daughter. It is, I must warn you, a very wicked place!' There was a twinkle in the Prioress's black eyes, which belied the severity of her words, as she looked at the girl standing before her in her plain, conventual uniform, but Catherine Carruthers did not see it. Her eyes had strayed to the barred window of the austere little room through which she could see the tops of trees, tipped with bursting buds, and a spray of almond blossom pink against a sunlit blue sky.

'But very beautiful, Reverend Mother,' she said.

'Where every prospect pleases and only man is vile,' the Prioress quoted drily, 'but you will have a staunch protectress against man's vileness in your good mother, Catherine. Obey her wishes in all things, for she has been very generous to you, though I don't think I need to remind you of that.'

'Indeed you needn't,' Catherine returned, flushing slightly. 'I shall always be eternally grateful to her, and one day perhaps I shall have a chance to repay her for all her kindness.'

For Edwina Carruthers was not her real mother, she was her aunt. Her own parents had died together in an accident when she had been only five years old. At that tender age, frightened, bewildered and bereft, she had been put into an orphanage. Edwina was a writer of successful travel books, and she wandered the five continents in search of copy, seeking to assuage her own loss of both husband and baby daughter. She had returned from half-way across the world to rescue the unhappy little girl, taking her to her cottage at the foot of the Pyrenees, which was her pied-a-terre. There for over three years she had devoted herself entirely to consoling, teaching and cherishing the desolate child. As she grew older, Catherine began to realise how much she owed to this aunt, her only relative, who had given her affection when she needed it most, an anchor when her whole world had collapsed, and her name, for Edwina had adopted Catherine as her own daughter to fill the place vacated by baby Caroline's premature decease at the age of one year.

When Catherine was nine, she was sent to the Convent of the Sacred Heart for more progressive education. She went as a boarder so that Edwina could be free to follow her own pursuits during term time, but the widow always returned to the cottage for the holidays, the house being cared for during her absence by a French couple, Pierre and Marie Leroux, who both adored the child. There Catherine spent long, happy days in her adopted mother's company, exploring the countryside and learning to ride the two hacks the widow kept for that purpose, but they never mingled with the people of the neighbourhood, nor did the girl find much companionship among the pupils at the Convent School. She was the only boarder, a concession granted by the Mother Superior because of her unusual circumstances, and the other girls always left for a more sophisticated education upon attaining eleven years, only Catherine stayed on during her teens. She loved the gentle nuns, and had once thought she would like to join their Order. This idea Edwina had discouraged, though she was too wise to directly oppose her, and in due course Catherine realised that she had no real vocation. She had grown to womanhood completely sheltered from all the turmoil and rebellion of modern youth, unaware that Edwina had a purpose in insisting upon this seclusion. The Prioress had been taken into the widow's confidence, and she looked compassionately at the girl's meekly bowed brown head, wondering if the woman to whom Catherine owed so much had acted quite fairly towards her niece, for Edwina had emphasised that she wished Catherine to be kept away from all disturbing influences, and to be trained in self-discipline, obedience and the housewifely arts, because her destiny was to fill a position where these virtues would be important. Suspecting that the girl had no suspicion of the fate mapped out for her, the Prioress said insinuatingly,

'So you propose to occupy yourself assisting your mother, don't you? You are to accompany her upon her travels?'

'Yes, I'm looking forward to that. I'm hoping to see lots of new places,' the girl's face was eager, 'and I'm sure I can help by transcribing Edwina's notes,' she smiled. 'She writes an appalling hand, but I'm used to deciphering it.'

'Yes, she does,' the Mother Superior agreed, having had experience of Edwina's calligraphy. 'Do you call her by her first name?' There was a hint of reproof in her voice.

'She asked me to do so, Reverend Mother, now I'm older, she says it's a modern practice.' Neither knew that Edwina had always shrunk from hearing the maternal appellation upon Catherine's lips. That name belonged to dead Caroline, an odd touch of sentimentality in a woman who prided herself upon having no nonsense in her make-up.

'I see.' The elder woman hesitated, then asked bluntly, 'Then you have no thought of marriage?'

Catherine looked blank. 'No,' she said. 'Who would want to marry a plain creature like myself?'

Personal vanity was not encouraged at the convent, and her idea of feminine beauty was the conventional fair hair, blue eyes and insipid prettiness. She knew she was not pretty, her face had too much character, and her colouring was ordinary. What she did not know was that she could, upon occasion, look beautiful. 'Besides,' she went on, 'I'm named for Saint Catherine, who you have told me is the patroness of sempstresses and spinsters, so I feel I'm destined to be a spinster, and a prop to Edwina's old age.'

The Prioress sighed. Catherine had never given any trouble, but she was no spineless puppet. There was resolution in the firm chin, a hint of passion in the soft curves of her mouth. She thought the girl had the makings of a fine woman if she were allowed to develop normally. Had Edwina Carruthers any right to seek to hand her over to a husband not of her own choosing with her youth untried, her wings still furled? Might she not rebel against the fate ordained for her? It was to be hoped the rebellion would occur before, not after the marriage.

'You will always have a refuge here,' she said, 'if you find the world too wicked.'

Catherine smiled serenely. 'I daresay I can cope with it, Reverend Mother,' she said confidently.

'With God's help, my daughter,' the nun said piously.

'I rely upon that.'

The Prioress gave her the short homily which she felt was her duty to bestow upon her departing pupil, at the end of which Catherine knelt for her blessing, trying to realise that this was the last time that she would do so. Rising to her feet, she stammered out her thanks for all that had been done for her. The Mother Superior for all her gentleness was always so remote that she had never lost her awe of her. Again the nun sighed.

'I only hope, my daughter, that in the days to come you will not blame us for not giving you a more sophisticated education. It was your mother's wish, not ours.'

'I'm sure I'll never do any such thing,' Catherine declared warmly, and took her leave. She lingered in the cloister, looking at the statue of her Saint, which was enshrined there, and smiled calmly down upon her from her niche. She tried to trace a likeness to herself in the carved features, but there was none. The artist who had modelled the statue had made her look insipid; she hardly suggested the strength to endure a martyrdom.

Catherine passed on to the refectory where the Sisters were gathered to bid her farewell. They gave her as a parting present a little silver crucifix upon a chain, and she fastened it around her neck with appropriate thanks. The convent door opened for her for the last time and she went out to the waiting taxi. A phase of her life was ending, but she would never wholly eradicate the convent influence that had governed her early years.

Edwina Carruthers had been born and bred in Southern Spain, her father had been a partner in the wine business that centred in Jerez. She and her much prettier younger sister, Catherine's mother, had lived in Seville. Prominent among the family's friends were the Aguilars, who also lived in that town. Edwina had become intimate with Juana de Aguilar, and fell desperately in love with her much older husband, Salvador, being drawn together by their mutual love of horses. Edwina had always been a fearless rider, and Salvador had a stable full of white Andalusian horses. In a guarded way he returned her feeling, but as both were virtuous, nothing came of it. Over the years, their affection ripened into a life-long friendship. Don Salvador had for this downright, plain, clever Englishwoman a respect and admiration that he did not extend to his own countrywomen. She had what he admired most, an intrepid courage. When she subsequently married Simon Carruthers and Caroline was born, they sought a vicarious fulfilment by planning to betroth the infant to Don Salvador's grandson, Jose. Caroline had died, but Edwina saw no reason why Catherine should not take her place when the time came. Arranged marriages were very much de rigueur with the ageing Don, and Catherine would have a dowry from her own resources.

The Don agreed, albeit with reservations. Jose, as he grew up, became something of a disappointment to his grandfather, who had lost two sons in an ill-fated mountaineering expedition for the glory of Spain. He had none of his father's dash and daring. If Caroline had lived, and had inherited her mother's intrepidity, she would have supplied what Jose lacked in the next generation, but Catherine was not Edwina's real daughter, she had yet to prove herself. Knowing that Don Salvador was a reactionist, clinging to the old ways, and disliking intensely emancipated women, Edwina had sent Catherine to the convent to be trained to be a submissive Spanish wife. She gave the girl no hint of her intentions, that might set her against the plan, but once she was in Seville, a guest of the Aguilars, with Jose prepared to woo her (so she hoped), it was highly probable that the unsophisticated young girl would fall for the first presentable young man with whom she had been brought in contact. Propinquity, Edwina thought, should do the trick, and she had been careful that Catherine should in the meantime meet no possible rivals.

Edwina had arrived back from a trip to Crete too late to collect Catherine, but was present to welcome her when she arrived. As the hired car drew up, she ran out eagerly to greet her. After they had embraced, she stood back to eye her critically. Catherine was of medium height, slim built and graceful. Her grey eyes were clear and candid under well-marked brows. Though there was nothing remarkable about her features, she had a lovely bloom in her cheeks and her short, bobbed hair was the colour of a ripe chestnut, but her plain grey dress and travel coat did nothing to enhance her looks. All her clothes were plain and serviceable. Edwina had no dress sense, and her trim figure always looked well in the tweeds she normally wore, so that she had left the selection of Catherine's wardrobe to the nuns. She was more concerned with the girl's character than her appearance, and as she looked modest and unsophisticated, Edwina thought she would favourably impress Don Salvador, and that was what was important to her.

'You're too thin,' she said abruptly, thinking Jose would prefer more curves. 'Did they starve you at the convent?'

'Of course not!' Catherine laughed. 'Though naturally, as it's Lent, we didn't feast.'

'We're going to feast now, Lent or no Lent,' Edwina announced. 'Marie has prepared a really sumptuous repast for your return, and if you don't do it justice, you'll hurt her feelings.'

'I'd hate to do that,' Catherine declared, 'and the journey has made me quite hungry.'

Marie Leroux greeted her rapturously and she too exclaimed about Catherine's thinness.

'You are the skeleton,' she announced. 'You need my cooking to put more meat on your bones.'

'I don't think I'm any thinner than usual,' Catherine pointed out, 'and I understand it's fashionable to be slim.'

'But now you are the young lady, you need the embonpoint,' Marie persisted, who had more than enough of her own. 'The jeunes hommes, they like not to sleep with a bag of bones.'

Catherine coloured faintly, while Edwina said sharply, 'That will do, Marie.' Her housekeeper had all the peasant's crudeness of expression, and that she had been thinking along similar lines herself did not excuse the woman's forthrightness, and she had noticed the wild rose blush in Catherine's cheeks.

'Young men don't interest me,' the girl said lightly. 'There'll be too much else to do.' She glanced fondly at Edwina.

'But you're no longer in a convent,' the widow pointed out, hoping Catherine had quite got over her desire to be a nun.

After their meal, she produced her notes and sketches; she was writing a book about Minoan culture.

'The bull,' she remarked, 'was a sacred animal in Crete. I fancy the Minotaur must have been a special one to whom human sacrifices were offered, and the bull dances are the origin of the Spanish corrida, though they were more like the Provencal course libre, in which they play with the bull but never kill it. Bull culture is one of the oldest in the world.'

Becoming aware of a stiffening in Catherine's attitude, she looked up from her papers to ask, 'What's the matter?'

Catherine had a passionate love for all animals. She endowed them with human feelings and emotions, so that their tribulations often caused her more pain than that suffered by the victims, and the mention of the corrida had offended her.

'I hope you'll never want me to go to Spain,' she said. 'Spaniards must be horribly cruel.'

'Oh come, don't be absurd. You can travel ail over Spain and never see a bullfight. In any case it's giving place to football as a national sport. As a matter of fact, we are going to Seville for Easter. My old friend Don Salvador de Aguilar has asked us both to attend his elder granddaughter's wedding.'

Catherine had heard all about the Aguilars. She knew the family consisted of the old man, his widowed daughter-in-law, Luisa, and his grandchildren, Inez, Jose and Pilar. From all she had been told Don Salvador de Aguilar y Miranda was a formidable personage, being a grandee of the old school, stubborn in his efforts to put back the clock and a stickler for maintaining the customs of his country. She had seen a photograph of Dona Luisa and her two eldest taken at the time of the children's confirmation. Inez was demure-looking in a white dress with a veil on her head, and Jose looked incredibly devout in a sailor suit. Dona Luisa beamed behind them in black, but Don Salvador was not included in the picture, and the mental one she had formed of him was intimidating. She had no wish to meet him, particularly as he owned, in addition to his home in Seville, a ganaderia on the Andalusian plains where he bred fighting bulls. Though she had looked forward to travelling with Edwina, she was not expecting to have to fulfil a social engagement. She was naturally shy, and the idea of being precipitated into a strange family was frightening. She said bluntly,

'I don't want to go. They don't know me and I don't know them. Couldn't I stay here with Pierre and Marie while you're away? I don't mind being alone.'

'Of course you must come,' Edwina declared. 'They want to meet you and it's time you made their acquaintance— besides, a little young society will do you good. Of the three younger people, Pilar is nearest your age, the others are older. You'll like Pilar, she's a charming girl.'

Catherine looked down, twisting her hands together. 'But you told me Don Salvador owns a bull farm. I ... I can't condone...'

'Oh, rubbish!' Edwina was annoyed. 'You know nothing about it. The animals on the farm are pampered creatures, but there'll be no occasion for you to go near it if you don't want to. Do you expect me to say to my friend, my daughter won't visit you because you breed the cattle your ancestors have bred for generations, and one or two find their way into the ring? He'd think you're a stupid little prig, and so you are.'

Catherine flushed and hung her head.

'What you will see,' Edwina went on, 'are the religious processions during Holy Week, and although they're becoming commercialised they're still unique. Your convent training will have taught you to appreciate them.' She continued to enlarge upon the beauties of Seville, the flamenco dancing and singing, which she would be taken to see, the gracious way of life that was still preserved at the Casa de Aguilar, until Catherine's imagination was fired, and she forgot her hostility, though she still felt anxious about meeting the Spanish family.

'By the way, how's your Spanish coming on?' Edwina broke off to enquire.

'Not very well... it's the speaking. I can write it a little.'

'Oh well, not to worry,' Edwina said cheerfully. 'The way to learn a language is to go to the country of origin, and all the Aguilars speak English. Honestly, they'll be delighted to welcome you, Kit, as they say in that country, their house is yours.'

'And they know you're my adopted mother?'

'Only Don Salvador knows that, but it's not important. You're my sister's child, and I'm your next of kin.'

A curious constraint fell between them. Edwina's relationship to Catherine had become like that of a much older sister, and she had never been really maternal. The ghost of little Caroline stood between them. Catherine could dimly remember her own parents, remembered more sharply the awful feeling of desertion that had swept over her when she had lost them. Edwina had saved her, Edwina wanted her to go to Spain to meet her friends; the least she could do was to fall in with her wishes.

'I'll come,' she said, 'and I'll do my best not to disgrace you.'

'I don't think you'll do that,' Edwina said, and laughed.

It was a fine spring morning when they set forth for Spain in Edwina's car, in which she always travelled, a day of white clouds against a blue sky, with trees and flowers awakening to verdant life. Catherine's spirits rose, for she was on the road at last, about to visit a new country, with all its width to explore and wonder about before she had to face the awe-inspiring Aguilars.

They crossed the frontier at Irun into what was still Basque country, with little difference in the scenery and beret-crowned people, who were a short, stocky, independent race, about whom Edwina had already written, but the language was different, and instead of the tricolour flag, they were welcomed by the scarlet and gold of Spain.

The run down to Madrid was uneventful but cold, colder than the French spring that they had left behind them. Catherine, who had visions of warmth and hot sun, was unpleasantly surprised. Vittoria, which they passed through, was reputed to be the coldest town in Spain and lived up to its reputation by greeting them with a snowstorm. They slept at Burgos, one of the oldest cities in the country, and Edwina insisted that Catherine must see the cathedral in which was buried Roderigo Diaz y Bivas ... El Cid, campeador. The girl was overawed by the great Gothic pile with its truly Spanish interior, crammed with rejas, sculptures and rich embellishments, the candles before the effigies making pools of light amid its sombre magnificence. She found it oppressive; she seemed to glimpse the dark, secret soul of Spain, and a sense of foreboding assailed her.

There was snow on the Sierra Guadarrama, though the road was clear, and from the heights of the pass they could look over the almost treeless plain to Madrid. That night they reached the capital.

After they had dined, Edwina went to ring up the Aguilars to tell them that they hoped to arrive in Seville by the next evening. Catherine waited for her in the lounge of the very anglicised hotel with a mind full of uneasiness. The hour of her ordeal was fast approaching. Edwina came back from the telephone and laughed at her dismal expression.

'You aren't going to be hanged, my lamb,' she told her. 'You're going to have the time of your life, but we'd better go to bed. We've over three hundred miles to do tomorrow, if we're to reach Andalusia by nightfall, and I bet you won't be sorry to reach journey's end.'

Inconsequently Catherine remembered a song about journeys ending in lovers' meetings, but a lover was the last thing she expected to meet in Seville. No romantic-looking Spaniard was likely to even look at Catherine Carruthers, a mercy for which she was grateful. She had no notion of what she would say to him.

The sun was shining when she awoke next morning, and her forebodings of the previous night had dissipated. She supposed she had been overtired, and she bathed and dressed in a mood of eager anticipation. She wanted to see Andalusia, which Edwina had told her was what most people thought of as Spain, a land of Moorish buildings, fluttering fans, flamenco and hot sunshine. So far they had seen little of the famous southern sun.

Coming into the dining-room, she was surprised to find Edwina in conversation with a young man, who was seated at their table. They were both talking in Spanish, and as she moved towards them quietly over the tiled floor, the flow of sonorous syllables were audible but incomprehensible to her. She stood hesitating, wondering if she should venture to interrupt them, when Edwina looked up and saw her.

'Good morning, Kit. This is Senor Cesar Barenna. Senor, my daughter Catherine.'

The young man sprang to his feet in one quick lithe movement and bowed from his hips.

'Delighted to meet you, Senorita Carruthers.'

Catherine muttered something inaudible overcome by bashfulness; she had no experience of young men. She noticed with slight surprise that this one spoke English without a trace of accent. Self-consciously she sat down in the chair, which Cesar, forestalling the waiter, pulled out for her, and as he seated himself again opposite to her, she surreptitiously glanced at him from under her long lashes. Tall for a Spaniard, he had a narrow, high-bred face with a straight nose and dark eyes fringed with magnificent eyelashes. The mouth was long and flexible, with a slightly sardonic twist, his hair was like black silk. He was casually dressed in a sweater and slacks, an unusual garb for a Spaniard, Madrilenos do not lightly dispense with jackets and the waiters were eyeing him with discreet disapproval. Though used to tourist eccentricities, they deplored them in a fellow-countryman. So also did the neatly suited fellow guests, but Cesar was impervious to their critical glances. He held himself with an easy arrogance, his whole slender figure vibrant with life and energy, and the lazy, appraising look he gave Catherine was disconcerting. Uncomfortably she realised that the two-piece which she was wearing was more serviceable than smart, that her face was innocent of make-up and her hair unfashionably cut. There were several chic, painted young women in the dining-room with whom she felt that she must contrast unfavourably in this man's eyes, unaware that she possessed a freshness and simplicity which made them look jaded.

'Senor Barenna is a cousin of the Aguilars,' Edwina explained, 'he has come to stay with them to ... er ... learn the trade ... isn't that what you said, senor?'

'Please call me Cesar,' he asked, 'yes, I've come over to see how Don Salvador runs his ganaderia, and to take some stock back to our ranch in Argentina. Though of Spanish extraction, I'm actually an Argentine, senorita.'

'Oh,' Catherine said vaguely, having no preconceived ideas about South America and its denizens.

'He has travelled up from Seville to meet us, Don Salvador was distressed to think of two lone females making such a long journey unescorted.' Edwina's hazel eyes twinkled as she gave this explanation; she had toured much wilder places alone and was amused by his concern, but she was not amused by Cesar Barenna's appearance. If he made an impression upon Catherine, it might upset all her schemes. She had counted upon Jose de Aguilar having no rivals.

The waiter brought coffee and Catherine realised with dismay that the other two had already breakfasted. 'I'm afraid I'm late,' she apologised.

'No, we were early,' Cesar said courteously. 'The Senora Carruthers would not let me wait for you, and I must admit I was ravenous.'

'The poor boy has been travelling all night,' Edwina explained, whose good nature was stronger than her dismay at Cesar's arrival. Cesar spread his hands and shrugged his shoulders, a foreign gesture.

'It was nothing, I often travel at night and the rapido runs smoothly—besides, I've business to transact for Senor de Aguilar, so I'm making of it a combined operation. If you'll excuse me now, I'll perform my errand and then I'll be free to accompany you.'

'We've a little shopping to do,' Edwina told him, 'so we'll meet you in the Plaza Mayor for a glass of wine. That's a place Catherine ought to see while we're here.'

'Certainly she should,' he agreed, and again his appraising, audacious glance swept over the girl. 'Hasta la vista.'

He bowed and left them with a lithe, catlike tread that made no sound on the tiled floor.

'He'll take his turn at the wheel,' Edwina said, 'which means that we'll make better time and we needn't be in a hurry to be off. I hope he isn't staying long at the Casa.'

A sentiment that Catherine silently endorsed. There was something oddly disturbing about Cesar Barenna, and she had been dismayed to learn that he was to be their travelling companion. She had no experience of men, especially young ones, and he embarrassed her. The waiter placed a plate of ham and eggs in front of her—Edwina considered the continental breakfast of rolls and coffee insufficient sustenance for a day on the road—and she began to eat it.

'What are we going to buy?' she asked without much interest.

'Since there are some excellent shops here, I thought we might get you one or two new outfits,' Edwina told her. 'The Reverend Mother hasn't much idea of style, so we'll find something a little more chic.' She had suddenly realised that Catherine needed something more modish than her present wear to impress her friends and was anxious to repair her omission.

'Is that necessary?' Catherine asked doubtfully.

'Definitely. I can't have you looking a dowd when we get to Seville.' She had noticed the amused glint in Senor Barenna's eyes when he had looked at Catherine and guessed his thought. The girl must be re-clad before she met her hosts. At least Cesar had done her one good turn by drawing attention to her oversight.

The Gran' Via had excellent shops, and for immediate wear, under the saleswoman's guidance, Edwina bought a green suit with black trimmings, the jacket of which could be discarded if the heat became too great en route, and insisted that Catherine should dispense with her serviceable grey in its favour. She also bought a handsome silk negligee of an oriental design, which seemed to Catherine to be almost wicked in its sensuous magnificence. To her half-whispered protest, Edwina said brusquely,

'You're not at the convent now.'

After buying several other garments, they left their purchases and Catherine's old clothes to be packed and delivered to their hotel, and repaired to the Plaza Mayor. The sun was so warm it was possible to sit at one of the cafe tables set out on the cobbles, and Edwina ordered vino bianco. The square retained much of its medieval atmosphere, being surrounded by four-storey buildings with arcades at ground level. They were decorated with iron balconies and grey shutters against brown and pink stucco. The dark slate roofs were full of dormers, their line broken by square towers with steeples and weather vanes.

While they sipped their wine, they saw Cesar crossing the square and, perceiving them, his face broke into a charming smile ... too charming, Edwina thought sourly, fearing its effect upon Catherine. She also saw appreciation in his glance as he took in the girl's changed appearance, and Catherine's answering blush, but he was too polite to make any comment. Instead he talked about the square in which they were sitting.

'This plaza is full of history,' he told them. 'It was designed for fiestas, bullfighting and auto-de-fes. Philip IV built it in 1619. From a balcony on the north side he used to watch the spectacles.' He stole a glance at Catherine, who had shivered at the mention of bullfights and auto-de-fes. As in Burgos Cathedral, she became oppressed by something sinister in her surroundings. This place had witnessed too much blood and pain. Unthinkingly she said,

'The Spanish are a cruel people ... I mean they were,' she hastily amended.

'And still are, in some ways,' he returned, 'but to give them their due, they have their reverse side. It's not necessary in Spain to have a society for the prevention of cruelty to children.'

'Touché,' Edwina laughed. 'And now we must really be getting on if we're to make Seville before midnight. I hope they've delivered your parcels, Kit.' She turned half apologetically to Cesar. 'The shops here are so good, we've had a spending spree.'

Again his dark eyes flickered over Catherine. 'I see you made good use of your opportunities,' he said suavely. 'May I congratulate you both ... and the shops ... on the result?'

'Thank you,' Edwina murmured, while Catherine looked away from him. Although he was undoubtedly charming, there was something about him that repelled her. His remark about cruelty lingered in her mind. He could be cruel upon occasion, she felt sure. She could imagine him leaning over the king's balcony watching some poor wretch burn with just that same slightly sardonic smile that he was wearing at that moment. He might call himself Argentinian, but the Spaniard was predominant in him, and she suspected dark depths which she hoped she would never have to plumb.

They drove out of Madrid with Cesar at the wheel and Edwina sitting beside him. He drove fast and well, threading his way skilfully through the urban traffic. The country was smiling after the spring rain and not yet scorched by the summer heat. They passed through green farms and gardens, but when they came to the tableland of La Mancha all that was changed. The road ran straight across an arid plain, land too sun-struck, too long devegetated to be fertile. Practically treeless except for an occasional drift of olive trees with gnarled trunks and pewter-coloured leaves, wheatland stretched from horizon to horizon, but in places it was sheer stony desert, mile upon mile of lunar landscape, grim and stark. The people they passed scratching a meagre living from the land were beings from an earlier age, as withered and brown as their forbidding country, the women wearing old-fashioned skirts working alongside the men, while the main source of power was mules and donkeys, the latter treading an endless circle as they manipulated the ancient pumps at the well heads.

'Hasn't changed since the year dot,' Edwina remarked.

'Some day there may be artesian wells and tractors,' Cesar said, 'but it won't be yet awhile, this country is too unproductive to be worth the outlay.'

The sun became hot and he threw off his sweater and rolled up his shirt sleeves, Catherine became conscious of his brown, muscular arms and narrow sinewy hands that gripped the steering wheel so firmly. She could see nothing else except his smooth black head, and against her will, her eyes kept returning to him from the monotonous view upon either side of them. She too had discarded her jacket, beneath which she had on a white frilly blouse. Cesar seemed completely tireless, and chafed when Edwina insisted upon stopping to rest and take refreshment from the picnic basket she had had stocked for them.

'We still have far to go,' he pointed out.

'We've plenty of time for a siesta,' she said.

'Siesta? Bah!' He snapped his fingers. 'You and the senorita can doze as we go along. I don't need any rest and I'm tired of this endless plain. It depresses me—no wonder Don Quixote was mad, or so I understand. I've never managed to get through that classic.'

'No more have I,' Catherine admitted from the back seat, but she had been briefed about the doleful knight. 'All I know is that he tilted at windmills, of which I see there are still a few about.' They had just passed a row of them.

Cesar looked sombre. 'Some of us still do,' he remarked, 'and of course the windmill always wins.'

There was bitterness in his tone, and she wondered what obstacle stood in his path to call forth that remark. Edwina had her way, and they stopped, the culminating argument being that the engine needed cooling. Catherine was glad of an opportunity to stretch her legs, and they consumed the rolls and ham and the inevitable bottle of wine by the roadside, feeling oppressed by the harsh scenery. Then they were off again with Cesar driving at reckless speed, until Edwina remonstrated with him, for it was her car and she did not want it to be overdriven, nor to fall foul of the Guardia Civil. He immediately checked to a crawl, flashing her a mischievous smile, whereupon she made him surrender the driving seat, and he lolled beside her making occasional comments in Spanish in answer to one of which Edwina said pointedly in English, feeling Catherine was being neglected,

'No doubt in your own country you are used to covering enormous distances at breakneck speed, but this is a British car and built for durability, not pace.'

'Typically British!' he laughed. 'But England is only the size of a pocket handkerchief,' he spoke in the same tongue. 'I know, because I was sent to school there.' Which explained his mastery of the language.

Surprised, Catherine exclaimed, 'I would never have suspected that.'

He turned his head to look at her. 'My school tried its hardest to fit me into the regulation mould, but it didn't succeed.' He laughed. 'Actually I was asked to leave before I'd finished my academic career.'

'Do you mean you were expelled?' Edwina asked bluntly.

'Not exactly,' his eyes danced with mischief, 'it was merely suggested that England had done all she could for me. Oh, I didn't do anything bad, it was just a foolish prank. You see, I can't resist a challenge. On the headmaster's house was a climbing rose reaching nearly to the roof, and I was dared to pick the topmost bloom. I and my friends escaped from our dormitory one night, and while they waited in the garden, I climbed. I obtained the rose, but I had difficulty in descending. They shouted to me, "Cave" and to save myself from discovery I dived in through an open window into what I hoped was an empty room. The occupant, for there was one, switched on the light and I was confronted by the headmaster's daughter. She screeched loud and long and I was caught red-handed, a flower in my hand. My story was disbelieved; because I am Latin, ergo, I must at heart be a Don Juan. My friends might have saved me, but I did not want to betray their complicity. So exit Cesar Barenna from the British scene at the age of seventeen with no regrets. She wasn't even pretty, she wore the most hideous striped pyjamas. She presented no temptation whatever.'

He kept his gaze upon Catherine as he told this preposterous tale with a wicked gleam in the dark depths of his eyes, as if he were wondering how she appeared in her night gear, and remembering the negligee Edwina had bought, she flushed and turned away to look out of the window.

Edwina laughed. 'Do you expect us to believe that improbable yarn?'

"No, but all the same it's true.'

Catherine turned back to say diffidently, 'Isn't it rather stupid to do something wro ... imprudent ... just for a dare?'

'Ah, senorita, it goes deeper than that,' he said seriously. 'Neither boy nor man can refuse a challenge to his manhood.'

Edwina made some flippant rejoinder and the subject dropped, but Catherine was to remember Cesar's words in the days to come.

Edwina was driving when they reached the Sierra Morena, where in places the rugged rocks were a grim, vertical palisade against the sky, and it was she who negotiated the Gorge of the Despenaperros, the ditch of the dog, so called because the Spaniards called the Moors infidel dogs and the Moors reciprocated by naming them Christian dogs. The doggy pass had once been a haunt of brigands, but now a motor road and the railway ran through its dramatic scenery. Again Catherine was aware of a premonition of evil lying ahead of them and was thankful to leave the sinister rockery behind. Then, as the towns became whiter, the soil redder and the trees more plentiful, her dark mood was dispelled in the more genial air of Andalusia.

The sun was setting when they reached the old Moorish caliphate of Cordoba, and Edwina suggested that they should stop for refreshment, an idea Catherine welcomed, for she was stiff with sitting. César at first was all for pushing on, but realising their weariness became agreeable.

'We'll reach the Casa in time for dinner,' he said, looking at his watch, 'that is, if you let me drive,' and he glanced meaningly at Edwina, whose passage of the Sierra Morena had not met with his approval.

'All right, you Jehu,' Edwina laughed, 'but please let us arrive in one piece!'

He found a parking space and announced that he would take them to a posada that was all Old Spain. 'Senorita Carruthers needs to be initiated into Andalusian life,' he said airily.

'Oh, don't be so formal,' Edwina objected, 'call her Kit.'

He shook his head. 'I don't think she's a kitten. Is that really your name, senorita?'

'It's short for Catherine,' the girl said coldly.

'Ah, Catalina, I like that better.'

Catherine was inclined to remark that his preferences had not been consulted when she was christened, but checked the words on her tongue. She was too tired to care what he called her, though she shrank from the intimacy of this Spanish Don Juan using her first name. He came round to open her door, and ignoring his outstretched hand, she tried to alight with dignity, but her cramped limbs betrayed her. She stumbled and would have fallen if he had not caught her. For the first time in her life she was in close contact with a man, a man, moreover, who was intensely masculine and virile. She was almost painfully aware of the strength of the arms supporting her, the lean, dark face so close to her own, and the blood surged through her veins.

'Careful, Senorita Catalina, you are numb with sitting,' he warned her, and his voice was a caress. Aware that she was blushing, she hastened to withdraw herself.

'Thank you, I'm all right now,' she said hurriedly.

He drew her arm through his. 'Better let me support you until you've found your feet.'

She sensed that he was fully aware of her embarrassment and it seemed to amuse him. The arm she clung to perforce was strong and sinewy. It flashed through her mind that to always have a man's strength to lean upon must be a wonderfully sustaining prop, but such things were not for her, it was her destiny to be Edwina's prop when she declined into old age, not that Edwina looked much like declining for a long while yet. In spite of the long gruelling journey, she was stepping out briskly. Guided by Cesar, Catherine moved self-consciously down the side road that he indicated, with the widow upon her other side. Then they turned into a calle so narrow that they could not walk three abreast, and he fell back to allow her to precede him, but she had forgotten him in sheer wonderment. The alleyway led between white-walled houses with delicate wrought-iron balconies and outside each one of them hung quantities of potted plants fixed to the walls, like an aerial garden, while the balconies themselves were filled with fern and flowers. The scent of jasmine, violets and orange blossom enveloped them, and the walls glimmered palely in the blue dusk. Ahead a white arch crossed the calle, beyond it was another, and at the far end rose an illuminated tower hung with bells. Involuntarily she exclaimed, 'But how beautiful!'

'It's only one of Cordoba's ancient alleys,' Cesar said indifferently.

'It doesn't appeal to you?'

'I'm jealous, where I come from the ancient buildings are massive blocks of stone. There's nothing graceful and enchanting like this.'

Enchanting was the right word, Catherine thought, a magic prospect where only man was vile, but Cesar was not vile, rather his presence added to the witchery of the night —she checked herself, reminding herself that she was not sure that she liked him.

They walked down the narrow, cobbled street, turned at the bottom of it and passed a gate of fine tracery through which could be glimpsed a tiled patio in which a fountain played, illuminated by the lights from the house, and on to a cobbled plaza with orange trees and little tables set out before a lighted cafe front from which came the thrum of a guitar and the wail of a flamenco tune.

Cesar ordered for them manzanilla, the drink of Andalusia, a kind of light sherry. It came in thick-bottomed, narrow tumblers and though very dry was light and refreshing. It went slightly to Catherine's head, for she was unused to wine. She was no longer embarrassed by Cesar's bold glances and met his eyes with a frank, clear gaze, so that it was he who dropped his regard. The long black lashes made inky crescents on his olive face, between the high-bridged nose. Then he lifted them and looked long into her clear, grey orbs, with a dark, penetrating stare. Neither spoke; some subtle communion seemed to be passing between them, a questing to discover what lay behind the other's facade.

I'm dreaming, Catherine thought, none of this is real. I shall wake up and find myself back at the convent.

Edwina drained her glass and rose briskly to her feet.

'Time we were off,' she announced. 'Wake up, you two!'

Catherine's gaze strayed to a Moorish arch on the further side of the plaza, but Cesar was still watching her. In the dim light she looked younger and softer and the wistful droop of her lips was pathetically childish. Her face was palely luminous in the dusk, framed by the darkened wings of her hair. Vulnerable, he was thinking, and untouched, very different from the brash self-confident tourist girls with whom he was only too familiar. She fitted her surroundings, for she was like a girl of Old Spain, a girl who had been allowed to have no contact with the world of men and so had preserved her innocent bloom. Edwina's voice recalled him from his musings, and he jumped up.

'At your service, Senora Carruthers,' adding curiously, 'Pardon me, but was your daughter educated at a convent?'

For only in a nunnery could a modern girl retain such unsophistication.

Catherine answered for Edwina. 'How clever of you,' she smiled. 'I was.'

'She's only just left its shelter,' Edwina added, with a note of warning in her voice. 'She's had no experience of the ways of our wicked world.' The nuns had not taught Catherine how to deal with men like Cesar Barenna.

'Ah, that accounts for the out-of-this-world look,' Cesar remarked as they started to walk away, with this time Edwina between them.

Catherine laughed. 'I'm not a ghost, you know,' she said, Tm still with you,' and I think the wine must be making Senor Barenna fanciful.' It had also made her bold, and the look she gave him was a challenge. She felt exhilarated, not only by the manzanilla but by the magic of this romantic southern land and the expression in Cesar's velvet eyes.

CHAPTER TWO

It was dark when the travellers arrived at the Casa de Aguilar. Catherine stared at the windowless shoulder it presented to the street, in which was set a wrought-iron gate, and thought it looked forbidding. Certainty it gave no indication of the gracious interior, with which she was later to become familiar. It was situated in the oldest part of Seville and was built upon the remnants of a Moorish palace.

'Looks a bit grim from the outside,' Cesar remarked, as they drove into the cobbled courtyard, from which a flight of steps led up to the huge, brass-studded front door, above which the windows were small and heavily grilled. 'The people who built it liked to keep themselves to themselves— but don't be alarmed, senorita, although from this approach it looks like a medieval fortress, and Don Salvador dislikes modern inventions, he has installed plumbing, electric light and the telephone, though not, alas, central heating.'

'You don't mean he still uses braseros?' Edwina asked, as Cesar cut the engine, and at his nod, explained to Catherine that braseros were brass or copper bowls filled with charcoal, and were usually located under the table so that the family's feet could be warmed at meal times. 'But we shouldn't need them at this time of the year,' she concluded thankfully.

Cesar ran up the front steps and pulled the iron bell rod beside it. In the flickering light from the light above it, he looked to Catherine's tired eyes immensely tall and a little sinister, and matched the house, which she thought had the appearance of a prison. She felt extremely reluctant to enter it and meet its inhabitants. The door was opened by an aged manservant, who led them into the tiled hall and then went to summon his minions to unload the car. The immense vestibule went through the width of the house and at its further end was open to a patio through an arcade of Moorish arches. The lights from the house shone out on to tubs of orange trees, and sparkled on the jet of a fountain in a marble basin. Marble too was the wide staircase ascending to the upper floors. The thick outer walls shut off all noise from the street, and over all hung the silence of ages. She felt as if she had stepped into a scene from the Arabian Nights.

The silence was broken by the patter of high heels and from one of the passages that ran right and left of the vast hall, Dona Luisa de Aguilar came hurrying to greet them. She wore black, which she had assumed upon her widowhood and would never discard again. She was short and plump with grey hair, above an amiable, placid face. She almost ran on her tiny feet to embrace Edwina.

'Amiga mia, you are welcome, and this is the daughter about whom you have told us so much. At last we meet.'

Catherine was a head taller than Luisa, but, undeterred, the Spanish woman rose upon her toes to embrace her, and Catherine stooped to receive a kiss upon either cheek. 'Cesar, go tell el senor that his guests have arrived,' she called, 'he will want to receive diem,' and as Cesar disappeared down a tiled passage, she went on, 'The years take their toll, you understand. Is not what he was, mi padre.' She sighed prodigiously. 'Has been all day at the ganaderia, and is tired, but still he is indomitable.' Her English was heavily accented, and she often mislaid the pronoun, which is rarely used in her own tongue.

Indomitable was the operative word, Catherine thought, as their host came towards them. He was not tall, only a bare inch or so more than her five foot five, but so proudly did he hold his head, and so straight was his spare figure, that he gave the impression of height. The snow-white hair, still plentiful, crowned a narrow face with a long upper lip and thin mouth, but it was the eyes that gave life to it. Dark and brilliant, deep-set under beetling brows, nothing missed their piercing gaze. He wore a small, carefully trimmed imperial, and black evening clothes, the short jacket long outdated, with a snowy shirt and cummerbund. He looked, and was, an autocrat, and not a benign one. He kissed Edwina's band, and shook Catherine's ... unmarried girls did not rate a kissed hand ... and in excellent English, bade them welcome.

'My house is yours.' Which statement, Catherine thought, only a fool would take literally. Then maids were summoned—there was no lack of domestics—to conduct the ladies to their rooms and, saying that they would meet before dinner, Don Salvador departed, holding Cesar affectionately by the arm.

To her great relief, Catherine found her room was next to Edwina's. It was a large, square apartment, with a high ceiling, the tall window opening on to a balcony that overlooked the patio. The furniture was sparse, a dressing table, a huge wardrobe, a high, old-fashioned bed, one chair and a couple of mats on the polished wooden floor. The white walls were unadorned except for a picture of the Madonna and Child over the bed, and the heavy wooden door had a latch on a ring. The little Spanish maid proceeded to unpack Catherine's clothes, but communication was impossible except by signs, Catherine's few Spanish phrases being defeated by the Andaluz dialect the girl spoke. She exclaimed over the clothes that Edwina had bought in Madrid, and hung them reverently in the wardrobe. Then Edwina came in and selected a dress for her to wear at dinner, a long princess-shaped gown in pale blue nylon.

'You mustn't be surprised to find all the others are in black,' she told her. 'Lent is very rigorously observed here, and during Holy Week they wear nothing else.'

'How many will there be for dinner?' Catherine asked nervously. She felt more like bed than a dinner party, the day seemed to be going on for ever.

'That remains to be seen. The girls and Jose, of course, but how many odd relatives are visiting, I couldn't say.'

Keeping well behind Edwina, Catherine entered the sola where the family were assembled to await the dinner bell, a meal which never appeared much before ten o'clock, and was often later. There was more kissing and hand-shaking. Inez de Aguilar, the bride-to-be, was dark and plump with magnificent eyes, Jose had brown hair and eyes set in a sensitive face, but Pilar, the younger girl, was pure Castilian. Catherine was astonished to be confronted by golden hair above great dark eyes; she had a matt cream-coloured skin, and was a beauty, her looks marred by her discontented expression. Contrary to Edwina's expectations, there was only one other guest, Ricardo Laralde, Inez's fiancé, a short, plump man with oily hair.

Jose enquired politely about her journey in good English, though he did not speak as idiomatically as Cesar, and Pilar broke in excitedly,

'Oh, how I envy you, senorita, to be able to travel alone across Spain. It is the freedom only foreign girls may have.'

'Senorita Carruthers was not alone,' Jose pointed out, 'her mother was her duenna.'

Pilar glanced at Edwina, who was deep in conversation with Don Salvador.

'That one is not like a Spanish mother,' she announced, 'but how brave you were to travel all those miles without a man. They say there are still wolves on the sierras near Burgos.'

'We didn't see any,' Catherine told her, glad that she had not known this at the time. 'The worst we experienced was a fall of snow.'

'Snow? We have that here perhaps once in fifty years. Senorita, I long to see the world!' Pilar fixed anguished dark eyes on Catherine's face. 'But Mamma will not stir from Sevilla. I must wait until I marry, and then, quien sabe, it will be just as bad. I shall be expected to stay in the house and produce los ninos.'

Catherine, who was unused to such plain speaking, blushed faintly, while Inez, who had overheard, turned upon her sister.

'You talk like the baby, Pilar. No woman want more than the good husband and the children. Me, I shall be happy to have both.' She gave Ricardo a languishing glance, and he bowed with his hand upon his heart. Jose said pacifically, 'It is hard for Pilar, Inez, to see everywhere the turistas enjoying freedom while she must observe the old rules,' and Don Salvador, who, it seemed, took notice of what was going on, whoever he was talking to, broke off his conversation with Edwina, to say shortly,

'Freedom is licence. If I permit Pilar to run wild, what would she become?'

Pilar's eyes sparkled and a wild rose flush stained her face. 'A woman, Abuelo,' she declared, 'instead of a piece of merchandise to be sold to the highest bidder.'

The Don's heavy eyebrows drew together, while Catherine was horrified to realise that pretty little Pilar would not be allowed to choose her mate. Edwina had mentioned marriages of convenience to her, but she had not until now understood the full implication. She would have been still more horrified had she any inkling that her adopted mother was contemplating arranging one for herself.

Don Salvador's reprimand was never uttered, for at that moment the manservant threw open the door, announcing that dinner was served. The old man offered his arm to Edwina, while with a bow, Jose presented his to Catherine. Ricardo gallantly escorted Dona Luisa while the two girls brought up the rear of the little procession, for Cesar had not yet appeared. As they went across the hall from the sala to the dining-room, Jose said apologetically,

'Pilar is very young and a little headstrong; she does not realise that a woman needs to be cherished and protected.'

Catherine said nothing, though it occurred to her that neither Edwina nor herself had a male to cherish and protect them and they managed very well without, but in Spain, female independence was not encouraged.

The heavy refectory table was covered by a damask cloth and lit by candles in branched candlesticks. Don Salvador sat, not at the head, but half-way down one side, with Edwina on his right and Luisa on his left. Catherine found herself opposite to him, between Jose and Inez, who had Ricardo beside her. Then Cesar came in and her heart missed a beat, for he looked so distinguished in formal dress and older, quite different from the boyish young man who had entertained them in Cordoba. He murmured an apology and sat down beside Pilar, who at once lost her discontented look and engaged him in animated talk. So that way sets the wind, Catherine thought, watching the black head inclined towards the golden one, and was conscious of a slight pang. I'm tired, she told herself; it's been a long day. It could not possibly be that the sight of Cesar's absorption in Pilar was causing her distress. She had not yet known him for twenty-four hours, though the long journey in the car had ripened their acquaintanceship, but it was only an acquaintanceship, and several times during it, she had felt that she disliked him. She heard the Don say to Edwina,

'Tomorrow you and your charming daughter will like to rest, but on tie day after I go to Valdega to visit the ganaderia, and I hope you will both accompany me. There are improvements that I wish to show you.'

'We shall be delighted to do so,' Edwina replied, and Catherine looked at her reproachfully. So although her mother had assured her that she would not have to visit the place, she was arranging to do so, almost as soon as they had arrived.

'We have some very fine animals this year,' the Don went on. 'They are being rounded up to make the selection for the corridas, of which, as you know, there will be many after Easter. It will give you an opportunity to see them.'

Catherine turned cold. She said quickly, 'I had much rather stay at home, if you don't mind.'

Mistaking the reason for her refusal, Jose said reassuringly, 'You need have no fear, the animals are all securely penned:'

'I'm not afraid of them, or of any animal,' she returned, 'but ... but ... they're destined for the bullring, aren't they? I may as well confess here and now that I loathe the corrida and I don't want to see anything that has the remotest connection with it.'

There was a moment of complete silence while every pair of eyes was focussed upon her—and she was worth looking at; her passionate repudiation of the spectacle had caused colour to rise in her pale cheeks and her grey eyes to flash. Catherine at that moment was beautiful, and there was appreciation in the looks with which all three young men were regarding her, while Senor de Aguilar's expression was almost comical in its surprise, but it was Pilar who flew to the defence of her country's national pastime.

'You speak like an ignorant fool!' she cried, her eyes blazing. 'You have never been to one ... no? You do not know how the emotions are stirred from the first bars of the paso doble to the moment of truth ... and the brave men who pit their cunning against the brute's strength, they are heroes. I cannot conceive an honour greater than to receive the dedication of a matador!'

Catherine stared at Pilar in horror. That such a lovely, dainty creature could not only attend the corrida but defend it seemed to her unbelievable.

'I didn't know that women went to bullfights,' she said faintly.

Cesar laughed. 'Women are a lot tougher than men in some respects,' he said a little scornfully, 'but Pilar only goes in the hope that some handsome torero will let her display his dress cape and guard his montera. She's not really interested in the proceedings.'

'Why should I not enjoy the homage of brave men?' Pilar returned. 'And they are men who have proved their courage, and not just talked about it.' Her eyes taunted him.

Cesar reddened and exclaimed angrily, 'One of these days I'll show you ...'

'You will not,' Don Salvador intervened. 'Kinsmen of noble houses do not demean themselves before the public in the arena.'

'I'd certainly hate to have to do so,' Cesar confessed. 'One thing I learned at my English school was to respect fair play.'

'Even though in England they hunt the fox?' Don Salvador asked silkily.

Cesar reddened again. 'But Reynard has a chance of escape, and often does so,' he said Shortly.

'And many British people deplore blood sports,' Edwina pointed out.

'Chicken hearts,' the Don growled in his beard.

'Cesar has perhaps a little of the chicken heart,' Pilar said archly, and Catherine again stared at her. What was she trying to do? Goad her lover to some rash act to feed her vanity? That she was succeeding was evident from the furious look Cesar bestowed upon her. She responded to it with a little giggle, and turned to her grandfather.

'I would not attend the corrida if you would let me enjoy more modern recreations,' she told him. 'Carlos Fonseca's father promotes the football and is opening lidos and dancing halls for the turistas. Carlos has asked me many times to go with him to sample them, but always you say no.'

'And shall continue to do so,' he said sternly. 'Fonseca makes a lot of money, but he is no caballero, nor will I have you mingling with the turistas. I am told the Ingles dance cheek to cheek!' He looked pained at the thought of such depravity.

Cesar, who had recovered his temper, turned his audacious glance upon Catherine. 'Do you dance so?' he enquired. 'It must be quite delightful.' His eyes lingered meaningly upon her soft face in which the blood was rising, as she dropped her eyes in confusion.

'I ... I do not dance at all,' she murmured, 'at least not that sort of dancing.'

She had learned folk dancing during her holidays, but she had never danced in a man's arms.

'Catherine has not been brought up to modern freedoms,' Edwina said repressively, giving him a stern look. Cesar looked at his plate.

'A pity,' he observed, and Don Salvador sought to quell him with a frown.

'Basta, enough,' he said shortly. 'You all talk much foolishness.' He turned to Catherine. 'Nevertheless, senorita, whatever your prejudices, I trust you will be courteous enough to accompany the senora your mother when she comes with me to Valdega. The farm is a very pleasant spot, and I presume you will admit that cattle have to be raised for many different purposes.'

There was a steely glint in his deep-set eyes and Catherine knew that she had displeased him. While she was wondering what she could say to placate him, Edwina interposed.

'Of course she'll come. Don Salvador has some fine horses, Kit, which I'm sure you would wish to see.'

'I ... I'd like too,' Catherine capitulated, realising that she had no option, and she wished that she had complied at once without drawing so much attention to herself.

When the meal was over and they had gone back to the sola, it seemed to her that the family avoided her. Cesar was monopolised by Pilar and Edwina was again deep in conversation with the Don. She went to the floor-length window that was open to the night and looked into the patio, wondering if the Aguilars ever went to bed. If she had not been so tired she would not have allowed herself to be so provoked at dinner. Jose approached her with a little deprecating smile.

'I do not care for the corrida myself,' he told her, 'but I dare not admit it to Abuelo, hp believes it expresses the soul of Spain.'

'A dark soul!' she exclaimed involuntarily, then laughed self-consciously. There I go again! I am too outspoken, am I not?'

His brown eyes were regarding her kindly.

'Candour is not a bad thing,' he told her, adding with a little shrug, 'There are too many undercurrents in this household.'

That she could well believe.

When at length they did retire, Catherine found the business of saying goodnight was a ritual. She was expected to shake each man's hand and kiss each woman's cheek. Don Salvador held her slim fingers for several moments, while he looked her up and down.

'When you came in I thought you were a mouse of a woman,' he said with a twinkle in his deep-set eyes, 'but during dinner I discovered that you could roar like a lion.'

'I... I hope I didn't offend you,' she faltered.

He laughed and patted her hand. 'Not at all, my dear. I am glad to see that you have a fighting spirit. So many in this house have not.' He glanced contemptuously at his grandson, and Catherine wondered in what poor Jose had failed.

César barely touched her hand and seemed abstracted, his eyes on Pilar, even while he murmured, 'Goodnight, sleep well.'

Edwina came with her into her room, and Catherine spoke the thought uppermost in her mind.

'Is there anything between Cesar and Pilar?'

'Not officially,' Edwina told her. 'Of course he's in love with her, that sticks out a mile, but all the young men who visit the Casa pay homage at that shrine, and it's not to be wondered at. She looks lovelier every time I see her.'

'Yes, she is very lovely,' Catherine admitted, 'but I think she's cruel.'

Edwina laughed. 'Now you're being fanciful! Because she attends the brava fiesta, and most of them do from time to time, it doesn't mean that she's a monster.' She herself was delighted to notice Cesar's infatuation with his host's granddaughter, and even more so that Catherine had marked it. The girl would be too proud to let herself hanker after another woman's man, and Jose had seemed to be attracted.

'I'm afraid you'll have to go to Valdega,' she went on, 'since Don Salvador is set upon it. He's very proud of the place, but you won't see anything objectionable, in fact the creatures are pampered, so there was no need to make such a fuss about it.'

'I thought it was just as well to make my attitude quite plain,' Catherine returned.

'You did that,' Edwina smiled dryly. 'Goodnight, dear, and pleasant dreams.'

But Catherine was restless and over-stimulated and found she was unable to sleep, tired though she was. The room seemed hot and close, so she put out the light, opened the curtains, drew up the slatted blinds and moved noiselessly out on to the balcony beyond. Slender stone pillars rose up to support a roof above her head, twined with creepers that grew up from the ground below. A fretted marble balustrade protected her from the drop beneath her. Edwina's windows were closed and dark; she feared mosquitoes. The room on her other side appeared to be untenanted, and all three had access to her balcony. There were chinks of light from some of the other rooms in the two wings of the house which enclosed the patio, rooms which had small iron, flower-filled balconies outside them. The fourth side, directly opposite to her, was a high, blank wall covered with jasmine and roses, on the other side of which was the old stabling, now turned into garages. A faint glow in the sky above the wall and muted sounds showed that the city was still awake. Below her, the patio was dark, except for the faint gleam of water in the fountain basin, reflecting the starshine. Mingled perfumes of roses, orange blossom and jasmine came up to her.

Something white stirred in one of the orange trees, and murmured a sleepy coo. The patio was the home of several pairs of Java doves. From somewhere in the servants' quarters came the distant throb of a guitar. It was a night for romance, a night for love in this city of Don Juan, but romance had no meaning for her, though she had glimpsed it in a pair of dark eyes at Cordoba, but Cesar was not for her, he was enthralled by the lovely Pilar—She sighed—did that proud beauty appreciate her gifts? Or was it only insignificant creatures like herself who recognised her rich endowment? She did not feel that Pilar was using the power her beauty gave her to the best advantage. Such a woman could be such a good influence, thought convent-bred Catherine, and she felt instinctively that Pilar's influence over Cesar was detrimental.

The lights in the bedrooms were extinguished, the glow in the sky faded. Seville at last had sunk into sleep. Reluctantly she turned to seek her own bed, and then from the patio below her came the thrum of a guitar and a man's voice singing in Spanish, a plaintive gypsy air.

Noche sin luna,

Flor sin olar,

Rio sin agua,

Cor' sin amor.

It only wanted that, she thought scornfully, and went quickly into her bedroom, drawing the curtains over the window to shut out the scented night and the importunate lover, but through her fitful sleep the tune persisted—cor' sin amor ... heart without love ... Would her heart always be empty?

At breakfast next morning, Don Salvador remarked,

'Although I am in favour of retaining the old Spanish customs, I thought the serenade had been dead for the last fifty years.'

He glanced round his assembled family with the suggestion of a twinkle in his eyes. He had spoken in English, as they all did when Catherine was present, deeming it discourteous to use a language she could not wholly understand.

Dona Luisa looked nervously at the deadpan expression on the young men's faces.

'Perhaps it was Ricardo,' she hazarded, and Inez looked complacent at the suggestion, until Pilar said scornfully,

'I cannot think Ricardo would wander round the patio with a guitar. Why should he woo you when you are already won? Besides, how could he get into the patio? He is too stout to climb the wall.'

'My novio is not stout,' Inez was indignant, 'though it is true he is a man of substance.'

Pilar laughed jeeringly, while Dona Luisa said quickly, 'Then perhaps it was the novio of one of the maids. You know they expect to speak with their men every evening.'

'If that is so, Luisa,' Don Salvador said suavely, 'you must insist that they leave at a reasonable hour so that our guests' rest may not be disturbed by such caterwauling.'

He looked keenly at Cesar and Jose, but neither face betrayed a flicker of expression.

'I will see to it,' Dona Luisa promised, but she did not believe in her own explanation, and neither did Don Salvador.

Cesar raised his eyes and caught Catherine's glance and saw that they were full of mischief.

'I'm sure the Senorita Catalina was not disturbed,' he said. 'She would expect no less a welcome from romantic Andalusia.'

Then his glance went to Pilar and Catherine was sure there was meaning in it. Cesar was, as she had suspected all along, the serenader; he had been singing to Pilar and he was trying to use her as a smoke-screen. He had probably seen her light go on when she had re-entered her room and knew that she had been awake.

'Oh, Kit was tired out and would have been sound asleep,' Edwina said brightly, 'as I was. Weren't you, Kit?'

'Of course,' Catherine murmured non-committally.

Pilar was looking as pleased as a cat that was being stroked, though she kept her eyes demurely on her plate. Catherine was sure that she had slept through the musical interlude, and now had just realised what it implied. One thing she resolved, she was not going to be used as a stooge to conceal Pilar's flirtation with Cesar; that was too much to expect from her.

Catherine and Edwina spent the morning idling in the patio, for both were more weary than they cared to admit. The other women went to church; they went most days throughout Lent. All three were dressed in black with lace velos on their heads, small lace caps, for Spanish women rarely wore hats. César left after breakfast for Valdega, and Don Salvador retired with Jose to his own sanctum, but both appeared for lunch, which was the Spanish main meal, after which, refreshed by a siesta, Catherine was ready to go out with Edwina to see something of the city. The enormous Gothic cathedral, third largest in Europe, was their first objective, but she was repelled by the number of tickets they were expected to buy to see this, that and the other. Although it was early in the year, the place was packed with visitors, and a rich harvest was being reaped.

'They must need a packet for its upkeep,' Edwina excused the commerce. The cathedral contained the bones of Cristobal Colon, better known as Christopher Columbus, in an elevated tomb. Here in the city from which he had set sail, he had at last come to rest, when his burial place in the New World he had discovered had passed out of Spanish control.

'Though actually he wasn't Spanish, he was Genoese,' Edwina remarked, 'but I don't suppose they admit that.'

Beside the cathedral was the Giralda, the most familiar sight in all the pictures of Seville, from the lofty summit of which the muezzin had once called the faithful to prayer. The Christians had spared it because of its beauty, but had surmounted its summit with a statue of Faith, which was also a weathervane, hence its name, which meant just that. Inside the top was readied not by stairs but a ramp, up which a horse could be ridden, but they decided they did not feel energetic enough to go up.

Not far away was the Alcazar Palace with its Moorish arches and beautiful gardens, but they gave it no more than a cursory glance, Edwina saying they would explore it upon another day. Finally they went into the Calle de las Sierpes, from which all traffic was barred and awnings were drawn over the street to shade it from the sun. Here Edwina headed for a cafe which she said was one of the two places in the town where they could obtain an English cup of tea.

'And that,' she said after this refreshing beverage, 'will do for today.' Catherine agreed, for already her head was buzzing with new impressions.

Cesar did not appear for dinner and Catherine chid herself when she realised that she was watching for his reappearance. Don Salvador demanded to know where he was, and a sulky Pilar returned,

'I expect he has gone out on the town.'

Her brother looked shocked, and her grandfather thundered,

'What do you know about such matters?'

'Quite a lot,' she informed him. 'Me, I am modern, though you do try to keep me in a zenana.'

'Then you should also know such things are not talked about,' he reproved her, and changed the subject. Catherine knew what Pilar had implied and felt revolted. Cesar then was something of a rake. His glances at Cordoba were now explained; though he owed allegiance to Pilar, his fancy could stray. She firmly resolved to put him out of her mind.

It was he who drove them to Valdega next day in the big Aguilar estate car. Pilar had wanted to come with them, but Dona Luisa insisted that there was still sewing to be done on Inez's trousseau, and since Pilar was an excellent needlewoman, her services were much in demand by her family. She stood with her mother behind her in the doorway of the Casa to watch them drive away, wearing a white frock trimmed with black, and the oblique look Cesar gave her from under his long lashes was calculated to stir any woman's heart as he said,

'Cheer up, Pilar, you may soon be sewing for your own.'

'Madre mia!' Luisa exclaimed. 'She is still a child!'

But the warm look Pilar bestowed upon Cesar was not that of a child but that of a woman ripe for love.

Valdega was situated out on the Andalusian plain some half an hour's drive from Seville. Here among olive groves and wheatlands, cattle and horses fed in the lush pastures running down towards the river, as yet unscorched by the summer sun. The farmhouse was a square, white building with a red-tiled roof. In front of it a group of ilex trees gave some shade and beneath them were set a wooden table and benches. Below it the ground sloped to a number of pens, with high walls and strong gates, with narrow alleyways between them. Behind the farm was a big enclosed yard with stabling and sheds, in the dust of which a number of scrawny barn door fowls were scratching.

Juan Cuerva, Don Salvador's headman, came hurrying to greet them as the car stopped. The bulls, he said, were being rounded up and would shortly be corralled for his inspection. Meanwhile would the senor and his guests honour him by partaking of some refreshment? He spoke the Andaluz patois, which was quite incomprehensible to Catherine and which even Edwina could barely follow. They all sat down under the shade of the ilex trees and Juan himself brought glasses and a jug of Sangria, a kind of fruit cup, mixed with red wine, mineral water and ice, which was very refreshing, while a small, barefooted girl, his daughter, proudly carried a plate of small honey cakes.

Then Don Salvador suggested tactfully that the ladies might like to repair their toilets before going to the pens, from which shouts and bellows were now audible. Catherine followed Edwina, who knew her way about, into the house. Having completed their business in a room that contained no recognisable toiletware, Edwina said she ought to pay her respects to the Senora Cuerva, and led the way into the huge kitchen where the family did its living. Maria Cuerva was frying tortillas over a charcoal stove, surrounded by her brood of dark-skinned, barefoot children. Strings of onions, garlic and several smoked hams hung from the ceiling, the furniture was heavy and crude and the floor stone-paved.

Spanish children delighted Catherine, who found their plump brown limbs, liquid eyes and long black lashes most attractive. The Cuerva collection stood in a row, fingers in their mouths, eyeing her curiously, while Edwina introduced her to their mother. Edwina they had seen before, she was la Inglesa loca, the mad Englishwoman who upon occasion rode Don Salvador's horses like a man, and was always asking questions, but Catherine was something new. A sudden loud yell announced that the latest addition to the family had woken in his wooden cradle and the harassed mother reluctantly left her cooking to pacify him. Catherine impulsively held out her arms and the woman laid the baby into them.

'I expect he wants changing,' Edwina suggested. 'Can you do it?'

Catherine could, though not very expertly, having operated upon Marie Leroux's grandchildren. A nod to one of the little girls produced the necessary articles, and Catherine, sitting down in an old wooden rocker, managed to do the necessary. The baby, now dry and comfortable, settled down in her arms, and intrigued by the strange face, stretched out tentative fingers towards it. The other children, emboldened by her action, gathered round her, babbling excitedly, touching her dress, her bag, even her shoes.

'Senor de Aguilar will be waiting for us,' Edwina protested.

'Couldn't you go?' Catherine suggested, 'and tell him I'm tired, or something.' Nursing babies was a far more congenial occupation to her than looking at cattle. Edwina hesitated and at that moment, Maria exclaimed, 'El senor' and dropped a curtsey, while the children scattered like a flock of frightened starlings, seeking cover behind cupboards and chairs. Catherine remained seated, gently rocking the baby.

'Buenos dias,' Don Salvador said to Maria, followed by some further remarks in the dialect. Catherine became aware that Cesar had followed him. She looked up and found his eyes fixed upon her.

'You make a charming picture, Senorita Catalina,' he said in a low voice. 'With the nino in your arms you look like the Madonna. I thought maternity had gone out of fashion.'

'All women love babies,' she said defensively.

'All women don't, but you, I can see, are everything that a woman should be.'

'I ... I hope so,' she said vaguely, disturbed by the expression in his eyes. Already she had learned that these Latin men were quick to flatter, and she doubted his sincerity, but being unused to compliments she did not know how to counter them. With Cesar, she never knew when he was being admiring or mocking. Don Salvador moved to stand beside him, saying,

'The mother is greatly venerated in this country.'

Feeling acutely embarrassed, Catherine rose to her feet and laid the baby back in his cradle, aware that both men were watching her closely.

'I fear me the Senorita Catalina finds chicos more attractive than bulls,' Don Salvador remarked with a chuckle.

'Isn't that natural?' she retorted quickly.

'It might be an act,' Cesar said coolly.

'But what object would there be in pretending?' she asked, more bewildered than angry. 'Whom do you imagine I'm trying to impress?'

'Quien sabe?' he said mockingly, and turned on his heel, calling to Don Salvador, 'See you at the corrals, senor,' as he went out quickly.

Hateful creature, Catherine thought wrathfully, he was so vain that he believed every action performed by a woman in his vicinity was done for his benefit. She took her leave of the mother and her children. Bravely essaying the language, she said to Maria, 'Hasta la vista,' and the woman smiled delightedly. The eldest of the brood, a boy called Jaime, was regarding her admiringly from under a thatch of tangled locks.

'Es muy hermosa,' he whispered.

'That boy,' his master said sharply, 'should be at school. Why is he not?'

Maria explained that the school for some reason had proclaimed a holiday.

'Then he should be at work, he is quite old enough to be so.' Don Salvador seemed displeased. 'He will get into mischief doing nothing. I know boys.'

Just how right he was, they were to discover later in the day. Catherine, of course had not understood what was being said. She waved to the children and reluctantly followed Edwina and Don Salvador out of doors. There Jose joined them and the sun was hot as they walked down the unshaded path to the pens. Cesar had gone on ahead and Catherine caught a glimpse of him riding a horse above a corral wall. The last lot of bulls were being driven into one of the enclosures and as they arrived the gate shut with a clang. Several pens held a stamping, snorting melee of fierce black heads and long, sharp horns.

'The ones for the fiesta will go down to the city to be put on view,' the Don told them. 'The people like to see what the toreros will have to contend with and the matadors draw lots for the ones they are to fight.' Catherine was aware of an intense recoil from him; at that moment he seemed to be evil.

The wall was so high that they had to stand upon steps to see over it, but after one glance Catherine retreated. Juan had come up and Don Salvador was engrossed in talk with him, pointing to one or other of the animals.

'The Aguilar bulls are not popular,' Jose remarked. 'They are too big and too old. Abuelo will not part with them until they have five years, so they are considered truly formidable.'

Catherine shuddered. 'Must we talk about that?' she asked.

'No, of course not,' he agreed, 'though it may please you to know that the pick of these animals will be going to South America to father canned beef.'

There was a glint of malice in his eyes, as if he dared her to criticise his country's customs when animals must be sacrificed for food.

'I'm not an idiot,' she said, colouring. 'I know animals have to be slaughtered, but... Oh, it's a cruel world!' she finished despairingly.

He said more kindly, 'You find the pens little to your taste and the sun is hot. Perhaps we could find a pleasanter spot.'

'Yes, take her away, Jose,' Edwina told him. 'I'll stay here and wait for Don Salvador, but there's no need for her to do so.'

Jose looked a little taken aback. He had expected Edwina to accompany them, but reflecting that the Carruthers were English and not duenna-conscious, he bowed to her and conducted Catherine away from the pens. Edwina watched them walking away between the high walls of the corrals with satisfaction, seeing in the young man's solicitude a step towards the fulfilment of her plans. She thought they made a good-looking pair, the man gallant and soigné in his neat grey suit, the girl beside him moving with grace and dignity in her white dress.

Jose took Catherine up the slope to the left of the farm, where the land rose in a little eminence, upon which were scattered stones, the remnants of a one-time Moorish castle. A few trees had sprung up, watered by the spring that had been its well, making a green oasis in its centre, adorned by a profusion of yellow and white flowers. Jose dusted off a flat stone with a tuft of grass so that she could sit down. All around them was the sun-drenched ridged plain, stretching to purple hills below an incredibly blue sky. The clear quality of the light gave the scene an intense dramatic beauty.

'This is quite a pleasant spot at this time of the year,' he remarked, sitting on another stone. 'Later on it becomes dried up. These stones may well be Roman. You know they have unearthed a whole town at Italica, and Andalusian history goes back a long way. Several Roman Emperors were of Iberian birth ...' He chatted on from history to art, and Catherine said she was looking forward to seeing the famous flamenco dancing.

'There will be plenty of that at the Sevilla Feria,' he told her, 'if you stay for that, as I hope you will, and flamenco singing too.'

'That is more my line than bulls,' Catherine admitted.

'It is more to my taste too. I do not like violence and our people have a morbid preoccupation with death,' he glanced at her deprecatingly, 'but I am not typical. My grandfather considers me to be what I think you call a cissy.'

'I'm sure you're not,' Catherine declared vehemently. 'There are all sorts of courage, and physical bravery isn't the highest form.'

'Unfortunately Abuelo recognises only one kind,' he said sadly, 'the reckless and daring. I have been a great disappointment to him. I like poetry, but he never reads a book except those on cattle raising. He was born five centuries too late. He belongs to the period of the conquistadores. He and Cesar would have set out happily to conquer a new world without considering any right but that of might.'

'They're both ruthless to get what they want, aren't they?' she agreed. 'Senor Barenna should have been his grandson.'

Jose looked annoyed and she realised too late that her remark had been unfortunate.

'The Barennas are only Argentine cattle men,' he said loftily, 'but I am Abuelo's heir, the last of a great family.' He lifted his head proudly.

Catherine glanced at his thin, sensitive face. He was completely different from his kinsmen; he was civilised, he had none of the elemental force that she had sensed and shrunk from in Cesar and the old man. Soon he was pouring out to her all his frustrations and ambitions. When he inherited the Aguilar estate there would be no more bull breeding; he would concentrate upon improving the land and the lot of those who worked upon it. 'Which you may have noticed is still primitive,' he told her. Remembering the toiling peasants on the bleak plains of La Mancha, Catherine concurred. He continued to pour out his plans, until he suddenly exclaimed, 'Ay de mi, how I have run on about myself, which is no way to entertain a lady. Forgive me, Senorita Catalina, it is because I find you so simpatica.'

Catherine assured him that she had been most interested. She liked this earnest young man, who but for his accent might have been an Englishman. Looking at his watch, he said it was lunch time, and they walked back to the farm house where a meal had been set out under the trees and the others were already waiting for them. They were served a savoury paella of saffron rice, fish and chicken, with black bread, cheese and fruit. César, who had watched Catherine's arrival with Jose from under knitted brows, was silent, while Don Salvador was describing to Edwina the means used to transport bulls with a lively wealth of anecdote. Suddenly he turned upon his grandson.

'Where were you this morning?' The tone was peremptory.

Jose flushed slightly. 'I was attending Senorita Catalina, and she found the heat and stench of the pens too overpowering. We went up to the ruins and talked.'

This information drew from César a long, speculative look, which Catherine returned defiantly. As well to let him know he was not the only pebble upon her beach, she thought, and was grateful to Jose for his escort.

'Might one ask the subject of your conversation?' Don Salvador enquired acidly.

'Spain,' Jose returned promptly.

'Your views of our country must have been enlightening,' the Don said sarcastically.

'I found them very interesting,' Catherine put in quickly, eager to defend Jose. She looked the old autocrat straight in the face, unintimidated by his scowl. 'I think your grandson has a great understanding of the people's needs.'

Don Salvador chuckled. 'Oh, you do, do you?' he said, while Cesar remarked with a meaning look, 'Very romantic country, Andalusia.'

'We didn't discuss that aspect,' Catherine said oddly, remembering the serenade.

'We must find something more amusing for you this afternoon,' Don Salvador declared. 'What will you be doing, Cesar?'

'I was going to help test some heifers,' Cesar told diem. 'A sort of rodeo, but not perhaps quite your thing, Senorita Catalina.'

'Testing the heifers ... cows?' she asked astonished. 'What for?'

He returned nonchalantly, 'Courage.'

Catherine looked blank and Edwina explained, 'They believe courage is transmitted through the mother, and only breed from brave cows.'

Noticing that she looked slightly taken aback at this plain speaking, Don Salvador laughed. 'Your mother is used to our blunt speech,' he said, 'and it is a fact. Brave mothers beget brave sons, so we give them a prick or two to prove their mettle. Would you like to see it done?'

'No, thank you,' Catherine replied hastily. 'As Senor Barenna says, I don't think it's my thing.'

So when the others went off to witness this demonstration, she remained under the ilex trees, declaring that she was perfectly content to be left alone.

CHAPTER THREE

The sun had passed the meridian, but it was still very hot. Someone had produced a fan, which Catherine waved to and fro, seeking not only to make some air, but to drive off the flies which were something of a nuisance. The fan was a cheap paper one printed in brilliant colours and depicted a scene from a corrida. There was no escaping it in this stronghold of the bull, she reflected wryly, and hoped that their visit today would satisfy Don Salvador and he would not again suggest coming to Valdega. If he did, she would develop a bad headache, she decided to excuse herself, in fact she had the beginnings of one now. It must be unpleasantly warm down among the cattle, and from where she was, she could make out the figures of mounted vaqueros riding across the pastures beyond the corrals, and she caught herself straining her eyes to try to distinguish César. Hastily she looked away—the man was becoming an obsession with her—and resolutely tried to think of something else. She debated whether she would go back into the farmhouse in search of Maria and the baby, but felt too languid to move. Then she saw young Jaime coming towards her and smiled encouragingly. Actually he was a stripling, nearing his teens, but as he was small and thin, she thought he was younger. He had tied an old red tablecloth over one shoulder, which gave him a raffish look. He seemed very excited and though she could not make out what he was saying, it seemed he was trying to persuade her to accompany him somewhere. He pulled at her skirt and when she stood up, seized her hand. To humour him she allowed him to lead her away, but when she found he was taking her down towards the bull pens, she stopped.

'Not there, sonny.'

His pull on her fingers became more urgent and his brown eyes were full of desperate pleading. It occurred to her that something was wrong and that he needed her help, so she continued to follow him, and now he broke into a run, and she ran with him, convinced that some emergency had arisen. They passed between two high-walled pens and here he released her. Breathless, she leaned against the wall and sought for words to question him.

'Que tal... es malo?' She could only think of the word for bad. He shook his head.

'No malo ... bueno.'

He fetched a tub and set it against the wall, while she watched him mystified. Then he unwound his red tablecloth, giving her a beaming smile, climbed on top of the wall by the aid of the tub and disappeared. Puzzled, she in turn mounted the tub and looked over the wall. What she saw on the other side froze her with horror.

Imitating the toreros was a favourite game among young boys, one of whom, carrying a pair of horns, took the part of the bull, but this child had gone one better. He intended to play with a real live bull and had brought Catherine, whom he admired, to watch his performance, and a real live bull there was—a black monster, pride of the herd, suspiciously moving his ears at the far end of the pen. But that was not the worst. Jaime in jumping down appeared to have twisted his ankle. He was crouched at the bottom of the wall, nursing his foot. Meanwhile king bull was moving his head from side to side in an ominous manner. Catherine climbed on to the top of the wall and reached down towards the boy, but it was useless, for he could not touch her hand, let alone pull himself up by it. Realising that he was helpless and at the mercy of the black fury which might charge at any moment, he raised agonised eyes towards her, then with the stoicism of his race, he dropped his head with an acceptance of his fate that wrung her heart.

She looked wildly round ... some herdsmen were gathered round a distant pen. She called, 'Help!' fumbled for the Spanish word, 'Mi ayuda,' but knew that before anyone could reach her it would be too late. With a desperate prayer on her lips, she jumped down beside the crouching child. The bull had lowered his head and was pawing the ground. Little clouds of dust rose from round his hooves, and she heard him snort. She stood in front of Jaime with some idea of protecting him with her own body, and he thrust something into her hand—it was the red tablecloth. The bull moved. Instinctively she waved the red rag at arms' length, a pitiful weapon. Dust rose, choking her, as like a tornado the beast plunged past her, bearing on his horns the red tablecloth, which he had charged instead of herself. She reeled backwards from the impact of black hide and muscle as he went by, then steadied herself to await the next assault. For he would come back, and now she had nothing with which to divert his attention. He turned quickly, but oddly enough he did not immediately charge again. Her stillness puzzled him; he stood, head lowered, watching for a movement, and then came the rattle of the corral gate and he turned away from her to face the new enemy. Men poured into the pen, César being the foremost. Leaving the vaqueros to divert the bull, he came straight towards her, unceremoniously sweeping her up into his arms, and carried her out of the enclosure.

'César!' she whispered, and then, 'Jaime!'

'Damned little fool,' he said savagely, 'it would serve him right if he had been gored!'

She glanced up at his face and saw he was pale with his black brows drawn over smouldering eyes.

'He was only trying to copy your national heroes,' she excused the boy. Then reaction set in and she began to shake. His arms held her closely and his frown became blacker still.

'Not my national heroes,' he corrected her. 'Did you have to go to his rescue? Madre, don't you know you were within an ace of being killed?'

'I couldn't leave him there without trying to do something,' she told him, aware that her voice was trembling. 'He was hurt ... but it wasn't very pleasant.' With a tremendous effort of will she conquered her weakness. 'I ... I'm all right now. Please put me down.'

They were in one of the narrow passages completely screened by the high walls. The other men were intent upon rescuing Jaime and no one had followed them. Instead of acceding to her request, César bent his head and kissed her lips, with a long, lingering pressure. Catherine had never been kissed by a man before and had never dreamed of receiving such a caress from a man like Cesar.

Oddly enough it seemed the most natural thing in the world. Spontaneously and instinctively she put her arms round his neck, yielding her body to the close clasp of his arms, her soft mouth parting under the insistent pressure of his. For a while, seconds, minutes, she had no idea how long, they clung together, lost to the world. Presently he lifted his head.

'Ay de mi, Catalina,' he said softly, 'you are very sweet.'

Then as he recollected time and place, his hold slackened, and he let her slide to her feet. She stood looking at him starry-eyed, while she sought to subdue the tumult of emotion he had awakened in her, for he had literally swept her off her feet. Sex was considered a dirty word at the Convent, but she had gained knowledge of the facts of life from the crude peasants in the village, and Marie Leroux was nothing if not outspoken. She had been warned to beware of bad men who might seek to assail her virtue, but Cesar, she was sure, did not belong to that category, nor had she been in the least prepared for her own emotional reaction. She had yet to learn that in the whole complicated gamut of love, passion and lust, her greatest danger was from within, not without. Cesar had kissed her, but she was not so innocent as to believe that he loved her, but if he did not, what did he mean by it? He returned her regard with a sleepy, sensual appraising look, that made her heart turn over.

'A white rose,' he murmured, 'growing on a convent wall, as dewy and as innocent. But your petals are only half opened as yet, though they promise so much sweetness when their heart is reached.' He gave a short sigh, and thrust his hands into his trouser pockets as if to remove them from temptation. 'It would be cruel to pick you and throw you away.' He turned away from her. 'We'd better be on our way.'

She was vaguely disappointed, expecting some sort of declaration, she was not sure what, but certainly not this cryptic utterance about white roses, and his withdrawal.

She fell into step beside him, summoning her wit to her aid.

'Is that your usual reaction after rescuing damsels in distress?' she asked, and was glad that she was able to speak lightly.

He turned his head to look at her, and now his eyes were mocking.

'Isn't it the classic ending?' he suggested. 'Fair lady rewards gallant rescuer, only I didn't do anything brave. You were the heroine.'

So he had meant nothing by that kiss, those few moments of rapturous communion were an incident that was over. Yet she could not bring herself to believe there would be no sequel. The response he had awoken within her had been too great.

'I didn't feel a bit heroic,' she admitted, speaking almost at random, for she was painfully conscious of his proximity. 'It was that old red tablecloth that saved us. The bull took it on his horns instead of me.'

A shudder ran through the man's frame at the picture she had suggested. Removing his hand from his pocket, he took hers and held it fast in his as if to reassure himself that she was safe, while a tingling sensation ran up her arm at the clasp of those lean brown fingers.

'The bull always charges the thing that moves,' he said, and his voice was unsteady. 'That is the theory on which the bullfight is based.'

'I actually felt a little sympathy with the toreros,' she laughed shakily.

'You needn't, they're all butchers.'

Surprised to find that his sentiments should coincide with hers, she looked at him eagerly, and he smiled ruefully. 'Don't tell Don Salvador I said that,' he cautioned her. 'He will be very angry about this.'

'You mean he will punish poor Jaime?'

The dark eyes flickered vengefully. 'He deserves to be punished.'

'But he's already hurt. I must speak to Don Salvador.'

He stopped and stared at her. 'You would dare?'

'Of course I dare.' She looted at him appealingly. 'You will support me?'

He twisted his lips sardonically. 'But if I agree with the Don?'

'You should sympathise with Jaime,' she told him earnestly. 'Didn't you tell us that you could never resist a challenge?'

A curious expression flitted across his olive face, and he narrowed his eyes.

'So you remember that,' he said in an odd voice. 'You and Jaime met your challenge, but I wonder if I would have been as brave.'

She looked up at him in surprise. His long lashes were inky crescents shading his cheeks, his eyes a mere glimmer beneath them; he seemed to be looking inward at some personal problem.

'But you were brave,' she insisted. 'Didn't you come into the pen to rescue us?'

'With an army of vaqueros to support me, that didn't take much courage,' he returned with a note of bitterness that she did not understand.

'But if you work with the bulls,' she persisted, 'you must often be in danger.'

'The work isn't in the least dangerous,' he said shortly, 'if one does the right thing at the right moment.' His smile flashed out, sudden sunshine dispelling the gloom on his face. 'But this is all wrong, Catalina,' boldly he used her name without a prefix. 'I shouldn't be talking about my problems, but paying you compliments.'

She shook her head and laughed merrily. A new intimacy had been born between them, and he seemed in no hurry to continue towards the house. He had relinquished her hand, and was leaning against the corral wall, studying her with intent dark eyes.

'I don't want your compliments, senor,' she said demurely. 'Compliments are usually insincere.'

'Mine aren't. I'm glad you were kept in a convent, it has made you so refreshingly candid and genuine. There's no artifice about you whatever ... a man could trust you with his soul.'

'Oh come, senor,' she demurred, 'you've got the flowery tongue of the Spanish race. What would I want with your soul?'

'My name is Cesar,' he reminded her, and added daringly, 'Perhaps you'd prefer my body?' As she dropped her eyes, colouring vividly, he laughed delightedly. 'I like to make you blush, Catalina, it's a lost art among modern women, who think far too much about ... bodies. But I'm not Spanish. It would be much easier for me if I were. Then I might understand their pride ... and their cruelty.' His eyes became sombre and she sensed his thoughts had winged away from her. She wondered of whom he was thinking.

'Don Salvador ...' she began hesitantly.

'Oh, he's antediluvian,' he exclaimed impatiently. 'He's still living in the eighteenth century, though the old boy's been very decent to me,' he amended hastily, 'but he has a reason for his civility.' He smiled cynically.

'Does one have to have a reason to be nice to people?' she asked, bewildered.

'Most people have an eye to the main chance,' he told her, 'but I don't suppose they taught you that at your convent. You would never have an ulterior motive.'

'The Reverend Mother said it was a very wicked world,' she returned, 'and I'm afraid I'm very unsophisticated.'

'Thank God you are!' he declared almost violently. 'If only you knew how sick I am of women's wiles and artifices, with which they disguise their gold-digging propensities. With you I feel... comfortable.' He smiled enchantingly.

'Oh!' She did not like that description at all, it was so unromantic. 'Like a sister?' she suggested doubtfully.

'Not in the least like a sister,' he returned.

He moved from the wall, and coming to her, cupped her face with his two hands, gazing searchingly into her dear grey eyes. She met his look without flinching, though a faint colour rose in her cheeks and her heart fluttered.

'You would never marry a man for his worldly goods,' he stated rather than asked.

'Certainly not. There's only one right reason for marriage.'

'And that is, my Catalina?'

She pushed away his hands. 'Love, of course, and I think we should go back to the house.' She moved away, disturbed by his words and look. Could he be serious after all?

'There's no hurry,' he complained, following her. 'This is a heaven-sent opportunity to be alone, and I would like to hear more about your views on love ... and marriage. Perhaps I could have another kiss?'

That last request made her wary. 'No,' she said firmly, quickening her pace, remembering that he was not an intimate friend, merely an unpredictable stranger with the power to make her heart beat. Was all he had been saying to her only a prelude to an attempted affair? He was, after all, one of the bad men against whom she had been warned, for Catherine's values were still either black or white, and she knew instinctively that she was vulnerable where this man was concerned.

As they rounded a corner the house became visible and hurrying towards them were Edwina and Juan Cuerva. The news had already reached them and they had come in search of her. Edwina frowned when she saw Cesar. Luck was definitely against her. If Catherine had to land herself in difficulties it should have been some sort of predicament from which Jose could have extricated her instead of Cesar. Everything had seemed to be going so satisfactorily that morning, when they had gone off together, and now Cesar had effected a romantic rescue of which he had evidently been making capital, from the conscious look on Catherine's face and the impudence in his dark eyes.

'Where have you been?' she asked suspiciously. They've taken the boy up to the house, and I was afraid you might be suffering from some sort of shock.' She looked keenly at the girl. 'You weren't hurt, were you?'

'Not a scratch,' Catherine assured her.

'But as you surmised, naturally a little shocked,' Cesar added blandly. 'I was assisting her to recover before bringing her up to the house.'

Recalling his methods of resuscitation, Catherine blushed, aware of his mocking eyes upon her.

Indeed?' Edwina drew Catherine's arm firmly through her own. 'I'm sorry to tear that, but she seems recovered now.'

'I'm quite all right,' Catherine declared hastily.

'In that case I'll leave you now,' Cesar said airily. 'Hasta la vista, senora, senorita, we will meet again at the inquest.'

That reminded Catherine of Jaime, and she pulled away from Edwina's arm to call to him. 'You will be there, Cesar? You promised to support me.'

'Certainly, senorita, I will be there,' he bowed, and strode away.

'Cesar?' Edwina said reprovingly.

'One can't be formal with a man who has just saved one's Me,' Catherine defended the familiarity.

'One can't be too formal at any time with a man like Cesar Barenna,' Edwina told her bitingly. Juan, his mind upon his son's predicament, was hurrying ahead. 'No doubt he made the most of his opportunities.' Catherine drooped her head guiltily. 'Perhaps it was a pity Pilar didn't come,' Edwina concluded meaningly.

Pilar! Catherine had forgotten Pilar, and it seemed Cesar had forgotten her also. With the reminder of the other girl, the enormity of her recent behaviour overwhelmed her. How could she have yielded to Cesar's love-making? He was another woman's avowed lover and his remark about Spanish pride and cruelty had referred to Pilar. He had tried to take advantage of her innocence and unsophistication to assuage the wounds to his vanity inflicted by the Spanish girl. No doubt he had found her response to his kisses a pleasant change from the disdain with which Pilar treated him. But she had no time to brood upon her folly, for upon reaching the farm they were all summoned to attend the enquiry which Cesar had foretold.

Upon the master's orders, all those who had been involved were requested to foregather in the farm kitchen. Here a white-faced Jaime stood in the centre of the room, glancing nervously at the ring of hostile faces. Don Salvador, sitting in judgement in the rocking chair, looked coldly inimical. Maria hovered tearfully in the background, while her husband looked anxious. The room with its brown tones, the men's dark heads, the atmosphere of impending doom, was like an oil painting by Goya, of which Catherine had seen many of late. She supposed Jaime deserved some sort of punishment for his escapade, but not the ordeal of this public trial. It was obvious that Don Salvador was enjoying his magisterial role and had no pity for the culprit, and her heart went out to the pale-faced boy, who could barely stand upon his injured foot, and faced them all with a courage as great as that he had shown before the bull.

Since the inquiry took place in Andaluz, Catherine could not follow the proceedings. Cesar was there, behind Juan Cuerva, and when Don Salvador called to him to give his account of what happened, he stepped forward, and Catherine endeavoured to catch his eye. Whatever her personal feelings towards him, he was her one hope of sympathy for Jaime. What he said, she could not understand, but he seemed to be trying to make light of the boy's offence, pleading a boy's natural tendency to play pranks, and his desire to prove himself in front of a lady who had taken his fancy. That his words did not please the old man was obvious from the way his thin lips hardened to a tight line. Cesar finished speaking and glanced at Catherine with a slight shrug as if to indicate that he had done his best, but feared the outcome. Don Salvador said in English, for her benefit,

'What you have said, César, sounds to me as if you are trying to excuse this villainy, for which there is no excuse. The life of a guest is sacred and this scum has disgraced the hospitality of Valdega. We must make amends both to the Senorita Carruthers and her mother.'

Catherine started forward, but Edwina put a restraining hand on her arm.

'Don't interfere, Kit,' she warned.

Don Salvador pronounced the boy's doom. He must be sent away at once. If he had no relations to take him in, he could be boarded out. The Cuervas must understand that they could not continue to shelter a miscreant who had caused their master's guest to risk her life to save his worthless self. Honour demanded that they must make this reparation.

Catherine demanded a translation from Edwina, and unwillingly the widow whispered to her the Don's verdict. Juan looked stunned, while Jaime's face puckered as he struggled to restrain his tears, but Maria tore at her hair, and throwing herself on her knees in front of the old man, burst into a torrent of impassioned appeal. She could not be parted from her nino, her first-born—for the love of God let the master show some pity. Don Salvador's face was like stone. Cesar, moving out of Maria's way, came with range of Catherine and she clutched at his arm.

'Cesar, tell him he can't do this,' she pleaded in an urgent whisper. 'He can't really mean it.'

He replied in a low voice, inaudible to all but her because of Maria's shrill cries.

'He does and he can. I'm sorry, Catalina, I said what I could, but when I remember that Jaime dared to endanger you ...' He broke off and his free hand closed convulsively on hers which held his arm, while his eyes smouldered.

'I'm not that important,' she said, withdrawing her hand. These Spaniards were implacable.

'Think not?' his eyes blazed, then becoming aware of Edwina's hostile glance, he moved away from her. Acting upon impulse and choked with indignation, Catherine went to the kneeling woman and tried to raise her to her feet. With a swift movement like a striking snake, fingers curved like claws, Maria turned upon her, uttering a stream of imprecations. Catherine drew back appalled and Edwina whispered to her,

'She blames you for her son's banishment. I told you not to interfere. Come away, Kit, we can do nothing here.'

Catherine did not move, and Don Salvador said in a voice like a drip of ice,

'It seems my guest is to be even further dishonoured by my servants. Take your wife away, Juan, and I suggest you discipline her with a strap.'

Juan stepped forward, but Catherine sprang between him and Maria.

'No,' she said, 'let her alone. Her distress is only natural.' She turned to Don Salvador. 'Oh, please, senor, I beg you not to send Jaime away. After all, it was only a childish prank.'

'A prank that might have cost you your life and may have spoiled my finest bull. We never cape a bull until it goes into the ring. It learns too much.'

Catherine smiled, remembering the tablecloth.

'I only waved a bit of red rag at it. Please, senor, won't you forgive him?'

He reiterated inexorably, 'The person of a guest is sacred. What reparation could I have made to Senora Carruthers if you had been killed?'

She glanced at the weeping mother, the anguished child, and her anger rose.

'But I wasn't killed,' she cried, 'so you needn't consider that. Actually it was my own fault. I didn't have to interfere, but it so happens that I think a child's life is worth more than my sacred person and a child's happiness has greater value than your bull and your talk of honour!'

Those who understood her bold words gasped and even Edwina looked surprised. Catherine faced the old man with unwavering grey eyes meeting the opaque black. 'If you persist in this injustice,' she went on, 'I will never enter your house again.'

She had not considered what she would do or where she would go, but she was only aware of a passionate determination to reject the hospitality of the man who could perpetrate such cruelty.

For a long moment there was silence, while the two antagonists stared at each other, but it was the dark eyes that fell first. Don Salvador blinked.

'We have different values,' he said suavely, 'but I admire and respect courage. Yours is of a high quality, Senorita Catalina, and since you plead so hard for this young miscreant, we will forget the incident.' He continued speaking in Spanish. Maria ceased to weep and dropped on her knees at Catherine's feet, kissing her hand. Embarrassed, the girl stood enduring this demonstration, while Don Salvador asked a question of young Jaime. Apparently it was what did he want to be, for the reprieved youngster threw back his shock of hair and replied with shining eyes,

'Un torero.'

Then he turned to Catherine with a babble of incomprehensible words. Cesar laid a hand on the boy's shoulder and his laughing eyes met hers.

'He's telling you that one day he will perform in the ring before you and dedicate all his bulls to you,' He told her, 'an honour I'm afraid you won't appreciate.'

'I accept it in the spirit in which it is meant,' she said, smiling at Jaime, but she felt sick at heart. These people were incorrigible!

The day ended with a visit to the stables. The white Andalusian horses were beautiful and spirited. Don Salvador told Catherine they were of the same strain as the Lippizaners of the Spanish Riding School in Vienna.

'Which came here to give a display in the Real Maestranza, a change from the Fiesta Brava,' he told her, glancing at her obliquely. 'I still hope to persuade you to attend a corrida before you leave.'

'That you will never do,' she returned quietly.

'It is courteous of a guest to fall in with her host's wishes,' he said insinuatingly, 'and though my house is yours, I am master in it. Your obstinacy displeases me.'

'I'm sorry for that, senor? she replied coldly, 'but I did not think a Spanish gentleman would seek to enforce his will upon a lady.'

He chuckled delightedly. 'You are right, my dear, and I see you have the courage of your convictions. This is the third time you have proved yourself today.'

'Is it necessary for me to prove myself?' she asked disdainfully.

'Quien sabe?' he returned evasively. 'Look, is not this mare a beauty?'

He obviously loved his horses. Though the young beasts roamed the paddocks, the brood mares were in their boxes looking out over the half doors. She was surprised to learn that the foals were born black and it was not until they were a year old that the silver hairs began to appear. She stroked the white noses extended towards her while she listened to the Don's discourse. He too caressed the beasts, calling them queridito and other love-names, and she marvelled at the contradictions of his nature. He had no mercy for Jaime, no sympathy for his grandson, but an overspill of affection for his horses, but then, they would never be permitted to oppose him. Curiously, though, her own opposition did not seem to have offended him, and sensing some motive behind his talk of proving her courage, she felt vaguely uneasy.

She listened, admired and stroked with only half her attention, for ears and eyes were alert to hear Cesar's voice and see his reappearance, but he never came near them, and when at length it was time for them to return to Seville, she discovered that he was remaining in Valdega and José was going to drive them back. He did not even come to say goodbye to them, and the conviction grew upon her that he did not want to encounter her again. The words which he had used that afternoon recurred to her, 'It would be cruel to pick you and throw you away.' At the time they had made no impression, the meaning of his flowery speech had been a trifle obscure, but now they became significant. He had dallied with her to soothe his hurt vanity, finding in her eager acceptance of his advances balm for Pilar's scorn, and possibly he had been really shaken by her danger, but he did not want to become seriously involved with her and had elected to remain at the farm until the incident had faded from her mind, and they could meet again upon their former formal footing. If that were the way he wanted it, she thought bitterly, he need have no fears, she would show an indifference even greater than his.

She waited by the car while Don Salvador gave some final instructions to Juan Cuerva. Edwina was sitting in the back seat scribbling notes upon her visit, and Jose stood beside Catherine, explaining that he blamed himself for leaving her alone. If he had stayed with her, the incident would not have happened.

'But Abuelo wanted me to accompany him and I never dreamed that you would come down to the corrals again,' he told her.

'Oh, let's forget it,' Catherine said a little impatiently. 'All's well that ends well.'

The young Spaniard was looking at her with brown eyes brimming with admiration.

'You were magnificent when you stood up to Abuelo,' he declared. 'He can be very hard.'

'I didn't know you were there,' she had not noticed him in the kitchen, 'and your grandfather is hard. How he could drive a child away from home to satisfy some kink about honour is beyond me.'

'Honour is very important.' Jose spoke stiffly and she knew that she had said the wrong thing. 'It would have been a terrible thing for a girl to have been killed when visiting the ganaderia.''

She said nothing to that; the subject was becoming tedious.

'Not that I do not think Abuelo was over-severe,' Jose went on, 'but I wish it had been my privilege to rescue you. Unfortunately I did not know what was happening and I have not had Cesar's experience with bulls.'

At this point, Don Salvador came to join them and she hastily climbed in beside Edwina, aware that she had coloured. If Jose had carried her out of the bull pen, would he have kissed her? Was it the natural reaction of a Latin when he found a girl in his arms? Somehow she did not think he would have done so. He was too respectful, too reserved, he would not have dared, and it occurred to her that Cesar was not only experienced with bulls. She was certain that he would have kissed any girl under the circumstances, and the reflection did nothing to assuage her wounded pride. She in her naïveté had responded, when she should have been cold and aloof, perhaps even have slapped his face. No wonder he had thought she was ripe for the plucking! She knew how the nuns would have regarded such shamelessness, and it was useless to try to excuse herself with the plea that it was her first kiss and she had been taken unawares. Satan was always on the lookout for the unwary, and if she could be so easily snared by her first kiss, what would she have become by the time she received her last? But there would be no more kisses from César; his subsequent behaviour had clearly indicated that.

The big car raced over the plain where the sinking sun threw shafts of golden light between elongated purple shadows. The scent of wild flowers permeated the car, and a stork flapped slowly by on its way to its nest upon a nearby belfry. The Don made low observations to Jose in Spanish, while Edwina was still absorbed in her notes. Catherine began to regain some of her normal placidity. After all, one had to learn by experience, she reflected, and nothing in her former life had equipped her for dealing with the situations in which she had found herself that day. On the whole she had not acquitted herself too badly, especially in dealing with the old autocrat sitting in front of her. As for Cesar Barenna, she would put him out of her mind, as no doubt he had put her from his.

CHAPTER FOUR

Cesar was still at Valdega when the Holy Week—Semana Sancta—pageants began to unfold. With each day of his absence, Catherine resolved more firmly to put him out of her thoughts, and thought about him all the more. The Casa seemed dull without his gay presence, but he apparently wished to avoid it ... and her. She was aware that he was seeing Pilar, for the girl went out to the farm several times, discarding her sewing and her churchgoing in favour of exercise, for she was an expert horsewoman. Catherine could visualise her riding over the plain with Cesar's escort on the fine white horses that she had seen, a picture that gave her no comfort. Pilar returned from these expeditions looking bright and confident, stimulated no doubt by her lover's presence. Catherine hoped that she had been kind to him. She approached the forthcoming spectacle of Holy Week in a proper penitential spirit, determined to suppress the strange new emotions that Cesar had aroused in her and to revert to the nunlike young woman of whom the Reverend Mother would approve.

The first processions were upon the Sunday before Easter, the Blessing of the Palms, when each church carried the image of its particular Saint to the cathedral to be blessed and the balconies of every house displayed their slips of palm leaves. Stands had been erected in the streets and plazas through which the processions would pass, while every balcony overlooking the route would be crowded with devout spectators. In addition to pilgrims from all over the province, shoals of tourists arrived to view the pageants, much to Don Salvador's annoyance.

'They should be banned,' he declared. 'They make a mockery of what to us are sacred things.'

'The shopkeepers and hoteliers wouldn't agree with you,' Jose returned. 'They are hoping to do good business.'

The old man groaned. 'Once Spain was content to be poor and proud,' he mourned, 'now she has sacrificed her dignity for transistors and cars.'

'You are so old-fashioned, Abuelito,' Pilar sighed. 'Why should we not enjoy transistors and cars? You cannot stop progress.'

The fire died out of the old man's eyes. 'Progress!' he muttered. 'Progress towards what? A cheapening of ideals, a universal conformity, and we were once a race of individuals.' He turned on his granddaughter. 'But it shall not enter here. If you want progress, as you call it, Pilar, you must wait until I have gone.'

He refused to leave the house during the whole of the Semana Sancta.

Ever since the sixteenth century, Seville had celebrated the liturgical feast with traditional processions organised by the Confraternities. There were fifty-two of these Brotherhoods, accompanying no less than one hundred pasos or floats, which consisted of a platform bearing figures representing the Passion of Christ, many of than being realistic images carved in wood. Others carried statues of the Madonna, and some of these were very beautiful. The Brotherhoods, originating in the Middle Ages, included men of all classes, who had dedicated themselves to tending the sick and the poor. They appeared as penitents at religious festivals, and as they wished to be anonymous, they wore the ancient ritual dress, long robes and the pointed cowl with eye-slits that was copied by the Ku Klux Klan. Each penitent carried a long, lighted candle. The pasos were carried on the shoulders of thirty or forty bearers, concealed by the heavy drapery, and were followed by bands with trumpets and drums predominating, playing specially composed funeral marches.

As the Laraldes possessed a balcony overlooking the route, Catherine was able to watch the processions in comparative comfort. The Aguilar family had a standing invitation, but only the three girls availed themselves of it, as Edwina thought she would find more atmosphere among the seething crowds. Each evening she and Jose accompanied them to the door and then departed. Dona Luisa stayed at home, and said she was too old to face the noise and heat. There was plenty of both in the street below and in the Laraldes' sala, where the watchers filled in the considerable pauses between the processions with refreshment and gossip, but while in the house there was a degree of decorum, the street was filled with shouting vendors of snacks, sweets and souvenirs; on one corner an enterprising salesman was frying churros—crisp rings of batter —in a giant pan of oil and doing a roaring trade. One thing Catherine had learned: the Sevillian could neither suffer nor rejoice in silence.

Most of the processions took place in the evening, and for their visit to the Laraldes, Inez and Pilar wore the inevitable black, while Dona Luisa lent Catherine a large black shawl to cover her grey dress.

When a procession approached, they would all crowd on to the not so large balcony, and while the pasos actually passed, there was a moment of near silence, only broken by the drumbeats of the band. The men on the balcony raised their wine glasses in salutation, while the women crossed themselves. Then the laughter and chatter would break out again.

One particularly gorgeous figure was the Madonna of Hope. She was clad in a glittering robe of white brocade strewn with diamonds and a long velvet cloak. She was hung round with jewels and from beneath the intricate crown of gold and gems, her waxen face was illuminated by hundreds of candles, while the scent of dozens of carnations mingled with the incense rising in a mist about her progress.

Hardly Christian, Catherine thought, viewing this pagan splendour a little dubiously. Her host, Ricardo's father, was standing beside her; he was a travelled and sophisticated man and he noticed the bewildered expression on her face with understanding.

'A strange mixture, is it not?' he said to her. 'Real faith beside hilarity and commercialism, but make no mistake, many feel genuine devotion.'

He indicated a group of women who had knelt as the image passed, raising eyes shining with adoration to the magnificent figure.

'It does seem a little ... unusual to me.' She had nearly said barbaric, but bit the word off in time.

He smiled. 'Simplicity does not appeal to the Latin mind,' he told her, 'and Spaniards have always glorified their conception of the Virgin.'

She remembered Don Salvador's words at Valdega, 'The mother is greatly venerated in this country,' but the image should have had a face like Maria Cuerva deprived of her son, not the countenance of a pink and white doll.

There seemed to be some sort of hitch below them in the street; actually one of the pasos bearers overcome by heat needed a drink. The float came to a halt. Then from a balcony opposite rose the extempore chant of a saeta singer, a mournful lament that sent shivers down Catherine's spine. A surge of raw emotionalism rippled through the crowd. She left the balcony and sought a seat in the sola, feeling overwhelmed. It was all too extravagant, too noisy, and too disturbing.

Nobody seemed to go to bed throughout the whole week, and the incessant din penetrated even the thick walls of the Casa, but Cesar never appeared. All through the week, in spite of her resolutions, Catherine subconsciously watched for him. At last, greatly daring, she asked José if he would not be coming to Seville to see any of the processions. Jose shrugged his shoulders.

'He is too busy at Valdega.'

'He ... he works there?'

'Presumably he is working.'

Catherine began to wonder what Cesar's exact status was. Jose, the scion of an ancient house, had spoken contemptuously of the Barennas as cattle men. Cesar had come to Spain to learn how the Don ran his ganaderia. Possibly he was only a glorified cowhand, a student herdsman, and rated little higher than Juan Cuerva, in which case he would not be considered eligible to marry Pilar. Perhaps that was what brought the brooding look into his eyes when he talked about challenges. He was wondering what he could do to improve his position and become acceptable as Pilar's suitor, and that disdainful beauty was urging him to find a means to win her.

'He ‑he's inclined to be a little reckless sometimes?'

she suggested diffidently.

Jose smiled. 'He's quite unpredictable, there's no knowing what he will take into his head to do next. Abuelo becomes quite worried about him. The real trouble is my aster, she deliberately provokes him. Cesar should not take her seriously, but I'm afraid he does. She is like the lady in Browning's poem, who threw her glove into the lion's cage,' he smiled deprecatingly. 'You see, I read your English poets in spite of Abuelo's disapproval.'

Tm afraid I don't know that one,' Catherine confessed. 'Why did she throw her glove into the lion's cage?'

'Because she expected her lover to retrieve it, to prove his love for her. He did it, but he flung her glove back into her face.'

'That hardly applies to this day and age,' she suggested. Pilar would sever present so crude a challenge, nor Cesar be so foolish as to take it up.

'There is still a lot of medievalism in Spain,' Jose pointed out. 'You've just witnessed the Semana Sancta, and that is almost primitive.' He was looking about him uneasily, for she had defied convention by talking to him so long alone in the patio. Now Dona Luisa approached through the archway and he looked relieved. Certainly life at the Casa Aguilar was almost medieval, she thought, looking a little scornfully at the narrow, high-bred face of the man beside her. He was hidebound by custom, but Cesar would not have cared, she thought involuntarily.

Dona Luisa came slowly towards them, looking doubtfully at Catherine. Jose waved to her and smiled. 'Senorita Catalina wants to borrow a book of mine,' he said, as if to explain their conversation, 'is not that so?'

'I shall be pleased to have it,' she agreed, then added as she moved away, 'There are no lions at Valdega, are there?'

'No, but there are bulls, and they just as dangerous,' he said ominously. Catherine left them feeling very far from reassured.

On Good Friday the Aguilar women appeared dressed in black from top to toe, even discarding their ear-rings, which were almost a uniform with them. For the first time Catherine saw them in mantillas as they set out for church escorted by Jose.

'We wear them less and less,' Pilar told her, 'but Abuelo likes to see them on special occasions.' She looked very lovely in hers, the black lace contrasting with her golden hair. Catherine did not go out; the streets seemed noisier and more crowded than ever. It was a hot day, and she felt tired. The Casa seemed deserted, most of the servants having been given time off. Don Salvador was shut in his study, Edwina reading in the sola. Catherine came downstairs meaning to spend a restful morning in the patio. She readied the hall and stopped transfixed as Cesar came in from outside and halted at the sight of her. Beholding him in the flesh, who had been so much in her thoughts, she was thrown into a tumult of emotion, all her resolutions melting away. He was wearing a Cordoban hat at a rakish angle, he swept it off as he bowed to her, his eyes alight with mocking impudence.

'Buenos diets, mi blanca rosa.'

With an effort she pulled herself together, and murmured formally,

'Good morning, senor, do you want Senor de Aguilar? He's in his study.'

'He can wait,' Cesar returned. He stood regarding her intently, and she turned her head away, the unwilling blush staining her cheeks. There was no sound except the eternal splash of the fountain and the cooing of doves, while Catherine strove to assume the aloofness she wished to show to him.

'You'd think they'd let up sometimes,' he remarked suddenly, referring to the doves, 'but they never do. They are persistently amorous.'

'I like to hear them,' she said.

'Love calls,' his eyes became mischievous. 'Have you ever watched them? The cock bows and coos and his hen looks so coy. Often she flies away, but he pursues, and then the whole ritual begins again.' He sighed and passed his hand over his black head. 'This place is an oasis of peace after the bedlam outside, and you are as refreshing to look at as a drink of water is to a thirsty man. How do you do it, Catalina? I expected to find you wan and weary after such a strenuous week, but you look as if you'd just stepped out of your cloister.'

'I am a little tired,' she confessed, 'but weren't you interested in seeing any of it?'

'I've seen it before, and once was enough,' he explained. 'I've been doing a keep-fit course at Valdega, climbing, walking, boxing with Cuerva. I was getting too soft at the Casa.'

'You've always looked pretty tough to me,' she observed, then, as the significance of his words came home to her, she asked anxiously, 'Are you training for anything special?'

'One never knows what will turn up,' he replied evasively. 'I learned in England the good old Boy Scout's motto, be prepared. I still have a problem to solve.'

Remembering Jose's story about the lion, she asked, 'Has someone offered you a ... a challenge?'

'Perhaps, but I'm not going to elucidate. It's all too dark and murky to be revealed to little white roses.'

'Oh, don't laugh at me,' she exclaimed resentfully.

'But I'm not laughing at you. We need more girls like you around to refurbish our ideals—and incidentally, I hope you were none the worse for your experience at Valdega?'

'Not in the least,' she told him, thinking there had been more than one, 'and I never thanked you properly for rescuing me.'

'Ah, but you did,' he murmured softly, 'and very nicely too.'

Her face flamed at the recollection, but she faced him bravely.

'I'm afraid I was rather upset... I... I forgot myself,' she said hurriedly. 'I don't usually behave like that ... and I think you forgot something too.'

'Did I?' his eyes gleamed wickedly. 'I wonder what?'

'You know very well,' she said sharply, meaning Pilar, and wondered if he were lingering in the hope that she would appear. He continued to lounge in front of her, but she could no longer meet his eyes. She half wanted him to go, and release her from her embarrassment, and half longed for him to stay, unaware that he was admiring the charming picture that she made, with the curve of the marble staircase behind her, slim and graceful in her plain white frock, with a delicate colour in her face, a stray sunbeam striking a copper gleam in her brown hair. The crescents of her long lashes veiled the limpid depths of her eyes, and to make her look at him, he took a step forward, his own eyes kindling.

'Couldn't we forget ourselves now?' he suggested. 'I wouldn't mind repeating that so sweet experience.'

He achieved his aim, but while she stared at him with the expression of a startled fawn, a voice behind him said,

'Ah, Cesar, there you are. I have been hoping to see you. The South American mail is in.'

Don Salvador was coming down the passage, and César turned quickly to greet him. Catherine saw that the old man was frowning; the sight of them together evidently displeased him. 'I think you will find your mother in the sala,' he said pointedly to her.

'I was on my way to join her,' Catherine told him, 'but I met Senor Barenna and I had to thank him for what he did for me at Valdega.'

She was not sorry for his interruption, but she was not a Spanish miss, who might not speak to a man alone, and it was time her hosts realised that she was an independent British girl who could manage her own affairs ... only she did not seem to be managing Cesar very adroitly.

'I hadn't seen him since, so naturally I wanted to speak to him,' she added, her chin lifted defiantly, uncomfortably aware of Cesar's mocking glance.

'Cesar is doubly privileged to have had an opportunity to serve you and again to receive your thanks,' Don Salvador said gallantly, 'but there are others who would welcome a chance to earn your favour and perhaps be more appreciative of your gratitude.'

Whatever did he mean by that? Catherine wondered, and saw that Cesar had discreetly withdrawn, and was standing in the passage, negligently swinging his hat, his eyes fixed on the distant patio. Don Salvador looked from one to the other of them with a doubtful expression, then dismissing Catherine with an inclination of his head, linked his arm through César's and led him away. Catherine wandered out into the patio and looked up at the cooing doves, who were pursuing their courting ritual in the manner Cesar had described. She was excited and disturbed by the encounter. Cesar seemed destined to have this effect upon her, but he was dangerous. If he had tried to kiss her again as his words had suggested, would she have been able to resist him? She assured herself feverishly that he meant nothing by his casual caresses, they were merely a diversion to distract him from his stalemate with Pilar, and she was cheapening herself by permitting them. She sat on the edge of the marble basin while the spray from the fountain cooled her hot face. If only he did not attract her so strongly she would be able to treat him with the cool hauteur that he deserved, but she was uneasily aware that if he beckoned she would follow, and the results would be disastrous.

Cesar did not appear again that day. He and José were to take a convoy of bulls to Madrid and he was busy making the arrangements. In the town the sombre drama of Holy Week was drawing to its close, but Catherine shrank from further assaults upon her emotions and did not venture forth. Edwina had been up at dawn to see the first of the Good Friday processions and even she was tired.

During siesta time Catherine read the poem in Jose's book. The heartless lady had some excuse. Her knight, the French de Lorge, had been wooing her for months past with fine speeches, and she declared, 'Too long have I heard of the deed proved alone by the word.' She wanted to discover if de Lorge meant it when he vowed he would face death for her sake. Catherine was assailed by a feeling of foreboding. Had César in the flowery Spanish manner declared that he would risk his life to show his love for Pilar, and had she taken him up on it? It all seemed a little ridiculous in a modern world, but this was Spain where archaic ideas still survived. She was relieved when the girls decided that night that they would not go to the Laraldes'; she had seen enough of the Semana Sancta. Pilar's thoughts had turned to the Feria, the Spring Fair.

'You said I could ride in the parade, did you not, Abuelito?' she said coaxingly to her grandfather.

Don Salvador looked at her teasingly. 'I said only if you were good, and I seem to remember more than one rebellious outburst.'

She pouted, 'You promised!'

'Si, chica. The Feria parade seems to be one old custom of which you do approve.'

'It is fun, the dressing up, and I shall ride behind Cesar, who will be the handsomest caballero there and all the other girls will envy me.' A revelation that caused Catherine a throb of what she recognised was jealousy.

'Is it seemly when you are not Cesar's novia?' Dona Luisa asked doubtfully. 'You are not engaged to him.'

'Cesar would very much like to be engaged to me,' Pilar returned with a giggle, 'but there are difficulties, and I would like to be sure that the man I am to marry ... is a man.'

'What is important is that he should be able to give you an establishment,' Don Salvador told her sharply. 'Many a peasant could satisfy you as to his masculinity, but I would never permit you to wed with one such.'

Did he regard poor Cesar as a peasant? Catherine wondered. If so, between the Don's avarice and Pilar's vanity Cesar's chances of winning his heart's desire were small.

Inez, who had been looking wounded, exclaimed, 'But first there will be my wedding, or does that small affair sink in importance beside the Feria?'

'But you will be the star of that,' Pilar pointed out. 'No one will notice me at all, whereas at the Feria I shall shine.'

'Vain little coquette,' Jose muttered beside Catherine, and she heartily agreed with him. Dona Luisa, seeing Inez was about to make some scathing comment, intervened with her usual excuse for Pilar.

'You must not be hard on Pilar. Is still a child. Does not know what she says.' She was wrong, Catherine thought. Pilar knew very well what she was saying, and she meant to use her beauty to drive a man to a desperate deed.

That night, though it was long past midnight when she went to bed, Catherine felt restless. It was a warm evening, and turning out her light, she drew the curtains and opened wide the doors on to the balcony. The light of the moon filled the patio, making it as bright as day. A slight sound from below her caused her to look down and her heart gave a lurch, for Cesar was standing under the balcony looking up at her, a slender figure in a dark pullover that was almost indistinguishable from the shadows, but the moonlight illuminated his upturned face, surmounted by its plume of black hair.

'So you are not asleep, Catalina?'

'Senor Barenna!' she exclaimed. 'I thought you'd gone back to Valdega.'

He laid a finger to his lips and melted into the gloom. She thought with a sense of loss that he had gone. She heard a rustling in the creepers that overhung the balcony and then his head appeared above the balustrade. As she drew back, he leaped lightly down beside her.

'You mustn't,' she whispered, aware of a mounting excitement inside her. 'What on earth would my mother or Dona Luisa say if they saw you? Please get down at once!'

She glanced nervously at Edwina's window, but saw with relief that it was shuttered and dark; her uneasy look returned to Cesar. Though the patio was flooded with moonlight, the space under the balcony roof was in shadow and she could only discern his silhouette against the pale background behind him. She was illuminated herself by the white light which shone on the heavy folds of the silk negligee that Edwina had bought for her in Madrid. Though its colours were not discernible, its sheen reflected the light. It clung close to her slight figure, and below its hem was visible the hem of her nylon nightdress.

Cesar's eyes went to her feet. 'You don't wear striped pyjamas,' he said with laughter in his voice, and she remembered the outrageous story that he had told them during their journey.

'Do you still make a habit of invading girls' bedrooms?' she returned, and went hot all over. The balcony was not actually her bedroom, but the words were ill chosen.

'Only when I'm sufficiently tempted,' he answered lazily. 'I hope you're not going to screech?'

'I ought to,' she said doubtfully.

'Nonsense, you're British, you don't mind being unconventional.'

'On the contrary, when I'm in Spain I do as the Spanish do.' She glanced significantly at Edwina's window.

'That you don't, or you would be kow-towing to His Excellency Don Salvador de Aguilar y Miranda, which you do not do. Ay mi, Catalina, you can't know how weary I get of all this pretension and hypocrisy, and their preoccupation with position and wealth.'

'Do they look down upon you?' she asked sympathetically, then fearing he might resent her question, added, 'I mean, you do work like a vaquero, don't you?'

He gave her an odd look. 'Well, yes, I suppose I do.'

Thinking of Pilar, she went on, 'And you've nothing to offer the woman you love?'

'Only my poor self,' he agreed, 'and that isn't much ... is it?' He shot the last two words at her so sharply that she started.

'If ... if a woman loved you, it would be everything,' she faltered.

He came a step towards her. 'Catalina, your ideas are out of date. Nobody believes in love in a cottage any longer.'

'You're being cynical. I know I'd rather live in a cottage than the Casa Aguilar,' she said firmly, 'and to look after the man one loved ... cook his meals ...' She broke off, for Cesar was laughing, and rightly so; she was being absurd. She had had a momentary vision of a little room which contained herself and a man—like Cesar—who was sitting at a table in the lamplight, while she set before him the food that she had prepared, an idiotic fantasy.

'And of course mend his socks,' Cesar suggested. 'What a charming domestic picture you are creating! Is that what you would want for yourself ?'

She realised that she had been motivated by a desire to show him that she was not like the Aguilars, and felt ashamed. Drawing her wrap more closely about her, she said coolly, 'I don't expect I shall ever marry, and I think you should go.'

'I don't, I'm enjoying myself. Tell me, don't you think you'll be able to catch a husband?'

'I wouldn't dream of trying!'

'You mean you'd expect the man to do the pursuing? You're offering quite a challenge, Catalina. I shall have to see if you can be caught.'

He drew even nearer, and aware that her heart was beating fast, she retreated towards the window.

'Senor, I beg of you,' she protested, 'this isn't the time, or the place ...'

'Isn't it? I thought it was both, and it's certainly the place.' She became painfully conscious of the open door behind her leading into her bedroom, and he laughed wickedly. 'In this light I can't see you blush,' he complained, 'but it's a shame to tease you. You're not like the other foreign girls I've known. They're all for freedom and the permissive society ... do you know what that means?'

'I'm not wholly ignorant,' she retorted, 'but I've been brought up to respect the old ideals, chastity, self-discipline and honour. So if you're looking for a cheap diversion, you must go elsewhere.'

'Now I've annoyed you,' he exclaimed, 'but I assure you I'm not looking for a cheap diversion.'

'Then what have you come for?'

'I wanted to see you alone before I left'—and to discover if I were permissive, she thought wryly. 'Jose and I leave in the small hours for Madrid with a cargo of bulls for ...' He saw her flinch and stopped.

'Must you remind me of that on such a perfect night?' she cried distressfully.

'Horrid things happen, mi blanca rosa, even on perfect nights, but that's not what I wanted to tell you. When I get to Madrid I have to make a decision. Do you know your Shakespeare? "When you durst do it, then you were a man," and I don't know if I am a man, Catalina.'

A chill ran through her, so Pilar had set him some crazy challenge, which he was about to accept, the folly of it made her feel angry.

'You're not a schoolboy now, Cesar,' she told him severely, 'and sometimes it is braver not to do an act than to perform it... for a dare.'

'Nevertheless I shall never be able to live with myself until I've met my moment of truth,' he returned, and she shrank from the phrase and its connotations. Impulsively she moved towards him, and clasped his arm with her hands, raising her face framed in its cloud of hair to his.

'Cesar, don't do it... whatever it is.'

She felt his arm stiffen under her fingers.

'Catalina, be careful,' he warned her. 'If you're an icicle, I'm not.'

'I'm not an icicle,' she cried despairingly. 'I wish I were!'

Icicles had no feelings, they could not be stirred by dark-browed men, and moved to jealousy by golden-haired women. Unaware of how much she had betrayed, she was completely caught off her guard, as César lunged for her. His embrace and his lips were both ardent and close. Her body went limp in his arms, her pulses leaped in response until like a douche of cold water came the realisation that she was yielding to the temptation that led to sin. She became rigid in his hold, and instantly he released her.

'I'm sorry, Catalina,' he said unsteadily, 'but you go to my head. I should not have done that.'

'You certainly shouldn't,' she whispered, 'and I know now why you shouldn't.'

'Do you, my little nun?' His voice was infinitely tender. 'For Dios, your mother would scalp me if she knew I was leading you astray. I won't run any more rides, but before I go, won't you give me your favour to carry with me upon my enterprise? A talisman to bring me luck.'

'It's Pilar's favour you should carry,' she said reproachfully.

'Pilar!' he exclaimed so loudly, that she glanced apprehensively at Edwina's window. 'Pilar gives no favours, only scorn.'

Catherine sighed. So Pilar had given him a brush-off and he had come to console himself with her.

'Perhaps she is wise,' she said bitterly.

'Do you scorn me, Catalina?' He spoke so humbly that she was softened.

'Of course I don't, but after all, you're a man now, Cesar. You shouldn't try to show off, even to impress the Aguilars.'

'No, I shouldn't, should I?' he laughed. 'You take life seriously, don't you, mi Catalina, but I promise I'll cultivate a sense of responsibility when I get home.'

Home ... across the ocean... out of her ken.

'Oh, Cesar...' she began, and checked herself. Her whole being yearned towards this man and soon an ocean would part them, but if she showed emotion and he embraced her again, she knew she would be submerged, lost, damned.

'I think you'd better go,' she said stonily.

'But you will give me something of yours first to take with me,' he persisted. 'It will act as a charm, to bring me luck.'

Luck in his dealings with Pilar, she thought—that was ironic!

'What can I give?' she asked.

'A scarf, a handkerchief, anything so long as it is yours.'

She hesitated. If she entered her room he might follow her. Her hands went to her throat where she wore about her neck the cross and chain which the nuns had given to her. She unclasped it and held it out to him.

'Will this do?'

He took it from her and turned to examine it in the light of the moon. From below them in the patio a nightingale began to sing. Now she could see his face, and it wore a strange expression.

'It will more than do,' he said quietly. 'It is ... a benediction.' He swung round to face her, 'but you must put it on for me.'

'What... round your neck?'

'Where else?'

He bent his head, pulling down the turtle neck of his pullover with one hand and holding the trinket towards her with the other. Catherine drew a deep breath as she moved towards him. She had to come very dose to fasten the silver chain around his throat. She was palpitatingly aware of the smooth brown column of it as she did so, but her fingers that unavoidably touched his nape as she fastened the clasp were cold as ice. His hands closed upon her arms before she could withdraw them and he raised his head.

'One last kiss,' he pleaded, 'and that shall be a chaste one.'

She could not evade it, but this time, as he had promised, his lips were tender, lingering, but without passion. She stood passive under his caress, though her heart was pounding and she longed to throw herself into his arms. His hands fell to his sides and he stood motionless regarding her for a long moment.

'Vaya usted con Dios,' he said huskily, and turning swiftly, vaulted the balustrade. Then he was gone, only a rustle in the creepers betraying his passage. The nightingale sang on, its clear, flutelike notes rising to the orb of the moon. Catherine drew a long breath and looked up at its indifferent face. So this was what temptation meant. In Cesar's arms she had been ready to yield her very soul, but she had had the strength to resist him. She supposed his action in seeking her out had been the result of a backlash from Pilar, which made it no compliment to her. If he had expected she would be like the other girls whom he had mentioned, she had shown him his mistake, and he had covered up his disappointment very cleverly with his request for her favour. She wondered what would happen to her trinket, whether he would discard it when he reached his own place. A benediction, he had called it, but she was too wise to place any reliance upon his words. He knew only too well how to reach a girl's heart. And he had reached hers, for although his allegiance was to Pilar, she knew that what he had awoken in her was love.

Next day the city was unusually quiet, awaiting the midnight peal of bells that would announce the risen Christ. In the morning Catherine and Edwina went for a walk in the Maria Luisa Park, seeking coolness under the trees. It was a place of tree-lined walks beside pools and fountains and was decorated with coloured tiles. Catherine was wan and listless, and Edwina eyed her anxiously, thinking there was more to her lack of energy than the normal fatigue of too many late nights. They sat on a stone seat facing a vista between the trees, with an oblong pool of water at their feet in which a fountain played, the trees nearly met above their heads, the sun filtering through them dappling the paths with golden coins.

'Has Cesar Barenna made a pass at you?' Edwina asked abruptly.

Catherine started at the unexpected question and clasped her hands about her crossed knees, keeping her face averted.

'I suppose you might say that,' she returned quietly.

Edwina sighed. It was indeed unfortunate that Cesar had been domiciled at the Casa during their visit. Don Salvador had been lacking in perspicacity to have allowed him to stay while Catherine was there, though it was true that he had exiled him to Valdega as much as possible. The South American had a dash and virility that put poor Jose in the shade, and his obvious fascination was bound to attract an unsophisticated girl like Catherine.

'I was afraid he had,' she remarked, adding acidly, 'He's something of a Don Juan, you know.'

Catherine smiled faintly. 'I rather thought so,' she agreed calmly.

Edwina was surprised to discover that Catherine was not quite as naive as she had imagined. Actually she knew nothing about Cesar's love life, and was speaking from her own deductions.

'It's not altogether his fault,' she said grudgingly. 'His trouble is that he's been spoiled. Women run to him like needles to a magnet and he thinks he's only got to look at a girl and she'll be at his feet. To be fair, I'll admit she usually is.'

Catherine raised her eyes to the leafy canopy of leaves above them. Did Cesar think that she was at his feet?

'I've seen him look at you,' Edwina went on, 'but don't harbour any illusions about his intentions—if he has any they're strictly dishonourable. He finds you a novelty, I don't doubt, and perhaps a little more simpatica than Pilar.' She raised her eyebrows enquiringly. 'I hope you haven't encouraged him?'

Catherine sighed. Edwina's comments coincided with her own conclusions, but it was painful to hear them put into words.

'I... I've tried not to.'

Edwina's face softened. She hated having to speak so plainly, but if the girl was cherishing any romantic ideas about Cesar the sooner they were nipped in the bud, the better for all concerned.

'Poor Kit,' she said, 'that episode at Valdega did rather throw you into his arms.'

Catherine smiled wryly. Edwina's way of putting it was more apt than she knew.

'But he's had no opportunity to bother you here at the Casa,' Edwina concluded. Only when he climbed up to her balcony, but Edwina had been sleeping peacefully when that had occurred.

'No,' Catherine said, 'and of course I know that he's in love with Pilar, though she doesn't seem to encourage him '

'She's too great a sense of her own dignity,' Edwina told her, and Catherine winced, feeling that she herself had been lacking in that quality. 'She's spoilt too, she takes male adulation as a matter of course and plays hard to get Spanish women are coquettes from their cradles and revel in emotionalism. They don't think a man can love them unless he shows that he is wildly jealous. No doubt she plays Cesar up to make him so, but in the end she will fall in with her grandfather's wishes.'

'And he would not let her marry a poor man even if she loved him?'

'Of course not, he'd think he was after her dowry, which is considerable, besides, Pilar has no discrimination. At the moment she's got this craze for matadors, she thinks they are the only manly men ... what is the matter?' for Catherine had given a low cry.

'Nothing, I think something stung me.' She rubbed her leg, while the fountain and the post swam before her eyes in a confused blur. What had been Cesar's real motive in going to Madrid? Had it been only to deliver Aguilar bulls, and. why should that very ordinary occupation have needed luck?

'Let me see,' Edwina leaned forward. 'Some of these insects can be very poisonous.'

Catherine moved away from her. 'It was only a fly, bat it startled me. A man has to have a lot of training before he can be a bullfighter?' she asked, trying to sound indifferent.

'Yes, it's considered an art, but you're not interested in that, surely?'

'No, I only just wondered.' She felt relieved; Cesar could not suddenly plunge into the bullring however desperate he might tie to gain fame and affluence. 'You were talking about Cesar Barenna,' she went on, 'but I'd rather not.' She fixed her eves on the fountain wishing it did not remind her of the one in the patio. 'He ... he's nothing to me—at least, I won't let him be.' In spite of her efforts to speak calmly, her voice quivered.

Edwina looked at her with unusual tenderness. The girl had been hurt, and mentally she abused Cesar for being a heartless philanderer. He should have respected Catherine's innocence; she would not have understood that love with him was a mere pastime and he would look for a wife who was much more richly endowered. She hoped she had not become too deeply involved.

'There are other young men around besides Cesar Barenna,' she suggested. 'How do you get on with José?'

'Oh, all right.' Catherine sounded and was completely uninterested. 'When I'm allowed to speak to him,' she added with a glint of humour. She had a sudden desperate longing to escape, to go home. 'We'll be leaving after the Feria, won't we?' she asked. 'Couldn't we go sooner?'

'Oh, but we must stay for that,' Edwina told her, 'and you'll find it's good fun. It's the one time of the year when everyone takes a holiday and Seville is at its gayest. It'll be just the thing to distract you.' She stood up, shaking out her skirt, and wondered whether to plead Jose's cause, but decided against it. Don Salvador had expressed his approval of her daughter, the courage that she had shown at Valdega had impressed him, bat there was plenty of time; they would come again when Catherine's fancy for Cesar had faded and he had gone back overseas. Confident that her wishes would eventually reach fruition, she put her hand affectionately upon the girl's shoulder.

'Cheer up, Kit, everything passes, you know.'

'Yes, I know,' Catherine said listlessly. 'Shouldn't we be going back?'

Edwina looked at her watch. 'Yes, it's nearly lunch time.'

They strolled through the gardens commenting upon the beauty of the brilliant flowerbeds, but both were deep in their own thoughts. Catherine's had winged to Cesar. Edwina had emphasised that Cesar was incapable of serious intentions, yet for a few moments he had desired her, he had wanted her enough to climb up to her balcony to ascertain if she were willing. She smiled wryly. All he had obtained for his pains was her silver cross. But had her inhibitions robbed her of a great experience? Answering Edwina at random, she lived again in retrospect the events of that disturbing evening. She saw his dark head bent as she had reached up to fasten the silver chain about his neck, felt again the last lingering touch of his lips, and was glad that she had not yielded. Love such as she felt for him was not to be cheapened by a moment's gratification which would be followed by bitter self-reproach. She had her unsullied memories, and meagre as they were, they were sweet. She would cherish them all her life.

CHAPTER FIVE

The house seemed very dull and quiet without the two younger men. On Sunday morning Catherine went with Edwina to a service in the cathedral, which though it was not Anglican, Edwina thought she might like to witness. At lunch the talk was all of the wedding arrangements, for it was only two days distant, while Catherine sat silent, her thoughts with Cesar, wondering what he was doing and whether the unease she had felt about him had any foundation. Suddenly she became aware that Don Salvador was addressing her.

'You will wear flamenco dress for the Feria, will you not? All the girls do.'

'But I haven't got one,' she protested, surprised.

Pilar, with the generosity of her race, immediately offered to give her one, but she refused the gift, for she would have no need of flamenco flounces when she left Spain, that she was forced to accept a loan of one, for all the family seemed quite determined that site should appear in fancy dress.

'Come up to my room during siesta time,' Pilar bade her. 'I will find one to fit you.'

So when the others had retired to the wicker chaises-longues in the patio Catherine went up to Pilar's room. This she found was a replica of her own, except that there were more sacred pictures on the walls and no wide balcony outside, the narrow one beyond the window was filled with ferns and geraniums, and the whole space was protected by an iron grille—the reja. Noticing the direction of Catherine's gaze, Pilar gigged.

'To protect my honour, in case my novio grows too ardent,' she said.

Catherine thought she might have been spared some soul-searching if her own window had been barred. The moonlight and the nightingale had much to answer for. Pilar dived into the recesses of her cavernous wardrobe and emerged with her arms full of flounced garments.

'It is a miracle that Abuelo lets me ride,' she said, 'there is so little he will allow me to do. Those bars,' she nodded towards the window, 'are typical of my life.'

'Didn't you go to school?' Catherine asked for the sake of something to say.

Pilar shook her lovely head as she dumped her load on the bed.

'We had governesses, and one of them was English— that is how I learned your tongue—and I was a better student than Inez was. I would have liked to go to university, but Abuelo would not hear of it. He does not believe in education for women. All we need to learn is housekeeping to fit us to be our husbands' slaves.'

'But where there is love, marriage isn't slavery,' Catherine suggested timidly.

Pilar pouted. 'Love? I do not know what love is,' she said. 'Cesar loves me, but his love is selfish, he expects me to give up everything for him. However, I have a splendid plan, and if it comes off, everyone will have a big surprise.'

She giggled, and held up a red dress decorated with black polka dots. 'This I think might fit you. Will you please to try it on?'

Catherine slipped off her dress and Pilar dropped the flounced frock over her head, indicating the long glass upon the inside of her wardrobe door. 'How do you like that?' she asked.

Catherine stared at herself in the unfamiliar garb. The bodice fitted closely to her figure, below the waistline the spotted flounces billowed to her feet. Pilar flung a gaily coloured shawl around her shoulders and knotted the fringe over her breast.

'Ya esta la flamenco.'

'But my head!' Catherine exclaimed, gazing in dismay at her most un-Spanish brown bob.

Pilar regarded its silken sheen critically.

'The hair should be drawn into the back of the neck in a chignon with flowers,' she told her, 'or dressed on top of the head, but you have not enough hair to make a chignon and flowers will never stay atop your head. I think you must wear a scarf, and then you will look like a gitana, a gypsy.'

'Anything to oblige,' Catherine said meekly, disliking the whole business. She felt in no mood for a masquerade and nothing would make her look Spanish.

Pilar was again delving into her cupboard. 'If you will excuse me, I have some sewing to do that I must finish,' she said, 'but do not hurry to leave me. We can talk while I work, and perhaps we will find we have much to say to one another.'

Catherine did not think this was likely, but the Spanish girl's voice was pregnant with meaning. She hoped she did not want to confide in her about her love affairs. Slowly she divested herself of her borrowed finery, folded the dress and resumed her own clothes, her thoughts far away.

So Pilar made no pretence of being in love with Cesar, though she was ready to use him to carry out some scheme which she was hatching. She turned to look at her companion, anxious to take her leave, and gave a gasp. Pilar had retreated to a low chair by the window and had unwrapped a white cloth that covered the work upon which she was engaged. She was stitching busily at some trimming that had come loose. The sunlight shone on gold thread, sequins, amber silk, and Pilar's golden hair, a lovely picture but for the dread significance of the garment she was working upon. Catherine recognised it as the jacket belonging to a traje de luces, a suit of lights, and she could not have been more startled if she had seen a snake. To her the ornate dress was the devil's uniform.

Pilar's eyes met hers with a sparkle of malice in their dark depths.

'This coat requires a little mending,' she said coolly. 'I have borrowed it for Cesar. I am hoping he will have need of it.'

'But he isn't... he can't...' Catherine stammered.

The malice in Pilar's eyes flamed into triumph.

'But he will be,' she declared. 'He promised me that when he went to Madrid he would visit an agency—I gave him the name, for we have influential friends upon the syndicate, and I am sure if the right people see him they will recognise his potential talent, and they will arrange for him to become a novillero, an apprentice matador.' She dropped her work, and clasped her long, white hands. 'I have been urging him and urging him ... I even called him a coward, he did not like that ... I said an Argentine could not equal a Spaniard in valour and he swore he would prove me wrong. Words, Catalina, I am sick of words, I want deeds.'

'Too long have I heard of the deed proved alone by the word.'

The line from Jose's poem flashed into Catherine's mind. She sank into a chair, feeling her legs would not support her. Everything fitted, Cesar's own quotation, 'When you durst do it, then you were a man.' Until he had accepted Pilar's challenge, he doubted his own manhood, and this was what he had had in mind when he took his leave of her, asking for a talisman to bring him luck. Pilar, like de Lorge's lady, had worked upon him, using her beauty and her wiles, even his love for her, to drive him into a truly horrible profession, but how could she, and was Cesar really prepared to go to such a length to win her? She had a nasty conviction that it was only too possible. Young, daring and perhaps ambitious, this was the one way in which he could win the fame and wealth he needed to obtain Pilar's hand, though he might be killed in the process. Did Pilar realise that, or was she so wrapped in her dreams that she saw only the glittering attainment, without considering the risks?

But would the Aguilars accept him as Pilar's husband, even if he did succeed? Bullfighters had no social standing. Faintly, she asked, 'Does Don Salvador know about this?'

'Of course not, and he must not know until the thing is done. He will come round if Cesar is a success. Fortunately he has no authority over him.'

'But you can't really want César to do this,' Catherine protested, feeling sick. 'Not... not if you love him.'

Pilar moved the heavy material upon her knee. She looked beautiful against the whitewashed wall behind her, a symphony in gold and amber. Any man would risk his life to win her approbation, Catherine thought dully, but had she no heart? It seemed not, for she said calmly,

'I told you I do not know anything about love. Naturally Cesar loves me, he is mad for me.' A little complaisant smile edged her lips. 'That is as it should be. But I do not wish to go to Argentina, nor to marry a farmer and be surrounded by vaqueros and cattle—pff! I might as well live at Valdega.' She leaned forward her dark eyes glowing. 'I want life, Catalina, excitement, crowds, people, and I want my husband to be a man all women pursue, and they do pursue matadors. I want to be envied because I possess him and they don't. I want to share in his glory and his triumph.' She drew back and the glow died out of her eyes. 'But he is so obstinate. I know he could do it if he would, and I have told him he must if he wants to win me.'

Catherine stared at the Spanish girl in fascinated horror, seeing her as Circe, Medea, Vivien, all the classical enchantresses rolled into one. Cesar was caught in the web of her loveliness, what chance had he to withstand her? It was unlikely that, like de Lorge, he would throw her glove back into her face, but Browning's hero had braved the lion before he did it.

'But... but don't you care about the danger?' she asked desperately.

Pilar picked up her needle and moved the jacket, the light glittering on the sequins like a thousand points of fire.

'There is always danger,' she remarked philosophically, 'car crashes, and aeroplane accidents, men die daily without honour, but this danger is different, it brings glory. But of course you are British, you cannot understand.'

'I certainly can't,' Catherine told her, 'but I cannot believe Cesar would ever become a butcher, even to please you.'

Pilar giggled. She had a particularly inane giggle, and used it often. The sound rasped Catherine's nerves, she would like to have struck that beautiful, callous face.

'Men will do anything for love,' Pilar told her. 'That I cannot understand, but it is fortunate for me that it is so. It gives me so much power over César.'

Catherine flinched at this statement. The nuns had taught that the influence of a good woman could be beneficial to a man's baser nature, which was perhaps an illusion, though Catherine had imbibed it as gospel, but Pilar's influence was evil. She searched the proud, perfect features for any sign of feeling.

'If you have your way and César is ... is killed ... won't you feel terrible?' she asked in a low, trembling voice.

'Why should I?' Pilar returned. 'If he is taken from me, like Manolete, like Joselito, I shall know it is the will of God, and his name will be immortal, like theirs are.' She looked at Catherine ironically. 'You seem much concerned with Cesar's fate, and you use his first name freely, but he is nothing to do with you. You know that you amuse him, you are so prim and old-fashioned, he wants to stir you up, to see if you are good right through. But you should not allow him liberties, even if you are British. He will only despise you for giving in to him.'

Catherine felt as if she were choking. Had César told Pilar about that interlude on her balcony? An instant's reflection showed her that there had not been time, as he had left for Madrid in the small hours, but there had been that other episode at Valdega when she had let him kiss her. No doubt he had laughed with Pilar over that. How deftly the Spanish girl knew how to wound, but she would not let her see that her thrust had gone home. With an immense effort she rose to her feet and managed to say indifferently,

'Thank you, I will remember your warning. As for the dress,' she glanced at the scarlet and black spotted heap lying on the bed, 'I think I would rather not borrow it after all.'

'Do not be absurd,' Pilar told her. 'Abuelo will be annoyed if you do not wear it, and I do not grudge you ... a dress.'

A gleam of hope threaded through Catherine's despair. The old man considered he was responsible for Cesar and he had still to be reckoned with before the pair could put their mad plan into action, and he was no mean adversary. Perhaps he could stop them, and meanwhile it would be folly to antagonise him. With a murmured word of thanks, she picked up the mass of flounces and left the room, her last glimpse of Pilar being the golden head bent over the golden coat, while a little triumphant smile curved her perfect lips.

Cesar and Jose returned on the Monday, and their fame preceded them. The first intimation of what had happened was in the morning papers, the Casa took in no Sunday ones. News had been scarce over the weekend and the reporters made the most of it. Passing through a large village on the outskirts of the capital, Akbar, the largest and fiercest of the bulls, had battered his way out of his truck into a crowded street, and Cesar had played the animal with a cloak snatched from a passer-by, enticing him away into a field. There were pictures of the infuriated Akbar, looking truly alarming, pictures of César standing in his path. The letterpress included conjectures as to who this intrepid young man might be. He had refused to give his name and the popular supposition was that he was some famous matador travelling incognito.

Catherine did not hear the story until late in the morning, Don Salvador took possession of the papers after breakfast. Edwina brought her a copy to see while she sat in the patio, and at first she thought that her worst fears had come to pass, but a perusal of the letterpress soon enlightened her.

'That man attracts the limelight,' Edwina commented caustically. 'Heaven knows what will be the outcome of this escapade.'

'But it wasn't an escapade,' Catherine objected, 'it seems Cesar behaved very bravely in an accident.'

'If it was an accident.'

'You're not suggesting that he let Akbar escape on purpose?'

'I wouldn't put it past him. He was lucky not to be put in prison.'

'Prison?' Catherine stared at her. 'Why?'

'It's the usual aftermath of an accident in Spain, but no doubt Cesar persuaded the police that bull-running was a normal Sunday afternoon proceeding in that village. He's glib enough.'

'I think you're unfair to him,' Catherine told her, and refused to discuss the matter further.

Cesar and Jose came in for lunch, looking, Catherine thought, like a pair of schoolboys expecting a scolding, but underneath their penitent looks was a suppressed excitement. As she watched Cesar, so gay and debonair, Catherine's heart sank, were his jubilant looks the result of a successful interview? Had he taken the first step along the path Pilar had marked out for him? The old Don scowled at them.

'What the deuce have you two been up to?' he demanded.

'Well, Akbar gave us a bit of trouble,' José began.

'I know that. It even got into the papers—disgusting sensationalism!' the old man snorted, and Catherine heard Pilar murmur, 'Good publicity.'

Jose began to laugh; he was looking unusually animated. 'You should have been there, Abuelo,' he told him. 'It was the best show I have seen for a long time. Not content with getting Akbar out of the village, Cesar gave us a marvellous display of cape work in the field beyond with the vaqueros acting as his cuadrilla. The whole village collected to cheer him. Cesar ...' he turned to the other man, 'where did you learn those veronicas?'

'Caping the cows at Valdega. I knew I mustn't use a bull, though it was a temptation.' He glanced at Don Salvador.

'I am glad you had that much respect for my wishes,' the Don growled. Suddenly he hit the table. Tor Dios, man, were you mad enough to play Akbar singlehanded? That bull's a killer!'

'He did.' Jose seemed overwhelmed with admiration for Cesar's feat. 'But the joke was, when Akbar began to tire, a ragged youth appeared with a red handkerchief on a stick and his father's sword, a war relic I should imagine, and suggested Cesar should make his faena.''

'So Cesar killed the bull?' Don Salvador asked, and Catherine felt sick.

'He did not. He called for a net, and eventually Akbar was returned to his truck.'

'You might as well have killed him,' Don Salvador said callously. 'He will be no use now.'

'What, murder old Akbar?' Cesar protested. 'Not on your life, not after giving me all that fun. Besides, I owe him a debt. I know now I can face a fighting bull in all its fury.' He shot a barbed glance at Pilar, who was looking sulky. This was not the sort of fame that she had envisaged. 'But you shan't lose, senor, I'll buy Akbar from you and take him home with me.'

A surge of joy swept through Catherine. Pilar was wrong. Cesar would never be a bullfighter, he had too much feeling for animals. She raised her glowing eyes to his face, and he winked at her.

'When it was all over,' Jose went on, 'we discovered that Cassillis, the Madrid syndicate promoter, was driving past and had stopped to see Cesar's performance. He came and congratulated him.'

Pilar's face lit up. 'How lucky!' she exclaimed, she gave Cesar a languishing glance. 'Your fortune's made!'

'Por Dios, Pilar,' her grandfather barked, 'what bug have you got in your bird brain now? What difference does Cassillis' appearance make to Cesar's fortune?'

Realising that she had been indiscreet, Pilar pouted and turned away, while Catherine's heart sank, as it occurred to her that Cassillis might offer the opportunity for which Pilar was hoping. Don Salvador was still looking at his granddaughter. 'Notoriety being what it is,' he told her, 'some unscrupulous agent may try to put Cesar in the ring on the strength of that fool of a write up this morning, but being, if he will forgive me saying so, a complete novice, he Would not stand a chance.'

'But surely nobody would ...' Jose began, looking bewildered.

'Would they not? They would not care if he were killed if they thought he could attract a crowd.'

Cesar laughed easily. 'Don't worry, Senor,' he cried gaily, 'I'm not a complete fool, though I think your granddaughter would like to make me one.'

Pilar threw Cesar a furious glance, and again Catherine's spirits rose. Cesar had thrown back her glove in her face. Having performed his act of valour he had only contempt for her further plans, but noticing anew that sparkling beauty, she wondered uneasily if Cesar would have the strength to continue to withstand her.

That night she wore the blue dress she had worn upon her first evening. The southern sun had tinted her face and arms a delicate brown, in contrast to Pilar's matt whiteness, which no sun seemed to affect. Most of the family were already waiting in the sola when she came in, and Cesar's eyes flew to her, the moment she appeared. She noticed they were glittering with a kind of exultation. He was standing by the door into the patio, and as she seated herself, hoping dinner would not be long delayed, he came across to stand beside her.

'Go out into the patio,' he murmured, bending to pick up some imaginary object from the floor, 'I want to speak to you.'

Looking straight before her, she returned, 'I can't. Everyone would notice.'

'Then it'll have to be your balcony again ... Senorita, you dropped your handkerchief,' he announced loudly, pretending to push something into her hand, and he went from her to join Pilar, who was looking quite devastating in a yellow silk gown trimmed with black velvet. Since dinner seemed to be delayed, Catherine rose and unobtrusively slipped out into the patio, murmuring that she needed some air. She feared if she did not go that Cesar would carry out his last suggestion and she did not feel equal to coping with him in his present mood of elation. He came to her at once, stepping noiselessly over the tiles.

'Have you no welcome for me, blanca rosa?' he asked in a low, caressing voice. 'I've been in great danger, you know.' The last words finished with a hint of laughter. Remembering what Pilar had said, she steeled herself against him. She would not let him amuse himself by beguiling her.

'I'm wondering if you deserve one,' she said coldly.

'Oh, but I do, I'm the hero of the hour,' he laughed gaily, 'but now my honour is satisfied. I know now I'm as brave as any prancing matador, and I didn't have to kill old Akbar to prove it.' Catherine realised that all her anxieties had been for nothing. Cesar would never make a matador.

'Is Pilar satisfied now?' she asked doubtfully.

'Of course not, but we won't waste time talking about her. We're going to talk about you.'

'Me? My only interest for you is that my primness amuses you,' she said a little bitterly. 'I'm plain and insignificant ...'

'And brave, loyal and honest,' he interrupted, 'with a face like an innocent flower. Mi amada, I want to hear more about that cottage we're going to share when you cook my dinner and darn my socks.'

'You're laughing at me.'

'I'm deadly serious. Oh, mi amada, could you really love me for myself alone, without considering my financial status or my potentialities as a torero?'

'But ... but that's the only way to love.' Catherine was covered with confusion, had she betrayed herself, nor could she believe he was serious.

'Agreed. Catalina, I've been waiting to tell you ...'

'Cesar!' It was Don Salvador's voice and Cesar swore under his breath. 'It'll have to be your balcony,' he whispered, 'but I'll behave.'

The Don was standing within a few feet of them, his brows drawn down over his eyes, and every line of his face was disapproving. Catherine knew she was looking guilty, but Cesar's face was a bland mask as he turned to face him.

'Si, Senor?'

'After dinner I will speak to you,' the old man told him portentously. 'There is much I have to tell you.'

A trickle of apprehension ran down Catherine's spine. Was Cesar about to be scolded regarding his behaviour to a guest? Did Don Salvador suspect his motives, and what were his motives, what was it he wanted to tell her?

They re-entered the house and went in to dinner.

Cesar as usual sat beside Pilar, who had got over her sulks and had taken him back into favour. Catherine suspected that she had not changed her plans, merely her tactics; she feared that her hold over Cesar was slipping. She flirted openly with him, but he was unresponsive. Catherine saw the other women were eyeing her oddly and felt in disgrace. Cesar had been crazy to seek her out before the lot of them, but he had sought her out, and now over Pilar's golden head his eyes were continually trying to catch her glance. There was something in their velvet depths that caused tremors to run up her spine. Surely there was meaning in that melting look, yet she could hardly credit that he was genuinely attracted to her. Pilar's reception of the news of his performance with Akbar had displeased him, but he must know that she had only taunted him because she wanted to make him embark upon a glittering course that would feed her vanity, or was he still Wind to her heartlessness? His words in the patio had suggested he had some feeling for her, Catherine, and deep down in her heart was a growing conviction that her love was to some degree returned. Incredible as she thought was, it caused her checks to glow, and brought a soft light into her eyes, so that Edwina watched her with increasing uneasiness. Catherine was living in anticipation of the moment when Cesar would come to her upon her balcony, and tell her ... what? She knew that if she were truly discreet, she would bar her window against him, but that she had no intention of doing. Perhaps, she told herself feverishly, she was only building on sand, all he wanted to do was to return her cross and chain.

After dinner, she saw him walk away with Don Salvador, and even then had no premonition of what was about to happen. The family retired unusually early, for tomorrow the guests would be arriving for the wedding and the Casa would be astir at cock-crow.

Catherine threw her window open to the scented night and the nightingale's song, waiting with fast beating heart, her ears strained to catch the rustle of the creepers. Useless to tell herself she was acting foolishly, and Cesar did not mean half he said, she was yearning for the sight and sound of him, although she had parted from him only a short while before. But it was not Cesar who came, but Edwina. She frowned when she saw the open window and drawn-back shutters.

'Not the least unwelcome visitors you'll receive will be mosquitoes,' she said scathingly, 'to say nothing of bats.'

But the visitor Catherine expected would not be unwelcome. She saw with dismay that Edwina had settled herself in the one chair as if she had come for a long chat, and hoped devoutly that Cesar would not appear in the middle of it, but Edwina's first words drove her anxiety out of her head.

'I have just received on your behalf an offer of marriage.'

Catherine flushed and paled. For one wild moment she thought that Cesar had formally asked for her hand, for she knew it was the accepted custom in this society to ask the parents first. She said quietly,

'Who from?' and waited breathlessly for Edwina's reply.

'Jose Aguilar, or more correctly from his grandfather.'

Catherine was astounded. 'Jose?' she echoed. 'Why on earth should Jose want to marry me?' The young man had always been friendly and attentive within the limits of host and guest, but he had never seemed to take any special interest in her. Edwina cleared her throat nervously.

'Well, to be quite frank it's an idea we've fostered for some time,' she admitted. 'You know Salvador and I are very old friends, and it would be an excellent match for you. You've won golden opinions from everyone here, both Salvador and Luisa say they couldn't wish for a better wife for the last of the Aguilars.' But wasn't it Josh's reaction that was important?

'I see,' Catherine said slowly, beginning to understand a number of things. 'Did you by any chance have me educated at a convent and secluded from modern influences with this alliance in mind?'

Edwina looked a little embarrassed. 'It seemed the most convenient arrangement,' she said vaguely, 'and I don't think I could have coped with an ill-mannered modern miss, they all seem so headstrong. You've always been tractable and obedient. We all hoped you and José would take to each other and you seem to get on very well. I didn't mean to say anything at this stage, but...' her voice sharpened and her hazel eyes grew stern, 'your conduct has rather forced me to do so.'

'My conduct? What have I done?'

'Everyone noticed Cesar's attentions tonight, and you went out alone with him into the patio. That sort of behaviour won't do here, Kit. Don Salvador was naturally not amused, he regards César as Pilar's fiancé.'

Catherine stared at her blankly. How could that be? She had always understood that the Argentine farmer was ineligible as Pilar's husband in the eyes of the proud Aguilars. That was why he had been tempted to fall in with Pilar's wild projects.

'But... but what has happened?' she asked anxiously.

'Nothing that I know of.' Edwina looked pityingly at the girl's bewildered face. 'I suppose Cesar has been leading you up the garden path, but I assure you that he came over here with the intention of becoming engaged to Pilar, and Don Salvador hopes he will take her back with him, though Pilar is being stupid about going to live in South America.'

'She ... she told me she didn't want to live on a farm.'

'Oh, she's talked to you about it, has she? But she seems to have misled you. It's rather more than a farm, Kit, it's a big estancia with a fine colonial house for Cesar and his bride—the Barennas are rolling. It would be a fine match for Pilar, and she'd like the life once she got used to it. She would in time become mistress of a big estate, and she enjoys riding. She will take her horses with her, they're part of her dowry, and she rides like an Amazon ... what is it, Kit?'

For Catherine had broken into peals of hysterical laughter. 'I ... I'd no idea, I thought Cesar was a superior sort of herdsman,' she gasped. He had been aware of her misapprehension, but he had led her on to talk about love in a cottage, he had enjoyed deceiving her, and her naive remarks must have seemed to him very funny. It was funny, but the joke was against her and painful.

'I thought everyone knew,' Edwina was eyeing her anxiously. 'Didn't he tell you about it himself?' Catherine shook her head. 'I suppose he thought he'd appear more romantic if he represented himself as a poor dependent.'

'We ... we never actually discussed his position,' Catherine faltered. 'But I thought he was working at Valdega.'

'He's learning the business.' She looked at Catherine doubtfully. 'I fancy there's been more going on between you than I suspected.'

Catherine turned her head away. 'Cesar has a perverted sense of humour,' she said bitterly.

'Perhaps, but please don't use his first name. You've been very indiscreet, Don Salvador has noticed and asked me to speak to you. He's warned me you were compromising yourself and to emphasise that you can expect nothing from Cesar.'

The indignant colour flowed into Catherine's cheeks. 'So I'm to be shuffled into an engagement with Jose to save my good name!' she exclaimed. 'Or is it to save Pilar's prospects? But don't Jose and I have any say in the matter? Are we mere pawns to be pushed around at the family's convenience?'

'Of course not. I've only told you about Jose's proposal in the hope of preventing you from being a fool over someone else, though I fear I'm too late.'

'Much too late,' Catherine told her defiantly.

Edwina rose and coming to the girl laid her hand upon her shoulder. 'Oh, Kit darling, do try to have a little common sense,' she pleaded. 'You must know he's only playing with you. He would never give up Pilar and her dowry for your sake. When the time comes, and it's not so far distant now, he'll go home with Pilar and his prize bulls and leave you with a broken heart.'

Catherine winced, for Pilar had said much the same thing. What Cesar had told her in the patio was merely gallantry. She looked out of the open window at the moonlit sky. He had not come as he had promised, but possibly he knew Edwina was with her.

The widow looked at her unresponsive face anxiously. 'You have José to fall back upon,' she suggested, 'to save your face and your pride.'

Catherine laughed a little wildly. 'Oh, really, Edwina, what a reason to give for accepting an offer of marriage!' She was a little shocked.

Edwina withdrew her hand. 'More marriages are caused through pique than you'd credit,' she said drily.

'Then no wonder they fail,' Catherine retorted. 'May I ask what you told Don Salvador? That for the sake of José's possessions I'm prepared to sell myself to him?'

'Don't be melodramatic, Kit,' Edwina chid her. 'I told him the British did not arrange their children's marriages, but I very much hoped that you would consider this proposal seriously.'

'I couldn't possibly,' Catherine said flatly. All she wanted to do now was to leave Spain as soon as possible.

'Don't turn it down at once,' Edwina urged, 'think about it. Such an alliance has always been my dearest wish.'

'I'm sorry to disappoint you,' Catherine told her coldly, feeling Edwina had betrayed her, 'but it's my life that's concerned, not yours. I don't want to marry anybody. Why should I? I've got you.' She looked at the older woman doubtfully, wondering if her refusal was going to affect their relationship.

'You won't always have me,' Edwina pointed out. 'I know what loneliness is, and I want to save you from it. A husband, a family and an establishment are things worth having, Kit, and Jose would be easy to live with.'

'And what has he got to say about all this? Is he ready to have me foisted upon him to please his grandfather?'

'He loves you.'

'Loves me? But he's never shown any particular interest in me!' Catherine was incredulous.

'He wouldn't consider it correct to do so,' Edwina remarked, 'not until you are engaged.' Actually she had no first-hand knowledge of the state of Jose's affections, only his grandfather's assurances. 'This is Spain,' she added.

'It's Spain all right,' Catherine agreed, 'and I don't suppose Don Salvador takes love into account when he arranges his family's marriages.'

'He doesn't think it is important,' Edwina told her with a sigh, 'but he doesn't expect an immediate answer. When we get home you can think it over, without distractions. You would please me greatly if you accepted Jose—not that I can expect my wishes to influence you,' she finished a little bitterly.

Catherine softened, for she owed Edwina a great deal. 'If I accepted him, it would only be to please you,' she said, 'but I don't think I could bring myself to do so, and it wouldn't be right, when I can't give him my heart.'

'Poor Kit, everything's gone wrong, hasn't it?' At the sympathy in Edwina's voice, Catherine looked at her in surprise. 'I know how it hurts, my dear. I had to renounce my love too, but I found a great compensation in Simon. We were happy together, though I never loved him like I loved ... the other one.' She came to the girl and put her arms about her. 'I'm so very sorry this has happened.'

Catherine responded to the embrace, clasping Edwina about her neck.

'Oh, Edwina, I didn't know love was so ... physical.'

'Did you think it was a mating of souls?' the widow asked drily. 'But I think all you are suffering from is a temporary infatuation. He is most attractive, I can see that, but when you've got over it, perhaps you'll be able to consider Jose.'

'But surely he won't want to wait indefinitely?' Catherine asked with dismay. She did not want to think of Jose, she was quite sure her love for Cesar would last all her life. That the Aguilars, grandfather and grandson, were prepared to wait for it to she had a sort of inevitability about it that frightened her. She wanted to be done with them now, at once, and to be done with Spain.

'Oh yes,' Edwina said cheerfully, extricating herself from Catherine's embrace, 'you're both very young. We'll come again, say in six months' time, and he'll woo you in earnest.'

A prospect that appalled Catherine. She knew the Casa Aguilar would always be full of memories of Cesar and to revisit it could only give her pain, but something might happen to prevent another visit, and all she wanted to do now was to put the Pyrenees between herself and the Aguilar family.

'When are we leaving?' she asked. 'You said we could go after the Feria.'

'I thought the Monday after it,' Edwina said with a sigh, 'you look as though some sea breezes would do you good, it's getting so hot here. We'll go up the coast to Barcelona. Put all I've said out of your head for the time being, but don't please have anything more to do with Cesar Barenna.'

'I can promise you that,' Catherine assured her.

When she had gone, Catherine slipped out on to her balcony. The night was very still, nothing moved except the jet of the fountain. So Cesar had played with her even in the matter of his status. Perhaps that was what he had been going to confess to her tonight now that the incident with Akbar had restored his self-confidence. She stayed a long time watching the lights in the Casa go out one by one. He would not come now, but she yearned for his appearance, his assurance that he was not heir to a vast domain, was not going to marry Pilar, but she knew that her vigil was in vain.

Catherine did not sleep, and as soon as it was light she got up and dressed. The household was astir, for after breakfast the wedding guests would start to arrive, but it would be a long time before any of the family appeared. The patio look cool and inviting, for the sun had not yet risen, and the old porter, whose job it was to swab the tiles every morning, had just completed his task. She slipped like a ghost in her white dress through the arches and came to an abrupt halt. Cesar, also in white, thin pullover and flannels, was standing beyond the fountain, and he was, of all things, feeding the doves. There were four pairs of them and they made a white cloud at his feet as they eagerly pecked up the grain he was scattering for them. She hesitated, half inclined to retreat, when he looked up and saw her.

'Good morning, Senorita Carruthers, you too are an early bird, but it's the early bird that catches the worm, isn't it?'

The formality of his greeting struck her like a blow, and his olive face was as hard as marble, as if he were the injured party.

'Good morning,' she returned, advancing towards the fountain, her eyes full of reproach, forgetting her promise to Edwina, for surely he owed her some explanation.

One of the doves flew up and alighted upon Cesar's shoulder, its little pink feet a touch of bright colour amidst the white. He turned his head to look at it and smiled, but when his eyes returned to Catherine they were hard as jet, and his lips curled sardonically.

'And you've caught a nice big worm, haven't you, senorita?'

She flinched at his bitter tone. 'I don't know what you're talking about,' she told him, then, the words coming out in a rush. 'You... you didn't come last night?'

'Disappointed?' he sneered. 'Perhaps you're hoping to catch an even bigger worm? But don't cherish any illusions, there's nothing doing, my little gold-digger. You had better stick to the one you've got, it would be a pity if he managed to wriggle away from you after all the trouble you've taken to secure him.'

Then she understood. Don Salvador must have told him that he was planning to marry her to Jose, and he imagined that she had fallen in with his wishes.

'You can't really believe ...' she began faintly, but he interrupted her scornfully. 'Oh, don't pretend.' He shrugged his shoulders, and the dove vacated its uneasy perch, swooping down between them to alight on the edge of the marble basin. Cesar thrust his hands into his trouser pockets and regarded her insolently. There was nothing of the daredevil boy about him this morning, nor the gay and gallant cavalier; he looted much older, there were even faint lines from nose to mouth she had never noticed before, and his face was cold, stern, and inimical.

'You and that scheming mother of yours had it all worked out before ever you came here,' he accused her, 'and luck favoured you, or did you get into that bull pen on purpose? You took rather a big risk, didn't you, even to impress Don Salvador, but it paid off.'

Catherine stared at him in bewilderment, wondering why he had brought up the episode with Jaime.

'You know I wanted to help that child ..she began uncertainly.

'Yes, and you knew Don Salvador admires courage more than any other virtue—no doubt you have been carefully primed. Unjustly he thinks that Jose is effeminate, he blames his deficiencies on his mother's lack of spirit, but he's taking no chances with Jose's son.'

A shaft of lurid light pierced Catherine's bewilderment. She had been told at Valdega that cattle breeders believed that courage was transmitted through the mother. Her cheeks flamed with shame and humiliation.

'Oh, how can you say such a thing!' she cried. 'Do you dare to suggest I deliberately climbed that wall to impress Don Salvador and ... and capture Jose?'

'Didn't you?'

'No, of course I didn't.'

He considered her, his mouth drawn down into a sneer.

'You were motivated by pity for a beggar brat?' he asked. 'I can't believe you were so altruistic, not after what I learned last night about you. I think you saw your opportunity ... and took it. Oh, I know it must have taken some pluck to run such a hazard, but no doubt you regarded it as ... an occupational risk, shall we say? The only pity was that the wrong man came to get you out.'

Catherine whitened to her lips at this unjust indictment. She stared at Cesar with anguished eyes. Surely he could not really believe she was so calculating?

'Did ... did Don Salvador tell you that?' she faltered.

'No, you've successfully hoodwinked the old man, but my own deductions are rather more acute—you see I've met your sort before. What he did tell me was that you were earmarked for Jose, had in fact been trained for the position.' She started to protest, but he cut short her stammered words. 'But you had no scruple in accepting my kisses, had you?' he went on brutally, 'nor did you call for help when I invaded your balcony on the night before I left for Madrid, and last night, in the patio, I thought...' A spasm crossed his face, and he turned away, 'Oh, to hell with it all!' he muttered.

Completely taken aback by these further accusations, Catherine looked confused ... and guilty, and her numbed brain could think of no words to refute them. He smiled sardonically at her bemused expression, and continued harshly, 'I'm afraid you are not really the modest violet you pretend to be, but a most designing young woman, but don't be afraid, I won't give you away to the Aguilars. You're no worse than many others of your kind, of whom I've met more than a few. Who am I to grudge you a bit of fun before the dullness of an arranged marriage, only ... only I thought you were different.'

Catherine's anger flared up, drowning her pain. As he said, who was he to dare to criticise her? He had amused himself with her when he was promised to another girl, a girl whom he professed to love, though his love did not seem to include fidelity. Wanting to hit back, she flung at him,

'You like your bit of fun too, don't you? You're not exactly a faithful lover, even if you are prepared to fulfil Pilar's conditions. Didn't you let Akbar loose in the hope of gaining notoriety to help you towards that horrible career she has planned for you? Weren't you too running an occupational rids? Did it occur to you that he might easily have killed some innocent bystanders before you got him under control? You say I'm calculating, but you're even more so.'

'You think that?' he asked with a frown.

'I know it. So lucky that Senor Cassillis drove up at the right moment, or did you know he would be passing and put that show on purpose?'

He drew himself up and his face became a proud, cold mask.

'So that's what you think I am! But I will not stoop to justify myself.'

'Because you know you can't!' she cried recklessly, determined to hurt him as he had hurt her, though she did not actually believe what she was saying. She thought she had never seen him look more alien, more distant and more Spanish. 'When you were away I had occasion to go into Pilar's room. I found her mending a traje de luces.''

His eyes narrowed. 'Was she indeed?' There was an odd note in his voice which she could not interpret. He added casually, 'A suit of amber-coloured silk, perhaps?'

'So you know about it?' she enquired suspiciously, her fears mounting.

'Certainly I do. It belonged to poor Miguel Mendoza, who needs it no longer because he received a fatal cornado ... the horn.'

Catherine's eyes widened in horror. 'Oh no!' she gasped.

'Oh yes!' He laughed in cruel delight at her distress. 'So now that suit requires a man to wear it. Don't you think the colour will become me? And the dress cape that goes with it is magnificent. Pilar is looking forward to displaying it while I meet my fate below.'

'No, Cesar,' she cried distractedly, 'you can't ... you mustn't ... you've no experience. Don Salvador declared you wouldn't have a chance.'

He regarded her triumphantly. He had found a way to punish her for her accusations and he did not scruple to use it.

'But that should give your tender heart great satisfaction,' he jeered. 'The bulls will be avenged, the killer killed, the butcher spitted like a skewered fowl. Can't you see the red stains on that golden coat?'

She could, and covered her eyes with her hands to shut out the picture that he had conjured up.

'Please don't ... you ... you're torturing me,' she whispered.

Regarding her curiously, he asked, 'You don't like to think of me as a mangled corpse, despicable though you believe me to be?'

She flung back her head and looked at him, noting the cruel twist of his lips, the sardonic glint in his eyes. He was enjoying her anguish. His overweening Latin pride could not stomach an affront, and she had affronted him in more ways than one. She doubted very much that he had really capitulated to Pilar's persuasions or had any intention of accepting an offer from Cassillis. She remembered that he had told Don Salvador that he would not be such a fool, but he thought he had found a weapon with which to stab her, and since she had betrayed her concern, he was remorselessly turning the knife in the wound. What hurt her most was the realisation that he wanted to hurt her, and had piled on the horrific details with that intention. Reason reasserting itself, she was able to say calmly, 'I believe you hate the corrida as much as I do, and I don't think you're so weak as to give way about it.'

'Just now you said I had schemed for an opportunity,' he reminded her. 'You're being inconsistent, Catalina, but if I don't become a torero, how else can a poor vaquero like myself aspire to Pilar de Aguilar? It's a case of win or die, and I shall probably die.'

Whatever else was false, she knew now he was not a poor man. 'Rubbish,' she exclaimed vigorously, 'you're no more a poor vaquero than I am. I learned last night that your expectations are greater than Jose's.'

His eyes narrowed to mere slits. 'Only last night, Catalina?'

Yes, only last night.'

'I think you lie. I suspect that you've known all about my prospects from the beginning and when you thought you attracted me, that scheming little brain of yours got to work. You decided I was a better proposition than he is.'

She recoiled, unable to credit his meaning. 'César, how can you ...?'

'Oh, I can. And I know how to treat rapacious females. So I assure you that there's nothing doing. My kisses were merely experimental. You liked them, didn't you?' She turned away with a stricken look, putting her hands over her ears, but she could not shut out that sarcastic, mocking voice 'But don't let them put ideas into your head. I'm not for sale.'

'You're horrible!' she whispered. 'At least Jose is kind, he'd never be cruel like you are.'

'Don't you delude yourself,' he returned. 'Cross him and you'll find he can be as cruel and vengeful as you seem to think I am.'

He was proud, cruel and vindictive, and she had thought she loved him. Her eyes fell on the doves strutting at their feet. Yet he could be gentle with the birds. Like Don Salvador, he was full of contradictions. He made a sudden movement towards her, cupping her face with his hands, staring searchingly into her eyes. She met his gaze steadily, with her eyes full of infinite reproach, and he laughed harshly.

'Almost I could believe I was wrong about you—did it take much practice to learn that guileless expression?' His hands dropped to her shoulders and she saw flame leap into his eyes. 'Por Dios, Catalina, if Jose wasn't my friend, I'd take you from him.' His hands tightened, digging into her flesh, and her treacherous body began to tremble, responding to his touch. 'And I could too, for you can't resist me,' again that harsh unmirthful laugh, 'and when I'd finished with you, I'd throw you away, like this.' He thrust her away from him so violently that she nearly fell, and she sank down upon the rim of the basin feeling shattered. The rising sun was throwing shafts of gold across the sky, but the patio was still bathed in purple shadow, the doves were cooing softly.

'I don't want to marry Jose,' she said dully.

'You mean you'd rather marry me,' he told her bluntly, and the betraying colour rushed into her face. 'You're not the first woman who has made up to me with her eyes on the dollars, only always before I've known it was the dollars she was after right from the start. Cook my meals and darn my socks!' he laughed derisively. 'That's the last thing you'd want to do for your husband, you're out for the big house, the servants, the jewels, but don't be too greedy or you may lose what you've worked so hard to get. The Aguilars aren't blind, and I gather you too have been censured, so I'm afraid you'll get no more of my kisses on the sly, and you'd better control your wanton impulses.' He made her a mocking bow and went from her, striding through the alarmed doves, which rose in a fluttering cloud from under his feet.

Catherine remained by the fountain feeling as if a hurricane had passed over her, leaving her bruised and battered physically and mentally. One of the doves, emboldened by her stillness, flew up beside her and looked at her inquisitively out of its bright eyes. Then, there being no one to see, she wept, her scalding tears running down her face unheeded, to mingle with the water in the fountain's basin.

Due to the flurry of preparation downstairs, Catherine's morning coffee and rolls were brought to her room, a dispensation for which she was thankful, for she had no wish to encounter Cesar over the breakfast table. Trying to sort out the chaotic impressions of their early morning meeting, she was at a loss to account for Cesar's vindictive attitude. Even if she were betrothed to Jose, as he had evidently been told, why was he so incensed about it... unless he cared? But that was impossible. No man who had the slightest regard for a woman could say the cruel things that he had said to her with the obvious intention of wounding her. The conclusion to which she was forced was very far from flattering him. Edwina had said he was spoiled, he expected every woman to fall at his feet, and though his attentions to her had not been serious, his vanity was stung because she had passed him over for another man, or so he imagined. Regarding that, she wanted desperately to seek him out and make him understand that she had no intention of accepting Jose de Aguilar, that she had been unaware of Edwina's plans for her until the very night when he himself had been informed of them. But she knew she could not do so. He would only think, as he had already suggested, that she was repudiating Jose in the hope of capturing a still more wealthy suitor.

She reviewed her own conduct with burning cheeks. She had been taught that a modest girl should make no advances to a man, but should wait to be wooed, and she had cheapened herself by yielding to Cesar's kisses—that was what had given him ideas. She had been unable to fight the strong physical attraction that existed between them, of which she had been aware from the first moment of meeting him, and that she had some sort of lure for him was obvious, incredible though it was. She supposed that her reserve, her careful upbringing had presented him with yet another challenge, and he had set himself to conquer her resistance. Not only had he succeeded, but he knew he had, and with masculine contrariness despised her for her weakness.

Over and over again his words returned to her ... 'I could take you ... you can't resist me.' The arrogance of that statement made her quiver with outrage, but even while he had uttered them, she had trembled under his hands. She loathed herself, she loathed him, he was a vain, heartless flirt, and Pilar would be well matched and she did not care if he did perish in the bull ring. But at that point in her thoughts, her heart rebelled, she did care, she could not bear to think of him being killed or maimed, and she did not yet know what he had decided to do. He had refused to justify himself saying he was too proud, but she too had some remnants of pride left and they were all she had now to sustain her. Perhaps when she had gone and no engagement to Jose had materialised, he would realise how he had misjudged her; that could be her only comfort.

Meanwhile there were still nearly two weeks to get through before she could escape from this house that had become hateful to her, and she hoped he would have the decency to avoid her. Catherine felt terribly alone, for even Edwina had proved treacherous, her scheme to forge a link between herself and the Aguilars had obviously been a long cherished dream, for the fulfilment of which she had carefully groomed Catherine, with no regard for her feelings or where her real happiness lay. She had no difficulty in identifying Don Salvador as Edwina's first love, and felt they were both in league against her. Yet she had to admit that Edwina's expectations had not been wholly unreasonable, for if César had not been in Spain, she might easily have fallen for Jose, since he would have been the first presentable young male that she had been allowed to meet. If only she had! Going back to their conversation at Valdega, she remembered how much she had liked him and approved of his wish to improve the lot of his people, and how unkindly his grandfather had spoken to him. She might have been able to console and support him, if she had loved him, but the heart will not listen to reason or convenience. Fate and Cesar had intervened, and for all his hurtful ways she knew she could never contemplate giving herself to another man. She would live all her days in the single state which she had always foreseen for herself. Once the Feria was over, she would shake the red dust of Andalusia from her sandals and leave César and his problematical destiny behind her for ever.

Edwina came to fetch her and reluctantly she went to face the bedlam downstairs. The Aguilar clan came flocking into the Casa, and Catherine found it was impossible to grasp who was who. Her hand was shaken by innumerable short, dark men, her cheeks kissed by a crowd of small, plump women. All day long the house was thronged with coming and going, a succession of meals being served to more distant connections, who arrived at all hours, and resounded with the babble of excited voices. Catherine's head was aching long before the actual ceremony, which took place at six o'clock in the evening. The church was crammed with a loudly chattering crowd, who did not trouble to lower their voices. There was no separation of the bride's and groom's relations, and only the older women obtained a seat. The air in the dark, over-ornate church was heavy with the scent of flowers and incense. The candles on the altar and before the various images made spears of flame amid the murk. Catherine clung to Edwina's arm, feeling faint and sick, the aftermath of her sleepless night and the scene with Cesar catching up with her. Edwina ruthlessly commandeered a chair and pushed her on to it.

'Bear up, Kit, we won't stay long,' she promised her, 'but we must see the bride.'

Cameras were allowed inside the church, which created the illusion that they were witnessing the making of a super-film, and when Inez appeared, to be greeted by a battery of flashing bulbs, she looked like the star of it. She wore white satin, with a long lace veil which reached to her heels, and a long train borne by pages. Jewels sparkled at her throat, in her ears and upon her arms. Ricardo wore full evening dress with tails and a white tie. Edwina and Catherine were at the back of the church, for the wedding service would be followed by a nuptial mass in which they could not take part, so they saw little of the actual ceremony.

'I think we might slip out now,' Edwina whispered at length, and Catherine rose with relief. The plaza surrounding the church was still bright with sunlight which made her blink after the dimness of the church and it was still hot. She wished that she had not to face the meal which would follow, and was surprisingly called 'lunch', but could think of no excuse to evade it that would not offend their hosts. After all, Inez's wedding was the official reason for their visit to Seville.

The reception was held in the private room of a restaurant. When the guests were assembled, the bride made a dramatic entrance and was greeted with loud applause. Not beautiful, like her sister was, Inez nevertheless looked very handsome, with bright colour in her cheeks, and her great dark eyes fairly blazing with excitement. This was her great day, there would never be another like it, for marriages in Spain were for ever. Edwina, who knew many of the guests, was jabbering away in Spanish and appeared to be enjoying herself, but Catherine sat silent, her headache increasing during the long, elaborate meal, and never had she felt more alien. When the toasts had been drunk, Edwina noticed her pallor and suggested that they should leave.

'Wish Inez joy, and then we'll creep away. Our going won't be noticed,' she told her.

Catherine diffidently approached the glowing bride. To her surprise, Inez, who had always held a little aloof from her, kissed her warmly on both cheeks.

'Mil gracias for the picture. Is beautiful, I shall cherish it.'

Edwina had procured from England a framed reproduction of Constable's 'Cornfield' and presented it from them both. Catherine wondered how that typically English scene would look on the walls of a Sevillian flat, but Inez had been delighted with it. As she reached the exit, she looked back at the crowded room, searching for the one face that she had been conscious of throughout the proceedings. She had not seen him in church, it had been too dark, but she had glimpsed him during the meal, looking gallant and debonair, complimenting some of the prettier girls. Now it was almost over, and the guests had scattered, the men separated from the women as was usual in Spanish gatherings, and Cesar was standing amid a group of the younger men laughing and talking animatedly, looking far more distinguished than the perspiring bridegroom. No trace of the morning's stress was discernible upon his smooth, olive face, he looked happy and carefree. All thought of her and her supposed perfidy had been banished from his mind.

Catherine gave a long sigh as she followed Edwina out into the velvet night. Pilar, she thought, would make a gorgeous bride. She could imagine her in white satin, lace and diamonds standing by Cesar's side, the cynosure of all eyes, including his, with adoration in their dark depths, but thank God she would not be there to see them.

CHAPTER SIX

The wedding disposed of, the household spent several quiet days before plunging into the gaiety of the Feria, during which time Catherine saw Cesar occasionally at meals and in the sala, but he never looked at her or spoke to her if he could avoid it, which he usually did. She schooled herself to return his indifference, but his possible presence was an ordeal that she had to face daily.

The red spotted dress hung in her cupboard, and Don Salvador had again indicated very plainly that he expected her to wear it. She would much rather have worn her own clothes, but as she meant to oppose him strongly upon the major issue of becoming engaged to Jose, she felt it was diplomatic to give way upon unimportant matters, though she had never felt less festive. Her host had said nothing to her himself, since he had so devastatingly parted her from Cesar, and she waited anxiously for him to open the attack, for she was sure that he would do so before she left. Often when she was in the room with him, she was aware of his eyes upon her with a considering look, and she had to check an involuntary shiver. He made her think of a falcon preparing to swoop, and she was certain he had not accepted Edwina's plea to give her time to think the matter over, but would try to force an affirmative answer from her.

On the first morning of the Feria Catherine came down in her borrowed finery in time to see Cesar and Pilar ride away to join the parade. The whole family assembled on the steps outside the front door to watch their departure. Pilar was a dazzling vision of loveliness. Her dress was white with coloured borders to her flounces, her golden hair was piled high on her head and crowned with white flowers. Being so dark, Cesar was a perfect foil to her. He wore flamenco dress, the short jacket, frilled shirt, tight flared trousers and broad sash, with a wide-brimmed Cordoban hat, and looked incredibly handsome. Don Salvador had provided for their mount one of his most beautiful horses, a pure white stallion, with a long feathery tail and big dark eyes. It was difficult to decide which of the trio was the best-looking, all three being perfect specimens of human and equine grace and beauty. Pilar sat sideways behind her cavalier, radiant with happiness, holding on to the crupper which was fitted under the horse's tail. Catherine watched them admiringly, stifling her own pain. The couple were made for each other and Don Salvador was beaming upon them with possessive pride.

They disappeared into the crowded streets, and Catherine followed with Edwina on foot, for they had not far to go and cars were not permitted to enter the fairground. Catherine felt uncomfortably conspicuous in her spotted flounces, until she noticed that every second girl was similarly clad, and they were not all Spanish girls either. Many horses passed them, some carrying a double burden, others ridden solo by either men or women. There were also open carriages filled with pretty girls, whose flounced dresses hung over the back and sides of their conveyances to prevent them from becoming crushed. Over all was the blue sky and the streets were drenched with golden sunshine. The whole city seemed as carefree and light-hearted as it had been sombre and emotional during the Semana Sancta. The gaiety around her was infectious, and Catherine felt her spirits rise, she was young and the day promised to be diverting.

Groups of tourists went by, cameras clicking, and upon reaching the fair, a medley of discordant sounds enveloped them, the wild strains of the flamenco rising above the din of children misusing toy instruments and the blare of organs from the roundabouts. A group of girls in spotted dresses began to dance beside them in the roadway, a spontaneous outburst of joie de vivre. They danced wildly, bare, sinuous arms raised above dark heads, skirts awhirl, vibrating with passion and seduction. The onlookers in the vicinity began to clap in rhythm with the snapping castanets, and Catherine's feet itched to join in, while a tide of excitement began to course through her veins.

'Gitanas—gypsies,' Edwina described the girls. She too was clapping vigorously. 'Everyone goes a little mad during the Feria,' she excused herself.

The fair consisted of a vast town of hundreds of kiosks and pavilions arranged in rows and decorated with flags, flowers and lanterns. The roadway between the pavilions, or casetas as they were called, was covered with golden sand. Many of the casetas were privately owned by families or clubs, where they entertained their friends or members. The Aguilars possessed one, where Edwina told Catherine they could obtain refreshment, but caseta time was in the evening, when the merrymaking went on until dawn.

They joined the spectators to watch the parade which took place at midday, a procession of glossy horses, lovely girls and handsome men. Pilar noticed them and waved to them gaily, but Cesar looked stonily ahead; his mount at that moment seemed to be causing him some difficulty to control.

In the afternoon there was to be a bullfight which most of the family was attending, so Catherine returned to the Casa to rest before the evening's entertainment, with Jose escorting her.

'This is Sevilla en fete,' he told her. Tonight you will at last hear flamenco properly sung.'

'I'm looking forward to that,' she said. 'I've already seen some dancing.'

'Amateurish stuff,' he was critical, 'but there will be some professional dancing tonight. Your dress becomes you, Senorita Catalina.'

'I don't feel I ought to be wearing it,' she confessed, 'since I'm not Spanish.'

'You may become so,' he said, and looked at her so significantly out of his brown eyes that she quailed. It was the first indication that he had given that he was aware of his grandfather's proposal. She said hurriedly,

'No, senor, whatever my outward appearance, I'll always be British at heart.'

'Quien sabe?' he murmured with a meaning glance.

But I do know, she thought. However, it was not a subject that could be discussed in the open street, and when they reached the house he parted from her decorously with the wish that she would be well rested for the evening.

When she returned to the fair at dusk, it was a blaze of light from the thousands of fairy lights and lanterns strung across the place from side to side. She stood in a corner of the Aguilars' caseta, watching the entertainers perform in the cleared space in the centre. She saw the seguidilla and the sevillana, spirited dances in which the girl flaunted her femininity and the man strutted with masculine arrogance, during which the manzanilla circulated freely. The pavilion was filled with Aguilar friends, the men standing close packed against the thin walls which vibrated to the thrum of guitars. Don Salvador sat in a canvas chair looking like a benign Jove dispensing hospitality, mostly in liquid form. Pilar, whose white frills were looking a little tired, was making eyes at a flashy-looking young Spaniard, Carlos Fonseca, over her fan, under Dona Luisa's watchful eye, but of Cesar there was no sign, until suddenly Catherine found he was beside her.

Her heart seemed to stop and then beat almost to suffocation. He was so near, almost touching her, but he seemed oblivious of her presence, watching the gipsy dancer who was performing in front of them, with his nostrils slightly flared, and breathing quickly. The music seemed to pulse through her veins, disturbing and stimulating, and it was having the same effect upon him, for he turned to her and she saw his eyes were alight with sensual excitement. Bending his dark head, he looked down into her upturned face, meeting her own eyes, grey and limpid as the northern sea on a cloudy day, and an electric current passed between them. He laughed recklessly and his compelling hand closed round her elbow.

'Come,' he commanded, and started to push a passage through the spectators drawing her after him. Catherine had no idea where he meant to take her or for what purpose. She did not care, everything was forgotten in the magic of his presence, the thrill of his touch. As Edwina had said, everyone went mad at Feria time. He led her out into the brilliance of the fairground where less professional dancing was in progress on the sanded paths, foreigners mingling with their hosts, but the same rhythms vibrated in the air, the same passionate, primitive undercurrents were motivating the laughing, whirling figures. A group of gipsies near to them were playing a turbulent air that stirred the blood. Cesar stared at her with dark, hypnotic eyes.

'Dance,' he ordered, and began to move in time to the music.

'I can't ... I don't know the steps,' she protested, but involuntarily her body began to sway and exhilaration surged through her limbs. Feet and arms moved without conscious volition, her folk dancing steps seeming to fit into the tune. Spanish dancing is a blend of lasciviousness and pride, and is always dramatic, and Cesar's dancing was no exception. Hands on hips, arrogant head thrown back, he slowly circled her, an embodiment of both. His eyes, glittering and intense, stared into hers, seeming to pierce to her innermost being. He was so close to her that their bodies nearly touched, but never actually did so. Totally abandoned to the pulsing rhythm, she saw nothing except his dark face, so near to hers, while wave upon wave of intense emotion surged through her. She was as much possessed by him as if she had lain in his arms, while the harsh, strident music set every nerve in her body quivering. Yet he had not put a finger upon her since they had begun to dance, he did not need to, they were locked in a closer communion than any mere physical contact.

How long it lasted, that barbaric dance, she never knew, and barbaric it was—a flaunting of naked desire to which she was responding with an abandon of which she had not dreamed she was capable. Time and place had ceased to be, they were elemental man and woman wrapped in a flame of passion. When a horde of young Anglo-Saxons came charging down upon them uttering most unSpanish Oles, she experienced a dart of almost physical pain as the intangible chain that bound her to Cesar snapped, and the spell was broken. She faltered, stumbled, and Cesar stopped, pushing his dishevelled hair back from his brow.

'I must have drunk too much manzanilla,' she gasped.

'I was drunk too,' he said sombrely, 'but not with wine.'

He looked down into her face with the slumbrous, sensuous look that always made her heart race. She was trembling and excited by the unique experience that had befallen her, for during that exhilarating dance it had seemed as if the actual essence of her being had mingled with his. Her eyes shone like stars in her flushed face, made beautiful by the love glowing within her.

'Mi corazon, mi amada,'' Cesar said hoarsely, and her heart leaped.

'Senor, por favor, un peseta!'

A ragged urchin was pulling at Cesar's sash, choosing this unpropitious moment to beg, and César seemed to rouse himself from some fantastic dream, while Catherine looked pityingly at the ill-clad little figure, which was beseeching their charity, with enormous hungry eyes.

'I haven't my bag with me,' she said to Cesar. 'Could you give him something?'

He pulled a handful of small change out of his pocket and thrust it into the outstretched claw-like hand.

'There, be off with you,' he said in Spanish, and the child scuttled away into the crowd, clutching his unexpected bounty.

Cesar's face had become cold and stern, and all the passion had faded from his eyes.

'Ay de mi, Catalina,' he said heavily, 'he has brought me to my senses. I apologise for forgetting myself. There's too much primitive passion in all this throbbing and thrumming, it drives me mad,' and Catherine, the convent-bred, the modest self-effacing girl, told him frankly,

'I loved your madness,' completely oblivious of the implication of her words. She saw he was looking at her quizzically and her eyes pleaded with him for understanding. He made an impatient movement.

'Where's that jackass Jose?' he asked curtly. 'Por Dios, I would not allow my girl to roam the Feria with another man. He seems to be a very complacent novio.' He turned from her abruptly and began to walk towards the caseta.

Desperately she sought for the right words to dispel his misapprehension.

'What Don Salvador told you wasn't true ...' she began, but he cut her short.

'I don't want to hear your excuses. For a little while I had forgotten ... the facts of life,' he laughed a little wildly. 'I was living in the might-have-been, but it was only a game.'

Only a game ... Her heart sank; he had been amusing himself by trying to rouse her, and she had played along with him, responding in a way no nice girl should have done. A wave of passionate indignation surged through her. He had no right to treat her so, she was not a puppet to be made to dance to whatever tune he chose to call. She stopped.

'Cesar, you must, you shall listen to me ...' she told him firmly.

'Oh, there you are!' It was Edwina's voice, and she came hurrying towards them, pushing her way through the crowd. She looked accusingly at César. 'Really, Cesar, you should know better than to wander off like this!'

The senorita found the caseta too hot,' he returned coolly, 'and she was quite safe with me.'

They walked the short distance in resentful silence, while Catherine inwardly bemoaned the ill luck that had brought her aunt upon the scene at such an inopportune moment. She might never have another chance to come to an understanding with Cesar.

The caseta was densely packed with men; the women had left. In the centre of the floor, a white-clad girl was singing in a deep husky voice vibrant with sex to the ubiquitous guitar. The last of Catherine's exhilaration ebbed away with the colour from her cheeks. She was exhausted and spent.

'It's time we went back to the Casa,' Edwina said, and she nodded miserably. César had gone from them at once, straight to Don Salvador, who, in spite of his age and the late hour, was looking remarkably spry. The air was heavy with cigar smoke, through the haze of which Jose materialised beside them.

'Let me have the honour of escorting you home,' he said.

Edwina thanked him and the trio set forth to walk the short distance back, while the merrymaking continued all around them, would continue until daybreak. Catherine's spirits had sunk to zero. Cesar had given her no parting look; he was absorbed in laughing and chatting with the old man who had driven a wedge between them. Their dance meant nothing to him, it was merely an entertaining episode during which he had deliberately provoked her to self-betrayal for his own amusement. That he believed she was betrothed to Jose made his conduct even more deplorable. He had demonstrated his hold over her, even while he despised her for her supposed mercenary motives, and now, his vanity appeased, he had gone back to Don Salvador and Pilar. He would never have dared to treat Pilar as he had treated her, nor would the Spanish girl have so forgotten her dignity. Catherine was overwhelmed with shame and the knowledge that much as she would have liked to do so, she could not hate César. In spite of his cruelty and injustice, in spite of her vain clutchings at pride and dignity, she knew now that she loved him hopelessly and irrevocably, and all he felt for her was scorn.

The Seville Fair lasted for the best part of a week, but Catherine did not visit it again, for she developed the gastric trouble which so often affects tourists in the south and was glad of the excuse to keep to her room. Dona Luisa paid her visits of condolence, Pilar, shorter and more perfunctory ones. Jose and Don Salvador sent sympathetic messages, but from Cesar came no word at all. Catherine had only one thought, to be well enough to travel on the Monday after the Feria, as arranged, for she felt that she could not bear to stay any longer at the Casa Aguilar. Edwina assured her that she would be so. A few days' rest and careful dieting would see her over her trouble and they would travel slowly so as not to overtax her strength.

She never referred to either of the two young men, but talked of what they would do upon their return. They would break their, journey at Andorra, and spend a few weeks in the mountain air which would be reviving after the heat of the plains. Catherine was grateful to her for her forbearance, but during the hours that she spent alone, for she insisted that Edwina must not miss all the fun upon her account, she thought constantly of Cesar. As she lay on her balcony on a wicker chaise-longue brought up from the patio for her benefit, the splashing of the fountain and the cooing of the doves spoke to her of him. She was forever peering down into the patio's sunlit space, hoping to glimpse him, straining her ears to catch the sound of his voice, but she did neither. He was enjoying the Fiesta without thought of her, enticing some other girl to dance with him and assuage the primitive emotions aroused by the throbbing of the guitars. She remembered the song he had sung upon her first night in Seville.

Cor' sin amor—heart without love.

But her heart was not without love, for Cesar had taught her what love was, its yearning, its pain and its ecstasy. He was adept at awaking feelings which he did not return, she thought wryly. But perhaps the song did not mean that at all, but an incapacity for loving. She knew that she was only too capable, but what of César? Could he really love a woman deeply and tenderly, did he love Pilar so? It seemed unlikely since he was so ready to seek diversion with other girls. She knew so little about the opposite sex. The nuns were apt to condemn all mankind as wicked, but then they had renounced all contact with it, so naturally they were biased.

Catherine felt a flood of bitter resentment against Edwina for the way in which she had been brought up. She should have been allowed to mingle freely with young people of both sexes and to form her own values. As it was she was so ignorant of the ways of the world, and an easy victim for anyone who was unscrupulous enough to tamper with her emotions.

' 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.' The quotation was dredged up from some recess of her memory, and she recognised its truth. Shamed and broken-hearted, she would not be without her love for Cesar. Only in his company had she really come to life.

They did not leave on the Monday. The same indisposition that had laid Catherine low attacked Edwina, and she was very much more seriously ill. Like most people who normally never ail, she thought she was even worse than she actually was. Though barely recovered herself, Catherine nursed her devotedly. It seemed strange to her to have this strong, virile woman as weak as a kitten and oddly touching. For the first time in her short life, Catherine had someone entirely dependent upon her, and as Edwina's condition worsened, she realised how much she loved and relied upon her, and how desolate she would be if her adopted mother died. The Aguilars' family physician attended her and shook his head as her temperature continued to rise. She was so strong, the fever had much to feed upon. He gave her opiates and said they could only wait for it to abate. He suggested sending a nurse, but Catherine refused the offer, jealously proclaiming her right to tend Edwina. She had her bed moved into the sick woman's room and stayed with her by night and day.

On the fourth evening, Edwina seemed more than usually restless, but when Catherine wanted to give her an opiate, she waved it away.

'I must talk,' she murmured. 'There are things to be done.' Her sunken eyes stared at Catherine's. 'I think ... I'm going to die.'

'No, of course you're not,' Catherine insisted. 'Drink this and go to sleep. In the morning you'll be better.' She hoped she spoke the truth, but she was frightened. 'You mustn't leave me alone,' she went on desperately. 'You're all I've got.'

'Morning too late,' Edwina muttered. She raised her head with difficulty. 'You must not be alone. Fetch Don Salvador.'

'It ... it's very late,' Catherine faltered. 'I can't disturb him.'

'He will come ... if you say I need him ... please ... do as I say.'

The master's room was in the opposite wing to Pilar's. Though it was past midnight, Catherine knew that he would only have just gone to bed. She had undressed, hoping to get a little sleep when Edwina finally dozed, and wore her wrap over her nightdress. She crept along the corridor to Don Salvador's room. Only an emergency would have sent her upon such an errand, but she knew Edwina would not rest until her wish was fulfilled.

He bade her enter in answer to her timid knock and she nervously pushed the door ajar. Wrapped in a brocade gown, the old man was perusing a leather-bound book by the light of a single reading lamp on a small table. The room was huge, running the whole width of the wing. Dimly seen in the background was a vast fourposter bed; huge too were the several pieces of furniture in Spanish chestnut, standing like leviathans against the shadowy walls. On the wall directly behind him were twin portraits of his dead sons. They were not good paintings, having been done from photographs after the subjects' decease, but they depicted the narrow high-bred Aguilar faces, and their insolent air of arrogance.

Seeing her standing hesitating in the doorway, Don Salvador rose to his feet.

'Catalina, what is it? Your mother?'

'She's asked for you.'

'I will come.' He put a marker in his book and motioned to her to precede him.

'She is worse?' he asked as they traversed the corridor. 'Should I ring for Doctor Manares?'

'I don't think he could do anything. I think she has something on her mind.'

'That is quite possible.'

He followed her into Edwina's room, and at sight of him, her face broke into a smile that almost beautified it, and she held out her hand to him.

'Old friend ...'

He sat down beside her, taking her hand in his.

'What is it, amada?'

The endearment made Catherine feel oddly embarrassed. She glanced at the door, wondering if she should leave them, but Edwina called to her in a stronger voice, 'Kit, come here.'

She went to the further side of the bed, taking the other hand which Edwina held out to her. Lying between them, breathing hoarsely, the sick woman looked from one to the other.

'Salvador ... you will take care of Kit ... when I'm gone?'

The Don's dark eyes flickered over the pale girl with a gleam of triumph.

'Certainly I will. She shall be my granddaughter, the Casa is her home.'

Catherine froze. She wanted to cry out that she was quite capable of looking after herself, that she hated Spain and loathed the Casa, that she had been counting the days until she could leave it, but she could say nothing that would distress the invalid.

Edwina turned her eyes to look at Catherine. 'Yes ... she must marry Jose, then she will be safe.'

'You know that that is my earnest wish,' Don Salvador told her, 'but the lady is undecided.'

'Kit ...' Edwina's hand tightened on hers, please ... to set my mind at rest... promise ...'

Catherine was silent, her heart crying out in protest. This was sheer blackmail.

'Please ...' Edwina moved restlessly in the bed, her face flushed, and the hand Catherine held seemed to burn her. 'I can't leave you alone ... loneliness is too hard ... I know ... they both went... Simon... Caroline. Marry Jose, Kit, then you won't be alone ... friendship is safer ... than love ... promise.'

Don Salvador looked at Catherine. 'You should set her mind at rest,' he told her sternly.

'She's wandering,' Catherine said faintly, 'she doesn't really mean it.'

'She does mean it,' his voice was a sibilant whisper, his eyes fixed upon her were willing her to agree. 'Always it has been her dearest wish. Would you deny her ... when she is dying?'

Catherine moistened her lips. 'She mustn't die,' she murmured.

'You are not helping her to live. Have you no gratitude for her care of you?'

'Gratitude?' Edwina caught the word. 'Young people are never grateful... they take all our care ... and thoughts ... they give nothing ...' Her voice died away in senseless mutterings.

'Oh, darling, I'm not ungrateful,' Catherine cried, sinking on to her knees beside the bed, and holding Edwina's hand to her cheek. 'Do drink your medicine, then you'll sleep, and perhaps tomorrow ...'

'Too late,' Edwina murmured.

'No.' She sprang to her feet and went to fetch the medicine glass. 'Darling, please!'

Edwina pushed the glass away. 'Promise ...'

'Yes ... anything ... only drink.'

Edwina gave a long sigh and relaxed. Catherine raised her head and held the glass to her lips. Her aunt drank. She laid her back upon the pillows, smoothing the short greying hair from her brow, and Edwina smiled beatifically.

'You've made me very happy,' she murmured.

Slowly, while they watched her, her restless movements ceased as the sedative took effect and she sank into sleep. Time passed, while they sat beside her, the old man and the young girl, their eyes fixed upon the quiet face, waiting for some change. Then as the first light began to creep through the slats of the blinds, Don Salvador reached for Edwina's wrist and felt her pulse. Then he laid his hand upon her forehead and looked at Catherine with a smile.

'The fever is abating,' he said, 'she will live.'

Tears of thankfulness rose to Catherine's eyes. 'You're sure?'

'Yes. I have experience of these sort of attacks. The great thing is to keep the mind tranquil.' He rose awkwardly to his feet, and Catherine moved to help him.

'You're stiff with sitting.'

He waved her away. 'It is nothing.' He stood looking at her fixedly. 'She will sleep for a long time, and you had better rest yourself. You need it.' He raised his hand and touched her soft hair. 'Mi nieta.'

Granddaughter. Catherine had to resist an impulse to jerk her head away from those gnarled fingers that seemed to her over-wrought imagination like predatory claws.

'A promise made under duress isn't binding,' she said quietly.

'There was no duress,' he returned as quietly, 'and you will keep yours.'

He passed like a sinister shadow from the room, leaving her staring after him with rising apprehension.

Edwina began to recover once the fever had left her, but she was very weak and it would be some time before she was ready to undertake the long journey home. Catherine was doubtful if she remembered what had passed between her and Don Salvador on that fatal night. It seemed she did not, for she began to talk about their return, and the next expedition they would undertake together. Catherine began to hope that the whole episode was forgotten, but Dona Luisa, who was always dropping in odd moments to see how the invalid was progressing, gave her a rude jolt. Edwina had been moved out on to the balcony to enjoy the sun and Catherine was tidying her room, when the Spanish woman came in.

'She's outside,' Catherine told her, 'and a great deal better.'

'Yes ... yes ... soon she will be able to come downstairs. We must have a party to celebrate your noviazgo, Catalina. I am most pleased,' and she reached up to embrace the girl.

Catherine's heart sank.

'Noviazgo ... engagement?' she faltered.

'Yes. Mi padre has told me. Am delighted.'

'There's been a mistake,' Catherine said vigorously. 'I'm not engaged.'

Dona Luisa laughed. 'Ah, you are shy, perhaps? But we understand. I am most glad Jose will have such a modest wife, and you are so dutiful, you have nursed your mother with such devotion. We all admire you.'

There was no shaking her, nor, Catherine discovered, the rest of the household. Her denials met with tolerant smiles and significant nods and winks. The Inglesa was coy and perhaps a little proud, she did not want to seem too eager. José had so much to offer, she would not wish to appear too quick to grasp her good fortune, for when Prince Charming threw his considerable possessions and ancient name at Cinderella's feet, Cinderella could be expected to be a little overcome, but as for refusing him ... and then, no girl in her right mind would be such a fool. She dared not appeal to Edwina, fearing to set back her recovery, and when her aunt said with a look of joy in her eyes,

'Luisa says you have decided to accept Jose. Oh, Catherine, you don't know how glad I am!' She felt trapped. She could not insist that Dona Luisa was mistaken, but neither could she marry Jose, she could only stall, until Edwina was strong enough to bear the disappointment of her refusal.

Upon Edwina's first appearance downstairs—she came one afternoon to sit in the patio—Don Salvador and Dona Luisa brought Jose to present himself to her. To Catherine's horror, he solemnly thanked them both for the great honour that had been done him by bestowing her hand upon him. Glancing at Edwina's radiant face, and noticing that she still looked pitifully frail, Catherine felt she could say nothing in repudiation. She merely bowed her head.

Jose spoke courteously, but he showed no great enthusiasm. If he loved her as Edwina had declared, he concealed it extraordinarily well. Actually his face bore no expression at all, and his eyes had a withdrawn look. Catherine doubted that his affections were involved. She determined to find a chance to speak to him alone and explain how the mistake had arisen. She did not think he would be much concerned, though no doubt his Spanish pride and sense of propriety would be offended, but the opportunity was long in coming. Caring for Edwina still took a great deal of her time and she was not, according to the conventions, supposed to see her novio unchaperoned. She had not yet fully recovered her own health and energy and the atmosphere of the south made her languid. She put off what must be at best a difficult interview, realising to the full the Spanish inclination to postpone everything to 'mamma.'

Rather to her relief, throughout these uneasy days, she did not see Cesar. He was not at the Casa, nor did anyone mention his name in her hearing. She wanted desperately to know where he was and what he was doing, but there was no one whom she dared ask. Pilar said once that she hoped he was enjoying Madrid, but it must be very hot in the capital. All her dormant doubts sprang into life. Had he gone to see Cassillis? Pilar did not seem to be missing him, she was always badgering her grandfather to allow Carlos Fonseca to take her to one of his night clubs, another activity of that enterprising young man, but the suggestion appalled the old man, neither did he approve of the Fonsecas.

One evening Don Salvador called Catherine into his study, when he saw her coming downstairs. She had never been into it before and it instantly repelled her. It was a sanctuary dedicated to the bull. There were prints of corridas on the walls, intermingling with photographs of prize Aguilar bulls. Mounted bulls horns hung above the old man's massive desk, on which was a silver figurine of a fighting bull, crest raised and head lowered. There were some bookcases, but they contained only volumes about cattle raising and the technique of bullfighting. The room, despite the open window, smelt of tobacco and leather.

'Sit down, Catalina,' he said as she stood before him, looking distastefully about her. She sank into a round, leather-covered chair and saw that he was fumbling with a small jewel case. 'I wish to make you a little present in token of my great esteem for you,' he told her. 'The way you have tended your mother has been most noble. It is pleasant in these unregenerate days to see such filial devotion.'

He opened the case and she stared blankly at the bracelet it contained, a circle of gold heavily studded with diamonds that sparkled in the light.

'It... it's beautiful, senor,' she stammered, 'but... but it must be very valuable.'

He raised his bushy brows. 'But of course it is valuable.

I would not give you trash. Allow me to put it on for you.'

She had much ado not to shrink, as he bent over her arm, which mechanically she had extended towards him, such was the compelling force of his dark eyes. He clasped the bracelet round her wrist, and it felt cold and heavy like a fetter. Catherine wanted to refuse to accept it, but she could not refuse without offending him, and both she and Edwina were deeply in his debt for his unfailing hospitality throughout their illnesses. She stared at its glowing beauty with faint repugnance. It was too ornate an ornament for Catherine Carruthers, and her slim wrist looked too fragile to support its weight.

Don Salvador drew back looking very pleased with himself.

'It becomes you,' he said (she did not agree). He looked at her meaningly. 'Jose's wife will wear all the family jewels.'

'But I shall not be Jose's wife,' she faltered.

He gave her a long, hard stare. 'Your mother believes so, and I do not think you dare tell her otherwise,' he said coldly. 'Besides, you have given your word.'

She was silent, twisting the bracelet on her wrist. She did not mean to keep her word, but he need not know that yet, not until they were both safely in Andorra, for Edwina still proposed to make that trip. Once they had left the Casa and its oppressive atmosphere, she would find the energy and courage to break free.

He chatted on for some moments, by no means displeased by her silence. A quiet modest girl, he thought, but not without pride and dignity. She would never disgrace his name that would soon be hers if all went well. Then he courteously dismissed her and she went out into the patio, wearing the bracelet that she dared not immediately discard. It was still some time until dinner would be served. Edwina had gone upstairs to an early bed. Catherine would join her later for a meal served in her room. The patio was empty; she had no idea where the others were, and she was glad of the solitude. It was a close, oppressive night, but the fountain gave an illusion of coolness. The sky was banked with cloud, with here and there a flash of lightning, producing an early darkness. Later there might be a storm, or more likely it would all roll away without the relief of rain.

Catherine sat down on the rim of the marble basin and wished that she had had the strength of mind to tell Don Salvador that nothing would induce her to marry Jose, and she was only playing along with him until Edwina was stronger. It would have been more honest, though there was the risk that he might in revenge have precipitated a crisis with her adoptive mother. How could one cope with such unpredictable people, she thought, who seemed to put emphasis on all the wrong feelings? She wished she could shake off the inertia that was sapping her will and courage; she wished the storm would break and create a welcome coolness.

Suddenly she became aware that she was no longer alone. A figure was standing under the arches, at sight of which her heart lurched. He was no more than a black shape against the faint light, but she would recognise that silhouette anywhere, and she wondered if he could see her. Apparently he could, for he came towards her, only the white of his shirt front distinguishable in the gloom and the red tip of the cigarillo he was smoking. He came to a halt beside her, and seemed to be trying to see her face through the encircling darkness. Catherine could not speak for the emotion the sight of him had awakened, which constricted her throat, nor did she know how to greet him. They had parted so coldly, yet before that parting they had been so close; she had relived in mingled shame and ecstasy every moment of that dance together. She wondered if he had been told that she was now officially engaged to José, and if he had come to congratulate her with that mixture of sarcasm and scorn which had formerly hurt her so. She felt that she could not endure further recrimination, but her legs seemed to lack the strength to get up and walk away. She stayed cowering on the rim of the basin, waiting for the double storm to break, the thunder and his revilings. He threw down his cigar and ground it out with his heel.

'Catalina ... it is you, isn't it?' he said gently. 'I'm so sorry to hear that you've been ill, and your mother also. I hope you are well now?'

A conventional opening, and remembering that he had never bothered to enquire about her, she was able to say resentfully,

'Your condolences come a little late. I've almost forgotten I've been ill.'

'I knew nothing about it until tonight. I left Seville immediately after ... after the last time I saw you. I have only just returned.'

So he had not stayed to enjoy the rest of the Feria, he had rushed away to the capital. Possibly he had received an urgent summons. Trying to keep her anxiety out of her voice, she said coolly, 'You had urgent business in Madrid, didn't you? I hope it was concluded satisfactorily,' and waited with bated breath for his reply.

'You've been misinformed, I had no call to go to Madrid,' and she felt a surge of relief. Cesar sat down beside her upon the rim of the basin. 'I've been in Portugal, catching sardines.'

'Is that really true?' she asked doubtfully. Bulls to sardines seemed rather an anti-climax.

'Perfectly. There are few experiences more restful than going out with the fishing fleet at night, providing there isn't a storm. An immensity of sea and sky gives ample opportunity for reflection upon life ... and love.'

'Did you need to reflect upon life?' She ignored the more significant word.

'And love,' he finished for her. 'Yes, I did. I have come to the conclusion that there is only one woman in a man's life who really counts, and if she is unworthy or unattainable, it's just too bad, but I came back to make quite sure that my love is both.'

She wrinkled her brows at this equivocal remark. Had he decided like de Lorge in the poem that Pilar was too vain and heartless to deserve his love? But even her inexperience knew that love was never influenced by worthiness, and surely Don Salvador meant to ensure that his granddaughter was attainable?

'Of course she's very young,' Cesar went on musingly, 'and perhaps I was over-hasty in judging her. She may have been subject to pressures, and I know she has a strong sense of duty.'

Catherine sighed. What he had said was very much her own case, but she had never noticed that Pilar was burdened with a sense of duty.

'I think Pilar is in the sala,' she suggested, thinking that Cesar was confiding in the wrong girl.

'She has gone out,' he informed her, 'and not, I understand, with her grandfather's permission. There will be fur flying when she returns.'

'But how disappointing for you ...'

'Is it?' He sounded surprised. 'Did you know that Pilar has become a soccer fan?'

'Oh no!' This was farcical.

'Oh yes, it seems you've been out of things since your illness. Actually Association is personified for Pilar in the form of Carlos Fonseca. Football here is in decline since the Government withdrew its support, but Fonseca hopes to finance a revival and plans a world tour for Real Madrid. Very enterprising young man is Carlos, and Pilar finds his plans amusing ... and modern. Of course there isn't the same glamour about watching football as the corrida, the players don't throw their caps to their girl-friends as the matador throws his montera, but I understand it is exciting, and as I haven't come up to scratch in the more spectacular line, I fancy I'm going to get my conge.'

He was speaking in a slightly mocking manner; with an edge to his voice, and Catherine thought she understood. He had come back intending to make a determined effort to win Pilar to his way of thinking, and he had found he was too late.

'Do you mean this Senor Fonseca has cut you out?' she asked anxiously, recalling that Carlos's name had been often on Pilar's lips of late.

'Cutting me out ...' he mused. 'That's an odd phrase, but I get your meaning. I'm afraid he has.'

'But that's impossible! He can't compare with you.' Catherine had seen Carlos at the Feria and had not been impressed by him.

'He doesn't live in Argentina,' Cesar pointed out, 'and I've no wish to live permanently in Spain, and certainly not on Pilar's terms.'

Then ... then she's unattainable after all?'

She felt rather than saw him shrug. 'She never was very forthcoming.'

'Cesar, I'm sorry ...' Catherine was genuinely sympathetic. 'I know how it hurts.'

'How what hurts? You're being a little obscure.'

'Well, weren't you engaged?'

'Not actually,' he said airily. 'I admit it was mooted and I came to Spain to be inspected in Senor de Aguilar's delightful old-fashioned way, the same way as you did, my dear, but I haven't qualified as you did.' He paused, then said seriously, 'Catalina, are you really going to marry Jose de Aguilar?'

'Cesar, I'm not ! I won't, and I'm not engaged, whatever they say.'

'Ah!' He drew a deep breath. 'I'm glad to hear it, but Dona Luisa seems to think otherwise. I met her when I came in and she gave me all the news. She says your mother is delighted.'

'That's just it, it's because of her that this situation has arisen. You see, she was very ill, and that's what makes it all so dreadfully difficult.'

He caught the note of desperation in her voice. 'Tell me about it,' he said, so kindly that she stared at him in disbelief, but she could not see his face.

'Do you really want to hear?'

'Yes, very much, and perhaps I can help you. I know the Aguilars can be a bit overbearing and my reflections among the sardines led to the conclusion that I had perhaps misjudged you.'

Thus encouraged, Catherine poured out her story. When she had finished, he said nothing and she watched a flash of lightning in the sky with a feeling of intense anxiety, wondering if he still doubted her sincerity. Finding his silence oppressive, she asked urgently, 'You do believe me?'

'Yes, mi blanca rosa, I do believe you, but though Don Salvador is a bit formidable, he can't force you to marry Jose, and I think you've made a mistake by deceiving your mother about the real state of affairs.'

'But ... but suppose she was ill again and it was my fault? I'd feel a murderess.'

'I don't think she would be. She's a tough old bird, and if she loves you, surely she considers your happiness paramount?'

'I don't know. She's obsessed by the Aguilars, always has been. There was something between her and Don Salvador years ago, and I'm sure she thinks more of him than she does of me.' Catherine spoke a little bitterly.

'You must be wrong there,' Cesar reassured her. He laughed merrily, 'Senora Carruthers and Don Salvador— an odd couple, but there have been odder. Why doesn't he marry her? They're both free.'

'But... they're so old ...'

'One is never too old, but Senor de Aguilar is a little set in his ways and your mother would not like to have to conform to the restrictions required to be Senora de Aguilar. She has always done what she wanted to do, and it's a bit unfair not to let you do likewise.' He moved beside her, edging a little nearer. 'But haven't you been rather weak-minded to let yourself become so involved?'

'I suppose so. It's the heat, I don't seem to care ...' She had not cared because this man sitting so close beside her had been out of her reach, and she had to remind herself hastily that in spite of his jaunty words, he was still yearning after the faithless Pilar.

'I've a suggestion to make ...' he sounded mischievous. 'I could perhaps cut the Gordian knot.'

'You?' She wished she could see the expression on his face.

'Yes, me. I could abduct you.'

'What?'

'Take you away. We could go sardine fishing.'

Disappointed, she told him, 'I thought you were serious.'

'I'm perfectly serious. None of the Aguilars would accept you after such an escapade, and it would confirm the not very good opinion your mother has of me. You of course would have to pretend you'd not been able to help yourself.'

'Cesar, do you mean we'd be alone together?'

'Does that shock you, my little nun? Of course we'd have to be alone, that is the object of the exercise. There wouldn't be any point in doing it if you were adequately chaperoned, but if you've the courage to come with me ... it might be rather fun.'

She drew away from him, trailing one hand in the water. What was he trying to do? Seduce her? Or was it only another of his crazy pranks, a desire to cock a snook at Don Salvador, Pilar and the rest of them by running way with the prospective bride? Yet the idea had taken her breath away. To be alone with him between the immensity of sea and sky that he had described would be heaven, but an Eden with a very big serpent spoiling the prospect.

He leaned towards her trying to see her face, which was only a pale blur.

'Can't you trust me? I swear no harm shall come to you, though it might happen,' he drew a long breath. 'Gossip would force me into making an honest woman of you in the end.'

'What... what do you mean by that?'

He was silent, then at length he said very quietly, 'I hoped you might find me preferable to Jose, and as you know, I'm well able to support a wife, if you could endure living in the Argentine.'

Overcome, Catherine looked down at the water she was gently splashing.

'Would you do this ... to spite Pilar?' she asked. It seemed the only possible explanation for his proposal.

'Is that what you think?' He sounded amused.

'It's the only reason that occurs to me.'

'You underrate yourself,' he said enigmatically. He fell silent again, and she bent her head to watch the drops of water disturbed by her fingers gleam like dewdrops in the faint light.

'Catalina, I must confess that I've been unfair to you,' he began at length, with an unfamiliar humility in his voice. 'I'll admit that in the beginning you intrigued me. I wanted to discover if you were really the little innocent you seemed to be.' She winced, for this was very much what Pilar had told her. 'And I found we were ... simpatico. But when I was told you had come here to marry José, I was disillusioned, for the whole arrangement seemed so coldblooded, so calculated and unlike my blanca rasa,' a tender note crept into his voice on the last words, 'and I must confess I was jealous. The Latin temperament is very jealous, Catalina, I should warn you, and jealousy makes us cruel.'

Her heart seemed to miss a beat. Why should he be jealous, unless...? 'I meant to ignore you, but I couldn't, and at the Feria I behaved disgracefully. But I thought in spite of José that you loved me, and I wanted to make sure.'

'Yes,' she accused him, 'you expect every girl to fall for you, don't you, and I was to be no exception.'

'I think you wrong me there,' he returned quietly. 'Since modern girls are so forthcoming, do you blame me if I play along with them ... for a little way? But you are not like that, Catalina. I should have had more respect for your simplicity.'

'You should have done,' she echoed bitterly.

'But that's all past,' he resumed more lightly. 'Our present dilemma is to solve your problem. Since you don't want to fall in with Don Salvador's and your mother's plans for you, and you fear the consequences if you oppose them, shall we run away and go sardine fishing?'

Catherine stared down into the dark water, her thoughts in a tumult. Could he really be serious? Dared she trust him? Something that Edwina had said to her flashed into her mind. 'More marriages are caused through pique than you'd credit.' Pique was what was motivating him. To be revenged on Pilar he was even prepared to marry another girl, to show the Spaniard how little he cared. If she accepted this unexpected bounty that he was offering to her, she would win her heart's desire, even if it were not his. All that was needed was a little courage, a quality which she did not lack, and it would need courage to go with him to the far-away, strange country where he belonged and she did not. Tentatively she said,

'You've got parents, César. What would they think if you turned up with an insignificant English girl when they are expecting a well-dowered Spanish beauty?'

They're not all that keen on the Spanish beauty,' he returned drily. 'My father likes the British, that's why he sent me to school in England. They would welcome you gladly. We wouldn't have to live with them, they have a house in Buenos Aires to which they are. thinking of retiring. It would be you and I alone together, sweet, if you could bear that.'

If she could bear it! She would have followed him willingly to the North Pole if he had suggested it. She had no ties in Europe to break, except her association with Edwina, and she was engrossed in the Aguilars, and set upon this Spanish match. Ironically one of her principal arguments in its favour had been the possibility of a lonely spinsterhood. Catherine would not be alone with Cesar, and Cesar's children. In fact, life in Argentina would be her idea of heaven, if Cesar had loved her, but he did not. He might in time come to bitterly regret his rash proposal, especially if Pilar changed her mind about Carlos Fonseca, and he realised that he had lost all chance of winning her by becoming tied to another woman. Might he not come to resent her and the barrier that she represented between him and his love?

The thunder growled in the heavens above them, and the patio became even darker. She could not see Cesar at all, though every nerve was aware of his presence beside her. She was silent, turning the various considerations over in her mind. This was not a decision to make without careful thought.

Cesar, leaned forward, and taking hold of her wrist, pulled her hand from the water.

'Catalina, are you listening to me?'

A flash of lightning lit the patio from end to end, she saw his face close to her own, the gleam in his eyes, it struck sparks from the bracelet upon her wrist, which looked as if it were encircled by a ring of fire. Darkness fell again, but César held her arm in a vice-like hold, the fingers of his other hand feeling the heavy bracelet.

'Diamonds ...' he said tersely. 'Aguilar diamonds—on your wrist.'

'Don Salvador gave it to me tonight,' she said faintly. 'I didn't want to accept it...'

'Liar!' He dropped her arm and sprang to his feet. 'Jose gave it to you, it is the Aguilar betrothal bracelet. You've started to reap the harvest you came here to garner. Why did you spin me that yarn about being unwilling?'

'Cesar, I'd no idea,' she cried desperately. 'I didn't know a bracelet meant I was engaged.' She struggled to undo the clasp of the trinket, but it was intricate and the darkness defeated her.

'I don't believe you. You knew very well what it meant, and I suppose you hoped I wouldn't notice it in the dark. My idiotic words raised hopes in you that I was available, so, although you wear his token on your arm, you would have jilted Jose without compunction ... and I fell for your sad tale of coercion and devotion to your mother.' He laughed harshly. 'I had almost convinced myself that you loved me!'

She whispered, 'Cesar, I do.'

'Not as I want to be loved, not with another man's diamonds upon your wrist—did you hope I would give you still bigger ones? I could, you know, but I do not want to buy my wife. Nor do I want to be married for my potentialities as a torero. You women are all alike, out to use a man for your own ends!'

Bitterness sounded in every syllable, which matched the bitterness in Catherine's heart. Impossible now to make him believe that her appeal had been genuine. The sight of that unlucky bracelet had convinced him that she had willingly contracted herself to Jose and her story had been a pretence. He had been hurt by Pilar's rejection and had proposed to her thinking that if she loved him, she would soothe his injured vanity by her compliance. If she had been crazy enough to run away with him, he would have had second thoughts about marrying her. It would have been to him what he had said, fun. To add to her humiliation, she had confessed her love, and he refused to believe it was disinterested. She gave a little shaky laugh, intent upon striking back and salvaging the remnants of her own pride.

'Yes, it was all an act,' she said lightly, her voice sounding unfamiliar in her own ears. 'I thought I would see how far you could be imposed upon. It was stupid of me to let you see the bracelet, but then I wasn't expecting to meet you. It's really rather gorgeous, isn't it?' A roll of thunder drowned his response to this effort, while she marvelled at her newly discovered powers of dissimulation. Since Cesar was only a dark shadow looming over her, it was easy to act. It would have been much more difficult if she had had to meet his eyes.

'You really can't blame me,' she went on in the same light brittle voice. 'A girl in my position has to make the best bargain she can for herself, and we've had quite a bit of fun together.' She laughed again, a dreadful travesty of merriment. 'But I think on the whole Jose will suit me better than you would. Though he's not so decorative, he's better tempered, and Don Salvador has promised that I shall have the family jewels.'

'You mean that?' he said slowly.

'Yes. One has to be sensible, and after all it was rather an absurd idea, wasn't it? To go sardine fishing? I don't even know if I'm a good sailor.'

She managed another laugh, which was so palpably false, she wondered that it could deceive him. Was this how they did it, she thought vaguely, the sensation-seekers, the girls who played with men just for the hell of it? But their hearts would not be aching as hers was doing, they kept their hearts intact.

'Dios!' Cesar exclaimed, 'you unscrupulous little fraud! You'll be saying next you've loved Jose all along.'

'Perhaps I'll find I have,' she agreed, 'but love isn't important compared with security and an establishment, or so I've been told. I know exactly what I can expect from the Aguilars, whereas you've never been very explicit, so on the whole I'm glad you saw through my blandishments. I've always found Jose very pleasant.'

Surely that would be sufficient, and he would go away. She could not bear much more. Had she managed to effectively conceal that her ill-timed confession of love had been the bitter truth?

With a swift movement he reached for her, pulling her up from her seat into his arms, and instinctively her own arms went round his neck. His hands bruised her, his lips ravished her, but she felt no pain, only rapture. When he released her, she sank back on to the rim of the basin, too weak to stand, and covered her face with her hands.

'So you don't think love is important.' His harsh, sardonic voice grated upon her ears, punctuated by his unsteady breathing. 'Not only are you a liar, but you're a cheat. You will never love Jose, but I don't suppose he looks for love, and he won't miss much, for all love is to you is an indulgence of the senses. But I'll not trouble you again. I'm going home as soon as I can arrange for the stock I've bought to be loaded. Meanwhile, I'm going to Valdega. The Cuervas are honest, simple folk and more to my liking than the intriguing lot here at the Casa. I wish you well of your bargain, senorita, and I'm sure the Aguilar jewels will compensate you for any lack you may discover in it. I've heard they're a very fine collection of which your bracelet is merely a sample. Actios, Catalina, we shall not meet again.'

Another flash of lightning lit the patio, and in its glare she saw his face. It was white in the lurid light, the muscles contorted, and the eyes showed ... could she be mistaken? ... a desperate anguish. Darkness fell again, as with an agonised cry she jumped to her feet, her brittle defences crumbling before the realisation that he meant never to see her again.

'Cesar... no! Don't go ... I love you!'

A roll of thunder drowned her voice, and she waited trembling for the next flash. When it came, it revealed that the patio was empty. He had gone with his noiseless tread leaving her alone. Catherine wished the storm would break, that a deluge would pour into the patio, a thunderbolt strike her dead, but the heavy clouds rolled away, and the stars shone out serenely. Wearily she crept away to join Edwina.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The one person who had said nothing to Catherine about their future was Jose himself. Since he never opposed his grandfather, his consent was taken for granted, once Don Salvador had made his wishes known. Therefore it came as a surprise to her when he announced upon the next morning that he was going to take her for a day out on the coast. His mother threw up her hands in horror.

'Alone? But that is not done in Spain.'

'Catalina is English, and it is done in England,' he returned. 'There they wish to become thoroughly acquainted before they settle down. Marriage is not therefore such a leap in the dark. I think the idea is good.'

Dona Luisa looked at Don Salvador. 'Father, forbid it! Such free manners are not for us.'

But Senor de Aguilar for once sided against tradition. He was perfectly aware of the fact that Catherine was by no means won over to his matrimonial plans, though it suited him to pretend that she was. If Jose were anything of a man he should be able to persuade her, given the opportunity, and if there were gossip, so much the better; she might become anxious to save her good name.

'I am always being told that I am old-fashioned,' he said with a twinkle in his eye. If the Senora has no objection ...' he bowed to Edwina, who smiled, understanding him perfectly, 'I will move with the times. Take Catalina where you will, Jose, you have a car, and vaya usted con Dios.'

Catherine welcomed the arrangement with alacrity, glad of a chance to get out of the house. The atmosphere at the Casa was uneasy and tense. True to his word, Cesar was staying at Valdega, ostensibly because since Pilar had broken with him, it would be embarrassing to be domiciled in the same house with her. He would be leaving in a few days, and so incensed was the old man by the miscarriage of his matrimonial ambitions for the couple, he had forbidden any of his family to go out to the farm to say goodbye to him. He did not know which of the two was to blame for the break, and though Pilar said firmly that she did not want to live in South America, he was inclined to suspect Cesar of infidelity. The realisation that she would never see Cesar again lay heavy upon Catherine's heart, and she watched Edwina's progress eagerly, longing for her own release. This expedition with José would be a break, and it would also give her an opportunity to come to an understanding with him.

So next day Jose drove Catherine down to the Costa de Luz, the latest addition to the Spanish beaches opening to the tourist trade. They started early in the morning to escape the midday heat and he drove in his own car, a powerful sports model that she had not seen before. He wore a white linen suit complete with jacket and broad-brimmed panama hat, together with the inevitable dark glasses, and he looked completely Spanish. Catherine wore a plain white dress and carried her sun glasses, as the southern sun had become a force to be reckoned with. She was aware of a lightening of her spirits as they sped south, with the marshes of the Guadalquivir on their right, over which lay a pearly mist, waiting to be dispersed by the sun. She was glad to escape from the oppressive atmosphere of the house and the memory of that painful interview with César. Here, out in the open, speeding across the plain, with a personable young man beside her, who treated her with a charming mixture of deference and flattery, she felt young and even carefree again. Sternly she banished all thoughts of Cesar from her mind, determined to enjoy her day out.

José pointed out a stork flying towards his marshy refuge and told her that there was game and rare birds to be found round the river mouth, also plenty of mosquitoes, the land lying low and being very hot. The sun was sucking up the mist from the endless plain they were traversing, already turning brown and gold under its relentless rays. Soon the brief morning freshness would be past, and they would be exposed to its blistering heat. From time to time, she glanced thoughtfully at her companion's profile, and marvelled that Edwina could expect her to spend the rest of her life with a comparative stranger, but it was possible that he might prove to have unexpected depths, might even be capable of stirring her emotions when she knew him better. As yet he had spoken no word of love to her, he had had no opportunity, and she wondered a little uneasily if he would try to make love to her today.

If only he could sweep her off her feet and wipe out the image of Cesar from her heart and brain, but she did not think that was possible. His was a typically Spanish face, narrow temples, long upper lip, thin mouth, his brows a dark bar over his brown eyes, but he was not nearly as dark as Cesar, though the ancient Castilian blood was less evident in him than in his sister, and he had none of Cesar's fiery spirit, nor his sense of fun. He talked pleasantly upon impersonal matters. Did she know that the Conquistadores, Cortez and Pizarro, had sailed from Seville and that city had been the port to receive the gold from the Indies? Since those days the harbour had silted up, but now it was being cleared and a canal dug so that the town could again become a port. No doubt she had noticed ships along the waterfront, though it was not the best part of the city, being dirty and a repository of refuse. Possibly in time it would be cleaned up and made to look attractive. Jose was very eager to clean everything up. That his conversation was hardly what was to be expected between a lover and his lass did not seem to occur to him.

They passed east of Jerez, through country thick with vines, the sherry grapes for the wines to which that town had given its name. The wild flowers by the roadside were wilting in the increasing heat that soon would wither them. Vineyards too clothed the hills between them and the sea, together with olive groves, with here and there a knot of pines. The white houses in the villages with red-tiled roofs were surrounded by hedges of prickly pear while geraniums and carnations grew in the shade of the vines.

The sandy beaches of the Coast of Light were still comparatively empty; it was a honey-gold coast, with a subtle changing light, often obscured by an opaline haze. When they first glimpsed it, sea and sky seemed to merge in a silver shimmer, where the sand melted into the water.

'We are fortunate to have a still day,' Jose told her. 'There is often a strong wind down here. This is the Atlantic seaboard, you know, and it is wilder than the Mediterranean.'

He drove down a narrow track between two sandstone hills that seemed to drop straight into the sea. The track ended at a tiny cove with a beach of golden sand and a scattering of rocks.

'Would you like to lathe?'

Catherine was surprised by this question, which seemed at variance with Aguilar conventions, but the shimmering blue water looked alluring after the long, dusty drive.

'I'm afraid I didn't bring a swim-suit.'

It is in the boot. The Senora Carruthers gave it to me in a bag when I was packing our lunch. I will fetch it for you.'

In actual fact, Catherine did not know that she possessed such a garment. Edwina, foreseeing her needs, must have bought it for her when the expedition was mooted. The contents of the bag revealed not only a regulation costume that could not offend any Spanish susceptibilities, but a new beach wrap and a towel, further proof of Edwina's loving generosity. Catherine's eyes misted as she looked at them, she wished that she could give Edwina her reward.

'I'm afraid I'm a fraud,' she said doubtfully, 'I can't swim.'

'The water is shallow here and perfectly safe,' he assured her, 'and perhaps you will permit me to give you a lesson.'

She undressed behind a massive rock and he was as good as his word. Not being timid and in the buoyant water, she was soon able to manage a few strokes while he held her chin. The formality that had been between them broke down as they laughed and splashed. Jose in swimming trunks looked boyish and attractive; his body was lean and brown, and he was unexpectedly strong, as she discovered, when feeling herself sinking, she clutched at him and he guided her back to the shallows. Then he told her that she had been in long enough for the first time and asked if she would mind if he had a swim while she dressed, and she hastily assured him she would be pleased for him to do so. She would have liked to sunbathe on that golden beach, but decided it was too provocative a proceeding under the circumstances. She would feel more equal to coping with him in her clothes, should he become amorous. So far he had been most considerate and tactful, she thought, as she towelled herself vigorously, watching the brown head far out at sea, and whatever else he lacked, Jose was an excellent swimmer.

When he returned, she was unpacking the lunch basket, and draping himself in a towel, he flung himself down beside her, eyeing her slight figure and graceful movements appreciatively. The meal consisted of a cold omelette, a loaf of bread, cheese, tomatoes, olives and quince jelly, with a bottle of wine. They sat in the shadow of one of the higher rocks, watching the wavelets ripple on the sand and the occasional flight of a sea bird. Catherine felt relaxed and content. There was no conflict in her relationship with Jose, he would have made a perfect... friend. Suddenly he raised himself from his supine attitude on to his elbow, and said,

'So far my grandfather has done my wooing for me, negotiating with your mother on my behalf, but that is not the modern way. Catalina, you do realise, don't you, that I shall not only be honoured but most happy if you will be my wife.'

She glanced at him shyly, but there was no ardour in his eyes, and his tone was formal. He had brought her out to propose to her because he believed she would make him a suitable wife, but he did not love her. It was a coldblooded proceeding, and she remembered, with a pang, Cesar's more passionate approach. But he did not love her either, though he was physically attracted to her, and it had ended in that dreadful scene in the patio, when, embittered by Pilar's rejection, he had believed that she was mercenary.

'I'm honoured,' she began conventionally, wondering how best to break it to him that she did not intend to marry him, without hurting his feelings, and what was worse his pride, 'but, Jose, although I know your grandfather and my mother want us to marry, it is for us to decide, not them, and I feel I hardly know you at all. It wouldn't be fair to marry you for your position and possessions.'

'Position and possessions,' he broke out angrily, 'neither of which are really mine. I can never do what I wish to do, nor go where I wish to go. I am smothered in family, bound hand and foot by customs and conventions ... "We do not do that" ... "No Aguilar ever thought so'. Even in this matter of my marriage, my bride has been chosen for me.' The words came out in a spate of revolt, she was seeing the real Jose at last.

'Then you don't want to marry me ...' she asked eagerly, but he interrupted her.

'No, amada, I did not say that. You are a sweet and charming girl, and though your dowry will not be great, you have other assets.' She stared at him blankly, for she had not thought of that aspect. 'I have enough for two,' he went on grandly, 'and as I said, I shall be honoured if you will marry me.'

His outburst had been spontaneous and genuine, now he spoke without emotion. He feared he had been discourteous and was anxious to make amends.

'José, I want to be perfectly frank with you,' she said. 'I like you, but I don't love you.'

He looked surprised. 'But it is hardly to be expected that you should,' he told her. 'Many a good marriage is founded upon liking, and I have much to offer you.'

'That's just it,' she cried. 'As I said, it wouldn't be fair to marry you for what you can give me.'

Surprise gave place to bewilderment in his face. 'But is it not that for what women marry?' he asked. 'An establishment? We arrange our marriages with that in view. Ricardo had much to offer Inez, therefore he was acceptable to both her and Abuelo. You will give me in return your integrity, and your courage,' she winced, 'moreover I think we should have friendship, which one does not always find in marriage.'

Catherine picked up a handful of sand and let it dribble through her fingers. She need not fear any passionate demonstrations from José, and inconsistently she resented his cool attitude. It would have been awful if I had loved him, she thought. But he had mentioned friendship, and for the first time the possibility of marrying him crossed her mind. Her compliance would delight Edwina, satisfy Don Salvador, and what had she to look forward to except lonely spinsterhood? Cesar had gone, she would never see him again, and Jose had betrayed that he wanted to escape from the hidebound restriction of the Casa. In any case the household would fall apart when the old man died and he could not go on for ever. If she married Jose she might have children to console her and to fill the awful void that Cesar had left in her heart. Edwina had pointed out that he could offer compensation, and she herself had not married the man she loved, but had found consolation with Simon.

'I don't know if friendship is quite enough,' she said uncertainly, 'but you have plans for helping your country, haven't you, Jose? If I could share in those...'

The idea of service had been deeply implanted in her and a life spent in useful service would be a life well spent.

'I have indeed,' he answered eagerly. 'What does Spain convey to the average foreigner? Bullfights and guitars.'

His eyes kindled. 'We have great potentialities for industrial growth. I want to dedicate my life to progress, and you could help me, Catalina, you are modern and free. We would start by selling the Casa, when Abuelo is gone ...' He stopped and looked at her doubtfully. 'But perhaps that would not please you? You want to be a great lady in a great house?'

'No!' she cried vehemently. Beautiful as it was the old house would always be full of memories of Cesar and she would have to forget him ... if she could. She said more calmly, 'I would much rather live in a flat, but I thought you were tied to the Casa, it was your ancestral home?'

'It is a tie that I wish to break,' he declared. 'It is an old house, it should become a national monument like many others in the district. I gather that you have accepted me?'

'Well, no,' she said quickly, reddening with embarrassment as she realised that her mention of a flat had misled him. 'I mean I need time to think about it,' she amended, 'and there is something else you ought to know. I... I love someone else ... though I can never marry him.'

'The heart often strays into forbidden pastures,' he remarked sombrely, his eyes on the sea, his thoughts elsewhere, then as the full impact of her confession penetrated, he looked at her with drawn brows and a piercing glance, so reminiscent of his grandfather, who at that moment he resembled, that she quailed. 'Are you trying to tell me that you have had... er ... experience?' he asked.

For a moment she did not understand what he meant, then as realisation came she flushed scarlet.

'Of course I didn't mean that.'

'Then what does it signify?' he enquired. 'Why did you mention it?'

She floundered, shocked by his realism, 'I... I wanted to be completely honest with you.'

He continued to stare at her, then his face cleared and he smiled.

'I see you are still an innocent child, my Catalina. Forgive me for my grossness. One hears so much about the British permissive society, a state of affairs we would never tolerate here, I feared what you were about to confess, but I should have known that a girl who speaks and looks like you do could not be other than pure. Forgive me ... forgive me.'

He became almost inarticulate in his distress.

'Oh, Jose,' she began to laugh, 'had you forgotten I was educated in a convent and have only just emerged? Don't be so upset. You're making a mountain out of a molehill. Forget it.'

He was silent, his thin face turned away from her, and she had no clue to his thoughts, for he was as unreadable as a closed book. Though she was now sure that he did not love her, it was possible he could be jealous and she wished she had held her tongue about César, but she was thankful that she had had enough sense not to mention his name.

With his eyes still on the sea, Jose said suddenly, 'You were wearing my bracelet the other evening,' and she felt her face flame at the unwelcome reminder and recalled César's reaction to it. That wretched diamond bracelet that had confirmed all his unjust doubts of her. She said stiffly,

'Senor de Aguilar gave it to me. I didn't know it came from you.'

'But of course it was from me, the sign of our betrothal. Did not you know a man gives his novia a bracelet to show she is bound to him?'

'Yes, I know now,' she said shortly, 'but in England it would be a ring.'

'You shall have a ring too.'

'But not yet,' she pleaded. 'I can't decide yet.'

Unwilling to press her too hard while she was still undecided, he changed the subject. They talked awhile about indifferent matters and then he went to dress while she cleared up the remnants of their meal.

They drove down to Tarifa, the last sight of Spain for many a voyager setting forth across the ocean. The walled town looked a little forbidding from the outside, but beyond the yellow gateway it revealed itself to be a fascinating Moorish citadel with twisting, narrow cobbled streets. As they wandered down them, Jose said laughingly that it had had its first taste of tourism in 711 when it was conquered by the Arabs as soon as they set foot in Spain, though as yet it was not threatened by a more modern invasion, though no doubt it would shortly be 'discovered'.

'Then you don't resent the tourists like your grandfather does?' Catherine asked.

'Emphatically not, since they are a source of revenue and Spain needs pesetas. We have found that our crumbling castles make good period hotels and our beaches are the playgrounds of Europe, that way we grow rich. Viva los turistas, viva la Espagna!'

They ate tapas, snacks, of olives, prawns and pieces of smoked ham with their wine at a posada and then drove home across the darkening plain. Catherine's heart warmed towards her companion. He would be a kind and considerate husband, and if they lived away from the baleful influence of the Casa Aguilar she might even find happiness with him. The purple dusk was sweetened by the penetrating fragrance of the Dama de Noche, the Queen of Night, the scent of which upon a still evening could be detected a quarter of a mile away. Lights were twinkling in the cottage windows and above them the stars were appearing in the vast vault of the heavens. Andalusia, despite its summer heat, was a lovely land, and she might in time come to love it. Though she had refused to give Jose a definite answer, she was becoming reconciled to the prospect of marrying him.

Catherine's day out, alone with a man, could only be condoned by the fact that she was engaged to him by the standards of the Casa Aguilar, and Dona Luisa began to talk of marriage preparations. These would be lengthy, but the result inevitable. Catherine realised that she would have to confide in Edwina before she could put a stop to them, for she had not made up her mind, and as the day at the Costa de Luz receded in time, she became less and less inclined to tie herself to Jose.

Because she feared to hurt her adoptive mother, she was less decisive than she should have been, merely saying that she considered an engagement was a trial period, and to marry a foreigner such a big step, that she was uncertain if she could go through with it.

To her relief, Edwina received her stammered words with composure. She had been highly relieved by Cesar's disappearance from the scene, but she was aware that Catherine was still yearning after him. She would give the Aguilars a hint not to press matters. Meanwhile they would go to Andorra as arranged on the plea that they were feeling the heat. Privately she would suggest to Don Salvador that Jose should join them there before they went on home, and should accompany them to the cottage for a long stay. She was sure that away from the associations of the Casa Aguilar, the two young people would come together, and Jose would catch Catherine on the rebound. The girl had confessed to her that she liked him very much as a friend. This might in due course have come to pass, but for a chance encounter.

Catherine had gone out alone, a proceeding frowned upon by both Dona Luisa and Edwina, but she was tired of their surveillance. It was siesta time and they thought that she was resting in her room, so she was able to slip out unobserved. She had expected to find the hot streets deserted, but they were thronged with visitors who could not bear to waste their limited time in sleeping. They were mostly British and American, and she rejoiced to be among her own kind and to hear on every side her own language. She mingled with the crowds moving towards the Cathedral and the Alcazar, through the tortuous streets of the Santa Cruz Barrio. The mark of the Moors was everywhere in the Southern provinces, and not only in the buildings; many of the inhabitants still showed traces of Arab blood, and were half oriental in their disposition. Don Salvador, she mused, was not unlike an Eastern Caliph with his leanings towards despotism, and she would be crazy to put herself under his dominance for as long as he lived, for his would be the guiding hand in his family's destiny and though he was old, he seemed to be indestructible.

Passing along a narrow calle into which the sun could not reach, she paused beside a gateway of iron tracery to look in at a patio where glowing flowers grew around an ancient wellhead. She knew her interest would not be resented, on the contrary the owners had deliberately planned their decorations to excite the admiration of passing strangers. She was glad of the momentary relief from the glare of the sun, which though it lit the garden did not reach into shaded corner in which she stood. A movement above her head caused her to look upwards. A girl had come out on to one of the balconies opposite to her and was watering the ferns and carnations with which it was adorned. Catherine hastily retreated to the protection of a buttress protruding from the wall beside her, for in the narrow passage ways, passers-by occasionally received the deluge intended for the plants. From this vantage point she could see the girl upon the balcony without being visible herself. Quick, light footsteps came towards her from the opposite end of the calle, and a man came into sight, wearing a white suit and a panama hat pulled over his eyes. He halted beneath the balcony.

'Conchita!'

The girl put down her watering pot and leaned over the rail.

'Que tal, Jose?'

Peeping out of her hiding-place, Catherine could see that she was a very pretty girl, with night-black hair and huge dark eyes. She was looking down at the man below her with an expression of love and longing, and she extended her rounded arms towards him in a gesture more eloquent than words. Jose had swept off his hat and his raised face, his whole attitude was one of passionate yearning.

Hoping to escape detection, Catherine stole away in the direction from which she had come, though there was little fear that those two, wrapped in their idyll, would notice her. So Jose was having a secret love affair unknown to his grandfather, Conchita being someone of whom the old autocrat would not approve. Knowing it was hopeless to declare his own wishes, he had consented to marry herself because he dared not oppose him. 'Even my bride has been chosen for me,' he had said with bitterness. It was not surprising therefore that he had been lukewarm in his wooing, but he would not risk disinheritance for love.

Sudden revulsion and contempt surged through Catherine. Could no one in this place be true to themselves? Were properties, dowries and diamond bracelets so much more important than love? That Jose loved this girl she could not doubt, but he had been ready to marry herself without thought of the wrong he would be doing her, and she had been nearly as bad, betraying her love for Cesar by contemplating accepting him. Pilar had been more honest, she had refused to sell herself. Cesar ... by now he was probably already embarked upon his journey home, but she would be faithful to his memory. She would go back to the Casa and face them all, tell them she could not and would not marry Jose ... ever. Don Salvador might try to intimidate her, but she did not fear him, though she must be careful not to betray Jose's secret. She seemed to have awoken to new and vigorous life, her lassitude and hesitations falling away from her. If Edwina proved difficult, she could always seek refuge in her old convent, which at that moment seemed to be a haven of peace, but she must be made to understand she must give up all hope of ever bringing off this Spanish match.

Filled with resolution and new energy, Catherine walked briskly towards the Casa. The sight of José and Conchita had revived all her old longing for Cesar, she could never console herself with another man.

She was met at the front door by the old porter, his white hair standing on end, his rheumy eyes filled with tears. He clutched at her arm and poured out stammered words to her in both her language and his own, but it was some time before she could make sense of what he was saying.

Don Salvador had had a stroke, la Senora Inglesa was with him, and the whole household was desolate.

*

Jose of course was absent. Dona Luisa was engaged in a vituperative argument with the doctor who wanted to send the old man into hospital. She declared that if her father-in-law was going to die, and she was quite convinced that he was, he must die in his own house and in his own bed. Pilar, all her resentment against her grandfather forgotten, was frankly howling like a small child. She had been present when the Don had had his seizure and was terrified. The servants hung about looking frightened and bewildered, while Edwina had taken charge of the invalid. The doctor departed muttering that he would look in again later, but now there was nothing he could do. Dona Luisa promptly started to weep and wail and Catherine was hard put to it to calm her. Eventually she persuaded her to go to her room and lie down, after taking a sedative. Pilar was more difficult to deal with as she was enjoying dramatising her own grief, she dredged up from her memory every occasion upon which she had annoyed her grandfather and poured forth streams of self-accusation.

'If Abuelo dies without forgiving me, I can never forgive myself,' she declared.

Catherine, with no knowledge of the Don's true condition—he was unconscious—assured her he was not going to die, and eventually persuaded her to lie down also. Edwina appeared looking white and strained and asked her to procure this and that, and Catherine did her best to wrestle with the staff, who appeared too appalled to understand what was required.

Don Salvador was for the household its bulwark and its mainstay, and that he might be taken from them was like an abyss opening at their feet With Dona Luisa also unavailable to give directions, they were demoralised. Catherine with the best will in the world had difficulty in making her orders understood, and she wished José would come home to take command.

Late in the evening the telephone rang and as no one seemed disposed to answer it, Catherine took the call. The voice spoke in Andaluz and she said desperately, 'No comprendo' and when it changed to recognisable Spanish she identified Juan Cuerva. There had been some confusion about a delivery of bulls to Malaga, and he too wanted direction. Catherine made him understand that el senor was ill and José out. Her heart sank. Cesar must have gone, or surely he could have dealt with the difficulty. She replaced the receiver with a sense of desolation, for she had been cherishing a faint hope that she might somehow see Cesar before he left and by some miracle he would discover that she was not the shallow little flirt that he believed her to be. Now it was all over, finished; he was on his way to the other side of the world.

Jose came in soon afterwards, expecting dinner, and was greeted by a fresh burst of lamentation. It fell to Catherine to explain coherently what had happened, and she was highly relieved at his appearance. He came in smiling with a sleek, satisfied look about him, and §he suspected that he had spent the evening with his inamorata. About that she meant to challenge him, but her personal affairs must wait until the present crisis was over. She had expected him to restore some sort of order to the household, but he seemed completely stunned. Though he had talked of what he would do when he became master, Don Salvador had ruled his life for so long, he could not envisage an existence without the stimulus of his blistering tongue. He sat down in the sala, murmuring,

'Ay de mi vida, what do we do now?'

'Isn't that for you to decide?' Catherine asked tardy. 'And there was an urgent message from Valdega, something about arrangements for Malaga that have gone wrong. I couldn't make it all out. Shouldn't you ring Juan and discover what he wants?'

He shook his head. 'I know nothing about the business, and at such a time ... will Abuelo recover?'

'That remains to be seen. He would be better in hospital, I don't think Edwina is fit enough to nurse him.'

But he too repudiated firmly the idea of moving Don Salvador from his own home. It was the only thing about which he did show any firmness. Catherine sighed and went to see if she could persuade the staff to do something about dinner. After all they must eat.

When the meal was ready she went to the Don'§ room to summon Edwina. The vast bedroom was shrouded in gloom as when she had seen it before, the only illumination being a shaded light by the bed. Its owner lay motionless, breathing stertorously, his sharp profile and beaky nose like alabaster against the dark hangings behind him. Edwina looked nearly as pale, and as Catherine crept into the room she rose and came towards her moving like a very old woman. She shook her head at the mention of food.

'I can't leave him,' she whispered, 'he might regain consciousness with no one here ... or he might slip away ...' her voice faded out. Catherine had never seen her so shattered. Don Salvador was the last link with her youth and she had loved him very deeply.

'I'll have a tray sent up to you,' Catherine whispered back. 'You must eat something, dear, or you'll break down yourself.' She noticed anxiously how white she was.

'I won't break down ... not while he needs me. They're not going to take him away?'

Catherine answered in the negative and left the room, thinking they would soon have two invalids on their hands. She had a tray despatched to Edwina by one of the maids, and looking in at Dona Luisa, found her peacefully sleeping. Coming into the dining room, she found that Pilar had preceded her, she had dressed herself entirely in black. Dramatic, Catherine thought, and she hoped not prophetic. Jose came to join them and the three of them picked with little appetite at the cold food set before them in complete silence. Suddenly Jose pushed back his plate and stared balefully at his sister.

'This is all your doing,' he accused her. 'Alonso,' (he was one of the servants) 'informed me that you told Abuelo you were going to marry Carlos Fonseca. He was so angry that it caused this stroke.'

'You questioned a servant about such an intimate matter?' Catherine asked incredulously.

'No one else could give me any information,' he returned coldly. 'Mother is asleep, Senora Carruthers occupied and you were not present, naturally I wished to know what had precipitated this calamity.' He turned to his sister. 'Well, Pilar, was that the truth?'

Pilar burst into fresh tears. 'Ay mi, ay mi!' she sobbed.

Catherine rose from her place and went to comfort the stricken girl. Over her bowed golden head, she looked reproachfully at Jose, thinking how strange it was that it should be her function to seek to console the proud and haughty Pilar, who had never before been very approachable.

'Need you have said that?' she asked him. She put her arms around Pilar. 'There, dear, I'm sure your brother shouldn't blame you. All old people are liable to have strokes.'

Jose poured himself out a glass of wine and looked at Pilar icily.

'You are behaving disgracefully over that jumped up opportunist,' he told her. 'Abuelo will never countenance such an alliance, and neither will I.' If Don Salvador died, he would be head of the house, and he looked every inch as implacable as his grandfather, and without feeling for Pilar's distress. Yet this was the man who that very afternoon she had seen all melting tenderness in the presence of his beloved. Catherine was disappointed, for she had expected that he would behave rationally and show some heart. This was not the time to upbraid his sister, but she saw his ivory face was set and cold, his eyes vindictive.

'If he dies, you will have killed him,' he said cruelly.

Thereupon Pilar proceeded to have hysterics, pushing away Catherine's restraining arms, howling and shrieking, while Jose watched her callously, toying with his wine glass. Catherine wanted to shake him. Had these Aguilars no humanity at all?

Someone came quickly into the room, strode up to Pilar and deliberately slapped her face.

'Stop that!' said a stern voice, and Catherine dropped back into her chair with a gasp, while Jose said thankfully,

'Cesar! Por Dios, man, I'm glad to see you, but I thought you had gone.'

'I was flying to Lisbon tomorrow,' Cesar told them. 'My cattle have already been despatched. Juan gave me your bad news and I thought I had better come and see if I could help.' He poured out a glass of wine and handed it to Pilar.

'Drink that, there's a good girl.'

Pilar took it meekly. Since he had slapped her, and it was the first time she had ever been slapped in all her spoilt young life, she had quietened, and only an occasional hiccupping sob escaped her.

Cesar had not looked at Catherine, and she, who had thought he was far away, was struggling with the joy that had surged up in her at his appearance. He had evidently come straight off the farm without waiting to change, for he wore only a shirt with a scarf twisted round his neck, and his working trousers.

'How is he?' he asked Jose.

'Still unconscious.'

'You have nurses?'

'Senora Carruthers ...' Jose began.

'But she's in no fit state to nurse an invalid,' Cesar interrupted.

'No, she isn't,' Catherine agreed. 'I'm very worried about her, but she won't leave him and Dona Luisa will not hear of letting him go to hospital.'

For the first time Cesar looked at her, but his face was without expression.

'Where is Dona Luisa?' he asked.

'In her room. She ... she seemed overcome,' Catherine replied. 'I gave her a sedative.'

'Very sensible of you—and this mix up about the bulls?' He turned to Jose.

'I know nothing about the running of the ganaderia, and we cannot think about bulls now,' Jose said rebukingly.

'Nevertheless you can't leave your clients in the lurch. It seems there is much to be done and nobody is doing anything.'

'Since you've come, you can perhaps sort everything out,' Jose suggested with a touch of malice, 'you're so efficient.'

'I'll do my best. First we must get someone to nurse your grandfather and relieve Senora Carruthers. There's a nursing order in the city, isn't there?'

From that point Cesar took command. In what seemed an incredibly short time, a calm black-robed nun arrived and was conducted to Don Salvador's room. Catherine persuaded Edwina to go to bed after the nurse had promised that she would wake her if there was any change. She went back downstairs, wondering what had happened to Pilar, but only the two men were in the sola. Apparently they were discussing business, for as she hesitated in the doorway, she heard César say,

'So you know nothing about these transactions? I'll have to postpone my departure to put you wise. If the old man doesn't recover, you'll have to be able to take over-'

Jose looked up and saw her.

'Ah, Catalina, any change?' he asked eagerly.

She shook her head. 'I'm afraid not. The nurse has taken charge of him. Shall I order coffee?'

She glanced at Cesar and quickly looked away as she saw his quizzical expression, but she had noticed that he looked weary and travel-stained.

'Your room is as you left it,' she said, 'and I don't suppose you've eaten?'

'Tell them to bring the coffee and some bread and meat into the dining room,' José bade her. He was deep in the perusal of some papers Cesar had handed to him.

'I will.' She turned to go and found Cesar beside her.

'Quite the mistress of the Casa already,' he gibed.

'Somebody has to do something,' she returned quietly.

'Quite, and it seems it will have to be you and I.' His eyes were on her bare wrists.

'Where is Pilar?' she asked, moving away, wishing that his presence did not disturb her so.

'I persuaded her to go to bed,' he told her, following her. 'Your precious novio seems to have said all the wrong things to her.'

'Oh, he was cruel!' she exclaimed involuntarily, and he laughed.

'I warned you, didn't I? And he's eaten up with pride and self-importance, like all the rest of them.'

He continued to walk beside her as she went into the dining room and rang the bell for service.

'But I thought he was different,' she faltered. 'Can't any of the Aguilars think of anything except what's due to their position?'

He looked at her with a twist of his mobile mouth. 'You should know, you're about to become one of them.'

She turned to him, ready to break into furious denial, but the entrance of the manservant checked her. Besides, what was the use of protesting? He would not believe her, and she did not want any more of his taunts. She gave her order, adding, 'Please bring it as quickly as you can.'

The table had been partly cleared, but the decanter and glasses were still upon it. Cesar poured out a glass of wine, and handed it to her.

'You'd better have some,' he said. 'I gather you've had a strenuous time.'

She sat down and sipped it gratefully, feeling that she needed a restorative. He lounged against the table smiling sardonically at her over the rim of the glass he had poured for himself.

'Salud!' he said.

He was burned the colour of teak by the sun at the farm and his hair and eyes were jet. Never had he appeared more virile, more handsome, or more foreign. With the red scarf about his neck, he only needed rings in his ears to be a gypsy, Catherine thought, or a striped blanket to appear as one of his native Indians. She must be looking a sketch, since she had had no time to change from the white sleeveless dress which she had worn all day, and which was now past its first freshness, nor to make up her face, and her eyes felt heavy with fatigue. Only her hair shone, and actually she looked like a little ghost, lost in the big wooden chair on which she was seated, her eyes enormous in her pale face.

Cesar lifted his glass to the light and the ruby wine looked like blood.

'This is a good port,' he said appreciatively, 'a change from the ubiquitous sherry.' He lowered it and looked at her insolently. 'Where are the Aguilar diamonds tonight?'

She rubbed one slight wrist with the fingers of her other hand. She had not yet spoken to Jose, and without his confirmation, Cesar would not believe that she had terminated her engagement, that never had been a real one. He would only jeer.

'It's too heavy to wear often,' she told him listlessly.

'Really, you surprise me. I thought you would want to flaunt it upon every occasion, even if it broke your wrist.'

She rested her elbow on the table and put her hand to her forehead.

'Please, Cesar, I've had a trying day.'

Tears were not far off, but she did not want him to see her weep.

'I'm sure you have,' he said more kindly. 'Jose isn't exactly the support you hoped for.'

Recalling Conchita, she smiled wryly. 'No support whatever.'

The servant came in with a loaded tray and set a place for Cesar.

'I have brought what I could find, senor,' he said apologetically, 'but we are in an uproar. We are all very thankful that you have come.'

César sat down and began to help himself. 'Having come I shall stay for a few days,' he told the man.

'Si, senor, it was well.' The man was plainly relieved.

A maid brought in the coffee tray.

'Tell Senor Jose it is here,' Catherine told her in her halting Spanish. 'He is in the sala.'

Cesar looked at her as the girl withdrew. 'Quite a domestic scene,' he drawled, 'but as usual you're with the wrong man.'

She busied herself with the coffee cups, aware that her colour had risen.

'I never expected to see you again,' she told him, ignoring his taunt.

'Nor I you. Fate has always played with us, hasn't it, Catalina,' he said with unexpected gentleness.

She made no rejoinder to that, but passed him a steaming cup. Their fingers touched as he took it.

'Oh!' she exclaimed, 'if only ...'

She turned her head away. If only it had been Cesar who was to be her husband! This could have been their own home in which they were enjoying a late meal after the work of the day. It was so easy to imagine it was so, while the two of them sat alone together sharing the coffee, and once there had been a kind of intimacy between them, before Don Salvador had intervened.

Cesar uttered a stifled exclamation and pulled at the scarf around his neck.

'It is hot in here.'

She caught the gleam of a silver chain.

'Cesar, you're wearing my cross,' she said wonderingly. 'I thought you would throw it away.'

'My cross,' he corrected her. 'You gave it to me.' His eyes met hers; his were enigmatical. 'It will go back to the Argentine with me.'

'But why... why... when you despise me so?'

'Well, we had our moments,' he said lightly, grinning wickedly, 'and I treasure my scalps.'

She had been pleased and moved to discover that he still wore it, but his reference to scalps spoilt her pleasure.

'Do you have many such trophies?' she asked a little scornfully.

'Oh, a few scarves and handkerchiefs.'

Stung, she held out her hand. 'Please, I would like to have it back again.'

He assumed an air of mocking regret. 'Sorry to refuse you, but I never return a lady's gift. It would seem so ungallant.'

José came in and she could say no more. He raised his brows when he saw they were alone together.

'I thought you had retired,' he said stiffly to Catherine.

'I'm just going, but I wanted to make sure Senor Barenna had all he wanted,' she returned, rising to her feet.

'All?' Cesar asked sotto voce as she passed him. He smiled at her mischievously, but she did not deign to look at him.

'Good night, senores,' she said sedately, and left them. She stood for some time on the balcony outside her room, looking down into the patio that had witnessed so many violent scenes between herself and Cesar. He had come tack into her life, as mocking and derisive as ever, but he would soon be gone again and this time it would be for ever. She was inexplicably glad that the same roof would cover them again, and glad too that he had not returned her cross and chain when she had asked for it. Something of hers would go with him, and she marvelled that he still wanted to keep it after all the bitter things he had said to her.

Next morning Don Salvador regained consciousness. He could not move, could only utter a few unintelligible sounds, but the doctor said he would gradually recover the use of his faculties, and Edwina was radiant. Two nursing Sisters had been installed, one for night and one for day duty. Seeing their serene faces when she encountered their black-robed figures moving noiselessly along the corridors, Catherine was carried nostalgically back to her own convent days. Her life had been so peaceful and uncomplicated before Cesar had swept through it like a tornado. It was unlikely that Don Salvador would entirely recover his former strength, and she wondered if Edwina would in the end marry him for the doubtful privilege of looking after him. Dona Luisa was obviously inefficient and Pilar she felt sure would eventually get her way about marrying Carlos Fonseca. But whether Edwina married Senor de Aguilar or not, it looked like being a long time before she could be persuaded to leave Seville, and once Catherine had broken with Jose, as she fully intended to do, it would be impossible for her to continue to live at the Casa.

Her own future looked bleak, but the Reverend Mother had promised her a refuge. She began seriously to consider the possibility of becoming a nursing Sister. The Convent of the Sacred Heart did not belong to such an Order, but there were others with which the Prioress could put her in touch. A life dedicated to the care of the sick and suffering appealed to her, though she shrank from the stir and bustle of a secular hospital. She had, she assured herself, no wish whatever for further contact with men, except as was inevitable in a strictly impersonal content.

She did not encounter Cesar at all next day, though he was in the Casa. She saw him during the morning from her window in earnest talk with Pilar in the patio, and felt the old jealousy stir within her. Pilar looked so very lovely, with the sunlight shining on her wonderful hair, while the doves, hopeful of largesse, circled round her. But as they passed beneath her into the house she heard Cesar say,

'Don't lose heart, Pilar, I'll support you, and I don't doubt we can make your grandfather see reason eventually. After all Carlos is a coming man and exceedingly well off.'

She did not catch Pilar's reply, only her giggle, and then Cesar's voice again: 'The wind of change will reach even the Casa Aguilar in time. If the worst comes to the worst, you'll have to elope.'

He had suggested abducting herself, was that his remedy for everything? If she had not been wearing that bracelet, would she have gone away with him? Would they, upon this perfect morning, be sailing a calm sea together? She gave a long sigh. If only ...

Catherine came down to the sola in the evening wearing the simple dress that she had worn for the Semana Sancta and Dona Luisa's black shawl. She was determined to have it out with Jose that night, and she did not want to look seductive, but plain and severe, so that he would have no qualms about releasing her. Dona Luisa had recovered most of her spirits and was pouring forth an account of the previous day's happenings to several friends who had dropped in to enquire after the master. Pilar in a flamboyant red dress was looking sulky. Carlos had called that evening to offer his condolences, but had stayed for only a few moments, and Dona Luisa had declared that Pilar could not under the circumstances go out. As Catherine came in she was crying angrily,

'It is not as if he were dead... he is better.'

'But still very ill,' her mother rebuked her. Is too much to expect you to stay at home until his recovery is assured?'

Not that Pilar was much help in assisting his recovery, Catherine thought, but felt some sympathy for the girl who had been denied her lover's presence because of illness in the house. She saw that neither of the men were present, and was relieved at Cesar's absence. She asked where Jose was.

'In the study,' she was told.

'Good, I want to speak to him.'

Dona Luisa, the conscientious duenna, rose to her feet. 'I will accompany you since your mother has retired.'

Edwina's anxiety over Don Salvador had resulted in a setback, and she had gone to bed early. Catherine had shared her meal upstairs, wanting to avoid meeting Cesar.

'No, thank you,' she said firmly to Dona Luisa, 'I must see him alone,' and closed the door in the Spanish woman's shocked face, hoping she would not follow her.

Jose was sitting behind his grandfather's desk, and as she knocked and entered Catherine was assailed by all her previous distaste for the room, heightened by the recollection of her interview there with Don Salvador. Jose sprang to his feet as she came in.

'Catalina, this is an unexpected pleasure,' but his expression did not endorse his words. He looked regretfully at the papers he was studying. Evidently, she thought, her coming was inopportune.

'I have something I must say to you,' she told him, and sat down in the same leather-covered chair opposite the desk, which she had occupied before, with the patio behind her. As with all the lower rooms at the Casa, the windows opened on to it. She had not glanced towards it, had not noticed the red tip of a cigarillo amid its darkness. Jose appeared to be alone. She laid the case containing the bracelet upon the desk in front of her and Jose looked from it to her questioningly.

'I've decided I cannot marry you,' she said bluntly. 'I was stupid ever to let you think perhaps I might, and I don't believe you want to marry me.'

'Of course I want to marry you, why do you think otherwise?'

'Because yesterday I saw you with Conchita.'

His face became a complete mask; it was as if a blind had been drawn over it and his brown eyes were like stones.

'What nonsense is this? Who is Conchita?'

'You needn't pretend,' she said a little wearily. 'There's been too much pretence already, let's be honest with each other. I don't love you, you don't love me, you love this other girl,' and she told him what she had seen.

Jose showed neither shame nor contrition; instead he rebuked her.

'You should not have been wandering about alone,' his tone was icy. 'It may be an English habit, but we look askance at it in Spain, nor is it conduct becoming to my novia. As for Conchita, she is nothing to do with you, and for you to speak of her is indelicate.'

The friendly companion of the Costa de Luz had vanished. The cold stranger looking down his long nose at her was completely alien—and he had had the effrontery to tell her that his love life was no concern of hers, she whom he expected to make his wife!

'Is she your mistress?' she asked baldly.

He stiffened. 'Well brought up girls do not speak of such things.'

'I'm being as you said, indelicate? But I can't condone the double standard.' He expected her to be virtuous, but his own morals were to be winked at. 'Come to that, I don't think it's very delicate to want to marry me so that I can give you a brave son,' she went on coolly, and he flushed a little shamefacedly.

'Catalina,' he protested, 'that's not the only reason...'

'But a major one,' she interrupted, 'and it makes me feel like a kind of freak. If I'd had any idea of your grandfather's ideas upon that subject, I would have pretended to be frightened of mice.' She laughed a little forcedly. This interview was proving more difficult than she had anticipated.

'Ay mi, Catalina, you talk foolishly,' Jose said gravely, having recovered his composure. 'Your courage is a God-given gift and we all admire it. What nobler quality can one hand on to one's children? But you are making a mistake in thinking that marriage is a matter of the heart.'

'But it should be,' she cried desperately. 'Besides ... besides ... we aren't really suited to each other. I don't want to live in Spain and you and I have nothing in common, except a few dreams about progress that will probably come to nothing. I think you're really very like your grandfather, and his viewpoint upon everything is the opposite of mine. It would be much better if we agreed to part.'

His lips tightened. 'That we cannot do. We have gone too far, you will make me appear a fool.'

'I'm sorry about that, but I never actually gave my consent to our engagement, and in any case engagements are often broken. The whole point of them is to provide a testing period.'

'Not in Spain.'

'I've told you, I've no use for the Spanish point of view, I couldn't endure the life you expect your wife to lead. There, is that straight enough?'

She saw enmity in his eyes. She had hurt his pride, and that a Spaniard's pride was a deadly thing she knew only too well.

He said coldly, 'I have listened to much foolishness, which only your youth can excuse, but our guardians have ratified this marriage and you are committed to it. Por Dios, Catalina, what talk there would be if we break it off!'

'Better talk now than a lifetime of unhappiness. People forget quickly.'

He came round from behind the desk and loomed over her, grimly menacing.

'You must understand this. Abuelo wishes you to marry me, and por Dios, marry me you shall!'

This force was so unexpected in the normally quiet and unassertive Jose that Catherine was struck dumb. The not very strong light from the chandelier above them— electricity was a little erratic in Seville—threw the stern, almost cruel lines in which his face was set into strong relief. He looked so like the old man that she instinctively recoiled, shrinking back into her chair. Then she regained her courage and rose to his challenge, springing to her feet.

'I shall not, Jose, and you cannot make me.'

He seized her wrist. 'I shall try. Confess that your real reason for throwing me over is another man.' He began to grow excited. 'I always thought there was something between you and Cesar, though I was loath to credit it. I can make your name mud, and his too. I will not be insulted with impunity. I shall shoot him!'

Though he did not love her, he could be jealous, especially when he thought another man had been poaching upon his preserves.

'Oh, drop the melodrama,' she told him, trying to free her wrist. 'Of course you won't shoot him. But you're right, I do love another man, though he doesn't love me. I care more for his little finger than your whole body. Now will you let me go?'

He dropped her wrist as though it were an unclean thing and his lips curled back in a snarl.

'So what you told me by the sea was a lie. You're Cesar's ...' and he used a word that in spite of her limited knowledge of his tongue, she knew was not a nice one.

'You'll take that back!'

Cesar came in from the patio, wrathful as an avenging angel.

'So you've been listening,' Jose said scornfully. 'Did you think you could palm off your discarded mistress on to me? I didn't credit it before because I thought you would respect a guest in your host's house, but you South American scum have no scruples, and no conception of honour.'

Cesar fist shot out right into the sneering face, and Jose staggered back from the blow. Catherine stepped between the two furious men who were eyeing each other like two of the Aguilar bulls.

'Stop it!' she cried. 'You both ought to be ashamed of yourselves!' She wrapped her shawl about her, assuming a gentle dignity. 'I'm not worth quarrelling about,' she went on quietly, 'and I shall not trouble either of you again. I have decided to return to the convent where I was educated and eventually I hope to take up nursing as a profession ...' She saw Jose was dabbing a cut lip with his handkerchief and broke off to ask,

'Are you hurt?'

'Anxious to tend your first patient?' Cesar jeered.

'Oh, you ...' she threw him an angry glance, then looked hastily away, unable to meet his eyes. How much had he heard out there on the patio? she wondered anxiously. Not that it mattered. Somehow she must leave the Casa, and soon.

'I am all right,' Jose said sullenly. 'Cesar should not have struck me in front of a lady.'

'I thought the point was I wasn't a lady,' Catherine smiled wanly. She glanced again at Cesar, and saw he had moved away and was watching them with inscrutable eyes, then back to Jose, sulky and deflated. 'I'm going to bed,' she told them, 'but before I go, will you promise me there'll be no more fighting?'

Jose bowed stiffly. 'My apologies, Catalina, I have not behaved as a caballero should, but you have disappointed me, and coming on top of Abuelo's illness ...' he shrugged his shoulders. 'Goodnight, Cesar. Catalina, I will escort you to the stairs.'

He held the door open for her.

'Thank you, I'm coming.' She glanced again at Cesar, but he was not looking at her. He had stepped to the desk and had opened the jewel case; his eyes were on the sparkling stones and he was moving them back and forth under the light as if they fascinated him, with his usual sardonic smile twisting his lips.

'Goodnight, senor.'

'Buenos noches, senorita,' he said absently without looking up.

Jose walked beside her to the foot of the staircase, still dabbing his lips with his bloodstained handkerchief. Arrived there, he bowed ceremoniously.

'Forgive me for losing my temper. Que duermas bien.'

'Goodnight, Jose,' she hesitated. 'I... I'm sorry ...'

She looked at him appealingly, but he was staring at a point above her head, with a face of stone, and she knew that she had offended him beyond all hope of pardon. She sighed.

'Goodnight, Jose.'

As she started to ascend the stairs, he went into the sala, where he was greeted by his mother's eager voice. She wondered without much curiosity what he would tell her as she plodded on her way, feeling unutterably weary. She had obtained her freedom, but the cost had been high.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Catherine paused at the head of the stairs feeling shaken and unnerved. She had expected Jose to accept the dissolution of their engagement with quiet dignity if not relief. She had forgotten that he was a Latin with all the emotionalism of his race. She was not grateful to Cesar for his interventions. It had, if anything, lent colour to José's accusations and he had said nothing in support of her innocence. They had both in their several ways smirched her and she felt that to go on living under the same roof with them after what had happened would be quite impossible.

A slight sound caused her to look round and draw hastily to one side. Two of the Sisters of Charity were coming up the stairs. The Sisters fitted in the task of looking after Don Salvador with their devotional obligations. Sister Teresa, who at that moment came gliding along the passage from his room, was going off duty to be replaced by the newcomer. The third Sister was doing escort duty, and what Catherine was witnessing was the changing of the guard. The three women greeted each other in low tones. Sister Teresa gave her report to the incoming nurse, and as her substitute walked away, Catherine went impulsively up to the other two.

'Sor Teresa,' she began in her best Spanish, 'may I come with you tonight? I need sanctuary.'

Sister Teresa was taken aback. 'It is late, senorita, and our House is in a poor quarter.'

Catherine looked appealingly into the nun's quiet, placid face.

'I can return with you tomorrow,' she suggested, though she had no such intention, 'but tonight I have a great desire for prayer and meditation.'

Sister Teresa looked at her searchingly, noticing how pale and unhappy she appeared. She knew tribulation when she saw it. This girl was suffering and to whom should she go for comfort but to the One who had come to relieve the burden of all who were in travail? It was the obvious course to her simple, devout mind. She glanced at her companion, who nodded in agreement.

'Come with us,' she said gently.

They waited while Catherine threw a few necessary articles into a canvas bag, then the trio descended the stairs and crossed the wide hall. To Catherine's relief, they did not encounter anyone, and the ponderous door of the Casa Aguilar closed behind them.

The domicile of the Sisters of Charity was down by the river in Jose's unreclaimed part of the town, amidst a jumble of narrow streets and old buildings, inhabited by the poorest families. The building was for the most part hospital, and looked grim and intimidating. It was approached by a massive-looking wooden gate, in which was set a small postern door, upon which the Sisters rapped. It was opened by a stout woman, the lay-porteress, who wore a voluminous garment, part habit, part secular gown, girdled by a cord, who greeted them with a grumble, which the Sisters ignored. They crossed a cobbled stone yard and entered a narrow corridor, where Sister Teresa bade Catherine wait. Cold and cheerless as the place seemed—it was difficult to believe the sun even found its way into the bleak stone passages—Catherine felt at peace.

Presently Sister Teresa returned and beckoned to her to follow her. She showed her into a narrow, cell-like apartment with an iron bedstead and little else, which she said was one of the Convent's guest chambers. The wash-room was next door, and at the end of the passage the Chapel, where in a few moment Matins would be said, if Catherine wished to attend. Catherine deposited her bag upon the bed, washed her hands in cold water and entered the Chapel. There, kneeling among the black-robed figures before the altar, she felt that she had come home.

The plainly furnished room was familiar, though this was Spain, not France, but the Mother lacked the serene aloofness that had marked the Prioress, the shrewd eyes studying the girl before her were set in a much more worldly face.

'Es catolica?' she asked doubtfully.

'Not yet,' Catherine replied, thinking it did not matter what she was; they all worshipped the same God.

The Mother was well used to lovelorn maidens coming to her telling her that they wished to take the veil, but usually they had no vocation and after a few days were retrieved by their relatives, going back into the world to find other loves, after giving the hospital a handsome donation. But this girl was different. She did not rave about a broken heart, though she looked heartbroken. She had about her a quiet air of purpose, as if she knew what she wanted, but her connections must be investigated before any decision could be arrived at concerning her, and from her simple dress and black shawl, they could not be affluent.

'Do your family know where you are?' she asked.

'Sister Teresa is taking a note to my ... my aunt. I shall not have been missed until this morning. I have told her that I'm safe, but I don't want her to know where I am.'

The nun regarded her thoughtfully, speculating about what had brought her here. She knew that Sister Teresa was working at the Casa Aguilar and guessed that was where Catherine had come from. She looked like a governess or a dependent of some sort in her plain garb. The Mother knew there were two young men domiciled at the Casa and suspected that she had become hopelessly involved with one or other of them, in which supposition she was not far wrong, but even if she were in disgrace, the girl would not be allowed to totally disappear. She would be reclaimed in time. Meanwhile she would contact the family, and for the present Catherine could remain where she was.

'You may reside here for the time being, my daughter,' she told her, 'but there are many considerations to take into account before you could be accepted into our training school, or become a postulant. However, I think you are in need of rest and prayer. We will all pray for you and for guidance.'

Catherine thanked her and left, wishing the Superior were more like her former Reverend Mother, She did not quite trust this one, and with reason, for as soon as she had gone, the nun wrote a note to be delivered at the Casa Aguilar.

It was still early in the morning and Catherine wandered out into the cloisters. The paved walk with its Moorish arches surrounded a square space, which contained not a fountain but ornate tombs. Images in their niches lined the inner walls, each with a bouquet of flowers set before it. She walked slowly round looking for Saint Catherine and her wheel, but she was not represented, and Catherine felt quite indignant. Her life had come full circle and her Saint should have been there to welcome her.

A flutter of wings caused her to look round, and she saw a pair of white doves alight upon some bygone Abbess's tomb and begin their amorous ritual. At sight of them and the memories they recalled a sudden rush of tears blinded her eyes. She left the cloisters and went to seek the solitude of her room, upon reaching which, she fell upon her knees and prayed passionately for forgetfulness.

The day passed slowly for Catherine, since for the most part she spent it in solitude. She would have liked to have helped in the hospital, but was told that without the Mother's permission that could not be allowed. She saw some of the Sisters in the refectory at meal times, but they treated her with indifference. The House occasionally had guests, but this one did not look particularly interesting, nor was conversation encouraged among them. Many of them were attending medical classes, and Catherine hoped that she would soon be included among them. Meanwhile her position was ambiguous and not very practical. She had brought little with her except her night things, and she badly needed a change of wear. She had rinsed out her underclothes before going to bed, knowing they would be dry by morning, but she had no other dress. Moreover she hated being idle in a place where everyone else was busy, and finally she asked the Sister in charge of the kitchens if there were not something she could do, and if she might borrow a lay Sister's habit to wear for work.

The Sister glanced superciliously at her well-kept hands, and told her drily that there was always some scrubbing to be done, and such work was good to humble the proud spirit. Not feeling in the least proud, Catherine accepted the promise of this chore with an alacrity, which astonished the Sister, and it was arranged that she should commence her arduous duty next morning after Prime. With the prospect of rising before sunrise before her, Catherine went to her room as the evening began to darken, intent upon getting some sleep, for she had had little the night before, and tonight even the hard, uncomfortable bed looked inviting.

Almost immediately there was a knock upon the door, and opening it in some surprise, for she could not imagine who could be wanting to speak to her, she found herself confronted by the lay porteress whom she had encountered upon her arrival. Then she had seemed surly and disobliging, but now she was beaming.

'There is someone asking for you, senorita,' she said in a mysterious whisper, and Catherine looked at her in dismay. Had Edwina got wind of her whereabouts and come in search of her?

'I can't see anybody,' she said firmly. 'I am in retreat.'

'Senorita, you are needed, it is a matter of grave concern.'

Catherine's heart missed a beat. Could Senor Aguilar have had a relapse, perhaps even have died, and did Edwina need her to sustain her in her grief? Confronted by such an emergency, Sister Teresa would have disclosed her refuge and she could not refuse to go to Edwina in such an eventuality.

'I will come,' she said, picking up Dona Luisa's black shawl, thinking that she really must return it to its owner, while she drew it over her head and shoulders.

'A car has been sent for you,' the woman told her. 'Please hasten, for I have left my post without permission.'

'I'm ready,' Catherine said, and followed the rotund figure along the stone-paved corridor at a brisk pace. They crossed the open space to the main gate in deepening gloom. The purple dusk was falling over the city and the roar of traffic came muted through the thick walls. Catherine sighed, feeling loath to leave her sanctuary and face the tumult outside. Whatever Edwina wanted, she hoped she had arranged so that she would not have to encounter Jose.

The porteress unlocked the postern door set in the big main gate.

'Buenos noches, senorita,' she said with a sly smirk, as Catherine went through. The girl returned her greeting mechanically and heard the door clang behind her. A big black car was drawn up within a few feet of the entrance with only its side lights on. The door to the passenger seat was open, and in the driver's seat the chaffeur was sitting, his peaked cap concealing his face. The car was unfamiliar, a hired car, she supposed. Edwina apparently was unable to come herself and had not liked to ask Jose to fetch her. She wondered vaguely why the chaffeur was not on the pavement to assist her into her seat as was customary, nor did there appear to be any interior light to the car. Stumbling a little, for it was difficult to see the step, she climbed into the front seat and closed the door. The headlights came on, illuminating the narrow street in a sudden glare, and the car slid forward.

'Do you know if Senor de Aguilar is worse?' she asked in her best Spanish of the man beside her.

He replied in English, 'Improving every minute,' and swept the concealing cap from his head. 'Did you think I would let you become a nun, blanca rosa?' Cesar asked.

It was all a dream, the car speeding through the night, the scent of the Dama de Noche drenching the darkness, Cesar beside her humming a song.

Noche sin luna ...

Cor' sin amor.

She dared not speak to him for fear she would wake up. If only they could go on for ever and ever side by side, without returning to reality. Lovers reconciled in a world of delicate perfume and luminous night, in short, paradise.

They had driven some way out of the city, which was a golden blur behind them, when Cesar drew into the side and stopped the car. He snapped on the inside light and looked at her.

'Take that thing off your head,' he commanded. 'That's not the sort of veil I want you to wear.'

So she was still asleep.

'Let me go on dreaming,' she whispered.

'By all means, but there are one or two practical details to be dealt with first'

It was borne upon her that he was real, he was actually sitting beside her in the car, and he was neither sneering at her nor scorning her.

'But why have you come?' she asked. 'I thought I'd been sent for because Don Salvador was worse and Edwina needed me.'

'Exactly what I meant you to think. I feared if I sent in my name you would refuse to see me after what happened yesterday evening. The porteress was quite co-operative.' He jingled the loose change in his pocket suggestively. 'Incidentally, your mother is reconciled to the inevitable and will, I fancy, end up herself as Senora de Aguilar.'

'I thought that was possible.' Catherine sighed. Edwina had accepted her refusal of Jose, and she was glad her own long romance with the Spaniard was to culminate in their union, even if the widow's role would be more nurse than wife, but her heart had always been chained to the Casa Aguilar. For herself the prospect was bleak.

'That's why I had to get away,' she went on. 'I can't face being an unwanted third. Neither could I stay under the same roof as Jose, so I don't know why you have come to fetch me.'

'Don't you?'

'No, and I really have decided that I'm going to take up nursing as a career. I want to be of use.'

'Oh, you'll be of infinite use,' he said airily, 'and if you have a yen for nursing you can practise on the peons. It is quite in order for the mistress of the house to take care of the health of her dependents, so long as you don't neglect ... your other duties.' He gave her a wicked look.

Bewildered, she exclaimed, 'What are you talking about?'

'My home in the Argentine, where I shall take you after we are married, but that's the difficulty. I don't know what to do with you until the formalities have been completed.'

She sat bolt upright, the shawl slipping down over her shoulders, gazing at him incredulously.

'Cesar, you can't mean that, not after the nasty things you said to me by the fountain. Oh, you were cruel!' she told him reproachfully.

A look of contrition crossed his face, and a gleam of anxiety came into his eyes.

'You mean you can't forgive me?' he asked. 'Catalina, all I can say is that again I was jealous. I had convinced myself that I had wronged you, and I came prepared to take you away if you would come. I even tried to tell you that I loved you, had always done so since I kissed you by the bull pens, but you were particularly dense that night. You never have been very bright where I was concerned— how could you imagine I would ever become a matador?'

'Pilar was very convincing, and I thought you were in love with her.'

'I don't care for silly schoolgirls,' he said contemptuously. 'She hasn't grown up yet, though she did needle me a bit when she called me a coward. But to return to us, I came determined to rescue you from the Aguilars' clutches and saw that flaming bracelet upon your wrist. I could not believe that Jose would have given it to you unless he were sure that you intended to marry him—why, the thing's worth a fortune—nor could I credit that you did not know what it meant.'

She wanted to believe that he speaking the truth, but the pain of that dreadful scene still seared her.

'You made that very plain,' she said coldly.

'I was bitter and angry,' he protested. 'It seemed you had fooled me after all,' his eyes narrowed and became accusing, 'and then you tried to fool me again, you dared to pretend that you preferred José, that you cared for him.'

'I have a little pride,' she defended herself, 'and you had hurt me very much, Cesar, with your accusations, none of which were true. For one thing, Don Salvador really did give me the bracelet, as a token of his esteem, not Jose.'

'The cunning old fox!' Cesar exclaimed. 'I bet he counted upon you not knowing its significance.'

'You might have given me the benefit of the doubt, which you didn't do, and I wanted to hit back.'

'Which you did with a vengeance. When I thought you were playing Jose and me off against each other, I could have strangled you.'

'Yes, you looked as if you would have enjoyed doing so,' she told him, 'and you did nearly throw me into the fountain.'

'Catalina, what can I do or say to gain your forgiveness?' he asked humbly.

She looked at him with a little mischievous smile, realising that he was genuinely contrite, and for the first time, and probably the last, she held him at her mercy.

'It's over,' she said. 'Let's forget it.'

'Willingly, though I can't forget that if it hadn't been for the old boy's stroke, I should have gone home and lost you for all time. That doesn't bear thinking about.'

He spoke with such sincerity that the last of Catherine's rancour was dispelled, but she still could not account for the change in him.

'What has convinced you that I'm genuine after all?' she asked doubtfully.

'I heard all you said to Jose. I was outside in the patio.'

'Snooping?' she exclaimed indignantly, trying to recollect what she had said to Jose.

'And to some purpose,' his eyes gleamed wickedly. 'You said that you loved my little finger better than Josh's whole body.'

'Oh!' A scarlet flush rose in her cheeks. That wasn't fair.'

'I love you when you blush, amada, even more than I do when you don't, but we're wasting time with this painful inquest, and I know of a better way to convince you of my love and my good intentions.' He reached for her, drawing her gently towards him. 'You will marry me, won't you, mi blanca rosa?'

'Of course. Haven't you told me that you were a better proposition than Jose? How could anyone as mercenary as I am possibly resist you?'

'I deserve that,' he laughed. 'But it's always diplomatic to let the lady have the last word, and that's going to be the last word for some time.'

His mouth found hers as his arms tightened and for a long while there was silence in the car. Then Cesar reluctantly let her slip back into her seat.

'The question, is where do we go?' he said, frowning. ⁴I can't take you back to the Casa. Jose would probably throw us both into the street.'

'I could go back to the convent,' Catherine suggested.

'No, you don't, you're too fond of convents, I mightn't be able to get you out again. It'll have to be Valdega. The accommodation's a bit primitive, but perhaps you can endure it for a short while?'

'I could endure anything if you were there,' she told him.

There were guest-rooms at the farm, for the old Don sometimes stayed there, but as Cesar had warned her, amenities were primitive, though her small room and the narrow bed were spotlessly clean and the Cuerva family welcomed her with rapturous delight.

'I'll collect your things from the Casa tomorrow,' Cesar told her, realising that she had nothing with her, 'but it's too late tonight. You'll have to borrow one of my shirts to sleep in, but tomorrow I'll buy you the most beautiful negligee I can find in Seville.'

'I'll be grateful if you can bring me my own possessions,' Catherine said, 'but I can't accept anything from you until...' she blushed, 'we're married.' She still could hardly believe that was really going to happen.

'Always so prim and proper,' but his voice was tender. 'I will respect your scruples, beloved, but there is one thing I shall give you now.'

'Oh, what?' she asked nervously.

'Wait and see.'

He left next morning and was gone so long that Catherine began to grow anxious. It would be too cruel if he met with an accident when they were within sight of their happiness. When he did come, Edwina was with him, and not only the boot, but the back seat of the car was stuffed with parcels.

Catherine had run out to meet the car, and as Edwina got out of it, she was enfolded in her arms.

'You silly girl,' the widow said. 'It wasn't necessary to run away. What did you think I was? An ogre? I would have made some arrangement for you.'

'But you were occupied.'

Edwina looked at her reproachfully. 'Did you think that even Salvador would make me neglect you? You have first call upon my heart, Kit.'

César meanwhile was carrying in the parcels.

'What on earth's all that?' Catherine asked anxiously, fearful that Cesar had contravened her wishes.

'Clothes for your trousseau. Do you think I would let you marry without a proper set-up? And there'll be your linen to get. I know what's expected of a Spanish bride— everything for bed and board to culminate with the counterpane. You shan't go to César empty-handed, my pet, and we've still got to get your wedding dress.'

When she had gone, Catherine sat rocking Maria's baby on the wooden rocking chair with a falling dusk around her and a heart full of happiness and content. The child, recently fed, snuggled against her, his head against her breast. Cesar came in and stood for a moment looking at her with worship in his eyes. Then he dropped upon his knees beside her.

'I have still to make my gift,' he said.

'The only thing I want from you is yourself,' she said softly, remembering she had once said he was all any woman could wish for.

'Very satisfactory, but this is traditional and necessary.' He produced a fine-meshed gold bracelet and fastened it upon her wrist. 'I hope that won't seem as heavy as the Aguilar diamonds.'

'It isn't heavy at all and I shall always wear it, since it binds me to you.'

'And this also.'

One arm cradled the baby, her other hand was free, and on the appropriate finger he slipped a ring, a half hoop of sapphires set in gold.

'Your mother thought it would fit, and she was right. Somehow I didn't fancy diamonds.'

'It's lovely.' Catherine looked down at the gems gleaming in the fading light. Cesar put his arms about her and the infant she was holding, dropping his head upon her knees,

'And perhaps ... next year . .. it won't be Maria's baby you'll be cuddling,' he whispered.

She stroked his black head with her free hand.

'You know I love babies,' she said, 'and that would be the ultimate fulfilment.'

From somewhere outside came the throb of a guitar and a male voice singing a familiar air ...

... Cor' sin amor.

But Catherine's heart was filled with love to overflowing.