The Pleasure and the Pain

Anne Mather

All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the Author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are. not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown

to the Author, and all the incidents are pure invention. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise,

without the written permission of the publisher. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the pub­lisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

First published 1971 Australian copyright 1983 Philippine copyright 1983 This edition 1983

© Anne Mather 1971

ISBN o 263 74252 o

Set in Linotype Baskerville 11 on I2\ pt. 02-0383

Made and printed in Great Britain by Richard Clay (The Chaucer Press) Ltd, Bungay, Suffolk

CHAPTER ONE

The Hotel Egremont stood on the corner of a cul-de- sac with the bulk of its impressive fagade fronting the green expanses of the park. But the entrance to the hotel was round the corner in the cul-de-sac, as though the building tried to hide its vulnerability from un­welcome intruders. It was certainly the kind of hotel that could intimidate a person, making one overwhelm­ingly conscious of one's own insignificance, thought Laura, as she determinedly crossed the wide thorough­fare, flodging the streaming traffic. She mounted the shallow steps, smiled at the uniformed commissionaire who politely opened the swing doors for her, and en­tered into a world of dark green carpeting and Swedish wood.

Halting for a moment just inside the doors, Laura surveyed the entrance hall with its low elegant desk and equally elegant receptionist who was eyeing her rather doubtfully, and then, as though coming to a decision, she crossed the carpet to the desk and said:

'My name is Laura Fleming. I have an appointment to see Senora Madralena.'

The receptionist allowed her lips to frame a slight smile, and consulted a ledger in front of her. 'Oh, yes, Miss - er - Fleming.' She looked up. 'Your apppointment is for three o'clock, is that correct?'

'Perfectly,' replied Laura, wondering whether she

was late.

But I he receptionist merely glanced at her own wrist watch and continued: 'As it's still only five minutes to ihree, Miss Fleming, perhaps you would care to take a seat. Senora Madralena is, I believe, resting after lunch and I do not think her companion will wish to disturb her before the appointed time.'

Laura inclined her head. 'All right,' 'she agreed, and stepping back she subsided into a low armchair. In truth she was glad of the chance to sit down because she was beginning to feel distinctly nervous.

'I'll advise Senora Madralena's companion that you have arrived,' murmured the receptionist, and Laura nodded.

'Thank you,' she said, taking out her cigarettes and lighting one with hands that were not quite steady, and then casting her gaze around the entrance hall. The few other occupants all seemed much older than her­self, and she could only assume that wealth and affluence usually came with maturity.

It was nerve-racking sitting still, however, and after a moment she rose to her feet and walked across to a water colour that was hanging by the swing doors, studying it with an intensity that had nothing to do with its composition. She was all kinds of a fool for coming here in the first place, particularly as she had no intention of accepting the position that had been advertised in The Times. She had a perfectly good job already, and if Senora Madralena was who she ex­pected her to be, what of it? But curiosity - and some­thing else, something that refused to be stilled - had got the better of her, and impulsively she had telephoned for an interview.

She straightened. What would she say if Senora Madralena offered her the job? What excuse could she give? After all, it was just possible that Raphael had mentioned her name to his wife, and in such circum­stances the tables could quite easily be turned on her.

She pressed her hands together. There was still time. She could go now - walk out of the hotel and never come back! Senora Madralena only knew her name, not her address. She glanced longingly at the sunshine outside in the street. Why didn't she go? What stupid, humiliating persistence urged her to stay?

And then it was too late!

'Miss Fleming!'

Laura swung round. The tones were feminine, but with a faintly foreign inflection, and she found a slen­der young woman confronting her. Smaller than Laura, the girl wore her hair in a demure chignon, while her clothes were dark and unobtrusive. Her dark eyes surveyed Laura with some obvious surprise, and Laura could only assume that the vivid colour of her own hair was responsible for that undisguised look of disapproval.

'Yes, I'm Laura Fleming,' Laura said now, holding out her hand which the other girl took only momen­tarily. 'Who are you?'

'Er - I am Rosetta Burgos,' replied the young woman, slowly. 'Companion to the senora. I am here to escort you to her suite. She has been resting after lunch. The siesta you know.' Her tones were cool and modulated, and although she was forced to take Laura to meet her employer, Laura had the feeling that she need not have worried about being accepted for the position. If Rosetta Burgos had any influence with Senora Madralena, Laura would not stand a chance.

As they went up in the lift to the Senora Madralena's apartments, Laura couldn't help but wonder why Raphael's wife should require a companion. Surely, Raphael was company enough. Unless... . The thought came unbidden. Unless - unless they were separated.

But no. That did not seem at all likely. Raphael was not the kind of man to live in a vacuum. Some kind of situation would have been evolved. Hadn't she, Laura, already sampled-his iron strength of will, his refusal to turn aside from something which he swore was ab­horrent to him?

Senora Madralena's suite was on the second floor, and the lift gates swung back to reveal a carpeted cor­ridor, lit by artificial means as well as by a long case­ment window. Rosetta Burgos indicated that Laura should follow her, and Laura did so, praying that her unsteady legs would stand the test. A white panelled door led into a comfortable lounge, and here Rosetta left her to go and tell her employer that she had ar­rived.

Laura, seated on a tall-backed Regency striped chair, felt uncomfortably aware that she was out of place here, among so much evidence of a bygone age. Rosetta Burgos was a little like that, too. Her manner, and her mode of dress, were definitely slightly Vic-

torian, and Laura could only assume that the pattern of life in Spain was less aggressive,.

A door opened at the far side of the room, and Laura got hastily to her feet as an elderly woman came into the lounge leaning heavily on an ebony cane. Despite her smallness and obvious frailty the woman was pos­sessed of a certain presence and Laura glanced with some surprise at Rosetta Burgos who was assisting the other woman to a comfortable lounger. Rosetta's eyes flickered rather coolly in Laura's direction, and then as her task was completed she straightened and stood like a sentinel beside the couch.

Laura frowned. She was beginning to feel slightly out of her depth. Some mistake had obviously been made. This was not Raphael's wife. Apparently the name was not as uncommon as she had believed it to be. And now she had to extricate herself from this situ­ation before it created impossible problems.

The elderly woman was surveying her with equal intensity, and if there was not approval in her gaze then at least there was none of the hostility that had been in Rosetta Burgos's look.

'Miss Fleming?' she asked, in tones that bore a strong accent. 'Miss Laura Fleming?'

Laura nodded. 'That's right. And you are Senora Madralena?'

'Yes, I am Luisa Madralena. Sit down, Miss Flem­ing. It was good of you to come.'

Laura subsided into her seat again, linking her lingers around the strap of her handbag and waiting for the inevitable questions. But apparently Senora

Madralena was prepared to delay the questioning for she said:

'You read my advertisement in The Times, Miss Fleming. It was quite explicit, I believe. What is re­quired is a governess for my great-nephew who is four years old.'

'Great-nephew?' echoed Laura, softly, her pulses quickening annoyingly.

'Yes, Miss Fleming. My great-nephew, Carlos. My nephew is -a widower, you see, Miss Fleming, and while the child is adequately nursed by an elderly com­panion, it is desirable that he should be taught a more intensive English vocabulary, and in addition some reading and numbers. Do you understand?'

Laura swallowed hard, concentrating on what the senora was saying with difficulty. 'Yes, I understand,' she said, quietly.

'Good. The position is a permanent one, but nat­urally when Carlos is old enough he will be sent away to attend an establishment of education. Then your position will terminate, and I should make it absolutely clear that there will be no further children to require your services.'

'I see.' Laura nodded. 'And - and the position is in Spain?'

'Yes.' Senora Madralena studied the head of her cane. 'And there we have the problem.'

'Yes, senora?' Laura was intent.

'Yes, Miss Fleming. The area of Spain in which we live is known as Andalusia. Have you heard of it?'

'Yes, senora.'

'It is a very beautiful area, Miss Fleming. The most beautiful in Spain, I believe. But then, I am biased. I *am Andalusian, myself.'

'Yes, senora.'

'But Andalusia is not Madrid - or Barcelona. And Costal, where my nephew's house is situated, is in a very isolated place. We live on a peninsula, Miss Flem­ing; there is only one road in and out, and it is single tracked. What I mean is - there are no shops - no cinemas - no entertainment of any kind. There is fishing, of course, and swimming, if you have a mind for it, but it is not the kind of life appreciated by modern English girls.'

Laura's palms were moist, and a faint film of sweat beaded her brow. All that seemed to be consistent in her addled brain was that Raphael's wife was dead. He was a widower! It was incredible - and terrible! And yet she was only human and there was an awful el­ement of hope enveloping her. There was no doubt now. Apart from other minor references, the name Costal struck the strongest chord in her memory.

But what did it all mean to her anyway? She had come here out of curiosity, to discover what had hap­pened to Raphael in the five years since their separa­tion, not to become involved. She was not seeking employment. Her work at the private nursery was amply rewarding. All her friends were here, in London. Why then did her thoughts persist in running in all directions trying to find some excuse for accepting this job?

After all, apart from everything else, five years ago

Raphael Madralena had left her, renouncing every­thing they had had together, to return to Spain to marry Elena Marques, the girl he had been betrothed to since childhood. His involvement with Laura had been passionate, but fleeting, ruled by his head and not by his emotions. In fact, Laura had wondered whether he had any uncontrollable feelings at all. There had been times when she had thought so, times when he had found it difficult to control himself with her, but in spite of thaffie had rejected her, utterly. She shivered. Was she so without pride, so wretched a creature, that she could accept a position in his household knowing he would despise her for so doing?

Her throat was constricted. What stupid, stupid im­pulse had brought her here to the Hotel Egremont? Why had she succumbed to her curiosity about the Madralena family, and brought dissatisfaction into her life? She had been happy, she had made a life for her­self, and when she thought of Raphael Madralena these days it was not the painful thing it used to be. He had been distant, remote, living his life miles from her sphere. And now, through this crazy impulse she had discovered his existence was not the uncomplicated thing it had seemed, and she was being offered the chance to go to Spain and discover for herself what changes the years had wrought. And it was humiliating to know that she wanted that chance.

Senora Madralena was studying her thoughtfully. 'Are you all right, Miss Fleming?' she inquired kindly. 'You look rather pale. It is perhaps the overpowering heat in the apartment. Rosetta - open a window!'

Rosetta Burgos went to open a window, and Laura ran her tongue over dry lips. 'You - you mentioned the location of your nephew's house as though it had caused some problems,' she said to the older woman.

Senora Madralena sighed, and spread wide her hands. 'That is so, Miss Fleming. There have been nu­merous applicants for this position. But all seem to be­lieve that Spain is some kind of massive holiday resort, and that this position is a sinecure. Unfortunately, we have had to reject these applications. Some have re­jected us. I must be honest with you. In the beginning I desired an older woman, someone who would not ima­gine herself in love with the first Spaniard who paid her a compliment. Spanish men can be immensely gallant, but they are seldom to be taken seriously.'

Laura felt a pain in the pit of her stomach at the senora's words. Was she attempting to warn her against such an occurrence too? Laura nodded. 'I see,' she said, rather quietly.

'So you see - there have been genuine applicants who I found unsuitable. And those I found suitable - re­jected the isolation. It is not easy, Miss Fleming, for a girl used to the life and excitement of a city like London, to uproot herself entirely to an environment lacking in social amenities.'

'I can understand that,' agreed Laura. Even now, she was in a quandary. Everything Senora Madralena had said made little difference to her personal situ­ation. She should not be here. She should definitely not accept, were the position offered to her. She must put Raphael Madralena out of her thoughts once and for all.

'And so, Miss Fleming,' concluded Senora Mad­ralena, 'we come to your own qualifications.'

Laura looked up sharply. 'What? Oh - oh, yes, my qualifications. Well - I am at present working at a pri­vate nursery school for four-to-six-year-olds, but I have done work of the kind you describe. I - I was once governess to the children of one of the envoys at the Spanish Embassy.'

Senora Madralena's face became animated. 'This is so?' she exclaimed with pleasure. 'An envoy, you say. May I ask his name?'

'Of course. It was Senor Enrico Valdes.'

'Enrico! Ah, but he is a close friend of our family. We know him extremely well. Indeed, my nephew was for some time in London, at the Embassy himself, and he visited with Enrico on numerous occasions*. Perhaps you met him, Miss Fleming.'

^v Laura's cheeks flamed. 'I - I may have done,' she said, rather unevenly.

'My nephew's name is Madralena, of course. Don Raphael Madralena, Miss Fleming.'

Laura swallowed again. 'The - the name is vaguely familiar,' she said, uncomfortably, aware of Rosetta Burgos's eyes upon her confusion. Obviously Rosetta did not care for this social interchange between her employer and the English girl. Laura wondered why, and then concentrated on more important things. She was getting more deeply involved as every moment passed. Even now, were she to excuse herself and leave, it was possible that Senora Madralena might mention to Raphael that the governess who used to teach Enrico Valdes's children had applied for this position. Laura wondered what his reaction to that might be. Then Senora Madralena snapped her lingers.

'Rosetta. We will have some tea. Miss Fleming, you willstay and have tea with us will you not?'

Laura hesitated. 'That - that's very kind of you. Thank you.' She glanced down at her fingernails. 'The — the interview is over then?'

Senora Madralena sighed. 'Miss Fleming, so far as I am concerned — that you have been governess to the children of Senor Valdes is good enough for me. Whether you decide to take the job — is not for me to say. I will tell you - your application was the last on my list. If I do not receive any further applications I shall be returning to Spain at the end of the week and I shall engage someone there for my nephew.'

'There — there are agencies—' began Laura.

'Agencies are too involved with their own import­ance,' retorted Senora Madralena. 'They select suit­able applicants by methods I myself cannot accept. Just because a person is educationally suitable and pos­sessing the right qualifications does not mean they are the right persons for the job. I prefer to do my own selecting.' She sighed suddenly. 'I do not think my nephew is personally interested who I select so long as Carlos is not a nuisance to him.' Then as though rec­ollecting that she was saying too much, she said: 'Rosetta - see about that tea!'

For a moment, Laura felt sympathy for Rosetta, but the cold hostility in the other girl's eyes removed that

feeling. Instead, her thoughts returned to her own problems, and the immediate one which overshadowed all others. Some kind of inner perception had resulted in her applying for this job. Even while she had been sitting in the reception lounge waiting for her interview there had been, at the bottom of her, the knowledge that her reasons for being here were not simply curi­osity. Had she known then that she intended to apply for the job with all sincerity? And would she have felt the same had the interviewer been Raphael's wife?

That thought brought her up short. Surely even she would have rejected such a situation!

Tea was served by a maid in a frilly apron, and Senora Madralena presided over the teapot. There were wafer-thin cucumber sandwiches, salmon spread on tiny salted biscuits, and small cakes covered in icing. Laura drank two cups of tea and ate a couple of the slim arrowroot biscuits, but her disturbed metabolism was not conducive to a good appetite. Instead, she talked with Senora Madralena, answering the numer­ous questions the senora found it necessary to ask. Rosetta Burgos sat to one side, listening silently to their conversation, her cold eyes straying often in Laura's direction.

'Tell me,' said Senora Madralena, suddenly, 'have you no family to consider, Miss Fleming? Or perhaps some young man who would like to make you his wife?'

Laura managed a smile. 'My parents are both dead, senora. I was brought up by an elderly aunt, but un­fortunately she is dead now too. I share a flat with another girl, in Kensington. As for boy-friends - well -1 suppose I have my share. But nothing serious.'

Senora Madralena's eyes widened. 'Of course. The freedom of the English woman is world-renowned.' She glanced at Rosetta. 'How so, Rosetta? Would you prefer this kind of life? This universal freedom, to do as one chose, to live - and possibly love — at will?'

Rosetta lifted her shoulders. 'I am quite content, Dona Luisa. I do not wish for freedom. Sometimes freedom can be as irksome as confinement. Besides, a woman alone, capable of fending for herself, does not win a man's compassion and sympathy. A woman should not need to take the initiative. She should re­member she is feminine always.'

Laura linked her hands tightly together. 'You mean a woman has a place, and should keep it, is that so?' Her voice was a little taut.

Rosetta's heavy white lids shaded her eyes. 'But of course. A man does not respect a woman who attempts to ape his characteristics. You English women may have your freedom, but you have lost much more than you have gained.'

'Hah!' Senora Madralena laughed hoarsely. 'You feel strongly about this, Rosetta, I know. Still, enough of this. Miss Fleming - you have had time to consider us - to consider our proposition. The job is yours if you care to accept. The conditions are few — the work less than irksome - but possibly lonely, as I have said. What do you think?'

Laura hesitated, and the senora went on: 'You are not exactly what I imagined my nephew's employee should be. Your hair - such a brilliant coppery shade is unusual, and you are perhaps a little young even though you are used to responsibility. But I like you - what I have seen of you - and I am prepared to take the risk if you ape.'

Laura smiled at this. 'You want to know now - at once?'

'I would prefer to know - yes.'

'Obviously Miss Fleming fears her freedom may be curtailed in such an isolated spot,' remarked Rosetta Burgos, derisively.

But if her words had been an attempt to deter Laura from accepting the job, they had just the opposite effect. The challenge was too great, and whether Raphael Madralena despised her for her weakness or otherwise, it was to no avail. She wanted to accept — she wanted to go to Spain - but most of all, she wanted to see Raphael Madralena again.

'But honestly, Laura, you must be crazy!'

The words were spoken by Lindsay Barratt, Laura's friend, and the girl she shared a flat with. Lindsay was a secretary, working for a solicitor in Gray's Inn, and she and Laura had grown up together in Chelmsford in the days when Laura lived with her aunt.

Laura, seated in front of her dressing table, applying a cream foundation to her face, shrugged her shoulders rather impatiently. 'Oh, don't start again, Lindsay,' she begged, smoothing the cream round her cheek­bones. 'We've been into all this already, and I know — I know I'm crazy. But it's no good. I've got to go now. I said I would.'

Lindsay flopped on to her bed and stared at her friend incredulously. 'But you're giving up a perfectly good job at the nursery all because of a whim! Good heavens, when Raphael Madralena sees you he will probably order you straight back to London, have you thought of that? Gracious, you know he didn't turn a hair when he went back to Costal five years ago. Surely that was evidence enough for you. Don't go running after him like this! You're just asking for trouble!' She sighed heavily. 'You're twenty-four now, Laura. Not a silly teenager. It was probably just a crush anyway, something that's grown out of all proportion like these things do in your mind.' She shrugged. 'I can't under­stand you. Have you no pride? I'm damn sure I wouldn't run after any man. Besides, what about Gordon? Have you thought of that? I mean — he's not going to kick his heels here for months, with you out in the wilds of Andalusia, or somewhere!'

Laura smiled. 'Gordon and I are just friends, Lin, and you know it. If he has any serious intentions - he knows I'm not interested that way.'

'Why? He's a nice boy, and he's got a good job. Heavens, he'll be manager of Lawtons in a couple of years.'

'I know that. Really, Lindsay, are you wanting to get me married off or something?'

Lindsay grimaced. 'I just want you to be happy, Laura. I was here five years ago,, remember? I know just what you went through. And by going out there you can't be doing any other than storing up more trouble for yourself.'

Laura bent her head. 'I don't expect it to be easy, Lindsay,' she said, slowly. 'I don't expect Raphael to even recognize me. After all, as you say, it's five years ago now. A lot has happened, to him at least. But - oh, I don't know — call it curiosity, if you like, or maybe just concern — but I've got to go out there. Maybe it was fate that brought that particular advertisement to my notice.'

'Fate!' scoffed Lindsay, reaching for her cigarettes. 'It's no good, Laura. No matter what you say, what arguments you put up, I still think you're throwing away everything just to see that man again.'

Laura finished creaming her face, and studied her reflection thoughtfully. She knew Lindsay was right. She knew Lindsay was only trying to do what was right for her, and she knew she was stepping into deep water. But it was all to no avail. She had given Senora Mad­ralena her word, and she would keep it. She dare not seriously consider the outcome of it all. She only knew she was committed mentally as well as physically.

She compressed her lips. She wondered whether Raphael would recognize her, or whether she had changed over the years. She had never been beautiful, her features were too irregular for real beauty, but her eyes were long, and slightly slanted, and were an interesting shade of green, and the brows that sur­mounted them, and the lashes that veiled them, were naturally dark even though her shoulder-length hair was coppery-hued. Her mouth was wide and her nose was small, and she was taller than average, with limbs that were more generously proportioned than some of the willowy creatures that were currently admired, but she was attractive, and men had always found her so. Perhaps the derision with which she regarded her ap­pearance these days owed much to the fact that since her affair with Raphael Madralena she had never cared enough for any man to care whether he thought she was attractive or otherwise.

She stood up, and shedding the housecoat she was wearing, said: 'I'm late. Can you give me a lift to the nursery?'

Lindsay ran a scooter, and although the direction she normally took was different from Laura's, she nodded, and said: 'I suppose so.' Then stubbing out her cigarette, she went on: 'I haven't offended you, have I, Laura? I mean - well - I'm sorry if you think I'm interfering.'

Laura half-smiled. 'Don't be silly, Lin. You know you can say what you like. And like I say — I know you're right really. But you've never — oh, I can't ex­plain what it is — but you've never been in love — really in love — or you'd understand how I feel.'

Lindsay shrugged. 'And you're in love with him still?' she exclaimed.

'Oh, no.' Laura was definite about that. 'No, not any more. It - it doesn't hurt any more. The pain's all gone. I feel numb, almost. But - well — you know I adore the sun, and it will be winter here soon. I shall enjoy living in a tropical climate.'

'There are dozens of jobs to be had in tropical cli­mates,' pointed out Lindsay, dryly. 'You don't have to

take this one.'

Laura slid her arms into her coat. 'No, I don't. But I am. And if I'm not back in six weeks you can ask that young sister of yours if she still wants to share with you.'

'Who? Beryl? You must be joking,' gasped Lindsay, in mock horror. 'I don't want my own sister breathing down my back every time I do something exciting and reporting my affairs back to Dad! No fear! I think I'll just wait and see what happens first.'

It was hot in the small inter-city aircraft that was transporting Laura on the last leg of her journey from Madrid to Malaga. She supposed there was air-con- ditioning, but compared to the luxury of the jet in which she had flown to Madrid from London, it was rather uncomfortable. Still, she supposed, it was better than a journey of several hours by train, and as Sen- hora Madralena had made all the travel arrangements for her, she had had no choice but to agree.

The elderly senora had returned to Spain herself ten days ago, and there had been no further com­munication from her. For several days, Laura had lived in expectation of a letter, or a cablegram from her, stating that Don Raphael Madralena had decided to withdraw his request for a governess for his son, but no such communication arrived and Laura wondered whether Raphael was indeed interested enough to dis­cover the name of the woman who was to have charge, educationally at least, of his son.

Lindsay had been sceptical of the whole business right to the end, and although she had stopped trying to persuade Laura to change her mind by direct means, she had used every trick in the book to show her how stupidly she was behaving. Gordon Manning had added his comments, unaware of Laura's connection with the Madralena family, and merely seeing her in­sistence at taking this job as an indication of her restless state of mind. He had protested vehemently, and even at the last had asked her to marry him, and then, and only then, Laura had wondered at the tenacity which drove her on. After all, as Lindsay had said, Gordon was a nice boy, and she was sure he would do well with his company, but there had to be more to marriage than mere compatibility. There had to be that, too, of course, but it was not the pattern of people's lives. If she rejected the job in Spain and married Gordon, what would there be to look forward to? A home in the suburbs, as comfortable as they could make it, children, a second car! All very neat and tidily docketed, but she would never be content with that kind of existence. The advertisement had at least taught her that. She wondered what she would have felt like had the adver­tisement appeared a year later than it had done. She might - she just might - have married Gordon eventu­ally, and then....

She peered through the port at her side, seeing fleecy clouds dissolving beneath their wings as the small aero­plane banked slightly preparatory to making its run in for landing. Below her was the sweep of the blue Medi­terranean, and the steep hills above the coastal plain. The brilliance of Madrid had prepared her a little for the heat and the colour, but somehow the coastline had a charm of its own. Lushly foliaged, the greenery rushed up to meet them as they landed at the southernmost airport of the province.

As she gathered together her belongings, she became aware of the admiring gaze of a man seated across the aisle from her, and a faint colour ran up her cheeks, much to her annoyance. After all, she was used to being admired by the opposite sex, and she could only assume that the ordeal ahead of her accounted for her extreme sensitivity.

Outside, the heat hit her like an actual physical force, and she was glad she had had the foresight to change at the airport in Madrid. She had been wearing a suit, when she left London, but September in London was vastly different from September in Andalusia, and she had donned a slim-fitting cotton tunic in an un­usual shade of blue. Her hair, which she usually wore loose, was gathered into a french pleat and she hoped she looked suitable for the job in hand. She actually knew little of the situation at the Madralena home. When she had known Raphael, he had lived at Costal with his father and younger sister. His mother was dead even then, and it was because of his father's sudden death that he had had to return to Spain to take up the reins of the family estate. Senora Mad­ralena had not discussed her nephew's personal affairs with her, of course, and although it seemed apparent that Luisa Madralena lived with her nephew, the other members of the household were not yet known to her.

She emerged from the reception hall on to the fore­court, and stood for a moment looking about her. It was late afternoon and the sun was thankfully be­ginning to go down, but it was still very bright and she felt hot and concerned. There seemed to be no one here to meet her as Senora Madralena had affirmed there would be, and it was rather disconcerting.

'Pardon, senorita, but can I be of service?'

Laura swung round at the mascyline tones, and then sighed. It was the man from the plane.

'Thank you. I am being met,' she replied, coolly, and turned her back on him again.

But the man was persistent. 'Perhaps I can assist you, even so, senorita,' he went on. 'Obviously, you are English. We do not have such delicious complexions here in Andalusia, and obviously your escort has failed to arrive. Let me introduce myself — I am Pedro Armes. At your service, senorita.'

Laura compressed her lips for a moment. 'I am grateful for your concern, senor, but as I am quite sure I shall not require any assistance you are wasting your time.' She moved a few steps away from him, and was discomforted when he followed her.

'I do not consider it a waste of time, senorita,' he murmured, blandly. 'Have you friends in Malaga? Or are you perhaps here on holiday?'

Laura sighed. 'Neither,' she returned, shortly.

'No? You surely cannot be here to work! What pos­sible position could someone as young and attractive as yourself wish to acquire?'

Laura gave him a quelling glance. 'You are be- ginning to annoy me, senor,' she said, coldly. 'Is this the usual way a Spaniard treats a visitor to his country?'

Pedro Armes laughed, showing even white teeth. He was an attractive man, and probably knew it, she speculated dryly, and obviously it was a novelty for him to be set down in this way. She sighed again. If only someone would show up. Anyone! She was be­ginning to wonder whether in fact Raphael Madralena had already rejected her, and by some terrible mis­chance she had failed to receive the message.

Just then, a hand touched her arm, and she almost jumped out of her skin. Turning, she confronted an elderly man wearing a dark grey uniform, and her spirits rose immediately.

'Miss Fleming?' he asked, in guttural English.

'Yes.' Laura nodded eagerly.

'That is good. I am Villand, chauffeur to Don Raphael Madralena. I am here to drive you to Costal. Is this all your luggage?'

Laura was agreeing, glad to get away from Pedro Armes, but Armes was not quite finished yet. 'Hey, Jaime, como esta usted? he exclaimed, in surprise, and the old chauffeur gave him a dour look.

'Buenos dias, Senor Armes,' he mumbled, and lifting Laura's cases, ambled away in the direction of a sleek limousine parked nearby. Laura glanced in Armcs^;s direction and surprised a strange expression on his handsome face. Then he smiled.

'So, senorita,' he said, softly. 'We are to be neigh­bours. You must be the governess Raphael Madralena has acquired for Carlos, right?'

Laura stiffened. 'You know the Madralena family?'

'Oh, yes,' said Pedro Armes, nodding. 'I know the Madralenas. But you, you are still a surprise to me. Whatever will you do for entertainment at Costal? Such a lonely, out-of-the-way place. I will have to see that you do not get too bored.'

Laura's eyes darkened impatiently. 'I do not think you need concern yourself on my account, senor,' she retorted, and marched away after Villand, wondering what it was about Pedro Armes that gave her such a feeling of apprehension. He was harmless enough, even though he had been persistent in his manner. It was perhaps his manner when he had said he knew the Madralenas.

Thrusting these thoughts aside, she reached Villand. There were much more momentous matters to con­sider, and she must remember always that she was not a guest at Madralena, only the governess.

Villand installed her in the back of the limousine, even though she would have preferred to sit beside him. But he was of the old school who believed that a chauffeur held a different position from that of his passenger. In any case, he did not seem a talkative man and had she had the chance she might have been tempted to question him extensively about the family which was hardly the thing to do. But in the back there was little opportunity for conversation, and besides, after they began the hair-raising climb into the moun­tains north of Malaga, Laura was too busy clinging to her seat to care very much about their eventual destination.

After passing through the Puerto del Leon they began the descent into the valley where the road forked and Laura saw a signpost for Seville and Cadiz. Villand turned towards the coast, and they drove through a valley where evidence of Moorish occu­pation could still be seen. There were houses, set behind high grilled walls, and courtyards coolly shaded by palms and lemon trees. There were vineyards, of course, and streams, and tiny dams that controlled the water, directing it into channels to irrigate the crops. She saw people, dressed in dark garments, sometimes wearing wide-brimmed hats, working in the fields, and sometimes there was the rich smell of the earth or the plaintive sound of a Spanish guitar.

Laura felt the magic of the place stealing over her. There was so much beauty and colour, and excitement gripped her completely, so that even the apprehension of seeing Raphael Madralena again receded slightly.

As they neared the coast, they ran along the banks of a river where on stretches of uncultivated land roamed herds, of bulls. She had heard of these bulls, of course, from Raphael. His family bred bulls, for the corrida, and she wondered with a palpitating heart whether they were nearing Costal.

It seemed that they were, for presently they left the main highway, and drove instead along a narrow road that led towards the sea. She could smell the salt in the air, and she heard the sound of the sea-birds crying.

Laura looked out of the car's windows with more interest now. The road was gradually sweeping lower and they were progressing towards a long, barren promontory that thrust its rugged environs far out into the Atlantic. It was indeed a wild place, thought Laura, wryly, just as Senora Madralena had warned her it would be. The river mouth formed the promon­tory's boundary on one side, while on the other the sea beat itself against jagged rocks. On the mouth of the river, a cluster of cottages clung hopefully to the cliff- face, while below there was a small jetty with several fishing boats drawn up on to the shingle, nets draped across their bows to dry in the sun.

'That is Costal, senorita,' remarked Villand, gruffly, speaking for the first time.

Laura glanced sharply at him. 'Is it?' she said. 'Have - have we far to go now?'

'No, senorita. Madralena is only a short distance.'

Laura sank back against the upholstery, mentally summoning all her courage. The moment was fast ap­proaching when she would see Raphael Madralena. Somehow, she must not be emotional, whatever his reactions might be.

Leaving the village behind, they circled the cliff on a road that made the spiral out of Malaga seem like a gentle curve, and then, just as Laura began to doubt that the car could take such angles, they turned acutely through a pair of wrought iron gates, and drove up a steep incline to where the Madralena house stood, facing the blue expanses of the Atlantic.

The car stopped at the entrance to an inner court­yard, and Laura slid out on legs that felt incredibly unsteady, but even so, she could not suppress the gasp

of real pleasure that the sight of the building evoked.

Built of grey stone, it was evidently Moorish in design, with its inner courtyards and balconies, and the constant sound of water from a fountain that spouted somewhere. The entrance to the courtyard was unbe­lievably beautiful, intricately interwoven with arches in a network of detail. Beyond, in the courtyard itself flowers trailed from every available quarter. Vines and climbing plants spilled out of earthenware containers, jasmine and roses wound their tendrils round the bases of tall urns while smilax tumbled from its bed around the central fountain. The courtyard was tiled in a golden mosaic, and even the arches were touched to a golden brilliance by the light of the setting sun.

As Laura stood there entranced, an elderly woman appeared from around the side of the building, ap­proaching them briskly. Dressed completely in black, her greying black hair wound into a severe knot, she was the very antithesis of the homely housekeeper, thought Laura, twisting her fingers round the strap of her handbag, and wondering how she was going to face the ordeal ahead.

She addressed Villand first as he busied himself extracting Laura's cases from the boot of the car, and from their interchange Laura gathered she was not pleased with him. Then the woman looked at Laura, and after a swift appraising look, she said: 'Come, Miss Fleming, I will show you to your room. Dona Luisa is resting, and Senorita Rosetta is out at the moment.'

Laura smiled. 'Thank you. Are you - Don Raphael's housekeeper?'

'Si. I am Maria. Please to come with me!'

Laura shrugged, hesitated over her cases, and then picking one up she followed the woman. Much to her disappointment they did not enter the inner courtyard, but turned away round the building to where a door opened into a small hall.

'This is the entrance you will use when you are alone, senorita,' Maria advised her brusquely. 'Nat­urally, when you are with the pequeno, you will have the free run of the house.'

'Oh, yes. Carlos!' Laura nodded. 'When may I see him?'

'You must ask Don Raphael about that, senorita,' returned Maria, leading the way up a flight of stairs to the upper floprs of the building. 'Come.'

Laura followed the older woman's ample bulk, pan­ting a little with the weight of the heavy suitcase. But as all the servants appeared to be old or elderly, she felt obliged to help as much as she could. They reached a landing, and Maria crossed this to open a door into a wide, sunlit room. The sunlight was slatted by Ven­etian blinds, and the floor was coolly tiled. The decor­ations were palest lemon and apple-green, and Laura thought it was a most attractive room. Maria walked through the room, and opened a door at the far side.

'This is your bathroom,' she said, somewhat dourly. 'When you have washed your hands and tidied your hair, come down the stairs to the kitchen. Lisa will take you to see Don Raphael.'

'Thank you.' Laura stood down her case, and looked thoughtfully at Maria. 'Is - is Don Raphael waiting for me?'

Maria shrugged, folding her arms across her wide bosom. 'Jaime was to have you here over one hour ago. But' - she spread her hands deprecatingly, 'he is such a slow driver you are late. Doha Luisa expected you to arrive before Don Raphael.'

'Before—' Laura ran her tongue over lips that were suddenly dry. 'Before - Don Raphael. Your - your master has been out?'

'Don Raphael has today returned from Madrid, from the bull sales, senorita.'

'Then - then—' A little of Laura's consternation must have communicated itself to Maria, for she went on:

'It was all arranged before he left, senorita. Doha Luisa was to engage a governess for the pequeho. Do not concern yourself. Don Raphael is not a patient man, but he will wait a few moments while you tidy yourself.' She gave Laura the ghost of a smile, and withdrew.

Laura sank down weakly on to the side of the bed. Her brain was buzzing. Raphael had not known she was coming! Her anxieties had indeed been justified. He had been unaware of her identity until today. Indeed, he might still be unaware of her identity.

A film of sweat broke out over her body. Then, gath­ering her scattered wits together, she got to her feet again. It didn't matter now what had gone before, she was here. Whether she was allowed to stay was another matter. The contract she had signed with Senora Mad- ralena in London had been for a probationary period of one month, but should Raphael Madralena reject her outright she would have little redress. But for now, she must remain calm. Panic would not help her. After all, what had she to fear? He was only a man, as other men, he could not hurt her now. All the pain was in the past. Or was it? Why did she have the strongest desire to escape suddenly?

CHAPTER TWO

The view from her windows was impressive, but Laura had no time to admire it. Instead, she hastily went into the bathroom and sluiced her face, trying to avoid her own reflection. She was afraid of what she might see in her eyes; what terrible sense of inadequacy she might espy there.

Her hair was still comparatively neat, and apart from running her comb through the two tendrils of curl which caressed her ears she left it alone. As for make­up, there was little time for that either, and she merely applied a little eye-shadow and some lipstick. Her dress would have to do, and she smoothed the damp palms of her hands down its sides as she descended the staircase again.

Maria had not told her where the kitchen was, but it was not difficult to find. Following the scent of garlic and a delicious aroma of roasting meat, she opened a wide door and found herself in a tile-floored room of huge proportions, dominated by a scrubbed whitewood table that ran down its centre. Bunches of onions and strings of garlic hung from the ceiling, while a huge leg of pork was being spit-roasted on a very modern look­ing rotisserie. Maria was there, standing by the table helping another woman to shell peas, and Villand was there, too, seated by the door, smoking his pipe, while a mug of steaming coffee stood beside him. Laura felt nervous and intrusive, but when Maria saw her she looked amiable enough.

'You're ready?' she asked, decisively, and Laura nodded. 'Good. Lisa!' She shouted the girl's name loudly, and a girl of perhaps sixteen appeared from what looked like an enormous larder. She was small and dark-eyed, but the smile she wore was large and friendly.

Maria spoke to her in Spanish, swiftly and briskly, so that Laura, who understood only a smattering of the language, could not comprehend their conversation. Lisa nodded, and then, looking at Laura, she said: 'Please to come with me, senorita,' in slow, laborious English.

Laura followed Lisa out of the kitchen and through swing doors which led into the main body of the house. They progressed along a corridor, whose floor was tiled in mosaic, the walls of which were panelled and were hung with portraits of bygone Madralenas. Laura shivered slightly as she recognized Raphael's features in some of them. There was something unnerving about their silent appraisal, and she was glad when the corridor opened out into a wide hall, the ceiling of which was high and arched. Wide windows revealed the central courtyard; the shadows lengthening as evening crept on. The curved pillars that supported the upper balconies were dim and cloistered, but Lisa turned a switch that brought life to lamps, hung in the hall, and the light spilled out over the courtyard. The amber glow accentuated the burnished sheen of the panelling, and highlighted the intricacies of the carved

arches that decorated every entrance.

Laura did not realize she was lingering until Lisa halted in her tracks and turning, said: 'Will you come, senorita,' but only gently. Lisa had none of Maria's sharpness of tongue, and Laura was again tempted to ask questions. But she restrained herself, and was glad when a few moments later Lisa halted before double doors, inlaid, with mother-of-pearl handles.

'The study of Don Raphael,' she murmured, softly, then she tapped lightly on the panels, and pushed open the door, ushering Laura into the room.

Lisa's almost abrupt discharging of her duties caught Laura unawares, and if she had hoped for a moment to compose herself before entering Raphael's study, that moment was to be denied her. Instead, she found her­self thrust unceremoniously into a room that immedi­ately chilled her by its severity, to confront a man she had last seen on the night before his departure from England five years ago.

She did not know what she had expected, what kind of reaction she had thought he might reveal. But cer­tainly, she was not prepared for the dramatic change in his appearance, or for the bitterness that lurked in the depths of the cold grey eyes he turned in her direction. Her recollections of him- were acute, and the man before her bore little resemblance to those recollections. He had always been tall and dark, but never so lean, his gaunt features deeply etched with lines. The dark hair, which grew in such abundance, was greying slightly at the temples, and for all she knew he was barely thirty-five, he looked much older. Whatever experiences he had had during the years since their sep­aration had certainly left their mark on him, and Laura hovered indecisively near the door, as though afraid she had made some mistake in the choice of room.

Raphael Madralena was standing by the window at her entrance, leaning against the frame, regarding the view almost dispassionately. It was certainly a magnificent view that his study overlooked, the cliffs falling away precipitately to the rocks beneath, the hor­izon deepening to purple as the sun sank out of sight. But the man seemed indifferent to his surroundings, even while he fitted into them. Dressed in a dark lounge suit, his linen very white against the darkness of his skin, he was every inch the Spanish nobleman, and Laura wondered at her own temerity in imagining that Raphael Madralena might have felt anything more than a fleeting passion for someone like herself. The desire for escape which had been growing within her ever since Maria's disquieting words reached tremen­dous proportions and she longed to seek the freedom she would find outside the bounds of this bleakly fur­nished room. Here was none of the luxury and opu­lence to be found about the rest of the house. Instead, the floors were starkly polished wood, strewn with skin rugs, while the walls were lined with shelves containing hundreds of drab-covered tomes that had obviously rarely seen the light of day. The desk was oak, and strewn with papers, while the two chairs before and behind it were brown leather and merely conventional. But even while she abstractedly noticed these things her whole attention was focused on the man who was staring at her with cold intensity.

Laura wished he would say something. If she had felt the portraits in the corridor had intimidated her then surely she was not overly sensitive in imagining she was being mentally examined now, like an insect under a microscope. She moved uncomfortably, and he straightened, moving with the lazy indolent grace which had always reminded her of the smooth feline elegance of a cat, but no mild domestic animal, this.

'Well, well,' he said, slowly, continuing to regard her intently. 'So? I was not mistaken. It is you, Laura.'

Laura found it difficult to articulate. 'Y-yes,' she managed, tremulously. 'He-hello - again!'

It was all so terribly anti-climatic, she thought, des­perately. Never in her wildest dreams had she ima­gined feeling so completely inadequate. Somehow, she had stupidly believed that while circumstances altered, people basically stayed the same, but obviously this was not so. She didn't know quite why Raphael should regard her so contemptuously, and certainly she had no idea what awful experiences had carved the deep lines on his lean face, but most significant of all was the realization that this man was a stranger to her. Only the faint quivering of her senses recalled the intimacy she had once shared with him, and while she no longer loved him, she was still very much aware of him as a man.

Now, he walked to his desk, and said: 'Sit down, won't you?' indicating the chair opposite.

Laura hesitated. She had no desire to sit down if he was going to stand. She felt at enough of a dis­advantage as it was without increasing her discomfort. But finally she did as he asked, and waited for him to make the next move.

He extracted a cheroot from a box on his desk, lit it with deliberation, and then said: 'Why did you do it?' in a cold voice.

Laura linked her fingers in her lap. 'I - I don't know,' she replied, truthfully. 'I - I suppose I was - curious.' Put like that it sounded so bald; irresponsible almost.

'Curious!' the word was snapped tautly. 'About me?'

Laura swallowed hard. 'Yes.'

'Why?'

She shivered. 'I don't know. I - I saw your aunt's advertisement, and the name - well ...' Her voice trailed away. 'I suppose that sounds stupid, doesn't it?'

'No, not stupid,' he muttered, coldly. 'Arbitrary, perhaps.' He shook his head. 'You amaze me, frankly. That you should come here — to my home — ostensibly to take care of my child on a whim — an impulse — out of curiosity!'

Laura bit her lip. 'Th-that's not wholly true,' she said, feeling she must defend herself somehow. 'My reasons for coming here were in no way irresponsible, Don Raphael!' For the life of her she could not have addressed him simply as Raphael. 'I - I admit I at­tended the interview with Senora Madralena at the commencement of which I had no intention of accepting the post. That may have been pointless - irrespon­sible even. But afterwards, after I had talked with your aunt - I accepted the job in all seriousness. After all, I am a governess, and you have a child who requires a governess's services.'

Raphael uttered an impatient exclamation. 'But why should you imagine I would allow you to come into my house?' he said angrily. 'Surely you must be aware that such a situation would be foolish to say the least.'

Laura inclined her head. 'I do realize that - now,' she said, endeavouring to retain some sense of pro­portion. 'But - well — maybe it seemed less untenable back in England.' Her words were inadequate and faltering, but how could she explain that back in Eng­land he had been the man she had known so well - so very well — while here, in Spain, in this magnificent house, he was Don Raphael Madralena, head of the household, owner of estates, master of his own destiny, and completely without the over-riding passion she had once thought he possessed for her. Surely no one could have foreseen such an outcome of her impetuosity.

Suddenly, he flung himself into the chair opposite her, regarding her with appraising eyes, eyes that caused the hot colour to sweep up her cheeks. 'Tell me,' he said, less aggressively, 'why are you not married yourself by now? I would have thought that many men would have wanted you to share their lives.'

Laura straightened her back. 'I have no desire to get married, Don Raphael,' she replied, with nervous poise. 'I am sorry your own marriage has ended so abruptly.'

'Are you?' A strange look had entered his eyes. 'Did Luisa regale you with my family history?'

'Of course not.' Laura shook her head.

'No?' He flicked ash from his cheroot into a huge onyx ashtray. 'You surprise me. I thought perhaps you had taken pity on a lonely man. That you had come here to offer me your sympathy and understanding!'

Laura stared at him painfully. There was derision in his voice, and a mocking expression in his eyes. He was amusing himself with her, she thought sickly. Making fun of her impulse to see him again. Whatever she had derived from their relationship, and no matter how he had protested at the time, it was apparent that his feel­ings for her had been the direct result of a purely sexual attraction.

'If you will excuse me,' she began, getting unsteadily to her feet.

'Do not be so sensitive, Laura,' he murmured, thick lashes veiling the expression in his dark eyes. 'You should not be so. After all, you came here, knowing full well what a situation it would create. I am only human, and your reasons for doing such a thing intrigue me.'

Laura's nails dug into the palms of her hands. 'May I go?' she asked, unevenly.

Raphael Madralena lifted his shoulders indolently. 'No, senorita, you may not,' he said, coolly and clearly.

Laura was breathing swiftly, and her breast rose and fell jerkily. 'What do you want me to say?' she ex­claimed, finding it difficult to maintain a sense of re­ality in all this. 'What lengths must I go to satisfy you?

You have made it clear that I cannot stay here—'

His eyes flickered at this. 'Have I done that?' he questioned, dryly. 'I do not recall the actual words I used.'

Laura bit her lower lip. 'Stop baiting me, please.' She held up her head. 'Is there some means of transport available that I might use to reach the airport in Malaga?'

With a lithe movement, he got to his feet. 'How eager you are to escape, Laura,' he murmured, sar­donically. 'It is puzzling, this sudden volte-face. It seems to me that "you have taken a completely unre­alistic view of everything, and now, when you are pre­sented with reality, it is not to your taste.'

Laura looked up at him. 'I have attempted to explain my reasons for coming here,' she said, amazed at the calm facade she presented, while inside she was a mass of nerves, 'but, obviously, you imagine me inad­equate to fulfil the duties required.'

Raphael Madralena gave her a studied glance from between those thick dark lashes. 'I did not say you were inadequate either,' he pointed out.

Laura tried to shake off the feeling of unease that was beginning to disturb her. She was only now real­izing that she had, temporarily at least, placed herself in the hands of a man who, might misconstrue her reasons for coming here entirely, and who would there be to extricate her from this situation? After all, Senora Madralena had had no idea she knew her nephew.

'Well - wh-what are you saying then?' she asked, annoyed at the falter in her voice.

He frowned. 'You would have me speak plainly?' he asked, softly.

Laura nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

He gave a derisive smile. 'Very well. What do you imagine were my reactions when a couple of hours ago I discovered that the woman who was coming here to become my child's governess was the woman I had - known - in London five years ago?'

Laura lifted her shoulders. 'I - I couldn't begin to imagine,' she said, unevenly.

Raphael Madralena switched on a lamp that stood on his desk and the mellow glow banished the shadows which had been creeping into the room. 'That is better,' he murmured, then: 'Won't you sit down again? Or are you afraid of me?'

Laura shrugged, but she subsided again into her chair. Raphael Madralena left the desk and walked restlessly across to the wide windows, standing for a moment with his back to her. Then he turned and said: 'You are patient, Laura. Much more patient than you used to be, I recall.'

Laura coloured. 'I'm older,' she said, quietly. 'Perhaps more mature — in some ways at least.'

'But not less impulsive,' he remarked, softly.

Laura bent her head. 'No,' she agreed, unsteadily.

He smote his fist into the palm of his hand suddenly. 'You can have no idea of my feelings, Laura,' he muttered, huskily. 'You have had time to consider your actions, coming here, accepting this position. I? I have had nothing but a few minutes' notice before having you thrust into my presence. I will be honest — had I had the chance to prevent your coming I would have done so. I do not want you here!'

Laura's cheeks lost some of their colour, and he leant on the desk, palm down on its surface, staring at her angrily. 'Madre de Dios! Don't look at me like that!' he exclaimed fiercely. 'Do you think I care for this situation? Be assured - I do not! But remember, as I have said, it was not I who created it!'

Laura shrank back in her chair. 'I don't understand why you are prolonging it then!' she cried, helplessly. 'I'm quite willing to leave your house. You can make any explanations you like to Dona Luisa!'

Raphael straightened and shook his head, directing his attention to pressing out the stub of his cheroot. 'No. No, I think not.'

Laura stared at him. 'What do you mean? No?'

He looked at her again, an impatient gleam in the depths of his dark eyes. 'Maybe I consider that you deserve a little punishment for coming here and dis­turbing the almost even tenor of my days,' he replied, cruelly.

Laura's eyes were enormous. 'Whatever do you mean?'

'I will tell you in a moment. But first, I want you to answer me a question. Have I changed? Would you have recognized me?'

Laura's colour deepened again. 'I would have recog­nized you,' she said, tightly, 'but yes, you have changed.'

His eyes narrowed. 'I, too, am older.'

'It's not only that,' she said, sharply, before drawing

herself up short.

'So? What other alterations have you observed?' His tone was harsh.

Laura ignored his question, 'Please,' she said, in­stead, 'I want to know what you meant when you said you wanted to punish me.'

'Did I say that?' Now he was mocking. 'Very well, senorita, I will tell you. I think perhaps you will do very well for Carlos. For my son.'

Laura's stomach churned nauseously. 'You can't be serious!'

'Oh, but I am. Indeed yes. I think you will do very well.'

Laura got to her feet again. 'But - but I no longer desire the post,' she said, shakily.

Raphael's eyes were dark now, and coldly enig­matic. 'Do you not?' he questioned, bleakly. 'Then that is unfortunate for you, because I must insist you accept it.'

'Insist?' echoed Laura, weakly.

'Si, senorita. Insist. You signed a contract in London, did you not? With my aunt? For a pro­bationary period of one month?'

Laura recalled the contract. She had taken little heed of it at the time. 'You - you wouldn't hold me to that!' she murmured, disbelievingly.

'But, yes.' He was hard and arrogant now, all approachability banished, as before. 'You will stay, senorita, and we will review this situation again at the end of that month.' He walked to the wall by the door and pulled a silken cord. 'Relax. It will soon pass.'

Laura shook her head. 'But why are you doing this?' she exclaimed. 'Only a few minutes ago, you told me you didn't want me here.'

'Nor I do,' he muttered, emotion Creeping into his voice again. 'But, unfortunately, governesses are not so easy to come by in Costal!'

As Laura was recovering from the chilly indifference of his words, there was a knock at the door, and Lisa appeared again.

'Conduct Senorita Fleming to her room,' he said, turning back to his desk, and beginning to flick through the papers he found there. 'She will dine with the family, is this understood?'

'Oh, but—' began Laura, awkwardly, when he con­tinued :

'But tonight she will eat in her room. Naturally, Senorita Fleming is tired after her journey, and would not wish to join Dona Luisa and the others.'

'Si, senor!' Lisa curtseyed, and was about to show Laura the way to her room, when he called her back.

'You will take Senorita Fleming to see Carlos after her meal, si?'

'Si, senor.' Lisa nodded again, and then closed the door behind them.

Laura breathed an unsteady sigh, and Lisa looked thoughtfully at her. 'He is not so frightening, the senor,' she murmured, with a smile. 'You will get used to him.'

Laura wet her lips with her tongue. 'I - I hope so,' she murmured, with feeling.

The meal Lisa brought her on a tray was plain, but appetizing; a delicious cold soup was followed by beef, served with rice, and a kind of fruit mousse completed the meal. There was aromatic continental coffee, and fresh fruit of various kinds, but Laura ate very little. Her stomach refused to stop its churning, while her head buzzed with a multitude of anxieties.

She couldn't begin to understand his reasoning, and while her head still urged her to find some means to leave, her whole being wanted to stay, and that was what disturbed her most. There was about Raphael Madralena a kind of anguish, and she couldn't under­stand that either. Once or twice during their interview, she had thought she was getting close to the man he had once been, but always he reverted to the bleak stranger she had first confronted.

Not that she entertained any ideas about his feelings for her. Obviously, he still remembered her, and pos­sibly he remembered the good times they had had together. He might even remember the way he used to make love to her.

Her heart contracted. Perhaps that was her trouble; she remembered only too well. She sighed. She had known from the start that she ought not to get involved with a man like him, but the attraction between them had proved too strong for either of them. After all, she had been only nineteen in those days, young, and eager, and ripe for a love affair. Raphael for his part was spending several months in England, working at the Spanish Embassy, and had visited regularly with Laura's employers, the Valdes'.

From the first time they met theirs had been a swiftly developing relationship. He had waited for her one evening outside the block of apartments where the Valdes' lived, knowing she was free that evening and had intended visiting her aunt in Chelmsford. Instead, he had taken her to a lakeside hotel near Richmond, where they had dined, and afterwards danced. She had sensed he was not a man to play around with, but the danger had added spice to their association, and later, when he revealed that he was betrothed to a girl he had known from childhood, back in Spain, she had tried to break away from him. But he had deliberately delayed telling her of his engagement and her emotions could no longer be ruled by her head. Instead, when he came to the house, she found herself weakening, as he had known she would.

But after a time she began to believe that he could not seriously intend marrying another woman when he spent all his nights making passionate love to her. Spain, Elena, his life there, all seemed so far away, and certainly she knew that when he was with her every­thing else ceased to exist for both of them. It was not until his father died suddenly, and he was recalled to Costal to take up the reins of the estate, that she became aware of his indomitable sense of fitness, and while he admitted he loved her, he told her he intended to marry Elena just as it had all been arranged years ago.

The night before he left they had had a terrible row. She had accused him of all manner of terrible things, scorning him when he attempted to explain how it was with him - with his family. For a time Raphael had tried to reason with her, taking her roughly into his arms and showing her more powerfully than words could ever say how much he needed her. But this achieved only a momentary submission and when co­herency reasserted itself, she had torn herself away from him, uncaring of the bitter agony he appeared to be suffering. And yet, had he suffered? After the inter­view she had just had, Laura was doubtful.

She moved restlessly now, walking to the tall windows that led on to a balcony overlooking the sweep of cliff that fell away to the sea below. She stepped on to the balcony, breathing deeply, surveying the night sky broodingly. It was all so beautiful. The house was magnificent, possessed of the kind of primi­tive grandeur that only comes with years of occu­pation. She wondered what acts of violence and courage had been performed to possess such a place. She wondered about Raphael's ancestors, and about the definite Moorish influence apparent in the build­ing. She thought there was something primitive and powerful about Raphael here that had not been appar­ent among the parks and skyscrapers of London. Maybe his surroundings had tamed him, but here, there was a difference.

She shivered. Despite her earlier desire for escape, a strange reluctance to do so was fast overtaking her. Wasn't this what she had wanted after all? To be governess to Raphael's son? To live in his house? To see him again? To touch him?

She turned back into the room, searching urgently for her cigarettes. The thought had come unbidden, and yet it remained. It might be five years since she had seen him, since she had experienced the force of his personality, and yet whatever it was they had had could still disturb her painfully. She was a fool, all kinds of a fool, and yet for her Raphael Madralena possessed a magnetism that defied all reasonable ex­planations. She lit the cigarette and drew on it deeply. It was sex; that was all it was, sex! she told herself, fiercely. Of course, the man had sex appeal. He was tall, and lean, and dark, and his body was hard and muscular, and smooth as silk, that much she knew. Any woman would find him attractive. Just because he had found her attractive, too, their relationship had de­veloped into something that it was not, in her mind at least. Perhaps, after all, she had done the right thing in coming here. It might conceivably serve to banish him from her thoughts once and for all. There were plenty of attractive men in the world. That man - Pedro Armes — for example. He was handsome, and certainly available. Maybe when this month was up she would have learned a bit about life and a lot about herself.

CHAPTER THREE

Later, when a tap came at her door, Laura almost jumped out of her skin, and couldn't conceive for a moment who it might be. Then realization came to her, and she opened it to reveal Lisa standing outside.

'I am here to take you to see the pequeno, senorita,' she said, smiling at Laura's surprised expression. 'If you will give me your tray I will see that it is returned to the kitchen also.'

Laura nodded, smoothed her hair, and followed the girl out of the room and down the stairs again. It seemed that the rooms in this section of the house were not used by any member of the family and to reach Carlos's apartments they had to enter the main body of the house again.

Laura was nervous in case they met Don Raphael again, but there was no sign of him as they mounted the exquisitely curved staircase, whose balustrade was gilded wrought iron in an intricate design. The upper landing was wide, and thickly carpeted, and their feet made no sound as they progressed towards the south wing.

They reached a suite of rooms that all opened from one another, and Lisa led the way into a large nursery where a small boy was playing quietly on the floor with his toys, watched by another elderly woman, dressed in the severe black favoured by Luisa Madralena and Maria, the housekeeper. She rose politely at their en­trance, and the look she gave Laura was friendly.

Lisa introduced them in English, and it was not until the older woman spoke that Laura realized she was indeed English herself. Her name was Latimer, Elizabeth Latimer, and Lisa left them together with Carlos sitting staring at them with unnatural indifference.

After Elizabeth Latimer had questioned Laura interestedly about her journey, she said: 'Come, Carlos. Come and meet your new governess.'

The small boy got obediently to his feet and came across to stand beside his nurse, and Laura felt her heart plunge uncomfortably. Carlos was so like Raphael that it hurt. He had his dark hair and eyes, and the same solemn expression that Raphael had sometimes worn, not at all like the mockery and derision he had exhibited this evening. Dressed in a neat shirt and shorts, his hair smoothly combed, he was as unlike the children she was used to at the nursery, as a canary is different from the freedom enjoyed by a sparrow. He did not look as though he had ever tumbled in the grass, or scrubbed his knees, or made a hole in the seat of his shorts. He was so quiet, so subdued, that it troubled her.

He held out a hand to Laura, and she took it politely before he withdrew it, and stood politely waiting for her to say something. It was rather a tense moment, and she went down on her haunches beside him, and said:

'So you're Carlos! And how old are you?'

'I am four, senorita,' he replied, at once. 'Have you come to teach me some lessons?'

Laura drew her brows together. 'You might say that. But not very serious lessons, you know. And you speak English very well already.'

Elizabeth Latimer interrupted them. 'It was my sug­gestion that Carlos should have an English governess,' she put in. 'He can speak English extremely well, but he is an intelligent child and is eager to learn. I thought perhaps a few lessons - some grammar - a little arith­metic.'

Laura bit her lip and straightened. 'Don't you think he's a little young for such things?' she asked. 'I mean - he's only four. Back home, a child of four might attend a nursery school, but there is little academic training involved. It's a matter of getting a child to associate with other children — to mix naturally with them. Does Carlos have any playmates?'

Elizabeth Latimer indicated a chair near her own. 'Won't you sit, Miss Fleming,' she said, gently. 'I think you and I should have a little talk. To begin with,' as Laura complied, 'to begin with, Carlos is not like other children. He is not English, even though he may speak the language like a native, he is Spanish, and Spanish children do not have the freedom of our English chil­dren. Secondly, this is a lonely place as you will have noticed.' She sighed. 'There are no other children for him to play with.'

'None at all?'

'No. There are children in the village of course, but they do not come. here. I do not think Don Raphael would allow it anyway.'

Laura digested this. 'But surely, it would be better for Carlos to have playmates, any playmates, than none at all?'

Elizabeth Latimer uttered an exclamation. 'You think I have not advocated this right from the start?' she exclaimed. 'But since the Dona Elena died, Don Raphael has given Carlos little freedom.'

Laura swallowed hard, 'And - and how long has the Doha Elena been dead?'

'About three years now.' Elizabeth Latimer shrugged. 'No one discusses the Dona Elena's death, Miss Fleming.'

Laura found her words intriguing. She was only human and she longed to ask more about the Doha Elena, but she could not. Instead, she looked at Carlos who had resumed his playing on the floor, busily build­ing bricks into a castle, and then tumbling them down again. Laura could feel the other woman's frustration, and wondered why Raphael should be so strict with the boy.

'You have been here a long time?' she asked, looking at Elizabeth Latimer.

Miss Latimer sighed. 'Almost thirty-five years,' she agreed.

Laura gasped. 'Then - then you must have been here when Raph - Don Raphael was a boy.'

'I was here when he was born,' replied Elizabeth Latimer, nodding. 'I came here when his mother was pregnant with him.'

Something inside Laura stirred, a tingling ran along her nerves. She could imagine Raphael as a boy, as a child like Carlos, but surely not so quiet or repressed.

'Was he like Carlos?' she asked.

'In looks - yes. In temperament - not really. He was a much more mischievous child, and certainly he had more freedom. At least until his mother died.'

'Which was when?'

'He was about seven, I believe. Thereabouts anyway. I can't remember so clearly now. It was a terrible tragedy. She and her sister were killed in a car crash. Don Raphael's father was driving the car at the time.'

'Oh - how terrible!' Laura shook her head. 'How - how did Don Raphael react to it?'

'Oh, he was very upset as you can imagine. He and his mother had been very close. I suppose he turned more to me in those days. I suppose I helped to fill the gap she left.'

Laura commented, 'You must know him very well.'

Elizabeth Latimer nodded. 'I suppose I do. Have you met him yet?'

'Oh - oh, yes.' Laura coloured. 'I - I had an inter­view before dinner. But - but Doha Luisa hired me.'

'Yes, I know. Don Raphael didn't know she had been successful in obtaining somebody until he arrived back from the bull sales this afternoon.'

'Yes -I gathered that.'

'Dona Luisa has charge of the household these days,' went on Elizabeth. 'When Don Raphael's mother died she came here and although it was only meant to be a temporary arrangement, she has stayed. But these days she has a companion, someone to assist her with every­thing.'

'Yes, I met her companion in London. Senorita Burgos.'

'That's right. Rosetta Burgos is Don Raphael's second cousin. Her mother was his cousin.'

'Oh, I see.' That accounted for a little of Rosetta's sense of importance, Laura thought. 'She's very young to be companion to an older woman.'

Elizabeth shrugged. 'You will learn that in Spain, the family is all-important,' she replied, thoughtfully, and Laura thought that she knew that herself only too well already.

She stayed for a long while with Elizabeth. The woman was eager for news of England, for although she had holidayed there in the past it was years since she was in London. Laura told her about her life at the nursery, but naturally omitted any mention of her pre­vious relationship with Raphael Madralena, even while she felt that Elizabeth Latimer might have been one person who would understand. There was about her a sense of calm and good sense and Laura hoped she would always be there for Carlos to confide in. Not that Carlos seemed presently to require a confidant, but she felt sure that was an unnatural state that had been forced upon him.

Later, in her own room,, sampling the delights of a bed that would have comfortably accommodated half a dozen adults she found sleep elusive. Tonight she had learned a little more about the Madralenas, but there was so much more she still wanted to know. She wanted to know about Elena, and if the thought of Raphael's wife caused a faint feeling of pain then she must accept it. After all, despite its envelopment in tin- past, their affair was still quite lucid in her thoughts and it was natural that she should experience a kind of detached feeling of emotion.

But, in spite of everything that had occurred, sleep eventually overtook her, and when she opened her eyes it was morning, and already the sun was casting its golden rays over the cliffs and the sea beyond. She could hear the sound of the surf as it beat itself into fragments on the rocks, and the strange wild cry of the seabirds overhead. There was a scent of mimosa and jasmine and the cool tang of the salt in the air.

She slid out of bed and walked on to her balcony, breathing deeply. Somehow nothing seemed so difficult in the morning light as it did at night. Morning brought sanity and a sense of perspective. Whatever Raphael Madralena's reasons were for keeping her here it seemed she had no choice but to remain, and if she could help Carlos in some way so much the better. She didn't pretend to herself that it would be easy. He was not the normal, uncomplicated kind of child she was used to, and his remote manner was not assumed. She sighed. If Elizabeth Latimer had been unable to persuade Raphael that his son led an unnatural life what chance had she got to convince him?

A glance at her watch told her it was still very early so she turned back into the bedroom and knelt down beside her cases and began to unpack. Last night she had merely extracted necessary toilet articles, but this morning she hung out her most crushable clothes, and filled the drawers with her lingerie. Then she went into the bathroom and had a brisk shower before dressing in close-fitting navy slacks and a white shirt blouse. She doubted whether her outfit was suitable wear for a governess, but as it was still early she intended taking a walk and doing a little exploring on her own before breakfast.

When she was ready, her hair tied back with a broad ribbon, she descended the stairs to the hall which she had entered with Maria the day before. She let herself out of the door and stood outside looking about her with interest. Here, at the side of the house were cul­tivated gardens with fruit trees interspersed with flowering shrubs. Away to her right was the sea, very blue and rather majestic, while to her left a sweep of headland beckoned, bare and primitive. The house was surrounded by a wall, but it had crumbled in places and it was through such wild-grown rifts that she could see the headland. Clusters of tiny white bell-like flowers tumbled over the broken brickwork, while wild roses and clematis spread their tentacles lovingly, hiding the devastation that years of salt air and Atlantic mists and winds had wrought.

Leaving the regimentation of the cultivated gardens, she crossed lawns to the break in the wall, and pushing aside the creepers climbed through into the open ex­panses beyond. It was cooler here, away from the shel­tered garden, but wonderfully invigorating. The breeze whipped her hair in tendrils across her face, making a mockery of the neatness the ribbon had temporarily achieved. Laura smiled to herself. When she was back in England, and all this was just an episode to be re­membered with perhaps painful intensity, she would recall the sweet freedom of this headland, miles from the bustling civilization of the town.

She walked slowly through long grass that brushed her thighs, picking a strand and chewing it thought­fully, unconsciously making for the end of the promon­tory which seemed to slope down to the shoreline unlike the sharp cliffs to the sides. She seemed alone in the world, and was oblivious of anything until she heard the thunder of hooves. For a heart-stopping moment she remembered the wild bulls, and she turned, poised for flight, although to where she had no idea. There were no trees, no shelter of any kind, and a realization of her vulnerability came belatedly to her.

But this time it was a rider who approached her, and even before he was near enough for her to see his face she recognized Raphael Madralena and her heart began to pound rather uncomfortably in her temples. He rode a black stallion, which Laura thought was rather appropriate, and she had tensed herself to remain calm in his presence when he reached her. But she was unprepared for the undisguised fury in his voice, as he leaned from his saddle and said in cold, biting tones: 'Are you planning to get yourself killed?'

Laura looked up feeling remarkably stupid, the strand of grass still between her lips. 'I - I suppose you mean the bulls,' she questioned, temperately.

'Exactly, the bulls. You did see them on your journey here, did you not?'

'This morning?'

'No!' He swore impatiently. 'I mean yesterday, of course. Dios, Laura, they are not your calm English variety. They are bred for the corrida - the bull­ring!'

'I do happen to know what corrida means,' she re­torted, somewhat irritated herself now at his assump­tion of her stupidity. 'And you needn't have alarmed yourself. There's not a bull in sight. Besides,' she glanced round surreptitiously, 'I haven't come far. I was merely exploring, that's all!'

'Exploring!' He raised his eyes heavenward, and Laura couldn't help an instinctive appreciation of the picture he presented. Dressed in soft leather pants and waistcoat over a fine silk shirt, a broad-brimmed hat pushed to the back of his head he looked dark and foreign, an alien male who was supremely conscious of his domination. This morning some of the fines had been erased from his face and only his anger darkened his expression. 'You amaze me!' he continued, re­turning his piercing gaze to her flushed face. 'It is to be hoped you will live long enough to instil some little intelligence into my son, or perhaps it will be the other way about. Carlos knows better than to wander at will here on the headland!'

Laura was growing angry herself now. 'You're cre­ating a scene out of absolutely nothing!' she accused him shortly, but even as she said the words she sensed a movement out of the corner of her eye. Ambling towards them from the direction of the Madralena house was a large, menacing black animal.

Immediately she stiffened, and Raphael Madralena, aware of the withdrawal she exhibited, glanced away and saw the animal also. At least Laura was certain he had seen it until he said:

'Very well, senorita. Forgive my unnecessary ad­monitions. Buena suerte! Enjoy your walk!' And with a slight sweep of his hat from his head, he swung the horse around and began to canter away.

Laura was horrified and incredulous. He couldn't - he just couldn't intend to ride away and leave her here, at the mercy of that sinister-looking animal, without any further qualms. And yet that was exactly what he appeared to be doing, and the animal was much closer now and seemed to be eyeing her with malevolent beady eyes. All that registered with Laura was that it was between her and safety, and a shiver of apprehen­sion ran along her spine. She looked after Don Raphael Madralena and anger shook her so that she trembled with it as much as with fear. How dare he? How dare he ride away so nonchalantly! She looked again at the bull, mentally calculated the distance between herself and the fast retreating back of Raphael Madralena, and hesitated only a moment longer, before throwing away the blade of grass and beginning to stumble breathlessly after her new employer. Her sandals were an encumbrance to her as she scuffed her toes on tuss­ocks of grass, but she didn't try to stop and take them off. Any moment she expected to hear the thunder of hooves behind her and the bull's hot breath on her neck.

If Raphael heard her panting progress he did not check his mount, nor did he glance round to discover her there behind him, and as no thunder of hooves beat into her ears or steaming breath fanned her collar her most overwhelming feeling of anger took control. At last she reached the hind flanks of Don Raphael's stal­lion, and with an action born purely of rage she slapped the beast hard on its rump. The sudden viol­ence caused the horse to side-step clumsily, and it reared its forelegs a trifle wildly for a moment before Don Raphael controlled it again.

Laura, exhausted, her anger turning sour on her, sank down on to the grass, uncaring if a herd of bulls stampeded over her, but she was not allowed to rest for long. Instead, she was hauled unceremoniously to her feet by hands that bit cruelly into the soft flesh of her upper arms, and the hot breath that fanned her cheeks was Don Raphael's.

'You deserve a thrashing for that!' he bit out sav­agely, shaking her violently. 'Just what in heaven's name did you think to achieve?'

Laura summoned all her courage and glared at him. 'I wish you had fallen off the stupid animal!' she snapped, screwing up her nose at him. 'And were I a man I'd like to thrash you myself!'

'Oh, yes?'

'Oh, yes!' Laura wrenched herself away from him, but he did not let her go so easily.

'If Witchen had fallen, he could have broken a leg!' said Raphael icily.

'If - if - that - that bull - oh, lord, where is it?' She stared round in sudden fear.

'City dwellers should learn the difference between a cow and a bull!' muttered Raphael, grimly. 'And tempers should always be controlled. You're behaving like an hysterical schoolgirl! I understood you to say you had matured!'

Laura straightened her shoulders. 'You mean that animal was female?'

'Precisely! How sharp is your intellect, senorita!' His tones were cold and mocking.

'You let me believe it was a bull!' she accused him, angrily.

'Oh, did I? How?'

Laura bit her lip, thinking hard. Of course he had not led her to believe any such thing. It had been a combination of circumstances which had created en­tirely the wrong impression in her own mind.

'You - you're a beast!' she said, breathing tremu­lously. 'You knew exactly what I would think. Don't bother to deny it!'

Don Raphael shrugged his broad shoulders bleakly. 'Maybe it will teach you a salutary lesson,' he said, coldly.

Laura's nails bit into the palms of her hands. 'Oh, yes, it will do that,' she replied, tightly, 'and not only about bulls, Don Raphael!'

Then, with as much composure as she could muster she turned away from him and endeavouring to walk slowly and smooth her hair all at the same time when all she really wanted to do was run as fast as her legs would carry her she began to move towards the house. She was shaking quite considerably now and her anger was fast-evaporating to be replaced by a humiliating feeling of depression. She had, whatever she might say, made an absolute fool of herself, and infuriated him unnecessarily into the bargain. She ought to have known that he would not blandly leave her to be gored by a wild bull, and yet. ... She sighed. He seemed to despise her utterly, and the idea of his abandoning her to some awful fate was not such a crazy one. What was more crazy was the realization that when he had touched her she had experienced pleasure in the viol­ence of his hands!

Back at the house, she ran up to her bedroom and hastily washed all traces of her emotions from her pale face. The eyes that stared back at her from her mirror were wide and hurt, and she shook her head angrily, forcing her thoughts into less personal channels. De­ciding not to antagonize anyone by appearing in clothes more suitable for a holidaymaker than a governess she changed into a slim-fitting dress of navy cotton trimmed with white beading. The severity of the style suited her mood, and she plaited her hair and bound it sedately round her head. At least that way it would arouse no one's antipathy, and the density of its texture dulled its brilliance.

She wondered if Rosetta Burgos would be about today. Certainly she was one person Laura could do well without seeing. There was enough antagonism here already.

When she was ready she descended the staircase to the kitchens, and came upon the woman who had been preparing the dinner the previous day. She looked at Laura curiously, and said: 'Si, senoritai.’

Laura hoped she understood English. Her Spanish was not very expert, and she doubted her ability to make herself understood. Deciding to try English, she said: 'Last evening Don Raphael explained that I was to dine with the family, but he did not elucidate about other meals. Do you know if I am to eat in the nursery with Carlos?'

The woman stared at her rather blankly, and then with a smile she said: 'Hace un dia preciosa, senorita.'

Laura considered this. Obviously the woman hadn't understood a word she had said. She obviously thought she was discussing the merits of the weather. Trying again, she said: 'Er — donde est a — Carlos?'

This brought forth a stream of rapid Spanish issued with a beaming smile, and Laura bit her lip and sighed, wondering whether she ought to make her way to the nursery alone.

However, to her relief, Maria appeared from the garden at that moment, and said: 'Good morning, senorita. What is it you require?'

Laura felt relieved. 'Am I to eat in the nursery with Carlos?' she asked, smiling. 'I'm afraid Don Raphael only advised me about dinner.'

Maria frowned. 'I understood Don Raphael's in­structions were that you would eat with the family,' she replied shortly.

Laura linked her fingers nervously. 'Well - I'm quite sure he couldn't have meant every meal,' she con­tradicted her gently.

'Until I have other instructions you are to eat with the family,' insisted Maria, grimly, and Laura heaved a sigh.

'But - I would prefer to eat in the nursery - with - with Miss Latimer,' she said, uncomfortably.

Maria studied her less aggressively, and then she said, quite regretfully: 'I am sorry, senorita, but I have my instructions. If you wish to eat in the nursery I suggest you take it up with Don Raphael.'

Laura shrugged. 'Oh! Oh, all right. Then — could you tell me where I have to go now?'

'Of course.'

Maria conducted her along the corridor to the main hall and showed her into a small bright breakfast room where a circular table had been laid with a sparkling white cloth, and the coffee jug and toast-rack gleamed as the sun caught them. Certainly, it seemed less than frightening, and when Laura saw Doha Luisa Mad­ralena she heaved another sigh, of relief. At least she was not expected to eat with the master in solitary state. She had been half-afraid this was to be expected of her, although she supposed such an idea was over­confident and ridiculous. Maybe it was something in Don Raphael's attitude that had aroused such a feeling of apprehension within her where he was concerned.

But Doha Luisa at least looked pleased to see her, and said, warmly: 'Why, Miss Fleming, how charming you look! I am delighted to see that you arrived safely.

How was your journey?'

Laura smiled, and seating herself at the other's in­vitation, replied: 'I had a very pleasant journey, thank you, senora.'

'Oh, come,' exclaimed Doha Luisa. 'You may call me Doha Luisa. Senora is too formal when we are to live in such close proximity. Tell me, have you met Carlos?'

'Yes, I met him yesterday evening - after - after dinner.'

'Good, and what was your opinion?'

'My opinion, senora? Er - I mean — Dona Luisa.'

'Yes, of course. I am sure Senora Elizabeth did not allow you to go in ignorance of the way Raphael guards his son.'

Laura coloured. 'I - well - of course it was merely a salutory meeting, Doha Luisa. We did not talk for long. But yes - in all honesty I must say - the child is - well - reserved, for his age.'

'Carlos is all that a well-bred Spanish boy should be,' a cold voice interrupted them, and glancing round Laura saw Rosetta Burgos entering the room. Obvi­ously, she had been for more rolls, for she carried a fluted dish in her hands.

Doha Luisa half-smiled. 'Oh, Rosetta! We know you will not have a word said about Raphael's com­mands. Nevertheless, the child is confined. We all know that.'

Laura listened closely to their conversation. She felt that here was something she had not suspected until now, that Rosetta Burgos might entertain some feelings towards Raphael Madralena herself. After all, they were second cousins, and there was no earthly reason why the head of the Madralena family should not remarry, was there?

But now Rosetta put down the dish of rolls and walking to the silken cord similar to the one Laura had seen in Don Raphael's study, she pulled it sharply. Doha Luisa smiled her approval, and Rosetta seated herself opposite Laura, and next to Doha Luisa.

'Carlos is an intelligent child,' the older woman con­tinued now, pulling a roll into two pieces between her fingers. 'That much is obvious. But it would perhaps be better had he some children of his own age to play with.'

'I agree,' exclaimed Laura enthusiastically, glad that her ideas were not hers alone. 'Surely there are some children nearby. Are there no other houses on the headland?'

'Only those of the village,' replied Rosetta, to her question. 'And you would not, I hope, have Carlos associating with them.'

'Why not?' countered Laura, hotly. 'Children are not conscious of the petty restrictions of their elders.'

'A child grows as he is taught,' retorted Rosetta, her pale face flushed for once.

'Calm yourselves,' exclaimed Dona Luisa, with a smile. 'But at least Rosetta is right. There are no other houses like Madralena on the headland. There is only one other sizeable dwelling, and that belongs to a man — a man alone. An artist. Pedro Armes.'

'Oh, but I met him!' cried Laura, forgetting for a moment her antagonism towards the man. 'He came to Malaga on the same plane as I did. He knew Villand, of course.'

'You mean you introduced yourselves!' exclaimed Rosetta, coldly.

Laura coloured now. 'Not exactly,' she replied, awk­wardly. 'But Villand was late, as you know, and Senor Armes offered me his assistance. Naturally - naturally I refused.'

'I see.' Doha Luisa nodded. 'And what did you make of him?'

Laura's colour deepened. How was she supposed to answer that? She sought about for words to express herself as Doha Luisa continued:

'Perhaps I ought to tell you, my dear, Senor Armes is not a welcome visitor at Madralena.'

'Oh! Oh, is he not?' Laura lifted her shoulders. 'Why is that?'

Rosetta Burgos lifted her eyebrows scornfully. 'Our reasons are personal ones, senorita,' she replied, coldly, and Laura wondered whether Doha Luisa would let her get away with such an insolent statement. How­ever, Doha Luisa seemed more concerned with other matters, for she said:

'I am looking forward to hearing about your pro­gress with Carlos, Miss Fleming. I am sure your influence will be good for him. I agree his life is a little different from that of other children, although as Rosetta says, in Spain we do not allow our children the freedom of children in your own country. Try to understand our ways, Miss Fleming, and we will try to understand yours, but I should warn you that Don Raphael is not a man easily swayed by a honeyed tongue, and if you should imagine that your ways are the only ways, then you might find your task doubly difficult.'

'Thank you for telling me, senora,' murmured Laura, feeling a trifle harassed. It seemed obvious that there were already too many people in this household with ideas about Carlos and making her own ways known was indeed going to be difficult.

Lisa, the maid, arrived a few moments later and after asking Laura's preference for either coffee or tea, she disappeared to reappear again a few minutes later with fresh coffee, hot rolls, and some delicious apricot preserve. Laura who had imagined her appetite dis­sipated by the events of the morning, found that she was quite hungry after all, and maybe the delicious food was responsible. At any rate, she felt fortified after the meal, ready to face anything, and even Rosetta's scowl could not dampen rising spirits.

Excusing herself a little while afterwards she made her way to the nursery wing. It was not difficult to find for she had taken particular interest in her sur­roundings the night before, and although the house was large it was built round the central courtyard and by this one could gauge one's whereabouts.

In the nursery, Elizabeth Latimer and Carlos had finished breakfast, and Elizabeth was giving his hands and face a wash to dispose of buttery lips and fingers. She smiled when she saw Laura, and said:

'Here is your charge. All ready and willing.'

'Good morning, Carlos,' said Laura, bending down to the boy. 'And how are you this morning?'

'Very well, thank you.' Carlos studied her thought­fully. 'Have you come to teach me lessons now?'

'No, not exactly. I - well— Laura glanced at Elizabeth Latimer - 'I thought we might get to know each other first.' She straightened. 'Do you think his father would object if we went out into the garden? It's such a glorious morning and I couldn't possibly begin to teach him without first getting to know him.'

Elizabeth shrugged. 'I can think of no objection offhand,' she agreed. 'However, don't go outside the grounds, will you. It can be dangerous.'

'I know. The bulls!' remarked Laura, dryly.

'Oh, you saw them yesterday, did you?'

'Well - yes, actually, I did,' replied Laura, deciding to keep this morning's experience to herself. 'They — er - they look quite ferocious!'

'Oh, yes, they can be. In fact it's not too long since one of the hands was badly gored.'

Laura shivered. 'Then ought they to roam so wild?'

'The village is fenced off. There's no danger. Besides, they aren't trained to kill, you know. And when they're old enough they're sold to the bull­ring.'

'Oh, yes.' Laura felt a sense of distaste. 'I've never seen a bullfight. Have you?'

'I have!' came a small voice, and Laura looked down at Carlos in horror.

'You have?' she echoed. 'Surely not!' She looked up

at Elizabeth. 'Has he?'

Elizabeth inclined her head. 'Why not? It's part of the indoctrination, didn't you know? Spaniards accept the bullfight as we accept — well — a football match.'

Laura shook her head. 'Oh, well,' she said, shivering again. 'Shall we go, Carlos?'

The boy nodded, and slipped his hand confidingly into hers. Glad of this small gesture of confidence, Laura tightened her grip on his fingers and led the way along the corridors and down to the hall.

'Come,' said Carlos, beginning to tug at her hand, as she turned away from the courtyard. 'We go this way.'

Laura hesitated, and then she remembered what Maria had said about using the main entrance and allowed Carlos to lead her out through a carved arch­way into the mosaic-tiled patio. Here the sun was brilliant, and the perfume of the flowers was intoxi­cating. They walked across to the fountain, and Carlos trailed his fingers in the water. Then he looked at Laura, and said:

'Tell me about your home,' in a sort of wistful voice.

'My home?' Laura frowned, and then relaxed her features into a smile. 'Well, actually, I don't have a home as you know it. I have a flat, and I share it with another girl. Do you know what a flat is?'

He shook his head, and she seated herself on the edge of the fountain, and said: 'Well, a flat is several rooms in a large building that contains a lot of similar rooms, and these rooms are separated from the rest of the

building by a door, like a front door, you know - an entrance.'

'Sort of like an apartment?'

Laura's eyes lit up. 'That's right. Have you been in an apartment?'

'My father has an apartment in Madrid,' replied Carlos, dispassionately. Then: 'Have you any brothers or sisters?'

'No.'

'Nor have I.' Carlos sighed. 'I wish I had, don't you? I mean - I have some cousins and there are lots of children in then house. Here - there's only me!'

Laura bit her lip. 'Now there's me, too,' she pointed out with a smile. 'Come on. Show me the garden. Have you a swing?'

'What is a swing?'

Laura sighed. 'A seat - on the end of a rope. Hang­ing from bars — or a tree.'

Carlos shook his head. 'I have a car,' he said, rather importantly. 'It has a real engine.'

Laura looked surprised now. 'Has it?'

'Yes. And I have a lot of toys. Upstairs - in the nursery.'

'Do you have any pets?'

'Pets?'

'You know! Rabbits, hamsters — or a puppy!'

'Livestock, you mean.'

Laura compressed her lips. 'I suppose I do.'

'Oh, then, no. There are plenty of animals on the estate my father says, and I can see them whenever I like.'

'But that's not the same as having an animal of your own to care for,' replied Laura, quietly, but then failed to continue her sentence when she saw that wistful ex­pression on Carlos's face again. Obviously, Elizabeth Latimer had put forward the same kind of arguments at some time and Carlos's answers were those he had heard from his father.

There were arbours in the grounds, and one, with a carved stone seat, overlooked the sweep of coastline. 'Let's sit here,' suggested Laura, patting the stone and appreciating the warmth of its texture. 'We can talk about your hobbies - the things you like to do. Then maybe we can blend them in with our lessons in days to come. Sort of learning by playing.'

Carlos looked interested at this, and perched himself beside her, studying her with embarrassing intensity. 'Go on,' he said. 'Tell me about hobbies.'

Laura ran her tongue over her lips thoughtfully. 'Well, hobbies are things we enjoy doing: like reading — or drawing — or painting, perhaps. In England people do all sorts of things, like playing games, or collecting things. I used to collect stamps once, and sometimes I began collections and never finished them. Not that you can actually finish a collection,' she am­ended with a smile.

Carlos nodded. 'I know what you mean. Libby col­lects wild flowers and presses them in a book.'

'Libby? Oh, you mean Miss Latimer.'

'Yes. I call her Libby. Do you like her?'

'Very much,' replied Laura, honestly. 'I suppose she's been like a mother to you. Do you remember your

mother at all?'

'Oh, no. I was only a baby when she died,' replied Carlos, with quiet indifference. 'Can we start collecting something, Miss Fleming?'

Laura frowned. 'I think perhaps Miss Fleming is going to sound very formal,' she said, thoughtfully. 'But similarly, your father might not like you calling me by my Christian name. Can you think of a name for me?'

Carlos wrinkled his nose. 'Er - what about Senorita Laura?' he suggested.

Laura smiled. 'That's even longer than Miss Flem­ing,' she pointed out.

Carlos frowned. 'I could call you Aunt Laura,' he said.

Laura shook her head swiftly. 'I don't think so,' she said, quickly, feeling sure Raphael would not approve of that at all. 'I think perhaps we'll have to leave it at Miss Fleming for the time being'

'What's "the time being"?' asked Carlos, and with a chuckle Laura started to explain. The time passed swiftly and Laura could hardly believe it was half past eleven when Lisa came to tell them that hot chocolate was waiting for them at the house. Afterwards, they went upstairs and spent some time in the nursery while Carlos showed Laura his collection of playthings. Indeed he had a fine selection, but everything was put away so neatly that Laura doubted the child got any real enjoyment out of them. His paint box didn't look as though a paint brush had ever touched the colours and she resolved to change this as soon as she possibly could. Never mind if Raphael got angry with her, she could stand that; or anyway she would have to.

Elizabeth was sitting in the nursery, and when Laura got to her feet and came across to her, she said: 'You look flustered, Miss Fleming.'

Laura smiled ruefully. 'Call me Laura,' she ex­claimed. 'But, yes, I should imagine anyone would get flustered. Does Carlos ever break his toys or throw them around?'

Elizabeth laughed. 'My dear Laura, Carlos is a Spaniard. Did not this family you used to work for in England, the Valdes, treat their children likewise?'

Laura frowned. 'No. Possibly they were more an­glicized, living in England, and so on. And I honestly can't believe that all Spaniards treat their children so severely. What time does Carlos spend with his father?'

'Ah, well, that is another matter,' murmured Elizabeth, frowning herself now. 'Don Raphael is a busy man—'

'Too busy for his son, you mean,' remarked Laura, cynically.

Elizabeth shrugged. 'He has his reasons. Laura, my dear, don't judge everything so quickly - or so harshly. Don Raphael is a just man, a hard man, if you like, but he was not always like this. His life has not been an easy one and - well - since Elena's death ...' Her voice trailed away, and Laura sighed. She longed to ask Elizabeth Latimer about Elena, and about her sudden death, but instead she lifted her shoulders helplessly, and started almost guiltily when Lisa appeared in the

doorway, and said:

'I am about to serve lunch, senorita. Doha Luisa said I should ask you to join her.'

Laura looked regretfully at Elizabeth Latimer. 'Do you suppose I would be allowed to eat here — with you?' she asked, hopefully. 'That is - if you wouldn't object.'

'I wouldn't object,' replied the older woman, 'but I think you had better wait and ask Don Raphael. It was at his suggestion that you eat with the family.'

Laura compressed her lips. She wondered if this was another way Don Raphael intended to punish her. After all, eating with the family was quite an ordeal for someone like herself. Sighing, she nodded at Lisa, and going to the mirror, smoothed her hair.

'I suppose I should have left myself time to wash and change,' she murmured, ruefully. 'But the time has absolutely flown.'

Carlos came running across to her, catching her hand unexpectedly. 'Will - will you come back - this afternoon?' he asked, pleadingly.

Laura was touched. 'Why — why of course,' she said, bending down to him with a gentle smile. 'Have you enjoyed this morning, too?'

'Oh, yes,' Carlos nodded vigorously. 'You won't forget about finding something for us to collect, will you?'

Laura shook her head. 'No, I won't forget. Adios, Carlos!'

Going down to the dining-room, Laura felt the return of the butterflies she had experienced in her stomach at breakfast, but again Don Raphael was not present, and only Doha Luisa and Rosetta awaited her. They were in a small ante-room which adjoined the breakfast room, and Doha Luisa explained that she and Rosetta ate in the breakfast room when they were alone.

'It is smaller, and more convenient for the servants,' she explained, 'and as Don Raphael is away today, there are no guests for lunch.'

Laura accepted a glass of sherry, and Doha Luisa commented that it was their own vintage, grown on vines nearer Cadiz that belonged to the Madralena family.

'It is to the vineyard Don Raphael has gone today,' she remarked as they were served with a delicious cold consomme. 'Naturally, since he has been away in Madrid a lot of work had piled up in his absence.'

Laura nodded and ate her consomme with relish. The morning had given her an appetite, and she was hungry. It was only when she looked up to find Rosetta Burgos's eyes upon her that she found herself colour­ing.

'Tell me, senorita,' remarked the other girl, coldly, 'have you and Carlos begun your lessons this morning?'

Laura frowned. She had the feeling Rosetta knew very well that they had not and was taking this oppor­tunity of making this known to Doha Luisa.

'No,' she replied, firmly. 'We have been getting to know one another.'

Rosetta's lip curled. 'Is it necessary that one gets to know all one's pupils?' she questioned, mockingly. 'Surely this is something that comes with time and ex­perience.'

'In my experience a small child requires to know a little about his teacher,' replied Laura, sharply. 'After all, we are strangers, and he is very young to begin lessons of any kind.'

Rosetta glanced at Doha Luisa who was listening intently to this exchange. 'Might it not be more to the point to say that the longer one delays the lessons, the greater is the time of employment?' she sneered.

Laura almost gasped, but Doha Luisa intervened at this point. 'I agree with Miss Fleming she said, quellingly. 'Carlos is a lonely child, and not one who takes readily to change. It is essential that the change­over should be a gradual one. As to the length of em­ployment, Rosetta, obviously you are unaware of the abundance of positions available to someone with Miss Fleming's qualifications.'

Rosetta flushed now. 'Nevertheless, this job is not a sinecure, Doha Luisa. You said so yourself.'

Doha Luisa waved a frail hand amiably. 'If Miss Fleming can enjoy her work, why should we deny her that pleasure?' she asked, smoothly. 'Rosetta, I think you are jealous. Perhaps you would have preferred the care of a child like Carlos to the companionship of an old woman like myself.'

Rosetta stiffened, and when she would have spoken, Doha Luisa went on: 'Or perhaps it is the fact that Carlos is Raphael's son, eh, Rosetta? The boy is like his father in many ways, and maybe a governess is afforded more attention than the guardian of one's aunt!'

Laura bent her head. While she didn't like Rosetta, she did not care for this sort of baiting of the girl, in her presence, and she wished the meal were over instead of only half begun. Tonight, she must find an opportunity to speak to Don Raphael and ask whether she might take her meals with Elizabeth Latimer and Carlos in the nursery. After all, she wanted no one's enmity, and she felt sure that Rosetta would attribute this humili­ation she was suffering to Laura and lay the blame fully at her door. Besides, Laura didn't want to listen to gossip about Don Raphael, and if Rosetta hoped to become more closely involved with him, then good luck to her. She would certainly need it if this morning's little episode was anything to go on.

CHAPTER FOUR

In the afternoon, after Carlos had had his siesta, Laura asked Elizabeth Latimer whether there was any way down to the rocks and the water's edge. She had spent the siesta time resting on her bed writing a brief note to Lindsay, and now she felt alive and vigorously active.

Elizabeth studied her for a moment, and then she said: 'Usually, anyone descending to the shore takes the easy way down, near the village. Our shoreline is much more rugged and dangerous, although there was a flight of steps at one time. In the olden days, ships used to pull their boats in and climb up to Madralena house. It was access to the house that did not involve the authorities. The ships used to moor out in the bay, and at night this side of the promontory was not guarded.'

Laura's eyes widened. 'It sounds exciting. Was there smuggling?'

'I imagine so. Although I believe the smuggling was mostly human cargo.'

Laura clasped her hands together. 'The Moors?' she asked, her eyes sparkling.

'Of course.' Elizabeth was indulgent. 'I doubt whether many of the families along this coastline would care to trace their ancestry back too carefully.'

Laura looked at Carlos. 'You don't mean — is that possible?'

'More than possible, I should imagine,' remarked Elizabeth dryly. 'The Madralenas used to be quite a ruthless family. At the time of the Inquisition there were rumours, I've read.' She shrugged. 'Perhaps as you get to know Don Raphael you will encounter that ruthlessness yourself.' '

Laura shivered. She knew exactly what Elizabeth meant suddenly, and Elizabeth went on: 'No one ques­tions Raphael's authority here. It's years since he was the malleable boy I used to know.'

Laura looked at her. 'Do you think I'm wasting my time?'

'With Raphael?' Elizabeth shrugged. 'I don't know. It depends on a lot of things, I suppose. My fight when I was young was for Raphael himself. I suppose I achieved a small success, but in those days his mother was still alive, and it was only afterwards when his mother died that his father became stricter. Even so, Raphael was always an attractive-natured boy. I think after he came back from England and married Elena he changed. But it wasn't until Elena died that he became the hard man he is today.'

Laura felt something stir inside her. 'He must have loved Elena very much,' she ventured.

Elizabeth shrugged. 'Yes, possibly,' she said, doubt­fully, and then changed the subject.

Later, armed with instructions from Elizabeth, Carlos and Laura began their exploration of the cliffs above the cove. If there was a way down, then obvi­ously Raphael would know it, but Laura had no intention of crossing swords with him about the suitability of such an expedition. Besides, she had still to tackle him about eating in the nursery, but that could wait for later.

Carlos considered the whole thing quite an adven­ture, and as he was used to much quieter pastimes he was eager to show his enthusiasm. Laura had to re­strain him when he would have climbed the fence that separated the cliffs from the house, and only when they encountered a gateway in the wall did she venture out­side. They were standing on a windswept stretch of turf that sloped to the cliff edge, and it was here, overgrown with weeds and wild flowers, that they discovered what they were searching for. A mossy stairway curved down sharply, and Laura felt a thrill of excitement at the pictures this conjured up. Even so, she realized re­gretfully that it would be foolhardy to attempt such a descent with such a small boy, and she looked at Carlos and sighed.

'We can't go down, honey,' she said, ruefully. 'It's much too dangerous. Can you see how the steps are crumbling? Down below the sea will have caused even greater damage.'

Carlos's face drooped visibly. 'Oh!' he exclaimed, disappointedly. 'I thought we were going to have such an adventure! I never have adventures!'

Laura was about to offer him her sympathy, when a harsh voice interrupted them, and Don Raphael Mad­ralena swung his son away from the close proximity of his governess.

'So?' he exclaimed, angrily. 'In the course of twenty- four hours you have succeeded in placing yourself, and in this case my son also, in most irresponsible danger!'

Laura stared at him, astounded. 'I beg your pardon?' she gasped.

'What lesson are you teaching my son at the head of a crumbling staircase that could collapse at any time?' he snarled.

Laura clasped her hands together tightly. 'No lesson, senor! And certainly Carlos was in no danger.'

'You mean you did not intend to explore further?' His tone was hard, but sardonic.

'Of course not. I am not so foolish, senor!’ Laura compressed her lips, willing herself to remain calm when emotion was rising rapidly to the surface.

Don Raphael looked sceptical, but Carlos tugged his sleeve. 'Miss Fleming said we might not go down,' he volunteered. 'She said it was too dangerous!'

'Indeed?' Don Raphael's dark eyes turned again in Laura's direction. 'Then tell me please what are you doing here?'

Laura bit her lip. 'We - we - we were looking for the stairway. But only because I thought it might be of interest to Carlos to explore the seashore.'

'Explore! Explore! I grow tired of this word!' snapped Don Carlos, impatiently. 'In London one ex­plores - here one runs into danger.'

'Obviously!' retorted Laura, anger overwhelming her inhibitions. 'For heaven's sake, the child was in no danger! He's a perfectly normal four-year-old who grows tired of being protected. There is a difference between natural curiosity and irresponsibility. Why shouldn't we walk out here? So long as I am here to guard him, Carlos will come to no harm.'

Don Raphael released his son's arm, and thrust his hands deep into the pockets of the dark suit he was wearing. Obviously he had just returned from his visit to the vineyard, and Laura wondered who had infor­med him of their whereabouts. Possibly Elizabeth, al­though she doubted it. The old lady was dozing when they left her, and had not noticed their departure. The memory of Rosetta Burgos's antagonism was fresh in her mind, and Laura felt convinced she could have seen them go and used the information in an attempt to destroy Don Raphael's confidence in his new em­ployee. If only Rosetta knew, thought Laura, a trifle hysterically, how Willing she was to leave were she given the chance.

But even as these thoughts filled her head, she knew it was not entirely true. She was attracted to the boy, Carlos, and although there were obvious difficulties, her work would be a challenge to her. She had to accept too, if she was honest, that challenging Don Raphael's authority held a wholly feminine satisfac­tion.

'Even so,' Don Raphael turned towards the house and Laura was forced to accompany him to hear what he was sayings 'Even so, your employment here was as governess, not as companion, to my son.'

Laura flushed. 'Can't I be both?' she questioned, tightly.

Don Raphael glanced in her direction. 'And if I dismiss you?'

Laura shrugged, bending her head. 'That's your prerogative, of course,' she said.

'Damn you!' he muttered, bitterly, and quickening his steps he left her, walking swiftly towards the en­trance of the house.

Laura halted, uncertainly, Carlos's small hand caught tightly between her fingers. She was breathing swiftly, and it had nothing to do with the exertion of walking. There was a tightness in her throat, too, and she knew she was being stupidly emotional again, but in spite of everything he could still disturb her by his cold arrogance.

Carlos looked up at her anxiously. 'Is it all right?' he asked. 'You're not leaving, are you?'

Laura sighed, and then shook her head going down on her haunches beside him. 'No,' she said, although even as she said the word she wondered how long this situation could last.

Carlos had his evening meal quite early in the even­ing, and then spent an hour with his father before Elizabeth put him to bed. Laura was free during this period, and she bathed and changed into a dress of cream silk that had a slim-fitting bodice and whose skirt was a mass of tiny pleats that ended a couple of inches above her knee. She combed her hair into a smooth chignon at the nape of her neck, and added a touch of her favourite perfume. She was not looking forward to dinner. If Don Raphael were present it would be quite an ordeal, and she resolved to make some ar­rangements about eating in the nursery as soon as possible. But to do this she would have to speak to Don Raphael himself and that prospect was not an ap­pealing one, particularly after this afternoon's en­counter. Why did she always seem to find herself at a disadvantage with him? He had practically forced her to stay here, so why treat her so abominably? She shook her head. Something had happened to Don Raphael to make him so embittered, and somehow she couldn't believe it was only Elena's death. Unless his words to her had been lies when he had professed no love for his fiancée. She sighed, thinking of her thoughts on the morning she had first read the advertisement for this position. Certainly she had never visualized such a complex involvement.

She descended the staircase at seven-fifteen. Lisa had informed her that the family usually ate at seven- thirty, and it was usual to assemble in the lounge be­forehand for an aperitif. While Laura would gladly have waived such an encounter, she had no choice but to obey when Dona Luisa herself had issued the in­structions.

When she entered the lounge, it was to find only Don Raphael present. The lounge was a large room, with a high carved ceiling, and an air of luxury and elegance. Long gold curtains hung at the high arched windows, and as the room ran from front to back of the house there were many windows, some overlooking the gardens, some the courtyard, and still others the steep cliffs that fell away to the rocks below. The floor was carpeted here, a magnificently designed Persian carpet that somehow blended with the atmosphere of the place. There were soft upholstered chairs and buttoned leather couches in dark brown, while a huge cabinet contained a collection of jade and ivory figurines. Don Raphael, looking dark and broodingly attractive in a dinner suit, was seated by a small curved bar that occu­pied one corner of the large room, idly swirling the liquid round in his glass as though deep in thought. But he looked up at her entrance, and surveyed her rather appraisingly, a cynical expression marring his features. Laura didn't much care for the way he was surveying her. There was insolence in his gaze, as though the skirt which she had thought quite conservative in London was indecently short. Clasping her hands together she moved into the room, approaching the polished cabi­net that contained the collection and pretending an intense interest in its contents. For once she thought she would have been glad of even Rosetta Burgos's pre­sence to alleviate the awkward silence that prevailed. However, after a moment, Don Raphael slid off his stool, and with chilly politeness, said:

'May I offer you a drink, senorita? Sherry? Or a cocktail?'

Laura turned, as casually as she could, shaking her head. 'Thank you, nothing,' she replied, and returned to her contemplation of the ivory and jade. 'These—' her voice quivered, 'the - these are quite beautiful, aren't they?'

To her consternation he left the bar and walked across to her side, standing slightly behind her so that she was intensely conscious of his eyes studying her. Then he spoke. 'My father began this collection about forty years ago. Since his death I have added little to it.'

Laura quivered herself now. 'Aren't you interested, senor?

'Not to a great extent. My talents he in a more prac­tical direction. The estate and the vineyard are my concern.'

Laura ran her tongue over her dry lips. 'Surely the estate does not occupy all your time. A man needs some relaxation.'

He moved slightly so that she could see his ex­pression. 'And you of course are an expert in assessing a man's needs,' he remarked acidly.

Laura felt a surge of anger. He was so assured, so mocking, so aware of his dominance, and it infuriated her. 'I didn't say that, senor,' she replied, carefully. 'And must we continue to maintain this antagonism? It's obvious my presence here annoys you. Surely not even my humiliation can compensate you for that!'

His eyes narrowed. 'Our relationship can never be that of an employer and employee,' he said, grimly. 'Too much has gone before. And I am prepared to admit to a certain exasperation where you are con­cerned. I cannot decide whether you are naturally obtuse, or whether your behaviour is a deliberate at­tempt to force me to release you from your contract.'

Laura glared at him angrily. 'My behaviour!' she exclaimed. 'Just because I take a morning walk amongst your beastly bulls, and later introduce your son to normal activities, I'm treated like an imbecile!'

'That is enough!' he snapped furiously.

'Oh, no it's not enough!' she retorted, anger evapor­ating any sense of timidity she might have felt. 'You seem to imagine I am incapable of taking care of myself! Possibly your ridiculous controls over Carlos's pathetic little life enable you to assume the cloak of a dictator where all your underlings are concerned!'

'Silence!' He took a step towards her ominously, but she did not take any notice.

'I will not be silent. And I certainly don't intend that you should imagine that because you pay my salary you are deputed to rule my life! Whatever kind of omniscience you may have become accustomed to—'

'Be still!' He strode angrily across to her, grasping her shoulders in a savage grip and staring at her with eyes that glittered with suppressed fury. 'Do not ima­gine our earlier association grants you some kind of immunity from decent behaviour!'

'Our earlier association!' she cried tautly. 'You've made it transparently clear that the man I knew in London no longer exists! In fact, it's doubtful whether he ever did exist except in my imagination!'

'What do you mean?' he muttered, furiously.

Laura quaked a little. 'The man I knew was human, a man of flesh and blood, of faults and frailties, but mostly of heart! Or so I foolishly imagined!' She gave a twisted smile. 'That was foolish of me, wasn't it, Don Raphael?'

'You cannot begin to understand the complexities of that situation,' he said, harshly, but his grip had re­laxed somewhat and she took the opportunity to free herself, pulling out of his grasp, endeavouring to achieve some kind of composure.

And it was as well that she did so for at that moment Rosetta Burgos entered the room, her sharp eyes sur­veying the pair of them with inquisitive perception. She noticed Laura's flushed cheeks, and Raphael's brooding expression, and with a slight frown, she said:

'Is something wrong?' She glanced at her cousin. 'Raphael? Have - er - you and Miss Fleming had a difference of opinion?'

Raphael strode across to the cocktail bar and poured himself a stiff drink. Then he leant on the bar and said: 'You might say that, Rosetta. Tell me, where is my aunt this evening? She is invariably first to appear.'

'Doha Luisa unfortunately has a headache,' replied Rosetta. 'She will not be joining us for dinner.'

'I see.' Raphael swallowed his drink. 'Then we need wait no longer. Come. I have an engagement this even­ing.'

Rosetta looked slightly disturbed at this, but Laura felt a sense of relief. At least once the meal was over she would be able to escape to her room and solitude.

The meal was first, however, and during the long selection of courses conversation was only desultory. Rosetta was quite talkative at first, but as it became obvious from Don Raphael's monosyllabic replies that he was not in a talking mood, she gradually became silent and watched Laura instead with that annoying intensity that set Laura's nerves on edge.

Finally, deciding that speech was better than this awful silence, Laura said, addressing herself to her employer: 'Would it be suitable if I ate in the nursery after this, senor? She pushed her plate aside rather jerkily as his gaze rested on her thoughtfully. 'I - well - I would prefer it, if it's all right with you.'

Don Raphael finished the excellent steak he had been toying with for some time and then raised his dark eyebrows. 'I should have thought you would have ap­preciated the chance to escape from your tutorial duties,' he remarked, sardonically.

Laura compressed her lips. 'Perhaps you do not ap­preciate your son's company, senor, but I do,' she mur­mured, smoothly, and had the satisfaction of noticing that Rosetta's eyes widened incredulously.

Don Raphael wiped his mouth on a table napkin. 'Nevertheless, senorita, it was not my intention to pro­vide my son with two companions when I engaged your services,' he countered.

Laura considered her reply carefully. 'I do not be­lieve the question of companionship was discussed, senor. And if I am not to be companion to your son, then to whom shall I direct my attention?' Her eyes flickered over his, and then dropped before the incred­ulity she saw in them.

She didn't quite know what demon of mischief was urging her on to this crazy verbal fencing. Maybe Rosetta Burgos's attitude had something to do with it, but certainly she was achieving results. Don Raphael looked positively explosive, while Rosetta looked as though she couldn't believe her ears.

'I think perhaps you do not intend this conversation to be taken seriously,' Don Raphael said at length, giving her an unexpected escape route. But she didn't want to escape suddenly. She wanted to arouse him so intensely that she destroyed that mask of indifference and hauteur once and for all. Somewhere there must be a trace of the man she had once known - and once loved! Her heart pounded.

'Certainly I am serious, senor,' she said, now. 'What possible objections can you have to my eating in the nursery? I am sure Senorita Burgos does not share your point of view.'

Rosetta stiffened. 'I think, senorita, you are forget­ting your position here. It is not up to a governess to decide her duties.'

Laura sighed. She had imagined Rosetta would jump at the chance to get rid of her from their table. She ought to have realized Rosetta would ally herself completely with her cousin.

Don Raphael finished his wine impatiently. Placing the glass on the table rather carelessly, he said: 'It seems a ridiculous waste of a conversation, senorita. However, as you seem so eager to spend more time with my son, I suggest you eat breakfast and lunch with him, but you will dine with us, is that understood?'

Laura inclined her head, but it was a hollow victory. Obviously the most important meal of the day was the evening meal, and Raphael's insistence that she join them could only mean that he enjoyed tormenting her to the exclusion of everything else.

When the tortuous meal was over she rose abruptly to her feet and asked to be excused. As there was no possible reason why he should detain her, she was al- lowed to leave, but once in her room she sank down on to her bed with trembling limbs. Sparring with Raphael Madralena might be exhilarating at the time, but it was also enervating, and she felt completely ex­hausted. To imagine four weeks of this seemed intoler­able, and she wished she had the strength of will to tear up the contract and return to London forthwith.

However, in the morning light, some of her anxieties resolved themselves, and she went to have breakfast with Carlos and Elizabeth with a lighter heart. Carlos at least was delighted to see her, and there was a certain kind of satisfaction to be achieved by acquiring his wholehearted approval and attention.

After breakfast, Elizabeth showed her the room which had been set aside for Carlos's lessons. It was a large bright dayroom containing a desk and a table for her to work at, and a long blackboard.

'Very workmanlike,' Laura commented, dryly. 'Just what am I expected to teach a child of four? Surely, getting out and about, and meeting people, par­ticularly other children, would be more suitable for him! Do you suppose Don Raphael would object if I asked Villand to drive us to Costal? I think perhaps we might find it an interesting expedition.'

Elizabeth shrugged. 'Lisa says that Don Raphael is to go to Cadiz today. Perhaps you could make this expedition without his approval. No doubt Doha Luisa will agree, if you ask her politely.'

Laura smiled. 'Do you think so?'

Elizabeth shrugged. 'Why not? After all, what are you suggesting? A little outing, a visit to the harbour. Maybe some chocolate at the confectioners, yes?'

'Yes,' Laura nodded. 'All right. I'll ask her.'

Luckily, Doha Luisa was alone when Laura made her request and she did not have to brave Rosetta's baleful eye. Instead, Doha Luisa looked at the beauti­ful day and decided she would like to accompany them.

'Costal is a charming little place,' she said, 'and obvi­ously the sooner Carlos makes the acquaintance of the people on the estate the better.'

'You mean he hasn't done up till now?'

'Well, he is a little young, senorita. His outings have been confined to visits with friends of the family in Seville and Cadiz, and once he stayed for a few weeks with some cousins at Jerez.'

Laura recalled the wistful way Carlos had recounted his visit with his cousins, and resolved that she would do her utmost to find some playmates for him-

Driving to Costal across the wild headland, Laura viewed the bulls with more respect. Obviously their right to wander at will was accepted by everybody, and perhaps one could not rear a bull for the arena in dom­estic surroundings.

The visit to Costal was a success. Dona Luisa, lean­ing heavily on her stick, accompanied them into the confectioners where they were served cups of steaming chocolate and offered dishes of mouth-watering pas­tries, oozing with cream and nuts. Laura let Carlos have a pastry, under his great-aunt's benevolent eye, and obviously from the enjoyment he derived from it, it was not a usual occurrence. Then, afterwards, Doha Luisa sat in the car while Laura and Carlos made a tour of the harbour and the narrow streets which led down to the waterfront. As the village was situated at the mouth of the river at low tide there was a stretch of mudflats and Laura suggested that they walked across the flats in search of shells and shellfish.

Carlos looked horrified when she suggested taking off his shoes and knee-stockings, but when she kicked off her own sandals, he obeyed, and they paddled across the damp sand, allowing the grains to squeeze between their toes. It was a marvellous adventure for Carlos and Laura had no intention of allowing thoughts of what his father might say to ruin then day. Maybe Carlos was Raphael's responsibility, maybe he was cherished because his mother was dead, but he was only four years old and there should be more to his life than sitting tidily on chairs, playing with his toys, listening to adult conversations that were bound to im­pinge upon his consciousness to some extent. After all, what had she got to lose? Don Raphael could only hre her, and if that happened then at least Carlos would have another happy interlude to remember, together with his visit to his cousins at Jerez. He was a healthy boy, strong and sturdy, and there was no earthly reason why he shouldn't enjoy himself in the way any other boy might enjoy himself. She wondered if he possessed any swimming trunks. That seemed decidedly doubt­ful, and she pulled a wry face.

They returned to Madralena at one o'clock, in plenty of time to change for lunch, and spent the whole mealtime regaling Elizabeth with their exploits. Carlos's cheeks were flushed and excited, and there was a happy sparkle in his eyes, which Elizabeth noted with approval.

After the boy had been settled for his siesta, she said: 'I think you will agree you have an ally in Doha Luisa, Laura.'

Laura nodded, stretching out lazily in a low chair, a cigarette between her fingers and a cup of coffee by her side. 'Yes, I do,' she said. 'Perhaps that is why Doha Luisa employed me in the first place. After all, a Span­ish governess would have been much more cir­cumspect?

'Possibly, although I think an English governess is preferable. Carlos uses English as well as he uses Span­ish, and as his father wishes him to attend an English university later, it's natural that his whole educational prowess should be slanted towards that end.'

'I see.' Laura nodded. Then, as though propelled by a force stronger than herself, she said: 'Tell me about Don Raphael. You say he spent some time in England.' She coloured. 'When - when was this?'

Elizabeth looked thoughtful. 'Well, it was before he was married, so I suppose it was about five years ago. Why?'

Laura drew on her cigarette before replying. 'I was working for the Valdes at that time. Doha Luisa men­tioned that he visited with them.'

'Ah, I see. You met him?'

Laura swallowed hard, and was glad when Lisa interrupted them to say that Don Raphael wished to see Senorita Fleming in his study, at once.

Laura's heart sank. 'Oh, lord!' she exclaimed. 'I suppose Doha Luisa has told him about this morn­ing.'

Elizabeth looked sympathetic. 'Don't jump to con­clusions, Laura. It may be something entirely different.'

'What else could it be?' asked Laura dryly, stubbing out her cigarette and smoothing her hair in its sleek knot. She was glad she had changed into a green striped cotton before lunch for the dress she had worn that morning was splashed with sand and sea-water.

Lisa accompanied her to Don Raphael's study, and then left her as before, and Laura tapped delicately on the panels, half-hoping Don Raphael would not hear her. But at once he called: 'Enter!' and she did so with a fast-beating heart.

The study was brightly lit by the sun this afternoon, and for a moment its brilliance blinded her so that she thought she was seeing illusions when two men rose at her entrance. Then as her eyes grew accustomed to the brightness, she distinguished their identities and at once felt a sense of apprehension. The man with Don Raphael was Pedro Armes, the man from the plane, the artist whom Doha Luisa had dismissed with such alacrity.

Her surprise must have shown in her face, for Pedro Armes said, rather mockingly: 'Surely you realized I would come to ensure myself of your well-being, senorita!'

Laura shook her head in surprise, and Don Raphael spoke for the first time. 'Senor Armes tells me he intro­duced himself to you on the plane which brought you from Madrid, senorita!'

Laura compressed her lips. 'Hardly that, senor. When Villand was not awaiting me at the airport in Malaga, Sehor Armes offered me his assistance. Nat­urally, I refused.'

'Is that so?' Don Raphael looked at Pedro Armes. 'Well, senor, as you can see Senorita Fleming is per­fectly well. I am sure she appreciates your concern.'

Pedro Armes looked rather amused. 'And I am equally sure that Miss — er — Fleming is quite capable of speaking for herself, Don Raphael.' He glanced side­ways at Laura. 'Is that not so, senorita?'

Laura flushed and glanced at Raphael helplessly. 'Well — yes — but as Don Raphael has said, I am quite happy in my new employment. It was - kind - of you to inquire.'

Pedro Armes turned fully towards her. 'Perhaps you do not understand, senorita. My visit here was not wholly to inquire about your health. I wanted the op­portunity to see you again — to ask whether you would do me the honour of spending an evening in my company when the Don grants you some free time.'

Laura was taken aback. 'I - I don't know ...' she began, when Don Raphael interrupted her.

'Miss Fleming is not at all ready to accept in­vitations, senor,' he said, bleakly. 'Perhaps it would have been better if you had waited a little longer before attempting to press your attentions on her.'

Pedro Armes looked at Raphael squarely. 'As usual you are at pains to make decisions for others, Don Raph­ael,' he said, coldly.

'If those decisions are necessary, yes,' retorted Don Raphael, shortly.

Laura frowned. There was an antagonism between these two that had nothing to do with herself, and she didn't understand it. Nor did she care for the way the conversation was being carried on over her head. She didn't particularly care for Pedro Armes, but even so, she did not intend that at any time Don Raphael Mad­ralena should assume the right to make decisions for her, in any direction.

Intervening, she said: 'I think, Senor Armes, it would be better if you waited until I find what free time I am to have. I am sure there are other means of communication, other than direct — confrontation.'

Pedro Armes's mouth curved in a reluctant smile. 'Of course, senorita, you are right. Perhaps I was a little premature in coming here, but your presence here was a challenge to me, and I should enjoy your company at some later date.'

'Very well.' Laura stiffened her shoulders. 'We'll leave it at that.'

Pedro Armes smiled. 'Very well. I like your spirit, senorita!' He glanced at Don Raphael. 'Do you not, Raphael?' he murmured, mockingly, and with another bow in Laura's direction he walked across the study and let himself out of the door without another word.

Laura found she was trembling, and when she would have followed him, Don Raphael said: 'Sit

down, I want to talk to you.'

Laura swung round and sighed. 'Oh, not more chas­tisement, senor!’

Raphael Madralena stared at her for a moment and then sank down on his chair behind the desk, resting his elbows on the desk and resting his head in his hands heavily. There was about him an air of defeat, of vul­nerability, and Laura linked her hngers together and watched him with a churning stomach. Oh, God, she thought unsteadily, what have I said?

Then, as though becoming aware of his position, he straightened, and placing the palms of his hands on the desk, he said:

'No, Laura, not more chastisement! On the contrary — I want you to leave!'

Laura sank down on to the chair that Pedro Armes had vacated. The unexpectedness of his words chilled her, and for a moment she could think of nothing to say. During the last couple of days her thoughts had veered constantly towards finding some way of escape. Why, only last evening she had wondered how she was going to stand four weeks of baiting and verbal fenc­ing ! But now — now that the chance was being offered her it no longer seemed desirable. It was all very well inwardly protesting against his attitudes when she felt secure in the knowledge that he intended to keep her here for reasons of his own. But when he was rejecting her, whether for legitimate reasons or not he did not say, then, and only then, did everything slide back into perspective. Her reasons for coming here were still as valid; Carlos was still the lonely, almost-neglected

child he had been in her imagination. And Raphael - well, obviously, he was involved in a kind of mental bitterness which could have nothing to do with her, but which she, by her very presence, might help him to escape from. How could she turn her back on it all without a desperate struggle within herself? Her life here might not be easy; but there was a kind of stimu­lation in trying to achieve something with Carlos - and his father.

Now, she knew she must not weaken. Stiffening her back, she said: 'But I no longer wish to leave, senor!'

His eyes darkened. 'What do you mean?'

'I mean I want to stay. I — I like working with Carlos. And I think he likes me!'

'Indeed!' Raphael chewed his lower lip thought­fully. 'However, you do not have any choice in the matter!'

'Do I not, senor?' Laura frowned. 'Does not this contract I signed with Doha Luisa hold any clause concerning my rights?'

Don Raphael lay back in his chair rather wearily. 'Your rights, senorita? Yes, I suppose it does. However, there is little you can do about that. I do not believe you would care to risk a law suit when your resources are so much less than mine.'

Laura compressed her lips. 'Nevertheless,' she said, somewhat impatiently, 'I do have the contract, and no doubt someone would be prepared to listen to me!'

He leant forward, anger as usual ever ready to flow to the surface. 'Are you attempting to threaten me, Laura?'

Laura sighed. 'Threaten?'

'Yes, threaten!' He studied her for a moment. Then he flung back his chair and got to his feet. 'You realize that the money in lieu of four weeks' work would be yours.'

'I don't want your money,' she replied, shortly.

Raphael studied her another moment, and then his eyes flickered towards the door. 'Ah, I begin to see,' he said, slowly. 'You do not wish to leave Madralena so abruptly when there are — well - circumstances which could be to your advantage, is that it?'

Laura was lost now. 'What do you mean?'

He bent towards her. 'I mean our mutual associate, Pedro Armes, senorita.'' He smote his fist into the palm of his hand. 'Of course. He would be immensely interested in your contract and its clauses!'

'Oh, don't be ridiculous!' exclaimed Laura, losing her temper. 'You know perfectly well that you hold all" the cards! You don't give a damn about anyone but yourself! Carlos! Your own son! I doubt whether you even notice his existence!' She got to her feet un­steadily. 'All right, all right, I'll go! But when your son turns against your despotism, don't blame anyone but yourself!'

Raphael caught her arm. 'No one speaks to me like that, senorita!'

'Then perhaps they should! And don't call me senorita again! My name is Laura, as you very well know. I don't know what has happened to you,

Raphael, but you've become distorted somehow. Like a painting that someone has covered with lines! You can't see through to reality any more. I don't know what world you inhabit, but it isn't this one.'

'For God's sake!' he muttered, 'you have a vitriolic tongue!'

'Maybe you're responsible for that too!'

'What do you mean?'

'You know what I mean!' She glared at him angrily. 'You and your Spanish customs, that proud, arrogant way of life, that bears no relation to humanity! So you married Elena! Well, great, but she's dead now, and I'm sorry, but there's nothing I can do — or any of us can do — to bring her back! If you loved her so much, perhaps you would have been better employed in London writing letters home to her instead of spending your time destroying the only life I ever had!'

'You bitch!' he muttered, his fingers biting into her arm. 'You vixen!'

Laura was not afraid of the anger that burned in his eyes, but she was afraid of the change in his attitude. His touch, savage though it was, brought her against the warmth of his body, and although he was furiously angry the thumb that moved bruisingly against her arm had a seducing quality about it. His eyes lingered on her mouth, and she was close enough to feel the heat of his breath. There had always been a hardness about him that had an attraction all its own, and the lean fingers that gripped her arm were tanned and strong. He was wearing a heavy silk shirt of a dark blue colour that was open at the neck revealing the smooth column of his throat and the brownness of his chest that was darkly covered with hair. Everything about him ap­pealed to her femininity and she could remember lu­cidly the feel of that lean, lithe body against hers, the demanding pressure of his mouth when he was roused in passion, and the caressing quality of his hands. Cer­tainly he had been capable of arousing her to complete awareness of her body's needs, and even his gaze could reduce her limbs to water. His mouth curved almost sensuously, and then, without warning, he thrust her away from him violently, so that she had to hold on to the desk to prevent herself from falling.

'Go!' he muttered, thickly, turning his back on her, and raking a hand through his hair. 'Not from Mad­ralena ! Just from this room!'

Laura trembled. 'And - and my job?'

'It's still yours! Just go! Leave me alone!'

Laura stumbled to the door, and let herself out of the room. She was shaking so much she could hardly put one foot in front of the other, but she made it to her room and sank down weakly on to her bed. Then with a groan she flung herself face downwards, pressing her­self against the counterpane. What a fool she had been, what a stupid, stupid fool! How could she have ima­gined that what she had felt for Raphael Madralena could have died like that? Had this latent emotion been responsible for her impulsive application for this post in the first place? Was that what had driven her to leave a comfortable job and a comfortable living in England to travel to Spain, to work for a man who showed her nothing but mockery and contempt? She clenched her fists. The last few minutes in Raphael's study had cer­tainly been a revelation. She no longer had any il­lusions where he was concerned. Maybe he had changed, maybe he was harder, more bitter, but he still possessed that magnetism that had attracted her to him in the first place and it was no good pretending other­wise. She was staying at Madralena, her job was secure for the next four weeks, but her own security had left her. She loved him!

CHAPTER FIVE

During the next few days she saw little of Raphael Madralena. During the days which she spent with Carlos he did not put in an appearance, and in the evenings there was always Doha Luisa and Rosetta Burgos to distract any attention from herself. She made a point of only coming down for dinner after she knew the others were there, so there was never any oppor­tunity for her to be alone with Don Raphael.

Not that he appeared to notice her presence at all. He ate his meal, discussed the business of the estate with Doha Luisa or Rosetta and then disappeared to his study immediately afterwards. Once both he and Rosetta were absent from the dinner table and Doha Luisa explained that they had both been invited out to a dinner party held by some friends in Cadiz. As Cadiz was quite a long drive from Madralena it was late at night when Laura heard the car sweep into the drive. She had been unable to sleep and she had uncon­sciously been listening for their return. She heard their voices as they walked quietly into the courtyard, pass­ing near her windows, and her heart contracted pain­fully. After all, this was what Rosetta was angling for, she was sure of that now, and maybe that was why the girl had taken the position as Doha Luisa's companion as the old woman had hinted that first night they dined together.

In the morning, while she and Carlos and Elizabeth were having breakfast, the nursery had an unexpected visitor, and Laura's cheeks flushed a little as Don Raph­ael strode in, looking dark and vital in riding breeches and a white silk shirt.

'Buenos dias, senora, senorita,' he said, smoothly, flicking a gentle hand in his son's hair. 'I trust you are well?'

Carlos looked up at his father expectantly. 'Why are you here, Papa?' he asked, his eyes wide. 'You do not come to the nursery!'

Laura bent her head, afraid that Don Raphael would wish to speak with his son alone, but in this she was wrong. Instead, Don Raphael said:

'As I was out last evening and unable to spend my usual hour with you, Carlos, I thought perhaps you might care to spend some time with me this morning. All the work of the estate has been attended to now, and I can afford to relax.'

Carlos looked down at his sticky fingers rather thoughtfully, then he said: 'You mean - you want me to come to your study now?' he asked with rather a depressing lack of enthusiasm.

Don Raphael frowned. 'This is not to your approval, pequeno?' He glanced at Laura's bent head. 'I should have thought you would have preferred spending a little time with me to lessons with your governess.'

Carlos looked up. 'Oh, but we don't do lessons,' he began, and then went silent as Laura glanced mean­ingly at him.

Don Raphael took a deep breath. 'Is this so? Then, Miss Fleming, just what do you do?'

Elizabeth Latimer intervened before Laura could speak. 'Miss Fleming is teaching the child by modern methods, Don Raphael. It is called teaching by playing. Carlos is learning, but he is unaware of it.'

Don Raphael frowned. 'Is this so?' He looked at Laura, and she looked up to meet his brooding gaze.

'Yes, senor,' she said, rather flatly. 'You will. And it is a much more interesting proposition for the child.'

'Indeed. I do not doubt it. Nevertheless, the old methods were quite adequate when I was a child and I do not appear to have suffered unduly from them.'

'Do you not?' murmured Laura, quietly, and heard his swiftly indrawn breath.

'Very well,' he said at last, studying Carlos closely. 'Since you seem so reluctant to leave your governess, I suggest we take a drive in the car, the three of us together, and Miss Fleming can regale me still further with her teaching methods.'

'Oh, yes, Papa!' Now Carlos was eager. 'You know I love outings. Miss Fleming and I have made several outings.'

'Indeed!' murmured Don Raphael again. 'It seems I am indeed behind the times when it comes to your education.' He flicked the crop he carried in his hand against his knee. 'I will be ready and waiting in thirty minutes, Miss Fleming. I trust you will be also.'

'Yes, senor,' murmured Laura, in her quiet voice, and with a stifled exclamation Don Raphael left the room.

'Well!' exclaimed Elizabeth after he had gone. 'It seems your employer is becoming a little more human!'

Laura quivered. 'You think so?'

'Well, at least he didn't fire you on the spot!'

'No. He didn't do that,' agreed Laura, somewhat unsteadily.

Prompt at nine-thirty, she and Carlos descended to the main entrance and walked through the courtyard to where Don Raphael's car was waiting. Laura had seen this car from time to time driving out of the grounds, but this was her first real encounter with it. It was a monstrous thing in black and gold, with twin exhausts and sleek, fast lines. The upholstery was all black also, and the instrument panel had as many dials as Laura could remember seeing on a small aircraft back home. It was one of the most expensive saloon models of a continental sports car, and remembering the Jensen he had driven back in England, she was not surprised. He had always been a fast, but expert, driver, and without the disturbing quality of his pre­sence she would have been excited at the prospect of a drive in such a vehicle.

To her surprise, Carlos was seated alone in the back, and she was firmly placed in the front seat beside the driver. Being in the car with him brought back a host of memories, and she turned her head away when his thigh brushed hers as he slid into his seat.

They drove swiftly across the headland, and on to the main highway. It was quite a dull morning, without the brilliance of sunshine Laura was becoming used to. But for her the day was anything but dull, indeed perhaps it was too disturbing. For a time Raphael was silent, and only Carlos's exclamations as he bobbed about in the back seat relieved the tension, and then as they approached Algeciras he said:

'I thought you might like to see Algebras. It is a fishing port, sometimes called the gateway to Africa, and although it is not an attractive place in itself, the busy quayside may be of interest to Carlos.'

Laura glanced sideways at him, uncertain at first as to whether he was gently mocking her, but there was nothing in his face to suggest this, and she accepted his explanation as reasonable.

He was right about the town at least. Its houses were shabby, the streets uninteresting, and only the wharf provided any excitement. Across the bay the heights of Gibraltar could be clearly seen, and Laura looked with interest at the bastions of the rock. Then, leaving the car parked in a side-street, they progressed across the quay to lean on the harbour wall, studying the boats and their cargoes. There was plenty to interest Carlos and he chattered persistently so that Laura was half-afraid he would begin to annoy his father. But for once Raphael seemed relaxed, and while his son pointed excitedly to the huge crates of fruit being loaded into a ship's hold, he spoke to Laura in under­tones.

'So this is how you accomplish your teaching,' he remarked, lazily, leaning back against the wall, study­ing her mobile face.

Laura shrugged. 'Not entirely. Naturally there is a theoretical aspect to every practical demonstration.'

'Indeed. Tell me what theoretical application you will place on this visit?'

Laura frowned. 'Carlos is seeing the working of the harbour in its true perspective,' she said, carefully. 'This kind of scene will mean much more to him than words on paper could ever achieve. When we go back he will endeavour, in his own way, to paint a picture of the harbour, and we will discuss the things he has seen in relation to the crops that are grown here. We may even make some boats out of paper, and he will be able to paint the cargoes for himself. Teaching comes alive by these methods. The days of sitting at a desk pump­ing blank knowledge into even blanker heads is gone, thank goodness.'

To her surprise, Raphael smiled, and the trans­formation of his features was such that Laura felt a quickening of her pulses, and she turned her head so that he could not see her expression. 'You're very persuasive,' he remarked, softly. 'Are you aware that a formal education is what most Spanish families favour?'

Laura shrugged her slim shoulders. 'And you, senor?'

He uttered an expletive, and said: 'Is it only to be when you are angry that you address me by my given name?'

Laura glanced at him. 'I think it is best, senor,' she murmured, awkwardly. 'And - and you didn't answer my question.'

Raphael heaved a sigh. 'Very well. My opinion is that I can perceive a definite strengthening of confidence in my son, and while the fact that this achievement was not mine does not please me, never­theless, I cannot destroy its inception by offering a very old-fashioned alternative.'

Laura looked fully at him. 'You could be responsible for so much,' she exclaimed, intensely. 'Don't you know that all Carlos lacks is attention - and love!' She bent her head. 'The hour you stipulate he spends daily in your presence is no more than a duty and he knows this!'

Raphael lit a cheroot impatiently. 'You think to set the world to rights by your intervention,' he muttered, sharply.

'No, I don't!' she denied hotly, and then sighed her­self. 'Oh, don't let's quarrel again. I still maintain you don't give the boy the attention you should. I'm sorry if his presence reminds you poignantly of your dead wife, but Carlos is very much alive!'

'I do not wish to discuss Elena with you,' said Raph­ael, harshly.

Laura flushed. 'I'm sorry!' She turned away, lean­ing on the wall and staring blindly out to sea.

Raphael uttered an exclamation and said, fiercely: 'Laura, you don't understand any of this, and I can't explain. Oh, for God's sake, Laura, I didn't love her! You've got to know that!' His words were taut and uneven.

Laura's fingers bruised themselves against the brick­work of the wall. 'But you married her,' she mur­mured, unsteadily.

'Yes, I married her!' Raphael was breathing heavily. 'There were reasons . ..'

'Family honour?' she questioned, somewhat mock­ingly, hiding the pain she was feeling in flippancy.

'Yes, that, too,' he muttered. 'But I didn't realize how disastrous it would be! I wanted you, Laura. Maybe that was why—' He broke-off and she felt him move away from her. Oh, God, she thought shakily, I shouldn't have come here. What depths of emotion am I disturbing now?

Luckily Carlos chose that moment to grasp his father's hand, shouting excitedly: 'Look, Papa, look! That man says that we can take a boat out if we want to. Can we, Papa? Can we?'

Raphael gathered his composure. 'Oh, I think not, pequeno—' he began when he caught Laura's gaze upon him. Then, with an infinitesimal bowing of his head, he shrugged his broad shoulders. 'Well — perhaps, for once.' He glanced down at the immacu­late dark suit he was wearing, and then allowed Carlos to drag him towards the jetty where steps led down to where the boats were being launched.

Laura stayed behind, watching them, and when Carlos beckoned her she shook her head. 'I have some shopping to do, Carlos,' she said, smiling en­couragingly. 'You go .with your father. I will see you here in thirty minutes, right?'

Carlos frowned, and then looked up at his father questioningly. 'Is that all right, Papa?' he asked, anxiously.

Raphael inclined his head. 'I do not see why not. Very well, Senorita Fleming, you go and do your - er - shopping. Adios, for the present!'

'Adios, senor, Carlos!' Laura smiled and turned away, walking with hasty steps towards the shopping area. She needed this time alone to sort out her con­fused impressions, and she was grateful to Carlos for providing an opportunity. She couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction too, that Raphael should have al­lowed himself to be persuaded to enter into a more genuine sort of relationship with his son. It was prob­ably only a fleeting occurrence, but nevertheless it would serve to show Carlos that his father was only a man, not some kind of god.

When she returned to the jetty to meet them she found Carlos in high spirits and even Raphael seemed to have been infected by his son's good humour.

'We went right out in the bay,' exclaimed Carlos, excitedly. 'And we saw some fishing boats coming in. We were almost overturned, weren't we, Papa?' His eyes were wide.

'Carlos means we were lifted by the swell of the other vessels,' remarked Raphael, indulgently. 'Did you ac­complish your shopping?'

'Thank you, yes. Are we returning to Madralena now?'

Raphael glanced at the broad gold Watch on his wrist. 'I think perhaps we might go to the Reina Cristina for some morning coffee,' he replied. 'There is plenty of time.'

Laura nodded her agreement, but half-dreaded another interchange between them. However, her qualms were put to rest when in the grounds of the luxury hotel they encountered a couple, about Don Raphael's age, who were introduced as Senor and Senorita Marques. They were brother and sister, and Teresa Marques was quite startlingly attractive. She spoke to Laura in a friendly manner, but it was to Carlos that she gave most of her attention. Carlos re­sponded politely, addressing her as Tia Teresa, and Laura assumed they must be some close friends of the family. Laura herself spoke desultorily with Ricardo Marques, answering his question about her work with easy tolerance. He was' an easy man to talk with, pos­sessing none of the demanding masculinity of Raphael Madralena. Laura also watched Raphael as he spoke to Teresa Marques. His earlier good humour seemed to have dissipated, and there was that awful remoteness creeping into his speech again.

Laura wondered why, and going back to Madralena in the car, Carlos supplied her with an answer. 'Tia Teresa is like my mama used to be, is she not, Papa?' he asked, thoughtfully, and shrank back at the angry glare his father cast in his direction.

Laura frowned, unwilling to question the boy's words directly, but Raphael supplied her with the truth. 'Ricardo and Teresa are Elena's brother and sister,' he said, harshly.

'I see.' Laura digested this, aware that away from Madralena Raphael had shed some of that chilly indifference, whereas now, approaching the house again he was assuming his mask of bitterness. She wanted to say something to banish the atmosphere that was creeping about them, but there was nothing, and even Carlos seemed to sense the change in his father and sat back quietly on his seat without any of the ebullience he had displayed on the journey out.

It was several days before Laura saw Raphael Mad­ralena again. She and Carlos resumed their normal schedule, spending hours in the gardens, studying the flowers and the insects, and at other times poring over the books his father had supplied for his education. In the main the books were far too technical for a boy of four and a half, but the pictures were interesting and Laura supplied her own captions. Carlos was an adept pupil and learned his letters quite quickly, enjoying using the nursery scissors Laura gave him to cut out letters from a large sheet of them. Using scissors was a novelty, and once Laura was horrified to find him cut- ting up one of his expensive picture books. But a gentle remonstrance was all that was needed, and all pun­ishment was soon forgotten when Laura distracted his attention to something else.

By the end of her second week at Madralena, Carlos could spell his own name adequately, and could pick out simple words from a book that combined pictures with words. She had discovered he adored drawing and many of his pictures began to adorn the nursery walls. She had also persuaded Maria to ask one of the gardeners for some sand, and now they had a large metal container against the nursery wall, full of sand, where he could play to his heart's content, whatever the weather. She would have preferred the sand outside, but in such magnificent formality there seemed little

space for such an anachronism as a sand-pit.

Dinner each evening was the most arduous section of the day. There was always the suspense of not knowing whether Raphael would be there, and when he was not, the almost overwhelming sense of disappointment, which was in itself quite ridiculous really. After all, the less she saw of him the better in the circumstances. She wasn't at all certain she could hide her feelings so com­pletely.

Doha Luisa showed a pleasing amount of interest in her great-nephew's progress, and came frequently to the nursery herself, allowing Carlos to display his talents to her. The boy needed somebody to show his work to, and despite her own emotions Laura wished Raphael would remember he had a son more often. Only once, since the trip to Algegiras had he spent any time with Carlos, and that was early one morning, before either Doha Luisa or Laura were awake, when he had collected Carlos from the nursery and taken him riding, out to the vast expanses of land where the bulls roamed. Laura had been primarily horrified that Raphael should take his son amongst such dangerous creatures, but Elizabeth had merely smiled and said that Carlos would come to no harm in his father's hands.

As Laura had not known that Carlos rode until then, she asked Elizabeth whether it would be possible for her to ride with him, but at this Elizabeth showed definite doubts. 'I do not think that Don Raphael would allow you to ride on the headland,' she replied, shaking her head. 'After all, you must admit, you are not accustomed to dealing with bulls!' She smiled wryly.

Laura had told her about her encounter with Raph­ael that first morning when she had gone walking alone.

Now Laura sighed and nodded her head. 'Oh, I suppose you're right. But what experience has Raph — I mean, Don Raphael had?' Her cheeks coloured.

Elizabeth bent her head on one side. 'Don Raphael has fought the bulls himself. Surely you knew that?'

Laura stared at her. 'In the arena?'

'Of course. Spanish men all hanker after the thrill and excitement of the corrida. It is perhaps the equiva­lent of, say, motor racing, in England.'

Laura gave an exclamation. 'I didn't know.' She bent her head, despising herself for the surge of anxiety that enveloped her at the thought of Raphael in the arena, exposing his body to the savage horns of the beasts. She shivered, it didn't bear thinking about, and whether Elizabeth was aware of this or not she didn't know, but she said, rather compassionately: 'He has not fought the bulls for years. Breeding is his only concern these days.'

Laura swung round. 'Is there a bull-ring in Costal?'

'Hardly that. A flattened arena, that is all, where the men of the village exhibit their skills. Only rarely are the bulls killed.'

Laura shivered again. 'How do you know Don Raph­ael doesn't compete down there?'

'I don't.' Elizabeth spread her hands. 'What of it,

Laura? What is all this intense questioning? For mercy's sake, you are not falling in love with the man, are you?' She raised her eyes heavenward. 'That would be very foolish!'

Laura began to speak, and then Carlos came run­ning in from the nursery to ask her to come and see the castle he had made in the sand, and she escaped from Elizabeth's probing eye with eager haste.

The following day, Laura received a message. Lisa handed it to her after lunch, and Laura ripped the envelope open curiously, wondering who could be con­tacting her. Then she sighed. It was from Pedro Armes, requesting her company at dinner that evening.

She showed the note to Elizabeth, who looked at her strangely. 'Are you going to accept?' she asked, blankly.

Laura sighed. 'I don't know. Do you think I should?'

'It's not for me to say,' replied Elizabeth, un­helpfully. 'Perhaps it would be a - good idea.'

'What do you mean?'

Elizabeth sighed. 'I mean that you are becoming too involved with things here. It would do you good to go out, to get away from Madralena, and see things in perspective again.'

Laura studied the older woman thoughtfully. 'You're very astute, Elizabeth.'

Elizabeth Latimer smiled sadly. 'On the contrary, I am not astute at all. Were I so, I would have suspected undercurrents when you arrived here.'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean that you knew Don Raphael long before you came to Madralena, didn't you, Laura?'

Laura flushed. 'All right, yes,' she said, somewhat defensively. 'What of it?'

Elizabeth shrugged. 'Don Raphael is an embittered man. I do not think he will change. What embittered him is something no one can help him with.'

Laura shook her head impatiently. 'But what was it? What made him so — so cold?'

Elizabeth frowned. 'That is not for me to say, Laura.'

Laura heaved a sigh. 'Of course, you are his loyal nurse, aren't you?' she murmured, almost resent­fully.

Elizabeth bent her head. 'If I thought that telling you would help Raphael, I would do so,' she said, quietly. 'But it is all old history, and I do not think that by learning the facts you would help him.'

Laura turned away. 'I see.' She looked back. 'Tell me something, were Don Raphael and his wife — well — like lovers?'

Elizabeth looked wryly at her. 'You are so young, Laura; you do not understand the way of the Spanish hidalgo. Love is like a wine that one adds to a meal. If one has wine, one is lucky, but if one has no wine, does that spoil the flavour of the food?'

'You mean they didn't love one another?' Laura exclaimed.

'Love is a luxury,' commented Elizabeth, sighing. 'Not everyone can afford it.'

Laura sighed. 'I see.' She looked down at the note in her hands. 'I think I will accept, after all. I was doubt­ful at first - but now - perhaps it would be a good thing.'

'It will not please Don Raphael,' murmured Elizabeth, quietly.

'No. I know,' replied Laura, calmly.

The arrangement was that Pedro Armes would col­lect her from the house at seven-fifteen that evening, and Laura asked Doha Luisa for permission. It was regrettable that Rosetta Burgos should be present when she did so, but she couldn't help it. Sooner or later Don Raphael was bound to find out and when he did — what? Indifference was his most likely reaction.

She dressed with care in a short evening dress of blue chiffon, the swirling skirts paling from dark midnight to the clearest of azures. She carried a white silk scarf and left her hair loose for once, secured from her fore­head by a broad white band. She looked young and attractive, and couldn't prevent a sense of disappoint­ment that Raphael was not going to see her this way.

The car Pedro Armes drove was a sleek Mercedes, and he looked with pleasure at her as she joined him in the hall of the building where he was standing talking to Doha Luisa. Whether the older woman disapproved or otherwise, she was unfailingly polite, and Laura smiled her thanks.

They drove to a large hotel, overlooking the sweep of coastline between Costal and Cadiz, and dined on a terrace set close to the cliff's edge. The hotel was patronized by the upper middle-class element of Span­ish society, and several people greeted Pedro Armes as they walked through the tables to their own. During the course of a delicious meal, he was an amusing com­panion, and after Laura got used to his rather flat­tering remarks about herself she began to enjoy herself. As an artist, he had a fund of stories of his student days in Paris and Florence, and he explained that the house he occupied near Costal had been left to him unex­pectedly by an elderly cousin of his father's with no other relatives to accommodate.

'Had I not achieved such affluence by artificial means I do not believe I should have become so fashionable,' he remarked modestly, sipping his wine thoughtfully. 'Until then, my commissions had been limited to the kind of commercial stuff one abhors as a true addict of the arts,' he continued, smiling. 'After my legacy, and my subsequent move to Costal, I was offered much more lucrative propositions. I think it is true to say that affluence begets affluence.'

'That's rather a cynical attitude,' murmured Laura, studying the liquid in her glass. 'After all, you had had experience by this time, hadn't you? Possibly, your work improved with experience.'

'You're very kind, but I am not so self-confident,' he replied, dryly. 'However, it is true to say that my work has matured with age.' He considered the line of her cheekbones intently. 'Perhaps one day I will paint you, senorita. You are a very challenging subject. That par­ticular shade of your hair — neither red nor copper — it is interesting. Perhaps Titian would have had a name for it.'

Laura flushed. 'Let's talk about your work,' she said, firmly. 'What are you doing at the moment?'

'At the moment I am painting a rather disagreeable old lady whose family tree would cover several can­vases,' he replied, chuckling slightly. 'You must take the time to visit my humble establishment. I have an inestimable housekeeper who would be only too happy to act as chaperon if you consider one is necessary.'

Laura's eyes twinkled. 'But tell me, do you always paint portraits? Doesn't this landscape, the ocean,' she spread her hands, 'all this wild, primitive beauty enchant you?'

Pedro studied her mobile expression. 'Not to the extent that it apparently enchants you,' he remarked somewhat dryly. 'What about the bulls in this wild enchanted landscape? Do not they alarm you, as they do me?'

Laura flushed slightly. 'Of course they alarm me. But I do not mean that you should set your canvas up on the headland and invite disaster. Surely the sight of the animals running free must mean something to you!'

'The only time I notice the bulls is in the corrida,' he replied, frowning. 'And then they are so much blood and sweat!'

Laura nodded. 'You don't like the corrida?'

'Oh, yes, I enjoy the spectacle! I am a Spaniard, after all. But I cannot conceive of any situation where I would risk my life for the sake of the glory, and therefore perhaps I am a little cynical about that also.'

Laura traced the pattern of the raffia place mat with

her finger. 'Don Raphael would not agree with you,' she ventured, softly.

'No, he would not,' muttered Pedro, brusquely. 'But then, we cannot all have the sensitivity of an artist!'

'You think Don Raphael is insensitive?'

'Now what are you trying to make me say?' he ex­claimed, lightening the mood of the conversation. 'I did not say Don Raphael was insensitive. Nevertheless, a man who fights the bulls has to possess a certain single-mindedness, a strength of purpose, a ruthlessness, which I, alas, do not possess!'

Laura considered this, and then said: 'But why would a man want to dice with death? I mean - what reasons would you consider valid for such a ven­ture?'

Pedro Armes looked slightly uncomfortable and Laura wondered why. Her question had been innocent enough, yet he seemed disturbed. What possible spark had she unknowingly ignited? What was behind the antagonism between the two men?

'I think it is time we were leaving,' murmured Pedro now. 'Come! It is early yet, too early for me to take you back to Madralena. Will you come to my house and let me show you some of my work?'

Laura hesitated. She should refuse. That was what any well-brought-up Spanish girl would do, but she was not Spanish, she was English, and she was interested to see what kind of talent lay behind this facade of cynicism.

'All right,' she agreed, allowing him to hold back her chair for her as she rose. 'Providing you are serious when you tell me your housekeeper is at home.'

Pedro smiled, and if he was surprised at her instant acquiescence, it was a pleasing kind of enthusiasm. They walked out of the restaurant to the car. It was a wonderful evening, and the dark sky was pinpointed with stars. The moon sailed serenely on high, and a scent of mimosa was in the air.

As they drove, Pedro turned the conversation into less personal channels, discussing the merits of the meal they had just eaten, enumerating the types and blends of wines that Spain produced. They narrowly avoided mentioning the Madralena vineyards, but Laura knew that Pedro did not wish to discuss her employer or his possessions.

The Armes house was situated on the mainland side of Costal, similar in design to the Madralena house, but smaller, less aggressively Moorish. As he had said, a black-clad housekeeper welcomed them, and when Laura refused any more wine to drink, he asked her to bring them coffee in his studio.

His studio occupied a room as large as the lounge at Madralena, and he explained that several walls had had to be demolished to enable him to provide himself with an adequate working area. Now there were sev­eral easels on which were oils in various stages of com­pletion, while the walls were stacked with canvases. Artificial strip lighting had been installed, but it was harsh to the contours of his portraits, and he criticized his work mercilessly. Laura was convinced he had genuine genius after studying several of his portraits, there was such character in his work, and she said so.

To her surprise, he was immensely modest about his achievements, and she began to wonder what could possibly have happened to prevent the friendship that should have been there between the two households.

The housekeeper brought the tray of coffee, and as they drank it and smoked cigarettes, Pedro flicked carelessly through the sheafs of paintings. His studies of children appealed most to Laura, and she found herself searching for some evidence of similarity, wondering whether any of the studies were of his own family. But he disillusioned her, explaining that his own par­ents had died when he was young, and he was an only child.

'Have you never married?' she queried, in sur­prise.

He shook his head. 'No. There has never been a woman to whom I could give my whole life,' he re­plied, shrugging casually. 'Once I did love a woman, but unfortunately, she died...'

'Oh, I'm sorry.' Laura turned away, and as she did so they heard the telephone ring, shrilly.

Pedro swore softly, and went to the door of the .studio as his housekeeper called that it was for him. 'Excuse me, a moment,' he murmured, and disap­peared out of the door.

Laura nodded, and finishing her coffee, she stood down her cup on the tray and wandered round by herself, flicking through the paintings with interest. There were dozens of them, and she felt her eyes be­ginning to draw a little with the strain. Then, when she was about to return to the couch where she had been

sitting, she saw a folded piece of paper lying on the floor. It must have fallen out of the paintings she had been moving, and she picked it up idly, imagining that it might be a bill for canvases or oils or suchlike.

It was not her intention to pry, but as she unfolded the slip of paper and saw a fleeting glimpse of the name Elena her curiosity got the better of her and she swiftly read its contents with intense concern.

She heard footsteps mounting the stairs again at that moment, and a sense of panic invaded her. If she dropped the paper on the floor where it had fallen in the first place, Pedro Armes might suspect that she had picked it up and read it, and then it would all be ter­ribly embarrassing. With jerky movements, she opened her evening bag and thrust the note inside, extracting her handkerchief at the same time so as to allay any suspicions that she had been attempting to conceal something.

Pedro Armes came into the room looking angry. 'I am sorry, senorita,' he said, brusquely, 'but that was your employer on the phone. He apparently has just learned of your whereabouts this evening, and he is not at all pleased that you are here. He insists that I drive - you home instantly!'

Laura pressed her handkerchief to her lips, and then put it back into her handbag . 'I see,' she said, biting her lip. 'That is most unfortunate. I am sorry if it has an­noyed you, senor, but I did not think it was necessary to inform him of my actions.'

'Nor it is!' muttered Pedro Armes, angrily. 'He is a dictator, that man! But come, senorita, I do not care to

risk the possibility of his calling out the police!'

Laura agreed, and they went down the stairs and out to the car. It did not take long to accomplish the journey to Madralena, and yet by the time they ar­rived Laura was a mass of nerves. The note she had discovered was burning a hole in her handbag, and the possibilities it raised buzzed angrily in her head.

Pedro Armes escorted her to the entrance of the house, and then left her, refusing to come in and speak with Raphael Madralena himself. Laura watched him drive away before entering the house and even then she did not realize that she was entering by the main entrance when Maria had informed her she should use the servants' entrance when she was alone. It was not late, only a little after ten-thirty, but she felt as though she had been out half the night.

If she had expected Raphael Madralena to be wait­ing for her in the hall, she was mistaken, but Lisa was there looking rather disturbed and anxious.

'Oh, senorita,' she exclaimed. 'At last you have ar­rived. Don Raphael is awaiting you in his study.'

Laura feigned surprise. 'He wants to see me now?' she exclaimed.

'Yes, senorita. At once.'

'Very well.' Laura compressed her lips and leaving Lisa to look after her in consternation, she walked slowly along the corridor to Don Raphael's study. But despite her outward appearance of calm she was trem­bling like a leaf inside, and her knees felt shaky as she tapped on his door.

'Enter!' he called, coldly, and Laura did so, as calmly as she was able.

Don Raphael Madralena was seated behind his desk, dressed completely in black, a detail that Laura noticed at once. His black silk shirt was open at the throat, however, as though to facilitate his con­centration as he worked, and he wore no jacket. She noticed the dark hairs on his wrist where it protruded from the sleeve of his shirt, and the gold watch by his cuff; and a slender gold chain that encircled his throat from which was suspended a tiny medallion, probably engraved with the insignia of a saint, she thought, shiv­ering in spite of the heat of the evening.

Deciding that attack was the best method of defence, she said, rather sharply: 'I was not aware I had to leave detailed information as to my whereabouts, senor!'

Raphael Madralena studied her appearance criti­cally, and then rose to his feet with lithe movements. 'You are insolent, senorita,' he muttered, coldly. 'I gather you received details of my telephone message.'

'You gather correctly,' returned Laura, summoning all her courage to remain as sardonic and detached as he was. 'Now that I have returned, surely I can be allowed to go to my room, senor! I do not think there is any need for this — this Spanish Inquisition!'

'Be silent!' he muttered, bleakly. 'There is every need for this talk between us. I do not wish you to see Pedro Armes again!'

Laura bent her head, seeing again the words written on the note in her handbag. If what she suspected was true then she could understand his feelings. But even so, that had nothing to do with her, and she had no

intention of allowing him this small victory where she was concerned. He did not know her feelings, at least, she hoped he did not, and she had no intention of allowing him to learn them.

'I do not think you can be serious, senor,' she said, now. 'What I do in my own time is my own business!'

Raphael was obviously finding it difficult to hold his temper in check, and she saw him clench his fists by his sides in impotent fury. 'While you live in my house, ' you will do as I say!' he muttered, violently.

'And if I refuse?' she asked, her eyes holding his for a moment.

'Laura!' he muttered, hoarsely. 'In God's name, don't do this to me!'

Laura trembled. 'Do what? Threaten your omnip­otence?' she asked, mockingly.

Raphael turned his back on her, gripping the carved back of a chair tautly, so that his knuckles showed white against his tanned skin. His head was bent slightly forwards, and she saw the brown column of his neck that once she had caressed so passionately. She remembered standing behind him like this, and run­ning her arms round his waist, pressing herself against him so that he had turned towards her urgently, finding her mouth with his in desperate need. She had wanted him then, and she wanted him now.

'You expect too much,' he ground out the words with difficulty.

Laura pressed her palms together. 'Do I? How?' She waited, but he did not reply, and she went on: 'Unless you mean five years ago. I suppose I did expect too much then, but in those days I didn't know you could be so hard, so cruel, so ruthless!'

'You don't understand,' he muttered, unevenly.

'No, I agree, I don't,' she exclaimed, controlling the quiver in her voice. 'But then I'm not Spanish, am I? I'm just English, an ordinary girl who imagined fool­ishly that a man who professed such violent love for her couldn't possibly contemplate a marriage of con­venience with another woman! What was it like, Raph­ael? Making love to Elena? Did you ever think of me when you were with her? When she was carrying your child!' Her voice broke, and with a muffled expletive he swung round, grasping her arms in cruel fingers, dragging her close against the hard strength of his body, and finding her mouth with his.

The events of the evening had aroused Laura to such a pitch that she had no thought of denial then, and her lips parted beneath his mouth, and her fingers slid up the smooth silk of his shirt to twine themselves in the rough thickness of his hair. It was like it was before, five years ago, only far more devastating to her peace of mind. They were five years older, and they were hungry for one another with a fierce, demanding hunger that brooked no withdrawal. Between those soul-destroying kisses, he muttered to her in his own language, cupping her face between his fingers, ex­ploring her eyes and ears with his lips. Then his mouth found hers again, and Laura seemed to come to her senses. Soon there would be no chance of drawing back from the precipice he was leading her to, and while her

body longed for fulfilment, her brain warned her of the dangers of such an alliance.

But before these thoughts penetrated completely, he thrust her away from him so that she stood there, shak­ing, feeling lost and rejected for the second time in her young life.

'Get out of here!' he muttered, thickly, 'or by God, I won't be responsible for the consequences!'

Laura stared at him, saw the lean strength of his body, the smoothness of his skin, and the sensual curve of his mouth, before she fled, tearing open the door and running down the corridor as though all the demons in hell were after her.

CHAPTER SIX

Laura sat for what seemed like hours on her bed, dry- eyed and torn apart by her emotions, before she sum­moned up enough energy to undress and put on her night clothes. Finally, she stripped off her clothes and entering the bathroom took a cold shower, dispelling the numbness that had invaded her body. Then she donned her nylon pyjamas and drew back the covers on her bed. As she did so, her handbag fell on the floor, spilling its contents on to the carpet, and the note she had found in Pedro Armes's study fluttered into her consciousness.

With impatience, she thrust everything back into her handbag except the note, and then smoothed it out on the even surface of her dressing table. Naturally it was written in Spanish, but even her limited knowledge of the language enabled her to understand that it was a love letter. It was dated for the 14th August, three years previously, and she thought that must have been near the time Elena died. With the help of her Spanish dictionary, she carefully translated its contents, un­caring of the ethics of such an action. Elena was dead, so no one could hurt her now, and maybe this note would explain some of Raphael's bitterness. At last it was all translated, and she read it again; it began:

My darling Pedro,

I cannot begin to tell you how I long for tomorrow. I can hardly believe that soon we will be together for always. Raphael, I know, does not believe that I will ever leave him, even though I know he does not care for anyone but the boy. I can wait no longer to spend my life with you. Carlos does not need me, not while there is Elizabeth. I do not think I shall sleep very well tonight, I shall be too excited, but I shall take some of those tablets Dr. Lopez prescribed for Dona Luisa. The hours will soon pass, my dearest,

Until tomorrow, Elena.

Laura read it once more, and then folding the note she replaced it in her purse. So she had not been mis­taken, Elena had been in love with Pedro Armes. And what was it Pedro had said? That he had loved a woman once but that she had died. It could only have been Elena. Laura heaved a sigh. The tragedy of it all! It was terrible.

Turning out her light she slid beneath the covers. So that was the cause of Raphael's antagonism towards Pedro Armes. He had known of his wife's love for the other man. And, of course, being the man he was he would not have countenanced a divorce. Besides, his religion forbade it.

She rolled on to her stomach, trying to put all thoughts of Pedro Armes, Elena and Raphael Mad­ralena out of her mind, but it was impossible, of course. If that was the cause of Raphael's bitterness, he had had three years to recover from it, so why had he not? He couldn't possibly have loved her, Laura, for were that so, once a decent period had elapsed he could have come to tell her of his widowerhood. But he had not, and what was more when she had arrived at Mad­ralena, he had wanted her to leave forthwith.

It didn't make sense, unless she accepted the un­palatable truth that he had not loved her, that theirs was purely a physical attraction. And tonight...

She felt slightly sick. Tonight had been the result of circumstances to which she herself had driven him by goading him into action. After all, it was natural that he should not wish anyone in his household to associate with the man who had stolen his wife's love.

At last, Laura slept, but her dreams were punc­tuated by nightmares, and she awoke feeling more tired than when she had gone to bed.

As usual everything looked less dramatic in the morning light, and Laura considered destroying the note and all its implications. But something, some incli­nation, prevented her from doing so, and instead she placed it at the back of one of the drawers in the dress­ing table, covering it with some lingerie.

During the morning, she suggested that she and Carlos visited Costal. Maria wanted some fish, and Laura offered to get it for her from the fishermen there. She thought Maria would refuse her offer, but the old woman merely nodded her thanks and issued instruc­tions of what not to buy.

Villand drove them into the market square and left them to go about some business of his own. Carlos and Laura wandered along the waterfront, pricing the fish, and watching the men repairing their nets. It was a warm sultry sort of day, and the place seemed inor­dinately quiet, and Laura commented on this to one of the fishermen. The old man smiled a toothless smile.

'Es la corrida!' he exclaimed, waving his arms ex­pressively. 'The bullfight, si?'

Laura felt suddenly cold, while Carlos jumped up and down excitedly. 'El toro, Laura!' he cried for­getting to say Miss Fleming in his excitement. 'Oh, please, may we go and see?'

'Oh, I don't know,' Laura began, shaking her head, but Carlos had released her fingers and was gone, racing joyfully across the market square to where a narrow lane led to the outskirts of the village. Laura had no choice but to follow him, running herself, as much to shake off the feeling of apprehension she was feeling as to catch up with Carlos.

As they neared the end of the lane, she could hear the sound of cheering and the excited cries of 'Ole' and she realized that whoever was fighting was already in the ring.

Carlos was waiting for her at the edge of the crowd of people who hid the arena from view, and he grabbed her hand and pushed his way through the ranks un­ceremoniously. But strangely, the people didn't seem to mind, but smiled at him and stood aside for him to push through. Laura following him, received similar treatment, and soon she realized why. As she had feared and suspected, the matador was Raphael Madralena, tall and dark and vulnerable, wearing red, close-fitting pants embroidered with hand-stitching, and a white silk shirt that was unbuttoned almost to his waist. Her

heart palpitated wildly, as even as they reached the ring-side a huge, magnificent beast rumbled past them towards the figure standing so still in the centre of the arena.

'Papa!' exclaimed Carlos, in surprise, looking up at Laura in some consternation. 'Es Papa, Laura! Did you know?'

Laura shook her head, unwilling to speak in case she distracted Raphael somehow by the sound of her voice, her English voice. 'Ssh!' she murmured, placing her fingers against her lips, and the matador moved, swing­ing a yellow satin cape from behind him, holding it by his side, a sword giving it a life of its own.

The bull reached him, horns thrust at the cape, brushing past Raphael like a searing breath, and then turning to rush again. It was clever stuff, even Laura could see that, novice that she was, and the crowd loved it, but she was petrified, and Carlos seemed to sense this, for he started to cry.

Immediately, Raphael's eyes raked the crowd, searching for what he eventually found, and Laura saw his eyes darken, but whether with emotion or anger she was not certain. All that was certain was that the bull sensed the matador's distraction, and gave another thundering lunge at the creature who dared to mock his supremacy. Raphael, taken momentarily unawares, foiled the beast's death lunge, but the animal's horns tore sickeningly along his side, and Laura saw the sickening spurt of blood.

At once, several men vaulted the fence into the arena, shouting and waving their hats about wildly to distract the attention of the bull, while Raphael walked to the side, and slowly climbed out of the arena. He held a hand pressed to his injured side, and he did not look at Laura as he neared them, but gazed instead at his son, who was sobbing bitterly now.

'Oh, Papa,' exclaimed Carlos, chokingly, and un­caring of appearances he flung his arms round his father's thighs, hugging him tightly.

'Hey, Carlos, what is this?' asked Raphael, loosening his son's hold and bending down to him. 'See, I am still alive! There was no danger!'

'There is always danger!' exclaimed Carlos, shaking his head. 'Elizabeth told me — bullfighting is danger­ous ! And now you are hurt! Are you dying?'

Raphael gave an exclamation. 'Of course not,' and then as an elderly man approached them he looked up and said: 'Yes, Dr. Perez, I know,' as though he had been expecting him.

He got to his feet, and Carlos stood back, examining a splash of blood that had appeared on his arm. 'Where - where are you going, Papa?'

'I am going to the good doctor's surgery, and he will put a bandage on this,' he said, carelessly. 'You go with Miss Fleming — I will see you later.'

'No. Oh, no, Papa, I want to stay with you!' For once Carlos was disobedient. 'Please, Papa, don't send me away!'

Laura's throat felt constricted, and she turned away. She didn't want to go either. She would have liked to have gone with Raphael to Dr. Perez's surgery to tee for herself what injuries he had sustained.

'Very well,' Raphael said now. 'Wait here with Miss Fleming. I shall not be long.¹

'Senor!' began the doctor, but Raphael shook his head firmly.

'I shall not be long,' he repeated, commandingly, and the doctor spread his hands expressively.

And with this Carlos had to be content, but he was restless while they waited, unwilling to talk even to Laura. She could tell he was agitated, and realized the sight of blood had magnified the injury in his mind. Finally, when Raphael appeared again, walking rather stiffly, he ran to him enthusiastically, clasping his hand as though he would never let him go again.

Laura felt de trop. She could tell from Raphael's expression that he was blaming her for bringing his son here, for allowing him to witness the spectacle. But it wasn't wholly her fault, she inwardly protested. After all, they hadn't known what they would find in Costal today.

'I — I have some fish to get for Maria,' she said now. 'If Carlos is staying with you, senor, perhaps you would like to return to Madralena and I will return later with Villand, after I have done my shopping.'

'No.' Raphael's voice was harsh. 'We will all return together. It was a mistake to come here!'

'Whose mistake?' she was stung to retort.

'What do you mean?' His tone was ominous.

'I mean that - that exhibition! Obviously, you con­sider life is cheap, senor. How could you hope to dis­guise your feelings from your son?'

Carlos was watching them curiously. 'What is the matter?' he asked, frowning. 'Why is Miss Fleming so upset, Papa?'

Raphael chewed his lip. 'Miss Fleming's feelings are no concern of yours, Carlos,' he replied, shortly, and then frowned as Carlos's lip trembled rather obviously. 'Come! Where is Villand— We will go to the car while Miss Fleming completes her purchases.'

'Yes, Papa.' Carlos looked again at Laura, but . Laura turned away unwilling to let anyone witness the hurt in her eyes. Instead, she hurried to the market and spent as much time as she dared examining the stalls, delaying the moment when she must return to the car. She couldn't begin to understand why Raphael found it necessary to come here, risking his life with the bulls, unless it was to assuage some private grief of his own.

During the next week, Laura had plenty of time to consider her position. After that morning at the bull­ring, Raphael seemed to sense that Carlos needed more from him than he was giving, and he came frequently to the nursery, taking his son away with him when he made his trips to the vineyard and to business meetings in Cadiz. He did not invite Laura to join them, and although Carlos protested privately to Laura that he wanted her to come, when his father was around he seemed to realize that Raphael did not want Laura's company. Elizabeth said nothing, but watched Laura's confidence draining away with troubled eyes.

Finally, she said: 'You only have a few days of your month's probationary period left, haven't you, Laura?'

Laura lit a cigarette with unsteady fingers. 'What of it?' she asked, with assumed indifference.

Elizabeth sighed. 'Don't try to fool me, child,' she exclaimed. 'The knowledge is tearing you apart, isn't it?'

Laura drew deeply on her cigarette, savouring the nicotine into her system in an attempt to maintain a little composure. 'I wish the month was already over,' she retorted, tautly. 'My — my friend in London will be missing me. We share a fiat, you know, and she doesn't like living alone.'

Elizabeth picked up the knitting she sometimes worked at, and rocked herself quietly in the huge rock­ing chair that filled one corner of the nursery. 'And what will you do?' she queried, softly. 'Find another job?'

'I shall have to, won't I?' murmured Laura, with brittle lightness.

'Oh, Laura!' exclaimed Elizabeth impatiently. 'I wish there was something I could do.'

'What's to be done?' asked Laura, shaking her head. 'Oh, don't let's talk about it, Elizabeth. Where — where has Don Raphael taken Carlos today?'

'I believe they have gone to Seville,' replied Elizabeth, frowning thoughtfully. 'Rosetta has gone with them.'

Laura swung round. 'Rosetta Burgos!' she ex­claimed, incredulously.

'Who else?'

'But - but -I didn't know that!'

Elizabeth shrugged. 'She has been with them several times,' she remarked, quietly. 'You might as well know the truth. Rosetta hopes to become the next Senora Madralena!'

Laura's cheeks paled. 'I - I thought that was what she was angling for, but I never thought that - that...' Her voice trailed away. 'Do you think she will suc­ceed?'

Elizabeth shrugged. 'I doubt it,' she replied, pen­sively. 'I do not think Don Raphael will risk that.'

Laura stared at her. 'But why? Why? Oh, Elizabeth, you've got to tell me what is destroying him!' She went down on her knees beside the old woman's chair. 'Please, tell me! You know I'll be leaving soon. The knowledge can't hurt anyone now.'

Elizabeth slowly laid aside her knitting. 'Perhaps you should know at that,' she murmured, almost to herself. 'That might have been the reason ...' She stopped there. 'Very well, Laura, I'll explain. You are aware, are you not, that the Madralena family has lived here for many generations?'

Laura nodded, 'Yes, I know that.'

'Well, this is a country steeped in tradition - in legend - in superstition, in spite of the predominance of the religious factor. It is a country rich in lore, and perhaps that is why its inhabitants are willing to believe the unbelievable.' She sighed. 'At any rate, the source of my story began over a hundred years ago, at the time Raphael's great-grandfather was the master of Mad­ralena. He was a proud man, a handsome man it is said, somewhat like Raphael, I would imagine from the portraits downstairs. There were gipsies in the area in those days, and Carlos Madralena, Raphael's great- grandfather, became enamoured of one of them, a beautiful young girl called Carmelita. But Carlos was already married, and when the inevitable happened and Carmelita became pregnant, it caused quite a to- do.'

Laura frowned. 'It sounds like the beginning of a fairy story,' she exclaimed.

Elizabeth gave a mirthless chuckle. 'Perhaps you are more right than you realize,' she remarked, dryly. 'But to continue — Carmelita's grandmother demanded that when the child was bora, Carlos should accept it into his household and acknowledge it as his own. You can imagine his reaction. You cannot begin to conceive of the differences in their status. Today Spain seems to have developed little socially, but believe me it has, compared to those times, and of course, Carlos refused without a qualm. And this is where the trouble begins. Carmelita's grandmother is said to have cast a curse on the family.'

Laura stared at her. 'You can't be serious!'

'Why not? You haven't heard it all yet. Wait before you make hasty judgements, Laura. The curse was not a simple one. In plain terms it decreed that the male heir to Madralena would always be responsible for the death of his wife!'

Laura stared at her more intently. 'And they believe that?'

'Oh, yes. Make no mistake, there has been proof!'

'How do you mean?'

'Let me continue, and I'll explain. Carlos Mad­ralena's wife died only a year after the laying of the curse.'

Laura frowned. 'He killed her?'

'Oh, not in so many words. She died in child­birth.'

'But that's natural enough!' exclaimed Laura, im­patiently.

'I suppose you could say that. But she was a healthy woman, who had already borne her husband three children. There was no possible reason why she should have died, but she did.'

'And so?'

'And so we come to Raphael's grandfather, Felipe Madralena. He also was responsible for his wife's death, if you care to look at it that way.'

'Why? What happened?'

'Helene, his wife, was a keen shot. She went often shooting with her husband, an unusual pastime in those days. At any rate, she died in the held. It is be­lieved Felipe accidentally killed her, although the evi­dence is not great enough to ascertain whose bullet actually did the damage. There were other guests with them at the time.'

'There you are then!'

'Oh, I know, a series of mishaps, of accidents, but how strange!'

'And his mother?' murmured Laura faintly. 'Raph­ael's mother?'

'His father was driving the car when she was killed. I thought you knew that.'

'I did, I do! Oh, I don't know what to believe.' Laura felt sick, and got unsteadily to her feet.

'There's still Elena!' murmured Elizabeth quietly.

Laura swung round. 'Elena?'

'Of course. She also was the wife of the male heir.'

Laura clasped her hands tightly together. 'Did — did Raphael kill her?-

'No. In effect she killed herself,' murmured Elizabeth, softly. 'But Raphael blames himself for her actions. They had a terrible row on the night she died.'

'I see. I see!' Laura buried her face in her hands. 'Oh, God, what a situation!'

Elizabeth got to her feet and came across to her, laying her arm across her shoulders. 'My child, my child,' she murmured, comfortingly, and Laura felt the hot tears overflow her eyes and flood uncontrollably down her cheeks. Elizabeth drew her close, and Laura received the kind of comfort and compassion she could never remember having received in her life before.

When the storm of her weeping eased, Elizabeth said: 'Perhaps you had better go and wash your face before Don Raphael and Carlos return. We do not want to disturb the child.'

Laura nodded. 'Thank you, anyway,' she mur­mured, unevenly. 'Thank you for your confidence.'

Elizabeth spread her hands in the continental manner. 'As I say, I only wish there was something else I could do. I love Raphael, my child. I want him to be happy.'

In her own room, Laura removed all traces of her grief, applying a light make-up to hide any tell-tale marks left on her cheeks. Her eyes looked huge and disturbed. Lindsay had been right, she acknowledged silently to herself. All she had gained from coming to Madralena was another splintering of a heart that was already shattered.

Two days later, she was summarily summoned to Raphael's study.

Her heart had plunged when she received the mess­age, for lately he had not been at home for dinner, and she had been glad of the fact. She felt she couldn't stand the situation much longer.

But now she had no choice but to attend him, and she hastily ran up to her room and changed from the slacks and shirt she had been wearing in the garden with Carlos. They had been planting some seeds that she had bought in Costal, and she was wondering what reaction Carlos would make when he learned of the imminence of her departure.

She slipped out of her slacks, and donned a red cir­cular skirt that was pleated and short, and somehow managed not to clash with her hair. She left the white shirt where it was. After all, Raphael was not interested in her appearance. Not now he was spending so much time with Rosetta at least. Laura was growing tired of the way Rosetta spoke so possessively about her cousin, relating to Dona Luisa in detail the events of their day. Laura had once questioned Carlos about Rosetta, hating herself for using the boy in this way, but he had been non-committal, merely commenting that Rosetta hardly ever spoke to him and only wanted to be with him if Raphael was there, too.

Securing her hair with a bandeau, Laura descended

the stairs, wondering if this might be the last time she would do so. After all, there were only a couple of days of her month left, and there seemed little doubt that Raphael would want her to leave. And if he didn't? queried her inmost self. What then? But she couldn't answer that because she didn't know.

She tapped at the study door and entered at his summons, closing the door quietly behind her. Raphael, looking dark and businesslike in a charcoal grey lounge suit, was seated at his desk, but he rose at her entrance, and indicated the seat opposite.

When Laura was seated, he said: 'You will have realized, senorita, that your time — your probationary time, that is - with us, is drawing to a close.'

'Yes, senor.' Laura was as formal as he was.

Raphael looked squarely at her, and she noticed in- consequently that his lashes were as long and thick as she remembered them. 'I want you to know that I am extremely satisfied with your work with Carlos,' he said with chilling clarity. 'He has developed quite extra­ordinarily well under your care, and I can only assume that a greater sense of freedom is responsible for the strengthening of his character.'

'Thank you, senor.' Laura felt slightly nauseated. It could be the heat of the day, she supposed, or the aware- ness of his indifference.

'So, obviously, my next words will come as no sur­prise to you,' he went on. 'I want you to stay at Madralena, and accept the position on a permanent basis.'

The room swam round her giddily, and she caught

the arm of the chair for support. Don Raphael was staring at her with some concern, noticing how pale she had become.

'Are you all right, senorita?' he asked, gripping the desk on either side and leaning towards her.

Laura shook her head, and the dizziness subsided. Finding her tongue, she said: 'You — you want me to stay?' in uneven tones.

Raphael's expression darkened slightly. 'Of course,' he said shortly, and she realized that he was not quite so indifferent as he would have her believe.

'Why?' Laura looked up at him. 'Why?'

Raphael reached for a cheroot from the box on his desk. 'Surely that's obvious, senorita!' he snapped.

Laura shook her head. 'It's not obvious to me,' she replied, unsteadily. 'And why should you imagine I would want to stay here and be subject to the kind of treatment you have meted out since the first day I arrived?' she exclaimed, hotly, her anger banishing the nausea momentarily.

Raphael lit his cheroot and drew on it hard. 'I had thought you cared something about the boy,' he muttered, coldly.

'Carlos? I do. But that is hardly the point, is it, senor?'

'What do you mean now?' He sounded suddenly impatient.

'Could not Senorita Burgos take over the boy's edu­cation? After all, her duties with Doha Luisa do not appear to be arduous!' She flushed.

'Senorita Burgos!' he exclaimed. 'What is this talk of Senorita Burgos?'

'She seems perfectly capable of taking care of Carlos,' said Laura, tautly. 'And you must admit, you spend a lot of time in her company. Carlos will transfer his attentions—'

'Enough!' Raphael walked angrily round the desk to her side. 'You think to criticize my choice of com­panion, senorita?'

Laura got unsteadily to her feet. 'Not at all. How­ever, I do not wish to make my position here a permanent one, so you will have to make other ar­rangements.'

Raphael's dark, disturbing eyes studied her face in­tently, exploring every line and facet of her features, lingering on the gentle slant of her eyes, the soft fullness of her mouth. Then he muttered an exclamation, and said, huskily:

'Dios, Laura, you must not go!'

Laura shook her head. She would not allow him to appeal to her emotions. She was only storing up trouble for herself, one way or another.

'Why?' she asked, deliberately goading him. 'Be­cause you might find it necessary to visit the bullring again, and there would be no one to use as a whipping boy when you are seriously injured, possibly crippled for life!'

'I am not an inexperienced boy, Laura,' he muttered, savagely. 'I do not place myself in any great danger!'

'Don't you?' She stared at him shakily. 'What about the last time? The bull could so easily have killed you then.'

'I was distracted,' he exclaimed, sharply.

'Not much of a distraction to mean the difference between life and death,' she cried, passionately.

'I was not seriously hurt,' he said, impatiently.

'No?'

'No.' He ran a hand over his side lightly. Then his eyes darkened. 'Do you wish to see?'

Laura's legs felt weak. 'What purpose would that serve?'

Raphael studied her expression, noticing the un­natural brightness of her eyes, and with deliberate movements, he unbuttoned his shirt and loosened his tie. He pulled the shirt free from the waistband of his trousers, and exposed the brown skin of his hip for her to see. A thick adhesive plaster hid the wound from view, but he drew it off partially so that she could see the line of stitches Dr. Perez had inserted to bind the torn flesh together. It was a long gore, but not a deep one. Laura pressed her damp palms together, and Raphael said: 'Well? Will I live?'

Laura turned away. 'That's not the point,' she mur­mured, faintly, wondering whether her legs would carry her as far as the door.

'What is the point then?' he muttered, harshly, moving close behind her. 'Perhaps I am wrong, but I had thought you had spirit! Are you so faint-hearted that the sight of blood knocks you over?'

'I can't stay here,' she insisted, weakly, knowing he had only to touch her for her to lose control com­pletely.

She heard his swiftly indrawn breath, and pressed a hand to her churning stomach. 'Will you stay if I promise never to visit the bullring again?' he muttered, thickly.

'Why should you promise a thing like that to me?'

'Because when you are here I do not need the bull­ring,' he replied, violently.

Laura spun round. 'But you needed it last week!' she accused him.

'You know why,' he said, heavily.

Then, with an exclamation, he thrust his shirt back into his pants, and fastened his tie. 'Well?' he said, jerkily. 'What will you do?'

Laura shook her head. 'I don't know,' she whis­pered, achingly.

Raphael walked away from her, putting the desk between them. 'Think — think it over,' he said, un­evenly, and then seated himself at his desk again.

Laura shivered. The mask was back in place. With trembling steps she made her way to the door and opening it, she looked back at him. But he did not raise his head, and she went out, closing the door silently.

Oh, God, she thought, in agony, what am I going to do?

CHAPTER SEVEN

When Laura returned to the nursery later in the morn­ing Elizabeth eyed her curiously. 'Lisa tells me Don Raphael asked to see you,' she said, bluntly. 'Do you want to tell me why?'

Laura sighed. 'He wants me to stay on.'

Elizabeth stared at her. 'He does what!' she ex­claimed.

'I know, I know!' Laura lifted her shoulders help­lessly.

Elizabeth shook her head. 'Did he tell you why?'

'He said he was pleased with my work with Carlos. He said he thought the freedom that Carlos is getting is strengthening his character.'

'And what did you say?'

'I said I couldn't stay,' replied Laura, truthfully.

'And he accepted that, just like that?'

'Oh, no!' Laura bent her head. 'He - he was most - insistent.'

Elizabeth studied her thoughtfully. 'Tell me some­thing, Laura, if it's not asking too much - just how insistent was he?'

Laura flushed. 'You've guessed so much, Elizabeth, you must know by now that Raphael can be very insist­ent!'

'Do you love him?' Elizabeth's question was unex­pected, but Laura answered her honestly.

'Yes,' she said, quietly. 'I love him. I loved him five years ago, when he was in England. I worked as you know for the Valdes family. We met through them, but that didn't excuse our conduct.'

'What do you mean?'

Laura shrugged. 'Raphael was already betrothed to Elena, wasn't he? He told me soon after we — well — became friendly!'

'I see.' Elizabeth nodded. 'And Raphael returned to Spain and married Elena when his father died.'

'Yes.'

'That explains your involvement with him,' mur­mured Elizabeth, sighing. 'Why did you come here? Did he send for you?'

'Oh, no!' Laura shook her head. 'I answered an advertisement Doha Luisa placed in an English news­paper.'

Elizabeth gave her a compassionate smile. 'And when you found he was a widower you came.'

'More or less. Although I didn't believe I could still love him.'

'Does Raphael love you?'

Laura uttered an exclamation. 'Of course not. He never did. I attracted him physically, I don't deny that, perhaps I still do, but that's all.'

'Are you sure of that?'

'Oh, yes,' Laura nodded. 'Very sure.'

'Because he married Elena? He never loved her.'

Laura stared at her, gritting her teeth. 'Then why marry her?'

'Perhaps he was afraid.' 'Of what? Me? Elena? His family?'

'No, of course not. I mean the curse.'

'You can't be serious!' Laura was incredulous.

'Why not? He had reason to be so, as it turned out.'

Laura turned away, twisting her hngers together. 'That's crazy!'

'But what if it was not crazy?' murmured Elizabeth, softly. 'You would be dead now.'

'But I love Raphael!' cried Laura.

'And Elena did not?'

'That's right.'

'So you know that?'- Elizabeth frowned. 'Do you know about Pedro Armes, too?'

Laura flushed. 'Yes.'

Elizabeth's frown deepened. 'I see,' she said, quietly, but before Laura had time to consider the implications of what Elizabeth had said, Carlos came bounding into the nursery.

'Laura, Laura,' he called. He had taken to calling her that since the day of the bullfight and Laura had not wanted to stop him. 'Laura,' he said again. 'Dona Luisa is looking for you, Lisa said so.'

'You mean Tia Luisa,' remonstrated Elizabeth, sharply, 'and this is Miss Fleming, not Laura!'

'Laura said I might call her that, did you not, Laura?' questioned Carlos, a mischievous glint in his dark eyes, daring her to defy his outrageous statement. She had made no such concession.

But she took her cue from him, and smiled. 'Yes, it's all right, Elizabeth,' she said, glad of the lightening of

the mood. 'Where is Doha Luisa, Carlos?'

'She is in the lounge downstairs,' replied Carlos, touching her hand compulsively. 'Don't be long. I have a new game to show you.'

Laura descended the stairs hastily, wondering why Doha Luisa wished to see her, but when she reached the lounge and tapping on the door, entered, she found only Rosetta Burgos there.

'Excuse me,' she said, politely, 'but I understood Doha Luisa wished to see me.'

'I believe she does,' remarked Rosetta, coldly. 'How­ever, I wanted to speak with you first, senorita.'

Laura frowned. 'Oh, yes? What can you possibly have to speak to me about, Senorita Burgos?'

Rosetta lounged casually into a low chair, leaving Laura standing before her. She surveyed the other girl thoroughly, and then she said:

'I understand from Doha Luisa that you are unde­cided as to whether to stay here, as Carlos's governess, senorita.'

'You're very well informed,' returned Laura, in a controlled voice.

'Yes, I know. However, the doubt remains, so per­haps you could tell me whether you have reached a decision, or otherwise!'

Laura's eyes widened incredulously. 'When I reach a decision I shall inform Don Raphael,' she replied, in a taut tone.

Rosetta studied her insolently. 'You think you know Raphael very well, don't you, senorita?' she mur­mured, insinuatingly.

Laura flushed. 'I beg your pardon?'

Rosetta grimaced. 'Oh, don't bother to deny it, senorita. You forget, you have lived here for almost a month and I have kept a very close watch on your reactions. You have been flattered by the way Don Raphael has responded to your dictates regarding Carlos, haven't you? Perhaps you have gained the wrong impression from his obvious gentility!'

Laura could have laughed if the situation had not been so depressive. Raphael genteel — with her! That was not the description she would have used.

'What are you trying to say, Senorita Burgos?' she asked now.

Rosetta sat up straight. 'I think it is perfectly obvious,' she said.

Laura frowned. 'I don't quite see what any of it has to to with you, senorita,' she said, shortly.

Rosetta stiffened. 'Do you not? Has it evaded your notice that I have been spending quite a lot of time with Don Raphael of late?'

'No.' Laura was unresponsive.

'Good. Then it should come as no surprise to you to learn that it is possible I shall soon become the mistress of Madralena!'

Laura managed to retain her composure by a great feat of willpower. 'Indeed,' she said, articulating with difficulty. 'That is indeed surprising news!'

'You are insolent!' snapped Rosetta, sensitive to the sardonic note in Laura's reply.

'On the contrary, I wish you the best of luck,' replied Laura, tightly. 'Is that all you wanted to tell me?'

Rosetta compressed her lips. 'Haven't you anything else to say?'

'What about?'

Rosetta slid off the chair. 'Don't bait me, senorita. I've told you this so that when you make your final decision you will have it in mind.'

Laura held up her head. 'My hnal decision is already made, senorita,' she replied, with a little touch of hauteur. 'It was made before I even entered this room. I shall be leaving Madralena at the end of the week, as arranged.'

Rosetta allowed a faint smile to curve her lips. 'I am so glad we understand one another, senorita.'

Laura managed a small smile also. 'Now - may I see Doha Luisa?'

Rosetta shrugged her shoulders. 'Of course. She is hoping to persuade you to stay. I think she has taken a fancy to you,' she remarked, mockingly.

Laura compressed her lips, quelling the urge to de­stroy Rosetta's complete composure. She could tell her things about Raphael that no one else would ever know, but she guarded her tongue and let the moment pass. What good would it serve; it might merely reveal the hurt she was experiencing. But she could not resist making one comment as Rosetta walked towards the door.

'Tell me something, Senorita Burgos,' she mur­mured, 'doesn't the curse on the Madralena family worry you at all?'

Rosetta swung round. 'The curse? Oh, you mean about the wives! Heavens, no! It's an old wives' tale!'

Laura frowned. 'Not quite,' she protested.

Rosetta smiled, leaning against the door jamb. 'Well, so far as Raphael's father is concerned, it's a hoax!'

Laura stared uncomprehendingly at her. 'I don't understand.'

Rosetta sighed. 'Oh, well, you might as well know, it can't matter now. Raphael's mother was driving the car herself when the accident happened. Doha Luisa was in the car. She told me, but swore me to secrecy because that was what Raphael's father had wanted. He took the blame, you see.'

'But — but surely Doha Luisa realizes that such infor­mation has no right to be withheld!' exclaimed Laura, passionately.

Rosetta's eyes darkened. 'What does it matter to you, senorita?'

Laura heaved a sigh. 'Oh, it doesn't, I suppose,' she murmured wearily.

Rosetta narrowed her eyes. 'Don't imagine those old stories have affected Raphael's life, senorita. Raphael is first and foremost a Madralena, and whatever their - well - passions - they follow a very narrow code!'

Laura turned away. 'I know, I know,' she ex­claimed, tiredly. 'Please! Let me see Doha Luisa.'

The old lady was more than disappointed when Laura told her of her decision. 'But my dear,' she ex­claimed, 'Carlos has been a different child since your arrival. And Raphael is beginning to notice him as an individual at last!'

Laura was glad Rosetta was not present. 'I'm afraid

it's impossible,' she said, regretfully. 'There are other things—'

Doha Luisa shook her head. 'It's Raphael, isn't it?'

Laura gasped. 'Am I so transparent?' she ex­claimed.

Doha Luisa shrugged her shoulders. 'No. But Raphael is.'

'Raphael?'

'Of course. He spends much time contemplating you at dinner when he does not imagine anyone else is aware of it.'

Laura flushed. 'You couldn't be more wrong.'

'Why do you say that?'

'Rosetta has told me that she and Raphael . . .' She halted uncertainly.

Doha Luisa frowned. 'Ah, so she is the cause of the trouble! I might have known. As to her allegations, possibly she is right. After all, Raphael should marry again, and Rosetta is becoming set in her ways. She needs a man's guidance—'

'—and Madralenas only marry suitable women,' ex­claimed Laura.

Doha Luisa sighed. 'I am afraid this may be so. But Carlos does require a mother's care and the chance to have brothers and sisters.'

'But what about love?' cried Laura, unable to pre­vent the words. 'Is there no place for love?'

Doha Luisa shook her head. 'Love grows,' she as­sayed, calmly.

'Love is born!' gasped Laura. 'It's either there - between you — or it's not. It can't be cultivated like a plant in a hothouse!'

Doha Luisa frowned. 'I am sorry, senorita, but I cannot agree with you. My own marriage was ar­ranged when my late husband and myself were merely children. It was brief, but happy. And yet we were not violently in love!'

Laura turned away. 'If you'll excuse me now,' she murmured, helplessly. 'I have things to do . . .'

'Of course,' Doha Luisa nodded, quite amicably, and Laura slipped away, unable to bear any more of their alien ways. No matter how she tried she would never be able to understand their point of view.

Pleading a headache, she did not go down to dinner, but stayed instead in her room, sorting out her pos­sessions, and beginning to pack those that she would not be needing. Tomorrow was her last day, and she must make some arrangements about travelling and so on. If the worst came to the worst, she could always take the train to Madrid and take a flight from there. It would take longer that way than by air, but she had all the time in the world at her disposal.

She hated most the thought of leaving Carlos. What­ever his feelings towards his father now he had become accustomed to her company, and she felt she was not being over-confident when she thought that he would miss her. They had had a good companionship, and given time he would have developed into an inde­pendent child, well able to take care of himself. Under Rosetta's influence, he would shrink back once more into the shell that had enveloped him before her arrival,

and not even Elizabeth had been able to prise him out of it. Besides, she was getting too old to have a great deal of energy and patience with him, and he needed other outlets for his natural ebullience. Laura sighed. It was to be hoped that Raphael would continue to take an interest in his son, and thus provide the necessary warmth and affection the child so badly needed.

She rubbed her eyes with hasty fingers. It was no good making herself miserable with anxieties over Carlos. He would survive, children always did, and maybe one day he would remember her and be grateful for the openings she had showed him.

Later, sitting on her balcony, smoking a final cigar­ette before going to bed, Laura remembered what Rosetta had told her about Raphael's mother. It was disturbing to realize that even though she was leaving she felt the strongest desire to take that information to him, and show him that at least in that he had nothing to fear.

But it was nothing to do with her now, she told herself fiercely. No doubt Rosetta would tell him her­self in time, and then a little of his burden would be lightened. His own tragedy was something else again, but maybe even that might have an explanation in ordinary terms. Curses were simply the result of super­stition, and if that superstition grew in a person's mind it could precipitate its own crisis. Maybe that was what had happened with the Madralenas. After all, lots of women died in childbirth as his great-grandmother had done, and in those far-off days the chances of fever or infection were so much greater than today. The shooting accident could be dismissed. They were an unhappy, but frequent, occurrence, and maybe again, someone else had actually fired the fatal shot.

Laura drew on her cigarette and blew smoke-rings into the air. That only left Elena, and she didn't know enough about the circumstances of Elena's death to pass any judgement. Obviously, the impassioned letter to Pedro Armes had not come to fruition, and Laura could only assume that something had happened to prevent their running away together. She wondered idly what would have happened if they had run away together. What a scandal that would have made! Poor Doha Luisa would not have liked that at all. And, in fact, it could have done Carlos a lot of damage. Or maybe that was in itself a fallacy. After all, Carlos was not in an enviable position even now, and possibly had Elena lived, Raphael would not have tortured himself with the whys and wherefores of her death.

It was all too much for Laura's tired brain, and she stubbed out her cigarette, and rose to her feet. The sooner she got away from here the better. She spent much too much time analysing other people's prob­lems, when her own should have been quite enough for her. After all, what had she achieved by coming here? She had aroused a love that she had successfully man­aged to dismiss during the past hve years; she had caused herself a lot of unnecessary unhappiness, and was the small success she had had with Carlos sufficient compensation for that? She shook her head.

As for Raphael Madralena, well, perhaps she had disturbed the dormant emotions inside him, but they were emotions that had no substance in love. Their relationship could be described quite simply as a mutual attraction. If her own involvement had been more complex then that was no one's fault but her own. Certainly, at no time, had Raphael led her to believe that his feelings for her were motivated by any­thing more than a purely physical attraction. Un­dressing, she slid beneath the sheets, but she was still wide-eyed, and sleep was an elusive luxury.

The next morning she spoke to Doha Luisa about her departure the following day. The old lady nodded thoughtfully, and when Laura discussed the' pos­sibilities of rail travel she became quite enthusiastic.

'I think that would be the best plan,' she nodded. 'After all, we are much more likely to be able to obtain you a seat on the express than to acquire an air passage from Malaga.'

'The train leaves from Malaga, too?' asked Laura, frowning.

'Yes. Tickets are obtained beforehand. I imagine Rosetta will be able to reserve you a seat by telephone. The Madralena name will suffice as a reference.'

'I see.' Laura nodded, not much caring for the inter­vention of Rosetta Burgos, but without her authority, she might not be able to get accommodation, and she didn't want to risk that. So she agreed, and left the matter in Doha Luisa's hands.

Then came the problem of telling Carlos. She was determined to tell him. She had no intention of allowing him to find out after she had gone and thus feel a sense of being let-down. Too many let-downs had occurred already.

However, while she was summoning up enough courage to tell him, Rosetta appeared in the nursery, walking over to Laura with a smile of pure satisfaction on her narrow face.

'Your train leaves at nine-thirty, in the morning,' she said, consulting a notebook in her hands. 'Villand will drive you to Malaga. If you leave about seven, you will have plenty of time.'

Laura clasped her hands, and looked down at Carlos in consternation.

'Please, senorita,' she exclaimed, softly. 'Not now!'

Rosetta's eyes narrowed. 'What is this, senorita? You imagine you are indispensable! Just because Carlos has favoured you with his friendship, do not imagine he will be heart-broken when you leave!'

Carlos's face was a picture of anxiety, and Laura would have given anything to smack the sneer from Rosetta Burgos's lips. Instead, she bent down to Carlos, saying:

'Come on, I can talk to Rosetta later. What have you made?'

But neither Carlos nor Rosetta were to be diverted from their collision course, and Carlos tugged at Laura's hand insistently, pointing at his father's cousin a trifle nervously.

'Wh - what is Rosetta saying?' he asked, puckering his brow. 'She said you were leaving! You're not leav­ing, are you, Laura?'

Rosetta pulled him away from Laura. 'Yes, Carlos, Senorita Fleming is leaving! Hasn't she told you?'

Laura got unsteadily to her feet. 'You beast!' she exclaimed, chokingly. 'How can you?'

Rosetta shrugged. 'He had to know. You could have told him!'

'I was about to,' cried Laura, tautly. Then she caught Carlos's arm again. 'Darling, listen to me, I've got to go. But it's not the end of the world—'

'Stop this maudlin sentimentality!' exclaimed Rosetta, angrily. 'Carlos! You will acquire another governess. I myself will choose the next one.'

Carlos pushed Rosetta aside carelessly. 'I don't want to listen to you!' he gasped, his face rather pale.

'Carlos!' Rosetta was horrified. 'You will apologize at once!'

'No, I won't!' Now that he was roused, Carlos had his father's stubbornness. 'Laura, please, what is she saying? You can't leave! You just can't!'

'I have to,' said Laura, trying to prevent him from clinging to her skirt. 'Darling, let me explain—'

'What's to explain?' Carlos's eyes were filling with tears. He looked up at Rosetta with hateful eyes. 'Go away! Go away! I don't want to see you ever again! You shan't make Laura go! You shan't!'

'Carlos!'

'Carlos, darling, be reasonable!' Laura shook him gently. 'It was my decision to leave!'

'I don't believe you!' Carlos stared at her, tears spill­ing down his cheeks. Then he twisted his lips. 'It was Papa, wasn't it? It was Papa who made you do it!'

'No, no—' began Laura, unhappily.

Rosetta spun Carlos round to face her. 'It is as well Senorita Fleming is leaving before she was forcibly re­moved!' she said, staring at him fiercely. 'How dare you speak to me like you have done? You are like a street urchin, your manners are atrocious! I suppose this is why you want her to stay!'

'Leave me alone!' Carlos shrugged away. 'Why don't you leave? I don't want you here! Papa doesn't want you here!'

'Now, Carlos—' began Laura, but Rosetta inter­rupted her, catching Carlos by the shoulder and swing­ing a stinging slap to his small cheek.

Laura was horrified, but not more so than Carlos. He stared at Rosetta as though he couldn't believe what she had done, and then turning, he rushed out of the room.

Rosetta, breathing swiftly, gathered her composure and made to follow him. 'Leave the boy alone, can't you?' cried Laura, sickly. 'If you're to be his step­mother, you should at least try to win his confidence.'

'Confidence! Confidence! Don't preach to me about confidence!' snapped Rosetta. 'If you are responsible for Carlos's over-confidence then you have a lot to answer for.'

'Can't you see the boy's hurt, badly hurt?' pleaded Laura, in an effort to stem Rosetta's anger. 'You can't begin to understand his reasoning.'

'And you can, I suppose.'

'A little. Oh, please, don't go after him in anger.'

'I shan't go after him at all,' said Rosetta, arrogantly. 'His father will do that after I have told him of Carlos's behaviour!'

Laura turned away. 'You make me sick!' she said, shaking her head.

Rosetta shrugged. 'The feeling is mutual, however, your opinions of me are of no consequence!' She strode to the door. 'By the way, don't forget the time of your train in the morning, will you? I should hate you to miss it!'

After she had gone, Laura sank down on to a seat weakly, burying her face in her hands. She had known Rosetta could be mean and spiteful, but she had not realized the depths of her cruelty. How on earth could she leave Carlos to the care of such a woman? Had Raphael any idea of her impatience with the boy? How could he contemplate marriage with such a creature? Laura felt almost ill with the thought of it all.

Then she got uncertainly to her feet. Someone must find Carlos before his father did. Someone must be there when Raphael's anger threatened his son. And there was no one else who dated to stand up to the master of Madralena.

Smoothing her skirt, she left the nursery, running swiftly down the stairs. It was late afternoon, and Elizabeth was still resting. Laura thought Carlos might have gone outside, to the arbour where they sometimes did their lessons. It was pleasant there, and no one else knew of their preference for the place. It was just the sort of refuge he would seek.

It was hot outside, and Laura, sweating as much from anxiety as from exertion, halted on the fore- court, looking about her. It seemed that Raphael was not yet in pursuit of his son, although she had no doubt that Rosetta would waste no time in reporting Carlos's behaviour.

Leaving the house, she threaded her way through the gardens to the arbour, pushing aside the leaves of bougainvillea that brushed her cheeks. There was an overpowering scent of perfume from some roses that swarmed over the latticework of the entrance to the arbour, and petals of jasmine and poinsettia fluttered at her feet.

But the arbour was deserted, a breeze playing lightly across the stonework, rustling the branches of the trees, disturbing shrubs and providing a welcome coolness. Laura stood there, brushing her hair back from her face, twining the tendrils that had escaped her hair- band behind her ears. She heaved a sigh, and looked round helplessly. It seemed she was mistaken after all. Carlos was not here. But where else was he likely to go? He was not a boy used to disobedience of any kind." She supposed she was responsible for this show of naughti­ness, but she couldn't find it in herself to be angry with him. He was only a child after all, and his actions were merely those of a naughty child. She shook her head. So long as his bid for independence did not lead him into danger. After all, Madralena was not the kind of place one could dismiss without some misgivings. Out­side the grounds roamed the bulls, and while she did not think he would go out there, endangering his life, it was not beyond the realms of possibility.

She left the arbour, and walked slowly back across the gardens, seeking the break in the wall where she had once ventured out on to the headland. The wind whistled eerily here, and the headland looked barren and deserted. If he had gone out there then he had disappeared remarkably quickly. No, it was much more likely that he was hiding somewhere, but where?

She walked back round the garden, and stood with her hands on her hips looking this way and that. She was completely puzzled. She had no idea where to look next, and her head was beginning to ache rather un­pleasantly. There was still no sign of Raphael, and with trudging steps, she walked slowly round the rim of the garden, looking back towards the house every now and then, expecting any moment to hear a summons.

But none came, and presently she came upon the gate in the stonework that led on to the cliff top. Im­mediately her breath caught in her throat. The gate was ajar. Had Carlos gone out of the garden on to the cliffs — near that crumbling apology for a stairway? Her heart pounded wildly. Surely not! Surely even Carlos would not do such a thing! And yet Carlos had been there when Raphael had chastised her several weeks ago when she had taken him out on the cliffs. Maybe this was just the sort of demonstration the boy would use to show his determination.

On trembling legs, Laura circled the cliff, searching for the steps, but when she found them and halted uncertainly there was no evidence to suggest that Carlos had been there. There was nothing to be seen, and only the wind disturbed the stillness. She sighed, and considered shouting Carlos's name in an effort to attract his attention. But if he was on that perilous descent, she must not startle him by shouting. No, if she was to find out whether he was down there, she must go down herself. It was impossible to tell from this angle whether he was hiding there. The rocks stretched sharply out to sea, their ruggedness exposed at low tide, and she shivered.

Then, with a final glance back at the house, she began to descend. At first the steps were not too difficult to negotiate. The handrail was useless, crumbling out of its foundations, but apart from weeds the steps seemed to have worn well. However, as she got lower she found the steps were crumbling with the constant wash of the sea-water, and there was seaweed to be avoided, slippery and slimy.

The steps curved inwards to the cliff face, and then curved out again as they reached the bottom, but as she reached the outward curve and looked down she could see that there was no point in going any further. Carlos could not possibly have made it to the bottom so quickly, and there was thankfully no sign of any pros­trate little body lying on the rocks below.

She heaved a thankful sigh, and turned to mount the steps again. But as she did so, her foot encountered a strand of the seaweed she had been trying to avoid, and she slipped, losing her balance, and tumbling down several more steps before she managed to grasp an outcrop of rock and save herself.

Trembling, she clung there, aware that she had nar­rowly avoided killing herself. Had she not saved her- self there and then, she would have slithered over the ledge of the steps, and fallen the twenty feet or so to the rocks beneath. It was this knowledge as much as anything that caused her to stay perfectly still for sev­eral minutes, a quivering mass of nerves. Then, as the numbness of tension passed, she became aware of an agonizing pain in her ankle, and a throbbing ache in her side. She wondered if there were any bones broken, but as she struggled to get to her knees she realized that she must only be badly bruised. Possibly her ankle was sprained too, but at least she was still in one piece. That knowledge cheered her a little.

Then she looked up. The steps stretched above her to seeming infinity, and she began to wonder how on earth she was going to make it back to the top of the cliff. Although it was low tide now, at high tide some of the steps were covered, and she could tell from the dampness of her perch that she was on those lower steps.

She managed to get to her feet, leaning forward to hold the higher steps for support, and placed her in­jured foot on the ground. As she had expected it would not bear her weight, and she was forced to resort again to her knees.

She heaved an impatient sigh, as a million thoughts ran through her brain. How on earth was she to leave tomorrow when she could not even walk? And if she managed to crawl to the top of the steps, what kind of state would she be in to enter the house, even supposing she could hop there?

What an ignominious end to her job, she thought almost tearfully. How Rosetta would laugh when she learned of her experiences! She stifled the tears that bordered on self-pity. There was no time for tears. She must try to reach the top while it was still light, and before anyone missed her also.

But while crawling up the steps seemed an easy proposition, it most certainly was not, and several times she had to stop, panting for breath. Her knees were scraped and bleeding from the crumbling stone, while her finger nails were broken and jagged. Her face had acquired several black streaks from the times she had swept back her hair with a careless hand, and her clothes were damp and dirty.

It seemed to take her hours to reach the cliff top, but at last she got there, lying for several minutes on the grass there, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief, before she continued her journey. Getting to her feet at last, she hopped to the gate, and once inside she heaved a sigh. She had made it.

The sun was beginning to slide down the sky, and she realized it would be dark quite soon. Limping pain­fully, she made her way through the garden towards the small entrance that led to her room. She longed for a hot bath and a change of clothes, and she hoped desperately that Carlos had been found without too much trouble. She had come to the conclusion, on that long journey up from the rocks, that he must have been found, or someone else would have thought of the steps by this time.

In the twilight, a night-owl swooped towards her out of the fruit trees, and she gasped at the shock it gave her, stumbling to one side out of its flight path. But as she did so, her ankle gave way on her, and she fell yet again, only this time she hit her head against something very hard and knew no more.

CHAPTER EIGHT

She was asleep and dreaming, dreaming she was floating where leaves brushed her face, and soft winds cooled her heated cheeks. There were voices, too, in the dream, that bit out words like commands, and the floating sensation gave way to one less gentle. Hard hands were holding her against a warm body, and warm breath fanned her cheeks. She opened her eyes, and blinked in the brightness of artificial lights. There were lamps, and a staircase, and she was being carried up the staircase - by Raphael!

Raphael!

Her brain started to function, but her head ached abominably and there seemed no consistency in her thoughts. Her eyes flickered, and immediately he looked down, dark eyes blazing into hers, but he did not speak, at least not to her, and his words were in Spanish any­way, and she couldn't understand him.

As they reached the top of the staircase, she saw Lisa running ahead of them down the corridor, and behind them someone else was following, but Laura couldn't see who it was. What was going on? Why was Raphael carrying her? Where was he taking her?

They entered a large bedroom, with a high carved ceiling. Rose-coloured drapes hung at the tall windows, and a rose-coloured bedspread covered the large bed. There was a soft pillow into which her head sank, and her body relaxed completely on the springy mattress. Raphael deposited her gently, and then straightened, and now Laura could see Maria behind him, her hands clasped together, listening intently to her master's in­structions.

Then Raphael looked down at Laura for a moment, and said, in a strained, husky tone much different from the usual way he spoke to her:

'Dios, Laura, we thought you had fallen down the cliff face!'

Laura tried to remember. 'Carlos?' she murmured, faintly.

'He is safe. You will hear about that presently. Now I must leave you to Maria's ministrations. The doctor will be here, shortly, and you are in good hands.'

Laura's lips felt cracked and dry. 'I - I did go down the steps,' she murmured, almost to herself.

'I know,' muttered Raphael, in a tortured voice. 'When are you going to learn that I can only stand so much?' He stared at her with impassioned eyes. 'I am only human, Laura, and I love you very much!' He glanced half-impatiently at Maria. 'I cannot talk now. I will come back later!' And with these dramatic words he turned and strode out of the bedroom.

Laura stared after him for several seconds, a frown puckering her brow, while she had the strangest feeling that she had somehow passed out again, and she had dreamt that declaration. Had he actually said he loved her? She wet her dry lips. And if he had? What of it? It wouldn't be the first time he had said he loved her, and it didn't mean anything to him the last time. What he really meant was that he desired her, he wanted her; love was something offered to a mistress, not to the woman one intended to make one's wife, at least that was how it appeared to Laura. A wife was offered a man's loyalty and devotion, his home and his support, but love! Love was a luxury, as Elizabeth had said.

With a broken sob, she turned her face into the pillow allowing the hot tears to cascade down her cheeks, while Maria came to the bed, fussing about her, and protesting in her own language at Laura's loss of con­trol.

As Lisa and Maria, ignoring Laura's protests, began to strip the torn and dirty clothes from her, she became aware of how bruised and battered she really was. Her whole body ached with a terrible weariness, and she wished they would just let her close her eyes and lose all her misery in sleep.

But this was not to be. She was clothed in a bathrobe and helped into the bathroom adjoining the magnificent bedroom. There, a deep relaxing bath awaited her, and Lisa helped her to soap herself thoroughly and wash away all the grime and slime from her body. Then her hair was washed, and towelled, and after she had dried herself she was smothered with a silky talc that left her warm and sweet-smelling. Her own pyjamas had been brought from her room, and only then did she begin to wonder why she should be here, in this luxurious bedroom, when her own room had always been quite adequate for her needs.

But although she questioned Maria, the old woman merely smiled and told her to relax and not to worry.

Then Dr. Perez arrived and he examined her thoroughly, discovering that she had a sprained ankle and several bruised ribs. He said she had been lucky not to acquire more injuries, and she supposed she had. But just now she didn't find anything to be cheerful about. She would not be able to leave tomorrow and that was what troubled her most.

As her body was soothed with salve, and she was given a sedative and a warm drink, everything became much less important, and she settled down on her pillows with a kind of resignation. She was too tired to trouble any more tonight. She had no idea of what time it actually was, but it had been dark when Raphael had carried her into the house, so it must be quite late by now.

And on the heels of this thought came another. What had happened to her after she crawled up the cliff steps? She could remember crawling up the steps, but after that everything got a little blurred, and it made her head ache trying to remember. Instead, she closed her eyes and blessed oblivion claimed her.

When she awoke, it was daylight, and she realized with a sense of shock that it must be quite late for the sun was already climbing high in the sky. Oh, lord, she thought, struggling up on her pillows, I should have been in the train by now!

She sank back wearily, as her head throbbed with the sudden exertion, and presently the door opened and Maria came in, smiling when she saw that Laura was awake.

'Ah, senorita,' she said, with a rather beaming smile on her usually dour face. 'You are looking much better. Are you feeling better?'

Laura sighed. 'Much - much better,' she agreed. 'What time is it?'

'It's a little after eleven, senorita. You have slept for a long, long time.' She folded her hands with some satisfaction. 'And now, perhaps you would like some coffee, and some deliciously warm rolls and perhaps a little raspberry conserve.'

Laura shook her head. 'Oh - oh, I think not,' she exclaimed. 'Some coffee, certainly, but I don't feel par­ticularly hungry.'

Maria frowned. 'Is that so? Perhaps Dr. Perez—'

'Oh, no, I'm not ill,' protested Laura, hastily. 'I'm just - well - not hungry, that's all.'

Maria frowned. 'I will have to discuss this with Don Raphael!' she said, firmly. 'He told me I should inform him of every wish you express.'

Laura felt her cheeks grow scarlet. 'I — I have been an awful nuisance!' she exclaimed, ruefully. 'Don - Raphael must be absolutely sick and tired of me!' She gave a small smile.

Her words were not meant absolutely seriously, but Maria chose to take them so. 'Don Raphael is most concerned for your welfare, senorita,' she said, sharply. 'After last night's anxieties, it is natural that he should wish to know that you are well and recovering from your ordeal!'

Laura frowned. 'Last night's anxieties,' she mur­mured, questioningly. 'What happened last night?'

'Why - your disappearance, senorita!' 'My disappearance?' echoed Laura.

'Of course. You were missing for several hours, senorita.'

Laura tried to remember. 'I remember going to look for Carlos,' she said, slowly. 'But I couldn't find him.'

'The pequeho was hiding in a chest on the first floor landing,' replied Maria, swiftly. 'He was afraid of what retribution his papa might make upon him for the argument he had with Senorita Rosetta.'

'You know about that?'

'But of course. When your disappearance was dis­covered, and the household was alerted, the pequeho was questioned most intently by Don Raphael. As, too, was Senorita Burgos, of course.'

Laura stared at Maria in bewilderment. 'Senorita Burgos was questioned?' she exclaimed in disbelief.

'But of course, senorita. Everyone was questioned. The pequeho was convinced Senorita Rosetta had sent you away!'

Laura hid a smile at this. It was exactly the sort of thing Carlos would think. But she had to go on. There was so much she didn't understand, not least her own predicament.

'I must have passed out - in the garden,' she said, now, speaking her thoughts aloud.

Maria clicked her tongue. 'You went down the steps - to the rocks,' she exclaimed. 'We found some blood on the stairway. Your knees were badly lacerated.'

Laura pressed a hand to her lips. 'And - and you thought—'

'Don Raphael was quite frantic!' said Maria, tensely. Then she straightened her shoulders. 'At any rate, senorita, you were found at last in the gardens, as you have said. You appeared to have fallen and hit your head against one of the stone terraces!'

Laura thought very hard. 'I vaguely remember an owl. ..' she murmured, slowly. 'I think I tried to avoid it and fell...'

Maria shrugged. 'That may be true. But before you were found there were many tense moments. When it was realized that you had gone searching for the pe­queho Don Raphael went first to the steps, and after­wards, as you can imagine, he was distrait!'

Laura looked at the old woman. There were many more questions she wanted to ask, but Maria seemed to sense that she had chattered long enough, for she said: 'I will see about your coffee, senorita,' and with­drew.

Laura had many visitors that morning. Doha Luisa came first, looking down at her with eyes that con­tained a curious amount of concern.

'So, you are not to leave, senorita,' she murmured, thoughtfully.

Laura stared at her, then relaxed. 'Oh, you mean my ankle,' she murmured, awkwardly. 'I know — I'm sorry. But Dr. Perez says it will be well in a couple of days. I have to stay here today to rest and recover from the shock the bump on the head gave my system.'

Dona Luisa smiled, and leaned heavily on her stick. 'So that is your opinion, is it, senorita?' she murmured. 'Ah, well, we will see. You certainly gave us all a terrible shock!'

'I'm sorry,' said Laura, again. 'I've behaved rather stupidly.'

Doha Luisa tipped her head on one side. 'Oh, no, not stupidly, senorita. Perhaps a little over-anxiously, but that was not entirely your fault. Rosetta was very cruel with the boy!'

Laura's eyes were wide. 'You know about the argu­ment she had with Carlos?'

'But of course.' Doha Luisa smiled a trifle dryly. 'You seem to forget, my dear Laura, that Raphael held quite an inquest here when it was discovered that you were missing!'

Laura coloured. 'I see.'

'My nephew can be quite devastatingly ruthless when the occasion warrants it,' said Doha Luisa, rue­fully. 'Poor Rosetta! I do not think she will ever be the same again!'

Laura clasped her hands. 'I have been a nuis­ance!'

Doha Luisa shrugged. 'It appears to have cleared the air of Madralena once and for all,' she said, wryly. 'At any rate, I do not think the melancholy which has been infecting us all these years will last much longer.'

Laura felt a knife in her stomach. Did Doha Luisa mean that Raphael had finally asked Rosetta to marry him? Maybe, if he had been ruthless with her over the matter of Carlos, it had been his way of making amends.

Doha Luisa turned to the door, 'So, I will go,' she said. 'I will see you later, when you are up and about again.'

'I - I expect so,' murmured Laura, although she felt that the sooner she put a few hundred miles between herself and Madralena the better. If, by some method, Raphael hoped to keep her here, after his marriage to Rosetta, then he was mistaken. She would not be his mistress, even though her heart argued that half a loaf was better than none.

Later in the day it was the turn of Elizabeth and Carlos. Carlos flung himself upon her eagerly, hugging her close, and demonstrating how fond of her he had become. Then he smiled cheerfully, and said:

'Rosetta's gone! Papa has sent her away.'

Laura's eyes turned to Elizabeth's. 'Is that true?'

Elizabeth smiled a trifle mischievously. 'I'm afraid so.'

'But-but why?'

Elizabeth shrugged. 'I think she went a little too far in her attack, on Carlos. At any rate, she has gone to stay with some cousins in Seville for a while. Dona Luisa can manage without a companion for the time being.'

Laura couldn't assimilate this. 'But — but—' she began, and Elizabeth raised her hand.

'Don't try to analyse it all,' she said, shaking her head. 'I think - well - in fact, I know, you're to be invited to stay on.'

'But I refused!' Laura glanced at Carlos, but he did not seem at all perturbed.

'Papa says you will stay,' he said, firmly. 'Besides, now that Rosetta has gone there is no one else. Libby can't do everything.'

Laura compressed her lips. 'Oh, Elizabeth!' she ex­claimed. 'It's an impossible position!'

'Is it?'

Both Carlos and Elizabeth swung round at the sudden change of tone, and Laura felt the colour draining out of her cheeks as Raphael came lazily through the doorway.

'Papa, Papa, Laura is to stay, isn't she?' begged Carlos, but Raphael shook his head.

'In a moment, Carlos,' he murmured. 'Miss Lati­mer, will you take Carlos to the nursery? I will come and see him there very shortly.'

Carlos bounced off the bed. Pressing a finger to his lips he looked excitedly at his father. 'Si, Papa?' he questioned, but Raphael merely shook his head once again, and gently urged them out of the room.

After they had gone, Laura put up a nervous hand to the tangled curls on her forehead. 'I — I believe I've caused you a lot of bother,' she began, uncomfortably, but Raphael did not seem to take any notice of her.

Instead he seated himself beside her, on the bed, and said: 'I meant what I said last night, Laura. I do love you. So very much.'

Laura was a seething mass of nerves and sensations. 'You — you've said that before,' she said, turning her face away from him, looking desperately towards the window, anything to distract his attention from her, because she was very much afraid she would succumb to his persuasion if he really attempted to charm her.

Raphael caught her chin between his fingers and turned her face back to his. 'I know it. I was a careless fool then, but it won't happen again, I promise you.'

Laura struggled to free herself. 'Oh, that's all very well!' she cried, 'but a person can't change in the space of a month! Besides, I'm leaving Madralena. I - I have a job I can return to in England—'

'I don't give a damn if you have a hundred jobs waiting for you in England, you are staying in Spain — at Madralena,' retorted Raphael, grimly. 'I know you love me. It is in every look you give me, every touch on my arm, every kiss you have ever bestowed upon me. Don't try to deny it!'

Laura tried to pull away from him 'I - I haven't denied that I love you,' she said, helplessly, 'but I want more than you are prepared to give me.'

Raphael's brows drew together 'How so?' he muttered, thickly. 'I offer you my life, my love, my house and my belongings! What more can I give you?'

Laura stared at him. 'I don't understand,' she mur­mured, faintly.

'I will be more explicit. I want you to be my wife,' he muttered, huskily, and then with a groan he buried his mouth on her parted lips, pressing her back into the pillows so that her arms slid round his neck almost compulsively. His hard body bruised her weakness, but it was a very pleasant pain, and only when he drew back rather reluctantly did she give a small gasp.

Immediately, Raphael studied her intently. 'I have hurt you,' he exclaimed, impatient with himself. 'Oh, Laura, you don't know how much I've wanted

to say these words to you. Love of my life. I never loved Elena, God forgive me, but you must know it's true!'

Laura gazed at him, tracing his jawline with her fingers. 'But you married her,' she reminded him, gently.

'I know, I know!' He drew back, dragging his eyes away from the creamy warmth of her soft flesh. 'Try to understand, Laura. There is this history of deaths in our family, Elizabeth tells me she has told you the legend, and it has always coloured my judgement. How could it not? My own mother — or so I believed - was killed by the carelessness of my father!'

'But that wasn't true—' began Laura, eagerly.

'I know now, Rosetta told me.'

Laura wondered how she had flung the words at him. Rosetta would not have been a gentle adversary.

'Go on,' said Laura. 'So?'

'So I tried to tell you — the night before I left for Spain, but you would not listen, and later, after my marriage to Elena I came back to England to find you.' He smote his hand with his fist. 'Do not tell me it was not the honourable thing to do. I know that. I knew it at the time. I admit I was an arrogant fool. I had some intention of begging you to continue seeing me, if only infrequently, but as you know, you had already left the Valdes.'

Laura stared at him. 'You wanted me to be your mistress?'

Raphael bent his head. 'Would you have re­fused?'

'I -I don't know. My brain says yes, but in my heart — I don't know.'

He bent forward. 'It was always so with us, was it not, the anger and the ecstasy, the spite and the gentle­ness, the pleasure and the pain!'

Laura felt her eyes fill with tears. 'And now?'

'And now you are here. You cannot begin to under­stand my emotions when I found you here, when you entered my study, so young and beautiful and de­sirable, I think I actually hated you!'

'I am sure you did,' she murmured, allowing his lips to caress her cheek. 'Why didn't you come to find me after Elena's death? Or is that an unethical ques­tion?'

'It is a reasonable one, but I had no reasonable answer at that time. How could I begin to think of you as my wife with that terrible story hanging over my head, much closer now since Elena was dead, too?'

'I see.' Laura studied his features. 'I would have taken the risk.'

'But I would not.' Raphael's fingers smoothed the material of her pyjamas from her soft shoulders, and his eyes darkened. 'I adore you, Laura, I worship you, I would do anything for you, but never endanger your life. Now it is different. And for that I have you to thank.'

'But how?' She straggled up, puzzled.

'When Lisa went this morning to pack your clothes in your room she discovered a slip of paper in the back of your drawer. How it got there I do not know, but it was a letter, to Pedro Armes, written by my wife on the day she died!'

'On the day she died?' echoed Laura. 'You mean—'

'I mean that Elena was supposed to have committed suicide. She died from an overdose of drugs. But would any woman, who on the following day was going to her lover, kill herself? No, my darling, the letter gives the clue. She mentions that she does not expect to sleep, that she is to take some of Doha Luisa's pills, is that right?'

'Oh, Raphael!' Laura felt an overwhelming sense of relief.

'Oh, yes, indeed,' he murmured. 'Her death was an accident, pure and simple. I intend to inform the authorities right away.'

'Oh, Raphael,' she said again. 'I — I found that letter. It was in Pedro Armes's studio, the night I went to see his paintings.'

Raphael stared at her. 'Then why did you not show it to me?'

'I — I didn't think you cared. Not — not in that way! Besides, I was convinced you were bitter because of Elena's attraction to Pedro. I never could accept that you could love me!'

'But why?' Raphael buried his face in her neck, and felt her tremble in his grasp. 'Why? Laura, my darling, I have never loved anyone else.'

Laura shook her head. 'It's like a dream,' she mur­mured, softly.

'For me, too.'

'And Carlos?'

'He adores you. But I am afraid he will have to acquire another governess!'

Laura smiled. 'I think I can combine both,' she mur­mured. 'After all, I always thought he was too young for formal education. Now I shall have my way.'

Raphael smiled, and it was a lovely smile, warm and enveloping. 'Yes,' he said, 'you can have your way.'

Laura slid her arms round his neck again. 'And the bulls?' she taunted him gently.

'Only if you drive me away,' he promised her huskily.