Dancing in the Shadows by Anne Saunders Page B

Rose Ruiz’s favour. ‘I enjoy the liberty that, for example, has allowed me to travel abroad on my own. I can’t see myself ever accepting the passive role in marriage. I would want to be an equal.’
    â€˜Equality is a hard pendulum to set,’ Rose Ruiz replied with undeniable truth.
    Dorcas nodded. ‘I know what you mean. In America it has gone the other way. The women there dominate the marriage. And that’s no good either. If one is aware of the danger . . . surely . . . ?’ She didn’t really expect a reply to her half formed question. On the other hand she did not expect such an abrupt, laughably transparent twist to the conversation.
    â€˜I must invite the Rocas over for dinner. Soon.’
    Dorcas felt a moment’s pity for her. She still doesn’t know, she thought. Carlos was her son. A son is a person of the highest ideals. As well as being a son, Carlos was also a man. He looked at Dorcas with a man’s eyes, and liked what he saw. Perhaps he even wanted to do more than look. It didn’t mean he wanted to marry her.
    Dorcas thought she had made a fair job of the evaluation, until she remembered she hadn’t accounted for the blanks. The earlier part of her stay in hospital, while she was under heavy sedation, was a blank. People had come and gone, but Carlos had stayed by her bed. She experienced an impression of closeness that came in almost remembering. Trying to clarify her thoughts was like trying to feel through glass. Splinters of memory pierced her awareness, but not enough to piece together to make a whole.
    * * *
    That evening, at dinner, Dorcas did not feel hungry. The soup went down very slowly. The fish left on her plate was an insult to the cook. She couldn’t face the pot-roast of veal.
    Enrique Ruiz leaned forward to rap her knuckles in a proprietorial gesture, establishing her entry into the bosom of the family by reproof. One did not upbraid a guest.
    â€˜Why are you not eating?’ He spoke like a father addressing a much-loved but tiresome daughter. His eyes were kindly and concerned.
    â€˜I am not hungry.’ Dorcas looked squarely at him. She thought she had never liked anyone more, except of course, Carlos. To please him she would eat up every spoonful of her dessert. But oh! how pleased she would be when the meal was over and she could go to her room. She needed to come to terms with her thoughts.
    The level of the wine carafe was considerably lower; the coffee cups were empty. At last she could say: ‘I am rather tired. Will you excuse me, please?’
    Enrique Ruiz smiled, and once again his smile was almost a hug. ‘
Yes
,
niña
. Your eyes grow small in your head. Goodnight. Sleep well, my dear.’
    â€˜Shall I come with you?’ said Rose Ruiz.
    It didn’t seem an odd notion for the señora to accompany her to her room and perhaps tuck her in bed. Nevertheless, Dorcas said in a sleepy voice: ‘Please do not trouble. I can find my own way.’
    â€˜As you wish. Goodnight, Dorcas.’
    â€˜Goodnight señora, señor.’ Before she could add his name, Carlos had risen from his chair and his hand was supporting her elbow.
    â€˜I will see you to your room.’
    The moment they were on the other side of the dining-room door, he said: ‘Even as tired as you are, a breath of air will prove beneficial before you turn in. Come out into the garden for just a little while.’
    There was an element of self-punishment in saying yes, but Dorcas did not have the will to turn down the invitation.
    In the blue-mink sky, every star had come out of hiding. She stroked her bare arms and said, because she felt the need to fill the dangerous silence with meaningless chatter, ‘How delicious to feel so warm so late in the evening. At home I would have had to cover up my arms, muffle up even.’
    Carlos’s eyes regarded her indulgently. ‘Chatter if you like. If it makes you feel