The Dragon's Cave by Isobel Chace Page A

you—’
    ‘ Come on now, Margot, you know it was his idea that you should live here !’
    ‘ Was it?’ The Senora smiled bravely. ‘ Perhaps it won’t be as bad as I think, but I should have liked to have gone to England.’
    ‘It isn’t as you remember it,’ he told her flatly. ‘ Ask Megan !’
    The Senora stirred herself to look over her shoulder at Megan. ‘Carlos will have it that London has changed in the last few years, but I don’t believe him. London has always had a quality of its own !’
    Megan wasn’t sure whether she was being asked her opinion or not. ‘I like London too,’ she admitted.
    ‘T here you are ! ’ the Senora said complacently. ‘Megan agrees with me !’
    ‘ Megan would hardly remember the London you are talking about,’ her stepson said dryly. ‘She’s j ust a baby!’
    ‘She looks fully grown to me,’ the Senora drawled.
    Megan felt herself blushing, but she was grateful that somebody thought she was old enough to have an opinion.
    ‘Do you think so?’ Carlos laughed.
    ‘She’s a bit thin,’ the Senora went on, ‘but that’s better than the other way about. How old are you Megan?’
    ‘She’s eighteen,’ Carlos answered for her.
    ‘Old enough ! ’ the Senora grunted enigmatically.
    Carlos grinned at his stepmother. ‘Don’t get ideas, Margot .’
    The older woman chuckled comfortably. ‘ I won’t, if you don’t! How is Pilar?’
    Megan shut her ears to the family chat going on in front of her and stared out at the strange sights all about her. The windmills were almost all stationary, and some of them looked to be in bad repair, but there were so many of them, drawing up the water to irrigate the land, that they dominated the area, only losing their importance when they slipped on to the motorway that led straight into Palma.
    The little car sped along the highway, slowing only as they came into the city just below the Cathedral. Carlos drove fast and well, even when the traffic grew thicker, turning this way and that without apparently giving any warning at all of their intentions. At the major crossroads, a traffic policeman was stationed on a high red and white stand, blowing his whistle frantically whenever some intrepid driver ignored his instructions; at other junctions there were traffic lights, the red light twice the size of the green and amber, but even so rather difficult to see.
    Then, in hardly any time at all, Carlos turned off into the Plaza Santa Eulalia and down the narrow Calle Morey. He drew up in front of the heavy wooden doors of one of the houses, that were left open to reveal the patio inside, around which the house was built. Megan leaned forward eagerly, delighted by the patterned marble tiles that covered the floor, the flowering plants that had been placed about the playing fountain, the elegant steps that led up into the house itself, half hidden behind the upstairs terrace that rested on fluted columns taking the eye upwards from the patio below.
    ‘It’s beautiful ! ’ she breathed.
    ‘Do you think so?’ the Senora asked, surprised. ‘ I’m not very keen on the Italian influence myself. It looks nice enough, but it doesn’t make for comfort !’
    ‘I’d put up with quite a lot of discomfort to have a patio and a staircase like that !’ Megan exclaimed.
    The Senora looked amused. ‘ You must ask Carlos to tell you the history of the house. If you like it, the inside is a gem of its kind too. I don’t like it.’
    ‘I don ’t see how you could help it!’
    The Senora smiled. ‘You’re younger than I thought,’ she remarked. ‘Age brings a desire for comfort, and there’s very little of that in this house!’
    ‘Still complaining?’ Carlos asked his stepmother cheerfully as he pushed the suitcases through the open doors into the patio. ‘Take Megan inside, will you, Margot? I’ll get rid of the car.’
    The Senora stood beside the fountain, eyeing the suitcases with distaste. ‘What a lot of luggage you