The Mountains of Spring by Rosemary Pollock

that she was obliged to be content, for although the girl in the snowy cap and apron had a friendly enough look she evidently had more important things to do than linger for a chat. The door was firmly closed upon Caroline, and she was left in the stuffy loneliness of the office to wonder why Peter hadn ’ t arrived yet. Was his work detaining him—were they insisting, perhaps, that he should finish cleaning out the stables before going up to the house to meet his sister? Or could it—as the minutes passed she began to wonder more and more—could it conceivably be that he didn ’ t want to see her?
    The windows, like the windows of almost every other room in the house, were shuttered, and only a limited amount of light penetrated to the small oblong room. High up, near the ceiling, an electric fan was in operation, emitting a low whining sound, like the whine of a swarm of mosquitoes, and somewhere a long way away someone was singing tunelessly in Spanish.
    Caroline sat down and stood up again, paced up and down and, finally, driven by the heat and a sudden overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia, went to one of the windows and struggled to prise the shutters open. But she couldn ’ t manage it, and she began to feel desperate. The heat was intense, for the electric fan was having hardly any effect at all, and it seemed to her that there was very little air left in the room. She was being stifled ...
    Then everything started to heave slightly, and a big desk littered with papers which had struck her as extremely ugly when she first came into the room grew indistinct and wavery, swelling to an enormous size and then shrinking again. The walls were bending inwards, and the ceiling was coming down on top of her ...
    She tried to take hold of the back of a chair, but the chair didn ’ t seem to be in its place any more, and her hand grasped at empty space. The door opened, and somebody stood on the threshold, staring at her, but she didn ’ t even notice. She had tried to keep control of her senses, but it was no use—a misty blackness enveloped her, and everything else was blotted out.
    The man who had been standing in the doorway moved forward with the speed of lightning, and as he prevented her from falling he uttered an exclamation under his breath. It was an exclamation in Spanish, and it was one of pure vexation.
    When Caroline came to herself again she was seated in the room ’ s one and only reasonably comfortable chair, and all the windows had been thrown wide, to admit sunlight and fresh air and a delicious aroma which she recognized as the scent of bougainvillea. Diego Rivel was leafing through some of the papers on the desk, as if he were far too busy a man to waste time while waiting for her to recover, and she instantly felt unreasonably resentful. But as soon as she opened her eyes, rather as if he possessed some sort of sixth sense, he moved round to stand in front of her.
    ‘ You are better, senorita ? ’
    She sat up very straight, and glanced around the; room, a little like a caged animal. ‘ Oh, yes, thank you—I ’ m quite all right. I can ’ t think what happened ... ’
    ‘ You fainted, ’ he told her. ‘ It was extremely hot in this room. ’
    Some of her resentment deserted her, and she flushed. ‘ I ’ m sorry, ’ she said. ‘ I don ’ t usually faint! ’
    He smiled. ‘ I don ’ t suppose you do ... but you have no need to apologize. It was very natural. ’ In a faintly amused tone he added: ‘ You have no need to blush, either. But when you do it so charmingly it would be a pity to check you! ’
    Instantly her colour grew twice as vivid, and she stood up, avoiding his eyes. This situation was absurd. She couldn ’ t think why Diego Rivel should suddenly be paying her compliments, but she supposed he wanted to embarrass her. In which case he was succeeding, and she was behaving like a schoolgirl.
    ‘ Why isn ’ t Peter here? ’ she asked abruptly. ‘ You said I should meet