Incidentally, ’ he added, ‘ if it is the thought of lunching alone with me that alarms you, you have no need to worry. We shall not be alone. ’
She paused and glanced at him, uncertain whether to feel relieved or otherwise. ‘ Your ... wife will be there? ’ she suggested. Somehow it had not occurred to her before that he might be married.
But he promptly shook his head, and disabused her of the idea. ‘ No, senorita, I am an unhappy man, ’ whimsically. ‘ I have no wife ... yet. But it is true that one of the two ladies with whom we shall be lunching today is of the greatest importance to me. ’
His white sports car was waiting outside the entrance to the patio, and in silence she allowed herself to be helped into it. She was feeling tired now, and a little limp, and she couldn ’ t summon the energy to argue or protest any further.
They drove for about half an hour, climbing steadily into the mountains, and at the end of that time they swung into the car-park of what was evidently a lux ur y-class hotel. It looked as if it had been quite recently built, and had obviously been positioned in such a way as to command the most breathtaking view possible of both the lavender-blue mountains and the burning, red-gold dust of the plain far below them. But at the moment all its shutters were tightly closed, for it was past midday, and although there seemed to be quite a number of smart vehicles parked outside there wasn ’ t a single human figure in sight.
Senor Rivel brought the car to rest in the scented shadow of an acacia tree, and they climbed out. The air was alive and quivering with heat, and the light blinding. Caroline was glad that she had a pair of dark glasses with her, and as they turned to walk across the scorching expanse of the car-park, towards the hotel itself, she put them on.
But the interior of the Hotel Cordillera was deliciously cool, and the blinds and shutters that at this hour of the day covered most of the windows made it also refreshingly dim. Caroline felt more than a little nervous and apprehensive as they entered the wide foyer, for apart from the fact that she was not looking forward to lunching in the company of Diego Rivel she had not forgotten that they were to meet two Mexican ladies, one of whom was a very particular friend of her companion, and she had little doubt that both women would turn out to be ala rming ly elegant. Her own presence would probably surprise them a good deal, and it was even possible that they might resent it. She didn ’ t feel in the least like such a confrontation, and as she cautiously preceded her host into a huge circular cocktail lounge, where the whirring of the electric fans mingled harmoniously with the murmur of dozens of subdued voices, she felt for the second time in one day like a gauche, overgrown schoolgirl.
But the two ladies—who were driving, apparently, all the way from Mexico City—had not yet arrived, and few people glanced up as they made their way to a quiet corner near one of the shaded windows. By the time she had been installed in a deep, comfortable armchair, and Senor Rivel had insisted that she accept a glass of sherry—in the normal way she rarely drank anything stronger than tomato juice or bitter lemon—some of her self-confidence was beginning to return to her, and as she had an opportunity to attend to her appearance in the powder-room, and she knew perfectly well that nothing could have suited her better than the crisp simplicity of her pink linen suit, she gradually began to hope that perhaps the lunch ahead of her might not be such a humiliating ordeal, after all. It was very restful in the cocktail lounge, for all the furnishings were in attractive shades of green, and the dense pile of the carpet seemed to cushion everything, absorbing all discordant sound.
She still felt bitterly resentful of the man beside her, but he didn ’ t say a great deal—although once or twice she caught him looking at her—and
She paused and glanced at him, uncertain whether to feel relieved or otherwise. ‘ Your ... wife will be there? ’ she suggested. Somehow it had not occurred to her before that he might be married.
But he promptly shook his head, and disabused her of the idea. ‘ No, senorita, I am an unhappy man, ’ whimsically. ‘ I have no wife ... yet. But it is true that one of the two ladies with whom we shall be lunching today is of the greatest importance to me. ’
His white sports car was waiting outside the entrance to the patio, and in silence she allowed herself to be helped into it. She was feeling tired now, and a little limp, and she couldn ’ t summon the energy to argue or protest any further.
They drove for about half an hour, climbing steadily into the mountains, and at the end of that time they swung into the car-park of what was evidently a lux ur y-class hotel. It looked as if it had been quite recently built, and had obviously been positioned in such a way as to command the most breathtaking view possible of both the lavender-blue mountains and the burning, red-gold dust of the plain far below them. But at the moment all its shutters were tightly closed, for it was past midday, and although there seemed to be quite a number of smart vehicles parked outside there wasn ’ t a single human figure in sight.
Senor Rivel brought the car to rest in the scented shadow of an acacia tree, and they climbed out. The air was alive and quivering with heat, and the light blinding. Caroline was glad that she had a pair of dark glasses with her, and as they turned to walk across the scorching expanse of the car-park, towards the hotel itself, she put them on.
But the interior of the Hotel Cordillera was deliciously cool, and the blinds and shutters that at this hour of the day covered most of the windows made it also refreshingly dim. Caroline felt more than a little nervous and apprehensive as they entered the wide foyer, for apart from the fact that she was not looking forward to lunching in the company of Diego Rivel she had not forgotten that they were to meet two Mexican ladies, one of whom was a very particular friend of her companion, and she had little doubt that both women would turn out to be ala rming ly elegant. Her own presence would probably surprise them a good deal, and it was even possible that they might resent it. She didn ’ t feel in the least like such a confrontation, and as she cautiously preceded her host into a huge circular cocktail lounge, where the whirring of the electric fans mingled harmoniously with the murmur of dozens of subdued voices, she felt for the second time in one day like a gauche, overgrown schoolgirl.
But the two ladies—who were driving, apparently, all the way from Mexico City—had not yet arrived, and few people glanced up as they made their way to a quiet corner near one of the shaded windows. By the time she had been installed in a deep, comfortable armchair, and Senor Rivel had insisted that she accept a glass of sherry—in the normal way she rarely drank anything stronger than tomato juice or bitter lemon—some of her self-confidence was beginning to return to her, and as she had an opportunity to attend to her appearance in the powder-room, and she knew perfectly well that nothing could have suited her better than the crisp simplicity of her pink linen suit, she gradually began to hope that perhaps the lunch ahead of her might not be such a humiliating ordeal, after all. It was very restful in the cocktail lounge, for all the furnishings were in attractive shades of green, and the dense pile of the carpet seemed to cushion everything, absorbing all discordant sound.
She still felt bitterly resentful of the man beside her, but he didn ’ t say a great deal—although once or twice she caught him looking at her—and
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