could make any protest at his own apparent acceptance of the situation, another voice broke in on them.
‘Señorita Leyton!’ it enquired, in vaguely slurred tones. ‘It is Señorita Leyton, is it not? Ola, welcome to the Hacienda Montejo, señorita. I hope you are going to be very happy here.’
Caroline turned half guiltily, aware of the disloyalty of her thoughts only moments before, to find a man approaching them across the expanse of black and gold marble. If this was Esteban Montejo, and she had every reason to suppose it was, he, too, was tall, though not so tall as his brother, and of much heavier build. Like his surroundings, he looked immaculate, in a formal evening suit of seamed black pants and white jacket, his only apparent concession to the heat, the printed silk cravat about his throat, instead of the usual white tie. But what disturbed Caroline most was the unevenness of his approach; the way he placed each foot with evident precision, and the faintly smug expression he adopted as he neared her.
‘My brother, Don Esteban,’ observed Luis Montejo, with studied politeness, and Caroline felt her hand captured and raised almost to Don Esteban’s lips.
‘I am most happy to meet you, señorita,’ Don Esteban assured her ardently, and the odour on his breath was unmistakable. Was this the indisposition his brother had hinted at? Caroline wondered faintly, smothering her revulsion, and knew a moment’s incredulity that features that had so much in common should be so amazingly different.
Realising she had to say something to retrieve her hand, she forced a smile. ‘You—you have a beautiful home, señor,’ she said, determinedly withdrawing her fingers from his. ‘It—well, it’s not at all what I expected.’
Don Esteban rocked back on his heels, casting a satisfied glance towards the intricately-carved ceiling, the white walls and pilasters, the iron balustrade that formed a gallery above them. ‘You like it?’ he drawled. ‘It is a modest dwelling compared to the palaces my family left behind them in Cadiz, señorita.’ He shrugged. ‘But—–’ and here his dark eyes, much darker than those of his brother, returned to her face, ‘it serves the purpose. And there is room enough for the three members of my family who live here.’
‘Oh, but—–’ Caroline’s brows ascended, and she glanced in some confusion towards the man who had brought her here. How could there only be three members?
And as if understanding that silent enquiry, Don Esteban spoke again. ‘My brother?’ he suggested. ‘Luis?’ His tongue slurred over the man’s name. ‘Did he not tell you, señorita? Did he not explain?’ His lips curled. ‘My brother does not live with us here at San Luis, Miss Leyton. Like his namesake, Luis is in search of immortality also. He lives in Mariposa, señorita. At the seminary of San Pedro de Alcantara.’
CAROLINE awakened with the instinctive awareness that all was not well. For a few minutes she lay still in the middle of the huge baroque bed, with its carved headboard and gilded hangings, once used, Don Esteban had assured her, by the Emperor Maximilian himself, and let the events of the previous evening sweep over her in intimate detail. And then, loath to spoil the new day with such reminiscences, she thrust back the silken coverings and put her feet to the floor.
There was a rug beside her bed, a soft silky alpaca rug, into which her toes curled, and she allowed its sensuous touch to soothe her unquiet thoughts. No matter what she had let herself into here, she was committed to stay for at least four weeks, she told herself severely, but it was not an easy fact to accept.
The night before had been like something out of a dream, or perhaps a nightmare described it more aptly. Remembering the dinner she had shared with the two brothers, she shuddered in revulsion, and her palms found her cheeks as she recalled that grotesque meal in its entirety.
It had been obvious from the start that Don Esteban was by no means sober, and the amount of wine served with the meal had only exaggerated his condition. They had eaten in the ornate dining room, at a table large enough to seat a score of guests, and from silver and crystal worth a small fortune. They were served by an army of waiters, and offered a fantastic number of courses, each cooked and presented with a different sauce. There were several courses of fish, from a spicy stuffed variety to the lightest of shellfish mousses, chilled soups, steaming consommés, wine-flavoured and aromatic, chicken served in wine and cream, stuffed tamales, enchiladas, deliciously filled with cheese, pork served with apples and tomatoes and onions, and every kind of fruit imaginable.
Caroline had eaten little, aware of the dangers of too much rich food on a stomach already churning with nerves, and she had noticed Don Esteban followed her example. But he had continually filled his glass, watching her intently across the expanse of polished mahogany, probing and assessing, and making her overwhelmingly aware that he found her presence at his table pleasing to him.
Luis Montejo had eaten more enthusiastically, drinking only a little wine, keeping his thoughts to himself. It had been left to Caroline to answer Don Esteban’s questions, and to listen in shocked fascination as he deliberately proceeded to provoke his brother.
Remembering it all now, Caroline rose from the bed and padded barefoot across to the window. Without the benefit of the rug, the tiled floor was cool to her feet, but she scarcely noticed. Drawing the heavy curtains aside, she opened the window, and gasped with sudden wonder at the beauty of the view.
Last night there had been nothing to be seen, only darkness, and the troubling obscurity of her own thoughts. But this morning the sun was shining, and even the enclosing wall that surrounded the property had taken on a rose-coloured hue.
But it was beyond the wall that Caroline’s eyes were drawn, to the flower-strewn banks of a river flowing through rugged but open land to where a church tower stood silhouetted against the sky. Her eyes followed the river as it rushed through a narrow gorge to disappear from sight, only to appear again in the shimmering distance, a spreading, shifting expanse of water. Caroline blinked. That was no river, she realised in sudden excitement. It was the sea. Only the sea could give that blue-green tinge to the horizon, and her spirits soared. She had known Yucatan was a peninsula but somehow she had never imagined San Luis de Merced might be near the sea. She gazed at it eagerly, savouring its familiarity, and breathing deeply, as if she could already taste its salty flavour.
With an effort she allowed her attention to be caught by a movement near at hand. There was a herd of cattle grazing some distance from the house, and her eyes widened at their number. There must be hundreds, she thought incredulously, then wondered with some misgivings if one had to negotiate the herds to reach the estuary.
She sighed. No doubt she would find out. But once again the more immediate present gripped her, reminding her that she had yet to meet her charge, the young Emilia, or the elderly retainer, Doña Isabel.
There was a bathroom adjoining the bedroom, and checking that it was still quite early, barely eight o’clock in fact, she went to take a shower. She had been too exhausted the night before to do anything more than wash her face and hands and clean her teeth, but now she surveyed the bathroom’s luxurious appointments with more enthusiasm.
Like everything else, the bathroom was ornate. The walls were lined with gilded mirrors, the taps on the bath and handbasin were gold-plated, and even the shower had a gold-plated spray. Still, the water was hot, and refusing to allow the memory of how the majority of the population lived to deter her, Caroline pulled on a shower cap and stepped beneath the invigorating cascade.
Towelling herself dry, she returned to the bedroom again, viewing her still-packed cases with some distaste. They would have to wait until she discovered what her duties were going to be, she decided, and determinedly dismissed the fleeting urge to beg Luis to take her with him when he left for Mariposa.
Dropping the towel, she rummaged for clean underwear, but when she turned back, the shred of cream cotton clutched in her hand, she encountered her reflection in the long gilded cheval mirrors. They were