me wish I’d never come!’
‘Oh, Carolyn, that was not my intention, although I must admit that when I saw you arriving I had some uncertainty as to the wiseness of such an intrusion. But you’re here now, and I want you to feel at home and get completely acclimatised before you meet Don Carlos. Bill may have told you that he does not know of your arrival. Needless to say, I expect a little antipathy on his part; after all, he is of Spanish descent, and they do not treat their women as equals. Certainly not as equals in an adventure of this kind. It is fortunate that he is away at the moment, which will give you the opportunity to settle in before he discovers your presence here.’
‘Oh heavens!’ Carolyn raised her dark eyebrows in exasperation. ‘What does it matter what he thinks? He’s not in charge of the expedition, you are! How can he dictate what you do?’
‘Carolyn, this is Mexico, not England, and this valley belongs to Don Carlos. In the eyes of the Mexicans, he is the lord of Zaracus, and as such, his word is law! We rely a great deal on his assistance; he supplies us with the very necessary help we need for much of the labouring involved in this dig. Should he refuse us the labour, or even order us to leave the valley, we should be sunk. Surely you can see the position I am in.’
‘Well, I think it all sounds positively feudal, like Bill said,’ retorted Carolyn, frowning. ‘But all right, Dad. We’ll play it your way. Just don’t expect too much all at once, will you?’
The professor laughed. ‘No, I won’t do that,’ he said. ‘Now come along, and I’ll show you where the shower is. It’s rather primitive, too, but no doubt it will serve the purpose.’
The shower was accommodated in a wooden shed, which Carolyn supposed was an improvement on the canvas tents. It comprised quite simply an overhead tank which was filled with rainwater, and sprayed an icy scattering of water when the catch was released. The professor laughed at Carolyn’s expression, and then left her to her ablutions.
Carolyn stripped off her clothes, thrusting them carelessly into the bag she had brought with her. She laid a huge orange bath towel and her clean change of clothes over two hooks which protruded from the wooden walls. She released the plug and almost screamed with shock as the icy water fell on to her overheated body. But after a few moments the spray became quite enjoyable, and she rinsed all the dust and perspiration from her skin with appreciation. After the exhausting day she had experienced it was wonderful to feel clean and cool again, and it was amazing how her doubts and anxieties fell away with the advent of this feeling of well-being. She was about to turn off the water when looking down she saw an enormous beetle crawling across the muddy floor at her feet.
Ordinarily, she would have behaved quite sensibly and stepped out of its way, but in her still overstimulated condition it seemed the last straw. Panic over-riding all her natural inhibitions she let out a sharp cry, and grabbed at the orange towel desperately. Winding it unceremoniously around her, she thrust open the door, almost falling out in her haste, and then found herself grasped roughly by a man who had narrowly avoided being hit by the carelessly opened door.
Carolyn struggled wildly, almost dislodging the indifferently fastened towel, as she looked up into the man’s face. There was no doubt that he was one of the Mexicans with his darkly tanned skin and dark eyes, and she did not care just then who he was. She wanted to be free, to get as far away from that revolting insect, if such a huge thing could be called an insect, as possible.
‘Let me go!’ she commanded, angrily. ‘Let me go!’
‘Calm yourself,’ said the man, coldly, but Carolyn did not notice that he had spoken in English.
‘I won’t calm myself,’ she exclaimed, furiously.
‘Excuse me!’ The sarcasm in the man’s voice was lost on Carolyn, as he stepped past her and secured the catch of the tank, thus preventing the remains of its contents from being lost. Carolyn had forgotten to turn it off in her haste. Then he looked back at her and Carolyn gathered the towel closer about her, as she became aware of the scarcity of her attire. Her damp hair was in disorder about her shoulders, and for the first time in her life she felt unable to cope with the situation. She realised she must appear very foolish and her anger overrode her common decency.
‘How you—you people can live in such appalling circumstances is beyond me!’ she exploded. ‘Like—like animals! Do you realise I could have been eaten alive by the bugs in that ghastly hell-hole!’
The man’s eyes grew colder if that was humanly possible, and for the first time Carolyn became aware of a kind of hauteur about him, and felt the first twinges of apprehension. The man was tall, much taller than most of the Mexicans she had seen since her arrival, with a lean, hard body. His features were lean also, and if not handsome he possessed a compellingly attractive countenance. His hair was thick and black as pitch, and grew rather low on his tanned neck. Dressed in a loose white shirt, and stained, cream cotton trousers who else could he be than one of the labourers?
Then, all at once, her father was there, with Donald Graham, looking hot and flustered, his expression one of annoyance when he looked at Carolyn.
‘Don Carlos,’ he was saying with some humility. ‘Whatever is going on here? Carolyn?’
Don Carlos! Carolyn’s stomach plunged. It couldn’t be true! This man, dressed like one of his own labourers, could not be the lord of Zaracus!
But he was, of course, and now Carolyn knew why her father was looking so angry. Hadn’t he only been telling her half an hour ago that their being in the valley relied on Don Carlos’s permission? But he had also said that Don Carlos was away so surely she could be forgiven for mistaking his identity. But even so, a small voice argued inside her, she had been rude, very rude, and there was no excuse for that, no matter who he was. After all, she was a visitor to his country, and as such ought to act with politeness. What had her father said? With some degree of decorum! That was it, well, she had failed, abysmally, and heaven knew what was going to happen now.
‘I’m afraid this—er—young lady seems to have encountered some difficulty while she was taking a shower,’ Don Carlos was saying, smoothly. ‘Unfortunately, I have not the knowledge of her name, or of the reason she is here.’ His eyes narrowed slightly as he looked at Professor Madison. ‘I gather you know the young lady.’
His accent was effortless, and Carolyn chided herself for not realising that he was no uneducated native from the bush.
Professor Madison’s face was bright red. ‘I’m sorry, Don Carlos, but I feel this is neither the time nor the place to introduce you to my daughter. Carolyn, I would suggest you find your clothes and go to your tent and put them on—at once!’
Carolyn immediately felt as though she had been reduced to about five years old, and it took the greatest amount of courage to open the shower door and retrieve her bag and stuff her clean clothes inside it. As she did so she saw the crushed bug on the floor. Obviously someone had placed their foot firmly on it, preventing any further intrusion on its part. And only one person could have had the chance to do that.
She straightened and emerged from the hut, passing the small group of men without a word, although she allowed herself one glance at Don Carlos. Her eyes met his dark enigmatic ones for one moment, and she felt a surge of fury. She was sure she could see a faint glimmer of sardonic amusement in their depths, and gathering up the ends of the orange towel she made as distinguished an exit as she could.
CAROLYN was dressed in a slim-fitting pale blue shift of tricel velvet, her hair combed smooth and caught up in a knot on top of her head when her father finally came to find her. He entered her tent looking dark-browed and angry, and Carolyn felt all her earlier trepidation materialise again.
‘All right, all right,’ she said, lighting a cigarette before he could say anything. ‘I’m sorry if I upset your Señ d’Alvarez, or whatever his name is!’
Professor