Devil's Darling

by Violet Winspear

  The cacti-scattered spaciousness of the landscape was at last left behind and the car headed into the outskirts of the local town, where the houses were colour-washed, with gaily shingled roofs, small orchards, lines of washing hanging in the yards, where small children and livestock ran about together, laughing and squawking and grunting all in a lovely muckiness that made Persepha chuckle to herself as she leaned forward in her seat to watch them as the car drove past.

  Don Diablo must have heard the little chuckle she gave, for he threw over his shoulder the remark that she seemed to be enjoying the drive.

  ‘Look at those kids,’ she said. ‘How do their mothers ever get them clean again?’

  ‘They dump them all together in the wash-tub and pour lukewarm soapy water over them, then they put them out in the sun to dry off.’ There was a droll note in his voice. ‘Do you find them cute ?’

  ‘They’re quite beautiful,’ she had to admit. ‘Such silky brown skins and huge brown eyes; I expect they look like coffee-coloured cupids when they are clean.’

  ‘Yes, Mexican children do have an unspoiled beauty,’ he agreed, and this time Persepha caught in his tone of voice a note of meaning that made her heart miss a beat. It was the first time in their relationship that children had been mentioned, and as she stared at the deep peak of hair that cut into the coppery skin of his neck she seemed to feel that he was hinting at what he really wanted of her. And it was true that Carmenteira was old and wise enough to know all about men and women; and to know especially about the master of the hacienda, for she had been here in his mother’s time and she had seen him born, and seen him grow up, until he had begun to cast eyes at girls, and had finally loved and lost that radiant Latin beauty in the photograph.

  ‘Do you like children, señor?’ she asked curiously.

  ‘I find them amusing,’ he drawled. ‘What of you, querida? Would it please you to have a child ... my child?’

  Her heart felt as if it turned over this time and her fingers hurt themselves clenching her clutch bag. ‘I shouldn’t,’ she said coldly, ‘very much enjoy giving birth to the Devil's imp.’

  ‘Gracias, mi esposa. You have a charming way of speaking to your husband at times.’ And as he spoke he drove the car into the town centre, towards a lovely old square where other cars were parked, and where they seemed to be looked down upon haughtily by a helmeted stone figure on a horse with its forelegs high in the air.

  After leaving the car they crossed the square in the direction of the arcaded shops. Here there was a sound of human bustle and noise as people did their marketing and stood gossiping in the sunshine. Persepha felt suddenly conspicuous, for her hair was so bright and fair in comparison to the brunette women, some of whom toted their shopping baskets like Indians on their dark heads. She by comparison was almost platinum - fair, with a pale skin that made her feel bloodless when she looked at these lusty, coppery females, whose lustrous dark eyes dwelt openly on Don Diablo as he passed them by, a possessive hand beneath her elbow.

  Why, she wondered, had he chosen not to marry a woman of his own country? Had he found it impossible to find a substitute for his Latin love, and so had gone to the other extreme and married someone who could never remind him of sparkling dark eyes, shining dark hair, and fingers adept at playing with a fan or clicking the Spanish castanets of the flamenco dance?

  He brought her to a halt beneath the long arcade where the shops were bright with exotic window displays; things to wear and objects for the home: adornments and spicy foods: pots and pans and bright fruits.

  ‘You will need money,’ he said, and took from his wallet a crisp handful of notes. ‘Buy whatever takes your fancy, and especially a sun hat. I shall probably be tied up for the next two hours, but at one o’clock be at the car and we’ll go to the Cafe Valentino for lunch, and then to the beach.’

  ‘Yes, master,’ she said, pertly, accepting the money which he handed to her. She glanced at the notes and saw that he had been very generous, but not generous enough that she could bribe anyone to drive her out of his reach. ‘What kind of hat shall I buy, one of those with a high crown and a bunch of cherries on the side?’

  ‘Whatever sort of hat, it would suit you.’ He gripped her chin and tilted her face to him. ‘Don’t try and run away from me, chica. My arm is a long one, and I hold tenaciously to what is mine. You are mine and you had better know it. All of you, from your hair to your ankles; the flesh and bone of you, the temper and the trembling. My wife, querida. The Senora Ezreldo Ruy, who behaves herself with dignity, and appears to have as charming a disposition as she has a charming face and body. These people know me, and they know who you are. You won’t be accosted ... unless you invite it, and I warn you not to do so. Do I make myself understood?’

  ‘To the very last syllable, señor. I am to be a good girl, and I’m to amuse myself with frivolous things while my lord and master conducts his important manly business.’

  They looked silently at each other after she spoke ... the defiance in her eyes warring with the flicker of temper in his. Then all at once his eyelids drooped and that deep line of ironic amusement clefted his brown cheek. ‘You are brave among all these people,’ he drawled. ‘How will your courage be when we are alone again?’

  She quaked a little at his words and hated herself for those flashes of cowardice which he induced in her. But he was so strong, so ruthless, and as her gaze flickered back and forth across his shoulders she remembered how they felt in the grip of her hands, smooth and bare and warm as heated copper.

  ‘Oh, I’ll be good,’ she said, letting her gaze fall away from him. ‘I’d hate to see someone beaten up by you. I know your strength, and I know your cruelty.’

  ‘Then so be it!’ He spoke crisply and carried her hand to his lips. ‘Adios for now. Be at the car at one o’clock.’

  ‘On the dot,’ she promised, and watched him stride tall and purposeful away from her, a distinctive figure in his impeccable grey suit. Persepha sighed, and then turned towards the shops and the diversion of their colour and noise and aroma. She found herself looking at stunning silk shirts in a variety of designs, the kind that would never be seen in England, and which if she still lived there she wouldn’t dare to wear. But here where the sunlight was so much a part of the day, from early in the morning till the plum-blue fall of dusk, these lovely bright patterns were appropriate. And she liked the informality of shirts and the feel of them on her figure; she was enamoured of two of these, one with a flame-coloured hibiscus pattern, and the other with moons and stars and curious Aztec patterns against the thin supple silk. She bought them, and then found a market stall selling straw hats, where to her ironic delight there was on display a high-crowned sombrero with a pair of curious-shaped fruits attached to the ribbon of the brim.

  After what she had said to the Don, she couldn’t resist buying the hat. The trouble was she felt shy about wearing it, and because it was shady beneath the shopping arcades she carried the hat by its brim, and a tiny smile came and went about her lips. There were times when it was a wicked kind of challenge being the wife of the Devil himself. Although there was little dignity in their private tussles, she knew that he was conscious of his position and liked to have an air of masterful and dignified behaviour in front of other people. This hat was for fun and she meant to wear it on the beach, for she was after all an English girl and not that woman in the photograph, with her hair smooth as silk, a creamy flower pinned into her chignon.

  About an hour had drifted away, while she wandered and looked at a variety of new and strange things, when all at once Persepha caught sight of a jewellery store. The lustre and glimmer of its windows was not entirely what drew her; she stood there thoughtfully, and her fingers crept again to the brooch pinned to the shoulder of her dress. It would do no harm, surely, if she strolled casually to the counter of the shop and asked the value of the dragonfly brooch. She would then know how much she could expect to get for it... with abrupt resolve she entered the sh
op and approached the counter.

  For the past hour she had been encountering people with the coppery skins and blue-black hair of Mexico, but to her surprise the young man who came to ask if he could be of service was blond and well-built, with a pair of grey eyes that looked at her with equal astonishment.

  ‘Are you American?’ he asked, with a twang in his voice.

  ‘Are you English?’ she asked, in unison.

  Then they both gave a laugh, which as it died away left a pleased surprise in its wake.

  ‘Oh, you’re English,’ he said, his eyes smiling at her. ‘No doubt in the world about it. That voice, that skin ... English as a cup of tea!’

  ‘Well, I’m not sure how I should take that,’ she smiled in return. ‘I don’t need telling that you’re an American ... that twang, that bounce ... American as a cup of coffee!’

  Again they laughed together, like two people who had craved the sight of a pale skin, and the sound of English words, whether spoken with a cool incisiveness, or a warm drawl.

  ‘This is the nicest surprise in a long time,’ said the young man, and his eyes went slowly over her slim figure in the butter-gold dress that just hinted at tender contours without fully revealing their outline. His gaze slipped up and down her slim white arms, as if he were drinking in the cool, gold look of her. ‘I never expected to see a beautiful British girl walk in here like a vision of coolness in this hot land. Are you a mirage, or are you real?’

  When his voice deepened on that word ‘real’ Persepha guessed that he was tempted to reach out and touch her. She would step quickly away if he tried, and she pretended she didn’t feel a prick of fear in case, in his tall silent way, the Don appeared and saw another man with his hand upon her.

  ‘I believe I’m real,’ she said. ‘I never expected to see a Yankee behind the counter of a Mexican jewellery store.’

  ‘It’s a living,’ he drawled. ‘I kind of drifted into it after a bit of an accident ... I used to be a diver for an oil company, sea-oil, you know, and I dived a little too deep one day and got the bends. A friend of mine had this store and offered me the job for a while, until I feel thoroughly fit enough to go back to my old occupation. Once a diver, always a diver. It’s like flying; you can never really give it up, even after getting bubbles in your blood, or going into a spin and having an air crash. Crazy, but there you are.’

  ‘Understandable,’ she said. ‘It must have been a frightening experience for you?’

  ‘I was unconscious at the time - it was the afterwards that was awful.’ He looked grim for a moment, and then his good-looking features relaxed into a smile again. ‘And what are you doing in Mexico this land of dark wine and golden idols? Are you on vacation?’

  ‘I live here,’ she replied, and her figure tensed, and her own smile faltered as the facts of her life came to the surface, causing that sensation that felt like bubbles in her blood. ‘My home is quite a few miles away, and I came into town by car this morning, to do some shopping and to have lunch here.’

  ‘Are you alone?’ His grey eyes had lighted up when she spoke of lunch, as if he immediately thought of inviting her to take lunch with him,

  ‘I’m afraid not.’ Persepha felt a little stab of regret that she couldn’t agree to eat a meal with this attractive American. ‘I came into town with my husband, who had a business appointment and so left me free for a few hours to wander around the shops. I bought a hat. See!’

  But the grey eyes were intent upon her face, and then they wandered to her hands, both of them ringed in the Latin way, one with engraved gold, the other with glimmering rubies.

  ‘You look mighty young to be a wife,’ he said. ‘I thought it was only in Mexico that the men took their brides from the schoolroom.’

  ‘You’re flattering,’ she said lightly. ‘I left the schoolroom quite a while ago, and I’ve been married several weeks.’

  ‘Only weeks?’ He quirked a blond eyebrow. ‘Then by any standards you’re still a bride - what is your husband doing, allowing you to wander around alone in a Mexican market place? It’s something I’d be wary of doing, knowing how hot-blooded these Mexicans are. I'd be afraid someone would run off with you - a lovely thing like you.’

  Persepha flushed slightly, for although she was a girl to whom young men had been paying compliments since the end of her schooldays, in those days she had not been the wife of Don Diablo. It smacked of danger to even hear this young man remark on her looks.

  ‘My husband is too well known for anyone to harm me,’ she said.

  ‘I see.’ The young man studied the flush in her cheeks with interest. ‘Is he some kind of British diplomat, very respectable and all that?’

  ‘No.’ Persepha knew instinctively that she was about to spring quite a surprise on the American. ‘My husband is a Mexican Don, one of the most powerful landowners in this part of the world. I don’t suppose you’ve met him, but you’ve probably heard of him. He’s Don Diablo Ezreldo Ruy, and we live in feudal magnificence at his hacienda in the high country—’

  There she broke off, for the young American was looking at her with an expression in his eyes that betokened more than surprise. It was a mixture of disbelief and protective anger, as if he would leap the shop counter and rescue her, here and now, from the hands of her Mexican husband.

  ‘He’s a despot,’ he exclaimed. ‘Everyone hereabouts has heard of him, and though word had got around that he’d finally married - why, hell, I for one never dreamed that he’d gotten himself a girl like you! You look as if someone had kept you in a rose garden all your life - they say he has Indian blood in his veins. How come you ever met? I have heard that these guys arrange to have brides straight out of convents - is that how it came about?’

  ‘Almost,’ she said, and directly the word was out of her mouth she realized that she had near enough given away the fact that she had been coerced into marrying the Don; that it had not been a love match, a coming together of two people of separate ideologies who yet had to have each other.

  ‘Anyway,’ she forced a little laugh, ‘I didn’t come in here to talk about my private life to a perfect stranger—’

  ‘My name’s Gil Howard,’ he said at once. ‘My home base is Los Angeles, and that’s how come I speak quite a passable bit of Spanish, enough to get me by in a Mexican jewellery store. I was married once myself, but it didn’t work out - I was always away from home, you know how it is, and in the end Lois my wife found another guy. But apart from that I’m respectable enough, and hearing you call me a stranger makes me realize how much I’d like to be your - friend. You have a first name, of course. I don’t have to be formal, do I? Señora always sounds so mature to me, and you’re just a young thing, and I bet your hair in the sunlight is like spun honey.’

  Persepha knew that when he began to speak like that she should have turned on her heel and marched from the store ... but oh, it was so good to meet someone who spoke her language in a voice so different from the Don’s. It was such a warm and youthful voice without the meaning accent on certain words, that low sting of the invisible whip, or the sensuous purr of the tiger.

  ‘I should insist that you address me as señora,’ she said primly.

  ‘But you aren’t going to insist, are you?’ he grinned. ‘Well,’ she shrugged, ‘what’s in a first name in this day and age? Mine is Persepha—’

  ‘Say that again!’ His grey eyes glinted, half amused, and half inquisitive. Did I hear right?’

  ‘You did, Mr. Howard. My guardian was a classical scholar and he liked the name. It’s unusual—’

  ‘Out of this world, honey.’ Gil Howard shook his blond head in wonderment. ‘How was I to know when I got up this morning that I was going to meet Persephone herself! It’s incredible, for the girl is even married to a guy who looks and lives like the Lord of Hades himself!’

  That really was too much for Persepha, for it was hitting too close to a nerve for her to let this conversation go any further. Nor could she now ask abou
t the brooch, for he was quick-witted, this American, and he might guess directly that she required to sell in order to buy her passage out of Mexico, away from her dark and lordly husband.

  She glanced swiftly at her jewelled wristwatch, yet another gift from the Don which she had been obliged to accept. ‘I really must fly, Mr. Howard. My husband isn’t the very patient type and he’ll be waiting for me. Goodbye-’

  ‘Au revoir, Persepha.’ There was a wicked note of laughter in the warm and drawling voice. ‘I feel sure we’ll meet again, for you and I are a pair of strangers in this land, and we need each other - to talk to.’

  ‘Good-bye,’ she said again, and ran.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  PERSEPHA was out of breath by the time she reached the Don’s car ... she had just glanced inside and drawn a breath of relief that he had not yet arrived, when hands closed over her shoulders and she was swung round to face him. He studied her tousled hair and her flushed cheeks, and when his eyes narrowed her heart gave a thump of apprehension. He had a devilish way of knowing everything that went on, and somehow she didn’t want him to know that she had met and spoken with Gil Howard. The Don would presume she had been flirting, but it had not been that on her side; it was just that she badly needed a friend in this place that was forsaken of her own English kind.

  ‘You look as if you’ve been to a jumble sale,’ he said drily. ‘What in the name of the saints is that?’