by Anne Mather
She bought some petrol and managed to obtain some coffee from a vending machine. It tasted good, so as she was hungry she bought some fruit and a round loaf of corn bread. Then she got her bearings and with a sense of trepidation set off to drive to Mexico City. It was less than a hundred miles away, she knew, and yet she also knew that with her limited experience of driving on these roads it could take several hours.
But what she had really not been prepared for was the absolute darkness which fell soon after she left Puebla. Her abortive attempt to find a railway station, having her coffee and buying the petrol, not to mention the fruit and bread, had all taken time and night fell with an eerie suddenness on a bleak and unfriendly landscape. The moon which had been so bright the night before at Lacustre Largo had obviously spent itself, and she thought it was just her luck to pick such a night to travel so far.
There was little traffic on the road, and sometimes she went several miles without meeting anything, which wasn't encouraging, but she pressed on, telling herself that it would not take much longer, and boosting her morale with thoughts of London, the house in Kensington, and Mrs. Cook…
She reached the outskirts of her destination soon after nine and drove straight to the airport. But of course, there were no flights leaving that night and the earliest they could accommodate her was the following morning.
She made a booking and then had to think about accommodation. She daren't stay in the airport hotel in case Carlos tried to trace her there, so she found a small pension that was not too far away and after being shown her room decided to go straight to bed.
But not to sleep. For all she was so weary she couldn't rest, and she spent the night prowling about her bedroom, alternately longing and dreading the day that was to come.
At last fingers of light crept up the sky and she was able to dress and leave the hotel without causing too much speculation. She drove to the airport, and parked the Landrover in what she hoped was a safe area. Someone would be bound to find it there, she thought.
The international airport was air-conditioned and impersonal, thronged with people coming and going from various parts of the world. In her cotton trousers and a sleeveless sweater, a light jacket over her arm, she looked like a student, and attracted no more attention in spite of her lack of luggage. These days, standards had changed, and she was glad to feel anonymous.
The reception desks were busy with people checking and collecting their reservations. Emma joined the queue resignedly. She had no hurry. Her flight did not leave for more than two hours.
But even as she slipped into her place, a man who had been standing with his back to her at one side of the desk turned, and she found herself looking at Miguel.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE colour drained out of Emma's cheeks and she thought she would have fallen had he not moved swiftly and grasped her arm, drawing her gently but irrevocably aside, his fingers hard and cool on her arm.
‘Dios, Emma!’ he muttered fiercely. ‘What are you trying to do to me?'
Only then did Emma gather enough strength to look up at him and saw the lines of fatigue and strain in his face. ‘I—I—don't know what you mean,’ she faltered. ‘Wh-what are you doing here? Are—are you leaving Mexico too?'
‘Cristo, Emma, do not be foolish! I am here because of you—to find you!'
He glanced round impatiently, aware of the gathering tide of interest engendered by the passengers waiting at the reception desks. Urging her forward, ignoring the protest she would have made, he propelled her towards the exit, saying: ‘We cannot talk here. I have a car outside.'
Emma struggled vigorously. ‘I can't go with you! I—my booking—the plane leaves in a short time. I have to confirm my booking!'
Miguel's face was grim. ‘There is no booking. I have cancelled it,’ he replied shortly.
‘No—no booking? What do you mean? You can't have cancelled it!'
‘But I have. You forget, Emma, you are my wife. You will not be going anywhere without my permission.'
Emma's heart pounded heavily, and she stared at him with a feeling mingled of despair and frustration. How had he known she might be at the airport? Who could have told him? And why was he forcing her to stay when he so obviously didn't want her?
‘How—how did you know where to find me?’ she demanded jerkily, but he did not reply. They were crossing the parking area, his long strides forcing her to run a little to keep up with him.
Retaining his hold on her arm, he stopped beside a sleek grey limousine and unlocking the door he opened it and thrust her inside. He slid in after her and she had to move quickly across the seat to avoid being crushed.
‘Miguel, please—’ she began, but he just shook his head wordlessly and pulled her closely into his arms, burying his face in the softness of her nape.
‘Emma! Ema!’ he groaned, and she could feel he was trembling. ‘Don't ever try to run away from me again.'
Emma was confused. This was not the Miguel who had gone so recklessly after what he had wanted in London, and nor was he the Miguel who had become so cold and remote after their marriage. This man was holding her as if he could not bear to ever let her go, and when he lifted his head to seek her mouth with his, there was a desperate hunger in his kiss.
But Emma resisted him. Her nerves were torn and shredded, but she still refused to submit. She would not allow him to think he could leave her alone with his father and Carmen at Lacustre Largo for almost two weeks without sending her any word whatsoever, and then assume that he could simply take her in his arms and by his undoubted expertise induce her trembling obedience.
Miguel sensed her withdrawal immediately, and lifted his head, looking down into her eyes so intently that she had to look away from him. ‘So?’ he said softly, ‘you are not pleased to see me!'
Emma took a breath. ‘How—how can you say that? I've been waiting to see you for eleven days!’ Her voice broke a little at the end, but she tried to disguise it, and his lips curved rather wryly.
‘So many days!’ he said. ‘You were counting them?'
Emma felt the hot colour burn in her cheeks. ‘Don't try to make a fool of me!’ she cried tremulously, and then stared concentratedly out of the window, willing the hot tears that were burning behind her eyes not to fall.
Miguel lifted a hand to stroke her cheek, but she flinched away from his touch, and as she did so she saw that the bandages had gone from his injured hand, and in their place were bands of adhesive tape, individually supporting each finger.
Miguel shrugged, and allowed his hand to fall. ‘I am sorry,’ he said softly. ‘I did not mean to tease you.'
Emma endeavoured to calm herself. ‘What do you intend to do with me? Am I to be allowed to take my flight?'
‘No!’ At that, Miguel's voice hardened and for a moment she glimpsed the steel beneath his velvet touch. He rested his head back against the soft upholstery and looking up at the roof of the car, said: ‘Juan told me you loved me!'
‘Wh-what?’ Emma was first incredulous, and then hotly humiliated, indignant and disappointed with Juan that he should betray her confidence in such a way. Clenching her fists, she glanced towards Miguel. ‘I see,’ she said, controlling her voice with difficulty. ‘Is that why you're here? I can assure you there's absolutely no need for you to feel any kind of responsibility for me! I want nothing more to do with this family, and as soon as I get back to England I intend to have the marriage annulled. I'm quite prepared to have a medical test, if necessary—'
Miguel turned back to her, supporting his head on his fist, his arm resting on the back of the seat. ‘Be still!’ he said, and although he spoke quietly there was a wealth of command in the two words. Studying her flushed cheeks and trembling body, he half smiled. ‘What a lot of nonsense you can talk when you are afraid to face the truth!'
‘I'm not afraid to face the truth!’ she declared fiercely, ‘and I should tell you, in my country just because a person is married to someone it doesn't mean
that they hold the power of life and death over them!'
‘There you go again,’ he said, and she bent her head in miserable embarrassment. ‘Now,’ he went on, ‘let me say something. You are my wife, and my wife you are going to stay. Let me make that clear right from the beginning, and there will be no annulment, because by tomorrow no court in the world would grant you one. Do I make myself clear?'
Emma stared at him uneasily, her breath coming swiftly. ‘I don't know what you mean.'
‘Oh, yes, you do.’ He tugged gently at a strand of amber hair. ‘And tonight, or perhaps this afternoon,’ his mouth curved sensuously, ‘there will be no escape.'
Ideas of escape, of thrusting open the car door and rushing across the airport buildings, and demanding a form of asylum, fled. Her legs would not have supported her, had she tried to do any such thing. But even so, that did not mean that he was going to have his own way.
‘So!’ He continued to play with her hair as he spoke. ‘So, we will have no more talk about aeroplanes and bookings and annulments.'
Emma twisted the strap of her handbag. ‘You think you can do what you like with me, don't you? You think that because Juan was foolish enough to tell you something I said once—'
‘Emma!’ One hand closed round her throat, and his eyes were dark and angry now. ‘Please! I am asking you. Give me a chance to explain.'
But Emma shook her head, overpoweringly conscious of the strength of those fingers. ‘You must think I'm some kind of an idiot,’ she exclaimed. ‘You go away without telling me where you're going—'
‘What is this?’ Miguel's brows drew together in a scowl, and his fingers tightened so cruelly round her throat that she winced.
Immediately he was contrite, relaxing his hold, putting his mouth where the flesh was reddening, deliberately letting his tongue move against her skin so that she had the almost overwhelming urge to lift his mouth to hers.
But the moment passed, and he lifted his head, looking down at her with strange absorption. ‘What did you say? You did not get my message?'
‘You—know—I didn't,’ she murmured unsteadily.
‘I do not know any such thing,’ he declared distinctly. ‘Emma, before God as my witness, I left a message for you with Gomez.'
‘Who is Gomez?’ she asked faintly.
‘A servant. A man I thought I could trust.'
‘But why didn't you tell me?’ she exclaimed.
Miguel sighed. ‘The morning I was leaving, I came to your room, but you were sleeping. I did not want to disturb you. Instead, I told Gomez to come and see you when you woke—to tell you that I had to go to Mexico City but that I would be back as soon as I could.'
‘I got no message.’ Emma's tone was flat, and Miguel's lips twisted.
‘No, I realize that now. Oh, Emma, what must you have thought of me?’ He smote his uninjured fist against the leather upholstery, but then his eyes narrowed. ‘I did not trust the words on paper. I felt sure my father would somehow get his hands on a letter. But obviously I underestimated him.'
‘He knew you were leaving?'
‘The night before, yes. I went to see my—mother! When I came back, I had to tell him that I intended to use the helicopter the next morning. He asked why, and I said I would rather not say.’ He made a helpless gesture. ‘Then he said something which—well, which made our conversation less than pleasant.'
‘About me, I suppose.'
‘I suppose it was.’ Miguel chewed his lower lip, scarcely aware of his fingers massaging her shoulder under the ribbed opening of her sweater. But Emma was aware of it, and of the weakness he inspired in her. ‘He suggest I should find a clinic here, willing to make certain arrangements regarding your—condition.'
Emma bent her head. Even with her knowledge it was unacceptable. She looked at Miguel compassionately, and when his eyes caught that look, he grasped her hands in both of his, and said: ‘Forgive me!'
Emma looked away from him. She did not trust herself to remain unmoved when he put such appeal into his voice. ‘Do you know why I didn't get the message, then?'
Miguel sighed. ‘I can guess. Emma, Gomez is one of my father's servants, he is regarded by the Indians as their master, the patrón. If it came to a showdown, and it must have done, then they would not dare withhold information from him.'
‘So that was how he knew you were in Mexico City,’ breathed Emma softly.
‘He told you that?'
‘No, Carmen did. Two nights ago. Your father said he had no idea where you had gone.'
‘I might have known he would say that, given the opportunity.’ Miguel shook his head. ‘And to think, if I hadn't returned home and found you gone, I might have had to travel all the way to England to get you back again.'
Emma drew her fingers from his. ‘Why should you want me back?'
‘Isn't it obvious?’ His voice hardened.
‘No, I don't think it is. After all, you only married me to thwart your father—'
‘That's not true!’ His eyes glittered angrily. ‘Who told you that?'
‘I didn't need to be told.’ Emma moved her shoulders indifferently. ‘It was obvious.'
His tone thickened. ‘How was it obvious, may I ask?'
Emma quivered. ‘Well, of course it was obvious. From the very beginning, you treated me as if I was an unnecessary encumbrance—'
‘No!'
‘Yes. Why, the night we were married you spent with Juan, working!'
Miguel's eyes narrowed again. ‘You mean you would have welcomed me that night?’ His eyes probed hers. ‘Why, you would not even accept me the night we arrived at my father's house!'
‘That—that was different.'
‘How was it different?'
‘Well, I already was beginning to know you. I knew you didn't really—feel anything!'
‘Madre de Dios! I did not feel anything?’ He smote his forehead with his hand. ‘You think I would marry a woman I did not love—'
Emma had heard enough. She put her hands over her ears, and moved her head helplessly from side to side. ‘You don't love me! You're only saying you do because of what Juan told you—'
‘No!’ Now Miguel was really angry, Grasping her by the shoulders, wincing as his injured fingers protested at such rough usage, he shook her. ‘Why do you think Juan told me that you loved me? Do you think he came right out and said it?'
Emma could only shake her head, and he went on: ‘He told me because I was in such a terrible state when I arrived back at Lacustre Largo and found you had disappeared that I think I went a little out of my head!'
Emma stared at him. ‘You—saw—Juan? At Lacustre Largo?'
‘Of course.'
‘But—but he had gone away. To Mexico City! To see you!'
‘Impossible! Even Juan did not know where to find me.'
Emma's hands dropped. ‘But—but your father—he said—'
‘Yes? What did he say?’ Miguel was impatient, and Emma blinked rapidly, trying to assimilate what she had just heard.
‘He—he said they had had word from you. That Juan had gone to see you.’ She made a confused gesture. ‘And Juan had gone. He wasn't there two days ago.'
Miguel uttered an exclamation. ‘I've no doubt he went to see his family at Vasos—'
‘Vasos? Yes, that was the place your father mentioned. But he said he was going to get a train from there to Mexico City!'
Miguel calmed himself with difficulty. ‘Now I begin to see. So he told you that as well as going without leaving you a message, I had sent for Juan, also?'
‘Yes.'
‘And of course, you could stand no more, so you did exactly what he wanted you to do.'
‘I know, I know. I realized that was what he wanted, but—but—'
‘But you did not have any confidence.’ He allowed his hands to move across her shoulders to cup her neck. ‘You did not know, for instance, that I adore you…'
Emma made one last attempt to remain aloof. ‘But you went awa
y!’ she exclaimed. ‘Why? Why?'
Miguel bent to touch his mouth to hers, playing with her lips until his own need overcame all else and he crushed her to him. Now Emma did not resist and it was some time before he pressed her away from him, smiling rather wryly.
‘I do not intend to seduce my wife in a car park,’ he muttered huskily. ‘Much as I want you!'
Emma could hardly believe all this was really happening. Was it really less than an hour since she had driven to the airport feeling as though the bottom had dropped out of her world?
‘Tell me,’ she whispered, ‘why did you go away?'
Miguel sighed, and lay back against the soft upholstery. ‘I will try to explain. You remember the day after we arrived at my father's house—the day he took you to meet my mother—'
‘How could I forget?’ Emma was fervent.
‘So!’ Miguel allowed his fingers to slide along the neckline of her sweater with possessive persistence. ‘So you recall that afternoon, in the music room.’ She nodded, and he nodded, too. ‘Bien, we seemed close then. And I was content—until my father appeared. Until that afternoon, I was convinced you had married me to protect Harrison—'
‘No!’ Emma was horrified.
‘Why not? We were both adept at hiding our feelings, and you must admit that apart from responding in a purely sexual way, you had never given me any reason to suppose that you found my company desirable.’ He shrugged. ‘People are strange when they are in love. They do strange things. They have no confidence in themselves. Why should I be any different?'
Emma stretched out her hand and touched his cheek, and he immediately turned her palm to his mouth. ‘I will continue,’ he murmured gently. ‘So—then my father appeared. He was so arrogant, I had to destroy that arrogance. It was crazy, I realize that, but sometimes I do crazy things.'
Emma smiled tremulously. ‘I know how you felt,’ she averred, recalling her own dealings with Carlos Salvaje.
