She put a hand on his arm.
"You won't be too hard on her, Philip, will you?" she begged.
He looked at her fully then, his eyes very faintly amused.
"That would appear to be my role in life," he said grimly, "but I think I have told you before that I am not exactly an ogre, Felicity."
"I know you're not," she said, biting her lip. "I know you didn't mean to be so angry this afternoon when you found us in Santa Cruz, but how could you help it?"
Instantly his face changed.
"I hadn't expected to have to rush off to Santa Cruz in pursuit of Conchita," he said, "nor of you."
"No," she admitted, "I should have been here when you came back from Lozaro Alto." She turned to face him in the swaying light from the lantern above their heads. "Yesterday you asked me to marry you, Philip," she reminded him steadily. "Do you still want me to be your wife?"
He stood for a moment as if he had not heard her, and then he said almost guardedly:
"Nothing has changed. I still feel that I need your support here at San Lozaro."
Nothing of love; nothing of wanting her for himself! Her heart sank even while she tried to tell herself that "nothing had changed," as he had just reminded her. She had already accepted his reasons for their marriage. She was prepared to go to him—without love.
"I wondered," she said, gazing unhappily into the night. "I thought that perhaps—after this afternoon—you might have changed your mind."
Her voice had dropped until it was no more than a whisper, but he did not move away, so that he must have heard. Yet he stood silently, the light from the wind-blown lantern moving rhythmically across his face, leaving it now
revealed and now in shadow so that she could only guess at his thoughts until he spoke.
"I didn't go to Lozaro Alto this morning, after all," he told her. "I want you to come there with me."
She felt her throat grow tight. It was something that she would never have expected, but she could not ask him if he was sure about the things he did. He always had a reason for them.
"I'd like to come," she said simply as they turned into the lighted hall. "Are you going to cultivate the land up there, Philip? Is it suitable for farming?"
He smiled broadly.
"Wait and see!" he said. "It's not at all like San Lozaro, if that's what you mean."
She did not want it to be like San Lozaro. The lower valley with all its beauty and lush vegetation, with its vineyards and its ragged green banana plantations, had been the lavish source of her uncle's great wealth, but it was also full of conflict. There was no peace in San Lozaro, and somehow she knew that Philip wanted peace.
Was that what he sought at Lozaro Alto? Was there more up there among his high, remorseless mountain peaks than the gnawing reminder of tragedy? She thought that she might find the answer if she went there with Philip—alone.
That was what he had meant. They were to go there together, without Sisa and without Conchita, and try to iron out the way of the future for them all.
She wondered if that also included Julio, for Julio and Philip were still the bitterest of enemies.
CHAPTER VIII
LOZARO ALTO
PHILIP was seated on the terrace over his second cup of coffee when Felicity came down to breakfast the following morning. He had, she discovered, already been out.
"I've been down to the plantations," he told her. "We have a consignment of bananas to get away before the week-end, but the tomato harvest is over. We've nothing to do now but clear the terraces for the next crop." His keen gaze swept the surrounding hillsides. "This is tremendously fertile country, Felicity. It can support crop after crop—maize, corn, vines, bananas, potatoes and all the citrus fruits you can name."
"It's the orange trees I like best," Felicity said with a rush of warmth finding her heart, because here, it seemed, they were on common ground. "When I first saw one it looked like a tree full of little golden suns. It was growing all alone in a garden, but it seemed to light up all the small space, it looked so bright and full of colour."
"Wait till you see an orchard of them!" he smiled. "I want to grow oranges at Lozaro Alto. The valley floor is rich and deep." He paused, with a look in his eyes which took in the future, the look of a man with an ideal. "It was once volcanic and that is the very best soil you can wish for once it becomes friable. There's a lot of work to be put into the valley yet, of course, but I can start to do it, bit by bit."
Felicity wondered if he had made these plans with Maria long ago, seeing the future up there at Lozaro Alto as something for which they might strive together. She wondered, too, what Maria had really been like. There was no photograph of her about the hacienda, which was strange, since the Spaniards were prone to collect such mementoes of their children from earliest infancy onwards.
"Did you always plan to farm at Lozaro Alto, Philip?" she asked.
His face hardened at her question, the smile fading out of his eyes.
"It has always been an ambition of mine," he said curtly, but that was all.
They sat in a tense little silence till Julio came in. Felicity had not seen him the day before, and now he looked from her to Philip with deep suspicion in his eyes.
"What has happened to Conchita?" he asked. "I saw her riding up into the valley an hour ago."
In a split second Philip was on his feet.
"You're sure of this?" he asked.
"Quite sure." Julio gave him an odd look. "Was she running away from you, Philip?" he asked.
"I doubt it." Philip's lips were tight. "But I can always go and make sure."
Felicity pushed her chair back.
"Philip—?" There was an anxious question in her eyes.
"No," he said, "I won't do anything rash, but neither must Conchita. I told her I wanted to speak to her this morning, but I can do that just as easily at Lozaro Alto as here." He looked at Julio, as if he might be assessing his worth in an emergency. "I must leave you to see that the bananas get off in time, Julio," he added. "Twenty lorry-loads. They must be at Puerto de la Cruz before twelve o'clock. They're crated and ready in B shed. All you have to do is to see that the bills of lading are correctly filled in and that the men set off in time. You needn't go to Puerto with the lorries," he said, as an afterthought—or was it a warning?
He had put Julio in charge of an important consignment of fruit which would be lost profit if it failed to reach the port in time to be loaded on to the banana boat which was waiting there. It was the sort of authority Julio had always wanted, yet he was frowning when Philip turned away.
"It is always the same," he grumbled. "Always Philip would do the job better himself!"
"No," Felicity said, "he trusts you, Julio."
"And I hate him! I hate him because he will not leave us alone," her cousin cried. "He will not permit us to go our own way. He is the guardian, the maker of rules which we must obey, and they are all harsh rules. Look
how he will not let Conchita dance and be gay! Philip will not let anyone be happy because he is unhappy himself. He has a black regret in his heart because of Maria!"
"Julio, he loved Maria," Felicity said gently.
"That is what he tells you because he hopes to make you stay here for his own purpose!" Julio cried. "Then—when he does not need you any more—when he has ceased to want you—he will get rid of you as he did of Maria."
"You mustn't say that, Julio!" Her voice was sharp and firm. "Because, you see, I don't believe it. I believe that this—this accident was exactly as Philip said. A car went out of control and went over the cliff. It could happen to anyone. Miraculously, Philip was saved."
"Miraculously!" Julio echoed scathingly. "Yes, it was miraculous. Philip had no scratch, no bruise on his whole body, but Maria was dead!"
"Please, Julio," Felicity begged, "can we not talk about it? We can't forget about it, of course, but we can let it remain in the past."
"Is that what Philip has told you to do?" He put
down his cup when he had drunk the last of his coffee without eating anything. "He is strong enough—ruthless enough —to make you think as he desires." He came to stand close behind her chair. "Has he also made love to you?" he demanded.
"He has asked me to marry him," Felicity said as steadily as she could.
Julio swung her round to face him, his hands rough and hard on her shoulders.
"And what have you said? What answer have you given him" he demanded.
"I have told him that I will."
"That you will?" He stared at her incredulously, and then all the devils and furies which possessed him at times seemed to break loose in his dark eyes. They burned and glowed with a fierce light as he looked at her. "The Holy Virgin protect you, then!" he said through set teeth. "Philip will kill you, one way or another. You have given your life to him as a hostage."
"Julio," she protested, "you must understand—" Her entreaty had fallen on deaf ears. Julio shook her as if she were a child.
"You do not belong to him!" he cried. "You are mine! I shall kill him if he tries to take you away from me!"
He strode off along the terrace and down the steps, not looking back nor apparently hearing her cry of recall, the flash of the brilliant scarlet shirt he wore passing swiftly between the trees. She knew that he was going to follow Philip, but there was nothing she could do. Nothing! Nothing!
Desperately she strove for calmness, forcing back the panic in her heart. She must stop Julio at any price. She did not expect for a moment that his murderous threat against Philip would ever be carried out, but Philip had left him a task to do at the plantations and she must see that he did it. It was important to San Lozaro that the bananas should get away in time, but it was doubly important—to Philip and Julio—that Julio should not neglect his duty in a fit of rage.
It would take her five minutes, perhaps, to change into riding-breeches and a shirt. Philip had taken the car, but she knew that Julio would follow on horseback. She would try to catch up with her cousin before he left the plantations and persuade him to come back.
A quick glance at the sky showed her The Peak hazed in a thin veil of cloud, but that was often so in the early morning. It would dissolve when the sun strengthened, even though there were other, darker clouds hanging about the lesser peaks. It was, she realized, insufferably warm for so early in the day and there was a sort of heavy listlessness in the air which she had not experienced before.
Thunder growled its warning somewhere as she came back along the terrace to find Sisa cutting into an avocado pear. Her cousin extracted the stone with expert ease before she looked up.
"Oh," she said disappointedly. "Where are you going?"
"I'm going to meet Philip." Felicity hesitated, and then added, as if it were the most natural thing in the world to ask: "Have you ever made out a bill of lading, Sisa?"
"For the shipping company? Oh, yes," Sisa smiled. "Often I used to help my father with such things when he was very busy. But never at the offices," she added. "Always here."
"If—Julio doesn't come back in time, do you think you could do some to-day?" Felicity moistened dry lips. "Sabino will go to the offices in the bullock cart and bring the papers back here for you to sign. Then you will tell him what to do at Puerto. He has only to hand over the consignment and get the bills signed there. You are quite sure you can do this, Sisa?"
"Quite sure!" Sisa looked slightly puzzled. "But where has Julio gone?" she asked.
"He—has a message for Philip."
"And Philip is on his way to Lozaro Alto? I see," Sisa agreed. "I will do as you say, Felicity, but is it right that you should ride alone, even as far as Lozaro Alto?"
"I shall meet Philip." Felicity's voice had all but trembled, but she was determined not to let her cousin see her distress. "I shall be all right."
She hurried away from the terrace through the open french windows into the dining-room, where the sun had not penetrated. Coming from the blinding light of the garden into the shaded room, she could not see for a moment, and then she was aware of Sabino holding something on a tray. He thrust it towards her.
"For you, senorita!" he said. "I am to give it to you only."
A spray of small white flowers lay on the silver salver, flowers which, for a moment, she mistook for orange blossom. They were twisted roughly into the shape of a wreath—a bridal wreath?
She realized almost immediately that it was a spray of stephanotis. The orange blossom was long since past. She could not understand the gift, nor could she imagine who might have sent it, but she lifted the flowers tenderly, aware of the strong, sweet perfume which filled all the room, and hoping in her heart that they had come from Philip.
"Who has sent them, Sabino?" she asked.
"It is Don Julio's gift," the old servant said with an odd little shake of his head. "He has ask me to see that you get them very soon."
Something hard and cold had touched Felicity's hand as she lifted the flowers, and when she looked down at them again she saw a small, exquisitely-carved rosary lying among the white blossoms.
"Julio!" she gasped beneath her breath. "Why have you done this?"
"It is Maria's rosary!"
Sisa had come through the windows behind her. She was standing gazing down at the flowers and the tiny cross and her eyes were suddenly tragic.
"Who could have done this?" she cried with a hint of Conchita's easily-aroused passion in her young voice. "Who could have been so cruel? Maria died on her wedding day."
Felicity's heart turned over. What was Julio trying to do? What message did he mean his flowers to convey? Desperately she fought for control of the situation.
"I don't know, Sisa," she lied. "Will you take Maria's rosary and keep it safely? Do not let anyone take it again."
Sisa put the beads into the front of her dress. She looked sad and disturbed.
"Sabina," Felicity said, turning to the old servant, "you must go to the plantation offices for me. I want you to bring the bills of lading here if Señor Don Julio is not at the office himself. Then you will return with them when they are signed. You will see that the lorries are all away from the packing sheds before twelve o'clock. There must be no siesta before the last lorry has gone. Do you understand?"
"Si, senorita!" Sabino obviously thought it strange to be taking orders from a woman, especially orders of this nature, but it was not his place to disagree with anything the señorita said. "I will go," he added. "I will do as you have tell me."
"You will wait here, Sisa." Felicity turned to her cousin. Should she, after all, confide in Sisa? She decided against it. "Julio may come back quite soon—or return to the plantation. Then there will be no need for you to sign the bills."
Sisa nodded.
"You, also, will soon return?" she asked anxiously. "Yes—quite soon."
Impulsively, and without quite knowing why she should do so, Felicity stooped to kiss the younger girl on the cheek.
"I can trust you, Sisa," she said.
Realizing that she should have asked Sabino to saddle
a horse for her, she made her way towards the stables. It was too late now. He was already on his way to the plantation offices. She must manage for herself.
It cost her precious time. She had only learned to ride since she had come to San Lozaro and she had never saddled her own mount. Sabino, or one of the other servants, had always brought the horse round to the terrace steps for her, or Philip himself had mounted her. Now she had to do it for herself, or waste still more time looking for someone to take Sabino's place. The average Spanish serving man could make himself more scarce than water in a drought, she realized, as she struggled with a refractory girth, but the animal Philip had recommended for her use was patient enough. He turned his head quizzically when she fumbled unnecessarily and laid back his ears when the saddle slipped, but he did accept her, and that was the main thing.
"Treasure," she said, laying a persuasive hand on his smooth red flank, "I want you to go l
ike the wind!"
The horse was sensible, however, and did no more than trot, even when they reached the adequate shade of the eucalyptus trees which fringed the road to Lozaro Alto on its first uphill stretch.
Soon, however, the taller trees began to thin out, the eucalyptus giving place to chestnut and the chestnut to pine until they finally reached the arid wastes above the valley. There was no sign of life up here after the last charcoal-burner's but had been passed, and the sun was not so bright, although it was still stiflingly warm.
She rode on for what seemed an eternity, hearing the distant growl of thunder like a roll of drums echoing and re-echoing among the crags and pinnacles of this desert place.
The heat seemed to be choking her and there was a band of fire about her brow. She put up her hand, as if to brush it away. I can't faint now, she thought. I can't give in!
The road wound on, interminably, she fancied, but she knew that she had come all this way before. She could not see The Peak now. It was somewhere above her, hidden behind the grey haze which had thickened considerably since she had left the valley behind.
Then, suddenly, she knew that she had missed the way
to Lozaro Alto. She had come too far. Somewhere back along the winding, dusty road behind her the scarcely discernible path which Conchita had pointed out on their way back from Las Canadas went deep into Philip's secret valley. She had missed her way and lost precious time.
She was conscious now of time as the main element in her journey and she bit her lip with vexation as she turned her horse and rode slowly back downhill again.
The heat was overpowering now and the rumble of the thunder seemed to come from beneath her feet rather than from the brazen sky above her head. There was a strong smell of sulphur in the air and a tense, deathly stillness. It was some time, she realized, since she had noticed a bird in flight.
Her patient mount trudged on, but there was a nervousness about him now for which she could not account. He appeared to be relieved that they were on their way back to San Lozaro.
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