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The Overlord

Page 12

by Susanna Firth


  From inside the house she heard Ramón's deep tones asking someone, probably one of the servants at Los Molinos, for Isabel. As Verity paused in the doorway, reluctant to intrude on a personal conversation, she registered the caressing note that came into his voice as his novia came to the phone. It must be love, she thought. He had never talked to her in that intimate, special way, as if she was the only person in the world who mattered to him. Isabel must have hidden depths to inspire such devotion.

  'Isabel? Que tal, niňa?' The dark eyes were on Verity, resenting her presence and she hastened to walk past , him towards the kitchen regions. She heard him apologising for having missed her visit to Vista Hermosa and promising to see her as soon as he could. Verity wondered if he would go haring round to Los Molinos that very evening, but evidently lover-like ardour did not extend that far. 'Maňana, chica, maňana,' he was saying firmly as she shut the door behind her to blot out the sound of the conversation.

  Mechanically she began to set out cutlery on the table, laying out the pieces with unaccustomed precision, as if her life depended on the neatness of the display. She didn't care, she told herself. Let him talk to Isabel as if he worshipped the ground that she walked on. What difference did it make to her? Ramón meant nothing to her. She hated the man, and had done ever since his arrival.

  But Verity knew it was not true. She could be honest with herself, if she refused to acknowledge the fact to others. She was not sorry for Isabel at all. She envied the other girl every moment with Ramón Vance, whether of heaven or hell. And, as the hot tears trickled down her face, Verity admitted the bitter truth that she had been dodging so resolutely for days now; she was in love and the man she loved felt nothing at all for her.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Verity did not want any supper; food would choke her at the moment. Instead she left the meal ready in the fridge and a note on the table explaining that she felt rotten and had gone to bed. That was certainly true, although her miseries sprang from an altogether different source from the headache that she was feigning.

  She cried, stuffing her head deep in a pillow, so that she wouldn't be heard, and then, exhausted, lay dry-eyed and miserable, too wretched to rest. Late in the evening she heard a gentle tap at the door and her father's voice asking, 'Verity, love? Are you all right?' She never suffered from headaches and minor ailments; he was obviously wondering what was wrong with her. But she could not confide in him—not now when it was all so raw and hurtful. Later, perhaps, when the pain had died. If it ever did. Verity did not answer and, as he obviously assumed that she was asleep, she heard his steps fade away along the passage.

  How many women had there been in Ramón Vance's past who had gone through exactly the sort of torment that she was suffering now? She should count herself lucky that she had not given him the satisfaction of knowing how she felt about him. All he had ever got from her had been resentment and blazing anger. Not once had she shown him a softer, more caring face.

  Except when he had kissed her—then she had not been able to hide her response. Verity burned at the recollection of her wanton behaviour. Did he think less of her because she had told him she hated him, but still melted into his arms every time he had made love to her? Whether he had despised her or not he had seemed ready to take advantage of what she was offering him. But men were like that. They took what they wanted and wasted no time on useless thoughts of self-reproach.

  If only life was that simple! But, if you were female, you didn't see things like that. If you loved a man you wanted more than a brief shared physical encounter. You started thinking about commitment, marriage, a home and children, building up a whole lifestyle round the promise offered by a single kiss. Verity allowed herself to think about Ramón's children. They would be sturdy and sure-footed like their father, with dark, solemn faces that could break into charming smiles when they chose. They would be intelligent, too, but without their father's arrogance, his consciousness of his superiority.

  She sighed. If she was imagining Ramón as a father, she had better concentrate on Isabel as the mother in the case. It was no use indulging in useless dreams in which she figured as the other parent. She could abandon ideas of a boy and a girl who shared her own chestnut hair and normally happy-go-lucky attitude to life. Perhaps he didn't want children. Perhaps Ramón was the sort of man who wanted his wife to himself, to indulge his whims and fancies, to preside over his dinner parties, impeccably groomed and gowned, helping his career along, without irritating cries from the nursery to distract her attention.

  Had they discussed the question, he and Isabel? Had they talked of practical matters, or were they too carried away by the romance of the moment to mention such down-to-earth subjects? Ramón had certainly seemed cool enough about the announcement of his intentions. But she had heard the intimate note in his voice as he had talked to her on the phone. He cared. And Isabel? Who knew what she thought? Ramón was good-looking and he had money enough to support her in a gracious way. In the Delgado household, Verity suspected, other considerations came pretty low on the list of necessities for a happy married life.

  'Did you and Mum think about money when you got married?' Verity asked her father the next morning. He was showing an alarming interest in her supposed headache of the night before and, in an effort to divert him, she posed the question that was uppermost in her mind.

  He laughed. 'About that and nothing else, I should think. We hadn't two pesos to rub together. There were times when we did get to wondering where our next meal was coming from. We had no families to support us when the going got tough. My parents were dead and your mother's relatives, what there were of them, were back in England.'

  'But you were happy, weren't you?' she pressed him. 'Money wasn't everything.'

  'It seemed like it sometimes.' Mark Williams shook his head ruefully at the memory. 'Money can't buy you health, but there's precious little else it can't get for you.'

  Ramón had once said something similar to her, she recalled. He had said he could buy a wife if he required one. Was that indeed what he had done? But Isabel would be rich in her own right one day when anything happened to her father. She wasn't forced to accept the first eligible man who offered for her. No, it was a case of like attracting like, money attracting money.

  'So it would seem,' she agreed, faintly despondent.

  'What's the matter, love? Don't tell me you're thinking of marrying a pauper. I was looking to you to restore the family fortunes.'

  He could sense her low spirits and, unknowing of their cause, he was doing his best to jolly her out of them. Verity appreciated the attempt and tried to respond to it. Perhaps sharing the news might help?

  'Not me,' she said, trying to keep her voice even. 'Ramón.'

  'Vance?' Her father queried. 'What do you mean?'

  'Hasn't he told you his good tidings yet?'

  'I'm not with you. You mean he's getting married? Is this true, Vance?'

  Verity started. She turned swiftly and registered the tall figure in the doorway with something like dismay. How long had he been standing there unobserved? Had he heard her asking her father those questions about marriage? Verity did not want him thinking that she cared enough to brood about the matter. His uncanny knack of reading her thoughts might lead him on to other conclusions, however much she protested her indifference to him and the girl of his choice.

  He entered the room and sat down at the table beside them. 'How's the invalid?' he asked Verity, ignoring her father's question.

  'Fine, thank you,' she hastened to assure him, the words tumbling out in an effort to sound convincing.

  'That headache must have come on very suddenly. You seemed all right when we were talking just before supper.' His brown eyes dwelt perhaps a fraction too long on the tell-tale red that still showed round hers and the shadows that indicated a sleepless night.

  'It did. It must have been the sun or something,' she lied desperately.

  'Or something,' he agreed, and she tho
ught she caught a faintly mocking note in his voice. 'I'm glad you're recovered.'

  If only it had been a headache that she had suffered. Verity suspected that what she was really enduring would take a good deal longer to go away.

  'Come on, Vance, you're not dodging the issue that easily. Is marriage on the cards for you?' Mark Williams was in a teasing mood, reluctant to abandon the question he had posed. 'Are congratulations in order?'

  'I should save them yet awhile. The lady hasn't said yes.'

  'Don't tell me you're having a hard time persuading her, whoever she is. That I can't believe.' Mark Williams voiced his amazement.

  Verity couldn't understand it either, although she remained silent about it. What was the matter with Isabel? Didn't she know that she had been offered a chance that most women would grab at with both hands? Was she really prepared to put Ramón through the old courtship game of three proposals before she consented to marry him? That went out with the Dark Ages, Verity thought.

  Perhaps her father had raised some objection. But it hardly seemed likely in the light of all those approving glances that Verity had seen herself at the dinner party they had attended. Whatever the case, Isabel had better hurry up. A man like Ramón might grow tired of waiting for an answer and look elsewhere. What a fool that girl was! Either that or she was very certain of him. And how sure could any woman be of a man like him?

  Amazingly Ramón laughed. If his male ego had been dented by a refusal, he showed no sign of it. 'Women take time to make up their minds. They take an age to choose a dress. Picking a partner for life should take a little longer, I suppose.'

  'Yes, it's a female prerogative to make the man wait on every occasion,' Mark Williams agreed. 'Goodness knows I wasted quite a bit of time hanging around for Verity's mother. Not that she wasn't worth it,' he added hastily, meeting his daughter's reproachful eyes. 'If- your wife-to-be makes you as happy as Ann made me, you'll be a lucky man and no mistake.'

  'I intend to be,' Ramón said smoothly.

  'Happiness doesn't come to order. You have to work at it.'

  A dark brow raised politely, but quizzically in her direction made Verity wish she had not volunteered that particular piece of worldly wisdom. It sounded naive and childish. How often had he told her she had a lot to learn about the world? And here she was presuming to teach him.

  'Perhaps,' he conceded. 'Sometimes it's just a bonus from the gods. The important thing is not to pass it by.'

  'I hope you don't,' she told him, thinking that he would be blessed indeed if he achieved instant bliss with Isabel.

  'I usually seize my opportunities, Verity.' His eyes scanned her face, resting for an instant on her full mouth in a deliberate reminder of one occasion at least when he had done exactly that.

  If he wanted to silence her, he had achieved his aim. Verity lowered her gaze, finding the tablecloth of sudden, absorbing interest. Why was it that he could outpoint her so easily in these verbal battles?

  If Mark Williams sensed an uncomfortable break in the conversation, he gave no hint of it. 'Well, you'll let us know when we can wish you happy, won't you?' he said cheerfully. 'It'll certainly call for a celebration drink.'

  'You're very kind.' There was genuine warmth in the other man's reply. 'But I think there'll be more immediate matters to toast than my impending marriage.'

  'Verity told you about her birthday, did she? Yes. Nineteen next week. And it seems only yesterday that I was driving to the hospital to fetch her and her mother home for the first time. Do you know—'

  'Dad!' Verity protested, embarrassed. 'Ramón doesn't want to hear about that. Don't bore him.'

  Her father laughed. 'Yes, you're right, of course. Parenthood,' he said. 'It takes you like that. You'll know how it is when you've a family of your own, Vance. A word of encouragement and out come the photographs. You can't keep a proud father down.'

  'No, I imagine not.' He sounded amused, but sympathetic. 'Nineteen, are you, Verity? Such a great age!'

  He was mocking her again and she looked resentfully at him. It wasn't her fault that she was so young. And nineteen wasn't that youthful, after all. She was old enough to drive a car, to vote, to work for her living. Many girls of her age were married with a family of two or more children. A couple of her classmates from school had graduated straight from the classroom to looking after their own homes. They were mature adults and accepted as such. And so was she. There was no need to treat her the way he did.

  'At least I can still look forward to my birthdays,' she said with spirit.

  'If that's a dig at me, young lady, as I suspect it is—' her father intervened before Ramón could reply.

  She turned to smile at him, her anger momentarily forgotten and mischief dancing her eyes. 'Never mind, Dad. You're young at heart.'

  'Cheek,' he said, but he laughed. 'What would you do with her?' he appealed to the other man.

  Ramón shook his head and declined to. offer an answer, although the glint in his eye suggested that he could have come up with any number of solutions that would have appealed to him. She suspected there were times when he would like nothing better than to put her over his knee and spank her. That was one opportunity she never intended to offer him.

  'I wasn't talking about birthdays, in fact.' Their visitor broached the subject again when Mark Williams' mirth had subsided. 'I had something else in mind.'

  'Oh?' The older man was suddenly all attention. 'You can't mean—you're not saying it's good news about—about—'

  Kind for once, Ramón Vance helped him out. 'About Vista Hermosa. Yes.' He smiled and Verity, hanging on his words, registered the magnetic pull that he always had for her. 'At least, I hope you'll think so.'

  After he had outlined his plans for the estancia's future Verity and her father sat reeling' under the shock. Things were certainly going to be different from now on, if Ramón had his way. And, as the owners had given him carte blanche to organise matters, it seemed as if he would indeed bring about drastic changes.

  'I can't believe it,' Mark Williams kept repeating. 'It's what's been needed all along, of course—an injection of funds into the place in order to get it back to where it was before matters started going downhill. With more staff and more equipment it shouldn't be long before things are looking up again.'

  'I hope so.' For the first time a slightly grim note came into Ramón's eyes. 'I'm giving you all the help I can in every practical way, Williams. But in the last analysis it all rests with you. If you make a go of it, that's fine. If you don't, there won't be any more chances for you.'

  'I realise that. And it's good of you to trust me to make the improvements. I won't let you down.'

  'If you'd come to the company earlier and explained that you needed help instead of keeping it to yourself for all this time, matters would have taken less sorting out, less mental anguish all round.' Ramón glanced briefly at Verity as he spoke. 'But that's water under the bridge now, I suppose.' He held out his hand to the older man. 'We'll sort out the details later and I'll go through the financial arrangements with you. But, in the meantime, consider the affair settled.'

  Mark Williams grasped him firmly. 'You're a good man, Vance. I appreciate what you're offering me. And you've my word that I'll do my best for you.'

  There was a moment of emotion-filled silence and then he came over to Verity and hugged her. 'Do you hear that, love? It's going to be all right after all.'

  She smiled at him rather mistily, relief at the news rather overwhelming her. 'It's great, Dad. But I told you it would all turn out for the best, didn't I? Perhaps you'll listen to me next time.'

  'There isn't going to be a next time,' Mark Williams said buoyantly. 'It's success all the way from now on. We'll even give Delgado a run for his money, if he likes.' He glanced over at Ramón. 'Can I go and tell the men? They've been worried too. It's their livelihood, and some of them have been at Vista Hermosa longer than I have.'

  'Go ahead,' Ramón nodded his assent. 'They'd pr
obably prefer to hear the news from you anyway.'

  'Dad, you haven't had any breakfast yet,' Verity called after him, and sighed as she heard the yard door bang behind him.

  'He's got more important things on his mind just now.'

  'I suppose so.' She gave him a wary look. 'It is true, isn't it? Dad's job is secure?'

  'I thought we'd just established that,' he said lazily. 'Or weren't you listening?'

  'Yes, but—'

  'But you still don't trust me, do you?'

  'I don't know what to make of you,' she said honestly. 'If it's all going ahead as you've just told us, then it's marvellous news. But—'

  'But?' he prompted.

  'I've got a strong feeling there's a fly in the ointment somewhere. You're being very generous—'

  'I can afford to be. It's not my money. It's coming from the consortium's pockets. It's relatively simple to be open-handed with someone else's money,' he told her.

  'I didn't mean the money.'

  'What then?'

  She shrugged. 'I didn't think you'd let Dad keep control. I thought that you'd put a younger man in. It's what most people in your position would have done.'

  'You're very shrewd,' he drawled.

  'And you're very devious,' she snapped. 'And I don't trust you an inch whatever my father may think about you.'

  'Your father's got his head screwed on when it comes to judging character. And he's got a good few years' start on you.'

  'I follow my instincts, not anything else when I'm making up my mind about people.'

  'It's a pity they lead you astray so often,' Ramón commented tersely.

  'I don't think they do.'

  'Then you're a little fool,' he said pleasantly, getting to his feet.

  'Because I disagree with you, I suppose?'

  'Because you don't have the honesty to admit it to yourself when you're wrong about something or someone. But that's your problem.' He walked to the door. 'I'd better go and find your father—we've things to discuss. Oh, and Verity—'

 

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