The High Valley

by Anne Mather

  “But I can assure you, you will be far more comfortable here in a proper bed than trying to sleep in a plane which is, I am told, tilted to one side.”

  Morgana's heart pounded rapidly. “Even so –”

  “What is wrong, senhorita? Do you imagine I intend seducing you? Do you think that is why I have had you brought here? To satisfy some hungering lust for a woman's body?”

  Morgana's cheeks burned. “No –”

  Luis's expression was contemptuous. “No? How can you be sure?”

  Morgana twisted the brandy glass in her hands. “Please let me go back to the plane, senhor!” she pleaded urgently.

  His expression changed. “I am forgetting the ordeal you have suffered tonight. Nevertheless, you will stay here.”

  “But why?” Her voice was appealing.

  “Because I have decreed it so,” he answered, inflexibly, and leaving her he crossed the floor and flung open the door, calling “Manoel!” in imperious tones. A few moments later the man who had escorted her from the plane appeared. There was deference in his expression as he listened to what Luis had to say to him in the swift Brazilian patios, and then he bowed politely and went away.

  Luis closed the door and came back to the fire, seating himself in one of the comfortable armchairs and staring thoughtfully into the flames. Morgana had previously loosened her coat in the warmth from the blaze, but as his eyes turned to her yet again she wrapped the coat almost protectively about her and succeeded in bringing a derisive gleam to his eyes.

  “You are still cold, senhorita?” he enquired, sardonically. Then as she did not reply, he went on: “Do you not like my humble domicilio?”

  Morgana was trying desperately not to let him see how frightened she really was. Recalling the way she had deliberately taunted him at the Embassy in Rio made her blood run cold and she wished she had never been so foolish as to get separated from the Dennisons in the first place. If she had stayed with them she would never have collided with him, never have invited his gaze, never have danced with Ricardo, and certainly she would never have been singled out for any kind of special treatment here in La Nava. Michael Lawson had been right, they were dangerous men, and she had flirted with the unknown because she had found it exciting. But she was not excited now, only terrified, and this man was careless of that terror.

  Gathering her small store of composure, she said: “Does – does your brother know I am here?” in a small, jerky voice.

  Luis stretched his long legs out to the blaze. “He knows you were on the plane,” he amended, calmly.

  Morgana digested this. “Is – is he here, in La Nava?”

  “Si, senhorita, he is here.” Luis's voice was cool.

  Morgana allowed a faint sigh to escape her. They would never let her go, no matter what happened to the others. She knew their identity, she alone could prevent them continuing their charade in the political scene. She had proof that no doubt President Queras would pay dearly to possess. A feeling of helplessness enveloped her, heightened by the lateness of the hour and by her own innate weariness. She longed to sleep, but she feared what might result from such unconscious vulnerability.

  Before she had time to formulate any further questions, there was a tap at the door and Manoel entered, saluting formally. He spoke swiftly to Luis, and Luis nodded in satisfaction. Rising to his feet he put out a hand to assist Morgana to rise, but she ignored it and stood up without his assistance, swaying with fatigue.

  “Manoel will escort you to your room and see that you have everything that you need,” Luis said, brusquely. “Adeus for the present, senhorita.”

  Morgana said nothing. There was nothing much to say and besides, she didn't trust her uncertain voice to speak without trembling. So she wrapped her coat closely about her and walked quickly across the room to Manoel's side. He made his salute to O Halcão, and then they were outside again, in the chill air admitted through the open door.

  Manoel led the way to the end of the passage where a narrow flight of stairs led up to a landing below the eaves. He had taken a lamp from its hook at the foot of the stairs and by its light Morgana could see four doors opened onto this landing. Manoel went ahead and threw one of the doors open and entered the room holding his lamp high so that she could see the room was spartanly furnished with only a narrow bed, an old-fashioned washstand, and a small prie-Dieu below a silver cross. The window was without curtains and it was cold up here without any heating. Manoel found a lamp in the room and lit it from the one he carried. Then he said: “There is water to wash in the jug. If there is anything else you require you are to tell me.”

  Morgana shivered and looked about her. “Th – thank you,” she stammered. “There's nothing else.”

  Manoel bowed meticulously and left her, going out and closing the door behind him. When she had heard him descend the stairs she went across to the door to see if it had been locked from the outside. There was no key on this side, but it had not, and she heaved a sigh. Obviously she was secure enough here, they thought. She had no place to escape to.

  She retraced her steps to the bed and noticed that its linen was startlingly white in the lamplight. She longed to climb between the sheets and allow Morpheus to have his way with her, but she was afraid to allow herself to be off-guard even for a minute. Somehow, she had to stay awake, and be prepared for any eventuality …

  Fingers of daylight probed at her drowsy eyes persistently, and Morgana sat up with a start. It was morning, and she had been asleep. She looked about her warily, but the room was as it had been the night before, except that the lamp had burnt itself out. She was still fully clothed, propped against the pillows at the head of the bed, one of the rugs wrapped about her lower limbs. Exhaustion had taken its toll of her and she could remember very little after her preliminary examination of the door. She must have slept almost at once, for she felt quite refreshed and already the sun was high in the heavens and the room under the eaves felt considerably warmer.

  Throwing the rug aside, she slid off the bed and stepping into her shoes she made her way to the window, curious to see her surroundings in daylight. An unexpectedly beautiful scene met her fascinated gaze. The hacienda, and several other houses similar in design, stood on the valley floor, only a short distance from the tumbling waters of the river Morgana had heard the night before. A narrow track wound its way through the village and up into the mountains that towered around on every side. There was an abundance of luxuriant growth, interspersed with blossoms in vivid colours of red and blue, the closeness of the jungle-like vegetation to the adobe houses giving them protection as well as shade and Morgana could see that from the air this valley would look practically uninhabited. Children played on the grassy slopes above the village and animals grazed on the banks of the river. It looked such a peaceful scene and she could hardly believe the terror of the night before bore any relation to this secluded valley, high up in the foothills of the Andes.

  Turning away from the window she went to the washstand and sluiced her face in the icy water, revelling in the feeling of well-being that was overtaking her. Everything seemed so much better in sunlight, and she longed to get outside, in the open air, away from any restriction placed on her by circumstance.

  Drying her face, she combed her fingers through her hair in an effort to tidy it. She had no comb and there were no facilities of that kind provided. Then she went to the door and opened it quietly, peering out into the landing. Everywhere was still, although she could hear sounds from outside the building.

  With cautious steps, she descended the staircase and stood hesitatingly in the passageway they had used the night before. She looked to left and right, and knowing that Luis Salvador's room had been to the left she turned right, away from the sunlit entrance. Two doors confronted her, and with tentative movements she reached out a hand and turned the handle of one of them. But even as the door gave inwards, a voice said:

  “So, senhorita? You are awake. Did you sleep well?”

/>   Morgana turned sharply to confront an elderly woman, dressed in dark clothes that almost reached her ankles and a spotlessly white apron. Her iron-grey hair was combed back severely into a bun, but her eyes were kind in a face that was tanned and weather-beaten.

  Morgana swallowed hard, and released the door handle. “I – er – I was just looking for – for someone,” she said, awkwardly.

  The woman came down the hall towards her. “You are hungry?”

  Morgana shook her head. “Not – not very. Is – is it very late? I'm afraid my watch has stopped …”

  The woman shrugged her ample shoulders. “It's after ten o'clock,” she said, indifferently. “Come into the cozinha. There is café on the stove.”

  Morgana stood aside to allow the woman to precede her into the kitchen, wondering how she could have slept so soundly for so long. She had not thought she would sleep at all, and she felt dismayed to realise that for several hours she had been able to forget about the others on the plane. What must they be thinking about her prolonged absence? Where did they imagine she might be?

  The kitchen was quite a large room, dominated by a long trestle table. There was an enormous kitchen range along one wall, fired by a fuel-burning boiler, and oak dressers were hung with gleaming pans and tableware. Several joints of meat hung from the rafters of the ceiling while the aromatic scent of coffee brewing was irresistible. The woman indicated that Morgana should sit and then lifted a white earthenware mug and filled it with coffee from the jug on the stove. It was remarkably good coffee and Morgana sipped it appreciatively wondering where Luis and his brother were.

  The old woman seemed indisposed to gossip and after ascertaining that Morgana really did want nothing to eat she disappeared outside through a rear door. Morgana could see two goats tied to a stake and beyond were several hens scratching in the dust. It was a pleasant enough scene, but gradually Morgana could feel the tension returning that she had felt the night before.

  She finished her coffee and glanced down regretfully at her sheepskin coat. It was too warm now to be wearing such a heavy garment and with a sigh she stood up and removed it, wishing she had been wearing a midi dress instead of a short-skirted one. But it was wonderfully cool without the coat and she ran a hand round the back of her neck under her hair, stretching gratefully.

  A sound behind her made her swing round in startled surprise and she found Luis Salvador standing in the doorway that led from the passageway, regarding her steadily. She wondered how long he had been there watching her, and a faint ripple of awareness curled along her spine. This morning, dressed in a cream silk shirt which laced up the front with suede cords, and blue pants thrust into tall black boots, he was disturbingly masculine. His hair was slightly wind-swept and he smoothed it with a careless hand as he advanced into the kitchen.

  “Bom, senhorita. Did you sleep well?”

  Morgana got to her feet. “Reasonably so,” she replied, shortly.

  He inclined his head in acknowledgement. “Good. I am pleased to hear it.” He walked across to the stove and poured himself some coffee into another of the earthenware beakers. Taking a drink he turned, and then said: “Have you had breakfast?”

  “I wasn't hungry.”

  “No?” He frowned. “The food is very good here.”

  “I'm sure it is. I simply wasn't hungry.” Morgana compressed her lips. “How long do you intend to keep me here?”

  He regarded her with faintly mocking eyes. “That I cannot say,” he replied, regretfully. “In your country they would say: as long as it takes, and that is my answer also.”

  “As long as what takes?”

  He shrugged, ignoring her question, and finished his coffee. “That was good!” he said, appreciatively, and smiled at her. Morgana was amazed at the sudden transformation of his features. “Tell me, senhorita,” he went on. “Is all your luggage on the plane?”

  She nodded. “My cases are on the plane, yes. Why?”

  “Do you have any riding equipment?”

  Morgana drew her brows together. “No, I don't ride.”

  “Do you not? Then that is indeed a pleasure in store for you. You do have some trousers, though, do you not?”

  Morgana sighed. “Several pairs, why?”

  “I intend to show you my valley, senhorita, and the best way to see it is on horseback.” He gestured to his mud-splattered boots. “I have already been to the mine this morning.”

  “The mine?” Morgana frowned. “What kind of a mine?”

  He shook his head. “All in good time, as they say.” He glanced round as the old woman appeared. “Ah, Lucia, you have met Senhorita Mallory?”

  “Sim, senhor!” Lucia's expression was warm. “The senhorita would only have coffee.”

  “Then we must see that she has some air this morning so that she will be prepared for your most delicious almuerzo Lucia,” replied Luis, good humouredly. “Y Senhor Ricardo?”

  Lucia spread her hands. “I have not seen Senhor Ricardo this morning, senhor,” she said. “I thought –perhaps –”

  Luis quelled whatever she had been about to say with a nod of his head. “Bom, Lucia. Send Manoel to me.”

  “Sim, senhor.” Lucia wiped her hands on her apron and went out of the door again, leaving them alone.

  Luis took out his case of cigars and lit one. “Manoel has been to the plane this morning,” he advised her. “The passengers are safe and well, and coffee and rolls have been served to them. They have spent a – what you would say – not uncomfortable night, and naturally they were eager to learn their immediate destiny. Unfortunately, what Manoel had to tell them did not meet with their instant approval.”

  Morgana stared at him. “What has Manoel told them? Do they know where I am? Why wasn't I allowed to go back with him and stay with them?”

  Luis lifted his powerful shoulders. “I do not choose to send you back, senhorita,” he replied, non-committally. “Do not be alarmed. My reasons for keeping you here are completely dissociated from personal desires. You are perfectly safe with me.”

  Morgana bent her head. “I just don't understand,” she exclaimed. “Anyway, am I to be allowed to know what is happening?”

  “Of course.” Luis took his cigar out of his mouth. “The plane that brought you here was damaged, as you know. The repairs will take some time. Until the plane is repaired there is no possible way any of you can be released.”

  Morgana raised her eyes. “You are telling me that the plane will be repaired so that we may leave?”

  Luis did not immediately reply, and a small surge of anger burgeoned inside her. “I don't believe you will let us go!” she cried. “The damage to the plane is a convenient excuse for keeping us here. But why? Why? Of what use are we to you?”

  “None whatsoever,” he snapped, bleakly.

  “Well, then?”

  Luis sighed, his nostrils flaring slightly. “Senhorita – que – what is your name I cannot continue to address you so formally.”

  “My name is Morgana,” she replied, reluctantly. “However, I prefer the formality.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “So? You have spirit, Morgana. Não obstante, I shall use your name. I like it. It recalls the legends of my childhood. Morgana was the sister of your King Arthur of Camelot, was she not?”

  “Half-sister, actually,” corrected Morgana, shortly, and he smiled.

  “Ah, yes. The creature capable of assuming many forms, a fairy-tale being of exceeding beauty!” He studied her embarrassed expression. “You are perhaps surprised that a barbarian like myself should know your British legends, no?”

  “You never fail to surprise me, senhor,” Morgana retorted, coldly.

  “You must call me Luis,” he commanded, firmly. “After all; last evening you did not address me as Senhor Salvador.”

  “Last evening I was frightened – shocked! You can't possibly equate my reactions then with your position now.”

  “Even so, we will accord each other a measure of concil
iation and go on from there.”

  Morgana did not feel conciliatory, but she had no real way of knowing exactly how far she could go without coming up against the wall of conflict between them, and while he was amicable enough now, she distrusted him. Despite his politeness, there was a vague air of ruthlessness about him and she had already experienced humiliation at his hands. There were times when she sensed he was holding himself in control with difficulty, and she pondered this phenomenon. He was certainly a man of many contrasts, and she had no way of knowing which was the real Luis Salvador. In his role as O Halcão he was obviously held in high esteem by his men, and they respected his decisions. His attitude towards herself was less easily analysed. At the Embassy in Rio, she had sensed an awareness in him which had not been in evidence since her arrival here, and she half-wondered whether she had imagined it. He seemed so cool, so remote, and the constraint he placed upon himself seemed to have little to do with sexual demands. Indeed, he seemed determined that she should regard him dispassionately, and with confidence, and that puzzled her. She was, after all, at his mercy, and her pitiful knowledge of revolutionary forces, gleaned from films and the like, had not prepared her for such consideration. If she had not expected actual brutality, she had certainly not expected solicitude. And if his reasons for bringing her to his hacienda were not obviously personal ones, why had he not left her on the plane with the others? She felt hopelessly out of her depth.

  Now, he said: “Your expression is very revealing, Morgana. You are puzzled and confused. That is natural enough. You have not been in my valley long enough to assimilate your surroundings.”

  “This is your valley?” Morgana looked at him questioningly.

  “Sim, Morgana. This is my valley. This land has belonged to my family for generations.”

  Morgana walked to the window above the white sink and looked out frowningly. “And what is going to happen to the other passengers?” she asked. “You can't keep them in the plane in this heat!”