The High Valley

by Anne Mather

  Marianna raised her eyebrows. “I? Hate Luis?” She shook her head. “Oh, no, I love him, senhorita, and he loves me. He was my firstborn, my beloved son!”

  Morgana's brain raced. “But don't you see, senhora, you are confusing things! It's your possessiveness that is driving Luis into the seminary, not his duty! You are using his father's death to blackmail him into something which is alien to his nature!”

  Marianna's eyes glittered coldly. “What do you know of it? Of his father's death? Nothing! No one knows – but me!”

  “What do you mean?” Morgana quivered. She was fascinated by Marianna's motives as a rabbit is fascinated by a snake.

  Marianna leaned forward. “I will tell you something, senhorita, something I have never told anyone else. But you will never be able to use it against me because no one will ever believe you. The only man who knew is dead now and I shall never destroy my husband's memory.”

  Morgana was wary. “What do you mean?”

  “You have heard, have you not, that my husband was assassinated while I was in America having an operation?”

  “Yes.”

  “So it was. What was not made public was the fact that my husband was killed in the arms of another woman!”

  Morgana stared at her incredulously. Marianna's face was twisted with bitterness and she looked older than Morgana had ever seen her.

  “You see, senhorita,” she said, bleakly, “I have lived for almost twenty years protecting the memory of a man who was never faithful to me. Oh, perhaps my reasons in the beginning were those of self-respect, but as the years went by and Carlos became a legend in Monteraverde I knew I could never betray him.”

  “So you are betraying his son!” Morgana was shocked.

  “No!” Marianna was quick to contradict her. “No. Luis is not like his father, he is like me, strong and loyal. Ricardo is his father's son.”

  Morgana swallowed hard. “Yet you are denying your son a normal life!” she exclaimed. “Why not Ricardo!”

  “Ricardo is irresponsible – uncaring for anything except his own skin.”

  Morgana knew she had to get away. She felt sick with loathing for this woman who was using her own son for her own ends. “Don't you have any plans for Ricardo?’ she asked, moving towards the door.

  Marianna spread her hands. “Ricardo makes his own plans. He is a coward, senhorita, and I have no time for cowards!”

  Morgana hesitated. “Will you tell me one more thing?”

  “That depends.” Marianna was guarded.

  “Exactly why did Ricardo ascertain that I would be on that particular flight? What was the point of bringing me here?”

  Marianna lifted her shoulders. “It is quite simple. If Luis enters the priesthood he will automatically lose his identity and Ricardo will be the last Salvador. He fears for his own skin, senhorita. It is as simple as that. He is afraid that if the revolution fails, his life will be forfeit!”

  “And I – I was supposed to be a reason for Luis not to take orders?”

  “You have it in a nutshell, senhorita.”

  Morgana shook her head incredulously. “But why me? I hardly knew Luis before I came here.”

  Marianna shrugged. “There was some reception at the Embassy, was there not?” Morgana nodded and she went on: “Luis does not trouble with women, but for some reason Ricardo perceived that he found you – well – attractive. It was sufficient to make such a small gamble. The plane was needed, after all. You were an added incentive, that was all.”

  Morgana hunched her shoulders. “I can hardly believe it.”

  “Nevertheless, it is true. Fortunately, Ricardo was unaware of Luis's strength of character, or he might have tried something even more frustrating.” Marianna gave a slight smile, confident now that Morgana was verbally beaten. “Not that he could do anything we could not cope with,” she added.

  The next two days dragged interminably. Luis did not return to the villa and Morgana seemed to spend her time fighting the depression that threatened to overwhelm her. She spent hours alone in her room, unwilling to take the chance of encountering Marianna alone again. She had no desire to court the kind of mental torture Marianna could inflict so pitilessly, and she longed to escape back to the people and things she had known all her life.

  She wondered whether her father was despairing of ever seeing her again, and what he was doing to fill his days. The lecture tour which was to have ended a couple of days after Morgana's arrival in Los Angeles would now be over and there would be nothing to keep him in the United States. She wondered whether he had indeed flown to Rio or whether he had had to fly home to England. After all, he had commitments there and he would have things to see to. But the realisation that he might be thousands of miles away was a daunting one in her present condition.

  Ricardo came once to the villa, but although Morgana met him his mother was present and he showed none of the ebullient boldness he had exhibited previously. On the contrary, he was curt and subdued and obviously very much under his mother's dominance.

  Pieter was the only one to whom Morgana could really talk. Although their rides had been curtailed they saw one another in the courtyard and Morgana was shown round the stables and the cultivated gardens that flourished in the artificial protection of the walls. To begin with Morgana was loath to mention Luis's name, but as they got to know one another better, she said:

  “Tell me something, Pieter. What is mined in the valley? What is it that has given the Salvadors this power – this wealth, if you like.”

  Pieter's thin young face showed his trepidation. “I could not tell you that, senhorita. It is not my place to do so. You must ask O Halcão! or the Senhora Marianna!”

  “And do you think they would tell me?” Morgana leaned against the wall of the courtyard, shredding the petals of a way magnolia. “Surely you know what the senhora thinks of me!”

  Pieter bent his head. “The Senhora Marianna is a proud woman,” he said, at last. “Perhaps pride is a sin, I don't know, but I do know that Senhora Marianna does not always see thing as others see them.”

  Morgana studied him intently. “She was once the first lady of Monteraverde, wasn't she?” she asked.

  Pieter nodded. “Oh, yes, senhorita. The senhora liked that. When she and the presidente used to come here for – what would you say – a holiday – my mother has told me she was very charming, very much the great lady.”

  Morgana could believe that. “And her husband? The president? What was he like?”

  Pieter shrugged. “My mother said that he was a kind man. She did not think he liked his position as presidente. But it was what was expected of him and the senhora would not let him evade his duty.”

  Morgana inclined her head slowly. “The power behind the throne,” she murmured almost to herself. “But surely, he could have avoided it.”

  “Maybe, maybe,” Pieter shrugged. “Who knows? But there was much pressure on him to accept. His father was a dying man or he would have taken control himself. Besides, Senhor Carlos was a Salvador, and Salvadors do not desert their duty.”

  Morgana sighed. “No,” she agreed, slowly. “What did the senhora do after the assassination?”

  Pieter frowned. “She came back here.”

  “Was she – upset?”

  Pieter raised his dark eyebrows. “She would be, I suppose. My mother has always said she did not talk much about it at that time. There were rumours, of course.”

  “What kind of rumours?”

  Pieter compressed his lips. “Well – it was rumoured that the presidente was with another woman when he was assassinated. Oh, it was never proved, and the rumours were squashed, but sometimes I wonder …” He sighed. “At any rate, soon afterwards I think Senhor Luis decided that whatever had happened he must avenge his father's death and destroy the dictator.”

  “But he was only a boy at that time,” exclaimed Morgana.

  Pieter nodded. “I know. But when a boy's father is killed, he must become a m
an.”

  Morgana listened, amazed at the way Luis's life had been almost dictated for him. She was angry, too, angry that there was nothing she could do. Now Pieter sighed. “I shall be sorry when you go, senhorita,” he said. “I have enjoyed being with you – talking with you.”

  “So have I, Pieter. But there is no place for me here.”

  “And what will Senhor Luis do when you have gone?”

  “I don't understand.” Morgana shook her head. “You must know that the Senhor Luis is to enter the seminary at Voltio when all this is over.” Her voice shook slightly as she remembered with clarity the painful confrontation with Marianna.

  Pieter pushed his hair back with a careless hand. “But the Senhor Luis is not that kind of man!” he declared hotly.

  Morgana's cheeks burned. “What kind of man, Pieter?”

  Pieter turned away, hunching his shoulders. “You know!” he said, gruffly. “Didn't I see –” He halted abruptly.

  Morgana walked round him swiftly, looking at him intently. “Yes, Pieter? What did you see?”

  Pieter coloured now, his sallow cheeks burned red. “Oh, it was nothing, senhorita.”

  “Pieter!”

  Pieter heaved a sigh. “Oh, well, that morning you went riding with the senhor, I followed you.”

  “You followed us?”

  “Sim, senhorita.”

  “But why?”

  Pieter shook his head. “I don't know. I just wanted – to – protect you, that's all. I – I didn't know that you …” His voice trailed away unhappily. “Anyway, I stayed well behind and it wasn't until you came running through the forest that I almost gave myself away.”

  “You were hiding in the forest?”

  “Sim.” Pieter wet his lips. “And when I saw which way you had gone, I went after Senhor Luis and told him.”

  “So that was how Luis found me so quickly!”

  Pieter nodded. “Sim, senhorita.”

  “Then … then … you saw …”

  “Sim, senhorita.”

  Morgana shook her head helplessly. “I don't know what to say.”

  Pieter looked a trifle shame-faced. “I'm sorry, senhorita. I didn't mean to pry.”

  Morgana sighed. “No, I know that. It's all right, Pieter.” She gathered her composure. “I'm almost glad you know. It's quite a relief.”

  Pieter compressed his lips. “Does the Senhora Marianna know.”

  “Not everything.” Morgana turned away. “But enough.”

  “She will not like that.”

  Morgana made a helpless gesture. “I know. But I can't help thinking that without her pressure upon him, Luis would never –could never–”

  Pieter nodded. “Senhor Luis is a good man. He would make a wonderful presidente. The people know and love him. He is very much like his father.”

  Morgana turned to him eagerly. “Do you think so?”

  “Oh, yes, senhorita.“ Pieter bent his head. “I have heard it said – and I know – the senhora is a cold, unfeeling woman. She is determined to have her will, whatever the cost.”

  Morgana felt tears prick her eyes. “It's – inhuman!”

  Pieter smote his hand against his thigh angrily. “Someone should tell the senhor the truth!”

  “Oh, no.” Morgana shook her head. “Luis must make his own decisions. And now I must go in before our meeting is made suspect. They may think we are plotting my escape.”

  Pieter smiled at this and Morgana went thoughtfully into the house, glad that she had at least one friend at the Villa Carrilhão.

  That night, she was awakened by someone shaking her vigorously. The room was very dark and she gasped and would have screamed had not her unknown assailant suddenly pressed his hand across her mouth.

  “Don't panic, senhorita,” a husky voice adjured her; a voice she instinctively recognised, but from where?

  She struggled to free herself, and the man felt in his pocket and brought out a torch which he used to reveal his identity before removing his hand from her mouth. Morgana stared at him in silence for a minute. It was the pilot from the plane.

  “What – what are you doing here?” she exclaimed, in a whisper. “How did you get in?”

  The pilot shook his head impatiently. “Never mind that now, senhorita. I'll explain later. Can you put on some clothes quickly? We're leaving!”

  “Leaving!” Morgana was astounded. “But how?”

  “Not now, senhorita. Put on your clothes. We can't take your luggage, I'm afraid, but you can send for that later. Hurry!”

  Morgana hesitated only a moment and then slid obediently out of bed. Just for a brief few seconds she had wanted to tell him she could not go with him, that her place, whatever it might be, was here, but then sanity reasserted itself. She would be a fool to hesitate. Luis didn't want her, and it was certain that his mother did not want her either. The sooner she got away from here and back to familiar surroundings, the sooner her life would assume some degree of normality.

  In the darkness, it was easy to put on her scanty underclothes and draw warm trousers and a chunky sweater over them. When she was ready, she gazed one last time at the room, and then, with determination, she lifted her handbag and touching his arm said: “I'm ready. What now?”

  “Follow me. It's quite safe. Everyone is sleeping.”

  They went down the stairs to the hall using only the light of the pilot's torch for guidance. He seemed unperturbed at the precariousness of their position, but Morgana was on edge, expecting every moment to encounter disaster. But they emerged into the courtyard without mishap and in the semi-gloom she could see that the heavy doors onto the mountain stood wide. They crossed the courtyard quickly, passed through the doors, and Morgana waited a moment while her companion closed them behind them.

  Then they began the descent down the winding track she had previously only traversed on horseback. It was a long, gruelling journey, Morgana's light shoes proving unsuitable for such rough terrain. Twice she stumbled and the pilot came back to her side, his face strained in the moonlight, and twice she urged him on, unwilling to allow her own injuries to delay their progress. Panting and sweating with exertion they at last reached the foot of the mountain where now Morgana could see two heavy lorries waiting in the shade of a clump of pines. She looked in astonishment at her companion, wondering disbelievingly how he alone could have organised such arrangements.

  But it was not yet time for explanations, and she followed the pilot to the nearest of the wagons looking curiously up at its driver. To her astonishment she recognised one of the men she had seen on the plane with Vittorio and Manoel and she stared at him in amazement. Then she looked back at the pilot. “What is this? That man is one of O Halcão's henchmen!”

  The pilot nodded. “I know. Come on. Get into the back. There is no time to waste!”

  Morgana hesitated. There was something curious about all this, and she didn't like it. “How can you be sure where they are taking us?” she persisted.

  The driver started his engine. “You will have to trust us, senhorita,” he remarked, grimly. “Get into the back.”

  Morgana started to protest again, but the pilot wasted no more valuable time. Instead, he took her arm and propelled her forcibly to the tailboard of the vehicle, and at his command several hands were offered to haul her inside. In the gloom she could distinguish some of the other passengers from the plane but she was too upset to take much notice of what they said to her. Her whole being was fused with a desire to escape from them now as she had once tried to escape from Luis.

  The lorry began to move, bumping its way across the stony track, so that its occupants were thrown about in discomfort Morgana clung to her seat, wishing she had never left the comparative security of her bedroom in the villa.

  The pilot came to sit beside her and said: “Do not be afraid, senhorita. These men are acting on the orders of O Halcão!”

  “What?”

  “It's true. He is letting us go. Tomorrow the dictator,
Queras, will awaken to find that his army has been taken over by the forces of the liberation!”

  “Tomorrow!” Morgana was incredulous.

  “Sim, senhorita. Tomorrow the frontiers will be closed, so we are being permitted to leave tonight while there is still time. We will cross the border into Bolivia and contact the authorities there. You do have your passport with you, I hope. I forgot to mention that.”

  Morgana nodded rather confusedly. Everything was happening too quickly. “Yes – yes I have it. I always keep it in my handbag.”

  “Bom. The authorities will arrange for us to be flown to Rio de Janeiro from La Paz. No doubt we can contact our relatives there.”

  Morgana's fingers gripped the seat tightly. “But how are we leaving the valley?”

  The pilot smiled. “There is a pass under the mountain, senhorita. Its entrance is through the mine.”

  Morgana's head jerked up. “The mine!”

  “Sim. It was a clever subterfuge, was it not? The silver mine has long been exhausted. Now its only use is to provide a concealed escape route from the valley.”

  “I see!” Morgana heaved a sigh. That explained why the men had been so angry when she and Pieter had turned up at the mine. She hunched her shoulders. But it didn't matter now. It was all over. O Halcão had decreed it so. Her throat tightened painfully. Soon they would be out of the valley – out of Monteraverde – for ever …

  CHAPTER X

  MORGANA reclined in the expensively scented luxury of a bubble bath and allowed Ruth's excited chatter to float over her head. She soaped her arms and legs extravagantly, and smiled automatically as the other girl extolled the virtues of Morgana's father, but her thoughts were far away and it was difficult to show any enthusiasm for anything. She knew she was careless and ungrateful, but since the excitement of leaving the valley, and returning to Rio, and finding her father there staying with the Dennisons had ebbed, an awful feeling of depression had engulfed her. No matter how she tried she could not shed the weight of misery which seemed to be pressing down on her and she longed for her father to make the reservations for them to return to England.