by James, Dana
Cass sighed with exasperation. 'How can you be so sure? He must have dozens of other outlets for his gems besides us. In fact, we're very small fry compared with the international companies. And Derek,' she lowered her voice, 'with his wealth he doesn't exactly need our custom.'
'No,' Derek agreed. Uncrossing his legs, he rested his forearms on his knees, leaning towards her. 'But he's taken a fancy to you and that puts us right out in front, doesn't it?' His conspiratorial smile was edged with bitterness.
'D-don't be ridiculous!' A wave of heat flooded through Cass and she knew her high colour betrayed very mixed feelings. 'If Miguel Ibarra has shown particular courtesy towards me, it's probably to make up for your behaviour. You haven't exactly gone out of your way to win friends and influence people since we arrived,' she whispered fiercely.
'I wouldn't call stroking your hair mere courtesy,' Derek jibed, ignoring the rest of her remarks.
Cass's colour deepened. What could she say? It had been an extraordinarily intimate thing to do.
'Anyway,' Derek muttered, 'don't pretend you don't know why I've been a bit touchy. You've been playing hard to get, and I know why. It's got to be marriage or nothing for you hasn't it? OK, if that's what it takes, you've got it. We'll tie the knot as soon as we get back. I know it's what Dad's been hoping for.' He spread his fingers. 'I guess I knew you wouldn't settle for less, even though I always swore no woman would ever tie me down.
Anyway,' he rubbed his hands together briskly, 'now that's settled, you don't need to lead Ibarra on any more. You were out of your league there in any case. Mind you,' he added hastily as an afterthought, 'you needn't exactly give him the cold shoulder either. The deal wasn't the main reason I came out here, but why spoil a good opportunity? If he thinks you've cooled off, it could cost us a packet.'
Speechless, Cass stared at the man opposite her. A man she had thought she knew. She couldn't believe what she had just heard. 'Do you mean you've been acting like a spoilt child because you thought I wanted a proposal of marriage from you?' Even as she said the words she could scarcely credit the ego and self-centredness behind his reasoning.
Derek shifted in his chair. 'Well, it's quite a price you're demanding.' He sounded almost accusatory. 'I mean, we're both free and over twenty-one. You know I want you; I've made that clear enough. I was quite prepared to make it a one-to-one relationship.' He was oblivious of the effect his words were having on her. 'I just didn't see the need for bits of paper. Women seem to have this hang-up about investing a perfectly normal biological urge with all sorts of emotional stuff—ceremony and commitment—which really just confuses the issue. But,' he flashed her what he imagined was a winning smile, 'if that's what it takes to make you mine, you got it, kid.'
A few moments earlier Cass had felt like laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation. But now it wasn't funny anymore, and suddenly she was so mad, so furiously angry, she felt dizzy.
Clenching her teeth together so tightly her jaws ached, she did not dare utter a single word, for if she had, there would have been no stemming the torrent of passionate indignation that seethed within her. But common sense and her natural consideration for other people warned her that the reception area of Miguel Ibarra's business headquarters was not the place to express her feelings. So, almost literally choking on her rage, she stared at the floor, battling for control.
'Look, I can see you're a bit overcome.' She heard Derek's voice as if from a distance. 'I guess I'm rather surprised myself. Never thought anyone would actually get me to take the plunge. We'll talk tonight, after dinner. Tell you what, while we're in town, I'll pick up a bottle of brandy.'
'I wouldn't bother, Derek,' Cass said tersely. 'Well, I'm not going to toast our future in Ibarra's
booze. Besides,' his voice dropped, growing slightly hoarse, 'it will help you loosen up a bit, you know, throw off some of those old inhibitions.'
Slowly, her hands white-knuckled with strain, Cass raised her eyes to his, reading in them eagerness and something more, something which made her recoil inwardly.
'Derek,' she began, but got no further, interrupted by the sound of a door slamming and footsteps hurrying across the floor towards them. Cass looked around quickly.
The man was short and stocky. His curly hair, cropped close to his skull, was already receding despite the youthfulness of his round face. The jacket of his brown suit flapped open to reveal a
waistcoat whose buttons strained across a pronounced paunch and his quick, short strides reminded Cass of a pigeon. He beamed, extending both arms in a wide gesture of welcome.
'Good afternoon, Mees Ell-i-ott,' he pronounced her name with great care, separating the syllables, 'and to you, Meestair Prentice. I am Benito Suarez, the assistant of Don Miguel.'
Cass rose gracefully to her feet, warming to the little man's transparent goodwill as she shook the outstretched hand. 'It is most kind of you to spare us your time, Senor Suarez.'
'Ees my pleasure.' He beamed expansively and leaned past Cass. The lack of enthusiasm in Derek's brief greeting went unnoticed. 'I think is best we eat now before restaurant become full. I want very much to hear about England—' behind her Cass heard Derek groan '—and ees possible you have questions about my country or about the works of cutting the beautiful stones which come here from many places. You like that?'
'Well, actually old son, if it's all the same to you—' Derek began but Cass interrupted.
'That sounds marvellous,' she said quickly.
Benito beamed again, happily oblivious of the crackling tension surrounding Cass. 'So, we go and eat.' He bowed her through the glass doors and out on to the crowded street.
The noise had the force of a blow. Cars hooted, engines roared, vendors shouted and rang handbells as people talked and laughed, adding to the din. Overloaded trucks creaked past, belching exhaust fumes into air redolent of flowers, oil, roasting
coffee, bad drains and the ever present chilli spice.
Mexicans of every shade and level of society rubbed shoulders on the wide pavement.
'Is no far,' Benito reassured, trotting along beside Cass as they were jostled and bumped. She clutched her bag more tightly and then he touched her arm, guiding her through an old-fashioned wood- panelled door with small, square panes of glass in its upper half, barely twenty yards from the building they had just left.
Red and white check curtains matched the crisp cloths covering the small round tables. Potted plants on a high shelf trailed lush greenery down panelled walls. The varnished floor was spotless and the spicy smell of cooking food made Cass's mouth water.
The only concession to modernity was a brightly lit glass and metal counter behind which different entrees were displayed on a hot tray.
'Is all Mexican dishes,' Benito explained, 'but if you no like, is possible to ask for some other thing. Come, we sit here. Is plenty room.' He had chosen a table by the window.
Cass was surprised and touched when Benito held her chair and passed her a napkin before seating himself. The courtesy appeared to irritate Derek who had already sat down. He scowled but Cass simply ignored him.
'I think I'll have enchiladas, cheese ones,' she announced, passing the menu to Derek.
Benito's eyebrows shot up. 'You know already Mexican food?' He looked delighted.
'Not really, but Miguel—Senor Ibarra,' she
corrected herself hastily, 'had some at breakfast this morning and told us how they were made.'
'Here they make with the enchiladas a very special—how you say—sowse?'
'Sauce,' Cass corrected gently.
'Si, sowse,' he nodded. 'Is made with tomatoes, onion, chilli, and tiny spices. Is very, very good. Me, I will have tamale. You know that?'
Cass shook her head.
'Is soft pudding of cornmeal shaped like so,' he cupped his hand, 'and inside, like small lagoon, is rich meat sowse. Is tasting mmm.' He closed his eyes, shaking his head in ecstasy. Then he grinned and patted his prominent belly
ruefully. 'I like too much, I think.' He turned to Derek. 'And what is for you, Meestair Prentice? Is also coffee or hot chocolate, sweet rolls, tortillas, and fruit conserva.' He waited expectantly.
Derek pulled a face. 'Isn't there any proper food?' Cass's anger, still bubbling beneath her surface calm, erupted again, though she managed to keep her voice low. 'What do you expect? Fish and
chips? Caviar and champagne?'
Derek bridled. 'When Ibarra mentioned lunch I thought at least he'd suggest a European restaurant.'
Cass stared at him. She had learned more about him in the past two days than in the whole eighteen months they'd known one another, and what she now saw both saddened and appalled her. 'Perhaps he imagined that as his guests we would wish to experience all aspects of life here.'
'And maybe he had an eye on the expense account,' Derek grumbled.
'We are in Mexico,' Cass pointed out, 'this is proper food.' She could not help but be aware that Benito must be listening to their exchange. What would he make of it? She was desperately anxious not to cause any more offence. Enough damage had been done already.
'Not with my digestive system in its present state, it isn't,' he grimaced.
'You should have thought of that before you started drinking on the plane,' Cass retorted with unusual bluntness.
Derek looked startled, then his mouth tightened into a thin, white line. 'Lay off, Cass,' he warned. 'My drinking is my business. Just because I've said I'll marry you, don't start—'
Benito had been turning his head from one to the other, like a spectator at a tennis match, his normally cheerful face furrowed in concern. But at Derek's words his smile reappeared like the sun after a storm. 'Marry? You and Mees Elliott will marry?'
'Yes.'
'No.'
Cass and Derek spoke simultaneously and Benito's brows arched like half-moons and climbed up his forehead.
Cass closed her eyes. Her thoughts tumbled over one another as she frantically sought escape from the impossible position Derek had put her in.
Yet it was he who came to her rescue. Pressing her fingers with a palm that was warm and damp, Derek tapped the side of his nose with his free hand and winked at Benito. 'It's a secret,' he whispered.
'No one must know yet, not even Miguel, er— especially not him.'
'Ah.' Benito nodded, obviously bewildered.
Cass pulled her hand free from its clammy prison as a dark-haired girl in a short-sleeved red dress and white apron came to take their order. Derek must have remembered his instructions to her not to give Miguel the brush-off. Clearly it had dawned on him that an engagement announcement might dampen whatever interest Miguel had in her.
'Will you order for me, Sehor Suarez?' Cass prayed that her bright smile hid the apprehension and anger crawling along her nerves. First Derek had attempted to stake his claim on their arrival, calling her his unofficial fiancée, in order to warn Migueloff. Now, realising Miguel's apparent interest in her might be useful in securing a business agreement, he had done an about-face and was demanding she underplay her relationship with him, a relationship which, as far as she was concerned, did not exist at all. And she was supposed to go quietly along with whatever he wanted simply because he had agreed to marry her.
Cass swallowed the resentment that rose like gall in her throat. She was nothing more than a pawn in Derek's game. Yet, for the moment at least, what else could she do? What if Benito did let it slip? She had told Miguel only that morning she had no intention of marrying Derek. Would he still believe her? Or would this latest revelation only confirm in his eyes, especially after that scene in the vault, that she was secretly in league with Derek for underhand or even criminal reasons? It did not bear thinking
about. All she could do was hope and pray that Benito would remain silent.
'Si, but of course.' Benito smiled. 'You like some extra tortillas as well? Is made by the wife of the cook, all by hand. No use machines here. Tortillas from machines like rubber.' He screwed his face up at such sacrilege.
'Oh, yes, thank you.' Cass tried to concentrate as Benito spoke to the waitress in rapid Spanish and she scribbled on a little notepad attached to her belt by a long, fine chain.
'I can't face this foreign stuff. I'll have some black coffee, rolls and an omelette,' Derek announced, adding in an undertone, 'if the chef knows what that is.'
Benito's cheerful face fell into lines of puzzlement for a moment. He spoke again to the waitress. She shrugged and nodded, then hurried behind the counter and through a doorway hung with long strands of coloured beads and ribbon, behind which could be heard chattering voices, the crash of pans and the clatter of crockery.
She returned a few moments later with a large tray and set Cass's and Benito's lunch before them, then darted away again.
'You'd better not wait.' Derek's mouth turned down and he looked quickly away from their plates. 'God knows how long it will be before mine arrives.' As he spoke the girl emerged from the kitchen once more. On her tray, as well as three cups of coffee and a dish of rolls, was a white plate on which steamed the largest fluffiest omelette Cass had ever seen. The girl placed it carefully in front of
Derek and stood back, waiting.
'Is all right?' Benito demanded anxiously. 'Is what you want?'
'Yes. Thanks.' Derek prodded it with his knife. 'It looks fine.' He sounded surprised.
'Do you know,' Benito said, using a tortilla to scoop up his gravy, 'the tortilla, he stop a revolution.' Between mouthfuls he explained. 'Many, many years ago the men of Juchitan make fight with the government. Is going to be very bloody war. But President Diaz, he very clever man. He stop the uprise with not one gun fired.'
Cass was intrigued. 'How on earth did he manage that?'
Benito shrugged, his head on one side. 'He put all women in jail. No women, no tortillas. No tortillas, men have no stomach for fight. Revolution over. Simple, no?' He beamed and Cass laughed.
'My wife, when she angry, make threat to me: Benito, you no do this, no tortillas.' He spread his hands eloquently. 'A man must eat.' He leaned a little towards Cass and confided. 'My wife, she very beautiful. We married five years, have two little girls, also very beautiful. Soon she have another baby. I tell her, this time I want a son. She says we have what God gives.' He beamed again. 'Is OK.' His face dropped. 'She no sleep so good. The baby kick all night. So at two o'clock I am making the hot chocolate. Then the baby sleep, my wife sleep, but I no can sleep. Is very hard to have babies.'
Cass nodded and looked quickly down at her plate to hide her smile as she realised the significance of Miguel's conversation with Luisa on
their arrival.
Miguel. As Benito began to ask questions about the English climate compared to that of Mexico, Cass replied, but with only half her attention. The rest of her mind was on Miguel.
In the car he had seemed quite deliberately to be pushing back the boundaries of formality, blatantly exploiting the flashes of almost telepathic understanding that crackled between them like an electrical charge. Before that, at breakfast, and even down in the paddock, he had ignored convention, striking with lightning speed and shocking accuracy to the heart of whatever they were discussing.
How different it had been as they left the vault.
How cold and unreachable he had looked.
That was yet one more thing she would have to sort out with Derek, exactly what had happened.
'I think is time we go back now, yes?' Benito broke into her reverie.
'Yes, of course.' She gave him a bright smile and excused herself for a few moments. In the ladies' room, Cass repaired her lipstick and quickly ran a comb through her thick hair, then stared thoughtfully at her reflection, giving it the same critical appraisal she applied in selecting stones for one of her designs.
Wide-set hazel eyes, fringed with thick, gold- tipped lashes stared back at her. A small nose dusted with freckles between high cheekbones enhanced with a touch of blusher, and a wide, shapely mouth, wh
ose corners had a natural upward tilt, completed the usual complement of features. The chin, with its unexpected air of stubbornness,
led to a slender graceful neck about which tumbled glossy chestnut hair.
Cass curled a strand around one finger, her head tilting to one side as a faraway look stole into her eyes. She had learned in childhood to live with remarks concerning the colour of her hair, some flattering, others not, especially when the summer sun lightened it in streaks to dappled auburn. But never, ever had it been compared to a vibrant, shimmering gemstone. A delicious shiver tingled through her. But the memory was overlaid almost immediately by a vision of Miguel's face, closed and unapproachable, as he walked away across the reception area.
Swiftly, she bundled comb and lipstick back into her handbag and turned away from the mirror, ashamed of her thoughts, of the budding hope his interest and attention had nurtured and which, despite her misgivings, stubbornly refused to die.
The afternoon passed quickly. Benito proved a thoughtful and interesting guide. He showed them through each of the four cutting rooms, pointing out the different types of cutting discs: brass, copper, and tin for harder stones; pewter or lead for softer ones, and little pots of diamond powder, emery and carborundum used as abrasives.
'What you call this in English?' he asked Cass, indicating the flat turntable at which the cutters sat to work.
'A lapidary wheel, I think,' she replied uncertainly, suddenly aware of how little she knew about the origins of the gems with which she worked.
'Wheel now driven by electricity,' he explained, 'but before it have a pedal for the foot.' He showed them wooden discs covered with cloth or leather for polishing.
Cass was fascinated by the gem sticks on to which the cutter cemented a stone then held it against the revolving disc at a chosen angle. To hold his hand steady and guide him from one angle to the next on a faceted stone, the cutter would fix the opposite end of the stick in one of several rows of holes running from top to bottom of a piece of wood shaped like a fat carrot.
