The Eagle and the Sun

by James, Dana

  'Is called a jamb peg,' Benito said over Cass's shoulder.

  'It looks a right cobble-up to me,' Derek observed, both tone and expression scathing. 'Why doesn't Ibarra modernise? There must be machines that could do the job far more efficiently?'

  'Faster, maybe,' Benito allowed. 'We have four such machines, but the men do not like. They say the stones all have different—how you say?' he tutted impatiently and rubbed the material of his sleeve between finger and thumb.

  'Texture?' Cass offered.

  'Si, si,' he beamed in gratitude, 'texture, and a good cutter can sense by touch when is time to change from one angle to another. This not possible with machine. Also machine cannot mend flaw like a man.'

  'Mend flaws? Are you kidding?' Derek did not mask his derision.

  Benito turned to Cass, puzzled. 'Do I make mistake? My English, he no so good.'

  Cass glared at Derek. 'I think Mr Prentice finds it difficult to believe that a flawed stone can be mended, made perfect.'

  'Si,' Benito nodded vigorously. 'Is possible. We do here many times. Is like magic. I watch.'

  Cass was fascinated. 'How do they do it?' 'It take much concentrating,' Benito began.

  'Do they smoke grass and recite spells?' Derek muttered, plainly bored.

  'Will you shut up?!' Cass hissed at him and turned back to Benito. 'Please go on,' she coaxed. 'You were saying?'

  'The cutter must choose very carefully his disc and which abrasive he use. Then he let the disc work dry. This make face of stone hot and when is hot enough it melt, just enough to close up the flaw. It take very great skill to be good cutter. Many, many things to learn. Here we have best in the country. They learn from their fathers and grandfathers.'

  'Would you please thank them for allowing us to watch them work?' Cass asked.

  Benito looked delighted and his quick flood of Spanish brought smiles and nods from the cutters, some old with thin, bent bodies and gnarled, corded hands, others young, sporting Zapata moustaches beneath limpid eyes.

  They went next to the sorting room where stones coming in from the rest of the country and abroad were recorded, then divided up for the cutters. But as they entered, Derek announced that he would not accompany them further.

  'Fascinating though all this is,' his tone made it

  clear he found it nothing of the sort, 'I shall have a wander round the town, perhaps do a little shopping.' He flashed Cass a meaningful glance which she ignored. I’ll be back in an hour or so.' He didn't wait for an answer, marching off down the passage to the security door.

  Benito's eyebrows arched into crescents. Cass gave a tiny shrug, which combined resignation, embarrassment and relief.

  The next hour gave her the first opportunity she had ever had to handle the rough chunks of rock and mineral exactly as they had been taken from the ground. It was an absorbing and awesome experience. She mentally compared this raw material, dull and lacklustre, with the rainbow hues of the beautifully cut and polished gems she handled every day. Recalling the incandescent flame of the magnificent fire opal she could not suppress a small tug of regret. She had never been an acquisitive person; possessions meant little to her. But that stone was something special. How she would have loved to own it. Dragging her thoughts back, she followed Benito along the benches.

  There were many different agates, which she already knew were not really stones at all but fossilised wood and bone which had become opalised. There were lumps of quartz she recognised as amethyst from its colour, which ranged over pale lilac through violet to rich purple. Garnets of reddish-brown, cinnamon, wine-purple and crimson lay bedded in their grey mother-rock. Long, column-shaped crystals of topaz of yellow, sherry-gold and apricot were placed next to chunks

  of colourless rock crystal and turquoise varying from sky-blue to green.

  Benito talked and she listened, content merely to put a question now and then. Her respect and liking for the little man was growing by the minute as she recognised the range of his knowledge and his dedication both to his job and to Miguel Ibarra.

  Interrupted by an announcement from Luisa over the intercom that there was a phone call for him, Cass glanced at her watch and was amazed to see that it was after five.

  Benito escorted her back to reception then took his call at the desk. It was very brief. He approached Cass looking very apologetic.

  'Don Miguel, he very sorry, cannot leave yet. I am to take you back to the hacienda. He will join you for dinner. Is OK?'

  Cass's spirits rose as quickly as they had sunk. 'Thank you, Senor Suarez,' she gave him a dazzling smile, 'that's fine.'

  'You call me Benito, is more friendly. If you no mind?' he added hastily, his round face worried.

  'I'd be delighted,' she assured him. 'And you call me Cass.'

  'Cass?' he repeated. 'Is unusual name.'

  'It's Cassandra really,' she explained, 'an ancient Greek name. It means man's helpmate.' She recalled the way it had sounded on Miguel's lips and shivered.

  'That a very beautiful name for a lovely and charming lady.' His gallantry and the blush that darkened his skin touched her.

  'Thank you, Benito, but—' her mouth drooped

  wryly, '—right now I don't think it is very suitable.' 'Please,' he shifted from one foot to the other,

  twisting his stubby fingers together, 'you no be angry. I say name is right but—' he hesitated, then blurted, 'you choose wrong man.'

  Before Cass could make any reply the glass doors hissed softly open and Derek strode in. A carrier bag swung from one hand and from his stance and the evasiveness in his eyes Cass knew at once he had been drinking.

  Benito hurried over to explain the new arrangements and Derek patted him clumsily on the shoulder, telling him not to worry, it was no problem.

  At least he didn't appear to have had very much. His speech was quite normal and his coordination unimpaired. In fact his temper appeared to have improved quite markedly. But when he winked suggestively at Cass she looked quickly away, knots forming in her stomach as she realised what lay ahead of her.

  To her enormous relief Benito suggested they leave at once. She contrived to sit in the front, to Derek's obvious annoyance, but she had no intention of putting Benito in the position of being merely a chauffeur, nor did she wish to give Derek even the slightest encouragement to believe she wanted to be close to him.

  She spent the journey with her mind working on two levels. Part of it listened and responded to Benito's conversation, the other part was trying to work out the best way of making it clear to Derek that she would not marry him, now or in the future.

  Underlying it all was anticipation of seeing Miguel again and her stomach churned with a mixture of longing and dread.

  When they arrived, Cass thanked Benito warmly and while Derek was still getting out of the Range Rover she sped away to her room, ignoring his shouts.

  After a refreshing shower, she dressed with care. Desperate to boost her confidence she chose one of her favourite outfits, a sleeveless sheath of cream silk jersey topped by a batwing-sleeved jacket in chocolate-brown that tied in a floppy bow on one hip. She slipped her feet into matching high heels and knew that on the surface at least she was a picture of cool elegance. She had put her hair up, securing it with three combs in a pile of loose curls, to reveal earrings of coral set in gold, one of her own designs.

  She had taken the precaution of locking her door but still jumped, her heart thumping when Derek knocked as she had guessed he would, and demanded in wheedling tones to be let in.

  'I'm not quite ready,' she called back, 'but I won't be long. You go on down.'

  He started to argue, but she didn't answer and after a few moments she heard his footsteps receding along the passage.

  Leaning against the bedstead Cass closed her eyes. Then taking a deep breath, she added a final touch of blusher to disguise her nervous pallor. Her make-up complete, she squared her shoulders and unlocking the door, went downstairs.

  As she
reached the hall, Miguel appeared,

  carrying a bowl of ice cubes. He had clearly not had time to change, for he still wore the pale grey suit she had seen him in at breakfast.

  They both stopped, less than a yard apart. From the open door leading to the sitting room came the muted sound of voices. But Cass was aware only of the furrow between Miguel's dark brows and the tension in the set of his mouth.

  His black gaze swept over her and she knew not one detail of her appearance had escaped him, but there was no glimmer of warmth in his eyes.

  'I gather congratulations are in order.' Like dry ice his tone chilled and burned at the same time.

  For a moment Cass simply stared at him, not understanding what he meant. Then, as one wing- like brow tilted, realisation dawned. She felt nausea rising in her throat. Surely Derek couldn't have—he wouldn't... But he had.

  'I know it's a woman's privilege to change her mind,' Miguel was saying, his voice seeming far away as she fought the rage that was literally shaking her, 'but I thought you—' He broke off, clearly angry with himself. 'Oh well, no matter,' he said brusquely. 'Allow me to escort you in.'

  'Miguel, wait,' she pleaded, her voice low and taut. Hot colour suffused her face as his eyes narrowed at her use of his name. But there was no time to worry about what he would make of that. She had to convince him she had not changed her mind, that Derek had spoken without her knowledge or her consent. 'Please listen—' But she got no further.

  'Miguel, darling, what are you, doing?' A bell-

  like female voice floated towards them and Cass's head flew around.

  Framed in the doorway stood a girl of twenty or twenty-one with midnight-black hair braided into a coronet on top of her head. Her long-sleeved dress, a frothy confection in fuchsia-pink with a flounced skirt, had a low V-neckline exposing gleaming golden skin and the deep valley between her voluptuous breasts. 'The ice will be melting,' she accused, her pouting mouth painted the same vivid colour as her dress. 'I can't imagine why you didn't ring for one of the servants to get it.'

  Her dark eyes were dramatically made up, outlined in black and shaded with pink, lilac and gold shadow. As they lighted on Cass they underwent a subtle change, and Cass sensed herself examined and assessed with lightning speed.

  The girl swayed provocatively towards them and linked her arm through Miguel's. 'So it is you we are hearing so much about.' Her voice was soft and throaty and her lips drew back from small, white teeth in a polite, cold smile. 'I am Teresa, Miguel's betrothed.'

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Cass's eyes flew to Miguel but his expression was glacial. Deeply shaken, first by Derek's action and now by the introduction of a fiancée at whose existence Miguel had not even hinted, Cass had only her pride to fall back on. Self-respect demanded she conceal her double shock and the sudden, wrenching pain, all the more savage for being totally unexpected.

  'You must forgive me,' she forced a smile, meeting Teresa's appraising stare, and marvelling at the level voice issuing from her own lips. 'I had no idea Derek intended to make such an announcement this evening.' From the corner of her eye she saw a brief flicker crack Miguel's impassivity. She could not bring herself to mouth the conventional phrases. She was not pleased to meet Teresa. 'H-how do you do?'

  Teresa inclined her head regally, but made no move to shake hands. It was a clear snub but Cass's control did not falter. Obviously Teresa was not overjoyed to see her either.

  Cass looked once more at Miguel, hearing her own voice as if from a distance. 'Your assistant was most generous with his time and knowledge. I very much enjoyed our tour of the cutting rooms and I certainly learned a lot.'

  His only acknowledgement was a nod, but curiosity vied with cynicism in his hooded eyes.

  Cass's nails dug deeply into her palms. She could not bear this a moment longer. Could she plead a headache? Even as the thought occurred she dismissed it. On no account must Miguel Ibarra be allowed to believe that his betrothal made the slightest difference to her.

  The sound of Derek's voice raised in laughter drifted from the sitting room. To whom was he talking? How many more people had she yet to meet? In their eyes tonight was a celebration. Derek had announced his forthcoming marriage to her. Why had he done it?

  Her own sense of privacy and awareness of her responsibility as a guest made it impossible simply to deny his claim. To do so would brand him a fool and a liar and, though he deserved it, she knew her action would invoke sympathy for him, not her. Never had she been more acutely aware of the advantages of being a man.

  She had no choice but to walk into the sitting room with a smile plastered on to her face, to make the appropriate small talk and, later, to eat, even though her stomach had tensed into a small, hard knot and the thought of food was revolting.

  A shaft of white-hot anger pierced the blackness that threatened to overwhelm her. She nursed it, fanned it, clung to it. To hell with Derek and his devious plans, and to hell with Miguel Ibarra and his centrefold girlfriend!

  She was her own woman. They would not drive her into a corner like some wounded animal. She

  had an excellent reason for being here—her work. She would concentrate on that and exclude everything else.

  'And did Mr Prentice match your enjoyment in learning about the practical side of our business?' Miguel's sardonic question told Cass he already knew the answer.

  'You will have to ask him,' she replied. 'I have decided to make a point of not speaking for anyone else. It is too easy to be mistaken, even about people one thinks one knows well.' Then with her head high, conscious of her heightened colour under the sudden gleam in his eyes, she moved past them both to the open door. Somewhere at the back of her mind a little voice told her something wasn't quite right. She gave herself a mental shake. None of this was right. It was all a hopeless mess. But she had to brave it out for the time being.

  As she entered the room Derek excused himself from the man he was talking to and came quickly to her side. He grasped her hands and under the pretence of kissing her cheek muttered, 'There wasn't any time to warn you. The moment I saw Teresa I knew we'd have to change our tactics.' Leaving her more confused and furious than ever, he held her at arm's length. 'Darling, you look absolutely ravishing,' he said loudly, then slid one arm around her shoulders and with lips that smelled of whisky pressed another wet kiss to her temple.

  Cass steeled herself not to flinch. Her cheek muscles were beginning to ache from holding her smile in place.

  Gently disentangling himself from Teresa's

  possessive hold, Miguel came over and took Cass's free hand. His fingers were strong and hard and his touch was a high-voltage shock as his thumb pressed her knuckles with what seemed unnecessary force. 'Come, I will introduce you to Teresa's parents.' It was a command.

  Derek released her with an exaggerated show of reluctance, but turned at once to Teresa, showering her with lavish compliments. Teresa revelled in this attention, purring with pleasure, apparently heedless of Miguel's reaction.

  Wondering exactly how he did feel, Cass glanced up quickly and was surprised to see, instead of anger or jealousy, mild exasperation clouding his strong features. But when he turned back to her his expression hardened and a cold hand clutched at her heart.

  Teresa's obvious rebuff still smarted and Cass was on the point of asking what made him think Teresa's parents would want to meet her, but stifled the impulse. 'How nice,' she said coolly, staring ahead to avoid his eyes, and sensed rather than saw his sharp look.

  Cass felt as though she were walking on jelly as Miguel led her towards the couple talking quietly in front of the button-back sofa of mahogany-coloured leather. His touch reawakened all, the attraction she felt towards him. She tried to ease her fingers free but, as if divining her intention, his grip was already tightening. Short of snatching her hand away, a move guaranteed to attract attention, not to mention curiosity, both of which would rebound on her, she could do nothing.

  Trying to control her qu
ickening breath as her pulses raced, she knew he must be aware of her tension and the tremors she was unable to control. She prayed he would put it all down to nervousness and the shock of Derek's surprise announcement.

  She was suddenly conscious of being scrutinised by a pair of deep-set, piercingly blue eyes almost on a level with her own. In his dark suit Teresa's father appeared slim, almost wiry, and his bearing was proud. Silvering hair was cut short and brushed back and a small, military-looking moustache adorned a long upper lip. Only his skin, deeply lined and leathery, gave any clue to his age which Cass guessed was in the mid-fifties.

  'Senor Morelos, Senora.' Miguel bowed briefly towards the woman who stood slightly behind her husband and resembled a faded, dried flower in her plain dress of muted colours. 'Permit me to introduce Miss Cassandra Elliott.'

  He released her hand, offering it, still marked by the pressure of his grip, to Teresa's father who caught it lightly and raised it to his lips.

  Cass felt a faint tickling sensation as the bristly moustache brushed against her fingers. 'Buenas tardes, senor, senora.' She shook the limp hand Teresa's mother held out.

  Ah,' Senor Morelos's blue eyes sharpened. '¿Habla usted Español?'

  Cass shook her head. 'Very little, I'm afraid, though I find it a very beautiful language to listen to.'

  'I think we must wish you much happiness, no? On your betrothal?' Senor Morelos's English was