The Eagle and the Sun

by James, Dana

  the fruit of a cactus known to the Americans as prickly pear. It was mid-afternoon by the time they started back.

  When they arrived at the hacienda, Cass told Benito how much she appreciated the time and care he had taken to explain everything to her. He blushed furiously and muttered, 'De nada'. But he was clearly delighted she had enjoyed herself so much.

  Never had Cass welcomed a shower as much as she did that evening. By the time she emerged, having washed her hair as well, she felt revitalised and capable of coping with anything.

  Neither Miguel nor Don Diego returned for dinner. With only herself, Teresa and Senora Morelos present, the meal was eaten in virtual silence.

  Out of courtesy she asked after Derek. But Teresa, allowing that he was now conscious and resting comfortably with no ill-effects other than a headache, seemed disinclined to talk.

  Senora Morelos enquired how she had spent her day. But as Cass began to tell her, shock and disapproval spread across the older woman's face. Recalling Teresa's views of working women, which had plainly originated with her mother, Cass recognised the pointlessness of continuing and said simply that it had been both interesting and instructive.

  Don Diego arrived back at nine, but it was after ten when Miguel returned. Cass was on her way up to bed when he came in through the front door. He looked tired and strained and her heart went out to

  him.

  'So you are back at last.' There was a querulous note in Teresa's voice as she came out into the hall to greet him. 'It has been so boring without you, Miguel. I shall be glad to get to San Miguel and see some fun.' She put up her face for him to kiss.

  Cass turned away quickly and continued quietly up the stairs, only to hear him call her name. She stopped, glancing back over her shoulder.

  'Excuse me one moment,' he murmured to Teresa and started up the stairs towards Cass. 'I will not keep you, doubtless you are tired,' he called. 'I wish only to hear that your trip provided some useful information.'

  Teresa tossed her head. 'Always work,' she snorted and flounced back into the sitting room. Cass stared after her, deeply shocked. Miguel must have told her, yet she had not even mentioned his father.

  As he reached Cass, Miguel lowered his voice. 'Ride with me in the morning.' It was both command and invitation.

  Cass stared at him, biting her lip, torn. She wanted to so much, yet was it not asking for trouble, especially with emotions running so high?

  'Please,' he grated.

  Cass's eyes widened. To ask did not come easily to Miguel Ibarra.

  'We will not talk. I will not touch you. Just be with me.'

  She nodded and he turned away. 'Miguel?' Without thinking she laid her hand on his arm, withdrawing it quickly as his gaze flickered

  downward.

  'Your father—the operation?'

  His eyes met hers. 'So far all is well. The operation was a success, but he is very weak. The next few days will tell.'

  Cass nodded. 'And your mother?'

  'She is already planning his homecoming.' He grinned and she smiled back.

  He kept his word. Sometimes she wondered if he had forgotten she was there. Then, suddenly he would turn, his eyes dark with a brooding intensity that made her quiver inside.

  Side by side they stood and watched the sunrise, and once again Cass felt a great sense of awe, as though she were part of some ancient and terribly important ritual. Then he held the mare while she mounted and they rode back in silence. Yet the atmosphere between them had undergone a subtle change and Cass was imbued with a sense of peace and well-being. If there could be nothing more than this, just being with him was a joy she would not willingly forfeit. She would pay later, when she returned to England, in loss and loneliness. But for the first time in her life she was totally alive, and watching him, tall and relaxed on the spirited Diablo as he led the way down the track, she was fiercely glad to know Miguel Ibarra.

  They re-entered the house together, a risk on his part that surprised and concerned her. In the hall he stopped, caught her hand and, turning it over, pressed his mouth to her palm. 'Thank you,' he whispered with a fleeting smile, then gave her a

  gentle push towards the stairs. 'Go along. I have work to do,' and he disappeared into his study.

  Cass crept up the stairs. The house was still silent. As she reached the top and started towards her room, Derek's door opened.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Cass was immediately tense, anticipating Derek's demand to know the reason for her being about so early. After what had happened the previous day, would he be prepared to forgive and forget? Somehow she doubted it.

  But to her amazement it was Teresa who emerged backwards through the door. Clad in a rose-pink negligee of lace over chiffon, her ebony hair cascaded down her back. She closed the door softly then jumped, visibly startled, as she caught sight of Cass.

  'Good morning.' Good manners demanded she say something, but Cass would have gone straight to her room had Teresa not caught her arm.

  'What are you doing? Are you spying on me?' Teresa whispered shrilly, then her gaze fell to Cass's dust-streaked boots and her over-bright eyes sharpened with curiosity. 'Where have you been?'

  Cass chose her words with care. 'I woke early and went out for some air.' She would say no more than was absolutely necessary.

  'Have you seen Miguel?' Teresa's tone was a mixture of nervousness and suspicion, but beneath it ran a current of excitement. Cass felt a stirring of dread.

  'When I came in I saw him go into his study,' she

  answered truthfully.

  Teresa's relief was plain, but Cass wasn't sure of its cause until the girl said smugly, 'It is his custom to wake me when he returns from his ride. He leads such a busy life, those moments of privacy are very special to us both. It would disappoint him to find me already up.'

  It was on the tip of Cass's tongue to point out that he might be even more disappointed to find her in another man's room, especially in her present state of undress. But she said nothing, merely inclining her head, and started towards her room.

  Teresa must have guessed her thoughts for she tightened her grip on Cass's arm. 'I thought he called out.' She fluttered a graceful hand towards Derek's door. 'Last night he started to run a fever. I was very concerned in case of the concussion.'

  'Of course,' Cass murmured, wondering how Teresa could have heard a babble of delirium along twenty feet of passage between two closed doors. 'Is he still feverish?'

  Teresa shook her head. 'Praise God and all the saints, it has gone.' Her creamy skin was tinged with pink. 'He is a strong man and has now fully recovered.'

  'Good.' Cass hesitated for a moment, then decided to speak. 'Teresa, be careful'

  The other girl's chin tilted and her eyes flashed. 'What is this? What are you saying?'

  Cass wished she hadn't started but there was no going back now. 'Just don't take anything Derek says too seriously.'

  'You are afraid of what he may say about you?'

  Teresa sneered.

  'I don't give a damn what he says about me,' Cass retorted in exasperation. 'I'm talking about the flattery he will pour over you, and the flirting—'

  'Aaahh,' Teresa smiled mistily. 'To flirt adds a little spice to life, no? And what man would not be proud that others admire his woman? You need not be concerned for me. Derek is fun. He makes me laugh. I will not lose Miguel because another man finds me desirable, if that is what you were hoping,' she added slyly.

  Cass could think of no reply to such confidence. Realising she was wasting her time she lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug.

  'Besides,' Teresa continued with saccharine sweetness, 'Miguel will never know about this morning, unless you choose to tell him. And if you did that it would put you in a very bad light, would it not? A woman scorned? Jealous? Bearing malice? But of course you are none of those things,' she said smoothly, 'you and I both know that.'

  Cass gazed at the girl for a long moment. 'Derek did not dump me,'
she said with quiet firmness. 'It was the other way around.'

  'Of course,' Teresa soothed. 'Let us say no more about it. Tell me, do you have a long dress with you?'

  The question surprised Cass. 'No. Why?'

  'It is custom at the fiesta to dress in one's prettiest evening clothes and join in the dancing and celebrations.' She snapped her fingers. 'I have an idea! Myself, I shop in Mexico City, but there are some very good places in Queretaro, not too

  expensive. We will travel in with Miguel and while he is at his office, we will go and buy you something suitable.'

  'Oh, I don't think it's nec—' Cass began, but Teresa was bubbling with enthusiasm.

  'Of course it is. This is your first fiesta, you may never see another, so you must honour it by looking as pretty as you can. That way you will enjoy it more.'

  A special time, Miguel had said. A time to remember always. Joy and anguish were inextricably mingled as she thought of him. She had already recognised Teresa's invitation as a bribe in return for which she was to remain silent about this meeting.

  A strange recklessness possessed her. Teresa's exhortation that 'you must look as pretty as you can' did nothing to hide the younger girl's condescension and Cass saw quite clearly that Teresa fully expected to outshine her no matter what she wore.

  Well, she would show her! She would show them all: Teresa's parents with their disapproving stares; Derek, who had thought to browbeat and blackmail her; Teresa, whose sophistication and egotism made her totally insensitive to others, and finally Miguel. Miguel with whom she was hopelessly in love.

  She would scintillate, she would glow. Iridescent as an opal, she would dazzle them all. Let him see what he was missing. She would flirt and have fun. Wasn't that what fiestas were for? If this was her first and last chance, she would make sure it was an occasion none of them forgot!

  Teresa duly announced at breakfast that she simply had to go into Queretaro for some last- minute shopping. Then, as if struck by a brainwave, she turned the full force of her smile on Cass.

  'Why don't you come with me? There are some nice little shops. I'm sure you would find something just right for the fiesta.'

  Miguel's eyebrows lifted fractionally at this and he shot Cass a quizzical glance as she murmured that she would enjoy it.

  Teresa whirled her through shop after shop, dismissing with an impatient flap of her hand one dress after another. Just what Teresa was looking for Cass wasn't certain. The dresses she quite liked Teresa emphatically rejected, while the ones Teresa favoured, usually bold reds and brilliant pinks, Cass knew would clash horribly with her hair and make her complexion appear sallow.

  It dawned on her quite early in their expedition that Teresa was out to undermine her, to try and persuade her to buy something totally unsuitable. Realising this, Cass decided not to take any notice. She had no intention of buying anything she wasn't one hundred per cent certain about.

  Now she was here she was enjoying herself. She hadn't been shopping for clothes in a very long time and this was, after all, an out-of-the-ordinary purchase. She wondered briefly why Teresa was so bothered. Could it be her self-confidence was a fraction less solid than it appeared? Yet why should that be? Surely she had it all: beauty, wealth, doting parents, an indulged, secure and protected life and her future planned—Cass shied away from that and

  deliberately concentrated her attention on the rack of dresses in front of her.

  Suddenly she saw it. This was the one. Cass lifted the dress down. To do so she had to reach past Teresa, who was extolling the virtues of a scarlet and yellow flowered print which made Cass think of dollops of tomato sauce on acres of scrambled egg. The harassed saleswoman, cowed by Teresa's impatient hauteur, stepped timidly forward, her face breaking into a smile.

  '¿Probarmelo usted?' she gestured towards a curtained alcove. 'You try it?'

  As Cass nodded, Teresa began to laugh. 'Cass, you cannot mean it. Not that thing? It's a rag.'

  'It's the one I want,' Cass replied simply.

  'But there are more shops to see. It is foolish to buy the first thing that catches your eye. Think how you'll regret it when you find something better.'

  Cass smiled. 'There isn't anything better.' 'Well, it probably won't fit.'

  'Then I'll alter it. But it will fit, you'll see.' Cass didn't know why she was so sure. But there wasn't a shred of doubt in her mind as she quickly stripped to bra and panties and stepped into the dress. She had zipped up the back then, on an impulse, piled her hair loosely on top of her head, leaving a few tendrils curling softly on her neck and in front of her ears, using grips from a little pot thoughtfully provided on the small shelf beside a packet of tissues. She lowered her arms and stared at her reflection for a long moment.

  A vivid turquoise colour, the sleeveless pin- tucked bodice fitted her like a second skin. A deep

  frill, edged with matching broderie anglaise, framed the wide neckline and just covered her shoulders. A narrow sash, tied in a bow at the front, emphasised her slender waist and the deeply gored skirt had three wide pin-tucked frills. Against the blue-green, her skin seemed to glow and her eyes had a new brilliance. Its richness was a perfect foil for the golden fire of her hair. She pushed the curtain aside and stepped out.

  '¡Estupendo, senorita!' The saleswoman beamed, then raised one finger. 'Con su permiso.' She hurried to another rail and returned with a bouffant petticoat of white broderie anglaise frills. Helping Cass into it, the woman quickly arranged the skirt over the top and stood back. Cass looked in the mirror. It was perfect. She turned around, looking over her shoulder to see the effect.

  'It's beautiful,' she exulted.

  'Well, I think you're making a mistake,' Teresa announced. 'I mean, cotton,' she made it sound like sackcloth, 'it's so unsophisticated.'

  'Perhaps that's why it suits me,' Cass said lightly as she went into the changing room.

  Teresa seemed to have lost all interest in shopping and Cass was content to acquiesce in her insistence that they return to the office to wait for Miguel.

  Luisa brought them coffee and Cass was happy to sit in the reception area relaxing in the quiet comfort and watching people come and go. But Teresa quickly grew restive. Her high heels tapped briskly on the tiles as she crossed to the desk.

  Cass's Spanish wasn't good enough for her to

  follow the entire conversation, but from odd words she gathered that Teresa was demanding to be allowed through to Miguel while Luisa regretted it was not possible.

  It occurred to Cass to try and distract Teresa, to point out that Miguel was no doubt trying to clear as much as possible before they left for San Miguel. But she decided against it. If Teresa had not enough sense to realise that for herself, or if, in her selfishness, she chose to ignore it, anything Cass said would only worsen matters.

  Eventually Miguel emerged. He saw her immediately and their eyes met. The contact lasted only a split second but it was enough to set her heart pounding.

  Without even a greeting Teresa began at once to complain about Luisa. Miguel allowed her to finish, then, courteous but unapologetic, he explained that Luisa was simply following orders. His orders.

  Teresa changed tactics and pouted, fawning over him with widened eyes, telling him breathlessly that she missed him when they saw so little of one another.

  Cass was overcome with a wild desire to laugh at this theatrical display. Then she remembered what Teresa had said about Miguel waking her every morning after his ride. The laughter died in her throat and she looked away, fighting knifing pangs of jealousy.

  'I see you were successful.' Miguel had approached and stood beside her chair. He indicated the large bag bearing the name of the dress shop.

  'It's quite unsuitable, Miguel,' Teresa carped. 'I

  did try to—'

  'Are you happy with your choice, Cassandra?' he asked, ignoring Teresa completely.

  'It is exactly what I wanted,' she said quietly, meeting his dark gaze. As the electricity
flickered between them she lowered her eyes swiftly, not daring to look longer.

  'Then the fiesta will be enhanced by your presence.'

  His voice was warm and she felt her colour rise.

  Teresa's irritation was palpable.

  'Come, Miguel, if you are finished at last, let us go back to the hacienda. Where is Papa?'

  'He will meet us at the helicopter. He is attending a meeting with his bankers.'

  'More meetings?' Teresa sighed. 'When will the takeover be done with, Miguel? Papa will win, won't he?' Cass detected a faint thread of concern.

  'It is not a simple matter of win or lose,' Miguel replied. 'Your father cannot stand alone against the big groups being formed by amalgamations of various textile companies. Maybe it would not be such a bad idea for him to sell out now and retire. He would make a handsome profit.'

  'But he built the company himself from nothing,' Teresa objected. 'He has always said it was to remain in the family, to be handed down to his grandchildren, our sons, Miguel.'

  Cass felt cold fingers close around her heart.

  'A worthy sentiment,' Miguel observed drily. 'But I doubt it will keep the wolf from the door.'

  'What do you mean?' Teresa snapped, frowning. 'Surely Papa doesn't have to sell if he doesn't want

  to?'

  Cass bit her tongue. She realised she would be wasting her breath. Tempted though she was to explain that for a business to remain viable required updating of machinery and methods, increased output to meet demand, the ability to compete with cheaper imports, and healthy profits to cushion periodic recession, Teresa wouldn't have the faintest idea what she was talking about.