The Spanish Uncle

by Jane Corrie

  blackmail, not now that she had met Don Emilio, for she liked him far too much to harbour any such thought.

  'It will be good for Enrique to meet Juan,' commented Don Emilio, and Mary wondered if he was apologising for Rafael's highhanded action in taking him off with him that morning. 'Unfortunately we are some distance from our nearest neighbour, and Juan has had to amuse himself,' he told Mary.

  Mary thought about the language problem, but supposed that children had a language of their own and would find a way of communicating with each other.

  Don Emilio saw her look of uncertainty, and smiled at her. 'Juan's mother is English,' he said. 'It appears that my Enrique was not the only one with a penchant for an English rose.'

  Mary's surprise showed in her eyes, and she felt an odd spurt of relief that a countrywoman of hers should be living so near. It made her feel less of an alien, and she hoped to be able to meet her in the near future.

  'I will see that you make her acquaintance,' promised Don Emilio, who seemed to have the knack of picking up Mary's thoughts.

  'Thank you, I would like that very much,' replied Mary, giving him a grateful smile. 'Has she lived here long?' she asked.

  Don Emilio's eyes took on a bleak look as he replied, `Since her marriage to my overseer eight years ago.' He was silent for a few seconds after this, then added,. `Juan is now six years old.'

  Mary could guess at the memories this innocent question of hers had evoked and wished she had not asked it. Their marriage must have taken place shortly before Enrique's death.

  She did not know what to say, but she was saved from making the attempt of thinking up another subject to take his mind off the past by Don Emilio giving himself a mental shake and favouring Mary with a wan smile. 'The Santos family have been with us for years. Pedro's father was my overseer, and his father before him. The children have grown up together through the years. Enrique used to play with Pedro when he was young. Rafael, you understand, was that much older. There was ten years between them.' He gave a deep sigh. 'It is good that Enrique's son should grow up with Juan.'

  That was all he said, yet Mary knew that he had derived much satisfaction and comfort from this thought, and she was relieved when the conversation turned to other matters.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  AN excited Paul sought out Mary shortly after six, full of the day's happenings, and for once his conversation did not centre on horses or the pony his uncle had promised him, but on his newfound friend Juan Santos.

  'He's younger than me, Mum,' he said happily, as if this state of affairs pleased him. 'But he can ride,' he added a little less enthusiastically. 'He can't talk as well as I can,' he tacked on ruminatively.

  'You mean he can't speak English as well as you do,' Mary corrected him gently. 'But you don't speak Spanish and he does, so you're even, aren't you?'

  Paul nodded thoughtfully, then looked up at her. 'He calls his mother Madre,' he commented, and his. expressive brows lifted as a thought occurred to him. 'I shall call you Madre too,' he announced solemnly.

  Mary felt a tightening around her heart, but she replied evenly enough, 'Very well, dear,' and hastily piloted him into the bathroom to prepare him for bed.

  'He's coming over here tomorrow,' he said, as he stifled a huge yawn.

  'Oh, good,' replied Mary absently' as she gathered up his clothes, wondering at the same time what facilities there were for washing there. His shirt and jeans would have to be seen to, she thought, as she noticed how grubby they were. It was then that she spotted a large rent in his shirt, a new one bought just before they came. 'Oh, Paul! How on earth did you get this tear

  in your shirt?' she said exasperatedly.

  Scrubbing himself dry with a large towel that completely eclipsed his small figure, Paul looked over the top of the material at her and gave her an indignant look. 'Uncle Rafael and Juan call me Enrique,' he complained. 'I don't like being called Paul,' he told her with an air of hauteur. His gaze then settled on the torn shirt that she held for his attention. 'We climbed trees,' he said, as if that explained everything, which it did of course, but Mary did wish he had been a little more careful.

  'I hope Juan didn't tear his clothes, too,' she commented, thinking it would hardly foster good relations between Juan's mother and herself if she thought Paul was a ruffian liable to lead her son into scrapes.

  "Course not!' replied Paul. 'He knew the way up, didn't he? I got stuck on a branch, but I know the way now,' he ended satisfactorily, and that was the end of the matter.

  As Mary tucked him up and bent to drop a kiss on his soap scented forehead, he gave her a drowsy smile. . `Night, Madre,' he murmured sleepily, and with a contented sigh fell asleep.

  As Mary looked down at the child she had watched over since his babyhood, she felt infinitely sad. In a way she had already lost him; long before she had expected to. What should have been a gradual process of growing apart had suddenly been speeded up at a rate that took her breath away.

  He was now Enrique, and she was Madre, and the signs of change were already showing in the small boy that she knew so well.

  Her gaze lingered on his finely boned face with the wing shaped brows, and the incredibly long eyelashes

  that now lay against his honeyed cheek in sleep, then moved on to his blue black hair, fluffy now after his bath, but normally smoothed back across his forehead. `Don't grow up like your Uncle Rafael,' she whispered ' fervently. 'Don't be proud and cold, but kind and considerate like your grandfather.'

  Now that Enrique was asleep Mary could attend to her own affairs, and she was glad to have something to do to take her mind off her miserable musings. For one thing she had to find herself a suitable dress to wear at dinner that evening, as she had found to her ' discomfort the previous evening that the Alvarados's dressed for dinner, and that meant that she, too, would have to find something that would pass muster, and this was not going to be an easy task as she did not possess an evening gown. She did, however, possess two dresses that could be used in lieu, and were in fact cocktail dresses of a three quarter length, bought for the odd special occasion when she had had to attend the annual dinner given by her employers and which she could not absent herself from since it would have caused some offence.

  She took one of the dresses out of the wardrobe and held it away from her for inspection. Of the two dresses, this was her favourite: It was a soft rose print dress with a scoop neck and long sleeves with frilled cuffs, and would certainly not disgrace her hosts' impeccable dress sense.

  As her eyes lingered on the tiered skirt, Mary recalled Derek's chagrin the last time she had worn the dress simply because she had worn it before at one of his college dinners a few weeks earlier. She remembered telling him that it was highly unlikely that anyone would remember just what she had worn at that

  dinner and didn't he like the dress? He had replied that of course he liked the dress, but surely she could have bought herself another one. He had ended by adding a stinking remark that if she didn't spend so much on Paul, she would have been able to afford to buy herself what he considered essentials, but once they were married he would see to all that.

  Her lips formed a soft moue at this recollection. He had no idea just how expensive children's clothes were, and Mary had had to buy Paul a blazer atthat .particular time. As it was, she had had to slim her budget that month to cover that expense. Well, that was one worry she would not have to face now. She had been secretly dreading having to beg and explain in minute detail why it would have been necessary to buy Paul this or that. As for the little luxuries, such as fads of the moment that all children go through, she had very much doubted her success in pleading for those. It wouldn't, she thought sadly, have been quite so hard if Paul had been Derek's son, but he wasn't. In Derek's eyes he had been a rival for her affections and there was little chance of a better relationship resulting from their marriage.

  She sighed and laid the dress down on the bed. Yes; she had done the right thing in turning h
im down. Even, she thought with a surprised start, if she were to return tomorrow without Paul, she had no wish to resume her earlier association with Derek. So she had not love& him—only tried to convince herself that she did. All in all she had had a lucky escape, she told herself. It appeared she ought to be grateful to Rafael Alvarados for his timely appearance on the scene just when she had run out of excuses as to why they should postpone their marriage.

  A sharp tap on the door made her jump and glance at her watch. It was not time for dinner, there was an hour and a half to go yet. On opening her door she was surprise to see Rafael Alvarados standing there with a bundle of dresses over his arm, and she watched with astonishment as he swept into her room and the

  dresses down on the bed. 'I think you will find these are your size,' he said crisply, adding with an offhand shrug, 'if not, you must blame Maria.'

  Mary blinked and stared from him to the dresses on the bed, spread out, it seemed, for her approval, and back at Rafael again, and waited for an explanation. She had taken particular note that they were evening dresses.

  He inclined his haughty head towards the dresses. 'With my father's compliments,' he said brusquely.

  Mary's brows lifted; he had said 'with my father's compliments' but she was certain that Don Emilio would never have embarrassed her with such a gestures This was Rafael's way of making sure that she did not disgrace the family by making the same mistake as she had made last night. 'Please thank him for me,' she said stiffly as she felt a surge of cold fury building up inside her. 'Although I'm afraid I shall have no use for them.'

  Rafael's eyes narrowed at this simple statement and she knew that he was furious and was having a hard time controlling his temper.

  'I apologise again for not realising that you would dress for dinner,' she went on calmly. 'I do possess a few dresses that would pass muster for evening wear.' She glanced back at the dresses on the bed. 'Not quite as elegant as those, I admit, but quite. suitable, I assure you.'

  She watched his finely moulded lips tighten and could guess at the thoughts going on behind that cold reserve of his. Suitable for her but not for the Alvarados family. He shrugged his powerful shoulders. 'As you wish,' he said curtly. 'We have guests this evening.' His cold eyes met hers. 'You wouldn't want to disappoint my father, would you.'

  It was not a question but a statement, and Mary felt that he was hinting at more than he was actually saying, and she felt the blood rush to her cheeks as her temper rose. 'Somehow, I've an idea he won't be disappointed,' she replied bitingly. He could make what he wanted of that! she told herself furiously.

  Rafael's lips thinned for a second, then he gave her an unpleasant smile. 'Yes, you've certainly made your Mark there, but don't be too sure of yourself. You are in my father's house, but it is me you will eventually have to deal with. It might pay you to remember that,' he bit out.

  Mary went white and felt as if he had dealt her a swift blow across the face. The gloves were off now and there was no mistaking the fact that he was handing out a warning to her to watch her step. His father might have been taken in by her, but he knew better, and whatever she had hoped to bring off in the financial stakes depended entirely upon his goodwill, not his father's.

  He did not have to put it in so many words; it was there in the way that he was looking at her—had been, ever since he had overheard Derek's outburst. Mary knew that he did not have a good opinion of her, but his scathing condemnation of her was entirely unjustified and she wished with all her heart that she could show him that she was not 'interested in any financial

  gain by taking Paul home with her on the very next flight, and telling this arrogant man that it was he who ought to watch his step if he wished to communicate with his nephew—let alone see him ! She swallowed convulsively. She could do none of these things, not now, and he knew it, only he would put an entirely different interpretation on why she had to put up with this miserable situation, she thought bleakly.

  Her white face and bleak expression was not lost on Rafael, who took it as a sign of capitulation on her part. 'You will please wear one of the dresses provided,' he said curtly, and added grandly, 'the choice is up to you.'

  It took a second or so for Mary to recover from this dictatorial statement, or rather order, for that was what it was. His hand was on the door handle when she managed to gasp out in a voice that showed her outraged dignity, 'As you say, the choice is up to me.' Her furious eyes swept back to the dresses on the bed, resting scathingly on the fine lace of one of them, and then

  on one of a gossamer material—all very expensive. 'Even if I hadn't anything to wear I wouldn't wear those ! ' She glared back at Rafael now standing stiffly

  by the door. 'You ought to have ascertained my likes and dislikes, Senor Alvarados,' she flung at him, 'and not one of those is suitable!'

  She turned away from him abruptly, willing him to go and leave her in peace before she burst into tears of utter frustration. If she broke down in front of him she would never forgive herself. Don Emilio, she thought bitterly, would never have been part of this. He would have had the sensitivity to realise how much the gesture would have hurt her. She couldn't afford to buy, clothes like that—never would be able to afford them. If her

  Off the peg clothes offended his guests, he would be

  more likely to side with her than with them, instinctively she knew this, but Rafael Alvarados was not Don Emilio. She felt suddenly sick of the whole stupid confrontation. 'Thank you, anyway, for the thought,' she said in a low voice that echoed her bitterness, and added on a firmer note, 'Don't worry, I shall not disgrace you.'

  'As you wish! ' answered Rafael in a savage voice. The next moment she heard the door close with a force that showed his fury at not getting his own way, and must have cost him a lot of self control to avoid slamming it.

  For several minutes after he had gone Mary stood looking at the dresses and felt a distinct urge to fling, them out of the window one after the other, but managed to control this primitive urge to get her own back on the autocratic Rafael Alvarados. She swept them off the bed with one contemptuous gesture and threw them on to a chair. Tomorrow she would ask the woman called Maria to return them from wherever they had come from—or better still, she thought maliciously, ask her to give them to Rafael Alvarados!

  She sank slowly on to the bed; she would do neither, so what was the point of pretending that she would? Her eye caught the rose print dress that she had chosen to wear that evening, and went back to the three beautiful gowns now lying in disarray on the chair. Tears of utter frustration filled her eyes. There was simply no comparison. Against those elegant models her dress looked like some kind of beach. wear.

  She shook her head to dispel the tears and got up from the bed and walked with a determined step towards the dresses. One was a soft blue with fine lace at the neck and at the cuffs. The next one she examined

  had a square neckline and close fitting top with a swirling skirt of a sort of gossamer material. The colour was a pale yellow, and although it would have suited her colouring Mary somehow did not feel it was right for her. The third dress was of velvet and the colour of deep burgundy. It was absolutely plain with long sleeves that widened at the wrists. The neck was a simple yet, but modestly so.

  If she wore any of the dresses it would be the velvet one, of that she was sure. A glance, at the label inside with the name of the salon printed in embossed gold not only told her that the gowns were original models, but were her size.

  She was in agony of indecision; how could she possibly wear the rose print when confronted by this show of splendour? Her hands folded into fists and her nails bit into the soft skin of her palm. She hated Rafael Alvarados for his insensitivity in making her feel shoddy. She would have been quite happy to wear the dress she had chosen had she not seen this finery.

  But how would she have felt in the company of other well dressed women? Her teeth caught her soft bottom lip; uncomfortable, that was what she would have felt
She might not be rich, but she had as much pride as any other woman. She thought of her sister Sheila and how she would have felt in the same position. A slow sigh escaped her as she acknowledged the fact that as Paul's mother she would have had. no hesitation' in accepting the gift, and would have accepted with far more grace than Mary had. In all probability she would have been delighted and not looked for ulterior motives behind the gift.

  Mary ran a tentative finger along the rich velvet material, then holding it up against her, she walked

  over to the long mirror and studied the effect. There was no denying that the colour suited her, and she drew in a deep breath. She would wear the dress—not for Rafael Alvarados—but for Don Emilio's sake. Just this once, she told herself, she would let the haughty ' Rafael ride roughshod over her pride. What did she care what he thought anyway? He would have to return to his business affairs sooner or later, and all she had to do was to hold on to her temper. Although, she thought sadly, she hadn't come out too well from their last confrontation. She squared her shoulders. From now on she would keep her distance from the infuriating man, and no, matter what it cost her, treat him with cool politeness.

  When the gong sounded a little later, she gave herself a last look in the mirror before going down to dinner. Her hair was now pinned back in the French pleat style that she used for school and looked prim and neat. The dress gave her an added dignity, fitting her slim figure like a glove. It also helped to give her the

  necessary courage to face up to Rafael' sarcastic look that he was bound to favour her with on sight of the dress.

  The lounge was empty when Mary arrived, but she could hear voices coming from the patio from which she identified Don Emilio's soft Spanish intonations and then Rafael's deep answering tone that sounded lazy and a little amused. A feminine chuckle told Mary that the guests had arrived and that at least one of them was feminine.