Pale Dawn Dark Sunset. Anne Mather
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“Juan! You would not—offer her money?”
Juan moved uncomfortably. “Did I say I might?”
“It was implicit in your words.” Rafael’s jaw hardened and he thrust back his chair and got abruptly to his feet. “Very well, I will meet your Miss Lord. But only because I am afraid that if I refuse you will think of some other way to keep the child.” He shook his head. “I have never known you to be so obsessed with another human being.”
Juan could smile now that he had got what he wanted. “I would not call it an obsession, Rafael. I am fond of the child, I admit it. It pleasures me that she treats me like the father she has lost. It is a—satisfying sensation to feel oneself the centre of a child’s world.”
“And when she recovers her memory? What then? The realisation of the loss of her parents must eventually be faced.”
“I know it. But I am hoping that by then the life I have given her here will compensate—”
“And if it does not?”
Juan’s lips tightened. “We will face that contingency if and when it occurs.” Then: “Now, you will go and see our mother, will you not? You know she would be heartbroken if she learned you had visited the hacienda without spending some time with her.”
Rafael nodded, thrusting his hands deeply into his trousers pockets. He would have preferred to leave the hacienda forthwith, to go back to his own house and ponder the disquieting aspects of the situation while he bathed and changed his clothes. But it was not to be. He sighed. He had not realised when he left Mexico City how much more difficult it was to remain detached from the intimacies of one’s own family. The seminary had been a refuge from the everyday problems of living, and he admitted he had enjoyed its isolation. But here, involved as he was, he could feel emotions stirring inside him that had been long suppressed. He must not make judgments, he told himself impatiently. He was the outsider here, it was not really his affair. But his intelligence told him that this was just a whim on Juan’s part which could easily be replaced by another.
His mother was still in bed when he entered her room at the head of the stairs. It was a beautiful room, the floor coolly mosaiced, and strewn with rugs in cinnamon and gold. Wide windows opened on to a balcony, edged with wrought iron, which overhung the patio, and a cool breeze stirred the lemon chiffon draperies. The bed, a magnificent fourposter which was said to date back to the eighteenth century, was wide and comfortable, and Rafael’s mother was ensconced among the soft pillows. A used breakfast tray was pushed to one side and she was reading a newspaper until, at the advent of her son, she thrust it swiftly aside and held out both hands to him.
Rafael greeted her warmly, taking her hands in his and bending to kiss her perfumed cheek. Then he released himself and took up a stance before the open balcony doors.
“So you are going to Mexico City to meet this woman, Rafael,” remarked Doña Isabella softly.
Rafael glanced significantly behind him. “You heard?”
“It would have been impossible to do otherwise. Juan is so vehement.” His mother sighed, plucking at the silk coverlet. “You do not think he should do this.”
Rafael shrugged. “I am only afraid…” He shook his head. “Juan is old enough to make his own decisions.”
Doña Isabella shook her head. “Is he? I wonder?” She stared penetratingly at her eldest son, a troubled expression marring her smooth olive features. “Rafael—Rafael, if you do go to Mexico City, you will come back, won’t you?”
Rafael’s face relaxed. “Of course. How else is this woman to find her way here? But soon—soon I must return to the seminary.”
His mother pressed her lips together. “Not too soon, Rafael, not too soon.”
“I’ve been here two months already,” he protested.
“I know, I know. But we see so little of you, my darling. You so rarely come to the hacienda…”
Rafael made an apologetic gesture. “There is so much for me to do—” he was beginning, when his mother interrupted him bitterly.
“I know. Everyone demands your time, your advice, your medical knowledge, while I—your mother—am spared only a few minutes every week!”
Rafael approached the bed helplessly, sitting down beside her and taking her hands in his again. “Madre mia, I am sorry,” he muttered huskily, guilt at his neglect of her overwhelming him. He raised her fingers to his lips and kissed them gently. “But you must understand that I cannot deny Rodrigues my help.”
Doña Isabella laid a hand on his dark head, smoothing the unruly vitality of his hair. Then she sighed. “I am sorry, too, Rafael. I am a selfish old woman. But knowing you are in the valley and not living here at the hacienda… Could you not come and stay with us?”
Rafael released her hands and spread his own expressively. “You know that the hacienda is too far from the village. The house I have is easily accessible, and besides, I can be alone there.”
“And this is important to you, isn’t it?” His mother’s voice had a note of acceptance in it now. “Very well, Rafael, I won’t insist that you come and stay here. But surely—after this trip to Mexico City—you could spend a little more time with us? After all, when you leave the valley, Rodrigues will have to manage, will he not?”
Rafael got to his feet. “Very well, Madrecita. I will come as often as I can. But now—” He glanced at the plain gold watch on his wrist, “now I must go. I am hot and dirty and I need a shower. Besides, I must tell Father Domenico that I shall be leaving for Mexico City first thing in the morning.”
“You will take the helicopter to Puebla?”
Rafael nodded. “Yes. I presume there is a car there I can use.”
“A Mustang.” His mother inclined her head. “As I recall it, Juan bought two.” She bit her lip. “But you will drive carefully, won’t you, Rafael? The roads can be so dangerous.”
Rafael smiled, revealing his even white teeth. “You worry too much, Madrecita.“ He kissed her once more and then moved towards the door. “I will see you tomorrow evening. When I deliver Miss Lord.”
“Very well, Rafael. Take care!”
Rafael bade her goodbye and went down the stairs slowly. Now that he was free to go he was curiously loath to do so. This house had been his home for so many years and he knew a fleeting temptation to go to his old room and use the bathroom there. He knew his room remained as it was when he had left it. His mother insisted on it always being ready and available to him. But such temptations were never overwhelming and he walked across the wide hall and out onto the steps above the forecourt.
Two girls were dismounting from their horses in the shadow of the Landrover, assisted by a dark-skinned Mexican stableboy, and Rafael recognised his two younger sisters, Carla and Constancia. They were eighteen-year-old twins, the last children his father had sired before his fatal illness. When they saw Rafael they came exuberantly towards him, hugging him enthusiastically and protesting that he could not leave yet.
“I must,” insisted Rafael, disentangling himself from their clinging hands. “I have things to do.”
“I expect Juan has been asking you to go and meet this woman—this aunt of the little one’s—for him, hasn’t he?” suggested Carla perceptively. “Are you going?”
Rafael’s expression was wry. “As a matter of fact, I am.”
“I don’t think you should.” That was Constancia, the quieter, more introspective of the two. “Let Juan meet her himself!”
“I agree,” chimed in Carla. “Why should you have to waste your time going to meet some stuffy old maid?”
“That will do, Carla.” Rafael’s mouth turned down at the corners. “You know absolutely