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  'Yes, you should have told me. Always tell me, darling, how you feel. I don't know otherwise.'

  'But there's still this suggestion of Isabella's that Renalda has married Sorrel to convince me that he isn't having an affair with you,' said Ramon, frowning worriedly. 'You believed her, didn't you, Sorrel? That's why you're here and not with him?'

  Sorrel nodded dumbly, unable to speak in case she betrayed the torment of her feelings.

  'How rotten of Isabella to say that,' said Monica with unusual fierceness. 'How perfectly rotten of her! It must have been spite which made her make a suggestion like that to someone who had just been married.'

  'But why was she feeling spiteful?' asked Ramon.

  'I think it might have been what I said to her yesterday,' said Monica thoughtfully. 'She was here, commiserating with me as usual over what had happened, and suddenly I couldn't stand her hypocrisy any longer. So I tried telling her a few lies. I told her you and I were reconciled and that I was just waiting for Sorrel to come back from Juan's ranch with the news that he was coming to see you to deny he's ever had an affair with me. I could see she was taken aback. She left almost at once, saying she had to catch a plane to Copaya to go and visit her brother-in-law and his wife.' Monica

  leaned forward, her face lighting up as if she had sudden insight into Isabella's behaviour. 'That's it,' she exclaimed. 'Don't you see? When she arrived and learned that Juan was married she realised his marriage gave the lie to everything she had said to you about him, and she was so angry with him for foiling her plans she tried to destroy his marriage before it ever started properly. Oh, Sorrel, you don't really believe Juan married you for that reason only, do you?'

  `It's very hard not to,' mumbled Sorrel. 'After all, he did rush me into-it.'

  There was a short silence. Sorrel was aware that the other two were staring at her, possibly waiting for her to say more, but she had nothing to say. She was numb with misery, her pride still quivering from the biting savagery of Juan's words to her before he slammed into the bathroom that morning.

  Ramon cleared his throat as if in readiness to make a speech, and she looked up. He was staring at her anxiously.

  `Sorrel,' he began slowly as if it were a great effort to lower his pride and say what he was going to say, 'It occurs to me that if I hadn't dismissed you you wouldn't be in your present difficult situation. For that I must apologise. I was very upset the other night. Isabella has been needling me for some time with innuendoes about Monica and Renalda. I tried hard not to be influenced by her, but somehow what happened on Saturday and Sunday aggravated my suspicions, and I didn't know which way to turn.' He paused and frowned. 'I'd like you, if you will, to come back to us and finish what you were doing here so that Monica will walk again.'

  `Please say you will,' said Monica appealingly. Sorrel stared at her hands. To return to her Job in

  this house was one alternative she hadn't considered on the flight to Medellin because she hadn't even come close to guessing that Ramon and Monica would become reconciled or that there was no truth in Isabella's suggestion that Monica and Juan had been lovers and would continue to be lovers. Now she came to a decision quickly and looked up again trying to smile.

  `I'll come back for a few days anyway, but I'll have to go and fetch my luggage from the airport,' she said.

  'Bueno,' smiled Ramon, rising to his feet, and she realised she had never seen him smile before. It made quite a difference to his severely aquiline face. 'I'll drive you there to get it myself.'

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  YELLOW sunlight dappled the turquoise blue of the swimming pool and glittered brightly on the concrete surround. It was the warmest part of the day, midafternoon, and Sorrel was glad of the shade offered by a big green and blue striped umbrella as she sat in a deck chair beside a round table and sipped an ice-cold soft drink. She and Monica were relaxing after a session of therapeutic exercises in the limpid buoyant water.

  `Well, Sorrel, what's your opinion? Aren't I much better?' Monica's voice was cheerful.

  `Very much better,' Sorrel agreed. She was really surprised by the progress Monica had made since Wednesday. The woman's whole attitude to learning to walk had changed, and now there was an eagerness where once there had been reluctance.

  `I'm pretty sure that worrying about my relationship with Ramon was preventing me from walking,' mused Monica. 'Subconsciously I must have felt that while I couldn't walk he wouldn't leave me and so I made no effort. Do you think that's possible?'

  `Psychosomatic, you mean? Could be,' replied Sorrel, looking at without seeing the drooping fronds of a fernlike shrub which formed a hedge about the pool area, screening it from the house and from the rest of the garden.

  Today was Friday. It was three o'clock. She had been back in the Angels' house about fifty-one hours, more than two days. Time had crept by, or so it seemed to her, but perhaps she felt that way because the two

  days previous to her return had been so crammed with action. Or perhaps it was because she was in a state of perpetual expectation; expecting every time the phone bell rang that the call was for her from Juan; expecting every time the doorbell rang that Juan had come looking for her. But why should he come? She had told him not to follow her, and anyway he never ran after women.

  Without being aware of it she sighed. She was feeling very tired, the result of two almost sleepless nights. Tormented by regret, she had tossed and turned, wishing she hadn't said all those things she had said to Juan about his brief innocent association with Monica, wishing she had trusted him instead of listening to Isabella.

  `You keep thinking about Juan, don't you?' said Monica.

  Sorrel looked across at her. A speedwell blue swimsuit made Monica's eyes look the same colour as the pretty flower and her blonde hair, slightly damp from being in the pool, was curling about her round face. Now that she was reconciled with her husband her mouth had lost its wistful droop and the line between her eyebrows had almost gone. It was easy to see how pretty she must have been at eighteen when she had first met Ramon.

  'How do you know I'm not planning some new exercises for you to do?' Sorrel parried lightly.

  `Would you sigh and gaze off into space if you were doing that?' retorted Monica. 'Somehow I don't think so.' Her full red lips curved into a rueful smile. `Remember I was attracted to the man myself for a while, so I can appreciate a little how you're feeling.'

  `Right now I think I hate him,' Sorrel muttered fervently.

  'Then you must be in love with him,' said Monica.

  `He's hurt you, and he couldn't have done that unless you love him.'

  But I hardly know him, and what I do know about him isn't exactly endearing,' argued Sorrel stubbornly. `How can I possibly be in love with a man I met for the first time less than a week ago?'

  `You married him.'

  `Because he made it difficult for me not to,' replied Sorrel in a low voice which shook a little when her mind was suddenly invaded with memories of Juan's lovemaking in the limousine.

  `By making love to you, I suppose,' guessed Monica shrewdly, and again Sorrel looked at her, this time with suspicion. 'Now don't get the wrong idea,' Monica went on. 'He never made love to me, and looking back over the few times I've been in his company I realise that he never looked at me, only through me. Physically I had no attraction for him, and I'd guess that for a man like him physical attraction to a woman is nine-tenths of loving her.' Monica laughed. 'There, doesn't that make you more sure than ever that Isabella was lying when she told you that he'd married you just to throw dust in Ramon's eyes so that he could continue to carry on an affair with me?'

  `I should never have listened to her,' said Sorrel.

  'And I should never have confided in her,' sighed Monica. But she has a way of making you feel she's doing everything she does on your behalf, that she cares only for your best interests, and all the time she's thinking only of her own.'

  'I know what you mean, but it doesn't alter the fact t
hat Juan admitted the day after we were married that he had got married deliberately to stop the gossip about you and him. He deceived me, and that's what hurt so much.'

  'Did he? Are you sure? Isn't it possible that you were hurt because he didn't say what you wanted to hear at that moment?' asked Monica with a touch of dryness. 'You know, I can just imagine what happened. You would come out with your accusation in that forthright way of yours, charging in like a bull at a gate, never considering how he might feel. I expect he's no different from any other man and has his fair share of pride. What did he say?'

  'At first he told me to forget he'd ever met you and that anything he'd done before he met me wasn't my concern, accused me of being jealous about something which hadn't happened and wouldn't happen if I behaved myself and trusted him.'

  'Just as I imagined,' commented Monica. 'He didn't say what you wanted to hear. How did you react to that?'

  'I asked him how could I trust him when he'd done nothing else but deceive me, and he lost his temper then-and I could see why. He was furious because he'd been found out.'

  'Are you sure that's why he was angry?'

  'There couldn't be any other reason. It was then he admitted he had thought of getting married to stop gossip.' Sorrel's voice shook uncontrollably as she remembered what else he had said to her. 'I don't want to talk about it anymore,' she mumbled.

  'All right, don't,' said Monica equably. 'I thought talking about it might help you to sort things out. You'll have to do something about it soon—you can see that, can't you?'

  Was Monica hinting that soon she wouldn't be needing the services of a trained physiotherapist because she'd, be able to walk? wondered Sorrel. If so she had better be planning what she should do when the job

  came to an end. She could go back to England or ... oh, what did you do when you'd walked out on a man after being married to him for only twelve hours? You could sit tight and hope he'd come after you. But supposing he didn't come? What then? Did you go to him and ask him to take you back?

  Monica had let down the back of her lounger and was sunbathing. Sorrel sipped more of her iced drink, staring at the glinting water, and tried to imagine herself going to Juan and couldn't. Monica had suggested he had his fair share of pride. Well, so had she, and it just wouldn't let her go to ask him to take her back. She didn't know him well enough to guess what his reaction would be and she was afraid he would spurn her, especially now that the reason for him wanting to marry in the first place had been wiped out, because she doubted very much if Isabella would continue to spread any more rumours about a non-existent love affair between the wife of a prominent businessman and a notorious bullfighter.

  Surely if Juan loved her he would have come after her by now. He had run after her twice to get what he wanted ... She quivered with raw pain. He had wanted her, and she had given in and he had taken what he wanted. Now she could only assume from those last biting, critical words of his that he had found her innocence boring and no longer wanted her, had only wanted her while she had been unattainable. Once she had surrendered to him he had lost interest in her. Was that why he had admitted deceiving her? Because not wanting her any more he hoped to be rid of her?

  The sound of voices roused her from her unpleasant thoughts, and looking up she saw Laura and Gabriela, home from school, coming to see their mother. As usual Gabriela had the most to say, showing her affec-

  tion for Monica by sitting on the edge of the lounger and putting her arm round her mother's neck while she chattered. Not until Gabriela paused to catch her breath was Laura able to say anything, and then she spoke casually, her glance straying in Sorrel's direction.

  'A girl at school told me today that Juan Renalda was gored in the arena on Wednesday afternoon at the Copaya corrida. She said it was reported in yesterday's newspaper.'

  'Oh!' Gabriela expressed her shocked dismay immediately. `Do you think we've still got our copy of the newspaper?'

  'Why don't you ask Manuela?' said Laura.

  'Yes, go and do that, Gabriela, there's a good girl,' urged Monica. And bring it here if you find it. Was he badly hurt, do you know, Laura?'

  'My friend said something about "critical condition". What do you think that means?'

  Sorrel didn't hear Monica's answer. It was taking all her strength to pretend she wasn't feeling sick to her stomach and to remain seated until Gabriela returned with the newspaper. It can't be true, she was saying to herself. He fought his last fight on Tuesday. It must be a mistake, a misprint. The newspaper has printed the wrong name. Oh, what shall I do if he dies?

  Pressing the back of her hand against her mouth she leaned back in her chair and as she did so her eyes met Monica's concerned glance.

  'It's here, it's here!' Gabriela dashed round the corner of the shrubs, waving the newspaper in her hand. 'It's in a corner of the sports section.'

  'Let me see.' Laura took the paper from her sister. 'Read out what it says, Laura,' Monica ordered. Laura read slowly and Sorrel felt that every word was

  a knife thrust to her heart.

  'El Valiente gored in spectacular fight,' said Laura. 'After being hurt early in the faena Juan Renalda remained in the arena to the end of the fight, bringing the crowd of enthusiastic fans to their feet to cheer him when he slew the bull. Then he collapsed through loss of blood. He was rushed immediately to St Joseph's hospital in Copaya, where it was stated he was in a critical condition. Only the day before Renalda had returned to the arena after an absence of nearly two years.' Laura paused, then added, 'It goes on to say how the sport needs toreros with his artistry and sense of drama.'

  'Excuse me,' muttered Sorrel, and jumped to her feet. Hand to her mouth, she ran from the pool area behind the screen of bushes and into the house.

  When she had finished being sick she wandered to her bedroom and lay down on the bed. Juan was hurt and it was her fault. By running away from him she had disturbed him. But she hadn't known he was going to fight again. Why hadn't he told her? Would he have told her if they hadn't quarrelled? Her head seemed to be spinning with questions and she sat up suddenly, swung off the bed and went over to the clothes closet to pull out her overnight bag. She would have to go to Copaya and see him. It was no use staying here torturing herself with questions which remained unanswered. Above all she had to go to him because he was hurt and in need of all the love she could give him.

  She packed her bag, dressed quickly in a lightweight green trouser suit, made sure she had enough money and opened the door to leave the room just as Laura was about to knock on it.

  'Mummy sent me to see if you're all right. She's told us, Gabriela and me, that you're married to Juan Renalda. Gabriela is quite green with envy.' Laura's

  glance went to the overnight bag. 'Are you going to see him?'

  'Yes. Where is your mother?'

  'In the salon. She walked there by herself with just the help of one stick,' replied Laura excitedly as she followed Sorrel down the stairs. 'Isn't it marvellous?'

  'Yes, I don't think she really needs me any more,' agreed Sorrel.

  In the salon Monica was lounging on one of the comfortably padded brocade covered chesterfields. She had changed into a long blue and white gown and had brushed her gilt-coloured hair into an aureole of curls. She looked pretty and secure as she waited for Ramon to come home.

  'I have to go and see Juan,' said Sorrel abruptly. 'You do understand, don't you?'

  'Yes. But wouldn't it be a good idea to phone the hospital in Copaya first? He might be off the critical list by now, which would ease your mind a little,' said Monica.

  `No. I'd like to go straight to the airport.'

  'Then phone about the flights to Copaya. Make sure of the time one is leaving and make a reservation. There's no point in rushing off to the airport just to sit and wait there,' said Monica reasonably. 'Now calm down, Sorrel. It isn't like you to get so worked up. You're usually the cool, collected one.'

  Not since I met Juan, thought Sorrel, noticing her
hands were shaking as she dialled the airport number. He's got through to where it hurts and I'll never be the same again.

  There was a plane to Copaya leaving in half an hour's time. She was driven to the airport by Pedro. The sun was setting in a blaze of crimson and gold when the plane took off from Medellin, but by the time

  it landed in Copaya the sky was deep purple, hung with glittering golden stars whose reflections shimmered like Chinese lanterns in the dark flat water of the wide river.

  St Joseph's Hospital was an old Colonial-Spanish building just off the main plaza with a tower at one end and rows of small arched windows. A lighted cross glittered on top of the tower, indicating that it was run by a religious order, and inside the atmosphere was cloister-like, quiet and unhurried, quite unlike the hospital in England where Sorrel had worked. At a small office marked Enquiries a nun in a dark habit and white coif told her rather stiffly that Señor Renalda had left the hospital that morning.

  'But ... but where has he gone?' exclaimed Sorrel.

  'I do not know.' The nun managed to look very severe. 'His condition wasn't good, but he insisted on leaving. That is all I can tell you.'

  'Thank you.'

  More anxious than ever, Sorrel went outside and stood for a moment at the top of the steps leading up to the main entrance wondering what she should do. A taxi drew up and some people got out of it. At , once Sorrel ran down the steps and asked the driver if he would take her to the street where Eugenia and Diego lived, and within ten minutes she was standing on the doorstep under the mellow light of the lanterns waiting for the front door to open.

  To her relief Eugenia herself answered the door and greeted her warmly, drawing her inside and embracing her.

  'At last ! ' she exclaimed. 'I am so glad you are back. Diego and I are just having a meal. Come and join us.'

  'Is Juan here?' Sorrel asked urgently as she followed Eugenia down the hallway and into a small elegant room furnished as a dining room where Diego was sitting at the table.