Dancing in the Shadows (19 page)

‘No, no, señorita. You do not understand. It is not
el señor jefe.
It is the young señor.'

Dorcas's heart tripped painfully on its beat. Carlos! His name whispered like a chill wind across her bitterly frozen brain.

Teresa was saying: ‘I wonder you did not hear the noise as they carried him to his room. There is so much blood. Blood everywhere.
El jefe
is on the phone to
el señor doctor.
The señora told me to come and tell you.'

‘Was it a driving accident? Carlos goes much, much too fast in his car. For pity's sake, don't keep me in suspense like this. Tell me, Teresa.'

Her words leapt into the air; died. Her mind was swept clean of all but the one fact. Carlos was hurt. It didn't matter now. He was hurt and he was here in this house, and she was wasting valuable time.

CHAPTER NINE

Teresa caught her by the strap of her cotton nightgown before she reached the bedroom door. She held out a dressing gown to her, as if the proprieties had to be observed even at a time like this.

Teresa said so gravely and so sadly: ‘It is not
el
señor Carlos
de
Ruiz.'

‘No?'

Dorcas's spirits lifted, soared like a bird. Someone was hurt and later she would sorrow about that, but at this precious moment she could only rejoice because it wasn't Carlos.

‘It is your brother, señorita. Señor West.'

‘Michael?'

Remorse came quickly. It was all Dorcas could do to prevent her teeth from chattering. Making a huge effort, she thanked Teresa for the dressing gown, and fastened herself into it as she went.

Michael's bedroom seemed to be full of people. Her eyes flew beyond them to the still figure on the bed.

‘What happened? Was it a car accident?'

Don Enrique had put a car at Michael's disposal. She was obsessed with the thought that it had to be a car accident. Yet if Michael had been pulled out of a wrecked car, surely, in the condition he was in, he would have been
taken
straight to hospital? Teresa was right about the blood. It was everywhere. His hair was matted with it; it was on his face and his neck and richly spattered on his white shirt front.

She felt sick. A pair of hands reached out for her. One went round her shoulders. The other took and lifted her chin and she found herself looking into Carlos's gravely concerned eyes.

She said idiotically: ‘How could you get here so quickly?'

‘I couldn't. I completed my business a day earlier than anticipated. I had intended staying the one more night and travelling home in the morning when I was fresh. On an impulse, or a whim, I booked out tonight. I've only just got here.'

‘So it could have been you involved in the car crash.'

‘What car crash?'

His eyes reflected her bewilderment.

‘The one Michael was involved in. Teresa told me the young señor was hurt, and I thought it was you.'

‘Hurt, yes. Not in a car crash, but in a fight.'

Around about this time, Dorcas began to identify other people in the room. Enrique Ruiz and, of course, Rose, his wife. Two—no three members of the staff, and surprisingly the Spaniard Dorcas had met at Tom Bennett's garage, Paco Garcia, whom she
remembered
was Alfonso Roca's right-hand man.

The compulsion of her gaze made Paco Garcia look up. He was as surprised to see Dorcas as she was to see him. Dorcas brought her attention back to Carlos.

‘Who was Michael fighting? Why was he fighting?'

Carlos chose to answer the second question first. ‘It was over a woman. Isn't it always? It was never meant to reach this stage. I can personally vouch that Michael's opponent is not a violent man. But, things were said, tempers flared out of control. The mallet was there and . . .'

‘Mallet? What mallet?'

‘A chef's mallet. The argument took place in a restaurant. The speciality dish of this restaurant is chicken with a rich seasoning, topped with foie gras and truffles. It is brought to the table in a sealed clay pot. With it comes a mallet to crack open the pot. The mallet can be quite a vicious weapon when brought down on a man's head with force.'

‘Which is what happened to Michael. I know my brother can be the most infuriating person at times, but who would want to—who
did
such a thing?'

‘Paco Garcia. We don't know Michael's side of it yet, but knowing Paco as I do, the provocation must have been justified. It looks bad, I know. It's true that Michael has lost a
lot
of blood, but he has youth and a healthy constitution on his side. He was in the peak of physical fitness when this happened, and that must stand him in good stead.'

Dorcas knew she should be grateful for the platitudes. Instead of having the desired calming effect, they irritated her. She wanted fact, however gruesome, not supposition, however comforting.

Fact: The doctor had been sent for. Where was he? Head injuries are always serious. The doctor should be here now. Fact: Michael and Paco Garcia had been fighting over a woman. What was her name?

‘I want you to look after Isabel,' Carlos said. ‘Will you do this for me while I try to find out what is keeping the doctor?'

‘Isabel! Is she here?' Dorcas said in surprise.

Her glance stretched round the room to where Isabel was sitting. She wore a glowing ruby gown with an insert of black lace following the swell of her breasts. Her black lace mantilla was supported by a high tortoiseshell comb. Dimly at the back of Dorcas's mind was the thought that the mantilla, worn in this way with a high comb, was reserved for special occasions. Nothing enhances a woman's beauty more than to have her face framed in black lace, with a black lace peak teasing down on her forehead. But what struck Dorcas more than Isabel's beauty was
her
bird-like fragility. Her raven-black eyes pecked out troubled looks in her pale, trapped face. She thinks Michael is going to die, thought Dorcas.

Dorcas bit her lip hard and turned savagely on Carlos. ‘Why wasn't Michael taken to hospital? If he'd been taken straight to hospital, he would have had instant medical attention.'

‘I agree. Don't blame me. I wasn't there, remember?'

‘No. Michael was there, and Paco Garcia was there. Presumably the woman they were fighting over was there?'

The question invited more than Carlos's brief: ‘Yes.' He added: ‘The details will have to wait. I'm wasting time. I must find out what is happening.'

The hand on her shoulder dropped to give her fingers a brief squeeze. Before he left the room, he paused to have a word with Isabel Roca. The Spanish girl immediately got up and came over to sit next to Dorcas.

‘Carlos has gone to hurry things up.'

‘Yes.'

Dorcas wondered where Isabel fitted in all this. She had already decided in her mind that Michael had made trouble between Paco and his woman. Had Isabel also been dining at the restaurant? If she had been there to see what happened, it would explain her being here. She looked, somehow, too young to be caught up
in
this unsavoury situation.

‘How old are you Isabel?' Dorcas asked unexpectedly.

‘That is an odd question,' said Isabel. ‘I have eighteen years.'

‘You're only a child.'

‘I wish I were. Two grown men wouldn't fight over a child.'

‘Good heavens!' Dorcas said slowly.

‘You mean you didn't know?'

‘Silly of me, but no. Isn't that ridiculous? I should have known. I'm sure I would have got round to it eventually. Carlos said Michael and Señor Garcia were fighting over a woman. I assumed it was Señor Garcia's woman.'

‘You assumed right.' Two bright blobs of colour invaded Isabel's cheeks. She put her fingers up, as if to rub the colour out, and said with touching dignity and just a feather stirring of wistfulness: ‘It was never Carlos. I never pretended to you that it was. It has been Paco for as long as I can remember. Paco is a valued employee of Papa's. Yet Papa would never acknowledge Paco as a husband for me. Paco knew that Carlos must have first claim.'

‘Did you resent this?'

‘I don't know what you mean.'

‘I'm not quite sure I know myself. But . . . because you knew that Paco would never fight with Carlos for you, did you purposely provoke him by flirting with Michael?'

‘That is not a kind thing to say.'

Dorcas
could have said, this is not a kind thing to have happened to Michael. But she said: ‘You are quite right, Isabel. I spoke without thinking. I'm not blaming you for what happened.' Her words said one thing; the lack of conviction in her tone, another.

Isabel gave a small tormented sigh. ‘Your brother is gravely ill. Of course you want to kick at me. But it is not true that I deliberately set out to flirt with him. At first, perhaps, a little . . . but then I fight to resist his advances. This I find difficult, because I have the powerful fascination for him. You see this?'

‘Only too well. My brother is a fascinating person.'

Dorcas remembered how thin the dividing line was between love and fascination. If Isabel could name the emotion she felt for Michael as infatuation and not love, she had achieved something that perplexed older and more worldly women.

A hand touched Dorcas's. She lifted her eyes to see Carlos looking down at her.

‘The doctor is here. I must ask everyone to leave the room while he makes his examination.'

‘Of course,' said Dorcas, getting quickly to her feet.

The sad little party huddled in groups in the
sala.
Instinctively, Dorcas and Isabel moved out to the terrace for privacy. The chilly night air had a bracing, invigorating effect.

The
compulsion in Isabel was to talk. Dorcas let her.

‘At first when Michael asks me to go out with him for the evening, I say no. But he keeps asking, and I am weak. I think, what harm can it do? And then, it is as if I have not the mind to think with. I am bewitched. I hide my feelings from Mama and Papa, but not from Paco. Many times Paco tries to reason with me. He says I am hurting myself. That hardly seems to matter. What does matter, what troubles me is that I am hurting Paco. It has long been Papa's wish that I marry Carlos. This Paco understands. What he cannot understand—and I cannot explain it to myself, never mind to him—is this wildness that has entered my blood for Michael. I have not realized until this moment the selflessness of Paco's love for me. He wants only what is best for me. And I have brought this dreadful trouble on him.'

She paused to swallow. Her eyes were full of pain, and Dorcas thought, if she grips her hands any harder the bones will break.

‘It is most unfortunate that Paco should also choose to dine at
Las Palmeras
this evening. Michael said he wished to sample the famous
pollo
, the chicken, which is brought to the table in a sealed clay pot. Michael made fun of the sarcophagus-like shape of the pot. The ritual of serving this speciality dish is taken very seriously. Michael had been drinking
heavily.
He wasn't in the mood to take anything seriously. He made jokes that were in bad taste. I tried to shut him up, but it was impossible. In my foolishness I was glad when Paco intervened. Perhaps I asked him to. Oh, not in so many words, but I think perhaps my eyes signalled a message to where he was sitting a few tables away. He threw down his napkin and came striding over to our table. He was very angry, but in a controlled sort of way. I was so proud of him. He politely asked Michael to conduct himself in a more seemly manner. He said Michael should consider the dignity of my position. Michael laughed in his face. He said terrible things to Paco. Things no man of honour could accept. He insulted his manhood. It was horrible . . . horrible. Paco was goaded into doing what he did. He picked up the mallet and brought it down on Michael's head, but his is the least guilt. Michael and I are the guilty ones. So you see, don't you, that I could not let Paco take the blame?'

‘Yes. But I don't see how you could prevent it.'

‘When the manager said he was going to telephone the
policia
, I asked him not to. I asked him what all the fuss was about. I said that Michael had lost his balance while getting to his feet and had struck his head on the edge of the table, which was hardly a matter for the police. The manager, poor man, looked quite
relieved.
Not unnaturally he didn't want the
guardia
poking around. It would give the place a bad name. Although what Michael will say when . . .'

If he comes round, thought Dorcas. Aloud she said: ‘He will say you did right.' Her voice sounded dry even to herself. ‘My brother has never been too keen on police intervention.'

The hands that had been so tightly gripping each other, reached out and took Dorcas's. Instant tears came to Isabel's eyes. ‘How very generous of you. What can I say but thank you.' Her gratitude that Dorcas understood was heartfelt and flowed from her, as unimpeded as the tears now coursing freely down her cheeks. ‘I expected to be scolded for trying to protect Paco. And instead . . .'

‘Instead I am going to scold you for thinking I would react differently. I love my brother dearly, but I am not blinded to his faults. I can well believe that Paco acted under stress and provocation.' Had Michael taunted Paco for standing meekly to one side while Carlos took his girl? Had he accused him of not being a man? It was not difficult to imagine the sort of thing Michael had said. Dorcas sighed. ‘You are right in saying the guilt is not his, but I think you might have a hard time convincing him. You must go to Paco at once. He needs your support and comfort.'

‘Yes . . . yes. I must go to Paco. And not just for the moment, either. I've been such an idiot
in
thinking I could make a life with someone else. How would it please Papa to see me unhappy? Papa who loves me and wants only my happiness will have to see that Paco is the only man for me. Do you realize what this means, Dorcas? It means that Carlos will be free to court you.'