The Mountains of Spring (22 page)

‘
Not quite true,
’
he admitted steadily.
‘
You are perceptive.
’

‘
But there is a good chance?
’
Her eyes were a
nx
ious.

‘
There is an excellent chance that she will prove to be perfectly all right—merely in need of prolonged rest. But on the other hand there is a chance that her heart has been affected. We will not know until the morning.
’

Shortly afterwards he left the room to have a word with the nurse, and was away for some time. Caroline took some Mexican and American magazines from a nearby table and began to leaf through them, but despite the keenness of her anxiety for the old lady, and despite the prolonged nap she had had during the afternoon she was really very tired, and it wasn
’
t long before her eyelids began to droop. One by one, the magazines slipped from her lap to the floor, and by the time the hands of the electric clock above the fireplace had moved round to ten o
’
clock she was fast asleep.

When she awoke it was after midnight, and
someone
was arranging some cushions behind her head. She could almost have been certain, as she came to herself, that the same hand had lightly stroked her hair, but that wasn
’
t possible, for the hand belonged to Diego. Covered in confusion, she sat up quickly, and the cushions scattered.

‘
I didn
’
t mean to go to sleep!
’
she said foolishly.

‘
Why not? At this hour it is a most natural
thing
to do. But you will be more comfortable if you go to bed.
’

She recollected that he had been trying to
ma
ke
her more comfortable, and the thought caused her to flush vividly. But then she remembered what it was that had been on her mind when she went to sleep.

‘
How is Senora Rivel?
’
she asked.

‘
Sleeping normally. The nurse is pleased.
’

‘
Oh, I—I
’
m so glad.
’

And then her attention was attracted by a sound— a faint, melodious musical sound. It seemed to be voices mingling in harmony, and she looked round, startled.

‘
What
’
s that?
’

‘
That?
’
He strode towards one of the windows, and gazed out into the night.
‘
It
’
s
mariachi
—traditional singers. Come!
’
He beckoned to her.
‘
From here we cannot see them, but that is not necessary.
’

She joined him at the open window, and from outside in the darkness there rose the throb of guitars, and of vibrant, exquisitely blended voices.
T
hey listened for a moment, and then she drew a deep breath.

‘
But it
’
s beautiful!
’

‘
You
think
so? I am glad, for it is truly Mexican.
’

‘
Are they employed by the hotel?
’

‘
I think not. They will have been sent to serenade someone—a lady, of course. Let us hope she is appreciative
!’

Caroline gazed down into the darkness.
‘
What are they singing about?
’

‘
They sing about the mountains—the mountains of eternal spring. In our country it is always spring, and therefore, they say, it is always a time for love.
’
She was silent, tears stinging her eyes as she listened. Her heart ached because of the man beside her, and the unearthly beauty of the voices below made the ache so intense that it was almost unbearable. But after a minute or two the melody changed, and because it was better than saying nothing she asked Diego in a husky voice to explain again.

‘
Now,
’
he told her,
‘
they are singing of loss, and sadness, and the emptiness of a life from which the light has gone. They say that to a man who has lost his love it is as if a veil has been drawn across the beauty of the earth, and all the world has turned to grey.
’

The song went on and on, rising and falling with a piercing, melancholy beauty that was quite
unlike
anything Caroline had ever heard before. When it was over they sang another, and then another, and then it finally ceased, and she turned away from the window feeling shaken and exhausted.

‘
I think,
’
she said impulsively,
‘
that was the
m
ost wonderful thing I
’
ve ever heard
.’

‘
Yes?
’
He closed the window.
‘
Perhaps, one flay, someone will send the
mariachi
to sing for you!
’

After that she went to bed, and in the morning she slept late. It was nearly ten o
’
clock when she opened her eyes, and strong sunlight was
slanting
through the Venetian blinds, making patterns on the carpet. She jumped up guiltily, and as soon as she was dressed went along to the Senora
’
s room. The nurse met her at the door.

‘
Buenos
m
as, senorita
.’

Caroline glanced past her into the room.
‘
How is Senora Rivel?
’

‘
Well,
senorita
...’
The nurse
’
s lips parted to reveal shining white teeth.
‘
It is good news! The Senor Doctor says that there is after all nothing wrong. But for a week she must rest here.
’

‘
Oh
!
But that
’
s wonderful!
’
Caroline felt a relief so enormous that the small elderly woman in the bed might almost have been a relative of her own.
‘
Does Senor Rivel know?
’
she asked quickly.

‘
But yes,
senorita.
He was most happy. But he has had to leave—he has gone back to Mexico City.
’

Caroline stared at her.
‘
He has?
’

‘
Si,
señorita
.’

‘
I see
.’
She did not see at all, but she did her best to dispel the feeling of flatness that the information had produced in her.
‘
Can I speak to the Senora now?
’
she asked.

‘
Not now,
senorita.
She is sleeping, and it would be a pity. Later, yes?
’

‘
Yes ... of course.
’

She turned away and went downstairs, wondering where Isabel was. In the dining-room she forced herself to consume a late breakfast of coffee and rolls, and just as she was about to leave her table a waiter came hurrying across to her with a note.

‘
You must pardon,
senorita.
The gentleman said that you were to have this most urgently. It should have gone to your room.
’

Surprised and puzzled, she took the note and opened it. It was from Diego, and her fingers trembled as she held it. Its contents were brief and startling.

‘
Dear Miss Ashley, I hope you will forgive my sudden departure, but I was left with little choice. Isabel has disappeared—I believe to join your brother in Mexico City. It is clearly my duty to follow her. I hope very much that you will be good enough to remain with my grandmother, but of course I have no right to expect it. In any case she is in good hands.
’

It was signed simply
‘
Diego Rivel.
’

When she had read it Caroline sat down, rather suddenly, and placed it on the table in front of her. Then she read it through again, three times. After that, with a curiously blank expression on her face, she folded it up, put it into her handbag, and went upstairs to her room.

Diego had gone away. He had gone in pursuit of the only woman in the world whom he would ever want for a wife. And he had made it absolutely clear, once and for all, that the little English girl who had been foolish enough to fall in love with him meant nothing whatsover in his scheme of things.

CHAPTER X

Days passed, and Senora Rivel, benefiting from complete rest and a change of air, improved rapidly. She seemed very pleased to have Caroline with her, and although she actually saw quite clearly that the girl was often very depressed she never gave any indication of having noticed anything. No word came from Mexico City, either from Diego or from Isabel, and nothing was heard from Peter, but all she would say on the subject was that no doubt in the end everything would sort itself out. She had great faith in Diego
’
s ability to sort things out, and while she would have been happy to see him for an hour or two she was philosophically prepared to accept that he had quite a number of problems to attend to before he could be free to drive out and visit her.

Caroline was less philosophical, and for her the days dragged by with a dreariness that she herself realized ought not to have been possible in such surroundings. She should, she supposed, have been in Mexico City, endeavouring to keep some sort of an eye on Isabel, but she knew that on the evening before he left Diego had spoken to Senora Dominguez on the telephone, explaining that his grandmother might need her for some time, and in any case the last thing she felt like doing at the present time was dancing attendance on Isabel Dominguez.

One morning, about a week after Diego
’
s departure, she was walking, rather aimlessly, in the parched garden of the hotel when she heard a
familiar
voice calling her name. She was so completely taken
by surprise that she didn
’
t look round for a
moment, but when she did she had no difficulty in recognizing the man striding after her. It was Dick Weldon.

When he caught up with her he held out both his hands,
taking
possession of her wrists and looking down into her face.

‘
Well, well! How are you?
’

‘
I
’
m fine,
’
she said unt
r
uthfully, gently disengaging her wrists.
‘
Have you come to stay here?
’

‘
No, I haven
’
t. I
’
ve come on a delightful errand
.
’

She looked up at him abstractedly, trying to concentrate on what he was saying.
‘
What sort of errand?
’

‘
Well, it
’
s delightful because it concerns you. Otherwise, I
’
ll admit, there
’
s nothing particularly entertaining about it. I have a message for you, from the fiery Miss Dominguez.
’

She turned a little paler.
‘
A message? From Isabel?
’

‘
Yes. I ran into her last night, at a rather solemn dinner-party in Mexico City. I asked her if she knew what had happened to you, and she told me. I said I
’
d be out here to see you more or less as soon as
I
could get my car started in the morning, and she asked me if I
’
d give you a message for her. She said she
’
d been going to send you a cable, but this was better.
’

‘
What—what was the message?
’
Caroline asked. Her whole body felt extraordinarily tense.

‘
Well, it
’
s something of a riddle, and I guess I
’
m going to have to help you solve it. Whether you want to fall in with what she
’
s asking you to do is another matter.
’

What is she asking me to do?
’

‘
She wants you to go to Mexico City this afternoon, in time to be in the Cathedral, of all places, by five o clock. She says there
’
ll be a great surprise in store for you.
’

‘
A
great surprise?
’
Caroline stared at him, frowning. At first her mind refused to work. She couldn
’
t understand what it all meant. And then an idea came to her, and more colour deserted her face, leaving her rather frighteningly white.

Dick Weldon
’
s face changed.
‘
Honey, are you all right?
’

‘
Yes, of course ... I
’
m perfectly all right. But I think I understand the riddle.
’
She spoke flatly, like an automaton.

‘
Yes.
’
Suddenly his warm grey eyes were full of sympathy.
‘
I think maybe I could make a guess at it too. And I
’
m almost sorry. It
’
s the queerest thing, because from my own point of view I
’
m certainly not sorry. Nothing could suit me better
than
Rivel
’
s marrying that little girl. I know well enough how you feel about him, and if he felt the same way about you
...
well, I
’
d be nowhere. I guess I am nowhere anyway, but at least if he
’
s out of the way I
’
ve just a chance. The only thing is
...
’ he l
aughed briefly,
‘
I love you so much I can
’
t bear to see you miserable!
’

Caroline looked at him in swift concern.
‘
You
’
re—you
’
re the nicest person I
’
ve ever met,
’
she told him warmly.
‘
And I do wish ... I do wish that things could turn out well for you. But I
can
’
t
...
you understand, don
’
t you? You understand ever
y
thing.
’

‘
Yes, I understand everything. And don
’
t worry about me.
’
He dropped his eyes for a moment,
and then he smiled at her.
‘
Now then, do you want me to take you to Mexico City?
’

She looked up at him with eyes so full of hurt that his humorous mouth grew a little taut.
‘
Do you think I ought to go?
’

‘
Yes,
’
he said gently,
‘
I think you should. For one thing,
’
he reminded her,
‘
there
’
s Peter. I haven
’
t been able to trace him since you left, but if he
’
s anywhere about and he knows his girl is going to marry Rivel he can
’
t be feeling very good. Maybe you should be there.
’

‘
Oh, yes,
’
she said, her face quivering slightly.
‘
Poor Peter
!
’

‘
And then
...
well, I daresay it
’
ll be best if you face up to things now. I
’
m trying to give you good advice, and that
’
s the best I can manage.
’

‘
You
’
re wonderful,
’
she assured him gratefully.

‘
And I
’
ll go. I
’
ll go to the Cathedral this afternoon.
’

She told Senor Rivel that she wanted to go to Mexico City that day, but because she couldn
’
t bring herself to go into details she didn
’
t tell her the reason. She simply said she hoped the older woman would not mind, and the Senora, discreetly making no enquiries, said she thought it an excellent idea.

They left the hotel at three o
’
clock, and they hadn
’
t been on the road long when Dick Weldon remarked that he thought the weather was breaking—as far as it ever does break in Mexico—and added that there was a likelihood that afternoon would see the first of the rains. Caroline didn
’
t feel like saying much, but as they speeded on towards the city he talked a good deal, in an easy, relaxed sort of way, and she was grateful for it. He told her about the
afternoon downpours of the rainy season, and described how they swept over Mexico City punctually at tea-time, scattering the population and drenching the streets, only to pass on again, leaving the evening skies clear. And he talked about the humid forests of southern Mexico, and the glorious coastlines of the east and west, diverting her until she almost, but not quite, forgot the dull ache at the core of her being. And then at last they were moving into the outskirts of the city itself, and as they did so a little black cloud began to move up from the horizon.

‘
Here she comes!
’
said Dick cheerfully, and as Caroline watched she saw the cloud gradually get closer and bigger until it seemed to her to symbolize the cloud hovering over her life—the cloud growing steadily larger and darker as they drew nearer to the Cathedral. She tried to think herself into a more rational attitude of mind—to tell herself that the world simply wouldn
’
t come to an end because Diego Rivel married Isabel Dominguez, but she knew perfectly well that there was no point in telling herself anything of the kind.

Traffic jams held them up, and it was almost five o
’
clock by the time they drove into the Zocalo. The rain, Dick said, was a little late, but as they stopped outside the Cathedral the first huge drops were just beginning to fall, and within seconds the world was filled with the thunder of the downpour. With the resourcefulness that seemed to be a part of him, he produced a large and very serviceable umbrella, and beneath its shelter Caroline reached the haven of the Cathedral doorway untouched by moisture. There Dick had to leave her for a minute or two while he parked the car, but, as he pointed
out, she could go in by herself. He would find her easily enough.

‘
If,
’
he remarked,
‘
there is a wedding going on in there it
’
s a fairly quiet one. No gaping crowds, no nothing!
’

He left her alone, and she stood looking up at the tall, closed doorway. Quite a number of people were hurrying into the Cathedral in search of shelter from the rain—she supposed they would probably do that whatever was going on inside—but even when they pulled the doors open she caught no glimpses of the interior. And at first she heard no sounds. But after a minute or two her ears caught the sound of intoning,
and
she knew for certain that something was happening inside. It might be an ordinary Mass, but—

A little dark Mexican woman came hurrying up the steps, tying a scarf over her head as she came. She pulled the Cathedral door open, and as she stepped inside she stopped, with a smile, and held it for Caroline, who had looked as if she were going in. As if in a trance, she followed the woman into the building.

Her first impression was that there were a great many candles burning, and a very large number of people kneeling in the pews. Near the high altar, in splendid vestments, there was a priest, and the people seemed to be murmuring
r
esponses. At first that was all she did take in.

And then she saw the two figures on the chancel steps. She stared at them, but they seemed to waver in the shimmering golden light, and she couldn
’
t make them out very clearly. Somebody drew her, well-meaningly, into a vacant seat, and she sat
down, still staring.

She could recognize Isabel now—at least, she thought she could, but if it was Isabel she was standing on her own feet, and there was no sign of a wheelchair in sight. And the man beside her— surely it wasn
’
t Diego? They were quite a long distance away, and it was hard to see, but the
man
beside Isabel—if it was Isabel—had fair hair. Very fair hair, she was sure of it now. And he simply wasn
’
t Diego. He was wearing a grey lounge suit, and he looked more like an Englishman. In fact, he looked like
...
Peter?