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  'It is on ifly way, senorita, and it will be my pleasure!'

  It occurred to her then that she had not even mentioned where Marta and Julio's home was, and she looked up at him curiously as he ushered her out of the little taberna and into the hot, sunny street again. Walking beside him she felt smaller than she ever had in her life, and she did not remember ever feeling so overawed by any man before.

  'You know where I'm staying?' She could not help it if it sounded like a challenge, but she felt she had to make some stand if she was to hold her own against his overpowering personality. 'I didn't say where it was, senor.'

  The fringed shade of the palms gave his dusky complexion a kind of luminescence that she found fascinating, and this time there was little doubt that he was smiling, although it showed more in his eyes than in any movement of his mouth. He saw her into the big black car that had so nearly knocked her down and came round to take the driving seat before he answered her.

  'There are very few English visitors to Almaro, senorita, and I believe that Senor Segovia and his wife have an English friend staying with them.'

  Unsure whether she was surprised or not at his knowledge, she raised a brow as they started up from the kerb and headed across the square in the direction of Marta's home. 'You're well informed! Is it common knowledge, or do you have a special insight into local happenings

  Broad shoulders shrugged lightly and he spared a brief glance at her as he drove the car up the dusty, sun-scorched road out of the town. 'The latter, I have to admit, senorita.'

  He made no attempt to enlighten her further, so apparently she was supposed to be satisfied with that, and Rosanne sighed inwardly as she relaxed against the seat. That air of reticence, she supposed, was just another facet of a complex and fascinating character.

  'You are here on a holiday, senorita?'

  He did not strike Rosanne as the kind of man to ask questions simply out of curiosity, and turning her head she looked at the strong and, she had to admit, rather discouraging profile. Seen against the background of the stark countryside above the town, it had a harsh and primitive quality, much like the terrain itself, that she found disturbing.

  'I'm staying several weeks at least.' She wondered if he was really interested, or if he was merely being polite; the Spanish had a natural and unfailing courtesy towards- visitors to their country. She laughed a little uncertainly as she explained her position. 'I don't have to trouble myself about how long I stay, only about how long my friends can put up with me—I'm very lucky.'

  'Indeed you are, senorita!'

  Once more Rosanne got that curious feeling that he was trying to convey much more than the actual words implied. Exactly as he did when he looked at her; as if he conveyed a message of some kind, a message that she had so far not managed to interpret. He intrigued her, she had to admit, and she looked at him from the corner of her eye.

  'Do you live around here too, senor?'

  They were approaching the gates of Marta's home, the iron gates that guarded the entrance to the walled patio in the traditional way, and he braked the car to a halt as he spoke, coming round to open the door for her. 'Quite close, senorita.'

  Just that, no more; as if he expected her to know that as well as she knew whatever it was he tried to convey -with his eyes each time he had seen her. Inclining his head in a ghost of a bow, he walked round and got into the driving seat once more before Rosanne could do any more than murmur a hasty and almost inaudible thank-you.

  Standing there by the gates still, she watched the big black car drive on up the hill. Heaven knew where he lived, but apparently it was quite close by, as he said, and Rosanne mused on. both the man and the meaning behind that disturbingly suggestive look that puzzled her so much. Maybe if she ever did discover what lay behind it, she would be disappointed, but the desire to learn was almost irresistible.

  'You have not forgotten that we are having dinner at the Sanchez' tonight, have you, Rosanne?'

  Marta Segovia's round and pretty face was flushed with the exertion of hurrying round to make sure that lunch was ready in time, and making sure that her daily cook did not use too free a hand with the garlic while she was preparing the gazpacho. It was one of Rosanne's favourite dishes, but she did not always appreciate Manuela's sometimes heavy hand with the seasoning.

  Today, however, everything was perfect, and Rosanne smiled her pleasure as she took the first spoonful. The ice-cold soup of raw vegetables was delicious, and perfect for a hot day, and she hastened to say so. 'This is lovely, I must tell Manuela so!' She took another sip and answered her friend's question. 'And I haven't forgotten we're going out to dinner, Marta. I thought I'd wear my new yellow dress, if you think it's right.'

  'Perfecto!' Marta approved unhesitatingly.

  She and Rosanne were lunching alone as they always did on weekdays, for Julio did not come home for lunch when he was working. It was too far for him to travel for one thing, and much too energetic for a Spaniard to undertake at the time of day when he preferred to be taking things easily.

  Ever since her encounter with that impressive and mysterious Spaniard a couple of days ago, Rosanne had been trying to decide whether or not to tell Marta about it. There were things that put her off coming to the point; for one thing the fact that he had driven her home in his car afterwards.

  Her association with Pablo, she remembered, had started with his driving her home in his car, and Marta had made much of it; she was not likely to do less in this instance. In Pablo's case her implications had not been amiss; the association had developed, if not into a love affair, at least into something quite close to it.

  But Pablo had been a quite different character from that tall, stern man who looked at her with such disturbing intensity, as if he knew some secret about her. Marta could not know how different this situation was, and nothing would prevent her from anticipating such a beginning developing along similar lines. Somehow Rosanne shied away from that idea.

  That was why she said nothing about either her near-accident or its sequel for the moment; why she had never even mentioned Jaime Felipe Castillo Del- guiro. Fortunately Marta had been looking forward to a dinner party to be given by a friend of Julio's, and it occupied her mind to the exclusion of almost everything else.

  Marta and Julio had lived in Almaro, or on its outskirts, for not much more than a year, so that they were pleased to have made such good friends as the Sanchez, and a dinner party was quite an event. The Spaniard, while very hospitable, was not given to entertaining in his own home as a general rule, and Marta was a very socially minded woman; she enjoyed meeting her friends and acquaintances in congenial surroundings.

  'You like to go to dinner parties?' she asked, as if she suspected Rosanne was showing enthusiasm simply to please her, and Rosanne nodded.

  'Oh yes, definitely I do!'

  'Bueno! The Sanchez are looking forward to meeting you,' she confided with a smile that suggested she knew it would please her to hear it. 'Eduardo does the business with England, but they are anxious to know if you admire their English.'

  'So many Spanish people speak such good English that it makes me feel ashamed I haven't learned to speak at least a little Spanish by now.' She thought of Don Jaime Delguiro's impeccable English as she spoke, and wished he did not pop so frequently into her thoughts. 'I really ought to make the effort.'

  Marta was pretty in a very Spanish way, with black silky hair and huge dark eyes, and she used the latter to full effect when she rolled them wickedly and smiled. 'Ah, then we must find you a young and handsome instructor, eh?' She laughed at the face Rosanne pulled, and shook her head. 'You should have a husband, Rosanne. It is wonderful to be married, and at twenty-three years you are a good age for marriage.'

  'And you think you'll find me a Spanish husband?' Rosanne teased. 'I don't think you'd find a Spanish man willing to put up with my independence, Marta!'

  'Oh, but yes!' Marta took it quite seriously, and she was very intent upon impressi
ng her with the fact. 'The Spanish man likes a woman of spirit, why should he not like you?'

  Hastily recalling her own impressions of the situation, Rosanne looked doubtful, 'I thought it was the other way around—wives were expected to behave and be obedient to their husbands.'

  That bright glitter of mischief gleamed in Marta's black eyes once more. 'Eventually,' she agreed, 'but there is much more to the idea than that, Rosanne. Obedience is not necessarily to be meek always and show no spirit, that would be very dull!'

  Her frankness not only surprised Rosanne, but amused her too, and she shook her head as she looked at her friend's smooth dark face, still slightly flushed from her kitchen chores. 'I see!' she said, and laughed.

  'There is someone who is coming tonight '

  Marta gazed into space for a second or two, as if she found something very much to her liking in the future. Then she looked at Rosanne and nodded firmly, her eyes bright with laughter as she got on with her gazpacho again. 'I think I have the very man .to teach you our language, Rosanne my friend. Very good-looking and very ' The signs she made with her hands were surprisingly explicit for a well-bred Spanish girl, and Rosanne looked at her doubtfully.

  'I hope you're not going to start matchmaking,' she told her. 'I really don't want a husband yet, Marta, I'm quite happy as I am, so don't go giving any of your countrymen the wrong impression of me.'

  'He is very handsome, and very—nice.' She chose the unfamiliar adjective with some doubt, and Rosanne smiled.

  'It doesn't sound like a very likely combination!'

  'His name is Federico Sanchez,' Marta went on undeterred. 'And he will be just right for you, Rosanne.'

  'Some relation to our hosts?'

  Marta nodded. 'Eduardo Sanchez' cousin; you will like him.'

  Rosanne looked at her for a moment, then broke into laughter, an effect that very obviously puzzled her friend. 'It sounds as if it's going to be a rather interesting evening,' she said.

  CHAPTER TWO

  It gave Rosanne a rather curious feeling to know that she was to be the only English guest at an otherwise all Spanish dinner party, but she had no cause for uneasiness so far. Everyone had been flatteringly eager to meet her, and most of them spoke at least a little English that they were anxious to practise.

  There were four other guests at present, apart from herself and Marta and Julio, but there was apparently another one yet to come. Rosanne had caught a murmur about his being delayed, but everyone was chatting quite happily while they put an edge on their appetites with pre-dinner drinks, so there was no awkward sense of being kept waiting so far.

  Ana Sanchez had introduced her to the two married couples who made up the rest of the party, and to her host's cousin, Federico Sanchez. He proved to be every bit as charming as Marta had predicted, although Rosanne was finding her friend's very obvious eye-rolling rather embarrassing in the circumstances.

  He was very good-looking too, and cast in very much the same mould as Pablo Ostera, with a smooth olive skin and expressive dark eyes that left little doubt of what meaning lay behind their gleaming darkness. He made his appreciation of her low cut and softly feminine dress quite obvious, and from the time that Ana Sanchez introduced them, he stayed close to her side.

  He did not hold her hand, but the hovering proximity of long brown fingers suggested that he waited only for an opportune moment to do so. His voice too gave the commonplace small talk he plied her with the suggestion of something much more intimate and exciting.

  'Another drink, Senorita Gordon?'

  She had scarcely emptied her glass before he was offering to refill it for her, and she shook her head, finding it rather heady to take before she had eaten anything. 'Not at the moment, thank you, Senor Sanchez.'

  'Ah, you fear to become—tidelly, eh?'

  Goodness knows where he had picked up that expression, but it gave her a sudden desire to laugh and she had to admit that his guess was accurate. 'Something like that,' she told him with a smile. 'I don't normally drink very much, although I seem to do more when I'm in Spain.'

  'Ah, you find our wines irresistible!'

  'I find them very potent, especially when I haven't '

  She laughed, embarrassed by her near-gaffe, but Federico Sanchez apparently saw nothing wrong in what she had been going to say, and he was smiling as he glanced past her to the entrance hall beyond. There was a general buzz of interest suddenly, and she assumed that the awaited last guest had finally arrived.

  'You need wait no longer for your dinner, senorita; our missing guest has arrived!'

  Taken up with her own indiscretion for a moment, Rosanne did not immediately notice anything about the conversation going on in the hall, but then the voices reached her more clearly suddenly and she found one of them struck a definitely responsive chord in her memory. She didn't turn and confirm her suspicion, but she had no need to for Federico did it for her.

  'It is not like Don Jaime to be late,' he confided, sotto voce. 'I wonder what has delayed him.'

  Behind her Rosanne could hear Ana Sanchez bringing their latest guest to join the others, and it was obvious from the ensuing babble of sound that most of them knew him. Not so Marta and Julio apparently, and that rather surprised her in view of the fact that he had been so knowledgeable about their having an English visitor. She heard them exchange politeness in Spanish, and then Ana Sanchez was immediately behind her, speaking English now, and obviously hoping to surprise him.

  'Senorita Gordon, may I introduce to you Don Jaime Delguiro—Senorita Rosanne Gordon from England.'

  'Senorita!' Her hand was taken in long hard fingers and squeezed briefly before being released, and dark eyes sought hers relentlessly, so that she found herself unable to resist looking up at him. 'I trust that yo'u have suffered no ill effects from our last encounter?'

  In the sudden puzzled silence that followed, Rosanne could feel Marta's eyes on her, trying to guess where and when she had met Don Jaime. She would be intrigued, but thank heaven much too discreet to enquire outright, even though she was chafing with impatience. Realising she had not yet answered him, Rosanne hastily shook her head, uneasily aware that others were taking an interest.

  'None at all, senor, thank you; I'm perfectly all right.'

  'Good!'

  He glanced at Federico and there was no mistaking the look in his eyes. It was easy enough for anyone to see that Federico was taken with her, but she saw no reason at all why Don Jaime should regard his obvious infatuation with such questioning arrogance.

  'Buenas tardes, Federico.'

  'Don Jaime.'

  If Federico was discomfited, he disguised it well, and after a second or two Don Jaime once more flicked that dark, questioning glance between them. 'You are finding the time heavy on your hands, Federico, hah?'

  Federico, slightly more discomfited now, shrugged his elegant shoulders carelessly. 'Of course, senor, but not for much longer, I hope.'

  'Ah!' Don Jaime inclined his autocratic head slightly, and turned once more to his hostess, moving off with her to the, other end of the room. 'We shall be seeing you then, no doubt!'

  Watching him go, Rosanne guessed that Federico put the curiosity of everyone else in the room into words when he looked at her and smiled, his dark eyes bright and quizzical. 'So—you already knew Don Jaime!'

  'Not really.' Rosanne was being cautious without having the least idea why. 'I've met him once before.'

  'Here, in Almaro?'

  She nodded, hoping he wasn't going to want to know the circumstances of the meeting. 'Yes.'

  'It was a surprise to my cousin, as you could see, eh?' He chuckled and obviously the situation amused him, and his" eyes once more followed that tall, rangy figure across the room. 'It would, I' think, surprise many people, senorita, for Don Jaime is well known for his dislike of strangers.'

  'Oh?' Rosanne couldn't really claim that it surprised her too much to learn it, but she could still feel resentful about it. 'Does that mean all
strangers, Senor Sanchez, or the English in particular?'

  Recognising the sensitivity of the situation, Federico shrugged, trying now to play down the impression he had given. 'Who knows?' he said. 'It is of little importance, huh?'

  'Obviously you're on quite friendly terms with him and his family,' Rosanne suggested, remembering that reminder to call at the Casa Delguiro. 'He spoke of you calling on them.'

  'Ah!' He glanced briefly across the room at Don Jaime and shrugged. 'Neighbours, you understand.'

  'Oh yes, of course.'

  'Also ' He hesitated, evidently in two minds about what he had to say. Then he laughed shortly and spread his hands wide. 'There is to be a connection by marriage, you understand.'

  'I see.'

  Rosanne thought she understood well enough. That tall, aristocratic figure would make a very impressive husband for some woman, though the matchjyas in all probability an arranged one with the pedigree of both families taken into consideration. It was the kind of thing he would be in favour of, she thought, and thanked heaven that the woman wasn't going to be herself—no amount of undeniable sexual magnetism could make up for being married to a man as convinced of his own superiority as Don Jaime Felipe Castillo Delguiro was.