Pale Dawn Dark Sunset. Anne Mather

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      “In a lay capacity only!” Rafael shook his head and pushed aside his dirty cup and plate. “These people, Juan—the Carmichaels—were they Catholics?”

      Juan moved his shoulders awkwardly. “I—no! I believe they belonged to the Church of England.”

      Rafael’s hand descended heavily on the table. “And you expect this woman to leave her niece—the only surviving member of her sister’s family—with you, the brother of a man who may ultimately become a priest in the Roman Catholic Church?”

      Juan’s jaw moved spasmodically. “So you won’t help me?”

      “I don’t see how I can.”

      “Then you’re not listening to me, Rafael. What can this woman—this aunt—give the girl? She is not even married! She does not have the support of a husband. She is a secretary or something with some firm in London. She has no money—no influence—no position in society!”

      “These things are not so important to some people,” pointed out Rafael quickly. “And I do not speak only for myself. If this woman lives alone, she may be glad of the child’s companionship.”

      “But how can she care for her? If she is at work all day, how will she manage? Always supposing she can afford to support her.”

      “If you really want to help the child then perhaps you ought to offer to support her in the manner in which you would like to see her.”

      Juan stared at Rafael in astonishment. “No! No, I could not do that.”

      Rafael shrugged. “It was a suggestion, nothing more.”

      Juan looked thoughtful. “Will you not do as I ask and meet this woman at least,?” he appealed. He paused. “It may just be—possible to persuade her to change her mind…”

      Rafael’s face darkened. “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 СКАЧАТЬ