Counterfeit Bride. Sara Craven

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СКАЧАТЬ and a luxurious villa near Acapulco. Nicola gathered that Teresita’s father had been a business colleague of Don Luis, and this was why she had been assigned to his guardianship after her parents had been tragically drowned in a flash-flood some years before.

      Clearly, his guardianship operated more on a financial and business level than a personal one. Teresita had admitted candidly that it was over a year since he had visited her, and she seemed more relieved than otherwise at this state of affairs.

      Clearly he was the type of aloof and imposing grandee who would be incapable of putting a young girl at her ease, Nicola thought. Teresita always behaved as if even to talk about him was a form of lèsemajeste.

      Nicola could just picture him—elderly with heavy moustaches, perhaps even a beard, probably overweight, pompous and arrogant. She hoped fervently that Elaine was wrong and he wouldn’t make an attempt to interfere in Teresita’s happiness. There was no reason why he should, she thought. Cliff was no fortune-hunter, even if he didn’t have the sort of wealth that the Montalba family had at its disposal.

      She fastened the last carton, sealed and labelled it, then sat back on her heels with a sigh.

      ‘So that’s done. I could murder a cup of coffee. Do you think the machine’s still working?’

      ‘If so it’s the only thing in the building that is, apart from us,’ said Elaine. ‘In my next life, I’m coming back as a boss. You finish up here, and I’ll go see about this coffee.’

      She was gone for some time, and Nicola guessed that the machine, never enthusiastic about its function at the best of times, had finally given up the ghost and that Elaine had called to buy coffee at the small restaurant a few doors away.

      She wandered over to the window and stood looking down into the square. The noise of the traffic seemed muted in the midday heat and from the street below she could hear the plaintive strains of a barrel-organ. The organ-grinder was there most days, and she knew his repertoire almost by heart, but today the jangling notes seemed to hold an extra poignancy, and she felt unbidden tears start to her eyes.

      She was being a fool she told herself. What had she got to cry about? She’d had a marvellous time in Mexico City, and within a few days she would be embarking on the holiday of a lifetime. Unlike Elaine she had always been fascinated by the history of the New World, and her tour had been carefully planned to take in as many of the great archeological sites as possible. She found herself saying some of the names under her breath—Palenque, Uxmal, Chichen Itza. Great pyramids, towering temples, ancient pagan gods—she’d dreamed of such things, and soon, very soon, all her dreams would come true. So why in hell was she standing here snivelling? She heard the outer door open and slam in the corridor, and turned hastily, smearing the tears from her face with clumsy fingers, hoping that Elaine would not notice or be too tactful to comment.

      As the office door crashed open, she made herself smile.

      ‘You’ve been long enough,’ she began teasingly. ‘Did you have to pick the beans personally or …’

      She stopped short, her eyes widening in disbelief as she studied the dishevelled, woebegone figure in front of her.

      ‘Teresita!’ she gasped. ‘Querida, what is it? Has something happened? Are you ill?’ Her heart sank as she saw Teresita’s brimming eyes. ‘Cliff—oh, my God, has something happened to Cliff?’

      ‘No,’ Teresita said. ‘He is well—he is fine—and I shall never see him again.’ And she burst into hysterical tears.

      Nicola had got her into a chair and was trying to calm her when Elaine returned with two paper cups of coffee.

      ‘I guess I should have brought something stronger,’ she remarked as she put the cups down on the nearest desk. ‘What’s wrong?’

      ‘I wish I knew.’ Nicola scrabbled through drawers until she came across a box of tissues in the last one. ‘All she keeps saying is that she wants to die, and begging our Lady of Guadeloupe to take her.’

      Elaine raised her brows. ‘Clearly, she means business. Talk to her in Spanish, Nicky. She may make more sense that way.’

      Nicola mustered her thoughts and said crisply ‘Stop crying, Teresita. If we can help you we will, but first we must understand why you’re so distressed.’

      Teresita was still sobbing, but she was making an effort to control herself. When she spoke, Nicola could just make out the whispered words, ‘I am to be married.’

      ‘Yes, we know that.’ Nicola passed her another tissue. ‘To Cliff, just as soon as it can be arranged—so what is there to cry about?’

      Teresita shook her head. ‘It is not so.’ Her voice was steadying, becoming more coherent. ‘Today I visited the convent to pray in the chapel for Cliff’s safe return. The Reverend Mother, she tells me there is a letter for me, and I see at once it is from my guardian, Don Luis. I read the letter. Madre de Dios, I read it and I wish only to die!’

      ‘You mean he’s forbidden you to marry Cliff?’ Nicola asked sharply.

      ‘He does not yet know that Cliff exists,’ Teresita said bleakly. ‘Always I have waited for the right time to tell him, because I feared his anger.’

      ‘Will someone please fill me in on what’s going on?’ Elaine demanded plaintively.

      ‘I wish I knew myself,’ said Nicola, hurriedly outlining the gist of the conversation so far.

      ‘It’s obviously this letter,’ Elaine said. She crouched beside Teresita’s chair, taking her hands in hers. ‘Hey, honey, what was in the letter? Does the mighty Don Luis want you to marry someone else? Is that it?’

      Choking back a sob, Teresita nodded, and Elaine darted Nicola a sober glance which said ‘I told you so’ more clearly and loudly than any words could have done.

      ‘Tomorrow,’ Teresita said. ‘Tomorrow I must leave Mexico City and travel to Monterrey with Ramón. Later we shall be married.’

      ‘You and this Ramón? Just like that?’ Nicola demanded, horrified.

      Teresita’s eyes widened. ‘Not Ramón, no. He is just the cousin of Don Luis. I met him once when I was a child.’

      ‘For heaven’s sake,’ Elaine muttered, and Nicola said hastily, ‘I’m sorry, darling, we’re trying to understand. But if Ramón isn’t the bridegroom then who …?’

      ‘It is Don Luis.’ Teresita’s voice was flat.

      Nicola muttered ‘My God!’ and Elaine’s lips pursed in a silent whistle.

      ‘Nice one, Don Luis,’ she approved. ‘Nothing like keeping the cash where it belongs—in the family.’

      ‘It is what my father intended. I have always known this,’ Teresita said tonelessly. ‘But, as time passed, and he said nothing, I began to hope that it would never happen. A man so much older than myself, a man who has known so many women.’ For a moment, a world of knowledge that the good sisters had never instilled showed on the heart-shaped face. ‘I—I allowed myself to hope that perhaps he would choose elsewhere—perhaps even marry Carlota Garcia.’

      ‘Just who is that?’ Elaine asked.

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