Temple Of The Moon. Sara Craven

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СКАЧАТЬ frowned slightly. ‘There will be fruit juice. You want that I fetch?’

      ‘If you would be so kind.’ Gabrielle made herself smile winningly at her.

      Isabella muttered something unintelligible in Spanish, then with an ungracious, ‘Be good enough to wait here, señorita,’ she disappeared down the hall. Gabrielle waited until the click of her heels had died into silence, then whipped across and began examining the nameplates. She had worked down one side of the hall and was just beginning on the other, her ears straining to catch the sound of Isabella’s return, when she found what she was looking for. ‘Dr. J. A. Warner’, the card stated. For a moment she hesitated, then lifted her hand determinedly and knocked. When there was no reply, she knocked again more loudly, then turned the carved handle and went in.

      The anti-climax was complete. The room was quite empty. But it was not merely James’ physical presence that was lacking, Gabrielle realised as she glanced round. Both desk and filing cabinet seemed oddly bare—no comfortable clutter of papers or maps—no pen thrown down as if the room’s occupant would soon be back to resume his interrupted work. The waste basket was empty, and the bookshelves looked as if their contents had been severely pruned. There were a few standard works which Gabrielle recognised as also occupying a place in James’ study at home and a sprinkling of rather dog-eared pamphlets. Gabrielle felt oddly disturbed. At home, James had stamped his personality on the flat—obsessively so. Here, he seemed to have made no impression at all. There was no trace of him—not even an empty pipe.

      Engrossed in her thoughts, her first consciousness that she was no longer alone came with Isabella’s shrill ‘Que hace usted aqui? What are you doing here, señorita?’ from behind her.

      Gabrielle turned hastily and saw the other girl standing in the doorway, holding a glass of fruit juice.

      ‘I’m sorry,’ she apologised quickly. ‘I—I wanted somewhere to sit down and there were no seats in the hall.’

      ‘Es privado. Entrance is not permitted to these rooms—there are items of value. If you wish to sit, there is a bench in the courtyard.’

      Gabrielle stiffened. Was Isabella insinuating that she looked like a thief? But she controlled her temper with an effort. After all, her conduct was questionable and Isabella was justified at least in judging her a snooper. It would have been far better to have introduced herself properly and asked for James quite openly, she thought unhappily, but having embarked on this course, she would have to continue with it. She had no intention of explaining herself to Isabella.

      She made her voice equable. ‘I didn’t know these rooms were private or I wouldn’t have intruded. But I don’t see any valuable items—in fact the place looks deserted. Does—does anyone use it?’

      ‘Si, Dr Warner uses it.’

      ‘Do you know where he is?’ Gabrielle found she was holding her breath.

      Isabella stared at her. ‘Why should I know? It is not my concern. There is much work now because soon an expedition starts to the Chiapas. Maybe Dr Warner is in Villahermosa making arrangements. Who knows?’

      ‘In Villahermosa? Are you sure?’

      Isabella gave her a look of baffled hostility. ‘I am sure of nothing, señorita, but it is certain that he was there—with Dr Lennox. Maybe he stays there.’

      Gabrielle could have groaned aloud, but she had already given Isabella too much fuel for her curiosity, she realised.

      She said, hating the inanity in her voice, ‘Oh—of course. They’ll all be so busy. I didn’t think … Is that juice for me? How lovely. I think I will sit down—in the courtyard, did you say?’

      Isabella’s eyes were openly contemptuous now. ‘Carlos is waiting for you, señorita. He too has other work to attend to,’ she mentioned abruptly. She turned and waited ostentatiously for Gabrielle to precede her into the hall. Then she closed James’ door with rather more than necessary force before marching across the hall to her own office without a backward glance.

      ‘And hasta la vista to you too,’ Gabrielle thought wryly as she sipped her drink. She wandered out into the sunshine and stood listening to the splash of the fountain as she finished the contents of the glass. She left the empty glass on the bench as she turned to greet Carlos who came out of the Institute to meet her. He was small and round with a warm smile, and he looked oddly familiar, although she was hard put to it to discover where the familiarity lay. It wasn’t until they were in the jeep and driving away and she saw him in profile that she knew. It was the typically Mayan profile that she had seen in endless pictures and reproductions, even to the slightly sloping forehead. It made the jungle palaces seem suddenly far less remote.

      The return drive to the hotel was an altogether different proposition. Carlos needed no urging to deviate from the direct route and show off his abilities as a guide.

      ‘But a jeep is not the best way to see Merida, señorita,’ he told her reproachfully. ‘Tomorrow you must walk to the Plaza de la Indepencia and see the Casa Montejo.’

      ‘Wasn’t it a Montejo who founded Merida?’ Gabrielle searched her memory for the facts she had assimilated during her background reading on the Yucatan.

      ‘Si. Don Francisco de Montejo. He conquered forty thousand Indians with only four hundred Spanish knights. Our beautiful cathedral is built on the spot where he won his victory.’

      Gabrielle sighed a little. ‘Quite a victory,’ she said drily. ‘And all in the name of God, I suppose.’

      ‘Si, señorita. How could it be otherwise? And in the cathedral, there is a beautiful picture of the visit of the king Tutul XIV visiting Don Francisco only weeks before his conversion to our blessed faith.’

      Whatever the physical evidence might be, Carlos had chosen his own ancestors, Gabrielle realised, hiding a smile.

      ‘I think your Mexico is very beautiful, Carlos,’ she said.

      Carlos gave her a disgusted look. ‘Is not my Mexico, señorita. I was born a Yucateco. I do not concern myself with Mexico.’ He removed his hands from the wheel to snap his fingers as a sign of his sublime disregard for both Mexico and the mass of traffic around them.

      Gabrielle was sorely tempted to laugh, but managed to retain her self-control. ‘I’m sorry, Carlos. I didn’t realise feeling was so strong here.’

      He grinned cheerfully. ‘We belong to ourselves, señorita, that is all. For so long we were alone that we became—accustomed.’

      It was probably true, Gabrielle thought, visualising the small Spanish outpost that the conquistadores had set up on the peninsula and held against all odds.

      Carlos was continuing, pointing out places of interest as they passed and recommending restaurants. ‘And when you are too tired to walk any further, señorita, you can go to the Parque Cepada and take a calesa for the rest of your tour.’

      Gabrielle nodded a smiling agreement. She had already promised herself a ride in one of the pony-drawn buggies which could be seen everywhere on the streets. But before she embarked on any of these pleasures, she silently reminded herself, she had to find somewhere to stay. She nearly asked Carlos if he could help her, but bit the words back at the last moment. СКАЧАТЬ