Dancing in the Shadows (18 page)

What Dorcas expected to find she did not quite know. It was a relief to see the tiny figure dressed and putting the final touches to her toilette. In basic black, her silver hair shining through a lace mantilla that dipped to a peak on her forehead, she was perfect in every detail. A serenely beautiful face, a frail little body, a backbone of steel. The sheer physical impact of her took Dorcas's breath away.

Dorcas
advanced, sweetly hesitant, paying homage with her eyes as she offered her gift. ‘It isn't much. I didn't know what to get you.' She felt awkward, but looked as appealing as a child.

‘How very sweet of you,
niña.
' And the señora produced a jeweller's box. ‘I have a little something for you. I hope you like my gift as much as I like yours.'

The box was long and thin in shape. Dorcas opened it up and took out a choker length necklace. She spent several moments exclaiming how beautiful it was. When she realized it was not a pretty costume piece, but that the fragile links of chain were gold, she spent several moments protesting that it was far too expensive for her to accept.

Fixing Dorcas with an innocent look, doña Madelena said: ‘Suddenly I cannot understand a word you say. Yet only a short while ago I was thinking how well you were coping with our language. It is very strange.'

‘Very strange indeed,' said Dorcas. Oh well . . . nothing else for it. ‘Thank you very much for the necklace, señora.'

‘Now that is much better. I understood every word. I am so pleased you have regained your fluency. Your arm, Dorcas,' she said imperiously.

Enrique Ruiz elected to drive his mother home the next day. It was Rose Ruiz who suggested: ‘Perhaps Dorcas would like to go
with
you for the ride?'

Dorcas's mouth gave a quick lift of delight.

Enrique Ruiz pulled at his beard. ‘An excellent idea. I would have mentioned it myself had I thought of it. I take it from your smile that you agree, Dorcas?'

‘Oh yes! I'll go and get ready. I won't be long. I promise not to keep you waiting.'

Rose Ruiz walked with them to the car to wave them off. Kisses were exchanged between mother and daughter-in-law; goodbyes said.

Rose Ruiz turned to her husband. ‘It might amuse you to let Dorcas have a turn at driving.'

‘Now you know it would not,' he chided gently. ‘I never allow a woman to drive me.'

‘Well perhaps you . . .' She changed her mind, swallowed whatever misgivings were bothering her, and said: ‘
Adiós.
'

Her wave was utterly carefree and Dorcas thought she must have imagined that a shadow of unease had ever crossed her smiling face. Rose Ruiz's concern could only have been about her husband's health. Yet he looked in excellent form. His face was without strain. In casting off his dark business suit in favour of casual sweater and slacks, he had also cast off several years. Dorcas settled back to enjoy the journey.

They passed through farming country. Enrique Ruiz kept up an interesting commentary. ‘The sickle and the wooden
plough
have given way to the combine and tractor, but the water is still lifted from wells dug a thousand years ago by the Arabs. Observe the many trees. The tree is the farmer's friend. It takes from the soil and it gives back its leaves which rot and enrich the ground below.'

The road began to climb. A thin haze danced over the soaring mountain tops. Dorcas darted fascinated looks down at the sea. Flights of stone steps, lined with trees, led up to villas. But no house looked down on doña Madelena's.

Doña Madelena insisted on their staying for an unhurried lunch. It was five o'clock before they left. The last time Dorcas had experienced the perilous road down, Carlos had been at the wheel. In places the road skimmed dangerously close to the cliff edge and its sheer drop to the sea. She had forgotten how barbarous and beautiful this stretch of coast was, and how frightening. Except that she hadn't been frightened that other time. She had felt perfectly safe and relaxed in Carlos's competent care. Yet don Enrique was no less proficient a driver. He eased the car round the bends with a caution that Carlos would have scorned. Carlos still leapt at life with the arrogance and impatience of youth. Don Enrique, with the wisdom of years behind him, acknowledged that man was not invincible; old age was not achieved by
chance.
Dorcas should have felt safer with don Enrique. It was Rose Ruiz, with her funny unsaid fear that had put her on edge.

The town was reached without mishap. Dorcas relaxed. It happened swiftly and without warning. The child dashed out of an alleyway and ran straight into the path of the car. Don Enrique swerved to miss the child and slammed on the brake. The scream of the tyres mingled with the scream in Dorcas's throat.

She pulled at the door handle, fell out of the car and hurried across to the child, a boy with huge shocked eyes and a pulled-down mouth which opened on a protesting yell as he began to cry in earnest.

‘You didn't hit him. Thanks to that really superb piece of driving.'

It was the English girl Dorcas had seen about the town who had spoken.

Dorcas opened her mouth to reply, but something—relief?—had closed her throat.

She swallowed the lump down. ‘I . . . I . . .' Her eyes flashed back to the car where Enrique Ruiz was curled over the steering wheel. Dear God, no!

‘See to him,' said the English girl. ‘I'll stay with the boy.'

‘Yes . . . yes of course.' With the flat of her hands she pushed herself up off the ground where she had been crouching, and ran back to the car.

‘Señor
. . . ? Don Enrique?' she said, using the respectful but friendly form of address for the first time.

The crumpled shoulders lifted. ‘I am all right,
niña.
Go back to the
muchacho.
'

Dorcas stared into the shock-frozen features. ‘You didn't hit him. He's shaken up, that's all. I've said I'll come back. Right now I'm going to drive you home. Move over.'

‘I will not permit a woman to drive me. I am perfectly capable. But,' with a slight, concessionary smile, ‘if it will please you, I will allow you to sit with me. Then, if you are certain you feel up to it, you may have the car to drive back and ensure that the boy has taken no harm. Find out his name and address. Inform the boy's mama that I will call on her within a day or so to compensate him for his fright and satisfy myself all is well. Will you do this for me?'

Dorcas said she would, and settled herself in the passenger seat. What else could she do?

At the villa, she left it to don Enrique to explain to his wife, slid behind the wheel, turned the car round and drove back to town. A small ring of spectators marked the spot.

Tom's fiancée was in charge of the situation. She had calmed the boy down. Her arm was round his shoulders and his skinny body was pressed close into her side. She was holding him not as a troublesome nuisance, but as a precious individual who had honoured her by
accepting
the comfort she was only too pleased to give. The warmth in her eyes, the trust in his, was really something.

‘I've promised to buy Pepe the biggest ham sandwich he's ever seen. As soon as the shock has subsided and I'm reasonably confident he won't be sick.'

‘Have you found out where he lives?'

‘Off the main square. But it's no good taking him home yet because his mama works in that vegetable and flower shop next to the fish market.' Giving the thin shoulders a squeeze, she said: ‘Isn't he a pet. You don't suppose his mama will let me keep him?'

‘No. You'll have to get one of your own.'

‘I'll order one by mail catalogue.' Her bitter laugh and cynical tone embarrassed Dorcas. ‘Silly me! It's the other male it involves.'

‘That shouldn't present a difficulty,' Dorcas said, puzzled.

‘That's what I thought too,' she said, looking pointedly down at her engagement ring.

Dorcas continued to look awkward and miserable. If things weren't working out for Tom Bennett and his fiancée, she was the last person to want to probe.

She was greatly relieved when Tom's fiancée smiled breezily and said: ‘Come on. Let's buy Pepe that sandwich. By the time he's eaten it his mama should be home.'

When Dorcas got back to the villa, Rose
Ruiz
told her that her husband was resting in his room.

‘I'm afraid he can't stand shocks like this. I'm glad you were on hand, Dorcas. Did you get the details he asked for?'

‘It's all written down here. The name of the boy and the names of his parents and their address. I've even jotted down where his parents work. Try not to worry, señora.'

‘The boy? Is he unharmed?'

‘Yes. You know what boys are. He's already looking upon it as an adventure, and enjoying the fuss being made of him.'

‘That is good. You have done well, my dear.' Her crisp, matter-of-fact tone was skimpy cover for her concern. ‘I'm so glad Enrique didn't hurt the boy. It would have . . .' She didn't finish.

At the foot of the stairs she turned to face Dorcas. ‘I almost forgot. Carlos phoned while you were out. He was sorry to miss you. Your brother is in the
sala.
Why don't you ask him to pour you a drink? You've earned it.'

‘I'll do that,' said Dorcas, thinking a drink wasn't much of a sop for missing Carlos's phone call.

She joined her brother who wanted to know what she and the señor had been up to. She told him. Not wanting to dwell on the matter, she abruptly changed the subject.

‘Michael?'

‘Yes?'

Though
of the same colour, there was a cloud in her eyes that was not repeated in the glass of sherry in her hand. ‘Last time we talked, you made certain inferences. I got the impression that you'd been talking to Carlos about me. I want to know what was said.'

‘What persistence!' Michael's handsome mouth curled up in a smile. ‘I said to him, now look here, Charlie boy, what are you going to do about my sister?'

‘I sincerely hope you are joking.'

‘What do you think?'

‘I don't know what to think. That's why I'm asking, and getting precious little sense, too.'

To her shame she knew that her temper was in danger of snapping. She took a deep breath. Said calmly and rationally: ‘Try to explain it to me without the funny cracks.'

‘You're making something out of nothing, Dorcas. But very well. I thought Carlos should have it straight that in saving Feli and the kid, you'd wrote finis to your dancing career.'

‘I already know that much. If there's more, go on.'

‘He said he was very sorry and that he wouldn't have had it happen for anything, but that dancing wasn't the only fulfilment. He said a warm person like you would find greater satisfaction in a husband and children. I asked him if he was telling me something. He gave me a long, sort of thoughtful look and said, Do you know I think I am. Well, then I gave him
my
blessing and said that I was glad he was doing the right thing by you.'

‘Oh, Michael. Oh no! You didn't! You couldn't have! You've got this fixation that I'm owed something. I hope you know what you've done. You've only made it impossible for me to accept Carlos's proposal. I can't accept a proposal that's been made at pistol point.
She
was right.'

‘Who was?'

‘The girl who said you weren't a very nice person.' He didn't say it wasn't a girl. He didn't say anything.

‘Was it Isabel?'

‘No. Isabel thinks I'm a very nice person. Don't meddle in my affairs, Dorcas,' he warned in an ominously quiet voice.

‘Why not? You've meddled in mine.'

‘I've only tried to help.'

The frustrating part of it was, he thought he was helping. His motive was suspect, but not his sincerity.

Michael went out as usual that evening. Dorcas was glad. She couldn't have faced him across the dining table. The meal was taken in quiet preoccupation. Don Enrique put in an appearance, but he was concerned with his own thoughts. Rose Ruiz was concerned for her husband. Her glance of quiet affection scarcely left his strained face. The household retired early that night.

Dorcas had not been asleep all that long
when
Teresa came to wake her.

The little maid urgently jogged her arm. ‘Wake up, señorita. Please, please wake up.'

Not only was Dorcas's mind dulled by sleep, but she was slowed down by her limited knowledge of the language. Teresa was speaking much too quickly for Dorcas to follow. The words themselves meant nothing, it was the quality of Teresa's despair that registered on her reasoning.

Amid the spate of Spanish she caught the word that told her someone was gravely ill. Her sleep addled brain skipped back to doña Madelena's last exhausting day.

‘Oh no!' she gasped. ‘I knew I was wrong to let doña Madelena put so much effort into her farewells. I've been expecting this.'

Teresa stared at her blankly. ‘No, no, señorita. It is not the old señora who is . . .' This time Teresa did not say ill, she said . . . ‘dying.'

No, of course not. Now Dorcas remembered that she and don Enrique had taken the señora home and left her in good health and high spirits. So who . . . ?

‘The señor,' Teresa was saying. ‘It is the señor.' She was weeping and twisting her hands in agitation.

Not her kind señor! And it all came back to Dorcas. The shock of nearly running over Pepe had been too great for Enrique Ruiz. She remembered seeing him crumpled over the
steering
wheel of his car. She had been so terribly afraid that it had been too much for his heart. And obviously it had been.

She pulled back the single sheet and scrambled out of bed, his name on her lips. ‘Don Enrique, I knew it. I knew the strain was too much for his heart.'