An Undefended City Read online

  `Then you must take her dancing,' said Barbarita firmly.

  `Now?' Luis laughed down at her. 'She's had a long journey. Look at her. She's appalled at the thought of dancing. All she wants is supper and sleep. Am I not right?'

  Thus appealed to, Olivia said in confusion, 'Yes, of course. I mean, I don't want to be rude and it's very kind of you to want to take me dancing—if you do, I mean—though I don't see why you should—'

  Barbarita halted the tide of half phrases by stroking Olivia's less than immaculate hair with a soothing hand. 'Of course, my dear, you shall do exactly as you please. It was thoughtless of me to have forgotten that you must be tired. There is no need to distress yourself.'

  `Thank you. I'm sorry,' mumbled Olivia.

  Luis made an impatient noise and Barbarita looked from one to the other in enquiry.

  `I have told Olivia to stop apologising,' he explained. 'It is her major vice.'

  There was a pause. Then Barbarita said austerely, 'If you snort at her like a Spanish warhorse, I'm not surprised. It is not pleasant. If you continually complain about her behaviour—especially when she is tired and a long way from her friends—of course she feels intimidated.'

  Olivia had never encountered two champions in one evening before and was mildly amused to discover one determined to protect her from the other.

  No, Luis is right,' she told Barbarita, as the old lady bristled. 'I am a terrible coward and I say I'm sorry far too easily. It's simpler than standing up for oneself, you see.'

  `You should not,' announced Barbarita, sitting very erect in her chair, 'have to stand up for yourself unaided. If you're going to marry Luis that's part of the bargain.'

  `What?' Olivia's confusion gave place to straightforward terror at this assured statement. She looked wildly at Luis, but his expression was enigmatic. She turned back to Barbarita with something approaching desperation, all her previous doubts coagulating into a cloud of black panic. `But that's impossible!'

  `Nonsense,' responded the other lady, uncomprehending. `Oh, I daresay you have a lot of fine notions about independence within marriage. I read articles about them in the American magazines and they're rubbish. Of course you are independent, everyone is. But marriage is a sharing of things like self-defence. And if you don't need or want to share it, then there's no need to marry. You won't be in Luis's debt, my dear, as these stupid magazines say. It's a mutual arrangement. You defend each other. It can,' said Barbarita, descending briefly from her philosophical plane, 'be rather fun.'

  `But—but. . . .' Finding no words, Olivia sprang to her feet in agitation.

  She was physically and emotionally exhausted and she had had no food for some hours. She had moreover been badly frightened not half an hour previously and was now thrown into a state of uncertainty quite new in her experience. All

  of which, coupled with the sudden movement, overset her precarious balance. For the second time that evening, and with considerably greater dramatic effect, Olivia Lightfellow fainted gracefully away.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THE rest of the evening passed in turmoil. Olivia had no opportunity of seeing Luis alone, a circumstance for which she was not sure she was ungrateful. Barbarita's assumption that they were to marry was an embarrassing mistake for which Olivia, predictably, felt she was to blame. She was afraid that Luis would if not be angry, at least despise her as much as she despised herself for her inability to make the truth plain. She therefore clung to her exhaustion as to a lifeline.

  She was apparently carried up to bed by Luis, a proceeding which she was informed of by the housekeeper. This personage, conjured out of the fiesta by the returning Emilio in order to look after her, was by far too interested in Señor Escobar's promised wife to complain at being asked to forgo the evening's festivities. Fortunately for her peace of mind Olivia did not know this. She was in no case to speculate on the reasons for the kindness she encountered in Barbarita's house; contenting herself with being thankful.

  The housekeeper, descending to the salon, informed her mistress that the señorita was a frail little thing with pretty manners who was worn out

  `But she still remembered to say thank you, though she could hardly keep her poor eyes open,' said the good lady sentimentally.

  `She is certainly very tired,' agreed Barbarita, a frown between her brows.

  `Señora?' The housekeeper was bending to make up the fire, but the troubled tone of voice brought her upright again to turn an anxious eye on her mistress.

  `She seemed so—subdued,' mused Barbarita, more than half to herself. 'I hope Luis knows what he is doing. He

  forgets everyone hasn't his energy. She's a foreigner, after all, for all her mother was Mexican, and she looks very young. I think she might be more vulnerable than he has allowed for.' She broke off, staring into the dulled fire, biting her lip. 'I'm afraid she may be badly hurt,' she said in a low voice. 'I must talk to her. Would you ask her to come and see me first thing tomorrow, as soon as she's awake? I don't want to interfere, but if I can help—' she stopped. 'Men,' she concluded savagely, 'can be very stupid!'

  Sadly for Barbarita's good intentions, she awoke late and in pain the following morning. While the doctor was sent for and an enormous fire lit in her third floor boudoir, Luis had already lured Olivia from her bed by offering to show her the town.

  He was waiting for her in the hall as she came downstairs, and she approached him shyly.

  `I slept dreadfully late,' she began.

  `And you're sorry,' he finished, laughing at her. He took her hand. 'Look, I'll give you a dispensation for the day and forgive you everything as long as, just for eight hours or so, you can stop apologising.'

  Olivia laughed back at him, feeling more at ease. 'Very well, it's a bargain. Today I can do no wrong.'

  `Right.' He looked at her narrowly. 'Have you eaten? You're very pale. Didn't you sleep?'

  `Yes to both questions. I always sleep like a log,' said Olivia, charmed by his concern. 'If I'm pale—well, yesterday was hectic by my standards.'

  `I'm sure it was,' he agreed, amused. He ushered her out of the house and she found the light in the street blinding. As she stood with watering eyes he said, 'It's rather special, isn't it? The air is very clear here. There's quite a colony of artists, or there used to be. The colours don't fade, you see. When a house is painted shocking pink, it stays shocking pink for fifty years.'

  `What a terrible responsibility,' said Olivia, awed. 'One would never dare to paint a wall without consulting the town council in case other people didn't like it.'

  She fell into step beside him and they strolled in silence.

  Although it was very far from midday the heat was remarkable. The unshaded pavement was empty as everyone walked on the shadowy side of the road. They walked past a pink cathedral of a building which he told her was the covered market and past a church into a shady square.

  `The Jardin de la Union,' he announced. 'Not much grass by English standards, is it?' indicating two immaculate but patchwork-sized squares of turf under the trees.

  Olivia, whose Shropshire home boasted five acres of lawn, demurred.

  `It's beautifully cool.'

  `You're tired,' he observed, not making it a question. `We'll sit down. This is the centre of the town, so you're quite entitled to. That,' pointing to his left, 'is the showplace. It was built by Eiffel.'

  Olivia followed his finger. It was an imposing theatre, approached by stone steps, guarded by imaginatively muscled statuary, and supported by classic columns. Anything less like the foursquare house or Gothic market would have been hard to imagine.

  `Not Eiffel, of Tower fame?' she said doubtfully.

  `The same. He was very fashionable in Latin America for a time, particularly Mexico. It must have been something to do with the Empire.' She looked blank and he explained, `We had an Emperor for a few years, you know, in the past. His name was Maximilian and he was some sort of minor European royalty. He was put on the throne with Fre
nch support, but he was soon deposed, and anyway Louis Napoleon lost his own throne in , so he didn't get much help from France in the end. And all that's left is one or two buildings like this and rather a lot of Second Empire furniture in the antique shops. Your Uncle Octavio has a taste for it, You'll find a lot in Cuemavaca.'

  Olivia was intrigued. 'Don't you like it? I can imagine old things not appealing to you very much.'

  Luis led her to an ironwork seat shaded by evergreens before he answered.

  `I don't think I dislike old things. My mother has one or two that she brought from Spain with her and I suppose I'm

  fond of them. But they have been in the family a long time. I don't quite know that I can explain.'

  `You mean you feel that they are part of the family's history,' offered Olivia. 'That they belong.'

  `Yes, I do, I think.' He looked at her with respect. 'That's very perspicacious of you.'

  `No, it's not, it's rather what I feel myself. My father had a habit of buying things as an investment.' Olivia did not even try to disguise her distaste. 'He got them from the best dealers in London and Shrewsbury and I'm sure they are very good pieces. But they never seemed to be ours, somehow. I used to feel it was disrespectful to sit on them. They already had a history and it was nothing to do with us, we were so much newer than they were. And of course one never knew anything about the people who had owned them before. It used to be like living surrounded by other people's furniture. I never got used to it. But my father used to enjoy telling people where he found things and how much he paid for them. I believe he was very knowledgeable and picked up a number of bargains.'

  `He sounds very like your Uncle Octavio,' said Luis at his driest.

  He rested one arm along the back of the seat and sat surveying the theatre with his eyes half closed against the sun. Olivia shivered.

  `I haven't seen my uncle for some time, but he writes—more to Aunt Betty than to me.' She was recalling their plan to marry her to Diego. Shame filled her that Luis should know of the family conspiracy and the fool they thought her. She withdrew a little, sitting on the edge of the ironwork. 'I don't want to go to Cuernavaca,' she burst out. 'I want to stay here and not bother anybody.'

  He turned his head and looked at her.

  `Poor little one,' he said at last. 'Is that why you ran away?'

  Olivia gulped. She felt her colour rise. She dared a quick look at him and found him grave but uncensorious.

  `They—they—that is, it's thought to be a good idea that I—that Diego—' she faltered.

  `I know they plan a marriage,' he told her.

  `Yes, I know you do.' She looked away and her shoulders drooped. 'That's when I found out too. I heard Aunt Betty telling you. Until then I just thought I was coming here for a holiday. I had no idea—'

  There was no disguising the pleading note and he frowned over her bowed head.

  But when he spoke his voice was light enough. 'Any moment now you'll be saying you're sorry.'

  `Well, I heard you say it was disgusting,' Olivia muttered. `That was when I realised. I mean, I know they've always treated me as a bit of a child and I've never been brave enough to do anything about it. But I hadn't seen myself as quite such a liability. You were right—it is disgusting.'

  There was a pause, a long one, while she surveyed her inner misery. She did not notice the alert look on his face or the sudden tension in the arm along the seat behind her.

  Eventually he said, 'If I used such a word, and I don't remember doing so, I was quite certainly not referring to you or your behaviour. You mustn't imagine that I was. It was probably none of my business, but I did not like you being parcelled up like that and handed over to Diego. And there's no need, to tell me you. were in ignorance—that was transparent.'

  'I don't want to marry Diego,' avowed Olivia, not attending. 'He's too young and sociable and I couldn't keep up with him. Besides, he does exactly what he's told by Uncle Octavio. I mean, that makes him no different from me, does it? After all, we can't both be spineless. I don't see the point in marrying him if we're identical.'

  `No indeed,' agreed Luis, amusement creeping back.

  Olivia hardly heard him. 'Besides, Diego's got lots of girl friends, or so his mother's always telling Aunt Betty, and he doesn't want to marry me. Why should he?'

  `I could think,' said Luis airily, 'of one or two reasons.'

  `And I don't want to leave England and live in Mexico and change my whole life. If I was going to do something as drastic as that I'd want to be free, free from Aunt Betty

  and the family and everything. I don't want to marry anyone'. `That would be a pity.'

  There was something in his voice which arrested the monologue. Olivia turned drowned eyes on him.

  `That's what I thought I was doing when I ran away,' she said sorrowfully. She gave a hiccup, quickly suppressed. 'I thought if I could show them how well I could manage on my own they'd let me go away and not bother me. Only I couldn't, could I? You had to come and drag me away from those boys last night.'

  `You'd managed most admirably up to then,' he assured her.

  'No, I hadn't. I forgot to eat and then I felt sick in the bus and I fainted,' snorted Olivia, disgusted with herself.

  `The heat,' he waved an excusing hand. 'The height. All that activity. You can't be expected to go straight into an eighteen-hour day after an international flight either.'

  `Don't be kind to me,' she exclaimed, hands clenched in fury. 'I made a complete mess of everything. Heaven knows what would have happened to me if you hadn't turned up!'

  `Olivia, stop it !' Luis said sharply. 'You're much too hard on yourself. Nothing would have happened. You'd have found an hotel, I have no doubt.'

  `Or been trodden underfoot at the fiesta,' she returned, refusing to be comforted. 'And now I've got to go back to Cuernavaca with you and say I'm sorry.'

  `That at least shouldn't be difficult for you,' he observed wryly, and was rewarded with a fierce look.

  `They'll talk and talk at me and I'll probably end up marrying Diego after all because I'm not fit to do anything else.' She buried her face in her hands, heedless of passersby. 'I've had my chance for freedom and I blew it. I'll have to do what I'm told now.'

  `Not necessarily,' he drawled.

  `How can you be so blind? Of course I will. I haven't a leg to stand on when they start arguing. I am unfit to look after myself, just as Aunt Betty's always said. Unless Diego can talk them out of it, I shall have to go back to Cuernavaca

  and marry him.' She drummed clasped fists against her knees. 'What else can I do?'

  It was a rhetorical question. Staring bleakly ahead with tears drying on her pale cheeks, Olivia had all but forgotten her companion. She was certainly not expecting an answer to her problem from him and when he spoke she could not have been more startled if one of the statues had got off Mr Eiffel's plinth and asked her to dance.

  `You can,' said Luis Escobar, placing both hands on her shoulders and turning her round to face him squarely, `marry me.'

  She stared at him as blankly as if he had suddenly addressed her in a foreign language. He was amused.

  `As you seem bent on marriage,' he teased gently, 'and I agree with you about Diego.'

  Olivia opened her mouth, found there was nothing to say, and shut it again. She brushed a hand childishly across her eyes and sniffed.

  `I think you must be mad,' she informed him.

  He laughed. 'That's not very civil of you when I've just asked you to marry me!'

  `You must be mad.' Suspicious that she was being laughed at, Olivia glowered at him. `I'm nothing to do with you. At least Diego's family, and I suppose he himself, feels he's got some sort of responsibility. . .

  `I, on the other hand, have no such feeling,' he interrupted, looking displeased. 'When I suggested that you marry me, I did so because I thought the idea might appeal to you as much as it does to me. There is no question of any misplaced sense of responsibility. You are your 'own
mistress and take responsibility for your own actions—including marrying me or Diego, whichever you choose.'

  Olivia searched his face but, beyond the fact that his

  proposal was sincere and not, as she had first thought, an

  obscure joke, it told her nothing. She took refuge in retreat. `I don't want to marry anyone,' she repeated sulkily. `Then you don't have to. That too is your decision.'

  She flung away from him. 'Oh, you don't understand !' `Yes, I do perfectly. You've talked yourself into the belief

  that you can't do anything on your own. That is very wrong. It is an abdication of personal responsibility amounting to emotional suicide.'

  Olivia went rigid. She felt as if she had been kicked when she least expected it from a quarter she had never anticipated. The hurt was so sudden and so surprising that she felt sick. She swallowed.

  `And don't,' said Luis, his voice roughening, 'say you're sorry. Or I shall probably hit you.'

  They were attracting a good deal of attention and Olivia now began to realise it. As it was Sunday there was a fair number of persons perambulating the garden after Mass. The buzz of their conversation and the noise made by children running among the trees and hiding behind hedges had hitherto served to disguise from Olivia that their companions were not exclusively going about their own affairs. Now, however, she began to perceive the curious looks. The children, indeed, were largely uninterested in anything but their own games. The adults, however, sensing a drama, were watching their bench with undisguised avidity. Olivia was grateful that Luis had throughout conducted the conversation in English.

  She felt herself colour and directed a reproachful look at him. Luis, though, was unaware of his audience.

  `Don't look at me like that,' he said. 'You know perfectly well I wouldn't dream of hitting you. Though it would probably be very good for you.'

  Olivia was stung. 'Why are you being so nasty to me?'