Lure Of Eagles

Domine shrugged. ‘You speak Spanish in Peru, don’t you?’

‘They speak English in the United States, but I doubt if they consider themselves British,’ he retorted brusquely, and then made a sound of impatience. ‘But this is ridiculous. I am allowing myself to be drawn into one of these pointless arguments that you seem to thrive on. I did not bring you out here to discuss my poor grasp of the English language.’

‘You know your English is faultless,’ exclaimed Domine indignantly, and suffered another of those belittling stares.

‘That tempts me to an obvious retort, does it not?’ he demanded, shaking his head. ‘But I refuse to make it. My reasons for bringing you out here were——’

‘—to show me the ballroom,’ interposed Domine wickedly, and the thin lines of his mouth relaxed into reluctant humour.

‘You are incorrigible!’ he affirmed, with resignation. ‘Did your mother never teach you that it is unfeminine to be so presumptuous?’

Domine hesitated. ‘My mother died soon after I was born,’ she replied slowly. ‘Grandpa was the only parent I’ve ever known.’

‘Your father?’

‘He was drowned, when I was six.’

‘Perdone!’ For the first time since she had known him she heard him lapse into his own language for a moment, and the betraying sensitivity was disturbing. But he quickly recovered himself. ‘I regret,’ he said, his words still a little shaken, ‘I mean not to pry into your private affairs.’

‘That’s all right.’ Domine was offhand. ‘I don’t mind. I have nothing to hide.’

The ironic twist to his lips revealed his understanding of her last statement, and with an inclination of his head he said: ‘No more do I, Miss Temple,’ but he made no attempt to elaborate.

Deciding to take the initiative yet again, Domine stepped through the doorway into the small ballroom. It was not an attractive room, unless one liked Gothic mirrors and gilt decoration, but in spite of its heavy carving and gloomy lighting the acoustics were remarkably good. There were few people circling the floor to the music of the string quartet playing on a dais at the far end, and the musicians themselves were making hard work of a popular tune of the day. Most of the guests present seemed quite content to sit at the tables surrounding the dance floor, or congregate together near the doorway where Domine was standing. It was a typical gathering of middle-aged to elderly people, and she wondered what Luis’s reactions were to this collection of Englishmen taking their leisure.

Glancing round, she saw he had come to join her, standing slightly behind her, surveying the scene with enigmatic eyes. Domine wondered if they had dances like this in Lima, or whether the young people were allowed to indulge in more exciting rhythms than the jerky quickstep at present being executed.

‘Do you dance—Luis?’ she enquired irrepressibly, and he regarded her tolerantly.

‘I do not recall giving you permission to call me by my given name,’ he said without heat. ‘My sister was most shocked, as you may have noticed. In Peru, one does not do such things. It may seem terribly old-fashioned to you, but we are brought up to respect our elders.’

Domine couldn’t suppress a gurgle of laughter. ‘Your elders?’ she echoed. ‘Are you saying that you are my elder?’

‘I am much older than you are,’ he agreed smoothly, pushing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. ‘Shall we return to the others?’

‘No.’ Domine was mutinous. ‘I want to clear up this point about names here and now. Are you saying, if I got to know you in Peru, I would be expected to call you Señor Aguilar all the time?’

He sighed. ‘No. Once we had been introduced, you might call me simply señor, or perhaps Don Luis.’

‘Don Luis?’ Domine shook her head. ‘But why? Why shouldn’t I call you Luis? That’s your name, isn’t it?’

He gave a resigned shrug of his shoulders. ‘Why can you not accept that that is our way? It is not your way, I know, but I cannot help that.’

Domine hunched her slim shoulders. ‘Well, if you think I’m going to call you Señor Aguilar, you’re mistaken. It’s too archaic for words. This is the twentieth century—the fourth quarter of the twentieth century! I’m not some Victorian miss, meeting a man for the first time!’

‘No one could doubt that,’ Luis retorted drily, and she knew an unexpected impulse to please him.

The rhythm of the music had changed to a slow waltz, and the musicians were evidently more capable in this tempo. The tune was one of Domine’s favourites, usually sung by a group with their guitars, but still as haunting, played by the Percy Manfield quartet.

With an appealing eagerness she turned to Luis, putting a hand on his sleeve and saying: ‘Dance with me!’ in low breathy tones.

His reaction was predictable. ‘You do not give up, do you, Miss Temple,’ he exclaimed tersely. ‘And even in this liberated country of yours, surely it is still the prerogative of the male to invite the female to dance?’

‘Are you inviting me?’ she enquired, arching her eyebrows interrogatively, and he expelled his breath with impatience.

‘No,’ he retorted, and she could see the way his fists had balled in his pockets. ‘But as I know you will persist in this foolishness until you get your own way, I am forced to the conclusion that it might be easier to give in to you.’

Domine’s expression mirrored her delight. ‘Then you will?’

‘If you insist,’ he conceeded shortly, and she cast him a mischievous smile as she preceded him on to the dance floor.

However, her ideas of dancing and his were as converse as their opinions. Luis held her stiffly, with one hand in the small of her back and at least six inches of space between them. His other hand held hers at the required angle, and although his fingers were firm around hers, there was no feeling of intimacy between them.

‘Can’t you relax?’ she demanded, removing her hand from his shoulder and twisting it around her back to shift his fingers from her spine. ‘Hold me closer, for heaven’s sake!’ She looked up at him appeasingly. ‘I won’t explode, you know!’

Luis permitted her to draw a little nearer, but he made no response to her teasing provocation. Nor did he relax the stiffness of his body, and driven beyond reason, Domine drew back from him abruptly, right into the path of another couple. The man’s hard heel crunched painfully down on to Domine’s sandal-clad instep, and she could hardly suppress the cry of agony that rose into her throat. The man’s immediate apologies were sincere, and she managed to assure him that it was really her fault, but she had to limp off the floor, refusing as she did to take Luis’s arm once more.

But once they had gained the comparative privacy of the corridor, his fingers gripped her upper arm without her volition. ‘Let me see it,’ he commanded, gesturing towards her foot, and in spite of her previous intentions, she extended it for his inspection. ‘Idiota! Imbecil!’ he muttered savagely, squatting down beside her and massaging her foot with exquisite gentleness, and Domine caught her breath.

‘Who?’ she asked jerkily. ‘Me? It wasn’t my fault really. It was an accident——’

‘I did not say I meant you, did I?’ he objected, looking up at her with those dark enigmatic eyes. ‘Perhaps I meant myself, for allowing such a thing to happen.’

Domine’s breathing felt constricted suddenly. ‘It—it wasn’t anybody’s fault,’ she got out unevenly. ‘I—will it be all right?’

‘Nothing seems to be broken,’ he reassured her, making a final searching examination. ‘It may be a little stiff tomorrow, but that is all.’

‘Thank you.’ Domine slipped her foot back into her sandal as he rose to his feet. Already most of the stinging pain had left it, and only the bruising of the flesh remained to remind her of the incident. That, and the disruptive tenderness of Luis’s hands upon her skin. ‘I—I suppose we’d better go back to the restaurant now.’

‘I suppose we better had,’ he agreed gravely, supporting himself against the panelled wall of the corridor, but he made no attempt to move away, and Domine’s pulses raced. ‘Tell me,’ he added, the hooded lids shading his expression, ‘how soon can you be ready to leave for Lima? One week? Two? I myself must return in a day or so, but I should like to know when you expect to make the journey.’

Domine’s smile was quizzical. ‘Do you really care?’ Then, when he made no effort to answer her, she continued: ‘I don’t really know—I haven’t thought about it yet. Will I need a visa? And are there injections I should have?’

Luis frowned. ‘You will not need a tourist card, but as for inoculations—yes, I suppose there are certain precautions you should take. Yellow fever, smallpox and tetanus, certainly. And perhaps typhus, too, although that is not absolutely essential.’

Domine grimaced. ‘So many!’

Luis’s expression softened. ‘But necessary, do you not agree?’ His eyes moved over her face to the creamy skin rising from the folds of black chiffon. ‘You would not like to see that smooth skin scarred with pockmarks, would you? And I assure you, typhus has equally unpleasant symptoms.’

‘All right.’ Domine adjusted her sandal strap under his intent gaze. ‘I’ll make the necessary appointments.’ She hesitated. ‘I just wish you weren’t leaving so soon.’

‘Why?’

For once he responded to her wistful anxiety, and she looked up at him with appealing candour. ‘Because—well, because I’ve never made such a long journey alone. In fact, I haven’t made any journeys alone before. Grandpa always insisted I had a companion, usually my mother’s Aunt Barbara. She came with me to Italy last summer.’

His expression was thoughtful now, the finely-chiselled lips drawn into a considering line. ‘Your grandfather,’ he said, as if speaking his thoughts aloud. ‘You feel no antagonism towards him, do you? Do you not feel any resentment towards your cousin either?’

‘Why should I?’ Domine was philosophical. ‘Grandpa did what he thought was best. Perhaps he was right. If he’d left me the mills, he knew Mark would have——’