Flame Of Diablo

‘Of course he was sure!’ Sir Giles sounded irritable. ‘Knew him at once, and Mark recognised him too. He was dining with some people—name of Arviles. Señor Arviles is one of the top lawyers in Bogota, according to Larry.’

‘Mark was at university with someone called Arviles—Miguel Arviles,’ Rachel said slowly. ‘But I didn’t know he was a Colombian. And I didn’t realise that Mark was on particularly close terms with him either.’

But then, she thought, why should she had known? Mark had never been forthcoming about his friendships, and Rachel had had to learn to curb her curiosity, knowing that any suspicion of over-protectiveness would be resented.

She frowned a little. ‘Did Mr Forsyth know what Mark was actually doing there?’

‘Of course not. He assumed I would know all about it and I allowed him to think so, or did you imagine I was prepared to make him cognisant of our private affairs?’ Sir Giles’ eyes glared a little under the bushy white brows and Rachel said hurriedly,

‘No, no. It was silly of me. Did—did Mark send any kind of message?’

‘Apparently he had very little to say for himself,’ her grandfather said shortly. ‘That’s why I asked whether you’d heard from him. It occurred to me that as he must realise his whereabouts are now known, he might have been in touch.’ He was silent for a moment, his breathing ragged.

Rachel was silent too, remembering. There had been family rows before, some of them quite spectacular, as when she had announced her intention of going to drama school, but somehow she had known they had not really been important. Grandfather had been irritated by the idea of her wishing to become an actress and had expressed his views forcibly, but she had always suspected he was merely going through the motions. It didn’t really matter to him what Rachel did with her working life, because she would merely be filling in time before she made a suitable marriage.

But Mark was different. Grandfather had plans for Mark, and had never made any secret of the fact, and none of these plans took into account Mark’s openly acknowledged passion for geology, and his desire to study it at university. Harsh words had been uttered on both sides, but Mark had got his way in the end—as he usually did, Rachel thought resignedly. Perhaps Grandfather had thought it was just a boyish quirk from which Mark would recover in his own good time if left unopposed. Only it hadn’t been like that. When he had left university, it was to seek work as a geologist, not to succumb to the none too subtle pressure being exerted to make him join the family firm.

And that was when the real row had started. Rachel had been staying at Abbots Field during that weekend, and she had been powerless to intercede while her grandfather and her brother prepared to tear each other to pieces.

The trouble was they were too alike in many ways, she thought. Neither of them could easily see any point of view other than his own, or even believe that such a thing existed. The weekend had been full of tensions—rather like duellists, she had thought afterwards, selecting their weapons and taking the prescribed paces, but the first shots had not been exchanged until Sunday evening at dinner, just when she’d begun to hope that an open confrontation might be avoided. They’d quickly passed from veiled remarks to open recriminations, both of them becoming angrier and less accessible to reason with every moment that passed, with Rachel sitting in between them, a helpless spectator, trying to resist the urge to press her hands over her ears and shut out the cruel hurtful things they were hurling at each other.

‘You’ll be a pauper, boy, d’you hear me? A pauper!’ Sir Giles had crashed his fist down on the table making the silver and glasses jump. ‘What can you expect but some minor post in a beggarly university department—spending your vacations taking elderly maiden ladies on fossil-hunting expeditions. What kind of life is that for a Crichton?’

‘My God, you make me sick!’ Mark had jumped to his feet, his face crimson with temper. ‘You and your preconceived ideas of everyone outside your narrow bigoted experience! Why, you don’t even know the kind of salary a top class geologist can command from an oil industry these days.’

‘Top class—you?’ Sir Giles had laughed sneeringly. ‘It takes years, boy, to get to the top in any profession, and you didn’t even get an Honours degree. You’ll be back here in a year, moaning that you can’t manage on your salary, begging me for a hand-out. Well, wait and see what answer you get!’

Mark was white where he had been red before. He leaned across the table, staring his grandfather in the face. His voice was very even and distinct as he said, ‘If and when I ever do come back, I’ll be rich. I’ll have so much bloody money that I’ll make you eat every word you’ve said. And I shan’t come back until I’ve got it.’

He’d walked out of the room, and Rachel had gone after him, but it had been no use. He’d looked at her almost as if he didn’t see her, and her pleadings had been to no avail.

In the end she’d said, ‘Mark, he’s an old man. You can’t do this to him. You can’t—just walk out like this.’

His remote look deepened. ‘Does age give you the right to ride roughshod over everyone? We’ve had it all our lives, Rachie, ever since Mother and Father died, and I’ve had enough of it. He’s had pre-ordained slots for both of us, and I’m not going to humour him any longer. He seems to think the only wealth in the world is to be found in the City of London. Well, I’m going to teach him that he’s wrong.’ His hand came up and touched her cheek. ‘I’ll be back one day, Rachie. Don’t worry about me.’

It had been a week later that Grandfather had suffered his first minor attack, and Rachel, panicking and sending for Mark, had discovered that he was nowhere to be found. He had given up his flat and apparently vanished into thin air. She did the rounds of his closest friends, but none of them knew, or professed not to know, where he had gone. And she’d waited, endlessly, for the phone call, the letter, the message of reassurance which did not come.

And now, six months later, Sir Giles had suffered yet another attack, and this time he was really ill. Every bone in the proud old face seemed suddenly prominent beneath the transparency of his skin, and Rachel felt a sudden dryness invade her mouth as she looked at him. Was he—could he be dying? Uncle Andrew had never suggested a nursing home before, especially a high-powered one like the Mordaunt Clinic. She sank her teeth into the softness of her lower lip and waited for the sick man to speak again.

He moved restlessly at last and opened his eyes again, blinking a little as if even the muted light in the room hurt them.

He said hoarsely, ‘I was going to fetch him, Rachel. It’s all in the desk downstairs—my air ticket, hotel reservation in Bogota—everything. I’d planned to leave next week as soon as the inoculations took effect. You’ll have to go instead.’

For a dazed moment she thought her ears had deceived her—or that she was going mad.

Then she saw his eyes fixed on her with almost painful intensity, and heard him repeat, ‘You’ll have to go, Rachel. It’s the only way. Bring the boy home to me—before it’s too late.’

Andrew Kingston said angrily, ‘It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard of. You can’t seriously mean that you’re going?’

Rachel said wearily, ‘What choice do I have? You’ve told me yourself how ill he is—that another attack could occur at any time and be fatal. He wants to see Mark before he dies. It’s understandable. He’s his heir, after all.’

Dr Kingston moved his shoulders sceptically. They were in his private office at the Mordaunt Clinic, a tray of freshly made coffee on the desk between them. Sir Giles had been brought there by ambulance only half an hour before and was now in an intensive care unit. Rachel had been in to wish him goodnight, but he had been under heavy sedation and had not recognised her.

He said, ‘My dear child—–’ and paused, apparently lost for words.

She smiled rather wearily. ‘He has it all arranged. He even has an appointment tomorrow for all the various jabs—yellow fever, cholera—you name it. I’m supposed to keep the appointment in his place. The bookings are made, and my passport is in order. I don’t need a visa as I don’t expect to stay more than ninety days. It—couldn’t be better.’

Dr Kingston’s frown intensified. ‘My dear, it couldn’t be worse. What can Giles be thinking of? A beautiful young woman like you—alone in South America of all places!’

She said quietly, ‘He’s thinking of Mark.’

There was a brief unhappy silence while Andrew Kingston looked at her across the desk. There had been a feature article about her recently in one of the Sunday papers. It had described her jibingly as the ‘Ice Maiden’ of the English stage, and perhaps that was the impression she gave, with her cool blonde beauty and air of rather aloof composure. But a more discerning writer, he thought, might have detected the vulnerability beneath the poise which betrayed itself in the soft curves of her mouth, and the faint shadow which so often lurked in her green eyes.

He said abruptly, ‘But what about your career? The play you’re in—and that panel game on television?’

She smiled. ‘The play closed—and I’ve finished my stint on that particular game. My agent has other offers which I’ve been considering, but there’s nothing as yet that I feel I would die rather than miss. For all practical purposes I could go to Colombia. I’ve been promising myself a holiday, and it would get me away from the English winter.’

‘Oh, it would do that all right,’ said Doctor Kingston grimly.

Rachel leaned forward, setting down her empty cup. ‘I told him I’d go,’ she said quietly.

‘What?’

‘You told me not to let him get excited. He saw that I was hesitating and he started to get—very excited, so I had to agree. He wants Mark home. It means everything to him—the sorting out of this stupid quarrel. Mark won’t refuse to come back with me when he knows what the situation is.’

‘But do you have to be the one to tell him?’ he demanded. ‘This fellow—Forsyth—who saw Mark in Bogota. Couldn’t he arrange something—have the boy traced?’

Rachel sighed. ‘But don’t you see that would mean including other people—strangers—in a family upset? Grandfather wouldn’t be able to bear that. You’re really the only person outside the family who knows what happened, and you’re my godfather, so that makes it—legal, I suppose. And it isn’t really so onerous, you know. The arrangements have all been made for me. All I have to do is fly out to Bogota next week, trace this Arviles family and persuade Mark to come home—that is if he wants to see Grandfather alive.’ She swallowed painfully. ‘I doubt if I’ll be in the country more than forty-eight hours.’

Doctor Kingston nodded almost absently, his fingers playing with the cap of his fountain pen. Then he said gently, ‘My dear child, what are you trying to prove?’

He saw the colour rise in her face. ‘That isn’t fair!’

‘It’s the truth, Rachel, so what about it?’

She got up from her chair and went over to the window, pulling back the curtain and looking out into the darkness. She said, ‘Do you know, it’s snowing quite hard now.’ And then with barely a change of tone, ‘Don’t you see, Uncle Andrew, he’s asked me to do this for him. It’s the first time in my life that he’s ever asked me for something. He’s always been the one to give—you know that, ever since Mother and Father died. And he always made it clear that no return was ever expected or wanted, because I was a girl.’

‘But he’s always been proud of you. And you’re making a name for yourself in the theatre now. That must please him.’

She smiled wryly and let the curtain fall back into place.

‘Grandfather has always secretly believed that women belong in two places—and the theatre is neither of them. He has always looked on my career as a curious aberration which will be cured when I do the right thing and marry, and produce a family—boys, naturally.’

‘Rachel!’

‘Oh, it’s true, Uncle Andrew, and we both know it. He forgave me for my sex a long time ago, but he’s never let me forget it either—until now—and I’m not going to let slide an opportunity for Grandfather to see me as a person. I want him—I need him to be grateful to me, and if that sounds an unworthy motive for going to find Mark, then I’m sorry, but it’s the only one I’ve got.’

She swung back towards him, her lips smiling and her eyes luminous with unshed tears.