Temple Of The Moon. Sara Craven

      ‘My former wife could not accept the demands that my work made on my time,’ he said. ‘She had no interest in my researches and hated travelling. Whereas you, my dear Gabrielle, share my fascination with the Maya. You could be a great help to me—even an inspiration.’

      If Gabrielle hesitated at all, it was only momentarily, and if an inner voice warned her to make sure she was attracted by the man and not merely by the life he could offer her, she hushed it. She had been oddly touched too by James’ old-fashioned ideas of courtship and his evident respect for her innocence. She had been disturbed by the permissive behaviour that seemed to be the pattern at the college she had attended and her determination to stay apart from it had resulted in her being called a prig, and even more unkindly a professional virgin by some of the other students. The labels had stuck and in spite of the attractions of her dark copper hair and green eyes, fringed by long lashes, she had spent a rather lonely existence during her student years.

      Even when they were engaged, James made no attempt to push their relationship to a more intimate level, and she was grateful to him for this. The only souring of her happiness came with Aunt Molly’s overt disapproval.

      ‘Are you quite sure what you’re doing, child?’ she had said abruptly one day, watching Gabrielle packing some of the books she had decided to take with her to her new home. ‘He’s a middle-aged man, and set in his ways, and you’re so young … Sometimes I feel so worried.’

      Gabrielle sat back on her heels and looked at her aunt wide-eyed. ‘But, Aunt Molly, surely you’ve known James for years.’

      ‘Oh yes, I’ve known him all right,’ her aunt reorted rather grimly. ‘And that just increases my misgivings. Even your father used to say there was a side to James that no one would ever know, and that it was probably just as well. Oh, it’s not just the fact that he’s so much older than you, although that does disturb me too. I just wish you’d wait for a while—get to know each other a little more.’

      ‘Oh, Aunt Molly!’ Gabrielle curbed her exasperation. ‘Haven’t you said time and time again that no one really knows anyone until they have to live with them?’

      ‘Yes, I have,’ her aunt returned. ‘And if that was all you and James wanted to do, I’d feel much happier about the whole thing.’

      ‘I’m shocked,’ Gabrielle said with an attempt at lightness. ‘But seriously, can you imagine James agreeing to anything as—swinging as a trial marriage?’

      They laughed together, but their amusement was forced and Gabrielle was relieved when the conversation turned to another, less personal subject. Aunt Molly was a dear, but her views of marriage were as old-fashioned in their way as James’. She believed in romance, and that love would win the day, whereas Gabrielle was convinced that marriage was a relationship demanding toleration and hard work on both sides if it was to succeed. She had been prepared to work at her marriage. What she had failed to do was ask herself if James was prepared to do the same.

      Gabrielle gave a little sigh and signalled to a passing waiter. ‘Quisiera una horchata, por favor,’ she said haltingly, indicating the few drops of the pale almond and rice drink remaining in her glass so that there would be no misunderstanding.

      This was not how she had imagined her introduction to Mexico would be, sitting alone in a hotel foyer. She had thought James would be with her, advising her on what to order, encouraging her to use her Spanish, so painfully acquired in the comparatively brief period before she set out on her journey. But James had not even been there to meet her at the airport. Again, she had tried to make excuses for him, blaming the unreliability of the postal system, but at the same time something told her that even if one of her letters had in fact gone astray, it was unlikely that two would have done so.

      She had tried very hard with the second letter. There was no note of triumph in her announcement that Vision had decided to send her to the Yucatan to accompany the expedition of which James was a member. She had acknowledged that she was going against his expressed wishes, first in accepting full-time employment, and again in following him to Mexico, but she had begged him to understand that she needed more from life than to spend every day sitting in that immaculate flat, watching the housekeeper Mrs Hutchinson tending the pottery and figurines so strikingly displayed in showcases and alcoves. Gabrielle had not visited James’ home before their wedding, but when they returned there after the honeymoon. she was immediately conscious of a feeling of oppression. It was all so beautiful and tasteful—and slightly unreal. She had imagined she would be able to stamp something of her own personality on their home, but it had soon been made clear to her that there was no room for the sort of improvement that she visualised. Her tentative suggestion that the living room furniture could be re-grouped to provide a more homely effect had been greeted by James with a kind of horrified amusement. Gabrielle sometimes felt like a ghost. If she was merely sitting in a chair reading, and left the room momentarily, she found the cushions had been plumped up in her absence. Not even her own bedroom seemed to belong to her.

      The waiter arrived with her drink and she paid him and murmured her thanks.

      She had always known that there was more affection than passion in her feelings for James, but she had never intended that their marriage should be anything other than a normal one. She had been shocked and hurt to discover that James seemed in no hurry at all to consummate their relationship. At first, she had felt she ought to be grateful for his consideration—he had told her that he felt they should take time to become mentally attuned to each other before they became lovers in the physical sense—but as time went on Gabrielle felt growing doubts that James had ever wanted a wife in the real sense at all. And far from becoming mentally attuned, they seemed to be growing apart.

      She had assumed that as his wife, she would be expected to take part in a certain amount of socialising. That he would have colleagues to entertain and that she would act as his hostess as she had sometimes done for her father. But they saw no one. James went each day to the Institute of Central American Studies and she was left entirely to her own devices. In the evening he read or worked in his study while she sat alone watching television.

      Once and only once she had suggested that they might do some entertaining. His face had taken on the frozen look she had come to dread. ‘When I wish my privacy to be invaded by a chattering horde of strangers, I’ll tell you, Gabrielle.’

      In spite of his unspoken disapproval, Gabrielle had invited Aunt Molly to visit her, but her aunt had not been nearly so reticent.

      ‘Good heavens, child, it’s like living in a museum!’ She walked over to one of the showcases and inspected its contents with raised eyebrows. ‘It must cost James a fortune in insurance. Some of these things are incredibly valuable.’ She swung round and looked her niece over with a touch of grimness. ‘And what are you, exactly? The latest addition to his collection?’

      Gabrielle had naturally protested, but Aunt Molly’s words had stayed in her memory.

      The greatest disappointment of all had been James’ refusal to let her take part in any of his work. During their courtship he had patiently answered all her eager questions. Now she was made to see that her curiosity was a nuisance to him, and that she interrupted his concentration.

      He was busy, she told herself, but when all this paperwork was behind him and he began to prepare for the real work—for the expedition to the Yaxchilan region that she knew was brewing, then he would need her. Perhaps when they were actually in the Yucatan her enthusiasm would be the inspiration that he had once spoken of, instead of the irritation it now seemed.

      She could hardly believe it when she learned that he was going without her.

      ‘But you’ll be gone for months,’ she had burst out. ‘You can’t mean to leave me here alone. What will I do?’

      He stared at her. ‘Do? Occupy yourself in the same way as other wives, I imagine. You have the flat to run and …’

      ‘The flat!’ Gabrielle’s voice was contemptuous. ‘Mrs Hutchinson runs the flat and you know it. I’m not even allowed to so much as boil an egg on that immaculate