Pale Dawn Dark Sunset. Anne Mather

calling me señorita. My name is Miranda. I’m used to that.”

      Rafael made no reply to this but merely indicated that she should accompany him across the well-lit entrance hall and out into the cooling warmth of the late afternoon.

      “I expect you’ve been waiting since yesterday, haven’t you?” Miranda suggested, as they walked to where Rafael had left the car. “I’m sorry. The plane developed a fault. It was quite nerve-racking really.”

      But she didn’t appear to be suffering any ill-effects, thought Rafael with unusual cynicism, and despised himself for feeling that way.

      “Aren’t those flowers beautiful!” she was exclaiming now, spreading her hands and giving a little shake of her shoulders. “I can hardly believe it, you know. That I’m here—in Mexico. I’ve done very little travelling, I’m afraid.”

      Rafael’s nostrils flared. “I should have thought that the reasons behind this journey were less than stimulating, señorita.”

      She glanced sideways at him, and her eyes were coolly appraising. Tall as he was, she did not have to look up far into his face and it was rather disconcerting to him. Most of the people he associated with, men as well as his mother and sisters, were much smaller than he was.

      Now she said quietly: “My sister and her husband went missing more than four months ago. I’ve had to adjust myself to the fact that they’re never coming back.”

      Rafael felt reproved and didn’t care for the experience. He was guiltily aware that he was making a very poor impression, but he said nothing and she looked away again, making some further comment about the banks of blossom that fronted the airport buildings.

      The grey Mustang gleamed metal-like on the stark concrete apron of the parking area. Miranda silently admired its sleek elegance and then asked: “Yours?”

      Rafael shook his head. “My brother’s, señorita.“ He swung open the passenger door. “Won’t you please get in?”

      With a shrug she curved herself into the seat and he stowed her case in the boot before joining her. It was some time since he had driven any woman other than a member of his own family, and he could smell the faint aroma of some perfume she was wearing and feel the warmth from her skin close beside his.

      They swung out of the parking area and he was relieved to have the traffic to rivet his attention. He was conscious of her looking about her with interest and in an effort to behave naturally he pointed out the twin mountain peaks which have become world-famous since the Spanish conqueror Cortes viewed the Aztec city from the tableland between them. They did not drive into Mexico City, however, but swung away south towards Puebla. If she was disappointed that she was not to have some time in the capital Rafael couldn’t help it. If she wished to go sightseeing when the business which had brought her to Mexico was over, that was her affair.

      All the same, he realised belatedly he had not offered her a meal before embarking on this journey, and sooner or later he would have to bring up the question of the child. He was not looking forward to that.

      “How far is it to Guadalima?” she asked suddenly, as clouds began to obscure the slanting rays of the setting sun.

      “Some distance yet, señorita.“ Rafael paused. “I did not think of it at the airport, but perhaps you are hungry?”

      Miranda shook her head. “Not particularly. We had a meal on the plane.” She looked down at her nails. “Tell me—I understood your brother was to meet me—is—is he ill or something?”

      Rafael’s fingers tightened on the wheel. “No. No, not ill, señorita.”

      “But there must have been some reason, mustn’t there?” she insisted, her eyes challenging his. “After all, you didn’t want to come, did you?”

      Rafael was taken aback. “Why do you say that.”

      “It’s obvious.” She slid lower into her seat, drawing up her foot and draping her arms round her knee. “I get the feeling I’m something more than a nuisance.”

      Rafael was contrite. “I’m sorry,” he said stiffly.

      She wrinkled her nose. “No, you’re not. I’m just trying to work out why you should come to meet me if you feel this way.”

      Rafael sighed and a little of the tension went out of him. “You must forgive me, señorita. I am a little—tired.”

      She shook her head. “Tell me about Lucy.”

      Rafael hesitated. “You’re sure the child is Lucy, then?”

      “Well, I’ve seen a photograph of her, sent by this priest, Father—Estoban?” He nodded and she went on: “It’s not the best photograph I’ve seen of her, but it certainly looks like her. And I don’t suppose there are too many children wandering about Mexico answering her description.”

      “No.” Rafael had to admit that.

      “I understand your—brother—has been very good to her.”

      This was his opportunity, but Rafael did not immediately take it. He had the feeling that this girl was different from any contingency Juan had considered. And he wasn’t altogether sure that she would be prepared to abandon her niece however tempting the offer.

      Now he said: “My brother has grown very attached to—to the child.”

      She nodded. “So I understand from the priest. I must thank him for taking such an interest in her. Does your brother have no children of his own?”

      “My brother is not yet married, señorita,” replied Rafael dryly, but she merely smiled.

      “I see.” Her eyes danced. “Then of course he couldn’t have, could he?” But he sensed she was laughing at him again.

      Rafael’s lips thinned. “As a matter of fact Juan is—betrothed, señorita.”

      “Oh!” She drew her lower lip between her teeth. “And you, señor? Are you married? Do you have children?”

      “No!” Rafael shook his head.

      She raised dark eyebrows. “You sound very definite about that.” She shrugged. “Nor am I. But I always imagined people married younger in Latin countries.”

      “Not everyone wishes to get married, señorita,” he was stung to retort.

      “No. No, I realise that. It’s going out of fashion, isn’t it?”

      “That was not what I meant, señorita.”

      “Wasn’t it?” Her eyes flickered over the open neck of his shirt, lingering for a while on the hair-roughened skin of his chest before continuing down to his bare forearms where he had rolled back his sleeves. She contemplated the plain gold watch on his wrist and then dropped her eyes to her hands.

      No woman of his own race that Rafael had ever known had looked at him in quite that way before, and he felt annoyed. Had she no respect, this girl from England? Did women there consider themselves the equals of men in every sense of the word? He had heard that this was so, but he had found it hard to believe.

      With a heavy sigh, he said: “Do you have any intentions of getting married in the near future, señorita?”

      Her eyes widened and she turned to look at him. “Not in the near future, no. Why?”

      Rafael moved awkwardly. Such personal questions were alien to him. “I—wondered, that is all, señorita.“ It was growing dark and he was impatient to reach the airport at Puebla. “If—if the child is your niece, what are your intentions?”

      Miranda frowned. “My intentions, señor?” She shrugged. “I don’t know what you mean.”

      “I phrase myself badly.” Rafael braked and changed gear as a handcart suddenly appeared