Pale Dawn Dark Sunset. Anne Mather

now. Susan—that is, my sister and I have no parents. They’ve been dead for more than eight years. When Bob—Susan’s husband—got a job in Brazil, I was still at college. I hadn’t seen either of them for over a year when—when I had news that they were missing.”

      “I see.” Rafael paused. “So you may find it—difficult to cope with a child?”

      Miranda half turned in her seat towards him. “Do you really care, señor…?”

      Rafael stiffened. That she should ask him that! He made a dismissing movement of his shoulders. “Of course it is the duty of anyone to care, señorita. The child is young—impressionable. She needs a firm hand as well as a secure background. She needs good food and clothing, someone to whom she may turn in times of trouble someone who is always there in the background, always ready to offer assistance and advice.”

      Miranda traced the grain in the leather at the back of his seat with a careless finger. “And don’t you think I can provide these things? Is that what you’re getting at?”

      “I did not say that, señorita. But you are young, you have your own life to lead. What place in it would there be for an orphaned eight-year-old girl?”

      She swung round in her seat. “I get the feeling you’re trying to tell me something, señor,” she remarked coldly.

      Rafael sighed, wishing for the umpteenth time that he had not agreed to become a part of this impossible situation. “It is simply that my brother is concerned for the child’s welfare, señorita,” he stated flatly. “Is it not natural that this should be so. These past weeks she has been—how shall I say?—the centre of attention.”

      “But she doesn’t remember who she is, does she?” Miranda retorted. “How do you think she’ll feel when she discovers that her—her parents are dead?”

      “That is impossible to answer, of course.”

      “Of course.” She hunched her shoulders. “But don’t you think that for a child of Lucy’s age, having someone she knows, someone she really knows, to care for her, is more important in the immediate term than anything else?”

      “Perhaps so, señorita.”

      “But you’re not sure, are you?” She tossed her head impatiently. “I’m beginning to think I know why your brother did not come to meet me himself. He wanted you to plead his case—didn’t he? Be his advocate! But why? What does Lucy mean to him?”

      Rafael saw the lights of Puebla looming ahead of them with some relief. “We will complete our journey by helicopter, señorita,” he stated stiffly. “Then you will meet my brother and judge for yourself what his motives may be.”

      At the airport, formalities were soon dealt with, and he led the way to that quieter corner of the airfield where a silver and blue helicopter glinted in the dull lights. Miranda had said nothing since leaving the car, and if she was surprised to find herself expected to complete the journey in a helicopter she made no demur. It was Rafael who found himself growing increasingly disturbed and after securing her in the seat beside him he fastened his own straps with impatient fingers. He should never have come on this mission. If anything he had prejudiced the girl against Juan by his own carelessness.

      In the air he felt a little more relaxed. Flying, whether in the helicopter or in the monoplane also owned by the estate, always relaxed him. His father had been a keen pilot and some of Rafael’s earliest memories were of being taken up in an aeroplane and subjected to the kind of aerobatics calculated to shake the hardest nerves. But Rafael had loved it, and by the time he was fourteen he could handle a plane almost as well as his father. Of course, his mother had not known, not then, but as soon as he was old enough to hold a licence it had become one of his greatest pleasures. A pleasure he had denied himself of late.

      Now as he turned the helicopter towards the valley of the Lima, he reflected that he could afford to be pleasant to the girl when in a little over an hour she would no longer be his responsibility. He knew the terrain like the back of his hand, and felt he could have flown the chopper in blindfold. He glanced towards his passenger and saw her taut features revealed in the diffused lighting from the instrument panel. He felt a sense of remorse. He had been cold and unyielding, totally unlike his normal self. It was not her fault that he instinctively recoiled from her easy familiarity. What must she be thinking of him?

      He shook his head. Juan should not be too disappointed. After all, he, too, had been expecting an older woman. What he would say when he confronted this emancipated specimen of womanhood might be interesting to hear. But something had to be said now and Rafael sought for suitable words.

      “No one has any intention of trying to—take your niece—if indeed the child is your niece—away from you, señorita,” he averred at last.

      She looked sideways at him. “No one could.”

      Her determination was irritating. She was obviously unaware of the power of the Cueras family if she imagined her words would carry much weight here.

      “I—should not take that attitude, señorita,” he replied quietly. “You are not in England now.”

      “Are you threatening me, señor?” she demanded incredulously, and his knuckles showed white through the skin of his hands.

      “No, señorita, I am not threatening you. I am merely offering sound advice.”

      She directed her attention towards him. “And what do you do, señor? Do you work for your brother on this estate Father Esteban mentioned in his letters? Are you working for him now?”

      Rafael could not remember feeling so angry for a very long time. “No,” he managed, through clenched teeth. “I do not work for my brother, señorita. I have no connection with the estate.”

      “I see.”

      But she was puzzled. He sensed that. However he had no intention of enlightening her further. She would learn soon enough no doubt. But not from him. He did not altogether understand his antipathy towards the girl, but he wanted nothing more to do with her.

      Thereafter there was silence between them. They flew in over the mountain ranges, dropping low into the valley where lights pricked the gloom below them. A fugitive moon slid from behind clouds long enough to illuminate the grey walls of the Hacienda Cueras, but then they fell behind them as the helicopter dropped down to the valley floor where a narrow airstrip flanked by adobe buildings provided a necessary landing area. As they landed Miranda looked curiously about her., probably noticing the lack of formal buildings.

      “Is this it?” she asked, and he nodded.

      “This is it, seˉnTorita,” he agreed coolly, thrusting back the sliding perspex door as the propellers slowed to a stop. “Only a short journey in a Landrover and you will be at the Hacienda Cueras.”

      “Oh, but—” Miranda broke off. “I thought Lucy was staying at the mission with Father Esteban.”

      “She is, señorita. But the mission is small, accommodation is limited. My brother insists you accept his hospitality. Besides, it would not be advisable to upset the child at this time of night.”

      He thought she was about to refuse, but although her mobile mouth tightened she tossed back her hair with a careless hand and bent to unfasten her safety harness. He offered her his hand to climb out, and after a moment’s hesitation she took it, her fingers slim and cool in his. It was the first time he had touched her, and he could tell from the way her eyes darted to his face that she was not unaware of him. But he withdrew his hand as soon as he could and turned away with relief to speak to Gerardo Sanchez, the mechanic, who lived in one of the adobe buildings. They spoke in a swift patois, a mixture of Mexican and the native Nahuatlan, which successfully excluded Miranda. All the same, Rafael was conscious of her standing there, behind him, slim and elegant, in spite of her casual attire, looking about her with interested eyes.

      It was