Night Of The Condor. Sara Craven

guys in the old stories who were always being sent off on quests before they could win the princess.’

      She had smiled at that, in spite of her unhappiness. She had always loved those stories. ‘What are you going to do—climb a glass mountain, and bring me back a golden apple?’

      ‘Maybe I will at that. After all, Atayahuanco was once an Inca citadel, and the Incas went in for gold in a big way. Perhaps I’ll find the lost treasure they hid from the Spaniards, and lay it all at your feet.’ He laughed. ‘Your father would really be impressed then.’

      ‘He certainly would!’ She laughed with him, but the glance she sent him was slightly troubled, just the same. ‘Evan, you do realise this isn’t a conventional archaeological dig you’re going on? It might have started out that way, but the emphasis switched a long time ago. As well as trying to build up a picture of how the Incas lived in that particular place, the team’s trying to rehabilitate the Indian families who still live there, but have lost touch with their traditional skills and lifestyle. I don’t think there’s any treasure-seeking going on.’

      ‘Darling Leigh!’ He kissed her. ‘You sound like a brochure for Peruvian Quest. I do know all that—my God, I should, because it’s been drilled into me ad nauseam. I’m not going to Atayahuanco with any preconceived notions about what I’m going to find there. I’m going to convince your father that I’d make the ideal son-in-law—docile, obedient, and industrious.’

      Brave words, thought Leigh, as she relived the conversation, but in reality Evan had been violently shocked by the conditions in the valley. And the desperate jokiness of his early letters, outlining the squalor and hardship on the site, had soon degenerated into angry bewilderment, and a string of complaints.

      His most recent letters had suggested he was near the end of his tether, and it was these which had led to her sudden decision to fly out to Peru to join him, in spite of her father’s forcefully stated opposition.

      But this time, Leigh had been adamant. ‘We’ve been apart for a year. We’re of age, and we’re in love. We deserve a little happiness.’

      She had faltered slightly when she realised Justin Frazier was not prepared to assist in any way with her arrangements.

      ‘I’m not going to ease your path for you, Leigh,’ he said flatly. ‘This whole idea is madness from start to finish. I can only hope when you get to Lima and realise the problems confronting you, your own common sense will bring you home again.’

      His words had lingered uneasily throughout that interminable journey, in spite of her efforts to tell herself that when she got to Peru, happiness would be hers for the taking. But now—with Evan’s failure to show at the airport, the sheer impersonality of this hotel suite, and, most of all, the swirling sea mist outside—all her old doubts had returned.

      Leigh gave herself a brief mental shake. She needed some practical stimulation. She supposed she should eat, but she was too strung up to be hungry. On the other hand, some coffee might be good. As she moved to the internal telephone beside the wide bed to call room service, it rang, startling her.

      She lifted the receiver. ‘Yes?’

      ‘Señorita Frazier, there is a gentleman here at reception asking for you. Do you wish to come down and speak to him?’

      A smile began to spread across Leigh’s face. Evan, she thought, her depression lifting miraculously. She said, ‘Ask him to come up here, por favor.’

      There was a short silence, then the clerk said, ‘You are certain that is what you wish, señorita?’

      ‘Yes, of course,’ Leigh returned with a trace of impatience. ‘And will you arrange for some coffee to be sent up too.’

      ‘At once, señorita.’ The phone went down.

      She sped to the dressing-table, and tugged a comb through her shoulder-length tawny hair so that it curved elegantly towards her neck. She renewed her lipstick hastily, wishing with irritation that she had changed from the clothes she had been travelling in. But the spare lines of the chic sand-coloured linen dress still looked relatively fresh, she decided, and after their long separation Evan, she hoped, would be too delighted to see her to be over-concerned about the finer details of her appearance.

      She put up a hand and touched the gold chain she wore round her throat. She thought, I’m nervous. Nervous of seeing Evan again. But that’s ridiculous. It’s what I want, after all, what I came all this way for.

      For one nightmare moment, she tried and failed to remember what Evan looked like, reminding herself, as panic rose inside her, that the same thing was said to happen to brides on their way to the altar.

      The brisk rap on the door was a relief, cutting across the blankness in her mind. She took a deep steadying breath, as she walked across the room, and her smile was firmly back in place as she flung open the door.

      She said gaily, ‘Darling, you got here at last …’ then stopped dead, because no trick of the mind could ever have turned the complete stranger confronting her into Evan.

      Evan was fair, and this man was as dark as midnight—thick black hair springing back from a high forehead, a lean face, with high cheekbones, deeply tanned, the lines of nose, mouth and chin all forcefully, even harshly marked. He was tall, long-legged, and broad-shouldered, dressed in denims, with a worn leather jacket slung carelessly across one shoulder.

      Leigh said sharply, ‘Who are you? What do you want?’

      He gave her an unsmiling look. ‘It might have been wiser to have established that before inviting me to your room, Miss Frazier. Do you usually behave so recklessly in a foreign country?’

      She said glacially, ‘I was expecting my fiancé.’

      ‘My regrets for your disappointment.’ He neither looked nor sounded even slightly regretful. ‘I presume you had some reason to believe he would meet you here?’

      Leigh’s chin tilted. ‘May I know what business this is of yours, Mr … er …?’

      ‘Rourke Martinez,’ he said. ‘And it’s “Doctor”, Miss Frazier.’ He looked at her drily. ‘I see the name is familiar to you.’

      Oh, she had heard of him all right, Leigh thought faintly. Most of Evan’s discontent had been centred on this man. ‘Everyone defers to him,’ he had written shortly after his arrival. ‘He stalks round the camp behaving as if he was one of the ancient Incas with the power of life and death over us all. Even Fergus Willard, who’s technically in charge, does as he tells him.’

      Knowing that her instinctive reaction to his name had given her away too thoroughly to warrant a denial, she gave a slight shrug. ‘I believe Evan has mentioned you, Doctor Martinez, yes.’

      ‘I’m sure he has.’ He sounded faintly amused. ‘And not in any flattering terms either, unless I miss my guess. Now that my identity has been established, are you going to invite me in? Or would you prefer this interview to be conducted in one of the reception areas downstairs?’

      ‘Arrogant bastard’ had been another of Evan’s descriptions, and it seemed perfectly justified, Leigh thought, her hackles rising.

      Down the corridor, the lift doors opened, and a white-coated waiter emerged, with a tray of coffee. The coffee which she had ordered. And although there was nothing she wanted less than to have to invite Rourke Martinez into her suite, she could see that to object would cause unnecessary complications, and probably make her look foolish into the bargain.

      She said abruptly, ‘You’d better come in,’ and turned back into the suite.

      The waiter deposited the tray where she indicated on the table by the window, and stood waiting for the inevitable tip. Rourke Martinez provided it with a brief word in Spanish, but not before the waiter sent Leigh an infuriating leer, shared equally between herself, the open door to the inner room, and the big bed which suddenly seemed to dominate it.

      She