Ros, bruised and stiff but otherwise unharmed after her fall the previous day, took advantage of the hospitality tray in her room instead of going to the restaurant for breakfast. Instead she made coffee and returned to bed. By eleven she felt more normal and joined Veronica for coffee out on the terrace. Lorenzo soon appeared, but apart from a brief greeting made only a few remarks.
Veronica looked at her watch. 'I'll be late for the welcome party for the new arrivals. We'll be starting in a couple of minutes.'
Ros began to rise, hoping to escape, but Lorenzo caught her hand in his. 'No. We have to talk, Ros.'
'I see no point,' she replied curtly. She'd decided during the morning that, since she had no possible grounds for objecting to Lorenzo's behaviour, apart from a few endearments he'd cast her, there could be no profit in discussing it. Her own feelings for him were irrelevant. Best to meet only when essential, and avoid all other contacts. She had been so self-sufficient before meeting him, and he'd destroyed that calm. She had to distance herself from him.
'Ros, you're a beautiful girl, desirable, the sort to drive a man distracted. Before I went to Madrid I thought you were beginning to care for me. I still think you care, a little, whatever you force yourself to believe about last night. Come, let's walk up into the olive grove behind the hotel where we can talk in peace. Or do you prefer to talk here? I won't be silent!'
She looked at him helplessly. How could she retain her composure when he seemed so concerned for her? Yet after the kisses she had seen him giving Juanita she could not trust him. However, she had no desire for any other people who might come near them to overhear their conversation, so she reluctantly agreed to go with him.
He led her through the hotel into a small orchard. Ros looked at the fruit, oranges and a few lemons, eagerly sniffing their tangy scent, but turning hastily away from the sight of waxy orange blossom. Its symbolism caused unexpected regret. In some ways she'd always mourn Larry, deplore the waste of a young life, even if she now loved him less completely.
Beyond the orchard a grove of olive trees sloped up towards the road, which was screened by a belt of pine trees.
'These trees fascinate me, the way they grow all twisted and with new shoots coming out as if from the roots, twining up amongst the other branches,' Ros remarked as she stopped to examine a particularly convoluted specimen.
'Some of the trees further north are reputed to be over a thousand years old. None of these are anywhere near that age, so you can imagine how gnarled the others look.'
Ros shivered. 'I'm not surprised there are so many legends connected with olive groves. It's odd – spooky in a way. They give the impression of a perpetual mist even when the sun's shining. I suppose it's because of the colour, it's a cold colour.'
'And the texture of the bark, velvety yet not smooth. But we didn't come here for a learned dissertation on olive trees, my love. Let's sit down. Look, this tree is so bent it makes a seat.'
He sat down on the ground while Ros leaned back against the sloping trunk of the tree. She was wearing a dress of a deep rich red, which contrasted with the misty grey green of the trees, but she was unconscious of the picture she made until Lorenzo, muttering that he had to capture this moment, produced a small camera which had been clipped to his belt and silently took her photograph.
'I wish I could paint when I see you like that,' he said softly. 'The camera never catches the colour and the quality of the air in the way a painter can. Now, are you still pining for your lover? Is that why you're cold towards me?'
Ros took a deep breath. 'Of course not. It was two years ago, Lorenzo, But I don't want a casual affair.'
'For fear of being hurt again?' he queried gently. 'Do you think I offer a casual intrigue when I kiss you and show you how much I admire you? I want to heal your bruises, teach you there is still happiness to be had.'
Ros bit her lip, then turned away to gaze out across the orange orchard and the hotel towards the vibrating sparkle of the sea in the bay below. She could not mention his kissing Juanita for he would think she was jealous. But she could not be jealous of Lorenzo without loving him, and she dared not permit herself to do that.
'Ros, look at me,' Lorenzo said quietly, and Ros, unwilling, but compelled in some mysterious way to obey him, slowly raised her eyes towards his. ln this inscrutable place amongst the ancient olive trees she had become almost hypnotised by the atmosphere. Then, as Lorenzo began to speak, they were interrupted.
'Senorita! Pardon, Senor, but I have a message from Senor Mendez.' It was one of the waiters. 'The Senor needs to speak with you at once. He said he had received an answer and you would know what he meant.'
*
With a rueful smile Lorenzo nodded. 'Excuse me, Ros, but this is urgent.' He left swiftly and she followed more sedately. She was restless, suddenly had no plans for the day. She was unsure of what more she could do to trace Tim, disturbed by Lorenzo's intensity, and reluctant to return to Mr Goldstein's house until she had learned more about him.
In the foyer she stopped to speak to Veronica who was tidying up and replacing the heaps of brochures and advertising leaflets. She heard swift footsteps approaching and an imperious voice addressed them.
'Why is the bar closed? I want a martini. Get me one.' It was an order not a request, and Ros looked up angrily.
'I'm afraid that's impossible, I'm not permitted to serve drinks. You will find the bar through that archway,' Veronica said mildly, and Ros recognised the woman standing on the other side of the desk, her back towards them as she looked about the foyer. It was Juanita Santos.
The golden-haired beauty turned round slowly and glared at them.
'Nonsense! You are just lazy and impertinent. I shall complain of you to the Manager. Ah, Lorenzo!' She raised her voice and Ros saw him emerging from the office. 'How long do I have to wait here and endure rudeness and insults from silly little girls more interested in gossip than attending to guests?' she demanded in a loud voice as he crossed towards her, weaving his way past the comfortable chairs which were scattered about the foyer.
He shot a puzzled glance at Veronica, who was breathing hard, furious with the unjustified accusation and the unmannerly way in which it had been made.
Ros had endured enough. 'For your information, I am a paying guest and you are an employee, paid to entertain us,' she said in flawless Spanish. 'I suggest you apologise to my friend for your appalling manners! The most talented stars, you will find, do not need to throw their weight about in order to assert their superiority!'
Lorenzo intervened before Juanita, for once bereft of words, could retaliate. 'I'm sure no one had any intention of being rude,' he said calmly. 'Senor Mendez is waiting for you, Juanita. I'll show you the way.'
They left, and Ros sank onto a chair.
Veronica giggled nervously. 'Thanks, Ros. That woman's impossible! It's the first time I've even been tempted to hit anyone.'
Ros nodded agreement, but she was thinking of Juanita's sudden smile, the way she had hooked her hand possessively through Lorenzo's as he led her away.
'That one, she is a devil,' the desk clerk, who had been a silent observer, said softly. 'I think she is so proud of her singing she does not think it important to behave with decency. A pity she has to sing here, but customers like it.'
'How often will she be coming?' Veronica asked apprehensively.
'Tomorrow for the gala evening, and then once a week for a month before she goes to France for the summer season there.'
'I suppose we can endure her for a few occasions, then,' Veronica replied. 'She won't be staying here, thank heavens!'
'Indeed, so we have that to be thankful about. Now, I think you both need a drink. I have a bottle of Malaga in the office, come and share some of it with me. it would be wasted on such a one as that!'
*
He was so pleased with himself Ros had to smile, and the rich heavy wine steadied her. Veronica, too, simmered down, and when Lorenzo came in a few minutes later she was able to greet him with cool composure.
'I am sorry Juanita was so unpardonably rude, Veronica,' he said immediately. 'I told her you were not there for her benefit. But don't be concerned by her threats, Pablo knows her well enough not to take any notice of her tantrums and she cannot cause trouble for you.'
Ros stayed with Veronica for a while, then went back to her chalet, and as she was letting herself in Lorenzo, in the silent way she'd learned to know, although it always made her heart beat uncomfortably fast, appeared beside her. He smiled and her heart performed uncontrollable gymnastics.
'I have some business to attend to now, and I have to be on show this evening, for the Gala,' he said, pushing her gently for she seemed incapable of movement, and following her into the room. 'But tomorrow evening I am free.' He leaned towards her and she caught the faint scent of his aftershave, one she had not encountered before, but which she knew was expensive. Perhaps a gift from Juanita, she thought tartly, trying to avoid his hands as they captured hers. 'Will you have dinner with me? A quiet place outside the town, where we can talk properly without interruptions.'
'I can't!' Ros exclaimed hurriedly. She dared not be alone with him for fear he discovered her feelings towards him. She would not give him the satisfaction of another conquest, she vowed silently.
'Why not?' Ros twisted to avoid his keen gaze, but he held her too firmly and pulled her close to him. 'Why do you always resist me, fight me off, appear afraid of me?'
'I've told you, I don't want a casual affair!'
'Who has ever mentioned a casual affair except you?' he demanded. 'Don't you believe me when I say I love you, I want you for ever, and will never love anyone else?'
He began to kiss her slowly, expertly, and exquisite sensations flowed along her veins, filling her entire being with an irrepressible longing. As his tongue traced the outline of her lips and his hands, gentle yet firm, exploratory yet confident, followed the curves of her body, she clung to him fiercely, her objections swept away on a surge of longing. What did it matter if she believed him or not – and she couldn't believe he meant what he said – she wanted him! It would inevitably happen. He would lose interest in her, but until that time she needed him with a wild tempestuous yearning she'd never experienced for anyone else.
Hc laughed softly, triumphantly, and stepped away from her.
'You see, my love, you can't deny it. Tomorrow evening.' He was gone, and Ros sank into a chair. Whatever happened, she would enjoy this love – no, she thought, it isn't love, at least not on his part – while it lasted.
Ros was in the bar just before dinner when Juanita, in a deep midnight-blue sheath dress which clung provocatively to her ample curves, arrived with her manager and a nervous looking little woman in tow.
The singer had to pass within a couple of feet of Ros and she glanced at her without a hint of recognition as she swept past. An obsequious Senor Mendez appeared and Juanita greeted him a deep, husky voice. Ros realised with sudden scorn that she deliberately cultivated the huskiness when she was talking to men. Her voice had been harsh and strident when she'd spoken to Ros that afternoon.
Her singing nevertheless was superb, and Ros had to admire it. The diners clearly loved it and clamoured for more, especially of the simple old Spanish folk songs which she sang to Lorenzo's guitar accompaniment.
*
Afterwards, bowing graciously from side to side, she made what was almost a Royal Progress to go and sit at one of the tables with a group of Majorcan businessmen who had been invited for the special opening, and when the rest of the entertainment was over Lorenzo also joined them.
Then there was dancing and Ros was too proud to leave, and so display her pain and the acute jealousy of seeing Juanita in Lorenzo's arms, swaying sinuously to the music.
Why was he not still playing with the other musicians, she wondered. He seemed to be accepted as Juanita's special escort that evening. Was it merely because they had performed together and so he was regarded as a special guest in the way she was?
Juanita danced with each of the businessmen, while Lorenzo appeared to be absorbed in discussion with Senor Mendez and others in the party. Only once did Ros see him glance in her direction, when she was dancing with a good looking blond Swede who attached himself to her for the entire evening.
Somehow she managed, smiling brightly as she talked and danced, but with a false note in her laugh which, she was certain, could be detected by everyone.
When she finally escaped to bed she took herself angrily to task. She must have been mad that afternoon. Whatever stupid dreams she'd permitted herself when she'd fallen for Lorenzo's particular brand of charm, and whatever he'd said, she must accept he did not love her. He might be attracted to her, but she was deeply suspicious about his motives. The adoration with which some of the younger female guests showered him and the veiled hints from other staff made it only too clear that women fell for him in droves, and he was certainly not averse to their admiration. Why should he pay any greater attention to her than to any of the others? He obviously relished the company of women, and especially that of Juanita.
Once more she fruitlessly pondered why he'd been included in the singer's party, singled out to join Senor Mendez and his important guests. Surely the fact of being her accompanist for just a few songs could not account for it. Juanita's own manager and the woman she had brought with her, who, Ros heard from Mandy, was her maid, had not been included. If Lorenzo was that surely implied it had been at Juanita's wish.
They must mean a great deal to one another. He would not permit himself to become any woman's pet poodle and trail around after her at her whim. No, he and Juanita were not on those sort of terms. They must have a relationship strong enough, and public enough, to make it natural for others to accept Lorenzo as her companion.
This strengthened the realisation that Lorenzo could not be serious in his pursuit of her, but it did nothing to help her distress. It merely renewed her determination to avoid him. She felt hot all over as she recalled his kisses and caresses that afternoon. She would have let him make love to her.
She had not given a thought to his possible involvement in Tim's disappearance. If the man on the Golden Gull was Tim, then he clearly hadn't been murdered or kidnapped or suffered any other dire fate, but if the man wasn't Tim, then all the previous questions and doubts remained.
*
Only Lorenzo's departure had prevented her abject surrender to him. She dared not be alone with him again. She must find a way of avoiding the dinner date the following evening.
Although she lay awake for a long time, she did not hear Lorenzo pass to his own chalet. He was not at breakfast, and she spent the day in Palma trying, without success, to discover some facts about Mr Goldstein.
It was late when Ros went back to the chalet, walking swiftly along the path. Lorenzo's was in darkness, and briefly, suppressing the pang the thought gave her, she wondered whether he was with Juanita.
She let herself in, standing in the doorway and looking up at the full moon swinging low in the sky, before turning and switching on the light. Closing the door she moved across to put her purse down on the table before she became aware of the man in evening dress stretched out on her bed, regarding her with sardonic eyes.
Ros gasped, but stifled the scream that had risen in her throat as Lorenzo got slowly to his feet.
'How the devil did you get in?' Ros demanded in a tight voice.
'There are such things as master keys,' he replied, advancing purposefully towards her.
She backed away until brought up short by the door of the closet.
'Is that how you got in that morning? Who gave you one? If it was the maid who cleans the chalets I'll have her dismissed!' Ros exclaimed in fury. 'How dare she!'
'Save your anger. It wasn't Inez. I got the key from Pablo Mendez. I came to finish the conversation that you have avoided this evening.'
'How dare he give you a key to my room!'
'You deliberately avoided me, and I am determined to put an end to all these ridiculous evasions and discover the truth!'
That was impossible for her to explain. Ros fell back on her second line of defence.
'Senor Mendez exceeds his authority. There's no more to say, so please go.'
'You are too capricious!' he snapped. 'You behave as though my kisses are welcome one minute, then try to prevent me from showing my love for you the next. Is it deliberate? Is it your way of trying to drive a man wild with passion? Do you deliberately tease men, inflaming us until we cannot bear it, and then cast us aside, rejected and spurned? Are you secretly laughing at me? Are you not the warm loving woman I thought?'
She was trying to stem the tide of angry questions and furious recriminations, aghast that he could think so badly of her, but he would not give her a chance to speak. Suddenly he stepped towards her and before she could avoid him pulled her hard against his chest.
His mouth came down to cover hers and stifle her protests, and his arms imprisoned hers in an iron embrace. Unable to breathe properly Ros felt her senses swim and then, while Lorenzo still held her imprisoned with one arm his other hand came up and began to caress her face and hair.
Ros trembled and tried to wrench her mouth away but he had her too firmly held. She wanted to respond, to cling to him and return his kisses, but when he despised her so much she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing his embrace could turn her as weak as water. The effort almost made her lose her senses, but at last it was over.
When he finally released her she clung to the closet door for support as he turned and strode out of the chalet. She wanted to hit him, but hadn't been able to move fast enough. Then she walked shakily across and collapsed onto the bed, only remembering some great time later to get up and lock the door.
*
She had been afraid. Not of violence, for she did not believe Lorenzo was a violent man. She had feared her own response, her inability to remain firm and reject him. Once more his touch had swamped all sense, all reality, and she had almost, again, succumbed.
It was all too much, the storms and emotions of the past few months must be allowed to subside. She could not begin to explain to him, and since he was angry at her rejection, at his failure to subdue her, and not in love with her, what was the use of trying? She had made no further progress in her search for Tim, now she would concentrate her entire efforts on it. But first thing in the morning she would insist on moving to a room in the main building. That should be some protection against his sudden visits.
Senor Mendez was not in his office when Ros went in the following morning, and the Deputy Manager explained he would be out all day.
'Perhaps you could arrange it, then,' she suggested. 'I wish to move into the main building.'
He looked at her carefully, and then his glance slid away.
'It is not something I can do without consulting Senor Mendez,' he mumbled, and Ros raised her eyebrows in disbelief.
She had wanted to see the Manager to complain directly about his action in providing Lorenzo with a key to her room, but had not thought he would need to be bothered with the fact of her change of room. However, she could scarcely discuss this with the Deputy Manager. It was embarrassing enough without anyone else having to know the true reason.
'When will Senor Mendez be back? Will he be here tonight?'
'I expect so, Senorita.'
'Then will you ask him, as a great favour to me, to see me about it as soon as possible?'
'Of course.'
He looked very relieved when she turned to go, and she puzzled about it all day. To her satisfaction Senor Mendez was in the foyer when she returned from yet more fruitless research into the elusive Mr Goldstein, and he approached her immediately. He looked embarrassed.
'I understand you have asked to move from the chalet? I hope there is nothing wrong with it, Miss Farleigh?'
'Of course not. But I object to your giving master keys to Senor Carreira. I like to feel certain of my privacy, and even of my safety.'
'Come into my office,' he almost begged her, glancing round. The clerk and the Deputy Manager were hovering nearby, and Ros was sure they were straining their ears to listen.
'I like to think my room is private,' Ros said firmly after Senor Mendez had ushered her into his office. 'It is not. Senor Carreira has obtained a key to it and I can never be sure I won't find him there!'
'But – I thought – that is, Miss Farleigh, I don't know what to say!'
'I hope you will say you intend to rebuke Senor Carreira, discover how he obtained a duplicate key, and discipline any other member of staff who was involved in giving it to him!' Ros retorted tartly, knowing he was himself the guilty person and taking considerable satisfaction in seeing him cringe at her words. 'I also expect you to provide me with another room where I will not be subject to unwelcome visits and molestation by members of your staff! If not, I will leave the hotel at once.'
Senor Mendez gulped, smiled placatingly, and after a pregnant moment nodded unhappily.
'I will speak to him,' he said hurriedly. 'And now, Miss Farleigh, if you will excuse me, I am very busy, I have been out all day, and have a great deal to catch up on.'
'And the room?' she asked, implacable.
'I will see what can be arranged. Can it wait until morning?'
'Thank you, Senor Mendez, I will see you again in the morning if you haven't managed to find something before then.'
She smiled grimly and left his office. She was intrigued as well as angry. Why had he been so much on edge, she wondered. Had it been just fear that she knew he had given Lorenzo the key, and hope she didn't know it? Why did Lorenzo appear so important in the eyes of the staff? Why did they all treat him so deferentially? Why was the Manager apparently in a fret of anxiety at the very thought of offending him.
He wasn't that brilliant a guitarist! Well, she corrected herself reluctantly, he was exceptionally good, but perhaps not in the top ten! Many guitarists far less skilled made perfectly adequate livings playing in hotels, and she doubted whether the majority of the hotel guests really knew the difference. So it couldn't be fear of losing him which made Senor Mendez positively quiver with dismay at her complaint. And surely it couldn't be anything to do with his knowing Juanita and persuading her to sing occasionally at the Castilla? It would hardly ruin the hotel if she didn't.
Enough of him. She had to think of other ways of tracing Tim, other ways of contacting Mr Goldstein's yacht and discovering if it had been Tim on board. She had done with Lorenzo y Carreira, she thought with a pang.
*