Sara Craven - Flame Of Diablo

‘I wish I could share the joke,’ she muttered crossly.

Just then a door down the passage from the desk opened, and a man emerged. He paused before closing the door behind him and tossed a clearly jovial remark in Spanish over his shoulder, which was greeted with yet another burst of laughter. Then he spotted Rachel standing at the desk and his face changed in a moment, becoming both surprised and solemn.

’Señorita ?’ His tone as he approached was civil, but Rachel felt she was being very thoroughly assessed, and that there was a strong element of disapproval in his assessment.

She produced her phrase book, and began to laboriously recite a request for a room, but he waved the book aside.

‘I speak a little English. You are an inglesa, Señorita ?’

‘Yes, I am.’ Relieved that she did not have to converse with him in her non-existent Spanish, Rachel smiled. ‘I’m trying to trace another inglese, Señor —a man. My brother,’ she added hastily for some reason she probably could not have defined.

‘He has been to Asuncion, this brother?’ The man watched her impassively.

Rachel sighed. ‘I’m not sure. I think so.’

He hesitated, then he reached for the hotel register and swung it round so that she could see it.

‘Look for yourself, señorita. No inglese has been here apart from yourself.’

Rachel scanned swiftly down the list of names. It had occurred to her that Mark might have travelled under an assumed name, but she knew he would not have bothered to disguise his handwriting and none of the scrawls in the register bore the least resemblance to his signature. She felt almost sick with disappointment.

’turistas do not come here, señorita,’ the man said almost placidly. He was turning away, when she halted him.

‘Then can I book a room for the night?’ she asked, braving his look of astonishment. ‘And a guide. I would like to hire a guide if that is possible.’

’Señorita,’ the man said very slowly, ‘I must tell you that I do not have unescorted women staying at my hotel.’

She felt a slow tide of colour run up to the roots of her hair. She had never felt so helpless in her life.

She said, trying to keep her voice calm and pleasant, ‘Then as this is the only hotel in this benighted town, I’m afraid you will have to make an exception for once. Unless you can provide me with a guide immediately, of course.’

His look of astonishment deepened. ‘And where do you wish this guide to take you, señorita ? Always supposing that such a person could be found.’

She said baldly, ‘I want to go to Diablo.’

If she’d suddenly produced a hand grenade and drawn the pin, she couldn’t have hoped to make a greater sensation. His jaw dropped, and he almost took a step backwards, she would have sworn to it.

He said flatly, ‘Es imposible. Where is your family, señorita ? Who are your friends that they let you contemplate such madness?’

Rachel frowned. All sense of reality seemed to be slipping away from her, but that again could be attributed to the strangeness of the altitude. On the other hand it meant that she had to act the part she had set herself, and it was somehow easier to act than to believe in what she was doing. Deep down inside her she was afraid, but on the surface she was ice cool and in command of the situation.

She said, ‘It’s good of you to be so concerned, Señor, but quite unnecessary. I can look after myself. I’m neither a child nor a fool, and I don’t need you to judge my actions.’

Not a long speech, she thought detachedly, but an effective one, she hoped. In a situation like this, she needed to make every word count.

She glanced at the hotel-keeper, noting with satisfaction that he did not seem quite so sure of himself as he had been. There was an air of uncertainty about him, and he eyed her as if she was something new in his experience. She wanted to giggle, but that would be fatal, so she deepened her expression of calm assurance.

‘There must be someone around here,’ she said crisply.

‘Someone who knows this region well. And you don’t have to feel responsible for anything. Just introduce me to him, and I’ll do the rest.’

The man gave her a long look, then shrugged deeply and fatalistically.

He said slowly, ‘There is such a one—Vitas de Mendoza—but whether he will agree to take you to Diablo is another matter.’

‘That’s my problem,’ she said confidently, almost gaily. She had talked round this definitely hostile little man. She could talk round the world. ‘When can I meet him?’

He hesitated. ‘Later, señorita. I will speak to him of your request. At the moment he is engaged.’

She saw him give a half-glance over his shoulder at that door down the passage, and remembered the sound of men’s voices and laughter.

‘I’d prefer to see him right away. The matter is urgent. I’m not just a casual sightseer, I’m looking for my brother.’

‘And you think the brother has gone to Diablo.’ He shook his head. ‘That is not good, señorita, but it gives me an idea. Tomorrow or the next day there will be an army patrol arriving here. If you speak to Captain Lopez he will look for your brother.’

Rachel was silent for a moment. It was a tempting prospect to resign the responsibility for finding Mark to the army, but at the back of her mind she was remembering what Isabel had told her about the illegal trafficking in emeralds. Supposing when this Captain Lopez found Mark, he actually had emeralds in his possession? She swallowed. It didn’t really bear thinking about. She had no idea of the sort of sentences attempts to smuggle emeralds might carry, but she imagined they would be heavy, and that Colombian prisons would be a bad scene too. Besides, if Mark were arrested, it would be the death of her grandfather.

She had to face the fact that she must find Mark herself—with the help of Vitas de Mendoza, and hope that he was the sort of man who could be bribed to keep his mouth shut if Mark had broken the law in any way. The thought made her feel sick with fright and despair, but it also had to be faced.

‘I haven’t got time to wait for the army,’ she said. ‘You don’t even know yourself when they’ll be arriving, and they could be held up. I’ve got to see this Mendoza man immediately. There’ll be arrangements to make, and I want to leave as soon as possible.’

She left her small case standing by the desk and went down the passage towards the closed door. She wouldn’t have been at all surprised if he’d grabbed her arm and tried to stop her as she passed him. When she reached the door she risked a glance back over her shoulder, and saw that he was standing quite still staring after her with an almost bemused expression on his face, and she could have laughed out loud.

All she had to do now was bemuse Vitas de Mendoza into taking her to Diablo, she thought as she opened the door and stepped into the room beyond.

It was a good job that she was still acting—making an entrance—or what faced her when she entered the room might have thrown her, like an unexpected laugh at a serious moment in a play.

The air was so thick with cigar smoke that she could hardly see across the room for the first moment or two, and the acrid fumes caught at her throat. There were six of them altogether, all men sitting round a table covered in a green cloth. There were bottles and glasses, cards and a scatter of money, and she felt bitterness rise in her throat as she surveyed them. So this was the pressing engagement which the hotel-keeper did not want to disturb.

Her gaze flickered round the table. She could read amazement on their faces, and the beginnings of a lewd appreciation in some of their smiles. And on one face—contempt. Her eyes registered this and passed on, and almost in spite of herself, looked back as though she had not believed what she saw the first time.