Anne Mather - Lord Of Zaracus

‘What is the name of this place?’ she asked, brushing back her long straight hair with a careless hand. Thick and silky, and the colour of honey, it caught Anderson’s eye, and he felt the faint stirrings of attraction again.

‘Oh—Zaracus,’ he answered, gathering his thoughts with some difficulty. ‘The valley belongs to Don Carlos Fernandez Monterra d’Alvarez. He has a coffee plantation, but of course a manager attends to the estate. He spends much of his time elsewhere.’

‘I see. And this find my father is excavating—it is in the valley, also?’

‘That’s right. Your father was interested in the reports made by a man called Guivas who spent many months here two years ago, investigating the possible whereabouts of another Zapotec city. As you may know, this country was overrun with various civilizations before the Spaniards came, and different parts bear witness to different civilisations, religions, cultures; you know the sort of thing. We even went so far as to visit Yucatan where the Mayan ruins were found not long ago. It’s quite fantastic really, seeing these pure white pyramids rising out of the stea***ming jungles of Yucatan. It’s all there, cities with temples and pyramids and tombs.’

Carolyn’s eyes twinkled. ‘You’re really hooked on this kind of thing, aren’t you, Bill?’

Anderson grinned. ‘I guess I am. But if you’d been there, in that massive pyramid, and seen the throne of the Mayans, built to look like a jaguar, painted red and studded with jade, and knew for a fact that it was at least fourteen or fifteen hundred years old, you’d have been impressed, just as we were. That’s why I’m hooked. I want to know how they built their cities, why they made them in a certain way, these ancient Aztec tribes.’

Carolyn was interested in spite of herself. ‘Still,’ she said, ‘I didn’t realise Dad was so far south when I agreed to come out. I always imagined Mexico had a pretty temperate climate.’

‘So it has, in parts. Mexico City, for example, but it’s so high up you practically pant if you do anything remotely energetic.’

Carolyn chuckled. ‘At least we’re not short of oxygen here.’

The valley was opening out before her eyes now, and she could distinguish the regimented lines of the coffee-bean plantation, and banana trees. The closely packed trees and foliage looked as though one might be able to walk on them looking down from this height, while the small villages set higher up from the valley floor were merely brown roofs visible among the trees. The colours and scents were an assault on the senses, while the sky above was a brilliant blue as the sun sank a little lower as the day wore on. Now and then they came upon a couple of Mexicans driving small herds of cattle indiscriminately along the highway, for all the world as though they owned that particular stretch of road. Carolyn lit a cigarette, and thought that she was flattering the mud stretch by calling it a highway, or a road.

Her royal blue crimplene slack suit, which had looked so good in London, was beginning to feel like a second skin, and she wished she had thought to change into something cooler in Veracruz. She flicked out her compact and studied her reflection, taking a paper tissue and wiping the damp make-up from her face. Her complexion, already tanned after a holiday in the south of France, required little make-up, but she experimented with various face and skin creams, and in consequence felt awfully greasy. Her eyes, wide spaced and slightly slanted, were a remarkable shade of green, while her nose was small above a mouth that was generous in proportion. She knew she was very attractive, having experienced the usual compliments men made to girls they pursued, but she was completely without conceit and treated her looks as something she was fortunate enough to possess but not exactly responsible for.

Bill Anderson watched her surreptitiously, and Carolyn, aware of his scrutiny, put away the compact and concentrated again on the ever-changing scenery. It appeared an enormous valley, stretches of it out of sight of the road as it descended to floor level. Rocky promontories towered overhead, supporting cactus plants which stood out like sentinels against the sky-line. The pass they had negotiated seemed to be the only access to the valley, and Carolyn said:

‘Doesn’t this Don Carlos whatever his name is find travelling rather arduous from this isolated place?’

Anderson crossed a narrow wooden bridge across the river which had broadened at this point and then shrugged. ‘He doesn’t use the road very often,’ he said. ‘He has a helicopter, and uses that to reach Oaxaca. He’s a very go-ahead fellow, not at all what you’d expect to find in the heart of the Mexican bush.’

‘He must be,’ remarked Carolyn, sardonically. ‘What a pity he didn’t suggest loaning you his helicopter to collect me!’

‘He doesn’t know you are coming,’ replied Anderson, frowning. ‘Your father thought it best to spring it on him. He’s very—oh, I don’t know what you’d call him—maybe, feudal, is the right word. At any rate, I don’t think the idea of a woman joining a group of males on a dig, even if her father is in charge of the expedition, would appeal to him at all. Conditions are pretty primitive, when all’s said and done, and quite frankly I was amazed when Maddie said you were coming.’

Carolyn smiled. ‘As you know my father so well, Bill, it must be painfully apparent to you that there are times when my father can be quite blissfully unaware of his surroundings, and on these digs I think this situation occurs. Besides, it was my idea to come, not his, and, poor darling, I don’t think it would occur to him to refuse me.’

Bill Anderson thought there might be a lot of truth in that. Professor Madison spoiled his youngest daughter abominably. Her two older sisters, both in their teens when she was born, had always treated her in like manner, and as their mother had died soon after Carolyn’s birth, Carolyn had been brought up by a procession of nannies, all of whom had doted on her. In consequence, she might have become a little spoiled, but her nature was so charming, she found it incredibly easy to get her own way. Professor Madison seemed unable to deny her anything, and although Anderson thought he must know that Carolyn was only coming out to Mexico to find some new kind of thrill with which to relieve her boredom he still allowed her to come. Carolyn looked at him, seeing the conflicting emotions on his face, and said with acute perspicacity:

‘You’re thinking Dad ought to have put his foot down and made me stay at home, aren’t you?’

Bill’s ruddy face was scarlet. ‘It’s nothing to do with me,’ he mumbled, awkwardly.

‘Isn’t it? Perhaps not. Oh, Bill, you think I’ve only come for kicks, don’t you?’

‘Well, haven’t you?’

‘No. I wanted to be with Dad, really I did. If only he would let me take a job, do something useful, it would be different. As it is, I spend my days either lying in bed or at some party or race-track or casino. Heavens, I’m only twenty-two, and I don’t really know of anything I particularly can look forward to.’

Bill Anderson looked thoughtful. ‘I’m sorry, Carolyn,’ he said, his smile repentant. ‘But, please, when you get here, remember we’re in the heart of a country of mainly Spanish descent, where the conventions still matter.’

Carolyn slanted her eyes at him. ‘What you mean is: don’t go around in tight slacks and low-cut dresses, don’t you?’

Bill chuckled. ‘Yes, you’ve said it,’ he said.

‘Are they all terribly conservative?’

‘Terribly. At least Don Carlos is, so far as his women are concerned.’

Carolyn’s eyes widened. ‘His women !’ she echoed. ‘How many women does he have?’