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  'Roberto tells me that you arrived here with the intention of travelling alone into the interior. This cannot be permitted, of course. Tomorrow I will accompany you to the airport and arrange your departure to England on the first available flight.'

  Her gasped response was a mixture of outrage and startled wonder. She stared wide-eyed, her mouth rounded as a child's confronted by the unknown, a species of intimidating, domineering male whose profile looked chiselled from teak, whose eyes glinted ice-hard over dark, mysterious depths, whose hair winged blue-black except at the temples where white streaks stood out, shocking as a mark of Cain—an identifying trait that recalled immediately to her mind the words her father had used to describe the Spanish imperial eagle: 'striking snow-white markings on the leading edge of his wings that render him doubly vulnerable.'

  But there appeared to be nothing in the least vulnerable about the man who had just taken imperious control over her affairs.

  As if alert to signs of rebellion in the tightening of her lips, in the sudden bunching of fists behind her back, Dr Ribero attempted a conciliatory move by intervening swiftly:

  'How remiss of me not to have effected a proper introduction—please allow me to rectify the omission immediately!' He stepped nearer, eyeing them nervously as a mediator caught between a pair of antagonists.

  'Conde, you are already aware that Seňorita Frances Ross is the daughter of the late Dr Ross whose work you so greatly admire. Seňorita,' he turned towards her with a flourish, 'I am honoured to present to you El Conde Romanes del Nomadas y Aquila!'

  Too annoyed to pretend pleasure, Frances nodded briefly, then proved herself totally unimpressed by launching her delayed attack.

  'Obviously, Conde, you are accustomed to having your orders carried out with blind obedience, whereas I am a member of a notably stubborn race, amenable only to reason. However, if you should care to offer an explanation for your extraordinary directive, I promise to give it serious consideration?'

  When a blade-straight nose flared at the nostrils she experienced an inner quivering, but stood her ground, hiding her apprehension behind a mask of serenity.

  'I never waste time with words of explanation,' he froze her with a look, 'friends do not expect them and enemies merely use them as an excuse for argument.'

  'But as I fall into neither category,' she insisted calmly, 'I feel I'm entitled to be given a reason for my dismissal.'

  'The fact that the reasoning behind my decision is not clearly self-evident indicates a great lack of propriety in your upbringing, seňorita. However, I once heard mentioned the fact that your father became a widower just a short time after his marriage and that he reared you, his only child, unaided, therefore perhaps we should not judge him too harshly. Here in Andalusia, females are cossetted from the cradle to the grave, protected as rare, fragile flowers firstly by fathers and brothers and then later by husbands and sons. This chivalrous attitude towards the opposite sex is not merely instilled from birth but has for centuries been ingrained into the characters of the men of Andalusia, which is why I—and Dr Ribero also— feel it our duty to ensure that you are protected from your own foolishness. Our womenfolk do not travel unescorted from house to house, much less through the marshes of a river delta where the utter loneliness and desolation has to be experienced to be believed. Why, seňorita, do you suppose that thousands of birds regularly choose this region as a resting place during their seasonal migrations? It is because the marshes are a wilderness, one of the few remaining areas of immense solitude where birds can rest, feed, and breed without fear of human intrusion.'

  She stared, speechless with resentment. In spite of having been warned that Andalusia was the Spain that had remained faithful to the reign of the Moor, a region where Carmens flirted behind fan and mantilla; where men dressed and acted like chivalrous Don Juans; where bullfights and gypsy flamenco were still favourite pastimes, it still seemed to her incredible that such outmoded customs could exist in a province just a stone throw away from the sophisticated Costa del Sol, where females sunbathed almost nude on beaches packed with oiled bodies grilling in the sun. Dimly, she began to suspect that there might be some truth in the legend that told of a knight errant tilting at windmills. El Conde Romanes del Nomadas y Aquila was comparatively young, yet his behaviour was that of a man belonging to an earlier age, an age when boys were trained in polite behaviour and grew up to be thorough gentlemen, always courteous towards women, self-possessed in the company of men, respectful and dutiful towards parents. Yet obviously, behind his facade of polite fidalgo, there lured the presence of Berberish unrest—a conflict of proud and passionate- blood—a ruthless streak inherited perhaps from the God of Islam commonly represented as a pitiless tyrant who plays with humanity as on a chessboard and works out his game without regard to the sacrifice of the pieces.

  Tentatively, she cleared her throat, feeling scared half out of her wits, yet determined not to be browbeaten.

  'I'm sorry to have to admit, Conde, that I find your remarks unconvincing, even downright contradictory. You must surely be aware that most girls of my generation would regard the treatment meted out to Andalusian women as little short of purdah? For many years now the battle for equality of the sexes has raged, and though we cannot yet claim to have achieved every one of our aims, women have at least managed to gain recognition as individuals. No longer can we lawfully be regarded or treated as mere male appendages, seňor. We are free of the bonds imposed upon us by tradition, free to follow our own inclinations without interference from biased males. It is my wish to finish my father's last manuscript, and in order to do so I must be allowed access to the breeding grounds of the Spanish imperial eagle. If all Andalusian men are as chivalrous as you claim then what need have I of a chaperone?' she challenged with the triumph of one holding the last trump card. 'Even a man as resistant as yourself to change must eventually admit the futility of expecting one lordly Andalusian finger to plug a hole in the dam of progress!'

  'Progress!' She jumped back a yard when the explosive word coincided with a fist thumping hard into El Conde's palm. 'Only fools are open to the conviction that to take a step forward is always a good idea! For every hundred steps man advances, our wildlife retreats one hundred and one! You came to Andalusia to study the habits of an extremely rare bird, did you not, seňorita? Tell me, did you never stop to consider that, if men of vision had not resisted the advance of the progress you so vehemently support, you would not now be in any position to even anticipate a visit to the imperial eagles' terrain?'

  CHAPTER TWO

  Dinner was a strained affair. As if he had at last become conscious of the effort Dr Ribero and his staff had made to impress their honoured guest, the Conde kept a whip hand on tongue and temper and offered stiffly gracious comments about the gazpacho, a tasty cold soup with the tang of cucumber, and the tortilla that was served as a main course, an omelette filled with potato and onion, thick and cake-like, golden brown and crusty on the outside, soft and succulent inside, made to look colourful with the addition of tasty titbits Frances identified as peas, spinach, mushrooms, parsley, chopped ham, anchovies and even tiny pieces of sausage.

  Dr Ribero apologised to her when the simple dessert was brought to the table. 'Spaniards invariably prefer to end a meal with fruit, seňorita, but I know that you English are fond of puddings, therefore I asked my cook to prepare a caramel custard. I hope it is to your liking?'

  'It's delicious,' she murmured, setting a seal upon her appreciation with a smile she hoped might cancel out the downcast look that had been caused by the peremptory manner in which the Conde had waved the sweet away. 'You run an extremely good establishment, Doctor,' she complimented, exercising the English virtue of always giving credit where it is due. 'The rooms are beautifully kept, the beds comfortable, and the meals—if the one we have just eaten is a fair example—are exceptionally good. In fact, considering the amenities and the services offered, I was surprised to discover that I'm your only
guest.'

  As she had intended, the doctor's worried look was replaced by a glow of pleasure.

  'We are moving towards the end of our low season, seňorita. Most of our guests arrive during spring and autumn when the marshes are crowded with birds that have travelled from as far away as the Tropics and the Poles. From the hot regions come the purple heron, the egret, the stork, and the bee-eater, as well as your English robin, the Scottish woodcock, the greylag goose on its way to Denmark, and the widgeon en route to Northern Siberia. During the wet season guests are transported through the marshes in punts drawn by oxen, but at this time of year when the warming sun is beginning to set the dried-out marsh bed hard as concrete we find that horses supply the best mode of transport.'

  'The only form of transport,' the deeply brooding Conde corrected. Frances tensed, intuitively sensing that an awkward question was about to be directed her way. 'Tell me, Seňorita Ross,' he did not disappoint her, 'are you accustomed to spending many hours in the saddle?'

  'I have ridden before,' she gulped, made determined by the glint of mockery in his eyes that nothing would force her to admit that her solitary attempt to ride a horse had been a complete fiasco.

  'In that case,' she thought the tight stretching of his lips formed the unpleasantest smile she had ever seen, 'as you appear determined to flout both danger and convention, I can arrange to put one of my Arab stallions at your disposal.'

  Her frightened heart leapt high into her throat, but mercifully, before her stunned mind could formulate an excuse for declining the offer, Dr Ribero leapt to her rescue.

  'Don't worry, seňorita,' he smiled, 'El Conde is obviously enjoying a small joke at your expense. His preference for highly bred, fiery-spirited steeds is so well known in this area that even I would think twice about mounting one of his high-stepping, temperamental thoroughbreds. But at least,' he continued slyly, 'you can take heart from the fact that El Conde's offer might be regarded as tacit acceptance of your right to remain in Andalusia in order to continue your quest for the information needed to conclude your father's book. The main breeding ground of the imperial eagle is situated on his land, the exact location is known only to himself and a few trusted members of his staff, therefore the success of your mission depends entirely upon El Conde's willingness to act as your guide. Without his permission, no one dare trespass on his land.'

  Frances had to call upon every last ounce of courage in order to ride the bitter blow. The last thing she wanted was to remain in the company of the arrogant Conde, whom she was growing to dislike more and more with each passing minute. Yet the prize at stake was the finalising of a book which she knew in her heart was the best of any previously written by her father. Also, his ambition to conclude the book with a chapter devoted entirely to the rarest bird in Europe had been passed into her keeping, not as a mere legacy of duty, but as the means of attaining a personal goal—one crowded hour of glorious achievement!

  With the threat of disappointment hanging over her head, it was not as difficult as she had imagined to keep her tone pleasant when the Conde began delving into her background with the thoroughness of a Spanish inquisitor.

  'The fact that for the past couple of years you appear to have been content to act out the role of general dogsbody contrasts oddly with your views on female emancipation. But then,' he added with more than a hint of sarcasm, 'bathing in reflected glory requires far less effort than striving for academic qualifications of one's own.'

  'Quite so,' she agreed evenly. 'However, I was fortunate enough to be able to reap the benefits of both worlds. I am a fully qualified teacher,' she tilted proudly, 'and once I've finished my father's book I intend searching for a post.'

  She sensed his sudden stillness, saw his fingers stiffen and remain poised over a walnut as if his mind had been startled to sudden attentiveness.

  'So you are fond of children?'

  'Very,' she returned promptly.

  Casually, he picked up the walnut and returned it to its dish, then with his eyes hooded, his expression guarded, he surprised her with the question:

  'Would you mind explaining why?'

  'Oh… for various reasons,' she faltered lamely, searching a mind rendered suddenly blank. Then, recalling times spent helping out in nursery schools during long summer vacations, the pleasure she had discovered in exploring personalities as individual and complex as any grown-up's, she decided simply, 'Mostly, I suppose, because of their joy in simple pleasures; their honesty and complete lack of guile, and especially,' she smiled with a faraway look in her eyes, 'because of the self-assurance they've gained from knowing that they are greatly loved.'

  'But what if they should sometimes be dirty, noisy, and ill-behaved?' he probed as if anxious to hear her reply.

  'Aren't they always?' She was actually able to laugh aloud. 'Some of the greatest pleasures of childhood are to be found exploring the depths of deep, dusty cupboards; in out-yelling companions, and in occasionally courting their admiration by tilting at authority. A torn dress can soon be mended, seňor, but a child's heart, once it has been bruised, takes much longer to heal, which is why I disapprove strongly of punishing with harsh words.'

  When he jerked his chair away from the table and rose to tower over her she felt certain that she had somehow managed to offend him. Fearfully, she looked up, her troubled grey eyes ready to plead, then remained transfixed by a smile as startlingly unexpected as the sight of sunrays splitting a heavy black storm-cloud asunder.

  'Bernardo,' he addressed the equally surprised-looking doctor, 'please arrange to have horses and a small amount of provisions ready for our departure in the morning. Seňorita Ross,' he turned to astound her breathless, 'might I suggest that you retire to your room immediately in order to get as much sleep as possible. Tomorrow, we have a long journey ahead of us, and provided you feel up to it I should like to set off shortly after sunrise.'

  In spite of the fact that she was annoyed with herself for jumping to obey his command with such alacrity, Frances slept well and was astir long before the early morning call that informed her that El Conde was ready and waiting. She had even taken time before retiring to bed the evening before to sort out what she reckoned to be the minimum requirements for her excursion: a large exercise book in which to jot down notes, sponge bag, pyjamas, a change of underwear, a couple of spare shirts, a pullover, tights, socks, tissues and, just in case the journey could not be accomplished in one day and it might be found necessary to stay somewhere overnight, a black skirt made of knitted jersey that could be rolled up tightly without fear of creasing. The last thing she added to the pile which she was hoping might be accommodated within a couple of saddlebags was a plastic holdall divided into sections, containing moisturising cream, a small amount of make-up, lipstick, an eye-shadow palette, manicure set, needle and thread, Elastoplast, a comb, soap, and a tube of cream shampoo.

  Immediately she began descending the staircase she saw the Conde pacing the hall. At the sight of the bundle she was carrying his eyebrows lifted slightly, nevertheless her outfit of slim, serviceable denims, checked shirt and lightweight anorak seemed to meet with his approval.

  'You must be content with a breakfast of tortas and cafe,' he told her without the least hint of apology. 'Bernardo tried to insist upon arranging for kitchen staff to be on duty, but I'm sure you will agree that at such an early hour only the services of a groom are necessary.'

  He plucked the bundle out of her nerveless fingers. 'Give that to me, I'll begin stowing your stuff inside the saddlebags while you are eating breakfast. I had mine more than an hour ago.'

  Struggling to subdue an overwhelming shyness of the man who, wearing a caballero's grey riding suit and with a round, grey sombrero positioned over a chequered cloth designed to protect his neck from the sun, looked even more intimidatingly Berberish than he had the evening before, Frances nodded briefly, then sped towards the breakfast salon before he could spot flags of embarrassed colour driven into her cheeks by the th
ought of anyone other than herself handling her very personal possessions.

  However, the looming prospect of an even worse ordeal took precedence in her mind, throwing her into such a state of anxiety that a gulped cup of coffee was all the breakfast she could manage. Nerved to a pitch of high tension, she strode outside the Palacio, then just managed to smother a tell-tale gasp of relief when, instead of the formidable Arab steeds she had been expecting, she saw a groom holding a couple of small but wiry-looking mounts equipped with what looked to be comfortably contoured saddles, high fore and aft, that had soft sheepskin seats which she felt certain she would find it almost impossible to fall out of.

  A glance confirmed that the Conde appeared to have had no difficulty finding room for all her things inside two embossed leather saddlebags slung over the cantle and that he had even managed to accommodate a waterproof cape and a leather wine-skin within what looked like several pairs of leather bootlaces attached to the saddle.

  Either her expression reflected her thoughts, or the Conde's dry observation was an indication of an uncanny ability to read her mind.

  'The Arabian thoroughbred is unrivalled for speed, seňorita, but these small horses of the sierras are ideal for travelling in rougher terrain. They are very strong, extremely surefooted, seldom go lame, and have rarely been known to stumble down even the stoniest mountain path. You are certain to be pleasantly surprised by their comfortable armchair canter.'

  Offering up a silent prayer of thankfulness to whichever saint had been moved to work a miracle on her behalf, Frances accepted the reins of her placid-looking mount, placed her right foot up into a broad metal stirrup, then swung her left foot over until she was seated in the saddle. When she did not immediately fall off on the other side, she felt her show of courage had been amply rewarded.