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conversation all around them. Nicola had to suppress a little sigh. She would have other memories to take with her, apart from ancient pagan artifacts, when she came to leave Mexico. She was conscious of a feeling of recklessness, and decided it would be wiser to stick to fruit juice for the remainder of the evening.
    She tried to remember everything Teresita had told her about Ramon. There wasn't a great deal. He lived at the hacienda La Mariposa and ran the cattle ranch for his cousin. His mother. Dona Isabella, and his sister Pilar lived there too, and Teresita had said he was 'kind.' Nicola had got the impression that Teresita would not have applied the same epithet to his mother and sister, however, even though there had only been that one meeting all those years ago.
    She had asked Teresita why the hacienda was called La Mariposa—the Butterfly, but Teresita had simply shrugged vaguely and said it was just a name.
    Anyway, what did it matter? Nicola told herself. She wasn't going to the hacienda, but to Monterrey, and none of the Montalba residences would be available for her inspection.
    She wondered what Ramon would say when he realised how he had been fooled, and whether Don Luis would be very angry with him. She stole a glance at him. The arrogant set of his jaw indicated that he might have quite a temper himself.
    It was a delicious meal. He had ordered chicken for them cooked in a sauce made with green peppers and a variety of other tantalising flavours she didn't have time to analyse. And, in spite of her protests, there was wine, one of the regional varieties, cool and heady.
    And she sat across the table from him, hiding behind her dark glasses, and weaving silent fantasies where she was no longer playing a part, but was herself, Nicola Tarrant, free to talk, to smile, to laugh and enjoy herself in his company.
    Because in spite of her instinctive wariness of him, in spite of the strain of having to maintain a conversation not in her own language, she was enjoying herself. It was a pleasant sensation to encounter covertly envying glances from other women, to notice the deferential service they received from the staff. Some tourists at a nearby table were sampling tequila for the first time, getting in a muddle over the salt and lemon juice amid peals of laughter, and Nicola smiled too as she watched, her fingers toying with the stem of her wineglass. She looked at her companion and saw that he shared her amusement, and the moment seemed to enclose them in a bubble of intimacy. His hand was very near hers. If he moved it as much as an inch, their fingers would brush. Nicola took a deep breath and moved, picking up her glass and pretending to drink.
    She was playing a dangerous game with this crazy charade she had embarked upon, but in a way it might prove to be her salvation. As Nicola Tarrant, she could be fatally tempted to respond to any further advances he might make. As Teresita, she could not be.
    All the same, she found his attitude a puzzling one. Teresita had given her the impression that Ramon was Don Luis' trusted and highly regarded employee as well as cousin. She would have supposed that under those circumstances he would have, treated his cousin's future wife with the greatest respect. Perhaps he was a man who could not resist a flirtation with any attractive woman who crossed his path, she thought, conscious of a vague feeling of disappointment. Or maybe there was some deeper, darker motive for. his behaviour. Perhaps he secretly hated Don Luis, or out of loyalty to him was testing his novia's virtue to make sure she was a worthy bride for a Montalba.
    She wondered wryly how the shy, unworldly Teresita herself would have made out on this journey. Would she have even recognised the kind boy she remembered from her childhood? Or would the predator in him have been defeated by her gentleness? After all, Cliff had not been a model of rectitude before he began to associate with Teresita, but now he was