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meant to say leapt impetuously from her tongue. ‘What did you say about me to your grandmother that made her reply the way she did?’
    He threw back his head and laughed. ‘If you really want to know, I told my grandmother that she would meet her match in you. She told me I was right. Would you like to know what she said to me after that?’
    â€˜Not really.’
    â€˜I’m going to tell you, just the same. She told me that I too had met my match.’
    â€˜What a silly thing to say.’
    â€˜Wasn’t it,’ he said annoyingly. ‘But then, women do say silly things.’
    â€˜Of course, you have a vast knowledge of women.’
    â€˜Enough,’ he said, without modification.
    Dorcas sat up very straight. After a pause, long enough to accommodate a mental count of ten, she said: ‘There is something I would like to make absolutely clear.’
    â€˜Yes?’ He looked more amused than apprehensive.
    â€˜I am not returning with you voluntarily to your home. Circumstance has put me in the invidious position of having no alternative.’ And don’t you dare laugh at that, she thought, clenching and unclenching her taut fingers.
    He did not laugh. On the contrary, a frown shuttered his expression. ‘I am sorry you find it so painful. It does not please me to bend you against your will. That is the last thing I would want to do.’
    Just before he closed his eyes, as if the bright light pained him, Dorcas saw a look there she had never seen before. Tenderness? Perhaps. And something else she did not dare to analyse. Up to that moment she had been in full control of herself. To her disgust, his glance slit through her resolve to expose her vulnerability. She was glad he closed his eyes. He could not see that her hands were trembling and that her eyes were filled with tears.
    She knew she had said it all wrong. She was prickly and gauche in the ways of men. Her grandmother had frequently told her she was an awkward girl, completely without charm. ‘You should take a leaf out of Michael’s book,’ Dorcas had been told on countless occasions. But Michael had influenced by flattery and bewitched by whatever flowery falsehood he could lay his tongue to. If this was charm, then she wanted no part of it. She did not regret not having her brother’s false tongue, but in that misunderstood and painful silence, she wished she possessed the gift of simple eloquence.
    They ate the picnic lunch Carlos’s grandmother had thoughtfully provided. Conversation was desultory, and the food stuck in Dorcas’s throat.
    â€˜I did not mean to sound ungracious,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry.’
    â€˜I know. It’s all right, Dorcas.’
    He lingered over saying her name. Without looking at his face she knew his expression had softened towards her.
    â€˜It’s just that . . .’ She shrugged helplessly. It was blissfully clear in her head. She knew what she wanted to say, but the words would not form. She had apologized. He had accepted her apology. It would have to stand at that.
    â€˜Come,’ said Carlos at length. ‘We should make a move.’ This time, instead of unlawfully entering the curly wrought-iron gates, her suitcase bumping against her legs, she arrived at the Villa Serena, an honoured and welcome guest.
    Enrique Ruiz came down the terrace steps to greet her. His beard brushed the back of her hand, and his eyes spoke a welcome before the extravagant words fell from his lips. ‘My house is your house. Come.’
    He took her arm to guide her up the steps to where his wife stood, one hand-made shoe of grey suede tapping the blue-grey tiles.
    â€˜Welcome to Villa Serena,’ said Rose Ruiz. Although her greeting was as warm as her husband’s, Dorcas sensed, because it wasn’t apparent to the ear, a holding back. The eyes briefly transferred to her son had clouded depths. Yet nothing clouded the