Free Dancing in the Shadows by Anne Saunders

doña Maria are the dearest of all our friends.’
    Don Alfonso was very correct, very Spanish in his bearing, but not in a way that Dorcas found intimidating. The timidity she always felt when meeting a new face melted under his kindly influence. He spoke to her in English and Dorcas returned the compliment by trying out her Spanish on him. When she said: ‘
Encantada
,’ she truly meant that she was delighted to meet him.
    His señora, her dark eyes reflecting his like a second thought, was dressed in the sombre drama of the unrelieved black which Latin ladies of her age group still favoured. It was too harsh for her. Dorcas couldn’t help thinking that a less severe silver grey would have been a kinder choice.
    The moment the introductions were completed, Carlos offered his apologies for not being at the door when they arrived.
    â€˜It is forgotten,’ don Alfonso said expansively.
    Isabel interrupted, impishly: ‘Do not let him off so lightly, Papa. Why were you detained, Carlos? We thought you’d got lost.’
    â€˜Not lost.’ Carlos’s eyes slid between mischief and reflection. ‘We might have wandered off the track for a moment, but we weren’t lost. Wouldn’t you agree, Dorcas?’
    Dorcas could neither agree nor disagree. She was temporarily without a voice.
    Isabel came out tops by not losing her composure. She even managed a smile as she said: ‘We must have a delicious long gossip soon, eh Dorcas? We could—how do you say it? —make the comparison?’
    â€˜Compare notes,’ Dorcas supplied automatically. ‘Er . . . yes. That would be nice,’ she finished flatly.
    At the table, Dorcas ate from habit, with no sense of enjoyment, although a special meal had been planned for the Rocas’ visit. She drank the wine—the pride of don Enrique’s cellar—with as little appreciation as if it were vinegar.
    Rose Ruiz indicated it was time to leave the men to their cigars and brandy, and the womenfolk got up from the table.
    â€˜It’s stuffy indoors,’ Isabel announced. ‘Shall we go out on the terrace?’
    â€˜You and Dorcas may,’ her mama said. Judging by the look on Isabel’s face this was the reply she anticipated. ‘
Tía
Rose and I are more comfortable where we are. But take your shawl, Isabel. It can come in quite cool at night and you know how easily you catch a chill.’
    â€˜Yes, Mama,’ Isabel said dutifully. ‘I left my shawl in the hall. I will go for it straight away. Is there anything I can get for you,
Tía
Rose? Perhaps you would like me to fetch your embroidery or your fan?’
    â€˜No, child,’ said Rose Ruiz, smiling fondly. ‘I am all set for a nice long gossip with your mama. There is nothing more I could want for.’
    Nodding, smiling, Isabel made her escape, whisking Dorcas along with her.
    â€˜Let us sit here,’ Isabel said, pointing to the chairs on the terrace. Sitting down, she threw her shawl from her shoulders in a gesture that was oddly revealing. She fixed Dorcas with her big ingenuous eyes. ‘Do you despise me for humouring Mama and being the oh so obedient daughter, and for fawning over
Tía
Rose?’ Without waiting for a reply, she said in self-mitigation: ‘It makes Mama feel good and it does me no harm. As for the other—’ Her eyes slid down to her lap, then up again, but now they were without expression. ‘I’d be silly, surely, not to make the nest as comfortable as possible? I don’t see how Carlos and I can escape marrying, and there’s no point in being on bad terms with my future mama-in-law.’
    Dorcas said weakly: ‘Do you want to escape?’
    â€˜Not really. Carlos will make me a good husband.’
    â€˜But—’ Dorcas released her breath on a shocked gasp—‘you do not love him.’ Statement, not question.
    â€˜That is true.’ Shrugging