Free Dancing in the Shadows by Anne Saunders Page A

her shoulders haughtily. ‘This will give me the enormous advantage. Biological attraction is very nice, I suppose, but it does have the disadvantage of dimming one’s judgement. I can see Carlos as he really is. Which I would not be able to do if my heart beat for him to the point of divine madness.’ And then, answering the disapproving set of Dorcas’s mouth: ‘It works both ways, you know. Carlos does not love me, and so he will know exactly what he is getting. I will adorn his house quite prettily; I will entertain his guests and give him many fine sons.’
    â€˜It sounds a cold formula for a marriage,’ Dorcas couldn’t help saying. ‘All set out, like a contract.’
    â€˜Precisely so. Marriage is a contract, surely?’
    â€˜I suppose it is. But not one I would wish to enter without love. Isabel, don’t you ever yearn to be dazed out of your senses? To feel all aglow and intensely alive, and treasure his every smile as something sacred. To live for him alone, and know you would willingly die for him. Feel giddy and shook-up. All because of . . .’ She stopped. She was giving too much away. Not only to Isabel—to herself. Did she really feel this intensely about Carlos?
    Daintily and fastidiously, Isabel shrugged her shoulders. ‘I would not care to feel that way about my husband. To be so
vulnerable . . .
? No, no, I would not like it at all! I have made a study of the marriages of friends and relations. My observations have told me that it is difficult enough to sew a marriage together. Why add to the complications by being emotionally involved?’
    â€˜Marriage is not a patchwork quilt. There is no set templet to work to. You can’t measure out the requirements to a calculated size—this square of fidelity is too large so let’s snip a bit off—and expect to sew it up to make happiness. Don’t do it, Isabel. Can’t you see what I’m getting at?’
    â€˜I would be stupid not to. You want Carlos for yourself. I can’t say that I blame you. He is tall and good looking, and fun to be with. He’s kind, and even if he does drive me mad with his teasing, most of the time I feel lucky to have him. He’s mine and I’m keeping him. I can’t let you have him. I’m sorry. It’s true that I don’t love him, but he is not repulsive to me, which is something. My parents could have chosen someone old enough to be my father and as fat as a butter-ball. Neither is Carlos too steeped in the old tradition. He will cherish me as a wife, without being irksomely protective.’
    He is good to look at and fun to be with. He’s kind and considerate, tender and arrogant, and he drives
me
mad with his teasing, but if he were mine I’d feel lucky
all
the time. I would never ask for another thing if I could have Carlos.
    Aloud, Dorcas said: ‘Your views are too calculated. We’re back to the patchwork quilt again. You’re not being fair to Carlos.’
    â€˜You do not need to feel sorry for Carlos. I will not cheat on what goes on under the patchwork quilt.’
    Dorcas felt sick.
    â€˜Then you are not being fair to yourself. To close your eyes to love is like closing your eyes and your senses to the beauties of nature. Never to hear a bird sing or smell a flower.’
    â€˜Who said anything about closing my eyes to love? Carlos will have his women, and I will have . . .’
    â€˜Are you two girls having a pleasant conversation?’ The interruption was timely.
    Isabel smiled up at Carlos. ‘An enlightening one!’ she said mischievously. ‘Wouldn’t you agree, Dorcas?’
    â€˜Oh . . . yes!’
    â€˜M’m,’ said Carlos, his grave eyes acknowledging the touch of atmosphere that still lingered between them.
    Did he know they hadn’t been chewing on the usual candied girlie gossip, but something with more of a bite to it? If he suspected his name