The Mountains of Spring Read Free Page B

the restful half-light imposed by the Venetian blinds set to work to think things over.
    She had come to Mexico for a purpose. Officially, she was supposed to be on holiday, but her holiday was a precious annu al period of freedom to which she looked forward and for which she planned throughout most of the preceding year, and it would certainly not have occurred to her to spend it in visiting one of the few foreign countries which had never held any attraction for her unless she had had a very good reason for doing so. If Peter, her brother, had not fallen in love with Mexico while travelling with an archaeological team and elected to settle down there she would probably never have thought of setting foot in the country.
    But Peter had settled down in Mexico. He had bought himself a ranch, and gone in for horse - breeding—on rather an ambitious scale, if his first enthusiastic letters on the subject were anything to go by. And then, at the end of a year—during which time he had become progressively less satisfactory as a correspondent—he had given up writing altogether. Two, three, four, eventually half a dozen of Caroline ’ s letters had gone unanswered, and when nearly another twelve months had elapsed and nothing further had been heard from him she had become very worried indeed. Peter wasn ’ t the type, normally, to be very neglectful. He had always taken letter-writing much more in his stride than most young men of his age, and even when he was still at school he had had a graphic, amusing style which always made entertaining reading. In addition, Caroline knew that since their father ’ s death six years earlier he had felt vaguely responsible for her well-being. They had no other brothers or sisters, and as their mother had died when she was bo rn she knew that at heart he had felt very guilty about taking himself off to Mexico at all. But she h ad had—and still had—an excellent and very secure job as secretary to the head of an established and solidly respectable fashion house. And, as he had pointed out, she could always come and join him in Mexico.
    The one thing that had never seemed to occur to him had been the possibility that he ought to resist the temptation to remove himself to a distant and thoroughly alien country. He had behaved very much as if he were under some sort of spell, and nothing that any of his friends had been able to say in condemnation of his plans had had any noticeable effect whatsoever. Caroline herself had done little to persuade him. His idea obviously meant so much to him, and it didn ’ t seem fair to interfere ... although later, as the months went by, and no word came, she had often wondered whether her attitude had been the right one. And at last she had made up her mind to go to Mexico and find out for herself what, if anything, had happened to her closest surviving relative.
    The fare was not very much of an obstacle, for she earned a good salary, and found it easy to save. She always saved up for her summer holiday anyway, and when Peter had been away for nearly two years, and for months nothing had been heard from him, she knew exactly what she was going to do. It was January when she reached her decision, and within a few days she had arranged with her employer that that year she would take her holiday in April.
    And now it was April, and here she was in Mexico, and by what did seem to be a quite remarkable stroke of luck she had already run into somebody who claimed to know Peter. That, she knew, ought to give her a good deal of comfort. Whatever else Diego Rivel might be, he was undoubtedly a man of quite considerable importance—possibly a very rich man —and if Peter knew people like that he couldn ’ t be doing too badly. She stared at the pretty dressing-table, on which, the night before, the maid Manuela had carefully placed her handbag, and determinedly pushed aside the uneasiness that nagged at her.
    Because she was Peter ’ s sister, Senor Rivel had