Emma frowned. 'What can I do?'

'You can take a message to your fiance for me.'

Emma was perplexed. 'A - message? To Victor?'

'That is correct.'

'But what - what message?'

'Just tell him that I know the ident.i.ty of one of the youths, will you?'

Emma saw the light of cruelty in his eyes and shivered. 'But why should Victor be interested in the ident.i.ty of these men?'

'Can't you guess?'

Emma rose abruptly to her feet. 'You can't seriously be saying that Victor had anything to do with your injuries!' She stared at him incredulously, a sense of hysteria rising inside her. 'Oh, really, how - how ridiculous!'

'Is it?' Miguel seemed perfectly calm.

'Of course it is. Victor doesn't have any dealings with - with thugs?'

'Did I say they were thugs ?'

'No - no, but obviously that's what they were..'

Miguel shrugged indifferently. 'I might have known you would not believe me. Nevertheless, I should be grateful if you would deliver the message.'

'Deliver it yourself!' Emma turned away, breathing fast. She felt hurt and sickened by his words. She didn't know quite what she had expected when she came here, but certainly nothing like this.

Trembling a little, she said: 'Will you ask Juan to get my coat? I - I want to go home.'

She did not hear Miguel move, but a few seconds later she felt the warmth of his breath on the back of her neck and realized he was standing just behind her. 'Why do you find it so hard to believe?' he asked softly. 'I've no doubt given the same circ.u.mstances I might have done the same thing.'

'I - Victor's not like that!' exclaimed Emma desperately.

'All men are - like that!' he essayed quietly.

Emma's knees were shaking so much she felt sure they must be visible. 'And - and if I give him your message. What - what do you intend to do about it?'

'What do you expect me to do about it?'

'I don't know. Go to the police, I suppose.' She made an involuntary gesture. 'There'll be damages, won't there? As you broke three fingers-'

' I did not break three fingers,' he snapped harshly. 'No, Emma, that was not how it happened at all. My fingers were broken deliberately.'

'Oh, no!' Horrified, Emma spun round to face him, a hand pressed to her lips.

'But yes.' Miguel's lips twisted bitterly. 'Would you like to hear how it was done?'

' No! ' Emma felt physically sick. 'I - oh, please - where's the bathroom?'

Miguel's brows drew together uncomprehendingly, but with a silent gesture he indicated a door to their right. Giving no explanation, Emma sped across the room and dashed into the white and gold luxury of the bathroom, reaching the basin just in time.

When it was' all over, she lay against the cool tiled wall weakly.

Oh, G.o.d, she thought despairingly. That this shouldbe happening to her .-She, who had always imagined herself such a calm and well-organized person. All of a sudden the smooth, unruffled cultivation of her life had given way to wild uncharted wastes, and the agony of it was that in spite of everything it was Miguel Salvaje who filled her mind and senses to the exclusion of everything else ...

CHAPTER SIX.

WHEN at last she summoned up enough courage to return to the lounge, she found Juan Castillo bending over a tray of coffee which he had just placed on a low table in the centre of the floor.

He straightened at her entrance, but there was no sign of Miguel.

Emma looked round, conscious of a feeling of dishevelment, and put up a nervous hand to her hair. 'Er - where has - he - gone?'

she inquired, her voice roughened by what had just occurred.

Juan regarded her intently. 'You are feeling better, senorita?'

'I suppose so.' Emma was vague.'

'I have persuaded Senor Salvaje-to go back to bed,' went on Juan.

'Will you have some coffee before you leave?'

'I couldn't swallow a thing.' Emma shuddered. 'Could I - that is - would it be possible for me to see - Miguel again?'

Juan frowned. 'Again, senorita ?' He spread his hands expressively. 'I understood your conversation was over.'

Emma twisted her hands together. 'I would like to see him again,' she insisted.

Juan sighed. 'I see.' He looked undecided. 'It's very late, senorita.'

'That didn't trouble you earlier when you brought me here,'

exclaimed Emma rather heatedly.

Juan hesitated and then he nodded. 'No, that is true. A moment, senorita.'

He left her and crossed the room to the door through which Miguel had entered before. The door closed behind him and for a while there was total silence. Emma felt unnerved. The impulse to escape while she had the chance was strong upon her, but something even stronger compelled her to stay.

The inner door opened again and Juan appeared and beckoned her, 'Come! I have told Senor Salvaje you have something further to say to him.'

Emma wondered if that was exactly true. Did she have anything further to say? And if so - what? But she moved automatically towards him, and past him into Miguel's bedroom.

Miguel was not, as she had expected, in bed, but lying on top of it.

And it was a very opulent bed with its quilted satin headboard and silken, ta.s.selled covers. The whole room was elaborately furnished, but somehow Emma knew that Miguel would not have chosen such a setting had he had the choice.

Juan waited a moment by the opened door and then with a characteristic shrug went out and closed it behind him. Emma stood uncertainly in the middle of die floor, not quite knowing what to say now.

Miguel took the onus from her however, by saying: 'You are fully recovered, senorita?'

Emma nodded. 'I'm sorry.'

'Why be sorry?'

"Well, for - for having to-' She broke off. 'Miguel, I-' She halted and looked miserably down at the thickly carpeted floor.

'Juan tells me that you have something more to say to me,' he urged, but his voice was cool, controlled.

'I -1 wanted to ask what you intend to do - about - about the attack.'

'You are concerned for your fiance, of course,' he remarked bitterly.

'I am concerned - about everything,' she amended, looking at his injured hand, swathed in bandages, lying on the coverlet. 'How - how long will it be before you can - use your fingers again?'

Miguel's jaw tightened. 'Four - maybe six weeks.'

'And your tour is cancelled. You are returning to Mexico.'

'In a few days, yes.'

'Yes.' Emma took a step forward. 'And afterwards - after the fingers mend, how long will it take - I mean, everything will be the same as before, won't it?'

'You mean will I be able to play as well as before, don't you?'

'I suppose I do.'

He shrugged. 'That is in the lap of the G.o.ds, as they say. A pianist is an exceptional case. His fingers must be deft, agile, continually in use, continually flexed. If they are not used they begin to stiffen, the muscles harden, they lose their flexibility. To become a successful concert pianist takes years and years of dedication and practice. To antic.i.p.ate the extent of the damage done by any means except time and experience is impossible.' His eyes narrowed. 'If you came in here seeking rea.s.surance, expecting me to absolve you from all blame, then you will, I am afraid, be disappointed.'

Emma's lips trembled. 'I didn't expect that. on the contrary, I'm overwhelmingly aware that it's all my fault-'

'No.' Miguel swung his legs to the ground and stood up. 'No,' he repeated harshly. 'It is not all your fault. We are all to blame in some measure. But whether the punishment fits the crime is for you to decide.' He walked the few s.p.a.ces between them and stood looking down at her, his injured hand concealed again in the pocket of his robe. 'You look so guilty, Emma. Why? I do not expect Harrison will lose much more than face.'

Emma glanced up at him. 'You - you still maintain that Victor is involved. How - how can you be so sure?'

'You know a boy called Michael Hanson?'

Emma gasped. 'Of-of course.' Michael Hanson was the nineteen-year-old son of Miles and Delia, at whose anniversary celebrations she had been this evening - with Victor. Unwillingly she recalled Victor's self-satisfied att.i.tude; his smugness which had only been dispersed by her own foolish behaviour. 'Why - why?'

'He was one of the youths that attacked me.'

'No!'

'I'm afraid he was.'

'But - but how do you know it was Michael?'

Miguel shrugged. 'He lost something - something that belongs to him.'

'But whatever it is, how - how can you prove you didn't just find it?'

Miguel's expression was wry. 'What a devious little mind you have, Emma. That is a very intelligent observation. However, 1 am not without friends myself in London, and I think with the evidence at my disposal...' He drew out his injured hand and fingered the heavy gold ring inset with a ruby which Emma had noticed before. 'Yes, I think the facial appearance of this boy, Hanson, will take some explaining.

I do not consider it will be too difficult to build up a case.'

Nor did Emma. 'And that's what you intend to do?' She. licked her lips.

'You have an alternative suggestion?'

'How could I have?' Emma felt sick again. 'I - I'd better go.'

Miguel made no immediate move to prevent her and she moved unhappily towards the door. But then, as she reached for the handle, he said: 'I have an alternative to offer.'

Emma looked back. 'Yes?'

'Yes.' Miguel folded his arms, his bandaged fingers hidden again.

'Marry me, and come back to Mexico with me, and I will forget all about this - unpleasantness.' His lips twisted. 'At least - I promise not to make things uncomfortable for Harrison.'

Emma grasped the door handle for support. 'What did you say?'

'I think you heard what I said, Emma.' Miguel shrugged. 'Marry me, and the policia shall hear no more of this.'

It was too much for her to absorb, and shaking her head a trifle bewildered, she pulled open the door and re-entered the lounge.

The room was empty and she stood, swaying a little, her legs like jelly beneath her. She simply could not a.s.similate what she had just heard.

Miguel followed her and stood leaning against the door jamb watching her as she looked distractedly about for her coat. 'What is wrong?' he queried coldly. 'The suggestion has no appeal, I gather.'

Emma turned to him in confusion. 'I -1 don't consider it amusing to be made a fool of,' she said.

'A fool?' He frowned. 'Why should you imagine I am trying to make a fool of you?'.

Emma clenched her fists at her sides. 'You can't honestly expect me to believe that you're actually asking me to marry you!'

'Why not?'

Emma's mouth worked helplessly. 'Why should you want to marry me?'