She stiffened. 'Yes?' she said, with cold, questioning sobriety.

The man gestured into the lounge. 'Please to come and sit down, senorita,' he suggested politely.

Emma looked at him curiously. The similarities between Senor Castillo and Miguel Salvaje were mostly concerned with their colouring. This man was not so tall as Miguel, but perhaps a"

little broader, and he was clearly ten or fifteen years older.

'Very well,' she agreed now, and looked at the housekeeper.

'Will you stay with me, Mrs. Cook?'

The man Castillo frowned. "What I have to say to you is of a confidential nature, senorita] he said. 'As I understand the situation, this good woman is merely your housekeeper, si?'

'Mrs. Cook is also my friend,' stated Emma sharply. 'Whatever you have to say - whatever Senor Salvaje has sent you to say - can be said in front of her.'

Mrs. Cook moved uncomfortably. 'Now, Miss Emma-' she began.

'Be so good as to leave us, senora,' said Castillo bleakly.

'Whatever Miss Seaton says, I insist upon speaking with her privately.'

Emma seethed. 'Might I remind you, senor, that this is my father's house, and as he is not here I am temporarily the householder. I am not used to being treated as though my feelings were of no account.'

Castillo's mouth drew in. 'I feel I should tell you, senorita, that what I have to say is not in your favour, and you may well regret this impulse to confide such matters to a housekeeper!'

Emma's face burned, and Mrs. Cook patted her arm. 'Look, miss,' she murmured, 'I'll just wait in the kitchen. Perhaps you'd like some coffee, hmm?'

Emma moved restlessly. 'Oh, Mrs. Cook,' she exclaimed, but the housekeeper could tell she was weakening.

'As I say,' she said, 'I'll be in the kitchen. If you want me - just call!'

'All right.' Without another word, Emma walked into the lounge and heard Castillo follow her and close the door. She turned to face him calmly enough, but inside her stomach was churning with sickening rapidity. 'Well?' she demanded coldly. 'What secrets have you to impart?'

'Impart? What is this?' Castillo looked puzzled.

Emma sighed irritably. 'Oh, it means - to tell! Go on, for heaven's sake!'

Castillo considered her for a moment, and then he said: 'Have you seen this?'

He drew a newspaper out of his pocket. It was the evening edition of the News and it was folded so that one particular section stood out against all the others. Emma took the paper indifferently enough, but as she read the brief article her hands began to tremble and the words danced meaninglessly before her eyes.

The write-up concerned the Mexican pianist, Miguel Salvaje, who was presently in London to give a series of concerts and recitals. It described how the young pianist had been involved in a brawl after leaving the concert hall late the previous evening and that owing to his injuries the remainder of his tour had had to be cancelled.

Emma looked up in horror. 'Oh, G.o.d!' she breathed, and her cheeks drained of all colour.

Castillo hastily pushed her into a chair and going over to the cabinet poured some brandy into a gla.s.s. 'Here!' he said, taking the paper from her nerveless fingers. 'Drink this!'

. Emma complied, sipping the fiery liquid hastily, willing the nausea that was enveloping her to go away. She lay back against the soft upholstery, her face pale and drawn. 'Miguel,' she whispered. 'How - how is he? Is he - badly injured?'

Castillo stood before her, legs apart, hands folded behind his back.

'To anyone else, his injuries would be considered minimal,' he replied. 'To Salvaje, they are gigantic.'

'What do you mean?' Emma stared at him.

'He has some facial bruising, a couple of suspected cracked ribs, and several cuts and bruises about his body.'

Emma leant forward. 'Is that all?'

'No. They also broke three of his fingers.'

'Oh, no!' Emma felt a choking sensation in her throat. 'Oh, how terrible!'

'Yes, isn't it?' remarked Castillo pleasantly. 'But rest a.s.sured, the culprits will be found and arrested.'

'How - how can you be sure of that?'

'Because - well, because I am sure.' Castillo seated himself in the chair opposite her. 'Now, will you come to see Miguel?'

Emma shrank back. 'Me?'

'Yes, you. He wants to see you.'

Emma finished the brandy and almost choked on it. 'Why - why does he want to see me?'

'I thought for a moment just now that you were concerned about him.'

'I was - I am.' Emma bent her head miserably. 'Oh, yes, I am.'

'Then come! My car is not far away.'

'Now?' Emma was astounded.

'But of course. Miguel is still in some pain. He does not sleep much.'

'Of course.' Emma" shook her head, her eyes wide. 'But - but how did it happen? I mean - who would want to fight with Miguel?'

Castillo frowned. 'That is not for me to say.'

Emma got up out of her chair, looking down at the long navy crepe dress she was wearing. 'I can't go like this.'

'No.' Castillo, inclined his head in a.s.sent. 'You will change, si?'

Emma nodded, and with a helpless shrug went out of the room.

Immediately upon hearing the door open and close, Mrs. Cook appeared from the kitchen. 'What's going on?' she whispered.

Emma sighed. 'Miguel's been injured. I - I've got to go and see him.'

'At this hour of the night?' Mrs. Cook looked horrified.

'I know it's late, Mrs. Cook, but I have to go.'

'You're getting involved with that man again, just as everything was settling back to normal,' Mrs. Cook accused her impatiently.

'And what's Mr. Harrison going to say if he finds out about this?'

Emma gestured futilely. 'I don't know. But quite honestly, Mrs.

Cook, I don't particularly care - not right now.'

Mrs. Cook shook her head. 'It's not like you to behave like this, Miss Emma. What have you been drinking this evening?'

Emma half smiled. 'Champagne. Do you think that's why I've agreed to go? I can a.s.sure you I'm perfectly sober now.'

'And when will you be back?'

'I don't know. Don't wait up, Mrs. Cook.'

Castillo was driving Miguel's Jensen. Sitting beside him as they threaded their way through the quiet streets to the exclusive hotel overlooking Hyde Park where Miguel was staying, Emma couldn't help wishing she had had the time to drink another brandy to bolster her failing confidence. Why did Miguel want to see her after the last time they had parted? What could he possibly have to say to her?

She looked down at her clothes without pleasure. She had hastily pulled on the grey tweed skirt and white blouse she had worn for work that afternoon, and she was aware they gave her a matronly appearance. Still, she thought unhappily, the sheepskin jacket concealed a mult.i.tude of sins and no one was likely to ask her to take her coat off, were they?

The night staff at the hotel regarded her curiously as she entered with Castillo, but obviously he was known and they pa.s.sed without comment. A lift transported them what seemed a tremendous way up the building and they emerged on to a pile-carpeted corridor with vases of exquisite blooms set at intervals between the white panelled doors.

Castillo led the way towards a door at the far end of the corridor and Emma followed him nervously, treading softly for fear of disturbing anyone. Everywhere was silent, and well it might be, she thought, at three-thirty in the morning!

They entered the sumptuously appointed lounge of a suite of rooms, and as Castillo switched on the lamps, Emma looked about her with interest. A soft apricot carpet flowed into every corner, while the comfortable chairs and couches were upholstered in lime green damask. The walls were hung with damask also, hinting at the deeper bronze silk of the curtains. It was a magnificent apartment but dominated by the piano that stood below tall windows, shadowed now - by the lighting.

The sight of the instrument brought Emma to the realization that the man she had come to see was not present. 'Where - where is Miguel?'

Castillo lifted her coat from her resisting shoulders. 'One moment, and then I will take you to him.'

Emma made an abortive effort to retain the coat and then gave in. 'But where is he?'

'Here!'

The low voice startled her and she swung round to find Miguel entering the room through one of the inner doors. Dressed only in a purple silk dressing robe, his darkly tanned face paler than she had ever seen it, there was something unbearably attractive and familiar about him, and she had to steel herself not to go to him and throw herself upon his mercy. There were several ugly contusions on his face, and a jagged cut on his cheek that looked painful. But her eyes were drawn to his injured hand, hidden in the pocket of his robe.

Castillo clicked his tongue irritably, going towards the other man and shaking his head reprovingly. 'Miguel! You should not be out of bed!

You need to rest. You know that the doctor-'

'Eso basta!' Miguel's lips twisted. 'I do not wish to argue with you, Juan. Do you not think Miss Seaton would find an interview in my bedroom too much, even for her?'

Juan Castillo heaved a sigh, 'What Miss Seaton feels is unimportant compared to your health, Miguel. I beg of you-'

Miguel ignored him, looking across the room at Emma. 'Please,'

he said politely. 'You will sit down?'

Emma took a few steps towards a low armchair and Juan managed to persuade Miguel to sit down on the couch. Indeed, judging by his pallor Emma thought it unlikely that Miguel had much choice in the matter. She was shocked and unnerved by his appearance and she wished desperately that there was something she could do.

'You will leave us, Juan,' instructed Miguel, with determination.

Juan hesitated, obviously torn between the desire to do what Miguel asked and an equally strong desire to a.s.sure himself that nothing untoward would happen in his absence.

'Juan!'

There was imperative steel in Miguel's voice now, and with a reluctant sigh the manager left the room.

'Now.' Miguel's dark gaze flickered over Emma. 'Come and sit here.'

He indicated the end of the couch.

Emma did as he asked without argument. Miguel was lying on the couch, but it was long enough for there to be plenty of room for her to sit at his feet. This close his bruises were stark and agonizing, and Emma felt the urge to lean forward and put her lips to every inch of his face. Something of what she felt must have shown in her eyes, for Miguel's jaw hardened and he said contemptuously: 'Do not look at me like that. Remember your fiance! There is to be no more pretence between us!'

Emma was chilled by his words. Folding her hands in her lap, she said quietly: 'Castillo told me about - about your - injuries.

How did it happen?'

Miguel shrugged. 'It was all over very quickly. We were leaving the theatre after the concert. Juan had gone to get the car, and I was momentarily alone.' He frowned. 'There were three youths, I think. I am not absolutely certain.'

Emma stared at him. 'You mean - they were waiting for you?'

'Of course.'

'But I thought - I mean - the papers said it was a - brawl!'

'I suppose it was - although the odds were decidedly uneven.'

'But they implied - oh, you know what I'm trying to say.': 'Yes, I know.'

'But - but why should anyone want to lie in wait for you? To attack you?'

'You don't know?"

Emma stared at him. 'Me? How should I know?'

Miguel ran his uninjured hand down the cut on his cheek. 'Were you out when Castillo came to fetch you? He was a very long time.'

She flushed. 'Yes. Victor and I - that is - we'd been to an anniversary party.'

'An anniversary party!' Miguel considered her, hot face dispa.s.sionately. 'And how is your inestimable fiance? Recovered from die nasty shock I gave him the other evening?' - 'I expect so.'

Emma moved uncomfortably. 'I don't see what this has to do with your injuries.' She sighed. 'I just wish there was something I could do ...'.

'There is.' Miguel smiled, but it was not a pleasant smile. 'That is why I wanted to see you.'