The Soldier's Rebel Lover

Chapter Seven

‘I thought I might show you a little more of our beautiful countryside today,’ Isabella said, ‘since I think it would be unwise for me to take you to visit Estebe as Xavier requested. Your knowledge of wine is so sparse, he would be suspicious of you within a few minutes. If Xavier asks, we will need to concoct a story to explain why we—’

‘Is your brother due back today?’ Finlay interrupted.

‘No, but when he does return, we need to have a plausible explanation for not visiting Estebe. Xavier will be most displeased that I have disobeyed his direct instructions.’

‘I am not planning to be here when your brother returns.’ Finlay was not planning to be here beyond tomorrow, and he was not planning to leave alone, either, though it was clear that his plans and Isabella’s did not currently coincide.

Her face had fallen momentarily at his terse tone, but she recovered with a determined smile. ‘I did not think you would go so far as to place an order for Xavier’s precious Rioja that would not be fulfilled, but as he is not likely to be home for a few days yet, you do not have to rush off on his account.’

‘Isabella, it’s not your brother I’m worried about.’

‘No, but—you did not expect to find El Fantasma so quickly, did you? I mean, if you had not found me, or if I could not lead you to him, or if it turned out that I could, but it took some time to arrange—’ She broke off, looking flustered. ‘What I mean is, you must have anticipated having to spend a considerable amount of time in Spain searching for El Fantasma. Having achieved your objective with relative ease, why not reward yourself with a tiny hiatus from your duties as a soldier while the opportunity presents itself? You must admit, the Hermoso Romero estate is a beguiling place.’

She was blushing. She looked so enchanting, it was all Finlay could do to stop himself from leaning across the breakfast table to kiss her. Of course, he knew she was not indifferent to him, and he was certainly not indifferent to her, but he suspected that their mutual attraction was more to do with the heightened tension of the situation they found themselves in than anything else.

Still, he wished she hadn’t dangled further temptation in front of him. He took a sip of coffee and took another, unwanted, slice of cured ham. Señora Romero had not joined them this morning, leaving them to breakfast alone. There was something very appealing in looking at Isabella across the breakfast cups. She would be even more appealing if they were taking breakfast together in their bedchamber, her hair down, wearing a lacy gown and nothing else. He had always been a man who preferred to contemplate the forthcoming day in solitude, but...

What the devil was he thinking of? ‘It is indeed a beguiling place, but not as beguiling as one of its inhabitants. However,’ Finlay added quickly, ‘I’m here on a mission, not on holiday, and my objective is far from achieved.’ Ach! Now Isabella looked as if he’d slapped her. ‘I’ll tell you what,’ he added, softening his tone, ‘why don’t we ride out, like you suggest? We need to talk, but there’s no necessity for us to do it here. A good gallop and some fresh air would be most welcome.’

‘I would like that. I know some lovely spots hereabouts. But as for needing to talk, I’m afraid there is nothing to discuss, Finlay. We must agree to differ.’ She crossed her arms, looking mulish. ‘I am not in need of rescue. I told you...’

‘And I listened. Now it’s your turn to listen to me. No,’ he said, when she opened her mouth to protest again, ‘you’re not being fair. You’ve had your say, now it’s only right that you let me have mine.’

‘The world is not a fair place.’

‘Doesn’t El Fantasma advocate free speech for all and a fair hearing?’

She laughed, holding up her hands in surrender. ‘You use my own rhetoric against me! I call that very unfair, indeed. But all is fair in love and war, that is what you will say, no? I shall go and change. Meet me at the stables in half an hour.’

He caught her arm as she made for the door. ‘We’re not at war, Isabella.’

‘No.’

Their eyes met and held. Her mouth softened into a sensual curve. The urge to touch her, to kiss her, simply to hold her tightly against him was so strong, it almost overpowered him. ‘No,’ Finlay said, letting her go, ‘we are not at war.’

As to the other, he thought, as the door closed behind her, he would be a fool to contemplate it. And Major Finlay Urquhart had never been guilty of being a fool.

* * *

A couple of hours later, they were sitting side by side on a blanket, leaning against an overturned tree in a pretty glade at the edge of a forest located some distance from the estate. The sun had obligingly come out, and there were only the slightest, puffiest of clouds in the pale blue winter sky. Isabella opened the top button of her jacket and lifted her face to the warmth. Finlay had taken off his coat, and sat in his waistcoat and shirtsleeves. His leather-clad leg was not touching her skirts, his arm was not brushing hers, but she was so aware of him, it was almost as if they were. She didn’t want him to leave. Not yet.

No, not yet. She hadn’t realised until he’d turned up out of the blue how lonely she had been. She had her cause but precious little else. She hadn’t realised how rarely she was her true self. Not even with Estebe could she talk as she did with Finlay, and she had never, ever thought of kissing Estebe. Now she seemed to do nothing else but think of kissing Finlay.

He shifted against the tree and she opened her eyes to find him studying her intently. ‘What is it? Have I dust on my nose?’ She brushed her face roughly, not for fear of dust but to conceal the effect his gaze had on her. She felt flustered and flattered in equal measure. She wrinkled her nose. ‘Has it gone?’

Finlay grimaced. ‘Stop being so endearing. For pity’s sake, it’s difficult enough having to say what I have to say, without...’

‘Then, don’t say it, Finlay.’

‘I have no choice.’

‘Not yet.’ She knew, absolutely, that what he had to say would signal the end, and she so desperately didn’t want it to end. ‘Not yet,’ she said again, smoothing her hand over his hair, his cheek.

He turned his face, his lips brushing a kiss on her palm, then, taking her by the wrist, he kissed each of her fingers. ‘Why did it have to be you?’ he murmured. ‘Why do you have to be so irresistible?’

‘Then, do not resist.’ She caught his hand and did as he had done, brushing her lips over his palm, her tongue over each of his fingertips. His eyes flickered shut as he inhaled sharply. She pushed the cuff of his sleeve back, kissing the pulse on his wrist. And then his mouth found hers and she forgot everything save for the taste of him and his touch and his drugging, sweet, heady kisses.

He whispered her name as he kissed her. He said her name like no other did, his soft, lilting accent making a caress of it as his hands stroked her cheeks, her neck, unfastening the buttons of her riding coat to slide inside and cup her breasts. She kissed him back hungrily, her own hands roaming over his back, his shoulders. She held him tightly to her, pressed herself against him, for fear he would stop. She could not bear it if he stopped, not this time.

He kissed the tops of her breasts above the gown of her habit. She laced her fingers into his hair. Her corsets felt too tight. She was hot. Her nipples were hard under his caress, aching for more. ‘Más,’ she whispered urgently.

Finlay muttered some gentle endearment in his native tongue. His eyes were dark, his cheeks flushed. His neckcloth was undone, his waistcoat open. She could sense him wrestling with his conscience. She did not want his conscience to win. ‘Please do not stop,’ she said, made shameless with desire.

He groaned. ‘Don’t look at me like that. How am I to resist you when you look at me like that?’

‘Then, don’t.’ She pulled him back towards her. ‘Don’t resist,’ she said, and kissed him fiercely.

This time he obeyed her command. His kisses were harder, his breath became more ragged, his hands touched her more surely, cupping her breasts, making her arch up with pleasure. He slid his hand under the skirts of her habit, stroking his way up her leg, over her stocking, her garter, to the soft flesh of her thigh. Her body pulsed and throbbed. Her skin tingled. Inside her, the tension, the heat, pooled between her legs. Finlay’s skin was hot, too, under the linen of his shirt, his nipple hard against her flattened palm. His eyes, intent on hers, reflected the fire building inside her.

‘Are you sure?’ he asked.

‘Si. Yes. Sure,’ she answered. Though she was not at all sure what he meant, she was sure she wanted it, and when his hand cupped her sex, when he slid his finger inside her, she was certain, whimpering with delight. ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ she said as he touched her. ‘Yes.’

She surrendered to it, to him, to the exquisite pleasure of the tension his touch was building, lying back on the blanket, his body half-covering hers. She closed her eyes as he kissed her again, lost in the pleasure of his mouth, his tongue, his touch. Stroking. Thrusting. Stroking inside her, moving instinctively with him, clinging on to the knot until she could bear it no longer, and it exploded, forcing a strange, guttural cry from her as she shuddered and pulsed, clinging to his shoulders to anchor her, convinced that if she let go of him she might fly straight up into the pale blue winter sky and burst into flames like a firework.

* * *

Isabella lay sprawled on the blanket, half-covered by his body, the embodiment of temptation, the image of sated delight. Her eyes fluttered open, and Finlay could not resist kissing her one last time. His erection throbbed. It took him every ounce of willpower to move away from her. He could not believe he’d allowed himself to go this far.

He sat up abruptly. ‘Enough,’ he said, aloud this time. Her smile faded. There was hurt in her eyes, and confusion. Steeling himself, Finlay grabbed his jacket and shrugged it on, deliberately putting some distance between them.

Isabella, too, sat up, buttoning her jacket, the glow fading from her cheeks, her expression hardening. ‘For the avoidance of doubt, do not even think of apologising. What happened was entirely at my instigation. I did not realise that you were so reluctant. Or indeed that my own—enthusiasm—was so one-sided.’

Finlay cursed. ‘It’s not that. How can you think that?’ he said, reaching for her instinctively. ‘If you mattered less to me, this would all be a damned sight easier. I’ve never wanted a woman so much. Did I not tell you only a few moments ago, I’ve never met a woman like you?’

‘Then, why— I don’t understand. Why are you sorry for—for what happened, if I am not?’

She was blushing adorably. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to hold her. He didn’t want to let her go. It was this thought that stopped him in his tracks and forced him to do exactly that. ‘Enough,’ Finlay said once more. ‘The time has come to stop faffing about. I want you to sit down, and I want you to listen to me.’

His tone brooked no argument. He spoke as he would to his men, and he told himself that from now on that was how he had to think of her. She was one of his lieutenants, not to be reasoned with or cajoled, but to be informed of his orders, and instructed to discharge them forthwith. Isabella cast him a resentful look, but she sat down on top of the overturned tree and looked at him expectantly. Good. Fine. Finlay put his hands behind his back and stood a few steps away. ‘Right, then. Here’s the bald truth of the matter.’

He told her in plain, unvarnished facts what Jack had told him when he had briefed him. ‘Two years ago,’ he concluded, ‘you were a partisan fighting in a legitimate war for your country. That war is over now. Yes, for El Fantasma and his supporters, the fight goes on, but it’s no longer legal. El Fantasma, his supporters... They’re not soldiers in the eyes of the law, they are traitors. You are the enemy within, Isabella, and if you carry on as you are doing, I doubt very much you’ll live to see your next birthday.’

She was pale, but still defiant. ‘They will never catch me. No one will ever suspect that El Fantasma is a woman.’

‘Estebe knows who you are. His deputies know who he is. Their deputies, in turn, know who they are. For the authorities, it is simply a case of working their way up the chain. That is what they are busily doing right now.’

‘Estebe would never betray me.’

‘Isabella, the things they would do to him would make Estebe betray his own mother.’

‘She is dead. Besides, he would not...’

‘Aye, he would,’ Finlay said firmly, and proceeded to explain, in graphic detail, exactly how they would set about it.

‘You are making it up,’ Isabella said faintly, when he was done. ‘Or at the very least exaggerating. I may violently disagree with the government but we are Spanish, not barbarians. They would not treat one of their own citizens so inhumanely.’

‘You give your government, all governments, come to that, too much credit. They will do what is expedient. The would not hesitate to use torture if necessary. I’m speaking from experience. Not of what I’ve inflicted, but of what I’ve witnessed,’ he said implacably, refusing to allow himself to take pity on her. Taking pity on her could only harm her. ‘What’s more, your being a woman would not protect you. Quite the reverse. It would leave you open to other, even more degrading treatment, if you take my meaning.’

‘No.’ She jumped to her feet, her fists balled. ‘No. What would be the point? If they had El Fantasma, if they really did manage to capture me, which I don’t believe, why would they— What would be the point of torturing me?’

‘For the love of God, woman! You said it yourself—people are listening to what El Fantasma has to say, and what he has to say is treason. It’s not a case of simply shutting you up. They will want to make sure that there’s no one left to fill your shoes. They will want names from you. Associates, contacts, sympathisers. Information. Such as the location of the printing press. Where the funding comes from. They know about your previous collaboration with the British. They’ll want to know everything that went on back then. And when they’ve got all that—and believe me, you’ll tell them everything they want to know, including my highly irregular and diplomatically explosive presence here—then they’ll have done with you.’

‘No! You are trying to frighten me. I won’t listen.’

‘Isabella...’

‘No!’ She turned on him, shaking his hand away from her arm, her face aglow with anger. ‘You know, from the very start, I have been thinking, I have been asking myself, why are you really here?’

‘What do you mean? I’ve told you—’

‘Yes, that you are here to rescue El Fantasma from the Spanish government,’ Isabella interrupted with a sneer. ‘But why would you do that, Finlay? You are a soldier, an English—British soldier. You are here, by your own admission, under orders from the Duke of Wellington himself. But the Duke of Wellington does not care a fig about Spain. He stopped caring about Spain the moment he chased Napoleon across the border into France. No, Wellington does not give this,’ she said, snapping her fingers, ‘for what El Fantasma has to say now that we are no longer at war. He does, however, care very much about what El Fantasma could say about how that war was won here in Spain, yes? A campaign the duke himself had ultimate responsibility for.’

There was no point in pretending to misunderstand her. ‘Yes,’ Finlay said, ‘you’re quite correct. Whether as a result of his direct orders, or merely acts carried out in his name, there are many unsavoury aspects of the conduct of the war here that Wellington and his coterie would prefer left unsaid.’

‘Especially now that he has hopes of becoming prime minister,’ Isabella said, folding her arms across her chest and glaring at him. ‘And he would go to some lengths to protect those hopes, I think. To the extent of sending one of his men here to Spain, even. To ensure the—what was your phrase—diplomatically explosive information does not fall into Spanish hands.’

‘Aye, that he would.’

‘Oh.’

His blunt admission took her aback. She had been a deal less certain in her accusations than she’d sounded, Finlay thought, but what the hell, the lass deserved the whole truth. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘Both our governments have the same aim, albeit for differing reasons. My orders were to get to you before they did and take you back with me. Whether you’d subsequently end up a prisoner in exile under house arrest, or whether you’d simply quietly disappear I don’t know, but the net result would be the same. Silence.’

She put her hand to her breast, staggering away from him in horror. ‘You knew that, and yet you—you tell me this, and you expect me to consent to—to allow you to—to abduct me? You have been lying to me all along. I don’t understand. Why are you telling me all this?’

‘To knock some sense into you!’ He grabbed her, and when she shrank from him, gave her a tiny shake. ‘Don’t be so daft, lass. You can’t possibly think I would harm a hair on your heid! I’m telling you what my orders were, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I’m going to follow them.’

‘You’re not?’

‘The Jock Upstart has a reputation for insubordination to uphold,’ he said with a thin smile. ‘I’ve told you the truth from the start. I’m not here to kill you. I’m here to save your life.’

‘But how— What...’

‘You have to get out of Spain, but there’s no way I’m taking you to England. You’re bound for America, lass, and safety,’ Finlay said gently. ‘You asked me why I was sorry for what happened there, between us. That is why. You have no choice but to make a new life for yourself a whole continent away, and I can play no part in that life, even if you wanted me to. The arrangements are already in place.’

He had said far more than he intended, implied far more than he would admit to feeling, made the matter personal when it should not be, but before he could regret it or retract it, Isabella pushed him away.

‘America! I am not going to America. I am not going anywhere. Why would you think— No, wait. Something does not make sense. You had already made arrangements, planned to send El Fantasma to America, before you knew he was me—that it was me? That implies that you had always planned to disobey Wellington’s orders.’

‘I’m not here for Wellington. I’ll admit, my orders originate from Wellington, but that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because Jack asked me to come.’

‘Jack.’ Isabella stared at him blankly.

‘My friend and comrade. Lieutenant Colonel Jack Trestain. Better known as Wellington’s codebreaker. But then you know that because El Fantasma was one of his most trusted partisan contacts, although they never actually met. Jack says you’ve been responsible for saving literally thousands of lives, and now he feels he owes you yours. I’ve known him for the better part of a decade. We’ve been through some tough times together, so when he asked for my help I could not refuse him, despite the risks. Jack came up with the plan to send El Fantasma incognito to America. Wellington will be told El Fantasma perished in the course of the attempted abduction. Problem solved and everybody happy. A simple but elegant plan typical of Jack. But the key point is this. If Jack believes you are in mortal danger, believes it enough to ask me to risk my reputation and possibly my neck, then you surely need no further proof that the threat to your life is real.’

‘I don’t know. I need time to think about everything you have said.’ She put her hand to her eyes, but he saw the sheen of tears lurking there.

He longed to comfort her, to allay her fear and distress, but he could not afford to risk diluting the message he’d hammered so brutally home.

‘Isabella, that is a luxury we cannot afford. Time is of the essence.’

‘No.’ She threw her shoulders back and glared at him. ‘This is my life we are talking about, Finlay, not yours. My life, and Estebe’s and many others’, too. I won’t be rushed into a decision. I need time to think. At the end of the week...’

‘No. Tomorrow,’ Finlay said, hardening his heart. ‘You have until tomorrow at the very latest.’

* * *

Isabella took another sip of cognac and stared into the fire. She had retired to her bedchamber immediately upon her return, both shaken and shocked by Finlay’s words. For some time she sat, completely numb, almost unable to assimilate what he had told her, but as the hours passed and she replayed the conversation over and over, the truth began sink in. It was the manner in which he had spoken, almost as much as the words themselves that had finally convinced her. Finlay had laid out the detailed facts so clearly and concisely. He’d made no attempt to disguise the horrors, but nor had he overdramatised them. He had not been trying to frighten her, but to open her eyes to the stark reality of the situation.

As an upshot she was, nonetheless, extremely frightened. She had never thought of herself as a traitor. Listening to Finlay, she could only guess at the plethora of shocking, horrific experiences that lent credence to his words. Listening to Finlay, Isabella had been forced to concede to herself that she was not, as she had always imagined herself, a soldier fighting a noble fight. At least not a true soldier as he was.

She shuddered. She had thought, in the past few days, that she had come to know him, but it was difficult to reconcile the charming Finlay with the man who had sent her world crashing around her this afternoon. The horrors he must have witnessed. The savagery. The brutality. The bloodshed and suffering. He seemed quite untouched by it, yet she knew he was neither a brute nor a savage. He had come here, all this way, not because of an order but because of a promise he had made to his best friend and comrade. Finlay was an honourable man. Finlay was in many respects a gentleman. Finlay was also the most attractive man she had ever met. Her face flamed as she recalled her wanton behaviour this afternoon, but her unrepentant body began to thrum at the memory. He had wanted her—of that she had no doubt. But he had resisted the temptation, because he knew her fate was to lead a new life, in safety but in exile, on another continent. A life that he could have no part of, even if either of them wanted it.

Reality intervened once more, like being doused with a bucket of cold mountain water. Isabella threw back the remains of her cognac, coughing as the fiery liquor burned its way down her throat. Whatever her future was, wherever her future lay, it did not involve Finlay. Not only was it pointless to speculate, she had far more important things to think about now than her feelings for him. Whatever they were.

Jumping to her feet, she began to pace the floor, from the long doors that opened onto her balcony, to the door that opened onto the corridor, and back again. She no longer questioned the danger she was exposed to, but the consequences— No, she was not ready to accept those.

She threw open the windows and stepped out onto the balcony. A thin film of cloud covered the night sky, but a luminescent moon shone through it, bathing the vineyards below with a ghostly grey light. This was her home. She had never known another. Her family were here. And her life’s work. She could not leave. There must be another solution.

A tap on the door made her jump. Isabella turned and saw her sister-in-law slip into the room. ‘Consuela. What are you doing here so late—is something wrong? Is Ramon...?’

‘My son is safe and well in his nursery. I intend to ensure that he remains so. Which is why I am here.’ Consuela turned the key in the look and crossed the room, taking one of the chairs by the fireside. ‘I would have come earlier, but I have had to spend the past hour with the wife of one of Xavier’s tenants. It seems the man has disappeared off the face of the earth.’

‘What man?’

Consuela waved her hand dismissively. ‘I cannot remember the name. He works for Estebe. He will be off on a drunken spree, I don’t doubt. Or run off with another man’s wife. Of course, when I hinted at such, the woman became quite furious, claimed her husband never drank and never looked at another woman, but...’

They are working their way up the chain. That was what Finlay had said. No, she was being foolish. It was simply a coincidence. ‘How long has he been missing?’ Isabella asked.

‘Almost a week. I don’t know what the woman expects me to do. I told her to come back when Xavier has returned. But I did not come here to discuss missing farm workers. Sit down, Isabella, and pour me a glass of that cognac, if you please. It is time you and I had a little talk.’

‘Can it not wait until morning? I am very tired.’ The fact that the missing tenant worked for Estebe was a coincidence, nothing more. She was edgy, and no wonder. The last thing she wanted was to listen to another lecture on marriage. ‘Really, Consuela, if you have come to further Gabriel’s suit, I should tell you that you are wasting your time.’

‘That is not why I am here, but that is indeed one of the things I suspected. Sit down, Isabella. I do not care how tired you are, this will not wait.’

There was something in her tone that made her heart sink. Consuela sounded quite implacable. She sounded horribly certain, just as Finlay had done earlier today. Isabella dropped abruptly onto the chair. ‘What is it you wish to say?

Consuela took a measured sip of cognac. ‘Why is Finlay Urquhart here?’

The question took Isabella utterly by surprise. ‘To buy wine. But you already know that.’

‘Do not play games with me. There is no time,’ her sister-in-law said with an angry sigh. ‘He knows even less about wine than I do. Xavier was suspicious from the first day—so much so, that he decided to check Mr Urquhart’s credentials. What business did you imagine was keeping him so long in Pamplona?’

‘I had no idea what my brother was doing since he rarely takes me into his confidence. Has Xavier proof that Finlay—Mr Urquhart—has he irrefutable proof that he is not a wine merchant?’

Consuela shrugged impatiently. ‘What is he, Isabella? Who is he? And how is he connected with whatever it is you have secreted in my husband’s wine cellars?’

A trickle of sweat running down her spine made Isabella shiver. Fear made knots in her stomach. ‘What do you know of that?’ she asked, the shock of this revelation on top of the tumultuous events earlier so severe that denial did not even occur to her.

Consuela curled her lip. ‘You think you are the only one with eyes?’

‘Clearly not.’

‘I have watched you sneaking out of the house at night. At first I thought it was to meet a lover, but you had not the look of a woman who had experience of such matters until lately. You have allowed Mr Urquhart to take liberties, I think. That was foolish of you, but not, I think the most foolish thing you have done.’

Her throat was dry. She must not panic. She must—she must— Dear heavens, what was she to do? ‘Consuela...’

‘What is in the cellar, Isabella?’

Her life was crashing around her ears. She was beyond prevaricating. ‘A printing press,’ she whispered.

Consuela’s hand went to her breast. Her eyes widened in horror. ‘Madre de Dios, are you insane?’ She jumped to her feet, clutching at the mantel for support. ‘It is illegal to merely own such a thing, far less print anything. If it is discovered, Xavier could be imprisoned. Worse. A printing press! And what is it that you are printing?’ She swayed, the blood draining from her face. ‘That madman. The spectre. No, that is not right. The Ghost.’

‘El Fantasma.’

Consuela swayed. ‘You are actually printing that man’s material here, at Hermoso Romero? Has that man been here? Isabella, if you have—if they discover—it does not bear thinking about. They would hang Xavier. They would hang us all. What have you been thinking?’

Not thinking. She had not been thinking. Finlay had tried to warn her, but she hadn’t listened. Hadn’t wanted to listen. Isabella felt sick. She felt faint. Dimly, she was aware that Consuela had not guessed the whole truth. Yet. ‘I— It will— I will put an end to it,’ she said. ‘I am so sorry, I...’

‘Sorry!’ Consuela turned on her viciously. ‘What good is sorry! Sorry will not save us.’ She took a sip of cognac. The glass clattered against her teeth. A sob shook her, and the glass fell onto the hearthrug, splattering brandy over her feet. ‘What have you done, Isabella? What are we to do?’

‘Nothing.’ Seeing Consuela so close to hysterics forced Isabella back from the brink of her own. She poured her sister-in-law another glass of cognac and held it out to her. ‘You must do nothing. Say nothing. This is my problem. It is for me to resolve.’

‘How?’

‘The less you know the better, Consuela, but I promise you, you will all be safe.’

‘What about that man? Mr Urquhart, what has he to do with all this?’

‘It doesn’t matter. He, too, will be—attended to, I promise. Now, if you please, go to your bedchamber, and forget we had this conversation, and when Xavier returns, it would be much better if you did not mention any of it.’

‘You think I am stupid!’ Consuela drained the glass and got shakily to her feet. ‘He will be back in two days, no more. Is that enough time for you to rectify things?’

‘It will have to be,’ Isabella said with grim determination. ‘For all our sakes.’