Dancing in the Shadows by Anne Saunders Page A
Authors: Anne Saunders
her innate honesty and a heart that promised to beat for him long after heâd forgotten the shape of her nose or the pitch of her laugh. She hoped he wouldnât forget too soon the girl who had entered his life by mistake, and for a short while had given it colour. She hoped she had given it colour. She hoped his memory of her lingered on the nice things . . . that it wouldnât be too terribly tarnished by anything Michael might do.
And now she came to the crux of the matter, and although she shaped the thought with extreme reluctance it was one she couldnât back away from. She was touching on the unpalatable and very real fear, the reason she hadnât wanted Michael to find her. He wouldnât be bothered that she had been very ill and that even now her leg supported her for only short distances, except in terms of how much it was worth. How much he could squeeze the Ruizs for, and he wouldnât be satisfied with a few weeksâ free board and luxurious lodgings, either. He would be very subtle about it, of course. Wording it something like: âIt pains me to mention this . . . Dorcas is my sister and I must put her interests first.â He would make it sound as though he was acting on her say-so; as if the driving force was her greedy streak and he was crippled with shame to have such a mercenary sister. Only his duty as a brother made it possible for him to broach anything so delicate. Ah yes! that was the keynote. The bedrock of Michaelâs charm was his delicacy and taste in handling such matters. If she was
unworthy
enough to voice her disapproval he would put on a hurt face and tell her he was doing it for her. Then he would shamelessly hold out his hand for his share of the pickings. A man who couldnât wait for his own grandmother to die to get his hands on her money was capable of anything.
She wanted nothing . . . nothing. She had done what she did for Feli and Rosita spontaneously, without thought of reward. She didnât want to benefit materially. She would tell Michael so at the first opportunity. She would tell him she didnât want him here and that he must go.
Enrique Ruiz was busy with the introductions, keeping up an informative stream of chatter as he presented Michael to each person in turn. Now that Dorcas had reached a decision of sorts, she could give her attention to the scene being played before her eyes. She saw Michael as the two mothers must see him. A tall, clean-cut, pleasantly mannered young man, with charm to spare for someone, say, past the first flush of youth. Michaelâs winning ways delighted Señora Roca. Rose Ruiz looked smug because a compatriot of hers was showing himself up in such a good light.
And now Michael was being presented to Isabel, and it was through Isabelâs eyes that Dorcas noticed the fineness and the aesthetic purity of his features. Odd, but although she had always been aware of her brotherâs good, even exceptional looks, sheâd never quite appreciated the medieval page-boy expression, the quality of angelic innocence beneath that crown of golden hair.
It must have been there all the time, that special look. Was that why, since early childhood, she had always lost out in arguments against him? Why, into adolescence and beyond, whenever they appealed to an independent third party, the judgement was never granted in her favour? Because anybody with a face like that couldnât be capable of anything bad.
Eventually, Isabel managed to tear herself from Michaelâs side to come and sit by Dorcas. Her cheeks were as pink as the fall of rose petals dusting a small round table; her mouth was soft in a smile.
âWhat a wonderful brother you have, Dorcas. You must be very happy to have him here with you.â
Happy to have him here? What a laugh! Dorcas was still doggedly searching her mind for a lever to get Michael out. But flatly, desperately, because even before sheâd broached the subject to
And now she came to the crux of the matter, and although she shaped the thought with extreme reluctance it was one she couldnât back away from. She was touching on the unpalatable and very real fear, the reason she hadnât wanted Michael to find her. He wouldnât be bothered that she had been very ill and that even now her leg supported her for only short distances, except in terms of how much it was worth. How much he could squeeze the Ruizs for, and he wouldnât be satisfied with a few weeksâ free board and luxurious lodgings, either. He would be very subtle about it, of course. Wording it something like: âIt pains me to mention this . . . Dorcas is my sister and I must put her interests first.â He would make it sound as though he was acting on her say-so; as if the driving force was her greedy streak and he was crippled with shame to have such a mercenary sister. Only his duty as a brother made it possible for him to broach anything so delicate. Ah yes! that was the keynote. The bedrock of Michaelâs charm was his delicacy and taste in handling such matters. If she was
unworthy
enough to voice her disapproval he would put on a hurt face and tell her he was doing it for her. Then he would shamelessly hold out his hand for his share of the pickings. A man who couldnât wait for his own grandmother to die to get his hands on her money was capable of anything.
She wanted nothing . . . nothing. She had done what she did for Feli and Rosita spontaneously, without thought of reward. She didnât want to benefit materially. She would tell Michael so at the first opportunity. She would tell him she didnât want him here and that he must go.
Enrique Ruiz was busy with the introductions, keeping up an informative stream of chatter as he presented Michael to each person in turn. Now that Dorcas had reached a decision of sorts, she could give her attention to the scene being played before her eyes. She saw Michael as the two mothers must see him. A tall, clean-cut, pleasantly mannered young man, with charm to spare for someone, say, past the first flush of youth. Michaelâs winning ways delighted Señora Roca. Rose Ruiz looked smug because a compatriot of hers was showing himself up in such a good light.
And now Michael was being presented to Isabel, and it was through Isabelâs eyes that Dorcas noticed the fineness and the aesthetic purity of his features. Odd, but although she had always been aware of her brotherâs good, even exceptional looks, sheâd never quite appreciated the medieval page-boy expression, the quality of angelic innocence beneath that crown of golden hair.
It must have been there all the time, that special look. Was that why, since early childhood, she had always lost out in arguments against him? Why, into adolescence and beyond, whenever they appealed to an independent third party, the judgement was never granted in her favour? Because anybody with a face like that couldnât be capable of anything bad.
Eventually, Isabel managed to tear herself from Michaelâs side to come and sit by Dorcas. Her cheeks were as pink as the fall of rose petals dusting a small round table; her mouth was soft in a smile.
âWhat a wonderful brother you have, Dorcas. You must be very happy to have him here with you.â
Happy to have him here? What a laugh! Dorcas was still doggedly searching her mind for a lever to get Michael out. But flatly, desperately, because even before sheâd broached the subject to