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limbs. He would enjoy having her at his mercy, no doubt. At the same time she felt a little thrill of excitement. He undoubtedly had something, this dark Spaniard, and he was affecting her strongly against her will. It must be the same magnetism that had caused Joanna to go off the deep end about his brother, which until now she had been unable to understand, the call of the dark blood to the fair. But as she had told him, she was the practical one of the sisters, and she had no intention of falling under the spell of this Don Juan, for that was what he was, who took ex-marital infidelity as a matter of course. Even if they were married, she would never be sure of him. Married? Was she crazy? But didn’t every young girl subconsciously regard every attractive male she met as a possible husband, though she considered herself long past such juvenile folly. In all the wide world there was no more unsuitable mate for her than Luis de las Aguilas, and she was sure he would heartily agree with her.
    The waiters were starting to bring out the luncheon dishes, laying them out in the covered tables in front of the bar. There was a multitude of succulent confections from which the visitors could help themselves to whatever they fancied.
    Their advent proved a distraction from swimming. Luis swung himself out of the pool, and Peter, eyeing the convoy hopefully, announced:
    ‘I’m hungry!’
    ‘You’ve only just had breakfast,’ Laurel reminded him, drying him vigorously with Luis’ spare towel.
    ‘Swimming makes you hungry, doesn’t it, mister?’ He looked up appealingly to his tall uncle, who was using the other one.
    ‘Tio to you,’ Luis corrected him. ‘It certainly does, and you shall choose whatever you fancy.’
    ‘He’ll make himself sick,’ Laurel protested, redressing him in his shorts, minus his underpants. She was glad to turn her eyes away from Luis’ near-nakedness. Pedro had been a handsome man, but his brother was more so, he had a finer physique, and carried himself more proudly. She thought inconsequently: For God’s sake cover yourself up, man, I’m not used to so much masculine glamour!
    ‘He’ll think it worth it, and there are plenty of people to clear up after him,’ Luis said carelessly, as he put on his beach robe, but that wasn’t much better. Swathed in its rich colours, he looked like an Eastern prince.
    Most of the loungers were occupied, but with a flick of his fingers, Luis had the attendants running to produce two more with their mattresses, which they set up at the spot he indicated half in sun and half in shade. There was no doubt who was master at the Reina Isabella. Laurel sat down on one of them with Peter beside her; Luis stretched himself on the other one, and when a waiter came hurrying up, ordered iced drinks. ‘Sangria for you and me, orange for Pedro.’ ‘My name’s Peter,’ the child objected, ‘and why can’t I have san ... what you said?’
    ‘Because if it includes brandy, as it will for me, it is too strong for you—and your name is Pedro now you are in Spain.’
    Some recollection stirred in the boy’s mind.
    ‘It was Daddy’s name, wasn’t it?’
    ‘Yes. It is something that you know that much.’ Luis’ tone was sarcastic.
    ‘Mummy never would talk about him,’ Peter complained. ‘Was he dark, like you?’
    Luis said he was.
    ‘I wish I was dark,’ Peter evidently admired his uncle. ‘But I’m like Tia.’
    ‘Very like.’ There was a peculiar inflection in Luis’ voice. ‘But do not despair, darkness may descend upon you as you grow older. I have known blonde babies turn into brunettes, and I think I detect the beginning of the Aguilas nose.’
    That, Laurel thought, was a flight of fancy, Peter’s nose was as yet unformed, but it was nice of Luis to humour the child. He had positioned himself so that he had a clear view of her, and she fidgeted under the watchful gaze from those black eyes. What was he looking for, she wondered, some