Chapter 1
1949

“I hate men!”

“Nonsense!”

“It’s true. They’re all the same, wanting to get their hands on me or on my money.”

Jimmy Donaldson threw back his head and laughed so much that his horse pranced uneasily from side to side, startled by such exuberance.

“A cynic at twenty-one!” he gasped at last.

“If telling the truth and using a little common sense means that I am a cynic, then I am content to be one,” came the reply, as Skye, with a flick of her riding whip, rode on ahead.

Too late Jimmy realised that he had offended his young cousin. But she was so exquisitely lovely with her tiny tip-tilted nose in an oval face and fair hair that curled riotously over her small head that the mere idea of her being created for anything but the delight of mankind seemed ridiculous.

Yet Jimmy knew Skye well enough to be aware that she was not joking when she said that she hated his sex.

So, curbing his laughter, he rode after her.

He caught her up just as they reached the top of the rising ground, from which they had a breathtaking view of one of the great fertile valleys which made Mariposa one of the most beautiful countries that Jimmy had ever visited in his long life as a Diplomat.

Rugged rocks rising in the distance to the height of small mountains were rusty red in colour against the vivid blue of the sky, while below lay a lush semi-tropical vegetation with flowers starring the ground in vivid profusion and butterflies of every shape and colour hovering above them.

It was awe-inspiring in its loveliness and, as he reached Skye’s side, he heard her draw in a deep breath and her voice was lilting with joy as she exclaimed,

“Isn’t it wonderful? Just how I knew it would be.”

She had evidently forgotten her indignation and, watching her parted lips and shining eyes, Jimmy wondered, as he had wondered so often before, why she always had the facility to surprise him, not once but a dozen times every day they were together.

“It’s a magnificent country, isn’t it, Jimmy?” she insisted as he said nothing.

“Magnificent,” he agreed drily, “but so are its neighbours, Uruguay to our left and South Brazil to our right. And, as I have told you before, they are far more savoury spots than this to go sightseeing in.”

“You are an old woman! That’s what is the matter with you,” Skye retorted scornfully.

“Such a remark would undoubtedly incense me to madness if I was twenty-five,” Jimmy remarked philosophically, “but at fifty-five I can afford to ignore it. I grant you that Mariposa is very pretty but, having said that, let me ask you once again to come to Chile with me and look at the scenery there.”