How far away Hurlingham seemed at this moment with its smartly-dressed spectators sitting in the pale English sunshine, the chatter and gossip over the teacups and the line of sleek expensive cars waiting to carry their owners back to London and to the social events of the evening! Very different indeed from Mariposa, where she was dressing in a centuries-old cave, not for some masquerade but for a matter that might be one of life or death.

She must have laughed aloud for Neengai said in her soft sing-song voice,

“The señora is happy.”

Skye looked surprised for a moment and then answered honestly,

“Yes, perhaps I am, Neengai. I like excitement and sometimes I like adventure.”

“The señora will come back soon?”

There was anxiety in the Indian girl’s voice.

“Would you be sorry if I did not return?” Skye enquired.

“Very very sorry, señora. I very happy to serve you and I hope that I have pleased the señora.”

“You have pleased me very much,” Skye answered. “Thank you for all you have done for me and I shall be back soon, you can be sure of that.”

She spoke with unexpected surety, for she was suddenly convinced that she would return. She had made no plan of escape. How could she when she had given her word to El Diablo?

And yet his own doubts and uncertainty of the outcome of this meeting with the Dictator had left her feeling that there might be a change in plan, if not in their relationship.

Yet now, at this moment, she knew that she would come back to Neengai, to the cave and to the strange terrifying life she had lived here for nearly three weeks.

Was it as short a time as that? she asked herself. She felt as if a thousand years had passed since she last saw Jācara.

She was different in herself, different in what she thought and felt. She had a sudden vision of her white yacht lying peacefully in the harbour. It only could give her the chance of leaving Mariposa and going home.

Then she put the temptation to one side. She could not break her word, even though it was given to a man who, as she told him so often, had not the slightest idea of the word ‘honour’ or of civilised behaviour.

She turned towards the mirror. It was not likely that anyone would recognise her, she thought, and to make certain she had in her pocket a pair of sunglasses that she could put on at the last moment. Many of the gauchos wore them, not because they were troubled by the sun, having been used to it all their lives, but because they thought spectacles gave them a North American look, which they considered smart and up to date.

“I am ready,” Skye smiled at Neengai and, pulling on her riding gloves, she went into the outer cave.