Tonight, when Skye had rubbed herself dry, she put on a dressing gown of blue satin, trimmed round the wide hem and open sleeves with frills of lace and tiny bows of pink velvet ribbon. Then she went to the dressing table to sit brushing the dust from her hair, making the curls dance, electric and vibrant with each stroke of the brush.

Through the open window she could hear the music of the guitar, the shrill shouts of the children and the bleating of a goat that had lost its kid.

In New York, Skye thought suddenly, her friends would be going to cocktail parties and perhaps, lifting a dry martini to their lips, they would think of her and wonder where she was at this moment.

Some of them would be envious. There are always those who are ready to dislike anybody richer than themselves and to find something caustic to say about someone who has inherited a great fortune, no matter how little harm she may have done them personally. Yet perhaps there were some who were genuinely fond of her.

“I wonder what Skye Standish is doing?” they would say to each other.

If only they knew!

Skye suddenly covered her face with her hands. How could she go on like this? And yet, what else could she do? There was a sudden sound, the noise of footsteps coming across the wooden floor in the outer room and then the leather curtain was drawn back with impetuous abruptness.

Skye turned round, startled. El Diablo had never come to her room before and then one glance at him brought her to her feet, palpitating with fright such as she had never known in her whole life.

She saw Neengai slip behind him and disappear and then she could only stand, frozen into an immobility that seemed to sap her brain, as she saw the expression on his face.

It was the face of a devil. His eyes were blazing with anger, his lips taut with a fury that could not be disguised.

For a moment he stood looking at her and then he walked across to seize her by the wrist and drag her across the room.

“What is the matter? What has happened? Where are you taking me?” Skye asked.

He did not answer, only dragged her along, the high heels of her satin mules slipping beneath her feet as she strove to keep her balance.

“Where are we going? I am not dressed,” she cried, conscious suddenly of her nakedness beneath the thin satin of her dressing gown.

And then, while she still protested, they reached the door of the outer cave and he pulled her out onto the terrace.