Mask Of Scars

‘Momento, menina,’ he exclaimed, almost scandalised that she should expect him to serve her when obviously someone of importance was approaching.

Christina turned away, pushing through the throng carelessly, only wanting to avoid a further encounter. But her pursuer had the advantage, she soon found, for his way was made clear for him while she had to force a pathway.

‘Menina!’ The curt tone of his voice halted her, and she was intensely conscious of the curious speculation around her.

Sighing, she turned slowly to face him, and he inclined his head in satisfaction. But he said nothing, merely passed her and indicated that she should follow him.

Unwillingly Christina complied, for she had the distinct feeling that had she attempted to disobey him these people would have forcibly made her do exactly as he had indicated.

Outside the throng of humanity, he halted and now she could see the black limousine parked in the square, Alfredo Seguin at the wheel. He must have noticed her eyes move past him to the automobile, for a cynical expression invaded his eyes. She could see his eyes clearly now, and they were a most peculiar tawny colour, sometimes palest amber, sometimes almost yellow around the irises.

‘So we meet again, menina,’ he observed, his accent more pronounced than she remembered.

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