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‘I think,’ she answered with a slight frown, ‘that if you were foreign it was actually a bit easier to get into high society. No one knew who you were, you see.’
One dark, arched eyebrow quirked. ‘Wouldn’t I have been regarded as one up—if that—from a savage native escaped from the jungle?’
‘I think you would have been considered exotic,’ she said. ‘And mysterious.’
And you’d have had Victorian maidens swooning by the dozen...
Rafael gave a laugh, the lines around his mouth deepening.
Make that by the hundreds...
Celeste dragged her mind away. She’d set him clear on what she was not going to do—get involved with him in any way—so she had to stop, right now, thinking any thoughts at all that countered that.
But it was hard to sit here, only a few feet away from him, and not think such thoughts. Not to feel again the confusion, the incomprehension, about just why it was that he could make her think such things. Feel such things...
‘You make me sound like a character in Dickens,’ he replied.
‘More like Joseph Conrad, I think. You know—Nostromo,’ she went on. ‘It’s a novel set in your part of the world. About a town that has vast mountains of silver and how that wealth tempts everyone. Corrupts many.’
‘There was such a mountain,’ he told her. ‘In Peru. And it tempted and corrupted, and in the end caused the death of many. Including the wretched miners forced to mine it for their masters.’ His expression changed. ‘It may sound ironic, but it’s actually been a blessing that Maragua has very little mineral wealth to exploit, since such exploitation has so seldom been for the benefit of the mass of inhabitants of the countries.’
She looked across at him. ‘Is there great poverty still in Maragua?’
‘Substantial—but it is diminishing. There was a change in government in Maragua a few years ago,’ he continued, clearly approvingly, ‘to one that is more moderate, less extreme. It has helped considerably. It understands that prosperity is built on investment—investment in infrastructure, the environment, education, entrepreneurship—and a lot of hard work by everyone, not just the peones.’
She looked at him curiously. ‘But you live and work in Europe and the USA, don’t you?’
‘It’s where I made my money, yes,’ Rafael allowed. ‘But the habit of sending remittances home by those working abroad has a long tradition in Latin America and it actually contributes signally to the economy of the region en masse. However, at my level those remittances can take the form of specific investments in targeted projects for long-term national benefit. I work closely with several other Maraguans who, like myself, have “made good”, and we now intend to grow our native economy and welfare for the benefit of all our fellow citizens.’
‘That sounds very...admirable...’ Celeste sought for the right word.
He gave a dismissive shrug. ‘It makes sound economic sense. Wealth begets wealth—as the Western world learned last century. If the masses become prosperous they drive the economy further upwards in a virtuous circle.’
Celeste frowned. ‘But isn’t there a danger of pollution and environmental degradation as living standards rise with consumer demand?’
‘Yes. Which is why we now focus on sustainable development and reversing the damage that has been done in the past.’
He warmed to his theme, describing reforestation programmes to extend areas of native rainforest, which went hand in hand with developing ecotourism—an area he was investing in himself. Rafael could see her listening attentively, and she asked intelligent, penetrating questions.
Just as Madeline had used to.
