by Anne Mather
When a knock came at her door, she started nervously. Now what? she wondered. Was this Anita’s housekeeper, telling her she wasn’t needed any more? But the fear that whoever it was might also have a key forced her to answer it. Putting down her coffee, she walked unwillingly to the door.
To her surprise, a young man was standing outside. Of medium height and build with handsome Latin features, he seemed very sure of himself. And, unlike the other servants, he was wearing a well-tailored grey suit, shirt and a matching tie.
‘Ms Jameson?’ he said expectantly, and Isobel wondered who else he thought she could be. But it did remind her that she was still wearing the bathrobe, and faint colour entered her cheeks at his frank appraisal. ‘I am Ricardo Vincente, senhora—Senhora Silveira’s personal assistant.’
‘Oh.’ Isobel was a little taken aback when he offered her his hand in greeting. ‘Um, how do you do?’ She hesitated, taking a surreptitious glance at the watch on his wrist. It was still barely eight o’clock. ‘What do you—I mean, what can I do for you?’
She’d been about to say ‘what do you want?’, but she managed to bite the words back. However, after her encounter with Alejandro, she wasn’t under any illusions as to why she was here.
‘Ah. I am to escort you on a tour of the villa, senhora,’ he said, his smile just the tiniest bit condescending. ‘The public areas, e claro. Senhora Silveira’s apartments are private, naturelmente.’
Naturally.
Isobel moistened her lips. ‘And Senhora Silveira?’ she ventured, hoping she wouldn’t have to explain the question.
She didn’t.
‘Senhora Silveira does not allow visitors before midday,’ Ricardo told her dismissively. Then, his eyes assessing her appearance. ‘You would like me to come back, sim?’
What else? thought Isobel, a little irritably. As there was probably going to be no interview anyway, did it matter either way? Of course, Ricardo might not know what had happened. Had Alejandro explained the situation to his mother-in-law after Isobel had gone to bed? Or was that something else she had to look forward to—being humiliated in front of a woman who clearly had no liking for her.
But, ‘Yes,’ she said now, deciding that, short of making a run for it, she was obliged to meet her hostess again. ‘If you could give me half an hour. It is rather early.’
Ricardo arched dark brows. ‘Mas, the best time of day, senhora,’ he assured her. ‘Before it gets too hot.’ Now he looked at his watch. ‘I will come back in thirty minutes. Ate entao, adeus.’
‘Adeus,’ said Isobel, feeling a little foolish.
She was incredibly relieved when he turned away and she could close the door. She wondered when Alejandro was going to make his next move as the coffee she’d just consumed roiled unpleasantly in her stomach. If only she’d considered her aunt and uncle’s reservations and let some other features writer take this assignment.
Yet, she suspected, that wouldn’t have happened. If Alejandro had planned her involvement, he’d have found some other ploy to gain his own ends. She doubted Anita had been aware of the situation. Not before she got here, at least. Which might give Isobel a little leverage. Would Alejandro want to expose his duplicity to the mother of the woman he’d loved?
Who knew?
Alejandro was an enigma. She had no idea what he thinking, what he might do next. He’d changed. He wasn’t the man she remembered. Was it something to do with the accident? Had he been responsible for Miranda’s death?
She thought about ringing her uncle and telling him what had happened. She knew he’d be sympathetic. Once her aunt found out what was going on, she’d expect her to come home. But perhaps she should wait a little longer and see what happened. If Alejandro had his way, she suspected she wouldn’t have a choice.
Alejandro flew back from Rio in the late afternoon.
There’d been a message waiting for him when he’d got back from the beach to the effect that his father had called a board meeting that afternoon.
These days, Alejandro virtually ran Cabral Leisure himself. His father had had a stroke about eight months ago and he’d been ordered to take things easy from now on.
Not that Roberto Cabral had obeyed his physician. Despite Alejandro’s success in creating new outlets for the company, Roberto insisted on attending all board meetings, making his opinion felt when he didn’t agree with his elder son’s ideas.
Just today, the extraordinary board meeting he’d called had been to question Alejandro’s decision to install health spas in all their Latin American hotels. The hotels in the United States and Europe already had these facilities, and it was Alejandro’s intention to give all their guests the chance to enjoy a healthier lifestyle.
Needless to say, his father’s motion hadn’t been carried. Even Alejandro’s brother Jose, who didn’t always see eye to eye with his older brother, had agreed that it was a necessary expense in these days of diet-conscious patrons. But it had taken Alejandro away from Porto Verde at a time when he’d had other problems on his mind.
Now, as his private jet began its descent towards the airstrip adjoining his ranch at Montevista, Alejandro acknowledged that, subconsciously, he’d spent the last eight hours fretting about what Isobel might do in his absence.
After that scene on the beach that morning, he’d been left with no illusions that dealing with her was going to be easy. But then, he hadn’t expected to find her so attractive.
Despite his memories of his time in London, over the years he’d managed to convince himself that his attraction to the English girl had been as fleeting as their relationship. And, after his return to Rio and subsequent events, he’d never expected to see her again.
Had the accident never happened, would he have pursued the connection? There was no doubt in his mind that when he’d left London he’d intended to return within the next couple of months.
But, two months later, he’d been fighting for his life in the intensive-care unit of a private hospital in Rio. With a lacerated face, broken ribs, a punctured lung and the possibility that he might have to have one of his legs amputated, he’d been in no state to pursue any kind of relationship.
And by the time he’d got out of hospital and seen his injuries for himself…
The runway was partially illuminated by the lights from an off-road vehicle. Carlos Ferreira, his friend and stable-manager, was waiting for him when he stepped down from the plane. Between them they owned and bred polo ponies, thoroughbred animals that were sought after by many of the most famous riders in the sport today.
Alejandro’s great-grandfather had built the ranch—or estancia—many years ago, and after the accident Alejandro had spent many weeks recuperating in the cooler mountain air. These days, it provided a welcome retreat from the demands of his work in the city. Since virtually inheriting the company he’d spent far too much time in Rio, in his opinion. And, as he’d always enjoyed riding, he found it was one sport he’d not had to give up.
Of course, since he and Carlos had started the breeding programme, the ranch had become very successful in its own right. Friends since university days, the two men trusted one another completely, and Alejandro was glad to leave all business decisions concerning the stud in Carlos’s capable hands.
It was a relief to climb into the comfortable Lexus that Carlos had brought to meet him—although his friend’s news that one of their prize mares had aborted her twin foals was a blow. Alejandro knew that only about twenty percent of conceived twins made it to full term, but in this case they’d had high hopes of pulling it off.
‘And Senhora Silveira has called at least half a dozen times,’ Carlos continued, turning onto the rough track that skirted a stream. In the headlights of the car, Alejandro could see a handful of long-horned cattle wading in the reeds that grew in the marshes beside the water. ‘I don’t think she believed me when I told her you were in Rio. She wants you to join her for dinner this evening. She says she isn’t happy about the interview.’
Alejandro scowled. ‘Thanks.’ He gritted his teeth. And then, almost to himself, ‘I guess it is too late to drive down there tonight.’
‘You’d better believe it,’ said Carlos staunchly.
The road from Montevista to Porto Verde could be hazardous at times, especially after dark. A series of hairpin bends, the descent from the plateau where the ranch was situated was dangerous. And when it rained parts of the track had been known to wash away completely.
‘In any case, it won’t hurt her to wait until tomorrow,’ asserted Carlos as a white-painted fence appeared ahead of them.
A gate in the fence guarded the lush paddocks where the horses grazed from the agricultural land outside. As well as horses, the ranch reared a herd of pedigree cattle, a few of whom they’d seen wading among the reeds earlier.
‘I suppose not,’ Alejandro agreed now, staying Carlos when he would have jumped out of the vehicle to open the gate. ‘I can do it,’ he added. ‘I need the exercise.’
All the same, his leg twinged as he swung down from the Lexus. It brought another scowl to his face as he threw the gate wide so that Carlos could drive through.
Still, he thought after closing the gate and climbing back into his seat, if Anita was complaining it surely meant that Isobel was still there. He had been concerned that she might use his absence to leave the villa. Though, unless Anita had told her, she could have no real knowledge of where he might be.
He blew out a breath. He knew the child was his. He just knew it. It wasn’t wishful thinking. Apart from anything else, the dates fitted, and there was no doubt in his mind now that Isobel’s body had been nurturing his seed when he’d left England.
If only she’d told him. If only, as soon as she’d realised what had happened, she’d tried to get in touch with him. She could have reached him via the company’s website. He was sure her friend—was her name Julia?—could have told her how to do that.
All right, perhaps he hadn’t behaved very responsibly at the time. He wasn’t particularly proud of his actions. And his father’s phone call had created a difficult situation. After that, she hadn’t listened to a thing he’d said.
They hadn’t parted on the best of terms, and he’d left her apartment feeling gutted. All through the long flight back to Rio, he’d fretted over what he could have done differently. But he’d assured himself things would be different when he saw her again. He would make her listen to him. But a savage fate had intervened.
He still believed she should have attempted to contact him. He’d had a right to know, whether she’d wanted him to be involved or not. The baby was his child as much as it was hers—the only child he was likely to have, if the doctors who’d eventually discharged him from the hospital were to be believed.
A long drive edged by massive acacia trees led up to the main house. Two-storeyed, with white stucco walls and a railed balcony running across the front portico, even in the lights of the car it looked elegant and impressive. In all, the living area covered over half an acre, a wraparound veranda smothered with flowering vines giving the place a lived-in appearance.
Carlos brought the car to a halt on the block-paved forecourt, but Alejandro hesitated a moment before attempting to get out.
‘Tell Maria thank you, but I’ll take a rain check on the enchiladas,’ he said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. ‘But don’t worry—I have no intention of driving down to Porto Verde tonight.’
Carlos regarded him doubtfully. ‘You mean that?’
‘Would I lie to you, old friend?’ Alejandro countered, which wasn’t quite an answer. He thrust open his door. ‘Tell your beautiful wife I’ll join you another evening if I may?’
Carlos gave a resigned grimace of acceptance, and with a farewell lift of his hand he set the car in motion again. Turning, he drove back to a fork in the drive and followed the gravelled track that led to his own house some half a mile further on.
Alejandro decided to take a shower before ringing Anita. It was a deliberate decision, a concerted attempt to prove to himself that he was still in control of the situation.
All the same, he didn’t stop to dress before crossing the vast expanse of his bedroom to where the phone extension was situated. His mobile phone was useless at the estancia. There was no signal, and they had to rely on the sometimes unpredictable land line to keep in touch with the coast.
Clad only in the towel he’d wrapped carelessly about his hips, he dialled the number, and to his surprise Anita answered the phone herself.
‘Alex, darling!’ she exclaimed, not without some annoyance. ‘Where have you been all day? Carlos said you’d gone to Rio, but I couldn’t believe it. You’d said nothing to me about going to the city when you were here last evening.’
Alejandro bit his tongue on a scathing retort and said instead, ‘It was an emergency.’ Then, disguising the irritation in his voice, ‘Is something wrong?’
Anita chose not to answer his question, but said annoyingly, ‘What kind of an emergency? Is your father ill again? Oh, I must speak to Elena. When I am away from the city myself, I am afraid I neglect—’
‘My father isn’t ill,’ Alejandro broke in flatly, the chilled air from the cooling system bringing goose bumps out all over his skin. Or was that a sign of his apprehension? For God’s sake, why didn’t the woman get to the point? What was this all about?
‘Then what—?’
‘It was an emergency board meeting, right?’ Alejandro knew he had to put a stop to her prevarication. ‘Why have you been ringing me? I would have thought—um—Ms Jameson would have kept you busy.’
‘Oh her.’ Anita made a sound of irritation. ‘I haven’t seen Ms Jameson all day.’
‘Why not?’
Alejandro only just managed not to bark the words, but he guessed Anita had caught the impatience in his voice.
‘Well…’ He could imagine she was pouting now. ‘If it’s of any interest to you, I’ve had a migraine. But, after the way you left here last night, I doubt it matters.’
‘Anita!’
‘What?’ she asked sulkily. ‘When I couldn’t reach you today, I was sure you were avoiding me. I know what Carlos said, but he’s never liked me, and you know it.’
Alejandro sighed. ‘Anita,’ he said again, ‘why would I want to avoid you?’
‘Why indeed?’
Alejandro’s free hand balled into a fist on his thigh. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘Oh, please!’ Anita snorted. ‘I’m not a fool, Alex. I saw the way Ms Jameson reacted when she saw you. You were the last person she expected to meet. But you weren’t surprised, were you, Alex? You knew she was coming.’ She uttered an angry oath. ‘I suppose that was why you persuaded me to give the interview?’
Alejandro stifled the retort that sprang to his lips and said levelly, ‘I thought it was your agent who arranged the interview.’
Anita sniffed. ‘Strictly speaking, I suppose it was, yes.’
‘So why blame me?’ Alejandro was dismissive. ‘I thought you said that as well as talking about your writing you’d welcome the chance to lay some of the rumours about Miranda’s, ah, problems to rest.’
‘You say that so callously, Alex.’ Anita clicked her tongue. ‘She was your wife, you know.’
‘Do you think I can forget it?’ Alejandro’s tone was bitter. ‘But you know as well as I do that our marriage was a farce!’
‘Don’t say that!’ Anita caught her breath. ‘Miranda loved you.’
‘Miranda loved herself,’ retorted Alejandro flatly. ‘Come on, Anita. Telling the truth won’t hurt her any more.’
‘Well, I don’t think I want to talk
about Miranda,’ said Anita, sniffing again. ‘Let the gossips say what they like. I don’t care.’
She did, but Alejandro wasn’t cruel enough to remind her of it. So far as his late wife was concerned, he’d had to cope with far too many demons of his own.
‘Anyway,’ she continued, ‘why did Anton choose that particular publication?’
Alejandro avoided a direct answer. ‘I believe you said you’d known Sam Armstrong when you first started writing.’
‘I did, of course.’ Anita was momentarily diverted. ‘He was very nice to me.’ But then she remembered her accusation. ‘That doesn’t alter the fact that the Jameson woman recognised you, Alex. Was it you who advised Anton to contact Lifestyles magazine? You might as well tell me. I’m going to find out anyway.’
‘All right.’ Alejandro blew out a breath. ‘I did know who she was before she got here. We met some years ago, when I was in London. I—liked her. And, according to all reports, she’s very good at her job. Why not have the best?’
Anita was silent for a moment and then she said silkily, ‘And did you sleep with her?’
Alejandro’s laugh was harsh. ‘Goodnight, Anita,’ he said grimly, and, holding the receiver with the tips of his fingers, he dropped it back into its cradle.
CHAPTER EIGHT
ISOBEL slept badly again and was up soon after six, gazing out at the shadowy silhouettes of the palms swaying beside the veranda.
She was waiting for the first trace of daylight to appear on the horizon, that tinge of pink that would rapidly turn to lemon-yellow as the sun began its morning ascent.
She wasn’t dressed yet, but she would have loved to put on a vest and shorts, or even her swimsuit, and go down to the ocean. The water was so warm and appealing, and she longed to plunge her sticky body into the waves.
But the fear that she might run into Alejandro again was stronger. For the time being, at least, she would have to be content with taking a shower.