Pictures of You

by Barbara Delinsky

  The conversations had continued during her brief, and unobserved, evaluation of the group from the doorway. Not one to flaunt her own good looks, Eva was nevertheless aware that she did present a pretty picture as she stood thus beneath the door frame. Whatever she lacked internally in the absence of a fresh change of clothes was well compensated on the surface by those she wore. The stylish sun dress, yellow with a delicate flowered pattern in pinks and roses, contrasted effectively with her brown-red hair, its curls soft and full around her face, their circular tendrils echoed in the round-framed glasses, whose color coordinated perfectly with the floral print of her dress. Now the younger dark-haired man glanced up and spotted her, a warm smile overspreading his features as he jumped out of his relaxed stance against the window frame and came forward to greet her.

  “Mrs. Jordenson, welcome!” he began, the warmth of his smile echoed in his soft voice and immediately spreading to Eva, who had felt some trepidation at confronting her fellow travelers for the first time. Relieved to hear English automatically spoken, she extended her hand to meet his firm grasp, finding comfort in his sincerity. It dawned on her that he must be an insider here, to have expected her, even known her name on such short notice.

  “I’m Paul Sanders. I don’t believe you know any of the others.” He drew her confidently into the room toward them, one hand remaining lightly at her back as he made the introductions.

  “Eva Jordenson … Jacques Laurent.” He gestured toward the auburn-haired man, his name confirming her suspicion of his origin. The latter smiled easily, his eyes lighting his features as he took her hand in his.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you, Eva. And very pleased you’ll be joining us,” he added in beautifully accented English, a twinkle in his eye to match the image of the debonair Parisian.

  Paul’s hand gestured again. “Pierre Langelier,” he moved on, the second Frenchman nodding in silent acknowledgment but making no movement toward her other than the ominous glare his eyes threw in her direction. Quickly, as if to escape some impending disaster, Eva turned her attention to the final face, that of the sandy-haired young man, who had now arisen from his seat to greet her.

  “Tom Allen … Mrs. Jordenson.” Was it a hint of warning which Eva detected in this last, more formal introduction? Shrugging it off as her imagination, she met the smile and the hand which were offered.

  “How are you, Tom?” she added warmly.

  “Ah, she has a voice!” burst back Tom, his infectious grin setting the tone. “I’m just fine, now that you’re here. Do you know that my friend Paul, here, had the gall to imply that this was an all-male expedition? Imagine that! Can you see me spending four days in deserted mountains with only these faces for company?” As he looked in mock panic from one face to the other, Eva laughed aloud, the first time she had done so in ages, she realized. Yes, this trip would be good for her!

  Returning his friendly banter, she explained, “It was a last-minute decision on my part to come, so Paul was not entirely mistaken. As a photographer, I couldn’t turn down the opportunity.” She carefully avoided the hint of any other reasons for her presence. “What is your motive?” she added, eager both to learn something of the others and to keep up the easy conversation.

  Tom went on, “I’m on intersession from law school. My roommate here conned me into this little jaunt. For my health, he says!” His smile fell on Paul good-naturedly, before his eyes returned to wink at Eva.

  “Don’t let him kid you. A greater adventurer I’ve never met! In fact, I probably wouldn’t be here myself had it not been for Tom’s enthusiasm,” retorted Paul, humor softening his words.

  Aware that the two Frenchmen were following, though not participating in, the exchange, Eva turned to the more pleasant of the two, Jacques. Phrasing her question to apply to them both, and thus avoiding a further query to Pierre, whose grimness made her uneasy, she ventured, “You are French, I gather?”

  “Oui, madame,” began Jacques with a sweep of the arm across his waist in a confirming bow. “Pierre and I are business acquaintances. I live in Paris; Pierre is from Tours,” he explained amenably.

  In a mock whisper audible to all, Tom leaned toward Eva. “You’ll have to excuse Pierre. He doesn’t say much to beautiful young ladies.”

  As though in answer to the challenge, a deep, harsh voice broke into the discussion. “And where is the beautiful young lady’s husband?” he taunted, his heavy accent barely disguising the undertone.

  Eva knew that she would have to learn to cope with this inevitable question. “My husband is dead,” she stated simply, defiance in her eyes as she met Pierre’s. They definitely rubbed each other the wrong way, Eva knew—a sad way to start an expedition such as this.

  A heavy silence besieged the conversation. At that moment all eyes riveted to the front door as Roberto de Carvalho strode boldly into the house. His mere physical presence dominated all others—a born leader, begrudged Eva, even as he broke the aura of tension which had formed.

  The wide-brimmed hat was gone, laying open his features for Eva’s inspection. As from the first time she had set eyes on him, she was stunned by his good looks and oozing masculinity. He had not changed his clothes since their encounter upstairs; here, the bright lights emphasized the broad lines of his chest, the leanness of his torso, the power of his denim-clad legs.

  Roberto’s eye caught and held hers for a brief moment, their dark expression an enigma to Eva. Fearing the rebirth of the stirrings within her, she tore her gaze from him, diverting it to Paul in subtle suggestion. But it was Roberto who spoke first, taking the lead as she knew he would, in his smoothly commanding tone.

  “I assume that everyone has met. I’ve just made a final check on our supplies; everything seems to be in order. We’ll have dinner now. While we eat I can fill you in on the details of our expedition and answer any questions you may have.” Having thus said his piece, he added, “Please follow me,” and headed through the doorway.

  The group filed one by one down the long, narrow hall toward the furthermost area of the house, the customary placement of the kitchen in the tropics to isolate the heat of cooking as much as possible from the other rooms. Roberto had gone first; Eva managed, in spite of gentlemanly gestures by the others, to maneuver the two Frenchmen ahead of her, putting a much-needed buffer between Roberto and herself.

  The kitchen was a spacious room, dominated by open windows, wide countertops, and a large rectangular table set in the middle. Eva was immediately enchanted by it, admiring the feeling of ease, openness, and relaxation which it urged. And adding to her pleasure was the sight of the lovely little woman, her own guardian angel, she mused, who had been so kind to her earlier. From her position before the cast-iron stove, this plump figure threw Eva a friendly smile and secretive wink before turning her attention back to the food she was busily spooning into serving dishes. Without a moment’s hesitation, Eva moved forward to lend a hand with the transfer of the food to the table, when she was abruptly caught by the elbow and firmly escorted to a place at the table. Silent but questioning eyes traced the arm from her elbow up past a sinewy shoulder into the face of Roberto, whose oddly fierce expression bade her sit before he forced her down himself. Annoyed by his interference—but in truth more puzzled by his apparent impatience with her—she sat, thereby permitting the others, with what she thought was inappropriate formality, to do the same.

  The tempting aroma wafting from the freshly prepared food startled Eva with the realization of how hungry she was. The last food she had eaten had been the early lunch airborne between Rio and Belo. How much had happened between then and now! But Eva was determined not to let her thoughts get bogged down again, so she turned her concentration to the food and the company.

  Throughout the meal Roberto graciously played the host, explaining the nature and origin of each local dish, which was served quite ably by Maria, as she was introduced. Eva was doubly appreciative of this information; not only did it satisfy her inna
te curiosity but it enabled her to subtly avoid eating any fish. A generally healthy person, she invariably suffered a violent allergic reaction when she consumed fish of any kind, regardless of its preparation. The main dish served this evening, a Brazilian specialty called feijoada, had contained many ingredients she could not recognize through the thick black gravy. Despite its mouth-watering smell, Eva hesitated to sample it until Roberto detailed its ingredients: black beans, beef, pork, tomatoes, and spices, at which point she dug in with relish, savoring every bite. Although she carried a strong prescriptive drug with her at all times to counteract the allergy should she mistakenly ingest any fish, she didn’t want Roberto de Carvalho to know of this weakness. She knew that it would only bolster his first impression of her, which she was determined to prove wrong.

  To Eva’s surprise and pleasure the evening passed quite enjoyably, with an absence of the awkwardness that might have existed within a group such as this, coming together for the first time on the eve of a trip destined to throw them into intimate association with each other. Small talk dominated most of the early conversation, the casual talk giving each a taste of the background of the others. Eva chatted comfortably with various members of the group, finding herself most at ease with Paul. They discussed subjects that involved a minimum of controversy, such as photography; traveling; New York, which Eva knew so well; Boston, where Paul and Tom attended law school; and the relative merits of hiking boots, which Paul had brought, and sneakers, which Eva had brought.

  Eva carefully avoided Roberto’s eyes, particularly at moments when she felt his gaze burning through her. Fortunately, although he sat at the head of the table and was clearly the host, the Ivy-Leaguers, Paul and Tom, managed between the two of them to keep the level of conversation fast and the humor high. Jacques joined the discussions frequently, his voice deep and melodious with its gentle accent. Pierre, on the other hand, remained aloof, adding a word here or a grunt there, but never opening up as the others had done.

  At the conclusion of the meal and with the obligatory serving of cafèzinho, Roberto turned the discussion deftly toward what clearly excited him more than photography, traveling, New York, Boston, or footwear—namely, the details of the expedition. As the six sat around the table, cleared now of all dishes save the tiny coffee cups that Maria continually refilled, he proceeded to outline the plans.

  “We’ll be leaving at dawn tomorrow, which means that you should pack tonight. We’ve got four donkeys for use as pack animals. Each of you will have one knapsack to hold whatever personal items you will need. Remember, you carry your own pack, so beware of its weight.” This last he directed pointedly at Eva, much to her mortification. “Bring only the absolute necessities—a change of clothes, a towel, a few cosmetic items. You’ll need a sweater or jacket of some sort, since it can get cool at night. But the days will be hot as we climb, so choose accordingly. With a little luck we won’t get caught in a downpour. Although they do occur during this season, it’s not worth dragging along heavy rain gear just in case. A little rain won’t hurt any of us, especially after sweating in the heat for several days.” A faint snicker interrupted him. For herself, Eva was grateful for her tinted lenses which hid her slight embarrassment at his bluntness.

  “I’ve got a sleeping bag for each of you and an ample supply of food and water for the four or five days we should be gone,” he continued. “The main burden for the pack animals will be the equipment we will need when we reach the mine.” Here he paused to draw a dog-eared piece of paper, yellowed with age and bearing the distinct tracings of coffee-cup stains, from the western-style pocket of his shirt.

  Eva’s eye had followed the hand-to-chest movement, lingering on the latter long after the other eyes had turned to the map. Roberto’s monopolization of this part of the conversation had enabled her to study him freely, outwardly as the others were doing but inwardly in a quite different manner. She noted his posture, casual yet alert, a statement to the world of his continuous involvement. Her eyes roamed the breadth of his chest, resting on the dark hairs that had escaped the confines of his shirt in its narrow vee, before climbing the tanned column of his strong neck to alight on his now animated face. He looks almost boyish, she thought, when he enjoys what he’s doing, obviously the case right now. Eva smiled with an affection that startled her, her mind nowhere near the map, which the others were so seriously studying. At that moment Roberto glanced up at her. Her smile vanished immediately, replaced by a slight flush of the cheek. His expression held a note of amusement and mockery, his eyes sending her a private message which only increased her blush. With as much conviction as she could muster, she turned her attention away from Roberto and onto the map that was to lead the small group of mountain wanderers to the Espinhaco Topaz.

  Study of the map completed, Roberto refolded it and returned it to his pocket—the latter movement with a smirk toward Eva, as if he had been aware of her personal wanderings from the start—and excused himself to disappear into one of the rooms off the long hallway that led to the kitchen. When he re-emerged he carried a pile of large canvas and nylon knapsacks, which he unceremoniously dumped onto the center of the table for each to help himself. He then answered the few questions raised, none of which concerned Eva directly.

  “If there are no other questions,” he began, looking slowly from face to face around the table, “I suggest we turn in. Remember, dawn tomorrow!”

  It suddenly occurred to Eva that she had a whole list of questions, some critical to her—such as where her luggage was, because she hadn’t seen it earlier in the living room—which needed answering.

  “Wait!” she burst out, looking in embarrassment at the five faces turned toward her in surprise. “Ah … I have several questions. The hotel? I need a place to sleep. And my luggage? I seem to have misplaced it.” She paused, feeling like an idiot, wishing desperately that these men would stop looking so intently at her, magnifying her feeling of incompetency.

  “I think, Mrs. Jordenson,” Roberto’s cool tone broke into her state of discomposure, the mocking twist of his lips at the corner of his mouth only intensifying it, “that we should let the others go now. They must be tired. I can answer any questions for you after they leave.”

  Damn him! Damn him! Just what I don’t want, and he knows it, she thought, but she gave a forced smile and a terse nod of assent.

  “Thank you. I’d appreciate that.”

  One by one the men offered congenial “good nights” and departed, heading toward who-knows-where, thought Eva, and leaving her alone with Roberto.

  CHAPTER 4

  Eva and Roberto stood staring at each other in silence as the last of the footsteps faded into the distance. Eva held her tongue, waiting for him to initiate the conversation as she knew he would. Not disappointing her, his coolly impersonal but polite tone broke into the stillness.

  “Would you like more coffee?” To her surprise he did not wait for a reply but proceeded to clear the empty cups from the table, Maria having left unobtrusively a short time before. Eva made no effort to help him, since he had rebuffed her earlier offering of help to Maria, and she was curious to see the extent of his custodial ability. It seemed that his offer of more coffee had indeed been a formality, for he adeptly washed all of the cups, leaving them to drain dry at the side of the sink. Eva was already feeling the stimulating effect of the espresso, so she would have refused more given the chance. Now, as she watched him finish his cleanup of the kitchen, she felt her annoyance melt away, to be replaced by faint amusement at this unexpected touch of domesticity.

  “Do I entertain you?” he spoke, glimpsing Eva’s expression. “It seems to be becoming a habit of mine,” this last in reference to the moment earlier that evening when she had similarly smiled at his actions. Eva chose to ignore the implication.

  “I enjoy seeing a man who can handle so-called woman’s work. Most men I know would have broken half the dishes before they ever reached the sink, let alone gotten them clean as yo
u have,” she replied, gaining confidence as she talked to this man whose presence vaguely intimidated her.

  He gave a sideways nod, lifting one eyebrow as he did. “If that was meant to be a compliment, I thank you. But then, I’m not like most men you know, am I?” The gently teasing tone that now entered the conversation excited Eva, despite silent protestations in the back of her mind. Was it the caffeine or this other source of stimulation that was responsible for the trembling of her innards, she wondered.

  “No, you’re not,” she conceded. But how could he have known that? Could he have sensed the awakening flames within her at his very glance? Or had something of the surprise and even fear she had felt at her own outpouring of passion in his arms given her away? “But then, I really know nothing about you,” she went on, attempting to cover herself. As much as she wanted to protect herself from him, Eva felt herself drawn inexorably toward him like a moth to a flame.

  Roberto’s stance, as he leaned back against the sink, shaggy-haired forearms piggybacked on his chest, was relaxed, compatible with the conversation. He seemed to have mellowed in her presence also, to the point even of enjoying her company. The strange surge of affection she felt as she faced him thus frightened her. Determined to blanket herself in some less personal direction, she ventured, “How did you meet the others? Are they business contacts, as was my husband?” The change of subject, and particularly the mention of Stu, had its desired effect. Roberto’s expression became more serious and impersonal.