by Anne Mather
Declan O’Rourke was beginning to manhandle her suitcases into the other boat and his actions inspired retaliation. She rushed forward and grasped his arm, preventing him from slinging over the pigskin holdall that contained her heavier clothes. His flesh was hard and warm beneath her fingers, and there were hairs on his arm that roughened the skin. This close she could smell the heat of his body, but it was not an unpleasant smell, and the aroma of tobacco still lingered about him.
He was turning at the moment she grabbed his arm and his elbow caught her in the rib-cage so that she gasped and released him, collapsing awkwardly on to the pile of blankets.
‘I’m sorry.’ There was a faint smile on his face as he hauled her to her feet at once, making sure she was not hurt by holding her for a moment until she drew free of him. ‘That was careless of me. I’m sure you want to help, but I can manage.’
Alexandra glared at him frustratedly. ‘You know perfectly well that was not my intention!’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh—this is ridiculous! What are you doing with my belongings? What do you intend to do with me?’
Declan O’Rourke regarded her mockingly. ‘You really don’t trust anyone, do you?’
‘I haven’t had much encouragement!’ retorted Alexandra unsteadily, her momentary anger dissipating beneath other anxieties.
‘Very well. I—heard—there was a young woman waiting at Los Hermanos, waiting to come to Paradiablo.’
‘How did you hear that?’
‘You would call it a—grapevine, I think. We have quite an efficient one, believe me.’
‘Senhor O’Rourke lives at Paradiablo,’ put in Vasco, and was silenced by a piercing look from those chilling blue eyes.
‘I see.’ Alexandra was trying to make sense of this. ‘Do you know my father, Mr. O’Rourke?’
‘Professor Tempest? Yes, I know him.’
Alexandra breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Then you know he is at Paradiablo, too.’
‘Professor Tempest has been working at Paradiablo for several months, yes.’
Alexandra’s warm mouth curved into a smile. ‘Thank heavens for that! Oh—does he know I’m here, too?’
‘No.’ Declan O’Rourke sounded quite definite about that. He bent and completed his transference of her belongings to the other boat. Then he straightened. ‘I presume you are prepared to come with me now?’
Alexandra hesitated. ‘But I thought—oughtn’t we to stay here overnight? Vasco said something about—rapids?’
Declan O’Rourke cast a wry glance in Vasco’s direction. ‘Did he? Yes—well, there are rapids further upstream, but we will not be negotiating them this evening.’
Alexandra frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘You will.’ Declan O’Rourke indicated his boat. ‘Do you need any assistance to climb across?’
Alexandra shook her head and then looked uncomfortably towards Vasco. How did he feel about losing his passenger?
‘Er—how much—how much do I owe you?’ she began.
‘I’ll attend to that.’
Declan O’Rourke spoke before Vasco’s greedy little mouth could voice a figure, and Alexandra had no choice but to leave him to it. She scrambled over into the adjoining boat, flinching away from the Indian hands which reached to help her, and standing rather uneasily in the well of the vessel watching the two men complete their business. She was still not entirely convinced that she was doing the right thing. There were still a lot of questions left unanswered. But she had made her decision and she had no choice but to stick to it.
A few moments later, Declan O’Rourke vaulted back into his own boat again and with a raised hand to Vasco he nodded to his Indian pilot and they began to move away. In no time at all the darkness had sucked them into its waiting void and Alexandra hugged herself closely, huddled on the plank seat, wondering what on earth her father was going to say when she saw him. She had the uneasy conviction that he was not going to be at all pleased.
Declan O’Rourke did not speak to her as the small vessel moved steadily upstream and apart from an occasional word between him and the Indian pilot the only sounds were the slapping movements of the water against the bows of the boat.
They travelled for perhaps half an hour and then Alexandra realised they were pulling across to the bank. Her nerves tightened. What now? Was this where they were going to abandon her—to be eaten alive by alligators or crushed to death by the giant anaconda of her nightmares?
The boat crunched against the spongy roots of dead undergrowth, and Declan O’Rourke sprang across on to marshy ground and secured a rope. Then he came back to where Alexandra was sitting and said:
‘Have you got boots?’ in a curt, uncompromising tone.
Alexandra blinked. ‘Boots? Oh—yes, of course.’
‘Put them on then. We’re going ashore.’
‘Ashore?’ Alexandra looked in horror at the menacing belt of tropical forest. ‘But——’
‘Don’t argue right now. Just do as I say.’
Declan turned away with the air of one accustomed to command and what was more, accustomed to being obeyed. Alexandra found herself fumbling for her boots and pushing her feet into them. When they were fastened she stood up and Declan came back to her shouldering a load of blankets and carrying a powerful torch.
‘Come along,’ he said, indicating that she should follow him and with a reluctant look at her belongings strewn in the bottom of the boat she obeyed.
The two Indians who were accompanying him were apparently remaining in the boat and Alexandra forced herself into a fatalistic frame of mind. Whatever happened now, she was powerless to prevent it.
Declan leapt on to the marshy river-bank and lent a hand as she jumped across the lapping shallows to land beside him. Her boots sank into the soggy ground and squelched as Declan switched on the torch and went ahead, urging her to follow him.
There was a path worn through the jungle at this point and it was surprisingly easy walking. Of course, all around them were the poisonous liana creepers that fought their way upward in a strangling spiral round the trunks of trees, and there might be any number of minor monsters underfoot, but Alexandra refused to think of them. The uncanny silence created an illusion of complete isolation, and the thought crossed her mind that these forests had existed here longer than man had peopled the earth. It was a shattering realisation.
An unearthly roar that echoed and re-echoed around them caused Alexandra to gasp and stumble, but she managed to right herself with resorting to clutching at her escort. All the same, she glanced back rather fearfully over her shoulder, half expecting to find a jaguar with dripping jaws panting malevolently behind her, but then her head jerked forward again as her companion said calmly:
‘Don’t be alarmed. It’s miles away. But sound carries in the forest.’
Alexandra nodded, not trusting herself to say anything and then walked into him without realising he had stopped and was pointing to a light a few yards away.
‘Our destination,’ he observed dryly, propelling her away from him again. ‘It belongs to a friend of mine and his family.’
Alexandra’s eyes widened. ‘You mean—people actually live out here?’
‘Why not?’ His voice had cooled perceptibly.
‘But—I mean—how can they?’ She spread her hands in an encompassing movement.
He looked down at her and even in the faint light from the torch she could sense his displeasure. ‘To live means different things to different people, Miss Tempest. I realise that in your society material things are the criterion by which success in life is judged, but here we have a more basic appreciation of happiness.’
Alexandra coloured and was glad he could not see it. She wanted to retaliate, to tell him that he knew nothing about the kind of society she moved in. How could he, living here in this remote part of the world, the rivers his only link with civilisation? But to stand arguing with him in the middle of the jungle with the darkness of night pressing all around them seemed the
height of absurdity, so she remained silent.
He walked away towards the hut from which the light was coming and Alexandra stumbled after him. She was beginning to feel the coldness that came from too much exposure to the damp night air and the shivering that enveloped her was as much to do with that as nervousness. Even so, she was nervous, although her blind panic had left her.
A man emerged from the hut as they approached, carrying a lamp. Alexandra saw to her relief that he was at least wearing a pair of torn, but adequately covering, shorts, although his appearance was not encouraging. His brown Indian features were battered and scarred, and his teeth were blackened by the usual chewing of tobacco root. Behind him clustered his wife and a group of children of varying ages from two to teenage. He greeted Declan O’Rourke as warmly as Vasco had done, but their conversation was conducted in one of the Indian dialects Alexandra had heard since coming to Los Hermanos.
His wife and the children were more interested in Alexandra. Clearly they had seen Declan O’Rourke before, but a white girl was a different matter. Alexandra, shivering in her shirt and jeans, wondered however they managed to keep warm in such a minimum amount of clothing.
They were invited inside. The hut was larger than she had at first imagined, but it soon became apparent that they were all expected to share the same sleeping area. In the light of the lamp, Declan O’Rourke’s eyes challenged her to find some fault with this arrangement, and rather than create any unpleasantness Alexandra made no demur. She supposed she ought to feel grateful that she was at least warm again, even though the charcoal fire burning in one corner of the hut filled the air with smoke before escaping out of a hole in the thatched roof, but it was infinitely better than sleeping in the open boat as she had expected to do.
Declan O’Rourke introduced her to their host and his wife, who, although they could not speak her language, made her welcome by smiles and gestures. Their names Alexandra knew she would never remember, but their children, amazingly, had English names, and Declan explained in an undertone that a missionary in the area had converted them to Christianity. In consequence, all the younger children had names taken straight out of the Bible.
The clear spirit which Santos had offered her that first night at Los Hermanos was proffered and when she tried to refuse Declan put the mud-baked utensil into her hands.
‘Drink!’ he commanded harshly, and she stared at him mutinously.
‘I don’t like it,’ she protested, but his eyes were without sympathy.
‘Learn to do so,’ he said, swallowing the liquid he had been given with evident relish. ‘Or would you like me to force it down your throat?’
Alexandra’s lips parted. ‘Look, I realise this is an example of their hospitality——’
‘Just drink it,’ said Declan, with resignation, his eyes hard and unyielding, and with a helpless shrug of her shoulders she raised the cup to her lips.
In fact it wasn’t half as bad as she had anticipated. It burned her throat, but it did create a warm glow inside her which banished a little of her tension. Declan O’Rourke spoke to their host while they drank and then after the dishes were cleared away it seemed expected that they should now retire.
The Indian and his family had the usual kind of hammocks to sleep in, and already the children were curling up together with a complete disregard as to age and sex. Declan politely refused the use of the Indian’s hammock and spread a ground-sheet over the hard floor, covering it with a blanket. Then he indicated to Alexandra that she should sit down on it.
After a moment’s hesitation, Alexandra did as she was silently bidden, and watched in amazement when he came down beside her, spreading the other blankets over their legs.
‘Now wait a minute …’ she began, but he interrupted her impatiently.
‘This is no time for maidenly modesty, Miss Tempest. In the jungle one abides by the law of survival. What is it they say about Rome and the Romans? Right now, all I’m interested in is getting you safely to Paradiablo, for your father’s sake.’
It was the first time he had voluntarily made any mention of their eventual destination, and her spirits rose. But the lamp was extinguished at that moment and only total darkness remained, which disconcerted her again. She felt Declan stretch his length beside her and closed her eyes before moving as far away from him as possible on the rough blanket. She was loath to lie down, to place herself in such a vulnerable position, but she could hardly sit up all night, could she? And besides, what had she to be afraid of?
She lay down cautiously. She had never shared a bed with anyone before, and except at boarding school she had always had a room of her own. Of course, now she was growing older she had thought about sleeping with boys, and at school her girl friends found the topic infinitely interesting. But although she was aware that that sort of thing did go on, she had never allowed her relationships with the opposite sex to get that far. On the contrary, she avoided promiscuous situations, and it was a totally new experience to lie down beside a man.
Her nails curled into her palms. She could imagine the comments she would arouse if she went back to school and told her friends the details of this little expedition. And she would not be exaggerating if she told them that Declan O’Rourke was one of the most attractive men she had ever encountered. Attractive, physically, that is. She was not so sure about his personality. But then she had had little to do with mature men of … how many years? She frowned. Thirty? She supposed he might be younger. But no doubt the life he led here did not lend itself to lengthening the period of one’s existence. On the contrary. Anyone who lived here deserved a medal for endurance, she decided ironically.
She drew the blankets up to her chin. She was cold. In spite of the ground-sheet, the dampness of the earth seemed to strike up at her and she wished she had had the sense to bring a woollen sweater with her from the boat.
Declan O’Rourke stirred. ‘Relax,’ he mumbled sleepily, misinterpreting her movements. ‘I won’t touch you. I prefer to sleep alone, but as we have only one ground-sheet…’
Alexandra rolled on to her side away from him, resenting the fact that he had been the one to voice his dissatisfaction with the situation, and a few moments later she heard his steady breathing. She hunched her shoulders miserably, trying not to shiver. She was not used to the hardness of the floor, or the snuffling sounds coming from one of the smaller children. And there was a catarrhal snore issuing from someone’s throat. What an awful place this was, she thought, sniffing. She felt hot tears pressing at her eyelids. It was self-pity, she knew, but she couldn’t help it. At least at Los Hermanos she had had a hammock to sleep in, up and away from the possible intrusion of ants or spiders. Oh, God, she thought sickly, what if a tarantula entered the hut during the night as one had at Los Hermanos? What if it crawled across the blanket on to her face?
She caught her breath on a sob, shuddering uncontrollably, and almost jumped out of her skin when a warm arm curved over her waist, drawing her back against a hard muscular body. She struggled automatically until his mouth beside her ear said rather resignedly:
‘I’m not about to rape you, but you are cold—and terrified too, I guess. I’m not completely without sensitivities, you know.’
Alexandra stopped struggling, but she held herself stiffly. ‘You said you wouldn’t touch me!’ she accused him in a whisper.
‘You want I should let you go?’ His voice had hardened.
All of a sudden Alexandra gave in and relaxed against him. His warmth was enveloping her like a comforting shield, and she no longer wanted to resist him.
‘No,’ she admitted huskily, overwhelmingly aware of the masculine hardness of his thighs against hers. ‘I—I’m sorry. I was frozen!’
His hand on her stomach drew her closer into the curve of his body. ‘I can feel that,’ he observed quietly. ‘Now, I suggest you get some sleep. You’re perfectly safe.’
But it was easier said than done. Although she was now warm, she was also disturbed by
his nearness. She had never been this close to any man before and she moved against him restlessly, feeling every movement he made.
At last he said: ‘For God’s sake, lie still, or I won’t be responsible for the consequences!’ in a curiously rough tone, and the harsh words caused her to remain motionless until sleep came to claim her.
The sounds of the children woke her. She blinked and opened her eyes warily, and then became conscious of the weight of Declan’s arm across her breasts. He was still asleep, she thought, but when she made a tentative move to escape from his hold, his eyes opened and looked into hers. She felt herself flushing. She couldn’t help it. But he merely gave her a half mocking smile before rolling on to his back and rubbing his hand over the darkening stubble of his chin.
Alexandra sat up, smoothing a hand over the heavy weight of her hair, feeling its tangled disorder. The hut door was open and the children were running in and out. The wife of their host was sitting in one corner of the hut suckling the youngest child at her drooping breasts, while from outside came the smell of food roasting over a fire. She looked down at Declan, as relaxed as if he had just spent the night in a comfortable bed, and her colour deepened again as his eyes moved to the rounded outline of her breasts beneath the thin material of her blouse.
‘You’d better button your shirt,’ he remarked dryly. ‘Women’s Lib may be all right for the natives, but I don’t somehow think you’re that emancipated.’
Alexandra’s lips parted and she looked down in embarrassment to find a couple of the buttons of her blouse had become unfastened during the night. Her fingers fumbled them into their holes and then she got to her feet, brushing down her denim jeans in an effort to assure herself that they at least were decent.
Declan sat up, running his fingers through the thickness of his straight hair. ‘There are no washing facilities here,’ he said, ‘but you can wash in the river if you wish. As to the other …’ he grinned, ‘there are plenty of trees for cover.’