by Anne Mather
Clare visibly warmed to his attention. ‘Well, my dear, there is only one thing to do, isn’t there? Shed them!’
‘How do I do that?’ Declan was very still, his voice disturbingly quiet.
Clare shrugged. ‘I should have thought that was obvious. Surely there must be some suitable ménage in Bogota—’
Alexandra was shocked out of her inertia. ‘I already suggested that!’ she burst out hotly, angry that Clare should dare to discuss her as if she wasn’t present.
Declan looked at her resignedly. ‘Cool down,’ he advised. ‘Clare is only baiting you.’
Clare lay back in her chair. ‘Am I?’
‘Well? Aren’t you?’
She shrugged. ‘Oh, I suppose so.’ She sounded impatient, too. ‘Even so, Alex can’t go on living here with you—alone.’
‘Why not?’
‘I don’t think her father would approve.’
‘Her father’s not here.’
‘That’s beside the point.’
‘I disagree. Her father can hardly protest about something of which he knows nothing.’
‘You intend keeping Alex’s presence a secret?’
Declan’s mouth turned down at the corners. ‘Stop anticipating me. There’s no secret involved. Professor Tempest will merely remain in ignorance of his daughter’s arrival until he is fit enough to leave the hospital.’
Now it was Alexandra’s turn to protest. ‘You mean I’m not to see him until he comes back here?’
‘I thought I had made the position plain to you.’ Declan’s eyes were hard as they rested on her. ‘Your father is a sick man. I do not intend to do anything that might weaken his constitution, and knowing his only offspring has been foolish enough to venture alone into the Amazonian jungle is enough to cause him unnecessary anxiety. Anxiety causes stress, stress weakens—’
‘Oh, all right.’ Alexandra pushed back her chair and got to her feet. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I’ll go to my room.’
Declan rose politely and inclined his head. ‘I expect you’re tired.’
‘Yes.’ Alexandra sounded doubtful, but her eyes shifted reluctantly to Clare’s satisfied face. ‘Goodbye, Mrs. Forman.’
‘Cheerio, Alex. I expect we’ll be seeing more of one another during the next few days. I hope your father doesn’t take too long to recover.’
Alexandra forced a smile and then walked jerkily across the room, only relaxing when the door of her bedroom had closed behind her.
Alexandra spent the rest of the afternoon in her room. She was more tired than she had thought and she fell asleep almost at once, not waking until the sun was sinking rapidly and the cool shadows of evening were stealing across the bed. She washed in the bathroom, unable to look into the bath which Consuelo had scoured without feeling a twinge of remembered horror. Then she changed into a plain yellow cotton dress and walked along to the living room.
There was no sign of anybody and she stood hesitatingly in the middle of the floor, looking towards the darkening garden outside. It was strange how the tropical foliage had a totally unreal appearance in the half light, the colours muted, the birds uncannily silent, an eerie, lifeless landscape.
A sound behind her brought her round with a start, but she relaxed weakly when she saw Consuelo.
‘Senhor O’Rourke has gone out, senhorita,’ said the old housekeeper, going across to secure the mesh door and light the lamps. ‘I expect he will be back later.’
Alexandra gathered herself. ‘Gone out? Where has he gone?’
Consuelo adjusted the wick of the lamp and straightened. ‘A child is sick, senhorita. He has gone to make it well.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Alexandra nodded. ‘I—has Senhora Forman left, too?’
‘Sim, senhorita.’ Consuelo sounded very definite about that.
Alexandra was temped to ask her why she didn’t appear to have much liking for the other woman, but a sense of disgust at her own duplicity kept her silent. Instead she rubbed her arms with the palms of her hands and said: ‘It’s much cooler now, isn’t it?’
Consuelo nodded. ‘Is always cooler in the mountains, senhorita. I will light the fire.’
Alexandra watched as Consuelo applied a match to the tinder-dry sticks already piled on the hearth. The wood crackled and flamed, and in the warming glow Alexandra felt the lingering traces of unease and isolation disappear. The garden no longer appeared a strange and alien barrier between herself and the outside world, but a secure and comforting setting for this beautiful house.
When Consuelo was satisfied that the logs she had put on top of the sticks would burn she turned back to her guest.
‘You are hungry, senhorita? I will bring some food.’
Alexandra hesitated. ‘Oh—well, if it’s not too much trouble. I mean, shouldn’t I wait for—for Mr. O’Rourke?’
‘The senhor may not be back until late, senhorita. Consuelo will prepare supper.’
‘Then can I help you?’ Alexandra spread her hands. It was hard to explain, but right now she didn’t want to be alone.
Consuelo frowned, but then she said: ‘You wish to talk, senhorita? Come to the kitchen. Consuelo will prepare supper and we will talk, sim?’
Alexandra was not altogether convinced of the advisability of such a course, but she could not be rude and refuse, so she merely smiled and nodded, and said she would be interested to see the kitchen.
It was remarkably modern, with fitted units and a gas-operated oven and refrigerator. Consuelo was clearly very proud to be the owner of such a kitchen and she showed Alexandra how everything worked with a touching eagerness.
Something was cooking on the stove, but when Alexandra tentatively lifted the lid of the saucepan, she drew back from the concoction inside with scarcely concealed dismay. It appeared to be a stew of meat and vegetables and although it smelled appetising it looked revolting.
Consuelo, however, nodded happily. ‘Is good,’ she announced, taking up a spoon and offering Alexandra a taste. ‘Is favourite of Senhor O’Rourke.’
Alexandra swallowed the spoonful unwillingly, not wishing to offend her. It burned her throat like fire, it was so spicy, but it wasn’t unpalatable, and she managed to make some complimentary comment which delighted Consuelo. However, she did manage to convey that she was not hungry enough to eat anything so filling, and Consuelo eventually agreed to make her an omelette. While the housekeeper was beating the eggs, Alexandra perched on a high stool nearby and said:
‘Have you always worked for Senhor O’Rourke, Consuelo?’
The housekeeper shrugged. ‘Since he come here, senhorita, yes. But when the senhor’s father use the house, I work for him also.’
‘Oh, yes.’ Alexandra remembered what Clare had said about Declan’s father.
‘Senhor Declan’s father—he build this house, senhorita.’ ‘Yes, Yes, I know.’
Consuelo turned to frown at her. ‘Senhora Forman tell you?’
Alexandra’s face gave her away. ‘I—I think so.’
‘Huh!’ Consuelo turned back to the eggs, grumbling to herself. ‘That woman—she is not welcome in my house!’
Alexandra closed her lips tightly. She would not ask why. But she didn’t have to. Consuelo took her silence for acquiescence.
‘She is always here,’ she went on impatiently, ‘making herself at home, behaving as if this were her house!’
Alexandra bit her lip. ‘I—I expect she finds her own home rather different,’ she ventured.
‘Perhaps, perhaps!’ Consuelo gestured angrily. ‘But she chose to come out here—running after Senhor Declan! A married woman! And herself the wife of the priest!’
Alexandra didn’t know what to say. Consuelo’s words had shocked her, she couldn’t deny that, and yet they were only what she had half expected to hear. Almost without volition she was involved in this discussion, and her whole system curled with distaste.
‘I—I’m sure it’s nothing like that—’ she began, but Consuelo shook her head.
Alexandra drew an unsteady breath. ‘It’s—really nothing to do with me, Consuelo,’ she murmured.
Consuelo sniffed. ‘You think it is right?’
‘I didn’t say that.’ Alexandra sought for words. ‘I only meant—perhaps you’re imagining—’
‘Consuelo does not imagine this.’ She tipped oil into a frying pan and waited for it to smoke. ‘But you are right. I should not gossip. Senhor Declan, would be most angry. He does not—how you say it?—he does not care what people think.’
Alexandra sighed, wishing she could change the subject. ‘Er—tell me—tell me about yourself, Consuelo. Are you married? Do you have any family?’
Consuelo was silent for so long that Alexandra thought she was not going to answer her, but at last she said: ‘Nao, senhorita. I did not marry. I was—how you say?—nurse to Senhor Declan?’
‘Nurse?’ Alexandra frowned. ‘He was ill?’
Consuelo shook her head vigorously. ‘Nao, nao!’ She gestured. ‘To the little boy he was.’
‘Oh—nursemaid.’
‘Sim, nursemaid,’ Consuelo nodded agreeably. ‘I live in Sao Paulo, too. But when Senhor Declan is coming here—I come, too.’
‘I see.’ Watching Consuelo pour the beaten eggs into the pan Alexandra wondered how she was going to manage to eat anything after what Consuelo had told her about Clare Forman. But she forced these thoughts away and returned to her theme: ‘You didn’t—mind the isolation?’
‘Nao, senhorita. I have plenty to do. I care for the house, I make the meals, I look after Senhor Declan. Sometimes I do sewing, and sometimes I go with him to the village to help the little ones. Is a good life.’
‘Yes.’ Alexandra digested this. ‘And—and have you been here long?’
Consuelo considered this, watching the eggs in the pan. ‘Maybe three—four years. I do not remember exactly, senhorita. Senhor Declan, he work for time in hospital in Sao Paulo, you understand? Then he say he is coming here.’ She gave a faint, reminiscent smile. ‘His father, he was so angry! And his mother …’ She sighed. ‘She was sad. She love her son so much. She not want him to go so far away.’
‘He—he’s an only child, then?’
Consuelo looked up and actually chuckled. ‘Ay, ay, nao, senhorita. The senhor, he has six sisters!’
‘Six?’ Alexandra stared at her. ‘Good lord!’
Consuelo looked back at the pan. ‘Is good, senhorita. Children bring much happiness. Is sad all girls, sim, but is the will of God!’
Alexandra gave a helpless shrug of her shoulders. ‘I have no brothers or sisters.’
‘I know.’ Consuelo looked sympathetic. ‘But perhaps one day, hmm?’
Alexandra’s brows drew together. ‘I hardly think that’s likely, Consuelo. My mother is dead.’
‘Sim, senhorita, I know. Your father, he stay with us for time when not on—how you say—expedition?’
‘I see,’ Alexandra nodded.
‘But he may marry again,’ went on Consuelo cheerfully. ‘Is good to have wife and children.’
‘I don’t think my father would do that,’ replied Alexandra, somewhat stiffly, but as she said the words she couldn’t help but wonder how true they were. How could she be sure what her father would or would not do? She hardly knew him, she realised with a start. For years he had been someone she had seen at holiday times, and apart from those times she didn’t know how he conducted his life. He was still quite a young man, in his forties, she supposed. It wasn’t beyond the realms of possibility that he might marry again, and yet the idea had never occurred to her until now…
Consuelo served the omelette with a crisp salad, offered fruit as a dessert, and made coffee. Alexandra seated herself beside the fire in the living room and ate from a tray on her knees. The light meal was delicious and she managed to eat sufficient to waylay any comments Consuelo might have made. Afterwards, she lingered over her coffee, trying to absorb the contents of a book on butterflies, but when nine-thirty came and went and there was still no sign of Declan she decided to go to bed.
She bade Consuelo goodnight and went to her room where her lamp had been lit in her absence. Then she sat for a while on the edge of her bed wondering why it was that anything concerning Declan O’Rourke should have become so important to her.
She slept much better that night. She didn’t bother with a nightgown, and the cool cotton sheets were much less cumbersome. Such dreams as she had did not disturb her, and she awakened next morning feeling infinitely more refreshed. When she did open her eyes, however, she had the distinct impression that someone, or something, had awakened her, and memories of the tarantula were strong in her mind as she struggled uneasily into a sitting position, holding the sheets very firmly beneath her chin.
But there was no apparent sign of any unwelcome visitor and she was about to slide her legs out of bed when her door was opened a few inches and Declan put his head round.
Horrified, she slid down the bed again, and his expression mocked her as he said: ‘I did knock, but you didn’t answer.’
So that was what had woken her, she thought with relief. ‘I—I was asleep,’ she murmured awkwardly. ‘What do you want?’
He came fully into the room. ‘I came to examine your bite,’ he remarked, standing before her, hands on his hips, lean and handsome in navy cotton pants and a collarless cotton sweat shirt.
‘Well, you can’t do it now.’ Alexandra was panic-stricken. It was one thing to accept that he was a doctor, and quite another to have him examine her without any warning.
His expression hardened. ‘Why not? I thought we’d got over all that.’
‘We have—at least—oh, please!’
She rolled over, burying her hot face in the pillow, and he seemed to repent. ‘Okay,’ he said dryly. ‘I also came to ask whether you considered yourself sufficiently recovered from your first trip to attempt another venture into the jungle.’
‘W—what?’ She rolled over again slowly.
‘I’m going to visit a village about five miles away. I thought you might like to come.’
Alexandra wriggled up on to her pillows. ‘In—in the station wagon?’
He shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not. No roads.’
‘Not—walking?’
‘No, not that either. Do you ride?’
‘Well, I have,’ she conceded slowly. ‘But I’m not very good at it.’ She couldn’t tell him that she was afraid of horses!
However, Declan didn’t seem to find her answer in any way reluctant. ‘That’s all right, then,’ he said. ‘Do you want to come?’
Alexandra hesitated. The prospect of spending a whole day in his company was tempting, although she had the feeling that she would have more sense if she stayed away from him.
‘I—is Mrs. Forman coming, too?’
His eyes darkened. ‘Do you want me to do something violent, like ripping that sheet off you?’ he demanded. ‘Because that’s what you’re asking for!’
Alexandra moved her shoulders apologetically. ‘I—would like to come, but—’
‘But what?’
‘You won’t—expect too much of me, will you?’
He half turned away, supporting himself against the door. ‘I could ask the same of you, couldn’t I?’ he commented dryly. ‘Oh, get dressed and get something to eat. I have to collect my equipment.’
‘All right.’ Alexandra half propped herself up on her elbows. ‘Declan—’
‘Yes.’ He was impatient to be gone now.
‘Have you had—any further news about my father?’
He paused in the doorway and looked at her. ‘No, not yet. I may have, later today. One of my men is flying the jet up from Bogota.’ He shrugged expressively. ‘I’ll let you know.’
Alexandra couldn’t hide her indignation. ‘You mean I could have flown to Bogota when this man did?’
<
br /> He looked bored. ‘Don’t let’s start that again.’
‘I know, but—’
‘Get dressed,’ he advised irritably, and closed the door behind him.
This morning there was nothing more terrifying in the bathroom than a bright-eyed lizard that slithered away at her approach. The lizards didn’t scare her. They always seemed quite friendly little creatures, and she watched it as she sluiced her face and cleaned her teeth. It was still early, she realised, as she dressed in jeans and a blue denim shirt. Not yet eight o’clock. But she had gone to bed early the night before and she didn’t feel at all sleepy now.
Consuelo had left some warm rolls, a dish of conserve, and a jug of coffee on the dining table. Alexandra helped herself, enjoying the scents from the garden—the perfume of the flowers, the spicy fragrance of herbs, and the rough earthy smell of damp soil. She felt rather excited at the prospect of leaving the confines of the house again, and she refused to consider the disasters that might lie ahead of her.
Declan reappeared as she was finishing her second cup of coffee. ‘Are you ready?’ he asked, surveying her with cool appraisal.
Alexandra wiped her mouth on a napkin. ‘Yes. Do I need a coat?’
‘I should take a jacket for later,’ he agreed, nodding. ‘Consuelo will provide you with a gaucho hat.’
‘A gaucho hat?’
‘That’s right. It helps keep your head cool.’ He looked down at her sandal-shod feet. ‘And boots, needless to say.’
The stables were at the back of the house. The dogs were housed here too and Alexandra looked about her with interest. The wooden fence surrounded the property, but behind the house the undergrowth had been cleared and tall grasses moved in the breeze that blew down from the mountains above them. There were four horses in the stables, sturdy, strong-limbed animals with broad feet to find a secure footing on the mountainous slopes. An Indian boy had charge of the animals, and Declan explained that he and his brothers from a nearby village exercised them regularly.
Alexandra’s horse was a chestnut mare, small and amiable, unmoved by the excitability of the wolfhounds. Alexandra managed to hide the panic that stiffened her when it came and nuzzled her shoulder. If she wasn’t afraid of the dogs, why should this placid animal disturb her?