by Anne Mather
‘What are you doing?’ he demanded, his face darkened with anger. ‘Don’t you realise that the sun is dangerous at this hour?’
Rachel shook herself free of him. ‘I’m perfectly all right, thank you, senhor,’ she retorted with assumed composure.
‘But what are you doing out here? What brings you on to this lonely road at the hour of the siesta? You should be resting!’
Rachel sighed. ‘I—I needed some things, so I went to the stores. I forgot that they observed the siesta, too.’
Luis shook his head exasperatedly. ‘And you walked all the way from the quinta? Why didn’t you ask for the car? Then you would have been saved the journey.’
Rachel made a helpless gesture. She had not thought about the car, but even if she had she doubted whether she would have had the temerity to ask for it. Besides, Malcolm might have found out.
‘I didn’t think of it,’ she answered now. After all, that was true.
‘Come, then, get in the car. I will take you back to the quinta myself.’
Rachel hung back. She had no desire to get into the car with the Marquesa eyeing her with that extreme disapproval she seemed to reserve for her.
Luis frowned. He had started to the car, but she had not moved and now he turned. ‘What is wrong? Come!’
‘I—I’d rather not.’ Rachel coloured. ‘Your mother——’
‘My mother is not with me!’ stated Luis grimly.
‘She’s not? Oh, but I understand—that is—Rosa told us you were both out for the day——’
‘Visiting with the Alejentos? That is right, we were. But my mother is not at all well and she has decided to remain at Alcorado for a few days’ rest.’
‘I—I see.’ Rachel digested this slowly, wondering how Malcolm would react when he learned that his hostess had deserted him.
‘So. You will get in the car?’ Luis stood regarding her impatiently, disturbingly attractive in his cream silk lounge suit.
‘All right.’
Rachel moved forward and when he swung open the passenger side door, she slid in obediently, and he closed it securely behind her. Then he walked round the bonnet and climbed in beside her, turning the ignition without a word.
The car glided forward smoothly, and Rachel felt suddenly weak. It was such a relief to know that she did not have the long drive to negotiate, and she rested her head back against the soft upholstery and half closed her eyes.
But she opened them again a few moments later when they swept past the gate marked Privado and continued on down the country road. Looking towards him, she sat upright in her seat and said: ‘Where are you taking me?’
He moved his shoulders negligently. ‘You’ll see. Relax—I am not abducting you. At least, only for a very short period.’
Rachel could not relax, however. She had no idea where he intended taking her, and she dreaded that he might be going to question her about Malcolm’s motives for coming to Portugal.
Presently he turned off the road on to a track that wound among some trees while descending towards the river quite steeply. On a ridge above the river he brought the car to a halt and thrusting open his door, slid out.
Rachel remained where she was. Pretty though the spot was she could think of no good reason why he should have brought her here. It had to have to do with Malcolm, and she felt troubled and uneasy.
Luis had stretched and taken off his jacket to drop it carelessly on to his seat. Then he bent and looked at her, still sitting there.
‘Come along,’ he said. ‘I have something to show you.’
Rachel moved her head slowly from side to side. ‘I’d rather go back to the quinta,’ she said, with what she hoped were firm tones.
Luis’s mouth drew in. ‘Why? What are you afraid of?’
‘Afraid?’ Rachel flushed. ‘I’m not afraid of anything.’
‘Then come with me.’ Luis’s eyes were challenging.
A disturbing feeling of awareness ran through her. She wanted to go with him, and this time she succumbed. Pushing open her door, she got out, and he gave a slight smile.
‘This way,’ he said, and walked to the edge of the ridge and vaulted over on to some rocks below.
Rachel hesitated, and with a shrug he went on, leaving her to fend for herself. She scrambled over the ridge, and descended to the rocks below rather less elegantly than he had done, and then followed him, picking her way across the smooth stones.
There were trees at the water’s edge, wonderfully cool umbrellas of shade, and she sought the shadows welcomingly. Luis was standing looking down into a rocky basin of water, just below them, a shallow pool, separated from the flowing movement of the river by the rocks.
‘There,’ he said. ‘Do you like it?’
The river flowing tumblingly over the stones, the shadowed arbor beneath the trees, the lush smell of the grassy banks behind them; how could she do otherwise?
‘It’s lovely,’ she said inadequately.
Luis sought a smooth rock and sat down, and she did likewise, her sandalled feet dangling over the pool.
‘Don’t you want to—paddle?’ he queried, rather mockingly, and she realised why he had brought her here. He remembered what she had said on the journey to Mendao two days ago.
Two days! Was that all it was? It seemed like a lifetime!
With a smile she kicked off her sandals and dropped down into the ice-cold water. It was glorious. She rolled up the legs of her jeans to her knees and allowed the water to flow over her ankles. It was so refreshing, so cooling, and she bent to trail her wrists in the water, too.
Then she became conscious of him watching her again, and straightened, drying her hands over the seat of her jeans. She felt infinitely cooler already, but also rather childish.
She climbed out of the water and resumed her seat on the rocks. Luis lit one of his cheroots, and she thought how peaceful it was. There was only the rippling sound of running water and the lazy whistling of the birds to disturb the stillness.
‘Thank you,’ she said awkwardly. ‘I enjoyed that. I feel much cooler now.’
‘Good. I’m glad.’ He inclined his head.
Rachel looked along at him. He was wearing a white shirt, his tie still knotted to his throat, and on impulse she said: ‘Aren’t you hot, too?’
Luis looked down at the glowing tip of his cheroot. ‘Do women ask such personal questions in your country?’
Rachel bent her head. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Why are you sorry?’
‘Obviously I shouldn’t have asked that question.’
‘Did I say so?’
‘No, but ...’ She broke off.
‘In Portugal we are more formal, I realise this. We observe certain formalities which may seem unnecessary to you. It is the way of things, that is all.’
‘But don’t you ever want to relax?’ she exclaimed, looking at him.
‘I am relaxed now,’ he returned.
‘You can’t be.’ Rachel made a perplexed gesture. ‘In England, on a day as hot as this, a man would take off his shirt, let alone his tie!’
Luis’s eyes narrowed. ‘You would have me take off my shirt?’
Rachel felt the hot colour burning in her cheeks. It sounded practically indecent the way he said it. ‘No,’ she said quickly. ‘No—that is—I was merely telling you about England.’
‘I see.’ He considered her broodingly. ‘And what else would an Englishman do?’
Rachel drew a trembling breath. ‘Why, he—he would sunbathe, I suppose.’ She tried to calm the sudden racing of her heart. ‘There’s no harm in that, is there?’
Luis inhaled deeply on his cheroot. ‘And of course, my removing my shirt would not offend you?’
‘Offend me? No, of course it wouldn’t offend me. Why should it?’
He shrugged, the muscles of his shoulders rippling beneath the thin material of his shirt. ‘It is evident that you are not yet aware of the differences between our two countries. I know England. I
have spent much time there. I was at university in London. I am conscious of your young people’s dislike for convention, and I realise that our ways must seem totally alien to you. But nevertheless, I would venture to state that our ways are the best.’
‘How can you say that? What’s wrong with people relaxing together?’
‘You are deliberately misunderstanding me, I think, senhora.’ He ground out the stub of his cheroot on the rock beside him. ‘A sense of propriety does not preclude social recreation.’ His voice had hardened. ‘I should have thought with your experience you would have been less willing to support such irresponsibility!’
Rachel was taken aback. ‘Irresponsibility?’ she echoed. ‘What are you talking about?’
Luis sprang to his feet, brushing down his trousers with a careless hand. ‘Come, senhora!’ he said. ‘It is time we were getting back to the quinta.’
Rachel drew up her knees and pushed her feet into her sandals before standing up. Strands of hair had become loose from the elastic band which secured it and she tugged off the band and refastened it before starting back to the car. Her casual actions were being observed from the ridge, she suddenly realised, where Luis had halted to wait for her, and the realisation brought its own sense of awareness.
She crossed the rocky ledge and began the ascent to the ridge, only to find her sandals had become damp and they slipped on the grassy surface. Inwardly chastising herself, she desperately tried to reach the ridge elegantly, but it was useless, and just when she was about to abandon her sandals and scramble up in a most undignified way, Luis appeared again and bent to offer her his hand.
She placed her hand into his. His hand was cool and hard, as she had imagined, and possessed the kind of latent strength manifest in steel. One strong heave had her securely on the ridge beside him but closer than she had been before. The scent of his body was in her nostrils, a musky, masculine scent that was unexpectedly pleasurable. She, who had never felt any desire for a closer contact with any man, suddenly found herself wondering how it would feel to share with this man the intimacies Malcom forced upon her, whether this man’s hard body would arouse her as Malcolm had never been able to do.
Her heart almost stopped beating. She had the wild desire to find out, to move closer to Luis and see whether the touch of her body had any reaction on him.
She looked involuntarily up at him and then drew back abruptly. Luis hesitated only a moment, dark anger burning in the blackness of his eyes, and then he turned and strode back to the car.
Rachel followed slowly. And as she did so she acknowledged that for an instant, for an infinitesimal moment in time, he had become conscious of her as a woman, and would not have repulsed the crazy impulse she had had to touch him. And that was why he had looked so furious—because he had known it, too.
CHAPTER SIX
OVER dinner that evening, Rachel had great difficulty in keeping her knowledge of the Marquesa’s whereabouts to herself. It was not her nature to be secretive about anything, but as Malcolm had still been sleeping when she returned to the quinta that afternoon, she had taken the easiest course and refrained from making any mention of her abortive trip to the village.
It was not until lunch time the following day that Malcolm missed his hostess. He had expected her to visit him, but as the morning passed into afternoon he became suspicious.
‘Do you know where Joanna is?’ he demanded of Rachel, who was in the process of getting him a drink of water from the jug beside his bed. He had decided to stay in bed earlier, but now he was becoming restless.
‘How could I?’ Rachel moved her shoulders nervously.
Malcolm frowned. ‘She was out all day yesterday. The least she could do was to come and see how I am today.’
Rachel handed him the glass of water. ‘I doubt whether the Marquesa cares very much one way or the other after your behaviour a couple of days ago,’ she commented carefully.
Malcolm caught her wrist as she would have moved away. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘You know what I mean. You must know perfectly well that when the Marquesa invited you here she did not expect you to become a permanent fixture.’
Malcolm’s grip tightened cruelly and she winced. ‘You’re hurting me!’ she gasped.
‘I’ll do more than that if I hear any more of that kind of clever talk from you,’ he snapped. ‘Who the hell do you think you are to talk to me like that?’
Rachel wrenched her wrist out of his grasp, rubbing the reddened flesh painfully. ‘I’m only telling you the truth.’
‘Are you? Are you? And so what do you think the Marquesa is going to do about it? Throw me out?’ His smile was not pleasant. ‘Or will she get that arrogant son of hers to do it for her?’
‘Malcolm!’
He hunched his shoulders. ‘Ring the bell for that girl—what’s her name? Rosa? Yes, send for Rosa. She’ll know where the old girl is.’
Rachel rang the bell reluctantly. If any of the servants had witnessed her return with Luis the previous afternoon, they must surely expect her to know why the Marquesa was not with them. What if Rosa mentioned that?
But Rosa didn’t. Not that she didn’t seem surprised at Malcolm’s question. She gave them both an encompassing glance, and then replied: ‘Did not the Senhor Marquês tell you? The Senhora Marquesa was not well yesterday when she visited with the Alejentos.’
‘Not well?’ Malcolm leant forward. ‘What do you mean?’
‘She has been—how do you say it?—overdoing it, sim? The wedding, you understand. There is much to arrange.’
‘So?’ Malcom could scarcely conceal his impatience.
‘So the Senhora Marquesa is to spend a few days with her friend Senhora Alejento, senhor. You did not know this?’
‘No, I didn’t know.’ Malcolm clenched and unclenched his fists. ‘How about her son?’
‘The Senhor Marquês is here, senhor. You wish to see him?’
Malcolm hesitated. ‘Yes. I mean—no, no, not right now. I’ll let you know if I want to see him.’
‘Sim, senhor. Is there anything else?’
Malcolm shook his head and with a faint smile in Rachel’s direction Rosa left them.
‘So! The old girl’s run out on us, has she?’ Malcolm breathed deeply. ‘Now what does she hope to gain by that, I wonder.’
Rachel tugged at a strand of her hair. ‘Does it matter? We’re here—taking advantage of her hospitality. I don’t see that it matters whether or not the Marquesa is in the quinta, too.’
‘Well, it matters to me,’ snapped Malcolm. ‘A hostess doesn’t run out on her guests after only a couple of days.’
Rachel sighed. ‘Can’t we change the subject? When are you going to start using the car?’
Malcolm grimaced. ‘I don’t know,’ he muttered. ‘Leave me alone. I want to think.’
After the upheaval of almost a week of activity, it was a relief to have a few days of uninterrupted peace. For the present, it seemed, Malcolm had resigned himself to doing nothing more obstructive than conducting a continual state of conflict with poor Eduardo. He even permitted Rachel to wheel his chair in the grounds, and although these expeditions were something of an ordeal for her, conscious as she was that they might at any time come upon the Marquês himself, they caused Malcolm no such misgivings, and she could not help but admire the magnificently landscaped gardens.
Rosa had offered to do what shopping she might require on her visits to the village, and consequently Rachel seldom, if ever, stirred from their part of the quinta. She was restless sometimes, desperate for something to do to fill her time, particularly as Rosa had been unable to find anything in the nature of a phrase book or Portuguese dictionary at the shop.
Malcolm seemed withdrawn most of the time; very rarely did he behave disagreeably towards Rachel, although she was experienced enough to know that this state of affairs would not last. The crisis came when Rachel was summoned to the library one morning.
Rosa brought
the message as they were taking coffee. It was about ten days since their arrival at the quinta, and the Marquesa’s few days with the Alejentos had stretched to a week. Rachel presumed it was about this that the Marquês wanted to see her, but Malcolm was furious.
‘What the hell does he mean, sending for you?’ he snarled. ‘I’m the man of the family; I should be told what’s going on, not you.’
‘He probably thinks you’re still resting,’ remarked Rachel placatingly. ‘Good heavens, I shan’t be very long.’
‘But why should he want to see you? He hardly knows you. You’ve never even had a conversation with him, unless you can call that chat you had in the car coming here from the airport a conversation!’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Or have you been seeing him behind my back?’
Rachel felt a guilty sense of shame. Was she really as deceitful as she felt? Were her reasons for not telling Malcolm about her two encounters with the Marquês as innocent as she would like to think they were? Shouldn’t she have told him anyway and allowed the storm of his anger to pass over her and be done with?
‘Malcolm——’ she began awkwardly, but he interrupted her.
‘I don’t want to hear any excuses. No matter what you say, you must have been encouraging him somehow. How do I know what goes on after you’ve settled me down for the night? How convenient that you sleep in another room!’
‘Malcolm!’ Rachel was horrified.
‘Well, it’s obvious. The man’s interested in you. Why else would he send for you and not me? But I won’t stand for his bloody insolence!’
‘Malcolm, please!’ Rachel spread her hands helplessly. ‘You know perfectly well that what you’re saying is nonsense! The Marquês de Mendao isn’t interested in me. How could he be?’
Malcolm’s brows drew together. ‘How could he be?’ he repeated. ‘Why shouldn’t he be?’
‘Oh, Malcolm!’ Rachel was exasperated. ‘Men like him don’t become interested in women like me! You said that yourself.’