'I guess you've said all there is to say on that subject!' She got up. 'Come over and have a chat in the lab later on if you like. I've still got a lot of Gavin's stuff to do.'
'I'll come and wake you up from your dreams of Rodrigo Garcia Montada! But promise not to be angry.'
Smiling, Chrissy made her way across the compound to the privacy of the lab. She didn't feel like smiling. It was pure reflex. The formidable Garcia Montada. Rodrigo? Very romantic, she mocked. Pity he wasn't her type. On the other hand, she thought as she settled to her work, it was probably a very good job—he wore a gold ring and, obviously the philandering .type, was hedged with every red warning sign imaginable. All they'd shared was a kiss, that was all. An aberration. The fact that she'd let it dominate her life for the last few days said more about her than about him! She was a little lonely, that was the trouble. Lonely and very inexperienced. But there was work to do and no time for dangerous fantasies. If Eloise was right, and he rarely visited the compound, the chances were she would probably never see him again.
In fact, a week passed. Hans and Lars took her to where Lars began his daily work—the foot of a sixty metre giant of the forest from whose branches hung a purple climbing-rope. Looking up, Chrissy saw that it was fastened to the first large branch, fifty feet above her head, and then it went up—and, she knew, up and up, dwindling far away into the dense green foliage above her head. She stifled a shudder.
'Will you show me what you do?' she asked Lars.
He pulled at two metal hand-grips attached to the rope and showed her how they could slide upwards, but how a ratchet prevented them from sliding down. He put his feet into a pair of webbing straps and demonstrated how to edge the hand-grip upwards with all his weight in one stirrup then, putting his weight in the other side, he managed to hoist up the other side another few inches. Slowly he began to ascend the tree. It seemed to take an age.
'And he's an expert,' murmured Hans, watching her face.
'I've still got to give it a try,' she told him. 'Otherwise how else can I get into the canopy where the blossoms are?'
'I'll help you fire a rope up. Come and show me where you want it.'
Chrissy had already studied Gavin's plan and worked out the best place to ascend. 'He seems to have covered this area pretty thoroughly,' she told Hans when he came back to the lab with her to get the necessary equipment. She indicated a square on the graph paper. He leaned over her shoulder. He was still leaning over it when the door flew open and Chrissy turned to find herself being pierced by a glance of pure ice.
'Busy?'
'Senhor...' Hans looked flustered as he went over to shake the taller man by the hand. He glanced over his shoulder at Chrissy. 'I believe you've met already?'
Chrissy couldn't bring herself to reply. All the sensible thoughts of the last few days flew out of the window. It seemed as if everything she thought important was made into nothing by his mere reappearance.
Hans was gabbling on about helping Chrissy climb into the canopy, and he was already going over to the rope, the thin one that would be shot up over the first branch by which the far stronger climbing-rope would be hauled into the tree. But Montada stopped him.
'I cannot allow it,' he said shortly. 'Surely you are not serious?' He glanced from one to the other as if amazed.
'But --' began Hans, then broke off and shot an apologetic glance at Chrissy, 'Well, maybe we should rethink...?'
Chrissy found herself trembling from head to foot. Whether with rage, irrational desire, or a mixture of the two she couldn't tell. She stood where she was, fists clenched, and asked coldly, 'I'm rather confused—does Senhor Montada have some special power I'm unaware of? I mean, in respect of the work of we foreign researchers?'
Hans gave an apologetic cough as if an underling had made an unfortunate gaffe. Montada himself smiled thinly. 'Yes, I remember our meeting in this very lab on your first morning here. If you recall I did suggest you came over to the house for a little orientation?' His expression was glacial. 'However, I'm sure Hans here will put you in the picture.' He gave Hans a cool glance. 'I know I can trust you not to allow Miss Baker to do anything foolish. I do not wish to have a hospital case, or worse, on my conscience.'
With that he went out and Chrissy could see him marching briskly across the compound towards the house. He must be going to pay the servants, she thought. And that must make him feel he could lay down the law to everyone. Well, he didn't pay her wages. She was a free agent. Or as free as working for the research unit in England allowed.
'Well,' she said briskly. 'Pity about all that. Now, what am I supposed to do with this rope?' She picked up the thin coil and hooked it over one arm.
Hans looked at her with reproach in his eyes. 'No, Chrissy, I'm sorry—if he gives it his veto I'm afraid that's that.'
'What?' She gazed at him in astonishment. 'Are you scared of him or what?'
Hans lifted his shoulders and let them fall. 'Yes, possibly. I wouldn't like to get on his wrong side. But it is more than that.'
'More? But why the hell should he call the shots? I don't understand!'
'He calls the shots because he owns the shots—what I mean is, he owns this --' Hans gestured round the lab.
'But I understood it was a jointly funded venture existing on grants and donations made by the participating countries --' burst out Chrissy.
'Yes, some of it. Our salaries. But not --' he paused, '—not all the rest.'
'What rest? What else is there? A wooden house, a cook and odd-job man, a couple of palm-thatched huts? It's worth a couple of thousand at most --' She was furious now.
'You don't understand. He owns—well, he owns everything.'
'What else is there except the damn forest? You'll be saying he owns that next!' she exclaimed. Then her jaw sagged.
'Yes.' Hans was still apologetic. 'Exactly my meaning. He does. He owns countless hectares of the forest. Look to the horizon in every direction—all his. I doubt whether even he knows the exact extent in figures. We are entirely beholden to him. He can order us off at any time. It is only by his magnanimity that we are allowed here at all.'
'By the grace of God himself you mean,' fumed Chrissy, unable to take it in. 'He can't own it—I mean --' She stomped over to the window and looked out at the endless miles of forest stretching to the horizon and beyond. Although her words denied it, she knew in her heart it was true.
It had to be.
Only a man as formidable as Rodrigo Garcia Montada would take it on himself to lay claim to such a large slice of God's heaven.
CHAPTER FOUR
Chrissy knew it was hopeless but she had to do it. She said, 'I'll go across and try to reason with Senhor Montada... I'm not going to take this lying down.'
With a warning not to get herself into trouble ringing in her ears, she left the lab and made her way through the dizzying heat towards the house. She forced herself to pause in the shade of the steps before going inside. What was she to say to him that would make him change his mind? She didn't know the man. She had no idea what sort of argument—if any—would sway him. Was he as autocratic as he seemed? There was only one way to find out.
Steeling herself, she made her way up the steps into the entrance. First she poked her head round the kitchen door. Senhora Suarez was busy slicing vegetables into a big cast-iron cooking-pot. 'Do you happen to know where Senhor Montada is?' asked Chrissy in a determined voice.
'He is attending to some business in his rooms, I do believe,' replied Senhora Suarez, gesturing towards the corridor.
Chrissy turned. What was he doing with rooms here? Perhaps he used the place as a kind of lodge when his royal progress brought him in this direction!
There were five doors to choose from. Two on each side of the corridor and one at the far end of it. Remembering that Lars and Hans always stepped from the veranda through the two sets of doors on the left giving on to the back of the house, she guessed that 'El Senhor' would have the ones at the front
. Naturally.
She knocked rather tentatively on the first of these and waited. Nothing happened. Deciding that she'd better try the next one, and perhaps knock a little louder, she moved further along. There was still no reply even though the sound was loud enough to rouse anybody.
Just about to apply her knuckles to the door yet again she was startled by the sound of a voice from the far end of the corridor. Pivoting, she saw Garcia Montada leaning casually against the door-post. He must have opened the door without a sound. She wondered how long he'd been standing there, watching her nervous approach, mocking her mounting impatience at getting no response.
'You wanted me?' he asked in that seductive drawl of his.
There was no way such a simple question coming from his lips could sound innocent. She flushed, unable to stop herself. Wildly she wondered what would happen if she nodded and said, Yes, I want you, Garcia Montada! She fixed her glance at a point on the door-jamb beside his left ear. 'I would like to discuss this matter with you,' she said as evenly as she could.
'Matter?' He brought a frown to his face that did nothing to mar his good looks. 'What matter?' he insisted, eyes blank.
You damn well know which matter, she wanted to spit, but, proud of her control, she replied quietly, 'The matter of my continuing Gavin's research.'
'If those are your instructions from England, to continue your predecessor's research, then --' he shrugged the broad shoulders, encased in a stiff white shirt '—only you know what you must do.'
'I agree,' she said. Stepping forward a pace so she didn't have to raise her voice, she added, 'But I can't continue in the same way unless I can work in the canopy --'
He gave a rough gesture with one hand. 'It's crazy. Forget it. I've already told you what I think.'
'But --'
'No buts. I've spoken.' He turned his head as if to go back inside his room.
'I understand from Hans Bergdorf that you own the forest,' she blurted, moving after him. 'I'm fully insured. You would be in no way liable if I had an accident... If that's the problem,' she added lamely.
'Good. But the answer is still no.'
'But why?' She was standing next to him now and the carefully repressed attraction flared again as she came too close. For a moment she felt winded, then the paralysis crept into her throat and all she could do was stare up at him, praying that the longing and the dislike, that fiery, untameable mixture of emotions she felt, was thoroughly masked.
He stepped back. 'Come inside.' He moved to open the door to let her through.
With a feeling that she should by now be saying no and fleeing for safety, she found herself entering the lion's den.
'Take a seat,' murmured a voice directly behind her.
She was dazzled by the lightness of the room, even though rattan blinds clacked at every window. The room was all windows, each one shaded, and there was polished wood everywhere, and sunlight, and woven rugs, and bright Indian hangings on the wall. It had an air of greater comfort than she had expected, with white wicker chairs scattered around and, she noticed, a colourful rope hammock across one corner. There was also a rifle propped prominently against a chair and a knee-high rattan table with a glass of something long and cool and green on it.
He followed her glance. She was startled when he went to the door and opened it again. She heard him call for Senhora Suarez and a sentence or two were exchanged. When he returned he was carrying a similar drink. Chrissy was standing by the window trying to prepare herself for anything.
'Don't you want to sit down?' he snapped. He gestured impatiently to one of the chairs.
Warily she placed herself on the very edge of it. He pushed the glass across the table towards her and settled back among a pile of white hopsack cushions. Designed to enhance his tan, she thought grudgingly. And they did. She sipped her drink, wondering whether she could control the wild horses galloping through her veins and whether to wait for him to begin or whether to plunge in first. But he knifed through her indecision.
'I'm not being unreasonable,' he announced, coming straight to the point. 'What you're proposing is a very dangerous thing. Tell me why you feel you need to do it.'
'I've already mentioned that,' she began, wondering what the point of all this was if his mind was already made up. 'Gavin only had time to cover one small area of the grid. I would feel my time was wasted if I didn't try to cover a little more.'
'Were you instructed to go ahead in this way?'
She dropped her glance, the lie almost begging to be told. But she couldn't say it. 'I'm sure if anyone had thought about it they would have instructed me in that way.' There was only Cavendish to veto it. Now she thought about it she knew another reason she wanted to go ahead was to prove she was somebody to be reckoned with.
'My career is very important to me,' she said, raising her glance. 'I really need to make a strong contribution. I know I can, given the chance.' Then she bit her lip. Was this the wrong approach to a man like him?
'Ambitious and career-minded is not how I see you, Miss Baker.'
'I'm sorry to disappoint you.'
He smiled thinly. 'Have you done this sort of thing before?'
Layers of hidden meaning seemed to be hinted at in the way he was watching her. Done what? she wanted to ask. Played cat-and-mouse with the most handsome, philandering male in the entire universe? She gave him a level glance. 'I've done some climbing. I'm not a complete incompetent.'
He gave the thin smile again, but his eyes had lightened and he was thinking something else now. 'Do you imagine I'm saying "no" out of a sense of old-fashioned chivalry, perhaps?'
'You?' The exclamation was out before she could hide her astonishment.
He frowned. 'You don't see me as chivalrous?' His head tilted.
'It depends,' she replied carefully, 'on what you mean by chivalry.'
He laughed. 'Yes, maybe our understandings are too far apart. How could we be expected to understand each other when we come from opposite sides of the world?' Then he gave her a charming smile. 'My mother was English so I know the problems.'
Thus the blue eyes, she registered, wanting him to go on. His voice was like honey. If he was setting out to hypnotise her with its lilting sonorities he was winning. It was a walk-over. Mentally she gave herself a shake. 'Then you do understand how I feel?' she suggested.
He shook his head. 'Far from it. Besides, I have never lived in your country. I don't know how things go on there. My knowledge comes down to a couple of European tours long ago.' He was frowning again and Chrissy was finding it difficult to keep up with his mercurial moods. 'I don't begin to understand what you are doing out here, so far from your own people, from young men of your own kind who would be likely to want to marry you.'
'Excuse me,' she butted in, 'I don't see marriage as the be-all and end-all of my life.'
'But you can't leave it too late.'
'I'm only twenty-three,' she pointed out. 'Time enough to think of marriage when I've established myself in a career.' No way was she going to make the same mistake as her mother—to marry before completing her training and run the risk of being left without a husband, without a job and with a child to support. But she wasn't going to tell him that. Her private affairs were none of his business.
'And you think you will still be marriageable in a few years when you decide the time is then right for you?'
Somehow he made it seem very cold-blooded. Chrissy shrugged. 'I shall have to cross that bridge when I get to it.' He was making her prickly, probing into her life as if he had a right to. 'Personally I don't believe in one rule for men and one for women. If it's not expected that a man will marry until he's got himself started in a career, why shouldn't it be the same for a woman?'
'But life is not even-handed in this respect,' he came back. 'Men don't have to be handsome in order to acquire a wife. They only need to be wealthy—or lucky.' He smiled confidently. 'Sad as it is, women lose their looks. How then will they find the husband?'
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She frowned. 'I would hate to be married merely for my appearance. What sort of marriage would that be? Heavens! I should expect to be loved for myself, not for any decorative value I had!'
'What a romantic point of view. Marriage as an expression of love!' He was scowling, and added roughly, 'And of course, you take your looks for granted anyway, perhaps not realising that life is easy for a young woman who looks the way you do. You have the world at your feet. Now. But later things will inevitably change. Beauty does not last forever.'
Chrissy couldn't help smiling. 'How quaint!' she said before she could stop herself. 'I would have thought you'd disproved your own argument! Here I am --'
she spread her arms as if offering herself, '—and I'm not able to get what I want—despite the so-called advantage of my looks!' She'd meant it half jokingly for his argument was ridiculous, but his reaction was astonishing.
He jerked back as if she'd struck him again. Uncoiling from his position in the chair opposite, he strode rapidly across the room before coming to an abrupt halt. When he swung to face her he had recovered from his brief loss of composure, but Chrissy's mind boggled at what had forced him to jerk to his feet like that.
He confirmed her suspicions when he ground out, 'Of course, you mean this foolish desire to work in the canopy like the men. I misunderstood. That is all you want from me?'
'What else?' she exclaimed, beetroot-faced at the impression she had unwittingly created. Not that she blamed him after that last meeting for thinking she was simply waiting for an invitation to climb into his bed! She pretended to fiddle with her glass to hide her scarlet cheeks... He was impossible. The whole situation was more than she could handle. How on earth could she get everything back on an even keel? They would never reach agreement. There were misunderstandings at every turn. It was like picking one's way across a field of thistles.
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