by Natalie Fox
The strength zapped out of Gemma and she stared stupidly up at him. Agustªn had brought her from Caracas? He must know her very well. Of course he would, her fury told her. She was very much a part of Felipe’s life, and Felipe lived here and worked here…
‘Now calm down,’ he told her firmly, his dark eyes subduing her. ‘I didn’t plan this. It wasn’t my intention to hurt you this way.’
‘What difference?’ she spat back at him. ‘What difference how you hurt me just so long as you do? I’m not going down there…’ She couldn’t, not now Bianca was here. If only Felipe knew what he had done. Wasn’t it enough she had to face her father for the first time? Now this!
‘Don’t be so absurd, and remember why you are here——’
‘To do a job, yes, of course—during all the fun I forget!’ she snapped sarcastically.
‘Cool it, Gemma.’
She fought the knotting of her stomach as he propelled her downstairs. Useless to argue, because in her anguished state she might admit something she didn’t want to. ‘Agustªn de Navas is my father,’ she might scream at Felipe, ‘and Bianca is your cousin and mistress and aren’t we all going to have a wonderful fun-packed night?’
They walked towards the drawing-room door where drinks were to be served before dinner in the dining hall. Was it her imagination, but was there even more gloom settling over the house? The candle-lights glowed brightly in the big hallway but the gloom was atmospheric, with bad vibes that were almost tangible. Maria was waiting to serve the drinks by the sideboard.
Agustªn Delgado de Navas stood by the open doors leading to the terrace, his back to anyone who walked into the room. He didn’t move when they entered the room though he couldn’t have failed to know they were there; Gemma’s heels had made enough noise on the terracotta tiles.
Though Gemma stood still she felt that every muscle was twitching as if in a final death throe. She didn’t want to be here, seeing her father’s back to her. He would turn, he had to turn, and then what?
Felipe moved across to Maria and helped her pour drinks then Maria left the room with a small smile for Gemma and it was just the three of them.
He turned at last, tall, almost as powerfully built as Felipe. His white dinner-jacket was superbly cut, leaving no doubt in anyone’s mind that this was a wealthy man. Though he could be clad in worn denim, Gemma thought quickly, and the effect would have been the same. He simply looked highly successful.
Gemma had imagined this moment over and over again, had rehearsed her first words, anticipated his, but nothing had prepared her for the impact of coming face to face with the man who was her father.
She knew then how easily her mother must have fallen for the thirty-year-old Agustªn de Navas. At fifty-seven he was devastating. Thick dark hair, silver at the temples. Dark eyes that penetrated hers like arrows of steel. His features were dramatically good-looking but his flesh deeply lined and tanned to a leathery hardness. His physique was superb, almost military in its bearing. He was a proud man, a striking man, a cold, hard man.
Felipe made the introductions, which Gemma only dimly heard. All she was aware of was this man standing in front of her, this man who was her father.
He scrutinised her for a full minute, which felt like an hour to Gemma, terrified as she was that he might see something of her mother in her. But he didn’t, she would have known if he had. She would have seen something in that handsome, cold, implacable face because she was searching for it.
He came towards her and stretched out his hand and Gemma took it and knew that her first impression hadn’t misled her. His grip, though firm, was cold and impersonal. His mouth unsmiling.
‘I can’t say I’m pleased to meet you, young lady, but now that you are here I welcome you.’ His voice was deep, almost a gravel in the depth of his throat.
There was no sincerity in the welcome bit and Gemma was hardly surprised; she had been warned he was a complex man. She pressured a smile to her dry lips and said, ‘Felipe told me you aren’t very happy at having your portrait painted, but I promise you it will be painless.’
He raised a grey streaked brow at that. ‘It had better be,’ he told her coldly, entirely missing the humour she was trying to inject into the conversation. ‘I’m not a vain man and I see no point in having a lifesized replica of myself hanging around for people to stick pins in, but, if Felipe commands it, let it be.’
So he was very aware of his unpopularity and more. His tone was leaden with sarcasm and he then proceeded to throw a dark look in Felipe’s direction which was returned with such a positive smirk that Gemma was quite puzzled.
‘You won’t be disappointed with my work, Se?or de Navas——’
‘Yes, yes.’ He waved a hand dismissively and Gemma bridled at his rudeness. ‘Pour me another drink, Felipe.’
‘So tell me about yourself?’ Agustªn surprised her with, then motioned her to sit down, which she didn’t do because he was still speaking. ‘And I don’t want a life history, just tell me how a beautiful woman such as yourself gets to be painting portraits of rich old men such as I.’
‘I wouldn’t have said you were rich…’
Dear God, she had meant to say old! Her face flushed furiously and her pulse raced so violently that she thought everyone must be aware of it. To her utter surprise Agustªn burst out laughing.
‘So, I’m old, am I?’
‘I’m sorry. I meant to say I wouldn’t have said you were old but rich came out instead.’
‘Really,’ he mused tonelessly. ‘Was I supposed to be flattered if you’d got it right?’ He nodded his head towards the sofa again and this time Gemma obeyed the silent command and sat down, gratefully. She’d never felt a bigger fool in her life.
‘Yes,’ Gemma answered honestly, and why not? This man was more than a client—he was her father. Because of that he didn’t daunt her, not much anyway. ‘If it had come out right I’d have hoped it would have warmed you.’
His eyes registered a swift blaze of anger which was equally swiftly controlled.
‘Implying I’m a cold bastard?’ he said gruffly.
Gemma inwardly flinched at that. For some reason she got the impression the remark wasn’t intended for her, though Agustªn’s eyes were full on her face.
Felipe stepped forward with the drinks. ‘I think that was uncalled for, Agustªn. We have a lady in our midst…’
She was right, it hadn’t been aimed at her; it had been a bitter aside for Felipe’s benefit. Gemma noted the spark of antagonism between them—or was it simply familiarity? She really wasn’t very sure about this relationship between them.
‘I’m not offended, Felipe, and I’m sure Se?or de Navas didn’t intend it to offend, but he has a point.’ They both looked at her in surprise and with a very forced smile Gemma went on. ‘I’m going to paint your portrait, Se?or de Navas. I was trying to humour you to relax you, so I could study your features and your bone-structure. If I want to paint the real you I have to see the real you, otherwise my trip out here to your home is a waste of time. You could have sent a photograph and I would have copied it.’
Gemma took the drink Felipe held out to her and gulped at it.
‘That would have suited me better,’ Agustªn stated brittly. ‘I have better things to do with my time than sit twiddling my thumbs having my portrait painted.’
She sensed that that also was directed at Felipe. Somehow she sympathised with Agustªn. He just didn’t want his portrait painted and Felipe had forced it on him to get her down here to Venezuela.
‘If you don’t want it done I won’t do it,’ Gemma offered. What did it matter anyway? She didn’t need this commission. ‘I would hate to impose on your life…’
‘How many sessions did you have in mind?’ Agustªn cut in.
She looked up at him, hating to be intimidated by him towering over her. ‘I can’t say. It depends how well it goes. I’d like to start with a couple of sessions a day, perhaps an hour in the morning an
d an hour in the afternoon…’ Why was she saying this? She didn’t even want to stay.
‘Out of the question! I’ll fit you in when I can. Felipe will deal with it, as it was his ridiculous idea in the first place,’ he told her impatiently. He glanced at his watch. ‘If Bianca isn’t down in five minutes we’ll go in without her. Didn’t that damned expensive education of hers teach her punctuality? I have a call to make. Pour Gemma another drink, Felipe.’
He strode from the room, leaving them alone, and Gemma realised that his last order to Felipe was the only time he’d spoken her name and then not directly to her.
‘Do you want another drink?’
Gemma shook her head. ‘No, thank you. I haven’t finished this yet.’ She stared at it dismally. Felipe had forewarned her that her father was a difficult man but it hadn’t helped. She felt shaken—and what else? Disappointed? So he was a good-looking man; she’d almost anticipated that anyway. Her mother had good taste and she hadn’t doubted it stretched to men too. But what a disappointment to find his character didn’t level with his looks. Pleasant to look at, he was; pleasant to be with, he wasn’t.
‘How does he grab you?’ Felipe asked rhetorically, refilling his glass. ‘By the throat with gloves of tempered steel?’
Gemma smiled, albeit hesitantly. ‘He’s a…a bit abrasive.’
‘That’s putting it mildly,’ Felipe murmured.
‘How do you stand working for him?’
‘We are stuck with each other, for better, for worse. Sometimes we irritate the hell out of each other.’
Gemma opened her mouth to speak, but shut it again. She didn’t understand these people, certainly didn’t understand how they could be stuck with each other for better or worse. If they didn’t get on, why didn’t Felipe move on? There were a thousand other oil companies he could work for.
A dinner gong sounded, and, taut as her nerves were, she jerked.
Felipe noticed and came and touched her arm. She pulled it away, looking at him venomously. He gave her a look that was so coldly impenetrable that she inwardly flinched.
‘Let’s go in to dinner before we both get our legs slapped,’ he said, trying to humour her. She gave him a frozen look and walked with him out of the room.
The dining-room was positively baronial. She’d seen it before but not this way. The two massive wrought-iron chandeliers glowed over the dining table, which was superbly set. The light on the crystal fragmented into a myriad sparkles. The silver was heavy, antique and priceless as was the beautiful china. A huge candelabrum was the centrepiece with a dozen or so offwhite candles burning among the nymphs that danced around them. Shallow bowls of creamy-coloured orchids were distributed among the crystal and the silverware. Gemma wished her state of mind could fully appreciate the beauty of it all.
Agustªn stood at the head of the table, waiting for them as they entered the room. ‘Sit here, Gemma.’ He motioned to the seat to his left and she sat down. ‘Felipe, will you have a word with Bianca? I will not tolerate lateness. We dine at nine, she knows that well enough.’
‘You have a word with her,’ Felipe threw back, taking the seat next to the one Bianca was obviously going to occupy, to Agustªn’s right. ‘She’s your guest, not mine.’
Gemma’s heart stopped and when it started again she shot a worried glance at both men. Agustªn’s fury was well controlled, only given away by a tensing of his jaw muscles. Gemma couldn’t believe that Felipe could speak to his employer so bluntly, couldn’t believe that Agustªn didn’t bawl him out, couldn’t believe that Felipe’s cousin was Agustªn’s guest!
‘Where did you train?’ Agustªn asked Gemma unexpectedly as Maria started to serve the first course, a cold white soup that smelt of garlic and almonds and had green grapes floating in it.
‘Goldsmith’s…’ It was out before she could stop it. The art college her mother had trained at too. Would Agustªn remember? After six months with her mother he must have known everything about her. She watched his face, saw a pulse throb at his temple, but wasn’t sure if her imagination hadn’t spirited it there.
‘After I left college,’ Gemma went on, ‘I studied privately under Cyrus Paget for a year. He’s quite famous in Europe…’
‘Royal Academy,’ Agustªn murmured, concentrating on his soup. ‘You had a good tutor.’
Gemma’s heartbeat quickened. He knew a bit about art. ‘Yes, the best.’
‘You must be talented for him to take you under his wing.’
‘She is,’ Felipe said for her. ‘I wouldn’t have suggested her for the job if I didn’t think she was the only one in the world who could make a silk purse out of a pig’s ear.’
Gemma froze her eyes to the bowl of soup in front of her. Surely Agustªn would hit the roof at that insult? But there was nothing, no reaction whatsoever. Confused? Gemma was.
The next course, ‘Chipi chipi,’ Felipe told her across the table, was tiny clams in a rich creamy sauce. Gemma couldn’t abide shellfish but was too polite to refuse. She picked at it, finding it wasn’t so bad, and managed to finish it as Felipe and Agustªn discussed the merits of the orchids that were displayed on the table.
Gemma sipped her wine, a delicious Californian Chardonnay, and when she looked up she caught Agustªn studying her as Felipe talked.
For a frightening second Gemma thought he must know and when, as Felipe turned to compliment Maria on the clams, he said quite softly, ‘You have beautiful hair,’ she was sure he did.
Her hair was identical to her mother’s. But no, he couldn’t possibly make the connection. Gemma wondered what he would say if she stood up and said, ‘I’m the daughter you didn’t know you had.’ God, it wasn’t even an amusing thought. She gulped some more wine.
‘Thank you,’ she murmured, acknowledging the compliment, somehow knowing it was a genuine one, not uttered as a flirtatious gesture. How awful if it had been!
Maria was busy serving marinated beef at the sideboard when suddenly Bianca swept into the dining hall, her high heels clipping out her arrival on the tiles.
All eyes were on her, Felipe’s tolerant, Agustªn’s furious, Gemma’s curious.
She looked as lovely as Gemma remembered her, jet hair, frizzed and wild around her lovely oval face. Her pure white dress of fine cotton was well-cut, lowcut and very blatantly sexy.
With a giggle but not an apology for her lateness on her red lips she threw her arms around Agustªn’s neck and hugged him tightly.
Agustªn was not amused and unwound her arms from his neck as if uncoiling a deadly constrictor.
‘When are you going to learn some manners, Bianca…?’
She took absolutely no notice of Agustªn as she launched herself at Felipe, pressing her lips to his mouth.
‘Bianca!’ Agustªn roared, and this time Bianca reacted, sharply, sulkily.
She pulled away from Felipe and slumped down in the chair on Agustªn’s right and glared across at Gemma. Their eyes locked and Bianca’s recognition came slowly, unbelievably, as if she was coming out of a dream—or a nightmare!
Gemma’s heart thudded unpleasantly at the realisation that Bianca hadn’t known she was here. Mixed emotions flooded Gemma’s mind.
‘This is Gemma, Bianca,’ Agustªn said, calm now after his irritation at Bianca nearly throttling him. ‘She is here to paint my portrait. You knew we had a guest—why the hell weren’t you down on time? You get more impossible by the day.’
‘If I’d known she was going to be the portrait painter you told me about I wouldn’t have come down at all!’ Bianca said slowly and deliberately. She held Gemma’s eyes, coldly, hostilely, hatefully.
‘That’s quite enough, Bianca,’ Felipe said quickly, but not quickly enough.
Agustªn’s jet eyes lasered backwards and forwards to the two women at his table.
‘You two know each other?’
Suddenly Gemma was an onlooker, a part of the proceedings that followed but not really there. Fierce chills of horror threade
d up and down her spine as Bianca’s mouth twisted cruelly.
‘Yes, we’ve met,’ she bit out, her dark eyes shot with slivers of pure hatred, then she turned them on Agustªn and added spitefully, ‘She was shacked up with Felipe in London months ago!’
There was a fearful silence. Gemma looked at Felipe, whose face was cold and unfeeling. She hated him for this, hated him to the very soles of her shoes.
‘Is this true, Felipe?’ Agustªn was calm, too calm.
Felipe looked him straight in the face and said quietly and lethally, ‘I don’t need to answer to such an offensively phrased accusation, to you or anyone.’
‘Oh, but you do, Felipe,’ Bianca whined. ‘I’m sure Tªo would like to hear all about it, wouldn’t you?’ she delivered pettishly, giving Agustªn a sickly-sweet smile.
Tªo! Tªo! Gemma knew a few Spanish words, tªo being one of them—uncle! If Agustªn was Bianca’s uncle and Bianca was Felipe’s cousin then Agustªn must be Felipe’s uncle too…
‘Were you or were you not living with Gemma in London?’ Agustªn shouted. No calmness now, just raw anger that raised him instantly to his feet.
Suddenly Felipe was on his feet too and the men faced each other, their black eyes warring.
‘Don’t speak to me as if I were still a child, Agustªn. My life is not yours!’
‘I made your life! You’d be nothing without me…’ ‘Grateful as I am, I can survive without you trying to command the rest of my life!’ Felipe roared. ‘When will I get it through to you that I won’t bow to your every wish——?’
‘What was this woman in your life?’ Agustªn thundered.
Horrified, Gemma waited, sickened by this row that was raging as if she wasn’t there.
‘She was my life,’ Felipe breathed heavily. ‘She still is,’ he added. ‘She is the woman I love and the woman I’m going to marry!’
Gemma’s blood ran cold with shock and her mouth parted to speak but no sound came from her lips. There was a small sob from Bianca and a vicious intake of breath from Agustªn.