Who Rides the Tiger

by Anne Mather

  'How are you?' Frederick asked gently. 'You have lost much weight, Dominique. Are you finding the strain too much?'

  Dominique managed a smile. 'I'm fine, thank you,' she replied. 'As you say - it is a strain, but - I - I believe he is very well.'

  'Vincente?' Frederick shrugged. 'He is rapidly recovering. I saw him only yesterday. In fact - in fact that is why I am here.'

  Dominique stiffened. 'Oh - oh, yes?'

  Already her nerves were jumping at the mention of his name, and she walked jerkily across to the bell and summoned Salvador, and asked him to bring her and Senhor Rivas some hot chocolate. Then, lighting a cigarette to calm herself, she said:

  'Do go on, Senhor Rivas.'

  'Oh, Frederick, please,' he exclaimed, and she nodded and smiled. 'So', he said, 'you have not been to see your husband since he returned to Bela Vista.'Dominique compressed her lips. 'That's right,' she said tautly.

  'Why?' Frederick frowned. 'Does it distress you so?'

  Dominique shook her head, not trusting herself to speak for a moment. 'No. No, it's not that. It's just that - well - oh, what's the use?' She bit her bottom lip to stop it trembling. 'You may as well know, Senhor - I mean, Frederick; my husband doesn't want to see me.'

  'You cannot be serious!'

  'Oh, but I am. And now do you mind if we don't discuss it any more? It - it - well, it upsets me.'

  'I can understand that. But you are wrong. Vincente does want to see you. He is chafing at the need for him to stay in the hospital so long when he so urgently wishes to speak with you!'

  'Oh, no, you're making a mistake,' replied Dominique, her eyes unnaturally bright. 'Now - here's Salvador. Salvador, put it here, please.'

  After Salvador had left them, and she had handed Rivas his chocolate, he said: 'What makes you so certain, Dominique?'

  'That - that's rather a private matter,' she replied, awkwardly. 'I'd rather not discuss it.'

  'But nevertheless, Vincente does wish to see you. I was there when he asked Isabella again why she had not brought you with her.'

  Dominique got to her feet. 'I - I - was there anything else? I mean - I don't want to rush you away, but - well, it's no use-I do not intend to visit my husband, and that's that.'

  Rivas looked taken aback, but he made no further mention of it, merely studying her strangely, whenever he thought she was not aware of it. But Dominique was aware of it, and aware of his rather impatient attitude with her. He didn't believe her any more than she believed him. And if Vincente had pretended he wanted to see her to make believe that things were all right between them again, then that was his affair. She would have no part of it. She would not go down there and pretend to be his devoted and loving wife just to satisfy the minds of his friends.

  Even so, after Rivas had taken his departure, she wondered why Isabella never mentioned anything of this to her. After all, she must know why Dominique was not going to see Vincente, and she could have told her. But perhaps she thought that it would be cruel to tell her something that was almost certainly pretence.

  During the next few days she had several calls from associates of Vincente's at the plant, all inquiring about his health, and she thought that possibly Frederick Rivas thought to shame her into visiting the hospital and finding out about her husband for herself.

  Then, one afternoon, she had another visitor. Isabella was resting, and Dominique was alone on the patio when she heard the sound of a car in the courtyard. Going through the lounge she looked out and saw John Harding extricating himself from behind the driving wheel of his vehicle. Her eyes wide, she watched him walk across the courtyard to join her, and couldn't suppress a kind of pleasure in seeing him again. After all, he was her countryman, and once they had been very close to one another.

  'Hello, Dom,' he said, smiling warmly. 'It's wonderful to see you again.'

  'Hello, John.' Dominique bit her lip. 'What are you doing here?'

  John climbed the steps to her side. 'Aren't you going to ask me in for a drink? After all, I know the boss is away.'

  Dominique hesitated. There was a sense of betrayal in inviting him into Vincente's house in Vincente's absence*

  But then she remembered Isabella, and with a casual gesture, she said: 'Come out to the patio. We can talk there.'

  Salvador was on the patio and he stared with blank contempt at Dominique's companion. 'I do not think the Senhor—' he began, only to be silenced by a look from Dominique.

  'Bring some iced lime,' she said coolly. 'Please, Salvador.'

  'Who is he? Your bodyguard?' asked John sardonically, and lounged into one of the low chairs. 'Come and sit down. I want to talk to you.'

  Dominique seated herself as far away from him as she could, and said: 'Yes, and I want to talk to you.'

  'Oh? Why?'

  'I want to hear about Isabella Santos,' said Dominique blundy. 'Don't try to deny that you had a - a - flirtation with her.'

  John looked taken aback. 'All right, all right, Dominique. I won't lie to you. Yes, I knew Isabella. And yes, I was friendly with her.'

  'How friendly?'

  'Now look here, I came here to see you, not to hear a tirade about Isabella Santos. All that's in the past.'

  'Your past, maybe. Not mine,' retorted Dominique, becoming angry. 'Why have you come here today, anyway? What's made you wait so long?'

  'What do you mean?'

  'Well, it seems significant that you should come after all this time.'

  'I'll tell you why I've come. Yesterday I heard Rivas talking to one of his cronies in the office. He didn't know I was there, but I listened, and guess what I heard? Dominique Santos dbesn't visit her husband in the hospital!'

  Dominique flushed. 'Oh, I see.'

  'Until now I never suspected anything was wrong between you two, but by God! I'm glad I know now.'

  'Why?'

  'Well, for heaven's sake, it proves what I was afraid of all along. You were infatuated with the guy, you couldn't see that he was only playing you along. I might have known—'

  'You know nothing!' cried Dominique, getting unsteadily to her feet. 'How dare you come here and attempt to interfere in my affairs! When I broke our engagement, I made no mistake, John. It's only now I'm beginning to realize what I so nearly invited! Writing to me! Telling me how much you missed me, and all the while you were having an affair with Isabella Santos!'

  'It wasn't an affair,' he protested, standing too.

  'Then what would you call it, John?' asked a quiet voice from behind them, and Dominique put a hand to her mouth when she saw Isabella standing there, watching them.

  'Oh, Isabella!' exclaimed Dominique weakly. 'I'm so sorry you had to hear this!'

  Isabella moved into the centre of the patio. 'Well, I'm not, Dominique. I'm glad. It explains so much, so much! Did I understand you aright? You were once John Harding's fiancee? You were the girl he was writing to, in England?'

  'That's right,' said Dominique, nodding. 'I - I came here to marry John. But then I met Vincente - and - well, that was it!'

  'He deliberately took you away from me,' said John harshly. He looked at Isabella. 'At the time I finished with you' - Isabella flinched slightly at his expression - 'at that time,' he continued, 'I expected to be fired, sent back to England. But your precious brother had a much more subtle plan for revenge, hadn't he? He wouldn't be content with just firing me. He had to destroy my life, take away from methe only girl I ever really loved.'

  Dominique's fingers seemed to cling to her lips, and she was holding on to her composure with desperate strength. Put like that, so harshly and so cruelly, it seemed so probable that it almost broke her in two.

  But Isabella wasn't finished yet. 'You don't really believe my brother would go to the extent of marrying a woman he didn't love, do you?' she asked John scornfully, with a little of the arrogance her brother sometimes displayed. 'He might have decided to take your girl-friend, he might have planned to do just that. It is the kind of thing Vincente would do. He woul
d keep the vendetta. But he would not marry her. He might make love to her, seduce her, give her to you as a second-hand toy, but not marry her!'

  Dominique listened, but it barely went in. She was too absorbed in her own misery. All she could hear was John saying Vincente had married her for revenge. Revenge! The word swung dizzily in her head, and she hardly registered the sound of another car accelerating into the courtyard, and the sudden stillness when the engine was switched off. But the others had heard, and Dominique saw John's face pale a little, while Isabella's flushed with something like anticipation.

  There were footsteps, and the sound of Salvador's greeting, then Vincente Santos appeared in the lounge door which opened on to the patio - tall and dark, in a dark suit, his face still showing the scars of the grafting, but nonetheless impressive for all that. Dominique looked astounded, and she stared wildly at Isabella and John. They were all like dummies, carved in some scene from a play, no one moved, no one said anything.

  Then, as though on cue, Isabella said: 'So they let you come home after all, Vincente,' as though she had been aware of his imminent arrival.

  Vincente stepped on to the patio. He looked completely recovered, and Dominique wondered how long he had been on his feet. Obviously his time in hospital had not been spent wholly in a hospital bed. In fact he looked fit and virile.

  John looked at Dominique, and said bitterly: 'Did you know he was coming?'

  Dominique shook her head, not trusting herself to speak, and Vincente glanced at her thoughtfully, as though aware of her shaken emotions. Then he looked at John again.

  'Why have you come here, Harding?' he asked coldly. 'Can't you leave my wife alone?'

  John hunched his shoulders. 'I came because I wanted to tell her that I still love her, and now that you've finished with her, I'm willing to take her back!' He scowled. 'I didn't know you were expected, or I'd have chosen some other time!' He was deliberately provocative, both in his words and his manner.

  'Who told you I did not want my wife?' asked Vincente ominously.

  'No one told me. I didn't have to be told! It's obvious, isn't it? She hasn't exactly run after you while you've been in the hospital! I admire her spirit. It's time someone set down the mighty Santos's. Just as I did when I put you on the floor, where you belong!'

  Dominique glanced at Vincente, sensing John's desire to provoke another fight between them. He was standing, fists clenched, but when he spoke his voice was calm and cool, like Isabella's.

  'You and I have some unfinished business to attend to, Harding,' he said coldly. 'Down at the refinery.'

  John's handsome face turned a brilliant shade of scarlet. 'What the hell do you mean?' he blustered.

  'You know damn well what I mean,' replied Vincente quietly, but with menace in his voice. 'Now - do we go?'

  Whether John sensed that this time Vincente was not to be trifled with, Dominique did not know, but he moved awkwardly, thrusting his hands into his pockets, and saying: 'Anything you have to say to me can be said here.'

  'Here?' Vincente shook his head. 'I prefer to fight my battles in private.'

  'Why?' John seemed to think this was an admission of cowardice. 'Because you're afraid I'll make an ass of you again?'

  'You will not do that, Harding,' returned Vincente silkily. 'Do you imagine I could not have defended myself had I so desired it? You are so big, so strong - but so stupid! Do you imagine Dominique would have reacted as she did had I decided to retaliate? If I had knocked you unconscious, what do you imagine she would have done? She would have felt pity for you - for you! Not for me. And that was something I could not risk.'

  'Why, you—' John gasped, all his earlier hostility aroused at this slur against his strength and virility.

  He charged towards Vincente, fists clenched, uncaring that his opponent was just of hospital. Dominique seemed to come to her senses and sprang forward in an effort to get between them, but John thrust her aside, intent on his revenge.

  He was big and strong and powerful, but for all that, he was clumsy, and Vincente with his lithe, lean build was far more agile, and certainly more deadly in his intent. As John flailed before him, endeavouring to land a punch, he brought his hand down sharply on the other man's- shoulder so that John groaned in rage and lost his guard for a moment. In that moment Vincente brought his fist hard into John's stomach, doubling him up so that it was easy to bring down the deciding chop on the back of his neck. John slumped heavily to the ground, and lay there, inert.

  Dominique stared down at him in silence, then looked up into Vincente's face. There was satisfaction there, and something else; a kind of malicious enjoyment.

  She shivered. All of a sudden it was too much for her. The weeks of waiting, the continued tension of her relationship with Vincente, and now - this!

  With a blind shake of her head, she brushed past Isabella and entered the lounge. In those first seconds she didn't know what she was going to do. It was not until she saw the two cars standing out front that realization came to her.

  She had to get away. She could go. There was the means before her, and if she reached Rio it would not be too difficult to contact the British Embassy. As the idea formulated in her mind, she began to hurry, her steps quickening, and finally she ran.

  She reached the cars, looked at Vincente's, saw the keys hanging, and slid in. With trembling fingers she started the engine, but it was not so easy to find the gears. She fumbled awkwardly, wasting valuable moments, then found the right one.

  But even as the car's wheels began to move, she was conscious of voices shouting, and then Vincente's hands grabbed the car door, and he leant over and pulled the keys out of the ignition before she had time to prevent him.

  'I think not,' he said heavily, leaning against the door. 'Your running days are over, Dominique,' and with that he wrenched open the door, and lifted her bodily into his arms. Dominique struggled, then saw Isabella emerging from the house. She went limp. She was defeated. There was nothing she could do. She must take Vincente's scorn and anger, and accept it.

  Isabella reached them, her eyes flashing angrily. 'Haveyou taken leave of your senses, Vincente?' she exclaimed. 'Already you have fought a man, and now you attempt to . carry Dominique! Are you mad? You will be back in hospital for exhaustion. In God's name, forgive me, but you must tell Dominique about Harding.'

  Vincente brushed past Isabella. 'You would have me betray her countryman? Oh, no! I have paid my debt to Harding.'

  Isabella followed them, shaking her head, and when they reached the hall they encountered Salvador.

  'Please to remove that - that man from the patio, Salvador,' said Vincente commandingly. 'I do not care if you have to take him back to Bela Vista, so long as he is removed immediately.'

  'Yes, senhor.' Salvador sounded delighted.

  Isabella touched her brother's arm. 'I will go with Salvador,' she said quietly. 'I have some shopping to do in Bela Vista.'

  'Oh, no,' began Dominique, but Vincente was mounting the stairs, uncaring of the strain of carrying her weight as well as his own.

  He took her to their suite and closed the door, then looked at her solemnly, before setting her on her feet again. Dominique rubbed the damp palms of her hands down her dress and said:

  'I don't know what your intentions are, Vincente, but I've had just about as much as I can stand.'

  'You have had just about as much as you can stand!' he echoed- incredulously. 'Me - I have been half out of my mind with anxiety!' His voice was angry suddenly. 'In God's name, Dominique, why did you never come back to the hospital? Why would you never answer the telephone when I fang?'

  She stared at him. 'You rang?' she murmured faintly.

  'But of course. After you visited me in Rio and left in such a state I rang numerous times, but always Salvador said you were out, or you would not come to the telephone.'

  Dominique felt the beginnings of realization dawning on her. She stared at him disbelievingly, then said: 'And Isabella? Did
you ask her, too?'

  'Of course.'

  Dominique shook her head, then turned away. 'Even so - even though I may not have had all these messages, why should you want to see me? I mean - you made it plain what you thought of me!'

  'Did I?' Vincente sounded bitter. 'I doubt that. To make clear what I think of you would take a lifetime.'

  She swung round, pressing her hands together. 'What - what are you trying to say?'

  Vincente stared at her, then stepped forward, allowing his hands to slide up her arms to her shoulders, drawing her slowly and irrevocably towards him. He studied her face intently, his dark lashes veiling his eyes, then he said: 'I'm trying, not very successfully, to tell you I love you,' he muttered huskily. 'I know I'm not an easy man to live with - I know I've treated you abominably, but I can't help it. I didn't want to want you - to need you. It's like Marion Rawlings said - I did set out to take you away from Harding. Can you forgive me?'

  Dominique stared at him. 'But - but you were so angry ...' she whispered appealingly.

  'I know. I know.' He shook his head, his fingers tightening on her shoulders. 'Can you understand that? Oh, Dominique, it's no use - I've got to do this,' and he pulled her close against him and found her mouth with his own, parting her lips passionately, making her wholly aware of the need inside him.

  Dominique felt as though her legs were about to give out on her, when he swung her in his arms and carried her to the bed, kneeling beside it, pressing his lips to her fingers urgently.

  Dominique tried to remain coherent. It was difficult when she so badly wanted him to go on making love to her.

  'Go - go on,' she murmured.

  Vincente sighed, his expression .regretful. 'All right, you deserve to know it all,' he murmured achingly. 'When I met you at Galeao, I thought you were a very attractive young woman, and the task I had set myself would prove to be very enjoyable. And it was. Just how enjoyable I was forced to realize. When you fell in the swimming pool that night I think it brought me to the full realization of what had happened. But I couldn't tell you that. God, you were attracted to the glamour - not the man!'