by Anne Mather
‘That’s not why I—’
Alexandra broke off abruptly when she saw the cold scepticism in his face. What was the point of arguing with him? He would never believe her. And why should he?—when she hardly understood what was happening herself.
Instead, she half turned away from him—away from the sensual temptation of his lean body, that was still arousing the most disturbing sensations inside her, away from the bitter scorn in his expression, away from the agonising knowledge that her life would never be the same again. She stared blindly down at the toes of her shoes just visible below the hem of her gown, and realised she was shivering quite openly now, though she hardly felt the cold. But, as if suddenly realising this fact himself, Jason seemed to pull himself together. Thrusting his shirt back into his pants, he gripped her arm without emotion and urged her roughly towards the house.
Shaking away the sense of unreality that was enveloping her, Alexandra made one last attempt to appeal to him. ‘Will—will you tell Estelita about—about this?’ she demanded as he strode bleakly at her side, and then winced at the crushing contempt he turned on her.
‘Oh, yes,’ he answered cuttingly. ‘Of course, I’ll tell everyone. How shall I put it? That our youngest house guest has ideas above her—er—abilities? That my—ward—has an intense curiosity about matters of a wholly immoral nature? Yes. That should arouse a suitable cry of outrage among the more religious members of my household!’
‘You wouldn’t!’ Alexandra halted, staring at him in horror, and as if relenting, his hard features took on a mocking expression.
‘No,’ he agreed, after a heart-stopping moment. ‘No, I wouldn’t.’ He made a sound of impatience. ‘I’m not proud of what I just did. So why should I advertise the fact?’
‘Jason…’
‘Inside!’ he ordered, not prepared to discuss the matter any further, and with a heavy sigh, she preceded him into the house.
CHAPTER SIX
ALEXANDRA spent the next few days in bed.
The morning following that traumatic encounter with Jason, she awakened with a streaming head and violent pains in her stomach. Miss Holland who came to find out why she had not joined them for breakfast immediately diagnosed gastric ‘flu, and insisted she would have Mr Tarrant send for a doctor.
‘Oh, please, that’s not necessary,’ Alexandra protested weakly, trying to get up on her pillows, but Miss Holland was adamant, pressing her back with firm fingers.
‘One can’t be too careful in a foreign country,’ she insisted. ‘We can’t be absolutely sure it’s a form of influenza. It could be food poisoning—or pneumonia!’
Alexandra expelled her breath on a sigh. ‘It’s a cold, that’s all, Miss Holland,’ she choked, as a bout of coughing gripped her. ‘Just get me some aspirin and a hot drink, and I’ll stay in bed for the rest of the day. I’ll be fine tomorrow…’
But Miss Holland was not to be thwarted, and when she returned some fifteen minutes later, Estelita was with her.
The housekeeper viewed the patient with less sympathy. Alexandra had not forgotten the look Estelita had bestowed on her the night before when she and Jason came into the house together. The housekeeper had been in the hall when they entered the hacienda, and Alexandra had not been able to hide the guilty flush that stained her cheeks at the woman’s speculative appraisal. She had almost felt that Estelita knew exactly what had been going on, and blamed her for it, and her fingers had probed nervously at the neckline of her gown, as if she expected to find the marks of Jason’s fingers there for all to see. But there was nothing to betray her, she had reassured herself, even while that malevolent black stare had cooled her already chilled blood.
This morning Estelita’s expression was less easy to read. There was speculation, certainly, but it was combined with a contemptuous amusement that made Alexandra wonder exactly what Jason had said to her. Indeed, she thought bitterly, if she had had anything to eat or drink after returning to the house, she might have been inclined to suspect that Estelita was responsible for her present condition, but after a brief word with Miss Holland, playing chess with Ricardo in the salón, she had retired to her room, exhausted both mentally and physically.
‘Mr Tarrant had already left for the stockyards,’ Miss Holland was saying now, by way of an explanation. ‘So I asked Señora Vargas to come and give us her opinion.’
Alexandra made no answer, but Estelita allowed a faint smile to curve her thin lips. ‘Miss Holland tells me you have pains—here!’ she remarked, patting her own stomach. ‘You have been sick?’
‘No.’ Alexandra shook her head, and Miss Holland took up the tale again.
‘I think she should see a doctor,’ she declared. ‘It could be food poisoning, and that can be a serious illness.’
‘I have a cold!’ exclaimed Alexandra futilely, as Estelita began to protest with characteristic vehemence that her food could not have poisoned anybody, and Miss Holland retaliated by stating that in her opinion any highly-spiced food was hard to digest.
It was a heated exchange which might have continued indefinitely if Alexandra had not found it necessary to go at once to the bathroom, and by the time she returned, weak and trembling from an attack of vomiting, only Miss Holland remained.
‘I’ve told Señora Vargas that I intend to get a doctor,’ she declared firmly, tucking the sheet around Alexandra’s shaking body, and the girl was too weak to argue any further.
In the event, it was Jason who brought the doctor to San Gabriel. With her own brand of determination Miss Holland had ridden out to the stockyards and found her employer for herself, and although she accepted Ricardo’s escort back to the hacienda, she had a distinct air of triumph on her return.
Alexandra didn’t much care what happened. She was unable to swallow anything but the very smallest measure of warm lemonade, and lay feeling as if she would never lift her head again. Even the thin beef broth which Miss Holland braved Estelita’s wrath to produce refused to remain on her stomach, and the muscles of her abdomen ached from constant retching. She felt wretched, and she was sure she looked wretched, and she told herself she was glad that Jason made no attempt to come and see her.
The doctor was a dapper little man in his late forties, who had his practice in Puerto Novo. He arrived in the late afternoon, and although Alexandra was sure he meant well, his probing fingers were like sharp needles against her sensitive flesh.
After satisfying himself that there was no sign of swelling or inflammation, he diagnosed a severe chill and a mild attack of gastritis, aggravated by the cold germs. He left a bottle of antibiotics, and instructions that Alexandra should remain in bed for the rest of the week.
‘You see…’ Alexandra protested weakly, as Miss Holland came to tuck her up again after the doctor had departed. ‘Just a cold. Nothing to get uptight about. And now Jason’s got to drive to Puerto Novo and back again in the dark!’
‘Mr Tarrant’s not coming back,’ retorted Miss Holland, briskly, straightening from her task. ‘At least, not tonight, at any rate. He said he had some business to attend to in Puerto Novo anyway, so he’s going to spend the night there, transact his business, and return tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Oh!’
Predictably, this news was the last straw. Alexandra turned her face into the pillow and allowed the hot tears that had threatened all day to come, and blessed the fact that Miss Holland put her weakness down to physical causes.
By the end of the week Alexandra was up and about again. She was young and resilient, and the germ she had contracted was not strong enough to keep her confined to her bed for long. Even so, she accepted Miss Holland’s direction not to stray beyond the immediate environs of the hacienda, and watched with some envy when her companion and the boisterous foreman of the estancia went riding together.
Encountering Jason at supper the first evening she was able to come downstairs for the meal was a nerve-racking experience. She had not seen him to speak to since the fateful eveni
ng at the paddocks, and she took her seat at the table with some misgivings. She wished she were more capable of hiding her feelings, particularly as Jason behaved little differently from usual. Apart from a polite enquiry at the start of the meal as to the state of her health, he made no effort to speak to her directly, and Alexandra realised, with a hollow emptiness in her stomach, that so far as he was concerned, the situation had not changed. His attitude was a deliberate demonstration of that fact; but that didn’t prevent her from spending the meal casting covert glances in his direction, aware that her feelings towards him could not be so easily dismissed.
With time on her hands, Alexandra spent more energy in exploring the building. Whenever she knew Jason was out of the house, she ventured into his study where she had discovered a veritable library of books, many of them in English, and spent hours turning over the dusty tomes. She guessed some were books Jason had had when he was a student, but as well as theses on mechanical engineering and structural technology, there were also the novels of Dickens and Scott, alongside the more contemporary works of Scott Fitzgerald and Hemingway. She even found a copy of James Joyce’s Ulysses, and spent a fascinating afternoon absorbed in its pages.
But the book that provided her with the most entertainment was a written course in speaking Spanish, and she set herself the task of learning another language. Her knowledge of French came in useful in the identification of words, and a natural aptitude for accent made even her first stumbling attempts sound plausible. She guessed Jason had used the book himself when he first came to South America, but she also realised that it was living in a Spanish-speaking country and hearing the language spoken every day that had given him the mastery he now possessed. Even so, it encouraged her to keep her ears ever alert for words she could recognise, and she was amazed at how swiftly she progressed.
One afternoon Estelita came upon her reciting a passage aloud from the book. She had heard the unusual sound of Alexandra’s voice from beyond the door of Jason’s study, and she burst into the room with scarcely concealed anger.
‘Qué hace usted aquí?’ she demanded, using her own tongue in her fury, and Alexandra astounded her by replying in kind.
‘Leo,’ she said proudly. ‘Deseaba usted algo?—is there something you wanted?’
Estelita schooled her features. ‘Why are you using Jason’s study?’ she persisted, this time in English. ‘Do you have his permission to read in here?’
Alexandra closed the book and rose abruptly to her feet. ‘Do I need his permission?’ she asked evenly. ‘He’s not here. I don’t think he would object.’ She gestured towards the books. ‘I only read. I don’t pry into his private affairs.’
Estelita’s wide nostrils flared. ‘What are you implying, señorita?’
‘Nothing.’ Alexandra was surprised at how quickly the other woman sprang to the defensive. ‘I only meant—’
‘I know what you meant, señorita,’ retorted Estelita angrily. ‘You are quick with the—the smart answer, no? Is this what you say to Jason? Is this how you hope to twist him round your little finger, when I am not here to defend myself?’
‘Estelita—’
‘No!’ The housekeeper interrupted her, her eyes flicking scornfully over the Spanish textbook Alexandra was trying rather unsuccessfully to hide. ‘So—you are learning our language, too? Perhaps you hope to persuade el padrono to let you stay here for ever, no?’ Her laughter was harsh. ‘You are a fool! Make no mistake, as soon as you are old enough, he will send you back. Where you belong!’
The housekeeper’s departure left a lingering taste of bitterness in the air, and Alexandra found she no longer had the stomach for study. Instead, she replaced the book in its place, and left the room, admitting as she did so that Estelita had won that particular battle.
* * *
The weather, which had been particularly warm and sunny, broke the following day. Alexandra, who had been looking forward to accompanying Miss Holland and Ricardo on their morning ride, awoke to find her windows streaming with water, the curtains damp where the rain had seeped beneath the balcony doors.
Padding to the windows, she stared out bleakly on a hazy world, a grey colourless mist that blanketed the hills all around in a miserable curtain of moisture. She hardly recognised the sodden vines that clung tenaciously to the balcony rails, and she shivered in the draught that sifted through the cracks in the woodwork of her window.
Later, dressed in warm grey harem pants and a tie-waisted sweater, whose high, cuffed collar framed her face in amethyst-shaded lambswool, she went down to breakfast feeling particularly dejected. The day stretched ahead of her dull and unexciting, with the added deprivation of the privacy of Jason’s study to complete her disenchantment.
The sight of Jason himself, still seated at the kitchen table drinking a mug of coffee, was a disturbing diversion, and more surprising yet was the litter of dirty dishes that adorned the table, and the fact that Estelita did not appear to be in evidence.
Jason glanced up at her appearance and then, as if compelled to do so, he rose to his feet, lean and powerful in leather jerkin and pants, long black boots completing his attire.
‘You’re up early,’ he commented, with a polite inclination of his head. ‘Do you want some coffee?’
‘I can get it.’ Alexandra hesitated, glancing round to find the pot still bubbling on the stove. Then, casually: ‘Where’s Estelita?’
Jason leant against the table, one foot raised to rest upon his chair, his expression brooding. ‘Didn’t she tell you?’ And as Alexandra showed her bewilderment, he added: ‘She’s not here. Pepe’s driven her to Valvedra. Their mother’s ill.’
‘Their mother?’ Alexandra had not realised Estelita’s mother was still alive, and she almost scalded herself with the coffee pot as she turned to stare at him.
‘That’s right.’ Jason expelled his breath heavily. ‘A message came yesterday, via the doctor in Puerto Novo, Señora Gomez has been ill for some time, apparently, but now she’s been taken into hospital and she’s asking for both her children.’
‘I see.’ Alexandra took a sip of the coffee, grimaced at its bitterness without either milk or sugar, and then said carefully: ‘She never mentioned anything to me.’
‘No.’ Jason’s foot dropped to the floor and he straightened. ‘She didn’t want to go, but I persuaded her she should.’
‘You did?’ Alexandra felt singularly stupid, but for the moment she couldn’t think of anything else to say. Even so, it did cross her mind that this might have had some bearing on the way Estelita had spoken to her the previous day.
‘Yes.’ Now Jason moved round the table to light a cheroot with a taper from the fire. ‘Naturally, she was concerned about her work here.’ He inhaled deeply on the thin cigar. ‘Estelita’s a very conscientious housekeeper.’
‘I’m sure she is.’ Alexandra put down her coffee to add milk to its murky depths. ‘So…’ She tried to keep the note of exhilaration out of her voice. ‘How long will she be away?’
Jason shrugged. ‘Who can tell? Two or three days, a week? Who knows? It depends, I suppose, on her mother’s progress.’
‘Yes. Yes—naturally I hope she progresses well,’ murmured Alexandra at once, but she saw the look of scepticism in his face.
‘Do you?’ he demanded, and she turned to shift the dirty dishes from the table to the sink in an effort to avoid a direct reply.
There was a curious satisfaction in the menial task, and as she worked Alexandra’s mind was active. If Estelita was away, there was nobody to cook the food or look after the house. And without Pepe, too, she and Miss Holland would have the house to themselves while Jason and Ricardo were working.
With the dishes in the sink, Alexandra turned on the taps, then stepped back in surprise when Jason came across to turn them off again. Looking down into her indignant face, he said dryly: ‘I’m sure you’re dying to prove to me that you’re every bit as efficient as Estelita, but that won’t be necessary. Cha
n is going to cook our meals along with the others, and Andrés’ wife and daughters are only too eager to come and look after us.’
Alexandra’s lips pursed mutinously. ‘You enjoyed telling me that, didn’t you?’ she exclaimed. ‘You knew I’d think I could make myself useful for once, but you had to go and spoil it, hadn’t you?’
Jason gave her a scornful look. ‘Playing house may appeal to you at the moment,’ he said, ‘but I don’t know how long Estelita will be away, and I can’t afford to turn down Andrés’ offer, when in a couple of days I may have to ask his assistance again.’
Alexandra squared her shoulders. ‘Who do you think looked after my father for the six months before he died?’ she demanded. ‘We couldn’t afford servants. I even looked after the garden!’
‘Very commendable,’ remarked Jason brusquely, ‘but that cottage in Ealing can hardly be compared with here, can it?’ He tossed the end of his cheroot into the blaze on the hearth. ‘Besides, I have Miss Holland to consider.’
‘She doesn’t like Estelita any more than I do,’ retorted Alexandra recklessly, throwing all caution to the winds. ‘I should think she’d be glad to help me—’
‘No, Alexandra.’
‘What do you mean—no? This is supposed to be my home, too.’
‘No.’
‘Why not?’
Jason shook his head. ‘I don’t intend to argue with you.’
Alexandra moved her shoulders in a defeated gesture. ‘I bet she made you promise not to let me do anything!’ she declared childishly. She looked up at him. ‘What kind of hold does she have over you, anyway? Why does she always behave as if she has some divine right to be here?’ She paused. ‘Miss—Miss Holland thinks she’s your mistress. Is she?’
Jason stared down at her for a long moment, and then the coldness in his eyes gave way to wry admiration. ‘Do you realise what you’re asking?’ he demanded roughly. ‘If any man had said that…’