In the Brazilian's Debt

by Susan Stephens

  It was a grand old estate, and on the slim funds Hamish had had to play with he’d worked miracles. ‘I’m impressed,’ Chico admitted, remembering that he had done something very similar himself in Brazil.

  ‘This is a lifetime’s work.’

  ‘And you could use some help,’ Chico suggested.

  ‘It wouldn’t go amiss,’ Hamish agreed gruffly as they shook hands. ‘Will we be seeing you tomorrow?’

  ‘I expect so.’ This was a man with whom he was already forming a firm bond of respect, Chico acknowledged, but he wasn’t ready to reveal his plans to anyone yet.

  ‘That’s good,’ Hamish said, shooting him the straight look he might give to a man in whom Hamish believed he could place his trust.

  * * *

  Biting her lip so it hurt enough to stop her crying when she thought about all the kind words for her grandmother, Lizzie closed the door on the last of their guests. Leaning back with her eyes tightly shut, she closed her heart too. Where was Chico? And why was she wasting even more time caring about a man who was probably on his way back to Brazil by now?

  Walking into the library, she opened the desk drawer where Annie had put the letter from the bank. Bringing it out, she read it again to be sure there was no mistake. She had also found a stash of unopened bills in her grandmother’s dressing table that had lain untouched since her grandmother had been taken ill. The letter from the bank was quite specific. The last of the ponies and the livestock would go, and then the land would be parcelled up, and the house sold off. Everything Lizzie’s grandmother had worked so hard to build up would be torn down and sold off for a fraction of its value. She would have to let the staff go—tell them the estate was going to be sold, and they would have to make other plans. She had a few personal trinkets to sell, and she would share that money between the tenants and staff. It was a derisory amount for generations of loyalty, but it was all she could do for them.

  ‘Am I interrupting?’

  ‘Chico? I thought you’d gone.’ She gulped in a breath as her heart went crazy with shock.

  ‘Annie gave me the keys.’ He held them up. ‘I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t think you should be alone tonight.’

  ‘I told you before. I’m fine,’ she insisted.

  ‘Will you stop saying you’re fine, when it’s clear to me that you’re anything but fine?’

  He tossed the keys in a dish by the door and walked towards her, shedding his scarf and jacket along the way. He’d already taken off the tie he’d worn earlier, and his shirt had a few buttons undone at the neck.

  ‘You look tired too,’ she said as he came closer.

  ‘Me?’ Chico’s smile was slow, and now he was standing close enough for her to detect his clean spicy scent, and the chill of the winter air on his face. She was surprised to feel a frisson of awareness pass between them even now when she was at her lowest ebb.

  ‘I think it’s time for you to go to bed. It’s been a long day for you, Lizzie.’

  Surely, he didn’t mean with him? She glanced at the door, wondering how to politely broach the subject of him leaving. She couldn’t take any false dawns today. It would be the best thing ever to sleep with Chico, and have his comfort throughout the night, but not when morning came and she was alone again.

  ‘Do you want me to carry you upstairs?’ he offered, trying to inject a little lightness into her gloomy thoughts.

  ‘No. But thank you.’ What irony, when she had never needed the reassurance of Chico’s arms more, but if she gave in to this yearning and he returned to Brazil, she would feel doubly deserted.

  ‘But I insist,’ he said. Before she could protest, Chico had swept her off her feet and carried her out of the library, and straight upstairs to the bathroom adjoining her bedroom.

  ‘I’m going to run a bath for you,’ he said, setting her down on a chair in the corner, ‘but first I’m going to wash the tears from your face.’

  ‘Tears?’ Her hand flew to her face. Chico gently brought it down again.

  He ran the water until it was warm, and then soaked a flannel, wringing it out before wiping her face.

  ‘You don’t have to do that.’

  ‘But I want to,’ he said, making a thorough job of it. ‘You need to let go of everything and just relax now, Lizzie.’

  But not too much, she thought, watching as Chico squeezed toothpaste onto her brush. ‘You’ve changed,’ she said softly.

  ‘Me? Changed?’ His lips pressed down wryly. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I’m sure,’ she said confidently. ‘You can feel again. You can look into my eyes and feel what I feel, and then reach out to me. We used to share things, Chico, but you were always guarded.’

  ‘And now I’m not?’

  ‘No, you’re not,’ she said with conviction. ‘Maybe in business you have to be careful, but you’re not careful with me when you express your feelings. Just now when you wiped my face—you’re either an amazing actor, or you really care.’

  ‘I really care,’ Chico said slowly and deliberately.

  ‘Yes. I believe you do.’

  ‘You take a bath,’ he said, straightening up and adopting a matter-of-fact manner. ‘I’m going to leave you now, but I’ll be within shouting distance, if you need me.’

  ‘There’s a bedroom next door.’ It was all made up in case guests had wanted to stay. ‘You’re quite welcome...’ Her voice tailed away. She had no idea what Chico intended.

  ‘I’ll be back,’ he promised. ‘Take your bath, then get into your nightclothes and I’ll tuck you into bed.’

  That sounded like heaven, Lizzie thought. Now she was no longer on show, exhaustion was sweeping over her in big, drowning waves.

  She bathed, dried herself and got into her pyjamas on autopilot. She was practically asleep by the time she was ready to climb into bed.

  ‘Oh, hello,’ she said with surprise, seeing Chico had already made himself comfortable on the opposite side of her bed.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind,’ he said, shooting her a wry look, ‘but in the absence of night attire, I’m wearing my boxers.’

  ‘Mind?’ she said vaguely. Why should she mind him wearing boxers? Wasn’t the fact that he was in her bed more alarming? Maybe, but she was beat and didn’t have the energy to fight him. ‘So long as you’re not naked,’ she mumbled. Even speaking was an effort now.

  ‘I’m not naked, so come here. I want to sleep with you.’

  First hurdles first, Lizzie concluded. Could she get into bed without touching him? Her throat dried as she watched Chico’s impressive muscles flexing as he shifted position to make room for her on the bed. Hadn’t he listened to a single word she’d said? She was tired—exhausted—and badly in need of not being hurt.

  ‘Lizzie...’

  As Chico held out his hand she hesitated, and then climbed in, or, more accurately, she sank boneless with exhaustion into the bed at his side. She tensed briefly when Chico put his arms around her and drew her close, but he felt so good, so safe and warm, and she was so very tired...

  ‘Sleep,’ he murmured, stroking the hair back from her brow.

  ‘You really mean it,’ she managed groggily as her eyelids grew impossibly heavy. ‘You really want to sleep with me.’

  ‘Of course I want to sleep with you. I love you, Lizzie Fane.’

  Was that a dream, or had Chico really said that? It was the last thing she remembered until she woke up at dawn.

  * * *

  Was this a dream? If it was a dream, it was the best dream ever. It was a comfortable, sleepy dream that comprised of nothing but sensation. And what sensation...

  ‘Chico,’ she whispered, relishing his touch. Brushing against her, he was dealing the most exquisite pleasure...pleasure that should go on and on. She never wanted this to end
. Did she have to wake up? ‘Am I dreaming?’

  ‘I don’t know. Are you dreaming?’ Chico murmured, smiling against her mouth.

  ‘Don’t talk,’ she whispered. ‘It distracts me.’ She sighed with pleasure as he continued the gentle, rhythmic strokes so carefully placed, and so dependably accurate. ‘If this is a dream, please don’t wake me up.’

  ‘You’ll have to wake up at some point.’ As he said this Chico settled deep and did something amazing that made warm sudsy sensation wash over her as the dam broke.

  ‘I think you’re awake now,’ he observed with amusement when she had finally quietened.

  ‘Can I go to sleep now, and wake up again just like that?’

  She opened her eyes reluctantly when Chico didn’t answer, to see him smiling down into her face.

  ‘Good morning, Lizzie.’

  ‘That was such a great way to wake up. And, you, braced on your forearms—that’s not a bad sight, either. Do we really have to get up now?’

  ‘Unfortunately, yes. I have business today.’

  ‘Business?’ She was wide awake instantly. As awake as if she’d stepped under a cold shower.

  Will this business take you away for long? she longed to ask him, but Chico had done enough for her, and hadn’t she vowed to make her own life? What more did she want from him?

  Everything?

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  THE HOUSE FELT so empty now Chico had gone, so she got busy. She had business to attend to.

  She grew increasingly anxious as the morning progressed, having drawn a disappointing blank everywhere. Most of the institutions that she had hoped to approach with a view to them bailing out the estate, short-term at least, had already closed for the holidays.

  By the morning of the third day, Lizzie was in despair. There was no sign of any movement on the financial front, and, worse, no sign of Chico.

  She couldn’t allow him to distract her, she determined, firming her resolve, and she would not give up. Rottingdean was a far bigger cause than her own hopes and dreams.

  That thought took her through almost to the end of that working day, when, swallowing her pride, she called him.

  ‘Senhor Fernandez is locked in conference with his lawyers and cannot be disturbed.’

  ‘Have you any idea when he’ll be free?’

  ‘None, I’m afraid.’

  The voice at the other end of the line was cool and impartial. Why should she expect it to be any different?

  Just when she thought bad couldn’t get any worse, it got worse. Her mother called.

  ‘There’s no point in you coming all this way for the reading of the will. It’s irrelevant now,’ Lizzie tried to explain. ‘There’s nothing left—not for you, not for me, and, more importantly, not for any of the tenants.’

  ‘Never mind the tenants,’ her mother blazed back. ‘What about your grandmother’s jewellery? She had some valuable pieces. Surely you had enough sense to squirrel some of them away?’

  ‘All gone,’ Lizzie intoned, staring at the sparkling diamonds in her hand.

  She’d seen the will and had cried when she’d read it. Her grandmother had left her everything, no doubt hoping Lizzie would continue with the work of breeding horses and rebuilding the estate that her grandmother had so bravely and so optimistically begun so late in her long life. The first person Lizzie had contacted was her grandmother’s solicitor to check that the will she had in her hand was a true copy of the one he had on file. She also wanted to know if there was any money, any assets, or anything at all that could be sold off to save the estate.

  ‘You can’t sell any of the livestock, the pictures, or the silver and ornaments, as they go with the house,’ the solicitor said, confirming what Lizzie believed to be the case, ‘but any personal effects handed to you by your grandmother as a gift are yours to keep.’

  ‘I have some pieces of jewellery I can sell. I will split the proceeds between the tenants.’

  She held the jewellery to her face for a moment, imagining she could smell her grandmother’s familiar lavender scent lingering on the sparkling stones. It wasn’t the value, but the memories each piece held that she would miss. But practicality demanded that she sell them, Lizzie reminded herself as she packed each item neatly in a box.

  There was always a darkest part of the night, Lizzie reflected as the courier arrived to take her grandmother’s jewellery away. She didn’t just feel a failure; she was a failure who had to sell her grandmother’s precious jewellery. But far worse than that, all her brave words about saving the estate had come to nothing. It was hard to believe the staff had stayed on. They were supposed to have gone by now, as the sale of the house and contents was tomorrow and there was nothing more for them to do. But they were still here, giving Lizzie all their support, which she didn’t feel she’d earned. This level of loyalty and kindness in the face of disaster was typical of everyone on the estate.

  Even the moon had gone behind a cloud, Lizzie realised ruefully as she stared out of the window in her bedroom. She had one more night in the old house, burning the last of the logs gifted to her, and remembering happier times with her grandmother.

  Her parents—not so much, Lizzie accepted wryly as she hunkered down on the window seat to hug her knees. It was vital to keep a sense of humour if she was going to survive the next few days. She stared out over the lake where moonlight was streaming like a silver banner, remembering that tomorrow the last of the horses would go, even the precious colts her grandmother had bred, and next to go would be all the contents in the house, until finally the house itself was sold. A professional auctioneer from the local town was coming to conduct the sale, and whether it was the developer who bought the estate, or the town council who rushed in last minute to save it—in the unlikely event that Lizzie’s pleading letter had arrived before the council went into recess for Christmas—this would be the last time she looked out over this view.

  * * *

  She had intended to stay awake all night so she wouldn’t miss a minute of her last night at Rottingdean House, but in the end exhaustion drove her to bed, and she was woken by the sound of an engine—several engines—

  The horseboxes! Lizzie remembered, jumping out of bed. They had come to take the horses away. Running to the window, she threw back the curtains and peered out. Several big vehicles were already lined up in the yard. She would have to put the bravest face of all on today. Brave and practical, Lizzie concluded, her thoughts racing. There was work to do. The sale and the scandal of a second bankruptcy wouldn’t just bring serious buyers in droves to Rottingdean, it would bring rubberneckers from all over the county who would trample the good pastureland to mud, unless she did something about it.

  She showered and dressed quickly before running downstairs to the yard. But what she saw confused her. Horses arriving? That couldn’t be right.

  ‘You’ll have to take them back,’ she told the lead driver when he came round to help the grooms to lead the ponies out of their confinement. ‘They can’t stay here. Everything is being sold today.’

  ‘Sorry, miss, we’ve got our orders. The horses are being delivered, not taken away,’ he informed her as he gestured to his men, who had briefly halted at Lizzie’s arrival, to get on with the job.

  ‘But who sent them?’

  The man shrugged. ‘The new owner? I really don’t know. I just have my orders. Six ponies in my care, and another sixteen in the other vehicles.’

  ‘Twenty-two ponies?’ Lizzie exclaimed with alarm. ‘And how can there be a new owner when the sale hasn’t even begun?’ She didn’t know whether to be glad that a developer would hardly deliver so many horses to a property he intended to demolish, or concerned that the new owner hadn’t even troubled to look the place over before dispatching what were clearly valuable animals.

  �
��As I said, I’m afraid I can’t give you any more details than I already have, because I don’t know anything more,’ the man told her, turning away. ‘These are the stables?” he asked over his shoulder.

  ‘Yes. And the home paddock is empty, if you want to use it,’ she said, pointing away from the house.

  Was Chico the new owner? Her heart began to race. He had been locked away with his lawyers. Snatches of conversation they’d had earlier came back to her. ‘...the estate is in danger of being lost, and I’d like to help so you can keep it in the family. As your grandmother helped me.’ But she had refused Chico’s offer of help, suspecting too many conditions would be attached. Had he just ignored her wishes and gone ahead without telling her?

  There was no point being angry that he hadn’t confided in her. Power was money, and, while Chico had plenty, she had none. But she wasn’t going to lie down and give up. Rottingdean would be left in the best state she could manage—and she had an idea how to raise some more money to share amongst the tenants.

  There wasn’t much time. The gates were due to open in a few hours in preparation for the sale at midday. She would rally the ground staff, and, with their help, set aside land for paid parking. Hamish could gather his ghillies together and take people on tours of the estate with a view to perhaps adding guided nature trails to the list of attractions at some later date, while Annie could brew tea and start baking.

  The Rottingdean café was born, Lizzie thought, feeling upbeat now. Her grandmother’s conservator could give tours of the house, while Lizzie could take children to see the animals and new ponies. Raising sufficient funds in a day to support everyone until they could find new jobs was a bit of a pipe dream, but anything was better than nothing, and she wanted to prove that Rottingdean did have a future, and shouldn’t be torn down. The Rottingdean Experience was about to be launched on an unsuspecting world.