by Anne Mather
His grip on her neck tightened suddenly, painfully, and with a groan he jerked her forward, close against him, while his mouth sought the soft warmth of hers. His hands slid round her back, caressing her urgently, arousing emotions she had not known she possessed. Her whole body flamed into vibrant life at his touch, and she wanted desperately to respond.
By an enormous effort of will power she managed to stay immobile, and he became angry at her coldness, his mouth became more demanding, and his arms held her closer so that her body was moulded to his.
'Toni!' he muttered, against her mouth, 'kiss me!'
'No!' Toni struggled violently, managing to get her hands against his chest, pushing him away from her.
Then, as suddenly, she was free, and he had stepped back, his eyes blazing with fury.
'So, senhorita,' he muttered savagely, 'you have gained a temporary reprieve.'
Toni pressed the palms of her hands against her hot cheeks. Her mouth felt bruised, and her whole body ached from the passion of his touch.
'Oh, please,' she whispered despairingly, 'let me go! Don't forge me to stay here!'
He turned away to pour himself another drink. 'You can go,' he said slowly. 'If that is what you wan:.'
'And-and Paul?'
'Leave Paul to me!'
'You will - incriminate him? Deliberately?'
'As I have said, leave that to me.' Toni gave an exasperated gasp. 'Senhor, please. I can't stay. I can't pretend to be Francesca's governess.'
'Why not? You pretended to be Paul's fiancee.'
'That was different.'
'In what way?'
'Oh, it just was. There was no - well, there were no strings attached!'
'And with me there is.'
'You know it!' She stifled a sob. 'You are despicable! A disgrace to your family! How can anyone with such authority behave so-so - well, in such a primitive manner?'
He half-smiled sardonically. 'All men are primitive, senhorita. We are all alike under the skin. We all have our needs, our desires, however base they may be. That you attract me is not a cause for despair. Many women - I do not boast - would envy you.'
'Then take one of them,' she cried desperately. 'Go to bed, senhorita,' he said, turning away. 'It is late, and you are tired. Tomorrow you will see everything differently.'
'No. No, I won't! Oh, please, I want to go home!'
'Home? Where is that? A dreary bedsitter in a back street. Oh, yes, senhorita, I know all about you. I know you now have no close ties, no one who will miss you. This is sad, but for me, useful.'
'I'd rather be there - in my dreary bedsitter - than here with you,' she choked.
The sardonic smile deepened. 'Indeed? You do not like the silk sheets on your bed, the sunshine, and the leisure? Well, senhorita, we will see. You will find I can be very persuasive.'
Toni believed him. Even now, talking to him like this, the picture he had painted had a seducing quality about it. She wondered how he looked in the early morning, between those silk sheets, with a night's growth of beard on his chin, lean and masculine, making lazy passionate love to her. And then she remembered his contempt and mockery, and the elusive state he was offering her - no, forcing her - to accept!
She shook her head helplessly, fear breaking through everything else, and as tears broke she turned and ran wildly out of the room. Upstairs she slammed the door of her bedroom and was grateful for the key she had never used. She turned it firmly, leaning back against the door for a moment as trembling nausea overwhelmed her. She dashed into the bathroom a moment later and was really sick, violently so, until as she leant against the wall afterwards she felt completely drained of all emotion.
Eventually, she washed and forced herself to return to her bedroom and undress. Then she climbed into bed. There were some pills on the bedside table which Nurse Gonzales had given her in case of emergency, should she ever find it difficult to sleep. With shaking fingers she placed two on her tongue and swallowed them with a mouthful of water. Then she lay and waited for the cotton-wool world of the drug to descend upon her and obliviate all thoughts of any kind from her tired mind.
CHAPTER SEVEN
TONI spent a restless night despite the sleeping pills, and came down to breakfast the next morning wondering how on earth she was expected to act normally. It was like some crazy dream where she was being held prisoner with threats, while fate wove its intricate web about her. She was more than a little frightened; she believed that the Conde Raoul della Maria Estrada meant every word he said, and if she attempted to thwart him Paul would certainly suffer. But was that any real concern of hers? Why should she sacrifice herself for a man she barely liked? And yet it seemed inconceivable in the cold light of morning that the Conde could have been serious in his intentions towards herself. He might desire her presence as a governess; had not the Condessa herself said they were hard to come by in this lonely place?-and maybe his sense of humour was a little perverted. He could not really intend using her for anything else - could he?
She was startled therefore when she entered the dining-room and found the Conde already seated at the breakfast table. He rose at her entrance, scanning her thoroughly before saying :
'Good morning, senhorita, I trust you slept well.'
Toni bit her lip hard, and did not reply. Instead she helped herself to some strong black coffee and seated herself as far away from him as possible.
He half-smiled, and re-seated himself, putting away the newspaper he had been reading, and pouring himself another cup of coffee.
'You look worried, Toni,' he murmured, deliberately using her name.
She looked up at him angrily. 'Stop baiting me, Senhor Conde,' she exclaimed. 'You may find this situation amusing, I do not!'
'No? So - then we must do something to improve your opinion, mustn't we? Have you any plans for this morning?'
'None - apart from arranging my journey home,' she retorted.
He lit a cigarette lazily, and then, glancing her way said: 'Oh, you smoke, do you not? Forgive me! Will you have a cigarette?'
Toni shook her head ungraciously, feeling hot resentment overtaking her earlier nervousness. How dare he sit there so calmly, discussing her looks and whether or not she wanted a cigarette, when he must know she was a mass of quivering speculation?
He rose to his feet again, and walked across to the wide windows open to the fresh cooling breeze. Leaning against the casement, he said:
'A pleasant view, is it not? Although I spend much of my time in Lisbon, I find I am always reluctant to return there after a spell at the castelo. I am sure you must appreciate this also.'
Toni shut her eyes for a moment, as though in exasperation, and then turned her attention to the newspaper he had flung so carelessly across the table. Although she could not read Portuguese she could look at the pictures, and this she did, ignoring him completely.
With a lazy, yet ruthless, gesture, he walked across and lifted the paper from her unresisting fingers. 'When I speak, Toni, you will listen,' he said decisively. Then he straightened. 'So - now we will make plans for this morning. I suggest we take a drive. Francesca can come with us, and I will show you a little of what it means to be the Conde della Maria Estrada.'
Toni looked helplessly up at him. 'Do I have a choice, senhor?'
He smiled. 'No. Go get ready if you have finished your breakfast.'
Toni rose from the table. She contemplated arguing with him, but then her own lack of confidence could not go unnoticed, and she had no intention of allowing him to see how nervous she really was. Instead, she turned and walked out of the room just as Francesca was entering. The girl looked a little distressed when she saw Toni, and Toni stopped a moment.
'So, Francesca,' she said coldly, 'you were not my friend at all, just my keeper!'
Francesca looked at her father. That's not true! Papa, what have you told Toni?'
'The truth, that is all, querida.'
Francesca gave a helpless shrug of her s
houlders. 'But -but what do you mean, then, Toni?'
Toni looked puzzled. 'What do I mean?' she echoed. 'When you actually telephoned your father to tell him I was leaving — to enable him to get here in time to stop me!'
'That's not true!' Francesca was obviously hurt. 'Papa!'
Toni looked at Raoul. 'Well, senhor? Is that not what you said?'
The Conde drew on his cigarette. 'No. It is not what I said. I said Francesca had told me that you were feeling much better - and so she had. She also told me you were leaving in the morning - on my arrival here. It was all presumption on your behalf that put two and two together and made five!'
Toni heaved a heavy sigh. 'I see. I'm sorry, Francesca. I seem to have made another mistake.'
Francesca looked anxious. 'That is all right, Toni. But - but you are staying, aren't you? You will stay and be my governess, won't you?'
Toni shook her head. 'You had better ask your father that question too, Francesca. Your answers seem to be more understanding than mine.' And with that she left the room.
In her own room she sat on the bed wondering how on earth she had allowed herself to get into this situation. She had to leave - she must leave, but how could she do so without causing Paul a great deal of trouble. And yet would the Conde really implicate his own nephew? It was a gamble she was not yet prepared to take. She would have to stay on at the castelo, at least temporarily, and play the cards as she was dealt them. One thing was certain, the Conde della Maria Estrada would not find her a willing victim.
She changed into a flared linen skirt and a pink candystripe blouse that complemented the tan she was acquiring. Then with sandals on her feet she again went downstairs. The Conde and Francesca were awaiting her in the hall, and she managed to smile quite naturally at Francesca as they went out into the courtyard. They climbed into an open tourer, all three together in the front, with FRANCESCA in the middle, and drove away east into the rising sun.
For all Toni's apprehensions, it turned out to be a wonderful and interesting day. They drove to the scorching, arid slopes above the Douro, and Toni saw the grapes ripening in the burning heat of the sun. At last she was beginning to learn a little about the wine that gave Portugal its fame. Interested in the object of their expedition, for a while she forgot to be antagonistic towards Raoul della Maria Estrada and discovered instead that he could talk with ease about so many things, most particularly his vineyards and his estate. Until then she had never looked for this intelligent mind behind his facade of INDOLENCE which she had guessed all along was there. She had been so busy arguing with him that she had almost forgotten his part in the family business, that of supervising the many aspects of the estates and its environs.
It was hot in the valley of the upper Douro, and Toni found a piece of string and tied up her hair off her neck. Francesca's plait became heavy, too, and only the Conde in his thin silk shirt, almost open to his waist, seemed unaffected by the sun. Seeing him like this, muscular and tanned, lazy and relaxed, disturbed Toni more than his continual baiting, and she was glad Francesca's presence forestalled any overtures on his part.
After lunch, which they ate at the home of Vasco Braganca, the manager of the vineyard, they drove nearer to the coast again, where in the chalk cliffs, caves provided the natural fermenting cellars for the wine. Here there were galleries with rows of bottles and vats, and Toni wandered, amazed at the intricacies of the timbered workrooms.
'You see,' said the Conde, close beside her, 'it is no easy matter to produce a perfect wine. The grapes must be picked at the exact moment of ripening. This differs according to exposure and altitude; sometimes one vineyard is completely gathered in before another higher placed vineyard is quite ready. It is a complicated business, but when the grapes are picked, and the wine is beginning its fermentation, it is a time for rejoicing and the pickers are the most excited of all!'
'Dancing on the grapes,' said Toni, looking up at him a smile hovering about her lips.
'Exactly. It is done — still - and there is much singing and dancing, and merrymaking. You see, my people are not so downtrodden as you would have me believe !'
'I didn't say they were downtrodden,' exclaimed Toni.
'No?' he smiled. 'Perhaps not. At any rate, we will not argue today, no?'
'No,' she agreed.
Later they drove into Oporto, and in the harbour they saw the picturesque rabelos which the Conde told Toni were used for transporting the barrels of wine downstream from the vineyards.
'It is quite a journey,' he said, smiling. 'The craft are not large, and in the rapid waters of the Douro which lap against the rocky walls of the cliffs, it can be a very dangerous trip.'
'Have you made the trip, senhor?' asked Toni politely.
'Many times,' said the Conde patiently. 'I am sorry to disappoint you.-You probably thought I would never attempt anything so foolhardy. But you are wrong, senhorita, as you will discover!'
It was late when they arrived back at the castelo. They had eaten in Oporto, and both Toni and Francesca felt pleasantly tired.
'Tomorrow we will attend a bullfight,' said the Conde, as they entered the hall of the castelo. 'You would like that, Toni?'
Toni flushed and looked at Francesca. 'Ought we not to - to commence these lessons, senhor?' she asked.
Francesca looked horrified, and the Conde placed a hand gendy on her head. 'No, not tomorrow, Francesca. While I am free, we will take advantage of it - sim?'
Francesca nodded furiously, and Toni shrugged. 'As you wish, senhor.'
'And you, senhorita, do you not find that sightseeing can be enjoyable, also?' He frowned. 'I had thought you enjoyed yourself today.'
'I do - I did!' Toni sighed. 'Excuse me now, senhor. I am tired. I want to retire.'
'Very well.' The Conde walked to the door of the lounge. 'I will see you both in the morning.'
Taking this as a dismissal of herself too, Francesca kissed her father's cheek, and accompanied Toni up the staircase. On the first landing where the corridor branched to Toni's room, Francesca said:
'You did enjoy yourself today, didn't you, Toni?' rather wistfully.
Tony could not deny this. 'Of course I did. It's been a wonderful day.'
'And tomorrow - you will come with us tomorrow?'
'I don't have any choice,' replied Toni a trifle dryly, and then, repenting, she continued: 'My position here is so nebulous, Francesca. Try to understand how I feel.'
Francesca sighed. 'You do believe that I did not - so to speak - betray you to my father, don't you?'
Toni studied the young girl. 'Nevertheless, it was strange that the Conde should return at such an unexpected moment.'
Francesca lifted her shoulders. 'Not really, Toni,' she said with a resigned sigh. 'My grandmother innocently told my father you were planning to leave. He was not in Lisbon, you understand, but staying with some friends in Coimbra before returning here. My grandmother's information gave him the opportunity to return here yesterday.'
'I see.'
'When my father is away he often telephones my grandmother to enquire about her health.'
Toni nodded. 'How did you find all this out?'
'Papa told me this morning, while you were changing. I told him I was very angry with him for allowing you to think I had deliberately gone behind your back to tell him you were leaving. On the contrary, I was very distressed about it all. But I would not have forced you to stay.'
'No, I see that now, Francesca. I'm sorry. I misjudged you.'
Francesca squeezed her arm. 'Nevertheless, I am glad you are staying, Toni.'
In the next few days the Conde went out of his way to disarm Toni. He and Francesca took her on several expeditions, exploring the countryside around the castelo more widely than she had done with Francesca alone, and seeing a little of the country's culture. They attended a bullfight, a much more humane affair than the Spanish equivalent, where the bull is not slaughtered in the ring. They spent an evening at a folk music festiva
l in Oporto, listening to the sad, plaintive music of the fado. They visited museums and art galleries, and Toni was struck anew by the immense store of knowledge the Conde could display so carelessly. It was a calm and peaceful time, with no undercurrents to mar their relationship, and Toni almost began to believe that her earlier conversations with the Conde had never occurred. It didn't seem possible that he could possibly find anything of interest in her when he held an open sesame to the homes of so many beautiful women.
It was towards the end of the week that Laura Passamentes put in an appearance. She arrived one afternoon while Francesca and Toni were on the beach, and when they returned windswept and sunburnt from the sands they found her seated with the Conde in the lounge, drinking tea from the bone china tea service while the Conde lay lazily in a chair, a glass of whisky and water hanging carelessly from his fingers.
She frowned when she saw Toni, and gave the Conde a speculative glance. 'So, senhorita,' she said, 'you are still here.'
Toni nodded. 'As you can see,' she conceded slowly. Francesca hunched her shoulders, and said: 'How are you, Tia Laura?' politely. 'Very well, thank you, Francesca,' replied Laura smoothly, looking up again at the Conde who had risen at their entrance. 'Come and sit beside me and tell me what you have been doing with yourself. Estevan and I have been quite desolated. Raoul has been here a week already and he has not found time to come and visit with us.'
Francesca flushed, and Toni made for the door again just as the Condessa arrived. 'You are not leaving, are you, my dear?' she exclaimed, touching her arm gently. 'I was just coming to have tea with Laura. You must stay and have some with us, eh, Raoul?'
The Conde gave a slight movement of his shoulders, 'Of course, mae, if that is what you wish.'
Toni looked at him exasperatedly. 'I'd rather not, senhor,' she said quietly.
His thick lashes veiled his eyes. 'But you will,' he murmured, and for the first time for days Toni felt the faint stirrings of apprehension.
'All right, senhor.' Toni's voice was tight, and she moved back to the couch and sat where he indicated.
