The Latin Affair

by Sophie Weston

  ‘Toast? Cereal? The full English breakfast?’

  Nicky rubbed her face against his shoulder. ‘Who needs food?’

  ‘That’s what I like to hear. An appreciative woman.’

  He slipped bread into the toaster and poured her coffee. Nicky took it and added milk.

  ‘I took one of your shirts.’

  Esteban’s eyes laughed down at her. ‘I noticed. I look forward to taking it back.’

  Nicky purred. His arm tightened. But there was a sharp ring from the front-door bell.

  ‘Just as well,’ said Esteban ruefully. ‘Or Mr Plod could have been seriously embarrassed.’

  He went to let in the policeman.

  There was only one and he had clearly known Esteban for years. He accepted coffee and toast and sat down at the kitchen table.

  ‘Well, what can you tell me about your intruder?’ he said, pulling out a grubby notebook.

  Esteban gave him a concise account. The policeman wrote it down painstakingly. He looked at Nicky for corroboration.

  ‘I didn’t see anyone,’ Nicky said apologetically.

  ‘That’s a pity. Still, at least he didn’t come back after you’d called us. They do sometimes, you know. The cheek of these villains.’

  Nicky thought of what the intruder would have found if he had returned to the library. She looked towards Esteban, her expression stunned. He kept a poker face but his eyes were dancing.

  ‘Just as well he didn’t,’ he agreed gravely.

  ‘Better show me where he got in, then,’ said the policeman, getting up.

  Esteban came back ten minutes later.

  ‘They’re bringing up a team to dust for fingerprints. I said we’d get out and leave them to it’

  ‘Very wise,’ said Nicky drily.

  He robbed the back of her neck as if he had been doing it all his life.

  ‘That’s what I thought. God knows how long I’d be able to keep my hands off you. The wind has dropped. Come on.’

  He insisted on lending her heavy boots as well as the waxed jacket. Nicky let him lace the boots up for her. She felt more cared for than she ever had in her life. She almost said so. But their unconfessed history kept her silent.

  The path he chose wound downhill away from the sea. The pale sun, only just above the horizon, illuminated a sky like a powdered rainbow—the colours of amethyst, black cherry, toast. Sharp black shadows of trees lay across a lawn frosted to white. The air had the sharp tang of cold champagne.

  Nicky drew a long breath.

  ‘It is beautiful.’

  Esteban looked down at her. ‘I think so,’ he said quietly. ‘That’s partly why I have tried to keep it going. Not just for my stepfather, though of course he loves it. If he thought he could never come back here, he would give up, I think.’

  Nicky was startled. ‘And is that a possibility?’

  ‘Not as long as I can earn enough to pay the next bill,’ Esteban said grimly.

  ‘And can you?’

  ‘Over time, yes. But we have our hairy moments.’

  There was something in his voice which made Nicky scan his expression alertly.

  ‘And is now one of those?’

  Esteban was silent for a moment. Then he said slowly, ‘Do you know me so well? Already?’

  For some reason it made Nicky uncomfortable.

  ‘I just thought—’

  ‘Rightly.’

  He strode on for a while in silence.

  Then he said in a level tone, ‘Now is indeed one of those moments. My stepfather’s convalescent home has cost a fortune; between that and a poor summer, the deficit has got out of hand. The farm is up to the limit on its overdraft. I’ve got a big job in New Zealand next week which will pay the bills eventually. But clients can take their time to pay up.’

  ‘Don’t I know it,’ said Nicky with feeling.

  Esteban nodded. ‘So meanwhile I’m scrabbling round to keep us afloat. Yesterday I talked Patrick into selling one of the paintings at last But that could take almost as long to bring money in as my New Zealand clients.’ He laughed, half angry half resigned. ‘Impasse. I can’t think of a solution.’

  But Nicky was sensitised to his moods now. ‘What’s the solution you don’t want to think about?’

  Esteban jumped. ‘Are you reading my mind?’ He looked down at her searchingly.

  There was a pause. He had not been able to find gloves for her to borrow. Now he took her naked hand and held it as they walked. Nicky’s cold fingers twitched, then twined with his. Oh, last night. He had not answered her question but suddenly she did not care.

  His hand tightened, hard. She knew he was thinking of last night too. It was sobering, this silent communication.

  Esteban said slowly, ‘It feels like we’ve always been lovers. You seem to know me so well. But—’

  Nicky’s hand tensed in his.

  ‘Why do I think there’s something you’re not telling me?’

  It was the perfect opportunity. She knew she had to do it. But somehow, when it came to it, she could not Later, she promised herself.

  She removed her hand from his and started to ask about the countryside. Esteban let her. But his expression promised that the subject was not closed.

  From the smooth sweep of sward they plunged into an overgrown path. Puffball heads of dead flowers drifted against their clothes like frosted feathers.

  ‘What are these?’

  ‘Old man’s beard,’ Esteban told her. He removed one from her shoulder and held it out for her to see. ‘A wild clematis. A weed.’

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ said Nicky, watching it blow away down the path ahead of them.

  ‘You will get on with Patrick. He likes weeds too.’ He paused, then added deliberately, ‘To say nothing of girls who look like his favourite nymphs.’

  Nicky blushed but said honestly, ‘Now you’re reading my mind. Oh, not that I look like them. But I thought this morning that I sort of understood how they felt.’ She looked up at him. ‘I’ve never felt that before. Can you understand?’

  Esteban’s face was serious. He took her hand again. ‘I think you and I have a lot of talking to do.’

  They walked on, silent in their total intimacy.

  The path dipped steeply into a wood. Nicky heard a rush of water. Then she saw the stream. It was below them, splashing busily as it eddied round smooth rocks and swirled about the struts of a rickety wooden bridge. She stopped and drew a long, delighted breath.

  Across the stream the steep bank was vivid green all the way from the top to a line roughly opposite to where they were standing. Then it turned abruptly silver where the sun had not yet reached the frozen dew. It was very cold.

  Nicky stood utterly still. She was conscious of Esteban behind her, the warmth of his body, his breath in her hair. His arms went round her waist She tipped her head back, feeling his strength as she leaned against him, looking.

  She said softly, ‘It’s magic.’

  His arms tightened. But his voice was teasing when he answered, ‘And you said you didn’t do magic.’

  For a moment she was bewildered. Then she remembered shouting at him in the showroom just a few days ago. It felt like another dimension of time.

  ‘The magic seems to be mutual.’

  ‘Yes.’ But he was no longer teasing. ‘Nicky—’

  ‘Yes?’

  He looked down at their locked hands. ‘This is—unexpected. I can’t help thinking I’ve bounced you into something you weren’t prepared for.’

  Nicky was shaken to the heart. After a moment she said evasively, ‘Not that unexpected. You said you wanted more than a truce, after all.’

  ‘Yes, I did, didn’t I?’ He looked up. ‘I didn’t realise how much more. So—it matters that you’re holding out on me.’

  Nicky looked away. He turned her cold face back towards him.

  ‘How about telling me the truth now?’ he said gently.

  She thought, Tell him now. She even op
ened her mouth to frame the words.

  ‘Whatever it is, I can deal with it,’ he promised. ‘Just tell me.’

  Nicky looked in his eyes and read all the possessive intensity he had warned her about. Oh, yes, he could deal with anything, she thought. The problem was, could she? If she told him and Esteban saw her once again as the sexy, callow schoolgirl he had fought off, she thought she would die of shame.

  She could not do it. He gave a small sigh.

  ‘OK. Leave it for the moment.’ He looked down at their hands again. ‘You’re frozen. Let’s get you warmed up. Then we’ll talk.’

  He set a brisk pace until they came to the outskirts of a village. in the distance she recognised the inn where they had eaten last night.

  ‘We must have walked miles,’ Nicky said, glad of a neutral subject.

  ‘A few. But we’ve walked straight down the hillside. The road winds. Tired?’

  ‘Just beginning to flag.’

  ‘Step out, then. Ian will have a fire in the snug and I have no doubt he will rustle us up a ploughman’s lunch if we ask for it.’

  Nicky’s stomach rumbled. She clutched it, laughing.

  ‘After last night’s meal I thought I’d never want to eat again. But I was wrong.’

  ‘You’ve had a lot of exercise since then.’ Esteban’s tone was bland.

  Nicky looked at him sharply. His face was perfectly serious. So why did she think he was laughing? No, know he was laughing. She thought, Because I’m in love with him.

  She stopped dead. Esteban looked down at her, startled.

  ‘Stitch?’

  Nicky felt as if she had walked into a brick wall. She shook her head to clear it. ‘Yes. No. Not really.’

  I’m in love with him. I’m in love with him. I’ve always been in love with him. Why didn’t I realise it?

  That was why she had thought about him, dreamed about him. That was why his image had haunted her all her adult life, interposing itself between her and any other man. It was not that his rejection had hurt so much that she did not dare to trust anyone ever again. It was that she was still in love with the man on the moonlit beach.

  Only now he was called Esteban Tremain. And when he looked at her he did not despise her any more. He liked her; he laughed at her, he certainly wanted her.

  But did he love her? Nicky’s heart fluttered uneasily. She could read his moods but she could not read that. She realised she had not the slightest idea.

  He touches me as if he loves me, thought Nicky, walking on in silence. Surely he loves me. It feels as if he does, said her hopeful heart.

  Well, it would, wouldn’t it? said her brain. After all, what do you know about love? You’ve been in the deep freeze for ten years. It hasn’t exactly given you a wealth of experience to draw on. Whereas if there’s one thing Esteban Tremain has by the bucketful it’s experience. And he didn’t say a word about love.

  And you haven’t said a word about your moonlit beach, her heart reminded her. Trust is a two-way thing, you know.

  Nicky bit her lip.

  ‘Esteban—’ she began.

  But they had reached the pub. He held the door for her.

  ‘Go and get warm by the fire,’ he urged gently. ‘The snug is through there. I’ll bring the drinks. What do you want?’

  ‘Oh, anything,’ said Nicky distractedly.

  She went where he pointed. Her brain was in a whirl.

  Which must have been why she hardly noticed the man standing in the lee of the staircase in the small telephone booth. Deep in thought, she walked past him, oblivious.

  It was he who, looking up, nearly dropped the phone. He flung it back on its cradle and dashed out of the booth.

  ‘Nick? It is you. Nicky.’

  She turned then.

  ‘Ben.’ She stared, not believing it. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

  Her brother was looking shocked. ‘I was going to ask the same thing. Oh, Lord.’

  He sounded guilty, Nicky realised. He looked quickly over his shoulder. Then he took her by the shoulder and almost pushed her out of the hallway into the empty snug.

  ‘Have you come looking for me?’ he demanded in a low, urgent voice.

  Nicky thought she had never seen her laid-back brother so agitated.

  ‘I’m working,’ she said in bewilderment. ‘I told you when we had lunch. The kitchen where everything had gone wrong. The house is up the cliff. We’ve just walked in.’

  Ben looked at her with horror. ‘You mean Hallam Hall?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Nicky, puzzled.

  ‘For Tremain?’ He sounded appalled.

  ‘Yes. What’s wrong?’

  ‘I told you the man was bad news,’ said Ben intensely. ‘I told you not to have anything to do with him.’

  Nicky began to feel alarmed.

  ‘What do you mean? How do you know Esteban?’

  Ben brushed that aside. ‘You’ve got to get out. Go back to London now.’

  An unwelcome suspicion crept over Nicky. She drew a steadying breath and said again, ‘What are you doing here, Ben?’

  ‘It’s a job,’ he muttered. ‘Just a job.’

  Nicky knew her freewheeling brother. ‘What sort of job?’ she said with foreboding.

  ‘A girl I know,’ he said in a rapid undertone. ‘Tremain dropped her flat when he’d had what he wanted. She’d give up everything for him. She put me on a retainer to watch him and—well, she just wanted him to hurt a bit.’

  ‘Hurt…?’ Nicky was speechless.

  ‘Nothing dangerous,’ Ben said hastily. ‘I told her I didn’t do things like that. Just a bit of damage. Preferably with high repair bills,’ he added in a practical tone.

  She thought, This is my brother and I don’t know him at all. Ben saw her expression. He shifted uncomfortably.

  ‘It was cash in hand,’ he muttered. ‘I couldn’t keep coming to you. Anyway—’ his confidence reasserted itself ‘—he deserved it.’

  ‘Deserved what?’ said Nicky. Though she was almost sure she knew.

  That was clearly what Ben thought. He said impatiently, ‘I—er—adjusted the kitchen appliances. And his car.’

  Ben had to be the intruder. The irony of it hit her. Nicky gave a harsh laugh. Ben took an urgent step forward. ‘Nick—’

  ‘My car,’ she told him.

  ‘What?’

  ‘You’re not very good at this, are you, Ben? Did you really think Esteban would drive an urban runabout? That’s mine.’

  Ben whitened. ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘He has a Jaguar XJ8. I imagine it was garaged in the old stables when you were snooping around.’

  ‘I can’t have been that stupid. I can’t.’

  Nicky shrugged. ‘So the one with the massive repair bill is me.’

  Ben looked round wildly as if he was trying to find another explanation.

  ‘And I’ve been making a statement to the police this morning,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘About the intruder last night.’

  Ben winced.

  ‘What am I going to do?’ she said, more to herself than to him. ‘How am I going to tell Esteban?’

  ‘Tell me what?’ said Esteban, coming into the snug with a couple of tankards.

  Nicky looked round. She did not say anything. Her face said it for her.

  Esteban’s eyebrows flew up. ‘What—?’

  And then he saw Ben. He stopped dead. Ben took hold of her elbow. Nicky was wretched. ‘This is—’

  Esteban was not listening to her. She saw that he recognised Ben. The hostility was instant and unequivocal.

  ‘We haven’t been introduced,’ he said with barbed courtesy. ‘But didn’t we nearly meet a few days ago?’

  Ben said, ‘You’re Esteban Tremain.’

  Esteban was being civilised. He put the drinks down and gave Ben a wide, polite smile. ‘And you’re Nicola’s private life.’

  ‘No,’ said Nicky instinctively.

  Ben’s grip on her elbo
w tightened painfully and held her silent.

  ‘You could say that,’ he drawled.

  Esteban was not that civilised. For a brief second his eyes flashed molten with rage. ‘And I think,’ he said with dangerous quietness, ‘that you’re my intruder of last night.’

  Ben gave a mocking laugh. Nicky wrenched her elbow out of his grip.

  ‘That’s enough,’ she said harshly. ‘There have been enough lies. No more.’

  ‘Lies?’ said Esteban very quietly.

  Ben said, ‘Nicky—’

  They both ignored him.

  ‘So this was what you weren’t telling me.’

  Nicky met Esteban’s eyes. She thought she had never seen such passion; such pain; such distaste. A cold hand clutched at her heart

  ‘I can explain…’

  ‘I’m sure you can.’

  He was very gentle and remote as the moon. If it had not been for those bitter eyes, she would have thought he did not care a snap of his fingers, one way or the other.

  ‘As a liar, you’re inspired,’ he told her in congratulatory tones.

  ‘Take that back,’ said Ben fiercely.

  Nicky turned on him. ‘Go away. You’ve done enough harm.’

  Ben paled. ‘I never meant—’

  ‘Just go.’

  He did. The door of the snug banged behind him.

  In the sudden silence, Esteban said, ‘Were the lies really necessary?’

  Nicky tried to marshal her thoughts. It was not easy with him standing there looking as if he hated her. She swallowed.

  ‘I should have told you,’ she said, not very coherently.

  His face was a mask. ‘I asked you if there was anyone else. I asked you.’

  She sensed a slow fury building behind the mask. She refused to let herself be intimidated but it was an effort. She shook her head and said quietly, ‘Not that. It’s me.’

  Esteban said nothing. His concentration was total.

  Nicky moistened her lips. ‘You and I—You’ve forgotten— We met before,’ she finished baldly.

  Esteban looked arrested. His brows twitched together in a black frown. But he still said nothing.

  ‘I know you don’t remember. Well, it wasn’t very important. Except it was to me,’ Nicky said, stumbling over the words as if she were a teenager again.