The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  ‘Morning,’ the woman greeted cheerfully as she placed the tray on the bed-trolley, then slid it into position before turning towards the man seated close to the bed. ‘Can I bring you some coffee, Mr. Santanas?’

  Alejandro’s smile curved the edges of his mouth, deepening the vertical creases that slashed each cheek. ‘Thank you, no.’

  Elise watched as he unfolded his lengthy frame from the chair. Leaning forward, he covered her mouth lightly with his own, and her lips trembled beneath the brief contact.

  ‘Your discharge is scheduled for two o’clock. Hasta luego, querida.’

  For one crazy second she felt strangely bereft, almost wanting more than that fleeting touch, and something flickered in the depths of his eyes before it was successfully hidden, then he straightened and moved towards the door.

  Elise watched his departing figure with perplexity. The warmth of his lips against her own, the restrained degree of passion that lay just beneath the surface had stirred her senses, almost as if some inner being were intent on forcing recognition.

  ‘There you are, Mrs Santanas,’ the kind-faced kitchen orderly declared as she undid a mini packet of cereal and added it to the bowl of fresh fruit. ‘Which spread would you prefer on your toast?’

  Hospital routine ensured that there was little time in which to brood, Elise accorded wryly, for within ten minutes of the breakfast tray being removed a nursc arrived to assist her in the shower, followed by the doctor’s round, physiotherapy, morning tea, the daily visit from the hairdresser—arranged, she had been informed, by her husband.

  It was a thoughtful gesture, although she couldn’t help attempting to analyse his motivation. And that proved detrimental, for it only brought her relationship with Alejandro Santanas to the fore, and incurred a renewed bout of soul-searching.

  It seemed ludicrous to doubt Alejandro’s depth of caring when there was every evidence of his devotion in this room: the cards carefully placed together in the drawer of her bedside pedestal, each bearing ‘Love’, written in black ink, and signed ‘Alejandro’ in a powerful slashing hand.

  More importantly—did she love him? Certainly she’d married him, but was love her motivation?

  Dear heaven, she wasn’t the sort of woman who had deliberately contrived to trap a wealthy man by using feminine wiles…was she?

  Elise closed her eyes in silent anguish, then slowly opened them again.

  ‘Time, patience,’ the neurologist had stressed solemnly. Yet such an answer was as frustrating as it was ambiguous.

  Lunch was a delectable bowl of beef consomme, followed by thin slices of roast beef with accompanying vegetables, and segments of fresh fruit for dessert.

  Apprehension began to knot in the region of her stomach, only to intensify a short while later as a nurse entered the suite.

  ‘Your husband will be here to collect you in half an hour,’ she informed Elise with a bright smile. ‘I’ll help you dress, then pack your things.’

  I don’t want to go, an inner voice screamed in silent rejection. Several jumbled thoughts raced through her head. Perhaps she could dream up a mild complication—the onset of a headache, her hand—anything that would delay her departure.

  Yet even as she contemplated such an action she dismissed it as futile and, pushing the bedcovers aside, she slid to her feet, watching with detached fascination as the nurse moved to extract clothes from a nearby closet.

  Sage-green trousers in uncrushable silk, a cream silk blouse, wispy briefs and bra in matching cream silk and lace, low-heeled shoes. Each item looked incredibly expensive, and undoubtedly was, given the evident reverence with which they were handled.

  Elise stood still as her nightgown was removed, an exquisite garment in peach satin-finished silk and lace, which made up a set with its matching négligé.

  Obediently she stepped into the briefs and helped draw them up, then the trousers.

  ‘I’ll use the outermost clip,’ the nurse declared as she carefully slipped the bra into place before adding the blouse. ‘If it’s not comfortable, we’ll take it off. Would you like some help with your make-up?’

  There was a case holding everything imaginable, but all she’d chosen to use over the past week was moisturiser and a pale lipstick. Perfume? Her fingers hovered near the curved glass bottle of Dior, then retreated. She hadn’t bothered to use it in hospital, so why begin now?

  Elise watched with idle fascination as the nurse extracted a valise and began filling it with all her belongings.

  ‘Please,’ Elise intervened as the girl caught up a variety of glossy magazines. ‘Keep them.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. And the flowers,’ she added. ‘Divide them among the day and night staff. And the fruit, the chocolates.’

  The nurse’s features mirrored her gratitude. ‘Thanks. They’ll be appreciated.’

  Elise’s mouth curved into a soft smile. ‘You’ve all looked after me with great care.’

  They had, despite it being their job to do so. Yet there had been a marked degree of dedication to this particular patient.

  Because of the man whose very presence demanded nothing less? Or was it the faint air of mystery, the haunting vulnerability of the attractive girl who had occupied this suite?

  ‘Sister will be here in a moment to formally sign you out of the hospital system.’

  Elise murmured something suitable in response, and gazed sightlessly after the nurse’s departing form.

  Why did she feel so uncertain and so damnably insecure? A natural reaction, an inner voice assured her, in tones remarkably like those of the consultant neurologist.

  The door swung open and she turned towards the ward sister, accepted the relevant appointment cards, and listened to the professional advice which concluded with, ‘Don’t attempt anything too strenuous too soon.’

  ‘I will personally see that she doesn’t,’ a faintly accented masculine voice assured her from the doorway, and Elise turned slowly to face her husband.

  The business suit he had worn that morning was absent, replaced by dark trousers and a polo shirt unbuttoned at the neck. The casual knit fabric emphasised his breadth of shoulder, the long sinewed sweep to his taut waist, and revealed powerfully muscled forearms liberally sprinkled with dark hair.

  His smile was warm, and Elise idly watched the nurse’s reaction with detached fascination, aware of the faint appreciative gleam evident beneath the professional façade.

  Did all women respond to Alejandro Santanas in this way? Elise wondered silently. Such thoughts were hardly conducive to her peace of mind, and she stood very still as he moved towards her and brushed his lips against her temple.

  ‘I have the car waiting outside.’

  Her indecision must have been apparent, for his gaze narrowed slightly as it took in her pale features and the degree of uncertainty evident in her deep green eyes.

  ‘You have no need to feel apprehensive,’ he assured quietly.

  Are you kidding? she wanted to scream. I’m being taken to a home I can’t remember with a man I feel I hardly know.

  With a sense of desperation she sought to elicit some sort of recollection—anything that would provide her with a measure of reassurance.

  Yet there was nothing, and she cursed herself afresh for attempting to force a situation over which she had no control.

  ‘If you’d care to follow me,’ the ward sister suggested, ‘I’ll accompany you to the main entrance.’

  His frame seemed to overpower hers as they traversed the carpeted corridor, and her stomach executed a series of painful somersaults as she caught sight of a large, expensive-looking vehicle parked immediately adjacent to the main doors.

  Indisputably his, it looked as powerful as the man who owned it, and she slid carefully into the passenger seat, unconsciously holding her breath as he leaned forward to attend to her seatbelt.

  His hand brushed against her breast, and her pulse leapt, then set up an agitated beat as he carefully
fastened the clip in place, leaving her feeling helplessly trapped.

  Oh, God. She had to control her over-active imagination, she counselled silently as he closed the door and crossed round to slide in behind the wheel.

  The car eased forward and she experienced the insane desire to tell him to stop and let her out, which was crazy, for where could she go?

  Minutes later the large vehicle emerged into the steady stream of traffic, and with a sense of resignation she focused her attention on the scene beyond the windscreen.

  Houses constructed of bricks and mortar; neat garden borders bearing a variety of brightly coloured flowers; carefully tended lawns; trees lining the streets, their wide spreading branches providing shade from the sun’s shimmering rays; numerous electronically controlled intersections; shops.

  It all appeared so normal, so everyday. Yet none of it looked familiar.

  Some of her tension must have made itself felt, for Alejandro turned slightly and cast her a discerning glance.

  ‘You are uncomfortable?’

  Her eyes widened slightly as she met his dark gaze, and she uttered a polite negation before he returned his attention to the road.

  The car’s air-conditioning reduced the force of the midsummer heat, and Elise breathed a silent sigh of relief as he activated the stereo system, glad of the music’s soothing qualities, for it precluded the necessity to converse.

  With seeming fascination she observed the quality and style of the houses lining the wide arterial road begin to change, from small, dark, weathered brick structures sited on small blocks of land to those of larger and more stately design.

  Old mingled with new, their elegant façades revealing a visual attestation of wealth.

  The celluloid print Alejandro had shown her of their home in suburban Point Piper revealed a large double-storeyed mansion overlooking the harbour. How long before they reached it?

  ‘A few more minutes,’ Alejandro told her quietly, almost as if he knew the passage of her thoughts.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE large vehicle slowed to a halt before a set of ornate steel gates which opened at the touch of an electronic modem, then closed just as quietly behind them as Alejandro eased the car along a wide sweeping driveway.

  The double-storeyed house was an architectural masterpiece in cream cement-rendered brick and floor-to-ceiling tinted glass, its tiled roof a dazzling silver-white, and set well back from the road in beautiful sculptured grounds, whose neat garden borders and profusion of flowers and shrubs were visual proof of a gardener’s loving care.

  The car drew to a halt at the main entrance where an impressive set of heavy panelled doors was offset by a pair of large ornamental urns, and once inside Elise was unable to prevent a faint gasp in awe of the spacious foyer.

  The central focus was a tiered marble fountain, complete with gently cascading water, above which an ornate crystal chandelier hung suspended from the high glass-domed ceiling which lent spaciousness and light. A wide double staircase curved up to an oval balcony from which opposing hallways led to two separate wings.

  Exotically designed panels of stained glass in the huge atrium shot brilliant prisms of multi-coloured light on to the pale walls, magnifying their pattern in an ever-changing sweep controlled by the direction of the sun’s rays.

  ‘It’s beautiful.’ The words slid unbidden from her lips, and she moved forward to pause at the marble fountain. ‘Were you responsible for the design?’

  His eyes were dark, almost still, then he smiled. ‘To some degree—yes. I consulted with numerous experts in order to achieve this result.’

  She put out a hand and trailed her fingers through the water, soothed by its soft flow against her skin, then she turned slightly towards him.

  ‘You must entertain a great deal.’

  His slow smile held warmth. ‘There are occasions when it is more relaxing to invite business associates to one’s home,’ he responded indolently.

  ‘With their wives?’ Where did that come from? A natural assumption, she assured herself silently. Successful men had wives or mistresses. Some presumably had both.

  Did Alejandro possess a mistress?

  He took the few steps necessary to her side and placed a hand beneath her elbow. ‘Let us go into the lounge. Ana will have made tea, and prepared a few delicacies to tempt your appetite.’

  At the silent question mirrored in her expression, he added quietly, ‘Ana takes care of the house and does the cooking. Her husband José looks after the grounds, the cars, and acts as general handyman.’

  His nearness bothered her more than she was willing to admit, and she walked at his side as he ushered her into a beautifully furnished room which commanded a splendid panoramic view of the inner harbour.

  Expensive works of art were spaced at intervals on the silk-covered walls, and provided an elegant backdrop for the magnificent Chinese rugs that covered the marble floor. Predominantly pale blue, employing a delicate mix of cream and the palest pink in their patterned design, the large rugs were a perfect foil for the cream-upholstered sofas and chairs, the rosewood cabinets and profusion of glass-topped occasional tables.

  No sooner had Elise selected a single chair and settled comfortably into its cushioned depths than a pleasantly plump woman of middle years entered the room, wheeling a trolley on which reposed two steaming pots, milk, sugar, cream, and various plates containing a selection of small cakes, pastries, and delicate sandwiches.

  ‘It is so good to have you home again,’ Ana greeted as she poured tea, added milk and sugar, then placed the cup and saucer within easy reach on a glass-topped table beside Elise’s chair.

  ‘Thank you.’ It seemed strange to be faced with a woman she must have dealt with on a daily basis in the six months of her marriage.

  ‘I will make dinner for seven o’clock. Is there anything special you would like?’ The smile broadened with pleasure. ‘You have often complimented Ana on her chicken soup.’

  Elise injected warmth into her voice. ‘Chicken soup will be fine.’

  ‘And afterwards? An omelette, with mushrooms, some cheese, a little tomato, ham?’

  ‘That sounds delicious,’ she qualified, watching idly as Ana poured coffee into a demitasse and handed it to Alejandro before leaving the room.

  The tea tasted like liquid ambrosia, and Elise took a small sandwich, savouring the delicate smoked salmon and cream-cheese filling, accepted another, then declined anything further.

  ‘More tea?’

  ‘Please,’ she acceded gratefully, watching his lengthy frame unfold from the chair. His movements were measured and concise, his hands sure and steady as he refilled her cup and replaced it within easy reach.

  ‘Have you lived here for very long?’ The need to converse seemed paramount, and her fingers shook slightly as she lifted a hand and smoothed back an imaginary lock of hair behind one ear.

  His eyes flared slightly at the nervous gesture, and she made a conscious effort to dampen the edge of panic threatening to assume unmanageable proportions.

  ‘A few years. I had the original house removed, then began from scratch.’

  She felt as if she were on a conversational rollercoaster that she couldn’t stop. ‘During the past week I’ve looked at photograph albums which mean very little, and you’ve provided essential information. Tell me more about how we met, and why.’

  His smile assumed musing indulgence. ‘The need to fill in some of the gaps?’

  ‘There are so many.’

  ‘And you are becoming impatient.’

  ‘Frustrated,’ Elise corrected. ‘I seem to have a hundred questions.’

  ‘All of which you want me to answer at once?’

  Her eyes took on a haunted quality. ‘I need to know.’

  ‘You walked into my office demanding a minimum five minutes of my time.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Your father had borrowed extensively from my merchant bank, and you refused to accept my decision n
ot to extend the loan or the term.’

  She digested the information slowly. ‘You own a merchant bank?’

  ‘I have many investments,’ he revealed solemnly.

  ‘Was I successful in overturning your decision?’

  He seemed to take his time in answering. ‘You could say we eventually reached an understanding.’

  ‘You asked me out.’ This much she knew, because he had told her.

  ‘You opposed me as no other woman had, questioning my business acumen and condemning me for my lack of compassion.’ Warmth gleamed in the depths of his dark eyes. ‘Your fierce loyalty impressed me, and I was sufficiently intrigued to insist we share dinner. Within twenty-four hours I had persuaded you to marry me.’

  ‘And arranged for the wedding to take place a month later.’ Dear God. Such omnipotence was devastating. She found it vaguely shocking that she had given her consent. ‘Am I supposed to believe you’re an honourable man, or go with reality?’

  One eyebrow slanted in mocking cynicism. ‘Which reality would you prefer, querida?’

  ‘You have the advantage,’ she managed, with a degree of sadness. ‘While I possess none.’

  ‘Finish your tea,’ he commanded quietly. ‘Then I will take you upstairs to rest.’

  She wanted to say that she wasn’t in the least tired, but the thought of being free from his disturbing presence for an hour or two was attractive, and she replaced her cup on its saucer.

  ‘I have a house overlooking the ocean at Palm Beach. It’s an ideal location for you to relax and recuperate.’

  ‘You mean for both of us to stay there?’ Not alone, surely? she agonised, aware that he had caught the fleeting emotions apparent on her expressive features.

  He lifted a hand and brushed warm fingers across her cheek. ‘Of course. Your welfare is very important to me.’

  For some inexplicable reason she felt the faint stirring of apprehension feather insidiously down her spine.

  Why? she queried silently as they moved towards the magnificent staircase. Yet with every step she took, her sense of anxiety increased.

  The entire floor was covered in thick-piled powder-blue carpet, providing a cool tranquillity that was pleasing.