Wealth certainly had great benefits, Diego mused. But his penthouse apartment in Rio, his various other properties around the world and even his collection of luxury sports cars were simply toys to amuse him. Nothing filled the void inside him or made him forget the poverty and deprivation of his childhood. When he was growing up, what he had wanted more than anything was to feel loved. Love was more precious than gold or glittering gems but, after thirty-seven years without it, his heart had become as hard and unbreakable as the diamonds he mined.
He forced his thoughts back to the present when he realised Sister Clare was speaking. ‘It must have been difficult for your mother to be a single parent. Did you spend your childhood in Manaus?’
‘I grew up in a favela in the city of Belo Horizonte.’ Diego gave a cynical laugh. ‘The name translates to beautiful horizon, but there was nothing beautiful about the overcrowded and filthy slum where my mother and I lived.’
‘Is that why you like being in the rainforest, because it is wild and beautiful and you can be alone?’
Diego glanced at her. ‘I’m not alone now,’ he drawled. His gut clenched as he watched rosy colour stain her cheeks. She was so beautiful. But perhaps it was the fact that she was out of bounds that made her all the more desirable. It was one of life’s ironies that you always wanted what you couldn’t have, he mused.
He was surprised by Sister Clare’s perceptiveness, and also how easy he found it to talk to her. He was an expert at chat-up lines, but he rarely talked to women, probably because they rarely listened, he thought sardonically.
‘I can breathe in the rainforest,’ he admitted. ‘There is an honesty here that I have never found anywhere else. It’s one of the few places on earth where Mother Nature is truly untamed, and that makes her fearsome but fascinating.’
He was an instinctive poet, Clare thought. He wove a pattern with words and revealed his love of the rainforest in his gravelly voice. Who was the real Diego Cazorra? So far she had met the loner gold prospector and the notorious womaniser the Mother Superior had warned her about. But she sensed that Diego rarely allowed anyone to see beyond his outward persona of a laid-back, charismatic charmer.
She remembered the book of poems by the English romantic poet John Keats that she had found in the back of the Jeep.
‘“To one who has been long in city pent, ’Tis very sweet to look into the fair And open face of heaven—to breathe a prayer Full in the smile of the blue firmament,”’ she quoted softly.
Diego glanced at her.
‘“Who is more happy, when, with heart’s content, Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair A gentle tale of love and languishment?”’ he finished the quote. ‘It seems we have one thing in common, at least. Which other poets do you like, apart from Keats?’
‘Oh, Wordsworth, Shelley. I love the work of many of the poets of the late eighteenth century. I am an unashamed romantic at heart. How about you?’
‘Am I romantic?’ He laughed. ‘What do you think, Sister Clare?’
‘I think you are more than a tough gold prospector.’ She hesitated, then felt compelled to ask, ‘What happened to your ear?’
‘An accident,’ he said abruptly. Instantly the connection between them was severed. Clare wished she had suppressed her curiosity, but it was too late to withdraw her question and Diego’s answer revealed nothing. She could not tell him her interest was not nosiness, but that she carried with her a box containing what was very possibly a piece of her sister’s ear, cut off by the criminals who had kidnapped Becky.
She had only glimpsed Diego’s ear, but it had been enough time for her to notice that the top half appeared to have been sliced off. The skin had healed over, as if the injury had not happened recently. Clare had read that a common tactic used by gangs in Brazil to scare families into paying a ransom for their kidnapped relatives was to send them a piece of the victim’s ear. There were even cosmetic surgeons who specialised in rebuilding mutilated ears. But Diego had told her that he had grown up in a slum after his father had abandoned his mother, and it seemed unlikely that he had been kidnapped and a ransom demanded for his release.
The mystery surrounding him grew ever deeper. She glanced at him as he concentrated on steering the Jeep around the potholes in the road. He had tipped his hat forwards so that the brim hid his expression, and she sensed that the barriers he had briefly lowered were back in place.
* * *
The rain did not stop after an hour or so as it had the previous day, but continued to fall in a relentless torrent that turned the dirt road into a muddy river. Clare lost count of the number of times the Jeep became stuck and she had to get out and help Diego free the wheels from the ochre-coloured soup. By late afternoon she was so tired that she moved on autopilot as she aided him in laying wooden planks beneath the Jeep’s front wheels. Diego climbed into the driver’s seat and accelerated until slowly, slowly the vehicle inched forwards. He drove into a small clearing in the trees where the ground was covered in a tangle of creeping vines and watched Clare trudge towards him.
‘I’ll say this, Sister. You are one determined lady.’ There was admiration in his voice. ‘Most people would have given up by now and asked to turn back, but I haven’t heard you complain once about the rain and the damned mud.’ He felt a flicker of something that could have been tenderness as he watched her valiantly try to haul herself into the Jeep. She was so tired she could hardly lift her foot on to the step and she did not protest when he lifted her up and deposited her on the seat.
Clare gave him a weary smile. ‘I will get to Torrente, whatever it takes. A bit of mud won’t stop me.’
She leaned her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes, giving Diego an opportunity to study her without her being aware of his intent scrutiny. Her nun’s habit and veil were rain-soaked and her shoes and legs were covered in mud. She was pale with exhaustion so that the golden freckles scattered across her nose and cheeks were noticeable against her creamy complexion.
Desire, as inexplicable as it was inconvenient, tugged in Diego’s gut. He liked leggy blondes whose sexual experience matched his own, and he could not understand why it took all his will power to resist covering Sister Clare’s mouth with his lips and kissing her until she responded as passionately as she had when he had kissed her that morning.
She lifted her lashes, and Diego stared into the deep blue pools of her eyes. Deus, why did he feel an urge to open his heart to her and tell her things about himself that he had never revealed to anyone else?
Cursing his stupidity beneath his breath, he restarted the engine and drove back to the road. ‘The rain is easing up and I reckon we’ll get to Torrente in a couple more hours.’
When they reached the town he would leave her at the church and never see her again. She had chosen a way of life that prevented her from having a relationship with a man. And he had to face it, Diego mocked himself, he could not have offered her a relationship. All he wanted was to have sex with her, and once he had sated his desire he would no doubt have grown bored of her as quickly as he did with all his mistresses.
‘Do you know of a big waterfall near to Torrente?’
He nodded. ‘Branco Cachoeirao. The waterfall is three or four miles outside the town.’
‘I believe there is a cave nearby, and inside there is a shrine to the Virgin Mary which was carved out of rock by a missionary who was one of the first non-indigenous people to visit Torrente many years ago.’
Diego shrugged. ‘I was unaware of a shrine, but I know the cave you mean.’
‘Good, because I would like you to take me to it before you drive on to the town. I want to spend the night alone at the shrine in quiet contemplation—’ Clare’s voice faltered ‘—and I’ll make my own way to Torrente tomorrow.’
‘Let me get this straight. You want me to leave you on your own in the rainforest for the night? Sister, you are either crazily brave or just crazy.’ Diego shot a glance
at her serene face and was tempted to shake some sense into her. He could not comprehend why she was willing to sacrifice her passionate nature for a life of austerity and physical denial, but he was convinced that her broken relationship with her ex-boyfriend who had cheated on her had influenced her decision to become a nun.
The rain finally stopped, which made the driving conditions easier, and as they drew closer to Torrente Diego reminded himself that Clare’s decision had nothing to do with him. His gut told him she needed to be saved from making a mistake, but his mind pointed out that he was not the man to save her.
* * *
Clare heard the waterfall before she saw it. The thunderous noise of the falls drowned out the sounds of the rainforest that she was starting to recognise: the various calls of hundreds of species of birds, the chatter and shrieks of monkeys and occasionally a deep roar that Diego had told her was a jaguar.
He steered the Jeep down a narrow track where light could barely penetrate through the tangle of trees and vines that formed a living green roof. They emerged into a clearing, and in front was a spectacular sight of white frothing water plunging hundreds of feet over rocks into the river below.
‘If I remember rightly, the cave is further on.’ Diego inched the Jeep slowly through the dense forest, past giant ferns and plants with leaves that Clare estimated were two metres or more in diameter. A huge cliff of grey rock towered so high that she had to tilt her head to see the top. She peered through the eerie gloom of the jungle and saw a black hole in the rocks. The entrance to the cave was overgrown with vegetation, as if no humans had visited the place for a long time.
Diego stopped the Jeep and jumped out. Clare followed him and gave a startled cry when a wild boar raced out of the cave and disappeared into the undergrowth.
‘Do you really intend to spend the night in there?’ he asked sardonically as she lingered outside the cave. He obviously sensed her reluctance to step into the blackness. Swallowing hard, she switched on her torch and directed its beam into the dark space before she walked slowly forwards.
‘Do you think there could be any other animals in here?’ Her voice echoed as it bounced off the cave walls.
‘You might find a rock python.’
‘Funny,’ she muttered, telling herself he was joking. Pythons didn’t live in caves, did they? The light from the torch flickered over something that caught her attention. Heart pounding, she moved deeper into the cave and drew a sharp breath when she saw a face. It was not a real person, she quickly realised, but a statue of the Virgin Mary that had been carved into a rock. The figure was about three feet tall and exquisitely detailed, just as the Mother Superior had described it.
There was something incredibly moving about the statue that a priest had painstakingly carved out of the solid rock a century earlier. It must have taken him months to complete and must have been a true labour of devotion. Clare could not explain why a feeling of calm came over her as she touched the figure of Mary, but her tiredness was replaced with a sense of optimism that she would be able to rescue Becky.
She stood by the statue for some time until she became aware of something moving on a rock close to her. She shone the torch in the direction of the rustling sound, and in the light she saw the glint of greeny-brown scales.
Dear heaven, Diego hadn’t been joking! Giving a scream loud enough to wake the dead, she ran towards the cave entrance and collided full pelt into him.
‘Easy, Sister.’ Diego took one look at her white face and, fearing she was about to faint, gripped her by her elbows and held her upright. ‘I’m guessing you saw a snake?’ When she nodded he said gently, ‘Wait here and I’ll get rid of it.’
Clare had no intention of following him into the cave and she looked away with a shudder when he walked past her holding a long green snake in his hands. He carried the reptile away from the entrance and came back a few minutes later with some logs and dry twigs that he must have collected from the forest floor.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Building a fire. It’ll burn throughout the night and keep unwanted visitors out of the cave.’
‘What about the creatures that have already taken up residence?’ Clare gave another shudder as she pictured the python Diego had evicted.
‘I took a look around and saw nothing else in the cave. But there is a hole in the roof, which is lucky.’
‘Lucky, how? If it rains I’ll get wet.’
‘It’s only a small hole, but rainwater has poured in and made a pool of fresh water that you can drink.’ Diego noticed she was still pale from her fright with the python and her eyes looked like dark bruises in her white face. ‘Why don’t you go and splash some water on your face and freshen up while I get your bags from the Jeep?’
Clare held her torch tightly in her trembling hand and forced herself to walk to the back of the cave. She had to spend the night here for Becky’s sake, she reminded herself. The kidnappers had instructed her to be at the cave on Sunday but they had not specified at what time. They might arrive at dawn and she could not risk missing them, hence her decision to stay in the rainforest overnight, although she was certain she would not sleep at all. Her nerves were at breaking point but she dared not ask Diego to stay with her in case he was seen by the kidnappers.
She found the small pool where a natural basin that had formed in the rocks had filled with rainwater, and felt marginally better once she had washed her face. But the prospect of meeting the kidnappers the next day filled her with dread. Was Becky still alive? What if the kidnappers took the ransom money and killed both of them? Before she had left England her sister’s kidnapping had seemed surreal, but now the danger of the situation was terrifyingly immediate.
A golden glow suddenly flared at the front of the cave and she saw that Diego had lit the fire and also the kerosene lamp, which he had brought from the Jeep. He had been busy, and Clare’s heart clenched when she saw that he had spread a sleeping bag on the floor and brought in a few cushions to make her makeshift bed as comfortable as possible.
He glanced at her. ‘Sleep close to the fire and you’ll be safe from any curious forest creatures. I’ve brought your bags from the Jeep and also some dried fruit and nuts for breakfast.’
‘Thank you.’ His gruff concern brought tears to her eyes. ‘You are very kind.’
He was standing on the opposite side of the fire to her and his muscular body was silhouetted against the darkening sky outside the cave. His face was shadowed by the brim of his hat but Clare saw the gleam of his white teeth when he grinned. ‘I’m no saint, Sister.’
‘Perhaps not, but I think you are a better man than you know,’ she said seriously.
For several moments he stared at her across the flames that danced between them before he turned abruptly and walked out of the cave, disappearing into the dusk. Seconds later Clare heard the sound of the Jeep’s engine, and only then did reality hit her that he had left without saying goodbye and she was alone in the rainforest.
It was what she had planned, she reminded herself. It was vital that Diego was not around when she met the kidnappers tomorrow. So why did she feel numb inside? Why did she feel as if her heart had been torn from her chest? He was a womaniser who made Mark look like boyfriend of the year. But he was also courageous—she remembered how he had captured the python. During the long and arduous journey from Manaus he had proved himself to be patient and dependable, and he had even poured away his beer when she had told him about Aunt Edith being killed by a drunk driver.
The tears she’d managed to hold back before Diego had left now spilled over. She was tired and scared and, to make matters worse, as she huddled close to the fire her damp clothes began to steam. It seemed sensible to at least attempt to sleep, and so she took off the nun’s habit and veil and spread them on a rock, hoping they would dry before she had to put them on in the morning.
It was too hot next to the fire for her to get into the sleeping bag but she rearranged the cushions Diego
had given her and discovered that he had left behind the book of Keats’s poems. His kind gesture undid her completely and she choked back a sob. She felt utterly alone, but a faint noise from outside the cave put her senses on high alert. She strained her ears, hardly daring to breathe. Something or someone was out there and she did not know if she would prefer the intruder to be a wild animal or a kidnapper.
The unmistakable crunch of boots on the gravel floor at the cave’s entrance escalated Clare’s terror. Her instinct was to hide but she firmed her jaw, determined not to give in to her fear. If the men who had kidnapped her sister were here it was up to her to deal with them. For Becky’s sake she must be brave.
She stood up and hurriedly wrapped the sleeping bag around her. ‘Who’s there?’
‘It’s me, of course.’ Diego strolled into the cave and the light from the fire illuminated his big frame. ‘Who did you think it could be? No one else is mad enough to spend a night in the jungle.’ He threw his sleeping bag down on the floor and tossed his hat on to a rock before raking his fingers through his hair that for some reason was wet although it was not raining outside.
Clare stared at him, hardly able to believe he was real and not a figment of her imagination. He had changed into clean jeans and a denim shirt that was unbuttoned to halfway down his chest, and he looked so ruggedly gorgeous that her heart rate rocketed.
‘I...I heard the Jeep and I thought you had driven on to Torrente,’ she stammered.
‘I noticed the wheels were sinking into the mud, so I moved the Jeep to firmer ground and then took a shower beneath the waterfall.’ He stepped around the fire and frowned when he saw tears on her cheeks. ‘You didn’t really think I would abandon you in the rainforest, did you?’
His sexy smile shattered Clare’s tenuous hold on her composure. The terror she had felt a few minutes ago had been needless. Diego was here and for now at least she felt safe. The sleeping bag fell from her shoulders as she gave an inarticulate cry and flew across the few feet separating them to launch herself at his chest.
Master of Her Innocence (Bought by the Brazilian) Page 6
