by Anne Mather
Miguel spread a hand. ‘But, before I go on, I must say that my father is not always so—objectionable. He can be most charming. And when he realizes I mean what I say so far as you are concerned, he will come round, believe me.'
Emma was doubtful, but this was not the time to express doubts. ‘Go on about why you went away,’ she urged.
‘All right. Well, that afternoon I realized that you and I could never make our home with my father. We needed some place of our own, to be alone.’ His eyes caressed her and she felt warm all over. ‘But my real reason for going away was because of these.’ He indicated his fingers. ‘When we were in Mexico City, on our way to Lacustre Largo, I saw a specialist. He told me that if I wanted to be able to use my fingers again with as much dexterity, I must have treatment. And that is what I have been having. I needed to be able to support myself and my wife very much; for once I wanted to be independent of my father. I thought perhaps that once we were alone, really alone, I could teach you to love me. I never dreamed…’ He broke off, and Emma felt a sense of compassion. This side of Miguel's character was so appealing.
‘The specialists were not absolutely certain that the cure could be completed when I first visited them,’ he went on. ‘And I had to know this before I could feel completely free to do as I chose. Can you understand that?'
Emma regarded him sympathetically. ‘And?'
‘The fingers are healing well. I can play the piano without making too many mistakes.’ He smiled. ‘But best of all, I have found us a house; it is outside the city, not far from the sea, and that is where we will live from now on.'
Emma tipped her head on one side. ‘And when you're on tour?'
‘Then you will be with me!’ he stated briefly, as though there had never been any doubt about that.
Emma shook her head. ‘I can hardly believe it.'
Miguel drew her towards him. ‘I'll make you believe it. You've no idea how demanding I can be.’ He tangled his fingers in her hair. ‘And another thing; a piece of music I wrote—just a small sonata—is to be published!'
‘What?’ Emma gasped and drew back to look at him. ‘How marvellous!'
‘Yes, isn't it? I've called it for you.'
Emma felt an enormous wealth of tenderness envelop her. ‘Oh, Miguel! I do love you!'
‘And I love you,’ he replied gravely. ‘I've only ever loved two women in all my life. The woman I thought was my mother—and you.'
‘Elissa,’ said Emma quietly.
‘You know about her?’ he demanded defensively.
‘Yes, Juan told me,’ she answered, and his features relaxed.
‘I thought my father had been regaling you with all the sordid details,’ he muttered.
‘They're not sordid,’ she protested, kissing his fingers. ‘The only pity is that you had to be the innocent victim of her bitterness.'
Miguel shrugged. ‘At the time no one can have any idea how I felt. But afterwards, I realized she had had a lot to put up with.'
Emma nodded, and he went on: ‘Until then I had been so happy, so secure! I was proud of my heritage.’ He shook his head. ‘And then Elissa told me the truth, and for a while I hated them both. The only person I couldn't hate was my mother—Maria. But I couldn't love her either. I felt a sense of loyalty towards her and perhaps a little guilt, but never love. I swore when Elissa died I would never marry—never give my affection to any woman ever again.'
‘And now?’ Emma stared at him.
‘Now?’ He bent to touch her mouth with his. ‘Now, I could not envisage life without you. Now, I will kill any man who tries to take you from me. Does that frighten you?'
‘It should,’ she admitted honestly. ‘But it doesn't. It just makes me feel so—so beloved…’ And then a thought struck her. ‘But what about your father? He still thinks he is going to become a grandfather.'
Miguel laughed softly. ‘And isn't he?’ he murmured.
Emma flushed then. ‘Oh, you know what I mean!'
‘Yes, I know.’ He looked deeply into her eyes. ‘And perhaps for a time he will be disappointed because I want you all to myself. But soon—soon we will satisfy him in that way and then perhaps we will all get some peace, hmm…'
ISBN-13: 9781460347454
A SAVAGE BEAUTY
© 1973 Anne Mather
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