by Anne Mather
CHAPTER NINE
ALEXANDRA was up in the morning long before Declan was awake. She awoke just after seven-thirty to find Declan’s arm enclosing her waist, and his face buried in the silken swathe of her hair. She was loath to move and possibly risk disturbing him, but the scarcity of attire afforded by the thin silken gown was sufficient to persuade her that she ought to make the effort now, while she could.
In fact, he didn’t even stir, and she stood for several minutes just looking at him, wondering how she had lived almost eighteen years of her life without knowing of his existence. In such a short space of time he had become the most important being in her world, and it was a terrifying thought, particularly as he still considered her a child.
Shaking away the feelings of despondency which threatened to overwhelm her, she opened the door as quietly as she could and stepped out into the hall. She walked along to her bedroom and then halted aghast. Consuelo was in her room, making her bed, and she smiled knowingly when she looked up and saw Alexandra.
‘Bom dia, senhorita,’ she greeted her cheerfully. ‘You slept well, sim?’
Alexandra’s cheeks burned. She couldn’t help it. ‘I—what are you doing in here, Consuelo?’ she asked, trying to appear calm.
‘Your door was open, senhorita. Consuelo is making your bed, is all. Is no good?’
Alexandra shook her head impatiently. ‘It doesn’t matter.’ She moved into the room. ‘Er—Senhor Declan came back last night.’
‘Sim, senhorita, I know.’
‘You know?’
‘Sim, senhorita. Consuelo hear you—together.’
If anything, Alexandra felt even worse. ‘You—heard us?’
‘Is no matter, senhorita. Consuelo get up to make sure Senhor Declan is all right. She hear you talking.’
‘Oh! Oh, I see.’ Alexandra breathed again. ‘Well, he—he was very tired. I—I looked in on him just now, to make sure he was still asleep. He asked me to ask you not to wake him this morning.’
Consuelo smoothed the coverlet and straightened. ‘Sim, senhorita,’ she agreed politely, and Alexandra couldn’t decide what she meant by it.
‘Is Senhor Rubiero up yet?’
Consuelo shook her head. ‘Nao, senhorita. But he does not know that Senhor Declan is back.’
‘No, no, he wouldn’t.’ Alexandra bit her lip. ‘I’ll get dressed.’
‘Sim, senhorita.’ Consuelo moved towards the door and then she paused. ‘Is a good man, Senhor Declan, senhorita. An honourable man!’
Alexandra’s lips parted. ‘I—I’m sure he is.’
‘He would not hurt you, senhorita.’
Alexandra didn’t know how to answer her. She moved her shoulders helplessly and smiled.
‘Consuelo think the senhorita is fond of Senhor Declan.’ The old housekeeper was not to be diverted.
Alexandra sighed. ‘He’s been very—kind.’
Consuelo nodded vigorously. ‘Is a kind man.’
‘I know that.’ Alexandra didn’t quite know what this was leading up to, but she sensed Consuelo’s desire to arouse her sympathy. She wondered why. Did Consuelo know what had happened last night? Did she imagine that because of it Declan had made love to her? Her heart fluttered a little at the thought. Was this Consuelo’s way of excusing what she imagined he had done? ‘You don’t have to extol Declan’s virtues to me, Consuelo,’ she added. ‘I’m quite aware that without his help I’d have been in real trouble.’
Consuelo stared at her intently. ‘Is so?’
‘Of course.’ Alexandra turned away. ‘I’ll have breakfast in fifteen minutes, Consuelo, if that’s all right.’
Consuelo hesitated only a moment longer and then with a shrug she went out of the door. Alexandra waited until the door of the kitchen had opened and closed behind her before closing her own door, and then she leant back against it weakly. What a situation! She had no idea whether Consuelo knew she had slept in Declan’s room or otherwise, and she wondered what he would say if the housekeeper spoke so ambiguously to him.
Enrico Rubiero appeared as she was enjoying her first cup of coffee and approached the table, stretching lazily.
‘Hmm, the mornings here are quite something, are they not?’ he offered as a greeting. ‘And might I say how charming you look, senhorita?’
‘Thank you.’ Alexandra forced a polite smile.
He paused and looked across the verandah to the heavily-perfumed flamboyance of the garden. ‘Yes. I am beginning to see that there are compensations for living here.’
Alexandra busied herself pouring a second cup of coffee. ‘Did you know that Declan is back, senhor?’
‘Declan? Back already?’ Enrico looked surprised. ‘No, I did not. That was sudden, was it not?’
‘I—I believe Consuelo sent a message.’ Alexandra flicked an insect from the polished surface of the table. ‘He must have felt able to leave or he would not have done so.’
Enrico frowned and seated himself opposite her. ‘Indeed.’ He tapped his fingers impatiently. ‘And you, senhorita? How much longer do you expect to remain here?’
‘I’m not sure. Until my father returns from hospital, I suppose.’
‘And what makes you think your father will return here, senhorita? Surely, if he has been ill, it would be more natural for him to return to England.’
Alexandra felt the first twinges of doubt. ‘I haven’t really thought about it,’ she confessed. ‘I—I expect I thought he would want to complete his survey.’
Enrico drew a deep breath. ‘He has had blood poisoning, has he not? Clare spoke of this last night. I think it would be most unwise for him to return here. He will be weak. He will need to—how do you say it?—recuperate?’
Alexandra pushed her cup aside. ‘Then I shall just have to wait and see what happens, shan’t I, senhor?’
Enrico raised his dark eyebrows. ‘Perhaps my cousin has reasons of his own for keeping you here, senhorita. I should take care. Declan has quite a reputation with the ladies. Ask Clare!’
Alexandra got to her feet. She had no intention of asking Clare anything. ‘I’ll tell Consuelo you’re here, senhor,’ she said, and with a faint inclination of her head she walked away.
But it was not so easy to dismiss what he had intimated, she found. There had been some truth in what he had suggested, and it was quite possible that her father, unaware of her presence at Paradiablo, might conceivably decide to fly home for a few weeks before resuming his studies. He would expect her to be in Cannes, with Aunt Liz, and what better place for a few weeks’ recuperation?
Distinctly out of humour with herself, she went to the kitchen, told Consuelo that their guest was waiting for his breakfast, and then left the house by the rear door.
The dogs were loose and came bounding to meet her. She had grown quite accustomed to them during these past days and she fondled their heads warmly, finding their undemanding friendship a welcome relief from so much intrigue.
She was still playing with them when the man who was occupying so much of her thoughts came strolling round the side of the building. He looked much different this morning from the haggard-eyed individual of the night before, his hair damp from the shower, his clothes fitting his lean body closely. Only his shirt was unfastened, revealing the hair-roughened strength of his torso.
‘Good morning,’ he greeted her lazily, and she quickly threw away the ball she was holding so that both dogs bounded after it.
‘Good morning.’ The colour rose into her face. ‘How do you feel this morning?’
‘Much better,’ he commented, sliding his thumbs into the low belt of his trousers. ‘How about you?’
Alexandra shrugged. ‘I’m okay.’ She glanced back towards the house. ‘Have you seen your cousin?’
‘Enrico? Briefly. He has some papers for me to sign. I believe he’s getting them ready.’ The dogs came bounding back, this time making for Declan, their tongues hanging out with the heat. He bent and made a fuss of them, grinning as t
hey almost overbalanced him. ‘What are you doing out here?’
She moved awkwardly. ‘Nothing much. I enjoy playing with the dogs. They’re good company.’
He straightened. ‘And have you found the days dragging since I left?’
‘Some.’ She lifted her shoulders and let them fall. ‘I—is everything under control at Maracuja?’
He frowned. ‘The sisters from the convent at Vareja are coping. I’ll go back, perhaps tomorrow.’
‘You’re going back!’ She couldn’t keep the dismay out of her voice.
‘I must. It will not be for much longer.’
Disappointment brought a sulky twist to her mouth. ‘Then why did you come?’ she demanded. ‘Why didn’t you wait that little bit longer?’
Declan’s expression hardened. ‘And leave you here with Enrico for company, is that what you mean?’
That was not at all what she meant, but Alexandra refused to let him have it all his own way. ‘Why not?’ she asked provocatively.
Declan folded his arms. ‘I prefer that so long as you remain in my charge you shall not be placed in positions of compromise!’
‘What?’ Alexandra stared at him disbelievingly. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘My cousin is not like me, Alexandra. He might conceivably get the wrong impression of your situation here.’
Alexandra gasped. ‘Oh, really? And what if I tell you that he has practically said the same thing about you?’
Declan had a pulse working low on his jawline. ‘I do not care what my cousin has said about me, Alexandra. But while you are at Paradiablo, I am responsible for you.’
Alexandra felt bitter. ‘Isn’t it a bit late to start talking about compromising situations?’ she asked mockingly. ‘I hardly think you’re in a position to judge!’
A deep frown drew his brows together. ‘Have a care, Alexandra. You’re not speaking to one of your schoolboy admirers now!’
‘Are you an admirer, then, Declan?’ she taunted, making a face at him. ‘I thought I was too young for your tastes.’
He shook his head disgustedly, and half turned away from her. ‘I can see I’ve chosen the wrong moment to speak to you,’ he said coldly. ‘Let me know when you’re prepared to behave sensibly and we’ll continue this conversation.’
Alexandra instantly regretted her foolishness. ‘Declan,’ she appealed, as he began to walk away. ‘Declan, I’m sorry.’ She hunched her shoulders. ‘I—I was disappointed, that’s all.’
He studied her tremulous young face dispassionately. ‘Disappointed?’ he echoed. ‘Alexandra, you know I have my work to do.’
‘I suppose I’m childish, like you say.’
He sighed, walking slowly back to her. ‘And lonely, perhaps,’ he suggested, touching her cheek almost absently.
‘Not when you’re here,’ she breathed, and heard his swift intake of breath and the word he uttered which did not bear repeating.
‘Alexandra, I thought I had made the situation very plain to you—–’
‘Oh, yes.’ She was bitter. ‘I know, I know.’ She stiffened her slim shoulders. ‘What was it you wanted to speak to me about?’
He shook his head impatiently, putting an arm around her shoulders and drawing her close to his side. ‘You really are a menace, do you know that?’ he muttered huskily against her hair. ‘And this kind of thing is madness!’
‘Why? Why is it?’ She raised her face to his and saw the unmistakable darkening of passion in his eyes.
‘Your father wouldn’t approve,’ he said, stroking her face with his free hand.
‘How can you say that?’
Declan’s eyes dropped the slender length of her and returned to rest almost tangibly on her mouth. ‘I just know it,’ he pronounced quietly. ‘Your father is very proud of you. He expects great things of you, I’m sure.’
‘How do you know?’
‘He talked a lot about you when he was here. I got to feel I knew you already. That was why—well, when I found that you were at Los Hermanos, I had to come and fetch you. For his sake.’
‘And what did he tell you? Did you approve?’
‘Alexandra!’ He spoke through his teeth.
‘Well, did you?’
Declan narrowed his eyes and his hand slid down her neck to cup one rounded breast. ‘I’m twelve years older than you, Alexandra,’ he groaned, in a hoarse voice.
‘What has age got to do with it?’ She pressed herself against him. ‘You want to make love to me, don’t you?’
Declan gave a muffled ejaculation and then he covered her mouth with his own, gathering her closer to him until she could feel the throbbing hardness of his desire.
‘I seem to be interrupting something, don’t I?’
Clare’s malicious words separated them as successfully as a douche of cold water might have done. Declan thrust Alexandra almost roughly away from him and wiped his mouth deliberately with the back of his hand.
‘No, Clare,’ he denied, with an element of relief in his voice. ‘You’re not interrupting anything.’
Alexandra stared at him. That he should stand there and deny his own involvement after what had just occurred. How despicable! Without saying a word to either of them she turned and marched away towards the house.
In her room she paced miserably back and forth. She was trying not to give in to the tears that burned the back of her eyes and added their own discomfort to the despair she was already experiencing. How could Declan behave as if she were some precocious teenager he was having to contend with? He had practically welcomed Clare’s appearance as an escape from her unwanted attentions. How could he? How could he? He had been aroused. She had had physical evidence of it.
She pressed her palms to her hot cheeks. It might have been better if Declan had not shown any tenderness towards her, but she could not believe that he was an unwilling participant on every occasion.
She drew a trembling breath. Well, there was only one thing to do so long as she remained in this house, and that was to avoid him on every occasion. She would speak when necessary, be polite when spoken to, but until her father’s return she would not be made a fool of again.
Pondering her father’s return as a welcome relief from the torture of more intimate thoughts, she began to wonder whether she wouldn’t be more sensible to return to Sao Paulo when Enrico Rubiero left and make her way home to England from there. Either that or insist on being flown to Bogota. Perhaps Declan would have fewer objections about taking her to her father now.
But the prospect of leaving Paradiablo, of leaving this house which she had grown to love—and most particularly, of leaving Declan—filled her with desperation. How could she return to England and expect to take up her life as though nothing momentous had happened? How could she consider returning to the friendly camaraderie of co-educational school life when her whole system revolted against such a course?
She was no longer a schoolgirl. These past few weeks she had become a woman. But what point had she for remaining? Declan despised her for revealing her immature feelings so openly; Clare no doubt found the whole affair unutterably amusing; while her father … She shook her head and walked dispiritedly towards the window. What would her father say if she told him she was in love with a man whose home was in the foothills of the upper Amazon basin? A man who seemed to have no desire to live in the accepted pattern? She could answer her own question. He would be horrified. And he, with his lack of understanding of emotional feelings, would never condone their relationship. In that at least Declan had been right, although his motives for saying so and hers were on vastly different levels. It was an impossible situation, and the sooner it was resolved the better.
She glanced at her watch. It was after one o’clock. She wondered if Clare had been invited to stay for lunch. No doubt she would enjoy having the company of two attractive men.
A light tap at her door brought a stiffening to her body. ‘Who—who is it?’
‘Consue
lo, senhorita. May I come?’
‘Yes. Come in.’ Alexandra’s tone was resigned, and she composed herself as the door opened and the housekeeper appeared.
‘Is lunch, senhorita. You come, please?’
Alexandra hesitated. ‘Is—is Senhora Forman still here?’
‘Sim, senhorita.’ Consuelo’s lips thinned sympathetically. ‘Is no good?’
Alexandra sighed. ‘I’m not very hungry, Consuelo. Will you—will you give them my apologies, and I shan’t be joining them for lunch.’
Consuelo looked disapproving. ‘The senhorita is not eating lunch because of the senhora!’ she declared.
Alexandra shook her head. ‘I’ve told you, Consuelo, I’m not hungry!’
Consuelo patently didn’t believe her. ‘Consuelo will give your message, senhorita,’ she said, nodding vigorously. ‘And afterwards, I will see you are all right.’
Alexandra didn’t quite know what she meant, but she couldn’t summon the effort to enquire. So she nodded and thanked her and after the door had closed sank down wearily on to her bed.
She had been sitting there for perhaps half an hour when Consuelo came back, this time carrying a tray.
‘I bring your lunch, senhorita.’ She smiled. ‘Is beef. Very good. You like, sim?’
Alexandra got up to examine the food on the tray. She could not have offended the old woman by behaving otherwise. And in any case, the skewered curls of beef lying on a bed of flaky rice looked most appetising.
‘This is thoughtful of you, Consuelo,’ she murmured, moved by the housekeeper’s kindness.
‘Is nothing,’ Consuelo shrugged. ‘Is our secret, sim?’
After she had gone, Alexandra made an effort to eat something. She was empty, but her throat was so constricted it would only allow her to swallow the smallest morsels. Even so, with the aid of the wine Consuelo had also supplied she managed to eat some of the rice and she lay on her bed afterwards feeeling a little less lost and alone.
She must have slept, because she was startled awake by someone knocking at her door. The skirt of the simple poplin dress she was wearing had ridden up over her hips, and she was smoothing it down as she called: ‘Come in!’
