Rachel Trevellyan

by Anne Mather

  ‘Because you’re married?’ Malcolm snorted. ‘Let me tell you——’

  ‘No! Not because I’m married.’ Rachel pressed her palms against each other. ‘Simply because I don’t move in the same sphere as Luis Martinez!’

  Malcolm glared at her. ‘You’re every bit as good as that prim stuck-up creature he’s planning to marry——’

  ‘Goodness doesn’t come into it, Malcolm. Look, this is ridiculous! A moment ago you were angry because you thought Martinez might be interested in me. Now you’re angry because I tell you he’s not—he couldn’t be!’

  ‘It’s the implication I don’t like.’ Malcolm hunched his shoulders. ‘I’ve a good mind not to let you go.’

  ‘Oh, Malcolm,’ said Rachel again, ‘don’t be silly. I’ve got no choice. Or would you rather go in my stead?’

  ‘Huh!’ Malcolm chewed at his lower lip. ‘Go, then. But don’t you dare be longer than ten minutes!’

  Rachel heaved a sigh and with a shake of her head left the room.

  As the Marquesa had first greeted her in the library, Rachel knew where that room was, although its associations were not of the best. She heard Luis call: ‘Entre!’ in reply to her light tap on the panels, and then pushed open the door and entered the room.

  Luis was seated at a desk in one corner of the room, but he rose at her entrance and indicated that she should be seated. She sank down into a fan-backed chair upholstered in maroon velvet and waited as he left his desk to cross the Persian carpet towards her. Today he was wearing a honey-coloured denim suit and matching shirt, the narrow trousers accentuating the muscular length of his legs.

  ‘Bom dia, senhora,’ he greeted her, and she responded automatically before he went on: ‘And how are you today?’

  ‘I’m quite well, thank you, senhor,’ Rachel was formal. ‘I understand you wanted to see me.’

  ‘That is correct, yes.’ Luis bowed his head, the thick dark hair smooth and attractive. He had halted some distance from her and was regarding her with that disturbing intensity he could adopt at times, and Rachel moved nervously beneath his stare. She was supremely conscious of the inadequacies of a pair of black velvet pants and a rather crumpled white smock. She wished he would hurry up and say what he had to say and let her go. Apart from the anticipation of Malcolm’s anger if she was later than he had signified, she had no desire to prolong the agony of feeling inferior.

  But Luis seemed in no hurry to get to his point. He indicated the wine cabinet in the corner, and said: ‘You will drink a glass of wine with me, senhora?’

  ‘No, thank you, senhor.’ Rachel looked down at her hands. ‘Why did you want to see me?’

  Luis thrust his hands into the pockets of his jacket. ‘Rosa tells me that you have been endeavouring to obtain a Portuguese phrase book, is this correct?’

  Rachel couldn’t hide her surprise. ‘Why yes, that’s right—er—senhor.’

  He nodded. ‘I see. And you did not consider asking me whether there might not be such a book in the quinta?’

  Rachel shook her head. ‘I—it seemed an impertinence. Besides, I thought I’d be able to buy one quite easily.’

  ‘Rosa further tells me that you purchased some paper and crayons.’

  Rosa had obviously reported all her purchases to the Marquês. Rachel felt rather annoyed. How dared he pry into her affairs like this?

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ she agreed. ‘I also bought some face tissues, a comb, some razor blades for Malcolm, and a pair of tights!’

  Luis’s mouth had drawn into a tight line. ‘You are insolent, senhora!’ he said coldly.

  Rachel was unrepentant. ‘Am I? And don’t you think it’s rather insolent for you to question Rosa about my private purchases?’

  He caught his breath angrily. ‘Have a care, senhora. I do not permit anyone to speak to me like that!’

  ‘Oh, don’t you?’ Rachel had risen to her feet now and faced him furiously. ‘Then you shouldn’t behave as though you have a certain droit du seigneur to know every small thing I do!’

  He took a step towards her, his face a mask of anger, and she stepped back a pace, half afraid of the look in his eyes.

  ‘I did not question Rosa about your purchases,’ he snapped, his fists clenched into balls within the confines of his pockets, almost as though he did not trust himself to bring them out. ‘She came to me and told me that she thought you were bored, senhora. She said she had tried to get you a phrase book but that the village stores did not sell such a thing. She said you had even bought some crayons and a drawing tablet. She was concerned for you. I think she was afraid you were desperate enough to seek the diversions of a child. She did not understand, until I explained, that you might use the crayons and tablet for sketching.’

  Rachel listened to his explanation with a growing sense of humiliation. When he had finished she spread her hands in a deprecatory way. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured awkwardly. ‘Oh, heavens, I always seem to be saying that to you.’

  The Marquês’s fists relaxed. He took his hands out of his pockets and folded them behind his back. The movement opened the jacket of his denim suit, revealing the width of his chest beneath. One of the buttons of his shirt had become unfastened, and pulled apart, as now, she could see the darkness of hair on his chest.

  Startled at the strange emotions the sight of his body aroused within her, she looked quickly up at him and encountered his eyes. But then she was unable to sustain his stare and her eyes dropped down to that carelessly opened button again and from thence down the length of his body to his suede-booted feet.

  Now it was Luis who seemed disturbed by her appraisal. He turned abruptly away, and walked back to his desk.

  ‘I accept your apology,’ he said stiffly, ‘and now I suggest we come to the point of this meeting.’

  ‘Yes, senhor.’ Rachel resumed her seat again, mostly because her legs had become ridiculously weak suddenly.

  He came back to her carrying two books. ‘Many years ago, when my mother first came to Mendao, she too had to learn our language. These were her grammar textbooks. I thought they might be of some use to you.’

  Rachel took the books jerkily and turned them over in her hands, nervously glancing at the titles. ‘That—that was very kind of you, senhor,’ she murmured.

  Luis watched her as she examined them and then turned away again. He walked to the exquisitely tiled fireplace and raised a foot to rest it on the polished brass fender. Then he looked back at her. ‘Tell me,’ he said quietly, ‘do you find your life here at the quinta so boring?’

  Rachel didn’t know how to answer him. She moved her shoulders in a helpless gesture. ‘I wish I could work,’ she confessed unhappily.

  ‘You mean—paint?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Rachel smoothed her fingers over the fine leather of one of the volumes. ‘I—when Malcolm is resting, I find—time drags.’

  ‘I see.’ Luis opened a carved box on the mantelshelf and extracted a cheroot. Placing it between his teeth he lit it with a small gold lighter from his pocket. Then he inhaled deeply before saying: ‘If it is of any small interest to you, this library possesses many books about artists and their work. In addition to which there are some extremely fine examples of art and sculpture about the quinta. Myself, I prefer Degas, and other painters of the Impressionist school, but our collection in no way wholly reflects my tastes. Perhaps when—when your husband is resting, you would care to familiarise yourself with the collection.’

  Rachel pressed the books tightly to her breast. ‘That’s very kind of you, senhor. But ...’ She paused. But—what? But she knew without asking what Malcolm’s reaction to Luis’s suggestion would be. ‘But I—I——’

  His expression hardened as it was wont to do whenever her feelings came into conflict with his. ‘You are about to refuse, senhora? Why? Is my offer so distasteful to you?’

  ‘It’s not distasteful at all,’ exclaimed Rachel miserably. ‘On the contrary, I would love to examine th
ese books—the paintings; I adore sculpture! But it’s not as simple as that. My—my husband likes to know I’m around, even when he’s resting. I don’t think he would—approve of me wandering round the building.’

  Luis frowned. His dark eyes bored into hers. ‘Let me understand this, senhora,’ he said grimly. ‘You say your husband would object to you spending an hour of each day doing that which you enjoy?’

  Rachel felt awful. Put that way, it sounded terrible.

  ‘He’s not a well man, senhor.’

  ‘Is he not?’ His tone was dry. ‘It would seem to me that your husband is a selfish man, senhora.’ He took his foot from the fender and stood straight. ‘Either that, or you are deceiving me.’

  Rachel got to her feet. ‘I think I should be going, senhor,’ she said. ‘I—I’ve wasted enough of your time. Thank you for the books——’

  ‘A moment.’ He came across the floor towards her, halting only a couple of feet from her. ‘What is it you are afraid of? Your husband? Or me?’

  Rachel’s anxious eyes betrayed her agitation. ‘Afraid, senhor?’ she echoed. ‘Why should I be afraid—of anyone?’

  ‘Indeed.’ He continued to look at her, and her gaze again dropped before his. She concentrated on the buckle at the waist of his trousers, and prayed that he would not prolong this interview. ‘Would you like me to speak to your husband on your behalf?’

  Rachel blinked rapidly, looking upward. ‘Oh, no, no, don’t do that! I—I’ll see what he says. It’s just his way——’

  ‘I can see he is a possessive man also,’ went on Luis quietly. ‘Eduardo tells me it is very rarely that he permits him to assist him. You do everything for him.’

  ‘Yes, senhor.’

  ‘I do not like this in my house!’ said Luis vehemently. ‘A woman should not be expected to perform manual tasks!’

  ‘I don’t mind, really.’ Rachel took a step backward. ‘I really should be going ...’

  He ran his hand down his shirt front in a gesture of impatience and encountered the unfastened button. Immediately he fastened it, and Rachel’s eyes were drawn to the lean beauty of his hands. She thought of Amalia Alejento, and of how, soon, she would respond to the mastery of his lovemaking, and feel those hard, brown hands against her magnolia-white skin ...

  The pictures that these thoughts evoked were suddenly unbearable to her. She turned carelessly, and stumbled over her chair, the books flying wildly from her hands as she fell clumsily on to the polished floor.

  Immediately, the thing that she had imagined came about. With an exclamation of concern, Luis came down on his haunches beside her and gripping her shoulders helped her to her feet.

  ‘Meu Deus!’ he exclaimed. ‘Are you all right?’

  Rachel nodded. His fingers were still on her shoulders, his thumbs sliding off the neckline of the smock to smooth the bones of her throat. A throbbing awareness of the dangerousness of this situation was invading every bone in her body, and she had to drag herself away from him to stand trembling before him.

  ‘I—I’m all right,’ she stammered, looking round for the books. ‘I’m sorry I was so careless.’

  She made to bend down for the scattered books, but he forestalled her, lifting them himself and folding the pages into place again. Then he held them out to her and she took them, but as she did so, he gripped her wrist.

  ‘You are so thin!’ he muttered huskily. ‘Is the food at the quinta not to your liking?’

  Rachel felt choked. ‘The food’s—very nice,’ she managed. ‘Please! I must go.’

  ‘Por amor de Deus!’ he muttered, between his teeth. ‘Why did you have to marry Trevellyan? Other women have managed alone. Why couldn’t you?’

  Rachel was horrified. She tore her wrist out of his grasp and made for the door, and he let her. She felt certain he was furious with himself for allowing any concern for her to show.

  She let herself out into the hall, closing the door and standing there trembling for several minutes before she could summon up enough energy to make her way back to the suite—and Malcolm.

  And it was not until much later that she remembered exactly what he had said, and wondered what he had meant by it.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  TO her surprise, Malcolm took Luis’s gift of the books quite calmly, more calmly than she would have thought possible after the way he had behaved earlier. But something had happened to put him in an extremely good mood, and although she had no idea what it could be, she didn’t question her good fortune.

  He asked what the MarquêCs had wanted her for, and she told him, omitting the part about the library and the collection. There was no point in antagonising him unnecessarily, and besides, even were he to grant his permission, she doubted very much whether she would take advantage of Luis’s offer. There were other things to consider, not least of these being the reaction being thrown into constant proximity with Luis might have on her. That way lay danger; this morning had proved that.

  All the same, it was a temptation, and the following afternoon, while Malcolm was sleeping, she felt an intense longing to go to the library and probe the pages of some ancient tome. But she didn’t! She spent her time instead, sketching the view from her bedroom window.

  The days passed by. The Marquesa had still not returned, and Rachel was aware that Malcolm was becoming suspicious of this prolonged visit. His good humour towards Rachel had long since evaporated again, and she was constantly in attendance on him, running to his every command in a sincere desire to avoid conflict.

  She had no idea how Luis spent his days. Occasionally, Rosa would enlighten them with the knowledge that the Senhor Marquês had gone to Coimbra on business, or that he was visiting the vineyards in a neighbouring valley, or perhaps dining with his fiancée and her family at Alcorado; but mostly their lives ran along parallel lines, never touching and never crossing. They might have been alone in the quinta.

  Undoubtedly, Rachel decided, this was the best solution to their situation here. Without the Marquesa’s presence they had no point of contact with the other side of the household, and they could conduct their lives as they chose.

  But Malcolm did not see it this way. He continually chafed at being ‘segregated’, as he put it, and began thinking of a way in which he might impose his presence on Luis.

  One morning he had Rachel, much against her better judgement, wheel his chair along the corridor and across the hall and into the main sala. But it was, for him, a wasted expedition. Only the maid Juana found them there, and she was quick to explain in her broken English that the Senhor Marquês was away for the day buying horses. Rachel was unutterably relieved; she would have hated to have been discovered in such a situation by Luis, but Malcolm was angry and was scarcely civil for the remainder of the day. He went to bed early, and was fast asleep at nine-thirty when there was a tap at the door of their sala.

  Rachel, who had been sitting reading, went to answer it, and stood back in surprise when she found Luis outside.

  ‘Yes, senhor.’ Rachel resumed her seat again, mostly into the sala.

  ‘I understand your husband wishes to see me, senhora.’

  ‘What—what gave you that idea?’ She was uneasy.

  ‘The maidservant Juana. She told me that you were in the main sala this morning looking for me.’

  Did nothing in this house happen without him becoming aware of it?

  Rachel put all her weight on one foot and then on the other. ‘Well, I’m sorry—but I’m afraid Malcolm is asleep right now.’

  Luis’s gaze shifted to her face. ‘Isn’t it rather early for him to be sleeping, senhora?’

  Rachel stiffened. ‘Don’t you believe me?’

  ‘Of course I believe you.’ He sighed impatiently. ‘Do you know why he wanted to see me?’

  Rachel felt dreadful. ‘Not—not really, no.’

  ‘I see.’ Luis paused. Then: ‘You use these rooms in preference to your own?’

  ‘No, not at all. I was reading, that�
��s all. I stay here until Malcolm is settled down for the night. As a matter of fact, I was studying those books you lent me and I’m afraid I forgot the time.’

  He nodded slowly. ‘And now? What now? Do you retire early, too?’

  Rachel lifted her slim shoulders. ‘Sometimes.’

  ‘Tonight. What about tonight?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Rachel glanced nervously towards Malcolm’s closed door. He was asleep, it was true, but if the Marquês continued talking in these low, penetrating tones he would soon not be. ‘Why do you ask?’

  Luis stood stiffly. ‘I was about to ask whether you would care to walk for a while in the grounds, senhora.’

  Rachel tucked her hair behind her ears. It was loose tonight and she was suddenly conscious that it was probably untidy. ‘Well—I’m not really dressed to go anywhere, senhor.’ She was wearing a dress for once, a simple yellow cotton, with a low round neckline and no sleeves. It was short, too, shorter than anything Amalia Alejento would be likely to wear, Rachel felt sure, and her legs were bare. Compared to his lean elegance in the dark brown lounge suit he was wearing she felt like a peasant. ‘I—it’s very kind of you——’

  ‘Do not say those words to me again!’ he snapped shortly. ‘It is not kind, not kind at all. I wish your company, that is all.’

  Rachel’s heart pounded in her ears. ‘I don’t know what to say.’

  ‘Then say yes. Take pity on me!’

  Pity! Rachel could think of no one less desirous of pity. She looked into the dark eyes and felt her resolution deserting her. Tearing her gaze away, she said: ‘Malcolm might wake. I should be here.’

  ‘Very well, senhora.’ He was obviously accepting her refusal. Rachel’s palms felt moist. Where was the harm in walking with him? What did she expect him to do to her? Attack her? The Marquês de Mendao was not the kind of man to do any such thing.

  He bowed his head and was turning away when she halted him.

  ‘Senhor! I will come with you.’

  The dark eyes narrowed. ‘Very well, senhora. Shall we go?’

  Rachel hesitated only a moment longer and then with a slight shrug she went out of the door and closed it silently behind her.