by Natalie Fox
‘Felipe, you eat with Se?orita Soames?’
‘No, thank you, Maria. I’ll eat later. Bring me a brandy, though.’
Gemma’s mouth dropped open at the familiar exchange between the two. She waited till Maria laid out cutlery, salad and cold meats for her and when she stepped back into the villa Gemma spoke.
‘She called you Felipe…’
‘Why shouldn’t she? She’s known me most of my life.’ He turned to her then, coolly motioning her to sit and eat. ‘Starvation isn’t one of the punishments I have in mind for you——’
‘Will you stop this absurdity,’ Gemma burst out, ‘and will you tell me what all this is about? I came here to paint a portrait but so far I’ve received nothing but abuse.’ Her outburst did nothing to ease the scowl on his face. ‘You live here, don’t you?’ she breathed when he said nothing.
‘Some of the time, yes.’
Shocked, Gemma slumped into the nearest chair. The familiarity between him and Maria had spurred the question but actually hearing it verified didn’t make it any easier to accept, in fact it made it worse. She recalled he had an apartment in New York and another home in South America but because of his Colombian ancestry she had presumed his home was there, not here in Venezuela.
‘This…this isn’t the home of Agustªn Delgado de Navas?’ she husked. What cruelty! She’d had such expectations and now this rapier-like thrust to add more sorrow to what she had already suffered.
The smile he gave her did nothing to warm his harsh features and chilled Gemma to the marrow.
‘He lives here, of course. And you do have his portrait to paint, which no doubt answers your next question. It was my idea, in fact. I convinced Agustªn his portrait was necessary. It took some doing, I assure you. He has little time for such eccentricities, as he put it. The idea of a female portrait painter didn’t appeal to him much either.’
‘Great, that’s all I need,’ Gemma huffed, bitterness pushing aside her confusion. ‘You threatening revenge and torture and a chauvinist who doesn’t want his portrait painted. It’s nice to know you’re wanted!’
Felipe smiled cynically. ‘Oh, you are wanted, my love. The revenge and torture will have its moments of hedonism, I promise you. And don’t worry about Agustªn. I convinced him of your great artistic talent, but kept your others to myself. You have a number of talents, Gemma, bed being one of them, and rest assured I’ll put all of them to the test while you are here.’
‘You expect me to go to bed with you?’ she whispered in disbelief. Once his sexual honesty had excited her; now his presumptuousness struck hard and cold inside her.
‘I don’t expect it, I demand it, when and where I please.’ He took a step towards her and Gemma tensed as his hand smoothed down her cheek while she gazed up at him. Months ago that caress would have inflamed her senses instantly, but now it merely inflamed her anger. She jerked her head away from his touch.
‘Am I so abhorrent to you?’ He smiled, coldly. ‘Not for long, querida; lust like ours doesn’t dim with time. I’ll have you begging for it before I’ve finished with you.’
Maria stepped back on to the patio with Felipe’s brandy and Gemma stilled her fury till she had gone. Felipe sat down at the table across from her and swirled his brandy before swallowing it in a single draught.
Gemma forced a wan smile to her lips. ‘Needed that, did you? You’ll be a raging alcoholic before I’d consider begging you for the sex you think I so desperately need.’
A genuine smile slicked his face then. ‘This is the Gemma Soames I know nothing about—such biting hypocrisy. I like it. It makes a change from the simpering compliance I generally run up against in women.’ He shrugged his shoulders dismissively. ‘It makes no difference, just adds spice to an otherwise racing certainty.’
‘Well, I’d hedge your bets if I were you. I’m not the woman you seduced so easily six months ago——’
‘And it was easy, wasn’t it?’ he cut in cruelly.
Gemma steeled herself, and somehow found the strength to fight him his way—dirty. ‘Very,’ she parried. ‘It didn’t take much to get you into bed either, did it?’
His fists bunched on the wrought-iron arm of his chair and his eyes blazed angrily. ‘Don’t talk that way, like a whore!’
Gemma held his eyes, fighting the whiplash of the insult. Suddenly she wasn’t afraid of him any more, not afraid to hurt him either because this wasn’t the man she had loved so passionately and wouldn’t have dreamed of hurting for all the world six months ago. This man was a cruel, heartless stranger.
‘It’s all right for you to insult me, though, isn’t it?’ She sighed theatrically. ‘But of course this is South America, not St John’s Wood, and here women do as they’re told, so you tell me.’
‘Because they want to. They love their men enough to bow to their every wish.’
‘How very quaintly old-fashioned. The women’s movement would have a field day down here.’
‘They’d get nowhere.’
‘You’re probably right,’ sighed Gemma. ‘I’m not interested enough to argue with you.’
‘And your complacency was the reason you didn’t call me in New York?’ he accused bitingly.
There was a long pause before Gemma could answer. Surely that wasn’t what all this was about, a wretched phone call that was never made?
‘Did you really expect that I would?’ she answered bleakly. Had he honestly expected her to go running after him after what he had done to her?
‘I should have known. Your sort of women want it all one way—their own. You took what you wanted from me and cast me aside for the next acquisition. Many no doubt in the circles you mix in.’
There was no room for hurt when indignation rose in her throat. ‘Is that why you came to my exhibition, to pick up the sort of woman you expected would frequent such a place? I thought exhibitions were for the purpose of viewing art, not trawling for loose women. My mistake again, as everything seems to be my mistake where you are concerned.’
‘You haven’t eaten,’ he said, nodding to the food in front of her.
Very revealing, thought Gemma. Point out a few home truths and a change of subject is always worth a try.
She pushed the plate away. ‘After your brutality I have no appetite,’ she told him. ‘How’s Bianca, by the way?’ she asked sarcastically, adding her own slice of brutality, though it was hurting her more than him, she realised as soon as she said it.
His eyes pierced hers and a muscle at his jawline tightened threateningly. ‘She’s well and will be here next week, so you will see for yourself,’ he told her cruelly.
Can’t wait, Gemma murmured inwardly, and reached for the jug of orange juice Maria had left. She couldn’t eat—his cruelty drove hunger from herbut fluids were essential. The heat was making her feel very light-headed—or was it the thought that Bianca’s arriving next week was engineered by Felipe to add insult to the injury he was already inflicting on her?
‘Why did you bring me here?’ she asked after slaking her thirst.
‘Because I was bored with making love to you in my mind. I wanted you in the flesh. I couldn’t live another day without possessing you for real.’
Gemma gazed at him painfully. He made making love sound as if it only meant sex. Was that how he had seen their affair? He’d said a thousand times that he had loved her, and, gullible as she had been, she had believed him. Not now, though. He wanted to punish her, drive her to the edge of desire and then spurn her as he thought she had done to him and that was spiteful and cruel and was aeons away from the caring he had shown before.
‘To punish me, or for your own pleasure?’ she asked levelly.
‘Both. I hate myself as much as you for what happened in London.’ He smiled cynically at her. ‘Trouble is, I still desire you, and you know the best cure for an obsession, don’t you? Face it. Over and over again till you exorcise it from your life.’
‘You hate me that much,’ Gemma breathed sad
ly, ‘and all because I didn’t phone you?’ She drew in a ragged breath, still not able to fully understand. ‘Felipe, I didn’t call you because you walked out of my life as easily as you walked into it——’
‘I had reason to, but you didn’t give me a chance——’
‘Should I have done? The call came a week later! Why not sooner?’ She shook her head miserably. ‘I don’t know why I’m bothering arguing with you. It makes no difference now.’ She stood up and looked across at him. ‘I did love you, Felipe, and I thank you for bringing me here. You’ve exorcised any ghosts I had spooking around after you left me. If you want help to get me out of your system, go summon a psychiatrist; no way are you going to do it by taking me to bed, how and when you please.’
He stood up and faced her, anger darkening his face. ‘I might not need to stoop so low,’ he grated, ‘because I’m seeing you in a new light. What happened to the soft, sweet Gemma I fell in love with?’
‘She got hurt, Felipe. So now we both know how it feels.’ She tilted her chin defiantly. ‘You can’t hurt me any more than you already have. I dare say with your expertise you could tempt me into your bed, but for what? Sex, no more, no less. It could never be anything else for me, Felipe, never!’
How easily the lies slid from her tongue. Sex: it had never been just that, and it wouldn’t be if ever he did manipulate her into his bed again. She had truly loved him and yet now she wanted to hurt him as he was hurting her, and suddenly she didn’t care that she was cheapening herself in his eyes.
‘You talk like a bitch!’ he breathed.
‘If you say so, so be it,’ she conceded frostily, and turned away from him.
He didn’t follow her, and Gemma went straight back into the house the way she had come out, round the side of the villa to the front. There were tears of fury and pain in her eyes but she willed them away, at least till she got to her room. The house was blessedly cool, and, sweeping her hair from the heat of her face, she started to climb the stairs.
‘Señorita, you don’t like the food I prepare for you?’
Gemma swung round and looked down at the hurt expression in Maria’s eyes as she stood in the hallway. For a few seconds she was dazed by the statement and then she understood.
‘No, Maria, it wasn’t that. I’m just too hot and tired to eat at the moment. I’m sorry you went to the trouble.’
She wished she’d eaten, not for her own sake but Maria’s. It was mid-afternoon and probably the custom here, as in most hot countries, to take siesta. Maria had gone out of her way to prepare food for her when she should have been resting.
‘It’s no trouble. You eat with Felipe later, si?’
‘No!’ Her retort came too quickly and Maria frowned. Gemma smiled and softened her voice. ‘I want to rest and…and…’ And what? She needed space and time to think, that was what. Somehow she had to get out of this hateful predicament.
‘Si, I understand,’ grinned Maria. ‘Later I bring you food.’ She ambled away into the shadowy depths of a corridor. Relieved, Gemma ran up the rest of the stairs to her room.
She stripped off her clothes, showered, wrapped herself in a towel and slumped on the bed. Her head ached miserably from the heated exchange between her and Felipe. He’d said it all in that brief but painful altercation. This was a Gemma Soames he knew nothing about. But was it any wonder? Once she had been happy and carefree, but lately she had been morose and bitter, and it was all his fault.
How very little they did know of each other. They were familiar with each other’s bodies but that was all. She would never have believed him capable of such cruelty. The very idea of him bringing her here to make her suffer was quite astonishing. He believed she had rejected him, his Hispanic descent had taken that as a personal humiliation and now he was determined to humiliate her in return.
Gemma buried her face in the cool lace bedspread. She felt sick and weary and wished with all her heart she had listened to her mother and not taken this assignment.
When she finally raised herself out of a deep sleep it was dark. Amber candle lights glowed softly in wrought-iron fixtures on the wall. The fan above the bed whirred softly. For a second Gemma wasn’t sure where she was and then it all folded over her, a black cloud of depression.
She got up, splashed her face with water, and found her white satin robe hanging on the back of the bathroom door, freshly ironed.
She slid into it and found that Maria had unpacked for her, ironed all her clothes and put them away.
‘You are awake,’ Maria said as she stepped softly into the room. ‘Felipe would like you to go down for dinner but he said not to worry if you have the lag jet.’
Such thoughtfulness from Felipe would have gone unnoticed before, but now it throbbed with suspicion. But maybe he’d had time to think how unreasonable he had been.
‘I feel a little better, Maria, but not enough to dress and go down for dinner. Is Se?or de Navas back yet?’
‘No, not for a few days yet,’ Maria told her, straightening the bedspread.
Pity, thought Gemma, she would have made the effort for him, her father. The thought didn’t excite her any more, just speared regret through her. She shouldn’t have come.
So she had a few days to kill before he came back. Under any other circumstances she would have welcomed the wait. It would give her the chance to fully recover from her ‘lag jet’ and emotionally prepare her for coming face to face with her real father. Now, with Felipe around to torment her, the waiting could be doubly insufferable. Depression washed over her in a fresh wave of despair.
‘Señorita…’ Maria started, but suddenly she became tongue-tied and a slight flush rose to her cheeks.
‘Please call me Gemma,’ Gemma said, trying to put her at her ease.
Maria smiled, ‘Gemma,’ she repeated, having difficulty with the soft G, and it came out as if she had something stuck in the back of her throat. ‘Felipe, he tell me why you are here…’
Gemma froze, her hand suspended over her head as she was brushing her hair. Surely he hadn’t confided in the housekeeper, told her they had been lovers and the reason he had engineered this commission?
‘Is my daughter, Christina. She love the Americano and he one day go back home and maybe he take my daughter with him…she is all I have. Maybe…you have time to do a…to do a small picture…’ Suddenly she shook her head. ‘No, I should not ask…’
Gemma grinned, half with relief, half with pleasure. ‘Oh, Maria, you want me to paint your daughter?’
Maria shook her head again, twisted her hands in front of her. ‘I should not ask…’
‘I’d love to do it,’ Gemma laughed with relief. It was a marvellous idea. It would keep her occupied and soothe her ravaged thoughts and how could she refuse such a heart-rending request?
‘I pay,’ Maria smiled, relief flooding her motherly features.
‘You won’t!’ Gemma protested. ‘It will be a gift from me to you. It will be a pleasure to do it,’ she told the woman, lightly squeezing her arm to prove she meant it.
Flushed with pleasure Maria turned away and stopped at the door. ‘I bring you food. You must eat and I tell Christina. She will be much excited.’
Gemma finished brushing her hair and wished she could brush away the depression with it. Well, at least, that was one problem solved—what to do with herself while she waited for Agustªn de Navas. Would Felipe mind? She presumed that Maria’s daughter also worked here but there was no reason why the girl couldn’t sit for her in her spare time. But what had it to do with Felipe anyway—this was Agustªn’s home, wasn’t it? But Felipe lived here and Maria addressed him as if he was the head of the household in Agustªn’s absence.
She frowned in bewilderment as she lay her brush down on the dressing table. Why did Felipe live here anyway? True, only some of the time, but he was here now, none the less. She knew he had something to do with finance in the oil-field sector. Was he an adviser to her father…to Agustªn? The remoteness
of the sprawling hacienda would warrant a long stay if Agustªn operated his empire from home. But that was only a presumption. The truth she longed to know but would it make any difference to the terrible predicament she found herself in?
The blackness outside her bedroom window gave no answers as she stared bleakly out, holding back the drapes with one hand. Strange how life twisted and turned, forever catching you unawares. She had come out here with trepidation in her heart at the thought of coming face to face with the man who was her father. Now that trepidation was for another man, her one-time lover, Felipe Santos. The fear of what he had in mind for her now outweighed the apprehension she felt at meeting Agustªn de Navas.
‘I’m sorry you don’t feel well enough to join me downstairs for dinner. The mountain comes to Mahomet, as you probably intended.’
His voice was raw with sarcasm and Gemma swung to face him.
‘That wasn’t the intention.’ She scowled as he put a tray of food down on one of the sideboards. ‘I’m not playing games as you suppose. I could hardly anticipate your doing such a menial task as bringing my dinner up, could I?’
‘Nothing surprises me about you. You’re sharp enough to realise that I would be annoyed by your stubbornness and not let it pass.’
‘I was under the impression I had a choice—to join you downstairs or to eat in my room,’ Gemma retorted. ‘In fact, I thought how considerate you were to think I might be suffering from jet lag. How wrong I was.’
‘Are you suffering from the after-effects of your long journey?’ He smiled coldly, his deep-set eyes sweeping over the provocative white satin of her robe.
Gemma stood her ground, not rising to the giveaway action of tightening it around her in an attempt at propriety. He knew what lay beneath it well enough.
