by Anne Mather
They reached Minha Terra quite swiftly. He was a comfortable driver, as well as a fast one, and soon the floodlit house came into view. He drove into the courtyard, switched off the engine, and then looked at Dominique.
'Well?' he said questioningly.
'Well what?' Her voice was taut.
'Here we are.'
'Hooray, hooray,' she replied sarcastically, and slid out without waiting for his assistance.
It was another beautiful night, the stars hanging low overhead, and a pale moon rising slowly. She felt cold suddenly in the lace dress. She wondered when she would get her other clothes from the Rawlings'. Sooner or later she would have to fetch them. Intuitively, she felt that Vincente would expect her to get them herself, if only to show that she was not afraid of their barbs.
He had left the car and was mounting the steps to the terrace.
'Come,' he said. 'I have something to show you.'
Dominique hesitated, then walked slowly across to join him. He had loosened his tie, and it hung loose, while several buttons of his shirt were open.
Her eyes on his shirt must have communicated her thoughts to him, for he said: 'It is hot, isn't it?'
'I'm cold,' she replied pointedly, and he half-smiled again.
They entered the long lounge, and crossed to the arched entrance into the hall. Although lamps were burning, there was no one about and Dominique looked at Vincente curiously. But he did not speak, and she was loath to say anything herself.
When he reached the foot of the staircase, he said: 'I trust there will be no dramatics tonight!' in a low lazy voice.
Dominique did not deign to reply. She was still seething with resentment from the reception, and when he shrugged and mounted the stairs she turned and walked back into the lounge.
She expected him to come back, to be angry with her, to force her to go with him, but he did not. And his footsteps faded as he mounted the stairs out of hearing distance.
Damn him, she thought angrily. Did he have to be so unpredictable? Going over to the drinks table, she helped herself to a generous measure of brandy and added a splash of soda. But when she tasted it, it was not pleasant, and she poured it away and made herself another, this time with only a touch of brandy. Then she seated herself on the couch and sipped it slowly.
It was very quiet in the room after the noise in the hotel, and there were shadows on the patio that moved and shifted in the faint breeze. She knew they must be the shadows of the shrubs, but even so she recalled quite clearly the screaming cry of the mountain lion the previous night and she wondered whether they ever came down near the house. It was unnerving, sitting there, thinking such thoughts, and eventually she got to her feet and going over to the French doors, closed them firmly.
Then she walked into the hall and looked up the stairs.,. Only a faint light glowed from a single lamp on the first landing, and she frowned, wondering where Vincente was and whether he intended appearing again that evening.
Her stomach contracted at the thought. He must appear. He surely didn't intend going to bed and forsaking her now!
Compressing her lips, she went back into the lounge and replaced her glass on the tray. She pondered whether she should have another, then decided against it, pacing to the windows and looking out.
The stillness, and darkness, and the complete isolation were a little frightening to a girl who had always lived in towns, and she wished Vincente were downstairs also. Even if he ignored her, at least she would feel safer in his company.
As her anxiety intensified, she gave an exclamation, and walking across the lounge she mounted the stairs slowly. On the first landing, she looked about her. There was the door to the room she had occupied the previous night, but where was Vincente? It was a long landing, and there were several doors.
Taking off her shoes, she tiptoed along the passage to where one door stood ajar. There was a light inside, and pushing open the door, she entered the room.
It was not a large room, in fact it contained only a single bed, and it was certainly not luxurious as the room she had slept in last night had been luxurious. She frowned. Was this where Vincente intended to sleep?
Shaking her head, she moved to the centre of the room. Where was he? Was this another subtle means of tormenting her?'
'What are you doing in here?' asked a voice suddenly, and she almost jumped out of her skin.
'Vincente!' she exclaimed, swinging round to face him.
He was fresh from the shower, his dark hair still damp and tousled, while his only garment was a white knee-length bathrobe. He looked more attractive than she had ever seen him and her heart turned over. His eyes were sombre, however, and he said again: 'What are you doing?'
Dominique hid her nervousness. 'I - I was looking for you!' she snapped.
'Oh, really? Why?'
'Why? You ask me why when you've been up here about half an hour, leaving me alone down there with those awful shadows and every sound sounding like a thundercrash!'
'I invited you to come up with me!' he reminded her.
'Oh, yes? I remember! At least, I remember the sarcasm!' Dominique was breathing swiftly. 'Do you think you can treat me like an imbecile?'
He shrugged. What are you trying to say?'
Dominique bent her head. 'Oh, stop it, stop it!' she cried. 'You've deliberately tormented me today - done everything in your power to hurt me! Why are you doing it? Why?' Her voice broke.
His voice was husky as he said: 'What would you have me do?'
Dominique gave a muffled gasp and brushed past him on to the landing. 'Oh, I hate you, I hate you,' she cried bitterly. 'I wouldn't have believed any man could be so unfeeling!'
Vincente caught her wrist in a vice-like grip. 'Come here,' he commanded firmly. 'I'll show you our room.'
'Our room?' she echoed hysterically.
'Yes.' He drew her back into the small bedroom, and through it to the door at the far side. 'This is just a dressing- room,' he said. 'I've used it in the past. But this is the master bedroom.'
He threw open the door and Dominique stepped on to a cream carpet into which her feet sank luxuriously. The bed was massive, with heavy silk bed covers in blue and gold, while silver-blue curtains hung at the tall windows. And when she moved slowly across to the windows she realized they overlooked the valley below.
Vincente folded his arms, then said: 'Well? Do you like it? It's not been used before.'
Dominique swung round. 'Of - of course.' Then she looked at him pleadingly. 'Vincente! Tell me why you've changed!'
He closed the door. 'I haven't changed,' he muttered harshly.
Dominique turned away. 'How can you say that? Unless those other times have all been lies—'
She felt him close behind her, then his arms slid round her almost compulsively, pressing her back against him, while his mouth sought the tender nape of her neck. She allowed her body to rest against him, all resistance ebbing out of her.
'You told me I couldn't make you jealous,' he muttered, near her ear. 'But I have, haven't I?'
Dominique found it hard to breathe. 'Hmm,' she murmured, her eyes half-closed.
'Every time I've touched you, you've always denied your need of me,' he continued, his mouth seeking her throat. She felt his hands tearing the pins out of her hair, and as the braids fell, he threaded his hands in them, loosening her hair completely. 'So today I deliberately treated you to the kind of treatment you usually give me. I wanted you to want me just as much as I've wanted you, and now you do, don't you?'
'Vincente,' she groaned, twisting round in his arms, seeking his mouth with hers.
'Are you hungry?' he asked, burying his face in her hair, sliding the lace gown carelessly from her shoulders, allowing it to fall about her feet.
'Are you?' she whispered, against his mouth.
'Only for you,' he muttered violently. 'You are the most beautiful thing in my whole life! God, Dominique, I want you!'
Then he swung her up into his ar
ms and carried her to the bed. She lay looking up at him with sleepy eyes, eyes drowsy with emotion.
'Love me, Vincente,' she murmured achingly.
'I intend to,' he replied huskily, loosening the cord of the bathrobe.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SUNLIGHT slatted through the blinds and one particularly persistent ray pierced Dominique's consciousness, arousing her unwillingly from a glorious sense of inertia. Her eyes flickered open, registering the blue and gold elegance of the room, and realization of where she was immediately flooded her being.
She turned her head swiftly, but she was alone in the huge bed, and only the rumpled pillows beside her bore witness to Vincente's occupation. She sighed, then putting her arms behind her head she allowed her mind to dwell on the events of yesterday with pleasurable recollection.
Then she heard water running and she realized Vincente must be in the adjoining bathroom. Sliding out of bed, she looked about for something to wear, and found his bathrobe at the foot of the bed. Wrapping it round her she went to the bathroom door, and then hesitated. She couldn't just walk in.
She was hesitating on the point of going back to the bed when the door opened and Vincente himself emerged. He was wearing dark slacks, his tanned chest bare, and he looked at her rather tenderly.
'Did I wake you?' he murmured questioningly.
Dominique shook her head, then she rushed to him, sliding her arms around his middle, pressing her cheek against his chest.
'Oh, Vincente,' she whispered. 'I love you!'
His hands cupped her head, then he bent his mouth to hers. 'Dominique, I've got to go to the plant,' he muttered huskily. 'It's the board meeting this morning. I've got to be there, unfortunately.'
'So early?' she asked, looking up at him appealingly.
'Early? Dominique, it's near eleven!'
'Is it? How terrible!' Her eyes were wide and innocent.
Vincente's fingers caressed her shoulders through the towelling material of the bathrobe, but with a muffled exclamation he thrust the offending cloth aside and buried his face in the soft warmth of her bare skin.
Dominique wound her arms round his neck, conscious of the power she had over his emotions, and he said thickly: 'Dominique, I've got to go!' but his tone was less than con- convincing.
'Have you?' she whispered provocatively.
His fingers tightened on her arms. 'No,' he groaned unsteadily. 'No, not yet!' and he carried her back to the bed.
Later, after Vincente had gone, Dominique took a bath and then dressed in the black dress she had worn to come to dinner two days ago. It was the only garment she had to wear apart from the lace wedding dress, and she could hardly wear that.
She reached the hall, and looked about her expectantly. She didn't know much of the layout of the house, and apart from the lounge and the dining-room she was lost. Both of these rooms were deserted, and she was standing hesitantly in the hall when Salvador appeared. She breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of a familiar face and said:
'You must show me the house, Salvador. I don't know where anything is.'
Salvador smiled. 'You look very beautiful this morning, senhora,' he murmured, in a satisfied voice. 'I trust you slept well!'
Dominique blushed attractively. 'Thank you, yes,' she said contentedly. 'Has - has my - my husband gone?'
'Oh, yes, senhora,' replied Salvador definitely. 'He went with much haste.'
Dominique compressed her lips, unable to suppress the surge of emotion that swelled inside her as she recalled that Vincente was hers entirely, and she was his.
'I see,' she said, at last. 'Now - will he be back for lunch?'
'Maybe, senhora, but very likely he will be late. On these occasions he usually has a sandwich from the staff restaurant and waits until dinner for a real meal.'
Dominique nodded in understanding. 'All right, Salvador.' She walked to the lounge, then turned. 'Is there a car I could use after lunch? I would like to go down to the Rawlings', and collect my clothes.'
'The Senhor did not say anything about you going out,' said Salvador, with some concern.
Dominique shrugged. 'Maybe not, but I must go. I can't wear this dress for ever.'
Salvador frowned. 'I could go to the Rawlings' for you. No doubt Airs. Rawlings would pack your clothes for me.'
'No! That is - Salvador, sooner or later I've got to meet these people again. I think it would be better sooner.'
'As you will, Senhora Santos!' Salvador sounded annoyed.
Dominique sighed. 'Try and understand,' she exclaimed, then bent her head. Of course she could say it was none of his business, but Salvador was not like a servant to her, he was a friend, and she could understand his feelings.
Salvador shrugged. 'Very well. But I will drive you down.'
'All right, I'll agree to that,' said Dominique, smiling.
'Good. And now - come! I will show you your domain, then Maurice will serve you lunch. It is a little late for breakfast this morning.'
The house was larger than even she had anticipated, with reception rooms and lounges, and even a library and study. In the library there was a huge stereophonic record player and a pile of records, both modern and classical, much to her surprise.
Upstairs there were two floors. On the first were the main bedrooms with bathrooms en suite. The second floor was devoted to smaller bedrooms and a large room which Dominique found herself thinking might be suitable for a nursery in future years.
The staff quarters and the kitchens were in the basement, and it was here, in a huge streamlined kitchen, that she met Maurice, the chef, and Juana, his wife. Maurice was a Frenchman, born and bred in Calais, but removed from his employment there, in a hotel, by Vincente, with generous offers of remuneration.
'He was not married then,' remarked Salvador, as they returned to the ground floor. 'He met Juana in Bela Vista.'
'How romantic,' said Dominique, smiling. 'He seems very contented here.'
'He is. All of the Senhor's staff are devoted to him,' replied Salvador firmly. 'He is a good employer, as well as a generous one.'
'You're biased!' said Dominique with a short laugh. 'Salvador, I've adored exploring the house, but as it's about eighteen hours since I had any food, I'm starving!'
Salvador looked apologetic. 'Of course, of course. I had forgotten. I am so sorry, senhora.'
'That's all right,' said Dominique easily. 'We're none of us used to the new arrangements yet, are we?'
Salvador smiled. 'You are right, of course. Look - go out on to the patio. You will find a table there, overlooking the valley. I will bring you some sherry and in a few minutes Maurice will have lunch ready.'
'All right.'
Dominique strolled outside. As Salvador had said, there was a small glass-surfaced table standing near the low parapet, shaded by a huge striped umbrella, and she seated herself in a comfortable basket-work chair and viewed the panoramic vista with a great deal of pleasure. The town sprawled in the valley, and in the distance the chimneys of the plant could be seen. The tall blocks of flats looked like toys from this height, and she became so fascinated with the view that she did not hear Salvador until he placed a tray on the table. A tray with glasses and a bottle of sherry.
'Oh, thank you,' she smiled up at him. 'Come and sit with me for a while. You can tell me all about Vincente now.'
Salvador gave a short chuckle. 'I think not,' he said, shaking his head. 'However, I have work to do and if we are going out this afternoon I must get on.'
Dominique sighed. 'Oh, very well.' Salvador walked away and she poured herself some wine. Sipping it, she wondered whether Vincente had appointed Salvador as her keeper or something. Certainly he seemed to consider her welfare as part of his duties. ^
Lunch was a delicious meal. There was melon cocktail, fried chicken with rice, and fresh fruit salad. She drank several cups of aromatic black coffee that accompanied the meal and then felt like nothing so much as going back to bed. She had never taken a sies
ta before, but today she felt pleasantly lazy. She thought with longing of the blue and gold'tuxury of the bedroom she had shared with Vincente, then determinedly thrust these thoughts aside. She had arranged to go out and go out she would. After all, if she delayed her departure then Vincente would most likely return and she would not want to go out at all.
Thus it was that about three o'clock Salvador drove her down the hair-raising track to Bela Vista. She was relieved in a way that he had agreed to drive her. She doubted whether she would have had the courage to take a car of this size round such dangerous bends. The cars she was used to handling were of much less generous proportions, besides having less speed under the accelerator. She sat in the front beside Salvador, and they talked casually, about Rio de Janeiro and London, comparing the cities without involving personalities.
Bela Vista looked exactly the same, rather quiet for the time of day, and Dominique wondered why she had imagined that everything would have changed. It was just that she seemed to have changed so much herself that it seemed incredible that things should still be normal.
When they neared the Rawlings' house, she said: 'Don't drive me right to the gate. I - I'd rather be alone.'
Salvador looked disapproving. 'Why?'
'I can't explain, exactly. It's just that - well—' she shrugged. 'It somehow looks so-so - blatant!'
Salvador sighed, but he halted the car some distance from the Rawlings' gate. 'And what about your trunks?' he asked. 'Can.you carry them?'
Dominique compressed her lips. 'No - no, I didn't think of that.'
'Then perhaps you should.'
She looked at him in exasperation. 'All right, all right, Salvador. Give me time to arrange it all and then I'll come to the gate and wave. When I do, you can drive along for my things.'
'All right. If that is what you want?'
'It's what I want,' she nodded.
She felt very self-conscious in the black dress which could not be described as a day dress, and she walked hurriedly past the gates of the other houses in the row. The Rawlings' house looked as drab and nondescript as ever, and she entered the garden nervously, walking up to the veranda slowly.
