Anne Mather - Rachel Trevellyan

Rachel straightened, hiding the pain in her face. ‘No one else would want to,’ she said quietly.

‘What the hell do you mean?’

Rachel turned away. ‘Nothing.’

‘Well, you listen to me: where I go, you go, do you hear?’

‘Then why didn’t you warn me—about coming here?’ she cried, turning back to him. ‘Why keep it all such a secret?’

Malcolm sniffed, running a hand across the hollow caverns in his throat. ‘I didn’t want anything to go wrong. I wanted to come here. Joanna owes me that much. If I’d had to tell her about you ...’ He shook his head. ‘It would have been difficult, very difficult. Portuguese women aren’t like English women. They have a very strict code of ethics. A man of my age marrying an eighteen-year-old girl!’ He pointed a finger at Rachel. ‘She’d have seen no possible reason for that.’

‘But this woman is English! And in any case, how can you now satisfactorily explain it? By telling the truth?’ She looked sceptical.

‘Joanna has lived so long in Portugal, she’s become like them,’ said Malcolm, ignoring her questions. ‘I saw that four years ago when she came to England. She came for my mother’s funeral, both she and Raul. That was her husband, the old Marquês, this man Luis’s father. Just like his son, he was. Cold and arrogant, conscious of his own importance!’

Rachel shook her head. ‘That still doesn’t explain——’

‘Leave it, Rachel.’

‘But why couldn’t you tell me?’ she sighed frustratedly.

Malcolm considered her thoughtfully. ‘If I’d told you what I’d arranged, how would you have reacted? Would you have been prepared to wait for this man to come and discover who you were?’

Rachel saw the logic of this. If she had known in advance she would have had to have written and told them the truth. She wasn’t like Malcolm. She couldn’t have waited, depending on their indulgence as he had done. And besides, Malcolm might have been afraid she’d run away at a crucial moment. She had wanted to do so many times in the past and he knew it.

She turned away. ‘I need a wash,’ she said vaguely. ‘I think I’ll take a shower. You’ll be all right, won’t you?’

Malcolm closed his eyes. ‘I suppose so.’ He opened them again. ‘And no disappearing if I fall asleep.’

‘Where would I disappear to?’ she exclaimed defensively.

‘I don’t know. But don’t, anyway.’

Rachel picked up one of the suitcases and flicked it open. Inside she found some clean underclothing and a towel. Leaving the bedroom, she entered the luxurious surroundings of the bathroom and although there was no need to do so, she locked the door. Then she turned on the shower and began stripping off her clothes. Her brain felt thick and fuzzy, and she was finding it hard to assimilate all this. It was too much in twenty-four hours, and she gave up the will to think ...

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