Anne Mather - Who Rides A Tiger

SHE must have fallen asleep, for when she opened her eyes the telephone was ringing, and the room was dark apart from the lights from outside in the street. Shivering slightly, she leaned over and switched on the bedside lamp. It revealed a cream-coloured telephone beside the bed, and as she lifted the receiver she glanced at her watch. Eight-fifteen! It couldn’t be!

Then she said: ‘Hello, Dominique Mallory speaking.’

‘Dominique! Is that you? Oh, thank heaven!’ John sounded relieved and anxious. ‘How are you, love? I’m sorry I had to leave you in the lurch at the airport. Did Santos explain?’

‘Yes, of course, John.’ Dominique wriggled into a sitting position. ‘Oh, it’s marvellous to hear your voice after all this time. I’m fine. The hotel is very comfortable.’

‘Good, good. Have you had dinner?’

‘Actually no. I must have fallen asleep,’ exclaimed Dominique, with a laugh. ‘But I’m ravenous now. Looking forward to seeing you. Has the landslide been cleared yet?’

‘Cleared? You must be joking! Things don’t move at that pace round here. Landslides can take anything from a week to a month to be cleared.’

‘Oh, I see.’

‘Why? You’re not nervous about coming in on the chopper, are you?’ John sounded worried. ‘Santos is a good pilot.’

‘No – of course not.’ Dominique reached for her cigarettes. ‘Tell me, John, who is this man Santos? Is he something to do with your company?’

‘Yeah. His father founded the corporation, actually.’

‘I see. So he’s your boss, then?’

‘Heck, no! Vincente Santos doesn’t worry over-much about the corporation. He’s far too busy spending the money it earns!’ John sounded slightly bitter.

Dominique frowned. ‘You don’t sound as though you like him.’

‘Santos?’ John snorted. ‘We have nothing in common. As for not liking him, that’s quite an understatement. But as he hates my guts, too, I’m not too worried about that!’

Dominique felt disturbed. She had never heard John talk this way before. ‘Then – then how come he was the only person you could ask to meet me?’ she exclaimed.

‘Helicopters are not two a penny,’ remarked John dryly. ‘Besides, when I phoned in about the landslide someone else asked him to come. He was the logical person to ask in the circumstances.’

‘I see.’ Dominique digested this. ‘What – what are you doing now?’ She lit her cigarette. ‘Where are you phoning from?’

‘My apartment. You’ll like it, Dom. It’s in one of the new blocks and it’s spacious. I’ve not got much furniture yet. I’m leaving that to you. You’re to stay with the Rawlings like I wrote you. I’ve fixed the wedding for five weeks hence. That will give you time to get acclimatized and also time to get what you want for the apartment. We have some good stores and Mrs. Rawlings has said you can borrow her sewing machine to run up curtains and such like.’

Dominique drew on her cigarette. ‘It doesn’t seem real somehow,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘I mean – being here in Brazil!’

John laughed. ‘That’s natural. You’ve just flown several thousand miles. It takes time for your mind to catch up with your body!’

‘I suppose that’s what it is,’ she nodded.

‘Well, anyway, roll on tomorrow. Phones are such inadequate things when I’m longing to see you and hold you and kiss you.’ John’s voice was husky. ‘I love you, Dom!’

‘And I love you, John,’ she murmured.

‘I’ll go now, then. Go have some dinner and then have an early night. You must be exhausted!’

‘Not now. I’ve just had about three hours’ rest. But I will go and get some dinner. Will you meet me when we land, John?’

‘Of course. G’bye, honey.’

‘Good-bye, John.’

After he had rung off she sat staring at the telephone for several minutes. It was strange how different John sounded now from the man she had known in England. Or maybe he didn’t sound any different, she was just hearing him differently.

She sighed and stubbed her cigarette out in a brass ashtray. She had the strongest suspicion that she should not have had these six months away from John. What if they had both changed? What if her opinion of him was different now that he was taken out of his normal environment?

But that was ridiculous. If you loved somebody, you loved them no matter what. You didn’t change because of circumstances or environment.

She slid off the bed and opened her overnight case. Apart from the suit she had been wearing when she left London and which she had changed at the airport there was a navy blue uncrushable dress which she had packed for her first night at Bela Vista to save her tackling her other trunks. Taking it out, she laid it on the bed and then sluiced her face before applying a light make-up. Her lashes were naturally long and she darkened them with a little mascara, smoothing some eye-shadow on to the lids. Then she applied a pale lipstick and wriggled into the navy dress. Her hair was thick and long and heavy, but she couldn’t be bothered to attempt a sophisticated knot, so she added an Alice band which kept it back off her face. Then she left her room and took the lift down to the restaurant.

At this hour of the evening it was not too busy and the waiter showed her deferentially to a table. Maybe he thought she was some close friend of Vincente Santos, she thought dryly. Certainly she had never experienced such obsequious attention before. She chose a dish comprising beef, black beans and rice, which while being rather rich and spicy, was rather delicious. Then she had an orange dessert, with real fresh oranges that somehow tasted different from the ones she was used to eating back in England, and finished with cheese and coffee.

‘You enjoyed the meal, senhorita ?’ It was the head waiter bowing beside the table.

Dominique flicked ash from the end of her cigarette and nodded enthusiastically. ‘Thank you. It was delicious!’

‘I am very happy. Perhaps a liqueur with your coffee? Brandy perhaps?’

Dominique shook her head regretfully. ‘Oh, really, no. The wine with the meal was quite enough for me. I don’t have a strong head for alcohol.’ She offered the explanation with a smile.

‘Are you endeavouring to lead the innocent into temptation, my friend?’ remarked a deep voice lazily, and Dominique looked up, startled, to see Vincente Santos standing behind the head waiter, looking dark and lean and disturbingly masculine in a dark dinner suit.

The head waiter glanced round and smiled with real pleasure. ‘Ah, Senhor Santos,’ he said, nodding. ‘You startled me. I was merely offering the young lady a liqueur, but she seems unwilling to accept.’

Vincente Santos moved round the table, pulling out a chair and straddling it lazily. ‘So, Miss Mallory. You are afraid to take any risks, is that right?’

Dominique controlled her blushes with difficulty. ‘I didn’t say that, Mr. Santos. I don’t have a head for spirits, that’s all.’

‘But that is sad!’ he mocked her gently. ‘Particularly as I know my good friend Enrico here possesses some of the finest brandy in the whole of Brazil.’ He looked up at the head waiter. ‘The senhorita will drink with me later, Enrico. You may go.’

‘ Sim, senhor .’ The waiter left them, and Vincente Santos gave her an appraising glance.

‘You look very charming, Miss Mallory. It seems a shame to waste such beauty on the restaurant of the Maria Magdalena.’

Dominique felt her nerves jumping. She was quite sure he wasn’t seriously suggesting that he had come here for any other purpose than to ascertain that she was being adequately looked after.

‘What would you suggest, Mr. Santos?’ she parried coolly, endeavouring to appear composed while her stomach was churning with suppressed excitement.