Maggie Cox - Brazilian Boss, Virgin Housekeeper

But it was perfectly true that he did need a housekeeper, and considering Marianne’s shivering form yesterday, watching her struggle to keep warm in the bleak winter weather, Eduardo had suddenly thought it was the ideal solution. But she had turned him down. It was true that he had not really believed that she would accept his offer, but still…it irked him more than a little that she had not. And it was a practical certainty that if he attempted to offer her money again, to help better her situation, she would likely throw it back in his face and instruct him in no uncertain terms to go to hell! She had a temper on her, that was for sure. And it had genuinely shocked him to learn that she was no teenager but twenty-four years old…a woman .

Recalling the flash of fire in her almond-shaped hazel eyes as she’d castigated him for being too intrusive, he felt his skin tighten hotly. Irritably ignoring the unsettling sensation, he strode into the ornate marble bathroom that led off his private suite of rooms and for several moments just stood in the centre of the floor, unsure why he had even gone in there. Restlessly he pushed his fingers through his hair and sighed. It was probably best he curb his philanthropic urges where that particular young woman was concerned and concentrate his efforts on repairing his damaged leg, doubling his belief that one day soon he would be able to walk as well as he had before the accident—confidently, and without even a trace of a limp.

After that…Eduardo moved across to the vanity unit, staring at his reflection in the large oval mirror there and grimacing at the deep shadows wrought beneath his eyes by agony of body and spirit and a severe lack of sleep. After that… Well, he would just have to take one day at a time, he told himself, hardly able to contemplate a future that wasn’t as bleak and pain-filled as the present. How could such a prospect be possible when the two lives most intimately intertwined with his had been ripped away? When every night he relived the terrible nightmare of the accident that had killed them—the accident that he had caused?

THERE was indeed a heavy snowfall that night, as the fruit vendor had predicted. After surveying the cloak of sparkling white that blanketed her garden as well as the street outside the next morning Marianne tidied the house, made herself a hot drink, then tinkered with an unfinished song she’d been composing on the piano. But her mood was not buoyant, and she struggled to stave off the sense of melancholy that kept threatening to overwhelm her. Finally, unable to bear the enforced isolation a moment longer, she donned a warm coat, boots and a hat over her jeans and sweater and went outside.

The ice in the air snatched at her breath, making her eyes water, but her spirits lifted at just being out in the open again. She took herself off for a long, if laboured walk, due to the impediment of snow, into the park nearby. Just watching the children toboggan down the glistening frosted hillside and hurl snowballs at each other restored her sense of perspective and her good humour. And if any thoughts of the childhood she’d experienced, which had been bereft of similar happy times and feeling secure started to threaten, she firmly pushed them away, knowing it was pointless to contemplate such things when her cheerful mood could so easily regress to one of despair.

By the time she returned home she’d made a vow to fight off any gloomy recollection that might seduce her into unwanted misery. She simply would not allow herself to go there. But by mid-afternoon, when early darkness had descended, impelling her to turn on all the lamps again and draw the curtains, Marianne was sitting in an armchair in front of the fireplace, watching the flames lick round the burning coals and crackling twigs, and considering the prospect of life on her own again for the foreseeable future. Donal would be so mad at her for sitting here feeling sorry for herself! That was for sure. And suddenly she was crying. An unstoppable flow of hurt and sadness long dammed up could no longer be contained—making her weep until she was utterly spent and could cry no more.

Taking herself off to bed, she curled up in a foetal position, drawing the duvet right over her head, feeling numbed and empty. Just before she closed her eyes she swore to herself she would never indulge in such futile self-pity again. Tomorrow was a new day, and when the morning light came it would herald a new and more positive beginning. Marianne was adamant about that.

However, on lifting a corner of the bedroom curtains the following morning and being confronted by an even thicker blanket of snow, with a fresh shimmering fall of delicate white descending before her very eyes, she had to draw on every ounce of resolve not to be downcast. During the night she had made her mind up about something, and today there was plenty to occupy her towards implementing that decision.

Donal’s adult children—Michael and Victoria—had contested the will that he’d made, leaving his house and all his belongings to Marianne. For nearly eighteen months she’d endured formal, aloof and cruel letters from their solicitor, stating the reasons for their dispute and insinuating that both she and their father had not been of sound mind, and now she had had enough. They could have the house and everything in it. She would leave it to them without a backward glance or a single regret.

She was certain Donal would forgive her. Everything he’d done for her in helping to restore her low self-esteem and encouraging her to believe in her talents and abilities she totally appreciated, but the truth was Marianne did not want to be beholden to anyone any more. Not even her deceased husband. She needed to be free again…free to live her life the way she chose— however that looked to anyone else. So, from the house she would take just her clothing, her guitar, and what little savings she had put by. Everything else—even the gifts Donal had bought her during their short-lived marriage—she would leave to his avaricious children.

Galvanised into action, she spent the day cleaning the house, restoring stray books to shelves, packing up her things and moving furniture back to where it had been when she had first moved in with Donal. Her body throbbed with satisfying warmth from a job well done, and she was too physically tired to allow even one negative thought to invade her mind. And that night…that night she slept like a baby.

But when she woke the next morning to find that the snow still hadn’t cleared, and with no prospect of getting into town to play her guitar and sing—knowing she would be mad even to try—Marianne impulsively found herself searching for the business card Eduardo de Souza had insisted she take. Lifting the telephone receiver in the hall, she dialled his home number with shaking fingers. Even as she dialled she called herself all kinds of fool for contemplating such a reckless path.

But she could be snowbound for days, she thought, genuine dread invading her as she waited for someone to pick up at the other end. And now that she’d made the decision to leave and forge a new life, a new future, she was eager to put the past behind her and start again. Something had to be done to help improve her situation besides overcoming her fear of performing in public and accepting that she was now on her own again. Unlikely as it seemed, this might, just might , be it.

‘Hello?’ an accented male voice answered.

‘Is that Mr De Souza?’ Marianne ventured, her heart beating like a military tattoo.