The Devil on Her Tongue (44 page)

I crossed the yard to have my breakfast in the kitchen. Partway there, Abílio met me.

“I was waiting for you. How do you find my wife and son today?” he asked, looking at me with a slight smile.

“They’re both well. But the birth was hard on your wife. You have to give her time to heal,” I said, hoping he felt my accusation.

Abílio looked around the yard and, obviously satisfied that no one paid us any attention, said, “Would you like your husband to be given the position in the Counting House?”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “You implied that it would help your decision if I stayed as your wife asked.”

“Now that you know I am to be his superior, are you still so interested?”

I didn’t answer. Of course I had thought about this through the long night on the settee in Dona Beatriz’s room.

“Surely this would be an improvement over your life in … your husband said Curral das Freiras?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve given up your dream of Brazil, then, and married a poor man from the mountains?” One side of his mouth pulled up in a half smile.

“No. I haven’t given up my plan. It was never just a dream, as I once told you.”

He kept looking at me with an expression I didn’t recognize.

“And what of you?” I said. “You married a wealthy woman, older than you, a woman who can assure you of a prosperous
career and lavish life. No future with your uncle in fish sauce, then?”

He didn’t answer.

“So you’re thinking that you have won out over me, Abílio? Is that what you wish to hear? That you have won?”

He waited a moment before speaking. “As you were perhaps surprised to see my choice of a wife, I was surprised to see your choice of a husband. Definitely not the kind of man who would inspire passion in you, Diamantina.”

“I don’t care what you think of my choices.”

“You got away from Porto Santo, but I think it’s important to you that your husband is employed by one of the most prosperous wine merchants on Madeira. Yes, I do think you would like this. I know you. Don’t forget that, Diamantina.” He glanced at the calluses on my hands, and in my mind I saw the smooth perfection of his wife’s highly polished fingernails. “Life in Funchal would be a great improvement for you,” he said softly, as if truly caring about my happiness and well-being. “So maybe”—he tapped his bottom lip with his index finger—“maybe you and I can work something out. I’m sure we can find a way that will guarantee your husband the position.”

A slow and ugly sensation, like dark, heavy air, came over me. Just as he said he knew me, I knew Abílio Perez all too well.

“At one o’clock you will tell my wife that you are taking your midday meal. And then I’d like you to visit me in my office, just there,” he said, lifting his chin towards a building set to one side of the yard, “so we can discuss how I might be able to persuade my father-in-law to hire your husband.”

I hadn’t taken my eyes from his face.

“Your future is in your own hands, Diamantina. I’m sure your husband is no more capable than many others who have come seeking the position. With my marriage to Beatriz, I became an important part of the Kipling management. My father-in-law will ask my opinion, and he will take it seriously. Should you visit me as I ask”—he paused—“and we come to an agreement, I will tell Martyn that without a doubt the best man for the post is Bonifacio Rivaldo.”

I could simply say no and turn away. I would tell Dona Beatriz I could not stay another day. Bonifacio would be informed that he had not obtained the position. And then? I knew now that Olívia would never allow Cristiano and me to stay with her and Espirito until my father’s letter came. I would be forced to return to the mountains, where Bonifacio would try to find work after the
senhorio
took back the land and house. And there I would spend much of the next year scrubbing dirty clothing and cooking for another family. We might have to live in an outbuilding, or a cow byre. But it couldn’t be worse than a mud hut. I could do it. I had done many things I didn’t want to do.

“You certainly don’t want to live out your life in Curral das Freiras, do you?” Abílio said, as if reading my thoughts.

In my mind, I saw the shaky scrawl of my father’s last letter. Until today I had refused to allow myself to think that he might die before he received my letter. Or that the ship crossing with either my letter or his would go down at sea. I had to believe that my father would live a long time. That he would receive my letter, and send the money that would allow me to leave Bonifacio and come to him.

This is what I had to believe.

“This may be your only chance to better your life, Diamantina,” Abílio said then, and I realized I was looking into his face without seeing him. “Your
last
chance,” he said, and a chill ran over me as we stood in the warm morning sunshine.

A
s midday approached, I excused myself from Dona Beatriz and used the lavatory to fix myself with a sponge. I crossed the yard and knocked on the frame of the open office door. Abílio looked up from the desk and smiled. “Well, Senhora Rivaldo,” he said, “you have not disappointed me. Come inside and close the door behind you. And lock it.”

I did as he asked and then turned to face him.

“Of course, I expected you. Once a whore, always a whore.”

“What guarantee do I have that you will do as you say, Abílio?” I asked, my back against the door. “I know you won’t disclose that you know me, because then you would disclose your own truths.”

He watched me.

“I’m right, aren’t I? I’m sure you haven’t told your father-in-law or wife the truth about your past. It’s clear you’ve passed yourself off as something more than an island boy, the son of a fisherman. What guarantee do I have,” I repeated, “that my husband will be given the position? How do I know you won’t betray me?” I tilted my head, and added, “Again.”

He came close enough to take my chin in his hand. He ran his other palm over my cheek. I smelled his familiar odour of excitement, high and sharp, and tried to stop myself from quivering.

I remembered the old feelings so strongly, and fought them.

“Even my wife, born of noble Portuguese and fine English heritage, doesn’t possess skin like yours.” He continued to caress my cheek, then his index finger traced the scar in my eyebrow. “Life has
played with you, hasn’t it, Diamantina?” he murmured as his other hand slowly enclosed my breast.

“You haven’t answered me,” I said, looking into his eyes. “What assurance do I have?”

He pressed against me, hard and insistent. “You have my word.” There was a whiff of fermented sweetness on his breath: Kipling’s Malvasia. In that moment I shocked myself, realizing I wanted to taste his lips, to lick and suck the sweetness from them. Why? Didn’t I hate this man? And yet my body wanted what it remembered. I wanted to be touched. To feel something.

“Your word?” I said, struggling to control my voice. “Do you think I believe in your word?”

“Diamantina,” Abílio said, the smile emerging again as the pressure of his hand on my breast and the front of his breeches against my hip increased. “What choice do you have but to believe me?” He pulled down the front of my blouse and my shift and put his hands on my bare breasts, then kissed each nipple. I drew in my breath, repulsed, and yet at the same time the tiniest involuntary flicker of pleasure flooded through my body.

He undid his breeches and pushed up my skirt. He guided himself into me, and I was further disgusted with myself to know I was ready for him.

He shoved me up and down against the door, the back of my head softly bumping with each of his thrusts. Eventually he removed himself and pulled me with him to the settee. He lay down and positioned me atop him, again tracing my scar with his fingertips. I fought not to lose myself, not to let him know some very small part of me wanted this. That it both felt terrible and yet brought something like relief.

Was I really this simple, like an animal in heat? My marriage was not a real marriage, and I did not feel guilt as much as a sense that I was debasing myself with Abílio Perez. It made me feel ill, made me feel I hated myself. I closed my eyes and let the sensations of my body take over my thoughts.

Afterwards, as we lay together on the settee, I tried to imagine him with his wife. She was a dignified noblewoman. Surely he didn’t treat her with the same abandonment he had just shown with me.
Surely, after he had made love to her, he pulled down her sleeping gown, stroked her cheek and whispered good night.

Then again, this was not making love. This was an act of lust.

He unexpectedly laughed, and I propped myself on my elbow and looked at him. “What do you find amusing?”

“I was thinking of your long-faced husband. He doesn’t satisfy you when he fucks you, does he?” So he was imagining me with Bonifacio as I was thinking of him with Dona Beatriz. “Does he enjoy fucking you, or does he feel it his duty? He seems a rather dull man. Tell me, Diamantina, when your husband fucks you, do you excite yourself with memories of the other men who have satisfied you? Do you excite yourself with thoughts of me?” He picked up the hem of my skirt and wiped himself with it.

I yanked my skirt away and rose, walking to the door.

“Come back,” he said, patting the side of the settee. He hadn’t bothered to pull up his breeches.

“Why?”

“This is part of the bargain. I waited for you to come to me, and now you will wait until I tell you you’re allowed to go.”

I stayed where I was for a moment, and then slowly walked back to the settee.

“Tell me about it, Diamantina. Tell me how your husband fucks you.” He was looking up at me, and took my hand. I pulled back, but he held it tightly.

“What happens between my husband and me is no concern of yours,” I said, and studied a whorl in the painted wood of the wall. I felt the heat of Abílio’s hand around mine. I didn’t want to look back at him. “I have to go.”

“No you don’t. Beatriz will survive without you a while longer.” His hand was caressing my fingers. “Tonight her father will arrive from Lisboa, and tomorrow morning he and I will meet. After that I’ll inform the lucky man I have decided most deserves this position, with its substantial wage. It affords a definite change of life from poor provincial ways, I guarantee you.”

I looked back at him, and he finally let me take my hand from his.

He stood and pulled up his breeches and tied them. “I may need
one more reason to choose a particular man. After dark tonight.” When I said nothing, he added, “Well? Do you plan to help me make my final decision? It seems absurd to only go half the distance, Diamantina. When Beatriz is asleep tonight, come here again.” He smoothed back his hair with his palms. “One more thing. Let us be very clear. I’m not forcing you into anything. What you are doing, you do out of free will. You do it because you are a whore, and will always use what lies between your legs to get what you want. Isn’t this true? Say it, Diamantina, say, I will come to you, Abílio, because I am a whore. I am a filthy whore, and I enjoy it. Say it.” His pupils pulsed. What pleasure he was deriving from making me humiliate myself.

Without blinking, I stared into his face. “I am a filthy whore. And I enjoy it.”

“Ah.” A wide smile. “That wasn’t so difficult, was it?”

I turned to go. I wanted to slam the door with all my might, but as I stepped out into the bright sunlight and the hub of the courtyard, I closed it gently behind me. I couldn’t afford to draw attention to myself.

That evening, as Jacinta took away the tray of food she’d brought Dona Beatriz, I gathered up my herbs and jars from the table, packing them into my medicine bag. The baby was in the nursery with his wet nurse.

“I’m glad you’ve recovered so quickly,” I told her. “I’ll be leaving tomorrow morning. My husband is coming to take me back to Funchal first thing.”

Dona Beatriz rubbed sweet-smelling lotion onto her hands. “I find it lonely with my father away.”

“Isn’t he returning tonight?”

“Yes. I’ll be asleep when he arrives,” she said, smiling now, “but wait until he sees Leandro. He’ll be so happy,” she went on. “He hoped for a grandson, and Leandro will be the next Kipling to run the business.” She fiddled with her hair, yanking out a silver ribbon. “Abílio likes me to wear my hair like this, but I know it doesn’t suit
me.” She held out the ribbon to me. “You wear it. It will pick up the colour in your eyes.”

I remembered the ribbons Abílio had bought for me on Porto Santo. I took it and set it on the table. “You should sleep now, Dona.” I went to her and arranged her bedding. “I’ll be on the settee should you need me.”

She lay down and turned away from me, and within moments was breathing in a slow, quiet rhythm.