Who Rides the Tiger (15 page)

She began to think coherently. She had been so absorbed in the effect this would have on her life, she had not even begun to think what she was going to do. What could she do? She was married to Vincente Santos. And there wasn't a chance of having the marriage annulled in this alien country. He held all the cards. He had the power, the affluence, the overwhelming influence on his side. She had offered herself to him, and now came the sacrifice.

The limousine swept into the courtyard of Minha Terra and Dominique wondered if her legs would support her when she slid out and walked swiftly across to the terrace. She glanced back, saw Salvador following her carrying two of her cases, and then ran up the steps and into the lounge.

She halted abruptly as Vincente rose from a low couch at her entrance and stood looking at her. Colour spread up her neck and over her cheeks, and she wished desperately that she had thought to change the black dress. She must look quite ridiculous for this time of day. Vincente, in his dark suit, his shirt collar unfastened, looked cool and attractive, and completely in control of himself.

And why shouldn't he be? she thought a trifle wildly. He thought she was still his gullible, adoring wife!

'Where have you been?' he asked. Was there censure in his tone?

'To the Rawlings'!' she replied, in a tight little voice.

'Why?'

'For my clothes, of course!' She endeavoured to control the surge of anger that was overtaking all other emotions rapidly.

'Salvador could have got them,' he said dispassionately, his eyes narrowed, studying her. He seemed to sense that she was strung up and he made no attempt to get near her.

'Yes, he could. But I preferred to get them myself.' She heard footsteps behind her and Salvador entered the room.

'I'll put these in your suite,
senhora
,' he said expressionlessly.

Dominique shook her head, compressing her lips. 'No. No, don't do that,' she said sharply. 'Leave them - leave them in the hall!'

Now Vincente's eyes seemed dark with annoyance, and he waved a hand impatiently. 'Put them in the suite, Salvador,' he said curtly.

'Yes,
senhor
.' Salvador ignored what Dominique had said and went out of the arched exit. She saw him out of the corner of her eye, mounting the stairs, and her anger increased.

'Was that necessary?' said Vincente bleakly. 'Obviously you're upset about something, but there is no need for this childish display of temper.'

'Childish display of temper!' echoed Dominique unevenly. 'Is that what you think it is?'

Vincente walked across to the drinks tray. 'Have a drink,' he advised coolly. 'It will calm your nerves.'

Dominique hovered uncertainly near the door, aware that if she was not careful she would lose the small amount of composure she had achieved. He was so cool, so calm! Did he have any idea of what she had learned? He must have! He must have known that sooner or later she was bound to find out! Did he imagine by adopting this indifference of attitude he would reduce what she had to say to a lesser degree of importance?

'Vincente!' she said angrily. 'Don't try to humour me! You must have some idea of what it is that has upset me!'

He turned, leaning back lazily against the table. 'Marion Rawlings has doubtless been endeavouring to cause trouble,' he remarked cynically.

Dominique twisted her hands together, bending her head^ and he shrugged, and continued: 'You once told me I knew what kind of woman she was.' He studied her intently. 'You know it, too.'

'Yes, but - well, this is different! This is something indisputable. Something that not even Marion could have dreamed up!'

'Are you sure?'

Dominique looked up. 'Of course I'm sure.' Then: 'Are you denying you've been married before?'

Vincente's face revealed none of his feelings. It was like a mask, and Dominique wondered with a deep sense of dismay whether she would ever glimpse the man behind the mask. Last night she thought she had reached the real Vincente, the Vincente that none of these women with their posturings could reach, but now she was uncertain, insecure.

Finally he said: 'No, I don't deny that,' in a bored tone. 'Is that what this demonstration is all about? Does that arouse such passion inside you?' He gave an angry exclamation. 'God in heaven, what has that to do with
us?'

Dominique stared at him. 'You should have told me!'

'Why? Why? Would it have stopped you from marrying me? Would you have rejected my proposal on those grounds! For God's sake, Dominique, you're not a child!' He turned and poured himself a generous measure of whisky, and threw it to the back of his throat. 'Why is it that my-previous marriage disturbs you so?' he muttered savagely. 'I was young - and foolish! I have learned by my mistakes!'

Dominique was shivering a little. 'Did - did you love her?**

He swung round, surveying her sardonically.
'Love?

What is love? I doubt whether you have the faintest idea! Certainly it bears no resemblance to the paltry emotion you say you have for me, that is shaken to its foundations by such unimportant revelations!'

'That's not all,' cried Dominique, hugging herself to stop the trembling sensation that quivered through her body.

'Oh no? What else? What other dastardly deeds have I perpetrated?' He poured himself another drink. 'What a thrilling conversation you have been having! Didn't you attempt any defence on my behalf? Isn't that what a loyal little wife would do?'

Dominique faltered, 'I - I didn't enter into a conversation. I -1 overheard—'

'Ah, the eavesdropper who never hears good of herself, or in this case of her husband!' He swallowed his whisky. 'Do go on! You have aroused my curiosity!'

'Why did you marry me?' Dominique almost whispered the words.

Vincente sighed. 'Don't you know?' He gave a brief, mirthless laugh. 'I'm sure you do! I married you to take you away from Harding.'

Dominique pressed a hand to her throat. 'You - you didn't!' she gasped.

'Didn't I?' Vincente frowned mockingly. 'I thought I did!'

Dominique turned away, burying her face in her hands. 'Oh, God!' she moaned. 'Oh, God! I wish I was dead!'

Vincente strode across to her and swung her round to face him. 'That's what you wanted to hear, isn't it? That's what you had already heard from Marion Rawlings, isn't it?'

'Yes!' Her voice was very faint.

'I thought as much. How delightful that woman is! I must send her some flowers some time. Black orchids, perhaps!'Dominique looked up at him. 'How can you stand here and talk so - so carelessly about something that affects us both? Why? Why did you do it?'

Vincente's expression was contemptuous. 'Did not you learn that also? Was not Isabella's name mentioned?'

'You're deliberately making me defend myself!' she exclaimed tremulously. 'I suppose the best method of defence is attack!'

'Attack, then,' said Vincente coldly. 'What are your weapons? Do you know how well Harding knew my sister? Do you know why she has entered the convent - locked herself away from the world?'

'Do you?'

'Yes, I know.' He turned away. 'But do not imagine that my admittance of that fact is a confession! My reasons for marrying you are my own. Whatever they may be!' His voice was taut.

Dominique hesitated. 'Are - are you saying I could be wrong? Marion could be wrong?' she whispered incredulously.

He spun round, staring at her with his tawny eyes, eyes that burned her up with their intensity. 'And if I were?' he muttered.

'Well then—' her voice was husky with emotion.

'Well then - nothing!' he snarled. 'Do you imagine you can come here to me - accuse me of deceiving you, not only about my reasons for marrying you but also by not revealing I had had a previous marriage - a marriage I choose to forget-- and then, by denying these accusations, regain your respect, and thus accept your belief in me again?
No!'
He smote his fist into the palm of his hand. 'The accusations were made - the doubt was there. I would not have believed— He broke off as though angry with himself for beginning the sentence. 'Get out of my sight!' He ground out the words as though he could not bear to look at her.

Dominique walked shakily to the arched entrance to the hall. Then she looked back. She was shocked and uncertain, despising herself for wanting to believe in him again. His anger was so real, his bitterness so pronounced. She had either misjudged him, or he was a marvellous actor. She supposed the latter could be true. He had had plenty of experience with women, and would know instinctively the best way to deal with her. Even so...

'Get out!' he said violently, swinging round from the drinks tray and seeing her hovering there.

'Out?' she faltered. 'Out of Minha Terra?'

'Oh, no!' A harsh smile lit his cruel features. 'Not out of Minha Terra. You are my wife, Dominique, and my wife you are going to stay, like it or not! Do you imagine I am going to make myself a laughing stock by throwing you out on the strength of a stream of gossip that you have heard from that snake of a woman and which you have brought here and repeated to me? Oh, no, Dominique! If I am the man you think I am you will understand this. I haven't finished with you yet. You have no idea of the degradation I could bring on you if I tried!'

'Stop it! Stop it!' Dominique put her hands over her ears.

'Why? Why shouldn't I vent a little of my disappointment on you? You will find I can be completely ruthless when I am thwarted!'

'Are - are you threatening me?' Her voice trembled.

'Yes - yes, I suppose I am. At any rate you can go and unpack your things. In
our
suite!'

Dominique gnawed at her lower lip. 'You - you don't imagine we can - we can live together - after this?' she exclaimed.

'You mean sleep together, don't you?' he corrected her savagely. 'Oh, yes, Dominique! As I have said - you are Santos's wife! And what I have, I keep.'

Dominique shook her head. 'You - you can't force me—' she began.

'Can't I? We'll see. Now get out!'

Shivering, she made her way up the stairs. She met Salvador on the landing, but she would not look at him. However, he touched her arm and said:

'Be careful,
senhora.
A man can only stand so much!'

Dominique's brows drew together. 'What do you mean?'

'Think about it,' replied Salvador quietly. 'And do not judge a man by any criterion but your own experience of him!'

Then he hastened down the stairs, and she was left staring after him, wishing with all her heart she had not gone down to the Rawlings' house today.

T
HE
suitcases stood in the centre of the floor of the beautiful blue and gold bedroom, and Dominique entered the room wearily, and closed the door. So many things had happened since this morning, and it was impossible to try at this time, and in her confused condition, to assimilate them. Just as yesterday had developed into something exciting and satisfying, so today had developed into a positive disaster. Not only had she discovered a lot of incredible things about her husband, but she had also alienated whatever it was that had drawn him to her in the first place. And she did not doubt him when he said he could wreak vengeance. She had always been aware of that sense of primitive savagery about him, and she dared hardly consider what his actions might now be.

She sat down on the window seat overlooking the sweep of the valley below, and shivered a little, in spite of the heat of the day. What on earth was going to happen to them? How could she go on living with a man who had tricked her and who now seemed to despise her? She sighed. It was incredible that only three weeks ago she had been excitedly planning this trip to South America. Now she was a married woman, married to a Brazilian whom she neither knew nor understood, and who would not think twice before destroying her. And yet she loved him!

That was the agony of it all! She loved him!

Even Marion's malicious words could not destroy that, and if she felt a sense of humiliation at his reasons for marrying her, it was because of her own disappointment, and not really to do with John and Isabella at all. Even his previous marriage, if she could get it into perspective, was something she could live with, if she had to.

Maybe if Vincente had not been here when she returned, if she had had time to sit and really think about what she had learned, she would have been able to act normally, and not treat him like some kind of monster. If she had seriously thought about the whole business, she might have been able to disguise the hurt and bitterness that Marion's revelations had aroused in her. After all, to her her love should be the most important thing, and if half a loaf was all she was to have, then that was better than nothing at all. If he had got some kind of sadistic pleasure in taking her away from John, then maybe he had his reasons, who could tell? As Marion had said, he was much more likely to take John's interest in his sister seriously, knowing how protective Latins could be towards their womenfolk, but at the time she had heard the conversation between Marion and Mary, newly informed of his previous marriage as she had been, it had been impossible to think coherently as she was doing now.

She got up miserably, and walking across to the table, helped herself to a cigarette, lighting it with fingers that shook. Whatever she thought, whatever excuses she tried to find for his behaviour, there was no altering the facts, and they were still as unpalatable as ever. He had deliberately deceived her, he had deliberately set out to attract her, right from their first meeting, and although she knew she was attractive, she was no
femme fatale
to sweep a man of his sophisticated tastes off his feet. No, there had to be a germ of truth in Marion's words, there was no smoke without fire, as they say, she thought gloomily.

With angry, nervous movements, she flung open her suitcases, and began to take out her clothes. For the present, at least, there was nothing she could do. As Vincente had said, she would stay, and she might as well make the best of it.