Who Rides the Tiger (6 page)

'Like what?' asked Harry belligerently.

'Sewing, knitting, reading...'

'Huh!' Harry Rawlings sounded sceptical. 'It seems to me you spend far too much time sitting about the place gossiping with your old cronies. You and that Pedlar woman! You don't give anyone a moment's peace!'

'Don't you criticize me, Harry Rawlings!' she snapped angrily, and John glanced apologetically at Dominique.

'I really think we'll have to go,' he said, getting to his feet. 'I want to show Dominique the apartment, and naturally we have things to talk about.'

'I'll bet,' jeered Harry Rawlings, rather objectionably, and Dominique rose gladly, eager to make her escape.

Once in the car, and on their way back into town, she said: 'Honestly, John, were they the only people you could ask to have me stay with?'

'Well, old Harry offered, and I didn't like to refuse,' explained John uncomfortably. 'I know Marion's a bit of a nag, but she does have a lot to put up with. Harry's no angel, and she has a pretty miserable life.'

'Oh, well, I suppose five weeks isn't long,' said Dominique dejectedly, and wondered why she should feel such a weight of depression over such a small thing. After all, she was here, wasn't she? She was with John again! What more did she want?

The apartment where John lived was, as he had said, spacious. It was bright and airy, and Dominique thought she could do a lot with it.

'Marion said you can use her sewing machine for curtains and covers and so on,' said John studying Dominique's reactions. Then: 'You're not sorry you came, are you, Dom?'

Dominique looked at his anxious face and suddenly ran into his arms. 'Oh, no, no, of course not,' she cried, hugging him, letting no other thoughts disturb her mind.

In the days that followed she became completely acclimatized. Actually, in the mountains the heat was not so intense and she didn't mind it at all. Her skin soon toned a honey colour, and her hair seemed a shade lighter. She filled her days working at the apartment. There was a lot she wanted to do. She got John to get her some paint and set about designing her own colour schemes. Then she went shopping and bought some material in the supermarket to make cushion covers and curtains to match. John had only acquired a table and some stools for the dining-room, and she decided to wait and see how their finances stood after the wedding and the honeymoon before spending extravagantly. There was a double bed in the main bedroom which John used at present, and a couple of lounge chairs. Al- „ together, he had adequate possessions, and had left Dominique plenty of opportunities to exercise her own prerogative.

At the Rawlings' she slept and ate breakfast, but for most of the day she was out of their house. Not that Marion wasn't friendly towards her, she was, but Dominique had the feeling that she and John would provide just another subject for discussion between Marion and her cronies.

Dominique had met the three women with whom Marion spent most of her time, and had not been impressed. They were all of an age and disposition, only living through the lives of their neighbours who lived, from their biased point of view, a thoroughly immoral existence. Dominique couldn't understand their reasoning. Couldn't they see that the world was going on its way and leaving them behind?

She and John resumed their relationship. It took a while, of course, and Dominique felt it was all her fault. But since John left England she had grown used to making decisions for herself and was not quite so willing to allow him to dominate her as he had used to do just after her father died. But she enjoyed working in the apartment, and in the evenings, when John came home and she cooked their evening meal, she could almost imagine they were married already. Not that John made any attempts to anticipate their married state, respecting her desire to keep their relationship warmly affectionate, and thus avoid any strain which might have developed in other circumstances.

The Santos Corporation provided recreational facilities for its staff, among them a golf and tennis club, and in the evenings sometimes John took Dominique down to the clubhouse Where they sat beside the swimming pool and drank long cooling lagers and talked to his colleagues and their wives. As well as Harry Rawlings and Marion, Dominique got to know several other couples, although Marion's close friends did not appeal to her.

She had been in Bela Vista ten days when Vincente Santos's name cropped up again.

Since her arrival she had deliberately refrained from discussing him with John as she had sensed John's withdrawal on the subject, and it was from Marion and her cronies that she heard Vincente's name.

It was one morning when she was at the Rawlings' home, running up some curtains on Marion's sewing machine. Lynn Matthews, Susan Wheeler and Mary Pedlar were there, having coffee with Marion, and Dominique just happened to be sewing in the same room. It was Mary Pedlar who mentioned him first.

'I see Santos is back,' she remarked conspiratorially, glancing in Dominique's direction. 'Bob was talking to him yesterday at the plant.'

'Is he?' It was Marion who answered her. 'I didn't know that. I wonder how long he's staying this time. Is he alone?'

'I've no idea,' said Mary, shaking her head. 'Bob did say something about a board meeting being held in a couple of days. I expect he's here for that.'

'Most likely,' agreed Susan Wheeler. 'Have you met our chairman, Dominique?'

Dominique glanced up, pretending not to have listened to their conversation. 'What?' she asked. 'Your chairman? Who's that?'

Marion clucked her tongue. 'Of course she's met him,' she exclaimed. 'Heavens, didn't he meet her at the airport?'

Dominique's face suffused with the revealing colour she despised so much. 'You mean Mr. Santos?' she asked.

'Of course.'

'But how come Santos met John's fiancee?' exclaimed Lynn Matthews in astonishment. 'Heavens, I would have thought. ...' Her voice tailed away at a look from Marion, and she added defensively: 'Well, I mean, he is the chairman, isn't he?'

Marion licked her lips in preparation for relating the story. 'There was a landslide, don't you remember?' she say, leaning forward. 'John phoned in to the refinery in the hope that there might be one of the staff in Rio who could be contacted to meet Dominique. Anyway, as it happened it was at a time when there were few people about and the call was directed to Santos's office by mistake. He happened to be on his way to Rio on business and he offered to meet Dominique there. After all, it was the reasonable thing to do. The girl couldn't be left stranded at Galeao, now could she?'

'No, but even so. ...' Lynn sounded amazed.

'I know, but Santos does these unpredictable things sometimes, doesn't he?'

They all agreed, and Dominique concentrated on her sewing hoping that was the end of it. But of course it was not.

'Er - what did you think of him anyway, Dominique?' asked Marion, satisfying her curiosity at long last. 'I mean - he did escort you to your hotel, didn't he? It wasn't Salvador who met you, was it?'

Dominique smoothed the material under the needle. 'No,' she agreed. 'It was Mr. Santos who met me.'

'Well?' They were all eager for gossip, but Dominique felt a sense of distaste looking at their avid faces.

'He was very polite,' she replied carefully. 'What else is there?'

Marion looked annoyed, as though cheated of something she considered her right. Then she sniffed.

'They say he has a fabulous apartment in Rio,' she remarked, returning her attention to her friends. 'I've even heard that he has a different woman there living with him every month.'

Dominique stared at Marion, opened her mouth as though to speak, arid then closed it again. No! She would not enter into such a discussion.

Marion looked back at Dominique. 'He has quite a reputation, you know,' she said conversationally. 'He's quite a playboy.'

Dominique grew irritated. 'Why are you telling me all this?' she asked pointedly.

Marion looked taken aback. 'No reason, of course. It's just that naturally we're concerned for your welfare!'

'My welfare? What has Vincente Santos to do with my welfare?'

The four women looked at one another knowingly, and Dominique could have kicked herself for using his Christian name as well as his surname. To their perverted minds it would escalate into something important.

'Well, dear,' said Susan, with a wry smile, 'you're rather attractive, and after all....' Her voice trailed away.

Dominique got to her feet. 'Do you mind if I finish this later, Marion?' she asked.

Marion shrugged. 'Suit yourself, of course.'

'Thank you.'

Dominique walked swiftly out of the room, and closed the door with a definite click. Then she breathed a deep breath. Those women! She felt absolutely infuriated by their sick curiosity. Had they nothing better to do than indulge in this kind of gossip, inventing their own rumours if none existed?

She walked outside the building and seated herself on the veranda, under the shade of the trellised roof. Then she lit a cigarette and allowed her mind to drift, knowing full well that she would be the subject of their gossiping at this moment.

Even so, their news that Vincente Santos was in Bela Vista disturbed her a little. Was it possible that she might meet him, and if so what would she say to him? If only she had not agreed to spend that evening with him she would not have felt this sense of apprehension at meeting him again, mixed with a sense of guilt at her deception of John.

She glanced at her watch. It was a little after eleven. John was coming back for lunch to pick her up and take her into town to the apartment, but that would not be until nearly one. Whatever was she to do till then? She couldn't go back into the house. She had no desire to join Marion and her friends, even though she had left her coffee untouched and she would have liked a drink.

Going into her bedroom, she collected her dark glasses, and changing her dress for cotton pants and a sleeveless blouse, and her shoes for thonged sandals, she left the house, and began to walk away from the town, towards the hills.

It was not too hot, and a faint breeze fanned her hot cheeks. Only her hair seemed a heavy weight on her shoulders, and she wondered whether she ought to have it cut. It would certainly be cooler and easier to handle.

She sighed and looked about her with interest. She was gradually climbing upwards, and when she looked back the Rawlings' house and its neighbours were some distance below" her. The road forked at this point, one road leading higher into the mountains, and the other leading down towards the valley again, with the river in the distance.

She decided to take the latter road, and was glad when the going became less arduous as she began the descent. Here the road was lined with thick plantation growth and foliage, and shaded by huge trunks of trees. It was quieter here and although Dominique liked it she couldn't help but recall that Brazil was the country of the deadly rattlesnake, and that a quiet dusty road like this could be its natural habitat.

Because of this she quickened her step and when the road opened out again she was looking down on a part of the valley she had seen from the air but never from the ground. Here were the larger houses of the community, surrounded by high walls overhung by liana creeper and bougainvillea.

Sighing, she halted. This then would be where Vincente Santos lived, in one of these palatial dwellings. There were not very many, but what there were were very impressive. She turned back at this point. She had no desire to meet Santos himself when her thoughts were already disturbed by Marion's words.

She plodded back up the incline, and reached the belt of trees. When she heard the sound of a car's engine, she almost jumped out of her skin. She had been listening for noises in the undergrowth, and so concentrated had been her involvement that she found it difficult to distinguish what the sound was at first.

Thus she was standing with her hands pressed to her lips when the car swung round the curve and halted abruptly beside her.

'Hello,' said a lazy voice, and the colour returned to her face.

'Vin— I mean -
you!'
she exclaimed.

He smiled and slid out of the car. Dressed in close-fitting cream pants and a cream silk sweater which was unbuttoned almost to his waist revealing the dark mass of hairs on his broad chest he looked lithe and masculine, and she bent her head, unwilling to appear glad to see him.

He put a hand under her chin, and forced her head up, however. 'Well?' he said. 'It was to have been Vincente, wasn't it?' Then he leaned back against the bonnet of the car. 'Where have you been? I've been looking for you.'

'You - you've been looking for me!' she gasped. 'You - you haven't been to the Rawlings?'

'Why not? Marion told me that you must have gone for a walk. How else would I have found you so easily?'

'Oh, lord!' exclaimed Dominique, staring at him in exasperation. 'Why on earth did you do that? What do you want to see me for?'

'I'm beginning to wonder,' he remarked, a trifle dryly.

'Well!' Dominique moved restlessly. 'You've lived here, You must know what kind of woman Marion Rawlings is! Heavens, I'll be branded as a scarlet woman by merely speaking to you!' She bit her lip.

Vincente Santos's hand gripped the rim of the car's bonnet for a moment, and then he said tautly: 'And that bothers you? Why? Because of Harding?'

Dominique sighed. 'Why did you come?'

'Because I wanted to,' he replied harshly. 'Get in the car. I want to talk to you.'

Dominique hesitated, and then as once before she gave in. He slid in beside her and turned towards her, his arm along the back of her seat, his fingers playing with the tendrils of her hair. 'Well?' he murmured questioningly, 'is it love's young dream?'

Dominique was unable to relax. 'What do you mean?'

'Now you're pretending you don't know,' he said softly. 'I mean Harding, of course.'

'That's nothing to do with you,' she said stiffly.

'Of course it is. I want you to be happy.'

Dominique looked at him out of the corners of her eyes. 'Why Should my feelings interest you?' she asked unevenly.