Witch's Harvest (9 page)

'You will pardon the intrusion, Senhora da Carvalho,' she said. 'I am your nearest neighbour, Luisa Gonzaga. In a scattered

community like ours, it is wonderful for me to have another woman living so close. I wanted to be the first to say "
Seja

bemvindo
". Welcome to Brazil.'

The words, the smile, the charm were stunning, and Abby felt herself dazedly returning the pressure of Senhora Gonzaga's

fingers, and murmuring something inadequate in response.

'You are a little overwhelmed, I dare say,' the Senhora went on. 'You speak our language, perhaps? No? Ah, that is a difficulty.

So much to learn, when there is already a different environment—so many new faces…'

'Abigail seems to take new faces in her stride,' Vasco interposed drily. 'She has already captured the servants' hearts by

knowing their names without prompting from me.'

'Ah!' The Senhora clapped her hands. 'But that is most clever!' She sounded radiant about it, and Abby had no idea what could

have given her the impression that her true feelings were totally different. Jet lag, she thought, giving her hallucinations.

There was something else in the beautiful face— a sudden curiosity, a sharpening of the eyes. 'You say your wife's name is

Abigail, my dear Vasco? But I thought—' She paused artistically. 'Ah, no, of course I am mistaken. It is my deplorable memory.'

Abby felt herself go hot and cold all over. It had been absurd to hope that no one would spot the discrepancy in the names, she

thought, not daring to look at Vasco.

Her husband said smoothly, 'I am not surprised you are confused, Luisa. It has all happened so quickly that I can hardly believe

it myself.'

'A true romance,' Senhora Gonzaga said with that relentless gaiety. 'I warn you, Dona Abigail, all the local beauties will be

waiting to scratch your eyes out!' She sent an arch smile at Vasco. 'We should have kept you here,
amigo
, and not permitted you
to go on leave to Europe, and lose your heart.' Her eyes swept Abby from head to foot, making her shockingly aware that there

was suddenly no amusement in them at all, although her red lips still smiled. 'Such a surprise for us all!'

It was that look, and the note in her voice, which told Abby quite unequivocally that behind the smiles, Senhora Gonzaga found

her neither chic, witty, or even remotely attractive. And she knew too that she was intended to know it.

'So, how do you like your new home?' the Senhora went on, all friendliness again, making Abby wonder whether she had been

imagining things after all.

'I haven't seen a great deal of it yet.' Abby had been looking round the big room they were in, absorbing its atmosphere of quiet,
rather shabby comfort. The furniture was clearly old, made of some rich-coloured dark wood which she did not recognise, and

the chairs and sofas were covered in a subdued dusky pink fabric which showed distinct signs of wear.

'You will naturally wish to make changes,' the Senhora remarked, following her gaze. 'If I can help, you have only to ask. I would
be happy to assist—advise. This could be a truly gracious home, but it has lacked a woman's touch for so long.'

Abby was tired, but she knew when she was being patronised. Perversely, she allowed her eyes to widen. 'Have the maids only

just come here to work, then?'

The Senhora's radiance dimmed a little. 'I meant—the house has lacked the hand of a mistress—the eye of an artist.'

'I see,' Abby said with deceptive meekness. 'I only hope I can live up to all these expectations.'

Vasco looked at her, his eyes narrowing. 'I think the long journey has wearied you,
carinha
,' he said softly. 'If you will excuse us,
Luisa, I think my wife should go to her room and rest. You will dine with us soon, I hope?'

'I should be delighted, but you must be my guests first.' The Senhora extended her hand. '
Adeus
, Dona Abigail. I am so happy to
know I have another friend in this house. I have grown so much to depend on Vasco in the past sad months. It would have

grieved me if his marriage had robbed me of his kindness and support.' There was another smile, wistful and appealing, a

whisper of silk, and she was gone, leaving a whiff of expensive scent hanging in the air.

When husband and wife were alone, Abby looked down at the polished wood floor. 'You said something about going to my

room,' she reminded him in a low voice.

'Presently,' he said grimly. 'This is a small community, Abigail, and it is not wise to antagonise one's neighbours. Dona Luisa

speaks your language, and is not a great deal older than yourself. She wishes to be your friend.'

'Does she?' Abby felt weary to death suddenly. 'Well, I'll have to take your word for that, as I've only just met the lady. But I got
the impression that the friendship she's so keen on is yours.'

'That is hardly surprising,' he said impatiently. 'João, her husband, died suddenly last year, just before their cacao crop was due
to be harvested. Naturally, I helped with the other neighbours, but as I live nearest to her, Luisa has grown to rely on me more.'

'Oh, I'm sorry.' Abby wished she could have said that with more sincerity. 'Has she any children?'

Vasco shook his head. 'Their
fazenda
has been inherited by João's younger brother Gerulito, but he is unfortunately totally
lacking in experience. Luisa has been forced to hire a manager—an American—to run the estate while Gerulito learns his

lessons.'

'That must be a difficult position for him,' Abby said slowly.

'It is. I had much the same experience myself, but at least I had the aptitude—the will to learn.' Vasco shook his head. 'I am not
sure this is the right life for Gerulito. Before this happened, he was learning to be an architect in Sao Paulo.'

'Quite a contrast,' Abby agreed.

Vasco gave her a swift glance. 'But this is no problem of yours, Abigail. I'm sorry. I wished to explain a little about Luisa, that is
all. Now, come and rest.'

The bedrooms were at the rear of the house, built along another full-length veranda. The room Vasco took her to was large and

airy, with the inevitable fan whirring gently on the ceiling, and the windows guarded by mosquito screens. It was dominated by

the big four-poster bed, a beautiful piece of furniture, made from the same dark wood she had noticed previously, ornately

carved. It had other less conventional decorations too. The huge snowy pillows were surrounded by flowers, and other blooms

were heaped on the coverlet.

Abby swallowed. 'Is there a shortage of vases?' she asked, with a feeble attempt at humour.

Vasco's mouth tightened. 'The flowers are a goodwill gesture from the maids,' he told her. 'I will have them cleared away.'

'Oh, no,' Abby protested. 'I wouldn't want to hurt their feelings. It all looks—very pretty.' She found she was staring as if

mesmerised at the bed, taking in the significance of the pillows arranged so invitingly side by side.

'Nevertheless, you cannot be expected to sleep in a garden.' Vasco's tone was faintly crushing. 'And at the same time, I can tell

Ana to make up the bed in the dressing-room.' He strode across the room and threw open another door, turning to her almost

challengingly. 'You see? There is no need to look so alarmed. I am a man of my word.'

'I wasn't,' Abby said unhappily. 'I mean—I never doubted…'

'Didn't you,
minha esposa
?' he drawled. 'How very trusting of you! Now, I'll find Ana and cause a sensation in the household.'

He pointed at yet another door. 'Our bathroom,
querida
, which I regret you must share with me. Make yourself at home,
faz

favor
?

Abby bit her lip, sinking down on the edge of the bed. It might look old-fashioned, but the matress was as modern as she could

have desired.

She leaned back a little, then sat up with an exclamation as her hand encountered a solid object.

'What's this?' She regarded it doubtfully. It was a wooden carving of a fist, a clenched left hand, with the thumb sticking up

between the index and middle fingers.

'More goodwill,' Vasco said ironically. 'It's for you, Abigail—a
figa
to protect you against the evil eye, and bring you luck. It only
works when it is given as a present, and Maria's father is a wood-carver, which explains where it came from.' He paused, then

added drily, 'It has other symbolism too, which is why it was left on the bed for you to find.'

Abby said in a hollow voice, 'Oh,' as a wave of embarrassed heat swept over her.

'Oh, indeed,' he agreed mockingly, then vanished on to the veranda, calling to Ana as he did so.

Abby went on sitting on the edge of the bed, cradling the
figa
in her hands, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. Even if the
present was inappropriate, she could appreciate the kindness which had prompted it. And the flowers too, she thought,

reaching out a hand and picking up one of the blooms to lift to her face.

But to her disappointment, its beauty was purely visual. It was totally scentless, she realised, letting it drop back on the coverlet.

A cheat, she thought. Like me—in this house.

By contrast, the little
figa
felt warm and solid and real as it rested in her lap. She touched it tentatively, wryly. It occurred to her
that she was going to need all the luck she could get if she was to survive the pitfalls of the next months.

She sighed. And sleeping night after night in a bed intended for lovers, knowing that Vasco was lying only a few yards away,

was going to be the greatest pitfall of them all.

Abby woke slowly, her body uncurling into a stretch of sheer luxury as the clouds of sleep cleared from her mind. She glanced

idly at her watch, then sat bolt upright in shock. It was nearly midday!

She sank back against her pillows with a stifled groan. So much for all her good intentions, she thought grimly. She'd made all

kinds of plans in her head for this first day at Riocho Negro, exploring the rest of the house, and visiting the kitchens among

them. And she had hoped too that Vasco would offer to take her on a guided tour of the estate so that she could find out at least