Who Rides the Tiger Read online

  Then she saw, through the open French doors, Marion Rawlings and Mary Pedlar sitting together drinking tea. Her heart sank. Mary Pedlar would have to be here, she thought uncomfortably. Whatever would she say to them?

  As though becoming aware of her presence, they both looked up and saw her, and Marion got to her feet and came to the window.

  'Well, well,' she said spitefully. 'Going slumming?'

  Dominique sighed. 'Of course not, Marion. I - I've come for my things.'

  'Have you now? And where's your charming bridegroom?'

  Dominique mounted the steps to the veranda. 'He's at the plant. There's a board meeting.'

  'Oh, of course. He would have to be there for that. How disappointing for you! Your first day, too!'

  Dominique reached Marion and they looked at one another, Marion dropping her eyes first. 'Well, you'd better get them,' she said grumpily. 'What do you think of this affair?' This to Mary Pedlar.

  Mary shrugged her narrow shoulders. 'What do you think?' She looked at Dominique. 'Don't you think you've played a pretty filthy trick on John?'

  Dominique flushed. 'Yes, yes, I do, as a matter of fact,' she replied quietly. 'But it would have been an even worse thing to do to marry him knowing I didn't love him!'

  Mary Pedlar snorted, 'Love him? Oh, grow up, Dominique! Love doesn't last in this climate - in any climate, come to that! You're too much of a romantic! Men aren't like women. They soon tire of people - places. Wives!' She looked up at Marion.

  Marion nodded. 'That's true! You don't imagine Vincente Santos loves you!'

  Dominique's nails were sharp against her palms. 'I don't think you're in any position to judge what our relationship involves,' she said tautly.

  Marion laughed sneeringly. 'Oh, Dominique! I thought you were a woman of the world, with your short skirts and modern ideas! But you're just a silly little innocent at heart, aren't you! Good lord, there are such things as divorce courts, you know. You're not his first wife!'

  Not his first wife!

  Dominique controlled the passionate outburst that this statement invoked. It couldn't be true! Vincente hadn't been married before! He would have told her! Salvador would have told her!

  But would they? Vincente had told her very little actually about himself, and Salvador was uncommunicative at the best of times. He would not tell her anything unless he had the say-so from Vincente Santos.

  She must have turned pale because Mary said, with some concern, 'Are you all right, Dominique? You look ghastly!'

  Dominique managed to square her shoulders. 'Yes - yes, I'm fine,' she replied automatically. 'If you'll excuse me ... I'll get my things.'

  Marion nodded, giving Mary a speculative glance, and Dominique walked shakily through to the bedroom which had been hers. Once inside, she sank down on to the bed, knowing that her legs would give out on her if she didn't sit down. Vincente married before! The knowledge spun tortuously in her brain. But to whom? And when? And where was the woman now? Obviously he had divorced her - or maybe she had divorced him! Had they had any children? Was he already someone's father?

  Her head was spinning with so many unanswered questions and her hands were clammy with perspiration. A rivulet of sweat seemed to be running down her back, while when she touched her head it felt fiery.

  Oh, God! she thought sickly. Why didn't he tell me? How could he let me find out like this? So cruelly! Was this what Salvador had been afraid of when he tried to persuade her not to come down to the Rawlings'? Had he wondered whether Marion would blurt out such a shocking piece of information?

  Her lips were dry, but she fumbled in her bag and lit a cigarette, wetting her lips to stop it from sticking to them. The nicotine temporarily soothed her, and she realized she would have to make the effort and collect her belongings together. Fortunately, most of her clothes had not been unpacked, personal belongings too had remained in the trunks, and there were only several crushable dresses and suits to pack.

  Somehow, with trembling fingers, she managed to fold away the things, collected her toiletries from the bathroom and pushed make-up into the sponge bag, too. She worked automatically, not consciously giving herself time to think of anything.

  When it was done, she emerged from the bedroom and walked unsteadily down the hall to the lounge door. Marion and Mary were still talking, but as she neared the room she realized they were speaking more quietly together, and when she heard her own name mentioned she halted uncertainly. More-than anything at that moment, she wanted to know what they were saying, and no matter how unethical it was, listening in corridors, she must know what other gossip they were concocting.

  'Obviously Dominique doesn't know about John,' Marion was saying softly. 'I feel sorry for her in a way, in spite of everything. After all, Santos is only using her to take his revenge on John for what he did to Isabella!'

  Mary sniffed. 'I know. Everyone has realized that, I think.' She sighed. 'We could have told her - if she'd have believed us!'

  'Well, we didn't have a chance,' muttered Marion. 'Anyway, Isabella was as much to blame as John. Hysterical creature! These Latin types are all the same. Treat everything as though it was a religion!'

  'I know. I mean - entering the convent and all! Ridiculous really. I'm quite sure John didn't encourage her.'

  'Of course he didn't! Heavens, if a man can't be friendly with a woman without her imagining he's passionately in love with her - well—'

  'Even so,' said Mary, in a low tone, 'we were all surprised at the way Santos took it at the time. I mean - I thought he would have fired him, didn't you?'

  'Hmm, I suppose so. But obviously he had other plans. What I don't understand is - why marry her? Why go so far as that?'

  Mary clucked her tongue. 'Well, I suppose in a place this size he has to consider some of the conventions. Maybe he tried the other thing, but she wasn't having any, and - well, forced seduction is a crime, isn't it?'

  'Hmm!' Marion sounded thoughtful. 'You're right, of course. Poor John, he's distraught! He was here last night - he stayed the night. You could tell what he was thinking - her up there - at Minha Terra - with him!'

  Dominique stifled a groan, lying back against the wall outside the door feeling positively nauseated. It couldn't be true! It just couldn't be true! The things those women were saying - they just couldn't be true! And yet every word they had said was reasonable. All of a sudden she recalled Vincente's attitude the night in Rio at his apartment when she had picked up the photograph of his sister. The way his voice had changed when he_ spoke of her. His antagonism towards John which was more than mere jealousy of. John being engaged to her She doubted now whether he had been jealous of John. Indeed, if what Marion and Mary said was true, everything was different.

  She pressed a hand to her forehead, trying to get things into perspective. He had been attracted to her, she couldn't have mistaken that. She could arouse him - but only physically, her mind taunted her. She was an attractive woman, she was not conceited in thinking that, and Vincente Santos had always had an eye for an attractive woman. Everyone said so.

  She twisted her hands together, tormentedly. So where did that leave her? And what sort of a future could she hope for? A few weeks - months, even - of his time, and then what? Separation? Divorce? Her life in ruins?

  'Oh, no,' she moaned inwardly. 'Oh, no/'

  She tried to find some loophole in what they had said, but her innate sense of insecurity where Vincente was concerned had returned, and she couldn't believe that he had married her for any other reason than revenge. After all, there were many more beautiful women in Brazil, women who would fall over themselves to have him take some interest in them. That woman in Rio - Sophia. And Claudia here, in Bela Vista. They were only two of many.

  And there was still the undeniable fact of his previous marriage. And the woman he had married!

  Straightening, she endeavoured to assume an outward appearance of normality, and making sure they heard her this time she pretended to appr
oach the lounge door and went in, saying:

  'I've finished packing. Salvador is waiting with the car up the road. I'll ask him to come—'

  But she didn't need to finish the sentence because Salvador himself appeared in the French doors at that precise moment.

  'You are ready, senhora?' he asked quietly.

  Dominique nodded, somewhat jerkily, then going to the hall door indicated to him which was her room. Salvador collected the trunks in two journeys and while he deposited them in the car, Dominique waited with Marion and Mary.

  'Aren't you having a honeymoon?' Mary asked conversationally.

  Dominique compressed her lips for a moment, and then she said: 'Perhaps - perhaps later. We - we hope to go to Europe.' The words sounded empty and unreal. As empty and unreal as her marriage, she thought sickly.

  'How nice!' That was Marion, not quite so jeering now.

  Maybe they felt pity for her, thought Dominique faintly. She couldn't bear that. With forcedly nonchalant steps she reached the doors.

  'Well,' she said unevenly, 'I -I must be going.'

  'I'll tell John you called,' said Marion pointedly.

  Dominique nodded. 'Tell him - tell him - I'm sorry,' she murmured.

  'All right, I'll tell him. But I doubt whether he'll get much satisfaction from that,' said Marion dryly. 'Good-bye - senhora!'

  'Good-bye.'

  Dominique ran hastily down the veranda steps and across the turf to the gate. She slid into the car realizing she was shaking violendy, and wondered whether nerves could cause a complete breakdown in the course of a few hours.

  Then she chided herself angrily. Was she such a weak- willed creature that she would allow her nerves to get the better of her? Now was the time for her to be strong. She must not allow Vincente Santos - she could no longer think of him as her husband - to get the better of her!

  Salvador got back, into the car and looked at her strangely. 'What is wrong?' he asked. 'What did those women say to you?'

  'Nothing.' Dominique was almost rude in her abruptness.

  Salvador set the car in motion with controlled movements. Then he said: 'I am not a fool, senhora. Something has happened. Something has upset you - very badly, I think.'

  Dominique glanced resentfully at him. 'You're so astute, aren't you, Salvador?' she said angrily.

  'Astute? Astute? What is this?'

  'It means you're always one jump ahead of me, aren't you? You didn't want me to come down here! You didn't want me to collect my own clothes? Why? Tell me that! Why?' Dominique took out a little of the pain she was feeling on him.

  Salvador's fingers tightened on the wheel. 'You could have left it to me,' he said quietly. 'It is my job.'

  'Your job! Your job!' Dominique was finding it difficult not to give way to the tears of humiliation that were pressing burningly against her eyes. 'What is your job, Salvador? To protect your master from the unpleasant results of his actions? Or to build a wall of pretence around the unpalatable things in his life!'

  'I do not understand you, senhora.' Salvador was infuriatingly calm.

  'Of course you do,' she cried bitterly. 'You knew that sooner or later I would discover the truth. You wanted to make it later. After all, the longer I could be fooled the greater would be the humiliation, wouldn't it?'

  Salvador frowned. 'You are distraught, senhora. The heat—'

  'Damn you, it's not the heat!' she gasped angrily. 'Oh, I wish I were dead!'

  Salvador drove smoothly through the Rua Carioca and out on to the road that led into the mountains to the Santos house. Dominique took out her cigarettes and lit one with trembling fingers. And as she did so she tried to compose herself. It was no good ranting and raving at Salvador. If he were to blame at all it was only indirectly, and she was making a fool of herself losing control like this. That was not the way. Somehow she must become as calm as he was. Only then would she be able to stand what must follow.

  Salvador sensed her determined attempt to assume composure, and said: 'Whatever it is you have been told, senhora, I would suggest you wait until you hear the whole truth.'

  Dominique glanced at him. 'And who will tell me that? Not Vincente Santos!'

  'You think not?'

  Dominique shook her head. 'How can I believe a man who has only married me because - because—' She halted. She would not discuss it with Salvador, no matter how great the temptation.

  Salvador frowned. 'You think perhaps the Senhor marries lightly?' he exclaimed with some astonishment.

  Dominique glared at him. 'You don't, I gather.'

  'No, senhora.'

  Dominique stared out of the car's windows, wishing with a powerful longing that the car would suddenly lose the power of its brakes and they would plunge over any one of these corners into the abyss of the valley below. Salvador would say anything to protect Vincente. She would not listen to his distorted explanation of how Vincente got rid ofhis first wife. She would listen to no more lies simply for self-preservation purposes.

  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 im
portance?

  '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.