Who Rides the Tiger Page 4

  Or would she?

  As she rolled miserably on to her stomach she acknowledged the plain fact that she would have liked to have known what it was like to have him touch her, caress her, and to feel that hard, cruel mouth exploring her own.

  CHAPTER THREE

  DESPITE her disturbed frame of mind Dominique slept well and was awakened by the sound of the traffic at about eight o'clock. It was a glorious morning, a shroud of mist enveloping the upper slopes of the city that presaged another hot day.

  She showered and dressed in the cotton shift she had worn the previous afternoon, hoping it did not look too crumpled, but it was all she had apart from the navy dress and somehow she didn't want to wear it again just now. She applied make-up, did her hair, and went down to the restaurant a little before nine. She ate lemon flapjacks, drank several cups of coffee, and had the first and most enjoyable cigarette of the day.

  At nine-forty-five she went back to her room, collected her things together, and carried her case down to the foyer. Then she seated herself on a red banquette to wait. However, after only a few moments the receptionist approached her.

  'Ah, good morning, Miss Mallory,' he said. 'There is a car waiting for you outside. Will you go out?'

  Dominique hesitated. 'My bill...' she began.

  'That has all been taken care of,' replied the receptionist smoothly. 'I hope you complete your journey in safety.'

  'Thank you. I've been very comfortable here. Goodbye.'

  Frowning a little, she emerged from the swing doors on to the steps of the hotel. A dark saloon was waiting at the foot of the? steps. As she appeared a man in chauffeur's uniform got out, and held open the rear door for her.

  'Is - is this Mr. Santos's car?' she asked puzzled.

  'Sim, senhorita.' The chauffeur nodded politely.

  Dominique gave a faint sigh, and moved down the steps to climb into the back of the limousine.

  'Where is Mr. Santos?' she asked as casually as she could.

  The chauffeur got into his place behind the wheel. 'Senhor Santos offers you his apologies, senhorita, but he has some urgent business to attend to. He has asked me to escort you to Bela Vista.'

  Dominique's nails bit into the palms of her hands. 'I see.'

  The vehicle moved smoothly away from the kerb, and she »sank back against the soft upholstery. She felt disturbed and confused. Why had he decided not to take her after all? Was it something to do with what had happened last night? But what had happened, after all?

  She lit another cigarette to calm her nerves. Forget Vincente Santos, she advised herself angrily. In an hour or so she would be with John. It was John she had come here to be with, not Vincente Santos.

  The chauffeur drove more carefully than his employer, yet even so they reached the small domestic airport quite quickly. Dominique was ushered ceremoniously out of the limousine and into the gleaming silver and blue helicopter that awaited them. The chauffeur left the car in the hands of one of the airport stewards, and then shedding his peaked cap he climbed behind the controls of the aircraft. Dominique glanced at him. He was a man in his middle forties, she estimated, with dark skin and rather friendly blue eyes.

  The propellers began to revolve, and in a few moments they were airborne. Dominique had never flown in a helicopter before and for a while she was terribly nervous. The panoramic window at the front gave one the impression that one was about to tip forward into oblivion, but after a minute or so she realized she was quite safe and began to enjoy it. Even so, it was quite a nerve-racking experience flying across such a bleak and savage landscape. The sawtooth peaks of the Serras seemed to beckon like devilish symbols, luring a man to destruction.

  'What is your name?' she asked the man presently as she began to relax.

  He gave her a smile. 'Salvador, senhorita,' he replied.

  'And you work for Mr. Santos?'

  'Sim, senhorita.'

  Dominique nodded. 'You have known him long?'

  'Twenty years, senhorita. Senhor Santos was only a boy when I came to work for him.'

  This was interesting, and although she realized she ought not to feel so curious about Vincente Santos this was a way of learning a little more about him - about the enigma.

  She was seeking about in her mind for a way of questioning Salvador without his actually being aware of it, when he said:

  'You have come to Brazil to marry Senhor Harding, haven't you, senhorita?'

  Dominique felt the hot colour surge into her cheeks, 'Yes,' she said shortly. 'Yes, I have.'

  Salvador nodded, in a satisfied way, and Dominique had the impression he believed he had achieved something. Like master, like servant, she thought a trifle irritatedly.

  But he had succeeded in halting further questions from his passenger. She realized that whatever she might ask now would merely make her sound unnecessarily curious.

  'Does the journey take long?' she asked, assuming a cool indifference.

  'Forty - maybe fifty minutes,' replied Salvador. 'You are eager to reach your destination, senhorita?'

  'Of course,' said Dominique briefly. Then: 'Do you know my fiance?'

  'Senhor Harding? Yes, senhorita, I know him.' Salvador was certainly not expansive in his answers to her questions.

  Dominique sighed. Then she drew out her cigarettes. She seemed to be smoking far too much, but she needed something to do to fill in the time. When her cigarette was lit, Salvador said:

  'What do you know of Bela Vista, senhorita?'

  Dominique glanced at him. 'What do you mean?'

  'Nothing of any consequence, senhorita. It is a beautiful little town. Set among these mountains like - how would you say - a rose among thorns. There are many blocks of new apartments, built by the government for the workers, and there are parks and places of interest. I am sure you will like living there.'

  Dominique listened with interest. 'Do you live in Bela Vista, Salvador?'

  'I live where Senhor Santos lives,' he replied simply. 'Sometimes at Bela Vista, sometimes in Rio, sometimes in Europe. Senhor Santos is a restless man, senhorita…'

  'That I can believe,' remarked Dominique, a trifle dryly.

  'It was not always so,' said Salvador, as though forced to give some explanation. 'But Senhor Santos is not a man to be easily understood. I can remember when he was a boy of perhaps fifteen or sixteen - eager for life - for experience. Now he has learned it is not experiences that destroy a man but people!'

  Dominique studied the glowing tip of her cigarette. 'You're very loyal, Salvador,' she said curiously.

  'Senhor Santos has given me everything,' said Salvador fiercely. 'Education, occupation, position! I do not forget, senhorita.'

  Dominique raised her dark eyebrows. Obviously Salvador considered Vincente Santos more than merely his employer. Then she gave her attention to the scenery. She was spending far too much time brooding on affairs that should be of no concern to her.

  The hills in the morning light were a mixture of shades of grey and blue and brown, sometimes dark and forbidding, and at others green with foliage. In the ravines fast rivers surged unceasingly, while here and there were collections of dwellings, and the upward drift of blue smoke. A road wound between the hills like a dun-coloured snake, disappearing sometimes beneath the overhanging cliffs of hard rock. The shadow of the helicopter moved steadily onwards, and she began to wonder how much longer it would take. Then, suddenly, Salvador began the downward sweep and below she saw a green valley, spreading out as their height decreased, totally at variance with its surroundings. And in the valley she saw the town of Bela Vista.

  There were houses on the outskirts of the town, huge affairs with swimming pools and tennis courts, while nearer the city were tall blocks of apartments, and offices, and schools, At the furthest point from the town towered a cluster of machinery and buildings that Dominique presumed must be the refinery and the laboratory where John worked.

  The helicopter came down lower and below them Dominique-could
see a kind of park with a stretch of greenery big enough to take the powerful propellers of the helicopter. Salvador brought the craft level, steadied it, and then put it down neatly on the stretch of green, not far from the bustling main thoroughfare of Bela Vista.

  'So we are here!' he said, giving her a slight smile. 'We have landed safely, and there is your fiance eagerly waiting for you.'

  Dominique looked, saw several people at the perimeter of the area, all seeming strange and unfamiliar to her, and for a moment her heart missed a beat. Then she recognized John, but he had changed enormously. He now sported a thick beard and moustache, and his hair had grown rather long since his arrival. He must have had it cut, she supposed, but it was still straggling on the collar of his shirt. Big and broad, dressed in denim slacks and a brilliant orange shirt, he looked almost a stranger.

  She got out of the helicopter carefully, with Salvador's assistance, and then before she had time to hesitate John was beside her, hugging her enthusiastically, pressing his rough cheeks to hers.

  'Dominique, Dominique, Dominique,' he was saying excitedly. 'Oh, it's marvellous to see you, Dominique!'

  She struggled to free herself, self-consciously aware of the eyes of the sightseers watching them. Salvador was watching them, too, a strange expression on his face.

  'John!' she protested, at last. 'Let me get my breath!'

  John gave her a final hug and then, keeping his arm across her shoulders, walked with her across to Salvador.

  'Thanks, Salvador,' he said casually. 'Sorry about the mess-up! But these things happen, don't they?'

  'It was nothing, senhor,' replied Salvador carefully.

  Dominique noticed that his voice was cold. Obviously, like his master, he didn't like John much either.

  Then they were free to go, and John was leading her across to a low slung blue car and putting her case into the back.

  'Well?' he said, spreading his hands. 'What do you think of it?'

  Dominique shook her head. She was not yet over her first impressions of John, and his question made her aware of how engrossed she had been with her own feelings to the exclusion of everything else.

  'I - I haven't had a chance to take much in yet,' she exclaimed. 'But from the air it was beautiful. It's amazing to think that such a place could flourish here, among these mountains.'

  'Yes, isn't it? Still, you'll soon get used to it. I've been offered a permanent post here and I'm seriously thinking of accepting it.'

  Dominique gave him a faint smile. 'Are you? I thought you only expected to be here about two years.'

  'So I did,' replied John, turning on the ignition, and starting the engine. 'But like I said, they've offered me a better position, and I like it here now I've got used to it. Oh, I know it's a bit isolated, and some people don't like the country, but I do. And I'd like to see a lot more of it. I thought we'd take the opportunity on our honeymoon of exploring a bit of the interior. We can hire almost everything we need - tents, sleeping bags, cooking equipment and so on.'

  Dominique wrinkled her nose. 'I thought we were going to Petropolis.'

  'We were. But this is more exciting, don't you think?'

  'I don't know,' said Dominique doubtfully, and it was left at that.

  They drove along the Rua Carioca towards the outskirts of the city, and Dominique said: 'Where is your apartment?'

  'Not far from here. But we're not going there. The Raw- lings have a house, just outside of town, and they've invited us both for lunch. That's who you are staying with, you remember?'

  'Of course.' Dominique nodded, quelling the feeling of disappointment she felt that she was not to have some time alone with John for a while yet. There were so many things they needed to talk about, and she felt she needed to get to know him all over again. He seemed much different from the well-dressed, gentle young man she had known in England, and it was a little disturbing to realize you were going to marry someone in five weeks who had become a stranger to you. Still, she argued with herself, they would soon change that once they were alone together.

  The Rawlings' house was detached but unobtrusive, without any of the expensive embellishments she had noticed on some of the houses here from the air. Inside, it was dull and unimaginative, and after meeting Marion Rawlings Dominique didn't have to wonder why.

  Marion Rawlings was a woman of about thirty-five, with wheat-coloured hair that could have looked very attractive but didn't. She wore very old-fashioned dresses, which fell well below her knees, making Dominique supremely conscious of the shortness of her own skirt which had not seemed at all daring back in London, or Rio either for that matter.

  She greeted Dominique with a lack of enthusiasm that was rather daunting, but her husband, Harry, more than made up for it, shaking hands with Dominique vigorously, while his rather narrow-spaced eyes viewed the attractive picture she made with a rather embarrassing intensity. Dominique decided she was not going to find the five weeks before her wedding passing very quickly.

  The Rawlings had three children, all in their teens, a girl of thirteen, one of fourteen, and a boy of sixteen. They were friendly enough, asking questions about London, and generally making Dominique relax.

  Lunch was salad and cold meat. The lettuce was soft and unappetizing, and the meat was still warm, much to Dominique's distaste. However, the fresh fruit that followed was delicious, as was the Brazilian coffee.

  Talk became general, and Marion Rawlings said to Dominique: 'Do you think you're going to like it out here?'

  Dominique smiled. 'I hope so,' she said, accepting a cigarette from John. T think it's a very exciting country, don't you?'

  Marion Rawlings gasped, 'My dear girl, I've been here seven years, and I hate it. The heat, the flies, the insects at night. It's appalling! When John told us you were coming out here to marry him, well, quite frankly, I thought you were mad!'

  Harry Rawlings gave a snort. 'Now, now, Marion, don't go giving the girl a bad impression of the place. You don't like it because there are no decent shops, and you can't get your hair done every few minutes. If you had something to occupy your time - like Alice Latimer, for example—'

  'If you think I'm going into those filthy slums looking after even filthier children you're mistaken!' exclaimed Marion loudly. 'I've got better things to do with my time.'

  '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, hugg
ing 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.