Who Rides the Tiger Read online

  At the end of her second week in Bela Vista John came home one evening looking rather pensive.

  Immediately Dominique felt apprehensive. She had not yet got over her encounter with Vincente Santos and she sensed that something had happened and prayed it was nothing to do with herself.

  What's wrong?' she asked lightly, as she served up a light omelette and salad, done in the way John liked it.

  John flung himself into his chair and looked at her moodily. 'Nothing much, you might think,' he muttered broodingly. 'Here, what do you make of this?'

  He flung a white envelope on the table. With trembling fingers Dominique opened it and withdrew the white card that was inside. It was an invitation - from Vincente Santos!

  She looked up before reading it, conscious of John's eyes upon her. 'What is it?' she asked.

  'Can't you read?' asked John sulkily. 'It's an invitation, what do you think? Mr. Vincente Santos requests the pleasure of the company of Mr. John Harding and his fiancee, Miss Dominique Mallory, at a dinner party to be held on Monday evening, etc, etc!'

  Dominique glanced down, unable to meet John's eyes as her heart began to flutter rapidly. 'Oh, yes?' she said uncomfortably.

  'Oh, yes!' John got to his feet and swung her round to face him. 'What does it mean, Dominique?'

  Dominique felt the hot colour flood her cheeks. 'What do you mean? It's nothing to do with me!'

  'Isn't it? Isn't it? It just so happens I've never been invited to a dinner party at the Santos residence before! That's what it means!'

  Dominique felt slightly sick. 'And - and you think he's sent this because of me?'

  'Well, hasn't he? What other reason can there be? God-dammit, Dominique, what is there between you two?'

  Dominique swallowed hard. 'Between us!' she echoed. 'There - there's nothing between us. I - I scarcely know the man!' Oh, God, she thought inwardly, forgive me for all these lies! But what can I say?

  John flung himself across the room, and poured himself a generous measure of whisky. He flung the drink to the back of his throat, and turned to look at her again. 'Well, this settles one thing,' he muttered. 'I shan't be taking any permanent posts here!'

  'John,' she began unsteadily. 'We don't have to go. We can refuse!'

  'Can we? Can we? Oh, Dominique, don't be naive! We can't refuse. Vincente Santos is the chairman of the Santos Corporation!'

  Dominique stared at him. 'But - but when I asked you whether he was your boss you said no!' she exclaimed.

  'Well, it's true - in a way. Rivas does all the actual management. Santos works at the refinery as and when it suits him. Anyway, there are other plants about the country. He can't spend all his time in one place.'

  'But why can't we refuse?'

  'Oh, Dominique! Don't you realize? This is a royal summons! No one - but no one - refuses Santos's invitations!'

  'Well, we will,' said Dominique firmly, going across to the cooker to make her own omelette. 'I'm not afraid of him!'

  Yet" even as she said the words she knew they were not true. She was afraid of him - or rather of the reaction he produced in herself!

  John was looking a little more amiable. 'I would have thought you would be eager to go,' he muttered reluctantly.

  Dominique sighed. 'Well, I'm not,' she said shortly.

  'No, I can see that.' John snorted angrily. 'But we'll still have to go.' He shrugged. 'It may not be so bad. I've wanted to see inside his place for some time.'

  Dominique stared at him. 'But we can't, John!' she exclaimed.

  John looked at her curiously. 'Why not?'

  Dominique gave an exasperated movement. 'A moment ago you were cursing because you had to go. Now you say we're going. Why? Why? Are you afraid of him?'

  'No, but he is the big man, after all.'

  Dominique turned away, not trusting herself to look at him. She felt sick and confused. They were going. Santos had known they would. Oh, why was he doing this? Deliberately setting out to torment her!

  John seated himself at the table and attacked his meal with enthusiasm. 'I'm glad you're not impressed by him, Dom,' he said, his mouth full of egg and lettuce. 'I might have known you weren't like the other women! Hell, half of them would give their eye-teeth for the opportunity to see inside Minha Terra.'

  Dominique lifted her omelette out of the pan, her appetite diminishing. However would she be able to get through an evening in Vincente Santos's presence, with John beside her, watching her every move?

  On the day of the dinner party, which as John had expected had caused much speculation among his friends, Dominique spent some time examining the contents of her wardrobe. Her clothes were mostly informal. In England almost anything would do for evening wear and she had a couple of jersey slack suits which she might have considered in London but which would be bound to look out of place here. Eventually she decided on a black tunic, straight and simple, with an overlying skirt of strands of gold lame. It was rather way-out, she thought a little dryly, as she laid it. on her bed in her room at the Rawlings', but at least it looked suitable. She had bought it in a boutique in London which she had visited with the girls from the adjoining flat to her own, and they had encouraged her to do so. Certainly it suited her, but would Vincente Santos think she had worn it for his benefit? And why did she want to look her best anyway?

  But of course, she knew the answer to that!

  There was a tap at her door, and without waiting for a reply, Marion entered, her eyes widening when she saw the black and gold dress.

  'Well, well!' she said. 'Is that what you're going to wear tonight?'

  Dominique stifled her annoyance. 'Yes. Do you think it's all right?'

  Marion studied it thoughtfully. 'It's rather short, isn't it?' she asked critically, as Dominique held it against herself.

  Dominique threw it back on the bed. 'So are all the clothes being worn in England at the moment,' she said. 'Oh, there are maxis and midis, and goodness knows what else, but I prefer the short lengths, myself.'

  'So I've noticed,' remarked Marion, rather spitefully. 'However, John will no doubt change his mind about that once you're married.'

  Dominique frowned. 'What do you mean?'

  'Well, no man worth his salt wants his wife going around exhibiting herself for every other man to stare at,' returned Marion coolly. 'Men like Vincente Santos, for example.'

  Dominique bit her lip. Marion was baiting her, she knew, and she would not allow her to get away with it.

  'Did you want something, Marion?' she asked sweetly.

  Marion shrugged. 'Nothing in particular. Just a chat,' she replied, sitting on the end of Dominique's bed. 'Tell me, Dominique, what really happened that day Santos came here looking for you? Did you really know he was coming?'

  Dominique turned away. 'Of course I didn't,' she said, controlling her temper with difficulty. 'And I told you what happened.'

  'You told John what happened. But that's a different story, isn't it, Dominique? I mean, I don't believe that stuff about him being concerned for your welfare, and so on! That's not what he came for. I know Vincente Santos!'

  Dominique swung round. 'That's just the point, you doritV she retorted, forgetting for a moment to whom she was speaking. 'You know absolutely nothing about him! Only the gossip you can dig up about him!'

  Marion looked flabbergasted. 'And you know everything about him, I suppose?' she sneered.

  Dominique bent her head, recovering her composure. 'No. No, I didn't say that. I - I said you knew nothing. That's something else again.'

  'But how come you can pass any opinion, either way?' snapped Marion. 'Unless you've had experience, of course!'

  Dominique clenched her fists. 'Do you mind leaving my room, Marion?' she asked tightly. 'I - I want to wash my hair!'

  Marion seemed about to say more, but then they both heard the children, coming in from school, calling to their mother. Marion gave Dominique a furious stare, and then she left, slamming the door behind her.

&nb
sp; After she had gone, Dominique leant against the door weakly for a moment, wishing there was a key so that she could be certain of some privacy in future. Then she straightened, and walking through to the bathroom, began to wash her hair with lethargic movements. There was still over two weeks to go to her wedding. However were she and Marion to get along together until then?

  In the afternoon, Dominique dried her hair thoroughly, and then combed it out ready to plait for the evening. She was in the process of doing her hair when she heard John arrive. She called: 'Hang on a minute, I'm nearly ready,' and hastily plaited the last bit and pinned it up. She had already done her make-up, and taking off her bathrobe she pulled on the black dress.

  Then she studied her reflection in the mirror. She looked tall and slim and rather sophisticated, she thought, which was a change from her usual casual appearance. Pearl studs glinted in her ears, but she had left her throat bare. The dress had quite a high neckline and required no ornamentation.

  John was wearing a dinner jacket for the first time since her arrival in Brazil, and looked big and broad and attractive. She thought his beard added distinction to his otherwise boyish features, and prayed she would be able to remain as cool as she felt at present.

  'You look marvellous!' muttered John enthusiastically, when she appeared. 'Don't you think so, Harry?'

  Harry Rawlings whistled. 'I'll say. Wish I was going myself. I wonder who else will be there?'

  John shrugged. 'Well, Rivas and his wife for certain. I don't know who else.'

  Harry nodded. 'Hmm, well, enjoy yourself, children. What So you say, Marion?'

  Marion moved her shoulders indifferently. 'I wouldn't want to eat with that man,' she replied coldly. 'I'm particular who I associate with.'

  'Chance would be a fine thing,' remarked Harry dryly, chuckling.

  They drove away from the Rawlings' house in the direction of the town, and Dominique frowned. 'Where are we going?'

  'To Minha Terra!' said John in surprise.

  'Isn't it up there?' She pointed back up the darkened road where she had walked several days ago.

  What? Santos's house? It's not among the rank and file! No, you'll see. Just wait! It's a pity it's dark, that's all.'

  They left the bright lights of the town on a road Dominique had not travelled before, curving up into the mountains where only the trees seemed to prevent the car from tipping off the hairpin track altogether. Even in the dark the view was quite spectacular as the lights grew smaller below them, but Dominique was too busy clinging to her seat to pay much attention to anything else.

  Eventually they emerged on to a plateau, and Dominique gave a gasp of pleasure. There was the house, floodlit tonight, looking like a small white-painted fortress, with turrets and grilled windows, standing among a mass of trees and shrubs. There was quite a high wall all around the property, but the tall grilled gates stood wide and Dominique could see that there were already several cars parked on the forecourt.

  John gave her a didn't-I-tell-you look, then drove between the gates into the courtyard. This area was bright with flowers and shrubs, looking strange and exotic in the artificial lights. There were plants in tubs, and trailing over trellises, while a stone cherub stood in the centre of a paved surround, continually spouting water from its mouth.

  Dominique slid out of the car without waiting for John, and crossed to a low wall at the side of the courtyard that invited inspection. Then she stared in amazement, a thrill of pure excitement assailing her. Below her, the ground fell away sharply in a steep precipice, to the valley below, where the lights of Bela Vista winked and glittered like fairy lights. John came to join her and voiced his own appreciation.

  'Some place, isn't it?' he muttered, in a low voice. This is all private land, you know, the road, everything! Santos doesn't believe in anybody getting too familiar, unless he wants it that way, of course,' he added.

  Dominique turned, and said: 'Do we go in?'

  Her question was left unanswered, however, as Salvador appeared at that moment, dressed this evening in a dinner suit, its white jacket faultlessly pressed.

  'Good evening, Miss Mallory,' he said politely. 'Mr. Harding.'

  'Oh, hello there, Salvador,' said John, rather awkwardly. 'Will you tell Mr. Santos we're here?'

  Dominique felt her stomach flutter uncomfortably. All of a sudden she wanted to turn and run, as she had run before. She wanted to escape from whatever it was that was compelling her to stay. But of course she remained calm, and when Salvador asked them to follow him, she did so, her legs obeying the dictates of her brain.

  They crossed the terrace and entered the house through French doors into a long low lounge. Dominique registered that its decorations were coolly blue and green, and that there were some magnificent curtains at the windows, and then they emerged out of the house again. The lounge apparently ran from front to back, and it was here, on a wide paved patio, that Vincente Santos and his guests were taking pre-dinner drinks.

  The patio was discreetly lit by coach lamps, and here was another magnificent view of the valley. To the right, Dominique could vaguely distinguish formal gardens, and a swimming pool which seemed to curve out of sight, overhung with flowering shrubs in places.

  But the guests on the patio, lounging gracefully in comfortable chairs caught her immediate attention, and she was glad she had chosen to wear the black dress. There were more dramatic creations here.

  Then Vincente Santos detached himself from a group of people and came to greet them. In a dark dinner suit, his linen immaculate, his thin face wearing a strange expression, Dominique thought he was easily the most interesting man there, even though some of the men were more handsome. His lean hard body made John look rather clumsy and over-fed, and she closed her eyes for a moment, willing these thoughts away.

  Then he was saying: 'Good evening, Harding. I'm so glad you could come and bring your most charming fiancee.'

  John seemed tongue-tied and youthful. 'Thank you for inviting us, senhor,' he said hastily. 'It's a beautiful place you have here!'

  'Yes, beautiful,' agreed Vincente Santos sardonically, but he was not looking at the view, he was looking at Dominique. 'And how are you this evening, Miss Mallory? Well, I trust.'

  'I - I'm fine, thank you, Mr. Santos,' replied Dominique, trying not to sound nervous.

  Vincente Santos gave her a slight smile, and then said: 'Claudia, come here a moment. I want you to meet Mr. Harding and Miss Mallory.'

  A girl came to join them. She was a redhead, her hair a riot of tawny curls. She was wearing a culotte suit of floral silk that shimmered as she moved. She was smaller than Dominique, and rather more voluptuously built.

  'Yes, Vincente?' she murmured, looking up at him intimately.

  'Claudia, show Mr. Harding around, would you? Introduce him to my other guests while I do the same for Miss Mallory.'Dominique sensed John's disapproval, but there was nothing either of them could do about it. The girl Claudia was leading John away and she was left with Vincente Santos.

  However, Vincente was not prepared to embarrass her yet awhile and taking her elbow in his fingers he guided her across to a group of people and began making introductions. Dominique estimated that there must be about twenty guests altogether, but their names became indistinguishable in her mind. She only recalled Frederick Rivas and his wife Alicia. And that was because she had already heard John mention her name. She accepted a Martini cocktail and a cigarette, and managed to make polite conversation with anyone who spoke to her. Vincente seemed quite content to remain in the background, watching her, watching the impression she made on his guests.

  Certainly the male members of the party gravitated in her direction. Not only was she very attractive, but she had a keen sense of humour and could parry their comments quite naturally. Surprisingly, she did not feel out of her element as she had expected to do, and only John's glowering face, whenever she caught sight of him, warned her of his anger.

  Dinner was announced,
and they entered a long dining- room where a polished wood table had been laid with lace place mats and gleaming cutlery. Cut wine-glasses caught the light, throwing it back in prisms of colour, and as it was diffused the room had a very intimate atmosphere. A centre piece of scarlet poinsettia and creamy magnolias in the green leaves of a rubber plant was quite arresting, and overhead a huge fan disturbed the warm night air.

  Dominique was seated on their host's left hand, with the girl Claudia on his right. John was seated further down the table, and as Dominique gave Vincente a startled glance at this arrangement she surprised a curiously triumphant look in his eyes. Then the look disappeared and he was the bland host again, exchanging pleasantries, discussing the merits of the wine they drank with the meal.

  But Dominique barely noticed what she ate. She was overwhelmingly conscious that Vincente Santos had deliberately set out to separate her from John, and not only physically, and she felt a mixture of fury and frustration. Fury, because he had no right to attempt such a thing, and frustration, because in spite of everything, she was still attracted to him.

  Claudia was captured in conversation by the young man on her right, and Vincente bent his head towards Dominique.

  'You look very beautiful this evening,' he murmured softly. 'Was it all for Harding's benefit?'

  Dominique compressed her lips for a moment. 'Why are you doing this?' she said, between her teeth.

  'Doing what?' he asked, lifting his wine-glass to his lips, looking round urbanely as though they were discussing the weather.

  Dominique's fingers were clenched. 'You know,' she said, her voice taut.

  'Do I?' He smiled at her charmingly. 'Tell me!' His eyes taunted her.

  Dominique refused to look at him, bending her head jerkily. 'I - I think you're despicable!' she exclaimed, in a low voice.