The Sanchez Tradition Read online

  André moved indolently. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’ he asked harshly. ‘All I can imagine you are meaning are my actions regarding your father’s death and subsequent burial.’

  ‘Oh, how cold you are!’ she gasped, unable to prevent herself. ‘My father’s death and subsequent burial!’ She caught her breath on a sob. ‘You make it sound like an office memo!’

  André gave an impatient exclamation. ‘For God’s sake, Rachel! What do you want me to say?’ He raked a hand through his thick hair. ‘I’m sorry he’s dead, you must know that, but it wasn’t by my hand he died!’

  ‘At least he won’t be a drain on your resources any longer,’ cried Rachel bitterly, fighting back the tears that threatened behind her eyes.

  André sighed heavily. ‘Hell, Rachel, don’t bring up everything I said about him! Maybe I was a bit harsh, but good heavens, I didn’t know the man was dying, did I?’

  Rachel turned away. ‘But when he was dead, you made pretty damn sure he had no chance to trouble you longer than was necessary,’ she imputed him scornfully.

  André uttered an expletive. ‘That’s a pretty filthy thing to say,’ he said bleakly, and Rachel wished she could see his face. His voice had sounded shaken, as though her words had got through to him cuttingly.

  She bent her head. ‘Can you deny it?’ she asked quietly.

  André did not reply and she swung round to see him reaching for a decanter of brandy from the tray on the bureau near by. He poured himself several measures and swallowed half of it at a gulp. Then he turned to look at her, the decanter and glass still in his hands.

  ‘So that’s what you think?’ he ground out harshly. ‘You think I had your father buried without your attendance for some nefarious purposes of my own, is that it?’

  Rachel did not reply, and he went on: ‘All right, Rachel, I’ll tell you something. Have you ever seen a body that’s been dead of barbiturate poisoning for several days? Have you ever seen a rotting mass of flesh that was once a living, breathing human being whom you had known and loved?’

  Rachel stared at him with pained eyes, and then pressed her hands to her ears. ‘Don’t!’ she cried, in agony. ‘Don’t!’

  ‘Why not? That’s what you want to hear, isn’t it? You wanted to be a party to all the sordid details. Well, I can give them to you. Do you want to know the results of the post-mortem? Do you want to know in what state of decay your father’s liver really was? Do you want—–’

  ‘Stop it! Stop it! You’re cruel, cruel!’ She sank down into a chair, burying her face in her hands.

  ‘No, Rachel,’ he said heavily, finishing his drink. ‘I’m not cruel! If I’d been cruel I’d have wired you, knowing that if you came to London you would be forced to look at your father if only because you felt you should. I saved you that necessity by taking the whole responsibility for it on myself! But you can’t see that, can you? All you can see is another example of the arrogance of the Sanchez clan, isn’t that right!’

  Rachel felt the hot tears forcing themselves between her fingers and did not reply. She was suddenly aware of the death of her father in all its morbid detail, and while there was resentment at André’s assumption of responsibility, there was a kind of relief, too, that she had not been subjected to such a harrowing ordeal.

  When she looked up, after drying her eyes, she found him standing by the french windows, smoking a cigar and staring out thoughtfully. Sniffing a little, she got to her feet.

  ‘I suppose I ought to have been grateful,’ she said chokily, still near to tears.

  André looked at her sardonically. ‘Oh no, Rachel,’ he said chillingly. ‘That would have been too much!’

  Ignoring his coldness, she said: ‘What—what about the shop? I mean—the reason I came here in the first place! Did—did you see the police? Or the men?’ She bit her lip hard to prevent it trembling.

  André tapped ash into a tray. Then he sighed. ‘Rachel, I don’t think there were any men. Certainly the police had heard nothing about it. They never called at the shop. A superintendent assured me of that.’

  Rachel’s eyes were wide. ‘What!’ she gasped.

  André shrugged. ‘Can’t you see the pattern?’ he enquired rather wearily. ‘There were no men! He wasn’t in trouble of any kind, except of the most personal kind.’ He shook his head. ‘Look, Rachel, he knew if anything happened to him, you’d be alone in the world, and London can be a pretty frightening place for any young woman who has no one to turn to.’

  Rachel felt bewildered. ‘I don’t understand,’ she exclaimed, putting a hand to her head.

  André studied the glowing tip of his cigar. ‘Rachel, he sent you here to find me because he knew with me you’d be safe! Secure! He knew that if anything happened to him before you contacted me, you never would after he was dead. He had to devise some plan to get you to come out here, and the only way he could do that was for him to be in trouble, real trouble, trouble of a kind you would be unable to handle. He knew if he suggested you coming out here in the ordinary way, you’d veto the plan, so he used his brain, and tricked you into coming.’

  Rachel shook her head disbelievingly. ‘I can’t believe it!’ she exclaimed, ‘it’s not possible!’ She bit her lip harder. ‘Why should he do such a thing? I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself!’

  ‘Well, obviously he didn’t think so. Rachel, he knew he was dying, and he knew he hadn’t much time left to get you to come out here. I think it was a pretty clever plan!’

  Rachel stared at him. ‘But why should he send me to you?’ She turned away. ‘He knew our marriage was over.’

  ‘Yes.’ André studied her bent head. ‘He knew more than you did, Rachel.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  André withdrew a letter from his pocket, and tapped it on his palm. ‘This was the letter my solicitors mailed to you several weeks ago.’

  Rachel’s lips parted. ‘Oh no!’

  ‘Oh yes. Your father knew I was seeking a divorce. He knew he hadn’t a moment to lose.’

  Rachel moved restlessly, getting to her feet and walking unsteadily across the room. ‘Oh, how could he have done such a thing!’ she said bitterly, shaking her head. ‘Oh, how could he?’ Her voice broke on a sob.

  André came across to her. ‘Oughtn’t you to be grateful he did?’ he asked, rather roughly. ‘You couldn’t have handled everything yourself. You needed someone—some man, and I’m the only man you should turn to!’

  ‘You!’ She stared at him through tear-wet lashes. ‘Why you? You don’t want me? You’ve got Leonie! You want a divorce, remember?’

  André’s eyes darkened, and his gaze lingered on her mouth, her lips parted and trembling. ‘All right,’ he said, rather tautly, ‘I want a divorce. But that doesn’t mean we have to be uncivilised about it. You’re still a member of this family. Like my mother says, you’re a Sanchez!’

  Rachel shook her head. ‘I’m not. I’m Rachel Jardin!’

  ‘You’re Rachel Sanchez!’ announced André harshly, ‘and I for one will not let you forget it!’

  ‘What will you do?’ she taunted him shakily.

  ‘I have plans for you,’ he replied quietly, ‘and you will do as your father wanted and follow them!’

  ‘The shop—–’

  ‘The shop has been taken care of. Oh, don’t worry, I haven’t sold it over your head, but you needn’t trouble about it for a while.’

  ‘And if I disagree?’

  ‘You’ll be destitute. You’ve no money, on your own admission, you’ve no money, and I won’t pay another cent into your London bank!’

  ‘I—I could sue you!’

  ‘And I could produce a dozen witnesses to prove that you’ve committed adultery, and that my divorce requires no arrangements for alimony!’

  Rachel hunched her shoulders. She felt defeated. ‘You’re a brute!’ she said unevenly. ‘I hate you, André Sanchez!’

  ‘You’ll say that once too often, Rachel,’ he muttered
angrily, and without another word he brushed past her and opening the door went out, slamming it behind him.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  THAT evening Rachel dressed for dinner with extra care. The maid had informed her that Mr. André and Miss Gardner were staying for dinner, and although Rachel knew it was ridiculous she had no intention of allowing Leonie Gardner the satisfaction of looking down on her appearance. Her clothes might not be as expensive as Leonie’s, but they were plain and elegant, and she knew she had good dress sense. She had brought two evening dresses with her in case she was expected to dress for dinner at the hotel, and now she chose the second of these, an ankle-length gown of apricot-patterned silk. It was styled like a caftan, with an upstanding collar dipping to a low vee in front, and the sleeves were wide and feminine. Her chestnut hair was soft as silk against her neck, and the sun had touched her skin to honey. Despite her grief over her father, there was a haunting beauty about her, accentuating the slightly slanted wideness of her eyes. The knowledge gave her an added confidence, although she was sure she would fade into insignificance beside Leonie’s classical fairness.

  She went down to the lounge just before the appointed time for the meal, and found Vittorio and Irena, André and Leonie, and Madam Sanchez, all taking cocktails together. Obviously, Leonie and André had not been able to change and Leonie was still wearing the navy blue Crimplene suit she had been wearing when Rachel had seen her so briefly during the afternoon. Her cool blue eyes surveyed Rachel condescendingly, and obviously she did not particularly like what she saw. This time Vittorio took charge of the situation, coming forward to draw Rachel into the group and asking her whether she would like a cocktail. His admiring eyes were a balm to her tortured spirit, and she bestowed a warm smile upon him as she took his arm and accompanied him across to the cocktail cabinet. Vittorio gave her a strange glance and as he poured her drink, he said:

  ‘You’re looking so much better, Rachel! Do you feel better?’

  Rachel lifted her shoulders expressively. ‘I think I do,’ she murmured, taking her drink. ‘In any event, I feel more able to face whatever is to come!’ She sipped her cocktail thoughtfully, allowing her eyes to survey the room over the rim of her glass.

  Madam Sanchez came across to them. ‘What a pretty dress, Rachel,’ she commented gently, a smile in her eyes. ‘Has Vittorio been telling you how attractive you look?’

  Vittorio smiled wryly. ‘Hardly,’ he remarked, glancing expressively at André, and Madam Sanchez gave him a quelling stare.

  ‘Tell me, Rachel,’ she said, changing the subject, ‘has André been able to reassure you about—well—everything?’

  Rachel bent her head, fingering the rim of her glass. ‘I think André has removed the numbness,’ she said honestly. ‘Somehow I can accept it a little better now.’

  Madam Sanchez pressed her arm. ‘Oh, I’m so glad, my dear. I hated to see you so downcast. Now come along and meet Leonie. I’m sure you’ve never been properly introduced.’

  Rachel hesitated, and then accompanied Madam Sanchez across to where André, Leonie, and Irena were talking together. Irena looked annoyed at their intrusion, but she said nothing, and if André too was annoyed he disguised it admirably. Leonie’s eyes flickered slightly, and, deliberately Rachel thought, she slid a hand inside André’s arm, her fingers gently caressing his.

  ‘Rachel, my dear, this is Leonie!’ Madam Sanchez smiled her introduction. ‘Leonie, you mustn’t mind Rachel being here. Naturally, she and I are great friends, and it was right that she should come to André with her problems.’

  Leonie’s lips thinned. ‘Naturally,’ she murmured, almost inaudibly, then she looked up at André. ‘Darling, when dinner is over, we aren’t staying, are we?’ She squeezed his arm. ‘I mean—you know we promised Mom and Dad to dine there this evening.’ She gave a slight sigh. ‘Of course, I understood that you had business to attend to here, and that your mother wanted to see you, but after dinner, we really should go.’ She stroked his lapel with her other hand. ‘After all, you’ve neglected me dreadfully being away so long, and we have things to talk about.’

  André’s lean features were serious and he didn’t respond to her playful tactics. ‘I’m sorry, Leonie, but after dinner I have to talk to Rachel. There are things to arrange.’

  Rachel, who had listened to Leonie’s appeal, gave an almost impatient flick to her gown and turned to Madam Sanchez. ‘I really ought to apologise for staying here so long,’ she said quietly. ‘Naturally now I shall be making arrangements to go back to England.’ She ignored André’s swiftly indrawn breath, and continued: ‘I—I can easily get a job. I’m still quite an efficient book-keeper, and I have my library training—–’

  ‘You’re going to South America,’ said André, behind her, and she swung round in astonishment.

  ‘South America!’ she echoed, and even Leonie looked astounded.

  ‘Yes, South America; Brazil to be exact,’ returned André bleakly. ‘Since you insist on conducting your arguments in public!’ His eyes belied the anger he was holding in check, and Rachel shivered.

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she said, rather tremulously.

  ‘Nor do I!’ exclaimed Irena, joining in for the first time. ‘Just what kind of arrangements are you making, André?’

  André gave her a killing glance. ‘While I was in London I saw Marcus and Olivia. You knew they were there as well as I did. Marcus has to return to the Rio office sooner than he expected, and he and Olivia are flying directly there from London, instead of stopping off here for Maria. Rachel will accompany Maria, and Tottie of course, to Rio.’

  Rachel shook her head in amazement. ‘You expect me to agree to it, just like that!’ she exclaimed weakly.

  André’s eyes were dark. ‘Right now you have no choice,’ he replied, daring her to argue with him yet again.

  Rachel finished her drink and walked dazedly over to Vittorio by the cabinet. ‘Give me another,’ she said unsteadily, and frowning, he did as she asked. After she had swallowed half of her second drink he offered her a cigarette and she took it gratefully, inhaling the nicotine deeply, and trying to assimilate what she had just heard.

  There was little doubt that if André had made up his mind she would do as he asked, and in any case it was the least she could do for the family after Madam Sanchez had been so kind, but what was behind it all? What plans was he contemplating for her? What was his ultimate intention? Did he hope she might meet someone, some other member of his family in Brazil, and thus free him from his obligations by marrying again herself? She knew there were distant cousins in Rio whom Marcus worked with, and it was not inconceivable that André should be so despotic as to imagine he could arrange her life so callously.

  Luckily the maid came at that moment to announce that dinner was served, and the informality of the meal, plus the fact that she was seated beside Vittorio on Madam Sanchez’s right hand, gave Rachel some respite. But she ate little, picking disinterestedly at her food, conscious all the while of the man across the table and the concentrated efforts his companion was making to monopolise his attention. Seeing André’s dark head bent often in Leonie’s direction disturbed Rachel more than she cared to admit, and to imagine them alone together, possibly making love, was distasteful to her. And it was obvious from the way Leonie worshipped him with her eyes that she would be unable to deny him anything. Rachel’s nails bit into the palms of her hands. This was what her father had sent her out here to find—but why? What streak of cruelty had made him thrust her into André’s life again at a time when he so obviously did not want to see her?

  When dinner was over, and they all adjourned to the lounge for coffee, Rachel found André beside her. ‘I want to talk to you,’ he said in a low voice, without any trace of animosity.

  Rachel was aware that Leonie, seated with Irena on the divan, was watching them closely, and with deliberate archness, she said: ‘Ought you to be neglecting Leonie? I understood she wanted to leave directly after
dinner.’

  André’s blue eyes blazed with suppressed annoyance. ‘Rachel, for God’s sake, couldn’t you just come with me without creating a scene?’

  Rachel glanced expressively across at Leonie. ‘I’m not creating a scene,’ she disclaimed charmingly. ‘But someone else might!’

  André took a deep breath. ‘Leonie knows I have to talk to you,’ he replied evenly. ‘She has no reason to feel jealous!’

  Rachel flinched at the cutting cruelty of his observation, and some unwarranted devil of injustice inside her longed to make him eat those arrogant words. With a casual lift of her head, she said calmly: ‘Very well then, André.’

  André thust his hands into the pockets of his trousers. ‘We’ll go to the library,’ he said, indicating that she should precede him out of the room.

  But Rachel halted, shaking her head. ‘But it’s such a lovely night, André. I’d prefer to walk outside.’

  André studied her expression searchingly. ‘The library, I think,’ he commanded softly.

  Rachel smiled sardonically. ‘What’s the matter, André? Are you afraid Leonie might object if we walked in the garden?’

  André shook his head. ‘Not at all,’ he replied indifferently. ‘And if it means so much to you…’

  Rachel dug the nails of one hand into the palm of the other, refusing to retaliate in the way he expected her to. Instead, she walked ahead of him out of the room, and across the tiled hall.

  Outside, the night air was scented with the perfumes of the many flowers Madam Sanchez cultivated in her garden. She had introduced many English varieties to the rich soil around her villa, and stocks mingled with the more exotic scents of hibiscus and magnolia.

  Now Rachel halted and turned to find André behind her. ‘It’s a beautiful night,’ she said, in an effort to break the silence that had fallen.

  André lifted his shoulders eloquently. ‘The silence used to bore you, if I remember correctly,’ he remarked bleakly. ‘Shall we go through here?’

  Rachel compressed her lips and followed him through an arched trellis to where the formal gardens of the house fell away towards the beach. Several yards from the house, he stopped and said: