Dark Ransom (8 page)

navigable again I'm leaving. I refuse to be forced into marrying a

total stranger because of some outdated notion of family honour.

This is my life as well, you know.'

'And perhaps not just yours,' he said grimly. 'Have you thought of

that?'

'What do you mean?'

'Do I really have to explain?' he demanded brusquely. 'You could be

pregnant, you little fool.'

All the breath seemed to leave her body in one horrified gasp. She

managed to choke a strangled, 'No.'

'It's entirely possible, I assure you.' He gave her an ironic look. 'For

a girl who takes pride in being part of the modern world, you are

extraordinarily naive.'

'Well, I'm not even going to consider it as a possibility,' Charlie said

grimly, swallowing down a knot of panic. 'And, if it has happened, it

still doesn't necessarily mean that I have to marry you.'

'You think that I would simply let you go— knowing that you carry

my child?' Now he sounded incredulous. 'That I would allow my son

to be brought up a stranger to me in a foreign country?'

'Son?' Charlie reared up in outrage. 'What the hell do you mean—

son? It could just as easily be a girl—although I suppose a daughter

wouldn't fit the macho image you have of yourself...' She stopped

abruptly, appalled as she realised the path the conversation was

taking. 'Oh, God, I don't believe this,' she wailed. 'I must be as

insane as you are. I'm actually arguing with you over the gender of

some nonexistent child.'

'By the time the river falls we will know for certain whether or not

our baby exists.' He spoke quietly, and Charlie felt a shiver run the

length of her spine.

Our baby,
she thought. Dear God. Three days ago I didn't even

know of this man's existence, and now, between us, we might have

created another human life.

It was ghastly—it was crazy—but, for all the bravado of her

protests, it could have happened. And she would have to live with

the consequences.

But, in spite of that, it was the immediate future that was her most

pressing concern.

Boats couldn't be the only way out of this place, she told herself.

There had to be other means of transport, no matter what he said,

although the alternatives might be difficult and dangerous.

She'd read somewhere that another name for the Amazon rain forest

was Green Hell, but there were worse forms of hell, she thought

grimly, and she was prepared to risk hacking her way through the

jungle with a penknife rather than tamely submit to what he was

suggesting.

All she needed was four wheels and an engine, and she could be on

her way. If she followed the river, sooner or later she would be

bound to come to Mariasanta.

But so too might Riago da Santana in pursuit of her, she reminded

herself. He'd made his intentions more than clear and was unlikely

to let her simply walk out of his life again. And Mariasanta,

naturally, would be the first place he'd look.

On the other hand, he'd mentioned there was a mission at Laragosa.

That suggested organised religion, stability, and a strict moral code.

If she went there and begged for protection and sanctuary they could

hardly turn her away.

But she would have to be careful. Every instinct was screaming at

her to cut and run as soon as she got her clothes back, but that would

be just plain stupid. And if she started asking even casual questions

about vehicles he'd be sure to become suspicious.

However distasteful, she'd have to pretend to succumb, to go along

with his plans, at the same time keeping alert to the possibility of

escape.

'You're very quiet.' His voice cut across her reverie.

'Be glad I'm not having hysterics,' she snapped back. It was

important not to become too tractable too soon. A gradual softening

in her attitude, however, might flatter his male ego, and put him off

his guard.

Only—how many nights like the previous one would she be called

on to endure? she thought, her stomach lurching.

'You are not the only one to suffer,' he observed. His face was

sombre suddenly, his mouth set harshly. 'I decided some time ago

that there was no place for marriage in my life.'

'Then why not leave it like that?' Her voice filled with eagerness.

'You don't have to do this— I promise you. Get me back somehow

to Mariasanta and the
Manoela
and I'll be happy to vanish.'

'And, as I have made clear, that is impossible,' he said. 'Our situation

is like a landslide—one small rock sends it rolling, and then it is out

of control. Thanks to Rosita, our landslide has already begun.'

'A servant can have that much influence?'

'Unfortunately yes, when she has been a part of one's life since

birth.' His tone was dry. 'My mother appointed her originally as my

nursemaid. When I no longer needed a nurse she became my

mother's spy instead. By this time she will have radioed and told her

everything.'

'Your mother's still alive?' She didn't hide her surprise, and his

brows lifted in enquiry.

'Why shouldn't she be?'

'Because this house—the way you live—hardly equates with the

normal demands of family life. I thought you were... alone in the

world.'

'I choose to live as if I were,' he said after a pause. 'But, as well as

my mother, I also have a sister.' Another pause. 'And an older

brother.'

There was tension in the air. Charlie could feel it as surely as if

some invisible cord between them had been suddenly drawn tight.

'You don't see them?' she found herself probing.

'Not for some time.' His tone was flat and discouraged further

enquiry.

There was clearly some mystery here, Charlie decided. On the other

hand, it could just be that Riago da Santana was the black sheep of

his family, and was living in this splendid isolation by popular

request.

What a wonderful prospect for a husband, she thought, moving

restively. To her annoyance, the towel slipped as she did so, sliding

down over her small breasts, and she made a hasty readjustment,

aware of his swift, flickering glance.

He pushed his chair back and rose to his feet, and she shrank inside,

thinking he was going to come across to the bed.

'I'll leave you to rest now, and think over what I have said,' he

remarked instead to her relief. 'Perhaps you would let Rosita know

when it will be convenient to move my things. She would not wish

to disturb you.'

'Move?' Charlie stared at him. 'I don't understand.'

'As my future wife, you are to be treated with all respect.' His smile

was sardonic. 'It is.. .expected. Therefore, until our marriage I shall

occupy another room.'

'That's very considerate,' she said tautly. 'But isn't it a little late?'

'Not,' he said coolly, 'in the eyes of my family, or those who work

for us. Why cause needless offence?'

'Oh, why indeed?' she said bitterly.

'Besides,' the dark face was expressionless, 'I did not flatter myself

that you were eager to share my bed again.'

'I'm not, believe me.' Charlie spoke with clipped emphasis, then

paused. 'If the maids are moving your clothes they can return mine

at the same time.'

He frowned. 'Do you mean the garments you arrived in? I doubt

whether they still exist.'

'You mean you've had them thrown away?' She glared at him. 'My

God, I don't believe it...'

'Why not? They were not particularly attractive, or even

appropriate.' Riago da Santana shrugged. 'Until I can make other

arrangements you may continue to make a choice from those.' He

gestured in the direction of the
guarda-roupa.

'I'll do no such thing.' Charlie sat up furiously, again to the detriment

of the towel.

'Then stay as you are.' This time he allowed himself a more leisurely

inspection as she struggled to cover herself. He grinned at her,

amusement mingling disturbingly with sensuous appraisal. 'After

all, Carlotta, dressed or undressed, you are going nowhere.'

He allowed the words to sink in, made her a slight, mocking bow,

then strode out of the bedroom, shutting the door behind him.

Going nowhere.
It was impossible to relax—let alone think

practically and coherently—with that ringing in her head. After an

hour she got up, picked the simplest bra and briefs she could find in

the frankly exotic collection on offer, and mutinously zipped herself

back into the cornflower dress.

She decided to think about the clothes in the
guarda-roupa
as a

form of stage costume- something she was forced to assume for the

part she had to play.

But she would have to find something altogether more substantial

and robust to wear if she was going to make a run for it, she decided

uneasily. Strong boots, for instance, were a necessity. Her skin

crawled as she thought of all the creeping and scuttling horrors

waiting in the undergrowth—insects, spiders and scorpions whose

bite or sting could bring death within a few short hours. And she

didn't even want to contemplate the snakes.

Oh, God, why did I ever come here? she asked herself frantically.

Sonia's gibe about touring the European capitals suddenly sounded

like plain common sense.

As soon as she emerged from the bedroom Rosita appeared and

swept her kindly but firmly to the dining-room. The scent of coffee

hung in the air, and there was freshly baked bread, Charlie saw, and

a dish of sliced pineapple and mango. She hadn't felt particularly

hungry, but now her mouth was watering, and she found herself

attacking the food as if it were the last meal she would ever eat.

Rosita poured the coffee and hung around solicitously, pressing

Charlie to finish the last crumb of the last crisp roll. Charlie was

made to understand she was too thin.

Clearly Rosita was remembering her days as a nursemaid and saw

her as her latest charge, she thought with wry amusement.

When she'd finished her meal she was taken on a guided tour of the

house. Although Charlie understood little of what was said, Rosita

was clearly extolling its virtues, making sure she appreciated her

good fortune. And if you liked large, dark rooms with

correspondingly large, dark furniture then you certainly were in

luck, Charlie remarked inwardly as she looked around.

It was becoming increasingly obvious that she wasn't going to be

left on her own, she realised with irritation, wondering if Rosita was

acting on Riago's instructions. Perhaps her unwanted fiance

suspected that she wasn't intending to submit meekly to his plans for

her future.

One room was an office, and Rosita ushered her into it, palpably

swelling with pride. Charlie stared around her at the charts on the

wall, the modern desk with its litter of papers and account books,

and the big steel filing-cabinet, and wondered what it all meant—

and exactly what Riago da Santana did for a living in this corner of

nowhere.

Rubber, she thought. He'd said something about this having once

been a rubber plantation before the Brazilian industry fell into

decay. Maybe he was trying a one-man revival here.

She nodded and smiled at Rosita, pretending to share her obvious

enthusiasm. Whatever his involvement, in his nurse's view, at least,

the local boy had made good, she told herself ruefully.

As she turned away she noticed that this was where the radio was

also kept. Not that it would do her much good. Even if she knew

how to work it, there was little chance of anyone responding to her

SOS or understanding her predicament.

Except for one person, she remembered with sudden excitement.

Philip Hughes had been last heard of at Laragosa. The mission there

might have heard of him, know his present whereabouts, and, if so,

surely he would help her—a fellow Briton in trouble—especially

when she told him about his aunt. It was a flimsy straw of hope, but

she grasped at it eagerly. After all, she had nothing else.

The tour over, she was taken to the old- fashioned
sala de estar,

where further coffee awaited on a tray which bore two cups. It

seemed the
patrao
was expected, she thought, a knot of sudden

nervousness twisting in her stomach.

Although there was nothing to get in a state about, she reminded