Prima Donna (46 page)

‘I hope so, my friend,’ Velasquez laughed, throwing his hands in the air. ‘What it is costing me to bankroll, I hope so.’

Tanner laughed. They both knew that the cost of running a polo team – around a million dollars per annum – was but buttons in the Velasquez fortune. They also both knew that the true
extent of Velasquez’s wealth was indubitably far greater than the $180 million figure which was officially published. He had inherited the coffee plantation from his father and been one of
the first owners to predict the rise of the speciality coffee market, leaving behind the poor-quality, high-volume blended business, to carve a niche supplying purer strains, before diversifying
into eucalyptus forestry, buying up vast swathes of land in the south and supplying wood pulp to the States.

‘I’d like to go round with the vet tomorrow. The mare with the blaze had weepy eyes and a bit of a wheeze. And I’ve asked for all of them to be taken off oats with immediate
effect. I don’t want them hyperactive on the plane.’

Velsaquez shrugged. ‘My resources are at your disposal. You must do whatever you believe to be in the best interests of the horses. It has taken several years and a lot of money to
cherry-pick a team of this calibre. I do not want to lose any of them on the plane to something as avoidable as high spirits.’

‘Thank you.’

‘Ah! Here she is,’ Vittorio exclaimed, walking over to greet a dark-haired woman even hairier and stockier than he. ‘My wife, Izadora.’

Tanner put his drink down and walked over to her. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Senhora Velasquez. Your home is beautiful.’ He betrayed no evidence of having seen Velasquez
leaving Claridge’s with his Russian mistress, en route to Paris.

‘
Gracias
, Senhor Ludgrove,’ the woman smiled. She was wearing a fuchsia-pink jacquard suit that hung like a box, with matching shoes, and on her finger the most atrociously
enormous pink diamond Tanner had ever seen. ‘This is your first time to Brazil?’

Tanner nodded. ‘Not my last, I hope. It’s a beautiful country. I won’t have time on this trip, obviously, but I’m intrigued to come back and explore it properly,’
he lied. He was a sucker through and through for the green, green fields of England.

‘Well, our doors are always open to you. You are welcome here any time.’

‘Thank you,
senhora
.’

‘Brazil is a country of great extremes, Tanner, from the mountains,’ Vittorio said, sweeping his arms out expansively, ‘to the beaches. From the
carnivale
to the
religious festas. It is a country that defies categorization. It wants to be everything. And why shouldn’t it be?’ he laughed.

Tanner laughed along. A maid in a black and white uniform came silently onto the verandah and tipped her head.

‘Come, let us eat,’ Velasquez said, shepherding the group into the house.

‘You know, Tanner,’ he continued as they took their places around a vast round dining table. ‘Tomorrow you shall see for yourself the contradiction at the heart of
Brazil.’

Tanner cocked an eyebrow. ‘How so?’

‘It is the culmination of the Festo do Divino Espirito Santo. All day we observe God’s love and beneficence. But by night we throw a party and then – then huh?’ He
laughed. ‘Well . . . then you see how we have a good time.’

‘I look forward to it,’ Tanner replied, inwardly groaning at the prospect of travelling the following morning with thirty-six horses and a hangover.

‘Do not worry. You do not have to observe the
festa
in the day,’ Velasquez pooh-poohed the thought. ‘It is very dull,’ he whispered jocularly. ‘No, I have
arranged a trek for you tomorrow to a very special place. So that you can see some more of Brazil before you go.’

‘A ride? Not on the polo ponies, though?’

‘Of course not,’ Velasquez cried. ‘What do you take me for? These are my trekkers. You will like them, you’ll see.’

Tanner nodded. ‘Will you be coming too?’

‘Sadly, no,’ Velasquez said, throwing out his hands apologetically. ‘I do not have the stamina that I used to have for such a trek.’ He patted his portly tummy.
‘But my son, Paolo, will join you. He’s flying in with his new girlfriend in the morning. He will take you to all the best places.’

Tanner’s smile remained rigid. He was well acquainted with Paolo’s reputation on the polo circuit and the last thing he needed was a playboy for a guide. He was here to work, not
play, but he knew there’d be no way out without offending his host. He raised his glass to his toast. ‘Well, here’s to an adventure, then,’ he smiled.

Tanner slapped his thigh, irritated, and turned over, twisting himself in the sheets.

The mosquito whined in his ear again and this time he sat bolt upright, shaking his head like a horse. Bloody little buggers. He reluctantly opened his eyes and looked down at his chest. He was
covered with bites.

He sighed – exhausted from a night of broken sleep – and looked around. The room reeked of musk and colonial splendour. There was a rococo mahogany mirror on the wall, a heavy
four-poster, glossy floors and painted grey shutters. He kicked his way out of the mosquito nets – fat lot of good they’d been – and walked to the windows, feeling the breeze
tickle over his bare skin. He stretched his arms above his head and yawned noisily, feeling the impressive weight of his morning glory.

Outside his window, Brazil fell away in undulating folds, the green coffee plants dotting the hills in long rows, threaded like cornrows all the way to the horizon. He heard a giggle and looked
down. A maid was crossing the path in the garden, a pile of sheets in her arms. She looked up again and found him staring back at her.

Tanner smiled, amused and unembarrassed, as she boldly held his gaze, and he suddenly hoped she’d be coming up to change his sheets. He hadn’t been with anyone since Violet had left
and he was beginning to feel desperate. He watched her as she walked into the hacienda, a mini-me of the main house, with the same grey-blue painted shutters and a clock tower on the roof.

He turned away, disappointed, and walked across to the bathroom. That was probably going to be the highlight of his day – being eyed up by the maid.

His hosts were already eating out on the verandah when he came downstairs, a banquet masquerading as breakfast laid out on the table. He helped himself to the full English, which Velasquez had
ordered the kitchens to cook up for him, and joined them.

‘Did you sleep well?’ Senhora Velasquez enquired.

‘Like a baby,’ he lied, resisting the urge to scratch a particularly bothersome bite under his arm.

‘Earl Grey?’ asked a maid.

Tanner looked at her and was pleased to note she was the same one from the garden. Her eyes sparkled provocatively.

‘Thanks,’ he grinned as she poured.

‘So. You will make an early start today,’ Velasquez said, sitting back in his chair and dabbing his upper lip effetely with his napkin. ‘There is much for you to
see.’

Tanner nodded, a forkful of bacon in his mouth. He was far more concerned with checking the horses for the journey than going on some glorified tour of the grounds. ‘Has your son arrived,
then?’ he asked, spearing a sausage and watching the maid move around the table.

Velasquez looked out into the cloudless sky. ‘Not yet. But any moment,’ he said, picking up a small pair of binoculars and scouring the horizon. ‘The pilot radioed to say
they’d left Joinville fifty minutes ago.’

As if by his command, a dot appeared in the endless blue, growing steadily larger until eventually the distinctive pucker of propellers could be made out and the plane circled overhead.

They all watched from the table as the plane descended, landing bumpily on a tarmac strip that connected to the far end of the lawns. The propellers slowed into distinction, and the fuselage
door opened, a small staircase dropping down to the ground below.

There was a few minutes’ pause and Tanner sensed his hosts’ escalating tension, before a man finally emerged, waving, at the top of the steps. Tanner put down his fork and watched as
the lean figure – black-haired, in a cream suit and golden aviators – gambolled down. The girlfriend emerged a moment later, wearing matching aviators and white shorts, her hair
swinging lustrously in a high ponytail. Even from a distance, she was stunning.

Senhora Velasquez rose up from the table and started walking down the garden to meet them. ‘My boy,’ she cried proudly. ‘My boy.’ She embraced him tightly and he bent
down patiently as she clasped his head in her hands, kissing him on both cheeks and his forehead.

The girlfriend hung back, slouching coolly, her long smooth legs gleaming in the morning sun. Velasquez narrowed his eyes and picked up the binoculars. He burst out laughing.

‘I don’t believe it! It’s true what they say,’ he roared, smacking the table and handing the binoculars over. ‘What goes around, comes around.’

Tanner looked through the eyeglasses, baffled by his host’s amusement.

‘It looks like she is going after my millions, after all, Tanner, but still with the man thirty years younger.’

Tanner watched the unlikely trio move up to the house, hardly able to believe his eyes.

‘Father,’ Paolo said, bounding up the steps, arms wide. ‘It is so good to see you.’

The two men embraced.

‘I want you to meet Pia,’ he beamed, drawing her forward.

Velasquez’s grin widened. ‘It is a very great honour to meet you, young lady,’ he said, clasping her slim hand in his great bear paws. ‘I have long been an admirer of
yours.’

Pia pushed her glasses to the top of her head and smiled knowingly back. She only had to take one look at his wife to know what
that
meant.

‘Come,’ Velasquez beamed, turning towards Tanner. ‘Paolo, Pia. Let me introduce Tanner Ludgrove. He has agreed to be our new manager for the polo team.’

Paolo looked at Tanner like a lizard at a fly. ‘Paolo Almerida,’ he said, offering a weak handshake. ‘My father has told me much about you,’ he said slowly. ‘We are
lucky to have you.’

Tanner disliked his slimy manners immediately. ‘Likewise. I understand you’re eight-goal.’ Paolo nodded. ‘Sorry, you said Paolo
Almerida
? Not
Velasquez?’

‘Well observed, Tanner,’ Velasquez laughed. ‘No. It is custom in Brazil for the children to take their mother’s surname.’

‘Oh,’ Tanner replied. ‘I never knew that.’

‘And why should you?’ Paolo smiled, without it ever reaching his eyes.

Tanner looked across at Pia.

‘Pia,’ he said stiffly. ‘How are you?’ he asked, bitterly regretting their last meeting and how he’d stormed around her in a whisky-fuelled rage, determined to hold
her responsible for his brother’s misery.

‘Tanner,’ she nodded back, her smile equally thin. For a split second she wondered whether he would betray her location to Will – it was still a well-kept secret, even though
she had been back in Brazil for a few weeks now, hiding out at her old academy until she could resurface in Bulgaria at the ballet competition. But from the look on his face, he was as surprised as
she was to be meeting again here. Besides, as much as he hated her, she was sure he hated Will more. Why would he do him the favour of giving up her hiding place?

‘Come! You must change. The horses are saddled up and Tanner is waiting,’ Velasquez said, bundling the newcomers back down the steps. ‘Maria has everything unpacked for you in
the hacienda. You will find all you need in there.’

Maria? Tanner wondered if that was the maid’s name. He made a mental note to try to find her later. They all watched as Paolo took Pia’s hand and led her towards the hacienda,
Pia’s ponytail bouncing, her legs swishing.

‘I think I’ll go down to the stables and get ready, then,’ Tanner said, breaking up the Pia Soto fan club. ‘Thanks for breakfast. Very much appreciated.’

He jogged down the steps and turned in the opposite direction, towards the front of the house. Fountains spurted bountifully every fifty feet, interconnected by a lacework of paths that
criss-crossed the lawns.

He followed the one down to the stables, grateful to be getting back to what he’d come over for. He passed a field of ponies and they trotted over to the fence as he walked by, eager for
carrots or a sugar cube. He stopped and dug in his pockets. They were the equivalent of most women’s handbags, with all bar the kitchen sink in them. He fished out a battered tube of Polos
and handed them out, enjoying the horses’ whiskers tickling his palm and the heat of the sun on his back.

The trek horses were tethered in the shade, their heads in nosebags, when he sauntered into the yard. A gaucho was working on
doma
(saddle work) in the manege, with two grooms sitting
on the fence, watching.

‘Mind if I join you?’ he asked, resting a foot on the railing.

The grooms shrugged and looked back at the action. The horse looked promising – changing legs easily mid-canter, stopping quickly and riding off hard. He watched as the gaucho spoke
softly, encouraging him on, building up trust between them.

‘He looks good,’ a voice said after a while, over his shoulder.

The grooms immediately jumped off the fence and started sweeping.

Tanner looked round at Pia. Paolo was in the corner, talking loudly on his mobile as he checked the girth strap on one of the tethered ponies. Tanner looked her over, aghast. She was wearing
boots, fawn jodhpurs and a pale pink shirt that made her skin look like caramel.

‘What are you doing dressed like that?’ he demanded in a low voice.

‘Well, what would you prefer to see me ride in?’ she demanded, hands on hips. ‘A bikini?’ she smiled, knowing full well that that image would make it hard for the grooms
to do their jobs.

‘You’re not coming out for this ride too,’ he said, more of a statement than a question.

‘Oh yes, I am,’ she countered, her head to the side. ‘Is that a problem?’

Tanner’s eyes flickered over to Paolo, who had moved on to fiddling with his horse’s bit. They both knew it wasn’t his call.

‘Don’t you think I’m up to it?’ she said archly, evoking the memory of their chase after she’d stolen Violet’s horse.