The Man Behind the Mask (4 page)

‘Clearly I do—or else I would not be living here.' Eduardo smiled reluctantly, but he was genuinely surprised by the fact that she was apparently quite content with her own company. These days, when most people he observed seemed driven by the need for perpetual
noise and distraction, it was positively
unusual
. ‘Shall we continue our discussion sitting by the fire?'

Once they were ensconced in comfortable leather arm chairs, Eduardo followed Marianne's mesmerised gaze to the dancing amber-gold flames. For a while companionable silence settled over them, like another softening blanket of snow on the desolate winter landscape outside.

‘Warm enough?' he asked, almost reluctant to intrude upon the still ness and quiet with words.

Withdrawing her glance from the fire, she blinked at him as though momentarily for get ting who he was and why she was even there.

‘Oh, yes…perfectly warm, thanks. I expect you're wondering why I changed my mind about taking you up on your offer,' she said in a rush, her pale, slender-fingered hands twisting together restlessly in the lap of her red wool dress. ‘The truth is I suddenly realised that a change was what I needed after all. Being snowed in for three days certainly helped focus my mind on the subject! Although I was playing my music, doing what I loved, I was also in a bit of a rut. I figured it was time to try something different.'

‘So you decided to ring me after all?' Linking his fingers steeple-like beneath his chin, Eduardo thoughtfully studied the pretty oval face and expressive hazel eyes before him. There were myriad conflicting emotions behind that arresting gaze that he couldn't help but wonder at.
Was she running away from something…
some cruelty or un hap pi ness that she hadn't revealed?

Some thing like an abusive relationship, perhaps?

‘I did. You—you didn't mind?'

‘I would not have given you my card if I minded.'

‘I just wanted to make sure.'

‘And can I ask about the jobs you have had previously—before this?'

‘Well. I…' Briefly Marianne's attention returned to the fire, where a hot coal sizzled brightly before settling more deeply into the nest of flames. ‘I've worked in shops, mostly…a large clothing store, then a music store selling instruments and sheet music…that kind of thing.'

‘You must have been in your element there.' Eduardo remarked, already knowing that music was a passion for her—the same as the career he had chosen had once been a passion for
him
. He quickly quashed the thought.

‘I was.' The bewitching smile returned, naked and unguarded, and it was as though someone had brought a rare and beautiful orchid into the midst of a grey concrete prison cell. ‘Look…I know I'm not exactly qualified to be a house keeper, if you go by my previous employment, but I'm a fast learner, and I actually get great pleasure from doing the things that help make a house a home.'

‘Talking of home…where was it you last lived, Marianne?' he enquired, intrigued. ‘A commune or a squat, perhaps?'

Her glance was perturbed. ‘No. It was a house that I shared with somebody.'

‘A boy friend?'

‘No…not a boy friend. Can we talk about the job and what the daily routine is? I'd like to get a feel for things as soon as possible, so that I won't have to trouble you with too many questions.'

Reluctantly Eduardo curbed his curiosity. A business like approach to work was not what he had expected from someone who appeared as Bohemian as Marianne, but nonetheless it could hardly displease him, he mused silently. Not when he had begun to realise that established routines and a smooth-running house hold could some times help take the edge off the mental torture that plagued him, by acting as a sort of shield that could occasionally cushion him from the painful events of the past. For someone who had once been an inveterate risk-taker this was a revelation to him…even though he privately despised himself for succumbing to such appalling weakness.

‘I have already briefed Ricardo about that. He is usually up and about early in the morning. Go and find him in the kitchen, and he will explain to you what to do. Help yourself to break fast first. Ah…Ricardo. I was just telling Miss Lockwood that you will explain everything about her house hold duties in the morning.'

The tall, dark-eyed young man with a mop of curly black hair, dressed in well-fitting denim jeans and a navy roll-necked sweater, smiled at Marianne, indicating his agreement to this plan.

‘Now, drink up your hot chocolate,' Eduardo told her, envying his valet's easy, uncomplicated smile and wishing that he didn't privately feel like some invalid elder amongst them. Despite his injury he was actually still a strong and intelligent thirty-seven-year-old. ‘Ricardo will bring in your baggage from the car and show you where your room is.'

‘Thank you.' Rising to her feet at the same time as he did, Marianne gratefully nursed the mug of hot chocolate that Ricardo had placed in her hands.

She looked a little tired
, Eduardo reflected. No doubt she would be anxious to get to her room, take stock, and mull over what the coming days and weeks living in this isolated place with her taciturn new employer would bring. When sufficient time had elapsed for her to realise what she had got herself into would she regret the decision she'd made? Coming to the conclusion that perhaps singing by the roadside was actually
easier
—no matter how inclement the weather?

Bitterly aware of his own short comings, and the way that depression and some times despair could descend like the blackest cloud, blotting out all sources of light within him and consigning him to being a blunt, unsparing, bad-tempered
bore
, Eduardo bit back a curse. Ricardo was used to his surly ways, but this fragile-looking girl was not.

Suddenly impatient with the downturn in spirits that his gloomy thoughts provoked, he turned away, intent on distracting himself with the book on an avant-garde Brazilian artist he was currently reading, leaving
Marianne to the easy going and no doubt more welcoming personality of his valet…

 

Marianne adored the room she'd been given. It was easily the warmest and most inviting bedroom she'd ever seen. After Ricardo had hefted her suitcase onto the neat double bed with its brass and iron bedstead, then care fully rested her beloved guitar in its case against the wall, she thanked him for his help and bade him good night. As soon as she was alone she examined her new surroundings with the kind of feminine delight she hadn't experienced in ages.

The plump white pillows and scalloped counterpane deco rated with tiny embroidered pink roses on that inviting bed helped her finally succumb to the realisation of how tired she was—
mentally, physically and emotionally
… But fatigue was determinedly put aside as she concluded that this would indeed be the perfect room to return to after a hard day's work. As soon as she'd entered, its restful ambience had reached out to her and seeped into her thankful bones. And if there was ever a view to inspire contemplation and gratitude for life then Marianne was certain she would have to go far to beat the in credible vista that presented itself from the room's grand curved windows. The flowing red curtains parted, it was the same panoramic and haunting display that she'd seen down stairs in the sitting room.

Gazing out into the raw moonlit night, she felt an in explicable sense of peace settle any lingering anxiety about what she'd done. All her bridges were in flames
behind her, but it would be okay, she told herself.
Strangely enough, she had a good feeling about Eduardo De Souza.
He might be enigmatic, but he was kind too. She'd already seen many examples of his kindness in their short acquaintance, so she had nothing to fear.

Moving across the stripped oak floor that lovingly revealed the graceful patina of age, she opened a deep mahogany chest of drawers, with a slender glass vase displaying a slim bunch of tightly budded freesias on top of it, to find each drawer elegantly lined with scented floral silk. Inspecting the equally elegant double wardrobe, she found padded silk hangers and enough space inside to relegate her small and rather pathetic collection of multi-coloured clothing to looking like exhausted refugees.

To her great delight she then opened a door that she discovered led to the most enchantingly feminine bath room. In pride of place gleamed a spark ling white claw-footed bath with gold taps, surrounded by shelves generously laden with pretty bottles of oil, bath crystals and expensive perfume. The smell that pervaded the room reminded her of standing in a beautiful garden in midsummer, when all the blooms were at the very peak of their beauty and scent. And in the dove-grey armoire by the side of a single stone-arched window there were neat rows of pristine white newly laundered towels and expensive linen.

Surveying both rooms, Marianne frowned in bewilderment. It was as though she were a welcomed invited
guest
in Eduardo's house instead of his new house keeper!
She was touched that he had gone to so much trouble to make her feel at home, but could hardly under stand it. Then she cast her mind back to earlier on, when he'd asked her if she'd previously lived in a commune or a squat, and putting two and two together she realised that he probably
had
believed she'd been living quite rough. No doubt her busking in the street had con firmed that view. Clearly by giving her this lovely room to stay in he had wanted to show Marianne that he was sensitive to her situation.
But why should a man like him care about any adversity he'd assumed she'd endured?
Somehow it didn't tally with that hard, masculine, somewhat
remote
exterior. Again she thought what an enigma he was.

Sighing, Marianne drew her palm over her cheek—still warm from the fire down stairs—and moving her suitcase aside dropped down onto the bed.
She didn't want to deceive him
… Especially when he had freely offered her this chance to start over and make a new life for herself. At some point he deserved to know the truth. That she had married a man who had already been terminally ill when she'd met him, that he had been much older than her, that he and Marianne had become great friends through their shared passion for music and, on discovering that she had no family, he had married her to help give her the love and support that had long been lacking in her life.

And finally in his will he had bequeathed her his house, along with all his worldly goods. She hadn't been destitute, when Eduardo had imagined so. She'd actually not been badly off at all.
Until a couple of days ago,
that was.
Now she really
did
need a job and a home. Because she had posted her house-keys to Michael and Victoria, instructed them to send any papers that needed signing care of the post office, and informed them that the house was now theirs. She was done with all the legal wrangling…it really wasn't worth the heart ache.

Besides, from now on she aimed to be as
in de pendent
as possible, and would not ever rely on anyone else for her welfare or her peace of mind again. Donal had provided a respite from that fierce struggle for a while, but now he was gone, and Marianne had concluded that a relationship was not something she would actively seek for a long, long time…if
ever
.
Not when it had been her experience that the people in her life either left, one way or another, or let her down.

And in case her new employer might imagine she was some heart less little gold-digger who'd married an older man just for his money, she would let him know that Donal had genuinely loved her as she had loved him. All they had had together before his illness had finally killed him was six short months, but the man had cared more for her than her parents ever had… Tears washed into her already stinging eyes. It had been an emotional journey, packing up her things and leaving the only real home she'd ever really known behind, as well as a marriage that had ended so poignantly. But that phase of her life was over.

Rubbing at her moistened eyes, Marianne surged to her feet. The one thing she could do now was make sure Eduardo did not come to regret giving her this chance
of a fresh start. Her impression was that the Brazilian—although kind—did not readily welcome strangers into his domain. Already she'd received the impression that he guarded his privacy—nearly all their conversations so far had been about Marianne's situation, not his own—and she wondered about that. Downstairs, as they had sat either side of the fire together, she had surreptitiously studied him as he talked. She had not been immune to the flare of pain in his fascinating blue eyes every now and then—had recognised the proud if not fierce need to hide it. Clearly the injury or illness that he had suffered was quite recent, and she definitely had the sense that the man could benefit from a little tender loving care.

It was fortunate for him that the one thing Marianne had learned about herself over the years was that it came very easily and naturally to her to help take care of others…

D
ESPITE
being in a completely strange environment, Marianne had had no trouble sleeping. Immediately on waking she roused herself and, barefoot, crossed the creaking polished floor to the windows. Although still dark, the sky was streaked with touches of hazy pink and grey, like soft pastel shades from an artist's paint-box. Morning light couldn't be far away, she guessed. The hard diamond glitter of the snow and frost shone so brightly in that dim half-light that the hills and woods were easily visible—the landscape just as breathtaking as it had been last night, she saw.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she shivered with something like anticipation at the prospect of the new day. Determined to be optimistic and hopeful, she told herself she was on the brink of a whole new phase in her life. It was
exciting
. Not something to dread. For a while she simply stood, contemplating the white sugar-frosted hills laid out before her like unblemished silvery patchwork, along with the tall, bare-branched trees whose tops disappeared into the sky, and fell into a sort of half dream.

What she saw could have been a magical scene from one of the illustrated pages of a child's book of fairytales.
She could even be the fairy princess, held captive in the tower and gazing out at her wicked captor's princely kingdom…

‘If you spent less time day dreaming, Marianne Lockwood, and more time focusing on your schoolwork, you might just turn out to be one less statistic in the unemployment figures!' A schoolteacher's exasperated tones came back to haunt her. Well, teachers didn't know
everything
she thought grimly.

Sometimes there were good reasons for a child's in attention—such as a very stressful home life, and a parent who was more or less drinking his life away. Daydreaming was essential for a child like that, Marianne could have told her teacher.
But she never did.
She'd borne the pain on her own.

Grimacing, reluctantly she turned away from the enticing view and headed into the bathroom. It was just after six, and her new boss had told her that Ricardo would be up and about early. When she found him, he would no doubt put her in the picture about what her new role as house keeper entailed…

 

‘Good morning. You are hungry?'

When she finally located the entrance to the huge country house kitchen, after exploring a ground floor seemingly full of endless corridors with unknown rooms and vestibules behind closed doors, it was to discover Ricardo frying bacon and eggs on the up-to-the minute
shining replica of an old-fashioned range, wearing a blue and white striped apron over his jeans and sweatshirt, and looking as if it was a task he was born to. Marianne's mouth dropped open in surprise. The room was filled with the most appetising smells of cooking, and her tummy rumbled appreciatively. Yesterday she'd barely eaten a thing, due to nerves and emotion, but now she was ravenous.

‘Good morning—and, yes…I could
definitely
eat something!' Flicking her glance over the sturdy kitchen table laden with cereals, fruit, fresh bread, butter and a large jug of orange juice, she gave Ricardo a quizzical look. ‘Do you normally go to all this trouble for breakfast in the morning, or is Mr De Souza joining us?'

‘He is still sleeping and will eat later,' the valet explained, turning to survey her. ‘You like bacon and eggs? I make traditional English especially for you.' He grinned. ‘Please to help yourself to anything else you like.'

‘Seeing as though it's not every day I get offered a cooked break fast, how can I refuse?'

Pulling out a pine chair, Marianne sat at the table and poured a glass of orange juice. It was cold, tangy and refreshing. She could almost sense it doing her good. Good food had been low down on her agenda since Donal had died, and she hadn't really taken care of herself as well as she might. But now that she'd changed her situation things would be different, she vowed.

Recalling what Ricardo had said about his employer still sleeping, her slim brows drew together. ‘Not that
it's particularly late, but does Mr De Souza normally rise much later than you in the morning?' she asked.

Her companion went briefly still, but did not turn round. A second later she saw him flip the bacon in the pan with a steel spatula in an expert move that wouldn't shame a top chef.

‘Sometimes yes, some times no,' he answered. ‘You will see.' Scooping the eggs and bacon onto a heated plate that he retrieved from the oven with a striped padded mitt, he brought it over to the table and placed it in front of Marianne. ‘Be careful…the plate is hot. Enjoy!'

‘Thank you…I will.'

‘I will make some coffee for us, then we can talk about your new job.'

‘Okay.'

‘You do not mind coffee? Perhaps you would prefer tea?'

About to fork some silky, perfectly cooked fried egg into her mouth, Marianne gave him a grateful shrug. ‘Coffee is fine, thanks. By the way—this looks fantastic. Have you always been able to cook?'

‘I learned at my mother's knee, as did all my brothers and sisters. Now, eat. I will make the coffee.'

From time to time, in between chewing mouthfuls of delicious food, Marianne watched the tall young man move round the kitchen as though it had always been his natural domain. Clearly domesticity neither fazed him nor emasculated him one iota. It was swiftly becoming apparent to her that he was perfectly comfortable in
his own skin whatever he was doing, and already she intuited how fiercely loyal he was to his employer.

Continued private speculation made her wonder why Eduardo De Souza inspired such loyalty. Her curiosity surrounding the man in creased. For instance, how come he didn't appear to have a wife?
Perhaps he did, and she had opted to stay in Brazil…or maybe he was divorced?

Noticing that Marianne had finished eating, Ricardo whipped her plate away, leaving her with a cafetière of freshly brewed coffee, some sugar crystals in a tiny Willow pattern porcelain bowl, a matching jug of milk and a mug. He sat down opposite her, still—to her amusement—wearing his striped apron.

‘Now we will talk,' he declared, pouring some delicious-smelling coffee into their waiting mugs.

‘Has Mr De Souza had a house keeper before?'

‘Yes, in Rio de Janeiro where we are from, but not in this house. Here he hires outside people to come in and clean. It is very good that you are here, Marianne. I hope you will stay.'

At the doubt she detected in his accented voice, her curiosity was provoked even further. ‘Why would I not stay?' she asked.

‘I only meant that I hope you do not find the work too hard or the house too…too
alone
and wish to be some where else. That is all.'

‘I see.' Focusing her hazel gaze on the handsome bronzed face before her, Marianne knew that was not
what he'd meant at all, but decided to let it pass. ‘And Mr De Souza…does he work from home?' she enquired.

‘Yes. He is not working right now, but he does many—excuse me—
much
charity work.'

‘Oh.' Was
that
why he had helped her, then? Because it was his mission in life to help those less fortunate? For a moment a sense of uncomfortable guilt washed over her. It wouldn't be wise to leave it too long before she explained her
true
cir cum stances, she thought. Or at least what had been her true cir cum stances before she'd recently changed them.

Recognising the wariness in Ricardo's gaze—no doubt in case her questions got a little
too
close to home—she curved her mouth in a genuinely warm smile to try and put him at ease.

‘So…you'd better give me a rundown of what I'm supposed to do each day…then when we're finished talking I'll get cracking on that washing up.'

Her companion looked instantly relieved. ‘That is a good plan. Well…first of all you must rise at four in the morning.'

‘Four?' Seriously taken aback, Marianne stared.

‘I am only kidding!' Dark eyes twinkling with merriment, Ricardo chuckled softly. ‘The first thing you need to do in this unpleasantly cold weather is to light the fires. I make them all up before I go to bed.'

 

On the topmost floor of the eighteenth-century house later that morning, busy vacuuming acres of taste fully patterned hall carpet, Marianne briefly switched off the
noisy machine to more closely examine a painting hanging on the flocked papered wall. The little gold plaque at the bottom of the frame told her that it was a portrait of the house at the turn of the century. Like today, the castellated roofs, turrets and surrounding landscape were cloaked in a spark ling blanket of pristine white snow.
Who had lived here then?
she speculated. Lord and Lady Somebody, no doubt. She pictured them for a moment, even added children to the imagined scene—a little boy and girl with cherubic faces, their lips sweetly bow-shaped and cheeks healthily pink.

Her mind lingered on the idea of having children of her own, but for a long time now she'd had a growing feeling that it was an experience that would never be hers. For who would love her and father her children now that Donal had gone?
Not that he—

Abruptly she cut off the thought, weathered the silent emotional storm, and went back to her perusal of the painting. Had the owners hit on hard times, perhaps, and been forced to sell their beloved home to some filthy rich industrialist? It struck Marianne that her new employer must be exceedingly wealthy indeed to be able to purchase and live in such a grand dwelling. He was a philanthropist, Ricardo had intimated. Where had his wealth come from? Was it inherited?

In the midst of her reverie a door opened further along the now bliss fully silent corridor. From it emerged the man whose image her thoughts seemed to be consumed by. His long legs were encased in smart black jeans, and he was wearing an expensive-looking navy cable-knit
sweater. The dull gold of his hair—and it had to be said his noticeably pale complexion this morning—immediately drew Marianne's attention and concern.

‘Good morning!'

‘Next time start your vacuuming on the floor below, and do not come up to this floor until after I have risen and had my break fast!'

Ignoring her friendly greeting, his voice rough with hostility, he swept by her, utilising his cane to walk, giving her a chilling ice-blue glare that she could immediately see was racked with pain. Her initial shock at his reply quickly ebbed, and concern over his appearance took precedence. Weeks of sitting by her husband's hospital bedside before he died had caused her to become intimately acquainted with such a look, and a spasm of fear gripped her and wouldn't let go.

Was he ill?
Was it something serious? If so, why hadn't he or Ricardo told her the truth about what was wrong with him?

‘Mr De Souza!' Hurrying after him, Marianne felt her heart hammer hard against her ribs at her intention to confront him.

‘What is it?' Freezing in his tracks, he turned slowly to survey her. The pain in his glance had not lessened. Even the knuckles where he gripped the ivory handle of his cane were bleached white.

‘I don't want to be intrusive…but is something the matter? I'd like to help if I can.'

‘Help?' His mouth twisted scorn fully. ‘Are you in the business of performing miracles, then? Perhaps I
should call you
Saint
Marianne?' His voice dripped disdain whilst the icy gaze that was as sharp as a steel blade all but dissected her. ‘Why do you ask me this? Do you perhaps see another role for yourself here besides housekeeper?'

Words almost failing her, Marianne went rigid with embarrassment and shock. ‘Of course not… I just—'

‘Then my advice to you,
Miss
Lockwood, is to attend to your own business and let me attend to mine!'

Biting her lip, she turned away. But before she had the chance to go far, Eduardo ad dressed her again. And this time the lightly accented rich voice was rough with what sounded like genuine regret.

‘I am sorry I spoke to you like that. But really…it is best if you do not speak to me when I first rise…at least not until I have had my coffee. I do not sleep well, and it takes a while for me to become human enough to converse with anyone. I am surprised Ricardo did not tell you that. But I fear he is always hoping for a miraculous change in me to come about. You ate break fast, I trust?'

‘Yes. Ricardo very kindly made me a cooked break fast. I didn't eat much yesterday, what with one thing and another, and it was—it was most welcome.'

Inside her chest, Marianne's racing heart beat had barely calmed at all, and to be honest she couldn't help but be wary of another explosion of irritability. Irritability she was all but certain was fuelled by pain and, as Eduardo had indicated, lack of sleep. She made
a mental note not to vacuum until much later in the day in future.

‘Good. I will let you get on with your work, then.'

‘I'm—I'm sorry that you do not sleep well. I'll remember your instructions not to clean here until you're up and about.'

‘That would be appreciated.'

His compelling blue eyes briefly skimmed over her face before he continued on his way down the corridor, his limp definitely more pronounced this morning, renewing Marianne's concern. But—wiser now—she didn't allow her gaze to linger, and quickly returned to her house work in case he thought she might be watching him…

 

‘Here.' A glass of water and two white capsules were placed in front of Eduardo at the break fast table, next to his coffee cup. Behind him, Ricardo hovered close, his familiar face concerned. ‘You do not look good. I can tell you had a rough night. I know you do not like to rely on them, but maybe you should consider taking your painkillers this morning? They might give you some relief.'