Witch's Harvest (11 page)

more discreet.' His mouth curled a little. 'For a girl who claims to be deeply in love, you seem very ready to find consolation.'

Abby felt as if all the breath had been knocked out of her body. She stared at him wordlessly, her tormented eyes questioning,

wishing only that the ground would open up and swallow her.

'You thought I did not know?' he asked cynically. He shook his head. 'Alas, no,
carinha
. Your cousin was—most explicit.'

He'd taken Della down to her car, Abby remembered, hearing in her mind Della's raised, tearful voice. In spite of her distress she
had taken her revenge, betrayed Abby's pitiful secret.

She found a voice somewhere. 'I'm sorry. I—I never meant you to know…'

'I realise that.' Vasco sighed irritably, raking a hand through his black hair. 'Nor did I intend to tell you, only…' He stopped

abruptly. '
Deus
, what a mess!'

'Yes,' Abby said faintly. She couldn't look at him, suddenly. She should have guessed what Della would do, she thought

wretchedly. It was only what her cousin had threatened, after all. She forced herself to speech again. 'Please believe me—it

really needn't make any difference. We made a bargain, and I'll stand by it.' She paused, biting her lip. 'It-it doesn't have to be an
embarrassment to you, I swear…'

'Embarrassment is hardly the word I would have chosen.' His voice bit, making her flinch. He must have seen this, because his

tone gentled. 'And you are naive, Abigail, if you think it makes no difference. Why else do you think I suggested these— sterile

terms for our marriage? I was trying to show some kind of consideration—to spare you, but now I wonder if I was right.' His

hand cupped her chin, making her look up at him. He studied her for a long moment, then released her, his hands going instead

to the buttons on his shirt. He said softly, "Shall we end this farce,
carinha
? Shall we turn pretence into reality?' He pulled off his
shirt and tossed it on to the bed. 'Shall we take that shower together and see where it leads us?'

Abby knew exactly where it would lead—to that bed, and a fulfilment beyond her wildest dreams in the arms of the man she

loved. For a moment temptation gripped her painfully, then she remembered how one-sided the arrangement would be…

She said almost inaudibly, 'Without love?'

The dark face tautened as he began to unfasten the belt of his pants. 'Is that really so essential?' he asked quietly. 'If you

allowed me, Abigail, I think I could give you pleasure.'

'Because you feel sorry for me?' she asked bitterly. 'Thanks, but no, thanks. Pity isn't a motive I care for.'

'And have you no pity for me?' he demanded harshly. He took two strides towards her, pulling her violently into his arms.

As his mouth possessed hers, Abby had to force herself to remain passive. But it was not easy. She wanted to respond to the

ruthless pressure of the firm lips exploring her own. The warmth of his skin burned through her thin dress; the stark male scent

of him filled her mouth and nostrils.

At long last Vasco lifted his head and looked down into her eyes. 'Why not,
querida
?' he whispered, the intensity in his voice
and eyes almost undermining her resolve.

'Because I don't belong here,' she said, making frantic efforts to free herself. 'We don't belong to each other, in spite of what

happened back in London.'

'This could be a beginning.' His voice sounded almost sombre. His hand lifted, cradling one small pointed breast in his palm,

while his caressing thumb sought the hardening peak through the clinging fabric.

'No!' Abby pushed at him with clenched fists. 'You—you accused me once of allowing Della to use me. Aren't you trying to use

me too—in a different way?'

He let her go, his expression bleak. 'I thought we might have used each other.'

'A matter of mutual convenience?' Abby hurled at him, hurting too much to choose her words with consideration. 'No, thank

you! I don't want anything else to regret when I walk out of here in six months' time.'

'You are so sure you'll be leaving.' Vasco smiled without humour. 'Perhaps I should make sure that you remain. A baby each

year should keep you tied and docile under my roof, don't you think?'

Sudden tears stung her eyes. That—isn't even funny!'

'It was not intended as a joke,' he told her grimly. 'I have worked hard,
minha esposa
, these past years to turn this plantation into
a paying concern, so that I could afford the kind of life I wanted. Do you know what I saw for myself—a wife,
querida
, children,
and a normal family life.' He gave a brief derisive laugh. 'And what have I got? An empty bargain. A half year's agreement,

leading to— nothing.' His gaze lashed her, then he turned away, unzipping his pants. 'Now get out. And if you are wise, do not

let me find you flirting with Link Dalton or any other of my neighbours in future. No other man is going to enjoy what I am denied,

compreendes
?'

Abby said indistinctly, 'Understood.' And fled.

As the days at Riocho Negro became a week, Abby found time hanging heavy on her hands. A kind of armed truce existed

between Vasco and herself, when she saw him at all. He had always left for work before she awoke, and often did not return

before evening, and she knew this was through deliberate choice, not necessity, by the obvious bewilderment of the servants.

When he joined her for dinner he treated her with impeccable politeness, but she could not deny there were lengthening

silences between them. Personal topics were, naturally, taboo, and she didn't know enough about his work to ask intelligent

questions about the crop and its progress. She had abandoned her original intention to ask him to show her round the estate,

and she was reluctant to wander round alone, gleaning what information she could, in case she got in the way.

In consequence she found she was retiring to bed earlier each night, and getting up later each day, although such deliberate

inactivity was foreign to her nature. She hadn't been able to visualise the kind of life she would be leading at Riocho Negro, but
she had not expected to feel quite so isolated and useless.

She had ventured once, in his absence, into the room Vasco used as an office, wondered if there was any typing or book-

keeping she could assist with, if only to justify her existence at the
fazenda
, but after a couple of hours poring over what records
and files she could decipher, and studying the mass of posters and charts on the walls, she had to admit defeat. He seemed

perfectly well organised without any help from her.

And there were months of this—blankness in front of her, she thought bleakly. How could she bear it?

She was trying one morning to interest herself desultorily in one of the paperback novels she had brought with her, when Ana

put her 'head round the door to signal with much eye-rolling that Senhora Gonzaga had arrived.

Abby got reluctantly to her feet, wishing she could feel more enthusiastic about her visitor, and wishing too that she had chosen

something more soignee to wear than a simple denim skirt and a white cotton shirt, knotted at the midriff.

She was aware that not one inexpensive detail of her appearance had been lost on Luisa, as she swept smilingly into the room.

'
Bom dia
. I hope I am not intruding. I know but too well how busy one's life is when one is the mistress of a plantation,' she
greeted her hostess effusively, just as if she hadn't realised Abby had been spending the morning with her feet up.

Abby smiled weakly in return, and turned to the still-hovering Ana with a stumbling request for coffee.

'A little practice, and you will soon have mastered our language.' Luisa sank into a chair and crossed her legs. Today she was

wearing an immaculately tailored pants suit, and the gloss on her boots would have put any mirror to shame. 'So— how are you

settling in? I need not ask, of course, if married life agrees with you. You look radiant.'

Her words were so patently insincere that Abby could have laughed out loud.

'Vasco is not here?' The question was casually put, but Abby was not deceived.

She shrugged slightly. 'He's somewhere on the plantation,' she returned. 'Did you want to speak to him about anything in

particular? Perhaps I could pass on a message.'

Luisa gave a light laugh. 'Ah no, Dona Abigail, my message is for you. I am merely surprised not to find Vasco at your side, when

you have been married such a short time. I hope he is not neglecting you.'

Abby examined a fleck on one of her nails. 'By no means,' she said neutrally. 'Being newly married doesn't automatically require

us to spend every minute together. We both—value our independence.'

'You seem to carry your desire for independence to extreme lengths.' Luisa was still smiling, but there was a sting in her words.

'You must understand, Dona Abigail, that servants gossip abominably, and your cook is a cousin of one of my maids. One's

private life tends to be public knowledge.'

Abby swallowed. She knew what Luisa was hinting at. No doubt the news that she and Vasco did not share a bed had been a

nine days' wonder in this backwater. She managed to keep her voice level. 'Then it's fortunate we have nothing to hide.'

She was thankful when Ana came bustling in with the coffee tray, giving her a chance to compose herself, while Luisa made a

few conventional remarks about the weather, and the level of humidity.

By the time Abby had poured the coffee, and they were alone again, Luisa had apparently decided not to probe any further. Not

that she had to, Abby thought glumly. Simply knowing that she knew was quite enough. But was that the message she'd

mentioned, or was there more?

It seemed there was. Luisa, it seemed, was planning a party early in the following week.

'I hope you will forgive the short notice,' she was saying, as she sipped her coffee. 'Also the lack of a formal invitation. It was a
decision made on the spur of the moment, as you say. They are often the most enjoyable, I find, don't you?'

Abby could think of several impulsive decisions she had made which she bitterly regretted, but she smiled and murmured

something appropriate.

'So you and Vasco will be able to attend?' pursued Luisa. 'You have no other plans for that evening?'

Other plans? Abby asked herself dazedly. Was Luisa crazy? She spoke as if theatres, night clubs and restaurants were only a

car ride away.

She could always say, 'Why, yes. I'm planning to sit and count the minutes until I can decently excuse myself, and go to my

room, just as I do every night.'

Instead she said, 'No, a party would be marvellous. We're delighted to accept.'

'That is good.' Luisa set her cup back on the tray, smiling with satisfaction. 'Vasco cannot keep you to himself for ever,' she

added lightly. 'It is time you met some people. When my husband was alive the parties at Laracoca were famous, I assure you.'

She shrugged. 'I have allowed my widowhood to make me a little lazy, so it is good for me to have an excuse for a celebration.'

It would be good for her too, Abby thought after Luisa had finally taken her departure. It would probably be a very small party—

the population in this wilderness was too scattered for anything else— but it would be something to look forward to, in spite of

her misgivings about Luisa herself. Somethat might rouse her from this lethargy which seemed to be afflicting her these days.

She got to her feet determinedly. And for a start, she would go and find Vasco and convey Luisa's invitation to him. At last she

had a genuine excuse to explore the plantation.

She went down the veranda steps, with a word of greeting for Don Afonso who was preening himself morosely, and set off

towards the buildings she knew were the drying sheds, although they were not in use at the moment.

It was very hot, the sun beating down relentlessly on her head, and she hesitated for a moment, wondering whether she should

have brought a hat. Then she gave a mental shrug. She would soon be in the shade of the plantation.

She was passing a row of houses now, their roofs thatched with broad, thick leaves. Children played between the cooking fires

and lines of washing, and women leaned in the shadowed doorways.

They seemed startled to see her, she thought, hearing the rising buzz of voices. Perhaps they had been as little aware of her

existence as she had been of theirs, although common sense should have told her that Agnello and the other workers would

have wives and families who had to be accommodated somewhere.

But they seemed more upset than excited at her unexpected appearance. Several of them were following her, chattering and

gesturing anxiously, and one caught at her arm, pointing back towards the house, as if warning her to return there.