Who Rides the Tiger (11 page)

Vincente rubbed his chin with one hand, and Dominique looked up at John contemptuously. 'Are you out of your mind?' she gasped. 'Coming in here like this and acting like some - some - wild beast!'

John wrenched her to her feet. 'You're my fiancee, Dominique. What do you expect me to do? Finding you here with him - half naked!'

Dominique tore herself out of his hold. 'At least give me a chance to explain!' she cried, rubbing her wrist.

'And how are you going to explain it?' asked Vincente lazily, getting to his feet.

Dominique looked at him with tortured eyes. Then she looked back at John whose fists were clenched angrily.

'Dominique is my fiancee,' said John, controlling himself with obvious difficulty. 'Whatever you say you can't alter that!'

Vincente straightened, squaring his shoulders. 'Oh, no?' He looked at Dominique. 'And what have you to say to that,
carissima?'

Dominique shook her head, and as John would have stepped forward she put herself between him and Vincente, unconsciously aware that it was the biggest step she had ever taken.

John was taken aback. 'Dominique!' he muttered incredulously. 'Oh, Dominique,
no!'
He stared at Vincente Santos. 'Dominique, he's only playing with you as he's played with dozens of women! Don't let him make a fool of you! For God's sake, come away with me now! I'll forgive you anything. Just don't ruin your life!'

Dominique shook her head. 'I - I can't, John.'

'Dominique, you're infatuated with him, that's all. All right, all right, I realize you're infatuated with him, but believe me you're making a terrible mistake!'

Dominique bent her head. 'Please go, John.'

John hesitated, looked as though he was about to thrust her aside and attack Vincente Santos again, and then with hunched shoulders he turned and went out of the room.

After he had gone, Dominique moved as far away from Vincente as the room would allow.

'Well?' he said. 'You have burned your boats, haven't you?' His tone was rather sardonic, and she looked at him bitterly.

'Yes. What will you do now? Forget you ever made that proposal?' Her breasts heaved swiftly under the silk robe.

Vincente studied her for a moment longer, then smoothed his hair with both hands. 'No,' he said definitely. 'No, I will not forget that.' He put his hand into his inside pocket and drew out a folded paper. 'Do you see this? It is a licence, a marriage licence. We will be married tomorrow by Father Pesquez, at the church of St. Michel.'

Dominique was confused. 'But - but - you couldn't be certain—' she began unsteadily.

'Oh, I was certain,' replied Vincente, straightening his tie and walking to the door. 'I suggest you get some sleep. This room is yours - for tonight. Tomorrow - well, tomorrow there will be different arrangements.'

'But—' she began.

'No buts, please. Now I must go and wish our guests farewell. Until tomorrow ...' He gave her a brief nod and left the room.

D
OMINIQUE
slept badly, but as she had not expected to sleep at all, she supposed she should feel grateful. After so many bewildering experiences her mind could not be expected to relax, and when unconsciousness did overwhelm her, dreams came to torment and confuse her.

Once, in that deep blackness before dawn, she was awakened by a strange, unnerving scream that penetrated her consciousness and brought her up in the huge bed, terrified. She couldn't imagine what it might be, and in this alien, savage place she felt alone, completely alone, for the first time in her life. Even the death of her father had not affected her this way.

Eventually, of course, she had to lie down again, and when another scream shattered the silence she realized with relief that it was not a human sound, but the cry of a mountain lion, something she had not as yet encountered.

But- sleep was not so easy to achieve again at this unearthly hour, and Dominique got up at last and lit a cigarette. Pushing open the balcony doors, she looked out, the air cool and refreshing against her hot limbs. A faint rosy glow was gilding the horizon, and soon dawn would break over the valley, filling their world with light. Dominique leaned on the balcony rail and sighed. Was she really here, or was this just another nightmare? Was she really to marry Vincente Santos? Had the scene with John actually happened? She shook her head. It was unbelievable, incredible!

And what did she really feel about it? Did she really have any choice? She only knew that since meeting him Vin- cente Santos had dominated her whole existence, in a way no man had ever done before. John she loved, in a purely ^ affectionate way, but he did not inspire the emotions in her that Santos inspired, so that even being near him was a delight, and touching him an obeisance.

She stubbed her cigarette out jerkily. In spite of everything she might be making a complete fool of herself. After all, divorces were easy to come by these days, particularly if you had Santos's money. He had never said he
loved
her. He wanted her, oh yes, she didn't doubt that. But was that enough? And if she loved him, would it be enough for her, knowing his feelings were not irrevocably involved? Could she stand by and see him with other women, secure in the knowledge of the circle of gold on her finger?

She swung back into the room and paced about restlessly. If she had any sense she would pack her cases and leave, not for Bela Vista; her future with John was shattered now; but for England, where at least there were people and places she knew.

She lay back down on the bed, closing her eyes wearily. What was the good of even thinking such a thing? Santos would not let her go so easily even had she wanted it.

Unwillingly, she must have slept, for when next she opened her eyes it was brilliant sunlight outside and a glance at her watch told her it was already after eleven.

Eleven!
Dominique slid off the bed shakily, and pressed a hand to her forehead. It couldn't be so late! And if it was, why hadn't she been disturbed?

She ^glanced round the room. Her clothes still lay where she had left them at the bottom of the bed, but she did not find the idea of putting them on again very appealing. Was this her wedding day, or was it not?

Then? as though on an invisible cue, Salvador entered the room quietly, as though afraid she might still be asleep.

When he saw her standing by the bed, looking hot and flustered, he said:

'Ah, you are awake at last, Miss Mallory.'

Dominique spread her hands. 'Yes. Honestly, Salvador, it's after eleven, isn't it?'

'That is correct.' Salvador was his usual calming self.

Dominique gasped. 'But - I thought - I mean - oh, what is going on?'

Salvador smiled. 'A moment,
senhorita
,' he said gently, and withdrew from the room.

Dominique walked to the balcony, wondering what he was doing now. She did not have to wait long to find out. Presently he returned with a tray. On it were two jugs, one of coffee, the other of hot milk, and beside them was a dish of hot rolls and curls of butter, and some fresh fruit.

'See,' he said. 'Relax, and sit down. Have some coffee. Then we will talk.'

Dominique hesitated, and then seated herself where he indicated, on a basket-work chair beside a small occasional table. Salvador stood down the tray, asked whether she liked her coffee black or white, and then poured it for her. She sipped it gratefully, accepting that Salvador understood her feelings. There was something infinitely comforting about his unassuming presence.

When she was relaxing, and tasting a fresh roll with guava preserve, Salvador said: 'Now, we can talk,
senhorita.'

Dominique managed a faint smile. 'Yes, Salvador, now we can talk. Do you know what about?'

'Of course,
senhorita.
You are to marry Senhor Santos, yes?'

'Yes.' Dominique raised her dark eyebrows. 'You don't find this surprising?'

'Surprising? No,
senhorita.'

Dominique sighed. 'Well, I do,' she said moodily. 'Why ishe doing it, Salvador? Why does he want to marry me?'

Salvador shrugged. 'That is not for me to say,
senhorita.'

Dominique lifted her coffee cup, caressing it between her fingers. 'You think not? You don't think I'm entitled to some kind of an explanation?' Then she felt remorseful. It wasn't Salvador's fault that this had happened. It was hers, or perhaps Vincente Santos's. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I'm overwrought.'

Salvador stood with his hands folded, looking at her. 'Why do you find the idea that Senhor Santos should want to marry you so surprising?' he said at last. 'You're a very beautiful young woman. Besides, Senhor Santos does not do anything he does not want to do.'

Dominique looked up at him. 'How nice for Senhor Santos!' she remarked sardonically.

Salvador shook his head. 'Come, let us forget this kind of conversation. We have other, more important matters to discuss.'

Dominique finished her coffee, and poured herself another cup. 'Like what I'm to wear, for example,' she said sighing. 'My wedding dress is still in the trunk at the Raw- lings'. It will need taking out and pressing—'

'That will not be necessary,
senhorita,'
replied Salvador calmly. 'Carlos this morning has flown to Rio for your wedding gown. He will be back very shortly.'

'To Rio!' echoed Dominique. 'But - I mean - how—'

'Tlje Senhor gave him your measurements and there is a particular shop in Rio where the Senhorita Isabella used to buy all her clothes. Carlos will deal with everything. He and Madame Gennaine.'

Dominique shook her head. 'I see.' She felt bewildered. 'The wedding? When is it to take place?'

'At three o'clock,
senhorita.
Afterwards, there will be a reception for the Senhor's guests at the Hotel Bela Vista.'

'I see,' said Dominique again. 'Are - are there to be many guests?'

'Just Senhor Santos's close friends, and perhaps some of the staff from the plant.'

'Oh, no!' Dominique pressed a hand to her lips. She felt she couldn't meet John's friends after this.

'Yes,
senhorita.
Why not? Engagements are made to be broken.'

'That's not true.'

'Nevertheless, a great number are broken,' replied Salvador. Then he walked to the door. 'I will be back as soon as Carlos returns. In the meantime perhaps you would like some magazines? The Senhor is very busy, as you can imagine.'

'Yes,' said Dominique slowly. 'No, don't bother with the magazines, Salvador. I - I'll take a bath. It's almost twelve. Time will soon pass.' Even as she said the words the whole realization of what she was doing seemed to hit her and she was glad she was sitting. She doubted whether her legs would have supported her.

'Very well,
senhorita.
If there is anything you require, please lift the house phone.'

'Thank you.'

After Salvador had gone, Dominique peeled an orange and ate it listlessly. She was merely eating to stop herself from feeling so faint, and for something to do.

Then she stood up and undid her braids, combing out her hair with her fingers, so that it fell in silky waves past her shoulders. Then she went into the bathroom and turned on the bath taps. There was plenty of time and she added some bath essence that she found in a cut glass flagon. It was sweet scented and rather intoxicating, and she stayed a long time in its fragrance. Afterwards, she washed her hair, and dried it by means of an air drier fitted into the wall of the bathroom. Then, wrapped in a towel, she entered the bedroom again.

Her breath caught in her throat as she saw what was there. In her absence Salvador had returned and hanging against the door of the wardrobe was a short white lace dress, with a scalloped neckline and long sleeves ending in a medieval point. There was a veil to go with it, mounted on a tiara of diamonds, and she lifted it incredulously, unable to assimilate that these were real jewels and not imitation.

On the bed was an assortment of flimsy underwear, and several pairs of nylon tights. There were also some white satin pumps with a medium heel, the type she usually wore.

She flung off the towel and wrapped herself in the green robe again, unwilling to dress too early in this climate. It was becoming very hot, even in her room, and she would be glad to get out in the air again.

Then there was a tap at the door and Salvador came in again. 'Well?' he said, showing some enthusiasm. 'You like it?'

'Of course.' Dominique bit her lower lip nervously. 'Is - is everything going according to plan?'

'Of course,
senhorita.
What would you like for lunch?'

Dominique shook her head. 'Oh, nothing, nothing. I haven't long had breakfast.'

'Perhaps a little salad,' murmured Salvador tentatively.

'Oh, no, nothing, honestly.' Dominique couldn't eat anything now. Not now!

'Very well. But you will have some wine, perhaps? To bring a sparkle to your eyes, and some colour to those pale cheeks, hmm?'

'All fight.' Dominique felt reckless. 'Yes, Salvador. If - if you will have a drink with me.'

'Very well,
senhorita.
Give me a moment.' He disappeared again, and when he came back he had a bottle of champagne in his hand. 'See,' he said. 'Only the best is good enough for the wife of Vincente Santos.'

'I'm not his wife yet,' replied Dominique wryly, but she liked his manner.

The champagne was sparkling and frothy and delicious, and Dominique thought a drink had never tasted so good. What a strange wedding day, she thought, as she clinked her glass with Salvador's. She could never have imagined a stranger one.

But time was moving on, and it was with a sense of apprehension that she saw it was almost two o'clock. Salvador saw her swift appraisal of the time, and said:

'You are not nervous now, are you?'

'You must be joking!' murmured Dominique self-consciously. 'Was a bride ever not nervous?'

'Perhaps not,' agreed Salvador, nodding. 'So - I will go. You can manage? You do not require a maid to come and help you?'

Dominique stared at him. 'You have maids here?'