Flame of Diablo (33 page)

they wanted, she told herself. It didn't

matter. Nothing mattered.

All the way into Villavicencio, she sat

silent in the back of the car, indifferent

even to the speed at which they were

travelling, her eyes unseeing as she

'gazed out at the splendours of the

countryside. Someone had told her at

dinner one night that the Llanos was

splendid hunting country, abounding in

deer and wild pigs. She felt as if she

knew what the victim of such a hunt must

feel as it crouched in the long grass,

waiting, its nerves screaming, for the

inevitable kill. Perhaps it welcomed the

coup de grace
when it came, she

thought. Perhaps it was the uncertainty,

the waiting which was the real cruelty.

Maybe when she saw for her own eyes

Vitas with another woman, then her

feelings would experience the numbness

of death. She hoped so, because the pain

was almost more than she could bear.

What had made her think that everything

they had been through together, the

danger they had shared had meant

anything? He wanted her, and he had

taken her, and now he was prepared to

marry her because there might be a child

on the way, and it was time he married

and produced an heir for the Mendoza

lands and wealth. But that was all. To

him, she was just another woman, and

his life would go on in exactly the same

way as before. She wondered how many

other times he had met his American

mistress under the guise of attending a

business meeting.

No wonder his manner had seemed so

strained when she confronted him in the

office! Perhaps his conscience was

troubling him at last. He had said it was

time they talked. Perhaps he was going

to tell her all about it, to make it clear

that their marriage was to be on his

terms and that as his wife she would be

expected to look the other way and not

demand a fidelity he was incapable of

showing her.

Jaime was puzzled when she began

asking him about hotels in Villavicencio,

but he gave the information she wanted.

There were several, he told her, but the

Hotel Popayan was the most favoured by

tourists—and the most expensive.

Mark said with a touch of irritation,

'You don't need a hotel, love. Jaime and

I will take you to lunch. There's a place

that he says does the best
tamales
in the

Llanos.'

'Perhaps I'll meet you there later,' she

said. 'But I—I have some things to do

first.'

'Not more shopping!' Mark groaned. 'I'm

glad it's Vitas who has to pay for all this,

that's all.'

'This time,' she said, 'he doesn't have to

pay for a thing.'

Inside the foyer of the Popayan, it was

all air-conditioned luxury. There was a

sprinkling of people occupying the

chairs round the small tables, and

Rachel found herself an empty table

shaded by a massive display of tropical

plants. Their perfume made her feel

dizzy and a little sick.

And also a little mad. After all, she

didn't even know whether this was the

right hotel. Perhaps there were other

establishments which rented rooms by

the hour to illicit lovers. And she

couldn't ask at the desk if Vitas was in

the hotel, or for the number of the suite

he was visiting.

And then she saw him. Saw them. They

were coming down the stairs, and he

was holding her arm, gently and

protectively. It was the woman in the

photograph, Rachel saw, but she looked

very different. She was smiling for one

thing, her face happy and relaxed, and

there was an air of luxurious fulfilment

about her which nothing could disguise.

Just as the elegant maternity outfit she

was wearing did nothing to disguise the

fact that she was very pregnant.

Rachel shrank into her chair. It was all

so much worse than she had ever

expected—ever dreamed. She thought

for one horrified moment that they were

going to come and sit at one of the

tables. That he would look up and see

her sitting there, watching them.

But she was spared that at least. But

nothing else. The woman spoke quite

clearly, seeing no reason, obviously, to

lower her voice or hide her feelings.

'Vitas, I'm so happy. Happier than I ever

dreamed possible. But can it last?'

And his reply. No mockery in his voice,

just affection.

'It can last just as long as you wish,

Virginia,

querida.
Always remember

that. It is in your hands.'

Rachel watched them walk to the door of

the hotel. They paused there, and this

time they were too far away for her to

hear what was being said. But eventually

the woman Virginia laughed, and Vitas,

also smiling, lifted her hand to his lips.

Then he walked out into the sunshine of

the street. The woman came back alone,

humming a little tune as she walked past

the table where Rachel sat. For a

moment their eyes met, those of Virginia

incurious, and full of a strange serenity.

Then Rachel tore her gaze away, and

leaned forward to pour some more of the

coffee she did not want and was

incapable of swallowing into her cup.

Rachel closed her suitcase and took one

last look round the room. She had left

nothing that belonged to her, but had

taken nothing else. All the clothes that

had once belonged to Juanita, who was

arriving tomorrow with her husband to

attend the wedding, and whom she

would now never meet, were hanging in

the wardrobe along with items from the

expensive, luxurious trousseau that

Senora de Mendoza was delighting in

lavishing upon her.

There was only one last thing. She

unclasped the medallion Vitas had given

her from around her neck and put it

down on the table beside the bed where

it couldn't be missed. She had left no

note, no explanation. Perhaps she should

have done, but she did not know where

to begin. It was better this way, she told

herself, to simply remove herself from

his life. There was no way she could

stay and face further heartbreak.

All the way back from Villavicencio

while Jaime and Mark talked in the

front, she had made her plans. She knew

the car journey from Villavicencio to

Bogota took roughly three hours, and she

knew too that Jaime rarely removed his

keys from the ignition, and usually left

his car standing at the side of the house.

All she had to do was wait until the

household was asleep, then creep

downstairs, let herself out of the house

—and borrow it. She would leave it at a

garage in Bogota, she thought, and ask

them to notify Jaime that it was there.

The thought of returning to England to

face Grandfather and the inevitable

questions was not an appealing one, but

she had no other choice. Nor could she

take Mark into her confidence. He would

probably tell her she had only herself to

blame for getting mixed up with a man

like Vitas de Mendoza in the first place.

And she supposed he had a fair point.

She had to try and make herself think

like that, try to whip her anger, her hurt

into a blaze against him because that was

her only salvation. She could not, would

not become his wife knowing that she

would be expected to turn a blind eye to

his affairs.

There was no doubt in her mind that his

relationship with Virginia was now

firmly established, and would not be

lightly jettisoned. And there was the

coming baby to think of. Rachel

swallowed painfully. At least she now

knew for a fact that she did not have a

similar problem. She didn't carry Vitas'

child within her, but another woman did.

She wondered if Virginia had left her

husband. Perhaps she was waiting for a

divorce, and with herself out of the way,

she and Vitas would then get married.

She smothered the little sob which rose

involuntarily in her throat. She had to

make herself see that she was having a

lucky escape. What hope could there

ever have been for Vitas and herself,

even if she had not found out about

Virginia? They came from two very

different worlds, apart from anything

else. He'd seen her and fancied her, but

there was nothing in that on which to

build the sort of permanent, caring

relationship she wanted. But she'd

allowed the thought that he'd asked her

to marry him, that he wanted to keep her

with him to blind her to all of this. She'd

almost believed that her own love, her

own caring would be a kind of alchemy

to turn her dark pirate, her millionaire

playboy from a casual lover into a

loving husband.

Well, the more fool she. She opened her

bedroom door cautiously and peeped

out. There was not a sound to be heard.

She had not gone down to dinner,

mendaciously pleading a headache,

because Vitas had told her that they

would talk, and she knew she would not

be able to bear a confrontation with him.

She had asked not to be disturbed and

her wish had been respected.

She wished, as she tiptoed along the

gallery to the stairs, that she had at least

been able to say goodbye to Senora de

Mendoza.

She was trembling as she reached the

foot of the stairs. She went soft-footed

across the hall to the main door, and

found to her surprise that it was

unbolted. She turned the massive handle

and quietly let herself out. She took two

steps and then she heard it—the sound of

a car approaching. She stood there,

stranded. She couldn't run with her case,

but she couldn't simply drop it and hide

because the newcomer would be bound

to see it. She looked round wildly as

powerful headlights stabbed the gloom,

and the car swung in under the archway

and came to rest only a few yards from

where she stood, still clutching her

suitcase, her eyes dilating in terror,

because she knew quite suddenly and

without the slightest doubt just who was

driving that car.

He climbed unhurriedly out of the

driving seat and walked to where she

was standing.

'And where do you think you are going?'

His voice sounded molten with anger.

'I don't think,' she retorted. 'I know—and

it's back to England.'

'May I ask why?'

She shrugged. 'I had a letter this morning

from my agent,' she said. 'I've had a

marvellous offer of a new play— the

sort of chance you can't afford to turn

down. So I'm taking it.'

'And your prior commitment—to me?'

She said, 'I don't think you really wanted

me to hold you to it. I mean, there's no

need now. I suppose I should have told

you really, set your mind at rest. There

isn't going to be a baby, so you don't

have to worry about me any more.'

'Not worry about you,' he repeated

softly. 'Of all the harsh things you have

said to me,
querida
, I think this is the

cruellest.'

'Don't mention cruelty to me!' she cried.

'And what is that supposed to mean?'

'It

doesn't

matter,'

she

muttered

wretchedly. 'Nothing matters. Please let

me go.'

Vitas swore under his breath and

bending forward he snatched her case

from her hand and flung it away into the

darkness.

'You are going nowhere,' he said.

'Without me, you go nowhere—do you

hear me, Raquel?'

He picked her up into his arms and

carried her back into the house, into the

salon

where

he

dumped

her

unceremoniously on one of the sofas.