The Captain's Caress (28 page)

“The heat this year has been very bad,” Vincente de Aguilar said quietly as he bowed over Summer’s hand. He was a tall man, and everything about him bespoke well-bred ease, but Summer felt a barely perceptible sense of inflexible purpose in him. “Refreshments are laid out in the salon, and a picnic lunch will be served at the river house,” he added.

“It sounds wonderful,” said Summer. “I would love to see the gardens.”

“The gardens are my father’s particular pride,” Anita informed Summer.

“After the sugar mills, his horses, and his library,” Gonsalvo explained.

“Don’t let Gonsalvo mislead you,” said his father. “It was his idea to have a summer house built on the river, and he can tell you as much about the grounds as anyone.”

“I can hardly wait to see it all,” Summer declared eagerly.

“You can’t possibly mean to start now,” exclaimed Señora de Aguilar, aghast that anyone would even consider a walk without taking a long rest beforehand.

“I’m not the least bit tired,” Summer assured her. “I had plenty of time to rest during the drive.”

“No one can rest in a carriage,” the
señora
stated with feeling.

“Allow me a few minutes to change my shoes, and I will join you,” Anita said.

The house was a white, two-story wood-and-stone structure, typical of the Spanish-style houses generally found in tropical climates. The windows were small, but porches ran around the inner courtyard both upstairs and down. Two enormous hundred-year-old oaks flanked the front entrance, their huge branches rising above the roof to shade the front half of the house during all but the hour at midday. While tall shrubs and the flowering vines that grew up trellises protected the porches from the merciless glare of the tropical sun. Even though the house was very large, it nestled, like a small jewel, in the vast, meticulously manicured grounds that surrounded it.

The expanse between the house and the river was enormous. A small area was open to the full force of the sun, but in the remainder of the seemingly endless gardens dappled shade was cast by a bewildering variety of trees and flowering vines. In areas receiving the most light, beds of bright blooms presented a riot of color; shady spots were filled with ferns, vines, and plants with spidery foliage and variegated leaves. A series of paths, arbors, and alcoves provided access to the garden, and offered places of rest as well as focal points about which to arrange each part of the grounds. This magnificent display was tended by numerous gardeners who saw that everything was in perfect condition.

“It must have taken a lifetime to achieve all this,” Summer remarked as the three young people wound their way down one of the many paths. “Everything is planned so carefully.”

“It was begun by my father’s grandfather,” Gonsalvo told her, “and each son has carried on his work.”

“There are so many trees and flowers that are strange to me. How do you remember them all?” Summer was dazed by the thought of having to learn the names of so many plants.

“We keep carefully detailed plans of the entire grounds in the library,” said Gonsalvo, “and each time a new plant is set out, or dies, it is noted with great care. We can tell you every tree, shrub, vine, and flower that has grown here over the last seventy-five years.”

“Seeing all this makes me wish I had taken more interest in our gardens.” Summer walked around a stone bench that was nestled in the curve of a vine-covered arcade. “Mother didn’t have much time to spare, and father disliked the tropics and anything that reminded him of them.”

“I don’t suppose it is reasonable to expect people who grew up in Scotland to have the same appreciation for the Caribbean we do,” Anita said politely, but it was clear that she and her brother did not relish Summer’s father’s limited appreciation of a world they found so nearly perfect.

“Where is this river house I’ve heard so much about?” Summer asked, wanting to change the subject. “After all I’ve been told, I’m going to be very hard to impress.”

Gonsalvo responded to her buoyant spirits. “It’s just around that bank of hibiscuses. Remember I was not the one who praised the house, so don’t be angry with me if it fails to meet your expectations.”

“Are you running shy?” Summer asked saucily.

“Not exactly,” he answered evasively.

“Covering your tracks then?” She gave him no quarter.

“Trying to cover all possibilities,” Gonsalvo countered.

“He’s trying to flatter you, no matter what he says,” teased his irrepressible sister.

“Lead me on, gallant knight,” Summer requested jauntily. “I shall be satisfied with nothing less than a slice of paradise.”

And that was what she found.

On the other side of the hibiscuses the lawn sloped gently down to a still river that was no more than fifty feet wide at its greatest width. Its banks were lined with thick growths of water hyacinths and overhanging branches shaded the river’s edge. Great clumps of moss trailed airy tentacles in the delicate breeze, while birds fluttered through the branches filling the air with their songs.

An island built of stone and covered with white sand dredged from the river bottom rose from the water about fifteen feet from the bank. It was reached by way of a moss-covered stone walkway capped by a green ribbon of grass. In the center of the island stood a newly whitewashed bower partly covered with wisteria vines whose pale purple blooms scented the air. Several chairs and lounges, generously provided with cushions, were placed in the shade, and a small boat was tied at the foot of a tiny dock. In the coolness of the bower stood a large table covered with enough food to feed ten guests twice as hungry as Summer.

“Do you like it?” asked Gonsalvo, the pride of possession in his voice.

“Oh, yes,” Summer sighed, somewhat in awe of such consummate luxury. “It’s the most beautiful place I’ve ever seen.”

“You have made Gonsalvo your slave for life,” chortled Anita, moving ahead of them. “He’s secretly very proud of this island and loves to have it admired.”

“Attend to your duties as hostess and stop trying to embarrass me,” scolded her brother.

Summer couldn’t remember when she had enjoyed food so much. Everything was deliciously prepared and beautifully served. She was loathe to destroy what had taken so much artistry to create, but her hosts showed no such reluctance and before long not a dish remained untouched.

But it was the enchantment of her surroundings that captured Summer’s imagination. She leaned back on thick cushions and watched the play of light and shadow in the leaves high above her head. Gazing down then, she found the gently undulating beds of hyacinths hypnotic, and she succumbed willingly to a deep feeling of contentment. Water lapped against the cool stone base of the island lulling her, and Summer finally felt utterly at peace.

Chapter 25

“Would you like to go for a ride on the river?” asked Gonsalvo as he rose from the table. “The current is almost nonexistent at this time of the year. We can float idly along.”

“That sounds like a lovely idea,” Summer replied languidly, “but I’ve eaten so much I’m not sure I can move.”

“I can carry you.”

“How many times do I have to tell you to behave, Gonsalvo?” admonished Anita. “If you are going to upset the countess with your foolishness, I will not be able to leave you alone with her.”

“Where are you going?” asked Summer, trying to clear her mind of the heaviness that seemed to weigh her down.

“I hate to admit it, but I don’t care for boating on the river,” Anita confessed, “particularly after I’ve eaten.”

“I’ll come with you,” Summer offered.

Anita staunchly refused. “Absolutely not. Stay here and enjoy your afternoon.”

“Are you trying to run away from me?” Gonsalvo quipped.

“Not at all,” Summer languorously replied. “I just didn’t want Anita to think I was deserting her.”

“I’ll have some refreshments waiting when you return,” she offered. Summer made a face at the thought of more food, but Anita only laughed. “The river makes you hungry,” she said.

Summer’s and Gonsalvo’s eyes followed her as she traversed the walkway to the riverbank. It took very little time for her to reach the bend in the path, turn, and wave to them before disappearing behind the hibiscuses.

“Would you like anything else?” Gonsalvo asked.

“I couldn’t eat another bite. I’m so stuffed I just might stay here and go to sleep.”

“If you must doze, it’s much nicer on the river. The current is so sluggish you will hardly know you’re moving.”

“Where does it go?”

“It twists and turns through the estate for the next mile or two, and then comes out on the other side of the house a short distance from where we entered the avenue. It’s a long ride to nowhere.”

“That suits my mood.”

Gonsalvo helped Summer out of her chair.

“Will the sun be hot?” Summer asked, remembering she had not brought a sun shade.

“The boat is fitted with a large parasol.”

“You think of everything, don’t you?”

“It’s always wise to plan ahead.”

“Now you sound like Captain Douglas,” Summer complained. “It’s too warm and I’m too full of your delicious food to listen to anything that sounds like good advice. I want to waste my time, be frivolous, and do absolutely nothing worthwhile.”

“Admirable.” He laughed. “Spoken like a true Spaniard.”

“You Spanish can’t be allowed to have all the fun,” Summer decreed as she permitted herself to be led down stone steps to where the boat was tied. “If I’m going to spend the rest of my life freezing in Scotland, I’ll be practical when I must.”

“Does your husband know how much you dislike Scotland?”

“I don’t actually dislike it.” Summer chided herself for letting her tongue get away from her again. “It’s just that after spending my whole life here, it will be very hard to get used to blizzards and frozen rivers.”

“I should think it would be impossible.” Gonsalvo had spent one winter in Madrid. “How do you keep warm?”

“With lots of roaring fires.” Summer wondered how there could be a tree left standing in Scotland. “But I don’t want to talk about the cold and snow. I want to enjoy this marvelous day. Oh, you have cushions, too,” she said, and sighed contentedly.

“They are much more comfortable than wooden seats.”

“I may stay here forever.”

Summer settled herself while Gonsalvo opened the huge parasol and fitted it into the grooved slot at the side of the boat. Then she leaned back and closed her eyes.

“Don’t wake me until tomorrow,” she said.

“Don’t you dare go to sleep on me,” Gonsalvo ordered sternly as he cast off and steered the boat toward the middle of the river. “Some of the finest scenery is along the river.”

“Describe it to me,” Summer murmured. “I have a very good imagination.”

“I think you ought to know a snake is about to drop on you from that limb overhead.”

When Summer instantly opened her eyes and sat up, Gonsalvo burst into laughter.

“You beast,” she said, trying not to smile. “I have a good mind to join Anita and let you have the river and its snakes all to yourself.”

“I won’t play any more tricks,” he promised.

“You’d better not. I didn’t come out here to be frightened to death.”

Summer settled back to listen as Gonsalvo talked about the birds and the other creatures that lived in the gardens and the surrounding forests. But she didn’t listen very closely. Instead, she watched the magnificent canopy overhead as their boat moved lazily in and out of the shadows. Her eyelids sank lower and lower, and Gonsalvo’s voice grew softer and softer until it became no more than an indistinct murmur from somewhere far away.

Brent’s boots pounded a drummer’s cadence as he strode along the corridors. Smith had sent him back to the hotel after he’d started an argument for the fourth time that day, each time with a prospective buyer. He wasn’t in a very good mood.

“I can deal with everybody much better when you aren’t swearing and scaring people into having nothing to do with us,” Smith had told Brent after the merchant had hurried away without agreeing to purchase anything.

“It’s my ship and I don’t have to sell to any of these timorous clerks you’ve rounded up.”

“If you don’t stop shouting at every person who sets foot on your ship, your cargo will rot or be eaten by rats before you sell it,” Smith countered, not the least intimidated by Brent’s intemperate rage. “Then it won’t matter if your agents are courageous daredevils or cowardly fools.”

None of the officers could explain the irrational furies that had plagued Brent since they’d reached Havana, but they took pains to stay out of his way. His rage was no less dangerous for being unexplained. Smith had born the brunt of Brent’s ill humor, but he remained unshaken, and treated Brent with an unfailing patience which caused him to grow angrier still.

“Why don’t you tell me to go to hell or knock me down or put a bullet through me?” Brent stormed after Smith had stoically endured another of his vituperative tirades.

“You could break every bone in my body. And in your present mood, you probably would.”