Witch's Harvest (13 page)

As it was, Vasco must be praying that a few moments of casual self-indulgence on his part wasn't going to result in a life

sentence of marriage to a woman he didn't want.

And what am I praying for? she wondered painfully. I don't think I even know any more. If I have to stay here with him, I'm going

to be wretched, but if I leave, how can I live knowing I'll never see him again?

Vasco said, 'If you write a note of acceptance to Luisa, I'll see it is delivered.' He glanced down. 'How is your foot?'

It was nothing compared to the deeper ache within her. She said, 'I think it's better, thank you. I'll be getting back.'

'No,' he said, 'you will ride back in the jeep. I have sent Agnello to fetch it. I mean what I say, Abigail. You do not stroll in the
plantation without wearing adequate protection.'

'It was your men I needed protection from,' she said huskily. 'They were all carrying those hideous knives.'

His mouth curled. 'Not one of them would harm a hair of your head. They carry knives because we began harvesting the mid-

year crop today.'

'Oh.' Abby glanced around her. 'It doesn't look as if there's going to be much of a harvest.'

'These are still young trees,' he said patiently. 'One does not expect too much in the first years of maturity. In the section where
we are working, it is very different. It is a good crop, and the main harvest will be even better.'

'No wonder you like it here,' she remarked. 'It's a very peaceful life, isn't it?'

'Do you think so?' His tone was dry. 'Do not be deceived,
querida
. The cocoa bean is one of the most vulnerable crops in the
world. Whole books have been written on the pests which attack it, the diseases which destroy it. Raising the bushes to harvest

is a gamble always. I have had my fair share of disasters since I came to Riocho Negro.'

She thought, And this marriage—you and I—is just another one for you to bear. Almost inaudibly, she said, 'I'm sorry.'

He frowned, as if he had guessed the tenor of her thoughts. He said, 'Abigail…' then broke off, as the noise of the approaching

jeep filled the air. He swore softly, then said, 'At the end of this avenue there is a track which we use to get back to the
fazenda
.

Can you walk that far, or do you wish me to help you?'

'I can manage.' Her ankle wasn't hurting nearly as much, but she would have crawled to the jeep on her knees over broken

glass rather than experience the bitter paradise of having his arm around her, or having to rely on his assistance in any way.

She said sedately, 'I'm sorry to have interrupted your work, and caused such an uproar. It won't happen again.'

His smile was brief and wintry. 'Not in the same way at least,
faz favor'
He paused. 'But if you wish to learn about the plantation,
then…'

Abby shook her head. 'I don't think so. It's hardly worth it when I shall be here such a short time.'

She began to walk away in the direction he had indicated to where Agnello waited with the jeep. As she went, she found herself

wondering whether Vasco was still there, watching her.

Don't look round, she told herself. Don't look round. But in the end, as she reached the track, she couldn't resist a swift glance
over her shoulder.

But the avenue was deserted. Only the silence remained.

Abby looked at the dress, and the dress looked back at her.

The trouble was, it was just so lovely. The loveliest thing she had ever had to wear—or not wear, she amended hastily. Because

she still totally disagreed with the principle of Vasco buying her clothes, and the fact that she had nothing in her own part of the
wardrobe even remotely suitable for Luisa's party should not make the slightest difference.

But it does, she wailed inwardly. Oh God, it does. Who wanted to turn up in a chain store cotton, when there was mist-green silk

chiffon, shot with silver threads, crying out to be worn, and wispy silver sandals too which would add inches to her height, and

perhaps make her look slightly less insignificant than usual.

Whoever this unknown Elisa was, she certainly knew about clothes, and Abby hoped her boutique was the most enormous

success. She had obviously gone to endless trouble to assemble what amounted to a trousseau for Vasco's bride, and it

seemed little short of rank ingratitude to go on ignoring all the lovely clothes wilting unworn on their hangers.

She felt the glide of the fabric under her fingers as she touched it tentatively—and imagined how it would feel on her skin.

And she had very little time left; she had heard Vasco go into his dressing-room ages before. She took a nervous look at her

watch. She could hardly go to the party in her bathrobe.

She sighed, and gave the alternative dress a look of hostility it did not altogether deserve. Parties in London had been so

simple. The only ones she went to were those given by her aunt and uncle, and no one looked at her anyway. She could have

gone to most of them with her head in a bag, but this one was proving fraught with all kinds of difficulties.

The servants' attitude was hard to fathom, to begin with. Abby would have thought they would have been glad of an evening's

leisure, yet all day she had been subjected to reproachful glances and martyred sighs.

Abby bit her lip. She was going to have to learn some basic Portuguese somehow, even if Vasco was too busy with the harvest

to help her. She had tackled him about Ana and the others, but he had merely shrugged, and helped himself to a drink.

She undid her bathrobe and tossed it over the bed, then, fumbling a little, she unfastened the brief lacy bra, and discarded that

too. The green chiffon dress left one shoulder entirely bare, so the minimum of underclothes was called for.

'I'll despise myself in the morning,' she told herself, as she carefully lowered the shimmering folds over her newly washed and

gleaming hair. 'But tonight I'm going to look like Vasco's wife, not some poor relation!'

She applied some finishing touches to her make-up, then stood back and viewed herself critically.

She felt as if she was looking at a stranger. Abigail, everyone's handmaiden, had vanished completely. Tonight she looked like

the favourite concubine instead, the misty glitter of the chiffon paying tribute to her slender curves in ways she had never

dreamed possible. She had used eye-shadow, liner and blusher with a steady hand too.

I'm all eyes and cheekbones, she thought with satisfaction, disregarding the fact that no amount of gloss could do away with

the wistful curve which beset her mouth.

The dress had its own cape, so she flung it round her shoulders and picked up her bag. As she did so, there was a knock on the

door, and Vasco said, 'Are you ready? May I come in?'

Since that first day he had scrupulously avoided intruding on her, using the other door from the passage to gain access to his

own room.

Abby turned shyly to face him, as he entered, her heart skipping a beat as she registered once more the unnerving power of his

attraction. Tonight he looked magnificent in evening clothes, the white tuxedo complementing his broad shoulders.

She waited hopefully, breathlessly, for some comment from him about her appearance—even some reference to the fact that

she had had second thoughts about wearing the clothes of his providing, but all he said was, 'We should be leaving, Abigail.

The roads are poor, as you know, and it would be uncivil to Luisa to be late.'

They weren't travelling in the jeep tonight, to her relief, but in a car which had appeared, as if by magic, comfortably upholstered,
and fully air-conditioned.

The journey to Laracoca was a lengthy one, and accomplished mainly in silence. Vasco drove steadily, his brooding

concentration apparently fixed on the vagaries of the road, braking occasionally to avoid some animal which was crossing their

path, and had become dazzled by their headlights.

It was foolish to indulge in might-have-beens, and she knew it, but Abby couldn't help wondering what this drive through the

darkness would have been like if they had been truly lovers. The silence between them then would have been one of intimacy.

When two people were attuned to each other, often there was no need for words, she thought sadly. And there would be the

possibility of a baby, a sweet secret for them to gloat over, instead of a bone of contention.

She smothered a sigh, and rallied her flagging spirits. After all, she was going to a party, for heaven's sake, even if she didn't
particularly like the woman who was giving it. And if her physical estrangement from Vasco was a matter of gossip among the

neighbours, then she would have to do her damnedest to play the part of the radiant bride, and convince them all they were

wrong to believe in rumours.

You used to like going to the theatre, she told herself derisively. Well, tonight you're centre stage…

Certainly at first sight Laracoca might have been a stage set. Light poured from every window in the rambling single-storey

building, and lanterns were strung along the broad veranda, and in the encircling trees. A number of cars and vehicles were

parked, to Abby's amazement, destroying her supposition that only a handful of people would make the effort to attend.

Luisa was waiting to greet them, resplendent in taffeta the colour of peonies, her brother-in-law Gerulito beside her. He was

considerably her junior, and wore a vaguely resentful air.

'So here you are at last!' Luisa included Abby briefly in her smile, before linking her arm possessively through Vasco's. 'Gerulito,
take Dona Abigail and get her a drink. She looks as if she could need one.'

It took all Abby's fortitude to keep her own smile pinned in place. All the years of enduring snide comments from Della and her

mother were standing her in better stead than she realised, she thought, as she calmly accepted Gerulito's awkward offer to

escort her into the house.

The interior of Laracoca was a revelation. Luisa had clearly spared neither time nor money on creating a luxurious environment

for herself. But however lavish the furnishings, the overall effect was hardly homelike, Abby thought as she waited for Gerulito

to bring her a glass of fruit punch.

When he returned, she said, 'This is a charming house.'

He shrugged. 'It is adequate. Too many rooms have been added without thought over the years to render it harmonious.'

Abby recalled that he'd wanted to be an architect. She said, 'Well, you'd know more about that than I would.'

'Yes.' His mouth curled peevishly. 'But such knowledge is no longer of any use to me.'

Abby sipped her punch, trying to think of some way to distract him from his grievance. She said, 'I suppose you're harvesting

your beans. I hope it's a good crop.'

'The
temperão
?' He shrugged. 'I suppose so. We have a manager, an American, who sees to all that for us. The plantation was
João's life, but it is not mine. And I cannot sell it without Luisa's agreement.' He pursed his lips. 'Perhaps she will consent now
that…' He stopped abruptly.

'Now that…?' Abby prompted.

His sallow skin had flushed. '
Desculpe
. It is of no importance.' He looked deeply embarrassed.

'You mean now that Vasco is married,' she suggested coolly, and he squirmed.

'Forgive me, Dona Abigail. I spoke without thought. It is just…' He paused again.

'Just that it would have been convenient from all points of view,' she supplied, then relented. 'If you sell the plantation, will you
go back to Sao Paulo?'

It was the right question. His face lit up, and his stilted English relaxed into a broken mixture of Portuguese as he told her

enthusiastically about the firm he had been working for, about the projects he had been engaged on. He was clearly even more

of a fish out of water in Amazonia than she was, Abby thought, a certain sympathy for Gerulito welling up inside her.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Luisa sweep into the room, still holding on to Vasco, and found herself wondering why he

hadn't waited the customary decent interval and proposed to her. Perhaps he had intended to—only on his vacation he had met

Della and fallen madly in love with her, so that nothing else seemed to matter.

And if I hadn't interfered, she thought painfully, he would have broken off their engagement, returned here, and in the fullness of
time he and Luisa would probably have got together. Those few moments of madness in London had spoiled so many lives,

she thought wretchedly.

'Hey, this is a party, not a wake!' Link Dalton appeared at her side. He gave her glass a disparaging look. 'No wonder you're

miserable! Let me get you some real liquor.'

'No—really, this is fine.' She caught at his arm. 'I'm no drinker. I know the harm alcohol can do.'

He shrugged elaborately. 'Well, don't we all?' He looked around him. 'Some shindig, huh? Anything Rio has to offer, the Black