Witch's Harvest (21 page)

about the nausea which seemed to assail her most mornings these days, instead of desperately trying to control it until Vasco

had left for the plantation.

But the first time she had attempted an admittedly poor joke about some of the side-effects of her condition, he had looked at

her bleakly.

'I am already aware of your resentment of my child in your body,' he said quietly. 'You do not need to emphasise it.' He had left

the house before she could find the words to tell him that she hadn't meant that—she hadn't meant that at all.

So now, whenever he asked her how she was feeling, she replied, 'Fine,' even if it wasn't strictly true, like this morning when

she'd woken with a backache like a nagging tooth.

She must have slept awkwardly, Abby decided, gently waving her fan. And was it any wonder, when she spent most nights in

such a state of abject tension?

Vasco had, she thought, been as good as his word about troubling her as little as possible. And on the few occasions when he

had turned to her in the darkness, it had been a swift, perfunctory easing of his physical needs. The passion he had shown her

once was no more than a memory, growing more distant and less credible with every night that passed.

And yet, stupidly, she still hoped that one night he would take pity on her, and delight her famished body with the caresses and

the fulfilment which she craved from him.

Even though, she thought painfully, his whole attitude revealed his distaste for the necessity of having to make love to her at all,
and his wish to get the whole thing over with as quickly as possible.

She sighed, and rubbed her back. She was so starved of contact with him that sometimes, in the mornings, while he was in the

bathroom, she would roll across the bed to lie for a few moments in the hollow his body had left, burying her face in his pillow to
breathe the scent of his skin.

On one occasion she had actually psyched herself up sufficiently to follow him to the bathroom. 'You once invited me to have a

shower with you,' she'd planned to say. 'Well, here I am.'

But the cold astonishment on his face when she had appeared diffidently in the doorway had silenced the carefully rehearsed

words on her lips— that, and the way he had silently reached for a towel and fastened it round his waist.

He had spoken mockingly about the 'normal intimacies' of marriage, she thought, but there were none. Except for a few brief,

clinical minutes once in a blue moon, he kept her severely at arm's length, mentally as well as physically.

'No more closed doors,' he had said, too. Yet the barriers that separated them now were worse than any locked wooden panel.

And she had no idea how to break them down.

Perhaps when the baby was born, things would be better. Vasco wanted an heir for this estate he was maintaining against all

odds in the wilderness. If she could give him a son, perhaps this would kindle some affection in him towards her at least. When

he returned in the evenings, she wanted the right to go into his arms without the fear of rejection.

She heard the sound of a vehicle and straightened, wondering if Vasco was returning. He had gone to the settlement some time

before with one of the workers who had cut himself badly enough to warrant stitches.

But as the jeep came into view, she realised the driver was Link Dalton.

He got out, and walked up the steps.

'I've come to say
adeus
,' he said. There was a pause. 'You never got in touch.'

It was a statement, and a critical one. Abby reddened. 'No.'

'You disappoint me, Senhora da Carvalho.' His tone was heavily ironic. 'I thought you had too much spirit than to allow yourself

to be pushed around by a guy who can't stay faithful.'

'Whatever I feel about that,' Abby said steadily, 'it doesn't automatically mean I'm prepared to— throw in my lot with someone

who's a comparative stranger to me.'

'Nice point,' he said laconically. 'But I guess a more cynical man might ask himself just how well you knew the great
fazendeiro

when you married him.' He shrugged. 'I suppose I can't blame you. He can offer a more comfortable life-style than I can afford—

for now, anyway. And even when this place collapses round him, he has his rich Rio family to bail him out, so you won't starve.'

Abby lifted her chin. 'I think you're confusing him with Gerulito,' she said. 'I can assure you Vasco has no intention of letting

Riocho Negro go to pot. The mid-season harvest has been one of the best yet and…'

'And he's hoping for great things from the main crop, and from that vast nursery of seedlings he's sunk his money into.' Link

shook his head. 'He'll be lucky to make a dime on it. That's the trouble with expanding in the cocoa bean industry too fast, too

soon. You can't be everywhere, especially at harvest time.'

'He works incredibly hard,' Abby protested indignantly, and Link laughed.

'So you can defend him, even after what he's done for you,' he marvelled. 'Well, maybe
o patrão
would have done better to keep
away from the drying sheds, and see what's going on elsewhere. Witch's broom isn't exclusive, Senhora Dona Abigail. It travels

on the wind up to fifty kilometres, and Laracoca isn't anywhere near that far away.'

'You mean Vasco's cocoa trees could be diseased because there's witch's broom at Laracoca?' Abby got to her feet.

'There's no could be about it,' he said. 'I gave myself the guided tour as a farewell present before I came up to see you, and I'd
say eighty per cent of his new trees are affected.'

'But there must be something that can be done.' Abby felt sick, physically shocked.

'Sure there is,' he shrugged. 'You cut away the diseased part, and some over, and you put the whole lot on a big fire, well away

from the rest of the plantation. And you take care you get it all, because if you don't, witch's broom just spores again, and you're
back to square one.' He shrugged again. 'Alternatively, you do like Gerulito's planning, and you walk away, back to the big city,

and leave cocoa growing to Bahia, where they don't have nasty diseases like this.'

He paused. 'Of course in Bahia, they don't have city boys and no-hopers running the industry either.'

'How dare you!' Abby's voice rose furiously. 'What do you know about running an estate when you can just—shelve your

responsibilities and move on whenever you feel like it?' She gave an unsteady laugh. 'And you actually thought I'd go with you!

I wonder how far along the line you'd have ditched me too.'

'That, lady, is something we'll never know.' There was an unbecoming flush in Link's face. 'But I could have shown you a better

time in bed and out of it than your high-toned
senhor
. At least you'd have had my undivided attention—as long as it lasted.'

'I think that counts as a lucky escape,' Abby said shakily but defiantly.

'And I would agree.' Vasco's voice seemed to be compounded from ice and steel.

Abby jumped. She'd been too worked up to notice his silent approach from the direction of the drying sheds.

She said with a gasp, 'Oh—I didn't know you were back…'

'That is evident.' He did not look at her. His eyes were fixed on Link Dalton as he walked up the steps. He said, 'How can I make

it clear to you that you are not welcome on my estate?'

Link shrugged. 'I just called round to say goodbye,' he said. 'And to offer your bride a ride out of here. But it seems she prefers
to stick around, no matter how many blondes you have holed up in Manaus.'

Vasco's face seemed to have been carved out of granite. He said quietly, 'How good of you,
senhor
, to take such a close
personal interest in my private life. Now will you leave,
faz favor
, or do you wish me to throw you down the steps?'

'OK, OK!' Link held up a placatory hand. 'I'm really not into rough stuff.' He gave Vasco a tight unfriendly smile. 'It's a pity you're
going to be so short of dough. The Black Widow and her brother-in-law are following me out. They're going back to Sao Paulo,

so Laracoca is up for grabs. You could have bought it for a song—only I guess you won't be doing much singing round here for

a while.' He slanted a frankly lascivious grin at Abby. 'So long, doll. Have what fun you can,' he added, and walked down the

steps to his jeep.

Vasco's eyes glittered with temper, and some other less easily defined emotion, as he turned them on Abby. 'And what is that

supposed to mean?' he demanded dangerously.

She found her voice. 'Vasco, it's
largatão—
witch's broom. Link says it's attacked most of your new young trees.'

He was very white suddenly under his tan. 'Witch's broom?' he repeated on a note of incredulity. 'But how?'

'It's all over Laracoca,' said Link, getting behind the wheel of the jeep. He switched on the engine and leaned out of the window,
shouting to make himself heard. 'I told your wife all about it some weeks ago. Maybe she forgot to pass the message on.' He

shot Abby a look, partly derisive, partly malicious, and drove off.

Abby stood facing her husband. The look in his eyes was enough to turn her to stone, she thought.

'Is it true?' he asked hoarsely. 'Did you know there was witch's broom at Laracoca, and yet said nothing?'

Slowly, fearfully she nodded, and saw his face twist in pain and rejection.

She hurried into speech. 'It isn't like you think,' she said desperately. 'Link talked about it to me, but he told me to say nothing—

not to worry you unnecessarily. He said he'd deal with it…'

Her voice trailed away. Vasco stared at her for a long moment in silence, then he closed his eyes as if the sight of her was

abhorrent to him.

He said, half to himself, '
Deus
, I did not realise until now how much I had made you hate me. But you have had your full measure
of revenge, have you not,
senhora
?'

He turned away and went down the steps two at a time, shouting for Agnello as he went.

Abby watched his flying figure disappear, and a little groan escaped her. She had meant, after the conversation with Link in the

Laracoca office, to mention the subject of witch's broom very casually to Vasco, but that had been the night he had made love

to her, and that, together with subsequent events, had put everything else out of her mind.

But I should have remembered, she hit at herself. I should have said something to warn him, in spite of Link.

She ran indoors, going straight to her bedroom. She stripped off the blouse and skirt she had been wearing, replacing them

with a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of serviceable jeans, and forcing her feet into a pair of the long boots Vasco had once

designated.

She was probably making a complete fool of herself, she thought wretchedly, but she needed to help—or at least make the offer,

she amended forlornly. The last look Vasco had given her had not suggested any assistance from her would be welcome.

The last time she had gone through the section where the plantation workers lived, there had been a peaceful, even lazy

atmosphere. But there was no sign of that today. A pick-up was departing, crammed with most of the younger women and a lot

of the older children too.

Abby shouted to the driver to halt, and pelted after it. It lurched to a standstill, and hands reached down to pull her aboard. She
was almost too breathless to say, 'Thank you.'

No one else seemed to be saying anything either. They seemed all to have been struck dumb by the unexpected arrival of the

Senhora
among them. On all sides, Abby was encountering looks of wary embarrassment.

She said, 'Oh, please, I want to help,' inwardly cursing the language barrier as she saw their uncomprehending expressions.

She tried again, struggling to put words together. '
Quero—ajudar
.'

Again there was silence, and glances were exchanged, then an older woman leaned forward, giving Abby a toothless smile, and

proffering a murderous-looking machete.

Abby said, '
Obrigada
,' and meant it. She wasn't one of them, and maybe she never would be, but this was an emergency, so her
presence had been accepted.

She found herself wondering if Vasco would be as merciful.

She clung to the side of the pick-up as it lurched through the trees. The other women had begun to sing, a low almost tuneless

chant, and Abby found her own body beginning to sway, with theirs, in time to the music.

She found she was looking at her surroundings with a new awareness. There were bananas growing in the gaps between the

cocoa trees, she recognised, and some of the other trees used as a shade canopy were familiar too, although she couldn't put a

name to them.

She thought, I'll ask Vasco…then paused, wincing. Even if she made reparation for her terrible blunder by fighting the witch's