Who Rides A Tiger

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‘But why?’ Unwillingly, Dominique was curious.

‘She fell in love with a man who was merely playing with her emotions,’ replied Vincente grimly. ‘When she discovered his true character she was distraught. She refused all offers of sympathy, and has locked herself away in the convent of St. Teresa.’

‘I see.’ Dominique stood down her glass. ‘I’m sorry.’

He studied her thoughtfully. ‘Are you? Are you, Dominique?’

Dominique ignored his penetrating gaze with difficulty. She glanced at her watch. ‘Heavens! It’s after one,’ she exclaimed. ‘I must go!’

‘After one,’ he mimicked her lazily. ‘So late! You are tired?’

‘Of course.’ Dominique stood up.

‘There are plenty of beds here,’ he remarked mockingly.

Dominique turned a little pale. ‘Please, Mr. Santos! Don’t tease me!’

Vincente Santos stood down his own glass and came round to her side. ‘Did I sound as though I was teasing?’ he asked huskily.

Dominique stood her ground. ‘I chose to take it that way,’ she said, her own voice rather small and insignificant.

He hesitated, still looking at her, and then with an angry exclamation he turned and lifted his jacket. ‘All right, all right, we go,’ he said abruptly, and mounted the shallow steps in a single stride.

Dominique heaved a shaky sigh of relief and followed him.

Outside the air was deliciously cool, and she climbed into the car with trembling legs. Suddenly she felt very tired, as though the last half hour in Vincente’s apartment had reduced her stamina to nil.

It seemed only seconds before they were drawing up outside the Hotel Maria Magdalena, and Vincente thrust open her door and indicated that she should get out. Obviously now he was eager to be rid of her.

She got out unsteadily, but he did not wait to see her into the hotel. As she mounted the steps the car roared away into the night.

In her room she stripped off her outer garments and then flung herself on the bed, aware of a sense of anti-climax. All of a sudden the evening had gone sour on her. She wasn’t really sure why. It could be because of his easy acceptance of her resistance, but mainly she thought it was because to him the night was still young, and there would be other women, just like Sophia, eager and willing to satisfy his desires. But that was nothing to do with her. If he had attempted to make love to her she would have been horrified.

Or would she?

As she rolled miserably on to her stomach she acknowledged the plain fact that she would have liked to have known what it was like to have him touch her, caress her, and to feel that hard, cruel mouth exploring her own.

CHAPTER THREE (#ud8d3bcbe-a3b2-51e8-8b8a-e408e429f9fe)

DESPITE her disturbed frame of mind Dominique slept well and was awakened by the sound of the traffic at about eight o’clock. It was a glorious morning, a shroud of mist enveloping the upper slopes of the city that presaged another hot day.

She showered and dressed in the cotton dress she had worn the previous afternoon, hoping it did not look too crumpled, but it was all she had apart from the navy dress and somehow she didn’t want to wear it again just now. She applied make-up, did her hair, and went down to the restaurant a little before nine. She ate lemon flapjacks, drank several cups of coffee, and had the first and most enjoyable cigarette of the day.

At nine-forty-five she went back to her room, collected her things together, and carried her case down to the foyer. Then she seated herself on a red banquette to wait. However, after only a few moments the receptionist approached her.

‘Ah, good morning, Miss Mallory,’ he said. ‘There is a car waiting for you outside. Will you go out?’

Dominique hesitated. ‘My bill …’ she began.

‘That has all been taken care of,’ replied the receptionist smoothly. ‘I hope you complete your journey in safety.’

‘Thank you. I’ve been very comfortable here. Good-bye.’

Frowning a little, she emerged from the swing doors on to the steps of the hotel. A dark saloon was waiting at the foot of the steps. As she appeared a man in chauffeur’s uniform got out, and held open the rear door for her.

‘Is – is this Mr. Santos’s car?’ she asked puzzled.

‘Sim, senhorita.’ The chauffeur nodded politely.

Dominique gave a faint sigh, and moved down the steps to climb into the back of the limousine.

‘Where is Mr. Santos?’ she asked as casually as she could.

The chauffeur got into his place behind the wheel. ‘Senhor Santos offers you his apologies, senhorita, but he has some urgent business to attend to. He has asked me to escort you to Bela Vista.’

Dominique’s nails bit into the palms of her hands. ‘I see.’

The vehicle moved smoothly away from the kerb, and she sank back against the soft upholstery. She felt disturbed and confused. Why had he decided not to take her after all? Was it something to do with what had happened last night? But what had happened, after all?

She lit another cigarette to calm her nerves. Forget Vincente Santos, she advised herself angrily. In an hour or so she would be with John. It was John she had come here to be with, not Vincente Santos.

The chauffeur drove more carefully than his employer, yet even so they reached the small domestic airport quite quickly. Dominique was ushered ceremoniously out of the limousine and into the gleaming silver and blue helicopter that awaited them. The chauffeur left the car in the hands of one of the airport stewards, and then shedding his peaked cap he climbed behind the controls of the aircraft. Dominique glanced at him. He was a man in his middle forties, she estimated, with dark skin and rather friendly blue eyes.

The propellers began to revolve, and in a few moments they were airborne. Dominique had never flown in a helicopter before and for a while she was terribly nervous. The panoramic window at the front gave one the impression that one was about to tip forward into oblivion, but after a minute or so she realized she was quite safe and began to enjoy it. Even so, it was quite a nerve-racking experience flying across such a bleak and savage landscape. The saw-tooth peaks of the Serras seemed to beckon like devilish symbols, luring a man to destruction.

‘What is your name?’ she asked the man presently as she began to relax.

He gave her a smile. ‘Salvador, senhorita,’ he replied.

‘And you work for Mr. Santos?’

‘Sim, senhorita.’

Dominique nodded. ‘You have known him long?’

‘Twenty years, senhorita. Senhor Santos was only a boy when I came to work for him.’

This was interesting, and although she realized she ought not to feel so curious about Vincente Santos this was a way of learning a little more about him – about the enigma.

She was seeking about in her mind for a way of questioning Salvador without his actually being aware of it, when he said:

‘You have come to Brazil to marry Senhor Harding, haven’t you, senhorita?’

Dominique felt the hot colour surge into her cheeks, ‘Yes,’ she said shortly. ‘Yes, I have.’

Salvador nodded, in a satisfied way, and Dominique had the impression he believed he had achieved something. Like master, like servant, she thought a trifle irritatedly.

But he had succeeded in halting further questions from his passenger. She realized that whatever she might ask now would merely make her sound unnecessarily curious.

‘Does the journey take long?’ she asked, assuming a cool indifference.

‘Forty – maybe fifty minutes,’ replied Salvador. ‘You are eager to reach your destination, senhorita?’

‘Of course,’ said Dominique briefly. Then: ‘Do you know my fiancе?’

‘Senhor Harding? Yes, senhorita, I know him.’ Salvador was certainly not expansive in his answers to her questions.

Dominique sighed. Then she drew out her cigarettes. She seemed to be smoking far too much, but she needed something to do to fill in the time. When her cigarette was lit, Salvador said:

‘What do you know of Bela Vista, senhorita?’

Dominique glanced at him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Nothing of any consequence, senhorita. It is a beautiful little town. Set among these mountains like – how would you say – a rose among thorns. There are many blocks of new apartments, built by the government for the workers, and there are parks and places of interest. I am sure you will like living there.’

Dominique listened with interest. ‘Do you live in Bela Vista, Salvador?’

‘I live where Senhor Santos lives,’ he replied simply. ‘Sometimes at Bela Vista, sometimes in Rio, sometimes in Europe. Senhor Santos is a restless man, senhorita.’

‘That I can believe,’ remarked Dominique, a trifle dryly.

‘It was not always so,’ said Salvador, as though forced to give some explanation. ‘But Senhor Santos is not a man to be easily understood. I can remember when he was a boy of perhaps fifteen or sixteen – eager for life – for experience. Now he has learned it is not experiences that destroy a man but people!’

Dominique studied the glowing tip of her cigarette. ‘You’re very loyal, Salvador,’ she said curiously.

‘Senhor Santos has given me everything,’ said Salvador fiercely. ‘Education, occupation, position! I do not forget, senhorita.’

Dominique raised her dark eyebrows. Obviously Salvador considered Vincente Santos more than merely his employer. Then she gave her attention to the scenery. She was spending far too much time brooding on affairs that should be of no concern to her.

The hills in the morning light were a mixture of shades of grey and blue and brown, sometimes dark and forbidding, and at others green with foliage. In the ravines fast rivers surged unceasingly, while here and there were collections of dwellings, and the upward drift of blue smoke. A road wound between the hills like a dun-coloured snake, disappearing sometimes beneath the overhanging cliffs of hard rock. The shadow of the helicopter moved steadily onwards, and she began to wonder how much longer it would take. Then, suddenly, Salvador began the downward sweep and below she saw a green valley, spreading out as their height decreased, totally at variance with its surroundings. And in the valley she saw the town of Bela Vista.

There were houses on the outskirts of the town, huge affairs with swimming pools and tennis courts, while nearer the city were tall blocks of apartments, and offices, and schools. At the furthest point from the town towered a cluster of machinery and buildings that Dominique presumed must be the refinery and the laboratory where John worked.

The helicopter came down lower and below them Dominique could see a kind of park with a stretch of greenery big enough to take the powerful propellers of the helicopter. Salvador brought the craft level, steadied it, and then put it down neatly on the stretch of green, not far from the bustling main thoroughfare of Bela Vista.

‘So we are here!’ he said, giving her a slight smile. ‘We have landed safely, and there is your fiancе eagerly waiting for you.’

Dominique looked, saw several people at the perimeter of the area, all seeming strange and unfamiliar to her, and for a moment her heart missed a beat. Then she recognized John, but he had changed enormously. He now sported a thick beard and moustache, and his hair had grown rather long since his arrival. He must have had it cut, she supposed, but it was still straggling on the collar of his shirt. Big and broad, dressed in denim slacks and a brilliant orange shirt, he looked almost a stranger.

She got out of the helicopter carefully, with Salvador’s assistance, and then before she had time to hesitate John was beside her, hugging her enthusiastically, pressing his rough cheeks to hers.

‘Dominique, Dominique, Dominique,’ he was saying excitedly. ‘Oh, it’s marvellous to see you, Dominique!’

She struggled to free herself, self-consciously aware of the eyes of the sightseers watching them. Salvador was watching them, too, a strange expression on his face.

‘John!’ she protested, at last. ‘Let me get my breath!’

John gave her a final hug and then, keeping his arm across her shoulders, walked with her across to Salvador.

‘Thanks, Salvador,’ he said casually. ‘Sorry about the mess-up! But these things happen, don’t they?’

‘It was nothing, senhor,’ replied Salvador carefully.

Dominique noticed that his voice was cold. Obviously, like his master, he didn’t like John much either.

Then they were free to go, and John was leading her across to a low slung blue car and putting her case into the back.

‘Well?’ he said, spreading his hands. ‘What do you think of it?’

Dominique shook her head. She was not yet over her first impressions of John, and his question made her aware of how engrossed she had been with her own feelings to the exclusion of everything else.

‘I – I haven’t had a chance to take much in yet,’ she exclaimed. ‘But from the air it was beautiful. It’s amazing to think that such a place could flourish here, among these mountains.’

‘Yes, isn’t it? Still, you’ll soon get used to it. I’ve been offered a permanent post here and I’m seriously thinking of accepting it.’

Dominique gave him a faint smile. ‘Are you? I thought you only expected to be here about two years.’

‘So I did,’ replied John, turning on the ignition, and starting the engine. ‘But like I said, they’ve offered me a better position, and I like it here now I’ve got used to it. Oh, I know it’s a bit isolated, and some people don’t like the country, but I do. And I’d like to see a lot more of it. I thought we’d take the opportunity on our honeymoon of exploring a bit of the interior. We can hire almost everything we need – tents, sleeping bags, cooking equipment and so on.’

Dominique wrinkled her nose. ‘I thought we were going to Petropolis.’

‘We were. But this is more exciting, don’t you think?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Dominique doubtfully, and it was left at that.

They drove along the Rua Carioca towards the outskirts of the city, and Dominique said: ‘Where is your apartment?’

‘Not far from here. But we’re not going there. The Rawlings have a house, just outside of town, and they’ve invited us both for lunch. That’s who you are staying with, you remember?’

‘Of course.’ Dominique nodded, quelling the feeling of disappointment she felt that she was not to have some time alone with John for a while yet. There were so many things they needed to talk about, and she felt she needed to get to know him all over again. He seemed much different from the well-dressed, gentle young man she had known in England, and it was a little disturbing to realize you were going to marry someone in five weeks who had become a stranger to you. Still, she argued with herself, they would soon change that once they were alone together.

The Rawlings’ house was detached but unobtrusive, without any of the expensive embellishments she had noticed on some of the houses here from the air. Inside, it was dull and unimaginative, and after meeting Marion Rawlings Dominique didn’t have to wonder why.

Marion Rawlings was a woman of about thirty-five, with wheat-coloured hair that could have looked very attractive but didn’t. She wore old-fashioned dresses, which came to well above her knees, making Dominique supremely conscious of the length of her own skirt which had not seemed at all unusual back in London, or Rio either for that matter.

She greeted Dominique with a lack of enthusiasm that was rather daunting, but her husband, Harry, more than made up for it, shaking hands with Dominique vigorously, while his rather narrow-spaced eyes viewed the attractive picture she made with a rather embarrassing intensity. Dominique decided she was not going to find the five weeks before her wedding passing very quickly.