unpredictable things sometimes, doesn't he?'
They all agreed, and Dominique concentrated on her sewing hoping that was the end of it. But of course it was not.
'Er - what did you think of him anyway, Dominique?' asked Marion, satisfying her curiosity at long last. 'I mean - he did escort you to your hotel, didn't he? It wasn't Salvador who met you, was it?'
Dominique smoothed the material under the needle. 'No,' she agreed. 'It was Mr. Santos who met me.'
'Well?' They were all eager for gossip, but Dominique felt a sense of distaste looking at their avid faces.
'He was very polite,' she replied carefully. 'What else is there?'
Marion looked annoyed, as though cheated of something she considered her right. Then she sniffed.
'They say he has a fabulous apartment in Rio,' she remarked, returning her attention to her friends. 'I've even heard that he has a different woman there living with him every month.'
Dominique stared at Marion, opened her mouth as though to speak, arid then closed it again. No! She would not enter into such a discussion.
Marion looked back at Dominique. 'He has quite a reputation, you know,' she said conversationally. 'He's quite a playboy.'
Dominique grew irritated. 'Why are you telling me all this?' she asked pointedly.
Marion looked taken aback. 'No reason, of course. It's just that naturally we're concerned for your welfare!'
'My welfare? What has Vincente Santos to do with my welfare?'
The four women looked at one another knowingly, and Dominique could have kicked herself for using his Christian name as well as his surname. To their perverted minds it would escalate into something important.
'Well, dear,' said Susan, with a wry smile, 'you're rather attractive, and after all....' Her voice trailed away.
Dominique got to her feet. 'Do you mind if I finish this later, Marion?' she asked.
Marion shrugged. 'Suit yourself, of course.'
'Thank you.'
Dominique walked swiftly out of the room, and closed the door with a definite click. Then she breathed a deep breath. Those women! She felt absolutely infuriated by their sick curiosity. Had they nothing better to do than indulge in this kind of gossip, inventing their own rumours if none existed?
She walked outside the building and seated herself on the veranda, under the shade of the trellised roof. Then she lit a cigarette and allowed her mind to drift, knowing full well that she would be the subject of their gossiping at this moment.
Even so, their news that Vincente Santos was in Bela Vista disturbed her a little. Was it possible that she might meet him, and if so what would she say to him? If only she had not agreed to spend that evening with him she would not have felt this sense of apprehension at meeting him again, mixed with a sense of guilt at her deception of John.
She glanced at her watch. It was a little after eleven. John was coming back for lunch to pick her up and take her into town to the apartment, but that would not be until nearly one. Whatever was she to do till then? She couldn't go back into the house. She had no desire to join Marion and her friends, even though she had left her coffee untouched and she would have liked a drink.
Going into her bedroom, she collected her dark glasses, and changing her dress for cotton pants and a sleeveless blouse, and her shoes for thonged sandals, she left the house, and began to walk away from the town, towards the hills.
It was not too hot, and a faint breeze fanned her hot cheeks. Only her hair seemed a heavy weight on her shoulders, and she wondered whether she ought to have it cut. It would certainly be cooler and easier to handle.
She sighed and looked about her with interest. She was gradually climbing upwards, and when she looked back the Rawlings' house and its neighbours were some distance below" her. The road forked at this point, one road leading higher into the mountains, and the other leading down towards the valley again, with the river in the distance.
She decided
They all agreed, and Dominique concentrated on her sewing hoping that was the end of it. But of course it was not.
'Er - what did you think of him anyway, Dominique?' asked Marion, satisfying her curiosity at long last. 'I mean - he did escort you to your hotel, didn't he? It wasn't Salvador who met you, was it?'
Dominique smoothed the material under the needle. 'No,' she agreed. 'It was Mr. Santos who met me.'
'Well?' They were all eager for gossip, but Dominique felt a sense of distaste looking at their avid faces.
'He was very polite,' she replied carefully. 'What else is there?'
Marion looked annoyed, as though cheated of something she considered her right. Then she sniffed.
'They say he has a fabulous apartment in Rio,' she remarked, returning her attention to her friends. 'I've even heard that he has a different woman there living with him every month.'
Dominique stared at Marion, opened her mouth as though to speak, arid then closed it again. No! She would not enter into such a discussion.
Marion looked back at Dominique. 'He has quite a reputation, you know,' she said conversationally. 'He's quite a playboy.'
Dominique grew irritated. 'Why are you telling me all this?' she asked pointedly.
Marion looked taken aback. 'No reason, of course. It's just that naturally we're concerned for your welfare!'
'My welfare? What has Vincente Santos to do with my welfare?'
The four women looked at one another knowingly, and Dominique could have kicked herself for using his Christian name as well as his surname. To their perverted minds it would escalate into something important.
'Well, dear,' said Susan, with a wry smile, 'you're rather attractive, and after all....' Her voice trailed away.
Dominique got to her feet. 'Do you mind if I finish this later, Marion?' she asked.
Marion shrugged. 'Suit yourself, of course.'
'Thank you.'
Dominique walked swiftly out of the room, and closed the door with a definite click. Then she breathed a deep breath. Those women! She felt absolutely infuriated by their sick curiosity. Had they nothing better to do than indulge in this kind of gossip, inventing their own rumours if none existed?
She walked outside the building and seated herself on the veranda, under the shade of the trellised roof. Then she lit a cigarette and allowed her mind to drift, knowing full well that she would be the subject of their gossiping at this moment.
Even so, their news that Vincente Santos was in Bela Vista disturbed her a little. Was it possible that she might meet him, and if so what would she say to him? If only she had not agreed to spend that evening with him she would not have felt this sense of apprehension at meeting him again, mixed with a sense of guilt at her deception of John.
She glanced at her watch. It was a little after eleven. John was coming back for lunch to pick her up and take her into town to the apartment, but that would not be until nearly one. Whatever was she to do till then? She couldn't go back into the house. She had no desire to join Marion and her friends, even though she had left her coffee untouched and she would have liked a drink.
Going into her bedroom, she collected her dark glasses, and changing her dress for cotton pants and a sleeveless blouse, and her shoes for thonged sandals, she left the house, and began to walk away from the town, towards the hills.
It was not too hot, and a faint breeze fanned her hot cheeks. Only her hair seemed a heavy weight on her shoulders, and she wondered whether she ought to have it cut. It would certainly be cooler and easier to handle.
She sighed and looked about her with interest. She was gradually climbing upwards, and when she looked back the Rawlings' house and its neighbours were some distance below" her. The road forked at this point, one road leading higher into the mountains, and the other leading down towards the valley again, with the river in the distance.
She decided
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