to take the latter road, and was glad when the going became less arduous as she began the descent. Here the road was lined with thick plantation growth and foliage, and shaded by huge trunks of trees. It was quieter here and although Dominique liked it she couldn't help but recall that Brazil was the country of the deadly rattlesnake, and that a quiet dusty road like this could be its natural habitat.
Because of this she quickened her step and when the road opened out again she was looking down on a part of the valley she had seen from the air but never from the ground. Here were the larger houses of the community, surrounded by high walls overhung by liana creeper and bougainvillea.
Sighing, she halted. This then would be where Vincente Santos lived, in one of these palatial dwellings. There were not very many, but what there were were very impressive. She turned back at this point. She had no desire to meet Santos himself when her thoughts were already disturbed by Marion's words.
She plodded back up the incline, and reached the belt of trees. When she heard the sound of a car's engine, she almost jumped out of her skin. She had been listening for noises in the undergrowth, and so concentrated had been her involvement that she found it difficult to distinguish what the sound was at first.
Thus she was standing with her hands pressed to her lips when the car swung round the curve and halted abruptly beside her.
'Hello,' said a lazy voice, and the colour returned to her face.
'Vin— I mean - you!' she exclaimed.
He smiled and slid out of the car. Dressed in close-fitting cream pants and a cream silk sweater which was unbuttoned almost to his waist revealing the dark mass of hairs on his broad chest he looked lithe and masculine, and she bent her head, unwilling to appear glad to see him.
He put a hand under her chin, and forced her head up, however. 'Well?' he said. 'It was to have been Vincente, wasn't it?' Then he leaned back against the bonnet of the car. 'Where have you been? I've been looking for you.'
'You - you've been looking for me!' she gasped. 'You - you haven't been to the Rawlings?'
'Why not? Marion told me that you must have gone for a walk. How else would I have found you so easily?'
'Oh, lord!' exclaimed Dominique, staring at him in exasperation. 'Why on earth did you do that? What do you want to see me for?'
'I'm beginning to wonder,' he remarked, a trifle dryly.
'Well!' Dominique moved restlessly. 'You've lived here, You must know what kind of woman Marion Rawlings is! Heavens, I'll be branded as a scarlet woman by merely speaking to you!' She bit her lip.
Vincente Santos's hand gripped the rim of the car's bonnet for a moment, and then he said tautly: 'And that bothers you? Why? Because of Harding?'
Dominique sighed. 'Why did you come?'
'Because I wanted to,' he replied harshly. 'Get in the car. I want to talk to you.'
Dominique hesitated, and then as once before she gave in. He slid in beside her and turned towards her, his arm along the back of her seat, his fingers playing with the tendrils of her hair. 'Well?' he murmured questioningly, 'is it love's young dream?'
Dominique was unable to relax. 'What do you mean?'
'Now you're pretending you don't know,' he said softly. 'I mean Harding, of course.'
'That's nothing to do with you,' she said stiffly.
'Of course it is. I want you to be happy.'
Dominique looked at him out of the corners of her eyes. 'Why Should my feelings interest you?' she asked unevenly.
His eyes were slightly narrowed against the glare of the sun, and she noticed how long and thick were his lashes. With his free hand he lifted the dark glasses from her nose and threw them on the parcel shelf.
'Don't you know the answer to that either?' he murmured lazily.
'No! No, of course not!' Dominique was swift to answer him.
He lifted a handful of her hair and wound it round his fingers and then drew her towards him, slowly and persistently. 'Your hair is beautiful,' he
Because of this she quickened her step and when the road opened out again she was looking down on a part of the valley she had seen from the air but never from the ground. Here were the larger houses of the community, surrounded by high walls overhung by liana creeper and bougainvillea.
Sighing, she halted. This then would be where Vincente Santos lived, in one of these palatial dwellings. There were not very many, but what there were were very impressive. She turned back at this point. She had no desire to meet Santos himself when her thoughts were already disturbed by Marion's words.
She plodded back up the incline, and reached the belt of trees. When she heard the sound of a car's engine, she almost jumped out of her skin. She had been listening for noises in the undergrowth, and so concentrated had been her involvement that she found it difficult to distinguish what the sound was at first.
Thus she was standing with her hands pressed to her lips when the car swung round the curve and halted abruptly beside her.
'Hello,' said a lazy voice, and the colour returned to her face.
'Vin— I mean - you!' she exclaimed.
He smiled and slid out of the car. Dressed in close-fitting cream pants and a cream silk sweater which was unbuttoned almost to his waist revealing the dark mass of hairs on his broad chest he looked lithe and masculine, and she bent her head, unwilling to appear glad to see him.
He put a hand under her chin, and forced her head up, however. 'Well?' he said. 'It was to have been Vincente, wasn't it?' Then he leaned back against the bonnet of the car. 'Where have you been? I've been looking for you.'
'You - you've been looking for me!' she gasped. 'You - you haven't been to the Rawlings?'
'Why not? Marion told me that you must have gone for a walk. How else would I have found you so easily?'
'Oh, lord!' exclaimed Dominique, staring at him in exasperation. 'Why on earth did you do that? What do you want to see me for?'
'I'm beginning to wonder,' he remarked, a trifle dryly.
'Well!' Dominique moved restlessly. 'You've lived here, You must know what kind of woman Marion Rawlings is! Heavens, I'll be branded as a scarlet woman by merely speaking to you!' She bit her lip.
Vincente Santos's hand gripped the rim of the car's bonnet for a moment, and then he said tautly: 'And that bothers you? Why? Because of Harding?'
Dominique sighed. 'Why did you come?'
'Because I wanted to,' he replied harshly. 'Get in the car. I want to talk to you.'
Dominique hesitated, and then as once before she gave in. He slid in beside her and turned towards her, his arm along the back of her seat, his fingers playing with the tendrils of her hair. 'Well?' he murmured questioningly, 'is it love's young dream?'
Dominique was unable to relax. 'What do you mean?'
'Now you're pretending you don't know,' he said softly. 'I mean Harding, of course.'
'That's nothing to do with you,' she said stiffly.
'Of course it is. I want you to be happy.'
Dominique looked at him out of the corners of her eyes. 'Why Should my feelings interest you?' she asked unevenly.
His eyes were slightly narrowed against the glare of the sun, and she noticed how long and thick were his lashes. With his free hand he lifted the dark glasses from her nose and threw them on the parcel shelf.
'Don't you know the answer to that either?' he murmured lazily.
'No! No, of course not!' Dominique was swift to answer him.
He lifted a handful of her hair and wound it round his fingers and then drew her towards him, slowly and persistently. 'Your hair is beautiful,' he
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