Rachel Trevellyan. Anne Mather

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      ‘Oh, don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. Did you honestly imagine I slept all the way here?’

      ‘I—I—naturally I assumed you were tired.’ Rachel was too shocked to be retaliatory.

      ‘Well, I wasn’t. Not that tired, anyway.’

      Rachel tried desperately to remember what she and Luis Martinez had spoken about on the journey. Her clothes, of course, but mostly they had argued. There had been no occasion when Malcolm could have imagined that the Marquês de Mendao was aware of her in any other way than that of the wife of a friend of his mother’s. Except for that moment at the foot of the drive ...

      ‘I think you’re the one who’s imagining things, Malcolm,’ she said carefully, dropping her shoulder bag on to a damask-covered ottoman. ‘Senhor Martinez and I spoke very little on the journey from the airport, and as you’ve seen to it that he regards me with scarcely veiled contempt, I fail to see how you can accuse me of making eyes at him!’

      Malcolm stared at her for a long moment. ‘But you are attracted to him, aren’t you?’

      Rachel gasped. ‘Of course not.’ Her expression hardened. ‘I’m not attracted by any man!’

      Malcolm’s face grew ugly. ‘Well, see it stays that way. Or by God, I’ll find some way to make you pay——’

      ‘Please, Malcolm!’ Rachel pressed her arms about her thin body. ‘I’ve told you, you have no need to concern yourself about me.’

      A little of the tension left him. ‘No. No, I suppose you’re right. In any case, a man like Martinez wouldn’t look at somebody like you, even without——’

      He broke off abruptly and Rachel’s eyes narrowed. ‘Even without what, Malcolm? Exactly what have you been telling him?’

      Malcolm shrugged. ‘This and that.’

      ‘How did you explain—our marriage? Surely being married to someone so much younger than yourself hardly enhances your image.

      Malcolm’s thin lips quirked. ‘There are ways of making the most of every situation,’ he replied.

      Rachel sighed. It Was obvious he had no intention of telling her anything. And in any case, did she want to know? Wasn’t it better to remain in ignorance than to hear something which might make her feel even more embarrassed in Luis Martinez’s presence?

      ‘Now, get me out of these clothes,’ commanded Malcolm, unfastening his tie and the top two buttons of his collar. ‘I’m almost roasting alive.’

      ‘What are you going to wear this evening for dinner?’ Rachel asked, as she went forward to help him slide his arms out of his jacket.

      Malcolm tugged his braces off his shoulders and made an indifferent movement of his head. ‘I don’t know. I may not join them for dinner. I can always feign tiredness after the journey.’

      Rachel took charge of the chair to wheel it into the bedroom. ‘You surely don’t expect me to join them alone,’ she exclaimed.

      ‘No!’ He was adamant on that score. ‘No, indeed. You’ll stay here with me like the dutiful wife you are. I didn’t bring you here to Mendao for your amusement, Rachel.’

      Rachel stopped the chair beside the bed and came round to face him. ‘Exactly why did you bring me, Malcolm?’

      Her husband began levering himself forward in the chair and she helped him on to the bed. ‘You’re my wife, Rachel. I own you, don’t forget that. I wasn’t going to leave you behind in Mawvry!’

      ‘Why not?’

      ‘I’m not blind, Rachel. I’ve seen the way men look at you. That Bart Thomas, for example.’

      ‘I’m not interested in the way any man looks at me!’ she declared. ‘You should know that.’

      ‘Huh!’ Malcolm stared at her impatiently. ‘That’s what you tell me. But how should I know what goes on inside that head of yours?’

      Rachel heaved a sigh and began to help him off with his clothes. ‘I shan’t leave you, Malcolm. Much as I’ve been tempted to do. I made a promise, and I’ll keep it——’

      ‘Promises! Promises!’ Malcolm dragged himself up the bed to relax on the soft pillows. ‘I’ve heard that before. But you’re my wife, Rachel, and no one else is going to touch you, do you understand?’

      Rachel straightened, hiding the pain in her face. ‘No one else would want to,’ she said quietly.

      ‘What the hell do you mean?’

      Rachel turned away. ‘Nothing.’

      ‘Well, you listen to me: where I go, you go, do you hear?’

      ‘Then why didn’t you warn me—about coming here?’ she cried, turning back to him. ‘Why keep it all such a secret?’

      Malcolm sniffed, running a hand across the hollow caverns in his throat. ‘I didn’t want anything to go wrong. I wanted to come here. Joanna owes me that much. If I’d had to tell her about you ...’ He shook his head. ‘It would have been difficult, very difficult. Portuguese women aren’t like English women. They have a very strict code of ethics. A man of my age marrying an eighteen-year-old girl!’ He pointed a finger at Rachel. ‘She’d have seen no possible reason for that.’

      ‘But this woman is English! And in any case, how can you now satisfactorily explain it? By telling the truth?’ She looked sceptical.

      ‘Joanna has lived so long in Portugal, she’s become like them,’ said Malcolm, ignoring her questions. ‘I saw that four years ago when she came to England. She came for my mother’s funeral, both she and Raul. That was her husband, the old Marquês, this man Luis’s father. Just like his son, he was. Cold and arrogant, conscious of his own importance!’

      Rachel shook her head. ‘That still doesn’t explain——’

      ‘Leave it, Rachel.’

      ‘But why couldn’t you tell me?’ she sighed frustratedly.

      Malcolm considered her thoughtfully. ‘If I’d told you what I’d arranged, how would you have reacted? Would you have been prepared to wait for this man to come and discover who you were?’

      Rachel saw the logic of this. If she had known in advance she would have had to have written and told them the truth. She wasn’t like Malcolm. She couldn’t have waited, depending on their indulgence as he had done. And besides, Malcolm might have been afraid she’d run away at a crucial moment. She had wanted to do so many times in the past and he knew it.

      She turned away. ‘I need a wash,’ she said vaguely. ‘I think I’ll take a shower. You’ll be all right, won’t you?’

      Malcolm closed his eyes. ‘I suppose so.’ He opened them again. ‘And no disappearing if I fall asleep.’

      ‘Where would I disappear to?’ she exclaimed defensively.

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