The Sanchez Tradition. Anne Mather

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СКАЧАТЬ talking in riddles.’ Ramon sounded impatient.

      ‘No, I’m not. Once we were married—once André took me to Conchera, I was expected to fall in with his every wish!’ She gave a deep sigh. ‘I wasn’t even allowed to go out alone!’

      ‘You were André Sanchez’s wife. You were vulnerable,’ intoned Ramon, and Rachel thought he sounded a little like André used to sound.

      ‘How was I vulnerable?’ she snapped. ‘No one troubled me! No one knew me! Why couldn’t I act like any other tourist in Nassau?’

      Ramon swung the wheel through his fingers. ‘We are at impasse,’ he commented, controlling any annoyance he might have felt at her avowals of injustice. ‘You cannot see my way—André’s way—and I cannot see yours.’

      ‘You used to be able to.’

      ‘I was much younger then. I think I have matured now, Rachel!’

      ‘And I have not?’ she asked chokingly.

      ‘Maybe so,’ he agreed quietly, and Rachel turned and stared out of the car’s windows. Thereafter they did not speak, and not until they reached her hotel did Ramon break the uneasy silence which had fallen.

      Then he said: ‘You know, Rachel, that I would do anything to make you smile again. My feelings for you were always transparent. They have not changed.’

      The car was still and he turned towards her, his arm along the back of the seat. He seemed totally unaware of his man in the back seat, but Rachel was not, and she could not relax as she would have done had they been alone. Instead, she said: ‘You’re very kind, Ramon. If it is any consolation, you’ve made me feel a little better.’

      Ramon touched the softness of her hair with a lazy hand. ‘You’re a very beautiful woman, Rachel,’ he murmured, ‘as I said before. If André does divorce you, will you marry again?’

      Rachel bent her head. ‘That’s a little difficult to say,’ she prevaricated.

      Ramon straightened, and swung round in his seat. ‘Yes, it is,’ he agreed. ‘I’m sorry. Goodnight, Rachel.’

      ‘Goodnight, Ramon.’

      Rachel slid out of the car, appreciating its length and luxury. It had attracted quite a crowd of sightseers in a street like this, and she hastened inside before anyone should attempt to prevent her. She heard the limousine glide away, and her shoulders sagged. Was that all there was to be? Was that what she had come here for? Was her defeat so complete? She shook her head wearily, and climbed the stairs to her room. Outside, the town of Nassau was still alive and full of noise and excitement, but in her room, that small cubicle whose only claim to air-conditioning was provided by the slowly revolving fan in the ceiling, she sought the bleakness of her lonely bed and a sleeping tablet to dispel the memories that persisted in haunting her tired brain. Tonight, even the narcotic powers of the drug gave her no relief from the tortuous train of her thoughts, and she lay on her back staring at the night sky through the casement wondering whether there was some point in her life where everything started to go so wrong.

      She considered her father, back home in London, waiting for news from her that his immediate problems were over. Was he managing adequately without her? Was he eating? And more importantly, had he found that bottle she had hidden so carefully in the bathroom cabinet?

      She rolled on to her stomach, refusing to give way yet again to the self-pitying tears that threatened continually. Feeling sorry for herself would solve nothing and would merely make her eyes conspicuously puffy in the morning. The management of this small hotel were curious enough about her as it was without providing them with further room for gossip. Not that it mattered now, of course. This was probably her last night in Nassau.

      The sky was ablaze with stars, and somewhere on New Providence or one of the outlying islands André Sanchez was sleeping. Was she in his thoughts as he was in hers? She doubted it very much. She was alone, but the chances that he was alone also were extremely limited. That woman, Leonie, she was not the type to withhold her favours, and André was a man with strong, passionate emotions, Rachel knew that so well from experience. And why was it that after all that had happened, all the hateful things he had done, all she could remember was the lean strength of his body and the demanding pressure of his mouth?

       CHAPTER TWO

      DESPITE her disturbed state of mind Rachel eventually slept, to be awoken by the sound of someone knocking rather vigorously at her door. At first it was difficult to remember where she was, the sleeping tablet still confusing her brain, but as she roused herself everything came flooding back to her with depressing clarity. Blinking, she stared at the travelling clock on her bedside table and saw that it was barely nine o’clock. Who on earth could be waking her at this hour?

      Calling: ‘Wait a minute!’ she crawled out of bed, groping for the cream silk dressing-gown she had left lying on the footboard and pulling it on, she tied the belt tightly about her slim waist. Smoothing back her tousled hair, she opened the door and stared rather incomprehensively at the young man who stood on the threshold. Frowning, she realised she knew him. It was André’s youngest brother Vittorio.

      Stepping back, she said blankly: ‘What do you want?’

      Vittorio smiled. When last she had seen him he had been a schoolboy of sixteen or thereabouts. Now he was an adult, and attractive as all the Sanchez brothers were attractive. ‘What a greeting!’ he complained indignantly. ‘Aren’t you pleased to see me?’

      Rachel sighed. She was in no mood to be polite. ‘Not particularly,’ she replied. ‘Why are you here?’

      Vittorio stepped past her into the room, looking about him with critical eyes. ‘What a dump!’ he pronounced, wrinkling his nose.

      Rachel clenched her fists. ‘I don’t recall asking your opinion,’ she bit out angrily. ‘Now will you please state your business or leave?’

      Vittorio lifted her suitcase on to the bed, and flicked it open. ‘Pack your things,’ he advised pleasantly. ‘We’re leaving!’

      Rachel stared at him in astonishment at first, and then with something approaching frustration. ‘Just who do you think you are, coming here, giving me orders?’ she exclaimed. ‘I am certainly going to pack—but in my own good time, and then I shall be leaving—for the airport!’

      Vittorio shook his head. ‘I think not, Rachel.’

      ‘What do you mean, you think not? I’m free, white, and over twenty-one. I can do what I like.’

      ‘No, you can’t, at least not here,’ he amended. ‘Brother André wants to see you, and he wants you out of this hotel right now.’ He half smiled. ‘He’d have had you out last night, if it wouldn’t have caused such a furore!’

      Rachel was surprised to find she was trembling. ‘I spoke to your brother last night, and his words to me didn’t involve my seeing him again. I don’t believe André sent you. I think Ramon’s behind this.’

      Vittorio shrugged. ‘I can’t alter your opinion, of course, but André sent me here, believe me!’

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