Postcards From Rio: Master of Her Innocence / To Play with Fire / A Taste of Desire. Chantelle Shaw

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       CHAPTER THREE

      HEAT SWEPT THROUGH Clare and she felt herself blush from the tips of her ears down to her toes as she visualised Diego carrying out his threat. This had to stop, she told herself firmly. She had come to Brazil for one reason only—to rescue Becky. She had no idea what kind of conditions her sister was being held in, but the severed piece of earlobe sent to her by the kidnappers made the situation very real and very dangerous. She could not allow herself to be distracted by the outrageously sexy man sitting beside her.

      Unable to think of a suitable retort to what she assumed was his teasing remark, she turned her head to stare out of the window at the unending jungle. He would not really dare kiss her, she assured herself. But she remembered the Mother Superior’s warning about him being a womaniser and decided not to give him any opportunity to take liberties with her.

      They had been driving for some while—Clare had been absorbed in her thoughts and had lost all track of time—when the rain stopped as suddenly as it had started. The heat of the sun close to the equator caused the wet leaves to evaporate steam into the air so that the forest looked like a giant smoking cauldron. Even the huge puddles were steaming on the road that stretched ahead as far as the eye could see, like a giant brown snake wending through the green forest.

      ‘When was your aunt killed?’ Diego asked suddenly, his voice breaking the tense silence that had filled the Jeep for miles.

      ‘Almost two years ago.’ Clare remembered the cold grey day before Christmas when her mother had phoned to break the news that Aunt Edith had died after being knocked off her bike by a car. The fact that the driver was drunk at the time of the accident had only been revealed later at the inquest, and Clare had felt anger as well as grief that her aunt’s life had been ended by a thoughtless, selfish act.

      It was hard to imagine that when she had left England three days ago the weather had, typically for November, been freezing cold with the promise of sleet, while in Brazil the temperature on the dashboard was showing thirty-seven degrees centigrade and the humidity was so high that Clare’s clothes were sticking to her.

      ‘The car driver said that he skidded on a patch of ice, but the police breathalysed him and found he was over the alcohol limit and shouldn’t have been driving,’ she said tautly. ‘My aunt was older than my parents, but she was fit and healthy until her life was cut short.’

      ‘You were obviously fond of her.’

      It was strange how it was often the way that you didn’t appreciate what you had until it was gone, Clare mused. She missed Aunt Edith’s sensible advice and dry humour more than she would have believed.

      ‘I lived with her for part of my childhood.’ She gave a rueful smile. ‘At the time I hated being packed off to her cottage in a remote Kent village while my parents remained at our home in London. It never occurred to me that my aunt might not have enjoyed having her life disrupted by a stroppy kid.’

      ‘Why did your parents send you away from home?’ Diego could not explain why he was curious about his passenger. Usually he avoided personal discussions. He was never even mildly interested in his mistresses’ private lives, and he discouraged curiosity about himself. His past was not a place he wanted to revisit or reveal to anyone.

      ‘My sister was very ill when she was a child. She was diagnosed with leukaemia when she was six years old and underwent chemotherapy for several years before she was finally given the all-clear. My parents couldn’t cope with spending weeks, sometimes months, in the hospital with Becky at the same time as trying to run their PR company and look after me.’

      She sighed. ‘It sounds ridiculous, but I felt abandoned by my parents. I was only nine when Becky became ill, and I didn’t understand how serious her illness was. When my parents spent so much time with her I believed she was their favourite child.’

      ‘That’s understandable.’ Diego could appreciate Clare’s feeling of abandonment when she was a child. He had been abandoned by his father before he had been born, and his mother’s dependence on crack cocaine meant that he had learned to fend for himself from a young age. ‘You said your sister made a full recovery. Once she was better, did you return to live with your parents?’

      ‘No. I visited them at weekends, but I had started at a secondary school in Kent and my parents decided it would be better not to disrupt my education by moving me to a new school in London.’

      ‘You must have resented your sister because she lived with your parents while you were left with your aunt.’

      Clare was surprised by Diego’s perception. There had been times when she had felt jealous of all the attention Becky received, she acknowledged, but she had hated herself for her jealousy because, of course, her sister had not chosen to have leukaemia.

      ‘I love my sister. It wasn’t Becky’s fault that I grew up feeling pushed out of the family. I was lucky that I hadn’t been struck down with a horrible illness or spent chunks of my childhood in the hospital. My parents dealt with a difficult situation in the best way they could.’

      Thinking about Becky and wondering if the kidnappers had harmed her made Clare’s stomach contract. Becky had suffered so much as a child and it seemed desperately unfair that once again her life was threatened. Clare hoped her sister was not making the situation even more difficult. Becky had been over-indulged by their parents during the long years of her illness, and her subsequent career as a successful model meant that she was used to people rushing around after her. But it was unlikely the kidnappers would treat Becky like a princess.

      The Jeep lurched as the wheels went down another crater in the road and Clare winced and rubbed her bruised spine. The continual jolting made her feel as though she was inside the drum of a washing machine on the fast spin cycle.

      ‘How much longer do you think it will take us to reach the village where we are going to stop for the night?’

      Diego glanced at the instrument panel. ‘We’ve driven one hundred and forty miles. Inua village is two hundred and fifty miles from Manaus and because of the damned potholes in the road we’re travelling at an average speed of thirty-five miles an hour.’

      ‘So we should reach the village in just over three hours,’ Clare said instantly. She caught Diego’s surprised look. ‘I have a freakish brain when it comes to maths. At school, when my friends were trying to decide what careers to choose, I always knew that I wanted to be an accountant.’

      ‘So, did you go to university?’

      She nodded. СКАЧАТЬ