the fence guarded the lush paddocks where the horses grazed from the agricultural land outside. As well as horses, the ranch reared a herd of pedigree cattle,a few of whom they’d seen wading among the reeds earlier.
‘I suppose not,’ Alejandro agreed now, staying Carlos when he would have jumped out of the vehicle to open the gate. ‘I can do it,’ he added. ‘I need the exercise.’
All the same, his leg twinged as he swung down from the Lexus. It brought another scowl to his face as he threw the gate wide so that Carlos could drive through.
Still, he thought after closing the gate and climbing back into his seat, if Anita was complaining it surely meant that Isobel was still there. He had been concerned that she might use his absence to leave the villa. Though, unless Anita had told her, she could have no real knowledge of where he might be.
He blew out a breath. He knew the child was his. He just knew it. It wasn’t wishful thinking. Apart from anything else, the dates fitted, and there was no doubt in his mind now that Isobel’s body had been nurturing his seed when he’d left England.
If only she’d told him. If only, as soon as she’d realised what had happened, she’d tried to get in touch with him. She could have reached him via the company’s website. He was sure her friend—was her name Julia?—could have told her how to do that.
All right, perhaps he hadn’t behaved very responsibly at the time. He wasn’t particularly proud of his actions. And his father’s phone call had created a difficult situation. After that, she hadn’t listened to a thing he’d said.
They hadn’t parted on the best of terms, and he’d left her apartment feeling gutted. All through the long flight back to Rio, he’d fretted over what he could have done differently. But he’d assured himself things would be different when he saw her again. He would make her listen to him. But a savage fate had intervened.
He still believed she should have attempted to contact him. He’d had a right to know, whether she’d wanted him to be involved or not. The baby was his child as much as it was hers—the only child he was likely to have, if the doctors who’d eventually discharged him from the hospital were to be believed.
A long drive edged by massive acacia trees led up to the main house. Two-storeyed, with white stucco walls and a railed balcony running across the front portico, even in the lights of the car it looked elegant and impressive. In all, the living area covered over half an acre, a wraparound veranda smothered with flowering vines giving the place a lived-in appearance.
Carlos brought the car to a halt on the block-paved forecourt, but Alejandro hesitated a moment before attempting to get out.
‘Tell Maria thank you, but I’ll take a rain check on the enchiladas,’ he said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. ‘But don’t worry—I have no intention of driving down to Porto Verde tonight.’
Carlos regarded him doubtfully. ‘You mean that?’
‘Would I lie to you, old friend?’ Alejandro countered, which wasn’t quite an answer. He thrust open his door. ‘Tell your beautiful wife I’ll join you another evening if I may?’
Carlos gave a resigned grimace of acceptance, and with a farewell lift of his hand he set the car in motion again. Turning, he drove back to a fork in the drive and followed the gravelled track that led to his own house some half a mile further on.
Alejandro decided to take a shower before ringing Anita. It was a deliberate decision, a concerted attempt to prove to himself that he was still in control of the situation.
All the same, he didn’t stop to dress before crossing thevast expanse of his bedroom to where the phone extension was situated. His mobile phone was useless at the estancia . There was no signal, and they had to rely on the sometimes unpredictable land line to keep in touch with the coast.
Clad only in the towel he’d wrapped carelessly about his
‘I suppose not,’ Alejandro agreed now, staying Carlos when he would have jumped out of the vehicle to open the gate. ‘I can do it,’ he added. ‘I need the exercise.’
All the same, his leg twinged as he swung down from the Lexus. It brought another scowl to his face as he threw the gate wide so that Carlos could drive through.
Still, he thought after closing the gate and climbing back into his seat, if Anita was complaining it surely meant that Isobel was still there. He had been concerned that she might use his absence to leave the villa. Though, unless Anita had told her, she could have no real knowledge of where he might be.
He blew out a breath. He knew the child was his. He just knew it. It wasn’t wishful thinking. Apart from anything else, the dates fitted, and there was no doubt in his mind now that Isobel’s body had been nurturing his seed when he’d left England.
If only she’d told him. If only, as soon as she’d realised what had happened, she’d tried to get in touch with him. She could have reached him via the company’s website. He was sure her friend—was her name Julia?—could have told her how to do that.
All right, perhaps he hadn’t behaved very responsibly at the time. He wasn’t particularly proud of his actions. And his father’s phone call had created a difficult situation. After that, she hadn’t listened to a thing he’d said.
They hadn’t parted on the best of terms, and he’d left her apartment feeling gutted. All through the long flight back to Rio, he’d fretted over what he could have done differently. But he’d assured himself things would be different when he saw her again. He would make her listen to him. But a savage fate had intervened.
He still believed she should have attempted to contact him. He’d had a right to know, whether she’d wanted him to be involved or not. The baby was his child as much as it was hers—the only child he was likely to have, if the doctors who’d eventually discharged him from the hospital were to be believed.
A long drive edged by massive acacia trees led up to the main house. Two-storeyed, with white stucco walls and a railed balcony running across the front portico, even in the lights of the car it looked elegant and impressive. In all, the living area covered over half an acre, a wraparound veranda smothered with flowering vines giving the place a lived-in appearance.
Carlos brought the car to a halt on the block-paved forecourt, but Alejandro hesitated a moment before attempting to get out.
‘Tell Maria thank you, but I’ll take a rain check on the enchiladas,’ he said, clapping his friend on the shoulder. ‘But don’t worry—I have no intention of driving down to Porto Verde tonight.’
Carlos regarded him doubtfully. ‘You mean that?’
‘Would I lie to you, old friend?’ Alejandro countered, which wasn’t quite an answer. He thrust open his door. ‘Tell your beautiful wife I’ll join you another evening if I may?’
Carlos gave a resigned grimace of acceptance, and with a farewell lift of his hand he set the car in motion again. Turning, he drove back to a fork in the drive and followed the gravelled track that led to his own house some half a mile further on.
Alejandro decided to take a shower before ringing Anita. It was a deliberate decision, a concerted attempt to prove to himself that he was still in control of the situation.
All the same, he didn’t stop to dress before crossing thevast expanse of his bedroom to where the phone extension was situated. His mobile phone was useless at the estancia . There was no signal, and they had to rely on the sometimes unpredictable land line to keep in touch with the coast.
Clad only in the towel he’d wrapped carelessly about his
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