anyway.’
‘All right.’ Alejandro blew out a breath. ‘I did know who she was before she got here. We met some years ago, when I was in London. I—liked her. And, according to all reports, she’s very good at her job. Why not have the best?’
Anita was silent for a moment and then she said silkily, ‘And did you sleep with her?’
Alejandro’s laugh was harsh. ‘Goodnight, Anita,’ he said grimly, and, holding the receiver with the tips of his fingers, he dropped it back into its cradle.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I SOBEL slept badly again and was up soon after six, gazing out at the shadowy silhouettes of the palms swaying beside the veranda.
She was waiting for the first trace of daylight to appear on the horizon, that tinge of pink that would rapidly turn to lemon-yellow as the sun began its morning ascent.
She wasn’t dressed yet, but she would have loved to put on a vest and shorts, or even her swimsuit, and go down to the ocean. The water was so warm and appealing, and she longed to plunge her sticky body into the waves.
But the fear that she might run into Alejandro again was stronger. For the time being, at least, she would have to be content with taking a shower.
But she was so confused.
She’d spent the whole of the previous day waiting for Senhora Silveira to send for her, but it hadn’t happened. Oh, Ricardo Vincente had taken her on a tour of the villa, as promised, and she’d duly admired the rich, if rather oppressive, opulence of its appointments.
But there’d been no sign of her hostess, or of Alejandro. Either the woman had changed her mind about the interview, or she was allowing her guest a little time to get over her jet lag.
As for Alejandro…
Isobel sighed.
As far as Anita was concerned, she couldn’t quite believe she was that considerate. So what? Had Alejandro told his mother-in-law the truth? And, if so, had she pulled the plug on the interview? So why had Ricardo behaved as if she might be interested in Anita’s background? When was anybody going to tell her what was going on?
The previous day had passed incredibly slowly. Although Isobel had her laptop with her, and she’d been able to edit an earlier article she’d written for the magazine, her heart hadn’t been in it. Several times she’d gone into the bedroom and considered packing her suitcase, but pride wouldn’t let her. She was here to do a job and, if she was permitted, that was what she had to do.
By the time she’d a shower and one of the maids had brought her breakfast, she was feeling a little better. Not optimistic, exactly, but prepared to face whatever was ahead. It was time that she showed some initiative. If Anita didn’t know about Emma, there was no reason why she should change her mind about the interview.
Bearing in mind what Ricardo had said about Anita sleeping late, she delayed leaving her apartment until after eleven o’clock. But then, dressed in black-cropped capris that buttoned at the knee, a cream gauze-smock over a black vest, wedge-heeled sandals, and carrying a bag containing her recording equipment and laptop, she walked along the veranda and entered the hall of the villa.
It was already hot outside. Isobel could feel the beads of perspiration on the back of her neck. But the hall was cool and airy.
Two maids were using a power cleaner, polishing the mosaic-tiled floor. Her heels clattered on the tiles and attracted their attention. Isobel was about to try out herphrasebook Portuguese and ask where Senhora Silveira was, when a man appeared in the arched doorway across the wide expanse of the floor.
Tall and dark, with broad shoulders tapering to lean hips, the man’s face was in shadow. But, even backlit by the sun pouring in through the windows of the room behind him, Isobel had no hesitation in identifying who it was.
Alejandro.
For a moment, her legs almost buckled. She hadn’t forgotten the way they’d parted the previous day. But then, remembering her determination not
‘All right.’ Alejandro blew out a breath. ‘I did know who she was before she got here. We met some years ago, when I was in London. I—liked her. And, according to all reports, she’s very good at her job. Why not have the best?’
Anita was silent for a moment and then she said silkily, ‘And did you sleep with her?’
Alejandro’s laugh was harsh. ‘Goodnight, Anita,’ he said grimly, and, holding the receiver with the tips of his fingers, he dropped it back into its cradle.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I SOBEL slept badly again and was up soon after six, gazing out at the shadowy silhouettes of the palms swaying beside the veranda.
She was waiting for the first trace of daylight to appear on the horizon, that tinge of pink that would rapidly turn to lemon-yellow as the sun began its morning ascent.
She wasn’t dressed yet, but she would have loved to put on a vest and shorts, or even her swimsuit, and go down to the ocean. The water was so warm and appealing, and she longed to plunge her sticky body into the waves.
But the fear that she might run into Alejandro again was stronger. For the time being, at least, she would have to be content with taking a shower.
But she was so confused.
She’d spent the whole of the previous day waiting for Senhora Silveira to send for her, but it hadn’t happened. Oh, Ricardo Vincente had taken her on a tour of the villa, as promised, and she’d duly admired the rich, if rather oppressive, opulence of its appointments.
But there’d been no sign of her hostess, or of Alejandro. Either the woman had changed her mind about the interview, or she was allowing her guest a little time to get over her jet lag.
As for Alejandro…
Isobel sighed.
As far as Anita was concerned, she couldn’t quite believe she was that considerate. So what? Had Alejandro told his mother-in-law the truth? And, if so, had she pulled the plug on the interview? So why had Ricardo behaved as if she might be interested in Anita’s background? When was anybody going to tell her what was going on?
The previous day had passed incredibly slowly. Although Isobel had her laptop with her, and she’d been able to edit an earlier article she’d written for the magazine, her heart hadn’t been in it. Several times she’d gone into the bedroom and considered packing her suitcase, but pride wouldn’t let her. She was here to do a job and, if she was permitted, that was what she had to do.
By the time she’d a shower and one of the maids had brought her breakfast, she was feeling a little better. Not optimistic, exactly, but prepared to face whatever was ahead. It was time that she showed some initiative. If Anita didn’t know about Emma, there was no reason why she should change her mind about the interview.
Bearing in mind what Ricardo had said about Anita sleeping late, she delayed leaving her apartment until after eleven o’clock. But then, dressed in black-cropped capris that buttoned at the knee, a cream gauze-smock over a black vest, wedge-heeled sandals, and carrying a bag containing her recording equipment and laptop, she walked along the veranda and entered the hall of the villa.
It was already hot outside. Isobel could feel the beads of perspiration on the back of her neck. But the hall was cool and airy.
Two maids were using a power cleaner, polishing the mosaic-tiled floor. Her heels clattered on the tiles and attracted their attention. Isobel was about to try out herphrasebook Portuguese and ask where Senhora Silveira was, when a man appeared in the arched doorway across the wide expanse of the floor.
Tall and dark, with broad shoulders tapering to lean hips, the man’s face was in shadow. But, even backlit by the sun pouring in through the windows of the room behind him, Isobel had no hesitation in identifying who it was.
Alejandro.
For a moment, her legs almost buckled. She hadn’t forgotten the way they’d parted the previous day. But then, remembering her determination not
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