him Vin- cente Santos had dominated her whole existence, in a way no man had ever done before. John she loved, in a purely ^ affectionate way, but he did not inspire the emotions in her that Santos inspired, so that even being near him was a delight, and touching him an obeisance.
She stubbed her cigarette out jerkily. In spite of everything she might be making a complete fool of herself. After all, divorces were easy to come by these days, particularly if you had Santos's money. He had never said he loved her. He wanted her, oh yes, she didn't doubt that. But was that enough? And if she loved him, would it be enough for her, knowing his feelings were not irrevocably involved? Could she stand by and see him with other women, secure in the knowledge of the circle of gold on her finger?
She swung back into the room and paced about restlessly. If she had any sense she would pack her cases and leave, not for Bela Vista; her future with John was shattered now; but for England, where at least there were people and places she knew.
She lay back down on the bed, closing her eyes wearily. What was the good of even thinking such a thing? Santos would not let her go so easily even had she wanted it.
Unwillingly, she must have slept, for when next she opened her eyes it was brilliant sunlight outside and a glance at her watch told her it was already after eleven.
Eleven! Dominique slid off the bed shakily, and pressed a hand to her forehead. It couldn't be so late! And if it was, why hadn't she been disturbed?
She ^glanced round the room. Her clothes still lay where she had left them at the bottom of the bed, but she did not find the idea of putting them on again very appealing. Was this her wedding day, or was it not?
Then? as though on an invisible cue, Salvador entered the room quietly, as though afraid she might still be asleep.
When he saw her standing by the bed, looking hot and flustered, he said:
'Ah, you are awake at last, Miss Mallory.'
Dominique spread her hands. 'Yes. Honestly, Salvador, it's after eleven, isn't it?'
'That is correct.' Salvador was his usual calming self.
Dominique gasped. 'But - I thought - I mean - oh, what is going on?'
Salvador smiled. 'A moment, senhorita ,' he said gently, and withdrew from the room.
Dominique walked to the balcony, wondering what he was doing now. She did not have to wait long to find out. Presently he returned with a tray. On it were two jugs, one of coffee, the other of hot milk, and beside them was a dish of hot rolls and curls of butter, and some fresh fruit.
'See,' he said. 'Relax, and sit down. Have some coffee. Then we will talk.'
Dominique hesitated, and then seated herself where he indicated, on a basket-work chair beside a small occasional table. Salvador stood down the tray, asked whether she liked her coffee black or white, and then poured it for her. She sipped it gratefully, accepting that Salvador understood her feelings. There was something infinitely comforting about his unassuming presence.
When she was relaxing, and tasting a fresh roll with guava preserve, Salvador said: 'Now, we can talk, senhorita.'
Dominique managed a faint smile. 'Yes, Salvador, now we can talk. Do you know what about?'
'Of course, senhorita. You are to marry Senhor Santos, yes?'
'Yes.' Dominique raised her dark eyebrows. 'You don't find this surprising?'
'Surprising? No, senhorita.'
Dominique sighed. 'Well, I do,' she said moodily. 'Why ishe doing it, Salvador? Why does he want to marry me?'
Salvador shrugged. 'That is not for me to say, senhorita.'
Dominique lifted her coffee cup, caressing it between her fingers. 'You think not? You don't think I'm entitled to some kind of an explanation?' Then she felt remorseful. It wasn't Salvador's fault that this had happened. It was hers, or perhaps Vincente Santos's. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I'm overwrought.'
Salvador stood with his hands folded, looking at her. 'Why do you find the idea that Senhor Santos should want to marry
She stubbed her cigarette out jerkily. In spite of everything she might be making a complete fool of herself. After all, divorces were easy to come by these days, particularly if you had Santos's money. He had never said he loved her. He wanted her, oh yes, she didn't doubt that. But was that enough? And if she loved him, would it be enough for her, knowing his feelings were not irrevocably involved? Could she stand by and see him with other women, secure in the knowledge of the circle of gold on her finger?
She swung back into the room and paced about restlessly. If she had any sense she would pack her cases and leave, not for Bela Vista; her future with John was shattered now; but for England, where at least there were people and places she knew.
She lay back down on the bed, closing her eyes wearily. What was the good of even thinking such a thing? Santos would not let her go so easily even had she wanted it.
Unwillingly, she must have slept, for when next she opened her eyes it was brilliant sunlight outside and a glance at her watch told her it was already after eleven.
Eleven! Dominique slid off the bed shakily, and pressed a hand to her forehead. It couldn't be so late! And if it was, why hadn't she been disturbed?
She ^glanced round the room. Her clothes still lay where she had left them at the bottom of the bed, but she did not find the idea of putting them on again very appealing. Was this her wedding day, or was it not?
Then? as though on an invisible cue, Salvador entered the room quietly, as though afraid she might still be asleep.
When he saw her standing by the bed, looking hot and flustered, he said:
'Ah, you are awake at last, Miss Mallory.'
Dominique spread her hands. 'Yes. Honestly, Salvador, it's after eleven, isn't it?'
'That is correct.' Salvador was his usual calming self.
Dominique gasped. 'But - I thought - I mean - oh, what is going on?'
Salvador smiled. 'A moment, senhorita ,' he said gently, and withdrew from the room.
Dominique walked to the balcony, wondering what he was doing now. She did not have to wait long to find out. Presently he returned with a tray. On it were two jugs, one of coffee, the other of hot milk, and beside them was a dish of hot rolls and curls of butter, and some fresh fruit.
'See,' he said. 'Relax, and sit down. Have some coffee. Then we will talk.'
Dominique hesitated, and then seated herself where he indicated, on a basket-work chair beside a small occasional table. Salvador stood down the tray, asked whether she liked her coffee black or white, and then poured it for her. She sipped it gratefully, accepting that Salvador understood her feelings. There was something infinitely comforting about his unassuming presence.
When she was relaxing, and tasting a fresh roll with guava preserve, Salvador said: 'Now, we can talk, senhorita.'
Dominique managed a faint smile. 'Yes, Salvador, now we can talk. Do you know what about?'
'Of course, senhorita. You are to marry Senhor Santos, yes?'
'Yes.' Dominique raised her dark eyebrows. 'You don't find this surprising?'
'Surprising? No, senhorita.'
Dominique sighed. 'Well, I do,' she said moodily. 'Why ishe doing it, Salvador? Why does he want to marry me?'
Salvador shrugged. 'That is not for me to say, senhorita.'
Dominique lifted her coffee cup, caressing it between her fingers. 'You think not? You don't think I'm entitled to some kind of an explanation?' Then she felt remorseful. It wasn't Salvador's fault that this had happened. It was hers, or perhaps Vincente Santos's. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I'm overwrought.'
Salvador stood with his hands folded, looking at her. 'Why do you find the idea that Senhor Santos should want to marry
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