In a way, she thought detachedly, as she climbed on to the bus and settled in her seat, she would rather believe that than the other nightmare which haunted her—that Vasco would marry Della and vanish from her life, taking with him, all unwittingly, all the love, warmth, and passion she would ever be capable of, leaving her to face the future bereft and emotionally destitute.
‘I found the second act rather disappointing,’ Keith said, frowning. ‘I thought he’d failed to establish the intruder’s personality strongly enough, and, of course, the whole thing hinges on that.’
‘Yes,’ Abby agreed, smothering a discreet yawn. She’d found the entire production rather long-winded, and less than gripping. No matter how determinedly she tried to concentrate on what was happening on stage, her mind had kept travelling inexorably back to Vasco, and the letter she had brought him, and his reactions to it. He was a man who liked to dictate terms, not agree to them, she thought uneasily.
She’d come out of the theatre with a slight headache, and had demurred when Keith suggested going for the usual drink, but he had looked so disappointed when she’d murmured something about having an early night that she had relented.
The pub was one they often used, but it seemed extra crowded that night, with no vacant tables, so that they were forced to stand near the bar. Which was all to the good, Abby thought idly, as Keith continued to hold forth on the playwright’s failure to develop his characters fully. It meant they would probably not be staying long. Keith hated standing up to drink.
The crowd shifted suddenly, giving her a new perspective of the other side of the room. Suddenly Abby seemed to stop breathing, her fingers tightening convulsively round the stem of her glass as she stared at the table right in the corner.
It couldn’t be! she thought feverishly. She was seeing things. She had allowed Vasco to occupy her thoughts so much that now she was hallucinating about him, imagining that he was there, in the corner, alone.
‘I don’t think you’re listening to a word I’m saying!’ Keith’s faintly indignant tones broke into her trance, shattering it, and she turned to him apologetically.
‘I’m sorry—I thought I saw someone I knew.’
‘Oh?’ Keith craned his neck. ‘He doesn’t look familiar to me at all.’
‘He wouldn’t be. His name is Vasco da Carvalho, and he’s engaged to my cousin.’
‘I thought he didn’t look English,’ Keith commented. He gave the corner a concentrated stare. ‘Been drinking heavily too, by the looks of things.’
‘Oh, no!’ Abby was appalled. ‘He hardly drinks at all. It must be that damned letter. There must be something terribly wrong.’
As she began to move through the crowd towards his table, Keith detained her. ‘Well, whatever it is, Abby, it’s none of our business. Leave it.’
‘I can’t,’ she said wretchedly. ‘I feel partly responsible.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous.’ He regarded her with disfavour. ‘You want to steer well clear of him, my dear girl, especially in that condition. Although I suppose you could phone his fiancée—tell her to come and collect him.’
‘She’s in Paris.’ Abby began to move forward again. ‘Please, Keith—I must help him!’
‘And I see no reason why you should do any such thing.’ Keith sounded really ruffled. ‘Drink up, and we’ll go somewhere else and leave him to his bender. Whatever’s wrong, he won’t thank you for poking your nose in, believe me.’
‘You don’t know how right you are,’ she muttered.
‘Now look here, Abby.’ Keith’s temper seemed to be deteriorating by the second. ‘Just what’s your connection with this fellow? What’s this letter got to do with it?’
‘I wish I could explain.’ She gave him an appealing glance. ‘But I can’t. Nor can I just—walk away and leave him in this state.’
‘Well, I can,’ he announced grandly. ‘If you persist in interfering, Abby, then you’re on your own. I’m not ruining a pleasant evening by getting into any hassle with some drunk, whoever he happens to be engaged to. You don’t know what you’re taking on.’
‘Then I’m about to find out.’ She sent him an impatient glance. ‘And I’m not asking you to be involved.’
He gave her an outraged look, opened his mouth, closed it again, then turned and stalked away. She couldn’t even feel sorry.
She reached the table and sank down on the bench seat next to him. ‘Vasco,’ she said urgently.
He gave her a long, concentrated stare as if he was having difficulty focusing, as he probably was, she realised, as she counted the empty glasses on the table. Apart from the fact that his silk tie had been loosened and the top button of his shirt undone, his appearance was as immaculate as usual. Only that unwavering gaze, and his too-relaxed posture, gave him away.
‘Ah,’ he said, carefully enunciating each word, ‘the little handmaiden. Que encantamento.’ He reached for his glass, but Abby forestalled him, moving it away.
‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough?’ She was aware her voice was shaking a little.
‘No, senhorita, I do not.’ The smile he gave her was almost limpid, but Abby sensed it masked an abyss of darker, wilder emotions than she had ever dreamed existed. He was angry, but that was only part of it. And although she knew the anger was not directed at her, it hurt as much as if he had lifted his fist and struck her down.
‘It’s nearly closing time,’ she tried again.
‘But they have not yet called last orders,’ he said. ‘See how well I have learned your English customs!’
‘Good for you,’ Abby said grittily, reflecting that this was one custom she would have preferred him not to know. ‘The thing is, I want to get home, and it’s such a hassle finding a taxi after closing time.’
Vasco shrugged. ‘Then go now, and find your taxi.’
‘But I hoped you’d come with me.’
‘Did you, querida?’ he drawled. ‘How flattering of you!’
Abby bit her lip. ‘Please don’t play games, Vasco. You know perfectly well I can’t leave you here like this. Della would never forgive me.’
‘Now there you are wrong, senhorita.’ He removed Abby’s hand from his glass with insulting ease, and drank. ‘My wellbeing is no longer any concern of your cousin.’
‘Oh, God!’ Abby’s throat tightened. ‘Vasco, you mustn’t take any notice of anything she said in that letter. She’s used to having her own way in everything. She doesn’t realise how strongly you feel about Riocho Negro.’
‘Oh yes, she does,’ he said softly. ‘Or she would not have offered me the choice she did. At least we both now know the strength of each other’s feelings on the subject.’
‘Then isn’t that—grounds for negotiation?’ she suggested.
‘Unfortunately, no.’ He lifted his wrist and ostentatiously consulted the thin gold watch he wore. ‘Particularly as, at this very moment, my former namorada is in bed with another man.’
Abby stared at him. ‘That—isn’t amusing!’
‘On that we are in perfect agreement. But it is no joke. The letter you were so good as to bring me made that quite clear. I was informed that unless I telephoned your cousin at some Paris hotel by six-thirty to tell her I had changed my mind, and would be content to make my home with her in Rio, she intended to meet a man called Jeremy Portman and remain in Paris with him. He apparently also wishes to marry her, and give her