The South American's Wife. Kay Thorpe

The very thought of him sent a ripple down her spine. The mistake she’d probably made then was in confusing lust with love. A mistake she must have realised eventually.

      Regardless, she just couldn’t imagine herself turning to another man for solace. Especially one like this Lucio Fernandas. Could she possibly have been so desperate that she’d cultivate a relationship with him simply to secure his help in getting away from Guavada?

      She was going round in circles again, she acknowledged wearily, and still getting nowhere. The only chance she had of learning the truth was by returning to Guavada. Not that she had any choice in the matter anyway.

      Worn out, she slept like a log, awakening to sunlight and a low-pitched ringing that turned out to be the telephone on the bedside cabinet.

      ‘How are you feeling?’ Luiz asked.

      ‘Better,’ she said, referring to the headache not the inner turbulence. ‘What time is it?’

      ‘Gone ten o’clock. You missed breakfast, but I can have something brought to the room.’

      She wasn’t hungry, Karen started to say, breaking off as her stomach growled a protest. ‘Give me ten minutes,’ she said instead.

      ‘What would you like?’

      ‘Fruit and coffee will be fine.’

      She put the receiver down, wondering how she could speak so calmly and collectedly when her insides were dancing a fandango at the mere sound of his voice. They’d made love the night before her departure, he’d said yesterday. If it was the truth, whatever had gone wrong between them hadn’t affected her physical responses even at that point.

      Showered, she donned the white robe and went to open up the balcony doors with the intention of eating outside. She closed them again hastily on feeling the sticky heat, glad of the cool blast from the air-conditioning vents. São Paulo was far less humid than this, Luiz had said; she could be glad of that at least.

      A knock at the door heralded the arrival of a waiter with a table trolley containing far more than the items she had requested. Luiz followed the man in, despatching him with what appeared to be a whole handful of banknotes. It was unlikely to be payment on the spot in a place like this, Karen concluded, so it had to be a tip. Generous or not, she had no way of knowing.

      He was wearing the suit from last night, this time with a black shirt. Opened a little lower at the neckline than the night before, it revealed a fine gold chain bearing a small medal, the latter nestling amidst a curly mat of hair.

      ‘I only asked for fruit and coffee,’ she said, pulse rate increasing by the minute. She indicated the cereal, the covered tureen containing who knew what, the rolls and preserves. ‘I can’t eat all that!’

      From the look in the dark eyes, her instinctive move to tighten the tie belt of the robe had not gone unnoted, though he made no comment. ‘It’s of no consequence,’ he declared. ‘The choice is there should you change your mind. I’ll take coffee with you.’

      Feeling distinctly vulnerable, she poured for them both, leaving his black as he’d requested the previous night. Luiz accepted the cup from her to set it down on the small table at the side of a nearby chair.

      ‘I reserved seats on the one-thirty shuttle to São Paulo,’ he announced without preamble. ‘You were right last night. Attempting to recreate our beginnings is a waste of time and effort. All we can do is return to Guavada and hope for an eventual cure.’

      Karen took a couple of deep swallows from her own cup before answering, needing the stimulant. ‘What do we tell your sister?’

      ‘She already knows about the amnesia. I spoke to her earlier. She sends her love, and hopes to help in your recovery.’

      ‘And the others?’

      ‘Regina is to pass on the news. If you’re concerned for what Beatriz might say, you can rest assured of her silence,’ he added hardily.

      ‘You think she won’t even have told your brother the real reason I went?’

      He hesitated. ‘Perhaps that would be asking a little too much. There should be no secrets between husband and wife.’

      Karen busied herself slicing a banana into a dish, adding grapes and ready-cut pieces of melon. ‘As manager of the ranch, I suppose you hold a lot of authority,’ she murmured.

      ‘I don’t manage the ranch,’ he said. ‘I own it.’

      Her head came up. ‘You own it?’

      ‘Why such surprise?’ he asked on an ironical note. ‘Do I appear a man of small means?’

      ‘No,’ she acknowledged. ‘Not at all. I just thought…’ She broke off, lifting her shoulders. ‘I’m not sure what I thought. Is your brother a partner?’

      ‘No.’ The statement was unequivocal. ‘Are you going to eat the fruit, or simply continue poking at it?’

      Karen forked up a piece of banana and put it in her mouth, chewing on it resolutely. Fruit here had a far better taste than back home, she had to admit. Except that England was home no longer, of course. Not for her. She might never even see it again!

      ‘Is it far to the airport?’ she asked, shutting out the hovering despondency.

      ‘The São Paulo shuttle flies from Aeroporto Santos Dumont in the city centre,’ Luiz returned. The flight itself takes less than an hour, the drive to Guavada considerably longer, but we should be there before dark.’

      To meet more people she couldn’t remember. People who had known her a whole three months. How, Karen wondered numbly, was she to deal with it all?