Her mother had died many years ago, when she was only a baby, and her father had become the mainstay of her existence. That he should be killed on his way to attend a patient had seemed doubly painful, particularly as that patient had been one of his ‘regulars’, a man convinced he was capable of contracting every tiny ailment that might be about. But Doctor Mallory had never neglected to answer any call, and in the blanketing fog in which London had been wrapped that evening it had been only too easy to collide with another vehicle. For weeks Dominique had been numb with grief, unable to believe that her father was dead and she was alone in the world. There were distant relatives, an aunt and uncle and some cousins in the north of England, but Dominique had not wanted to share her grief with strangers who at the most could offer sympathy.
It was during these weeks of misery that she had first met John Harding. John was the son of Adam Harding, her father’s solicitor and close friend, and he had recently returned from the Middle East where he had been working in the laboratory of an oil company. He was a pleasantly attractive young man, in his late twenties, and Dominique was attracted by the warmth and gentleness of his manner.
Aware of her recent bereavement, John had gently prised her out of the shell she had wrapped about herself, and endeavoured to show her that life went on in the same way as it had always done. At first, Dominique was reluctant, unwilling to allow anyone to witness the painful apathy that possessed her. But gradually, in John’s presence, she began to smile again, to live again.
The worst part of all had been finding another job. She had always acted as her father’s receptionist and of course although another doctor was to take over the practice she couldn’t bear the thought of continuing in that capacity. It was John who found her another position. He had a colleague, a dentist in fact, who was looking for an attractive young woman to take charge of his records, do a little typing, and admit his patients. Dominique had accepted the job gladly, and when the house in which she and her father had spent so many happy years was sold she allowed John to find her a flat.
Adam Harding had encouraged their friendship, and Dominique knew that he and his wife were hoping that this friendship would blossom into something more binding. Dominique, who had always thought herself so self-confident, found it was very pleasant allowing someone else to do all her thinking for her, and when John obtained a position in a laboratory in London, she was content to allow her life to drift along smoothly.
However, after several months, John was offered another position – in Brazil.
Dominique was horrified. Somehow, she had imagined John would always work in England now, and sooner or later it was taken for granted they would get married. John’s parents were as keen as he was, and probably in other circumstances, if Dominique had not so recently lost her father they might already have been married. But the job in Brazil demanded an immediate decision, and although John was eager that she should go with him, as his wife, Dominique hesitated, too uncertain still to do anything impulsively. So they got engaged, and it had been agreed that as soon as John was settled there, and had an apartment suitable to accommodate a wife, Dominique should join him and they would get married in Brazil. Naturally, John’s parents were a little disappointed that they would not be at the wedding, but they understood Dominique’s situation.
During the weeks after John’s departure Dominique had suffered many pangs of regret that she had not taken the plunge and gone with him, but eventually she orientated herself to her new circumstances, and began to enjoy life again. She made friends with the two girls who lived in the adjacent flat to her own and went out with them from time to time, to the cinema or the theatre, and sometimes even to a party. Every week she visited the Hardings and most week-ends she spent with them, either visiting their country cottage in Wiltshire, or going down to Sussex to see their daughter who was married with three children of her own. Dominique adored the children and she felt an immense sense of gratitude to the Hardings for providing so many diversions to fill her days so that her life with her father was not a painful thing to recall, but rather a pleasant feeling of nostalgia. With their help she had erased the hopelessness which had engulfed her at the time of his death.
John wrote quite eagerly, his letters long and descriptive, providing Dominique with a pictorial record of his life in South America. She learned of the contrasts of the country where she was soon to live; the painful poverty and excessive wealth of its people, the extremes of climate it possessed, but most dramatic of all its savage beauty that assaulted the eyes and gripped the senses. Already Dominique felt familiar with the country, and with Bela Vista in particular, the area where John was living and working. This community was composed of a mixture of nationalities including North Americans, Germans and British, as well as the Brazilians themselves. The oil company was owned by the Santos Corporation who presently employed John, and according to his letters it was quite a large concern.
Dominique glanced at her watch. She had adjusted it to the local time scale, and it read a little after four-thirty. As her plane had landed at eleven that morning she was naturally becoming a little disturbed at the delay. Surely if John was going to be so late he could have suggested that she book herself into a hotel overnight and thus alleviate these hours of waiting?
She was in the process of deciding whether or not to order a third glass of Coca-cola when she became aware that a man was scrutinizing her very intently from a table half-way across the room. She gave him a cool quelling stare, but it produced no result that she could see. Instead, he lifted his glass of spirit from the table and tipping his chair back on two legs surveyed her rather appraisingly.
Really, she thought impatiently, this was too much!
Sliding off the bar-stool on which she had been perched, she lifted her overnight case and marched purposefully towards the door. However, she was forced to pass the man’s table and despite her annoyance at his insolence she could not resist taking a second look at him. He was certainly one of the most attractive men she had ever seen – dark-haired and dark-skinned, with eyes of a strange light tawny colour that gave her a rather mocking stare as she passed. He was lean, with hard features that she thought could look almost cruel on occasions. He seemed to epitomize all that was alien and unfamiliar and dangerous in this alien, unfamiliar and dangerous country. She shivered, and pushing open the door emerged into the wide reception hall.
Sighing, she looked about her, praying for a sight of John. Didn’t he realize how strange and nervous she was bound to feel here? What could possibly have delayed him for so long? Surely he couldn’t have had an accident! Could he?
She walked across the hall and seated herself on one of the comfortable chairs, and taking out her cigarettes she lit one, drawing on it deeply. Tapping her fingers on the arm of the chair, she was absorbed with her own anxieties and was unaware of anyone approaching her until a deep, masculine voice said:
‘You are Miss Mallory, are you not? Miss Dominique Mallory?’
Dominique started, and her eyes widened as she looked up into the face of the man from the bar.
Recovering her composure, she said, with as much coolness as she could muster: ‘You know my name?’
The man stood before her, regarding her almost derisively, his hands thrust deep into the pockets of the trousers of the immaculate dark silk suit he was wearing.
‘There are not too many unescorted English women filling in time at Galeao,’ he remarked lazily.
Dominique stubbed out her cigarette and got to her feet. She felt at less of a disadvantage that way. Even so, despite her own height, he was still much taller than she was.
‘Please be more explicit,’ she said, trying to sound cold and aloof, and failing.
He shrugged. ‘Of course, Miss Mallory. Forgive me for wasting your most valuable time!’ He was mocking her again. ‘My name is Vincente Santos. I am a – shall we say – colleague of your fiancé’s.’
Dominique relaxed a little. ‘Oh, I see,’ she exclaimed. ‘Is John not coming after all?’
‘Unfortunately no. He has been delayed. I will explain more fully in a few moments. Is this all your luggage?’
Dominique