A minute before eight the slightly panting Lidia arrived to announce that Senhor Roberto awaited his guest. Katherine put the glasses on and gave a last look in the mirror to make sure no strand of hair had escaped from its ruthless twist. At last, feeling like Boudicca going into battle, she followed the woman down the curving staircase to the hall, where Jorge was waiting to escort her out on the veranda, which looked even more inviting with soft lights glowing in the greenery wreathing the pillars.
Roberto de Sousa rose slowly from one of the cane chairs and stared at her in total silence, his spirits sinking at the sight of his starkly elegant guest. He recalled himself hurriedly and bade her good evening.
Did he ever say anything without thinking it over first? Katherine wondered.
‘Lidia is not pleased because I wished to dine out here,’ he said, leading her to a table. ‘The sala de jantar is big for two people. I thought you would prefer this.’ But in truth the preference was his, in the hope that his scar would look less prominent in the soft lighting.
‘I do,’ she assured him, noting that the table was laid for only two. No wife in evidence then; at least not here.
He pulled out a chair for her. ‘What will you drink? Gin and tonic, perhaps?’
Katherine glanced at the frosted bottle sitting in a silver ice bucket. ‘May I have a glass of wine?’
‘Pois e. This is the vinho verde of the Minho.’ He removed the cork with a twist of his wrist and filled two glasses. ‘I will join you.’ He gave her a glass and, reminding himself that she was his guest, touched his own to it. ‘What shall we toast?’
‘A successful outcome for your painting?’
He nodded. ‘To success.’
The cool wine went down like nectar, the perfect accompaniment to the dish of hot appetisers Jorge set in front of Katherine.
‘The national dish,’ Roberto informed her, ‘bolinhas de bacalhau. You have tasted these before?’
‘No, but they smell delicious.’ She popped one of the miniature cod balls in her mouth. ‘And they taste even better. I’ll remember my first food in Portugal with pleasure.’
Roberto sat facing her, his scar stark in his dark face against the white of his shirt, soft lighting or not. ‘You have eaten nothing since you arrived?’ he said, frowning.
She shook her head. ‘Lidia offered, but I was too hot and thirsty.’
‘Then you must eat more of these.’ He pushed the plate towards her.
‘No, thank you,’ she said firmly. ‘Otherwise I shan’t need any dinner.’
‘You must eat well, or the chef will take offence.’
The chef! Katherine digested that, along with the bolinha, and set out to be a polite dinner guest. ‘Have you lived here long, Senhor Sousa?’
‘I do not live here, Doctor.’ He smiled crookedly, the scar much in evidence. ‘The Quinta das Montanhas is the retreat I escape to for a holiday alone from time to time.’
Some holiday home! ‘This is such a beautiful part of the world,’ she remarked, ‘but totally unknown territory to me. Unlike the majority of my fellow Brits, I’ve never been to Portugal before.’
‘Then it is most important that you enjoy your first visit.’
Roberto de Sousa, however reluctant, was an attentive host, but Katherine found it hard to relax as they ate crisp grilled chicken fragrant with herbs.
‘Is the food to your taste?’ said Roberto, refilling her glass.
She nodded politely. ‘My compliments to your chef. He’s a genius.’
He eyed her in amusement. ‘I was joking. Jorge’s wife, Lidia, is cook here.’
‘Then she’s the genius,’ said Katherine, and smiled warmly at Jorge as he came to take their plates. ‘That was utterly delicious. Please tell your wife.’
He bowed, gratified. ‘Obrigado, senhora. You would like pudim?’
Katherine smiled regretfully. ‘I can’t eat another thing.’
Jorge returned the smile with warmth that won him a wry look from his employer. ‘Café, senhora? Or tea?’
‘Not even that, thank you.’
‘I would like coffee, Jorge, por favor,’ said his employer sardonically. ‘And bring agua mineral for the lady.’
‘Agora mesmo, Senhor.’
Once Jorge was assured later that nothing more was needed, Katherine sat back, gazing out at moonlight which added magic to the scene. ‘It’s so peaceful here,’ she commented. ‘I see why you think of it as a haven.’
His eyes shuttered. ‘Because I have never stayed here long enough to tire of such peace—until now.’ He looked up at her in enquiry. ‘I trust that taking Mr Massey’s place so suddenly caused no problems for you?’
She shook her head. ‘None that I couldn’t solve, Mr Sousa.’
‘Muito bem. I am most interested in your work. What, exactly, do you do at the gallery, Doctor?’
Katherine seized on the subject in relief. ‘My job mainly involves searching the Internet for sleepers,’ she began, ‘the unidentified or wrongly catalogued works that slip through the net unnoticed. It can be very exciting.’
‘I hope that my painting is equally so.’
‘So do I,’ she said with feeling.
‘That was a most heartfelt remark!’
She smiled wryly. ‘When paintings are brought to us at the gallery, James breaks the bad news when they’re copies or fakes.’
He nodded, enlightened. ‘And you do not welcome the task of giving me such news.’
‘No. I don’t.’ She looked him in the eye. ‘But I will if I have to.’
‘Have no fear, Dr Lister. I will not blame you if my painting is a fake. Or doubt your findings,’ he added.
‘Thank you. I admit that worried me when—’ she stopped, flushing.
‘When?’ he prompted.
‘When you were so taken aback because I was a woman.’
‘Only because I had been expecting a man,’ he said smoothly. ‘But if Senhor Massey trusts you to pass judgement on my painting I shall do the same.’
‘Thank you!’
‘De nada. Let me give you more wine.’
‘Just water, thank you. I need a clear head for my detective work in the morning.’
His sudden smile altered his face so much it cancelled all impression of familiarity. A smiling Roberto de Sousa was so breathtaking he was definitely like no man Katherine had ever seen before.
‘You regard your work as solving a mystery?’ he said, intrigued.
‘In a way. It’s hugely rewarding—and exciting—to reveal the true identity of a lost work of art.’
‘Perhaps my painting will be one of these.’
She hoped so. Fervently. ‘Do you have any idea who the artist might be?’
‘It is more hope than idea. But I shall say nothing until you give me your opinion. Do you rise early?’ he added.
‘During