Who Rides the Tiger (20 page)

Then, opening her door, she silently crossed the lounge of the suite so as not to disturb Isabella, and went out quietly. She took the lift down to the ground floor and smiled at the startled glances the hotel porters gave her.

Outside there was still a chill in the air, but it was heavenly fresh, and she walked slowly, allowing the faint breeze to blow away the cobwebs from her mind.

At the junction with the main road she beckoned a taxi, and when one halted she asked the driver to take her to the St. Augustine Hospital. Then she settled back on the back seat, and hoped her faint feeling of hopefulness would strike some matching chord in Vincente's heart.

The hospital was already busily active, and she was allowed to go straight up to the third floor where Vincente's room was situated. Sister Sanchez was no longer on duty, instead it was Sister Moreno, and she looked rather surprised when Dominique introduced herself.

'But Senhor Santos is barely awake,' she exclaimed. 'We do not rouse our private patients before seven-thirty. It is only seven-forty-five now.'

Dominique was impatient. 'I'm his wife, Sister Moreno,' she said. 'Surely the time is less than important. How is he today?'

'Improving satisfactorily,' replied Sister Moreno smoothly. 'It should not be much longer before we begin the skin grafts.'

'And he's going to be all right?'

'Of course. Perhaps there will be some scarring to begin with. But later - with plastic surgery - he will be completely recovered.'

'Can I see him, then?'

'If you insist, but it is most irregular,' replied Sister Moreno shortly.

Dominique shrugged, thanked her, and left her office to enter the private ward where Vincente was accommodated. She tapped at the door, waited for his curt summons, and entered the room. Vincente stared at her disbelievingly, then said: 'Why have you come? Where is Isabella?'

'Asleep at the hotel, I imagine,' replied Dominique, more calmly than she felt. 'How are you this morning?'

'As well as can be expected,' he returned coldly, turning so that the injured side of his face was partially hidden from her sight.

Dominique closed the door and approached the bed. 'Tell me,' she said, 'what happened at the plant? How did the explosion take place?'

'That's something I shall find out when I'm out of this place,' he said tersely. 'Have they told you how long they expect to keep me here?'

'No. But Isabella said she thought they would probably transfer you to Bela Vista once the skin grafts had taken place.'

'But how long?' He was staring moodily down at the coverlet. She could have been anyone.

'Altogether, perhaps a month - six weeks, even.' She came round the bed to his side. 'Why?'

'Because there are things I must do,' he replied harshly.

He stared at her for a moment, and her eyes flickered over the burned flesh of his face without revulsion. There was no feeling of distaste in her. He was the man she loved, and all she felt was a surge of protective emotion.

However, Vincente seemed to sense none of this. Instead he said: 'Why did you come? Wasn't yesterday enough for you?'

'Yesterday you wouldn't speak to me,' she said unsteadily. 'And I need to talk to you. Isabella has told me about Valentina.'

His face darkened. 'Oh, indeed! Did she also unburden herself about Harding?'

'No. She doesn't know I know John.'

'Of course not. I had forgotten. Perhaps you had better not mention him. After all, you are hardly the person she would most like to meet.'

'I didn't intend to mention it. Besides, John's affairs are nothing to do with me.'

'Aren't they? Don't you wish you'd married him after all? At least he would have had more sense than to—' He halted abruptly, and she wondered what it was he had been going to say.

'I married you because I loved you,' she replied shakily.

'Is that so? I notice you use the past tense.'

'Stop trying to trip me. Why did you marry me? That's a much more complex question, isn't it?' Her voice almost broke and she swallowed hard.

Vincente lay back on his pillows regarding her steadily. 'You will never know why I married you,' he said cruelly. 'Because I do not intend to tell you. That's something for you to think about - to take your mind off
this!'
He pointed momentarily at his cheek, and then rolled on to his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows. 'Now get out, I don't want to see you any more.'

'Vincente, stop, it!' she cried. 'You've obviously never been jealous, or you couldn't act like this.'

He turned on to his back. 'Is that what you are saying? That you were jealous?' He sounded sardonic.

Dominique moved restlessly. 'Yes - yes, of course.'

Vincente gave a derogatory smile. 'My God!' he said bitterly. 'How you can twist things! You had absolutely nothing to be jealous of.'

'I know that now - but - well, even the day we were married, you set out to tantalize me!'

Vincente sat up, his face serious. 'That was different,' he said coldly. 'I - I wanted you then!'

'And you don't want me now?' Dominique pressed her hands to her cheeks.

'Not in the same way,' he replied humiliatingly.

Dominique stared at him, unable to believe that he could have changed so utterly, and yet there was cruelty and bitterness in every line of his face. With a muffled sob she turned and dashed to the door, opening it fumblingly, and rushing away down the corridor, ignoring the startled stares of the nurses and orderlies who passed her. Once she heard her name called, but she would not go back, and when she glanced back and saw Vincente himself standing in the doorway of his room, watching her, she quickened her step, reaching the lift, and closing the gates with panic-stricken movements. It was not until she was in the taxi, going back to the hotel, that she allowed the hot tears to flood her cheeks and drown her misery.

Isabella was having breakfast when Dominique returned to the hotel. But when she saw Dominique's tear-reddened eyes and strained expression she forbore to ask where she had been. Obviously she could guess. Instead, she told Dominique that she had contacted the Mother Superior at the convent and she had decided to take her up on her offer to return to Minha Terra for a while.

'I am sure it is a good idea,' she said, in her usual calm tones. 'I can easily have Salvador drive me down to Rio to see Vincente, until such time as he is transferred to Bela Vista. I will ask about that this morning.'

Dominique merely nodded, giving a faint smile, and went to bathe her face.

Later in the day, after Isabella had visited Vincente again, they drove back to Bela Vista with Salvador. Isabella seemed absorbed with her thoughts, and once or twice she began to say something to Dominique, only to prevent herself at the last moment.

And so began for Dominique the longest and most miserable month of her life. Just as Isabella had said, Vincente was transferred to the Bela Vista hospital ten days later, and continued to make rapid progress. Isabella visited him almost every day, but she did not question Dominique's decision not to visit him again, even though Dominique had been sure she would do so. Indeed, Dominique had sometimes hoped Isabella would make some effort to persuade her sister-in-law to visit the hospital, if only to give her a reason to go there, for although she said she did not want to go, not seeing Vincente was having a terrible effect on her nerves. She questioned Isabella extensively about the skin grafting and his other injuries, and rang the hospital frequently herself and spoke to his doctor.

If the hospital staff were amazed that she should never visit, they must have put it down to her natural revulsion against ugliness, and although this disturbed her, she would not give in and go and have Vincente hurt and humiliate her once again. There would be time enough for that once he came home again. And it was this time that she anticipated and yet feared most.

Sometimes she wished he would finish with her completely, give her a divorce on any grounds he cared to name, but mostly she knew that if he did that she would never be the same again. Life with Vincente might be stormy, but life without him was no life at all.

During Vincente's third week in hospital, Frederick Rivas came to visit Dominique. Isabella was at the hospital at the time, and Dominique invited him in warmly, glad of someone new to talk to. She had avoided going down to the town because she was aware of the talk and speculation which would be rife there.

'How are you?' Frederick asked gently. 'You have lost much weight, Dominique. Are you finding the strain too much?'

Dominique managed a smile. 'I'm fine, thank you,' she replied. 'As you say - it is a strain, but - I - I believe he is very well.'

'Vincente?' Frederick shrugged. 'He is rapidly recovering. I saw him only yesterday. In fact - in fact that is why I am here.'

Dominique stiffened. 'Oh - oh, yes?'

Already her nerves were jumping at the mention of his name, and she walked jerkily across to the bell and summoned Salvador, and asked him to bring her and Senhor Rivas some hot chocolate. Then, lighting a cigarette to calm herself, she said:

'Do go on, Senhor Rivas.'

'Oh, Frederick, please,' he exclaimed, and she nodded and smiled. 'So', he said, 'you have not been to see your husband since he returned to Bela Vista.'Dominique compressed her lips. 'That's right,' she said tautly.

'Why?' Frederick frowned. 'Does it distress you so?'

Dominique shook her head, not trusting herself to speak for a moment. 'No. No, it's not that. It's just that - well - oh, what's the use?' She bit her bottom lip to stop it trembling. 'You may as well know, Senhor - I mean, Frederick; my husband doesn't want to see me.'

'You cannot be serious!'

'Oh, but I am. And now do you mind if we don't discuss it any more? It - it - well, it upsets me.'

'I can understand that. But you are wrong. Vincente does want to see you. He is chafing at the need for him to stay in the hospital so long when he so urgently wishes to speak with you!'

'Oh, no, you're making a mistake,' replied Dominique, her eyes unnaturally bright. 'Now - here's Salvador. Salvador, put it here, please.'

After Salvador had left them, and she had handed Rivas his chocolate, he said: 'What makes you so certain, Dominique?'

'That - that's rather a private matter,' she replied, awkwardly. 'I'd rather not discuss it.'

'But nevertheless, Vincente does wish to see you. I was there when he asked Isabella again why she had not brought you with her.'

Dominique got to her feet. 'I - I - was there anything else? I mean - I don't want to rush you away, but - well, it's no use-I do not intend to visit my husband, and that's that.'

Rivas looked taken aback, but he made no further mention of it, merely studying her strangely, whenever he thought she was not aware of it. But Dominique was aware of it, and aware of his rather impatient attitude with her. He didn't believe her any more than she believed him. And if Vincente had pretended he wanted to see her to make believe that things were all right between them again, then that was his affair. She would have no part of it. She would not go down there and pretend to be his devoted and loving wife just to satisfy the minds of his friends.

Even so, after Rivas had taken his departure, she wondered why Isabella never mentioned anything of this to her. After all, she must know why Dominique was not going to see Vincente, and she could have told her. But perhaps she thought that it would be cruel to tell her something that was almost certainly pretence.

During the next few days she had several calls from associates of Vincente's at the plant, all inquiring about his health, and she thought that possibly Frederick Rivas thought to shame her into visiting the hospital and finding out about her husband for herself.

Then, one afternoon, she had another visitor. Isabella was resting, and Dominique was alone on the patio when she heard the sound of a car in the courtyard. Going through the lounge she looked out and saw John Harding extricating himself from behind the driving wheel of his vehicle. Her eyes wide, she watched him walk across the courtyard to join her, and couldn't suppress a kind of pleasure in seeing him again. After all, he was her countryman, and once they had been very close to one another.

'Hello, Dom,' he said, smiling warmly. 'It's wonderful to see you again.'

'Hello, John.' Dominique bit her lip. 'What are you doing here?'

John climbed the steps to her side. 'Aren't you going to ask me in for a drink? After all, I know the boss is away.'

Dominique hesitated. There was a sense of betrayal in inviting him into Vincente's house in Vincente's absence*

But then she remembered Isabella, and with a casual gesture, she said: 'Come out to the patio. We can talk there.'

Salvador was on the patio and he stared with blank contempt at Dominique's companion. 'I do not think the Senhor—' he began, only to be silenced by a look from Dominique.

'Bring some iced lime,' she said coolly. 'Please, Salvador.'

'Who is he? Your bodyguard?' asked John sardonically, and lounged into one of the low chairs. 'Come and sit down. I want to talk to you.'

Dominique seated herself as far away from him as she could, and said: 'Yes, and I want to talk to you.'

'Oh? Why?'

'I want to hear about Isabella Santos,' said Dominique blundy. 'Don't try to deny that you had a - a - flirtation with her.'

John looked taken aback. 'All right, all right, Dominique. I won't lie to you. Yes, I knew Isabella. And yes, I was friendly with her.'

'How friendly?'

'Now look here, I came here to see you, not to hear a tirade about Isabella Santos. All that's in the past.'

'Your past, maybe. Not mine,' retorted Dominique, becoming angry. 'Why have you come here today, anyway? What's made you wait so long?'

'What do you mean?'

'Well, it seems significant that you should come after all this time.'

'I'll tell you why I've come. Yesterday I heard Rivas talking to one of his cronies in the office. He didn't know I was there, but I listened, and guess what I heard? Dominique Santos dbesn't visit her husband in the hospital!'