Brazillian Affiar Part 5

"Brazil's my home now."

"You're been very successful here."

"And I'm planning for it to continue," Roland replied. "I'm getting that new dam to build."

"Care to bet on it?"

"Do stop talking business!" Maya cut in petulantly.

Lucas looked taken aback; then he smiled at the woman. "Sorry, darling, but you can't have forgotten all my bad habits in a few years!" He turned to Philippa. "Are you sure you'll be all right?"

She nodded and watched silently as he moved away, trying not to feel dejected at his departure with another woman! one who had obviously meant - and possibly still meant - a great deal to him.

"So the beautiful Maya has made another conquest," Roland murmured.

"They knew each other years ago. In Portugal," Philippa informed him.

"So that's the man."

"You know about him ?"

"Everyone who knows Maya knows about Lucas Paget."

"I didn't realise you knew her that well."

"I don't. But Rio's a small place - when it comes to socialising - and I've seen her around at parties."

"What was her husband like ?"

"Rich and conveniently old! It was a relief to her when he died and left her his fortune."

"You don't like her, do you ?"

"She's not my type." His eyes narrowed." But you are. "I've always been partial to blondes - especially ones with apricot gold hair. Come in and dance with me."

"I'd rather go back to my hotel. I'm tired."

"No, you're not. You're going to dance with me."

She thought of his arms coming around her and could not suppress a s.h.i.+ver. Roland was dead. He could not be standing in front of her like this.

"It won't seem so strange by tomorrow," he said quietly. "You still haven't got over the shock." Placing his hand beneath her elbow, he guided her forward.

Realising she had no option, Philippa went into the ballroom with him. His hands clasped her waist and, as she felt their warm pressure, it was as if the intervening years dissolved and she was once again the nineteen-year-old innocent who had been head over heels in love with him.

"How could you have run away?" she burst out. "If you only knew what it did to your mother."

He missed a step and faltered.

"Do you think I haven't had a million regrets?"

"I don't know. You seem so pleased with yourself."

"How little you know me." There was bitterness in his voice. "You're still judging me on the surface - the way my mother did. If she hadn't made a tin G.o.d out of me... oh, what's the use of trying to explain!"

Despite herself, Philippa felt a familiar tugging of affection. "Poor Roland. I don't suppose it's been easy for you."

"You can say that again! But now you've come back into my life, things are rosy again."

He swung her into an intricate step and she knew - as she had always known his moods - that he wanted to change the subject.

It was nearly two o'clock before he drove her back to the hotel in his small, fast sports car, and as he drew to a stop outside the entrance his words were almost laughably predictable.

"When am I going to see you again ?"

"I'm not sure. It depends on Mr. Paget."

"Are you worried because I'm with Callisto's?"

"It does make it rather difficult."

"I take it that also means you're sorry you promised to keep my secret?" She said nothing and he went on: "It's common knowledge that either Paget's firm or mine are likely to get the contract, and it would knock me out of the game completely if your boss told Rodriguez about my past."

"Oh, do be quiet," she said crossly.

"But it's true, isn't it? I forced you into a promise that makes you feel disloyal."

"I didn't make the promise in order to save your skin," she said. "I did it for your mother. Anyway, I'm not sure that Mr. Paget would tell Senor Rodriguez about you. He might think it an underhand way to win a contract."

"All's fair in love and war," Roland said seriously. "And to men like Paget, business is war."

She s.h.i.+vered, hating the truth of what he had said.

"Well," Roland asked, "will you let me see you again?"

"Do you want to?"

"More than anything in the world. Tonight has made me realise I've been dead from the moment I left you."

"Don't say that," she said shakily. "You can't change the past."

"Maybe I can change the future."

"No! I don't love you."

"Are you in love with anyone else ?"

"No."

He slid across the seat to face her. "You're a beautiful girl, Philippa. There must be many men who've wanted you."

"I haven't wanted them."

"You used to want me." With one hand he drew her close, and with the other forced her head up so that she had to look into his eyes. "If you don't love me, why are you afraid of seeing me again?"

"I'm not afraid," she said wearily, and knew it was impossible to make him see the difficult position she was in.

"Please, darling," he pleaded. "You can't stay in your hotel every night. And now Paget's back with Maya..."

Philippa tried not to think of this but a picture of the black-haired woman flashed in front of her, and threw discretion and guilt to the wind. "Very well, I'll see you."

"Tomorrow night."

"Perhaps."

"I'll call you and fix a time. "He brushed his lips lightly across her hair and released her.

Philippa's sleep that night was fitful, and dawn found her wide awake. She switched on the bedside light and tried to read, but it was difficult to concentrate and she pushed the book aside and gave herself up to thoughts of Roland.

It was strange how certain she was she no longer loved him. Or was her certainty a defence mechanism built up to stop her being hurt all over again ? Though it seemed the most logical reason, it did not satisfy her; nor could she believe she had stopped loving him, because she knew him to be a cheat and a coward; women did not stop loving a man because they found him unworthy; usually it made them love him all the more.

Her thoughts - disjointed and coming to no conclusion - meandered on, and she was glad when her watch showed seven and she could get up and dress. But even though she was in the sitting-room at eight, Lucas Paget was already there, papers spread out on the floor around him.

The look on his face was enough to tell her he was in one of his difficult moods, and hurriedly she opened her notebook.

"Don't bother with that," he said irritably. "You can't help me with these figures. I've got to work them out alone. There must be a way of getting the price down. If Callisto's can do it, so can I." He picked up a sheet of paper and looked at it. "Get me my Works Manager, and book calls to all my main suppliers."

Silently she did as she was told, and then sat by the receiver waiting for the calls to come in. Listening to Lucas talk, she knew he was at his most pugnacious. It was as though getting the contract had become a personal ambition rather than a business one. Could it be because of a desire to show Maya he would even be important on this continent? She s.h.i.+ed away from finding an answer and concentrated on the work in hand.

He was in the middle of a call to his works manager when he glanced at his watch and gave an exclamation before cutting the call short.

"Why in Hades didn't you remind me I have to be at the British Emba.s.sy at eleven?" he demanded furiously of her.

She paled and reached for the diary. "I'm so sorry. I forgot." Hastily she dialled for an outside line and verified that the Amba.s.sador could still see him; a fact which in no way abated his anger.

"I didn't bring you halfway across the world to have you sit and moon! I suggest you look at the diary night and morning and refresh your memory."

"I don't usually forget your appointments," she protested.

"Only the most important ones!" He strode into his room and banged the door behind him.

She trembled with anger at the unjustified attack, but as the minutes pa.s.sed she grew calmer, seeing his irritability as an outcome of tension. She heard the farthest door of his bedroom close and guessed he had left without returning to the living-room. Hoping he would be in a better mood on his return, she went in search of some aspirin and then rested on the bed.

She was still lying there when the telephone rang. It was a call she had put in earlier to the Sheffield factory that was one of their biggest suppliers. The Managing Director was on the line and she debated whether to talk to him herself or delay the call. Afraid they might not get through again she decided to speak to him, making a guess at the questions Lucas would have asked. Some twenty minutes later she looked at the rows of figures she had jotted on her pad. None of them made sense to her but she hoped they would to Lucas Paget; if not, her head would a.s.suredly roll!

Setting notebook aside, she wandered over to the window and looked at the breakers that beat themselves to a frenzy on the white sand. A vividly patterned scarf worn by a young woman walking on the narrow strip of promenade fluttered in the breeze, but she knew that to open the window would only bring in humid air and she dropped her hand regretfully from the handle. She longed to go out, but was afraid to do so in case Lucas returned and did not find her here, and, in order to give herself something to do, she began to tidy the folders. The sight of the large pink one bulging with details of the dam brought Roland vividly to mind. What irony that he and Lucas should be business rivals. The knowledge made her feel more disloyal than ever, and she wished with all her heart she had never met Roland last night. If only she could tell Lucas the truth about him and leave him to make the final decision.

The doubts she had tried to stifle returned with full force, and she knew that despite Roland's a.s.sertion that he was running Callisto's in an honest manner, she was afraid that if it came to the point he would use every method - fair or foul - to get the contract.

Restlessly she paced the room. From all Lucas had told her about Rodriguez, she was sure the Minister would have nothing to do with a company that was controlled by a man with Roland's past. The Latin mind - with its long memory and love of vendetta - would find it difficult to give a man the benefit of the doubt; and once Rodriguez had any doubts of Roland, he would automatically veer towards Lucas.

The aspirin she had taken was not1, sufficient palliative against the anxiety of her thoughts, and her head began to ache again.

The sitting-room door opened and she stiffened defensively as her employer came in. But his ill humour seemed to have vanished and he smiled as he flung off his jacket and sank into a chair.

"Pour me a drink, there's a good girl. Whisky, with lots of soda. And have one yourself."

She shook her head but poured him the drink he had asked for, and he gulped half of it down. "Have a sherry if you don't like whisky. You look pale."

"I have a headache."

"Probably had too late a night."

"I was in before you." She went scarlet at what she had said, but he didn't take offence, and said equably: "I'm used to late nights."

"How do you know I'm not ?"

He smiled. "You look too innocent."

"You shouldn't judge by appearances."

"I don't. If I did you'd be surprised at the a.s.sumption I'd jump to about you!"

She knew he was teasing her and though she longed to ask him what he meant, she decided it would be safer not to do so.

"I spoke to the Sheffield factory," she said quickly. "The call came through while you were out." Briefly she told him what had transpired and handed him the figures she had written down.

As he looked at them, his mouth tightened into a hard line. "Just as I thought. It is possible to get the price down. Book another call for me, will you - and order lunch at the same time. We'll have it up here and then I can go on working."

"Do you want anything special to eat?"

"Cold meat and salad. But order what you like for yourself."

A little later, the call made and luncheon set before them on a round table, Lucas Paget brought up Roland's name.

"It's strange your meeting him the way you did. Was it in the garden ?"

"Yes. I b.u.mped into him."

"Did you tell him you were my secretary?"

"He - er - he asked me why I was in Rio."

"What business was it of his ?"

"Because I'm English, I suppose and..." She let the rest of her sentence trail away, hoping he would not continue the conversation. But it seemed he was only beginning.

"I'm pretty sure he must have known who you were when he arranged to b.u.mp into you. I didn't like the look of him."