Bride in a Gilded Cage (8 page)

After a quick shower, and dressing in her own jeans and a faded check shirt, she went downstairs, bringing the tray down with her. She found the dining room when she saw Juanita emerge through a heavy oak door. The housekeeper barely acknowledged Isobel, just took the tray and gestured with her head to the door.

Isobel went in and saw Rafael’s impressive back facing her. She slipped into the seat to his right, at the head of the table, and tried to ignore the way butterflies had erupted to life in her belly. If she’d been more in control of herself perhaps they would really be man and wife now, in every sense of the word.

He was reading a paper and sipping coffee from a small cup which should have looked ridiculous in his huge hand, but didn’t. Isobel avoided his eye and shook out her napkin.
‘Good morning.’ She reached for a fluffy-looking croissant. ‘I think your housekeeper has it in for me.’

Rafael tutted and shook his paper. ‘Nonsense. She’s just a romantic at heart, and I don’t think she’s under any illusions as to the nature of our marriage.’

His voice was dry. He was clearly referring to their separate beds last night. He turned back to his paper, leaving Isobel seething with a tumultuous mix of emotions in her breast. She took a bite out of her croissant and chewed disconsolately. It had looked so delicious, but now it tasted like sawdust.

After a couple of minutes’ silence, Rafael put down the paper and fixed those dark eyes on her. She couldn’t look away.

He ran his eyes over what she was wearing and Isobel flushed.

‘I knew I should have told Juanita to dispose of your own clothes.’

Isobel gasped, but before she could say anything, Rafael continued.

‘We’re leaving for our honeymoon in a couple of hours. I’ll have Juanita pack for you. I told you before, Isobel—I won’t have you making a mockery of me and our marriage.’

‘Honeymoon?’ Trepidation laced Isobel’s voice as visions of deserted beaches and vast villas and just the two of them flooded her mind. Trepidation and something much scarier.

Rafael grimaced. ‘Don’t worry. I’m not enough of a masochist to seclude us on a desert island just yet. I thought you might like to see the Estancia Paradiso, and I could do with catching up on things. I haven’t been there in a couple of months…’

Isobel felt a little winded, and then all sorts of nebulous feelings rose up. What could she say? She’d love to see the
estanica.
‘Well…That is, of course I’d like to see it.’

A tug of nostalgia for her grandparents made her look
away to concentrate on her plate. He was surprising her. She’d fully expected to wake up today and have an empty house welcome her. Her parents had always maintained a good distance in their marriage, meeting only for stilted dinners in the evening and agonising social events where they and many other couples like them projected a false image of unity.

After a few minutes Rafael excused himself to get his things ready and left Isobel sitting there, still dazed. On automatic pilot she got up and started to clear the table, but Juanita came in and tutted.

‘You don’t have to worry about that,’ she said.

Still not a glimmer of friendliness. Isobel said firmly, ‘Fair enough. But you don’t have to pack for me, Juanita. I can do that myself.’

The woman just nodded her head and busied herself clearing the table. Isobel went upstairs. She looked wistfully at her own bag of clothes, but remembered Rafael’s threat that he would dress her himself. She shivered and reluctantly started to go through the clothes in the closet. To her surprise she found that most of the clothes weren’t too far off the mark from what she would have chosen herself.

Wondering uncomfortably if Rafael had been involved with picking out the wardrobe, she changed into a pair of cargo pants and a classic white shirt. She couldn’t forget that here in BA they were in the middle of winter. Even if the temperature didn’t drop the same way it did in Europe, there was still a nip in the air.

When she came downstairs with her bag, an older smiling man took it out to where a luxury Range Rover waited. Isobel wandered out and breathed deep, and then spotted something that had piqued her interest before. The vintage cars parked up in one corner of the huge forecourt.

She walked over, her pulse quickening at seeing one in particular. She walked around it and touched it reverently.

‘It’s a 1951 Bugatti.’

Isobel jumped minutely. How did Rafael do that? Creep up on her when he was such a big man? She looked at him warily and took in properly that he was dressed in jeans and a casual shirt. Her pulse sped up, and it had nothing to do with the car. She looked away, willing down the heat that threatened upwards.

‘I know. There are only eight in the world.’ And each one was worth the equivalent of the national debt of a small country.

He quirked a brow. ‘I’m impressed. You like vintage cars?’

Isobel nodded, focusing on the sleek and gorgeous lines of the car. ‘I got it from my grandfather. He was fanatical about them. He always coveted one of these—he showed me pictures in a magazine.’ Isobel smiled wryly. ‘I used to promise him that when I grew up I’d make enough money to buy him one. I was only about twelve.’

‘You could now…but it’s too late.’

Isobel smiled sadly. ‘Yes.’ She looked at Rafael and her breath caught at the look in his eyes.

‘Your grandfather sounds like he was an interesting man.’

Isobel fought his seductive pull valiantly. She had no doubt he was just turning on the charm, and was no more interested in her grandfather than in the inner workings of her mind. She was a challenge to him, that was all. And thinking about her grandfather was making her feel far too emotional.

‘He was.’ She cut off any further line of enquiry, and could see Rafael’s jaw clench in response. Ridiculously, she felt guilty.

He stepped back and gestured to the Range Rover with his arm. ‘We’d better get going. It’s a four-hour drive and I want to get there before it gets dark.’

Still feeling wrong-footed as Rafael expertly negotiated the heavy Buenos Aires traffic, Isobel was taken aback when he asked casually, ‘Where did you learn how to tango?’

She shot him a look, but he was facing forwards. After a long moment, her fingers plucking at her trousers, she said, ‘My grandparents both loved it. My grandmother started teaching me when I was tiny, and then after she died my grandfather used to dance with me…’ She snuck another glance at him, curiosity getting the better of her. ‘You said in Paris that your grandmother used to take you and your brother to
milongas?’

Rafael cast her a quick look and quirked a small smile, making Isobel’s breath hitch. ‘She was crazy about it—even though when she was growing up tango was still not considered entirely appropriate for her class. She used to sneak us into
milongas
and get her friends to teach us.’

Isobel nodded. ‘For my grandparents it was the same, but they used to dance it anyway—usually when they were alone. So that’s how you know the old
milonguero
style…like my grandfather?’

He nodded.

Isobel sat back and looked out of the window. She could feel her guard dropping, although a part of her couldn’t believe it was so easy to talk to Rafael like this. ‘I used to watch them dance. I thought it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen…’ She smiled faintly. ‘I can remember feeling like such a voyeur—as if I was intruding on something incredibly intimate.’

Dry humour laced Rafael’s voice when he said, ‘Where you saw white picket fences springing up, with roses around doorways and true love, all I saw was a way to impress beautiful girls…You really are just a romantic at heart, aren’t you, Isobel?’

Isobel shot him a withering look and crossed her arms. She
faced away and shut her eyes on his far too amused face by pretending to go to sleep.

She woke to a gentle shake and her name being called with a seductively husky voice. ‘Isobel…wake up. We’re here.’

Isobel sat up to see Rafael move back. She felt exposed at having slept so easily beside him, and in her sleep she could see that she’d gravitated towards him. She moved a hand through her hair, ruffling the short silky strands, feeling disorientated. ‘Did I sleep the whole way?’

Rafael nodded, his eyes intense on her. ‘Pretty much. Once we hit the outskirts of Buenos Aires you were gone.’

‘I’m sorry…’ Isobel said stiffly, coming more awake. ‘You must be tired, too.’

Rafael quirked an incredulous brow. ‘Concerned, Isobel?’

Thankfully, Isobel saw some people approach the car and Rafael turned and got out before he could make sense of what Isobel couldn’t make sense of herself. A smiling man opened her door and she got out, smiling back.

It was only then that she noticed where they were, and the stunning surroundings, and the fact that she was breathing in clean, pure air. Rafael was instructing staff to carry their bags in, but Isobel was frozen, a wave of
déjà vu
washing over her.

He came to stand beside her, where she was looking at the mountains in the distance.

‘We’re in the foothills of the Sierras Chicas. Do you remember it?’

Isobel shook her head. ‘Barely. I only came here a couple of times when I was small. I think my mother always felt it was too far out of Buenos Aires. And then my grandmother died when I was six, and we never came back.’ She looked at Rafael. ‘That must have been when my grandfather sold it.’

He nodded. ‘It was a couple of years after that.’

It struck Isobel forcibly in that moment just how long ago their fate had been decided. Avoiding Rafael’s penetrating look, she turned around and gasped as she took in the sheer understated elegance and beauty of the
estancia.
Cream walls and a terracotta-tiled roof made it look warm and inviting. The one-level storey was very traditionally colonial, and the columns gave it an air of grandeur.

‘It dates from the eighteen-thirties, but has been added to over the years…’ Rafael pointed to an extension which looked slightly out of sync with the rest of the building, but still worked somehow. ‘That’s a neo-classical Italian addition, probably from around the late eighteen hundreds.’

‘It’s beautiful.’ Isobel’s voice was husky. ‘I’d forgotten how beautiful it is.’

The land around the house was verdant and lush. Isobel could see what looked like a lake surrounded by trees towards the back of the
estancia.
She felt a wave of sadness then, at knowing that they’d lost this for so many years. No wonder her grandfather had wanted to make sure this returned to them eventually. She could see how losing this must have pushed him even closer to despair.

‘And it’s now yours as much as mine.’

Isobel felt tongue-tied. The enormity of the reality of her situation overwhelmed her for a moment. Luckily Rafael didn’t seem to expect her to say anything, and started to stride towards the house with loose-limbed grace. Isobel forced herself to move and follow him when he said, ‘Come on. I’ll show you around.’

Her head was reeling about an hour later when Rafael led her back into the impressive reception area. Twenty-three bedrooms. Two private suites. A dining room fit for royalty…and kitchens that would put a five-star hotel to shame. One formal
living area and a more informal one, complete with TV, sound system and shelves heaving with books.

Unaware of Isobel’s inner meltdown, Rafael was striding out through the main door again, beckoning her to follow him. She followed him back to the car speechlessly and got in when he held the door open. They drove down a rough path hidden in the undergrowth by the side of the house and came out into a large clearing, where a helicopter stood waiting.

Isobel was seriously afraid she wouldn’t be able to process much more, but already Rafael was at her door and helping her out. The helicopter was starting up.

‘I thought this might be the best way to give you an idea of the estate. We have some time before it gets dark.’

Within what felt like seconds they were in the helicopter and lifting into the air. It was Isobel’s first time, and her hands gripped the armrests. She was connected to Rafael via headphones and speakers, and as they flew over the fifty-thousand-hectare estate he pointed out the polo grounds and the stables, the livestock area, and where the land had been turned over to agricultural use. It went on and on and on, no end in sight.

Isobel was feeling more and more nauseous. Not helped when Rafael looked at her sharply and said, ‘Are you okay?’

All Isobel could do was shake her head numbly. Rafael gave a signal to the pilot and the helicopter started to turn around and head back. As soon as they landed Isobel clambered out of the small craft and staggered slightly.

Rafael caught up to her and took her arm. ‘What’s wrong?’

At first Isobel couldn’t get any words out. She was terrified she’d throw up there and then. She sucked in big breaths, feeling clammy and sweaty all at the same time. ‘I just…It’s a bit much
to take in.’ The enormity of the disparity between her simple life in Paris and her life here now was overwhelming.

When Isobel emerged from her room a little later her belly was still in knots. Thankfully, when a woman had shown Isobel to her room she’d seen that she wasn’t expected to share with Rafael. But the evidence that he was sticking to his word wasn’t making her feel any less threatened.

The woman appeared again, seemingly out of nowhere, and shyly took Isobel out to a terraced area at the back of the house. Isobel had put on loose-fitting wide trousers and a similarly loose top. She felt covered up and safe, unaware of how the luxuriousness of the fabric clung to her body provocatively.

Her trepidation spiked when she took in the nonchalant figure of Rafael, surveying his empire, hands in pockets, looking out over the beautiful lake at the bottom of the lush lawn. It suddenly hit home, in these beautiful and rarefied surroundings, that she was a trophy wife, joining her disgustingly powerful and wealthy husband for pre-dinner drinks, dressed to please him.

The scene was so reminiscent of what she’d witnessed growing up that Isobel felt nauseous for a second, because she knew how empty it was. A facade. And a part of her couldn’t believe she hadn’t tried harder to get out of it.