Her Latin Lover (Contemporary Romance) (7 page)

“Who is she?” Mary asked pointing at the portrait. The other woman seemed to understand her question, but Mary couldn’t follow her answer. However, she did catch the word “esposa”, which sounded a bit like the word “spouse”, so Mary guessed that this was Paulo’s wife. “Esposa de Don Paulo?” she asked.

“Si, Si!” the woman responded, looking pleased that Mary understood.

“Isabella?” Mary asked, pointing again at the picture of the woman in the beautiful dress who bore an uncanny resemblance to herself.

“Isabella? No!” the other woman laughed, “Soy Isabella,” she said, pointing to herself. “Esta es Clara de Santa Maria,” she said, lowering her voice as if she was saying the name of a saint.

Mary was thoroughly confused. She realised that the woman who stood next to her was the “wonderful Isabella” that Paulo had mentioned and she understood that the woman in the painting was someone called Clara, probably Paulo’s wife, but Paulo hadn’t mentioned her and where was his wife now? She tried asking Isabella, but Isabella didn’t understand what she was saying and Mary didn’t understand any of her responses. However, as they ascended the grand central staircase, Mary did know one thing for certain: it was creepy that this man Paulo had befriended a look-a-like of his wife, a look-a-like that was now staying in his house.

Chapter 6

Don Paulo finally returned to the hacienda several hours later. Mary was standing on the balcony outside her room admiring the stunning view when she saw his jeep come up the long driveway. He brought the vehicle to a gradual halt near the front of the house and stepped out. The other two men climbed out of the back carrying their rifles over their shoulders. All three of them walked slowly towards the house in silence with their hands hanging down. It was clear that things had not gone well. Mary waved, but none of them looked up. She guessed that they had been forced to put down the injured horse. A dead horse seemed to be a bad omen for her stay on the estate.

It was another hour before Mary heard a knock on her door. By this time, she had washed and changed and expected that Paulo had done the same. She ran to open her bedroom door, but instead of seeing a freshly dressed Paulo, she saw Isabella wearing the same plain, navy dress, carrying a tray of food. Isabella said something incomprehensible and placed the tray on the table next to the balcony window.

The room that Mary was in was light and spacious with a huge double bed in one corner, a chaise longue, a dressing table, two wardrobes, which were more than adequate for her sparse number of outfits, an armchair and a small side table with a couple of chairs around it. Off to one side, through a blue wooden door, was a white-tiled bathroom with a large roll-top bath in the centre. If it had been a hotel, it would have been described as a luxury suite.

After Isabella set down the tray, she smiled and walked out of the room, shutting the door behind her. For one moment, Mary half expected her to lock it. She went to the door and turned the handle. It opened. She looked outside and down the long, shadowy corridor, but there was no sign of Isabella or anyone else.

Not too sure what else to do, Mary sat down by the balcony, ate the food that had been brought to her and drank the small carafe of red wine that had come with it. The food and wine were delicious, but Mary found it hard to enjoy them, sitting on her own in a strange house as darkness descended around her. By the time she finished her meal, it was pitch black outside. She went and stood on the balcony and listened. She could hear nothing but the sound of crickets and other small, unknown animals. After the constant noise of London and then the town square in Corazon, it was eerily quiet. She looked at her watch. It was only seven o’clock, still early evening, especially by South American standards, where many people considered midnight to be relatively early. Mary decided to go downstairs and look for Paulo.

She opened her bedroom door and looked up and down the dark corridor. Nothing. She walked towards the sweeping staircase and slowly made her way down. The stairs creaked with every step she took. The sound echoed around her and through the cavernous hallway below. The only light came from two white candles which burned on a table in the entrance directly in front of the portrait of the woman. Mary walked towards the painting and stopped in front of it. The burning candles on the table gave it the appearance of a shrine to the Virgin Mary, similar to the ones she had seen by the roadside in the villages. What kind of woman burned candles in front of a picture of herself and where was she now? Mary decided to head off in search of Paulo’s wife and Paulo himself to get some answers.

After walking through several dark rooms, she finally saw a light coming from underneath a closed door at the end of a narrow corridor. She went towards it and placed her hand on the cold metal door handle. She was just about to turn it when she heard someone talking inside. She put her ear to the door and heard the unmistakable tone of Paulo’s deep, sexy voice though she couldn’t understand a word he was saying. Glad to have found him at last, she knocked, opened the door and stepped inside.

She found herself in a small study. The walls were lined with books, many of them leather-bound. On the floor was a dark red, oriental-looking carpet and on it was a heavy wooden desk. The whole room could have been something out of another century if it hadn’t been for the computer on the desk and the mobile phone in Paulo’s hand.

He looked up at her, muttered something into his phone in Spanish and switched it off. With a quick movement of the computer mouse on the desk, he switched off his computer screen as well. “What do you want?” he demanded.

“How’s the horse?” Mary asked in return. She knew she had intruded on something, but now that she was here, she didn’t feel she could just turn around and walk out again.

“Dead. We had to shoot it.” Paulo said.

“What happened?”

“Javier and Carlos were out exercising the horses. Javier was riding Santos when a car drove past and tried to run him down. Both of the horse’s front legs were broken. We couldn’t save him.”

“But who would want to kill your friend, Javier?” Mary had a feeling that she knew the answer before she even finished her question.

“El Leon, or rather one of his men. They weren’t trying to kill Javier; they were after Santos, the horse. El Leon knows he’s my finest stallion and one of the best horses in the country. It’s a terrible thing to have to shoot a horse like that.”

“El Leon wanted to kill your horse! Why? Was he scared that your horse would beat one of his horses in a race?”

“No, it was nothing like that. He did it because I took you away from him, so now he has taken something away from me.”

“But I wasn’t his in the first place!” The idea that she belonged to anyone was ridiculous, much less the idea that she belonged to some sick, murderous mafia boss.

“It is not what you, Mary, personally believe or know that counts, but rather what this man perceives to be true.” His phone rang again. Paulo looked at the number. “I’m sorry, I must take this. Did Isabella bring you some dinner?”

Mary nodded. She was just about to ask him who Isabella was and when she was going to meet his wife, when Paulo wished her good night and started talking into his phone with his back turned to her. Mary took the hint and left.

The next morning, she was woken up by Isabella knocking on her door again, this time with a tray full of breakfast things and strong, black coffee. Mary thanked her and began to eat the food that Isabella had set down in her room. She wondered why Isabella was bringing all her meals to her room. Was Paulo trying to avoid seeing her, or was it his wife? She couldn’t complain about the way she was being treated, as staying in Paulo’s hacienda was certainly better than having to stay at the dirty hotel in Corazon with the creepy Señor Marcos, but it was hardly the wild romantic escape that she had secretly hoped for. In fact, the more she thought about it, the more annoyed she became about the fact that not only had she hardly seen Paulo since she arrived the day before, but also she had been treated almost like a prisoner in her room. If he was married, she could hardly expect him to sweep her off her feet, but at least he could share mealtimes with her and introduce her to his wife. By the time Mary had finished breakfast, showered and dressed, she had decided that if Paulo wasn’t going to introduce Mary to his wife, she would do it herself. This time she would look through the entire house until she found the woman who looked so much like her.

However, the entire house appeared to be empty. Through one of the windows, Mary could see Javier and Carlos hanging around outside with a couple of rifles slung across their backs, but indoors it was as quite as a church. Mary opened up doors upstairs and searched through the rooms downstairs. Each one was empty except for the heavy, old-fashioned furniture, rugs and paintings. In the main hallway, the candles had been removed from underneath the painting of Paulo’s elusive wife and a vase of freshly-cut, white roses put in their place. Mary tried looking in the study where she found Paulo the night before. It too was empty; just row after row of books on the shelves. Mary browsed through the worn leather spines. All of the books appeared to be in Spanish. She looked over at the large wooden desk, where Paulo’s computer sat, strangely out of place amongst the other objects.

Mary went back to the study door and checked if anyone was coming. There was no one in sight. The house was silent. She shut the door, walked over to the desk and turned the monitor on. The computer quickly whirred into life. She wasn’t trying to hack into Paulo’s system; whatever he was trying to hide from her last night was his business. She just wanted to get onto the internet and check her emails to see if Nick had responded to her message. It wasn’t that difficult as the computer system didn’t have any form of password protection. In a few minutes Mary was on the internet and typing in her email details. As her emails flashed up on the screen, one of them stood out from all the rest; it was a reply from Nick. Mary held her breath as she clicked on it. The email opened up and she began to read.

“Hi Mary! Sorry about running off like that. I got into a bit of a mess in a poker game with one of the locals and had to get out rather sharpish. I won’t go into the dark details, because you can read all about it for yourself in this weekend’s newspapers, and we’re not talking about the back pages either! Freddie might be a terrible editor, but even he can recognise a great story when it slaps him in the face. At first he was cross because I didn’t come back with the boring coffee exploitation tale that he sent me out to cover, but when I showed him the new story, even he could see that it was so much better. It has sex, gambling, mafia, guns and, best of all, a foreign journalist fleeing the country, desperate for his life. What’s not to love? I just hope he doesn’t send me out to a war zone now! However, after what happened in Latino land, I bet I could talk my way out of any situation.

“Speaking of talking your way out of a situation, guess what I talked my way
into
last night? A golden ticket to the Palace! Kate and Wills are throwing a party this weekend and I managed to get us an invite through my old mate Philip. You remember Philip, don’t you? He’s the bloke who went to Eton with Wills. Change your flight and get back early. You really don’t want to miss this party!

“How are things in Corazon? Sorry about taking the cash, but I remember you said that you had a bit with you and I’ll pay you back, plus 100% interest. I met a great chap that night in the bar, who said he’d help you out, so check with him if you get a bit stuck for a few pesos. He said his name was Don something-or-other. Could you check and let me know? I need the name for my article. It’s the details that make a winning story. Must rush, deadlines are pressing. Love you a bunch! Nick.

“P.S. There’ll be lots of press at the party at the Palace (it has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?) so you might want to pick up something new to wear. Just make sure it isn’t pink as one of my sources says that Kate is planning to wear pink that night and heaven forbid that it looks like you’re trying to copy her. Unlikely, I know, as you are
so much sexier
, but you know what journalists are like!”

“I know exactly what journalists are like!” Mary said to the computer screen glaring in front of her. “Nick, we’re finished!” she typed in reply, her fingers smashing against the keyboard as she did so. She clicked “Send”, shut down her email account and felt a huge sense of relief. She was rid of him and his stupid, self-centred behaviour at last. She should have done it a long time ago. Who cared that he was going to a fancy party at the Palace? It would just be filled with self-important sycophants, each one of them jostling for a place nearest the Royals. Nick could keep his stupid party invite.

“What are you doing?” It was Paulo standing in the doorway of the study looking at her in horror.

“Something I should have done ages ago. I’m telling that stupid bastard to get lost.” Mary replied.

“You shouldn’t do that. You have no idea what he can do.”

“I don’t care. He can’t control me or tell me what to do and you can’t either!” Mary pushed past him and left the room.

Paulo didn’t bother to pursue her. Instead he moved round to where Mary had been sitting and looked at the computer. The screen was blank, but Mary had obviously seen the messages from El Leon. First, the thug had sent Paulo messages about his horse and how he had reduced the magnificent stallion to nothing better than dog meat. Paulo had just finished reading it the night before when Mary had walked into his study. However, the messages then got much worse, as they described in sickening detail exactly what El Leon planned to do to Mary once he got hold of her. No wonder she looked upset when Paulo saw her just now, sitting in front of his computer reading them. He should have deleted the emails, especially the final message which showed a series of extremely violent, pornographic pictures with images of Mary’s face crudely superimposed on them. They had turned Paulo’s stomach when he saw them the previous evening and he had been running around ever since trying to work out what he was going to do. He knew that El Leon did not make idle threats, nor was he someone that could be reasoned with and although Mary was certainly much safer in his house than in the town, Paulo could not keep her under lock and key.