Witch's Harvest (14 page)

Widow can top.'

'I had no idea it would be like this,' Abby confessed. 'Where have all these people come from?'

'You'd be surprised. Those couples over there have flown in, and are staying a couple of days. A few come from the settlement.

That's the local doctor, Jorge Arupa. Have you met him?'

'I haven't met anyone really,' Abby confessed. She paused. 'Except your boss.'

'So I noticed. He was actually smiling, so I guessed he was telling you about the good old days back in Sao Paulo.'

There was an edge of contempt in his voice, and she looked at him gravely.

'It can't be easy for him, having to adjust to this life.'

'He doesn't want to adjust, he just wants out.' Link ran a hand through his hair. 'We just don't operate on the same wavelength, I
guess. I'm into trees, making them grow strong and healthy, and he wants to put up concrete tower blocks.' He gave her a rueful

look. 'If they decide to build a new Brasilia right here, he'll be in his element!'

He paused. 'But let me introduce you around a little. After all, everyone wants to meet the bride.'

Abby had been aware of inquisitive glances being cast in her direction, so she allowed Link to lead her round the room. Link's

laconic tones presenting her as the Senhora Dona Abigail da Carvalho seemed to bring it home to her at last that, however

unwanted, she was Vasco's wife. And she was glad that she'd taken such trouble with her appearance. She couldn't compete

with the sheer flamboyance of Luisa's style, but it was balm to her spirit to see the admiration in the men's eyes, and the

surprised approval of the scattering of women in the room.

'Welcome to Riocho Negro, Dona Abigail.' It was Dr Arupa now, taking over from Link. He was a tall, bluff-looking man with a

curling black beard, and he smiled at her with intense kindness. 'Now that you have come among us, perhaps some of our other

bachelors will be persuaded to follow Vasco's example. How do you find our climate?'

She began to answer, then paused, aware of a stir of activity at the other end of the room, where long tables bore a

bewilderingly lavish assortment of buffet food. Two servants were wheeling in a trolley bearing a cake, alight with candles.

There was laughter and applause, and Abby had no difficulty in realising who was the centre of all the attention. It was Vasco,

his gaze meeting hers across the room with smiling wry ness.

And the significance of the party burst on her full force when the guests began singing lustily to the unmistakable tune of

'Happy Birthday to You'.

Abby wanted nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow her. It was Vasco's birthday, and she hadn't even

guessed! She could understand why the servants at the
fazenda
had been so put out now. They'd been expecting a celebration
of their own.

Her smile felt as if it had been nailed there. Oh, why hadn't Vasco said something—given some hint? Luisa was presenting him

with a box tied up with ribbons, whereas she, who was supposed to be married to him, hadn't even wished him many happy

returns! It brought home to her quite poignantly just how much of an outsider she was.

'It is generous of you to share Vasco with us on such a personal occasion, Dona Abigail.' Luisa's voice reached her

mellifluously. 'Have you already given him your gift, or do you wish to make your presentation now?'

Everyone was smiling, looking at Abby expectantly, but she was looking back at Luisa, seeing the mocking challenge in her

eyes.

She knows, she thought numbly. She knows I hadn't the least idea it was his birthday, and she's going to let me stand here with

egg on my face, so that everyone else knows too.

Vasco said calmly, 'You are quite right, my dear Luisa. Abigail has already made me a gift.' He walked across the room to Abigail,
took her hand, and lifted it to his lips. 'The most precious gift a wife can make to her husband,' he added, smiling down into her
eyes.

There was a burst of laughter, and some clearly ribald remarks from a few masculine voices.

Luisa's brows rose. 'But how romantic,' she said. 'Are we permitted to know the nature of this gift?'

Vasco's arm slid round Abby's rigid waist, drawing her against him. 'You must forgive me. Some secrets are too intimate to be

shared, even with one's friends.'

Abby stared at the floor, feeling the hot colour riot into her cheeks. She supposed she should be grateful to him, for offering an
explanation that even Luisa would not dare to question, but how could she be when he'd let them think that—that… She didn't

even want to consider what they might be thinking, she thought in an agony of embarrassment.

Vasco had quashed the rumours about their marriage stone dead once and for ail. After tonight, no one would believe that they

weren't involved in a passionate love affair.

She thought desolately, Only I know the truth, and I'm going to have to live with it.

The evening seemed endless. Abby hoped that after supper they would leave. After all, everyone at the party had a full working

day tomorrow, with the usual early start, or so she presumed. But no one seemed in the slightest hurry to depart, least of all

Vasco.

And after supper, some of the Laracoca estate workers appeared on the veranda, formed into a makeshift band, and there was

dancing, Abby finding herself claimed by one partner after another. She had never been in such demand.

But I won't let it go to my head, she told herself in self-derision. If I had a hump and a squint, they'd still be queueing up to dance
with me. I'm a novelty, that's all.

She had also made an enemy. She had looked up at one point in the evening to find Luisa's eyes fixed on her so inimically that

she had felt her whole body shrink.

Just be patient, she thought as she turned away. In a few months I'll be gone. You'd have found Della a much tougher nut to

crack. She could imagine only too well Luisa's fury and frustration when the news of Vasco's impending marriage had reached

her. But the course the marriage seemed to be taking must have given her fresh hope—until tonight.

She still couldn't understand what had possessed Vasco to say such things. In the circumstances, she would have thought him

more inclined to give credence to any gossip that the marriage was drifting, in difficulties already, so that the ultimate break

would seem readily believable.

She supposed his masculine pride couldn't allow that, and that was why he had behaved so outrageously. And he'd played up

to his remarks ever since, to her increasing discomfort, insisting she share with him that first slice of birthday cake, lifting his
glass to her in a silent toast whenever he managed to catch her eye, watching her, as she danced past him, as if he could not

bear to let her out of his sight.

And all because he can't bear people to think he isn't the great lover, sweeping his bride off her feet, she thought stormily,

rejecting the discomfiting memory of her reactions on the sole occasion when he had swept her into his arms.

She didn't want to dance any more, or try and converse with people who spoke at best a smattering of English. Dr Arupa was

clearly an excellent linguist, but it was obvious he was already viewing Abby as a future recipient of his services as an

obstetrician, so she was trying to avoid him.

As soon as it was possible, she slipped away from the party on the pretext of looking for a bathroom. And she didn't hurry back.

The rest of the house betrayed the same love of opulence as the
sala de estar
. Yet it hardly seemed appropriate here in the back
of beyond. It was a showplace, but apart from these occasional parties there was no one to show it to.

'Want a guided tour?' Link appeared suddenly in the passage beside her, making her jump.

'No.' Abby hesitated. 'I'm sorry, I must seem horribly nosy.'

'Not at all.' He shrugged. 'It's all here to be looked at. I often look at it myself,' he added drily. 'Just adding up what it's cost the
plantation in the past year.' He saw Abby's surprised look, and shook his head. 'No, lady, it wasn't always like this. When

Senhor Gonzaga was alive, he made sure the plantation profits were ploughed back into the land. He and Vasco were

instrumental in getting government money put into the infrastructure round here, and hell-bent on improving the size and

quality of their crop. It was a pity João didn't live to see his dream come true.' He paused. 'On the other hand, maybe it's a good
thing he can't see what his grieving widow and his brother have been doing to the place. Every handwoven rug, every imported

lamp and silk curtain represents some cut-back— workers fired because they're not prepared to meet the wages bill, the

pruning programme halved, equipment allowed to rot away. Need I go on?' He took her arm. 'Come in here a moment.'

It was a small, cramped room, reduced even more in size by the large littered desk, and filing cabinets spilling their contents.

Link walked to a cupboard and extracted a bottle and two glasses. He poured two measures and handed her one. 'Bourbon,' he

said succinctly. 'You look as if you could use it, and I know I could.'

It made Abby gasp a little, but as some of it went down she could feel it warming her, removing some of the desolation inside

her.

She looked round, recognising some of the charts and posters on the wall as those she had already studied in the office back at

the
fazenda
. They carried large illustrations of various insects, as well as cacao leaves suffering from different forms of blight.

Link followed her gaze. 'Depressing, aren't they? And most of them alive and flourishing right here at Laracoca. João had

ordered new spraying equipment just before he died. Gerulito's first act as his heir was to cancel it. 'I've been limping by on

what I can scrounge from our neighbours—your own husband included.' He sighed. 'But it isn't enough. At least one hectare is

badly affected by
largatão
already, and there could be more.'

'
Largatão?
' Abby frowned. 'I've never heard of it.'

'It's one of the worst diseases a plantation can get,' Link said grimly. 'They also call it
vassoura de bruxa—
witch's broom to you.'