Witch's Harvest (23 page)

It seemed a lifetime ago. She said, 'I woke with this pain in my back. But it stopped—for a while.' She sank her teeth into her

lower lip. 'If I'd rested, would it have made any difference?'

He shook his head. 'I think not, Dona Abigail. Often these things are inevitable—nature's way.' He gave her a reassuring smile.

'But you will be as good as new in a few days.' He proffered two tablets and a glass of water. 'Now take these, and rest again.'

She swallowed the tablet obediently, and let the world slip away again.

This time, when she woke, Vasco was stretched out in a chair beside the bed. He was grimy and unshaven with lines of strain

showing clearly in his face. The faint smile he sent her did not reach his eyes.

He said quietly, 'How are you?'

'Better, I think.' Her lips felt dry, and she moistened then with the tip of her tongue. 'Vasco—I'm sorry…'

'You are not to blame,' he said bleakly. 'Perhaps it is even a blessing in disguise.'

If he had struck her, the shock couldn't have been greater.

But she supposed she should have been expecting it. By losing the baby, she had removed the sole reason for their pathetic

excuse of a marriage to continue any longer. And Vasco was signalling without pretence or prevarication that he wanted his

freedom.

She said in a muffled voice, 'I—I'm sure you're right, but I can't quite see it like that—not yet. Maybe in a few days…'

'Maybe.' He gave a weary nod of agreement. 'Jorge assures me you are going to be perfectly well again very soon, Abigail.'

There was a silence, then he added politely, 'I hope the smoke does not trouble you too much?'

'Oh, no.' She forced her mouth into a travesty of a smile. 'Do you think you've managed to get rid of it all?'

'We can only hope,' he said. 'I have no means of knowing yet whether the next crop of mature pods will be affected or not. Only

then can I truly begin to count the cost.' He got to his feet, grimacing. 'But I must not burden you with my troubles.' He lifted her
nerveless hand and brushed it swiftly and meaninglessly with his lips. '
Boa noite
, Abigail.'

She watched the dressing-room door close behind him, then turned over, burying her face convulsively in the pillow. She had

thought, for a little while, that the way he had spoken to her in the plantation had bordered on tenderness. But it had just been

concern for the baby, after all. Nothing for herself.

And now there was no baby, he wanted to be rid of her and install Della, his real love, in her place.

Looked at objectively, she supposed it was the ideal solution to the entire situation. But she couldn't be objective now that she

was actually faced with the reality of being sent away. The ache of emptiness in her body bore no comparison to the wrenching

emotional pain she was experiencing.

Couldn't Vasco have spared her for a few days— at least until she was back on her feet again, she thought, her hands balling

into small, tight fists. Or did he think it was better to be cruel to be kind, and leave her in no doubt about his plans for the future?

The residue of Dr Arupa's tablets ensured that she slept for at least part of the night. She felt well enough to get up the next day,
but Ana would not hear of it. Instead she coaxed Abby into a fresh nightgown, and brushed her hair until it shone, tying it back

with a lemon ribbon to match her gown.

Abby found all these refinements unnecessary, and was tempted to say so, but she was glad she hadn't protested, when Ana

opened the door a little later and ushered Luisa into the room.

There was an edge to the smile she bestowed on Abby. 'I am so sorry to learn you are indisposed, Dona Abigail, and the cause. I

had no idea…' she added, and paused, looking genuinely embarrassed.

'The grapevine must have broken down,' Abby said quietly. 'It's—kind of you to visit me.'

'I had intended to call anyway, to say goodbye.' Luisa nodded. 'Yes, it is true. Gerulito is returning to the life he is fitted for, and I
am going with him. After all,' she added with a sigh, 'there is nothing to keep me here now.'

'Since the death of your husband, of course,' Abby said politely.

She saw Luisa's eyes flicker for a moment, then the other woman gave vent to a little, artificial laugh. 'Of course,' she echoed.

There was another silence, then Luisa asked, 'And you, Dona Abigail, when will you be leaving Riocho Negro?'

So the rumours had begun already, Abby thought grimly. She said, 'Nothing's been actually decided yet.'

'
Noão
?' Luisa paused artistically. 'Yet I understood from Vasco… I must have been mistaken.' She examined her immaculate
fingernails. 'But to leave is a sensible decision. You have a saying in England, I think—to flog a dead horse.' She shrugged.

'Why should one wish to?'

'Why indeed?' Abby agreed. 'I presume that's your own conclusion, too.'

There was another loaded pause, then Luisa rose. '
Adeus
, Dona Abigail. We shall not, I think, meet again.' She kissed the tips of
her fingers to Abby. 'And accept my condolences once again. Although Vasco must, in the circumstances, be relieved he has

not an extra mouth to feed, after all.'

Abby watched her sweep to the door, wishing with all her heart that the laws of hospitality didn't forbid her to fell her parting

guest with a water carafe.

It hurt to know that Vasco had even hinted to Luisa that Abby's time at Riocho Negro was strictly limited. But at least he had left
Luisa herself in no doubt that she had nothing to hope for from him, and that had to be a slight consolation, thought poor Abby.

The day passed with appalling slowness, punctuated by visits from the servants with little trays of appetising delicacies,

including her favourite poached chicken breasts.

They were trying so hard to comfort her for the loss of the baby, Abby realised gratefully. What they didn't yet know, of course,

was that she didn't simply have a miscarriage to mourn, but the shattering of her entire life. And she found herself wondering

how they would fare under Della's autocracy.

The day passed slowly, and was succeeded by another and gradually the pall of smoke began to lift from Riocho Negro.

Vasco visited her punctiliously morning and evening asking politely and conventionally how she was, to which she would reply

brightly and conventionally that she was feeling better all the time.

It wasn't a total lie. Her body was recovering as rapidly from its trauma as Dr Arupa had predicted, and he was delighted with her
progress.

'I shall miss my visits here,' he announced one morning, as they drank coffee together on the veranda. 'But I really have no

excuse to continue them. It is time you put this setback completely behind you, Dona Abigail, and got on with your life.'

Abby tried to return his smile. 'I still get rather depressed at times.'

'Of course, that is only natural.' He patted her hand. 'But that will pass. What you need is another baby, and as soon as possible,
as I have told Vasco.'

Abby swallowed. 'You—did?'

'
Sim
,' he said cordially. 'He was obviously concerned that you should be totally restored to health before…' He paused
delicately. 'So I was glad to be able to put his mind at rest.'

She felt as if all her facial muscles had tightened unbearably. Vasco had not, during the past days, given the impression of

someone seeking peace of mind. The courtesy he had invariably shown her was only a facade. Beneath it, Abby sensed both

wariness and tension in his dealings with her.

She bit her lip. And she could imagine his inner reaction to the doctor's jovial suggestion that they should have another child.

He had been sleeping in the dressing-room since the day she had lost the baby, and there had been not the slightest hint that

this arrangement would ever be altered while she remained at Riocho Negro.

He was distancing himself, she had come to realise, for the inevitable confrontation.

She waved goodbye to the doctor and came back up the veranda steps. Don Afonso croaked '
Bom dia
' at her, and gave vent to
one of his menacing cries. Then for the first time, he flapped his wings and stretched out his neck, indicating that he was

prepared to allow Abby to tickle him gently. Usually Vasco was the only person permitted such intimacies.

She sighed. 'Oh, Don Afonso,' she whispered, 'are you making friends with me at last, just when I'm leaving?'

She stared around her as she smoothed his feathers. Vasco's domain, she thought sadly, his little kingdom in which she had

never been more than a usurper.

She lifted her head. But she would not be sent packing, she vowed silently. Somehow she would find the strength to walk away,

as she had intended, her flags flying and her pride intact.

She was certain none of the servants had been within earshot of the veranda while she had been talking to Dr Arupa, yet dinner

that night had embarrassing overtones of celebration. Rosa had added an extra course, and made some deliciously elaborate,

tongue-tingling sauce to go with the duck which was the centrepiece of the meal.

In spite of her inner turmoil, Abby found she was eating ravenously. Comfort eating, they called it, she thought, as she sat back,
replete, and something she would have to watch when she was alone again, or she would end up like a small barrel.

Afterwards they sat on the veranda, while moths swooped around the lamp on the table. Abby was aware her hand was shaking

as she poured the coffee. Vasco had lit another cheroot, which seemed an ominous sign, or was she simply being hysterical?

she wondered.

At last he said quietly, 'Abby, I am told by Jorge that you are now well again, so it is time we talked seriously together. We are
confronted by a situation which needs some harsh decisions and…'

'And you're going to tell me what you've decided.' Her voice was pitched a little higher than usual.

'No,' he contradicted sharply. 'We need to talk-to think what is best…'

'You said this before,' Abby reminded him, 'before you went to—to Manaus. But when you came back there was no discussion.

You—imposed your own solution on us both.' She took a deep, deep breath. 'That—isn't going to happen again, Vasco. I've

already decided what I want.'

'Which is?'

'To leave Riocho Negro.' She kept her voice steady by a supreme effort. 'To go back to England.'

'Alone—or to meet your lover?'

For a moment she was silent, almost stunned. The question had sounded negligent, and it was impossible to read the

expression on Vasco's face as he was leaning back in his chair, his face hidden by shadows.

Did he really think, in spite of everything that had happened, that she was still running to Link? Or did he merely want to think

so, to salve his own conscience where she was concerned, because if she was going to another man he wouldn't feel so guilty

about sending her away?

Anger mingled with the hurt inside her. Well, she was damned if she was going to offer that kind of let-out.

She said quietly, 'I have no firm plans yet.'

'I see.' There was a long silence, then he said, almost grimly, 'It seems you have already guessed what I wanted to say to you.'

Abby looked down at her hands, twisted together in her lap, at the dull golden gleam of her wedding ring.

She said, 'Yes, I've known all along. It's—not the kind of thing you can keep secret, apparently. And if I'd been left in any doubt,
Luisa would have settled it for me.'

'Luisa?' He leaned forward, his face set. 'What has she to do with this?'

'More than you think.' She forced herself to smile. 'And you can't imagine I'd want to remain here any longer—in the

circumstances.'

'It does not seem to matter what I think,' he said harshly. 'I have been wrong, apparently, from the beginning.' He added almost

mockingly, 'I did not realise,
querida
that you had such a practical approach to life.'

His tone did not deceive her. Instinct told her that he was furiously angry. Clearly, his masculine pride had been dinted by her

apparent readiness to walk away.

'I also have feelings,' she said evenly. 'Something you seem to have overlooked. I'm not a cipher to be constantly manipulated in

any way you think.'

'Is that the impression I have given?' Vasco sounded genuinely horrified. 'Abigail, I promise it is not true…'

'Then you should have let me leave a few weeks ago, when I wanted to,' she said stonily. 'Instead of—riding rough-shod over

my wishes as you did.'

There was another silence, then he said. 'But you know why that was. It was a situation—imposed on both of us. I would not

have chosen…'

'And nor would I,' Abby interrupted fiercely. 'Well, the situation has now changed drastically in every way, and I want out, Vasco

—and the sooner the better!'