Who Rides A Tiger

Eventually they emerged from the side streets into a wide avenue of trees, and he drove along this towards a park at the far end. Near the park were several blocks of luxury apartments, and it was into the forecourt of one of these apartment buildings that he drove. He halted the car, pocketed the keys, and helped Dominique out. She looked up at the block fearfully, and then at Vincente.

‘Come,’ he said, and she had no choice but to follow him.

Inside several lifts transported the tenants to their assigned destination, and it was into one of these that he drew her. He pressed the button for the penthouse, and the lift shot up silently. Dominique barely had time to collect herself before they were stepping out into a wide carpeted hall. Vincente closed the lift doors, pressed a button, and it glided away. Then he took Dominique’s arm and led her towards double panelled doors.

Producing his keys, he flung open one of the doors, and gently urged her inside. When he switched on the lights, Dominique just stood and stared. She had never seen such luxury in all her life.

Shallow steps led down into the body of the room on to a floor that was tiled in mosaic of blue and gold, an iridescent kind of mosaic that glinted in the artificial lights. Skin rugs adorned this floor, echoed in the seats of deep armchairs which were otherwise made of black leather. Almost a whole wall had been given over to a window that gave a panoramic view of the city, fitted with a venetian blind that could be adjusted to admit light but not the dazzling sunshine. Tonight it was open and even from the doorway Dominique could see the shimmering lights below them. Long golden curtains hung at the windows also, and several lamps in a very contemporary design provided oases of brilliance. And yet in spite of its opulence Dominique thought it was a very attractive room, and one in which one could completely relax. Up here, away from the noise and bustle of the street, it was like being in the air-conditioned cabin of an airliner.

Then she became conscious of Vincente Santos again, as he closed the door and walked ahead of her down the steps and into the room.

‘Well?’ he said, somewhat mockingly. ‘What do you think?’

Dominique stiffened. ‘It’s beautiful, of course. But you don’t need me to tell you that.’

‘Agreed. However, I would like your honest opinion.’

‘That is my honest opinion. Can we go now?’

‘Madre de Dios!’ he swore angrily. ‘Relax, damn you! I’m not a monster. This is my apartment.’

‘I gathered that.’ Dominique hovered by the door.

‘Then come and sit down.’

‘I’d rather not.’

‘Why not?’

‘If – if John knew I was here – well – obviously he wouldn’t like it.’

Vincente stared at her incredulously, and then he burst out laughing. ‘Oh, God!’ he exclaimed, at last. ‘You knew your inestimable fiancе would not care for you to spend an evening in my company long before you left the hotel, didn’t you?’

Dominique flushed. ‘So?’

‘So you took that risk and here you are!’

‘What do you mean?’

Vincente loosened his tie and pulled it off. ‘What do you think I mean?’

‘I warn you, Mr. Santos, my fiancе—’ she began hastily, glancing round at the door.

‘Oh, grow up!’ he muttered in disgust. ‘Contrary to your beliefs, I do not attempt to seduce every female that comes within my orbit.’

‘Then why have you brought me here?’

He shrugged. ‘To talk to you.’

Dominique looked sceptical. ‘About what?’

‘You.’ He removed his jacket. ‘Come and sit down. It’s hot, and you must be feeling the heat. Come on. Take it easy. Play it as it comes. Stop trying to anticipate something that may never happen.’

Dominique heaved a sigh. Obviously the whole of this floor was leased by him. What chance would she have if he decided to take advantage of her? He had sent the lift away. She would not have time to summon it as a means of escape. She might as well accept that for the moment she had been foolish enough to place herself within his power.

As though aware of what thoughts were passing through her mind he said: ‘No, you can’t escape, so you might as well enjoy it. Come and sit down. I’ll make you a drink.’

Dominique ventured down the steps and seated herself in one of the armchairs with the leopardskin seats. They were superbly comfortable, and she wriggled back comfortably, wishing she could kick off her shoes and relax completely. But that would have been like betraying herself, and she had no intention of doing that.

He handed her a drink, flung himself into a chair opposite and offered her a cigarette. When they were both lighted, he said:

‘There, it’s not so bad, is it?’

‘Why have you brought me here, Mr. Santos?’

‘Make it Vincente,’ he said easily. ‘Mr. Santos sounds ridiculous when you consider our situation. And your name is Dominique. I like it. It suits you.’

The way he said it, with a faintly foreign inflection, made it sound different from the way she had heard it before, and she liked it.

‘Tell me, Mr. Santos,’ she said, ignoring his edict, ‘why did you come back to the hotel tonight?’

‘I was curious.’

‘About me?’

‘Hmm. You intrigued me. You’re frankly not the sort of woman I would have thought would find a man like Harding attractive.’

Dominique was staggered. He made outrageous remarks sound so ordinary.

‘You don’t know anything about me,’ she exclaimed annoyedly.

‘Don’t I?’ He drew on his cigarette lazily. ‘I know you are what Sophia said you are – young and unsophisticated. Such a combination is a novelty to me. The women of my acquaintance acquire knowledge at a very early age.’

‘Don’t you mean experience?’ asked Dominique tautly.

He shrugged. ‘If you like,’ he agreed equably.

He swallowed the remainder of his drink and left his seat to get another. As he did so, Dominique’s eyes were drawn to a photograph on the low table nearby. It was the picture of a girl of perhaps nineteen or twenty. She was very attractive with short black curly hair and a small heart-shaped face. She wondered who it was a photograph of. Certainly it bore no resemblance to the woman Sophia.

He turned from the cocktail cabinet and intercepted her interest. ‘And what thoughts are penetrating your devious little mind now?’ he asked, a little harshly. ‘That is my sister!’

‘Oh!’ Dominique took a sip of her drink. ‘She’s quite beautiful.’

‘Yes, isn’t she?’ His mouth twisted sardonically. ‘Beautiful – but unhappy.’

‘Unhappy?’ Dominique looked up.

‘That is perhaps too weak an expression,’ he said bleakly. ‘Devastated is maybe nearer the truth.’