Witch's Harvest

‘And I see no reason why you should do any such thing.’ Keith sounded really ruffled. ‘Drink up, and we’ll go somewhere else and leave him to his bender. Whatever’s wrong, he won’t thank you for poking your nose in, believe me.’

‘You don’t know how right you are,’ she muttered.

‘Now look here, Abby.’ Keith’s temper seemed to be deteriorating by the second. ‘Just what’s your connection with this fellow? What’s this letter got to do with it?’

‘I wish I could explain.’ She gave him an appealing glance. ‘But I can’t. Nor can I just—walk away and leave him in this state.’

‘Well, I can,’ he announced grandly. ‘If you persist in interfering, Abby, then you’re on your own. I’m not ruining a pleasant evening by getting into any hassle with some drunk, whoever he happens to be engaged to. You don’t know what you’re taking on.’

‘Then I’m about to find out.’ She sent him an impatient glance. ‘And I’m not asking you to be involved.’

He gave her an outraged look, opened his mouth, closed it again, then turned and stalked away. She couldn’t even feel sorry.

She reached the table and sank down on the bench seat next to him. ‘Vasco,’ she said urgently.

He gave her a long, concentrated stare as if he was having difficulty focusing, as he probably was, she realised, as she counted the empty glasses on the table. Apart from the fact that his silk tie had been loosened and the top button of his shirt undone, his appearance was as immaculate as usual. Only that unwavering gaze, and his too-relaxed posture, gave him away.

‘Ah,’ he said, carefully enunciating each word, ‘the little handmaiden. Que encantamento.’ He reached for his glass, but Abby forestalled him, moving it away.

‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough?’ She was aware her voice was shaking a little.

‘No, senhorita, I do not.’ The smile he gave her was almost limpid, but Abby sensed it masked an abyss of darker, wilder emotions than she had ever dreamed existed. He was angry, but that was only part of it. And although she knew the anger was not directed at her, it hurt as much as if he had lifted his fist and struck her down.

‘It’s nearly closing time,’ she tried again.

‘But they have not yet called last orders,’ he said. ‘See how well I have learned your English customs!’

‘Good for you,’ Abby said grittily, reflecting that this was one custom she would have preferred him not to know. ‘The thing is, I want to get home, and it’s such a hassle finding a taxi after closing time.’

Vasco shrugged. ‘Then go now, and find your taxi.’

‘But I hoped you’d come with me.’

‘Did you, querida?’ he drawled. ‘How flattering of you!’

Abby bit her lip. ‘Please don’t play games, Vasco. You know perfectly well I can’t leave you here like this. Della would never forgive me.’

‘Now there you are wrong, senhorita.’ He removed Abby’s hand from his glass with insulting ease, and drank. ‘My wellbeing is no longer any concern of your cousin.’

‘Oh, God!’ Abby’s throat tightened. ‘Vasco, you mustn’t take any notice of anything she said in that letter. She’s used to having her own way in everything. She doesn’t realise how strongly you feel about Riocho Negro.’

‘Oh yes, she does,’ he said softly. ‘Or she would not have offered me the choice she did. At least we both now know the strength of each other’s feelings on the subject.’

‘Then isn’t that—grounds for negotiation?’ she suggested.

‘Unfortunately, no.’ He lifted his wrist and ostentatiously consulted the thin gold watch he wore. ‘Particularly as, at this very moment, my former namorada is in bed with another man.’

Abby stared at him. ‘That—isn’t amusing!’

‘On that we are in perfect agreement. But it is no joke. The letter you were so good as to bring me made that quite clear. I was informed that unless I telephoned your cousin at some Paris hotel by six-thirty to tell her I had changed my mind, and would be content to make my home with her in Rio, she intended to meet a man called Jeremy Portman and remain in Paris with him. He apparently also wishes to marry her, and give her the kind of life I so heartlessly propose to deny her.’

‘She was bluffing,’ Abby insisted desperately. ‘She must be. I’ve met Jeremy Portman. She doesn’t care about him …’

‘It is not important.’ He lifted his hand. ‘Because, in any case, I would never marry any woman capable of making such a threat.’

‘Oh, Vasco, no! She’s confused—unhappy. She didn’t realise what she was saying—how it would affect you …’

‘She knew.’ His voice was flat, the short syllables sounding like a knell.

Abby tried again. ‘But you love her. You have to forgive her.’

‘If she had loved me in the way that I believed—had been the kind of woman I wanted for my wife, then she could not have behaved in this way,’ he said, the words slurring faintly. ‘Anyway, it is finished. She is in Paris with her lover, and I am going to get another drink. Forgive me if I do not, this time, invite you to join me. I prefer my own company.’

She watched unhappily as he made his way to the bar. He was walking steadily, but she knew he was already near some dangerous limit, although this was probably more emotional than alcoholic.

She was shattered by what he had told her. How totally Della had misjudged him by holding Jeremy Portman, rich, blond, and not over-burdened with brains, over his head. Abby shook her head. How could Della even contemplate marrying a man like that, when she could have Vasco?

Yet it was all too probable she had no such intention. Della undoubtedly had expected Vasco to be on the phone immediately, chastened and contrite, agreeing to everything she wanted.

She could imagine Della’s increasing agitation when zero hour came and went without a word from him. She groaned silently. Her cousin was probably at this minute flying back to seek him out. If so, it looked like a wasted journey, although he might feel differently in the morning, when he’d sobered a little.

She glanced up and saw him returning, drink in hand. He sat down, directing an insolently caustic glance at her.

‘Still here, senhorita? How can I convince you I don’t need a handmaiden?’ The slurring was more evident now, and his tone was an insult, but Abby stayed put.

‘I’ve told you, I don’t like being out on my own at this time of night. And you’re surely not too far gone to find me a cab,’ she said with a matter-of-fact shrug.

The dark eyes glinted ominously at her. ‘So—the quiet mouse can roar when she wishes. If I find you this taxi, will you promise then to leave me in peace?’

‘Of course.’ Abby shrugged again. ‘There’s no point in reasoning with you when you’re in this condition.’

He swallowed what remained in his glass and stood up. ‘Come, then.’

It was cool outside the pub, with a hint of rain in the air. A taxi cruised past as they emerged, and Abby watched anxiously as Vasco advanced to the edge of the kerb to hail it. The fresh air was clearly having an effect on him.

When she got there he was leaning against the side of the cab, eyes closed, a faint beading of sweat on his forehead.

She was about to tell the driver to drive them both to Vasco’s flat, but then she thought of the lift, the long corridor to negotiate, possibly having to search his pockets for the key, and her heart quailed. Hastily she gave her own address instead.

‘What’s the matter with him?’ the driver jerked a thumb at Vasco. ‘As if I couldn’t guess,’ he added grimly. ‘I’m not taking him in that condition.’

‘Oh, please,’ Abby said urgently. ‘He—he’ll be all right, I swear he will.’ She hesitated. ‘I’ll pay you double fare if you’ll take him.’

‘Not necessary,’ the driver said. ‘As long as you understand, if he’s ill, I’m going to dump the pair of you, no matter where we are.’

Abby nodded. ‘Agreed,’ she said, then hesitated. ‘Could you—help me with him, please?’

‘Gawd help us!’ grumbled the driver, but he left his seat.