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Roberto steeled himself to make amends. ‘Before you begin tomorrow, perhaps you would like to explore the gardens—a short walk before your mystery-solving.’
Recognising an olive branch when she saw one, she nodded, smiling. ‘I’d like that very much indeed. And now it’s time I said goodnight.’
‘Your breakfast will be brought to your room. I shall await you here later at nine. Sleep well. Dorme bem, as we say in my country.’
She smiled politely. ‘My first day in Portugal has been so full I’m sure I will. Now I’m here, I can’t imagine why I’ve never been to your country before.’
‘Ah, but Portugal is not minha terra, the land of my birth,’ he informed her. ‘The Quinta das Montanhas is my retreat here in the Minho from time to time, but my family home is in Rio Grande do Sul in the south of Brazil.’ He gave her the graceful bow again. ‘I am a gaucho.’
She had an instant vision of pampas grasslands and cattle herded by men in flat hats and leather breeches. ‘You live on a cattle ranch?’ she asked, secretly impressed.
He nodded. ‘My father is patrao. I rode as soon as I could walk, but long hours in the saddle are not possible for me right now.’ His face darkened as he collected a walking stick to cross the hall with her. ‘You have noticed I limp?’
‘No, I haven’t,’ said Katherine, surprised, with such obvious truth his face relaxed slightly. ‘An accident?’
‘A car crash.’ He shrugged. ‘But, as you see, I survived. Boa noite, Doctor.’
It took a long time to fall asleep in the wide bed. Katherine blamed the bright moonlight for keeping her awake, but the real culprit was Roberto de Sousa. She would have been a lot happier about his electrifying effect on her hormones if her impact on him had been anything remotely similar but, mortifyingly, it had not. She felt deeply curious about the accident that had scarred his face and left him with the limp she hadn’t noticed until he mentioned it. Other than the scarred, handsome face, her first impression of him had been coordination and grace—plus his obvious displeasure that a mere woman had come to pass judgement on his precious artwork. She sighed, praying that the painting was in reasonable enough condition for any kind of identification, let alone the one he hoped for. In one way she wished James Massey had come here to do it. But if he had she wouldn’t have come here to Quinta das Montanhas and met Roberto de Sousa, the most attractive man she’d ever met in her life, scarred and hostile or not.
She smiled suddenly, imagining the reaction if she described the charismatic client and his glorious house to Andrew Hastings. She’d known Andrew only a short time, but already he was displaying character traits which made it unlikely that their relationship, such as it was, would last much longer. Katherine enjoyed male company, but so far in her life had managed to keep her relationships light and undemanding, firmly secondary to her work. Orphaned in her teens, she was long accustomed to full autonomy over her life. Loneliness was no problem because she shared the house inherited from her father with two former college friends, both of them male. The three of them lived separate lives on separate floors of her three storey town house, and Hugh and Alastair paid their landlady good money in rent, but Andrew strongly disapproved of the arrangement and had lately begun urging her to share his house instead. Her obdurate refusal was an ongoing bone of contention between them, and her sudden dash to Portugal on the very day that he had tickets for Glyndebourne had been the last straw. But helping James out had been far more important to Katherine than a performance of The Marriage of Figaro, gala or not. Besides, she had no intention of moving in with a man whose outlook on life was so different from her own.
In spite of her restless night, Katherine woke early. She had showered and dressed in her usual working uniform of jeans and T-shirt and yanked her hair back in its twist by the time a knock on her door heralded the entry of Lidia with a tray.
‘Bom dia, Doutora,’ Lidia announced, beaming. She put the tray on a small table at the window and drew up a chair.
Katherine returned the smile warmly. ‘Good morning, Lidia. Obrigada.’
‘Is enough breakfast, or you like bacon? Eggs?’
Katherine laughed and assured Lidia that the array of crisp rolls and fruit was more than enough. ‘It’s perfect. Thank you.’
The woman smiled, pleased. ‘Eat well. I come back at nine.’
‘Could you ask Jorge to come with you, and take the tripod and work box downstairs?’
‘Pois e. I tell him.’
With time for the kind of breakfast she never bothered with at home, Katherine sat at the open window to eat at her leisure as she looked out on the acres of beautiful gardens. No matter what happened about the painting, she was glad she’d been given the opportunity to see this heavenly place—and make the acquaintance of Roberto de Sousa. The Gaucho, no less. Very sexy.
The man waiting for her on the veranda later, however, looked weary rather than sexy. The shadowed eyes below the tumble of damp curls conveyed pain to Katherine.
‘Bom dia,’ he said as she joined him. ‘You slept well?’
‘Very well, thank you.’
Roberto eyed her tripod and work box with interest. ‘These are for your work?’
She nodded. ‘I take photographs of the painting to record its original condition, and then more shots as I go along. The box contains the various tools and solvents for the preliminary cleaning. This can be a messy process, so I shall need a place to work where I won’t spoil anything. And with bright daylight rather than strong sunlight, if possible.’
He nodded. ‘I shall arrange it. Do you still wish to walk for a while before you start?’
‘Yes, please. I’ve been gazing out over your gardens while I ate breakfast. I’d love to see more.’ And postpone the stress of her first encounter with the painting.
‘Vamos, then.’ He picked up the walking stick leaning against a pillar.
‘Are you sure you feel like a walk today?’ she asked, and regretted it when his mouth tightened.
‘I assure you I can hobble—if that is the word—for a while without falling, Doctor.’
She flushed. ‘I’m sorry—’
‘No! It is I who am sorry.’ He forced a smile. ‘Forgive me. I swam too much this morning and now I pay for it. Come. I will show you the pool.’
On the leisurely stroll they encountered two gardeners, elderly men who looked up with smiles as their employer stopped to have a word with them each time.
‘They were very pleased to see you,’ commented Katherine.
‘They have known me all my life,’ he informed her. ‘Quinta das Montanhas was my mother’s childhood home. Now it is mine.’
Katherine was impressed. ‘Your mother left it to you?’
‘She gave it to me. My mother is still very much alive. But since their marriage, when my father stole her away to live in Rio Grande do Sul, she does not come here often. She dislikes the long flight.’
‘I sympathise with her! The flight from the UK to Oporto was more than enough for me. Oh!’ she said with sudden pleasure, as they turned down another path. ‘A tennis court.’
‘You play?’
‘Yes, though not very well.’
‘Better than I—now,’ he said bitterly.
‘Forgive the personal question,’ she said with caution, ‘but can nothing be done for your limp?’
His mouth twisted. ‘Deus, yes! I do the punishing exercises, a physiotherapist tortures me, I swim and walk every day, and every day it is improving. Eventually, I am assured, I shall be normal. Whatever normal may be,’