The Sanchez Tradition. Anne Mather
Читать онлайн книгу.
‘The letter from his solicitors, then,’ amended Ramon.
‘I’ve had no letter!’ exclaimed Rachel, shaking her head. ‘No—no letter at all.’ She frowned. ‘What was in this letter?’
Ramon looked sceptical. ‘You don’t know?’
Rachel clenched her fists. ‘If I did, would I be asking?’
‘You might. You might have thought of some clever ploy to thwart André’s plans!’
‘Plans? What plans?’ Rachel got to her feet. ‘I tell you I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ramon. I wish I did. At least if I’d had a letter from him—or his solicitors—I would have known where to find him.’
‘I doubt it. André’s whereabouts are not for publication.’
Rachel drew herself up to her full height of five feet six, and gripped her purse tightly. ‘I’ll ask you for the last time, Ramon. What is this all about?’
Ramon chewed his lip, studying her thoughtfully, as though trying to decide whether or not to believe her. Then he lifted his shoulders and said: ‘Sit down, Rachel.’
Rachel shook her head. ‘I prefer to stand, thank you.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, sit down,’ he snapped. ‘All right, all right, so you’ve had no letter. Why are you here?’
‘That’s my business!’
‘You’re not prepared to tell me?’
‘No. It’s a private matter I want to discuss with André.’
Ramon heaved a sigh. ‘I doubt very much whether André will see you, whether he believes you received his letter or not,’ he replied. ‘He’s finally gotten you out of his system. I don’t think he will wish to admit you even to his thoughts again.’
Rachel’s colour deepened. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’
Ramon smote his fist on the table. ‘Don’t play the innocent with me, Rachel. Five years ago my brother wanted to kill you!’
Rachel shivered again. ‘But he didn’t!’
‘No, but he damn near killed himself!’ muttered Ramon furiously. ‘God, what am I doing, sitting here talking with you? I ought to just have you ejected from the club!’
Rachel shook her head. ‘I still want to see André!’
Ramon got to his feet. ‘All right, I’ll tell him you’re here. Where are you staying?’
Rachel ran her tongue over her dry lips. ‘Couldn’t I see him tonight? It’s—it’s rather urgent!’
Ramon stared at her. ‘No. No chance!’
Rachel twisted her fingers together. ‘Couldn’t you make a concession?’ she exclaimed bitterly. ‘You don’t know what happened five years ago, you only think you do! And I have feelings, too, you know!’
‘Feelings? Feelings?’ Ramon was harsh. ‘You don’t know the meaning of the word!’
‘I do—I do!’ Rachel’s voice almost broke on a sob, but she fought it back. ‘All right, warn your big brother—tell him I’m here! Give him time to put extra bodyguards about him! I don’t care! Just so long as I get to see him!’
Ramon reached for a cigar from the box on the desk. ‘I can’t promise anything. Whatever you’re here for, this is the wrong time to choose.’
Rachel suddenly remembered the solicitor’s letter. ‘The letter?’ she questioned. ‘What was in it?’
Ramon lit his cigar with deliberation. ‘Can’t you guess?’
A chill invaded her bones. ‘Not—not—a divorce?’ she asked, almost knowing then that the question was unnecessary.
‘How astute you are!’ he mocked coldly. ‘Now do you see how hopeless your chances are?’
She turned away, breathing swiftly. This was something she had grown out of the habit of considering. Five years ago it had seemed a possibility, a very real possibility, but as the years passed and there was no word, she had begun to accept her strange marriage as lasting. The money had always been there, the first of the month on the dot, and if there had been no communication except through solicitors, she had accepted that, too. She had had her dreams, of course, and in all honesty she had acquired a kind of unsatisfied curiosity about him, but so long as the ties were there, a thread of contact had remained to strengthen her. She didn’t know what she had expected to happen in the years to come. Perhaps she had imagined circumstances could alter drastically, but now, faced with the blankness of Ramon’s statement, she felt bereft, desolate, and utterly alone.
She gripped the back of the chair for support, her mind buzzing with the complications this could instigate. Her task was made doubly difficult, and doubly humiliating.
‘Are you all right?’ Ramon had come round the desk to join her, looking at her anxiously. ‘You really didn’t know, did you?’
Rachel shook her head, not trusting herself to speak, and Ramon released her cold fingers from the back of the chair, and put her into it instead. Then he walked across to the cabinet and mixed her a drink, bringing it back and putting it firmly into her chilled fingers. ‘Go on,’ he said commandingly. ‘Drink it!’
Rachel raised the glass to her lips. It was brandy and the raw spirit caught her throat, causing her to cough convulsively for a moment. Then she recovered and sipped a little more, silently. Ramon studied her thoughtfully, and then when she had finished the drink took the glass from her. Replacing it on the tray, he said: ‘Do you feel better now?’
Rachel looked up, a little of the colour returning to her pale cheeks. ‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.
Ramon uttered an exclamation and went down on his haunches beside her, taking one of her cold little hands in two of his and warming it gently. ‘Oh, Rachel,’ he murmured huskily, ‘what am I going to do with you?’
Rachel’s green eyes slanted a little mischievously. This was the Ramon she had known so well and with whom she had shared so many happy hours, escaping from the bars that bound her inside that golden cage.
‘What would you like to do with me?’ she asked teasingly. ‘Drop me over the balcony rails on to the rocks below?’
Ramon shook his head impatiently, bending his mouth to her palm even as an outer door opened without warning and a man and a woman came into the room. Immediately Ramon straightened, dropping Rachel’s hand like a hot coal as his eyes met those of the man who had just entered.
Rachel’s eyes widened, too, and the colour drained from her face for a second time. With or without Ramon’s assistance, she had met André Sanchez at last.
There was absolute silence in the room for several seconds, all of which seemed like aeons to Rachel and during the space of those few seconds she looked again on the man who was her husband and whom she had not seen for the past five years. André Sanchez was all she remembered him to be and more, tall and lean and dark and painfully attractive. His tanned skin was darkened further by the long sideburns he wore, and the ravens-wing blackness of his hair lay thick and smooth against his well-shaped head. He was perhaps thinner than she remembered and at forty years of age there were several strands of grey amongst the darkness at his temples. But physically he looked years younger, the dinner suit he was wearing with such ease and assurance accentuating his leanness. His eyes were the only light thing about him, being of a particularly clear shade of blue, while lines etched either side of his mouth drew attention to the sensual curve of his lower lip. Rachel felt a quiver of awareness run through her body, and a sense of incredulity that she should ever have dared to defy this man. He appeared so arrogant, so invincible; so much the master of his fate.
Ramon spoke first as Rachel’s eyes moved to the