One Night in... Rio: The Brazilian Millionaire's Love-Child / Virgin Mistress, Scandalous Love-Child / The Surgeon's Runaway Bride. Anne Mather
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wooden heels of her sandals clattered across the block floor, before the sound of a door closing cut off any further sound.
At once, Sancha took charge. ‘E por aqui,’ she said, her beckoning finger an indication of what she meant. With Isobel following, they passed beneath the arch of the stairs and out onto the veranda at the back of the villa.
After the coolness of the hall, the heat and humidity were intense, and Isobel wondered where the old woman was taking her. A cottage in the grounds, perhaps? Maybe employees of whatever persuasion didn’t stay in the luxury of the villa. She wilted a little. She hoped, wherever it was, it had air-conditioning. Every garment she was wearing felt as if it was plastered to her skin.
In fact, her rooms opened off the veranda. Double-panelled doors gave onto a pleasant sitting room with a wood-block floor, leather sofas and several colourful landscapes on the walls. There was a marble fireplace—although when that might be needed, Isobel couldn’t imagine—and a round, glass-topped table with four upright chairs. There was even a television, something Isobel hadn’t expected.
The room was done with a much lighter touch than the main part of the villa, and Isobel turned to the housekeeper with a grateful smile. ‘This is beautiful,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Sancha. I’m sure I will be very comfortable here.’
? quarto aqui,’ said Sancha obliquely, crossing the room and opening the door into an adjoining bedroom. Then, with an evident effort, ‘Is good?’
‘Very good. Um, muito bem,’ said Isobel, hoping her schoolgirlish attempt at a response might win her a smile.
But Sancha only nodded as if it was nothing less than she’d expected. She let herself out of the room again as the men arrived with Isobel’s luggage and her briefcase containing the laptop computer she’d brought with her.
She thanked the men, and was considering going for a shower when a maid arrived with a tray of refreshments: iced tea, hot coffee and a jug of fruit juice, as well as tiny sandwiches made from seafood and canapés oozing with caviar and cream-cheese.
Despite being certain that she wasn’t hungry, Isobel found she couldn’t resist tasting the delicious food. Like everything else at the villa, it was rich and sumptuous. She could get used to this, she thought drily. Or maybe not. She was simply too tired to think straight at the moment.
But not too tired to phone her aunt and uncle and let them know she’d arrived safely. She also wanted to hear about Emma. She missed the little girl so much when she had to go away.
‘She’s fine,’ Aunt Olivia said reassuringly. ‘She helped me feed the horses, and then we went for walk with the dogs. She’s sound asleep now, probably dreaming about the puppies in the barn.’ She gave a laugh. ‘Not that she didn’t ask at least a dozen times where you were and when you’re coming back.’
Isobel’s throat tightened. ‘You will give her my love, won’t you?’ she said, a catch in her voice.
‘Of course we will,’ her Uncle Sam called over his wife’s shoulder. ‘Anyway, what’s the hotel like?’
‘Oh, I’m not staying at a hotel,’ said Isobel quickly. ‘The man who met me at the airport told me Senhora Silveira expected me to stay at her villa, so here I am.’
Her aunt was a little concerned that Isobel wasn’t to be staying at a hotel where they could reach her easily, but her uncle wasn’t alarmed. ‘So what is it like at the Villa Mimosa?’ he asked. ‘Have you had a chance to talk to Anita yet?’
‘Well, I’ve met her,’ conceded Isobel, blinking back the tears that talking about her daughter had caused. ‘She seems—very nice.’
‘Do I detect a reservation there?’ Her uncle’s voice was more distinct now, and she guessed he’d taken the phone from his wife.
‘Hardly,’ protested Isobel. ‘I’ll let you know when I’ve had time to get to know her. I’d better go. This phone needs charging and I don’t want to run it right down.’
She rang off and helped herself to one of the seafood sandwiches and a cup of coffee. The iced tea looked inviting, but she needed the kick the caffeine would give.
A maid arrived a few moments later and asked in broken English if Isobel would like her to unpack her cases. But, despite the temptation, Isobel assured her that she could do it herself.
She rested for a while after her shower, finding the queen- sized bed just as comfortable as she’d anticipated. But she was too hyped up now to go to sleep. Which was just as well, as she still had to unpack and decide what she was going to wear for dinner.
A little while later, she got up again and walked into the living room. The long curtains at the windows were not drawn, and she went to peer through the windows, turning on more lamps as she crossed the room. It was fully dark now, but lights had sprung up in the grounds of the villa. The glint of water seemed to indicate a pool, but it was too dark to be sure.
And then a shadow crossed the veranda outside. Immediately, Isobel drew back, half-alarmed. It was a man; she was sure of it. Had he been spying on her? She glanced towards the double doors in alarm. Goodness; she hadn’t even locked them before going for her shower.
She considered opening the door and peering out, but that seemed foolish. Besides, when one of the palm trees outside swayed towards the windows, she couldn’t be sure that wasn’t what she’d seen before. She was on edge, she thought, anxious about her daughter and anxious about the upcoming interview. Once she’d had a good night’s sleep, she’d view everything in a different light.
Returning to the bedroom, she quickly stowed her underwear on the shelves in the armoire. The few tops and dresses she’d brought barely filled the hanging space. Tank tops and shorts were folded into the drawers of the vanity, while the little make-up she’d brought with her looked lost on the cut-glass tray.
After several attempts, Isobel finally decided to wear a plain black slip-dress. It was formal without being too traditional, and was cooler than a sleeved top would have been.
Strapless sandals, also in black, gave her height as well as confidence. But viewing the few pounds she’d gained since Emma was born was not the most reassuring thing.
The maid arrived so quickly after she rang that she was half-inclined to believe the girl had been waiting outside the whole time. Perhaps that was who she’d seen earlier, she thought. She hadn’t been sure it was a man—or anybody, to be precise.
As soon as she stepped outside, Isobel was glad she’d worn the silk dress but the breeze off the ocean was appealing. It was the first time she’d noticed the scent of the sea.
Once again, they entered the main building, crossing the hall and through one of the immaculate rooms Isobel had glimpsed on her arrival. Beyond the room, a glass-walled terrace provided additional living space. And it was there that she found Anita Silveira, reclining languidly on a cushioned chaise longue.
She got to her feet at Isobel’s entrance, however, her eyes flickering critically over the younger woman, making Isobel feel as if she was wanting somehow. Anita, for her part, was dressed in a flowing caftan of many colours, its dipping neckline and hip-high slit accentuating her voluptuous figure.
‘Ah, Ms Jameson,’ she said, putting down the cocktail glass she was holding and regarding her guest with guarded eyes. ‘How delightful you look. So essentially English, nao?’
Isobel wouldn’t have said so, but she supposed, compared to Anita’s colourful outfit, she did look unexciting. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment,’ she said, trying to make a joke of it. She glanced about her, noticing the waiter hovering over a chilled cabinet in the corner. ‘This is nice. Less formal than—than—’
‘You find my home formal, Ms Jameson?’
Anita leapt on her words, and Isobel decided she would have to think more carefully before she spoke. ‘Um, traditional,’ she said at last.