Anne Mather - Who Rides A Tiger

The cabaret was over and the band was beginning to play. The music from guitars, organs and drums was vibrant and pulsating with rhythm, and the lights were lowered as couples gathered on the dance floor.

‘I don’t. That is—’ she began, as he took her hand and drew her through the tables where people were sitting to the far end of the room.

‘You don’t what?’ he asked softly, as he turned and slid his arms around her, pulling her close against the hard muscular strength of his body.

Dominique shook her head. With Vincente’s eyes upon her, so near now, she found it difficult to think coherently.

‘I’ve never danced to beat music before,’ she confessed. ‘I’m quite a square really.’

He gave a soft laugh. ‘Oh, Miss Mallory, whatever gave you that idea?’

They moved slowly, and Dominique found after all that it was easy to follow Vincente’s movements. Besides, the dancing seemed of secondary importance to their actual situation. If John could see me now, she thought, a trifle wildly. He would be absolutely astounded! And with good reason, she added silently. She had known what kind of a man Vincente Santos was from the moment she saw him watching her in the airport bar. Why then had she succumbed to the temptation of going out with him? Was it because all her life she had thought before acting, never doing anything on impulse? Or was it simply because the strength of his personality and the way he had taunted her had aroused her indignation, and she had wanted to prove she could be as impulsive as anyone else? Certainly he made the men she had met back in England seem a trifle tame by comparison, and there was an addictive sense of excitement in taking such risks. After all, tonight would soon be over and then she would be with John again, and Vincente Santos would fade into obscurity.

Once, while they danced, she glanced up at him, her hair brushing his cheek, and he looked down at her with his tawny eyes, eyes that seemed too penetrating, and his mouth was very close to hers. Hastily, she looked down again, endeavouring to control the fast beating of her heart. So far and no further, she told herself firmly.

The dance was soon over, and as they were leaving the floor they were halted by an excited cry from a woman who was also leaving the dance floor with her escort. Tall and slender, with jet black hair piled high with jewelled combs into a French knot, she was easily the most beautiful and exotic creature that Dominique had ever seen. Her gown, a long clinging affair of heavy crêpe which moulded her perfect body, was in a brilliant shade of red, and it contrasted vividly with her magnolia colouring and dark hair.

‘Vincente!’ she exclaimed, flinging her arms about his neck and kissing him rapidly on both cheeks and then lingeringly on his mouth. ‘But I did not know you were in Rio! Why did you not let me know? I have been back two weeks from Europe, and I am desolate. You have not been to see me!’

Vincente glanced at Dominique over the woman’s head, seeing her embarrassment, and then disentangling himself firmly.

‘I have been busy, Sophia,’ he said, his voice cool, so that the woman looked at Dominique and gave her a studious glance.

‘Oh, yes,’ she said questioningly. ‘I can see you have. I would have thought she was a little young and unsophisticated for your tastes, my sweet!’

Vincente’s eyes darkened. ‘Did I ask for your opinion, Sophia?’ he remarked icily.

‘No. But then I feel I have the right to voice my inmost thoughts to you. After all, you invariably come back, chéri !’

Dominique turned away, sickened by this exchange. She made her way back to their table, and re-seated herself, wishing she had the courage to walk out of the night club. But outside was a strange alien city and she didn’t much fancy trying to get a taxi alone at this time of night.

A few moments later a shadow fell across the table and she looked up into Vincente’s dark face. ‘Do not do that again,’ he snapped.

‘Do what? Leave you to your mistress?’ she exclaimed, stung by his assumption that he had the right to dictate her affairs.

He caught her wrist and wrenched her up out of her seat. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘We will go somewhere else.’

Dominique struggled uselessly. ‘I want to go home, Mr. Santos,’ she said coldly. ‘At least – back to my hotel!’

He did not reply, but merely turned and walked out of the restaurant, practically dragging her along behind him.

Outside the night air was warm and velvety, and millions of stars twinkled overhead, vying with the myriad strings of lights that edged the promenade adjacent to Copacabana beach. The sound of the ceaseless surf was like thunder in their ears, and Dominique took several deep breaths to rid her lungs of the smoky atmosphere of the club.

They reached the car, and he put her inside firmly, and then walked round to get in beside her. He flicked the ignition, and the powerful engine roared to life, and they drove out of the parking area and along the sea front. Presently he turned off into the winding side streets, steep thoroughfares that wound round the older buildings of the city. Dominique wanted to ask where he was taking her, but his expression brooked no interference and she kept silent, wishing with all her heart she had never been foolish enough to come out with him.

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 fiancé 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 fiancé—’ 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.