The Sanchez Tradition. Anne Mather
puffy in the morning. The management of this small hotel were curious enough about her as it was without providing them with further room for gossip. Not that it mattered now, of course. This was probably her last night in Nassau.
The sky was ablaze with stars, and somewhere on New Providence or one of the outlying islands André Sanchez was sleeping. Was she in his thoughts as he was in hers? She doubted it very much. She was alone, but the chances that he was alone also were extremely limited. That woman, Leonie, she was not the type to withhold her favours, and André was a man with strong, passionate emotions, Rachel knew that so well from experience. And why was it that after all that had happened, all the hateful things he had done, all she could remember was the lean strength of his body and the demanding pressure of his mouth?
DESPITE her disturbed state of mind Rachel eventually slept, to be awoken by the sound of someone knocking rather vigorously at her door. At first it was difficult to remember where she was, the sleeping tablet still confusing her brain, but as she roused herself everything came flooding back to her with depressing clarity. Blinking, she stared at the travelling clock on her bedside table and saw that it was barely nine o’clock. Who on earth could be waking her at this hour?
Calling: ‘Wait a minute!’ she crawled out of bed, groping for the cream silk dressing-gown she had left lying on the footboard and pulling it on, she tied the belt tightly about her slim waist. Smoothing back her tousled hair, she opened the door and stared rather incomprehensively at the young man who stood on the threshold. Frowning, she realised she knew him. It was André’s youngest brother Vittorio.
Stepping back, she said blankly: ‘What do you want?’
Vittorio smiled. When last she had seen him he had been a schoolboy of sixteen or thereabouts. Now he was an adult, and attractive as all the Sanchez brothers were attractive. ‘What a greeting!’ he complained indignantly. ‘Aren’t you pleased to see me?’
Rachel sighed. She was in no mood to be polite. ‘Not particularly,’ she replied. ‘Why are you here?’
Vittorio stepped past her into the room, looking about him with critical eyes. ‘What a dump!’ he pronounced, wrinkling his nose.
Rachel clenched her fists. ‘I don’t recall asking your opinion,’ she bit out angrily. ‘Now will you please state your business or leave?’
Vittorio lifted her suitcase on to the bed, and flicked it open. ‘Pack your things,’ he advised pleasantly. ‘We’re leaving!’
Rachel stared at him in astonishment at first, and then with something approaching frustration. ‘Just who do you think you are, coming here, giving me orders?’ she exclaimed. ‘I am certainly going to pack—but in my own good time, and then I shall be leaving—for the airport!’
Vittorio shook his head. ‘I think not, Rachel.’
‘What do you mean, you think not? I’m free, white, and over twenty-one. I can do what I like.’
‘No, you can’t, at least not here,’ he amended. ‘Brother André wants to see you, and he wants you out of this hotel right now.’ He half smiled. ‘He’d have had you out last night, if it wouldn’t have caused such a furore!’
Rachel was surprised to find she was trembling. ‘I spoke to your brother last night, and his words to me didn’t involve my seeing him again. I don’t believe André sent you. I think Ramon’s behind this.’
Vittorio shrugged. ‘I can’t alter your opinion, of course, but André sent me here, believe me!’
Rachel shivered. ‘Why? Why does he want to see me all of a sudden? Last night I got the impression that he wouldn’t care if he didn’t see me ever again.’
‘Maybe he still feels the same,’ observed Vittorio chillingly. ‘But he has agreed to see you, so come!’
‘Oh, go jump in a lake!’ retorted Rachel cuttingly. ‘I’ve no intention of humbling myself to your brother!’ But even as she said the words she wanted to withdraw them. She wasn’t here for her own amusement, she was here in an effort to help her father. She must not adopt this attitude, this stubbornness, this pride. If it was necessary to humble herself to André, then she must do it.
But as it happened, she was given a second chance without the need for apologies. Vittorio, standing straight and tall, delivered his ultimatum.
‘André told me to tell you that if you refused to accompany me he would see to it that you were brought forcibly to him if necessary. Rachel, André is a powerful man. Don’t doubt his sincerity in this.’
Rachel didn’t. On New Providence the Sanchez name was synonymous with affluence and authority. Biting her lips to stop them from trembling too, she said: ‘You’ll have to leave for a while. I need a shower and time to pack.’
Vittorio nodded politely. ‘All right. I’ll come back in half an hour. Be ready!’
He strode out of the door, closing it decisively behind him, and Rachel stared at the cream panels long after the sound of his footsteps had died away. What did André want with her now? What possible reason could he have for issuing this summons? So far as he was concerned she had come here in an attempt to prevent his plans for arranging the divorce. Why, then, was he removing her from the hotel? What did he intend to do with her? After all, it was as Vittorio had said, André was a powerful man on New Providence, and by coming here she had placed herself within his sphere, within his dominance. Then she remembered Leonie again, and reason took a sane hold on her rioting thoughts. Whatever he wanted, it would not be easy for her.
In the shower, allowing the cool water to cascade over her hot skin, a multitude of possibilities plagued her. Whatever happened, she should take this opportunity that had been offered to her, and somehow make André believe that her reasons for coming to Nassau were innocent of mischief-making.
She dressed with care, choosing a flared-skirted dress in a delicious shade of tangerine. The low neckline drew attention to the smooth curve of her throat and the nape of her neck, and a matching bandeau secured her hair in place. Then she packed the few things she had brought with her and fastened her suitcase. She had barely finished adding a clear lipstick to her lips and some mascara to her thick lashes when Vittorio knocked again at her door, and she called ‘Come in’ as she lifted her handbag. Vittorio re-entered the room, accompanied by another man whom she assumed was his manservant, for this man took charge of her suitcase and waited until Vittorio had escorted her out of the room before closing the door and following them.
Downstairs, Rachel glanced longingly towards the restaurant. Although she wasn’t hungry, she would have appreciated a cup of coffee, but as though defining her thoughts Vittorio said: ‘Your bill has been taken care of, and a meal is awaiting you.’
Rachel opened her mouth to protest, and then closed it again. She might as well accept that for the time being she was under the protection of the Sanchez clan, and as such she must accept their dictates. So she allowed Vittorio to escort her through the lobby, aware of the speculative gazes of the manager and his staff who all seemed to have gathered to watch her go. She felt rather like one of those political prisoners being ushered out of the sight of the press, except that she was no politician or she would have handled this situation more delicately than she had done this far.
Outside, parked in the narrow street, another of the luxury automobiles awaited them, a convertible this time in a delicious shade of ice blue. Vittorio seated her in the back, and then got into the seat beside the driver, while the man who had carried her suitcase stowed it in the boot before joining her, bestowing a slight smile in her direction. He was a man in his fifties, and Rachel wondered whether he was aware of her identity.
In the morning light, Nassau was brilliant and colourful. Even the side streets were attractive with pastel-washed walls and pitched roofs. Children stared at