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their only son. It was Tom who built this house, but he's never lived in
it. He used to use it as a sort of retreat.' Her lips curved sensually.
'Perhaps he isn't as immune from his Indian ancestry as he would like
to believe.'
Alexandra pushed her cup aside. She very much disliked Clare's
insinuative way of speaking. As if she were personally involved.
'Of course, Declan's been somewhat of a disappointment to them,' she
went on thoughtfully. 'His father had a career in banking mapped out
for him, but Declan chose to return to the country of his forebears.
Perhaps that savage pride skipped a generation to emerge in him.
Whatever the reasons, he feels a strong sense of identification with
these people, and works to that end.'
'Works?' Alexandra frowned. 'You mean, he's still prospecting?'
'Prospecting? Prospecting? Oh, my God!' Clare burst out laughing.
'Prospecting? Oh, that's beautiful!' She shook her head helplessly.
Then she sobered sufficiently to say: 'No, my dear. Not prospecting-.
Didn't he tell you? He's a doctor!'
'A doctor?' Alexandra was aghast. 'A a real doctor?'
'Well, he's not a witch doctor, if that's what you mean,' gurgled Clare,
enjoying the girl's confusion. 'Honestly, my dear, I assumed you
knew that!'
Alexandra slid off her chair and walked to the edge of the verandah,
resting her hands on the wooden rail. He was a doctor and she felt
ridiculously small. No wonder he had been so impatient with her. Did
he think she knew? She gripped the rail very tightly. She should have
known, she should have guessed from his manner, from his
knowledge of her father's illness a hundred and one small clues
were suddenly staring her in the face.
She moved her shoulders defensively. Well, she hadn't known. But
now that she did, she ought to apologise ...
She heard a movement behind her and turned to find Clare lighting a
cigarette. Inhaling deeply, she said: 'What's that plaster on your
midriff? Has Declan been treating you already?'
Alexandra bent her head, her fingers moving automatically to cover
the dressing. 'Oh well, yes. But it's nothing really. A a leech
attached itself to me in the night.'
Clare grimaced. 'Ghastly things, aren't they? I once heard of a man
collapsing with fever in the jungle, and when they eventually found
him he was covered in the things, and hadn't a drop of blood left in his
body--'
'Thank you, dare, that will do!'
Declan's deep tones startled both of them. He was standing in the
open doorway of the house, lean and handsome in a denim battle
jacket over close-fitting denim pants which were thrust into
knee-length black boots. He wore no shirt and his chest was damp
with sweat.
Alexandra had to drag her eyes away from him. There was something
so physically attractive about him that she was almost glad of Clare's
presence to distract his attention while she sought for composure. He
thrust his hands into the pockets of his trousers, tautening the cloth
across his thighs, and a small smile played about his mouth as he
noted the brief shorts and blouse.
Then Clare rose elegantly to her feet and interceded. 'Now, darling,'
she murmured, 'I was only telling Miss Tempest a little about the real
dangers of the Amazon. Surely you have no objections.' She moved a
little closer, looking up at him appealingly. 'Besides, you told me you
were to be away all day!'
'I intended to be.' Declan stretched lazily. 'But I decided it was too
much to expect Alexandra to spend the whole of her first day here
alone.'
'Alone?' Clare raised her eyebrows. 'That's hardly flattering. I'm here.'
'I wasn't to know that.'
'You asked me to come.' Clare was charmingly petulant.
'I asked you to call and make sure Alexandra was all right. I didn't
think you'd stay.'
Clare glanced mockingly towards Alexandra. 'Oh, Alex and I have
been getting on like a house on fire, haven't we, Alex?'
Alexandra shrugged. She hated the diminutive use of her name, and
what Clare really meant was that she had been enjoying herself
immensely by making a fool of her. But she could hardly say that to
Declan, so she made some mumbled assent and was conscious that
his gaze lingered on her rather longer than was necessary.
'Anyway, it's lunchtime,' announced Clare, glancing at her watch.
'Am I invited to stay?'
Declan made a slight bow. 'Of course, if you would like to do so.'
'I should.' Clare smiled contentedly. 'David's gone to Timbale and
won't be home until this evening, so I'm quite free.'
Alexandra scuffed her toe against the roughened planks of the
verandah floor. If Clare was staying she would have no opportunity to
speak to Declan alone and explain that she had been unaware of his
status and apologise. And it was quite on the cards that Clare would
find some way to ridicule her in front of him. Quite suddenly, she
wanted to leave, to get away from them. It was stupid, Clare was the
missionary's wife, after all, but somehow her attitude towards Declan
had a certain possessive intimacy about it, and Alexandra felt
sickened by it.
However, Declan excused himself at that moment, saying that he
needed to bathe and change his clothes before the meal. Clare
reseated herself, evidently pleased with the way things were going,
and Alexandra took the opportunity to gather together the coffee cups
on to a tray and say that she was just taking them through for
Consuelo. She had no real idea where the kitchen was, but there were
not too many doors opening off the hall that she found it any
difficulty. The little Portuguese woman smiled her thanks.
'Senhora Forman is staying for lunch,' she said, tightening her lips.
'That woman!' She shook-her head.
Alexandra would have liked to have lingered to gossip? but she knew
that such a thing was not advisable. So she made some deprecatory
rejoinder and left the room.
In the hall, an idea struck her. Declan was alone at the moment. Now
was her opportunity to explain. Probably the only opportunity she
would have that day.
She looked round. A heavy door stood slightly ajar and with
trembling fingers she propelled it far enough open to see into the
room beyond. It was Declan's room, she saw that instantly. His
discarded denim suit was lying untidily on the bed, and there was the
sound of water running in an adjoining bathroom.
Glancing over her shoulder to assure herself that Clare was nowhere
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| Cytat |
Dobre pomysły nie mają przeszłości, mają tylko przyszłość. Robert Mallet
De minimis - o najmniejszych rzeczach.
Dobroć jest ważniejsza niż mądrość, a uznanie tej prawdy to pierwszy krok do mądrości. Theodore Isaac Rubin
Dobro to tylko to, co szlachetne, zło to tylko to, co haniebne.
Dla człowieka nie tylko świat otaczający jest zagadką; jest on nią sam dla siebie. I z obu tajemnic bardziej dręczącą wydaje się ta druga. Antoni Kępiński (1918-1972)
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