The Man Behind the Mask Read online

  ‘We could be in another realm,’ she enthused, green-gold eyes shining. ‘However did you find such a place?’

  ‘My mother grew up in this area. Whenever she brought me here as a child I loved it. So when I was looking for a house I knew immediately where I wanted it to be situated. I visited several before I was shown this place. As soon as I saw it I knew it was the right one.’

  ‘You were right when you said it was remote.’ As she secured the strap of her bag against her shoulder, Marianne’s expression was thoughtful. ‘When Ricardo was driving me here I didn’t see another house or building for miles!’

  ‘You are thinking maybe that it is too remote for your liking?’

  ‘I don’t think that at all. Seeing as I’m not someone who needs company all the time, being remote doesn’t bother me. Besides…being around people too much can really get to you after a while, and I’d go crazy if I didn’t have some peace and quiet to balance things out. Do you know what I mean?’

  ‘Clearly I do—or else I would not be living here.’ Eduardo smiled reluctantly, but he was genuinely surprised by the fact that she was apparently quite content with her own company. These days, when most people he observed seemed driven by the need for perpetual noise and distraction, it was positively unusual. ‘Shall we continue our discussion sitting by the fire?’

  Once they were ensconced in comfortable leather arm chairs, Eduardo followed Marianne’s mesmerised gaze to the dancing amber-gold flames. For a while companionable silence settled over them, like another softening blanket of snow on the desolate winter landscape outside.

  ‘Warm enough?’ he asked, almost reluctant to intrude upon the still ness and quiet with words.

  Withdrawing her glance from the fire, she blinked at him as though momentarily for get ting who he was and why she was even there.

  ‘Oh, yes…perfectly warm, thanks. I expect you’re wondering why I changed my mind about taking you up on your offer,’ she said in a rush, her pale, slender-fingered hands twisting together restlessly in the lap of her red wool dress. ‘The truth is I suddenly realised that a change was what I needed after all. Being snowed in for three days certainly helped focus my mind on the subject! Although I was playing my music, doing what I loved, I was also in a bit of a rut. I figured it was time to try something different.’

  ‘So you decided to ring me after all?’ Linking his fingers steeple-like beneath his chin, Eduardo thoughtfully studied the pretty oval face and expressive hazel eyes before him. There were myriad conflicting emotions behind that arresting gaze that he couldn’t help but wonder at. Was she running away from something…some cruelty or un hap pi ness that she hadn’t revealed?

  Some thing like an abusive relationship, perhaps?

  ‘I did. You—you didn’t mind?’

  ‘I would not have given you my card if I minded.’

  ‘I just wanted to make sure.’

  ‘And can I ask about the jobs you have had previously—before this?’

  ‘Well. I…’ Briefly Marianne’s attention returned to the fire, where a hot coal sizzled brightly before settling more deeply into the nest of flames. ‘I’ve worked in shops, mostly…a large clothing store, then a music store selling instruments and sheet music…that kind of thing.’

  ‘You must have been in your element there.’ Eduardo remarked, already knowing that music was a passion for her—the same as the career he had chosen had once been a passion for him. He quickly quashed the thought.

  ‘I was.’ The bewitching smile returned, naked and unguarded, and it was as though someone had brought a rare and beautiful orchid into the midst of a grey concrete prison cell. ‘Look…I know I’m not exactly qualified to be a house keeper, if you go by my previous employment, but I’m a fast learner, and I actually get great pleasure from doing the things that help make a house a home.’

  ‘Talking of home…where was it you last lived, Marianne?’ he enquired, intrigued. ‘A commune or a squat, perhaps?’

  Her glance was perturbed. ‘No. It was a house that I shared with somebody.’

  ‘A boy friend?’

  ‘No…not a boy friend. Can we talk about the job and what the daily routine is? I’d like to get a feel for things as soon as possible, so that I won’t have to trouble you with too many questions.’

  Reluctantly Eduardo curbed his curiosity. A business like approach to work was not what he had expected from someone who appeared as Bohemian as Marianne, but nonetheless it could hardly displease him, he mused silently. Not when he had begun to realise that established routines and a smooth-running house hold could some times help take the edge off the mental torture that plagued him, by acting as a sort of shield that could occasionally cushion him from the painful events of the past. For someone who had once been an inveterate risk-taker this was a revelation to him…even though he privately despised himself for succumbing to such appalling weakness.

  ‘I have already briefed Ricardo about that. He is usually up and about early in the morning. Go and find him in the kitchen, and he will explain to you what to do. Help yourself to break fast first. Ah…Ricardo. I was just telling Miss Lockwood that you will explain everything about her house hold duties in the morning.’

  The tall, dark-eyed young man with a mop of curly black hair, dressed in well-fitting denim jeans and a navy roll-necked sweater, smiled at Marianne, indicating his agreement to this plan.

  ‘Now, drink up your hot chocolate,’ Eduardo told her, envying his valet’s easy, uncomplicated smile and wishing that he didn’t privately feel like some invalid elder amongst them. Despite his injury he was actually still a strong and intelligent thirty-seven-year-old. ‘Ricardo will bring in your baggage from the car and show you where your room is.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Rising to her feet at the same time as he did, Marianne gratefully nursed the mug of hot chocolate that Ricardo had placed in her hands.

  She looked a little tired, Eduardo reflected. No doubt she would be anxious to get to her room, take stock, and mull over what the coming days and weeks living in this isolated place with her taciturn new employer would bring. When sufficient time had elapsed for her to realise what she had got herself into would she regret the decision she’d made? Coming to the conclusion that perhaps singing by the roadside was actually easier—no matter how inclement the weather?

  Bitterly aware of his own short comings, and the way that depression and some times despair could descend like the blackest cloud, blotting out all sources of light within him and consigning him to being a blunt, unsparing, bad-tempered bore, Eduardo bit back a curse. Ricardo was used to his surly ways, but this fragile-looking girl was not.

  Suddenly impatient with the downturn in spirits that his gloomy thoughts provoked, he turned away, intent on distracting himself with the book on an avant-garde Brazilian artist he was currently reading, leaving Marianne to the easy going and no doubt more welcoming personality of his valet…

  Marianne adored the room she’d been given. It was easily the warmest and most inviting bedroom she’d ever seen. After Ricardo had hefted her suitcase onto the neat double bed with its brass and iron bedstead, then care fully rested her beloved guitar in its case against the wall, she thanked him for his help and bade him good night. As soon as she was alone she examined her new surroundings with the kind of feminine delight she hadn’t experienced in ages.

  The plump white pillows and scalloped counterpane deco rated with tiny embroidered pink roses on that inviting bed helped her finally succumb to the realisation of how tired she was—mentally, physically and emotionally… But fatigue was determinedly put aside as she concluded that this would indeed be the perfect room to return to after a hard day’s work. As soon as she’d entered, its restful ambience had reached out to her and seeped into her thankful bones. And if there was ever a view to inspire contemplation and gratitude for life then Marianne was certain she would have to go far to beat the in credible vista that presented itself from the room’s grand curved windo
ws. The flowing red curtains parted, it was the same panoramic and haunting display that she’d seen down stairs in the sitting room.

  Gazing out into the raw moonlit night, she felt an in explicable sense of peace settle any lingering anxiety about what she’d done. All her bridges were in flames behind her, but it would be okay, she told herself. Strangely enough, she had a good feeling about Eduardo De Souza. He might be enigmatic, but he was kind too. She’d already seen many examples of his kindness in their short acquaintance, so she had nothing to fear.

  Moving across the stripped oak floor that lovingly revealed the graceful patina of age, she opened a deep mahogany chest of drawers, with a slender glass vase displaying a slim bunch of tightly budded freesias on top of it, to find each drawer elegantly lined with scented floral silk. Inspecting the equally elegant double wardrobe, she found padded silk hangers and enough space inside to relegate her small and rather pathetic collection of multi-coloured clothing to looking like exhausted refugees.

  To her great delight she then opened a door that she discovered led to the most enchantingly feminine bath room. In pride of place gleamed a spark ling white claw-footed bath with gold taps, surrounded by shelves generously laden with pretty bottles of oil, bath crystals and expensive perfume. The smell that pervaded the room reminded her of standing in a beautiful garden in midsummer, when all the blooms were at the very peak of their beauty and scent. And in the dove-grey armoire by the side of a single stone-arched window there were neat rows of pristine white newly laundered towels and expensive linen.

  Surveying both rooms, Marianne frowned in bewilderment. It was as though she were a welcomed invited guest in Eduardo’s house instead of his new house keeper! She was touched that he had gone to so much trouble to make her feel at home, but could hardly under stand it. Then she cast her mind back to earlier on, when he’d asked her if she’d previously lived in a commune or a squat, and putting two and two together she realised that he probably had believed she’d been living quite rough. No doubt her busking in the street had con firmed that view. Clearly by giving her this lovely room to stay in he had wanted to show Marianne that he was sensitive to her situation. But why should a man like him care about any adversity he’d assumed she’d endured? Somehow it didn’t tally with that hard, masculine, somewhat remote exterior. Again she thought what an enigma he was.

  Sighing, Marianne drew her palm over her cheek—still warm from the fire down stairs—and moving her suitcase aside dropped down onto the bed. She didn’t want to deceive him… Especially when he had freely offered her this chance to start over and make a new life for herself. At some point he deserved to know the truth. That she had married a man who had already been terminally ill when she’d met him, that he had been much older than her, that he and Marianne had become great friends through their shared passion for music and, on discovering that she had no family, he had married her to help give her the love and support that had long been lacking in her life.

  And finally in his will he had bequeathed her his house, along with all his worldly goods. She hadn’t been destitute, when Eduardo had imagined so. She’d actually not been badly off at all. Until a couple of days ago, that was. Now she really did need a job and a home. Because she had posted her house-keys to Michael and Victoria, instructed them to send any papers that needed signing care of the post office, and informed them that the house was now theirs. She was done with all the legal wrangling…it really wasn’t worth the heart ache.

  Besides, from now on she aimed to be as in de pendent as possible, and would not ever rely on anyone else for her welfare or her peace of mind again. Donal had provided a respite from that fierce struggle for a while, but now he was gone, and Marianne had concluded that a relationship was not something she would actively seek for a long, long time…if ever. Not when it had been her experience that the people in her life either left, one way or another, or let her down.

  And in case her new employer might imagine she was some heart less little gold-digger who’d married an older man just for his money, she would let him know that Donal had genuinely loved her as she had loved him. All they had had together before his illness had finally killed him was six short months, but the man had cared more for her than her parents ever had… Tears washed into her already stinging eyes. It had been an emotional journey, packing up her things and leaving the only real home she’d ever really known behind, as well as a marriage that had ended so poignantly. But that phase of her life was over.

  Rubbing at her moistened eyes, Marianne surged to her feet. The one thing she could do now was make sure Eduardo did not come to regret giving her this chance of a fresh start. Her impression was that the Brazilian—although kind—did not readily welcome strangers into his domain. Already she’d received the impression that he guarded his privacy—nearly all their conversations so far had been about Marianne’s situation, not his own—and she wondered about that. Downstairs, as they had sat either side of the fire together, she had surreptitiously studied him as he talked. She had not been immune to the flare of pain in his fascinating blue eyes every now and then—had recognised the proud if not fierce need to hide it. Clearly the injury or illness that he had suffered was quite recent, and she definitely had the sense that the man could benefit from a little tender loving care.

  It was fortunate for him that the one thing Marianne had learned about herself over the years was that it came very easily and naturally to her to help take care of others…

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DESPITE being in a completely strange environment, Marianne had had no trouble sleeping. Immediately on waking she roused herself and, barefoot, crossed the creaking polished floor to the windows. Although still dark, the sky was streaked with touches of hazy pink and grey, like soft pastel shades from an artist’s paint-box. Morning light couldn’t be far away, she guessed. The hard diamond glitter of the snow and frost shone so brightly in that dim half-light that the hills and woods were easily visible—the landscape just as breathtaking as it had been last night, she saw.

  Crossing her arms over her chest, she shivered with something like anticipation at the prospect of the new day. Determined to be optimistic and hopeful, she told herself she was on the brink of a whole new phase in her life. It was exciting. Not something to dread. For a while she simply stood, contemplating the white sugar-frosted hills laid out before her like unblemished silvery patchwork, along with the tall, bare-branched trees whose tops disappeared into the sky, and fell into a sort of half dream.

  What she saw could have been a magical scene from one of the illustrated pages of a child’s book of fairytales. She could even be the fairy princess, held captive in the tower and gazing out at her wicked captor’s princely kingdom…

  ‘If you spent less time day dreaming, Marianne Lockwood, and more time focusing on your schoolwork, you might just turn out to be one less statistic in the unemployment figures!’ A schoolteacher’s exasperated tones came back to haunt her. Well, teachers didn’t know everything she thought grimly.

  Sometimes there were good reasons for a child’s in attention—such as a very stressful home life, and a parent who was more or less drinking his life away. Daydreaming was essential for a child like that, Marianne could have told her teacher. But she never did. She’d borne the pain on her own.

  Grimacing, reluctantly she turned away from the enticing view and headed into the bathroom. It was just after six, and her new boss had told her that Ricardo would be up and about early. When she found him, he would no doubt put her in the picture about what her new role as house keeper entailed…

  ‘Good morning. You are hungry?’

  When she finally located the entrance to the huge country house kitchen, after exploring a ground floor seemingly full of endless corridors with unknown rooms and vestibules behind closed doors, it was to discover Ricardo frying bacon and eggs on the up-to-the minute shining replica of an old-fashioned range, wearing a blue and white striped apron over his jeans and sweats
hirt, and looking as if it was a task he was born to. Marianne’s mouth dropped open in surprise. The room was filled with the most appetising smells of cooking, and her tummy rumbled appreciatively. Yesterday she’d barely eaten a thing, due to nerves and emotion, but now she was ravenous.

  ‘Good morning—and, yes…I could definitely eat something!’ Flicking her glance over the sturdy kitchen table laden with cereals, fruit, fresh bread, butter and a large jug of orange juice, she gave Ricardo a quizzical look. ‘Do you normally go to all this trouble for breakfast in the morning, or is Mr De Souza joining us?’

  ‘He is still sleeping and will eat later,’ the valet explained, turning to survey her. ‘You like bacon and eggs? I make traditional English especially for you.’ He grinned. ‘Please to help yourself to anything else you like.’

  ‘Seeing as though it’s not every day I get offered a cooked break fast, how can I refuse?’

  Pulling out a pine chair, Marianne sat at the table and poured a glass of orange juice. It was cold, tangy and refreshing. She could almost sense it doing her good. Good food had been low down on her agenda since Donal had died, and she hadn’t really taken care of herself as well as she might. But now that she’d changed her situation things would be different, she vowed.

  Recalling what Ricardo had said about his employer still sleeping, her slim brows drew together. ‘Not that it’s particularly late, but does Mr De Souza normally rise much later than you in the morning?’ she asked.

  Her companion went briefly still, but did not turn round. A second later she saw him flip the bacon in the pan with a steel spatula in an expert move that wouldn’t shame a top chef.