The Man Behind The Mask (From Rags To Riches) Page 6

  ‘When was that?’

  Marianne lowered her gaze. ‘About three years ago. He was—is—a hopeless alcoholic. That’s why my mother couldn’t stay with him. Eat your soup. It will get cold.’

  Pushing to her feet, she strode across the ample-sized kitchen to the butler sink to pour herself a glass of cold water. Her throat felt as if it had swelled to twice its size at the tormenting tide of child hood memory that washed over her. Talking about it only deepened her distress.

  As if realising the discrepancy in her parenting of her only daughter, her mother had beseeched Marianne to go with her to America. But even at the tender age of fourteen years old she’d found she could not abandon the dejected wreck bent on self-destruction that her father had become. Not when at the back of her mind some where had been more loving memories of him hugging her, playing childish games with her when she was little, calling her his angel. Afterwards, when there had just been the two of them in a house that was no longer a home, there were sadder, hear trending recollections—him crying un bearably, begging Marianne to forgive him for losing his business, needing to drink to dull the pain of driving her mother away.

  Yes, she under stood why her mother hadn’t been able to stay with such a man—even at fourteen she’d seen that she was in an un tenable situation—but that hadn’t made it any easier for her to cope. And it hadn’t lessened the sense of betrayal she felt either. The brutal reality of being left behind to be responsible for a man who no longer seemed to care whether he lived or died as long as he could have the next drink was something that she would never forget.

  ‘Marianne?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I just needed some water.’ Returning to the table, she sat down. Inadvertently catching Eduardo’s eye, she made a valiant attempt to smile.

  ‘You should eat something,’ he said brusquely, but the expression in his disturbing glance was compassionate and steady, and even more unsettling was the supreme difficulty Marianne had in tearing her gaze from his. ‘Children need fathers…I am sorry that yours was not able to care for you as he should have done.’

  ‘Do you have parents? Siblings?’ she asked.

  ‘My parents live in Leblon, which is west of Ipanema where I have my beach house. They are retired now. Unfortunately I was not blessed with brothers or sisters. I am their only son.’

  ‘I longed for a brother or sister when I was young,’ Marianne confessed, ‘but perhaps it was best that there was only me in the long run. Parenting didn’t come naturally to my mum and dad, I’m afraid.’

  After this silence reigned, and she was grateful that Eduardo did not quiz her further on her unhappy past. She guessed that he appreciated her own perceived lack of curiosity where he was concerned. Her assessment that he was the most private of men was becoming more evident. Understanding that, she would not bombard him with intrusive questions. He just given her a job and a home, and she would respect his need to withhold certain information. Even if the fact he might be ill secretly ate away at her and caused her imagination to run riot. Maybe she could discreetly ask Ricardo about it if she got the chance?

  ‘I generally take a walk in the grounds after lunch.’ Reaching for his walking cane, Eduardo rose from the table. ‘Would you care to join me?’

  Patting her lips with her linen napkin, Marianne glanced longingly out at the snowy scene evident through the window. Above them was a cloud less cobalt sky, the kind of winter sunshine that skiers were used to in the Alps, and spark ling frost and snow carpeted everything. In truth, she would have liked nothing better than to walk in such an inviting magical landscape. But she was conscious that she was now an employee of this man…not his guest.

  ‘I would love a walk…but I was planning on dusting and polishing in some of the rooms—there’s so many of them it will probably take most of the afternoon to get round.’

  ‘Dusting and polishing can wait. It’s not important,’ her companion countered a touch irritably, already making his way to the door. ‘I will meet you at the back entrance in fifteen minutes. You have the necessary foot wear to walk in? If not, there is an array of boots in the mud room. I am sure you will find a pair your size.’

  ‘Thanks…but I have boots of my own that I brought with me.’

  ‘Good.’ His glance briefly flicked over her. ‘Fifteen minutes!’ he called over his shoulder, and he looked away, his broad back in the navy cable-knit sweater the last glimpse Marianne had of his imposing physique as he left.

  It had started to snow again. How many more days would the sky continue to empty its frozen cargo down upon the earth? One minute Eduardo welcomed the deadening silence it left in its wake in a landscape in which he’d deliberately sought escape from the rest of the world and the next…the next he wrestled with an irrepressible longing for the warmth, sounds, smells and the sheer sense of alive ness that denoted his birthplace.

  Releasing a sigh, he glanced sideways at his walking companion to see that Marianne’s bright woolly hat was covered in rapidly melting crystals of ice. There were two spots of intense pink staining the pale satin of her cheek bones too, and her breath made little plumes of steam as she breathed.

  ‘If you are too cold we will go back inside,’ he offered, strangely reluctant to do any such thing.

  ‘I’m quite happy.’ she answered, hazel eyes shining. ‘The thing about getting cold is that you can always get warm again. What’s up there?’

  They had crossed a wooden latticework bridge over the moat, its previously peeling and weathered green paint work having recently been restored by Ricardo, and now they faced a fork in the road. One path led deeper into the extensive grounds of the house, and the other wound its snowy way into the thick ness of the surrounding forest. It was this path that Marianne’s gloved hand pointed towards.

  Eduardo shrugged. ‘The forest…I have never person ally followed the trail to see where it goes.’

  ‘Are you serious? Whenever I’m some where I haven’t been before and I see a bend in the road—especially in the countryside—I wonder what adventures may be waiting round the corner! Aren’t you at all curious?’ As she came to an abrupt stop, the incredulity on her face was plain to see.

  ‘Not so far,’ he admitted. ‘And as for adventures…they are not something I per son ally crave.’ Almost without his realising it, Eduardo’s glance travelled down towards his injured leg and the cane he leaned on to help support it.

  ‘You mean because of your leg?’ Marianne deduced.

  So far she had been extraordinarily polite when it came to not enquiring about his injury, but now he himself had in advertently brought the subject to her attention. Momentarily his exasperation with himself knew no bounds. A large black crow streaked across the sky, cawing. The discordant sound seemed to amplify the tension inside him. Worryingly, the tight control that he kept coiled inside threatened to unravel at the claustrophobic and discomfiting sensation of being under siege.

  ‘The weather seems to be worsening. Perhaps it would be best if we returned to the house.’ His voice sounded cold and disconnected even to his own ears.

  ‘Does it give you a lot of pain?’ Gentle concern shone from Marianne’s eyes, and Eduardo felt frighteningly cornered. Snow continued to fall—fat icy flakes bombarding them, turning them into human snowmen. ‘I would rather not discuss it, if you don’t mind.’

  ‘I only ask because I’m concerned.’

  ‘Then please do not be!’

  ‘I’m sorry if you think I’m invading your privacy. I don’t mean to. It’s just that—well…if you’re ill, and it’s something serious, it might be helpful for me to know that.’

  ‘That is where you are wrong!’ Now Eduardo was furious—at her, and at himself for suggesting she accompany him in the first place. ‘I have heard that the off spring of alcoholics often feel the need to try and fix the problems of others. Please do not make the arrogant mistake of thinking that you can fix mine!’

  And with that he found himself turning back
towards the bridge they had just crossed, more self-conscious than ever that his injured leg impeded more rapid progress, and angry too because he had lost control and lashed out at Marianne per son ally. Her father was lying either dead or drunk under a bridge some where, and she’d clearly been traumatised by an upbringing with parents that he deduced had been too self-absorbed even to notice their daughter’s distress…else why had she ended up singing at the roadside for a living? He simply had no right to vent at her as he just had, whether he was feeling over whelmed or not.

  He didn’t think that he had ever disliked himself more than he did right then. Except for the day of the accident, that was…that day he had positively hated himself…

  Marianne was certain she must have polished the same spot on the grand mahogany side board at least a dozen times, if not more. As the light was leeched from the sky and fires lit and curtains drawn Eduardo’s angry words bounced round her brain like a ping-pong ball run amok. I’ve heard that the off spring of alcoholics often feel the need to fix the problems of others… As well as putting her firmly in her place, the brutal words had sent her thoughts hurtling towards the past again…but this time with startling new insight. Was that what she had tried to do with everyone she loved? Fix their problems? As if she didn’t deserve hap pi ness unless she could somehow make everything right for everyone else?

  Was that why she had stayed with her father instead of seizing a chance of hap pi ness with her mother in a new country, with a different life from the painful existence she’d endured for so long? Her mother still wrote to her, pleading with her to join her and Geoff—her new husband—in California…especially now that Donal was gone. In her last reply, nine months ago, Marianne had told her that she definitely wanted to remain in England, and at the back of her mind she had found herself thinking just in case dad needs me. But she hadn’t seen her father for three years, and had lost all contact.

  It wasn’t easy to keep tabs on where he was when he had effectively become a vagrant, and in the end the constant worry and fruitless searching had all but made her ill. But maybe there was some kind of organisation or agency she could contact to help her locate him? And if not what about the hospitals, just in case he had—? Her mind wouldn’t let her go there. Chewing anxiously down on her thumb, she tasted the bitter tang of beeswax polish and withdrew it almost instantly.

  ‘Marianne?’

  ‘Ricardo… Sorry—I didn’t hear you come in.’

  Stepping into the beautiful library, with its polished wooden floor, various exotic rugs and tightly packed dark wood book shelves crammed with a myriad books that he had told Marianne during their tour of the house had been shipped over from Brazil, the young man thoughtfully crossed his arms.

  ‘Mr De Souza would like some coffee. I could have made it for him, but he told me he would like you to see to it.’

  ‘Of course.’ Gathering up the soft dust cloth and polish she’d been using, Marianne moved towards the door—but halfway across the room she stopped, frowned, and shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘I think he’s angry with me, Ricardo.’

  ‘Why should that be so?’

  ‘I asked him about his leg…if it was hurt because he was ill or something. He didn’t like it and he got quite cross with me. I’m quite anxious that he doesn’t think I’m some kind of interfering busybody.’

  A little crease appeared in the coffee-coloured skin between Ricardo’s dark brows. ‘You have to understand something about Eduardo De Souza. He is a man who—’ He glanced briefly upwards, as if searching for the right words and how to say them in a language that was not his native one. ‘A man who does not welcome people looking into his private life. If he chooses not to explain something…then he has his reasons. I ask that you respect those reasons even if you do not know what they are.’

  ‘And I do respect them! I see that he doesn’t want his privacy invaded, and God knows I under stand that, but I ask you—what’s wrong with expressing concern if you see that someone is in pain or…or difficulty?’

  ‘You have a kind heart, and that is certainly not a crime, Marianne. You will just have to take things one day at a time and eventually…gradually…Eduardo will see that you are a genuine person and do not want to make trouble for him.’

  Now Ricardo was smiling, and although Marianne was initially reassured, her stomach still clenched uncomfortably at the thought of facing her employer again and possibly seeing suspicion and mistrust in his eyes.

  ‘I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long. I’ve brought you some biscuits too.’

  In the sitting room, with the fire cosily crackling, she laid the round patterned tray in front of Eduardo on the coffee table, waiting until he’d folded the broadsheet news pa per he’d been reading and laid it next to him on the sofa. He tunnelled his fingers through his hair, then rubbed a hand round his jaw. It was studded with five o’clock shadow and made him look slightly disreputable, Marianne noticed. The sleeves of his cable-knit sweater were rolled halfway up his muscled forearms, and she saw the fine dark blond hairs that dusted his skin.

  ‘You haven’t kept me waiting,’ he said gruffly, helping himself to coffee and a digestive biscuit at the same time. ‘How are you getting on?’ he added, before taking a sip of the aromatic brew in his cup.

  ‘Getting on?’ Unprepared, Marianne’s nervous glance collided into his, and her stomach jolted so violently at the sight of those searching blue eyes with their straight dark lashes that she could barely think straight for a moment.

  ‘The work is not too hard for you?’ Eduardo elucidated.

  ‘Not at all. I’m enjoying it, in fact. This house is a joy! Every room I go into is a revelation.’

  ‘An adventure?’ His serious, well-shaped lips formed the wryest of smiles and Marianne sensed hot embarrassed colour rush into her face.

  ‘I suppose you think that’s childish?’

  ‘You think someone like me is incapable of understanding the appeal of adventure? When I was your age I would have equalled your desire for the unexpected…the turn in the road that might yield the happy unknown. Unfortunately, some times life yields the not so pleasant unexpected adventure too, and it can dampen one’s youthful hopefulness…even destroy it for ever. Why don’t you sit down for a moment and take a break?’

  Pondering his surprisingly revealing comments, Marianne felt her body tense un com fort ably. ‘I’m sorry if some bad things happened to taint your optimism. I know what that feels like. But ultimately—despite the things that go wrong and hurt us—we have to go on and try to make the best of our lives, don’t you think?’

  ‘What if you are to blame for causing hurt to someone else?’ Eduardo immediately came back at her, looking as if he genuinely wanted her answer.

  ‘Then there is always for give ness… Not just from the person you hurt but more importantly to yourself.’

  ‘Have you forgiven your father for being a drunk and not taking proper care of you?’

  Hearing the bitter edge to his words, Marianne frowned, wondering if he had hurt someone who hadn’t forgiven him, and was still living with too much guilt and regret over whatever had happened. ‘In my heart I honestly try to,’ she replied care fully. ‘I pity him, if you want to know. Alcoholism is a disease, and when it gets a hold it’s very hard to recover from it. He turned to drink in the first place because of the pressure on him to be a success—something our culture perpetually promotes. When we can’t live up to it we call our selves failures. We don’t need outside forces to punish us when we can do it quite beautifully on our own…my dad being a case in point.’

  ‘Are you going to sit down for a while?’

  Still pondering their revealing exchange, and perhaps a little wary that she had said too much, she quickly declined. ‘I won’t, if you don’t mind. I need to go and prepare dinner. Ricardo has a pair of wild ducks a local farmer gave him. I thought I’d make a nice orange sauce to go with them, and serve it with French beans and mashe
d potato.’

  ‘A culinary delight to be anticipated with much pleasure, I am sure.’

  ‘Are you suggesting that it’s not refined enough for your taste?’

  ‘I was not being droll, Marianne. You forget I have already sampled your cooking and know that you are quite expert. I only meant what I said as a compliment.’

  ‘Oh.’ She had been un consciously twirling a long strand of her hair round and round her finger, feeling increasingly on edge at not knowing what to expect from this man from one moment to the next. At the reassurance in his words she released the soft tendril she’d been toying with and at tempted a smile. To the side of her, in its impressive marble surround, the fire hissed invitingly, and if Eduardo’s company had been less likely to put her on her guard Marianne would gladly have accepted his invitation to sit down and take a break. But, perversely, she was also looking forward to cooking her first real dinner in this lovely old house, and putting her worries and concerns aside for a while.

  ‘Well, I’d better carry on, then. Dinner will be ready around seven. Is that all right with you?’

  ‘That is fine. We need to talk about your remuneration. We have not discussed it yet. Perhaps after dinner you would see me in my study?’

  ‘Okay.’

  It was as if the door of informality Eduardo had opened earlier when he had cordially invited her to join him had been shut firmly in her face. In its place formality suddenly reigned, and as she walked back down the long echoing corridor towards the grand stair case that led down stairs Marianne silently admitted that she didn’t like it. She didn’t like it one bit…

  CHAPTER SIX

  EDUARDO had wanted to mention the fact that he regretted his earlier outburst when they had been walking together in the grounds. But then he’d considered that if he set a precedent he could well be apologising to Marianne the entire time she worked for him. Better that she quickly learned how to adapt to his mood swings and cope with them as best she could. But perversely it also irked him that she hadn’t accepted his invitation to sit a while and talk.