Read Online Who Rides the Tiger by Anne Mather - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anne Mather
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Minha Terra.'
Dominique lifted her omelette out of the pan, her appetite diminishing. However would she be able to get through an evening in Vincente Santos's presence, with John beside her, watching her every move?
On the day of the dinner party, which as John had expected had caused much speculation among his friends, Dominique spent some time examining the contents of her wardrobe. Her clothes were mostly informal. In England almost anything would do for evening wear and she had a couple of jersey slack suits which she might have considered in London but which would be bound to look out of place here. Eventually she decided on a black tunic, straight and simple, with an overlying skirt of strands of gold lame. It was rather way-out, she thought a little dryly, as she laid it. on her bed in her room at the Rawlings', but at least it looked suitable. She had bought it in a boutique in London which she had visited with the girls from the adjoining flat to her own, and they had encouraged her to do so. Certainly it suited her, but would Vincente Santos think she had worn it for his benefit? And why did she want to look her best anyway?
But of course, she knew the answer to that!
There was a tap at her door, and without waiting for a reply, Marion entered, her eyes widening when she saw the black and gold dress.
'Well, well!' she said. 'Is that what you're going to wear tonight?'
Dominique stifled her annoyance. 'Yes. Do you think it's all right?'
Marion studied it thoughtfully. 'It's rather short, isn't it?' she asked critically, as Dominique held it against herself.
Dominique threw it back on the bed. 'So are all the clothes being worn in England at the moment,' she said. 'Oh, there are maxis and midis, and goodness knows what else, but I prefer the short lengths, myself.'
'So I've noticed,' remarked Marion, rather spitefully. 'However, John will no doubt change his mind about that once you're married.'
Dominique frowned. 'What do you mean?'
'Well, no man worth his salt wants his wife going around exhibiting herself for every other man to stare at,' returned Marion coolly. 'Men like Vincente Santos, for example.'
Dominique bit her lip. Marion was baiting her, she knew, and she would not allow her to get away with it.
'Did you want something, Marion?' she asked sweetly.
Marion shrugged. 'Nothing in particular. Just a chat,' she replied, sitting on the end of Dominique's bed. 'Tell me, Dominique, what really happened that day Santos came here looking for you? Did you really know he was coming?'
Dominique turned away. 'Of course I didn't,' she said, controlling her temper with difficulty. 'And I told you what happened.'
'You told John what happened. But that's a different story, isn't it, Dominique? I mean, I don't believe that stuff about him being concerned for your welfare, and so on! That's not what he came for. I know Vincente Santos!'
Dominique swung round. 'That's just the point, you doritV she retorted, forgetting for a moment to whom she was speaking. 'You know absolutely nothing about him! Only the gossip you can dig up about him!'
Marion looked flabbergasted. 'And you know everything about him, I suppose?' she sneered.
Dominique bent her head, recovering her composure. 'No. No, I didn't say that. I - I said you knew nothing. That's something else again.'
'But how come you can pass any opinion, either way?' snapped Marion. 'Unless you've had experience, of course!'
Dominique clenched her fists. 'Do you mind leaving my room, Marion?' she asked tightly. 'I - I want to wash my hair!'
Marion seemed about to say more, but then they both heard the children, coming in from school, calling to their mother. Marion gave Dominique a furious stare, and then she left, slamming the door behind her.
After she had gone, Dominique leant against the door weakly for a moment, wishing there was a key so that she could be certain of some privacy in future. Then she straightened, and walking through to the
Dominique lifted her omelette out of the pan, her appetite diminishing. However would she be able to get through an evening in Vincente Santos's presence, with John beside her, watching her every move?
On the day of the dinner party, which as John had expected had caused much speculation among his friends, Dominique spent some time examining the contents of her wardrobe. Her clothes were mostly informal. In England almost anything would do for evening wear and she had a couple of jersey slack suits which she might have considered in London but which would be bound to look out of place here. Eventually she decided on a black tunic, straight and simple, with an overlying skirt of strands of gold lame. It was rather way-out, she thought a little dryly, as she laid it. on her bed in her room at the Rawlings', but at least it looked suitable. She had bought it in a boutique in London which she had visited with the girls from the adjoining flat to her own, and they had encouraged her to do so. Certainly it suited her, but would Vincente Santos think she had worn it for his benefit? And why did she want to look her best anyway?
But of course, she knew the answer to that!
There was a tap at her door, and without waiting for a reply, Marion entered, her eyes widening when she saw the black and gold dress.
'Well, well!' she said. 'Is that what you're going to wear tonight?'
Dominique stifled her annoyance. 'Yes. Do you think it's all right?'
Marion studied it thoughtfully. 'It's rather short, isn't it?' she asked critically, as Dominique held it against herself.
Dominique threw it back on the bed. 'So are all the clothes being worn in England at the moment,' she said. 'Oh, there are maxis and midis, and goodness knows what else, but I prefer the short lengths, myself.'
'So I've noticed,' remarked Marion, rather spitefully. 'However, John will no doubt change his mind about that once you're married.'
Dominique frowned. 'What do you mean?'
'Well, no man worth his salt wants his wife going around exhibiting herself for every other man to stare at,' returned Marion coolly. 'Men like Vincente Santos, for example.'
Dominique bit her lip. Marion was baiting her, she knew, and she would not allow her to get away with it.
'Did you want something, Marion?' she asked sweetly.
Marion shrugged. 'Nothing in particular. Just a chat,' she replied, sitting on the end of Dominique's bed. 'Tell me, Dominique, what really happened that day Santos came here looking for you? Did you really know he was coming?'
Dominique turned away. 'Of course I didn't,' she said, controlling her temper with difficulty. 'And I told you what happened.'
'You told John what happened. But that's a different story, isn't it, Dominique? I mean, I don't believe that stuff about him being concerned for your welfare, and so on! That's not what he came for. I know Vincente Santos!'
Dominique swung round. 'That's just the point, you doritV she retorted, forgetting for a moment to whom she was speaking. 'You know absolutely nothing about him! Only the gossip you can dig up about him!'
Marion looked flabbergasted. 'And you know everything about him, I suppose?' she sneered.
Dominique bent her head, recovering her composure. 'No. No, I didn't say that. I - I said you knew nothing. That's something else again.'
'But how come you can pass any opinion, either way?' snapped Marion. 'Unless you've had experience, of course!'
Dominique clenched her fists. 'Do you mind leaving my room, Marion?' she asked tightly. 'I - I want to wash my hair!'
Marion seemed about to say more, but then they both heard the children, coming in from school, calling to their mother. Marion gave Dominique a furious stare, and then she left, slamming the door behind her.
After she had gone, Dominique leant against the door weakly for a moment, wishing there was a key so that she could be certain of some privacy in future. Then she straightened, and walking through to the
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