Witch's Harvest by Sara Craven Read Free Book Online Page B

luxury of the flight to Rio de Janeiro, gasping in uninhibited
    delight as she saw the bay, and the beaches, and the great figure of Christ brooding over the city. It was this last stage of the
    long journey, the air taxi which was taking them to Riocho Negro, which had aroused her apprehensions.
    Not that she had any reservations about the skill of Pedro Lazaro, the cheerful young pilot. Conveying passengers and freight
    to out-of-the-way places, and makeshift landing grounds were clearly all in the day's work for him. But at each stage of the
    journey, the plane they travelled in had been smaller than the last, closing her in, reminding her, if she needed reminding, of the new and enclosed intimacy which her marriage to Vasco had imposed.
    And it was the prospect of her impending isolation with him which was making her so nervous.
    She'd been utterly crazy to go through with it, and she knew it. She'd known it every single day leading up to the brief ceremony
    which had made her his nominal wife. Her stumbling explanation to her astounded boss when she had handed in her notice
    had been the first humiliation. It had made her realise he had regarded her as a born and boring spinster, happy to be his
    secretary for the rest of his life.
    And a visit from her aunt and uncle had brought a whole new set of problems. George Westmore had been uncomfortable,
    clearly wishing himself elsewhere, but his wife had no such reservations, and Abby had found herself bombarded with
    hysterical accusations and reproaches, ranging from blatant treachery to rank ingratitude. She had let it wash over her, too
    wretched even to offer a word in her own defence.
    It had taken Vasco's unexpected arrival to put an end to the unpleasant scene. Politely but inexorably he had stopped the
    torrent of words, and seen the Westmores out.
    When he returned, he said flatly, 'My poor Abigail. I bring you nothing but trouble, it seems.'
    'But you're not happy either,' she said desperately. 'Please, Vasco—please—wouldn't it be easier to—to forget the whole thing?
    For you to go back to Brazil as if nothing had ever happened?'
    'But it did happen.' The dark eyes hardened as they studied her pale face. 'We cannot escape that, either of us. It imposes—
    obligations.'
    That word again, she thought painfully. Aloud she said, 'Being in love with someone else—isn't there any obligation in that?'
    'I think in the circumstances, that has to be a secondary consideration,' he said icily. 'Perhaps it would be best not to refer to it again.' He took a flat packet from his coat and tossed it into her lap. 'I came to bring you these,' he said. 'Some photographs of your future home, to convince you that I am not condemning you to a hut in the jungle.'
    Before she could say anything else, he had gone. Abby had looked at the pictures over and over again, until every detail of the
    low, rambling white building was engraved on her mind, trying to relate it to herself, and failing utterly. These pictures had been taken for Della. The house was Della's, and Abby knew that she herself would never be more than a usurper—an interloper.
    She put the photographs back in their envelope and returned them to Vasco without comment, on his next visit.
    He was punctilious about seeing her. He called at the flat most evenings, whisking her out to dinner, or off to the theatre, almost as if their courtship was a real one, she thought, sighing. Or perhaps he preferred to fill their time together with activity.
    Certainly, when they were alone together, the silences became progressively longer. She was aware of Vasco staring into
    space, the dark eyes hooded and brooding.
    Abby obediently completed the necessary formalities for the wedding, and had the recommended inoculations. She did some
    necessary shopping for clothes too, choosing natural fibres in light shades and styles. But she made her choices practical and
    down to earth, reminding herself that she was shopping for an extended