Read Online The Arrogant Duke by Anne Mather - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anne Mather
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she slid into the back of the car. The Duque put Teresa into the front seat, beside his own, and then walked round to climb in beside her. He gave Juliet a cursory glance before setting the car in motion, but Juliet had the feeling that in spite of her antagonism towards him she didn't exist for him as a woman but merely as someone, with radical ideas, who just happened to be Teresa's companion. After all, Estelle Vinceiro left little to the imagination, and it was obvious that she considered the Duque her property. And maybe he was, and what of it? thought Juliet, crossly.
They drove away from the quinta in the opposite direction from that taken by Juliet the previous morning, and unable to suppress her interest, Juliet leaned forward in her seat, watching everything with heightened intensity.
The Duque drove fast, but expertly, the car making swift progress towards Venterra. They passed dark- skinned islanders along the road, men working in the sugar cane fields, or tending the bean plantations, women with young children, some riding on their backs, making their way to the market in Venterra; and all acknowledged the Duque's car, showing more clearly than words how liked and respected the aristocratic lord of Venterra really was. The colours were an assault on the eyes, and the scents and fragrances were an assault on the senses. Juliet didn't know how anyone could live on Venterra without being completely aware of its atmosphere. She had visited the West Indies before, so why was everything so much more brilliant, colourful and exciting this time? She refused to try and solve that particular problem. She was merely unsophisticated and over-sensitive, or so she told herself.
The Duque parked the car on the quay, leaving the two girls alone while he went into a warehouse to see about the importation of certain items he required which would be arriving on the island steamer that afternoon. Tall and dark, despite his tanned complexion, he stood out among the dark-skinned West Indians, exchanging a word here and there, inclining his head to listen to someone's problem; he was everything an island despot should be, thought Juliet ruefully, taking out her cigarettes, and lighting one as she viewed the bustling scene before her.
Obviously, all the commerce of the island was conducted here, and there were stalls selling fish and meat, fruit and vegetables, as well as materials and cooking utensils. There was the' smell of fish and drying ropes, the musky smell of soft fruit and the inescapable scent of humanity. It was strong, and not always pleasant, and yet it blended with the swaying hips and basket- adorned heads of the West Indians, to whom rhythm and music was everything. Even at this hour a steel band was practising somewhere, while a boy sat on the stone jetty strumming a guitar.
And over it all beamed the sun, like a benevolent uncle.
Juliet sighed, and Teresa turned to look at her. 'We've never discussed it, Senhorita Summers, but how did you persuade my uncle that your presence here was warranted?' Her eyes were cold and calculating.
Juliet felt momentarily at a disadvantage, and then, as though recalling that Teresa was much younger than she was, she said coolly: 'As you're so fond of intrigue, Teresa, why don't you ask your uncle yourself?'
Teresa's colour deepened. 'Don't be clever, senhorita. You're only here on sufferance, remember that!' She pouted her lips. 'I am glad I do not have to work for my living. It must be awful feeling inferior all the time. '
Juliet studied the tip of her cigarette. 'Why should I feel inferior, Teresa? ' she asked.
Teresa gave a derisive sneer. 'Well, it's obvious, isn't it? I mean - this island - the quinta - must be vastly different from anything you're used to.'
'So?' Juliet's eyes were holding Teresa's.
'So you're just - just a servant!'
'And all servants are inferior, is that it?'
Teresa shrugged.
Juliet compressed her lips for a moment. 'Then let me tell you
They drove away from the quinta in the opposite direction from that taken by Juliet the previous morning, and unable to suppress her interest, Juliet leaned forward in her seat, watching everything with heightened intensity.
The Duque drove fast, but expertly, the car making swift progress towards Venterra. They passed dark- skinned islanders along the road, men working in the sugar cane fields, or tending the bean plantations, women with young children, some riding on their backs, making their way to the market in Venterra; and all acknowledged the Duque's car, showing more clearly than words how liked and respected the aristocratic lord of Venterra really was. The colours were an assault on the eyes, and the scents and fragrances were an assault on the senses. Juliet didn't know how anyone could live on Venterra without being completely aware of its atmosphere. She had visited the West Indies before, so why was everything so much more brilliant, colourful and exciting this time? She refused to try and solve that particular problem. She was merely unsophisticated and over-sensitive, or so she told herself.
The Duque parked the car on the quay, leaving the two girls alone while he went into a warehouse to see about the importation of certain items he required which would be arriving on the island steamer that afternoon. Tall and dark, despite his tanned complexion, he stood out among the dark-skinned West Indians, exchanging a word here and there, inclining his head to listen to someone's problem; he was everything an island despot should be, thought Juliet ruefully, taking out her cigarettes, and lighting one as she viewed the bustling scene before her.
Obviously, all the commerce of the island was conducted here, and there were stalls selling fish and meat, fruit and vegetables, as well as materials and cooking utensils. There was the' smell of fish and drying ropes, the musky smell of soft fruit and the inescapable scent of humanity. It was strong, and not always pleasant, and yet it blended with the swaying hips and basket- adorned heads of the West Indians, to whom rhythm and music was everything. Even at this hour a steel band was practising somewhere, while a boy sat on the stone jetty strumming a guitar.
And over it all beamed the sun, like a benevolent uncle.
Juliet sighed, and Teresa turned to look at her. 'We've never discussed it, Senhorita Summers, but how did you persuade my uncle that your presence here was warranted?' Her eyes were cold and calculating.
Juliet felt momentarily at a disadvantage, and then, as though recalling that Teresa was much younger than she was, she said coolly: 'As you're so fond of intrigue, Teresa, why don't you ask your uncle yourself?'
Teresa's colour deepened. 'Don't be clever, senhorita. You're only here on sufferance, remember that!' She pouted her lips. 'I am glad I do not have to work for my living. It must be awful feeling inferior all the time. '
Juliet studied the tip of her cigarette. 'Why should I feel inferior, Teresa? ' she asked.
Teresa gave a derisive sneer. 'Well, it's obvious, isn't it? I mean - this island - the quinta - must be vastly different from anything you're used to.'
'So?' Juliet's eyes were holding Teresa's.
'So you're just - just a servant!'
'And all servants are inferior, is that it?'
Teresa shrugged.
Juliet compressed her lips for a moment. 'Then let me tell you
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