Alejandro's Revenge

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ANNE MATHER

Anne has a stellar record of achievement within the publishing industry, having written over one hundred and sixty books, with worldwide sales of more than forty-eight MILLION copies in multiple languages.

This amazing collection of classic stories offers a chance for readers to recapture the pleasure Anne’s powerful, passionate writing has given.

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I’ve always wanted to write—which is not to say I’ve always wanted to be a professional writer. On the contrary, for years I only wrote for my own pleasure and it wasn’t until my husband suggested sending one of my stories to a publisher that we put several publishers’ names into a hat and pulled one out. The rest, as they say, is history. And now, one hundred and sixty-two books later, I’m literally—excuse the pun—staggered by what’s happened.

I had written all through my infant and junior years and on into my teens, the stories changing from children’s adventures to torrid gypsy passions. My mother used to gather these manuscripts up from time to time, when my bedroom became too untidy, and dispose of them! In those days, I used not to finish any of the stories and Caroline, my first published novel, was the first I’d ever completed. I was newly married then and my daughter was just a baby, and it was quite a job juggling my household chores and scribbling away in exercise books every chance I got. Not very professional, as you can imagine, but that’s the way it was.

These days, I have a bit more time to devote to my work, but that first love of writing has never changed. I can’t imagine not having a current book on the typewriter—yes, it’s my husband who transcribes everything on to the computer. He’s my partner in both life and work and I depend on his good sense more than I care to admit.

We have two grown-up children, a son and a daughter, and two almost grown-up grandchildren, Abi and Ben. My e-mail address is mystic-am@msn.com and I’d be happy to hear from any of my wonderful readers.

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CONTENTS

Cover

About the Author

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

EPILOGUE

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

THE car radio was droning on and on about the temperature in Miami, the highs and lows, the relative humidity. But actually Abby was finding it anything but relative. And heat, or the lack of it, was a subjective thing anyway.

When she’d stepped out of the shadows of the airport buildings half an hour ago she’d been dazzled by the sunlight. Perspiration had soon been trickling down her spine and between her breasts. Now, in the air-conditioned luxury of the limousine, she was practically freezing, and all she really wanted to do was reach her destination and lie down until the throbbing in her head subsided.

But that wasn’t going to happen. Not any time soon anyway. The arrival of the limousine, which surely couldn’t be Edward’s property, seemed to prove that. Instead of Lauren being there to meet her she’d been faced with a blank-faced chauffeur who, apart from the necessary introductions, seemed unable—or unwilling—to indulge in polite conversation.

At first she hadn’t been concerned. The roads leading away from the airport had been jammed with traffic, and when her swarthy driver had turned off the main thoroughfare to thread his way through a maze of streets only a native of Miami would recognise she’d assumed he was taking a short cut to the hospital.

Which just went to show that you shouldn’t take anything for granted, she thought uneasily. Although they’d rejoined the freeway, she was fairly sure they were heading away from the city and South Dade Memorial Hospital where her brother was lying, injured, waiting for her to rush to his bedside. What little she recalled of her first and only other visit to the area was convincing her that they were heading into Coral Gables. And the only people she knew who lived in Coral Gables were Lauren’s parents.

And Alejandro Varga, her treacherous memory reminded her unkindly, but she ignored it.

Still, if they were going to the Esquivals’ home then she would just have to put up with it. And at least they’d be able to tell her how serious Edward’s injuries were. Perhaps Lauren was staying with them while her husband was in hospital. She hadn’t thought to ask any questions when Edward had called her.

Concentrating her attention on her surroundings, she looked through tinted windows at a scene straight out of a travel ad. The broad tree-lined avenue they were driving along ran parallel with the glistening waters of Biscayne Bay, and yachts and other pleasure craft were taking advantage of the late afternoon sunshine. This area, south of Miami, was known for the beauty of its scenery, for the lushness of its vegetation. Palmetto palms and other exotic trees were commonplace here, and the richness and colour of plants and flowering shrubs gave the place a decidedly tropical feel.

Coral Gables, she knew, possessed some of the oldest buildings in Miami, and the architecture showed an innately Spanish influence. There were squares and plazas, pools and tumbling fountains. It was also one of the wealthiest parts of the country: Edward’s in-laws had taken some pains to impress that upon her, too.

Thinking about Lauren’s parents brought her mind back to the reason she was here, and she wished one of them could have come to meet her if their daughter couldn’t. They must have known she’d be worried about her brother. Had something happened? Had something gone wrong? Was that why they were bringing her here?

Perhaps he was dead!

The horrifying thought came out of nowhere. It couldn’t be true, she told herself fiercely. Dear God, she’d only spoken to him two days ago, and, although he hadn’t spared her the details of the car smash that had resulted in him being hospitalised, at no time had he given her the impression that his condition was critical. He’d been upset, yes; resentful, even. But she’d understood that that was because he still felt like a stranger, hospitalised in a strange country.

Though that was a little ridiculous, too. Technically, Edward was a US citizen. He’d lived in Florida for over three years, and for the last two of those years he’d been married to Lauren Esquival. Well, she’d changed her name to Lauren Leighton when she’d married Edward, of course, Abby corrected herself. Even if it had always been hard to attribute such an Anglo-Saxon surname to her essentially Hispanic sister-in-law.

Abby heaved a sigh.

Something told her this was not going to be an uneventful visit. And, remembering Ross’s reaction when she’d told him what she planned to do, going home was not going to be without incident either. Her fiancé—it was still hard to think of him in those terms—had never been one to pull his punches. In his opinion it was high time Edward grew up and started taking responsibility for his own actions, instead of calling on his sister every time he had a problem.

Which wasn’t entirely fair, thought Abby a little defensively. All right, when he was younger Edward had been something of a tearaway, and he had relied on his sister to get him out of many of the scrapes he’d got himself into. Nothing too serious, of course. Lots of youths his age had spent money they didn’t have. He wasn’t a criminal. Nevertheless Abby had spent a goodly portion of her teens and early twenties paying his debts.

Then, when he was nineteen, he’d had what to him had seemed the brilliant idea of going to work in the United States. He’d been studying for a catering diploma at the time, and although Abby had had her doubts when he’d started the course he’d definitely shown an aptitude for the work.

Or perhaps his diligence had been due in part to his infatuation with one of his fellow students, Abby reflected a little cynically now. Whatever, when Selina Steward had taken off for Florida Edward had wasted no time in getting the necessary paperwork and following her.

Abby had been twenty-four then and, although she’d never have admitted as much to Edward, she’d been desolated by his departure. For so long he’d been an integral part of her life. She’d shunned any lasting relationships to be the mother he hardly remembered, and when he’d left she’d had only her career as a teacher to console her.

Still, she’d survived, she conceded ruefully. And she’d been glad when Edward had adapted well to his new surroundings. She’d even convinced herself that it would work out when he’d phoned to say he was going to marry the daughter of the man who owned the Coconut Grove restaurant where he worked. The fact that he and Lauren had only known one another for a matter of months wasn’t important, he’d insisted. And, what was more, Abby had to come over for the wedding…

But she was digressing. The wedding and its painful aftermath were long over, and she had to focus on why she was here now. But even the sight of acres of manicured turf—courtesy, so the sign read, of the Alhambra Country Club—and the sunlit plaza that adjoined it couldn’t compensate for the feelings of anxiety that were growing inside her. If only she knew what was going on. If only she knew how Edward was, where he was…

He had to be all right, she told herself fiercely. She’d never forgive herself if anything had happened to him. All right, as Ross had so painstakingly pointed out, she couldn’t hold herself responsible for Edward’s decision to move to Florida, and at twenty-two he was surely old enough to look after himself. But Edward would always be her little brother, and Abby supposed it was her own thwarted maternal instinct that made her so protective of him still.

But that was something else she didn’t want to get into now. Looking down, she massaged her finger where Ross’s diamond sparkled with a cold light. They’d been engaged since Christmas, after knowing one another since before Edward had left for the States. But it was only in recent months that they’d become close.

And now Edward was causing a rift between them. Ross considered her decision to come rushing out here at her brother’s behest nothing short of foolhardy. They were planning to get married in six months, for heaven’s sake, he’d protested. Wasting money on airfares to Florida, when she had no real proof that her brother was in any danger, was downright stupid.

Well, Ross hadn’t exactly said she was stupid. He was far too prudent for that. But he had maintained that after they were married things would be different. She would have to stop behaving as if Edward still needed her to hold his hand.

Abby grimaced. When they were married. Somehow the words had even less conviction here than they’d had back in London. It wasn’t that she didn’t care for Ross, she told herself. She did. Perhaps she’d just been single too long. Why did she find it so hard to contemplate putting her future in any man’s hands?

Or had Alejandro Varga…?

But once again she steered her thoughts away from that disastrous memory. Like her mother’s desertion, and her father’s subsequent death from alcohol poisoning, it was all water under the bridge now. It had no bearing on the present. She was here to support Edward and nothing else.

Unless Alejandro visited his cousin while she was here.

But that wouldn’t happen, she assured herself. His association with Lauren’s parents had seemed tenuous at best. As far as she remembered Alejandro was a distant cousin of Mrs Esquival, and his presence in their home had been because of the wedding. Besides, he had a wife. And somehow Abby didn’t think he’d want to introduce them.

Her throat tightened in spite of herself, and she was glad that the sudden slowing of the car brought her quickly back to the present. For a few moments she’d been lost in thought, but now she saw that they had entered the residential district where she knew the Esquivals had their estate.

It wasn’t an estate such as was meant by the word back in England, of course. The Esquivals’ property comprised a rather large villa set in cultivated grounds. There was no parkland surrounding it, no gatehouse. Just a high stone wall protecting it from public view.

The names of the various streets they passed were appealing, and Abby forced herself to look for South Cutler Road, where Lauren’s parents lived. Fortunately it was nowhere near Old Okra Road, where Alejandro had his house. She’d have been far more apprehensive if it was.

Abby was just admiring the Renaissance façade of the newly refurbished Gables Hotel when the chauffeur turned his head and spoke to her over his shoulder. ‘I guess this is your first visit to Florida, ma’am,’ he said, albeit with a heavy Spanish accent, and Abby was so taken aback that for a moment she could only stare at him.

‘I—my second,’ she got out at last, trying not to feel aggrieved that he’d waited so long before speaking to her. Also, being addressed as ‘ma’am’ took some getting used to, as well. She touched her hair defensively. Did she really look that old?

‘So you’ve been to the Esquivals’ house before?’ he went on, and she swallowed.

‘Is that where we’re going?’ she asked, gathering her composure with an effort. ‘What about my brother? Do you know how he is?’

‘No one told me anything about that, ma’am,’ responded the chauffeur annoyingly. ‘But as he’s staying with the Esquivals right now I guess you’ll soon find out.’

Abby’s jaw dropped. ‘He’s staying with the Esquivals?’ she echoed disbelievingly. ‘But—I understood he was in hospital.’

‘Guess he’s recovered,’ the man remarked laconically. ‘Like I say, you’ll soon see him for yourself.’

Abby realised she must look as stunned as she felt, and hastily pulled herself together. But all Ross’s misgivings were coming home to roost. She should have insisted on speaking to Edward’s doctor before she left England. She just hoped her brother hadn’t brought her here on a wild-goose chase.

Any further speculation was balked by the realisation that the chauffeur had halted the impressive limousine outside tall electrically operated gates. He barely had time to roll down his window and identify himself to the security cameras before the heavy gates started to open, and they drove up the curving driveway to the Esquivals’ sprawling residence.

Not surprisingly now, Abby was anxious, and she found herself moving to the edge of her seat. It was as if she hoped she could precipitate her arrival. For the moment all she could think about was seeing her brother again, and she barely looked at the beautiful Spanish-style house with its ornamental pillars and trailing vines.

The car braked before double-panelled doors, and almost immediately they opened to allow a uniformed maid to run down the shallow steps to meet them. Small and foreign in appearance, she seemed unusually eager to please, opening the door of the limousine, inviting Abby to step out.

‘Thanks.’

Abby did so, brushing down the slightly creased legs of her khaki pants. In fact, she was sure she must look distinctly travel-worn, and she wished she’d thought about taking a change of clothes onto the plane.

The khaki pants and cream shirt would have to do, though she thought about taking her jacket out of her haversack. But now that she was out in the sunlight again the heat was almost palpable. She certainly didn’t need a jacket. And it was only March.

‘Welcome to Miami, señora,’ the maid greeted her politely as the chauffeur got out to heft Abby’s suitcase from the boot. Then, with a distinctly flirtatious air, she added, ‘Hola, Carlos. Como esta?’ How are you?

As Abby digested the fact that she now knew the chauffeur’s name, he responded to the maid’s greeting with rather less enthusiasm. ‘Bien, gracias,’ he said, which Abby knew was usually followed by Y usted? but wasn’t in this case. Then, to Abby, ‘I’ll leave this here, ma’am.’ He put down the heavy case. ‘And I hope all goes well with your brother.’

‘Oh—thank you.’ Abby blinked, wondering if the house was off-limits to the other staff. But when he got back into the limousine and drove away she revised her opinion. She had probably taken him away from his usual work.

To her chagrin, the maid took charge of her case. Lifting the strap, she tugged it on its wheels up the steps, waiting rather impatiently now for Abby to join her.

‘Come,’ she said, leading the way into the wide entrance hall. It was cooler inside, and a huge urn of flowers spilled scarlet blossoms over the marble surface of a stone table.

Air-conditioning cooled the heat that had beaded on Abby’s forehead, and she ran a nervous hand over her hair, feeling the damp strands clinging to her cheeks. She probably looked as flushed and harassed as she felt.

Looking about her, she had to admit she’d forgotten exactly how beautiful the Esquivals’ home was. Cool and spacious, it epitomised all that was good about Spanish architecture. Long windows looked out onto an inner courtyard and hanging baskets edged an arching colonnade.

‘Mees Leighton—Abigail!’ The voice that accosted her was soft and feminine, and Abby turned to find Lauren’s mother emerging from the salon that adjoined the reception hall. Small and plump, but exquisitely dressed, Dolores Esquival matched her surroundings, her sleek chignon of dark hair putting Abby’s explosion of crinkled red curls to shame. ‘Welcome to Florida,’ she added, her high heels tapping across the polished floor as she came to meet her guest. Air kisses whispered at either side of Abby’s head as she continued, ‘I hope you had a good journey, cara.’

‘I—yes. Thank you.’ Abby felt a little bemused as she returned the greeting. Lauren’s mother was behaving as if she was here for a holiday instead of flying out to be at her brother’s bedside. ‘It’s very—kind of you to ask.’

‘Not so, querida.’ Was Abby mistaken or did Dolores’s mouth tighten a little. ‘We are very happy to have you here.’

‘Yes, but—’

Ignoring her now, Lauren’s mother switched her attention to the maid, who was hovering in the background, directing her to take their guest’s suitcase upstairs. At least that was what Abby thought she was doing. Her imperious signal towards the curving staircase seemed to indicate it was.

‘Oh, but—’ Abby began, eager to explain that she had no intention of presuming on the Esquivals’ hospitality, but Lauren’s mother turned to her again.

‘This way,’ she said, apparently deaf to Abby’s protests. ‘I am sure you are eager to see your brother,’ she added, heading into the salon. ‘Everyone is through here.’

Afterwards, when she was unwillingly installed in the first-floor suite she had occupied on her first visit to Florida, Abby marvelled that she had had no suspicion that Alejandro might be there.

Yet how could she have? she asked herself defensively. She’d believed that he was just a distant relative, invited to the wedding because family politics dictated as much. She’d had no idea that he was such a close friend of the Esquivals, nor that Lauren seemed to regard him with a distinctly possessive affection.

Still, when she’d followed Dolores into the enormous salon that seemed to stretch right across the back of the house, she’d had eyes only for her brother. Besides, she’d still been slightly dazzled by the change from sun to shadow. With spots of brilliance dancing before her pupils, she’d been in no condition to instantly register all the people in the room.

Edward was there, she’d seen with some relief, apparently confined to the cushioned divan where he was reclining. With one leg encased in plaster from hip to knee, he had apparently been incapable of coming to greet her. She had hesitated only a moment before hurrying to his side.

‘Oh, Eddie,’ she exclaimed huskily, suddenly inexplicably near to tears. ‘What on earth have you been doing to yourself?’

She bent to kiss his cheek and Edward captured one of her hands and held onto it. ‘Hey, Abbs,’ he greeted her urgently. Then, in an undertone, ‘Thank God you’ve come!’

Abby’s eyes widened at his unexpected words. But before she could say or do anything rash, another hand touched her sleeve.

‘Abigail,’ declared a vaguely familiar voice. ‘How—good it is to see you again.’

Abby turned, straightening, to find Luis Esquival standing right behind her. Lauren’s father was only slightly taller than his wife, with a broad dark-skinned face and luxuriant moustaches. He extended his hand towards her. ‘Did you have a pleasant journey?’

Abby was confused, as much by her brother’s words as by the fairly obvious conclusion that there was nothing seriously wrong with him. He had let her believe that he’d be in hospital for some time, whereas now it appeared that apart from a probable fracture he was okay. Heavens, she thought ruefully, Ross was going to love this.

But Lauren’s father was waiting for an answer and, summoning her composure, she managed a polite smile. ‘It was—tiring,’ she admitted. Plane journeys were not her thing, and she’d had the doubtful privilege of being seated next to the toilets. ‘Thank you.’

She glanced round then, expecting to see Lauren, but her sister-in-law wasn’t in the room. Instead she saw an elderly woman seated by an arrangement of potted palms, and behind her, standing in the shadows near the ornate brick fireplace, was a tall man dressed all in black.

It was strange, but even then she had no inkling that she might know him. So far as she was concerned the only other person she was eager to speak to was Lauren herself. She wanted to find out what was behind Edward’s desperate words. She wanted to know why he’d felt the need to send for her.

But once again Luis Esquival demanded her attention. ‘We were most surprised when Edward told us you intended paying us a visit,’ he said silkily. ‘As you can see, your brother is recovering very well.’

Abby was nonplussed. Her eyes sought Edward’s, but he was suddenly intensely interested in the cast on his leg. Below the hem of his navy shorts the plaster looked extremely white against his bare skin, and as she watched he shifted a little uneasily in his seat.

‘I—I thought—’ she was beginning, when the man beside the fireplace suddenly moved into the shaft of sunlight slicing through the half-drawn blinds.

‘I am sure—Abigail—was concerned when she heard about her brother’s accident,’ he drawled in the low, seductively sensual tone that Abby remembered not just in her mind but in her bones. And as she swung round, hardly daring to believe he’d have the nerve to come here and face her, Alejandro Varga acknowledged her dismay with an ironic little smile. ‘Abigail.’ He inclined his head towards her with all his old arrogance. ‘What an unexpected pleasure!’