It assaulted my eyes. Dark polished wood, lush carpets, gold trim, and large, heavily patterned drapes clamoured for attention. But I was drawn to the walls, where three long paintings swirled in greens, blues and reds.
Luciana followed my gaze. ‘These are by an up-and-coming artist from Bahia. Do you like them?’
‘They remind me of my mother’s.’ And, in a strange kind of way, they did. Although the subject matter, Norfolk beaches and tropical forests, was entirely different, the whirling brush strokes evoked the same kind of dark despair. It was uncanny.
‘Really?’ said Luciana. ‘She must be a good painter.’
‘She is,’ I said, thoughtfully.
Luciana watched me closely. She knew and liked these paintings. It was as though she knew my mother.
‘Would you like a glass of wine?’ she offered.
‘That would be lovely.’
‘Have a seat, I’ll be back in a minute.’
I sat down on a sofa, and looked around at the carpets, vases, clocks, candlesticks, some old, some new, all expensive. Between the paintings hung a vast, gilded antique mirror. What sort of people would like to have their homes done up like this? I wondered. Rich people, I presumed.
I could see no trace of Ricardo anywhere. He probably had an office stuck away out of sight. This was Luciana’s territory.
She returned with two glasses of white wine, and curled up in a large armchair next to me. I noticed she was barefoot. Red toenails.
It seemed to her perfectly natural that a junior ex-employee of her husband’s firm should come to see her to talk about designs. Somehow, I had guessed it would.
‘So, you’re decorating your place?’ she asked.
‘Yes. Now I’ve earned some money I thought I ought to brighten the flat up a bit. And I liked some of the things I saw in Brazil, so I thought I would come and ask you for ideas. If you don’t mind?’
‘I don’t mind at all,’ said Luciana. Her dark eyes looked straight at me over her glass. ‘But let’s have a drink and some lunch first, shall we? It’s just a salad.’
I gulped at the wine. I felt uncomfortable. In her own way, this woman was as powerful as Ricardo. She was used to getting what she wanted. Well, I needed something from her, and it seemed best to come to it straight away, before I lost control of the situation.
‘Actually, there is something else I wanted to ask you about.’
‘Oh, yes?’
‘It’s about your brother, Francisco.’
This surprised her. Her smile wavered, and those dark eyes hardened for a second. ‘Why do you want to know about him?’
‘You know Isabel Pereira was kidnapped, don’t you?’
‘Yes. That was awful. These things happen in Rio. It is terrible.’
‘Well, it seems that Dekker Ward have been dealing with drug gangs. It may be that there’s a connection between this money-laundering and Isabel’s kidnappers.’
‘And you think this connection might be Francisco?’ Luciana looked shocked but not offended.
I took a deep breath. ‘I have heard rumours that Francisco is connected with some drug gangs.’
‘Are you saying my brother is a narco-trafficker?’ Luciana still looked more amused than offended.
‘No, Luciana. I’m saying your brother is a businessman. I’m sure he doesn’t deal in drugs, but he deals in money, doesn’t he?’
‘I guess so.’
‘Well, people invest money with him, he invests money with other people. Perhaps he invested some money with Ricardo? Money belonging to contacts of his? Contacts in the import-export business?’
I was guessing and Luciana could see it. She smiled. ‘And why should I tell you anything about this, even if there is anything to tell?’
‘What’s the harm? I don’t care where Francisco’s money came from. I have no desire to get him into trouble. All I care about is tracing Isabel, and I need some sort of lead. If I don’t find her in the next week, she will die.’
‘She means a lot to you, doesn’t she?’ Once again, Luciana’s gaze was direct.
I nodded.
‘Your glass is empty. Let me get some more wine.’ She disappeared again, to the kitchen presumably, and returned with the bottle. She filled her own glass and mine.
She sat down next to me on the sofa, and touched my arm. I didn’t move. But it was very hard to remain detached with such a beautiful and intensely sexual woman next to me.
‘Ricardo doesn’t like you very much, does he?’ she said.
‘No. I don’t think he does. Do you mind that?’
‘No,’ she said, running her finger along my sleeve. ‘I rather like it.’
‘Will you tell me about your brother?’ I asked.
‘Maybe,’ she said, and smiled, looking up at me through blackened eyelashes.
I knew what I would have to do to get my question answered. And, looking at Luciana, just how bad could that be?
But in the same way that I didn’t want to be manipulated by her husband, I didn’t want to be manipulated by this woman. She moved even closer to me, I could feel one of her breasts touching my arm. ‘Don’t be shy,’ she said.
‘Do you do this often?’
‘Sometimes. For fun. And it is fun, I can assure you.’
‘That’s what Jamie says,’ I lied.
‘Does he talk about me?’ she said, in mock anger.
I nodded. ‘We’re old friends.’
‘And I thought you English men were too uptight to talk about sex!’
‘What does Ricardo think? Does he know how you amuse yourself at home?’
‘We never talk about it. I think he must guess I have some outside interests. I don’t think he realizes that some of them are his own people.’
‘And doesn’t that bother you?’
‘I like it.’
‘You like it?’
Luciana sat upright. ‘When you’re married to someone like Ricardo he tries to control you. Well, I don’t like to be controlled. I want to decide what I want to do, and if he knows it, so what?’
‘I think I can understand that.’
‘Most people don’t stand up to him. You did. You drive him crazy. Maybe that’s why I like you.’
‘And Jamie?’
‘I think Jamie likes to think he can fuck the boss’s wife. Well, that’s fine with me. He likes living dangerously and so do I. And he is cute.’
‘So where does that leave us?’ I asked.
She leaned forward, and kissed me gently on the lips. ‘Right here.’
Suddenly my confusion resolved itself. Either I could stay and be laid by this woman and then perhaps hear some lie about her brother, or I could leave now.
‘Well, thank you for the wine, Luciana,’ I said, pulling myself to my feet. ‘I’m sorry I can’t stay to lunch.’
I left her curled up on the sofa, coolly drinking her wine.
‘Tchau,’ she said.
27
For the third time in the last three months, I saw the brown dusty mess of Rio’s northern suburbs through the window of an aeroplane. But it was different this time. Before, I had felt anticipation and excitement. Now I felt desperation and fear. Fear for Isabel, and fear for myself. I had nearly been killed on my first trip, and kidnapped on my second. What would happen this time, I wondered.
The ticket for the British Airways flight departing that evening had cost me half of what was left of the money Ricardo had lent me. I had had no choice but to pay it. I had to do all I could to find Isabel, and that involved flying to Brazil. If I didn’t go, and the kidnappers carried out their threat, I would never be able to forgive myself.
Luís had been pleased to hear of my plans, and Kate had been understanding. Her willingness to help me save Isabel was touching, but no less than I would have expected of her. She asked me to keep her informed of events. Jamie was at work. He would, no doubt, be happy to find me gone when he returned.