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Cristina headed for the kitchen. On her way there she passed one of the women from the village, coming away from the kitchen carrying a mop and bucket. She dipped a shy hello at Cristina and, when asked what she was doing, said she was here to help Orraca with the household chores.
Since Cristina did most of those chores herself, she took the fact that someone had given this woman a mop and bucket and told her to go and clean something as a very personal slight.
Luis, of course. It just had to be him. She’d given in to a little weak weeping on his shoulder and now he thought he could—
Those thoughts ground to a stop at the sight that met her in the kitchen. For a few seconds she could not believe what she was seeing, and even thought of going out and coming in again. For there at her table sat Orraca, sharing what looked like a pot of tea served in the best china with none other than Luis’s mother, who was looking lovely in a soft cambric shirt and pale blue linen trousers, her dark hair loosely looped at her slender nape.
‘Ah, good morning, Cristina,’ the lady herself greeted her warmly.
‘Good—morning.’ Good manners made her reply accordingly.
Scott-Lee smiled. ‘I can see you are surprised to see me here, and I don’t blame you,’ she said. ‘When my son wishes to move mountains, he moves mountains. Please—come and sit down and join us. Orraca and I were just reminiscing about the old times.’
‘How—how long have you been here?’
‘I arrived just half an hour ago. But Anton’s team of experts were here at the crack of dawn.’
‘Team—?’
‘The men who are surveying the land edging the forest with the intention of acquiring a protection order for it.’
‘Protection?’ She was bewildered.
‘Sim. Anton thinks it is best to do it officially, then you will not have to put up with greedy people like the Alagoas Consortium coming at you through the back door, so to speak. Come and sit down,’ his mamma urged yet again. ‘Orraca, another cup and saucer, if you would be so good, my dear…’
Orraca, Cristina saw to her utter amazement, meekly stood from the table and did as she was bade—when no one, but no one, told Orraca to do anything!
Cristina’s eyes gave a flash. ‘Where is Luis?’ she demanded.
‘In Sao Paulo, dealing with some other business. He said to tell you to eat a proper breakfast before you start shouting at me,’ his mother relayed, dark eyes twinkling, and so thoroughly, unfairly disarming that Cristina found herself sitting down and accepting the cup of tea Orraca provided, along with one of her unreadable stares.
‘I suppose you think it is okay to let strangers wander my home?’ she said to the housekeeper.
‘He is an architect.’ Scott-Lee provided the reply. ‘An expert in historical renovation. And he is so in love with your house, Cristina, he almost begged Anton to give him the commission. What do you usually eat for breakfast, meu querida?’
‘She does not eat breakfast.’ Orraca spoke for the first time. ‘She does not eat lunch. Why do you think she is so thin? I am amazed your handsome son wants to marry such a—’
‘I think we will have some hot toast with proper butter,’ Luis’s mother smoothly cut in. ‘I usually deny myself butter,’ she confided. ‘Not good for the figure or the heart. But, since you make your own here, how am I supposed to resist it?’
Orraca moved off without another word to make the suggested toast, while Cristina tried a couple of calming breaths before she attempted to make sense of what was going on here.
‘Senhora Scott-Lee—’
‘Please call me Maria—everyone does—except for Anton, of course. If you prefer it you can call me Mother, as he does, though I always think it’s such a stuffy name—very English.’ She grimaced.
‘He is English,’ Cristina said.
‘You think so?’ His mother looked thoughtful. ‘I suppose he must seem it to you.’
‘Mrs—Maria…’
‘Still, you haven’t met his uncle Maximilian yet. Now, there is the quintessential Englishman—complete with bowler hat and umbrella in his prime. Now he prefers Harris tweed and a walking stick.’
‘Senhora—’
‘Ah, here is our toast. Orraca, I think I would like to steal you away from Santa Rosa. Would you like to live in London, do you think?’
