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and leave you in this uncertainty.'
    She bit her lip. 'I could write to you—if the worst came to the worst.'
    'Thank you.' he said coldly. 'You presume that I will then be able to drop my responsibilities to the plantation and rush back to
    Britain.' He shook his head slowly. 'No—when I leave, I shall not return.' The long fingers cupped her face, making her face him.
    'And when I go, I intend to take my wife with me. You, senhorita .'
    Her throat felt constricted. 'Vasco, you still love Della. It isn't too late. She doesn't want to marry Jeremy Portman, I swear it. It was just the thought of Riocho Negro that frightened her. It's so different from anything she's ever experienced. She's used to
    shops—theatres, restaurants. They're part of her world.'
    'I know that.' His face was brooding. 'I was prepared to make allowances. But not to submit to emotional blackmail.'
    'But you could meet her half-way,' Abby insisted almost feverishly. 'Couldn't you set some time limit—assure her that eventually
    you'll take her to live in Rio?'
    'You seem to be suffering from the same misapprehension as your cousin. Understand this, Abigail. Riocho Negro is mine. It
    belongs to me, and it owns me too, as I tried to explain to Della. There was never the remotest possibility of my returning to live in Rio.'
    'Perhaps she didn't realise,' she persisted.
    'Let us be honest. Della did not wish to realise, although I explained the position over and over again.' His mouth twisted wryly.
    'Now I must tell you. I inherited the plantation at Riocho Negro from a distant cousin, Afonso da Carvalho. His family had
    occupied the land there for several generations, growing cacao, and he wrote during one of my vacations from the university
    inviting me to visit him. As we had almost lost touch with that side of our family, I agreed. I was young enough to consider it an adventure.'
    'And wasn't it?'
    'At first, yes. Afonso was much older than myself, and had married late. His wife was very young, and an angel, expecting their
    first child. He had made elaborate arrangements for this important birth. Beatriz was to be taken in good time to a clinic in
    Manaus. Everything seemed fine.'
    His face grew bleak. 'Then one morning, he was called out to look at some of his young trees. They were showing signs of
    disease—a fungus called witch's broom, which can only be cured by destroying and burning the damaged trees. It was a
    setback he did not need, although God knows he should have been used to it by that time. Ants, pests, a variety of diseases
    attack the trees constantly. Vigilance is always needed to protect the crop.' He sighed. 'We had just begun clearing the diseased
    trees when a message came from the house. Beatriz was in labour, six weeks before her time. A doctor was sent for from the
    settlement, but it was too late. There were complications, and within hours both his wife and son were dead.'
    He shook his head. 'Afterwards, he was a different man. He seemed to lose all will to live—to fight, and I worried about him,
    about what he might do. I should have returned to university to take up my studies, but I knew it was impossible. Afonso needed
    me, so I stayed.'
    'Wasn't that rather hard on you?' asked Abby. 'You were very young to be faced with such a decision.'
    Vasco shrugged. 'Perhaps, but I had grown fond of Afonso, and his Beatriz. I understood his grief, and shared it. As time went
    by he came to rely on me more and more. He began to drink, and I found I was running the plantation with the help of his
    overseer. At first, I was interested in the cacao crop because I had to be, but eventually I found my interest was genuine. It
    presented the kind of challenge I would never have met in the comfortable, cushioned existence planned for me in Rio. When
    Afonso died, leaving me the plantation, I was elated. It never crossed my mind that I was free to return to Rio and take up my life there again. In my heart I had already become part of