The Journey Home

Serena stepped out into Charlotte Square and put up her umbrella. As she headed for George Street, a blast of wind nearly blew it inside out, but she was so elated the meeting had gone so well, she didn’t care. Maxi would be pleased, too.

With business out of the way she headed toward Jenners. A little shopping was exactly what she needed, especially now that she would have unlimited funds to spend. She might as well get into the habit right away.

India stretched out lazily on a chaise longue at the estancia, idly daydreaming, as the hot afternoon shifted gently into evening. The subtle scent of the gardenias surrounding the veranda was intensifying with the approach of dusk, and the bougainvillea, so colorful during the day, had taken on a softer hue. A soft breeze blew in gently from the pampas, and the tall eucalyptus trees bordering the earth track that led to the corrals and the stables swayed gently to and fro. Only the occasional croak from the frogs in the pond, the chant of the crickets commencing their evensong and the distant shouts of gauchos bringing home the cattle disturbed the tranquillity.

India had arrived in Buenos Aires in time to spend a somewhat nostalgic Christmas with the O’Hallorans. But soon afterward she and Gabby had thrown themselves wholeheartedly into the task of redecorating the casco, choosing fabrics and new sofas, and refurbishing some of the present furniture. It had been fun and distracting, but her mind often wandered to Dunbar. She knew that as soon as she returned home a decision had to be made. Mr. Ramsey had sent her a fax only a few days ago. The news was not encouraging. Slowly, but sadly, she was getting used to the idea that keeping Dunbar was a virtual impossibility. At least if it was bought by a family, or someone who would appreciate it, she would not feel quite so bad.

But what if it was transformed into some dreadful tourist trap? Or turned into a hotel? This last thought turned her mind to Jack Buchanan. She’d thought quite a bit about Jack over the last few weeks. In fact, he’d been making constant appearances in her subconscious ever since he’d stood at the cemetery gates on that gray Scottish afternoon.

She wondered suddenly what he was up to, and how his hotel project was going. She must go by there one day. Apparently Jack’s partner was some relation of Gabby’s whom the family wanted to introduce her to.

“Señorita India.” Her thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of Severina, the maid.

“Sí, Severina, qué pasa?” She twisted her head around.

The wizened little woman approached. “Teléfono para usted, señorita.”

“Quién es?” she asked, wondering who could be calling her at this time.

“Señor Djabugan,” Severina answered.

India rose and went inside, mystified, for few people knew she was here. She picked up the receiver.

“Aló, India hablando.”

“India?”

Her stomach lurched. Immediately she recognized the deep American voice coming down the line.

“It’s Jack Buchanan, how are you doing?”

“Uh…fine.” She faltered nervously. It was uncanny. Only moments ago she’d been daydreaming about him.

“I got your number from Hernan Carvajal, my partner. He seems to be related to your friend Gabriella. So, how are things?” There was a moment’s hesitation, neither knowing where to go next.

“Fine, thanks. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you,” India replied, her heart racing. “How is your project going—the Palacio de Grès, wasn’t it?”

“It’s going fine. In fact, that’s one of the reasons I’m calling you. Hernan and I are ready to plan the interior renovations, and the decor of the new building, and I was wondering if perhaps you might be interested in taking a look.” He sounded casual yet professional.

India swallowed, disappointed. It was merely a job proposal, and one she might even consider. She hadn’t taken any projects on since her mother’s death, wanting to give herself some time, but the Palacio de Grès was tempting.

“I wasn’t planning to take on anything new for a while, but it certainly sounds interesting.”

“Why don’t you come into town and take a look? I think it’s right up your alley. I mentioned to Hernan that you’d been to the place as a little girl. He says it hasn’t changed much.”

The idea was growing on India by the minute, but what about Jack? Was he staying or leaving?

The answer came soon enough. “I’ll need you to come this week if you’re interested. I have to be back in Miami in a few days. I wondered, if you’re not too busy, if you might be able to come in, say, Friday? Would that suit you?” He sounded businesslike, as though he was flipping through his agenda.

India decided it couldn’t do any harm to look at the place. After all, it was a fabulous opportunity, and she had time on her hands before heading to Rio for the opening of the La Perla hotel.

“Is there somewhere I can call you back?”

“Sure. I’m staying at the Alvear Palace. If you want I’ll give you the office number, too.”

She grabbed a pen from the desk next to the phone. Her hand shook as she wrote down the numbers, and she chided herself for being absurd. “I’ll call you back tomorrow once I know what my plans are.”

“Okay. I guess that’s it then. I’ll expect your call.” There was a moment of pregnant silence, as though he wanted to say more.

“Fine. I’ll be in touch. Goodbye, and thanks for calling.” She laid down the receiver, then leaned against the cold, whitewashed wall. What was it about the man that made her tingle from top to toe? The mere sound of his voice had a disturbing effect on her. She wandered back to the veranda, watching in the distance as the shorthorn cattle made their way slowly home, across the red and dusty darkening horizon.

Her mind drifted back to Christian, her ex-husband. Had she felt anything like this for him? she asked herself. The answer came loud and clear. No. Everything between them had been so measured and well behaved. When they’d made love, he’d directed, and she’d followed obediently, accepting that he knew how it was supposed to be. At the time she’d believed it was love. That’s why it had hurt so much when he’d left. And what had she gotten for her pain, for trusting him?

She sat down on the edge of the balustrade, remembering Chloë’s assertion that India would have been miserable if she’d continued being married to Christian, that she was damn lucky he’d backed out. And, India realized ruefully, Chloë was undoubtedly right.

But she’d vowed to herself that never again would another man make her feel so vulnerable, or hurt and humiliate her again. The sudden awareness that Jack might have that power sent a streak of fear through her.

Perhaps it would be better to refuse the offer and not court trouble. On the other hand, his tone had been professional and he had said he was leaving for Miami in a few days. Anyway, before she could even consider the job, she needed to take a good look at the state of the building.

A flutter of ivory silk accompanied by a whiff of Shalimar interrupted her thoughts as Gabby’s grandmother, Dolores, wafted gracefully through the French doors out on to the terrace.

“Ah, there you are, dear girl.” Dolores O’Halloran smiled brightly. “I was wondering where you and Gabby were.”

“She’s out riding with Santiago. They went to take a look at the newborn foals.”

“Ah, yes, and you?” Dolores asked, approaching India and lifting up India’s chin, her expression concerned. “What are these misty eyes I see? I hope you are not still mourning your dear mama too deeply, my love. I am certain Lady Elspeth is at rest,” she added quietly.

“I know she is. It’s not that.”

“Tell me.” Dolores glided to a large rattan armchair where she arrayed herself among the white cushions, a picture of serene elegance and breeding.

India smiled, embarrassed, not quite knowing what to say. “It’s a chap I met in Scotland. A long story really. Well, actually it isn’t. What I mean is, I met him when Mummy died, and he almost shot me by mistake, then he came home for tea and—” She stopped, flushing, realizing she was making a complete hash of it. She looked up and met Dolores’s amused but understanding eyes.

“Do go on, my dear, he sounds delightful.”

“Well, to cut a long story short, he’s bought into a hotel in Buenos Aires—you know the old Palacio de Grès that belongs to one of your relations.”

“Of course I know it. Hernan inherited it. He’s my great-nephew, a charming boy. I think I’ve already mentioned that you should meet him,” she added with a conspiratorial smile. “He’s single, handsome and very good company.”

India laughed, “Don’t matchmake, Dolores.”

“Well, darling—” Dolores made a moue with her well-defined lips “—there’s no harm in bringing two nice young people together is there? But tell me more about…?”

“Jack Buchanan.”

“British?” she asked casually.

“No, American.”