Page 35 of The Seven Sisters
‘Floriano, it really is very complex,’ I sighed, unable to say any more.
‘And I am a stranger to you and you are uncomfortable sharing this with me. I understand,’ he said, nodding phlegmatically. ‘I would feel the same. So, may I ask you just two questions?’
‘Of course.’
‘Firstly, is your “very complex story” the reason you are here in Rio?’
‘Yes.’
‘And secondly, what was it I said that has shaken you?’
I pondered his question for a few seconds as I sipped my water. The problem was that if I told him, I’d end up having to explain everything. But as he was probably one of the few people who could tell me if the smooth, triangular tile with the faded writing on the back of it had once been destined for theCristo, it seemed I didn’t have much choice.
‘I have something I’d like you to see,’ I said eventually.
‘Then show me,’ he encouraged.
‘Actually, it’s back at the hotel in my safe.’
‘It is valuable?’ Floriano raised an eyebrow.
‘No, not financially anyway. Just to me.’
‘Well, given I have been at theCristofor three long hours already, I suggest I drive you to your hotel and you collect whatever the object is and show it to me.’
‘Really, Floriano, I don’t want to put you to any trouble.’
‘Senhorita Maia,’ he said, rising from the table, ‘I too have to get down the mountain, so you might as well accompany me. Come, we go.’
‘Okay, thank you.’
Surprisingly, he didn’t head for the train, but instead to a small minibus parked near the café. Climbing aboard, he greeted the driver and clapped him on the back. There were other passengers already aboard it and within minutes, we’d settled ourselves in our seats and the bus took off down a winding road, bordered by thick jungle. A few minutes later, we arrived in a car park and Floriano marched towards a little red Fiat and unlocked the door.
‘Sometimes my clients don’t wish to take the scenic route on the train, so I bring them directly to here,’ he explained. ‘So, Senhorita Maia, where are we headed?’ he asked me.
‘The Caesar Park Hotel in Ipanema.’
‘Perfect, because my favourite restaurant is just around the corner and my stomach is telling me it’s lunchtime. I like to eat,’ he stated as we set off fast down the next section of the steeply curving jungle road. ‘I must admit I’m fascinated to discover what it is you wish to show me,’ he said as we emerged from Corcovado and joined the ceaseless flow of traffic heading through Cosme Velho into the centre of the city.
‘It’s probably nothing,’ I said.
‘Then you have lost nothing by showing me,’ he answered equably.
As we drove, I glanced surreptitiously at my new friend. I always found it an odd moment when I met someone in the flesh, having only ever corresponded with them previously. And, in fact, Floriano was almost exactly as I’d imagined him to be from his novels and emails.
He was extraordinarily good-looking – far more attractive in person than in his author photograph, because of his easy charm and energy. Everything about him – from his abundant black hair and sun-kissed skin, to a body that was muscular and strong – spoke to me of his South American heritage.
But ironically, he wasn’t my type. I’d always found myself drawn to the polar opposite – Western males, with their fair colouring and pale skin. Perhaps, I thought, given my own dark looks, the polar opposite tometoo.
‘So,’ he said as he pulled up on the forecourt of the hotel, ‘you run upstairs and retrieve whatever it is, and I’ll wait here for you.’
In my suite, I combed my hair and added a dab of lipstick, then took the triangular tile from my safe, stowing it in my handbag.
‘Now we go for lunch,’ announced Floriano as I climbed back into his car and we sped off. ‘It’s only round the block, but it could take me time to find somewhere to park.’ A couple of minutes later, he pointed to a white, colonial-style house with tables laid out on its pretty terrace. ‘That is where we are going. You get out and secure us a table. I will join you shortly.’
I did as he’d asked and was led by a waitress to a shady spot. I sat people-watching and taking a moment to retrieve my messages on my mobile. My heart pounded again as I heard the sound of Zed’s voice, saying he’d called Atlantis and the housekeeper had said I was abroad. He was sorry to miss me, he said, as he was leaving for Zurich tomorrow.
Which meant it was now safe to return home . . .
