LITMIR.BIZ

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her friend Rachel, and last, guilty because it was an afterthought, another to Andrew, then began to unpack. Before she’d finished the roar of a car engine shattered the peaceful afternoon and Lidia hurried in, shaking her head in disapproval.

      ‘I do that, Doutora. You come now. He is here.’

      Katherine followed the woman down the curving staircase and out onto a long veranda with a gleaming floor and carved stone pillars entwined with greenery. A man in A casual linen jacket and jeans leaned against one of them, looking out over the gardens. He was tallish and lean, with a mane of black curling hair and a profile any movie star would have envied. When Lidia spoke he turned quickly, with a smile which died abruptly at the sight of Katherine, his dark eyes narrowed in surprise.

      ‘Doutora Lister,’ announced Lidia with a touch of drama and withdrew, leaving total silence behind her.

      ‘You are Dr Lister?’ the man said at last.

      At last, rejoiced her hormones. You’ve finally found him. ‘I’m Katherine Lister, yes,’ she said, proud of her composure as she smiled politely.

      He sketched a graceful bow. ‘Encantado. Roberto de Sousa. I regret I was not here to welcome you when you arrived.’

      ‘Not at all. Your people made me very welcome.’

      The client was a far cry from the elderly businessman Katherine had pictured—at a guess, only a few years older than her own twenty eight. And she could have sworn she’d seen him before somewhere. The overlong hair and dark eyes tilted above knife-edge cheekbones were puzzlingly familiar; unlike the eye-catching scar slashed down one side of his face, which was the once-seen never-forgotten kind. When the silence continued Katherine decided to break it.

      ‘Is there a problem, Mr de Sousa?’

      ‘I was expecting a man,’ he said bluntly.

      Katherine stiffened. ‘I thought Mr Massey explained that he was sending me in his place.’

      He nodded coldly. ‘He did. But he did not inform me that the expert Dr Lister is a woman.’

      ‘Even so,’ said Katherine, every hackle suddenly erect in protest, ‘I’m fully qualified to make the inspection you require, Senhor de Sousa. Not with as much experience as Mr Massey, it’s true, but with more than enough, I assure you, to give you an informed opinion of your painting.’ She waited, but no response was forthcoming. The attraction, it seemed, had not been mutual. ‘Of course, if you insist on a male expert I’ll leave at once. Though I would be glad of a cup of tea first.’

      Roberto de Sousa looked appalled. He clapped his hands, and as if by magic Jorge Machado reappeared, bearing a tray. ‘Why has Dr Lister received no refreshment?’

      ‘Desculpe me, Doutora,’ said the man to Katherine. ‘I waited for the Patrao.’

      ‘You should have served my guest without waiting for me,’ said his employer, frowning. ‘Please sit, Dr Lister.’

      Jorge filled one of the fragile cups with tea, the other with black coffee, and offered Katherine a platter of cakes she refused with a friendly smile for him as she sat down.

      Roberto de Sousa sat opposite, smouldering in silence again across the table. This time, he could just sit there, lip-zipped for ever as far as she was concerned, decided Katherine irritably. Gorgeous he might be, but once she’d drunk the tea she’d ask for transport to Viana do Castelo.

      ‘Please tell me how well you know Mr James Massey,’ he said at last.

      ‘All my life,’ she said briefly.

      ‘He is a relative?’

      ‘No, just a close friend of my father. How do you know him, Mr de Sousa?’

      ‘By reputation and by information I acquired on the Internet. I contacted Mr Massey after my research showed he is the best man to authenticate my painting. I bought it for relatively little—a song, as you say.’

      ‘But you think it’s valuable?’

      Roberto de Sousa shrugged indifferently. ‘The value is unimportant. It is not for resale. My interest is the identity of the artist and, if possible, the subject.’ He was silent again, as though turning something over in his mind. ‘If you would consent to stay to examine it,’ he said at last, ‘I would be most grateful…Doctor.’

      Her first instinct was a flat refusal. But, conscious that she represented the Massey Gallery, also deeply curious about the painting, Katherine changed her mind about a quick getaway. For pride’s sake she paused as though considering her answer, and finally nodded graciously. ‘Since you’ve paid so generously for my time, I have no choice.’

      ‘Obrigado, Dr Lister. You shall see the painting in the morning in the full light of day, and tell me your requirements. Mr Massey warned there must be cleaning before any opinion is possible.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘But now you must be tired after your journey. Please rest before joining me for dinner.’

      So she was to have the honour of dining at his table. And the mere mention of dinner reminded her that now her thirst was gone she was hungry. ‘Thank you, Mr de Sousa.’

      ‘De nada.’ He paused. ‘A small thing. If I am addressed correctly it is Mr Sousa.’

      ‘I see. I’ll remember that.’ She got up.

      He escorted her across the hall. ‘Ate logo—until later, Doctor.’

      She nodded politely, and mounted the curving stairs with back very erect.

      Roberto de Sousa watched her out of sight, then returned, deep in thought, to the veranda. He sat down, absently rubbing the leg which gave him hell if he stood too long. His surprise at finding that Dr Lister was not a man had obviously—and unfortunately—offended his guest. But if she were fully qualified to give an informed opinion on his painting, in theory he had no problem with a female expert. His lips tightened. In practice, however, he deeply resented the need to welcome a woman to his home now he was disfigured; even an efficient intellectual in spectacles like Dr Lister, with her scraped back hair and masculine clothes. At the Quinta the only females in his life were on his staff, whereas at one time he had been surrounded on all sides by beautiful, willing women. His face set in harsh lines as he ran a finger down his scar. All that, and many other things, had changed forever the day his luck had finally run out.

      Katherine’s equilibrium was in normal working order again by the time she settled down on the bed with a book. Roberto de Sousa’s reaction to her had been more of a blow than she cared to admit. Her mane of brown hair and opalescent green eyes were assets which generally did her no harm with the opposite sex. But from the reaction of her client she’d obviously disguised her assets too well in an attempt to minimise the figure which curved a little too much in some places for her own taste, but had never been a drawback where men were concerned. She bit her lip. The client’s preference for a male expert was another blow. If she informed Roberto de Sousa that his painting was a fake, or of no intrinsic value, he might refuse to accept her findings. She shrugged. Not the end of the world; she would simply rely on backup from James. Photographs of the painting would be emailed to him for his verdict—and earn her undying gratitude from Judith Massey for keeping her bored, convalescent husband in the loop.

      Katherine had wondered beforehand whether she would be invited to join her host’s family for the meal, but so far no mention had been made of a wife, or of any other relative. Indeed, James had known so little about the client Katherine had speculated quite a bit about Roberto de Sousa during the flight, but nothing had prepared her for her reaction to him, which was a first in her life when it came to men. She had also been unprepared for his hostility too, which was as surprising as his relative youth and scarred, darkly handsome face. She shrugged. He might have wanted a man to pass judgement on his painting but she would soon show him she was more than equal to the task. Nevertheless, the prospect of dinner was a bit daunting.

      Katherine had fully intended wearing a sleeveless leaf-green

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