The Man Behind the Mask Read Free Page A

pure, undiluted sunlight arrowed down onto the pavement a few yards in front of her, trapping in its beam a golden head that riveted her attention. It was him! The expensive-looking guy with the stern mouth and the ivory topped cane. He didn’t seem to be limping as badly today, Marianne reflected, watching him, and her insides executed an unsettling somersault as she saw that he was definitely heading her way.
    Moments later he stood before her, his breath making a little puff of frosted steam as he spoke. ‘Good afternoon,’ he said politely, and there was a barely discernible lift to one corner of that impossibly serious mouth that surprisingly might have been the beginning of a smile.
    â€˜Hello,’ she murmured, her gloved hand tightening round her take-away coffee cup.
    â€˜You are not singing?’
    â€˜No…I’m taking a break. Warming myself up.’
    Finding herself the target of his devastating silent scrutiny, Marianne felt her entire body tense with discomfort. Did he have any idea how intently he stared? His eyes were like twin frosted blue lasers, making an exploratory dive straight down into her soul. Her husband Donal had never regarded her in such an intense way. His gaze had simply been in finitely kind.
    â€˜How’s business?’
    â€˜Okay.’ Shrugging, Marianne glanced down at the small collection of coppers and silver change in the hat at her feet. ‘Like I told you before, I don’t sing just for—’
    â€˜Money. I remember. You sing because you are compelled to…for the love of it, yes?’
    â€˜Yes.’ Now she felt embarrassed, remembering her outburst of the other day. ‘Look, I’m sorry if I offended you in any way by what I said or did, but there are a lot of people far worse off than me you know? In fact I’m not badly off at all. Appearances can be deceiving.’
    His tanned brow creased a little, as if he were silently disputing her assessment of her situation, and his gaze care fully took in her mismatched woollen clothing that today consisted of purple tights, brown boots, a red dress over a cream sweater and Donal’s too-big sheep skin lined leather jacket, with a beige scarf tucked into the neckline to keep out the worst of the cold. The only thing she wasn’t wearing to finish off the eye-catching ensemble was her multi-coloured ski hat. Rushing outof the house this morning, she had accidentally left it behind.
    â€˜Well…if it helps you to know, I did in fact donate the money I would have given you to the church’s collection for the homeless, as you suggested. Let me introduce myself. My name is Eduardo De Souza.’ Balancing one hand on his cane, he removed a glove and struck out his now bare hand towards her.
    For what seemed like an interminable second of agonising decision-making Marianne hesitated, before slipping her own gloved hand lightly into his. Even through the thickly knit wool she swore she sensed the heat from his body radiate up her arm, making her tingle. ‘I’m Marianne…Marianne Lockwood. You’re clearly not from around here, are you?’
    â€˜I reside in the UK now, but I do not come from here…you are right. I am from Brazil…Rio de Janeiro.’
    â€˜The land of samba, sunshine and carnaval ? I’m sorry—I expect you hate that cliché.’
    â€˜Not at all. I am proud of my country and what it has to offer.’
    â€˜And you’d rather be here, turning into a human ice-pole, than at home soaking up the sun?’ She couldn’t suppress the teasing grin that took hold of her lips, but Eduardo de Souza’s grave expression did not lighten for a moment.
    â€˜Even sunshine can pall after a time, if you have too much of it. It becomes common place, and one can easily risk losing the pleasure that was once derived from it,’ he commented seriously. ‘Besides…I am half-British, soI am not completely