It’s funny. By then, I knew I wasn’t in love with Rick. And, no matter what, I wasn’t going to date him again. But, still, I couldn’t help worrying about him and hoping he’d soon be out of jail. It wasn’t his arrest, or even the business with Maria Castella that made me so sure I was through with Rick. Maybe it was just being forced to stand back and take a good look at myself and how I really felt about him. Anyway, I was calmer than I might have been, when I stepped out of the car and into the police station. “This way,” I was told courteously.
My policeman took me to a small but well-lighted, nicely furnished room. “If you will please wait,” he said, and left.
I looked around the room, noting how the colorful wall hangings, obviously handmade, contrasted with the greenish-gray walls. A homemade rug covered much of the floor, and a small vase of flowers stood on a tiny table. I was still staring at the flowers, lost in my thoughts, when I heard a noise behind me. I turned to see Rick enter the room. “Oh, no!” I exclaimed, shocked at his appearance.
Dark eyes stared out at me from beneath unruly, unkempt hair. It looked like weeks, rather than days, since he had shaved. And anger blazed out at me from his face. “Well, hello, Ellen. So nice to see you,” he snapped sarcastically. “It’s about time you came to visit me. Or were you too busy with your boyfriend, Whitford? I’m sorry I’m not dressed for company, but they don’t have any outlet for my electric razor here.”
“I came as soon as I could,” I said quietly. “And considering Senorita Maria Castella, you’re a fine one to be talking about boyfriends!”
Rick sighed and slumped into a chair. “Okay. Even. My temper got the best of me. It’s just that I can’t think how this could have happened. The only explanation seems to be that you complained to Mr. Whitford about my deserting you at the pyramids, and he had a grudge against me so he contacted the police.”
“Rick,” I said uneasily, “what the hell are you talking about? It so happens that I didn’t mention to Mr. Whitford about the thing at the pyramids. But what if I had? What could that possibly matter? Especially to the police?”
Rick sighed again. “Apparently, we were at the pyramids the same day that there was a transfer of gems there. Stolen gems. Someone told the police that I was involved, so they arrested me.”
“And Maria Castella?”
“Oh, her. Look, her father is important and Maria is used to having her own way. So when she met me, she decided she would add me to her collection. It never occurred to her I might object, and she’s still trying,” he answered easily.
“I see. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“No. The American consul is already arranging for a lawyer for me. I’ll be out of here before you know it. Then, we’ll have such a good time, Ellen, I”
“Rick, there’s something you ought to know,” I cut in, before he could say anything more.
“Yes?”
“Rick, I’m not in love with you. And I don’t think I ever could be.”
“Because of my arrest?” he asked evenly. I had no answer and he exploded, “Well, this is a great time to tell me! A little bit of trouble and you cut loose, huh? What about the earrings then?”
I flushed before going very pale, then looked him in the eye as I opened my purse and took them out. For some reason I’d been carrying them with me the whole time. “Here. I have no intention of keeping them.”
My voice was bitter and I couldn’t keep it from shaking. Without a word, Rick took the box and opened it. We both stared at the glimmering bits of jewelry. Then he said, “Maria would look very good in these.”
“Good!” I retorted. “I’d hate to have them wasted!” He flushed and I stood. “Well, if there’s no way I can help you, I’ll go now.”
“Wait!” he said anxiously. “Maybe you could. I still think Mr. Whitford was the main cause of my arrest. If you could get him to-”
I shook my head. “Even if you’re right, Rick, I haven’t got that kind of influence over him.”
“No?” Rick’s voice was dangerously quiet. “Know what I think? That I was right! I lost out to a higher bidder. Well, I warn you, Ellen, if they lock me up, I’ll take you with me, no matter what I have to tell the police.”
“Rick!” I exclaimed in shock.
But he had already pulled the door open, and a guard was escorting him down the hall. I sank into a chair, crying.
Some time later, I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Charles. Great! I thought sarcastically. Just what I needed! Rick might be psychotic, but I was still conscious of guilt. What if Rick were right about Charles’s enmity? I might not love Rick, but it still didn’t feel too great to have befriended his enemy. And guilt made me angry.
I demanded, “What are you doing here? Come to gloat?”
Charles sat down and answered quietly, taking one of my hands, “No, I thought you might need someone to lean against.”
“Why? Because you put Rick in Jail?” I demanded, fighting the urge to do just that.
Charles stiffened. “Is that what you think? I told you, the police were suspicious of Rick before I even came down here.”
“Well… well… can’t you do something to help him?”
Charles sighed. “I’ve already spoken with the American consul. He’ll arrange for a lawyer for Rick. I also tried talking with the police here. But they’re understandably touchy about interference by Americans. They won’t budge. And I can’t blame them. I’ve seen the evidence.”
I pulled my hand free and slumped farther into my seat. “And if I’m arrested, too? I suppose your hands will still be tied?”
“What the blazes are you talking about, Ellen?” His voice was sharp.
I closed my eyes and tilted back my head. “Forget it. I didn’t mean to say that, Charles.”
“Yes, you did. And I want to know what the devil you meant!”
Feeling very tired, too tired to play games anymore, I answered, “Rick threatened me. Said he’d lie if necessary and it would be lying-to get me arrested, too. Charles, I just don’t understand it! I’ve never seen him like this, before. How could a man change so drastically so quickly? Or was he always like this? And if he was, why didn’t I ever see it?”
Charles didn’t answer and, after a few minutes, I went on. “What if he’s really guilty? You seem pretty sure he is. Then, he must have lots of connections here. Maybe enough to get evidence planted.”
“They’ve already searched your room,” Charles pointed out. “Obviously they didn’t find anything then. Why should they search again?”
But his calm words didn’t matter. Suddenly, I found myself panicking, crying, “Charles, I’m so frightened!”
“Ellen, Ellen, I’m here.”
Before I knew what was happening, I was in his arms and Charles was kissing me. Stunned, I couldn’t resist, didn’t want to resist. Then, just as suddenly, he released me. As I stared at him, jaw open, he leaned back and grinned. “Well,” he said, without any hint of self-reproach, “you were getting hysterical, and it seemed kinder than a slap in the face.”
And he leaned forward and kissed me again. “That was for me,” he said, when I had my breath back.
“Charles?” I said uncertainly, wondering if I had another madman on my hands.
“It’s okay,” he said reassuringly, “don’t worry about it, for now. You’re tired, and you need some food. Shall we go get some supper?”
Feeling a little light-headed, I nodded and stood up. Charles had to catch my arm to keep me from falling. “Sorry,” I said a little breathlessly, “I guess I’m still shook up.”
“Not surprising,” Charles countered. “Just keep hold of my arm. I assure you, I don’t mind.”
Good old Charles. Not a thing to worry about, with him here, was there? Unless, of course, I was being just as naive about Charles as I had been about Rick. Impatiently, I shook my head. I had to trust someone or I’d never get through this nightmare. And, right now, there was no one else to trust.
“What’s wrong?” Charles asked.
But there was no time to answer him. My policeman had walked up to us and was saying, “Ah, Senor Whitford, Senorita Steffee. You are leaving? Ah, senorita, I wish to remind you, please do not leave Mexico City without informing us, yes? You do plan to stay at least another week?”
“Yes, senor.”
“Gracias. Buenas noches.”
“Buenas noches,” we murmured in return and hurried to the front steps.
I was suddenly very anxious to leave the police station, and Charles seemed to understand. I know we were both relieved to find a taxi just outside. “The Majestic,” Charles said curtly, “por favor.”
As the taxi pulled away, I leaned back in the corner opposite Charles. He surveyed me critically, then said, “Do you have a mirror? Makeup? A little lipstick might help.”
I was too drained even to take offense, much less protest. I dug out my mirror and took a careful look. Darn him, he was right. Lipstick, blusher, and eye shadow made me feel and look better. Charles seemed pleased. Especially after I ran a comb through my hair, as well.
Soon enough, we reached the Majestic Terrace. It was another top-floor restaurant, with large picture windows. But it was quieter than the one at the Hotel Bamer, and I was grateful Charles had not chosen to go there. I was also grateful that he chose not to talk about Rick or prison or me during dinner. Instead, he asked about the project at work. And Carlos.
Between the wine and Charles’s efforts to be charming, I was feeling almost relaxed. It was only as we walked back to the Hotel Bamer that he shattered the mood by saying, “You did realize, didn’t you, that the room you were in, at the police station, was bugged?” At the sight of my startled face, he said urgently, “You didn’t say anything incriminating, did you?”
I barely heard him as I demanded, “Did you know that when you kissed me?”
His hand clamped down on my arm, hard, and his face showed his anger clearly, even in the dim street light. “Blast it! I wasn’t thinking about who might or might not be listening! I was thinking about you!”
I twisted my arm free, saying sarcastically, “That’s right. I was hysterical, wasn’t I?”
I don’t remember clearly what happened next. I think I might have tried to slap him. I do remember running a block or two, then realizing I was making a spectacle of myself. I slowed down, but still reached the hotel flushed and breathing hard. And I remember almost swearing at the elevator girl for being so slow. Then I nearly jammed the lock, opening my door. And I threw myself on the bed and cried.
I was awake and dressed early, determined to avoid Charles. I planned to eat quickly and take a taxi. But he was awake early, too, and I had barely given the waiter my order when Charles appeared in the breakfast room. He immediately came over to my table and asked stiffly, “May I sit down?”
I flushed, wanting to say no, needing to say yes. Charles must have sensed my confusion because, almost immediately, he started to turn away, murmuring, “Forget it.”
“No, wait, Charles!” I said quickly. “Please sit down.”
We stared at each other, neither sure what to say, while a waiter brought Charles a menu. He barely glanced at it before ordering a light breakfast. It was apparently enough time to come to some decision. When we were alone again, he said, “Can you give me one reason why I should be here? Why I shouldn’t just forget about you? And Rick?”
His voice was gentle, and I tried to match his tone. “Because I still need you. And because you’re probably the nicest person I ever met. Look, Charles… about last night, I’m sorry. I do appreciate everything you’ve done for me. But I can’t give you any reason for being here. You certainly don’t owe me anything. Except maybe rudeness.”
He grinned wryly. “And that I’m not willing to give you. Ellen”
He was cut short by the waiter bringing our food. We smiled together at the absurdity of it all. When the waiter left, Charles reached across the table and took my hand and said, “This isn’t the best time to talk about things. You’re still in shock over Rick and I have a lot of problems at work. Neither of us is at our best. We’ll let things ride for now, but I am here if you need me.”
He let go of my hand and I said, smiling wryly myself, “Right! Hey, know something? I think I like you!”
“It’s about time!”
And that set the tone for the rest of breakfast. Neither of us wanted to face anything more serious than the lightest banter.
If Mr. Iveson was puzzled by our mood later, in his car, he covered it well. He even managed a little whimsy on his own. Nothing could erase the horror of what was happening with Rick, but the kindness of Charles and Mr. Iveson could help put it into perspective. Maybe Rick’s life would be ruined by this, but mine certainly didn’t have to be.
We parted at the steps of the building, but the mood persisted and I was smiling when I reached the office. Carlos was already there.
“Hi!” I called out cheerfully. “How’s it going?”
He smiled back. “Very well. How are you this morning?”
“Ready for work!”
Carlos nodded. Yesterday afternoon had apparently decided him that I was a colleague and we plunged straight in. There was no problem today of Carlos’s English disappearing. Nor did the other men hesitate to join us when they came in.
During a coffee break, we talked of more personal matters. Two of the men were engaged, and Carlos planned to be, soon. Somehow, I found myself telling them about Rick. “He…he was kind, attractive, secure,” I said. “The sort of man I could always look up to. At least, I thought he was. And I thought he wanted to marry me. But I’m told he may be engaged to someone else. Someone here.”
Carlos nodded sympathetically. “Senor Kemmler, he changes faces easily, I think.”
One of the other men muttered something, and Carlos translated, “He says that you are to be congratulated. That you have escaped marriage with a man who would have been very bad for you.”
I turned away quickly and fumbled with some papers on my desk, not trusting myself to speak. Had everyone (except me, of course) guessed what Rick was like? For a brief moment, there was a hand on my shoulder, then Carlos was saying, in Spanish, to the men, “Time to get back to work!”
The day was full of surprises. At noon, Mr. Iveson appeared at the doorway to the office. “Miss Steffee, would you consider joining me for lunch?”
“Certainly, sir,” I said a little uneasily. “Now?”
“If it’s convenient.”
“Just let me get my purse.”
Carlos and I exchanged amazed glances and then I Joined Mr. Iveson at the door. To my surprise, as we walked through the building and out to the street, Mr. Iveson didn’t ask a single question. I ventured one or two optimistic comments about the work, and he merely nodded absently. It was only when we reached a small, rather nice restaurant about half a block away that he began to talk.
“How do you like Mexico City?” he asked abruptly as we were seated.
“It’s beautiful!” I murmured. At his look of surprise, I tried to explain, “I know about some of the problems, and I’ve seen bits of poverty and ugliness, here and there. I can’t say those things don’t matter, because of course they do. But the pyramids and museums and parks matter, too. Especially to a tourist.”
Mr. Iveson nodded. Then he began to talk about his perceptions of Mexico, pausing only to give the waiter our orders. The service was typically slow, but the food well worth waiting for. And as we ate, Mr. Iveson even talked a little about his wife’s hobby, archaeology. Apparently, there were some current digs not too far from Mexico City.
It was only over coffee that Mr. Iveson asked the questions that mattered. “Tell me, Miss Steffee. How did Mr. Whitford come to hire you?”
I hesitated a moment. Charles had advised me to tell Mr. Iveson nothing about Rick. But I found I couldn’t lie to this man. “Well, you see, I really came to Mexico City because of Ri
ck Kemmler. When we were both working in Chicago, we dated. I had a vacation, so I came to see Rick.”
I hesitated again, took a deep breath, and went on. “I understand that Mr. Whitford came down here to investigate problems with the new computer setup. That meant checking on Rick. Which meant that he ran into me. Especially since I was staying at the same hotel he was at. Mr. Whitford found out that I was a computer programmer and… and when Rick was arrested, Mr. Whitford suggested that I take over Rick’s work.”
“I see. So your relationship with Whitford is strictly professional?” Before I could answer, Mr. Iveson went on. “And how do you feel about, er, Rick now?”
I stared down at my coffee cup, reluctant to explain. “He…I…there seems to have been some sort of misunderstanding. The police say he is engaged to another woman.”
“But you don’t believe it?” Mr. Iveson asked shrewdly. “When you arrived, he was just as close to you as ever?”
I nodded, feeling the conversation slipping away from me. I wanted to tell Mr. Iveson that I was upset about Rick, concerned for him but definitely not in love with him. Cinderella’s prince had turned out to be an imposter. But there are some things one does not tell a stranger, no matter how kind and understanding he seems. Abruptly, I realized Mr. Iveson was speaking again. “…sure Mr. Whitford has no personal grudge in the matter. Naturally, a man of his background is inclined to be rather rigid in his standards, but I’m sure the rumors are false. I hope they haven’t disturbed you.”
“Rumors?” I felt lost. “No, no, they haven’t upset me at all. I never believe rumors, Mr. Iveson,” I somehow managed to stammer.
What rumors? About who? Charles? And Rick? No one had passed any rumors on to me. And I didn’t want them to. Especially Mr. Iveson, with his gentle smile. Too much had happened already, and I felt as though I couldn’t stand to be torn apart anymore, and certainly not by rumors I could have no way of checking. I sat there, desperately trying to hold onto some shred of poise as Mr. Iveson called for the check.
My Love Betrayed Page 5
