by Carol Grace
Was he going to violate every principle of good business just because he was touched by her story? He studied the faces of the women. Or was he going to make a decision based on some cockeyed idea that one truck loan could bring them into the twentieth century?
Take a chance... if you never take chances... The words went around in his brain. His father took chances. His life was made up of one chance after another, and you couldn’t say that he was ever stuck in a rut. To him a rut was staying home.
It was taking a job and going to work every day and bringing home a paycheck.
By the time they reached the outskirts of town, Josh was still undecided and Catherine was sleeping with her head on his shoulder. The truck screeched to a halt, and she woke up, her gaze so open, so trusting that he knew he’d do whatever it took to earn that trust, to get them their loan. The driver twisted around in his seat and nodded at him, and the women moved aside so he could step over the produce and jump out.
With a belch of diesel smoke the truck pulled away. He stood on the corner with the small cars and buses rushing by and shoved his hands into his pockets.
“Thanks for the ride,” he called, but his words were swallowed up in the cacophony of horns. He watched as the truck turned the corner. She hadn’t even said goodbye. He went home to shower and change. He had a big day ahead of him.
In the afternoon the market was filled with masses of people. The mountain air was cool, but the sun was hot, beating down on the corrugated plastic and turning the stall into a sauna. Catherine yawned for the third time and Jacinda beckoned to her.
“Come,” she said, removing her apron and settling her hat at a jaunty angle. “I’m going to see my friend Doña Margarita, the weaver. I promised her some of my peppers.”
Catherine put her hat on a wooden crate, wiped the perspiration from her forehead and gratefully followed Jacinda up the steeply inclining street. At the top of the hill she gazed in awe at Teregape, one of the most spectacular mountains in the Andes, its white peak visible in the clear afternoon air. The awesome sight lifted her spirits and made her forget for a moment her fatigue and her humiliation at being turned down—again.
Doña Margarita was too busy to admire the beauty of the mountain that towered above her shop. Briefly acknowledging the arrival of her friend Jacinda, she supervised her daughter at the loom and waited on customers. An alpaca sweater dyed a natural rose color hung on a hanger at the entrance to the stall. Rubbing the soft wool between her thumb and forefinger, Catherine caught Jacinda’s eye. Jacinda smiled and nodded emphatically.
“It was meant for you, chica,” she said. “Perhaps we can trade for eggs or—”
Catherine shook her head. She wouldn’t take their produce and use it for barter. It was too precious. She reached into her pocket. “I have money. A birthday present from my mother.” She examined the price written on a paper pinned to the hem of the sweater. “It’s not expensive.”
Jacinda held the sweater up to Catherine’s shoulders and nodded her approval. “Leave the bargaining to me,” she whispered.
When Margarita finally cleared the stall of customers and turned her attention to Catherine and Jacinda, she sent her daughter to the crate in back to fetch a bolt of hand-woven wool. The loosely woven fabric was a mixture of pink and rose and mauve and a perfect match for the pink sweater. Catherine stood still while they wrapped the material around her hips, then pinned and tucked and turned her around like a department store mannequin.
She didn’t remember saying yes, but she had no intention of saying no as the women chattered and beamed their approval. While she watched, Margarita’s daughter stitched up the side and sewed a waistband around the top. Jacinda and Margarita settled on a price, and Catherine paid and walked out with the first new clothes she’d bought since she’d arrived in Aruaca. The fact that she had no place to wear such a beautiful handmade outfit didn’t occur to her until she returned to their stall. Oh, well, she could always send it to her sister for Christmas.
The other women insisted she try on the new clothes, and behind the crates they spread their skirts to give her privacy. Pulling the sweater over her head, Catherine loosened her braid and let her dark hair fall over one shoulder in a mass of waves.
The skirt flared from her hips, then floated to midcalf, the rose-colored sweater caressing her skin above her pink lace bra. She held out her arms, and to the women’s delight, twirled around in front of the parsley and melons.
Giddy from lack of sleep, Catherine suddenly realized that shadows were falling over the marketplace. Without taking time to change her clothes she began packing up to go home. She didn’t look forward to being in the truck without someone to sleep on. Resolutely she banished the thought from her mind, the thought of strong, broad shoulders and a soothing voice, and picked up her old clothes to change for the ride home.
But out of the corner of her eye, as if she’d made him appear by thinking about him, Josh was approaching. Easily visible above the crowd, he was wearing his three-piece suit, the jacket slung over his shoulder just like the first time she’d seen him. She stood staring at him as the contrast of light and shadow played tricks on her eyes, afraid that if she took her eyes away for even a moment, he would disappear like a mirage.
Their eyes locked and held as he came closer and closer until he finally stood facing her, his eyes taking a tour of her new skirt and sweater. She felt her body respond as if he’d touched her. But he didn’t. He only looked. Her skin tingled, her heart pounded until he finally spoke.
“Are you going somewhere?” he asked.
“Yes, home.” She followed his gaze. “Oh, you mean because I’m wearing... These are my new clothes I bought from Jacinda’s friend the weaver.” She was babbling. She couldn’t stop.
Jacinda sidled up to Josh. “¿Le gusta?” she asked, nodding her head at Catherine.
He smiled. “Me gusto mucho,” he assured her, using one of the phrases he was sure of. The Spanish class he’d taken before he’d come occasionally paid off.
Pleased, Jacinda went back to her packing while Catherine’s face turned the delicate pink of her sweater.
“I’m glad I caught you,” he said. “I owe you a dinner. And I’ve got some news for you.”
She shook her head. “You don’t owe me anything. Can’t you just tell me the news? The truck will be here in a few minutes.” She began piling papayas into boxes with potatoes without knowing what she was doing.
“It will take longer than a few minutes. It will take about three hours, about as long as it takes to eat dinner in a restaurant around here.” He rocked back on his heels, radiating patience, waiting until she made up her mind.
“Not if you go to the Folklore Club in the city,” she said, smoothing the fabric of her new skirt.
“Is that the place that’s crowded with Peace Corps volunteers?”
“Yes, it’s busy and noisy, but the food is good and cheap.”
He shook his head. “That’s not where we’re going.”
“Oh.” She was suddenly out of breath and out of fruit and vegetables to pack. The women were starting the trek to the truck, the leftover produce on their backs once again. “How would I get home?” she asked a little desperately.
“Taxi,” he answered. “I’m going to go get my car, anyway. I have my new hose in here.” He lifted his briefcase, then set it down. “I know what’s bothering you. You don’t know how to tell Jacinda and the women. I’ll handle that.”
Openmouthed, she watched him waylay Jacinda as she passed with a stack of empty boxes and explained, augmenting his limited Spanish with sign language, that he was taking la Catalina to dinner and would bring her home in a taxi before the rooster crowed.
There was no mistaking Jacinda’s approval. The look in her eyes was worth a thousand words. And before she knew it Catherine was being hustled out of the marketplace with Josh’s hand firmly on her elbow. Skyscrapers, rising to meet the hills that surrounded the city, cast shadows
over the wide streets. Teregape was bathed in a reddish glow.
With the sun sinking behind the altiplano the temperature was dropping, but Catherine didn’t notice. She felt the warmth of Josh’s hand on her arm. He said he had news. He wouldn’t take her out to dinner to give her bad news, would he? Standing there waiting for a break in the steady stream of cars, she didn’t know.
She couldn’t think. She could only feel, and what she felt was light-headed and short of breath. And after eighteen months she could hardly blame the altitude. It must be something else.
Chapter Four
Stepping off the noisy crowded street and into the Restaurante Roberto was a shock. Suddenly it was calm and quiet. A maitre d’ in a tuxedo glided forward across a tiled floor and bowed from the waist.
“Buenos noches, Guillermo,” Josh said.
Guillermo’s eyes flickered over Catherine for a moment, and a faint smile crossed his lips. “Dinner for two, sir?” he asked in heavily accented English.
Josh nodded and placed his hand on Catherine’s back. They followed Guillermo past deep leather booths that lined the walls. Sconces holding candles shone on solitary diners and large parties alike. In the far corner they settled into soft leather seats on opposite sides of a quiet booth.
The gilt-tasseled menu lying unopened in front of her, Catherine looked around wide-eyed at the understated elegance of the place. From somewhere on the other side of the room someone was playing an old Rodgers and Hart song on a piano. After lighting the candle on their table, Guillermo slipped discreetly away.
The candlelight flickered on Josh’s face. His firm jaw was clean-shaven. He didn’t look as if he’d spent the night in a hammock. She smoothed an imaginary wrinkle in her skirt. What if she hadn’t bought these clothes? Would Guillermo have signaled his approval if she’d been wearing her bowler hat and shawl? She opened her menu and skimmed the entries: crepes des champignons, pasta primavera and grilled Chateaubriand.
“Oh, just like home,” she murmured.
“Not like my home,” he said, laugh lines crinkling at the corners of his eyes.
“Do you come here often?” she asked.
“Every night.”
Her mouth fell open.
He shrugged. “I feel comfortable here and my stove hasn’t arrived yet. When it does...”
She waited, fingering the menu.
He smiled. “When it does, I’ll probably still eat here every night.”
She shook her head in dismay.
“Does that sound boring to you?” he asked.
“A little,” she admitted, although looking at him across the table, boring wasn’t the word that came to mind. He’d taken his suit coat off, loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves, exposing suntanned arms from his day in the country. The words that came to mind were strong, sexy and handsome. She tore her eyes away and looked down at the menu again. The prices horrified her. She closed the menu. “I’ll let you order,” she said, and leaned back against the soft leather. “Don’t tell me you have the same thing every night.”
He rested his elbows on the table, a glint in his eyes. “I’m not that unimaginative,” he protested. When the waiter came, he ordered a Caesar salad, wine from Argentina and two medium rare steaks.
There was a silence and she looked up expectantly. “You said you had news.’’
“Yes. You can have your truck.”
A smile crossed her face and lit her dark eyes, then faded abruptly. “It’s not a gift?”
“It’s a loan. The kind you wanted.”
She laid her hands on the table. “What’s the interest rate?”
“Three percent.”
She gasped. “What’s the catch?”
“The catch is to pay it back in small weekly installments.” He swirled the dark red wine in his glass. “And you have to buy one of our repossessed trucks from the bank. I’ve never done this before. No one has. From what I’ve seen of the women I think it’ll work. But they’ll need your help.”
He explained the program to her while she ate her salad. Her eyes never left his as he told her they’d have to fill out application forms, have their needs assessed and attend information meetings before it would be official. Then they’d get their money. Then they could have first pick of the repossessions parked behind the bank before they were auctioned off.
“They’ll have checkbooks and deposit slips and everything?” she asked.
He nodded, refilling her glass. It had taken all day. It had taken every ounce of persuasion he had, every bit of clout to persuade the board of directors. It went against every principle they’d agreed on to set things straight in Aruaca. No new agricultural loans. No loans for high-risk creditors, no credit for the self-employed. He’d talked so fast and long that his mouth had hurt.
But he’d convinced them. And himself at the same time. It occurred to him that if it worked they might even extend loans to other self-employed people. If it didn’t, he’d feel like a fool, lose his credibility and his ability to do his job here before he’d even looked for the silver mines of Tochabamba.
Her eyes glowed. She reached across the table and took his hand. “Thank you.”
He felt the calluses on her palm, the warmth of her skin, and he held her hand for a long moment. Her gaze was warm and steady. She was so sure of herself. Sure of the villagers, sure of their ability. He knew it was just a truck, just one lousy truck, but no one knew where it would take them. No one knew if it would really make a difference. But it had forced him to do something he’d been avoiding for years. To take a chance. He felt as if he were standing on the top of that white-capped mountain out there with the whole world looking up to see if he’d fall flat on his face.
Catherine pulled her hand away and looked around. The piano player had been replaced by a Spanish guitarist playing something lushly romantic that caused shivers up and down her spine. It had to be the music. It couldn’t be the touch of his hand on hers. Whatever she felt when he looked at her over his cup of espresso could all be explained. It couldn’t be that she was falling for a big-city banker, a man who was more at home in a five-star restaurant than at a hoedown. That would be sheer insanity.
Then how to explain the sparks that flew across the table, the look in his eyes that made it hard to hold her coffee cup with a steady hand? The waiter brought flan in caramel sauce. She took her spoon firmly in hand and let the custard slide down her throat. She sighed contentedly.
“I see why you come here every night,” she said. “But you didn’t need to bring me along. You could have told me the news in the market.”
He shook his head. “This is a business dinner. Besides, I haven’t paid you back for the use of your hammock.”
“Forget it. Consider it paid back in full. I’ll even waive the interest.”
He tilted her chin with his thumb. “Maybe you can forget it, but I can’t. The interest has been building since the first day I saw you.”
She frowned. “Is that why you’re doing this? Because you’re interested in me?”
“Of course not. This is a chance for me to do something worthwhile. I have to take a risk. If it works, I’ll be known as daring and innovative. If it doesn’t...”
“You’ll be known as reckless and foolhardy,” she suggested.
“Something like that. And I’ll be back in Boston behind my old desk before I know it.”
She folded her napkin, and Josh put his credit card on a small silver tray. “Would that be so bad?” she asked.
“To be back in Boston? No. Behind my old desk, yes. It would mean I failed here.” The look in his eyes said he wasn’t accustomed to failure. “If everything works out, I’ll be back in Boston as vice president.”
“Vice President Bentley. It has a nice ring to it.”
“I’ve worked hard for it. Besides the loan department, I put in my time in investments and securities. All I needed was some international experience. I could have gone to Panama last year or Colombia the
year before, but I was waiting, hoping for Aruaca.”
She smiled. “And you got it.”
They made their way to the door. The guitar music was louder now and rhythmic. Standing on the sidewalk, Catherine heard city noises far in the background, horns and gears shifting on steep hills. From behind her Josh put his hands on her shoulders.
“There’s something else I want to do here,” he said.
“You mean you still haven’t stemmed the tide of inflation or reduced the national debt?” she asked lightly, trying to ignore the vibrations traveling down her spine.
“Not yet. But I’m working on it.”
He ran his hands down her arms, and she shivered involuntarily. The air was cool. His fingers were warm. He pulled her back against his chest, and she felt his heart pounding through his oxford cloth shirt.
Just in the nick of time he caught himself. He almost mentioned the mine. After keeping it a secret all these years, he’d almost blurted it out to a woman he scarcely knew.
“See that?” he said, pointing downtown to a tall building outlined against the ink-blue sky. “That’s where I live. On the top floor.”
She gasped. A penthouse apartment with a view of the whole city. Before she could speak a taxi pulled up and Josh offered the driver enough money to take them to Palomar.
From the back seat she looked out the window. The moon was hovering over the snows of Teregape. They drove up the street and looked down on a city ablaze with lights. She stifled a yawn. La Luz was a stay-up-late city and she was a go-to-bed-early person. She belonged in the country. She looked at Josh out of the corner of her eye, suave and urbane from his wing-tipped shoes to his dark, close-cropped hair. He belonged in the city. It didn’t matter which one. He was at ease eating in a five-star restaurant every night. She wasn’t.
Why that made her sad she couldn’t say. She’d lived twenty-eight years without ever venturing into such a restaurant and had no need to ever set foot in one again. She was happy with her simple life. Especially now that she was getting the truck. If she weren’t so sleepy, she’d be jumping with joy. But her eyelids were drooping. She was determined not to doze through another trip between La Luz and Palomar.
