by VC Andrews
And then, I thought, if I considered Ignacio and his father, Tiá Isabela and Sophia as well, there was a great deal of rage swirling around me. Would all of the good spirits, those who had loved me, be able to come to my defense? What truly lay in store for me?
All of these thoughts troubled me and kept me tossing and turning, falling asleep and then waking with a start. By the time the morning light cleared away the shadows, I was mentally and physically exhausted. I slept later than I had intended, but I knew what I must set out to do. I rose, showered, and dressed.
Teresa was in with my “perfect” breakfast. Apparently, Mrs. Newell had arrived early because she had to oversee every slice of bread. She had created some nutritional drink that tasted like pure chalk to me. I drank what I could and then hurried downstairs. It was just about ten o’clock. According to what Señor Bovio had promised, the car and driver would be waiting.
I did not see Señor Bovio when I descended, nor was he waiting outside. The car was there, however, as was the driver he had simply referred to as Stevens. The moment I came out of the house, he got out of the car and hurried to open the rear door for me.
“Gracias,” I said.
He returned to his driver’s seat and waited for instructions.
“Please, start for Indio,” I told him. “I’ll show you where to turn.”
“Very good, Miss. If you want water or anything, there’s a small refrigerator on the right.”
He started away. I looked back at the hacienda, still surprised that Señor Bovio hadn’t been there to greet me or watch me drive away. I did see that Stevens had an earpiece and was speaking softly to someone on a cell phone and imagined it might be Señor Bovio.
There wasn’t much traffic, and less than thirty minutes later, I had Stevens turn on the street where Ignacio’s family resided. I pointed out the house and driveway, and he turned into it.
“I won’t be long,” I said, and went to the front door.
Ignacio’s brother answered the buzzer and stood there looking at me with such disgust on his face I thought he might attack me. He was as big as Ignacio now.
“Quién es, Santos?” I heard his father ask. The sound of his voice made me tighten up. I hadn’t expected either of them to be home. I was hoping to speak only with Ignacio’s mother.
“Her,” Santos said, practically spitting at me. He left the door open and turned away.
I entered slowly.
Ignacio’s father had his foot on a stool. It was bandaged. He looked up with surprise. Ignacio’s sister wasn’t there. I was sure she was in school. His mother came in from the kitchen and stopped when she saw me.
“Why did you come here? What do you want?” Ignacio’s father asked.
“Just to talk, señor. What happened to your foot?”
“A broken ankle,” he replied quickly. “Talk about what? Why have you come here?”
I looked at Ignacio’s mother. She seemed ready to cry. Her lips trembled. Santos kept himself slightly turned away, his head down.
“I never had an opportunity to speak with you, to explain what had happened, to—”
“We know what happened. We don’t need you to come here to give us any explanations. Please. Go. You bring only bad luck to my family.”
Now I was the one near tears, but I wouldn’t turn and run out.
“You don’t know what happened, señor. I have tried to explain it to Ignacio as well. I wrote letters, but he does not respond.”
“He’s finally smarted up,” his father said. “Too late to help himself, I’m afraid. You know what life is like where he is, what he will become?”
“I know, señor.”
“Then what is it you can say that would make any difference now?”
“I can say I’m sorry, but it wasn’t my fault, señor. I did nothing to cause this to happen.”
He smiled and looked at his wife. “Did you hear? She did nothing,” he said. Ignacio’s mother looked at me, the utter helplessness in her face so clear and tragic.
“Señor Davila, I have tried many times to explain. I had no idea that my cousin had found Ignacio’s note to me and had told the police. She didn’t even warn her own brother so he wouldn’t get into trouble. She was always trying to hurt me. That was more important.”
“So, if you knew that, why were you so foolish as to leave that note where she could find it? Didn’t I tear up every letter Ignacio sent you after you had read it? Wasn’t I afraid that something like that would happen?”
“It was—”
“What?” he nearly shouted.
“Important to me. I didn’t want to tear it up.”
“So, instead, you left it where she could find it and do this terrible thing to us?” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter what you intended or didn’t intend, Delia. The result is my son is in a terrible place, and there is nothing I can do for him. Nada.”
“All I ask, Señor Davila, is that you please, please, tell him I didn’t mean for this to happen. When you see him again, will you ask him to write to me?”
“Why?”
“Why? I’d like…to…”
“To do what? Haven’t you done enough to this family? Go back to your wealthy friends. Leave us be.”
He turned away from me. Santos had kept his head down the whole time and now lifted it and looked at me with the same anger that was in his father’s unforgiving face. Only Ignacio’s mother had any warmth for me, but she was too frightened to say or do anything. She simply shook her head.
“I’m sorry,” I said. I put a slip of paper on the small table under the picture of Jesus. “This is my address now. I am at Señor Ray Bovio’s hacienda.”
Ignacio’s father looked up sharply. “The man whose son died on the boat?”
“Sí.” I imagined it wouldn’t be long before they found out why. “I am pregnant with his son’s child.”
Ignacio’s father stared coldly a moment. “Please, get out of my home,” he said.
I stood a moment and then turned and hurried out, pursued for what I feared would be the rest of my life by the terrible pain and anger in Señor Davila’s eyes.
“Where to now, Miss?” Stevens asked.
“Just back,” I said, and turned to stare out the window. I said nothing more and barely moved until we had arrived at the Bovio hacienda. Stevens hurried around to open the door for me, and I charged up the steps and entered the house.
Señor Bovio was right there, waiting. He took one look at my face and shook his head.
“Look how you have upset yourself,” he said. “Come into my office now,” he added authoritatively.
I followed him down the corridor to his large, beautifully furnished office. He had a cherrywood desk with matching paneling on the walls and a slate floor. The room was bright because of the big windows and French doors that had a western exposure. There were two walls of bookshelves, an entertainment center, and an area with computers and printers. Two dark-red leather sofas were on the right and left of the desk, and there were matching chairs in front of the desk. I saw the pictures of Señora Bovio and various political figures and celebrities on the wall, where he had also hung pictures of Adan. There was an entire section of wall covered with movie photos from the films in which Señora Bovio had starred.
“Sit, Delia,” he said, and then sat behind his desk. “Why did you go to see the Davila family?”
I was on the verge of crying, but the fact that he was aware of every move I made angered me. “Am I to be spied upon constantly, treated like a prisoner? I warned you about that when you came to see me at the clinic,” I replied.
“I am not treating you like a prisoner or spying on you. I am only watching over you. I do not take my responsibilities lightly, and for now, your health and welfare are my responsibilities. Look,” he said, taking a different, softer tone, “if you tell me what’s bothering you, I can see about helping you. If I don’t know, what can I do for you? It bothers me that you are obviously so
upset.”
I shook my head and looked away. “There is nothing you can do, señor.”
“Are you so absolutely sure? I am a man of great means, Delia.”
“You know what happened in Mexico, señor. I’m sure mi tía Isabela has cried about it on your shoulder many times, told you how I embarrassed the family and nearly ruined her good name and reputation.”
“Sí, and…”
“And I do feel guilty and responsible, but not for her. I feel terrible for the Davilas, especially Ignacio’s parents. They are suffering so much.” Tears bubbled under my eyelids. “I will never get their faces out of my mind. Never.”
“I understand.”
“I don’t think you can fully understand, Señor Bovio. You would have to have looked into Ignacio’s father’s and mother’s faces as I just did and feel the knife in your heart.”
He nodded. “It’s not good for you to carry such a burden right now, Delia.”
“Yes, well, it is nothing compared to the burden they carry,” I replied.
He sat back and thought. “I may be able to help,” he said after another long moment.
“Help? How?”
“I have some influence with some very important government officials. I can’t say exactly when or how, but perhaps I can get Ignacio Davila released much earlier than his jail sentence demands.”
“Can you?” I asked, now excited.
“I think so,” he said.
“Oh, señor, that would be—”
“But I won’t even try unless you promise me certain things,” he said.
“What things, señor?”
“I don’t like you doing these things to yourself. I don’t want you returning to the Davila home. They are angry people in pain, and you never know how they will react.”
“Oh, they would not hurt me, señor. That—”
“Will you promise me this?”
“Sí, señor,” I said, nodding. “I can do no good for them returning, anyway. I don’t think they would even open the door for me.”
“Muy bien. I will work on this, Delia, but you must promise to be a cooperative patient both for Dr. Denardo and for Mrs. Newell and, of course, for me. I don’t want you to think of yourself as a prisoner, but for now, I want you to take extra good care of yourself and permit me to give you everything and anything you need. This is a very big property. There is much for you to do here to amuse yourself. I’ll have any and all books and magazines for you. You have your own entertainment center upstairs. You ask for anything, and I will have it brought to you, anything.”
“Are you saying you don’t want me to leave the property?”
“Why would you need to leave? I just said I can have anything you want brought to you, including your schoolwork. Indulge me during this pregnancy. Afterward, you can do what you want, go where you want.”
“What about our trip to my Mexican village to visit my family’s graves?”
“I discussed it with Dr. Denardo, and he thinks we should wait until after you give birth. It’s a very emotional journey for you. I promise you, the day after you can get up and leave, I’ll have you delivered first class to your village. How’s that?”
“I don’t know,” I said, all sorts of worry rising to the surface of my thoughts.
“It’s not really all that much to ask of you, and everything I ask is for our baby’s benefit, Delia. Look at how simple your sacrifice, if you want to call it that, is, compared to your friend’s difficult and unpleasant situation in prison. Don’t you want to do something about it?”
I looked up at him.
He smiled and turned his palms up. “What do you say?”
“How long will it take you to help the Davilas?”
“It’s not something I can manage overnight, Delia. There are favors to call in, officials to convince, but it can be done.” He smiled. “It’s been done before, believe me. However, you must not speak of it. That could compromise my efforts, understand? Mr. Whitfield, the father of the boy killed, is also a man of some means, with influential friends. I don’t want you to tell anyone anything, especially your aunt Isabela.”
I had to laugh at that. “You have no worry there, señor. I doubt that she and I will be speaking again.”
“Bien. So, we have a bargain?”
Again, I envisioned Ignacio’s father’s face and the pain in his eyes.
“Sí,” I said. “We have a bargain.”
He smiled. “Good. Now, please go and rest. Take a warm bath, perhaps. All of the toiletries in the bathroom are fresh. I’ve restocked them for you, and they are all my wife’s favorites. She was very concerned about her skin, her hair. You have it all up there. And,” he said, rising, “just to put some icing on the cake, I’m going to have my wife’s beautician and manicurist come to the hacienda tomorrow. I’ll make sure you are pampered and more than comfortable. How’s that?”
“I don’t know what to say, Señor Bovio.”
“Say nothing. Enjoy whatever I can do for you, and let me see about your friend’s problem. I don’t want anything weighing on your conscience and bringing you stress and unhappiness.”
He came around the desk and offered his hand. I stood up and took it.
“We have a real bargain, then, Delia,” he said, fixing his eyes on mine.
“Sí.”
“Good. You have made the right decisions for both yourself and little Adan or little Adriana.”
I raised my eyebrows. Was he dictating the name I was to give to my own baby?
He smiled at my surprise. “Oh, of course, you will choose whatever name you want. I’m sure you will make the right choice, as you have just made.”
“Sí, gracias,” I said.
It felt good to know I finally was doing something real for the Davilas, but when I left Señor Bovio’s office, I wasn’t sure if I had made a bargain with a powerful man, concerned for his grandchild, or the devil, concerned with winning another soul.
I imagined it wouldn’t be long before I knew.
4
Visitors
Early in the afternoon two days later, I was on my way to the pool to take my first swim, when I saw what I felt certain was my cousin Edward’s car approach the main gate. When the driver rolled down his window and leaned out to speak to the security guard, I saw that it was indeed Edward.
A surge of excitement seized my heart. Finally, we would see each other again. I waved and shouted, but he wasn’t looking my way, and the brisk breeze carried away the sound of my voice. The guard picked up the phone instead of opening the gate to let Edward onto the property. Seconds later, he hung up the phone and spoke to him again. Too impatient and too excited to wait for him to drive up and park, I had started down the driveway, when suddenly I saw him back up and drive off.
I stopped, stunned.
“Edward!” I shouted, even though his car was gone from sight.
Why hadn’t he come in? I continued down the driveway, hoping he had merely, for some reason, parked outside the gate, perhaps just to the side, but when I got there, his car was nowhere in sight.
“Where is my cousin Edward?” I asked the guard. I did not know his name. He and another two men split the shifts, and I had never spoken to any of them.
“Who?”
“That was my cousin Edward who just drove up to the gate. What happened?”
“Oh. Yeah, Edward Dallas. He didn’t call ahead, so I called up to the house and was told not to let him enter.”
“Not to let him enter? Why not?”
“I don’t know, Miss.”
“Who told you that?”
“Mr. Bovio.”
“I don’t understand,” I said. “Open the gate,” I ordered. He hesitated. “Open it!”
“I have to call up to the house first, Miss. I don’t open the gate unless I have permission or unless I’m told in advance that someone is coming or leaving. That’s my job. Just a minute, please.”
I stood there with my hand
s on my hips, steaming. I was in a robe and a pair of sandals. The new maternity outfits and shoes had been delivered as promised. Everything was stylish and fit well. There was already even a pair of specially designed walking shoes, but I favored the clothes in Señora Bovio’s closet. As Señor Bovio had predicted, I found beautiful bathing suits that fit, and the sandals looked unused.
Impatient, I went to the gate and looked up and down through the bars, hoping that Edward would either come back or still be within close enough range to see or hear me. The distance between the bars was quite narrow, so I couldn’t see too far down the street, but what I saw was quiet and empty. There was no sign of him. He had probably been very annoyed at being turned away and had rushed off.
I turned quickly when I heard the guard step out of the little guard house.
“I’m sorry, Miss, but I was told not to open the gate,” he said.
“What?”
“I’m just following orders, Miss. Sorry. You’ll have to speak to Mr. Bovio.”
“This is ridiculous,” I said, and charged back up the driveway, my heart pounding, the sandals clacking. I practically lunged at the front door and ran down the marble corridor to Señor Bovio’s office. He was on the phone but waved me in when he saw me in the doorway.
“I know. I’m sorry, too,” he told whomever he was speaking to on the phone. “I’ll call you later. I did what you asked. Calm down,” he added, and hung up. Then he shook his head. “What a mess. Sorry about all that,” he said.
“What mess? Why was my cousin Edward not permitted to enter the property? Why wasn’t I permitted out?” I demanded. “Why did you give such orders?”
He sat back. “Those weren’t my orders, Delia.”
“What do you mean, they weren’t your orders? I just spoke with the gate guard. He said he called up here, and you said not to let Edward enter and not to open the gate for me.”
