Sweet Torment

by Flora Kidd

  'So you know now why you have to be here?' Eugenia whispered leaning across to her. 'Good. Afterwards I'll take .you to my home and find something for you to wear that is more fitting for a wedding than that skirt and blouse.' She placed a hand over Sorrel's and squeezed it. 'Do not worry, querida,' she added. 'Diego and I shall act for your family.'

  It was like having the control of her own life taken right out of her hands, thought Sorrel, as she sat subdued in her chair, hearing the crowd roar as a little black bull dashed into the arena kicking up its hind heels and glaring around it. With one hand shielding her eyes so that she couldn't see what the picadors were doing she wondered what had happened the last time Juan had fought which had upset him. She was glad

  Diego Cortez had taken the time to tell her why she must stay and be there when Juan looked for her. It didn't make her like the sport any better, but now that she understood what it was about she could appreciate and respect the men who participated in it much more.

  And as the drama unfolded in the bright circle of sand under the heat of the afternoon sun and the bull became more and more enraged she began to watch, in spite of herself, feeling tension growing within her, so that when the faena or last act started she was on the edge of her seat like everyone else, her eyes never leaving the lithe compact figure of the third matador, who with various graceful movements of the bright red muleta invited the bull to charge at him, stepping aside only at the last minutes so that the horns of the beast grazed the cape so close to his body. And the closer each pass the louder the cheers from the crowd.

  Gradually the little bull grew tired. It's charges were fewer and the man grew bolder. Cape wrapped round one arm and hand to protect them and sword in the other hand, slowly he approached the bull, stepping closer and closer to the sweating, panting animal which with its head low seemed at the end of its strength. The crowd was silent now, every breath held in expectation. Tensely Sorrel sat with her clenched hands at her mouth, every nerve quivering as she felt not for the bull but for the man who was stalking it.

  'Oh, please don't let him be hurt, please don't let him be hurt,' she said over and over to herself, oblivious to what the other people in the box might be thinking of her.

  Suddenly the bull charged. Sorrel was on her feet in an instant like hundreds of other people, convinced she was going to see Juan's body tossed in the air to fall to the sand and be trampled on by the beast's hoofs, but

  amazingly he was still on his feet and turning quickly to face the bull as it charged at him again while the crowd was showing its approval by fluttering white handkerchiefs.

  After that the end came quickly and Sorrel covered her eyes. She sank back in her seat feeling tension drain out of her and nausea take its place. She was aware that everyone else in the box was standing up and clapping and stood up too in time to see Juan approach the box and bow in the traditional way.

  `Here,' Eugenia thrust a bouquet of red orchids into her hand. 'Throw it to him. It will show him you care and the crowd will love it.'

  Leaning forward, Sorrel tossed the bouquet down. It fell at Juan's feet. He picked it up, kissed it and made another bow to her. The spectators roared their approval and suddenly Juan was being pelted with bunches of flowers, a sign that the crowd fully approved of his-performance in the arena that afternoon.

  At the same time the box was invaded by some enthusiastic fans who had come to congratulate Diego for presenting a splendid fight. In the commotion Sorrel realised she had been forgotten momentarily by Eugenia. Now was her chance to escape. Quickly she went down the stairway to the passage and ran to Diego's office. She found her overnight bag and in a few seconds she was outside, leaving the arena with a host of excited fans. Down the narrow lane she went with them, thinking that if she stayed with them she would soon find her way to the town square where she should be able to pick up a taxi.

  It was hot walking, even in the shade of the houses on the western side of the street, and by the time she reached the big Plaza Independencia with its statue of Bolivar the Liberator, set among stately palm trees

  and flower beds ablaze with orchids, she was beginning to feel sweat prick her skin and a reluctance to hurry. An old man was brushing up the debris left by the day's parade in front of the cathedral steps, and she asked him where she could find a taxi.

  To her relief he was kind and helpful and actually went with her to show her the street where the taxi cabs were lined up. But the plump moustachioed taxi driver wasn't so kind and seemed determined to take the longest way to the airport that he could. Feeling tense because there might be a plane leaving for Medellin at that time of day and she might miss it and have to wait some hours for the next, Sorrel sat on the edge of the seat. The back of the car, without the benefit of air-conditioning, was intolerably hot and opening the window had no effect at all.

  At last the houses became more widely spaced and the road wound close to a broad, tree-lined river. In the distance she could see the radio masts of the airport and at last the taxi turned into the approach road to the terminal building.

  She pulled her overnight bag towards her and unzipped it to take out her handbag to search for money to pay the driver. She delved her hand in, her fingers groping for the comforting feel of her leather wallet. It didn't seem to be there. She pulled the opening of the bag wider and peered inside. There was no sign of the wallet.

  Stunned by her discovery, she sat back as the taxi slowed down and stopped in front of the entrance to the airport building. Had she pulled the wallet out by accident when she had taken her comb out of the bag in Diego's office at the arena? No, she would have noticed if she had, and so would Diego. Had it been stolen? But when? She had taken the handbag with her

  into the box at the arena and it had been with her all the time. No one could have taken anything from it without her knowledge.

  Perhaps it was in the overnight bag. Pulling that towards her again, aware that the taxi driver had turned round and was watching her over the back of the front seat, she felt about among the few clothes in the bag, knowing there wasn't a hope of the wallet being there, remembering how she had scooped up the contents of her handbag in a hurry from the dressing table in the bedroom at the ranch, and realising with a sinking heart that she must have left it there.

  She withdrew her hand slowly from the bag and closed the zip. Then she licked dry lips and looked at the driver. Without money she couldn't go anywhere. She would have to ask him to take her back to the arena in the hope that Juan would still be there and would pay him. And to go back meant surrender to Juan, she could see that quite clearly.

  'Senorita, we are here at the airport.' The man spoke sharply. 'You pay me, por favor.'

  'I'd like to, but I've lost my wallet. It has all my money in it,' she began, then flinched when he began to swear at her.

  'But it's true,' she cried desperately as with; an exclamation of impatience he opened the door and said he would call the police to deal with her. 'No, please don't get the police. Take me back to the arena, the one where the bullfights are held. Someone I know there will pay you.'

  'Who?' he demanded, sitting down in his seat again

  and looking at her with narrowed suspicious eyes. 'Juan Renalda.' The name seemed to mean nothing to

  him. 'El Valiente, the bullfighter,' she tried again. 'Ha! You a friend of his?' He was scornful. 'You

  expect me to believe that?' He was off again, calling her a liar as well as a thief, but most of the diatribe was fortunately drowned by the noise of an aircraft taking off, the plane on which she might have travelled to Medellin.

  A car, a big black limousine, slid past the taxi and stopped at the curb just ahead of it. The nearside back door swung open and a man who was wearing a crimson shirt and black pants got out. Quickly Sorrel flung herself across the back seat of the taxi and putting her head through the opening of the window called out :

  `Juan, oh, Juan I'm here!'

  About to stride towards the door of
the terminal building, he paused and looked back, then came towards the taxi. He gave her a hard unsmiling glare as he opened the door nearest the curb.

  'Get out,' he ordered.

  At once the taxi driver was out of his seat and coming round, and, his hands gesticulating wildly, he began to tell Juan what had happened. Then suddenly he stopped, his eyes popped and the next second he was all smiles, offering his hand to Juan, patting him on the shoulder, obviously recognising him. Juan said something to him, made a gesture with his thumb towards Sorrel, then plunging a hand in his trouser pocket pulled out some pesos and offered them to the man.

  `Muchas gracias, senor, muchas gracias,' said the driver delightedly, pocketing the money quickly. 'It was a misunderstanding, senorita,' he said to Sorrel. 'I apologise.'

  He got into the taxi and drove away. Sorrel started to move towards the door of the terminal building. Juan's hand on her arm brought her to a stop. Once more he swung her round roughly to face him.

  `No, you don't,' he grated. 'You're coming with me.'

  She looked up. His face was a hard mask in which the eyes glittered with a strange violence and she cringed inwardly, afraid of what anger might drive him to do.

  'No, Juan, please. I must go to Medellin, that is if ... if you'll pay for the ticket.'

  'You've missed the plane,' he said tautly, his hand tightening as he began to urge her towards the limousine in which a uniformed chauffeur was sitting patiently, not looking in their direction.

  'I can wait for the next one,' she insisted, trying to resist that pull on her arm.

  'We'll go to Medellin and see the Angels after we're married, I promise,' he replied as he opened the back door of the limousine. 'Now get in,' he ordered brusquely, and took her bag from her.

  'No! Oh, let me go, please let me. Don't you see it won't work? We have nothing in common. We're incompatible.'

  'Shut up,' he said rudely. 'Or I'll shame you here in public by giving you the hiding of your life. And don't think for one moment that's an idle threat ! '

  She gave him one last despairing pleading look and believed him. Bending down, she slid into the back seat. He followed her and soon they were being driven down the exit road back to Copaya.

  CHAPTER SIX

  SITTING as far away from Juan as she could, in the corner of the back seat of the luxurious limousine which she assumed belonged to Diego Cortez, Sorrel looked out at the wide placid river, which reflected the glow of the setting sun and flowed like molten gold between fringes of dark trees. On the opposite shore, beyond the trees, fertile green fields were ridged with blue shadows and rolled away into a purple haze. Here and there the walls of a farmhouse twinkled white and its red roof glowed fierily.

  The peaceful scene, another aspect of Colombia, the country of contrasts, brought no peace of mind to Sorrel. Her emotions were in a turmoil and she sat slumped against the back of the seat not knowing what to do or say next. Like the bull at the end of the faena, she was at the end of her strength and her will to fight was very low.

  `And what did you think of the bullfight?' Juan's voice was a soft taunt in her ear and his breath feathered her cheek so that she realised he had moved to sit very close to her. 'Aren't you going to boost my ego as a good wife should? Tell me I performed superbly this afternoon. A few days ago you didn't hesitate to praise

  I my skiing.'

  'I am not your wife,' she said in a low voice, keeping her face averted, not wanting to see the mockery which she guessed would be slanting his mouth.

  'Not yet, but you're going to be,' he asserted arrogantly.

  'I don't want to be,' she protested. 'I can't marry you. -We hardly know each other.'

  `And that is exactly why we should be married,' he replied imperturbably, `so that we can get to know each other better.'

  That made her look at him. Her eyes wide, she studied his face. It told her nothing except that he was amused by something.

  'There must be some other reason,' she said suspiciously. 'I can't believe you want to marry me just to get to know me better.'

  'You've left me no alternative,' he retorted. 'I have to do something to stop you from running away. Twice now I've had to run after you. Surely that tells you something about me, Sorrel?' His voice softened and he leaned closer to her.

  'Only that you don't seem to be able to accept the fact that for once you haven't won,' she countered shakily, retreating only to find she couldn't get any further away from him and that she was jammed in the corner of the car against the armrest. 'You can't accept that here is one woman who isn't knocked flat by that romantic bullfighter image you like to put across. If I hadn't lost my wallet I'd have been on my way to Medellin by now.'

  `Si, that occurred to me,' he replied, lifting one hand to caress her cheek, to push aside the curtain of her hair and curve his hand about her neck until his finger tips just touched her nape and lingered there to stroke the sensitive skin. 'That is why I didn't return it to you when I found it.'

  'You :.. you found it?' she gasped. 'Where was it?"

  `You had dropped it in the bedroom you slept in at the ranch, possibly in your rush to leave this morning. I picked it up.'

  'Then give it to me, at once. Oh, it was mean of you to keep it!' she exclaimed furiously, and raised her hand to knock away his hand because the gentle pressure of his fingers was undermining her opposition to him. But he merely caught her hand with his other hand, raised it to his lips, then pressed it against his chest so that . she could feel the beat of his heart.

  'When dealing with a little bull who is very impetuous I have to try and anticipate which way he's going to move,' he explained quietly, his glance on her mouth. 'I guessed you would try and go back to Medellin today and I had to try and delay you somehow. Eugenia and Diego helped by persuading you to stay and watch the fight. I kept your wallet so that you would be delayed further and I'd have a chance to catch up with you.'

  'I think you are the most unprincipled man I've ever met,' she whispered weakly.

  'Only when I want something, and I want you to be my wife, Sorrel.'

  She tried to fend him off by pushing with her hands against his chest, but it was like pushing against a wall of rock and when she twisted her head sideways to avoid his marauding lips his hand was there against her cheek, forcing her to face him.

  'You can't make me marry you,' she whispered breathlessly. 'I can refuse. I can say there are many reasons why we shouldn't marry. I can say you kidnapped me and forced me into it. I can tell the priest we shouldn't marry because I don't love you and you don't love me.'

  'Always you talk of love,' he jeered. 'Yet you are only just beginning to learn about its and now I am going to teach you more about it.'

  His lips were gentle against hers, a tantalising promise of a kiss, nothing more, so that hers moved tempt-

  ingly, inviting his to stay. Yet still his threatened to withdraw, so she put her hand round his neck to show him she didn't want him to move away after all. Immediately the kiss became sweetly erotic, inflaming her senses. The touch of his fingers against her breast, the flicker of his tongue seeking hers, were no longer an offence to her but a delight. In a daze of sensuousness she didn't care any more where she was and knew nothing of the swift falling of dusk or the glimmer of lights in the streets through which the car was making its way. All that mattered was this aching desire to be closer to Juan, to become a part of him and have him become a part of her, to mate with him in joyous fusion.

  His lips moved from hers, burned devastatingly again against her throat and found their way to the hollow between her breasts. With an inarticulate moan of pleasure she pressed herself against him, winding her arms about him as he leaned against the back of the seat and lifted her on to his knee. Lying across him, she offered her lips to him again, and he possessed them with a savagery which sent desire zigzagging through her as if she had been given an electric charge so that she made no attempt to push away his hand which was slowly sliding the hem of
her skirt above her knees.

  Suddenly the hand was gone. He wrenched his mouth from hers and pressed her face against the pulsing warmth of his throat.

  `You see now, perhaps, what is going to happen between you and me, what could happen right now in the back of this car?' he queried, his voice thick with suppressed passion.

  `Yes,' she murmured, her lips moving against his skin and liking the salty taste of it.

  `You've tried to avoid it by running away. I could have let you go and forgotten you, perhaps, in the arms

  of another woman. But I don't want to do that. I want to be with you, Sorrel, so stay with me, be my wife, if that is the only way.'

  'Oh, yes, yes,' she whispered, curving her hands about his face and lifting her lips to him again. 'I'll stay with you, Juan, I'll stay with you and be your wife.'

  The car slowed down and stopped in front of an old Colonial-style house whose white walls gleamed softly in the mellow golden light cast from the two lanterns which hung from wrought iron brackets on either side of the entrance.

  Still in the daze induced by Juan's lovemaking, Sorrel found herself in a spacious hallway where light from two chandeliers blazed down. Eugenia Cortez was there and after a brief rapid conversation with Juan, took Sorrel's arm and led her up a curving staircase to the floor above and into a pretty bedroom decorated with rose-scattered wallpaper and furnished with' dainty white and gilt furniture.

  'You and Juan are to use this room while you're in Copaya,' Eugenia said briskly, closing the door. 'It has its own bathroom and I think you'll find it quiet. I've found something for you to wear. Fortunately my daughter Rosina didn't take all her clothes with her when she left home to be married. You and she are about the same height, although I believe you are more slender than she is, so I shall have to do some pinning and some stitching. Now go and wash while I fetch it.'