As he lay in bed, turning over from time to time to ease his bruised body, he wondered what to do about her. He had long since given up puzzling over her reason for having abandoned him, bitterly accepting that the only possible explanation was his refusal to help her in her crusade. And now, with ample cause, he was more opposed than ever to doing so, The ten days she had told her family she would be away had expired on Saturday. As they spent every week-end at Cuernavaca, the odds were that she would now be there and back in Mexico City on the following day, Monday.
Unhappily, he faced the possibility that, having made her attempt to secure his help and failed, she might refuse to have any more private meetings with him. But, in view of their powerful attraction for each other and, even more, the strength of the past link between them, he thought that unlikely. It would be against any passionate woman’s instincts to allow a political difference of opinion entirely to override her physical desire; and there could be no doubt about Chela being a passionate woman. It therefore seemed well on the cards that he could win her back, and even possible that, after their separation of ten days, she was looking forward eagerly to resuming their affaire immediately she got back to Mexico City.
His intention had been to return there himself the following morning after a quick look round Taxco. But it now occurred to him that, if she was expecting him to be waiting on the mat for her, it might be no bad thing to disappoint her, leave her kicking her heels for a couple of days wondering what had become of him, then reappear and tell her that he had not hurried back because he regarded their brief affaire as finished.
The inference that he had already got her out of his system might make her more eager; on the other hand, she might resent it so strongly that he would lose her for good. As that was the last thing he wanted, he decided not to risk it, but to stay in Taxco only over Monday then, when he did get back, leave it to her to make the first move. Or, anyhow, wait until he could bear no longer the suspense of not knowing how she felt towards him.
He spent the next morning making the rounds of the silversmiths, admiring their beautiful work. Somehow, he got through the rest of the day and returned to Mexico City on the Tuesday. He had left the bulk of his luggage at the El Presidente and was considerably relieved to learn that the rooms he had reserved there for his return had not been let to someone else.
No massage from Chela awaited him at the desk, but there were two letters sent round from the Del Paseo.
One was from his Aunt Flora. It was to thank him for his Christmas present to her, although in somewhat austere terms. Having been busy with preparations for his trip to Mexico, he had jibbed at racking his brains for a present that would please her, so had sent her a cheque for fifty pounds.
In her letter she remarked that, while money was always acceptable, the greatest pleasure lay in receiving a gift in the selection of which the giver had expended thought. She added that the size of the sum gave her reason to fear that Adam’s good fortune had led to his becoming reckless about money. This she urged him to guard against seriously, as she found it hard to believe that anyone could continue to live as he was doing simply by writing novels. She had, therefore, spent only five pounds on some new linen and had put the remainder aside against a day when he might need it. There followed news about a few of her neighbours and a report that a Jewish gentleman from the Midlands—said to have big interests in television—was negotiating to lease the Castle.
Aunt Flora’s letter carried Adam back to a different world—a sane and real world inbred in his very being; so that for a moment it seemed that all that had befallen him in Mexico—his affaire with the lovely but strange and unpredictable Chela and his terrible experience at San Luis Caliente—could not really have taken place. Yet the slight pain that he still felt in his bruised rib was ample evidence that they had been no dream.
On opening the second letter he found to his consternation that it was from Jeremy Hunterscombe, giving particulars of the meeting of the Anglo-Mexican Society that evening. Adam had entirely forgotten about it, and it was already four o’clock. With a groan, he forwent a belated lie-down and set about composing his speech.
He had been working on it for about half an hour when the telephone rang. As he picked up the receiver, his heart gave a violent lurch. It was Chela calling him.
‘So you’re back,’ she said. ‘Mamón told me that you had gone off on a tour, and when I called up this morning I was told that you had not yet returned. I’ve been trying to get hold of you for the past three days. Come round here for drinks this evening, then we’ll go out to dinner.’
Her opening to renew their affaire warmed him, but strengthened his resolution to play hard-to-get; so, tempted as he was to start saying endearing things to her, he steeled himself to reply in a rather off-hand manner, ‘I’d love to, but I can’t. I have to give a talk to the Anglo-Mexican Society this evening.’
‘Oh!’ She hesitated. ‘But that will be over by about half past ten. You could take me out afterwards.’
‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘That’s not on, either. Jerry Hunterscombe is running this show and he is expecting me to dine with him afterwards,’ which was the truth.
‘Oh, damn Jeremy!’ she exclaimed angrily. ‘Tell him you can’t. Put him off.’
Her eagerness to see him further strengthened Adam’s feeling that he was taking a sound line, so he replied, ‘Sorry; I wouldn’t like to do that but …’ He had been going to suggest their making a date for the next day, but got no further because she had hung up on him.
Afterwards he wondered whether he had gone too far, and had half a mind to ring her back. But he resisted the impulse and returned to writing his speech; although, with visions of Chela now occupying the greater part of his mind, he found it extraordinarily hard to concentrate on it.
At half past seven he went over to the hall in which the Society held its meetings. In a private room Jeremy and other members of the committee fortified him with drinks, then escorted him downstairs. As usual, on such occasions, he felt rather nervous; but the audience was large and gave him an encouraging reception. Hunterscombe introduced him in a brief, flattering and well-thought-out speech. Then Adam said his piece.
As had always proved the case with him, ‘everything was all right on the night’, and when he ended he received enthusiastic applause. There was then a half-hour of questions, a sequel to which he rather looked forward, as they often gave him a lead to air his views on a variety of subjects. Then followed a vote of thanks, a few words with friendly people in the audience, after which Hunterscombe carried him off in a car.
They dined at a small restaurant which had a French cuisine and a French chef to see to it that the dishes were truly à la française, so the food was excellent. Halfway through the meal, Hunterscombe said:
‘You were telling me that you’ve been on a trip. During it did you think any more about the subject we talked of when we lunched together? You know, old boy. I mean the off-the-record stuff.’
Adam nodded. ‘Yes, I did. And I have no doubt now that you were right. There is plenty of trouble brewing. The Indians really are still primitives, and in some places the priests are playing on their superstitions to encourage them to revolt.’
‘Can you give me any particulars?’
Before going to the meeting Adam had carefully considered how much he should say if Hunterscombe raised the subject again; and he had decided to say very little because the Wing Commander suspected Chela, so the less he was told about what was going on the better, just in case some item of information enabled him to confirm his suspicions definitely.
‘No,’ Adam lied glibly. ‘But I can tell you one thing. You were wrong in believing that the Enriquezes are involved. Bernadino and his capitalist friends have no tie-up with the Church, and they are all against anything which might upset the status quo. I learned that from Ramón, and I’m certain he wasn’t fooling me.’
The Wing Commander brushed up his fair moustache.
‘But how about Chela?’
‘Oh, Chela!’ Adam shrugged. ‘I haven’t seen her since I last saw you. Undoubtedly she is an idealist and Alberuque’s pet, or he hers. But that doesn’t add up to much, now we know that she is not acting as liaison between the Monsignor and her father.’
‘Could be you’re right, chum,’ Hunterscombe admitted. ‘If she is a dead end, there is no point in wasting further time on her.’
Adam felt that he had handled the situation as well as possible, but he was not fully convinced that the Wing Commander believed him. There was a quality about him that was difficult to assess. On the face of it, he was almost a Wodehouse character and Adam would not have been at all surprised to be addressed by him as ‘old egg’ or ‘old bean’, or to hear him speak of ‘cads’ and ‘rotters’. But there seemed to be an underlying shrewdness about him, and Adam had heard it said more than once that apparently ‘silly-idiot’ British agents were the cleverest in the world.
To his relief Hunterscombe made no further reference to the subject during the latter part of their pleasant dinner, nor while taking him back to his hotel.
Next morning he rang up Chela, with the intention of putting matters right with her, but she had already gone out and it was not known when she would be back. He then asked for Ramón and, when he came on the line, asked him to lunch. Ramón would not hear of it. In Mexico the term ‘visitor’ is synonymous with ‘guest’. He had an engagement but that could be put off: He was anxious to see Adam and would expect him at two o’clock at the Bankers’ Club.
Adam again made his way downtown, but this time not too early for his appointment. Ramón received him cordially and at once asked how he had enjoyed his trip.
‘I had a most interesting time,’ Adam grinned, ‘and damn’ nearly got my throat cut.’
Ramón raised his dark eyebrows. ‘The devil you did! I can’t wait to hear about it.’
Over lunch Adam gave a full account of his week’s tour, ending up with a graphic description of his shattering experience at San Luis Caliente.
‘That is the sort of Saturday-night gathering we have had reason to believe is taking place,’ Ramón said. ‘But this is the first actual description we have had of one, and I’m extremely grateful to you for having obtained it for us. I give you full marks, too, for pulling that bluff on them that you were Quetzalcoatl. What gave you the idea?’
‘Chela,’ Adam replied promptly. ‘She told me that I look exactly like the description of him in the legends.’
‘That was lucky for you. She is a born romantic, which accounts for her having always championed the Indians. In view of what is going on at the moment, it is unfortunate that her feelings for them are so strong. Just between us, since you have been away we have found out that she is taking an active part in fermenting this rebellion.’
Adam’s face showed quick concern, although Ramón did not realise the shock that their discovery that Chela was involved had given him; and went on quietly, ‘She has been acting for Don Alberuque, as his go-between in the towns to which she has gone recently to inspect schools.’
Striving to hide his acute alarm, Adam asked, ‘Is … is it likely that they will arrest her?’
‘Oh, no. We shan’t arrest that priest at San Luis Caliente either; nor any of the others we have a line on—yet. It is much sounder to let them have plenty of rope, then there is a good chance that they’ll lead us to the big-shots who are directing this damnable affair. We can afford to wait for a week or two before we pounce.’
‘But then? What then? If Chela is proved to have been one of the ringleaders, she … they’ll put her in prison.’
‘I don’t think for a moment that she is, or that she realises the full implications of what she is doing. In her devotion to the poor she is almost a saint, and I am sure she would swallow any line that smarmy devil Alberuque cared to sell her.’
‘But she could be in deeper than you suppose,’ Adam persisted.
Ramón gave him a friendly smile. ‘I hadn’t realised that you were one of the many who have fallen for Chela.’
‘Well, er—I certainly find her very attractive and she’s been extremely kind in taking me about to places; so it’s natural that I should feel anxious about her. I should have thought you would be, too.’
‘I’m not,’ Ramón shook his dark head. ‘And you needn’t be either. Even if they worked on her to the extent of persuading her to throw a bomb at the President, we’d get her off. Money counts in Mexico. It might cost my father a million pesos, but he’d see to it that at worst she would have to spend a few months in a nice comfy home for neurotics.’
Immensely relieved, Adam was able to enjoy the rest of his lunch. He then returned to the El Presidente and lay down on his bed with a book, as he had decided that it would be better not to ring Chela again until after the siesta. Half an hour later he had dropped off to sleep.
He was roused by a loud knocking on his door. As he had hung up the ‘Do not Disturb’ notice outside it, he called out ‘Entrada’ in a far from pleasant frame of mind. But the knocking continued and he then remembered that he had turned the key in the lock. With a scowl on his face he slid off the bed, walked over and opened the door. Chela, dressed in a gay, flowered spring frock, and looking radiant, was standing there.
‘Well!’ he exclaimed with an angry expression, still half asleep and caught off his guard. ‘It seems you mean to make a habit of invading my bedroom.’
Pushing past him, she shut the door behind her, then turned and gave him a puzzled look. ‘What’s the matter with you, darling? I simply thought that as the mountain wouldn’t come to Mohammet, I’d … But you don’t seem at all pleased to see me.’
Recovering himself, and now elated that his stratagem of playing hard-to-get had worked, he said quickly, ‘Yes, I am. I really couldn’t back out of my talk and dinner last night. But I phoned you this morning and was going to again in an hour or so’s time.’
At that she gave her dazzling smile and held out her arms. Seizing her in his, he crushed her to him and gave her a long, rich kiss. As their mouths parted, she murmured, ‘Oh, my brave, foolish one. How I adore you; and how proud I am of you.’
‘Eh?’ Releasing his hold on her, he looked down in surprise into her big, limpid dark eyes and said, ‘I’m afraid I don’t get you. What have I done that you should regard me as a hero?’
‘Why, darling, declaring yourself and performing the sacrifice at San Luis Caliente, of course,’ she laughed.
‘How did you come to hear about that?’
‘From Don Alberuque. He had it through our grapevine and was overjoyed. For persuading you to take the part of Quetzalcoatl, he has given me ten thousand years’ exemption from Purgatory. And, fool that I was, I thought that I had failed him.’
Adam frowned. ‘Then you did leave me in the lurch at Oaxaca because I said I wouldn’t play?’
‘Well, it wasn’t altogether that. I would have had to leave you the next morning anyhow. Three days was all I could possibly squeeze out of my commitments to inspect schools, and other things. I didn’t lie to you when I said that I had work to do. But I did decide to leave overnight because I believed that you truly loved me and would miss me so much that you would think things over and make up your mind to do as I asked. But, of course, even if you hadn’t, I couldn’t possibly have given you up. I’ve wanted you desperately ever since; I want you now, this moment. Let’s get our clothes off and hop into bed.’
Intoxicated by her presence, Adam gave her another long kiss, and cried, ‘My sweet, I’ll race you to it.’ Then, laughing like happy children, they began to fling their garments on the floor.
A quarter of an hour later they were sitting up in bed. He had his arm round her shoulders and she had just lit a cigarette. As she lit one for him, she said:
‘Tell me, darling. Why on earth didn’t you disclose yourself to Father Miguel when you saw him at the church, instead of going to the ceremony unaccompanied, and nearly
getting yourself killed?’
Having had time to decide on the line he should take if she asked him that question, he replied with a smile, ‘I discovered only by chance late that evening that a ceremony was to take place, and I felt that I must see what form it took.’
She gave a happy sigh. ‘Now you know, and have accepted the role as Man-God, it will be very different next time. You will be escorted to the place of sacrifice in dignity and with every honour.’
‘I’m afraid there is not going to be a next time,’ he announced quietly.
‘What!’ she exclaimed, jerking her head round to stare at him with anxious, distended eyes. ‘You can’t mean that! You can’t possibly!’
He gave her a quick kiss on the forehead. ‘I’m terribly sorry to disappoint you, beloved; but I do.’
‘But why? Why? Why?’
‘Because I thought the whole business pretty beastly. I hated having to slaughter that wretched pig and the sight of those men guzzling its flesh afterwards was revolting.’
‘One must follow the ancient ritual,’ she protested. ‘And what is wrong with those poor, half-starved Indians being given a meal of roast pork?’
‘Maybe; but that was not the only part of the ceremony that I took exception to. I’m not a Catholic, but holding a Mass before the pig-killing episode, and bringing the Host to such a party, struck me as the most appalling sacrilege.’
‘No, darling, no! There are many roads to Heaven, and I’ve told you before that the Indians are a mixed-up people. For centuries they have combined Christianity with their own religion. As long as they are believers in intercession through the saints and the mercy of our Lord, there is no real harm in their practising their ancient rituals.’
Unholy Crusade Page 20
