Best Kept Secrets

by Rochelle Alers

  Folding his body down to a rocker, Samuel stretched out his legs and waited for the woman whose effect on him was puzzling. She was the complete opposite of M.J. His wife was tall, slender, dark-haired, dark-eyed, where Teresa was petite, fair-haired, light-eyed, and with a lush body that was undeniably feminine.

  They were so different, yet their physical impact on him was the same. He knew he had to be careful, very, very careful around Teresa now that they would be spending more time together.

  “Am I going too fast for you?”

  Teresa gave Samuel a sidelong glance. “No.”

  He’d been reading and dictating telegrams for nearly five hours. He was trying to avoid making a trip to Puerto Rico. A hurricane had swept the island, causing extensive damage to one of his two coffee plantations. His island representative was urging him to come and survey the damage.

  Leaning back in his chair, he focused on the wall plaques. Most of them honored ColeDiz International, Ltd., for its contribution to various civic and social organizations. His company was solvent, he’d achieved the rank of a multimillionaire, and the company still did not list one domestic holding. Whether it was Oklahoma, Kentucky or Texas, racial inequality continued throughout the U.S. The NAACP had reported that the lynching of nine Negroes in 1928 was the lowest figure in forty years. They were one-third into the twentieth century and his people were still being hanged from trees.

  “As at your urging,” he continued, “I will see you early next week. I remain, Samuel.” He smothered a groan. Everett was still in Costa Rica, which meant he had to go to Puerto Rico. “Please make certain to get this to the telegraph office before they close today,” he told Teresa.

  “Yes, Samuel.”

  She pushed her pencil into the bun she’d pinned up on the back of her head, and left to transcribe and type the cablegrams. Samuel stared at her retreating back. She was back to the severe, old-fashioned hairstyle.

  It was their third day working together, and to his surprise he got along better with Teresa than he did with Mrs. Harris, who tended to question him even when he didn’t solicit her opinion. Perhaps it was the age difference that made the older woman assume the stance, but it had not been that way with Teresa.

  She came in early and stayed beyond her quitting time. Samuel paid for her lunch and drove her home. Their relationship was one of employer and employee, and nothing more.

  He picked up the telephone and dialed his home. The connection was broken after the fourth ring. “Cole residence.”

  “I’d like to speak to Mrs. Cole,” he whispered into the mouthpiece.

  “This is Mrs. Cole.”

  “Mrs. Cole, this is your secret admirer. Perhaps I can interest you in having dinner with me in the garden this evening.”

  A soft laugh came through the earpiece. “That all depends on who my secret admirer is,” M.J. crooned, playing along with him.

  “Accept my invitation and you’ll find out who he is.”

  There was a slight pause. “Okay. What time do you want to meet?”

  Samuel glanced at the clock on a corner of his desk. “Is seven-thirty too early?”

  “Make it eight and you’re on.”

  He smiled. “I’ll see you at eight.”

  M.J. could not get used to eating dinner before eight o’clock. The evening meal in Cuba usually began at that time, or sometimes as late as ten. He made it a practice to ready himself for bed at ten.

  He was still a farmer—early to bed and early to rise.

  Samuel maneuvered along the unpaved road to the house where Teresa lived with her family in a racially mixed community of poor whites, Negroes and several immigrant Cuban families. The many small children, who attended segregated schools, played with one another without regard to race. Their parents, on the other hand, all worked at a local cotton mill.

  “It looks as if you’ve become quite a celebrity,” he said in a quiet tone as he stopped in front of her house. People were gathering on their porches just to watch Teresa Maldonado get out of his car.

  Teresa angled her head, lowered her eyelids and affected a pose that reminded Samuel of a Hollywood actress. “Thank you, darlings, for your applause.” Lowering her sultry voice to a throaty growl, she’d affected a Spanish accent.

  Resting his right arm over the back of her seat, Samuel chuckled. “You are incredible.”

  Her mood changed like quicksilver. She went completely still, smile fading. “Am I, Samuel?”

  “Are you what?”

  Their gazes met, and a shock raced through Teresa. She was going to ruin it. Other than her calling Samuel by his name, nothing had changed between them since she’d begun filling in for Mrs. Harris. She and Samuel spent hours together, alone, yet she could not summon up enough nerve to seduce him.

  “Nothing,” she mumbled. She didn’t wait for Samuel to get out and come around to open her door.

  Dozens of eyes followed her until she opened the door to her home and disappeared inside. They whispered softly amongst themselves before dispersing. Most were curious as to why this time the tall man hadn’t gotten out of his car to assist Ramon and Silvia’s daughter.

  Samuel waited a full minute before he shifted into Reverse and backed slowly away from Teresa’s house. It was obvious he’d said something that had disturbed her, and by the time he maneuvered into an expansive garage, parking next to M.J.’s car, he still hadn’t come up with an answer as to her abrupt change in attitude.

  M.J. moved closer to her husband on the bed, pressing her chest to his back. “We have to do it again, mi amor.”

  They’d shared dinner secreted behind a high hedge in the boxwood garden as the sun began its descent. They lingered after streaks of blue and orange feathered the darkening sky and stars dotted the heavens. It had been their time together to “talk” without words.

  “When?”

  M.J. placed light kisses along the curve of his spine. “Saturday.”

  “It can’t be Saturday.” Samuel’s voice was muffled in his pillow.

  “Why not?”

  “I may have to go to Puerto Rico Saturday.”

  M.J. sat up and switched on the table lamp on her side of the bed. “When were you going to tell me, Samuel?”

  Rolling over on his back, he looked up at her. Her face was flushed with color. “I said I may, M.J.”

  “When will you know?”

  “Probably tomorrow.”

  She folded her arms under her breasts. “How long do we have to be married before you’ll trust me?”

  “What makes you think I don’t trust you?”

  “Because you never talk to me about your other life. I can’t plan anything because I never know if you’re going to be around. Mrs. Harris, Everett and Mr. Grady see you more than I do. Your secretary knows your every move while I have to guess as to whether I should wait dinner or even stay up for you.”

  Pushing into a sitting position, Samuel shook his head. “Why are you doing this, M.J.?”

  “Doing what, Samuel?”

  “Ruining a wonderful evening with your nagging.”

  With her eyes wide, her jaw dropped. “Oh! You think I’m nagging?”

  “Yes.”

  “You think I shouldn’t be upset? Well, I am, Samuel Cole. And as your wife I believe I’m entitled to more than three days’ notice that you are planning…no, you may go away.”

  “Why are you carrying on like this?”

  Her eyes filled with tears. “I want my husband, Sammy.”

  Reaching out, he pulled her into the circle of his arms. “You have me, baby.”

  “But for how long?”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  The sharp edge M.J. despised had crept into her husband’s voice. Whenever they disagreed about something he was quite adept at making it look as if he were the wronged party.

  Bracing the heels of her hands against his chest, she freed herself. “You’re here, yet you’re not here. When I get up in
the morning you’re gone. I go to bed, and you’re still not home. Yet when I ask you about it you say you’re working. Working doing what or with who?”

  Samuel decided to ignore her innuendo that he’d lied to her. “Have you forgotten that my businesses aren’t in West Palm? It would be easier if they were in Florida. My only means of communication is either by telephone, mail or telegram. Then there is the matter of different time zones and the custom of siesta. Have you been away from Cuba so long that you’ve forgotten that no one conducts business during siesta?”

  “No, I haven’t.”

  “So, why are you complaining?”

  “I don’t see you enough. The children don’t see you enough. And I’m tired of talking to you about it,” she said through clenched teeth.

  Samuel threw up a hand while shaking his head. “I will never understand you. You wanted to be married, and I married you. You wanted to live in the United States, and you’re here. You complained that the house in Palm Grove Oval was too small, so I built you a new one. Not once did I complain when you said you had to have this icon or that heirloom piece.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I used my money, Samuel.”

  “Let me remind you that the money your father gave us as a wedding gift wasn’t enough to decorate this house. You ordered whatever you wanted, and I paid the bills. You wanted children, and I’ve given you those. What the hell else more do you want from me?”

  “I want you, Samuel.” The four words were pregnant with emotions running the gamut from frustration to fear.

  The clock on the bedside table ticked off the seconds as they glared at each other. The uncomfortable hush swelled with each passing tick.

  Samuel broke the silence when he said, “You have all the me I’m able to give you at this time.”

  M.J. felt her stomach roil, and she thought she was going to be sick. She suspected she was pregnant again, but wanted to wait until she was certain before telling Samuel.

  Her menses was a little more than a week late, and if she was pregnant, then this confinement would be similar to when she carried Nancy. She tired easily and her breasts were very sensitive. Within minutes of waking and her feet touching the floor, she’d found herself racing to the bathroom to involuntarily purge her stomach. She wanted this baby and she wanted her baby’s father. It was something she refused to negotiate.

  “That is not acceptable, Samuel.”

  He slid down to the mattress, turning his back to her. “I’m sorry about that, M. J., but that’s the way it is, and will be for some time.”

  It wasn’t what Samuel said that caused a shiver to rush over M.J.’s body, but how it was said. It held a tone of finality that would not permit her to come back at him. He was telling her she did not have to like it, but that she had to accept it.

  Reaching up, she turned off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. Moving closer to the edge of the bed, she withdrew from her husband, physically and emotionally.

  Samuel picked up the telephone and placed a call to the manager of the Sun Trust branch where he had his business account. “I’d like to make a cash withdrawal,” he said quietly.

  “How much, Samuel?”

  “Everything but twenty thousand.”

  A choking sound crackled through the earpiece. “That’s a lot of money, Samuel. It’s going to take about a week to get that much cash.”

  “I’m aware of that,” Samuel countered as he drew interlocking circles on a pad. “I’m going to be out of my office for a few days, so there’s no rush. I’ll call you when I get back.”

  “I can have it delivered to you.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll pick it up myself.”

  “No problem, Samuel. You can be assured I’ll use the utmost discretion with your transaction.”

  Of course you will, you greedy bastard, Samuel mused. Whenever he withdrew large sums of cash he always gave the manager a cash gift for his discretion when he counted and bundled the bills in their corresponding denominations.

  “I’m sure you will,” he concurred. “I’ll call you again next week.” That said, he ended the call.

  Withdrawing money from a bank paled in comparison to what lay ahead of him. Teresa had translated the cable from his Puerto Rican coffee broker that had been delivered to the office an hour ago. He had to go to the island country to inspect his coffee crop, and it was recommended that he bring his own translator. That wasn’t possible because Everett was still in San Isidro.

  With the exception of Jamaica, every business holding of ColeDiz International, Ltd., was in a Spanish-speaking country; the irony was that the head of the company was unable to speak or understand the language of the laborers who harvested the crops that afforded him great wealth.

  A light tapping on his door caught Samuel’s attention. Teresa stood in the doorway, clutching a folder. He stood up. “Yes.”

  “I just thought of something.”

  “What is it?”

  “I can act as your translator when you go to Puerto Rico.”

  Samuel stared at her as if she had grown an extra head. “No, Teresa.”

  “Why not?” she asked, stepping into the office.

  “It wouldn’t be appropriate.”

  “Is it not appropriate for you to travel with Everett?”

  “That’s different,” Samuel countered.

  “Why? It is because he is a man, and I’m not?”

  “Yes.”

  “You want to punish me because of my sex?”

  Samuel felt as if he’d been chastised. The coffee plantation in Adjuntas was his first American investment, and he was determined to make it a success.

  “No, Teresa, I’m not punishing you.”

  “Then let me accompany you to Puerto Rico,” she said with a quiet firmness. “I will record everything, act as your translator, and if I take a typewriter I can type up the reports while we’re there.”

  A tentative smile found it way across his face. He had to admire Teresa. She had an air of calm and self-confidence, which he liked. He’d rejected her offer because she was a woman, a very attractive woman.

  “When did you come up with this plan?”

  Cradling the file to her chest, Teresa wrinkled her nose. “When I translated the telegram to you.” She closed the distance between them. “You need me and you know it.”

  Samuel shook his head slowly. “No, Teresa, I don’t need you. ColeDiz needs you.”

  An unwelcome blush crept into her cheeks. “I stand corrected. ColeDiz needs me.”

  He saw the eagerness and a glint of amusement in her eyes. Teresa was right; ColeDiz did need her. “Okay, Teresa.”

  Her pale eyebrows lifted. “Okay?”

  “You can come with me. I want…” His words trailed off as he reached into a pocket of his trousers. He slipped two twenties from his money clip and handed them to her. “I want you to take the afternoon off and buy yourself something to wear.” He returned the clip to his pocket. “Let your father know I’ll be by later on tonight to explain why we’ll be traveling together.”

  Teresa took the money as panic knotted her stomach muscles. She’d forgotten about her father. She had to formulate a plan that would convince Ramon Maldonado that private secretaries usually accompanied their bosses on business trips.

  Chapter 25

  The serpent beguiled me, and I ate.

  —Genesis 4:13

  The stabbing pain in the back of his right hand began with the loss of altitude as the aircraft made its descent; it banked to the left before leveling off in preparation for a landing at the San Juan, Puerto Rico, airfield. The Pan American Airways aircraft had taken off in West Palm Beach in bright sunlight and was scheduled to touch down in rain-soaked San Juan.

  Reaching over, Samuel captured Teresa’s left hand. Her sharp nails had left four distinct half-moon impressions on his skin. Her eyes, wide with fear, were fixed on the seat in front of her. It was her first flight, and it had become a harrowing experience when t
he plane flew into a violent thunderstorm.

  He patted her shoulder. “It’s over, Teresa.”

  Shifting in her seat, she stared at Samuel, her eyes brimming with tears. “I’m not flying back to Florida.”

  Leaning closer to her so the other passengers wouldn’t overhear their conversation, he whispered, “We have to.”

  She blinked once. “You can go back to Florida on an airplane, but I’m not!”

  A muscle in Samuel’s jaw twitched as he clenched his teeth. “We’ll talk about it later.”

  “There is no later, Samuel.”

  His fingers snaked around her upper arm, holding her in a firm grip. “Do not challenge me, Teresa. And in case you’ve forgotten why we are traveling, let me remind you that this is a business trip, not a holiday jaunt. This is the first and hopefully the last time that I’m going to remind you that as the head of ColeDiz International, Limited, I give the orders. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  Sudden anger fired Teresa’s eyes, the green orbs paling and clawing his arrogant face like talons. How dare he talk to her as if she were an imbecile! Within seconds all of the love she had for him was replaced with a seething rage. At that moment if she’d had a knife she would’ve plunged it into his heart. She compressed her lips, her mouth thinning into a hard, straight line, and without warning a single tear found its way down her golden cheek.

  Teresa closed her eyes, biting back the hot rush of tears welling up behind her lids. “Yes, Samuel. I understand quite well.”

  Samuel swore under his breath. He’d become his father, threatening and bullying those he sought to control. Pulling a handkerchief from his jacket’s breast pocket, he touched it to Teresa’s cheek.

  “I’m sorry, Teresa.”

  He was sorry, and she couldn’t stop crying. She had permitted the man she loved to see her as weak, helpless. Leaning to her left, she pressed her face to his shoulder.

  He smelled and felt so good. Her heart softened as she melted into Samuel’s strength. “Hold me. Please,” she pleaded. Tears streamed down her face, tears of love and a joy so full that she feared blurting out what lay in her heart.