Not long afterward, Ramón signaled for their check and they left the restaurant.
The drive home was uneventful. Once or twice Ramón spoke, but she made such short answers that he did not persist. She thought he glanced at her in the dim light of the dashboard instruments, but she kept her eyes straight ahead, stating at the highway unwinding before them.
Ramón swung the sports car through the gates in the whitewashed wall, and with precision drew up before the front door and switched off the motor. In the sudden quiet Anne felt an awkward unease. Trying to ignore it, she turned in the seat.
“Thank you for taking me to Teotihuacán. I enjoyed it very much,” she said primly.
Her right hand was on the door handle when he reached across to catch her wrist, holding her in place with his forearm.
“That was a nice little speech,” he said, “like a school girl taken to see relatives.”
“You forgot to say an orphan schoolgirl.”
He was quiet a moment. “I thought that was forgotten. What made you think of it again? We were doing so well — or at least I thought so.”
“Yes, weren’t we? You were conducting a catechism, trying to find a clue to my terrible crime of forcing myself on you, instead of believing the simple truth: that it was an accident!”
“Is that the way it seemed?” he asked, his dark gaze piercing.
Defiantly she answered. “Yes, it is!”
“But isn’t that an improvement,” he suggested, “that I look for reasons other than greed and the grasping at a rich man?”
“Not to me it isn’t,” she returned, then slanted him an uncertain look from under her lashes.
“I acquit you of wanting my money, and you say it isn’t important.”
“You still think I’m a liar,” she said, compressing her lips.
He shifted, releasing her wrist, placing his arm across the seat behind her back as she made no move to leave the car.
“But such an enchanting one,” he told her, a soft, caressing note in his voice.
She swung her head, incensed at his agreement, ready to blast him for it. The words were smothered on her lips as he slipped his arm behind her and drew her close against him. His mouth burned on hers, setting the blood to racing in her veins. The fingers of his left hand touched her cheek, then trailed down the tender curve of her neck to the pearl buttons that closed the neckline of her blouse.
Anne wanted to remain aloof, but as his kiss deepened and his firm, sure touch brought its response, her hands, pressed in restraint against his chest, lost their strength. She felt herself drawn closer and closer until her body seemed almost to merge with his and still she was not close enough. His lips explored the moist corner of her mouth and slid with sensuous fire over the smooth angle of her jawline.
“Ramón,” she breathed in a husky protest as his head dropped lower, brushing a warm kiss across the soft curves of her breasts where the vee neck of her blouse parted.
He went still. The soft whisper of their breathing was the only sound in the strained silence within the car.
With an effort that was as plain as it was controlled, he raised his head, drawing away. His hands went to her arms, moving down them to her wrists, which he crossed one over the other and placed in her lap. Anne could not see his face deafly, but she thought his rigid self-control was overlaid with the hauteur of Spanish pride. He did not speak. Opening the door on his side, he got out and walked around to open her door, holding it, making no effort to help her as she got out of the low-slung vehicle.
As they walked together up the stone walk to the entrance, Anne found herself wishing she had remained silent. His withdrawal after their closeness left her feeling bereft and with a cold feeling inside that had nothing to do with the mountain coolness of the night.
Their footsteps slowed as they reached the door and for a moment Anne thought he hesitated, on the verge of speaking, then the heavy, carved panel swung open.
The housekeeper moved back as they stepped over the threshold. Closing the door behind them, she said a soft "Buenas noches" and moved away with her stately tread down the hall.
Watching Mariá out of sight, Ramón sighed, then turned to Anne.
“For you, it has been a long day,” he said, picking up her hand and carrying it to lips, whose ardor had grown cool. “Too long, perhaps. It is time for you also to say goodnight.”
She did not like the hint that she was still an invalid, still less did she enjoy the implication that she was overwrought. On the other hand, she was not sure enough of her ground to argue with him about it.
“Yes,” she said, her voice a husky whisper and her eyes bright with tears of anger. “Goodnight.”
She resisted the impulse to look back as she went up the stairs. Inside her room she let her shoulders sag as she moved across to stand staring out the window. She was a fool; she must be to stay in Mexico knowing what Ramón Castillo thought of her. To let herself be swayed by an old woman, to take clothes and even jewelry from her and her grandson, what were these if not the acts of a fool? And now to allow Ramón to make love to her — what could be worse?
There was something worse, something more foolhardy.
Driving away from Teotihuacán she had looked back at those barbaric stone monuments shining in the moonlight and she had known then and was doubly certain now: it was not only the ancient Aztec warriors who had given up their hearts on the moon-silvered heights of the Pyramid of the Sun.
Six
Doña Isabel had not forgotten the engagement party. On the morning following Anne’s visit to Teotihuacàn she sent for Anne to discuss the affair. When the old lady began to sigh over the hundred and one details that must be seen to by way of preparation, Anne offered her help. As a result, she spent the next three days in close collaboration with Doña Isabel and María. Her principal function was to make endless lists. It took the best part of one day to decide who was to be invited, including the discussion of many contemporaries of the old lady who were no longer living and the chuckles the two older women indulged in over Anne’s attempts to spell the unfamiliar names. Another morning was devoted to the type and amount of food and drink that would be served. Anne was able to be of help in this area, which speeded the process of decision-making considerably, especially when it came to settling the brisk argument between Doña Isabel and her longtime housekeeper over the rival merits of pink and plain champagne. Then there was the question of the floral decorations. Doña Isabel wanted to use flowers from their own gardens, a practice María, mindful of the family honor, did not hesitate to call shabby and too much like making do. A pointed reminder of the number of gardeners employed in the household did not move the housekeeper, nor did the claim that if they used the services of a florist their entertainment would look like that of everyone else. Maria would have no part of it. Open warfare was prevented only by Anne’s rather diffident suggestion that flowers symbolic of the two countries of the principals be used. It was agreed, and an order placed for massed arrangements of American Beauty roses and bright yellow dahlias softened with greenery and white gypsophila. Anne made no objection to the last addition, but neither did she mention that in the United States the dainty white flower called gypsophila were known as baby’s breath.
All the worry, the decisions, and the lists were unnecessary. The entire affair could have been turned over to Ramón’s staff. Doña Isabel would have had no more to do then choose the gown she would wear and enjoy herself. She had repudiated the suggestion with scorn. Such a thing was well enough when Ramón was entertaining business associates; it would not do for her grandson’s engagement. Doña Isabel assured Anne that Ramón was content so long as he knew his grandmother was not trying to shoulder the burden alone. As for Anne herself, she had had no opportunity to discover for herself what he thought. She had not seen him since they returned from Teotihuacà. He had thrown himself into his work as if to make up for the afternoon away from it. He did not breakfast at home, no
r did he eat any other meal there. Sometimes Anne heard his car returning in the early hours of the morning and she would lie awake wondering where he had been and who had been with him. She had dreaded at first the thought of seeing him again after the discovery she had made about herself. But as the days passed, she grew restless, filled with an odd longing to be with him if only, she told herself, to test her reaction to his presence, to see if she could smile and talk and behave naturally. She had a ferrule fear that she would give herself away in the first moment.
On the afternoon of the third day, Doña Isabel dismissed her. It had been a tiring morning. Anne, Maria, and the elderly woman had been closeted with the chef, though Anne, lost in a flood of Spanish and French, had retired to a corner while the final menu had been chosen. Fixing on a date had been equally exhausting, though they had finally settled on a week from Saturday. It had seemed a good choice to Anne. It would be two weeks to the day since she had come to Mexico. Her reign as Ramón’s fiancée would be over. The night of the party, then, would be a perfect time to stage the scene that would put an end to this masquerade. No doubt that was what everyone would expect. It might be a good idea to discuss it with Ramón, if she could bring herself to broach the subject.
“Are you all right, my dear? You are looking very pale.”
“I’m fine,” Anne replied, flashing Doña Isabel a smile, “just thinking.”
“I’ve kept you cooped up with me too long, I think. I’m a thoughtless old woman — and also an exhausted one. Why don’t you run along, get out and get some air, while I indulge in a nap? It will do us both good.”
Put like that, what else could she answer? Anne tried to make it clear that she enjoyed being useful, but she was quietly and firmly eased out of the room.
The house was quiet, echoing with emptiness in the warm, somnolent air. Nothing stirred. The rooms were spotless, the shuttered dimness filled with the smell of roses and beeswax. Luncheon was over, the preparations for dinner not yet begun. The servants were in their quarters resting. Anne knew that the most sensible thing she could do would be to follow their example, but she was too on edge to relax.
Moving as quietly as if she was afraid of being seen and stopped, she went to her room and found the small handbag Ramón had bought her, then slipped clown the stairs and let herself out the front door. On one of the trips into the business district she had made with Doña Isabel she had cashed her salary check, taking most of it in traveler’s checks but requesting a few Mexican pesos. It had given her an uncomfortably dependent feeling to have no money readily available to her, and she still had no idea when she would receive her payment from Ramón or what form it would take.
At the gate the keeper was nodding with his hat over his face as she slipped through. Outside, she stopped and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. She had not realized how confined she had felt. She had not stirred a step in nearly a week without Ramón or Doña Isabel or some servant hovering. It was ridiculous to be so hemmed in, almost as if this was the nineteenth century and she an innocent Spanish maiden. It was odd how an attitude could linger long after the need of it had passed.
She walked along the street without considering where she was going or what she was going to do with her unexpected free time. The sun, warm on her hair, was kept from being too hot by a gentle breeze. Scents from hidden gardens teased her nostrils while the upper stories of ancient mansions stared down at her with hooded, indifferent eyes.
The residential street gave way to a busier thoroughfare. Nearby was a bus stop with a collection of people waiting around its bench: smiling women, most with net shopping bags on one arm and laughing, dark-eyed babies on the other; old men with fierce mustaches carrying canes; and ancient matrons in black, their hair covered and gloves on their hands against the strength of the sun. They were going downtown, most of them, she discovered. Every few minutes a bus would come by and pick up a half-dozen or so. By the time the next bus came more had gathered. Anne, more in curiosity than real intent to go shopping, joined the group. When a bus labeled Chapultepec Park pulled into the curb, she made a sudden decision and climbed on board.
Estela had mentioned the park in passing. It was supposed to be similar to Central Park in New York, a “fourteen hundred” acre area with walking and riding trails, a zoo, museums, lakes for boating, scenic trains, and a playground for smaller children. At the East End of the park on the high promontory known as Grasshopper Hill was Chapultepec Castle. The building once housed the West Point of Mexico and was the scene of the famous battle between the cadets and the U.S. Army during the Mexican War. At a later date the castle was the home of the ill-fated Emperor Maximilian and Empress Carlotta.
Anne walked slowly, idling through wooded glades and along avenues of ancient ahuehuete trees, massive giants that must have stood when Montezuma of the Aztecs was king. She stopped in the cool mist of the Aztec-style fountain, like a wall of water with the heads of feathered serpents pretending from the masonry. Moving on to the edge of the lake, she stood watching in amusement as the father of a young family tried to row a boat and at the same time keep three small, excited children, holding a balloon each, from overturning them all.
Time slipped past unnoticed. Tiring, she rested for a while in the convenient shade of a small pavilion with a domed roof and a platform protected by delicate wrought-iron grillwork. As the afternoon advanced, she slowly, surely, made her way toward Chapultepec Castle.
Being a week day, there were few people enjoying the terraced, stone balustered gardens of the castle. The tried walks under the airy arcades were deserted. Inside, the walls echoed to few footsteps other than her own, and there were only a few persons, including a pair of long-haired students with brown cigarettes burning between their fingers, standing before the fifty-foot-long mural by Juan O’Gorman. She recognized the style as being like the one on the wall in Ramón’s library study. Anne stood staring at it a long time before moving on to the rooms used by Maximilian and his wife.
Once Anne had read a novel about Maximilian and his empress, Carlotta, who went slowly mad here in this place as her husband’s fortunes in Mexico grew dim. It was easy to imagine her sweeping about this great stone pile overlooking the city, wringing her hands and weeping. Such thoughts combined with so much faded grandeur were depressing, and so she did not linger.
Below the castle was a museum, a fascinating collection of dioramas depicting the history of Mexico with emphasis on the fight for independence. Following the exhibits around the interior of the building, she emerged a full floor lower than when she had started.
She had gone perhaps a dozen yards beyond the museum when she glanced back to see the young men she had noticed at the castle leaving the museum behind her. A coincidence, she told herself and faced forward again, resolutely ignoring them. It was only because it was a long way back across the park and the hour was growing late that she quickened her step.
The path ahead of her branched and she took the right fork, hoping the young men would take the more direct route to the main entrance. They did not. Their footsteps rang hollowly behind her under the spreading branches of the tall ahuehuete trees.
No doubt they were going in that direction anyway; there was more than one entrance to the park. She must not panic. Even if this was a weekday instead of Sunday, when the park was crowded, even if this side path was becoming increasingly more wooded and remote from everything, there were bound to be people somewhere nearby. She could not come to any harm.
The footsteps were coming closer. Anne forced herself to walk on as if unaware. It was always possible the pair would pass her by. They were probably intent on their own business and it was only in her imagination that she was their quarry.
“Señorita!”
A brown hand with grime around the nails came out to catch her arm. Anne stopped. She wanted to fling off the hand that held her, but she was afraid it would start a struggle she could not win. Controlling a shiver, she stood still, her
gaze raking the faces of the two young men. In their eyes was a caressing bravura backed by determination.
“What do you want?” she asked, forcing the words past her tight throat.
They looked taken aback at her English, but only for a moment. One of them said something in Spanish to the other and reached out to touch her tawny blond hair.
Anne jerked her head back. “Let me go,” she said distinctly, glancing with purpose at the fingers still clutching her arm.
The two looked at each other, laughing, then eased closer.
Anne was as much angry as frightened. She thought she sensed a feeling of horseplay, of flirtatious amusement at her expense in their attitude. Still there was always the possibility that their intent could change.
“Touch me again and I’ll scream,” she warned them, flecks of gold sparkling in her brown eyes. Then as one of them began to snake an arm about her waist, she drew in her breath, preparing to put her threat into action.
A hint of something that was not amusement appeared in the face of the young man who held her arm. His grip tightened and his hand came up.
At that moment a sharp command rang out in Spanish. There was an instant of frozen stillness, then Anne found herself freed. As the young men stepped away from her, she swung to stare at the man approaching with the measured tread of anger from the direction they had come.
It was Ramón, his lips compressed into a thin line and his dark brows meeting together over his eyes. A few phrases more, and the two young men, their faces pale but impassive, muttered a few sentences that had the sound of an apology, then moved hurriedly on along the path.
The Abducted Heart (Sweetly Contemporary Collection) Page 10
