The day of the engagement party dawned bright and clear and continued unclouded. It was a good omen, Doña Isabel insisted. Anne, staring without seeing out into the waning yellow light of late afternoon, was unconvinced. What she was still doing at the Castillo house she could not fully understand. Her first impulse had been to run away in the middle of the night. Only the knowledge that she was unlikely to be able to complete her escape without detection had deterred her. How ignominious it would have been to be stopped by the housekeeper or have one of the gardeners send Ramón after her again!
Morning had brought a calmer frame of mind. She had an obligation to fulfill. She was helped to keep to this purpose by the discovery that Ramón had already left for his office and would not be back until dinner time. It occurred to her that he might want to avoid her as much as she wanted to avoid him. If so, then the two days and nights that remained before she could consider herself released might be got through without too much embarrassment to either of them.
So it had proved. On Friday Ramón had not returned to the house until well after midnight. Lying awake, Anne had heard his car pull up before the front door. When she drew aside the drapes to glance out the window, she thought he looked tired. The weariness of his movements as he slung his sports coat over his shoulder and rubbed a hand over his head to the back of his neck made her wince as though she had touched a tender nerve.
The next morning she ate a working breakfast with Doña Isabel in her room. During the course of the meal she took two pages of notes concerning the last-minute details to make the house ready for the party. She was kept so busy seeing to them for the rest of the day that she did not have time to worry that she might meet Ramón around any corner. She was not even sure that he was in the house.
But at last everything was ready. The reception rooms were immaculate. The monogrammed napkins, the polished glasses, the fruits and nuts and bonbons, were laid out upon the highly waxed tables. The flower arrangements of dahlias and roses graced with fern and baby’s breath scented the air. The lights were discreetly lowered and candles supported in holders of silver and crystal placed here and there, waiting to be lit. The caterers had taken over the kitchen, where it was now their responsibility to worry about the supply of ice and the amount of liquid refreshment. Soon daylight would fade, the time would draw near, the maid stationed below in the hall would begin to take the hats and coats of the arriving guests. Soon, a matter of hours, it would be over.
“Is something troubling you, my dear?” Doña Isabel inquired softly.
Summoning a smile, Anne turned from the window. “No, I’m fine.”
Doña Isabel sat in her dressing gown of lavender velvet. Her hair had been dressed in shining silver curls. She had only to ring for Maria to help her slip on her dress to be ready to go downstairs.
“You have been with us two weeks now, have you not?” she asked, tilting her head on one side, a far too knowing look in her fine old eyes.
“Two weeks today,” Anne agreed.
“You would not be thinking of leaving?”
“I — think I must.”
“Why?” the old lady asked in a tone of perfect reason. “What does it matter, two weeks, three, four, a month?”
“My job,” Anne began.
“I’m sure they could release you if you asked. Your friends, the Metcalfs, sound like reasonable people who would wish you to take advantage of your opportunities.”
“You know my agreement with Ramón called for only two weeks,” Anne protested, though she could not help smiling at the cajoling tone Doña Isabel had chosen to take.
The old lady compressed her lips. “I suppose I am a selfish old woman, but I find I cannot do without you. I see I will have to talk to my grandson.”
Alarmed, Anne exclaimed, “Don’t do that!”
A pucker appeared in the crepe-like skin of her forehead. “Of course, if you don’t wish to stay...”
“It isn’t that,” Anne said miserably. “If things were different, I could stay here with pleasure forever, but as they stand it’s impossible.”
“I see. Am I to understand that you have quarreled with my grandson?”
“Not exactly”
“It is still your disagreement over Irene’s ill-natured trick with the poblana dress?”
Anne shook her head.
“Am I to take it then that Ramón has behaved in a manner you find objectionable?” Doña Isabel persisted, the frown deepening into two sharp lines between her eyes. “If so, then I know I will speak to him.”
The thought of the indomitable old lady tackling her grandson, a man well over thirty, on such a delicate subject might at any other time have been amusing. As it was, Anne was horrified. “No, please! I just — I just want to return home. That’s all!”
Doña Isabel stared at her a long moment. “You do not intend to come back?”
“I — no.”
To speak that one small word was one of the hardest things Anne had ever done. She looked away from the old woman to hide the tears that rose into her eyes.
“I see,” Doña Isabel sighed. “Perhaps you are wise, I don’t know. I do know that I am sorry for it. I have met many Americans. Some I have liked, some not. I did not like the woman who was Ramón’s mother. It was an instinctive thing, felt at the first meeting — perhaps a regrettable thing, but it could not be helped. Just as I could not help the instinct I felt when I first saw you standing so pale and ill in the hall outside. I knew we would be friends; I felt, I hoped, that we might be even closer. These things are as God wills.”
“Doña Isabel...” Anne said with a catch in her voice.
“Please, will you not call me ‘Abuelita,’ as Ramón does? It would give me great pleasure.”
Trying to smile, Anne said, “Thank you — Abuelita. You have been so kind to me, I don’t know how I am going to be able to go.”
“Let us think no more about it,” she said firmly. “You have seen the gown I bought for you to wear tonight? Good. How do you like it?”
Grateful, Anne followed Doña Isabel’s lead, and, in her remorse that she had been so preoccupied she had not thought to express her pleasure and appreciation for the new dress, she found composure.
Staring at the dress some time later, Anne was still no closer to a decision on how she was going to break her mock engagement. Doña Isabel, when they had discussed the subject in those first days, had suggested a public quarrel. It had not sounded difficult at the time, perhaps because she was sure she would have Ramón’s support and cooperation. Now she was not so certain.
Doña Isabel’s choice for something suitable in which to celebrate the engagement was a floor-length gown of palest blush pink. Lined with a stiff skirt of taffeta, the laced-edged silk organza was, without subtlety, reminiscent of a wedding gown. It had been freshly pressed and left hanging on a padded hanger under a protective covering of plastic.
It was lovely, the very thing to give, a delicate, ethereal look to a prospective bride; still, Anne could conjure up no excitement over wearing it. If things had been different ... No, she must not dwell on such thoughts. She had enough to worry about without torturing herself with what might have been.
She spent a long time in the bath, soaking in scented water frothy with bath salts. It should have been relaxing. It wasn’t. As she lay with closed eyes, she cudgeled her brain, trying to think of something, anything, to use as an excuse to start a quarrel with Ramón. What made men angry? Jealousy? Flitting with other men? That might work, though more because of the affront to his pride than because of any possessive instinct. The only trouble was that she was not sure she could bring herself to do it in this country where she was not acquainted with any other men.
It was possible that she could make a scene bemuse of his attentions to some other woman, except that would be a tacit admission that she cared enough to be jealous. She must avoid that at all costs.
At some point in the evening she could remove his ring, place it in his hand,
and walk away. However, that was too obvious and public a rejection for her to feel comfortable with it.
What was left? Snapping at him? Finding fault? Being rude to his friends? Such tactics were so foreign to her personality she doubted her ability to carry them through.
She had to do something. She couldn’t just drift along, waiting for Ramón to dismiss her, becoming more deeply involved, more vulnerable to his love making each day. She had to cut herself loose, return to her plain, safe, ordinary life before it was too late. In time, this two weeks in Mexico would seem like a dream. The memories would fade. She would think of them less and less often, until eventually they would be forgotten. She would forget, she vowed, if it took the rest of her life.
Standing before the dressing table mirror, Anne took extra care with her makeup. Despite her intention of leaving, it seemed important that she look her best. She told herself it was for her own sake, for moral support; she would not admit that she wanted to make certain Ramón remembered her looking as attractive as possible.
Her eyes appeared enormous with mysterious shadowed depths, in the pale cameo of her face. Mascara, sparingly applied, served only to heighten the impression. Pink lip gloss was an improvement, as was a whisk of blusher on the cheekbones, but eye liner and shadow stood out so against her pallor that they had to be removed and the entire operation done over again.
Putting on makeup took longer than she expected. It was getting late when she turned finally to her hair. Thankfully, it was cooperative. Doña Isabel had offered to take Anne to her hairdresser again, but she had refused. She had shampooed her hair earlier in the day and set it in her usual manner. Now it hung in a smooth, silken bell which rested lightly on the top of her shoulders.
At last she was ready to put on the gown. As she took it from its hanger, she could not help remembering the last time she had dressed for a formal evening with Ramón. It had begun disastrously, with the poblana dress, and ended much the same way. She would never forget the combination of rage and pain on Ramón’s face when he had looked up and seen her descending the stairs.
Yes she would. She must, for her own peace of mind. And suddenly she knew how she would break her engagement. She wanted to quarrel with him, didn’t she? She wanted to make a clean break, one that would enable her to leave without regret. Well, then, why not wear the poblana costume again? He could not fail to be enraged, especially since he must realize she knew the significance of it. If she dared wear it, there was little doubt that she would be freed at once of this masquerade. If she dared...
The costume with its skirt and blouse, its lace-edged underskirt, vest, and fringed sash, had been picked up by Carmelita and hung carefully away in the wardrobe.
With hands that trembled a little, Anne took it out. Quickly, before she could change her mind, she put it on, jerking the sash tight about her waist. With its rich materials and intricate embroidery detailing, it was still a handsome ensemble and Anne could not see that it was markedly different from the peasant costumes, the African and Russian-derived gowns, which were being worn for evening in the United States. With a shake of her head, she turned from the mirror to look for the low-heeled slippers which had come with it.
She could find only one. While she knelt with her head in the wardrobe she thought she heard the sound of a car on the drive. The noise sent a shiver of dread along her spine, and she began to search frantically for the missing slipper, piling the empty dress boxes and tissue paper which littered the bottom of the wardrobe out onto the floor.
When a knock came on the door she sat back on her heels in relief. “Come in,” she called, expecting to see the bright round face of Carmelita around the door.
She was mistaken. It was Ramón who pushed the panel wide and stepped into the room.
“Are you ready?” he asked. “The guests are arriving and we will be expected to greet them together.”
The last few words of his sentence were delivered mechanically. He stopped in the doorway, all expression leaving his face as he stared at Anne kneeling in a billow of skirts before the wardrobe.
“I — thought you were Carmelita,” Anne stammered, irritated at the same time with herself for the agitation which swept over her.
“I never imagined you expected me,” he answered deliberately.
“I will be with you as — as soon as I find the other shoe.”
“Don’t trouble yourself,” he said without raising his voice. “You are not going to need it.”
The memory of the threat he had made before to take the dress off of her hung unspoken between them. Anne felt her heart accelerate at the grim look about his mouth. It may have been a trick of the light, but a tormented expression seemed to darken his eyes for an instant.
“Ramón...” Anne breathed in unconscious entreaty. A sense of guilt stabbed at her, as if she had purposely set out to hurt him. This was going all wrong. There should have been an audience to witness this meeting, to overhear the inevitable argument and realize the stalemate between them.
“Why?” he asked, pushing the door to and advancing into the room with dangerous feline grace. “Why tonight, of all nights?”
“I thought — that is, this is the last day of my two weeks. There must be an argument, a reason for breaking the engagement.”
“I see,” he said, averting his eyes as he gave a thoughtful nod.
“I have to go home,” Anne said, a shade of desperation creeping into her voice. “I can’t stay here.”
“Can’t you?” he queried, his voice soft, almost tentative.
He had said he wanted her, no more than that. He had never mentioned love. If she succumbed to a few kisses and an appeal to the senses, she would regret it for the rest of her life. What she felt had no place in a casual affair. To leave now would be difficult enough; later it might be more than she could bear.
“No,” she replied unsteadily, “I can’t.”
In the quiet they heard the sound of another car on the drive below. Ramón stood totally still while seconds ticked past. Abruptly he raised his head.
“There will be no need for a disagreement. Our engagement can be ended easily enough without a public parting. We will not upset Abuelita by disrupting her party or putting a sudden end to her hopes. Later, when we have more time, we can discuss your departure?”
“Very well,” Anne answered, her voice so low it was barely audible to her own ears.
He flicked a glance at the pink gown she had left uncovered on its hanger. “For the moment, we are needed below, I will wait outside while you change. Five minutes, no more.”
She emerged from the bedroom well within the deadline. Ramón was leaning on the opposite wall, his arms folded and a distant look on his face. He smiled when he saw her, a movement of the lips as brief and impersonal as the appraisal he gave her appearance. Without comment, he pushed erect with his shoulders, moving to her side, as she started along the hall. It was just as well he did not speak. So tightly knotted were the cords of her throat that she was not at all sure she could have managed an answer.
With his hand under her elbow, they descended the stairs. Anne was almost painfully aware of him as he moved beside her. She would not look directly at him, but as they passed a framed painting she caught a glimpse of him on the reflective surface of the glass, a tall distinguished man in correct evening attire. The pleated front of his shirt was immaculately white against the sun-burned darkness of his skin. In his lapel was a flower, something she had not noticed until this moment. Slanting a quick look at it, she saw it was a blush pink rosebud, the same color as her gown. For an instant she was puzzled, until she recognized the hand of his grandmother in the perfect match.
There was to be a small dinner party, consisting of Estela and Esteban, Señor and Señora Martínez, and a few more of Ramón’s close business associates, before the larger entertainment began. As Anne and Ramón reached the hall, they could hear voices coming from the sala where the dinner guests were gathered. Over
the babbling murmur one female voice rose loud and clear. Hearing it, Anne came to a halt. It was Irene. The woman had to have invited herself for Anne knew her name had not been on the list of dinner guests, though she was included for later.
“Courage, Anne,” Ramón said, tilting his head so he could look into her pale set face. “It is only a party.”
“I know,” she replied, trying to smile. “But Irene — we weren’t expecting her. The table arrangements...”
“The table arrangements are no longer your concern. Let Maria and the servants worry about it. You have nothing to do except take what enjoyment you can from the evening.”
“But your cousin...”
“She cannot hurt you.” A speculative gleam warmed his narrowed eyes. “You have nothing to fear from her this night. Only once have I seen you more beautiful than you are now, and then because the nightgown you wore was somewhat more — revealing. You remember? It was the same color as this dress my scheming grandmother has chosen for you.”
Anne threw a startled look at him as the wild rose color of confusion spread across her cheekbones. Of course she remembered. That first night, the nightgown the housekeeper, María, had found for her, the pain in her head, the embarrassing confrontation in the hall when she had ventured out to find relief. It was not every day that a man swept her into his arms and carried her to her bed. How could she forget? What was astonishing was that he remembered such a detail as the color of her nightgown.
“‘That’s better,” he said, a low note of laughter in his voice as he placed his arm around her, urging her gently toward the sala. “At least now you no longer look as if you were going to your doom.”
The purpose of the compliment was obvious, still Anne could not help but be affected by it. She felt attractive as she moved into the room, able to greet the guests and accept their congratulations with stuffing ease. Even Irene posed no threat to her composure, though the other woman immediately capped her best wishes by introducing the man at her side as her fiancé.
It was the same Mexican with whom Anne had danced two nights before. Though his full name eluded her, she discovered that he was called Pépé. He seemed a little discomfited at Irene’s public proclamation of their relationship and her possessive clinging. Of slight build, he wore his fine dark hair brushed straight back. Despite the stamp of Spanish pride on his features, Anne doubted he was a match for the woman at his side. The whispered remonstrance he made when Anne and Ramón turned away received no more than a laugh from Irene.
The Abducted Heart (Sweetly Contemporary Collection) Page 14
