Cover. Jill looked down at the pale blue blanket which covered her. Sometime during the morning hours, someone had come into her room and drawn it over her.
She sat up abruptly. The door that separated her room from Simon's stood ajar. For a moment she remained very still, listening, but the room beyond was quiet. She had no desire to see her husband, at least not yet; their dawn scene was too painfully present. Well, the lines had been drawn. You keep to your side, and I'll keep to mine. In spite of the blanket, clearly his silent gift, and in spite of the open door.
She reached over and checked her watch. It was noon, and for a moment she thought perhaps Senhora Cordero had been the Good Samaritan. Not true, she told herself. It was Simon, all right. The world, in this case the world of Las Flores, must believe that there had been traffic between their rooms during the night. Senhora Cordero and whatever other servants there were in the villa, must believe they were lovers. It would never do for them to know the truth, that Jill was Senhora Simon Todd in name only. The door separating their rooms, the door which had clicked shut so firmly only hours before, must stand ajar for the sake of the servants. They must grin knowingly and chatter in the kitchen about the love between Senhor Todd and the young bride he had brought all the way from Chicago.
Jill shuddered, acutely embarrassed over the idea. Still, if that was his game, so be it. No one had forced her to take the marriage vows. Whatever else he was, Simon was honest. No one had forced her to accede to the terms of her uncle's will. It had been made to protect a fortune and to protect a young woman, completely unknown to the testator, from the possibilities of her folly. She could have refused, waited the endless years to receive the fruits of his will. Married Derek. Remained in Chicago.
Chicago in the winter. She had only to think of the strong winds blowing off the lake to climb out of bed eagerly. And after all, nothing had happened between them, had it? Simon had told her in so many words to be a good girl. That was all that had happened. A few kisses, nothing more.
"I must stop taking myself so seriously," she said out loud. "I'm here and that's what counts." She pattered barefoot over to the window, and was delighted to discover upon pulling up the blind, that it hid a small door opening onto a narrow balcony. Through the rain she could see a dense flower garden, and beyond tall trees the top story and red tiled roof of the villa opposite.
From the snows of Chicago to the forceful rains of Manaus in one easy leap. She realized that her dreams of Manaus excluded tropical storms. With all that she had read of Manaus, her mind had simply skipped past the idea of inclement weather. And of course, the books had all told of winter in the Amazon, a winter of almost daily rain that went on until May. It was because of the rain, in fact, that the river could rise as much as forty feet. She had learned all that, and conveniently forgotten it.
Bending under the authority of the rain, were bright pink hibiscus blossoms, the sight of which cheered her considerably. She had lived with the dream long enough. Now it was time to live with the reality. If it was a marriage in name only, so be it. She was going to take charge at last, be the true niece of Daniel Carteret. Her life was her own and she was going to shut Simon Todd out as completely as if he had ceased to exist. Oh, she would play the game all right. She would be the model wife for the sake of the servants and his friends. They might sit opposite one another at meals. They might sleep near one another with the door between them ajar. They might entertain visitors as if they wanted them all to go home so they could make mad love. They might even touch or kiss in public. She might even ask him to pass the salt or the newspaper or to recommend a good movie, but still, Simon Todd had ceased to exist. He was merely a cipher, the means to her fortune, and that was that.
Now, she thought, heading for the bath, if she could only stick to her guns.
Jill was unpacking when she came across the little, pink doll Derek had given her. For a moment she couldn't think why she had brought it along. Sentiment? Perhaps because it was simply very sweet and charming. She placed it on the dresser, where its head flopped forward, and the small body fell flat, as if it were a baby ready for sleep. She let it stay in that position. It was all the baby she might ever have.
Dressed in a pair of navy slacks with a white cotton shirt and red linen jacket, Jill let herself out into the corridor. The villa was quiet. She felt strangely disoriented, a visitor to an empty marble palace in which everyone had gone to sleep for a hundred years.
She walked through both wings, opening doors to empty rooms, closing them again. There were no rugs, no curtains, no furniture in any of them. Turning down the circular staircase to the center hall, she had a feeling of great light and spaciousness matched to the sepulchral quiet of a cathedral. Rooms leading off the hall were furnished sparingly, a salon, a library, a sitting room, a formal dining room. They contained very few ornaments or paintings. Windows were without curtains and the marble floors without rugs. She was genuinely puzzled. The ornate interior trim cried for exquisite period furniture, yet there was none. Rather everything was modern, seats covered with rattan, like lawn furniture.
Las Flores was waiting, stately and elegant, for a family. Well, she thought cynically, it might just have to wait some more.
A room, at the rear of the villa, with a view of the garden, was clearly Simon's study. In it, she found a television set facing a bamboo couch. On his large desk of rosewood, she discovered a photograph of her uncle, standing with Simon, both dressed in khaki and smiling.
She traced down a sudden aroma of freshly ground coffee to a small attractive room, which like Simon's study, overlooked the garden. A glass topped table was laid with a printed yellow cloth and a setting for one. There was a pale wood sideboard with a coffee urn and a covered dish with rolls kept warm. Great glass doors led directly into the garden, a lush, tempting jungle of bougainvillaea and hibiscus in bloom. It was still raining, the sky a heavy mat of grayness.
"Ah, senhora, here we are."
Jill turned as Senhora Cordero came bustling into the room, her mouth broadened into a mischievous grin, a grin reserved for young brides on their honeymoons.
"I guess I did sleep a little late," Jill said shyly, knowing that an appropriate blush was suffusing her cheeks.
"Did you sleep well, senhora?"
"Oh yes. The bed's very comfortable." She turned, still embarrassed, to the window. Why did everything sound so queer?
"Here are rolls, butter, coffee, jam. Would you like some eggs? Something special?" The housekeeper stood in front of her, hands clasped, friendly, comfortable, anxious to please.
"No. I never really eat breakfast. This will do fine."
"Some coffee, then?"
"Yes, thank you."
Senhora Cordero spooned some sugar into the tiny coffee cup and poured black coffee over it before Jill could stop her.
"Well, actually, I don't take sugar," she said timidly.
"Cafezinho without sugar!" Senhora Cordero rolled her eyes at the ceiling.
Jill smiled. "Of course, I remember now. Cafezinho." The national custom. Small cups of black coffee laced with plenty of sugar. She lifted the cup and took a sip. Black, tart, the rich aroma almost a taste, the cafezinho was syrupy but delicious.
"In Brazil we have a saying," Senhora Cordero told her. "Coffee as black as night, as sweet as a kiss, as strong as love, as hot as hell."
Jill gave her another smile. "It's all those."
"The Brazilian without his coffee. Ah, the world would come to an end. Maybe ten, a dozen cups a day."
Jill took another sip of coffee before asking the one question that had been on her mind all along.
"Is Senhor Todd at home?" It seemed an odd question for a bride to ask, now that it was out.
Senhora Cordero didn't seem to think it odd at all. Instead, she seemed embarrassed, even distressed.
"He rushed away early this morning. It was the telephone call. He said he'd be back on Monday morning. Shame on him. Here it is Saturda
y and his honeymoon. He only thinks of business, always business."
Jill, flushing red, gave a shake of her head. "He was afraid something like that would happen," she murmured, angry with herself for being trapped into a lie.
She looked away, into the garden. The rain, pelting the greenery, was the kind that blotted out all memory of sunlight, the kind that continued on for days and weeks and years, she thought. "Will this go on forever?" she groaned.
"Maybe, maybe not. It rains every day in the winter and spring, sometimes all day, sometimes for only an hour or two. Cheer up, my dear," the housekeeper said. "You'll see the sun soon enough."
If Simon were here and this were truly our honeymoon, what lovely weather it would be, Jill thought. The kind of weather that keeps you closeted in your room, snug and loving in bed. But all she wanted now was to break out of that chill cocoon and feel the embracing warmth of the sun.
Was it sunny where Simon had gone?
She turned to Senhora Cordero. "I forget the name of the place my husband's gone to." Another small lie.
"Santarem. The senhor said he'd call."
"Santarem." Jill had poured over the map of the Amazon basin a hundred times. She knew quite well where Santarem was. East of Manaus, west of Belem, an old-fashioned river town now a center of activity because of gold discoveries in the region. She would like to see Santarem, too. She had the sudden, disquieting feeling that he had gone to Santarem to see another woman, someone he loved and who loved him. Perhaps even at that moment they were in one another's arms. The coffee cup she was holding clattered in its little dish.
"Something wrong, senhora?"
"Won't it ever stop raining?"
"Now, now, you're all upset," the housekeeper said soothingly. "It will all work out."
Jill put her hand out. "Senhora, do sit down. You know, in Chicago, my husband told me I would like you, and I do. Come and talk to me for a while. I feel very strange about everything."
The housekeeper, after a moment's hesitation, perched stiffly on the edge of the chair.
"That's better," Jill said. "Now, tell me something about Las Flores. How many people on the staff, for instance."
"Five in all. The cook, a housemaid, a gardener and the chauffeur you met, Claudio. Senhor Todd wants you to hire a personal maid as soon as possible."
Jill was horrified. "Someone just to take care of me? How very eighteenth century. That will never do."
Senhora Cordero did not seem to be impressed by her outburst. "I know of several young women I could suggest."
"I'm sorry, senhora." Jill put her hand out and patted the housekeeper's arm. "A personal maid is something I'll just have to do without." She smiled affectionately at her, to encourage her agreement, but the housekeeper merely remained silent.
"Oh, I understand." Jill sat back in her chair. Brazil was not America. It was a land of high unemployment, a land where a position, even as a servant, was greatly coveted. "Of course, you see to it. If the staff needs enlarging now that I'm here, then so be it." She was pleased to note the changed expression on the housekeeper's face, one of relief at a difficult moment smoothly gone over.
"Tell me something about Las Flores," Jill went on quickly. "It looks as if someone began decorating it for my husband, and then just stopped. I know he's not around very much and I have the impression that he doesn't care much about his surroundings. Even after acquiring such a fortress."
Senhora Cordero, after listening patiently, did not seem to know what Jill was getting at. "I believe he has everything that he needs."
"Oh, I'm certain he does," Jill said obligingly. "It's just that everything seems so white and bare, except for this room and mine, anyway."
"Ah, I see," said Senhora Cordero with a bright smile. "You don't understand the Manaus way of living. This, you see, is very much how we live in the tropics. Of course, many nouveau riche," she added, employing the French proudly, "like to show off their wealth the other way, with too much furniture, too many things, but Senhor Todd is a man of sense and taste."
Jill looked puzzled. "Las Flores seems bare and cold, as if no one lived here."
"Las Flores is air-conditioned, of course," the housekeeper explained, "but ordinary people in the tropics have to worry about mildew and rot and insects. We try to keep our homes airy and spacious. The less we have to worry about, the easier life is."
"Of course. I remember reading about that now."
"In Manaus households, people sleep in hammocks." Senhora Cordero went on, adding proudly, "Here, however, we are able to use real beds because of the air conditioning."
A hammock in place of a bed. It might as well be, thought Jill, at least as far as she and Simon were concerned.
At the moment the sun exploded into the garden, its rays spilling into the breakfast room like a tidal wave.
"You see," said the housekeeper, beaming, as if she were personally responsible for it.
The sky was as clear and blue as if great sliding doors had parted on the heavens and been rolled back out of sight. The sun's heat could be felt at once in the breakfast room and Senhora Cordero set about lowering the slatted blinds.
"I'm going out," Jill told her. She ran upstairs for her bag. When she came back down, she met the housekeeper on her way to the kitchen with the breakfast tray.
"Guess what?" she said breathlessly. "I don't even know my address."
"Twenty-three Rua Teresinha. Don't you go getting lost now."
"Could you lend me some cruzeiros? I thought maybe I'd get on a bus and see something of Manaus while I was at it."
"The bus? But you have Claudio and the limousine."
"Oh yes, of course. The limousine." Jill hadn't thought about that. She was a wealthy young matron now with a chauffeur and limousine at her disposal.
"Senhor Todd didn't take the limousine," she said.
"Claudio drove him to the airport hours ago." The housekeeper looked at Jill as if her ignorance were the result of madness brought on by the effects of love.
Her husband of one day had merely gone off by plane somewhere without informing her of his intentions. It had to look queer to Senhora Cordero, and it made Jill furious. "Maybe I'll just take a little walk for the time being," she said stiffly.
"There are umbrellas in the hall closet."
"It wouldn't dare rain," Jill said.
"Not for the rain," Senhora Cordero told her. "For the sun."
Jill refused it, nevertheless. She wanted that sun and let herself out the front door into its welcoming embrace. The air, fresh, clear, smelling of green and flowers, almost made her dizzy. She had to control a sudden desire to dance.
Both sides of Rua Teresinha were lined with fig trees, shaped to resemble giant umbrellas, and which provided the street with shade. Still, as Jill began to stride down the street, the truth about the temperature of Manaus, hit her. Almost at once the street began to dry up. Droplets, still showering from the trees, prevented her from walking in the shade. She wasn't dressed for the direct assault of the sun. It was a hot, moist tropical climate, difficult to imagine until one came directly in contact with it. It was enervating, but Jill persisted for a while by stripping off her jacket. She understood now the reason for umbrellas.
"Mad dogs and Jill Carteret go out in the noonday sun," she thought. Jill Todd, that is. It was an easy mistake to make. You remember your married name when you love the man you marry. You want his name. You automatically take his name.
Even as she walked down the street, past the attractive villas facing Rua Teresinha, some of them weathered and old, and others contemporary and sparkling new, she felt her feet begin to drag. She would have to take lessons in how to handle the heat. She turned about-face and headed back to Las Flores. The rain was impossible. The sun was impossible. Winter in Chicago was impossible. And it was impossible to remember her new last name. She rang the bell impatiently, and when the housekeeper admitted her, Jill stepped into the villa with relief.
"Ok
ay, now I understand about the umbrella. I'm going upstairs to change, Senhora. Ask Claudio to be ready in about a half hour. I think I'd like to go for a drive."
"You haven't eaten," Senhora Cordero said with mock severity. "Senhor Todd will be very angry."
The devil with Senhor Todd, Jill thought. "Did he give you orders to fatten me up?"
"He said something at breakfast," the housekeeper admitted.
"Oh, he did." Jill was uncertain whether to be pleased or angry. Was he concerned or interfering? "Okay," she capitulated, playing the pleased bride for the time being. "I'll have something to eat." It wouldn't do to admit she was really hungry.
Chapter Seven
"More than two hundred new industries are in Manaus now," the chauffeur, Claudio, informed Jill proudly. "We are a duty free port and you find people vacationing here from all over Brazil."
The elegance of the affluent years of the rubber boom had worn away, however. To her surprise, the White City of Manaus, the city of Jill's dreams, was no longer white.
Sitting in the glassed-in coolness of the limousine, Jill found Manaus cluttered and even scruffy. In spite of several new skyscrapers, and parks and spacious plazas throughout, paint peeling from the fronts of buildings in the moist, tropical air, palm trees and red tiled roofs made Manaus seem a seedy, frontier town. Yet, in the crowded streets, the busy traffic, the stores and markets bursting with goods, there was an air of purpose and excitement.
"First we see our treasure," Claudio told her. "Our opera house." In all the literature she had read of Manaus, the Teatro Amazonia was depicted as the pride and joy of the city. It had been built of imported marble, crystal and tiles at the turn of the century at a cost of a million dollars.
"It is beautiful," she said, and meant it. The opera house, newly refinished, was a huge wedding cake with a blue and gold tile dome that reflected the afternoon sun and shattered it into tiny pieces.
"Inside are works of art, a painting created by an Italian, Domenico de Angelis, on the ceiling, Venetian mirrors. Would you like to go inside?" the chauffeur asked in a rush.
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