by Janet Dailey
She had thought through the first part of his question. “Rob wants to play polo and he wants to improve his game. Regardless of how he may feel about you personally, I think he still believes you can help him to do that. Trisha is another matter,” she admitted heavily. “I guess I can’t put off writing her about us any longer. Maybe she’ll have time to get over the worst of it before we see her. I’ll know more in November. Trisha always surprises me. She never does what I expect her to do.”
“November. It is so close.” He rubbed the soft point of her shoulder.
“You’ll come before the end of the month, won’t you? We’ll have the holidays together before you and Rob have to start selecting the other players on your team in December.”
“I think I can arrange that.”
She smoothed her hand over his chest. “Do you suppose dinner is ready yet?”
“Perhaps we can enjoy an appetizer, first,” he suggested as his hand slid lower on her stomach.
“What about your shoulder?”
His kiss proved to be a very satisfactory answer.
Late that evening, Luz wrote the long-postponed letter to Trisha. It was the most difficult letter she had ever written; she tried to word everything carefully to soften the blow, implying an affair without baldly stating it. She had even more misgivings the next day when she gave the envelope to Hector to mail. But it was done, and she was, at least, freed from the guilt of hiding it.
CHAPTER XXV
Shortly after breakfast on Friday, Luz walked out the front doorway and paused to wait for Hector to join her. The dark sable coat was draped over her arm, the white linen jacket providing sufficient cover for the spring temperature of the pampas. Her glance strayed to the car parked in front of the mammoth gray stone house as Raul stowed the last of their luggage in the trunk. Although she and Rob weren’t scheduled to leave for the States until Monday, the polo matches being held this weekend in Buenos Aires made it practical for them to spend their last days in the city.
She heard the door shut and swung her attention back to the gray-haired man with her. He made his awkward-looking turn away from the door and started immediately for the car, as if conscious of the wait she’d already had while he’d maneuvered out of the door and closed it.
“There is still time to change your mind and come to the polo matches with us, Hector.” Luz made a last attempt to persuade him as they walked to the car.
“The estancia could not function without me for three days,” he insisted, then showed her a mustached smile. “It is the truth.”
“I believe you.” But she regretted parting from him so soon, and swung around to face him when they reached the car. “I will miss you, Hector—our talks and our rides.”
“We will all miss you, Señora Luz. You have filled the house with your ‘light.’” His dark eyes seemed more brilliant, fond in their gaze.
Raul joined him, but his attention was centered on the two men digging close to the front foundation of the house. “What are those workers doing?” He frowned.
Smiling, Hector looked at Luz. “They are planting vines. I remember what you said. The next time you come, Señora Luz, those gray stones will have a shawl of green and the house will not look so cold.”
The next time you come. The phrase echoed in her mind. She wanted to come back—to Argentina, to the pampas, to the estancia. Hector wanted her to come back. She hoped Raul would, although she tried not to think too far ahead. There was no comment from Raul, regarding either the planting of the vines or Hector’s reference to her return. The frown was gone from his face, leaving his features void of expression.
Turning, he opened the passenger door. “We should leave.”
“Goodbye, Hector.” She clasped his hand and kissed him on both cheeks.
“In Argentina, we say chau. Too many Italians,” Hector said to explain the marked similarity to ciao, thus covering his emotions while he gently squeezed her hand.
“Chau.” Luz smiled, then turned to the car, sensing Raul’s impatience.
Moving past him, she slid onto the seat and concentrated on arranging the fur coat on her lap while Raul closed the door. Briefly she wished Rob had chosen to ride with them instead of traveling with the other players, although the three of them confined together in a car for nearly four hours might have been a considerable strain. It was natural, she told herself, that Rob would prefer to ride with his friends and fellow players. Sometimes she felt she was being overly sensitive, reading things into his normal moodiness that weren’t there.
As Raul climbed into the driver’s side, Luz turned and waved to Hector. When they pulled away, her glance took in the austere manor house, the roofs of the stone barns, and the green of the polo fields for the last time. The broad leaves of the eucalyptus trees formed a canopy over the long driveway, casting shadows on the car. The next time you come … the words came back, and she wondered when that would be.
“Have the horse vans left yet?”
“Nearly an hour ago,” Raul replied.
“Rob will probably meet us at the hotel.” She glanced at Raul’s unsmiling face and noted its brooding look. “Is something wrong?”
“No.” His response seemed unusually abrupt. Reaching down, he flipped on the radio and tuned in some music to fill the silence. Frequently, Raul became quiet and introspective prior to a polo match. It was his way of concentrating on game strategy, he had once told her. Luz didn’t intrude on his thoughts and soon became lost in her own.
Spring in Buenos Aires fulfilled the promise Luz had seen on her arrival in the country. The jacaranda and paraiso— paradise—trees lining the city streets lavishly adorned the vistas with purple and yellow blossoms. At almost every street corner, there was a flower stall, a vibrant splash of colors as vivid and varied as an artist’s palette.
It was infinitely better to gaze out the side windows of the car than to look where they were going, Luz had discovered. She was fairly certain only licensed daredevils drove in the downtown traffic, although Raul seemed unperturbed by the mad changing of lanes by the cars in front or beside him.
Luz recognized the facade of the hotel as Raul drove up to the entrance. After the car rolled to a sensible halt, the uniformed doorman stepped up to open her door, bowing slightly and extending a hand to help her out of the car. She waited on the front steps while the luggage was unloaded from the trunk. Raul said something in Spanish to the doorman, then joined her, his hand gripping her elbow to guide her into the lobby. His expression remained preoccupied, almost grimly so, Luz noticed.
After registering at the desk, they were escorted to the bedroom suite. When Luz glanced into the second bedroom, she noticed Rob’s polo shirt and breeches hanging in the closet. “I guess Rob’s been here and gone.” Raul stood at the window overlooking the city and the Rio de la Plata, giving no indication he’d heard her. Luz hesitated, then went into the bathroom to freshen up. When she came out a few minutes later, Raul was still standing at the window, his position unchanged.
Hesitating, she studied him, then walked over to the window and smoothed the frown from her face with a smile. “What are you thinking about?” She tried to inject a lightness into her voice.
For a moment, he stared at her as though she were a stranger to him. Luz was suddenly and unexplicably uneasy. “Come.” Moving, he curved an arm around her shoulders and turned her from the window. “There is something I want you to see.” He propelled her toward the door.
“Where are we going?” she asked, but he didn’t answer her.
The estancia car was still parked in front of the entrance when they emerged from the hotel. Raul guided her to it. As soon as she was settled in the passenger seat, he slammed the door and walked around to the driver’s side. Luz watched him slide behind the wheel and start the motor. The muscles stood out along his jaw, betraying the tension that charged the air. He seemed almost angry, which thoroughly confused her.
While Raul battled through the downtow
n traffic, Luz sat silently, trying to figure out what was wrong, and half worried it had something to do with Rob. She didn’t understand why Raul was keeping their destination a secret. If they were going to the polo grounds, why didn’t he say so? It didn’t make sense.
Caught up in her thoughts, she paid little attention to the areas they traveled through until Raul slowed the car and turned onto a narrow street. Luz stiffened when it finally registered where they were. On both sides of the car, squalid huts of tin, wood, and cardboard littered the blocks. Las villas miseria. Why would Raul bring her here? She stared out the window at the clutter of shabby dwellings, a television antenna poking incongruously from the tin roof of one of them. He turned onto a side street, narrower than the last. It took them deeper into the shanty district, and her apprehensions increased.
“Raul, where are we going?”
At last her voice made an impression on him, and he glanced at her, his eyes appearing cold with challenge. “I want to show you the place where I once lived.” He faced the front again, his gaze sweeping the miserable shacks all crowded together. Her mind went blank at his stunning announcement. She was completely at a loss for words, unsure whether she was shocked, dismayed, or repelled by this revelation of his past. “Would you like to see it?”
Her mouth worked for an instant before anything came out. “Yes. I would.”
She stared out the window at the makeshift hovels, oblivious to the turns he made that failed to change the scenery. She remembered what he’d told them when they had driven past this area on the way to the estancia—about the shortage of housing and the constant immigration of people from rural areas into the city, more than could be accommodated.
Raul stopped the car on one of the back streets, switched off the motor, and stepped out. Luz waited an instant, then realized he wasn’t going to come around and open her door. He was standing at the collection of shacks across the road. She hesitated, then climbed out of the car by herself. Conscious of the eyes staring from behind rickety fences and crude doorways, Luz walked cautiously forward. In her white linen suit and white open-toed heels, she felt decidedly out of place. There was little sound except for the distant laughter of playing children, as if their presence had hushed everyone in the immediate vicinity. She tucked her purse more securely under her arm and continued to Raul’s side.
She saw the cold, remote look on his face. Although he appeared to take no notice of her, he waited until she was beside him, then started across the street. Luz followed a step behind and stopped when he did.
“It was there, where that brush grows.” He indicated a spot half enclosed by a rickety fence. Luz stared at it, unable to visualize what he saw in his mind. “I made a shelter out of cardboard boxes, big enough for me to sleep in. Sometimes I would build a little fire outside, but only a little one. I did not want my house to burn. It was not always easy to get more cardboard boxes. And a stableboy does not make much money. I was always hungry.” Raul spoke as if she weren’t there. “Many times, I stole from the vegetable gardens of the others who lived here. Sometimes I would fill my pockets with the grain from the stables and make a mush that I heated in a can over my little fire.”
Silently she studied him, unable to find anything to say. She wanted to touch him, to link her arm with his, but she couldn’t do that either. They stood side by side, but separately.
“I wanted to be a horse—like one of the fast, powerful animals I cared for—only I would let no man ride me. I would run free with the wind.” For a long minute, he simply stared at the patch of ground by the scraggly bush, green leaves sprouting where its twiglike branches weren’t broken. “I had a small sack in which I put my few belongings. I took it with me wherever I went. I was like one of your bag ladies in New York, no?”
“Yes,” she murmured.
The sound of her voice seemed to break the spell of the past that had ensnared him. His head lifted as he turned to look at her, again his action giving the impression he had forgotten she was there. “You have seen enough?” he demanded.
“Yes.”
They walked back to the car, and Raul escorted her to the passenger side. Luz was unwilling to break the long silence during the drive back to the hotel. A thousand questions tangled in her mind. There were so many holes in her knowledge of him, missing pieces that kept the picture incomplete. And there was nothing she could say about what she’d seen, no comment she could make that wouldn’t sound inanely trite.
When they reached the hotel, Raul left the car for the attendant to park and silently accompanied Luz to their room. Once inside the suite, she walked to a side table and laid her purse on it, then turned to face Raul. He lit a thin black cheroot and blew out the smoke he’d inhaled, looking at her through its trailing cloud.
“I see the questions in your eyes. You want to know it all, no?” he observed tersely.
Briefly she dropped her gaze, then brought it back to him. “I wish I could say—only if you want to tell me. But, yes, I do want to know. I’d be lying if I said I don’t.”
He took another drag on the narrow cigar as if stalling for a moment while he debated whether to tell her, then he turned and walked away from her to the window, giving her only a side view of him. “Before I came to Buenos Aires, I lived in the Pampa.” Again he spoke in the singular, as he had done at the villas miseria. In previous conversations, he had indicated he had come with his mother, which meant it should be plural—we came, we lived. Luz was confused by this apparent contradiction. “You have not seen the western pampas.”
“No,” she admitted.
“The land is much drier, more desolate than where the estancia is located. Always there was dust.” He stared out the window, idly taking a puff on the black cigar. “My father was a farmer. He had a small piece of land. My mother told me our life was good then. There was always plenty of food on our table. Then one day he left when I was three years old. I never knew why. I only remember mia madre crying … crying all the time. We had to move off the farm. It was not ours anymore. I think my father sold it and took the money with him.” His accent became more pronounced as his voice dropped to a husky level. “My mother went to work at a big estancia not far from where our farm had been, and we were allowed to live in a worker’s hut on the land. It was made of adobe, one big room with a metal roof, much like the one by the ombu tree where we took shelter from the rain.”
“I remember.” And she also remembered how he had compared it to the home he had known.
“I earned my first money when I was six years old carrying water for the horses on the estancia. The year I was eight, my mother became sick. All the money we had saved to go to Buenos Aires went to the doctor. That is when I quit school and went to work as a stableboy at the estancia. My mother did not get well. The following year, the priest from the village came to see me. He told me my mother was dying. I think I already knew that she was never going to get better.” He rolled the cigar between his thumb and fingers and studied the ravel of smoke. “That night I took the few pesos we had, some food and clothes, and left.”
“You left your mother?” Luz was stunned
“Sí.” Raul gave her an emotionless look. “She was dying. There was nothing I could do for her. Soon she would be gone. If I did not go to Buenos Aires then, when would I go? I suppose this is what I thought She was dying and there was no more reason for me to stay.”
“So you left her, the way your father did,” she accused, then a second thought occurred to her. “Or did you leave her before she could leave you?”
“I no longer know what was in my head then. It has been too long. I heard later that she died shortly after I ran away. The rest of my story you know. It is well you know. A man cannot change what he is.”
“That’s what Hector said about you,” she recalled. “Yet you have changed, Raul. Look at where you’ve been and where you are.” But had he changed? Was he still the little boy wanting to be a horse? He had learned to ride as one with
a horse—like the legendary gaucho, half man and half horse—and his life-style was one of a roamer, running free, always leaving something or someone behind. “The women you loved, Raul, I wonder if you left them because of polo or because you wanted to avoid finding out if they would leave you. Leaving is your specialty, isn’t it? You always leave before somebody gets too close to you.”
“You have forgotten Hector,” Raul said, dismissing her amateur analysis. “He has been my friend for years. I depend on him.”
For an instant, Luz believed she was wrong, then she remembered, “But Hector is safe, Raul. He’s a cripple. How can he leave you?”
“You have seen too many psychiatrists. Perhaps I am only realistic. My life is polo. Women do not want a husband who is gone all the time, not the ones I have known. So, yes, I leave before I care too much or they do.” He crushed the cigar in the ashtray.
“What about me, Raul?” Unconsciously she moved toward him. “When are you going to leave me?”
Straightening, Raul looked at her for a long, motionless moment, then lifted his hands to frame her face in them. There was so much gentleness in his touch that Luz almost wanted to cry. His gaze made a minute search of every detail of her features, from the curl of her lashes to the pores of her skin.
“When I look at your face, I see something. It has haunted me from the beginning,” he murmured. “But now I know what it is. I look at you and see the need to be loved. It pulls me because I have this same need, too. I have no wish to leave you, querida.”
He lowered his mouth onto hers, and the gentleness gave way to the need they shared. It was a fevered heat that swept them and sent them straining against the physical limits of the flesh. In mating, they glimpsed the glory a man and woman could know together, but never hold.
Later, lying tangled in the sheets in blissful exhaustion, Luz glanced at the scattered piles of hastily discarded clothes, then turned on her side to face Raul and walked her fingers over his ribs. He caught them, stopping their ticklish journey, and lifted them to his mouth, kissing them, then brought them back to lie on his chest, enclosed in his hand.
