by Anne Hampson
'There's a letter of yours here, senorita.' He had called to her as she was passing, and in his hand was the letter. She came up the steps and took it, wondering if he had read any of it. 'Jorge found it and felt it might be important.'
'Thank you.' Jorge was the head gardener, and as he spoke no English he could not possibly have read it. Not that it would have mattered if he had, since there was nothing in it which was either important or confidential.
'You did not tell me that you had a stepfather,' said Ramon, eyeing her curiously.
'There was no need—' She stopped, then added, 'You have read my letter?'
'Jorge had straightened it out and the beginning caught my eye,' he answered casually. 'The end also caught my eye,' he added, and again his gaze was one of curiosity. 'Sit down,' he invited unexpectedly, then stood up and brought forward a lounger for her. She sat down; it was the first time they had sat together like this and it seemed far too intimate for an employer and his secretary. The letter was folded now and she slipped it into her pocket. 'When I asked you to tell me about yourself, that first evening, you left a lot out, I'm thinking.'
'Of course. I merely told you about my work and my life at home.'
'You said your parents were divorced, but you did not say that your mother had married again.'
'There was no need,' she repeated, puzzled by his interest in her affairs.
'Your mother asks you to keep in touch. Not much affection there—' He stopped so abruptly that Paula was startled. His eyes glittered and his sensuous mouth was now a thin, cruel line. Paula, watching his expression become harsh, recalled what Magdalena had said about his hating women because of what his mother had done. 'You're not embittered,' he stated at last, and there was an edge of contempt to his voice as if he could find nothing praiseworthy in her attitude.
'I was bitter at first,' she owned, apparently surprising him. 'But now—well, I don't care. I've made my own life and it doesn't really matter about the past, does it?' Her voice was serious and quiet, her gaze wide and honest, concealing nothing. He stared at her with an unfathomable expression in his brilliant dark eyes, stared so hard and searchingly that she felt the colour rise to tint her cheeks. The moment was tense, electric, and Paula felt the flutterings of a new sensation, the quickening of a pulse. The palms of her hands became damp for no reason at all and she found herself taking out a handkerchief and pressing it between them. Her employer's glance flickered to them for a second before returning to her face.
'The past doesn't matter, you say?' He spoke in English, cultured English which Paula had found attractive right from the start.
'Not to me,' she answered. 'After all, each and every one of us has a life to live which is our very own, and to brood on what others have done is not only profitless but unfair to them.'
He frowned in silence for a long moment before saying, 'Unfair? When someone has wronged you?'
'My parents had their own lives to live.'
'Parents have an obligation to their children.'
'That's true, and as I have said, I was bitter at first. But one can't go on being bitter.'
The dark face took on a brooding expression that was a revelation in itself. This man was unhappy! And the reason was that he had remained bitter, hating all women because of something his mother had done to him—and not only her, but his sister and his fiancée.
She regarded him closely, her curiosity such that had Magdalena offered information at this moment she would have been quite unable to resist listening to her—presupposing they were alone, that was.
'Am I to understand that you have forgiven your parents?' said Ramon at last, and Paula told him that her father was dead.
'As for my mother—I feel indifferent about her—' She stopped and a certain quality of sadness brought shadows to her eyes. 'I would have liked to have my mother's love,' she added finally, totally unaware of the catch in her voice, or the regret born of a deep, deep yearning to be wanted and needed. There was no one in the whole world who really needed her and the thought stabbed pain into her heart.
Ramon said after a long while, 'This young man you spoke about—will you marry him one day?'
'I'm not sure,' she replied candidly. 'He hasn't asked me for one thing.' The ghost of a smile accompanied this piece of information. 'He might meet someone else on his travels.'
'You wouldn't mind?'
'He has his own life to live,' she said, and now she felt sure he was thinking of his fiancée, the girl who had obviously let him down some time in the past.
'You appear to be very philosophical about life, and people.'
'And about what they do to me?' Half-statement, but half-question as well. This conversation bordered on the intimate, but the whole situation was intimate, different from any that had gone before when he was her cool dispassionate employer and she his secretary, reserved and a little fearful of not doing the right thing.
'Yes,' he said, 'about what they do to you. I'm afraid I can't be so dispassionate about it.'
She hesitated, wondering if she dare say what was in her mind. She did say it, but with a hint of apology which she hoped would allay any anger he might otherwise have evinced.
'I think it is because you are what you are, senor.'
His brows shot up. 'Meaning that I am not derived from such stolid stock as you?'
She had to laugh. 'Something like that,' she admitted. 'The Spanish are not so cool and calm as the English— But I would not describe my people as stolid,' she added defensively.
'There is no fire in them,' he returned, a challenge in his expression.
She gave a small shrug.
'What is fire, senor?' she asked unthinkingly.
It was his turn to smile, such an attractive smile that Paula instinctively caught her breath.
'Are you asking me to show you, senorita?'
The blood rushed to her cheeks.
'I—I don't know what you—you mean…'
The dark eyes stared into hers for a space before his lashes came down; Paula, filled suddenly with a sense of humiliation, knew instinctively that, had those thick lashes not effectively hidden his expression, she would have read contempt within it, and this time it had nothing to do with the way she felt about her mother. No, it was because he believed she had tried to flirt with him, saying as she had, 'What is fire, senor?'
With a lift of her chin she told him he had misunderstood her.
'I was merely being conversational,' she almost snapped and rose from the chair. Anger seethed within her; she had been enjoying the conversation, content to be here on the sunny terrace with the flower perfumes from the garden invading the air around her, assailing her nostrils, as the hum of busy insects assailed her ears. 'I'll go. And thank you for my letter!'
She had already turned away when his voice said authoritatively, 'Sit down.'
She stopped in her tracks.
'I have things to do,' she said over her shoulder.
'Sit down…' The voice soft, commanding and suddenly very foreign to her ears. 'Senorita,' he added when she did not instantly do his bidding, 'I am used to implicit obedience from those whom I employ. Sit down.'
She swung around, swallowing convulsively and running her tongue over her lips that had suddenly gone dry. He was staring at her from his comfortable place on the lounger, his eyes narrowed and arrogantly flicking over her figure.
'Senor,' she began huskily, 'I understood that the weekends were my own. It's Saturday and—'
'Senorita, you are asking for dismissal!' No longer was the voice soft; it was harsh and imperious. 'Obey me—at once!'
She sat down, fury in her veins. Dismissal! She had a good mind to give him her notice!'
'I don't understand what this is all about,' she managed when he did not speak, 'I am not obliged to sit here, with you, on my days off.'
'But you are obliged to treat me with respect! Your action in bringing our conversation to such an abrupt termination was insolent! I exp
ect an apology from you.'
She stared, his words repeating themselves in her mind. They were so stiff and formal and she wondered if the man was ever able to unbend. She had been with him for two weeks and never for one single moment had she seen him betray an atom of emotion. And now… he was sitting there, relaxed it was true, but like a statue made of stone. She shook her head, reluctant to make the apology he was demanding. But, somehow, she found herself weakening beneath that haughty and imperious stare. A sensation of inferiority took the place of her anger and she heard herself say, in a low tone that was almost meek, 'I'm sorry, senor. I meant no offence.'
'You will remember in future that I demand respect—all the time, whether you are on duty or not.'
'Yes, senor.' He said nothing and she murmured presently, 'I haven't yet tried to find accommodations. Do I advertise, or—?'
'You will remain here for the time being,' he broke in authoritatively. 'We shall be leaving for San Juan on Tuesday. I have an office there. I also have a house.'
'A house? You mean—' She shook her head vigorously. 'I can't stay there!'
'It's a very large house,' he explained reassuringly. 'And I have a housekeeper in residence.'
'Oh…' She still disliked the idea of living under his roof, but made no further objection, at least not about accommodation in San Juan. Here, however, she preferred to have her own house or flat. She told him so but he shook his head.
'We shall be constantly moving back and forth, it's usual,' he said. 'It would be a waste for you to pay out money for a flat here.'
'Mrs. Glynn made me understand that I was here, in your house, only temporarily, until I found a place of my own.'
'I prefer to have you under my roof,' he returned inexorably. 'There will be occasions when I shall want you to work in the evenings, or even on weekends. You will, of course, have time off to compensate.'
She drew a breath, feeling trapped in the net of this man's domination. Never had she expected to be treated like this—domineered and dictated to as if she had no will of her own. There had been no mention, at the interview, of her having to work on the weekends and perhaps some evenings, but on reflection Paula rather thought that her employer had not considered it necessary for Mrs. Glynn to be in possession of every detail. The successful applicant would learn all about the post once she arrived here.
Should she leave? The salary was exceptionally good, and in addition she had free accommodation and food. In fact, everything she earned was profit, and she would be able to save practically the whole of it. And should Denis want to marry her, she would be able to make a substantial contribution to the expenses of setting up a home. Yes, there were many advantages to this post, and after all, nothing in life was perfect. She had once read that there was no such thing as a happy life, but merely happy moments, and for a long time now Paula had accepted this as the truth.
Ramon's house in Viejo San Juan—the Old San Juan—was a revelation to Paula, something she had never expected. But every single thing about this ancient and historic city was fascinating: its fortress built by the Spanish over a period of two-hundred-and-forty-four years to ensure impregnability against attacks from determined European rivals; its blue cobblestones, brought to the island as ballast in the galleons of ancient Spain; its narrow streets faced with centuries-old buildings whose handsome iron and wooden balconies were hung with myriads of exotic, flowering plants. The powerful fortress of San Cristobal seemed to dominate the whole city, with Fort El Morro at the far point, its massive walls at one time being the shelter for the treasure galleons of Imperial Spain.
The Casa Don Felipe—Ramon's house on Cristo Street—was an eighteenth-century Spanish colonial townhouse, beautifully restored by a previous owner. It had balconies across the facade, a wide entrance hall hung with tapestries and armour, from which rose a wide, spectacular staircase. There were interior patios and high ceilings supported by hand-hewn beams made from the ausubo tree. A courtyard was paved with the coloured stone of Spanish times, and in the centre a fountain played, its sunlit spray settling into an ornamental pool with water lilies and other aquatic plants.
'It's… wonderful…' breathed Paula gazing around. 'I never expected it to be like this.'
'In Old San Juan almost everything has been restored,' was all her employer said. He was not particularly gratified by her appreciation, since he had no interest in her reaction one way or another. He often seemed miles away, distant in thought—except for that one occasion when he had made Paula sit with him on the terrace and the conversation had become rather intimate. She had the impression of bitterness always, and thought many times of what she had been told by the maid, Magdalena.
This lovely house ought to be in the possession of someone different, she thought. For here was mellow warmth and the atmosphere of beauty preserved through many troubled times. Here was peace and tranquility found in shady nooks where the cool breeze brought the tang of the sea to mingle with exotic flower perfumes. All this belonging to a man who seemed unable to appreciate it, unable to gather from its bountiful resources something of its unique atmosphere. Not for Paula this disinterest! She adored it from the moment of entering the gates, just as, in a very short time, she was to come to adore the incredibly attractive city of Old San Juan, the second oldest city in the western hemisphere.
But exploring the city was not for the immediate present; very soon she was working hard, going out with Ramon every morning to his luxurious office, which was in the more modern city of San Juan. The work was interesting, with two visits to court where the proceedings were conducted exclusively in Spanish. These two cases had nothing to do with the major case resulting from the accident, and it was on this that Ramon was working very hard. Paula guessed that he considered his client to be innocent of any crime, and just over a week after they had moved to the city he told Paula that they would be going to the El Yunque Rain Forest where the accident had occurred.
'I want to see the exact spot,' he told her, 'and to take some pictures and measurements. You'll come with me and take it all down, then type it up for my files.'
'The accident happened in a forest?' she said, puzzled.
'There are good roads through El Yunque, there have to be, since it covers a great area, around twenty-eight thousand acres of tropical forest.'
'It must be vast!'
'Of course it's vast. You'll need suitable clothing,' he added. 'It isn't called the Rain Forest for nothing.'
'When are we going?'
'Friday, the day after tomorrow.' They were in the Blue and Gold Saloon, as it was called by Ramon's housekeeper, Adela, a buxom, middle-aged woman with straight black hair and dusky skin. She had come to him from a nearby English-speaking island and was bilingual like her employer. She was proud to be holding the position of housekeeper to such an eminent lawyer, and a nobleman at that.
'I will never be stolen from trim,' she had told Paula who, naturally asking what that meant, learned that maid stealing was a rather popular way of getting the help which, like everywhere else, was becoming more difficult all the time. She was busy with the dinner and Ramon and Paula were drinking cocktails as they waited for the little maid, Ana, to come to tell them that the meal was ready. Ana was a country girl whom Ramon had managed to get by sending his housekeeper into the country to search for someone whom she would find suitable. Ana's parents had approved and consequently released her into Adela's custody. She was shy but, said Ramon cynically, she would not be like that for long.
'Shall we be staying in the Rain Forest?' Paula asked, not quite knowing where it was or how long Ramon's investigations would take. 'There are hotels?'
'We won't be staying. It's only twenty-five miles from here, so we shall have plenty of time; in any case, if I don't do all I want to do on Friday, we can go back again on Monday.'
The telephone rang and he went over to it. Paula watched him, taking in the perfection of his face and figure, and the exquisite cut of his clothes. He a
lways changed for dinner, and on those occasions when she dined with him she was expected to do the same. Since coming here, to San Juan, she had dined with him every evening, and the result was that she and he seemed to be getting to know one another far more intimately than would have been the case if she had had her own accommodation in some other part of the city. She was finding difficulty at times in ignoring his attraction, her mind seeming to have no will of its own, as she tried to steel herself against new emotions which had begun to surface with palpable force, and which seemed to be drawing her irresistibly to him, despite the fact that she knew of his reputation and deplored his way of life.
The picture of Denis was fading, so that it was no longer easy to superimpose his image upon that of Ramon. She had seen Ramon with an American girl chatting in the office as if they were old friends, and the stab that shot through Paula's body was a sensation tantalisingly unexplained. She had been disturbed by it, and although as yet she refused to allow it to come totally to the forefront of her mind, she knew with vague unease that, very soon, she was going to be forced to analyse her feelings towards her employer.
He was speaking to some woman; she listened, still watching his face. But it was in profile, the chiselled lines telling her nothing and the lips did not smile even when he said, 'I like your humour, Carmen. You have a most diverting turn of phrase.'
Carmen… So this was another, as Senorita Cuevas's name was Maria.
Undoubtedly he was a no-good, a womaniser of the most detestable kind, having several women at once like this.
'You have?' he was saying, still in that same unemotional tone. 'And it's just what you wanted?'
Silence while he listened, his eyes straying towards the chair where his secretary was sitting. She rose automatically and would have left the room but he waved an abrupt hand, indicating that she should sit down again.
'I must come over and see it. Tomorrow evening.' Curt the tone, and the last two words that should have been a question were a statement, a firm decision. So Carmen had been told he would visit her, not asked if it would be convenient.
