Acapulco Moonlight

by Marjorie Lewty

  Karen saw that there were beads of sweat on his brow and he was very pale. She jumped up and went across to him. 'Are you all right, Ben?'

  He pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his face. 'I'm fine,' he said, but he didn't look fine, she thought, he looked quite ill. He grinned weakly at her. 'All this excitement's too much for me.' He sat in silence for a moment, then he looked up at Karen and said, 'I hope I didn't overdo the pep-talk. After all, nothing's definitely concluded yet. God, it would be awful if I had to let them down in the end.'

  'You won't have to let them down,' Karen told him firmly, resting a hand on his shoulder. 'I've got a feeling in my bones.'

  He reached up and covered her hand briefly with his. 'Bless you, my child.'

  She moved away to her desk and started to put her papers together.

  'Karen.' Ben's voice came from behind her and he sounded odd—different.

  'Yes?' She swivelled her chair round as he came over to her.

  For a moment he stood staring down at her, saying nothing. Then the words seemed to be forced out of him. 'Karen, I didn't mean to say this yet but I find I have to.'

  She looked up at him, surprised by the tenseness in his voice. There was a moment's silence and then he went on, 'Karen dear, I think you must know how I feel about you. You're just the most wonderful thing that ever happened in my life—a girl who's really kind—and warm—and genuine. 'You're—' he made a funny little gesture '—oh, everything.'

  'Ben ‑' she began. It was stupid to feel embarrassed but he had never spoken to her so personally before. Their relationship had been close, but with the special closeness of a boss and his valued secretary. This was something different.

  He held up a hand. 'No, hear me out now I've begun. You know how bleak things have been lately for me. I had nothing to offer any woman. But now— if things go right—if the company survives and prospers—if I can be free to go ahead with my own work—well, who knows? Perhaps our trip to Acapulco could be the beginning of something really good for us both.'

  Abruptly he gripped both her hands. 'Could it, do you think? Or am I jumping the gun?'

  He was watching her face closely and he looked like a man who sees daylight at the end of a long, dark tunnel and can hardly dare to believe it. She wanted to throw her arms round him and hug him and tell him that everything was going to come right at last, but he shook his head quickly and released her hands. 'That was an unfair question and you don't have to answer it. In fact, I'd rather you didn't.' He pulled a wry face of self-mockery, 'Let me keep on hoping—it gives me something to hang on to. Now, run along and finish your packing and I'll pick you up tomorrow morning as arranged. Good night, Karen.'

  She hesitated, but already he was standing by his desk, turning over papers, not looking at her.

  'Good night, Ben,' Karen said, and everything was the same as usual between them.

  The same—and quite different.

  * * *

  Karen had never travelled further afield than Europe before, and the long flight to Mexico City next day seemed never-ending. It was a boon and a blessing that their tickets had turned out to be Business Class—that middle-way between Tourist and the exclusive First Class—which meant more comfortable seats with plenty of room between them, even a few empty seats in their compartment. At the start of the flight Ben had been talkative, eager to discuss the possibilities of the meetings that lay ahead, making tentative plans for reorganising the factory, taking on another building, perhaps. But as the hours went by he had got quieter and quieter. Karen had leafed through magazines, watched part of the film that was showing, slept on and off, and eaten the meals that were served, but Ben had only picked at his food and had nothing to drink at all.

  A stewardess came along, trundling her trolley with drinks and snacks. Karen glanced at Ben but he didn't open his eyes. He looked very pale indeed, and Karen suddenly remembered Jean saying that he hadn't been himself lately, and wondering if he was ill.

  The stewardess paused beside their seats, looked at Ben with a little frown, and then leaned towards Karen. 'Is he not feeling well?' she whispered. 'He doesn't look too good.'

  'I don't know ‑' Karen began, and then Ben made a convulsive sort of movement and pitched forward in his seat, his hands round his stomach.

  Karen felt suddenly cold. 'Ben—what is it—are you ill?'

  He opened his eyes and groaned. 'God—I've got the most awful—pain ‑' His face was paper-white and beads of sweat ran down his forehead on to his cheeks.

  The stewardess was wonderful. She went away and was back in a couple of seconds with a young officer in uniform who took control of everything. Karen could do nothing but hold Ben's hand and wait with growing anxiety. Ben was shivering now and rugs were brought and tucked in round him. The stewardess brought a bowl of water and sponged his face, while the officer looked on, eyes narrowed, obviously assessing the situation. Ben's face was contorted with pain and he was rocking his body and still clutching his stomach.

  Karen turned a stricken face to the young officer. 'What is it, do you think? It—it isn't a heart attack, is it?'

  The officer rubbed his cheek, his eyes fixed on Ben. 'I'm pretty sure it isn't. I've seen several coronaries and the signs aren't the same at all. Possibly appendix, but that's only a guess.'

  'What can we do? Karen urged.

  He glanced at his watch. 'We're due in in just over half an hour. I think I'd better consult the captain about this. Won't be long,' he said, and disappeared down the aisle.

  He returned promptly. A hospital had been contacted in Mexico City, he told Karen. An ambulance would meet the plane and Ben would have priority treatment.

  The half-hour that followed was a nightmare. The stewardess was kind and sympathetic, and her calmness helped Karen to keep calm herself, but the worst part was having to see Ben suffering and being helpless to do anything but sit beside him and hold his hand and try to think of words of encouragement.

  'It must be something you've eaten,' she said, and tried to remember an article she had read recently about allergies.

  But Ben wasn't listening. 'Karen,' he whispered as the pain eased for a moment. 'Promise me— something.'

  'Yes of course.' She pressed his hand hard.

  'Carry on without me—go and see Marston—keep the flag flying—promise ‑' his face screwed up again.

  'I promise, Ben. I'll do everything I can until you're well again. Now, don't worry and you'll get over this all the sooner.' He opened his eyes and fixed them on her face. 'Bless you, Karen—wonderful girl. . .' he muttered so low she could hardly hear the words.

  At last the big plane came in to land and after that Karen could only stand by while the ambulance crew came aboard and attended to Ben. The other passengers in the compartment had kept considerately in the background, except for one or two concerned enquiries, and now they held back until Ben had been taken off the plane. The young officer went with Karen to rush her through the formalities in record time.

  'You'll have to come back later to pick up your luggage,' he told her, 'then you can go along in the ambulance now.'

  'Thank you, you've been wonderful,' Karen told him warmly and he flushed bright pink. 'Pleasure,' he mumbled. 'Hope he'll be O.K.' He turned and walked away quickly. He was a very young officer.

  The only good thing about the anxious time that followed was that Karen had elected to study Spanish instead of the more usual French at secretarial school. It meant now that she could at least make herself understood, more or less, to the ambulance men, and later at the hospital, after Ben had been carried away to the Emergency Ward.

  A pretty, dark-eyed nurse brought her a cup of coffee as she sat and waited nervously for news of Ben. 'How is he?' Karen tried her Spanish, but the nurse quite obviously didn't know. She shook her head and said that el medico would be coming to speak to Karen.

  An hour dragged by before the doctor arrived, during which time Karen felt more and more weak and dizzy wit
h nerves as the constant stream of nurses and doctors and patients and trolleys passed along the corridor of the huge hospital. But at last a white-coated man's figure paused in front of her.

  'You are la senora Clark?' The doctor was a small thin man, who didn't look particularly interested. But thank heaven he spoke English.

  Karen got to her feet. 'No, I am Karen Lane, Mr Clark's secretary. I am travelling with him to a conference. How is he, please?'

  The doctor took her to a small office further along the corridor and proceeded to fire questions at her. What was Mr Clark's home address? Nearest relative? Had he been having medical advice recently? Did she know if he was receiving treatment for a stomach ulcer? Had he eaten anything on the flight and if so what?

  Bemused, Karen answered as best she could but when the doctor got to his feet as a sort of signal that the interview was over she could contain herself no longer. 'Please,' she begged. 'Please tell me how he is. Can I see him? What is going to happen?'

  The doctor's dark eyes regarded her narrowly. 'You are Mr Clark's secretary, did you say? Ah!' He looked horribly knowing as she nodded.

  All right, all right, think what you like, Karen almost shouted at him, but that wouldn't have done any good. 'Please.' She grabbed the sleeve of his white coat and shook it. 'Can I see him?'

  He paused maddeningly, smiling at her urgency as if she were a small child. 'For two minutes only,' he said. He went back into the corridor and summoned a nurse. 'la senorita may see Mr Clark for two minutes,' he said.

  Ben was in a small side ward and a nurse was standing by his bed. He looked terrible, Karen thought with a pang, but at least he wasn't now writhing in pain. Perhaps he had been sedated. When she leaned over him and said, 'Ben—Ben dear, it's Karen,' he opened his eyes and tried to smile at her.

  'This is—is—rotten for you.' She had to lean closer to hear the slurred words. 'I'll be—O.K.'

  'Yes, of course you will, Ben. Very soon. This seems a wonderful hospital, I'm sure they'll give you the very best treatment.'

  'Karen…'

  'Yes, Ben?'

  There was a pause as if he were gathering his strength. 'I—love—you.' The words came slowly, painfully. She leaned down and kissed his cheek and there were tears in her eyes. 'I love you too,' she whispered, 'Get better soon.' The nurse touched her shoulder and she stood up and went out of the room.

  In the corridor she stood quite still, trying to gather her wits together and form some plan of action. What she wanted to do was to stay here until she knew what was going to happen, so that she could be near him. But that wasn't going to help Ben. The only way she could help him was to do as he so obviously wanted her to do—make contact with Saul Marston as they had been instructed to do. Slowly she walked away down the long corridor and eventually, by following signs, made her way to the reception hall. Again her knowledge of the language helped and a friendly porter took her to a telephone and even dialled the number of Saul Marston's hotel for her.

  A female voice replied. Yes, Mr Marston was in, she would ask him to come to the 'phone. Karen stood gripping the receiver as if it were a poisonous snake, her heart thumping wildly. If only it hadn't been him If it had been someone kindly and understanding!

  'Yes?' Just the single word but she would have recognised his voice anywhere, deep and aloof.

  She gulped in air. 'Mr Marston? This is Karen Lane.' She tried to steady her voice. She mustn't let him know she was near to panic—the first job of a personal assistant was to be cool in a crisis. 'I'm afraid we have a problem.' That was the jargon, wasn't it?

  'Yes?' he said again. She could see him standing there, his dark face impassive—suspicious almost.

  'Our flight got in an hour or so ago and unfortunately Mr Clark is in hospital. He was suddenly taken rather ill on the plane. I've been with him but I can't find out yet from the doctors what the trouble is. So you see, he won't be able to contact you this evening, as arranged.'

  There was a very short silence. Then he said, 'Where are you speaking from? The hospital? Which one?'

  Thank goodness she had asked the name of the hospital. When she told him he said crisply, 'Right. You hang on there. I'll be with you very soon. 'Bye, Karen.'

  She looked at the receiver in a dazed way before she replaced it. He was coming—he was actually bothering to come. And he had called her Karen. Something in the way he had said her name gave her an odd feeling. Slowly she walked out into the big reception hall and sat down near the entrance doors to wait.

  She didn't have to wait long. She saw him before he saw her, striding across the hall towards the row of seats, tall and dynamic, in black jeans and a lightweight jacket, looking very much in control of himself and everything around him. She got to her feet as he approached and as he saw her his rather grim expression changed and he smiled. His smile had the same effect on her as it had had before—back in the office at home. It made her knees go rubbery and she almost sat down again. But he was standing in front of her now, holding out both his hands.

  She found her own two hands grasped and held and he said, 'Poor Karen, this is one hell of a welcome to Mexico for you both. Now, let's sit down and you can tell me the score.'

  She was thankful to sink back into her chair. This was the very last thing she had expected—that he should show sympathy. He took the chair beside her and in a couple of minutes had extracted from her all she could tell him of the situation.

  He questioned her gravely, nodding now and again, and when she had told him all she could, he said, 'Right, now let's get some sense out of these doctors, shall we? Come on.'

  In the following half-hour Karen saw why Saul Marston had arrived at the pinnacle of success so comparatively early in life. He was a man who got what he wanted, apparently without effort. She watched while he charmed his way up through the hierarchy of a huge hospital and finally ended up talking to the surgeon in charge of Ben's case. They were talking in Spanish—Saul Marston no doubt spoke several languages perfectly—and too quickly for Karen to follow what the surgeon was saying. After a moment or two she gave up and watched Saul's face for clues as to Ben's condition. It told her nothing.

  'Muchas gracias, senor. Adios.' Saul said finally and the surgeon bowed to them both and walked away.

  Karen grabbed Saul's arm, hardly conscious that she was doing so. 'Oh, what did he say? Do they know what's the matter with Ben?'

  He looked down at her thoughtfully. 'Can I get this clear from the start? Exactly what is between you and Ben Clark?'

  Her eyes widened. 'I can't see that it concerns you,' she said and he sighed impatiently as they started to walk together down the long corridor.

  'Of course it concerns me, you silly girl, and for goodness sake don't start going all feminine and prickly on me. If you and Ben are living together then it puts a slightly different complexion on how we all relate to each other from now on.'

  'Well, we're not,' she said shortly. 'Ben and I are business associates and good friends as well, that's all. But I'm very fond of him,' she added, not able to keep the note of defiance out of her voice.

  'I'll bear that in mind,' he said dryly, walking on a little ahead of her.

  They climbed down a long flight of stairs and when they reached the reception area Karen stopped dead. 'I'm not going another step until you tell me what you found out from that surgeon,' she said.

  'First things first,' he said. 'Where's your luggage?'

  'Oh lord,' Karen gasped. 'I'd forgotten about that. It's all at the airport, every last bit of it, including our hand baggage. One of the officers on the plane promised to look after it for me so that I could go straight into the ambulance with Ben.'

  'Right,' said Saul. 'We'll get a taxi and go there first. I'll give you the surgeon's report on the way.'

  A few minutes later, a salmon-coloured taxi was bearing them through the traffic-laden streets. Karen was hardly conscious of the scene outside the window as she turned to Saul. 'Now,' she said. 'Please tell
me about Ben. Is it something bad?'

  'Bad enough,' he said. 'It seems that he's suffering from a gastric ulcer—probably been neglecting it for some time—and now it's perforated and there's considerable haemorrhage. Which means an immediate operation. They're going to get on with it straight away.'

  'Oh!' Karen sank limply back in her corner, feeling icy cold.

  Saul Marston's dark eyes fastened on her but he didn't say another word until they reached the airport. He leaned forward to speak to the driver, then he said, 'The taxi will wait, and I'm going to leave you to wait in it while I sort out the luggage. Just give me any papers you have and leave the rest to me.'

  'But ‑' Karen began. She couldn't just chicken out; this was her responsibility.

  Very briefly her hand was covered by a large, firm, masculine one. 'Do as you're told,' Saul Marston said. 'You can argue with me later on. This is one occasion when a male chauvinist comes in quite useful.'

  'I didn't think. ..' Karen gasped. But she had, of course. That was exactly what she'd been thinking of him from the first moment she saw him. A perfect pattern of a male chauvinist, she'd thought, and everything he had done and said since then had confirmed that opinion.

  'Stay here and don't move,' he told her, getting out of the taxi. 'I'll be back as soon as I can.'

  Utterly exhausted, and quite incapable of putting up a fight against this overwhelming individual, Karen lay back against the leather seat of the taxi and closed her eyes. I'll just let him take charge of me this once, she thought hazily. But when I'm back to normal— then I'll show him.

  What she would show him she didn't quite know. She mustn't antagonise him because that would be letting Ben down. Poor Ben, she thought with a pang of pity. Just about everything seemed to be going wrong for him. Somehow—she didn't know how—she was going to do her best to put it right, and if that meant deferring to the great Saul Marston—well then, she would have to do it.