'Oh!' Karen couldn't speak, she was almost in tears—tears of frustration and confusion. She tried to draw away but he held her arm tightly in his grip as they walked along. It was ridiculous, strolling along in this perfect spot under the palm trees in the moonlight discussing whether or not Saul would make love to her as if they were talking about the weather, or the scenery. Or was this the usual way that people behaved in his world?
He stopped and she stopped with him. 'This is our restaurant,' he said. 'And I suggest we postpone the argument until later and just enjoy the good food. Agreed?'
She swallowed. 'I don't want to argue with you,' she said, and realised a moment too late how that sounded, when he laughed and said, 'Fine! That's what I wanted to hear. Now come along and meet my friend Carlos. He'll fall in love with you too, I promise you.'
He was so—so smooth and urbane and utterly maddening. She would have loved to reach up and hit him—hard. Hit that ironic grin off his handsome face. But that would be over-reacting, wouldn't it? She must just try to play the whole thing as cool as he was doing.
But as she followed him into the restaurant she felt as if she were following him into jungle country that was strange, frightening, and yet breathlessly, tinglingly alive.
CHAPTER FIVE
'Outside or inside?' Saul said as they climbed the steps. 'The inside's small but it's air-conditioned. Most of the action's on the outside deck though, and it shouldn't be too warm outside this evening.'
Karen thought quickly. The outside sounded less intimate. 'Oh, outside then, please.'
A small man with a brown face and a huge moustache hurried towards them. 'Senor Marston. 'Ow are you? It is good to meet again.'
'Good to be here, Carlos. I've been away far too long. Have you got a table for us?'
Carlos beamed. 'For you, senor, the best table in my restaurant.' He led them proudly to a side table where a tall, whispering tree overhung the deck, and pulled out a chair for Karen with a flourish. 'The senorita will be 'appy here?'
'The senorita will be enchanted,' Saul said drily, with a sideways glance at Karen. And as Carlos hurried away to give the order for aperitifs Saul smiled into her eyes as he sat down close to her at the small table. 'Even if you aren't enchanted you are certainly enchanting,' he remarked. 'I like that dress very much.' He leaned towards her and took the black lace shawl from her shoulders and Karen had to resist a quite mad urge to move nearer so that their bodies touched. Stop it, she almost shrieked at herself inwardly. Just stop it.
'Yes, it's very clever,' Saul went on musingly, his gaze fastened upon the tiny buttons that ran up the front of the bodice. He touched one of them with a long, brown finger. 'These simply ask to be. unfastened.'
She smiled a cool little smile as their eyes met, but how she did it she didn't know. 'Oh dear, and I chose this dress because it looked suitably chaste for a business dinner,' she said. She almost laughed with satisfaction; she was getting the hang of this sort of exchange now. It meant nothing at all.
His brows went up whimsically. 'Are you, Karen?'
'Am I what?' she said, before she had time to think.
'Chaste,' he said with a tiny shrug.
She caught her breath. 'I thought you brought me out to talk business,' she said.
He leaned back, eyeing her lazily. 'You couldn't talk business in surroundings like this, now could you?' He waved a hand towards the dark, mysterious stretch of sea, lit at the verges by the lights from the waterfront; at the lush greenery beneath and around them, running down to the water; at the round white globe of the moon sailing serenely above. 'Now, could you?' he pleaded.
Karen's lip twitched. 'Perhaps not. Neither is it the place for a much-too-personal grilling either.'
'I just like to get things straight at the beginning,' he said suavely. 'But no matter, the truth will doubtless emerge in due course.'
A waiter arriving for their order, and another waiter with drinks spared her the necessity of finding an answer to that. It was very exhausting, trying to hold her own conversationally with a man like Saul Marston, Karen thought as she hid her face behind the huge menu card.
'What do you fancy?' Saul enquired. 'American or Mexican? Carlos can provide an excellent steak or if you're feeling more adventurous I'd recommend a beef enchilada.'
'I'll be adventurous,' Karen said. 'Just so long as it's not too hot.'
'I can promise you that Carlos will serve it just as you like. Mexican food doesn't have to be fiery— although it can be. But we mustn't burn you up— you'll be needed for the meeting tomorrow.'
Ah, thought Karen, business at last! When the waiter had departed she said, 'You told Mr Walker that you wanted to brief me for tomorrow's meeting.'
Saul gave her a lazy smile over the rim of his wineglass. 'That was just an excuse to get away from Harry and Liz, I didn't fancy spending the evening as a foursome.'
'She's very beautiful, isn't she?' Karen said, watching his face.
'Very,' he agreed drily.
'Have they been married long?'
He smothered a yawn. 'A couple of months, I believe. Now, -let's change the subject, shall we? Tell me about you, that's far more interesting.'
'More grilling?'
He sighed. 'That's a harsh way of putting it. I'm interested—I want to know all about you. About your parents—where you live—where you went to school— what you do in your spare time—what sort of books you like—music—pictures—films ...'
She thought, Oh, and I want to know everything about you too, but not for the same reason. You're just making polite conversation, whereas I ...' She checked herself here. You couldn't fall in love with a man in just two days, not counting that time back in the office in Lessington, when she'd hated him on sight. You couldn't, of course you couldn't.
'Go on—talk,' he said, smiling at her.
She looked at him doubtfully, and then a strange thing happened. For a moment the people at the other tables disappeared and there was only Saul, leaning back in his chair, watching her out of those lazy dark eyes of his. There was only the distant sound of the waves lapping on the beach, and the faint rustle of the trees and the pungent scents of unknown flowers drifting on the warm, moist air.
Karen blinked and swallowed. 'My parents are both doctors,' she began woodenly, 'and I live at home. I went to school at the local comprehensive. Do you want to hear how many O-levels I got?'
He was laughing silently. 'Relax, darling,' he said, Then he pushed back his chair. 'Look—will you excuse me for a few minutes—I've got a 'phone call I want to put through.'
She watched him walk away and tried to concentrate on the diners at the other tables but was only conscious of the general air of luxurious, almost voluptuous enjoyment that hung over the whole place. In the light from the slung red lanterns the men all looked dashing and handsome—white teeth flashing against brown skin; the women all creamed and scented and smoothed, gorgeous in their daringly cut-away gowns. The smell of their perfumes mingled with the aroma of well-cooked food. There was a murmur of conversation, punctuated by low bursts of laughter. Waiters hovered, corks popped. It would be so easy to sink into this expensive world of ease and luxury. Karen wondered if it was still snowing back in Lessington and that thought brought her back to a degree of sanity.
Saul returned and slipped into his chair. 'I rang up the hospital,' he said. 'It seems that Ben's condition is still satisfactory.'
Karen had a sharp stab of guilt as she realised she hadn't even thought of Ben since she left the hotel. 'Oh, that was kind of you,' she said hastily. 'Thank you so much.'
Saul smiled. 'I admit to a certain amount of self-interest,' he said. 'Now you can relax and enjoy your dinner.'
Ah—he had thought that her stiffness had been due to worrying about Ben. Well, at least she hadn't given herself away, that was something to be thankful for. And she certainly intended to enjoy her dinner.
There was no more questioning. Saul put himself out to entertain h
er during dinner. Mexico was evidently one of his favourite places and he told her fascinating snippets of its history and cultures, of its mountains and jungles, and volcanoes, of all the civilisations that had laid layer upon layer of their own colourful, exotic patterns on its cities and villages. Karen found herself the one to ask questions now.
'How come you know Mexico so well?' she said. 'Have you ever lived here?'
He shook his head. 'But my grandfather was of pure Indian stock,' he said. 'He married an American and their son—my father—visited England and married my mother there. I'm a bit of a mongrel, but I'm proud of my heritage and I've been back often to poke about in the old villages. Many of them have hardly entered the twentieth century yet.'
She looked at his dark face, the skin taut over high cheekbones, the arrogant nose and haughty mouth. 'That explains a lot about you,' he said, her eyes dancing. 'I can just picture you as an Aztec chief, all decked out in gold and precious stones, being macho and autocratic and assuming you can take whatever you want.'
He put down his glass and his hand closed over her wrist painfully. 'Watch it, my girl,' he said, 'or I'll give you a demonstration here and now.'
She tried, to shake his hand off, without success. 'You're hurting me,' she gasped. 'Let me go.' She glanced round the other tables, but nobody was taking the slightest notice.
'I can wait,' he said and released her wrist.
Karen rubbed it. The man was a savage. So much for having a light conversation with him. She wouldn't relax again, she vowed, she'd be on her guard with every single thing she said.
A group of musicians had come in and were settling down with their instruments behind a screen of green twining leaves and soon the haunting music of guitars was thrumming through the warm evening air. Then the dancers took the space in the centre of the deck— two girls and two men in Mexican costume—and as they whirled and stamped and clapped, the temperature around seemed to rise with the mounting rhythm of the music. Karen could feel the throb of excitement taking hold of her and when the dance finally ended she joined in the sigh that went round the tables before the applause broke out.
'Powerful stuff,' Saul said, very low, close to her ear. 'Authentic, too.'
'It was wonderful.' Karen was unaware that her cheeks were flushed, her eyes brilliant. 'It's one thing to see it on TV, but quite another to see it live.'
His eyes were locked on hers and she was totally unable to look away. At last he said softly. 'Shall we dance?' as a few couples took the floor. She stood up and slid into his arms. The band was thrumming a slow, smootchy tune now and Saul rested his cheek against Karen's hair and they swayed together in and out of the pools of light cast by the lanterns. His arm circled her waist so closely that she felt they were one body and that was how she wanted it, she thought hazily. He lowered his head and placed his lips against her forehead, just above her ear, and let them rest there as they danced and Karen was conscious of a strong stirring inside. She felt warm and soft and fragile, as if the man who was holding her could crush her with one hand if he wanted to. Her arm went up round his neck, pressing him even closer and she wanted the music never to stop.
But finally it did and as they returned to their table Saul said huskily, 'Shall we go?'
They wandered back towards the hotel in the moonlight, and when Saul's arm went round her, her own hand crept round his waist and they sauntered along, linked together, not speaking, the scented air enclosing them like a warm veil. Karen had ceased to think what would happen when they reached the hotel, ceased even to care. This was a magical night. Nothing was quite real and even the man beside her seemed to have taken on a kind of magic. Like a god, she thought, giggling a little. Like one of those old Aztec gods, maybe. She knew she had drunk too much of the local wine with dinner but she didn't care. She didn't care about anything.
Just before they reached the hotel Saul drew her into the shadows and pulled her against him. Then, slowly, he kissed her and it seemed the most natural, inevitable thing in the world that she should reach up and lock her arms round his neck and bury her fingers in the crisp hair at the back of his neck and kiss him back. When he finally let her go it was with a quick intake of breath. 'Not here,' he said, very low. 'There are better places.'
She was in a kind of dream as they entered the hotel and walked towards the lifts, scarcely aware of the people around, until a man's voice called, 'Ah, Saul, here you are at last, I've been watching out for you.
Karen blinked and saw the heavily-built figure of Harry Walker coming towards them. She heard Saul mutter some unrepeatable word under his breath, but probably Harry didn't hear it because he was barring their way into the lift and talking at the same time. 'It's Ferguson,' he was explaining worriedly. 'I knew you'd want to know at once because his new company extension is on the agenda for tomorrow.'
Saul moved impatiently. ''What about Ferguson?' he rapped out. 'What's he been up to now?'
Harry Walker ran a finger round his collar. He was the only man in sight wearing a collar and tie. 'There was a 'phone call for you but you weren't to be found so I took it. It seems Ferguson has got himself into some sort of jam and he's landed in jail.'
'Here in Acapulco?' Saul rapped out.
Harry James nodded. 'He's asking for you to go— and bail him out, I suppose.'
'Hell!' exploded Saul. 'I've a good mind to let him stew.' He was silent for a moment, his face dark and angry. Then he shrugged. 'O.K. I suppose I'll have to go and see what it's all about.' He turned to Karen. 'Sorry, darling,' he said. 'I'll have to leave you on your own for a bit.'
The magic had gone. The spell was broken. 'Of course,' she said, walking past Harry to the lift.
Saul hesitated. 'Karen, I——' He looked doubtfully at her. Then, with a frustrated little shake of his head he strode off across the lobby with Harry Walker, who was almost panting to keep up with him.
Up in her room Karen sat on the bed, her heart thudding. She felt as if she had passed through some overwhelming crisis, and in a way she had. She'd passed through it and come out on the other side unscathed—but through no decision of her own. If Saul hadn't been called away she would have been in his room now, in his arms, probably in his bed.
She shuddered and got up and locked the door. She had a second chance and now she knew what she must do. When you were in mortal danger you stopped and fought—or you ran away. Tonight had proved that fighting with Saul could only end one way. It wasn't fair but there it was, and to let him make love to her would be a wild, ecstatic madness that would last for— how long? A few days, the length of time they were in Acapulco. And after that—what? How could she face Ben, how could she tell him she loved him and would marry him when all her body was shaken with memories of another man?
There was only one sane way and that was to avoid being alone with Saul. It shouldn't be impossible, there were plenty of people around. Tomorrow would be given over to meetings and from tomorrow on her dealing with Saul must be on a business basis and nothing more. If necessary she would tell him straight out that she was going to marry Ben.
As she got undressed and into bed she made herself think of Ben and a tenderness and affection gradually took the place of that wild madness she had felt with Saul. She began to plan for her life with Ben. They would sell Ben's house, where he had lived with Christine, and buy a cottage in one of the outlying villages perhaps. She could still work with him—until the children came along. She could make him so happy; make up for all the misery and loneliness he had suffered. And even if Saul didn't take Clark's into his group there must be another way that Ben could succeed, with her help. She could give him confidence in himself so that he could start again—
She began to get drowsy, drifting between sleeping and waking. She must get a good night's sleep tonight and be ready for tomorrow. There might be something she could do for Ben and for Clark's tomorrow at the meeting; she must be rested and fresh to tackle anything that turned up. Must—think—about Ben—
Suddenly her eyes flew open wide. There was a faint noise as if the handle of the door were being turned cautiously and Karen froze, lifting herself on one elbow, staring into the darkness. 'Karen.' Saul's voice came from the other side of the door, very low, and when she didn't answer after a moment or two, he said again, 'Karen, it's me, are you awake?'
She held herself still, every nerve quivering, every muscle taut, and after what seemed an age she heard a door close further down the corridor. Saul had given it up.
She sank back on the bed and pulled the duvet over her head, laughing and crying at the same time. She had won a battle with Saul—with herself. But she felt horribly like a loser.
Karen was a long time going to sleep that night and when she did she slept heavily. She was awakened by a knock on the door. 'Who is it?' she called drowsily.
'It's me—Saul—are you nearly ready? The conference starts at ten, you know?'
'Heavens!' She fell out of bed and dragged on a nylon wrap. She unlocked the door and opened it a crack. 'I overslept,' she muttered stupidly. 'What time is it?'
He pushed open the door further and stepped into the room. In dark trousers and crisp white shirt, his hair tamed to lie nearly flat, he was looking freshly-groomed and alert, ready for an important conference. He was looking, in fact, exactly as she ought to have been looking—and wasn't.
'I'll be quick,' she croaked. 'Just tell me the room to come to and I'll find it.'
He shook his head. 'I'll wait for you,' he said. 'I wouldn't like you to get lost.' He leaned nonchalantly against the window-frame and folded his arms as she began feverishly to pull out drawers and open cupboard doors. 'A pity about last night,' he said easily. 'I wasn't very long getting that idiot Ferguson out of hock. He'd got himself into a fight in a cafe. He should have known that you have to watch your step with the Mexican girls. Their boyfriends are apt to get very nasty. I hoped you'd still be awake when I got back and we could have shared a nightcap. But there was no answer when I came to your door so I assumed you'd gone to sleep on me again. You make quite a habit of it, don't you?'
Acapulco Moonlight Page 9
