The Paper Marriage

by Flora Kidd

  Many friends and acquaintances of the Perez brother and sister were present in the crowd in the noisy candlelit room and they railed out cheerful and affectionate greetings to the couple.

  Music for dancing was provided by a group of swarthy young men with wide white smiles who were dressed in tight pants and frillsleeved ruffled shining shirts. They played a variety of instruments including the Spanish guitar, the cuatro, which was the small Venezuelan four-stringed guitar, a Venezuelan harp and of course the inevitable maracas, the gourd rattles which were shaken by hand.

  “The maracas are never taught in school,” said Miguel as he guided Brooke on to the floor to participate in a lively cha-cha.

  “Why is that?”

  “It is felt that every Venezuelan is born with the skill to extract from them the snappy rhythm peculiar to our Latin-American tunes.”

  One of the young men was a singer and in response to demand he sang some of the folk songs from the llaneros, the men of the plains. They told of the life of struggle, joy and grief in various rhythms, both romantic and wild, and after the singing everyone in the club danced the joropo, the national dance.

  But not all the music provided was Venezuelan in character. The leader of the group admitted that his great heroes were the Beatles, and a selection of their music was performed and sung with abandon.

  Time passed in a whirl of sound and movement and before Brooke realized it was almost three o’clock in the morning.

  “I must go!” she exclaimed to Miguel.

  “So soon?” he enquired with a lift of his eyebrows. “But the club does not close until four. I was hoping that we would have breakfast together at my apartment.”

  “You are not Simon Bolivar,” she teased him gently, and was pleased when he showed appreciation of her teasing by smiling.

  “Unfortunately, no, I am not. If I were I would not let you return to the home of your husband tonight.”

  Brooke stiffened. To her secret consternation she had forgotten she was married to Owen. She had even forgotten Megan. The dull gold of her wedding ring caught the light as she reached out her hand to pick up her evening bag. She wished suddenly and quite fiercely that she was not married, that she was free and single like Manuela, who was so obviously enjoying herself with her male companions. Then she could have stayed out all night with the handsome and charming Miguel.

  But then if she hadn’t married Owen she wouldn’ t be here, she reminded herself, and on top of that thought came a vision of Pilar’s face, slightly disapproving. Whatever must the housekeeper be thinking now!

  She stood up quickly and Miguel also rose to his feet.

  “We shall leave Manuela here,” murmured Miguel, taking her arm. “Someone else will probably take her home.”

  The ride back to the Casa Estaban in the long black car was silent at first. Brooke was aware of a slight change in her companion’s attitude and was not surprised when he moved to sit closer to her. He lifted one of her hands from her lap and she felt his lips, hot against her skin. It was no formal kiss of greeting or farewell. It was passionate, leading probably, he hoped, to more.

  She pulled her hand and moved slightly along the seat.

  “No, Miguel,” she said softly.

  He turned on the seat and leaned towards her.

  “I find you fascinating, amada, so cool and aloof, yet there is warmth beneath the ice which attracts a lonely man like myself,” he murmured. “Why may I not kiss you?”

  “You know very well why,” she replied. “I’m married.”

  “Owen would not mind,” he suggested softly, insinuatingly.

  “How do you know?” she countered, her heart beginning to beat too fast.

  “He has married you for convenience. He does not love you. He squandered all his love on his first wife and has none left. Yours is a marriage on paper only, a signed contract, a business arrangement.”

  His words were like darts pricking her sensitivity.

  “Please, Miguel! You mustn’t say such things. Our marriage hasn’t yet begun, there was no time, but I still owe Owen fidelity and I can’t break a contract even if it is only on paper.”

  He withdrew as she had hoped he might.

  “You are to be admired, senora,” he murmured. “And Owen, as usual, is to be envied.”

  The car slowed down and turned in at the open gates. It purred up to the dark house. One single light glowed under the verandah beside the front door. The chauffeur got out of the car and came to open the door for Brooke.

  “Good night, Senor Perez,” she said coolly. “Thank you for a very pleasant evening.”

  “To-morrow,” he said urgently on a low voice. “We have not talked enough. The same time.”

  “I’ll think about it,” she replied, and stepped out of the car.

  The front door was unlocked. One crimson-shaded lamp glowed in the quiet entrance hall. For a moment Brooke stood still listening to the silence of the house, then she turned and went along the passage to the west wing where her bedroom was. She felt strangely guilty as she glided in stockinged feet, having removed her shoes because they made too much noise on the stone floor. She arrived at her door. It opened on darkness. She switched on the light quickly and caught her breath in relief. The room was empty.

  But of course it was empty. Whatever was she thinking about? She must have danced too long and too late. Either that or Miguel Perez had gone to her head in a big way, affecting her conscience where Owen was concerned, so that she had been imagining he would be here in her room, waiting in the dark for his errant wife to return.

  How silly could she get? Owen was far away in Bolivia and, as Miguel had hinted, he probably wouldn’t care what she was doing as

  long as she was looking after Megan.

  But she cared what she did, she realized with sudden new understanding of herself. While she wore his ring, bore his name and drew on his bank account, she would never betray his trust. It might be only a paper marriage, but as far as she was concerned the contract would never be torn by her.

  She slept heavily and woke to the sound of rushing water and the brilliance of sunshine shafting through the unshuttered window, spilling blobs of golden light on the white carpet.

  Someone was in the bathroom. Surprised out of her sleep, resentful because of it, she bounded out of bed, tall and rather ethereal-looking with tousled red-gold hair, dressed in a long nightgown of sheer nylon chiffon. Crossing the room, she stood outside the bathroom door uncertainly. The sound of rushing water, as if someone had been using the shower, had stopped, and there was no noise. Had she dreamed it?

  Slowly she took the cut-glass handle of the door in her hand and turned it. She pulled, but the door remained shut. It was locked from the inside. Someone must be in there.

  On sudden impulse she knocked peremptorily on the panel of the door.

  “Who is in there?” she called. “Come out, whoever you are!”

  Silence answered her - a silence in which she could hear the twittering of birds in the trumpet trees which grew on the edge of the patio and the burr of a grass cutter as the gardener pushed it over the lawns. No one answered her summons.

  Feeling foolish, she turned away from the bathroom door. The sound of water she had heard was probably caused by the maid cleaning the bath. Hoping that if the maid was still in there she hadn’t heard Senora Meredith shouting at the top of her voice, Brooke made her way back to the bed. It was only seven o’clock and her head was aching slightly, the result of her having awoken too quickly after too little sleep.

  She didn’t feel like having breakfast yet, or dealing with Megan. The bed looked inviting and she would enjoy a nice lazy morning trying to sort out her muddled feelings about Miguel Perez.

  Behind her the bathroom door was unlocked and opened. She spun round in astonishment.

  Damp tousled hair which needed trimming, smoky eyes more yellow than grey this morning as they surveyed her from head to toe. Big shoulders which were just sh
rugging into a conventional white shirt; a muscular chest tanned to the colour of golden teak and crossed with dark hairs; lean hips on which the pants of a light grey suit were belted. Owen Meredith, the man to whom she was married. Owen fastened the buttons of his shirt and tucked it into his pants. Then he leaned against the jamb of the door and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Remember me, girl?” he drawled.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The unexpected sight of Owen standing just inside her bedroom brought home forcibly to Brooke that he was her husband and that consequently he had rights and could make demands.

  “But you’re supposed to be in Bolivia and you’re not coming back until next week,” she squeaked foolishly.

  “I managed to get away from that site sooner and I came back late last night,” he explained. “I thought we could have a couple of days together, you and I, and get to know each other better. It’s about time, don’t you think?”

  “Y ... yes,” she stuttered. Her mind was busy with questions. What time had he arrived? Did he know she had been out dining with Manuela and Miguel? Had Pilar said anything to him? Oh, she realized now that her sixth sense had been warning that he had returned last night. She had not been imagining his presence in the house at all. He had been here.

  He was moving towards her, light-footed, heavy-shouldered. El Toro, the bull - Miguel’s description flashed through her mind.

  “It’s good to see you, Brooke,” he murmured.

  “It’s nice to see you too,” she replied tritely, stepping back a few paces because she had a distinct impression that he was going to take her by the shoulders and kiss her. She picked up the dressing gown she had discarded last night and flung it round her shoulders, hiding under its greater thickness, thrusting her arms into the sleeves, concentrating on tying the belt round her waist. “Megan will be glad

  you’re back,” she said rather breathlessly, talking to keep him at bay. “She was very disappointed when you didn’t meet us. You’ll have to be careful for a while, Owen, until she’s really better. She’s still easily upset and any emotional disturbance sets her back.”

  The belt of the dressing gown tied securely, she swung away from him and sat down at the stool in front of the dressing table. Picking up her comb, she began to untangle her hair. She felt safer sitting down doing something, although why she should feel unsafe in his presence was something she could not define. In the mirror she could see him standing behind her, his arms crossed again. He was much better looking than she had remembered and the strength and tenacity of his character showed in the blunt regularity of his features.

  “It was unavoidable,” he replied curtly.

  “Business always comes first?” she could not resist saying.

  “Often, but not always,” he said equably. He moved out of her line of vision and padded on bare feet over to the window to look out. “Who told Miguel Perez that you were here and married to me?” he asked.

  Brooke went on combing her hair, feeling a strange flicker of uneasiness.

  “His cousin Juan did.”

  “And where did you meet him?”

  He had turned to look at her. The yellow flecks in his eyes were very noticeable.

  “He was at the airport with Dolores. He’s a friend of hers. He was very kind. He asked me if he could tell his cousin that I had arrived in Caracas. I recognized the name and said he could because I wanted to meet someone who knew something about the disappearance of my father. Yesterday Miguel came to see me. He took me to dinner with his sister Manuela.”

  “It was a mighty long dinner,” he drawled, and she knew then that he had heard her come in early that morning.

  “We went dancing afterwards. I forgot the time.”

  Brooke was beginning to feel a little annoyed. It was a long time since she had had to answer to anyone for her whereabouts and actions, and she would not have been answering then except that she realized everything would have to be honest and above board between herself and Owen if they were to live in harmony together. Only in that way would they be able to provide the stable settled background he wanted for Megan.

  He had turned away and was looking out of the window again. One strong hand was fiddling with the tassel of the loop of material which held back the brocade drape. Watching those fidgeting fingers, she was worried. They betrayed an inner turmoil, as had the yellow flecks in his eyes.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you came back last night,” she said suddenly, apologizing before she realized it. “I wouldn’t have gone out if I’d known you would be coming home. Senor Perez wished to talk to me about my father and I didn’t think you would mind if I went out with him since you know him and he’s related to your stepmother.”

  His hand fell away from the tassel and he turned to look at her. Surprise flickered momentarily in his eyes before they were veiled by their heavy lids as he looked down at the floor.

  “And what did he tell you about your father?” he asked.

  “That all the notes he had made about the position of the iron ore deposits went missing with him and that some of the surveying will have to be done again.” She paused, trying .to control her breathing so that she would not sound too accusing about the next part. “Miguel also said that you were probably one of the last people to see my father before he disappeared. Were you, Owen?”

  He moved away from her and sat down on the end of the bed so that she had to turn to see him.

  “Probably,” he replied coolly.

  “Then why didn’t you tell me when we talked about him at our first meeting?”

  “There were a lot of things I didn’t tell you, as you must have realized since you have been here. For one thing, there wasn’t time to talk much, and that’s why I’m taking two days off work now so that I can fill you in on a few details,” he explained reasonably.

  His steady gaze and the faint derisive curve to his mouth bothered her. She had the impression that he thought her naive and that he was

  consequently amused.

  “Much more interesting for you to find out for yourself, don’t you think?” he murmured. “You’re doing very well, so far, and soon you might be able to figure out my reason for not telling you about this house and my father’s wealth. As for Miguel - yes, he and I used to be good friends, and not just as boys. Then something happened and that relationship went a bit sour, as friendships have a way of doing occasionally.” The curve to his mouth was cynical now as if his thoughts were unpleasant. “You were right,” he went on. “I don’t mind you going out with him, but I think I should warn you that he’s a very proud and passionate person. Once I did him an injury - not a physical one, but a blow to his pride. I did it unwittingly and he hasn’t forgiven me. Are you going to see him again?”

  Brooke had been all prepared to do battle for her rights to be free to choose her friends where she wished, but Owen’s reasonable question, coming after his explanation, deflated her.

  “Are you going to forbid me to see him if I say that I am?” she countered with a lift of her chin.

  He shook his head slowly and again that faint enigmatic smile curved his mouth. Obviously she afforded him much secret laughter.

  “Oh no, you don’t catch me making a mistake like that,” he murmured. “You go ahead and see him if you wish. I don’t expect you to avoid him just because he isn’t friendly towards me any more.” He rose to his feet and moved towards the bathroom. “I’ll get Megan up and take her outside. I like having breakfast on the patio when I’m home. See you there.”

  “Owen, before you go, may I know what you did to injure Miguel’s pride?” she asked hurriedly.

  He stood still. His shoulders stiffened. He did not turn round.

  “No, I can see that I may not,” she went on with a sigh, “I suppose you think it’s none of my business yet you expect me to understand.” He pivoted on his heels to look at her. His eyes were a wintry grey. His glance lingered briefly in her face, then flicked round the
luxuriously appointed room and came back to study her new prettily-flowered and pleated dressing gown, shifting slowly upwards to her face. Now his expression was insolent and the feeling that she was unsafe when with him came surging back. She wished she had not

  spoken.

  “Is it too much to ask?” he said quietly. “I gather that you like the house, this room, the garden, the pool, the car, having money to spend ...” He let his voice trail off insinuatingly.

  Fury such as she had never known before in her life, white-hot and molten, scorched through her. He thought he had bought her! She longed to pick up one of the expensive ornaments on the dressing table and hurl it at him. Gripping her hands tightly in her lap, she controlled the primitive feeling, shocked that she could be roused to such anger.

  “I’d be very foolish if I didn’t like everything here, but money isn’t everything. I’m not a fortune-hunter or a gold-digger,” she retorted.

  “I’d hoped that you weren’t,” was the surprising reply. “I also hoped that you wouldn’t be too curious about my life before I met you. But it seems that I was expecting too much. It seems that every woman has to know the whys and wherefores of a man’s personal life before she met him as well as wishing to know everything he does when he isn’t with her.”

  There was a trace of bitterness in his voice and she found that her fury was cooling fast.

  “Sometimes it helps a woman to understand better if she knows,” she suggested softly, tentatively.

  “And sometimes it causes only more trouble if she does,” he retorted dourly.

  The bathroom door closed behind him and for a while Brooke sat thinking about Manuela saying that Owen had once succeeded where Miguel had failed; that he had conquered in a field which Miguel had regarded as his own. What had she meant? And was that the injury to which Owen had referred? She didn’t want to know. As Owen had just said it might only cause trouble between them if she did know. Possibly Glynis had known and the knowledge had caused trouble between her and Owen, which was why he was being wary now. She could not really blame him for being careful.