As he sat in the bar at El Presidente hotel with its lighted waterfall and its big swimming pool, a Cinzano Bitter and ice on the table before him, waiting for Juana, he tried to put the past twelve hours into perspective.
The girl herself was an enigma. She had admitted that as soon as she had seen him as he was checking in at the Hilton she had fallen in love with him. She had made inquiries and had found out who he was and also his room number. According to her, it was the most natural thing in the world for her to change rooms so that when he wanted her, as she knew he would want her, she would be within discreet and easy reach. They had had no time up to now to get to know each other, although she did seem to know much more about him than he did about her. That wasn’t surprising since he was famous and a public figure.
Their lovemaking had been the most explosive, satisfying and exciting experience he had had with any woman. Her sexual technique was at once tender, professional, abandoned and devastating.
Thinking about her now, he realised, not without a pang of fear, that life would be utterly unbearable without her. He had never felt this way about any other woman. Previously, he had always warned himself to be careful and not to get permanently hooked. Now, the thought of setting up house with her, having her constantly with him filled him with a burning excitement that chilled only when he remembered how she had treated Manuel Barreda. But then, he assured himself, Barreda was a man of sixty-five. How could such a sick, old man possibly hope to match her vigorous, demanding passion? Cade was sure, as he remembered the way she had looked at him, had kissed him and had held him, that she was as much in love with him as he was with her: and, he told himself, that kind of love lasted.
Finishing his drink, he went into the restaurant and had a lonely lunch, wondering what she was doing, what the house would be like and missing her. Then he forced himself to think of the bull fight the following afternoon.
Creel had promised to telephone that evening for instructions. He had a car which was at Cade’s disposal. He would be happy to act as Cade’s guide and chauffeur. Cade had explained that he would be using three cameras, and he would want Creel to sit beside him and hand him whichever camera he called for so that he would be sure of continuous shooting with whatever lens he might need. He liked Creel. The fat man was so willing and anxious to please that no one could fail to like him. It had been Creel who had suggested that he should buy a large bunch of carnations for Juana’s room which communicated with Cade’s room. It had been Creel who had hurried out of the hotel, bought the flowers and had instructed the maid where they were to be placed.
After lunch, Cade went up to his room and lay on the bed. He had eaten well and was relaxed. He was also tired after the exertions of the previous night. He slept.
When he woke it was dusk, a little after 19.00 hours. He got up, feeling fine. Stripping off his clothes, he took a shower and as he came from the bathroom, the telephone bell rang.
It was Juana.
He could hear over the open line the sound of men’s voices, a lot of laughter, guitar music and a man singing. His falsetto voice set Cade’s teeth on edge.
‘Where are you calling from?’ he asked, suspicious and worried.
‘From a café,’ Juana said. ‘The noise is driving me mad! Listen, cariño, Diaz will see you tomorrow at half past two. He will be at the Hotel de Toro. Is that all right for you?’
‘Yes, of course—wonderful! How did you manage it?’
‘Renado is a very good friend of mine. He is the manager of the Toreros. He is very flattered that the great Cade wants to photograph one of his fighters. Now, Diaz is also flattered … the puffed-up frog!’
A very good friend of mine. What exactly did that mean?
‘That’s wonderful!’ Cade repeated, ‘but what are you doing in a café, darling? Why aren’t you here with me?’
‘Renado is here. I am leaving now, but I won’t be back until ten o’clock.’
‘But why not?’
‘There is still so much to arrange. I have the house, but now I have to see the agent and pay him some money. It will take a little time because he is a thief and I will have to bargain with him. The house is beautiful. You will love it. It will be ready for us to move in after the fights tomorrow. Let us go tonight to the Restaurant Negrui. It serves fine food. Do you know it?’
Cade said he didn’t.
‘Then it will be a small experience for you. Will you book a table? I must go. I have still so much to do. Do you still love me?’
‘If you were here I would demonstrate the strength of my love,’ Cade said.
She laughed happily.
‘I would like that very much. Adios, cariño,’ and she hung up.
A little later Creel telephoned. Cade told him about Diaz. The fat man said it was the most remarkable thing he had ever heard.
‘You do not know, senor, you cannot imagine how I tried to arrange this interview for you. Diaz is a sonofabitch. It was brilliant of the lady to have thought of Renado. He is very important and also very difficult. She must know him very well to have persuaded him to help you.’
This did not help to reduce Cade’s worry and growing jealousy.
Creel said he would call for Cade at 14.00 hours and would take him to the Hotel de Toro.
A few minutes after 22.00 hours, Juana came rushing into the bedroom where Cade was waiting.
After kissing the whole of his face with gentle nibbles, she lingered on his mouth until his hands began to move over her body. Then, laughing, she pulled away, shaking her head at him.
‘Not yet, cariño. I am terribly, terribly hungry, but not for you. I want a big, beautiful steak. Later …’
He was astonished how quickly she showered and changed. By 22.25 hours she was ready to go.
The meal at the Negrui Restaurant was excellent. While they ate, she chattered. Everything was now arranged. The house was perfect. She had paid a week’s rent. They could have it for as long as they liked. Was he pleased about Diaz? This man was stupid : a vain frog, but she had heard he was very good with the bulls. Renado was very enthusiastic. It took a lot to make Renado enthusiastic. He had handled many fine matadors.
Finally, when she paused for breath, Cade said, ‘Creel tells me Renado is important and difficult. Just how did you manage to persuade him?’
She was cutting into a creamy pastry. She looked at him, then she smiled.
‘This is good. You are a little jealous. It is good for a man to be jealous of a woman. It proves he loves her.’
Cade pushed his plate away.
‘Never mind the wise talk … please answer my question!’
‘You are angry?’ her eyes sparkled.
‘Not yet, but I could be.’
‘I like men who become angry. It shows character. Without character what is a man?’
‘Will you please tell me how you persuaded a man like Renado to grant me this favour?’ Cade said in a scarcely controlled voice.
‘Of course: there is no mystery about it.’ She finished her pastry and sat back with a little sigh of content. ‘My father was Tomas Roca, one of the greatest picadors who ever lived. He was starting his career with the novilleros when Renado was trying to become a manager of toreros. My father hired Renado to look after his affairs. It was because of my father’s rise to fame that Renado has become as rich and as powerful as he is now. So it is natural that he should wish to help me when I ask for help.’
Cade relaxed. He touched her hand.
‘What happened to your father?’
‘He became too old to be a picador. He now owns a shop in Taxco. He sells silver. There are many shops in Taxco selling silver, but because my father is who he is, he does very well. He is a dull, hard, boring man. He wanted a son. That I can understand, but it cannot excuse his treatment of me. When I was fifteen, I ran away, I have not seen him since. Nor have I seen my mother. She too is a dull, hard and boring woman.’
‘How old are you?’ Cade asked, cares
sing her hand.
‘I am seventeen.’
‘And for two years you have been living away from your family.’
‘Yes, it is good to be independent.’
He stared at her.
‘But how have you earned a living?’
‘You are very curious, cariño.’ Her eyes became anxious. ‘Men don’t like to hear about such things. They imagine they do, but they don’t really.’
Cade sighed, then signalled to the waiter and asked for the check.
‘Let us go back to the hotel.’ He smiled at her. ‘I love you.’
She became gay immediately.
‘Finding you is the best thing that has ever happened to me,’ she said.
‘Yes, and for me too.’
They left the restaurant arm in arm and drove back to the hotel.
THREE
Pedro Diaz was short and compact. His square-shouldered body seemed to be constructed of steel and concrete. He radiated power and brutal strength. He was unusually dark for a Mexican. His features were regular. He was distinctly handsome, arrogant and proud.
When Cade walked into the big, tawdry sitting-room of Diaz’s hotel suite, he found Diaz standing by the open window, staring with bleak, cruel eyes at the wall of the bull ring across the road, obviously posing for Cade’s entrance. With him was Regino Franoco, his sword handler, who was fussing over the four swords in their scabbards and the fighting capes that lay on a moth-eaten settee.
Regino Franoco was a small, lean beautiful youth with a dark, vicious handsomeness. His eyes were restless and suspicious, his movements exaggerated: the movements of a fussy, neurotic woman. Cade had been warned about him by Creel.
‘He amuses Diaz and he is good at his work, but he is a gossip and dangerous. Diaz is his god. There is no scandal between them because everyone knows that Diaz is a bull with women.’
Sitting in his armchair, smoking a strong smelling cigar, was a large, cheerful-looking man with an immense belly and a straggly moustache. He was the famous Renado, manager of the toreros. He pushed himself out of the chair and shook hands with Cade. He said he was very proud and happy to meet such a famous artist. In his halting Spanish, Cade repaid the compliment.
Renado then took him over to Diaz who waited by the window like a king granting an audience. It was part of Cade’s talent to break down the most difficult barriers, and in less than five minutes he had Diaz relaxed and actually smiling. He realised that this man was susceptible to flattery and he unashamedly laid it on with a trowel.
Creel who had been waiting in the open doorway, now unpacked Cade’s equipment. A few minutes later, Cade was taking pictures. He was always prepared to waste a lot of film. He knew sooner or later his subject would betray himself in a moment of forgetfulness. He had fired off more than seventy shots before he got the picture he was waiting for.
By now, Diaz was more than willing to pose. His ideas of how best he looked were of no interest to Cade although he agreed to everything Diaz suggested. The great picture came when Franoco who had been watching all this with a sneering, hostile expression of the unsuccessful watching the successful accidentally touched the swords propped up against a chair and brought them clattering to the floor. Diaz turned on him. His face was ablaze with rage and cruelty as he screamed, ‘You clumsy oaf! Can’t you keep still for two minutes!’
The focal plane shutter snapped and Cade knew he had his picture although he continued to take twenty more before saying it was enough.
‘You are coming to see me fight?’ Diaz asked. He now seemed sorry the photographic session was over.
‘Of course,’ Cade said, signing to Creel to repack the equipment.
‘It will be a great experience for you,’ Diaz said. ‘You will be able to tell your grandchildren that you once saw the great Diaz kill a bull.’
His face expressionless, Cade said he was aware of the honour. He promised to let Diaz have a set of pictures. The two men shook hands. Renado also shook hands. With his back turned to Diaz, he winked at Cade.
As Cade and Creel walked across the street to the bull ring, Creel said, ‘He is stupid, but he is a great fighter of bulls, senor. He has a lot of courage. One can forgive a man much if he has courage. This afternoon you will see him at his best In a year or so, he won’t be much. There are too many women in his life. He is as successful with women as he is with bulls. It is a combination that writes defeat.’
Cade wasn’t listening. He was thinking of Juana. She had left the hotel early in the morning. He had asked her to come with him to the bull fight, but she said bull fights bored her. She had seen too many. Besides, she had the house to prepare. As soon as he had taken his pictures, he was to come to the house where she would be waiting.
Diaz had the first bull. It was big, fast and brave. Creel said Diaz was lucky, for nowadays, few bulls were any good. The breeders had lost touch. Now the bulls were small, lively, but without courage. No matter how good, how clever a matador was, he couldn’t do much with such animals.
Although Cade knew nothing about the art of bull fighting, he quickly realised that he was witnessing a great performance by a superb, courageous artist and a fine bull. He took three hundred photographs, working swiftly and expertly with Creel acting like a gun handler, giving him the cameras he called for so quickly that Cade had scarcely any interrupted shots.
The final kill was something that remained vividly in his memory for many days. Here, Diaz demonstrated his brutal strength. His sword thrust driven in with all the power of his muscular arm sank into the bull up to the sword hilt. It was like stabbing chiffon with a needle. The bull was dead before it dropped to the sand.
While Diaz walked slowly around the ring, arrogant and proud, acknowledging the screams from the crowd, Cade nodded to Creel and they both left the bull ring.
Creel had already made arrangements for a photographic shop to remain open so that Cade could process his films, and they drove at once to the shop.
Two hours later, Cade emerged from the darkroom with a big stack of damp prints in his hands.
Creel and the owner of the shop were talking and drinking beer. They got expectantly to their feet.
‘These are all right,’ Cade said and began to lay the prints on the counter.
This was an understatement. As the three men examined the prints, the shop owner, a fat, balding Mexican who hated bull fighting, drew in a hissing breath.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I have always felt it that way, but this is the first time I have seen it that way.’
Creel said uneasily, ‘Diaz won’t like this, senor.’
Cade gathered up the prints and put them in a big envelope.
‘Who cares? Now take me to the house.’
As Creel started the car, he said, ‘Diaz is a dangerous man. He is rich and popular. Have you thought of that? You haven’t flattered him. Somehow, and I don’t understand how, you have made his art ignoble.’
‘That is what it is,’ Cade said, relaxed and satisfied.
‘Perhaps, but Diaz doesn’t think so. He could make trouble for you.’
‘If I worried about people making trouble for me, I wouldn’t be in this business.’
‘Yes, senor, but I thought I should mention it.’
‘Thank you. We’ll see what we will see.’
Creel lifted his fat shoulders in a resigned shrug.
‘I understand, senor. Like Diaz, you have courage.’
‘Oh, shut up!’ Cade said irritably. ‘Drive faster! I want to get home.’
The house surprised and delighted him. It consisted of a large living-room, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a fitted kitchen and a double garage. There was a garden full of flowers, a small fountain and shady trees. The furnishing was modern and comfortable.
After he had been over the house with Juana and they had returned to the living-room, she looked expectantly at him, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Up to this moment, he hadn’t said anything, now he took her face in his h
ands and kissed her mouth.
‘You don’t know what this means to me,’ he said, and he was moved. ‘It is wonderful, darling. It’s the first decent place, the first real home I have ever had, and all thanks to you. After you, this is the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me.’
She hugged him.
‘I was hoping you would say that. I am so happy. This is ours, cariño, for as long as we like. You and me and this, and no one else.’
It wasn’t until they had returned from a good dinner they had had in a nearby restaurant—Cade wouldn’t listen to her protestations that she should cook for him that night—that he showed her the photographs.
They sat side by side on the settee, the french windows leading into the garden open, the sound of the fountain making a soothing background noise as she examined the pictures.
She made little comment until she reached the close shot of Diaz shouting at Franoco, then he heard her catch her breath. Pushing aside the other photographs, she stared with fixed concentration at the savage, cruel face so sharply produced in the print.
‘Does he really look like this?’ she asked.
‘I had to wait some time before his guard was down. Yes, that is Pedro Diaz. Not as he sees himself nor as most people see him, but as he is.’
She turned and stared at him. Her dark eyes uneasy.
‘I wouldn’t like you to photograph me, cariño,’ she said, then seeing his surprise, she forced a laugh. ‘I am not serious. He won’t like this.’ She dropped the photograph onto the settee and stood up. ‘Let us go to bed. It is our first night in our new home. It must be an important occasion.’
‘You haven’t looked at the fighting pictures,’ Cade said. ‘They are good too.’
‘Yes, everything you do is good. I know that. Let’s go to bed.’ She smiled invitingly. ‘Don’t you want to?’
Cade got to his feet.
‘This will be the christening of our house,’ he said.
They walked together to the door, his arm around her shoulders. They paused while he turned off the light, then in step, they mounted the stairs.
Cade Page 5