An Undefended City

by Sophie Weston

  The cook sniffed. 'Including the Señora?'

  It was beneath Pepe's dignity to notice such a remark, much less answer it. He merely seated himself at the kitchen table and waited for the desired coffee. Despairing of further gossip, the cook shrugged and prepared it.

  But it was very interesting. The Señora's door was locked and she had not allowed the maid in to draw her curtains and collect her washing. And she did not seem to want any breakfast either.

  Pepe could have enlightened her if he had chosen to do so. As the only servant who lived in the apartment he had access to the couple's private disagreements. Indeed it was he who had halted the quarrel last night, walking in to return the keys to Luis after he had put the car away in the underground garage.

  He had found the master blazing with fury while the Señora looked shocked enough to faint. To tell the truth, he had been sorry for her. He supposed it was about her gadding about with her cousin in that foolish way, and he was torn. Half of him sympathised with Luis who was being

  made to look a fool. Half of him wanted to protect the mistress. She was, thought Pepe, who had looked forward to the transformation of the bachelor establishment with some foreboding, such a gentle little thing. And a foreigner as well. The master had hardly been the devoted husband, leaving her alone so much, and it was no great wonder if she turned to others for company.

  Olivia, who had not been to bed any more than Luis had, did not know that she had any share in Pepe's sympathy. Last night he had halted on the threshold looking embarrassed and disapproving, and she had run away before the final humiliation of being shouted at by her husband in front of a witness.

  She had feared that Luis would follow her last night after her craven retreat and had locked the door more against a recurrence of his temper than the servants. Now, however, she no longer feared that. He had made no attempt to continue the quarrel or to approach her. Her clinging to her own room was the result of shame and a natural desire to conceal the ravages of the last twelve hours. Olivia was despising herself deeply.

  It was well past midday when she did eventually emerge. She had thought that she had heard the front door close and hoped that it was Luis leaving. As it chanced he was the first person she met outside her door.

  Olivia stopped dead, flushing. 'Oh!'

  `You're up,' he said, his face unreadable. 'I was coming to see if you wanted anything.' He considered her dispassionately. 'You don't look well.'

  She looked as if she were in high fever and she knew it. Her hair was unruly after a night of being clutched in desperation, her eyes were dull and shadowed and her skin, when the blush subsided, had an unhealthy blue tint about the mouth. The pain that distress always brought to her lungs was back.

  She said, 'I'm all right. I didn't sleep well. I—I ought to apologise,' she added, rushing her fences. 'I know you don't like me to, but this time I think it's due. I shouldn't have said that, last night. About my money, I mean.'

  `Oh, I don't know.' He was cool. 'If it's what you thought you were within your rights to say it.'

  `It wasn't kind,' she reproached herself.

  `The truth often isn't.'

  Olivia recoiled. So she was not forgiven. 'I'm sorry,' she said lamely.

  `I'm sure you are.'

  She began to feel sick, clenching her hands to stop them shaking.

  `Are you—are you going out?'

  `I told you, I have to see a banker this afternoon. And then I want you to join us for dinner.'

  Olivia closed her eyes. Such cruelty did not seem possible. `But—'

  `In your role as my wife,' he explained suavely. 'Not my financial security.'

  Olivia walked past him and into the kitchen. The cook had gone home as Saturday was her half day. Everything was neatly polished and put away. Luis followed her. Without looking at him she collected coffee pot, beans, grinder and the percolator.

  When she could command her voice she said, 'Did I really deserve that?'

  `I think so.'

  `Then,' with a flash of independence, 'I hope you'll count yourself sufficiently revenged without making me sit through a business dinner this evening.'

  But he was implacable. He tempered it to some extent by agreeing to invite his mother and Victor as well. Olivia, a little hysterically, refused downright to cook and was greeted by a stare of blank astonishment. Luis had not expected her to cook for his guest; they would of course go out to a restaurant. Olivia was left with the impression that her cooking was good enough to rustle up an unimportant snack for the two of them when they were alone, but not to be exposed to the adult world. Perversely hurt, she announced her intention of spending the afternoon at the hairdressers and flounced out of the apartment.

  Before coming to Mexico she would never have dreamed

  of passing as much time in beauty salons as she now did. It was perfectly normal among the set in which her cousins moved to spend an entire afternoon getting ready for a party. Not just one's hair, one's face, one's hands, even one's feet had to be tended. Olivia, who had washed her own hair and applied her own make-up, had felt very provincial. However, accepting that she had to adopt the habits of the country, she had allowed herself to be persuaded and was in general well pleased with the results. What Luis thought of his newly sophisticated wife he did not say.

  As a result of the salon's attentions by the time Pepe arrived with the car to take her to the restaurant where Luis and his guest would wait, she presented an altogether more composed appearance. Her hair, washed and burnished to flame, had been put up and she wore long gold earrings that had belonged to her mother. Her dress, bought on Elena's advice, was gold too, high-necked, full-skirted brocade with sorcerer's sleeves.

  The whole image was striking. Her entrance at the restaurant caused a certain hum of admiration, though Olivia, feeling as if the sorry tale of last night's quarrel was branded on her brow, was sure the other diners were speculating about her and Diego.

  Too proud to show her discomfort, however, she joined the Escobar table and was perfectly charming to her companions. Luis was cordial, her mother-in-law unsuspicious and the visiting banker enchanted. Only Victor, looking in a troubled fashion from his brother to Olivia, seemed to sense that all was not well.

  The only point at which her control slipped was when Luis asked her to dance. For a moment he thought she would refuse, her eyes flaring in panic, then she controlled herself and stood up. Señora Escobar was already dancing with an old friend, which left Victor and the stranger talking.

  `What I don't understand,' said the banker, who was a middle-aged American of hitherto impenetrable joviality, `is why a beautiful woman like that is so unhappy. You'd think she could have anything she wanted.'

  Victor sighed. 'Which one of us can have that? Olivia's

  had money all her life, but I don't think she's had very much of what she wanted from it.'

  `Money?' The other's eyebrows lifted. Now that's very interesting,' he drawled. 'Luis never told me his wife was a wealthy woman.'

  Which amazed Victor into silence. The rest of the evening he studied his brother covertly. Could it be that clever, level-headed Luis had actually found that his practical reasons for marriage were not enough? And did he now—when it was very probably too late—want his wife's affection in preference to her fortune?

  Whatever doubts Victor had, Olivia had none. She knew that Luis was regretting his bargain as much as she was herself. It was borne in on her during the course of the evening that she had no choice but to leave him. Otherwise she would end up, as she so nearly had when he held her close on the dance-floor, weeping and begging to be loved. And that would embarrass him and humiliate her. She would begin packing tomorrow.

  But tomorrow Luis himself had gone. Before she was awake he had been called back to the south. A whole system of tunnels which he had set up to drain water away from the building site had collapsed and three men were injured. He was needed at once. He did not know, said his polite (and uns
ealed) note, when he would return. It depended on how bad conditions turned out to be. She had better not include him in any of her social arrangements for the coming week.

  Olivia dutifully cancelled his appointments. She busied herself by organising her packing. It seemed ungenerous to leave Luis while he was away from the city. The least she could do was tell him to his face what she had decided. Olivia was carefully disguising from herself her hope that he would dissuade her. She wrote a letter to Barbarita wishing her goodbye and explaining, as best she could, why she had to go home. It was not a letter that satisfied her, but she felt that some explanation was owed to the old lady who was so fond of Luis.

  She did not feel equal to making a similar announcement

  to either his family or hers, however. Diego had evaporated speedily from her circle and did not make his habitual daily telephone call while Luis was away. So that at least was one person with whom she was spared having to dissemble. She avoided Uncle Octavio, though she could not escape having lunch with Aunt Isabel, who was fully occupied with accounts of a ball she was helping to organise and did not notice that her niece was distraite. Olivia did not visit the Escobars at all

  This in itself was not unusual as their encounters, though cordial, were far from regular. She was therefore surprised to come in from an expedition to the Anthropology Museum, whither she frequently fled, for peace, to discover the apartment littered with messages from Victor. He had been calling at ten-minute intervals as far as she could see. She was reluctant to call back. Victor was too keen an intelligence to be hoodwinked as easily as Aunt Isabel. He would see that something was wrong very quickly.

  While she was in the middle of debate with herself the telephone rang again. Bowing to the inevitable, she answered it.

  `Olivia? Thank God at last!' Victor sounded quite unlike his normal unruffled self. 'There's been an accident.'

  `Your mother ! What's happened?' demanded Olivia, all thoughts of her own problems banished. 'I'll come over at once.'

  `No, it's not Mama, it's Luis. The company—When they couldn't get you they rang us. He's hurt.'

  Olivia sat down abruptly.

  `Olivia? Are you there? Olivia, Olivia, answer me!'

  `Yes, I'm here,' she said. 'Yes, carry on, Victor. I'm sorry, I was being stupid. Shock, I suppose. Luis—how badly is he hurt?'

  There was a pause. Then Victor said carefully, 'We don't exactly know.'

  `Don't treat me like a child,' cried Olivia. 'How bad is he? I'm his wife—I have a right to know. What happened?'

  `There was an explosion,' said Victor reluctantly. 'As far as we can gather Luis had decided to blow a hole in some

  damming up of mud that was spoiling his drainage system. The explosion didn't go off when it was supposed to so, after some minutes he went to check it.'

  `Oh, my God,' said Olivia, cradling the telephone against her breast and rocking backwards and forwards with it.

  `It's not as bad as it might have been,' Victor assured her. `It went up, but he was protected by sandbags which collapsed on him. He's bruised, of course, but there are no bones broken. It's only "

  `Well?' demanded Olivia.

  `His eyes.' At the other end of the line Victor seemed to be having a battle with himself. 'They don't know if it was the dazzle or whether he took some shrapnel in them or what. But he can't see.'

  `How can I get there?' asked Olivia urgently. 'I want to go to him How?'

  `But it's in the middle of the jungle,' protested Victor. `I don't care. How?'

  `Well, the office has offered to fly me in there,' her brother-in-law offered. `We could go together, I suppose.' 'You suppose!' snorted Olivia. 'You're not going without me, Victor Escobar. I'm coming over at once.'

  `With a case,' he told her. 'Toothpaste and something to sleep in. The company car will be here in an hour. Do you think you can make it?'

  `I'll be there,' said Olivia. And she was.

  It was not a helicopter this time but a twin-engined Fokker. She and Victor were the only passengers. To her anxious demand as to why he had not brought a doctor, Victor replied soothingly that the best possible was already being done for Luis on the site. There was an American doctor permanently at base. Olivia bit her lip and tried to console herself with that information.

  By the time they arrived she was exhausted, nerves stretched unbearably. A jeep met them. The task of transferring Victor's chair from the plane to the jeep was complicated and it was obvious that the driver was not prepared for it. In the end Victor, claiming to possess no more endurance, decided to stay in the little township.

  `But take Señora Escobar out to the site,' he instructed the driver. 'She is very anxious to see her husband.'

  `Si, señor!'

  The man gave Olivia a curious look but was apparently too professional to question her. He gave orders for Victor to be wheeled to a hotel which, he assured his impatient passenger, was clean and as comfortable as could be expected in such a godforsaken hole. He then swung himself up into the jeep and they set off at a great rate, bumping over huge ruts as if they were on a bucking bronco. Various packages that had been collected from the plane, including a sack of mail, lurched from side to side, occasionally striking Olivia between the shoulder blades. She hardly noticed.

  The ride to the camp must have taken about an hour, although in distance it was not very far from the little airfield. By the time they arrived it was pitch black and the night was filled with jungle noises—whirring cicadas and the sudden shriek of parrots. Her guide indicated a pre-fabricated hut.

  `If you will wait there, señora, I will find out about Luis.'

  Olivia did as she was told, picking her way across mud criss-crossed with treacherous roots and invisible fungus. It was densely hot. The but was lit by a single kerosene lamp and a primitive fan was chugging away on top of a desk. The desk itself might have come from any city office: it was piled high with papers and on top of everything was a large, much creased sheet of architect's paper bearing, she supposed, Luis's drainage scheme. She bent over it, interested.

  The door opened.

  `Olivia!'

  She whirled, gasping. 'Luis ! You're all right

  `Yes, of course I am.' He had gone a little pale. It was evident he had not expected to see her. Probably he had thought she would not even care whether he was hurt or not. His next words confirmed it. 'What are you doing here?'

  `They told me about the accident,' she managed.

  If anything he looked more puzzled. 'Oh yes? Did you go into the office?'

  No. Victor brought me,' she explained. 'Victor was the one who told me.'

  `Really? How extraordinary. . . he began, and then did a double take. 'Victor brought you! Do you mean he's here?'

  `No, he stayed back at the airfield. They said there was some sort of hotel there.'

  `Hotel,' snorted Luis. Fleabitten dosshouse. He can't stay there. What on earth were you doing to let him do a journey like this? Didn't you know what the conditions down here were like? Haven't I told you often enough? Or were you just too stupid to think about anything but what you want for yourself?

  Olivia blinked. It was true, and she was now prepared to admit it, that in her anxiety over Luis's supposed injuries she had ignored the discomfort the effort must inevitably have cost Victor. She had been inconsiderate, she acknowledged, but she thought Luis was less than understanding. So she was torn between shame and indignation and said nothing.

  For a moment he stood looking at her in a baffled fashion. He had run his hands through his hair and it was now tousled, falling over his eyes in a manner which made him look much younger than the awe-inspiringly grown-up Luis she was used to. His face was dirty and drawn with tiredness and she suspected that he had not shaved for some days. His hands were filthy with earth and tar. She observed that he was wearing bandages on two fingers and a wrist which were as dirty as the rest of him.

  `Oh, I shall never understand you,' he exclaimed. 'Sometimes you are s
o self-effacing you're hardly there at all and then, like now, you go berserk ! What was it that you wanted, Olivia? Couldn't it have waited till I came back? Did you really have to pursue our disagreements down into the jungle and drag my brother along with you to do it?'

  She flinched. 'That's not fair !'

  `According to you half the world's not fair,' said Luis, sighing. 'Why can't you grow up and stop expecting it to be fair? You've been protected for so long I don't think you have any idea how to survive without making use of other

  people. First it was your aunt, then it was me. Now it's Victor !'

  Olivia backed away from him. She was shaking. 'You're despicable,' she told him in a low voice. 'I've met some people I disliked in my time, but no one has come anywhere near matching you. You're cruel and calculating—and you're complacent about it as well. You think you're invincible, don't you? Always capable, always right! And you don't ever make a mistake like the rest of us, do you? Oh no, you're infallible. I,' she finished, clenching her hands with the effort of controlling her voice, 'hate you!'

  Luis did not answer for a moment. His eyes went blank as if he had received a blow.

  Then he said wryly, 'Maybe you do, but I would have thought that was just the sort of thing that could have waited to be said until I got back.'

  'Oh!' fumed Olivia. She could have danced with rage. 'Oh, how dare you?'

  It was a futile thing to say, as she realised the moment she said it, and that added the crowning touch to her humiliation. She sank down on to his battered chair and wept.

  'Don't cry.' He passed a hand over his eyes and he sounded exhausted. 'Please don't cry. I can't—Look, if you want a divorce we can talk about it. Barbarita wrote to me. I know that's what you want. Only please not now.'

  The urgency of the last plea penetrated her preoccupation.

  'Aren't you well?' she sprang up. 'They told me you were hurt. You are hurt. What can I do? Is there a doctor?'