“Oh?”
“Yes. Rick told me all about it and he’s not involved with her romantically. It’s business,” I said, feeling only a faint twinge at the lie.
Charles regarded me oddly. “So Rick keeps you well-informed about everything?”
“Yes!” I said confidently.
I saw the anger again on Charles’s face as he called for the bill. As he pulled out his wallet, I quickly found mine and laid my share of the bill and tip on the table. As he looked up, startled, I said, “Thank you for a most interesting lunch, senor.
And I left. Hurrying up the steps, I felt unreasonably upset. What difference did it make what this stupid stranger thought?
I quickly finished touring the first floor of the museum and went up to the second. Senor Whitford would not prevent me from enjoying the afternoon, I was determined. The exhibits were more modern here and fairly interesting, but I found myself growing bored. After an hour or so, I gave up and decided to have a cup of coffee and then try again.
I don’t know why, but it came as no surprise when I saw Charles still sitting at the table where I had left him. There was something so forlorn in his expression that I couldn’t help going over and asking, “What’s wrong?”
He looked up, without surprise, and raised an eyebrow. “What? Through already? No, please sit down. I’ll try to curb my tongue. Coffee?”
I nodded and let him order it for me. Why I didn’t just walk away, I couldn’t say. But I sat there. Waiting for Charles to say something. At length he did. “Did you enjoy the rest of the museum?”
“Not as well without a guide,” I said honestly. “Or maybe it’s just that antiquities are inherently more interesting.”
“Maybe. How is your coffee?” he asked.
“Quite good.”
He nodded. Silently, he seemed to come to some sort of decision. But his next words reflected none of that. “Are you enjoying your visit to Mexico City?”
I smiled. “Yes. Are you?”
He shrugged. “I’m here on business. Not the first time, either.” There was a brief pause. “No, I’m not enjoying it at all.”
I wanted to ask why, but something told me it was a question he wouldn’t answer. So I sat quietly, wondering what he would tell me. Idly, he asked, “Why did you come down here, Ellen? Because of Rick?”
Reluctantly, I nodded. “He wanted me to come and I’ve never been here before. So why not?”
“Why not?” he echoed. Then he abruptly asked, “Shall we go? Back to the hotel?”
“I well, I was going to take a bus. Do you know the schedule?”
He smile humorlessly. “Well, I intend to take a taxi, in any case. So you may as well come with me and be comfortable.”
I hesitated only briefly. Charles’s quiet courtesy touched me, for there was no mockery in his tone as he spoke. I almost liked the man.
Charles was quiet in the taxi. And quiet when we reached the hotel. But he smiled briefly when I thanked him for being my guide at the museum. Then he strode ahead of me into the hotel.
I followed, only to be startled by Rick’s voice. “Ellen! Where have you been?”
Glancing up quickly, I saw Charles’s angry face in the floor-to-ceiling mirror by the elevators. Then I was turning to Rick. “Darling! What a surprise! I was at the anthropological museum. But what are you doing here? I thought you were going to be busy all day.”
I didn’t care that I sounded like a stupid schoolgirl. I did my best to look as if I breathlessly awaited Rick’s reply. Senor Whitford stepped into the elevator as Rick answered, “Oh, I got through earlier than expected and I thought we might have dinner together.”
“Sounds great!” I said.
We ate at the coffee shop of the Hotel Regis. It was an unassuming place, but the food was good. We were chatting quietly when Rick said, with an odd urgency, “Ellen, was that Mr. Whitford I saw you with at the hotel? I mean, do you know him?”
“Barely,” I said, puzzled, “and I don’t want to know him better.”
“I wish you would, Ellen.”
“What?”
“Sssh. Ellen, I think he’s from the main office. And I think he’s here to find out what the trouble is with the new division.”
“So?” I said. “You aren’t responsible, are you?”
“But he might think I was if he listened to some of the people I work with.”
Slowly, I said, “So you want me to make up to him and find out what he’s thinking?”
Rick sighed. “Look, I understand he’s a charming fellow. It shouldn’t be a hardship for you to spend an afternoon or go out with him if he asked you.”
Beginning to be angry, I said, “No, Rick. I don’t like the idea. Besides, what good could I do? I already know he doesn’t like you. Or me. And I’m the last person who could influence him.”
“Ellen! Look, if you-” Suddenly, he broke off with a laugh. “No, that approach wouldn’t work, would it? If I said: `If you loved me, you’d do as I ask,’ you’d say: `If you loved me, you wouldn’t ask.’ Okay, Ellen, I understand how you feel. And I think the problem is that you misunderstand what I’m asking you to do. I’m not asking you to pretend you’re interested in Mr. Whitford. Or to dig for information. I’m only saying it’s inevitable a man like Mr. Whitford would ask out a woman as lovely as yourself. And he might happen to mention his work, or what he thinks of me. You didn’t mind being with him this afternoon, so why should you object to doing it again? Please, Ellen. I wouldn’t ask you if it weren’t so important! And if you end up feeling you would be betraying a confidence to tell me what he said, you can always decide not to tell me.”
For a long time, I stared at Rick, trying to sort out my thoughts. Eventually, I suspended judgment and agreed to what he asked. As he said, if at any point I decided I couldn’t go through with it, I could back out. Besides, it cost little to say yes to Rick when I knew it was unlikely Charles would ask me out.
Soon we were laughing again, but there was a change in the mood and I wasn’t sorry when Rick left me at the hotel. Absentmindedly, I played with the balloon Rick had bought me the night before. Some decisions were going to be necessary, and soon!
Christmas day. Okay, so in recent years I’d found Christmas at home a difficult time. Still, when I woke up alone in Mexico City, I felt very homesick. The bright sun, when I should have seen snow, didn’t help. Oh, I’d missed Christmas day at home before, but I suppose it bothered me doubly now because of my own doubts.
Abruptly, I determined to throw off my mood. Rick would surely come early and I still had to wrap his present. I’d brought the paper and ribbon with me separately, because I hadn’t known if I might have trouble going through customs with a wrapped package. The present pleased me very much. It was an original woodblock print I had found at a recent art sale. Rick had always admired my prints, so I knew he would be pleased with this. I had had it properly framed just before I left Chicago.
I was barely finished wrapping it when the desk clerk called to inform me Rick would be meeting me in the breakfast room in ten minutes. It was more like twenty minutes when I stepped off the elevator onto the fifteenth floor. Rick was already seated at a window table. He rose to give me a brief peck on the cheek. “Hello, beautiful.”
I laughed, my good mood assured. Reaching across the table, I set his present on his place. “Merry Christmas, Rick.”
Rick smiled as he sat down again. “Merry Christmas. I’ll open it as soon as we’ve had breakfast. I ordered for you. I hope you don’t mind.”
Well, I did mind, but I said nothing. Rick felt he knew me so well that he could always guess my preferences correctly. And, if I were honest, I had to admit he usually did. Still, I liked to make my own choices. As I waited for Rick to open his present, breakfast seemed to stretch out interminably. Finally, he did. “Ellen! How wonderful! I love it!” he said, and I smiled happily. “Where did you find it?”
“Oh, at the little art gallery I’ve told yo
u about before. As soon as I saw it, I decided to get it for you, Rick. I’m so glad you like it.”
“I do! So much so that I’m afraid to keep it here.”
“What?”
“I’m afraid it would get misplaced or damaged or stolen. Ellen, could you take it back with you and keep it at your place until I get back to the States?”
“Sure, Rick.”
His suggestion was very reasonable, wasn’t it? If he really liked the print, he wouldn’t want to take a chance on anything happening to it, would he? As we stood to leave, and Rick handed me the package, I saw Charles staring at me across the room. He was smiling grimly.
When I look back at my relationship with Rick, I am amazed I could ever have been so naive. But you have to understand, I was never homecoming queen, never top sorority pledge, never overbooked for a dance. I was too intimidating to most guys, I guess, to be all that popular. Oh, I had dates, and they were almost always really nice guys. But I never dated the class president, never the football star. Not that I minded. I enjoyed myself in school. But I missed the sort of status that would have given me complete self-assurance and the ability to distinguish between honest compliments and flattery.
So I wasn’t ready for Rick. He was Prince Charming incarnate, come to sweep me off my feet. Even my mother liked him (probably the only thing that made me stop and wonder). To him, he declared, I was Cinderella at the ball: beautiful and desirable. If others couldn’t see it, they were blind.
Rick was careful, always, to show interest in the things I cared about. And he encouraged me in my work. He made me feel cherished but not overprotected. I felt very fortunate. I enjoyed being Cinderella. Too bad midnight had to come. Only it was Rick, not I, whose raiment turned to tatters.
But there was no hint of disaster as Rick and I wandered through the park that Christmas day. We bought tortillas with beans and cheese from a vendor and tangerines from a child. There was ice cream and soda and children and laughter. Wise men had begun to replace Santas for photographs and Rick insisted we have our pictures taken. I have that photograph still, and sometimes I look at it.
We bought a balloon and gave it away to a child who had stared wistfully at us. And, finally, we spent a long time on a bench talking about ourselves and our future. Like any other happy young couple, we laughed and smiled at everyone. And I was happy.
For dinner, we went back to the hotel. There was no sign of Senor Whitford that evening to spoil our mood, and I went to sleep with daydreams of endless tomorrows.
Monday began strangely. Rick called to tell me he couldn’t see me that day or evening, and to enjoy myself. Then, at breakfast, Senor Whitford came over to my table as I was being seated. “Do you mind if I join you?” he asked.
“Yes!” I retorted, annoyed at his air of self-assurance. Something crossed his face as he turned away, and I said quickly, “Charles, I’m sorry! Please join me. You’re quite right about my manners.”
“Thank you,” he said, sitting down. “It’s rather crowded this morning.”
I nodded. It seemed that something still troubled him, that he sat stiffly, and I said, “I really am sorry, Charles. I don’t know why I say the things I do. To you, I mean. I’m not usually like that.”
He shrugged. “It hardly matters, does it?”
For a few minutes, we were silent, except to order our food. Then Charles said casually, “So, are you going to see your boyfriend today?”
“No,” I said stiffly, conscious of Whitford’s position, “Rick works today. It is a weekday, you know.” Charles raised an eyebrow, skeptically, it seemed, and I went on. “In fact, he expects to work quite late. Today and maybe tomorrow, as well.”
“Oh? In that case, perhaps you would have dinner with me?”
I turned a deep red. “I wasn’t hinting for an invitation,” I said coldly.
Charles’s voice was quiet and perhaps amused. “I know. But will you?”
“Why?” I blurted out, with my usual tact. “I mean, why do you want me to? I’ve done nothing but insult you!”
He sighed. “Yes, but that makes it interesting. And you are attractive. Now, will you have dinner with me or not?”
Mindful of Rick, upset with myself, I said, “Yes.”
“Good. Shall we say seven o’clock?”
“Sure.” I even managed a smile.
We chatted in general terms about Mexico City while we ate. But it was the strangest thing: as we were about to leave the restaurant, Charles said, very softly, “If you have anything unusual in your suitcase, I suggest you dispose of it at once.”
I stared at Charles, but he looked away and said nothing more. In fact, from his attitude, one would have guessed we were absolute strangers. As for me, I was lost in confusion. What on earth could he have meant? I shrugged it off as nonsense and wondered if Charles had a drinking problem or if he were just slightly unbalanced. At any rate, I was determined to enjoy the day. Preferably outdoors, since it promised to be another warm, sunny day. So I headed for Chapultepec Park again. The anthropological museum had been located there.
It’s almost impossible to describe Chapultepec Park to someone who has never been there. To say there are several museums, rowing lakes, a zoo, many food stands, a castle, and gardens might give the impression of crowding. But the grounds have been laid out in such a way that one has a sense of space and leisure. There seems no reason to hurry from one attraction to another, for one has the feeling they will always be there.
I wandered through the zoo first and then the botanical garden. That left me only the afternoon for Chapultepec Castle. It was the first castle I had ever seen, and I was duly impressed. Carlotta and Maximilian had used it, and some of their furniture still remains. But there were also rooms that gave a taste of other periods of Mexican history. I could easily have spent days wandering through the rooms. But somehow promptly at six o’clock, I was back at the hotel.
I dressed with care, though why, I wasn’t quite sure. Senor Whitford knocked on my door precisely at seven. He seemed in an oddly grim mood and, as his eyes rested on the earrings I wore (the ones Rick had given me), his mien grew darker. Dismay must have shown on my face, for he made an effort and said charmingly, “You look very nice this evening.”
“Thank you,” I said warily.
“I thought we might have dinner here, in the hotel.” He seemed uneasy.
“Fine.”
“Good. Shall we go up?”
I nodded and we left. It was odd, walking with Charles. We said the usual commonplace things, but we seemed more like strangers who are forced to spend an hour or two together than a man and woman on a date. The elevator girl regarded us with frank surprise, and the waiter seemed to have a hint of contempt in his smile. But perhaps I was merely oversensitive.
After we ordered, Charles folded the menus as my glance rested on his left hand. “I’m single!” His voice cut across my thoughts curtly. “Don’t tell me it just occurred to you to wonder?”
I stared at Charles, appalled by the sarcasm in his voice. “No, I didn’t think to look before,” I said quietly, “but then, since I hardly consider you as a potential boyfriend, that’s not surprising, is it?”
Charles said, just as softly, “Oh! Then why accept my dinner invitation?”
“Why not?” I countered. “You’re an American. I’m an American. You’re reasonably interesting, so why not? I would if you were a woman. Should your sex make such a difference? I hardly thought you were under the impression that I was madly in love with you.”
His eyes met mine and I tilted up my chin. After a moment, he sighed. “Of course not. I’m well aware of why you accepted. In fact, I’m waiting for you to ask about my work.”
I felt myself go white, then red. Stammering, I said, “Charles, I-maybe we’d better forget it. Dinner, I mean. Your guess is close enough, and I’m sorry. It’s not fair. To you or me.”
He sighed again. “Ellen, I knew it when I asked you. And I still asked you
. As a matter of fact, I’d like to talk with you later about Rick.”
So I stayed. It was the strangest meal I’ve ever eaten. Charles tried to be pleasant and, had circumstances been different, the evening might have been a happy one. Finally, over coffee, Charles leaned back and said, “Now, I’ll tell you about Rick. I suggest you hear me out and then register any protest or ask any questions that you have.”
I nodded and he went on. “As Rick perhaps told you, I was called down to investigate problems at our company’s new computer division here in Mexico City. What I am sure he did not tell you is that I was also sent down because the Mexican police had instituted inquiries about one of our employees. Inquiries involving smuggling. The employee was your boyfriend, Rick. This morning, I was informed the investigation had reached a climax. If all went as expected, Rick was arrested an hour ago. And you can expect to be questioned this evening. I suspect your luggage has already been searched.”
Stunned, I blurted out, “Me! Why?”
“Because you were present Friday at the latest transfer of goods.”
I just stared at him. My voice, when I spoke, was hollow. “What what are you talking about?”
Charles’s voice was weary. “At Teotihuacan. I presume you will agree you were there? Friday?”
“Yes.”
“The transfer took place then.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I asked softly.
“Because I’m gambling you weren’t really involved. And because the Mexican police can be… difficult.”
“I see.”
But I didn’t. I couldn’t believe Rick was involved. Surely, there was a mistake. And yet. And yet, images of Friday kept filling my head. Rick disappearing. My waiting for him. The boy assuring me Rick would be back soon. “How do you know all this?” I demanded, turning on Charles.
He merely looked at me steadily. I started to ask more, but a message was then handed to Charles by the waiter. He glanced at it briefly and asked the waiter for the check. Then he turned to me. “Now, we go to the manager’s office and talk with the police.”
My Love Betrayed Page 3