Charles rocked me slightly back and forth, and eventually the tears stopped. My head righted itself and Charles eased me back into the chair.
“I’m sorry,” he said gently. “And I know you feel as if you couldn’t eat, but I think you ought to try. I’m going to order room service, okay?”
I nodded, unable to talk yet. Charles seemed to understand. After he had made the call, he disappeared into the bathroom, returning with a wet towel. “Try this against your face,” he suggested quietly.
It helped. So did the food when it came. Charles exerted himself to talk about other matters. Matters that had nothing to do with Mexico music, Europe, what it was like to grow up in a large family. Once, he even made me smile.
Nor did he linger after dinner. As soon as the waiter had removed everything, Charles said good night and left. Almost against my will, I fell asleep quickly that night.
Dawn. And I was awake. The curtains of my room were pulled back. Smog, or perhaps fog, rising over the city, obscured everything, including my own thoughts. When I was a child, I had always loved the fog closing in over my parents’ house. The thicker, the better. Hiding houses half a block away. Making the world a strange, exciting place, where anything might happen. But now… now it only depressed me, and automatically I turned away from the window to brush my hair. Then I sat down to try to write the promised letter to my parents.
It wasn’t the best time, of course, to try writing home. Certainly not if I wanted to hide what was happening from my parents. But I have never been sensible about such things, so I tried. And tore up four successive sheets of hotel stationery. Finally, I gave up and filled out a postcard, saying Mexico City was beautiful; Rick and I had broken up; I couldn’t wait to see them again; I’d probably be back in Chicago in another week or so.
That wasn’t very satisfactory, of course, but it would have to do. The last thing I wanted was to upset my parents and have them to deal with, too. My mother seemed unaware that I was a grown woman and would be quite capable of flying down to “stand by” me.
I glanced at the time. My efforts had taken longer than I had expected, and the breakfast room was open. Gratefully, I took the elevator to the top floor. There were only strangers there and I felt an odd mixture of relief and disappointment.
Afterwards, I took a short walk in the park. Perhaps it was foolish, but I was too nervous to wait in my room until it was time to go to work. And the police had said they had a man watching the hotel to protect me.
When I headed for the hotel some time later, I saw Charles standing just outside, looking up and down the street, frowning, as though searching for someone. Me, of course. I hurried the short distance across the street to the sidewalk where he waited. As he saw me, the frown faded, wavered, then returned. I reached his side just as Mr. Iveson pulled up in front of us. We quickly climbed into the car as a taxi pulled up behind us and impatiently honked for us to get out of the way.
As we pulled away from the curb, Mr. Iveson asked cheerfully, “How are both of you, this morning?”
By unspoken agreement, neither Charles nor I mentioned the attack. Charles managed an equally cheerful, “Fine.”
“Good, good. My wife, Edna, asked me to invite both of you to dinner this evening if you’re not busy.”
I looked at Charles, frowning. The last thing I felt like was a dinner party with who knew how many strangers. But Charles ignored me, saying, “We’d be delighted, Greg.”
“Good. I’ll drop you off at your hotel after work and pick you up again about eight. We dine late here, Miss Steffee.”
Smoothly, the two men slipped into a brief discussion of business before we reached the company building. Mr. Iveson dropped us off in front, then went to park his car. Feeling unreasonably annoyed, I turned on Charles. “You might have at least asked how I felt about dinner!”
He raised his eyebrows. “You mean you’d rather eat alone and brood about what’s happening?”
“No, of course not! I-”
He grinned. “Oh, I get it. You wanted a quiet, romantic, candlelit dinner with me and you’re angry that Greg spoiled your plans? Well, in that case-”
I couldn’t help laughing. “You’re impossible!” I protested.
He smiled back and agreed, “Quite impossible.” Suddenly, I felt the need to escape and I hurried up the steps, calling over my shoulder, “See you later, Charles!”
Normally, I find it easy to separate my work and personal matters, but not that morning. It wasn’t until Carlos snapped at me that I realized how preoccupied I was. “I hope they are pleasant daydreams!” he said sarcastically.
I started. “Sorry, Carlos. No, they aren’t very pleasant.”
Instantly, he was sympathetic. “Is something very wrong?”
I hesitated, then decided to tell him. “Yesterday, walking back to my hotel, I was attacked.”
“Attacked!” he exclaimed. “But you must be more careful. You are pretty and”
I shook my head. “That’s not it, Carlos. At least, I don’t think so. I-I think it may have had something to do with Rick.”
“Senor Kemmler?” Carlos was clearly skeptical.
“Maybe not. I don’t know. It seems like a crazy idea, but, Carlos, they knew my name! They called me `Senorita Steffee.”’
He frowned. “Perhaps they heard someone speak to you? Senor Whitford?”
“No, he would have called me Ellen,” I protested, then flushed as I realized how it sounded. Hastily I said, “Look, you’re probably right and I should just be more careful. I certainly intend to be. Meanwhile, let’s get back to work. I think I know how we could shorten this program.”
My idea worked and by quitting time we had several satisfactory runs from the computer. Charles was waiting for me just outside the office door. I tried to ignore Carlos’s thoughtful expression as he watched us leave.
Several hours later, we stood on the patio of a beautiful Mexican home. Edna Iveson had just handed us martinis. I don’t like martinis, but it had seemed impossible to refuse one after Edna (“Mrs. Iveson sounds much too formal, my dear.”) had explained, “A touch of home!”
But “home” was hardly the word for it. For one thing, Edna hardly fitted the stereotype of an executive’s wife exiled in Mexico. As her husband had told me, she was very interested in archaeology and had visited several nearby digs. At the same time, she was elegant and graceful. Somehow, the two sides merged perfectly to create a woman you wanted to know better.
At some point, we moved in to dinner. For a while, the talk centered around Charles and Mr. Iveson. Then, over dessert, Edna asked me, “Is it true that you’re a computer programmer, Ellen?” When I nodded, she said, emphatically, “Good! The company needs more women.”
“We meet the government quotas,” Charles said mildly.
“Yes,” Edna retorted, “by rewriting job descriptions. Not by hiring or promoting them. I know all about that!”
Charles frowned. “Officially, I deny that. Unofficially, well, a few of us are trying to do something about it.”
“Oh, so that’s why you recommended Miss Steffee for Rick Kemmler’s position?” Mr. Iveson quizzed.
“I recommended her,” Charles shot back, “because she’s qualified and here.”
Mr. Iveson nodded. “Nevertheless, I’m afraid she can’t have the job. I’ve already okayed it with Chicago. Carlos Zapora is taking over.”
Charles looked startled, but I had no time to think about his reaction. I was saying, “Carlos? That’s wonderful!”
“Yes, well, I’m glad you don’t mind,” Mr. Iveson said dryly. “But it won’t be official for a few days yet, so I would appreciate it if you would say nothing to Carlos. And, of course, we’d like you to remain until it does become official. I understand you’re doing a very good job.”
I ignored the compliment to say, “But I didn’t realize you had the auth-”
Too late, I realized how I sounded. They all laughed as I turned a deep red. T
hen, gently, Charles explained, “Greg happens to be one of the top five men at our Mexico City branch.”
I turned even redder. Edna leaned toward me with a chuckle. “Don’t worry, dear. Greg understands. Actually, I think he’s flattered. He’s always saying he doesn’t want to look important.”
After we had all recovered from that gaffe, Mr. Iveson surprised me again. “By the way, Ellen, I hope you weren’t hurt last night,” he said.
“Last night?” I echoed foolishly.
“Yes. I heard about the incident from the police. They wanted permission to place some men near the building.”
“I-I’m fine,” I managed to stammer.
“Good.” He hesitated. “The police seem to think it might be tried again.”
“What?” Charles and I demanded in unison.
Mr. Iveson shrugged. It wasn’t his neck. “I suspect the police have some theory they prefer not to tell us.”
“This is absurd!” Charles said angrily. “Perhaps, Ellen, you ought to go back to the States immediately.”
“She can’t.” Mr. Iveson’s voice was calm. “The police asked that I make sure Miss Steffee understands that she can’t leave yet. I’m sorry, but the police still believe she’s involved.”
“But–” Charles protested.
“May I ask,” Edna said, “what all this is about?”
For a moment there was silence. Then Charles began to explain what had happened. Certain things he glossed over, for which I was grateful. It’s never pleasant to have one’s stupidity paraded for others to see. When he had finished, there was silence again.
Finally, Edna said thoughtfully, “You know, Greg, perhaps Ellen should come and stay with us. We have plenty of room and surely she’d be far safer here than in that hotel.”
As Mr. Iveson hesitated, I said hastily, “Oh, no! It would be a nuisance for you, and I’m sure I’ll be safe at the Hotel Bamer.”
It was as if Mr. Iveson hadn’t heard me. “Yes, Edna, I think you may be right. Ellen probably would be safer here, and you would enjoy the company, wouldn’t you, Edna?” She nodded and he turned to me. “Yes, Miss Steffee, I think that might be the wisest course. Unless you find us too disagreeable?”
I glanced at Charles, but he carefully looked away and I wondered if he was pleased at the idea of having me off his hands. Feeling helplessly outflanked, I nodded. “That would be very kind of you, Mr. Iveson, Mrs. Iveson.”
“Edna and Greg, please, if you’re to be staying with us.” He smiled.
I forced a smile in return. No doubt I would get used to it. Mr. Iveson. Greg. Greg stood up. “Well, if you’ll excuse me then, I’ll call Ramirez and make sure it’s all right with them. No, no, stay here, all of you. It won’t take a minute.”
At first, the conversation was awkward, but Edna soon channeled it into comfortable topics. She was, I realized, an experienced hostess. At some point, I found myself asking, “How long have you lived in Mexico City?”
“About five years,” she said, with a slight sigh. “I do love Mexico, you understand, but I also miss Chicago. The only thing I don’t miss is the snow!”
I laughed. “I can see what you mean! I’m enjoying the break from snow myself.”
Charles was quiet while we talked, and I looked up once or twice to find him watching me oddly. I tried to ignore it. Already I was feeling a little safer. The idea of staying in such a beautiful house was appealing, especially since it would only be for a week or so. Impossible to feel embarrassed or unwanted with Edna and Mr. Iveson being so friendly.
Greg returned about then, saying, as he sat down, “The police have absolutely no objections, Ellen.”
“Good!” Edna said firmly.
“I agree,” Charles said, sounding irritated. “At least she can’t do anything foolish here.”
“Foolish?” I asked quietly.
“Yes, foolish. It’s too far for you to walk back from the office.”
“I needed to think!” I snapped back.
“Hey, truce!” Greg broke in. “We intend to take very good care of Ellen, so there’s no more to be said on the subject, okay?”
Charles and I glared at each other, while Greg and Edna looked on, clearly amused.
Some time later, Greg drove us back to the hotel. He said he’d wait downstairs while I got my things. As I went upstairs with Charles, I asked softly, wanting to break through the wall he had seemed to erect between us, “What is it, Charles? Are you relieved? You won’t have to worry about me anymore.”
But he just stared at me as if I were some stranger he’d never seen before, and I thought, All right, if that’s the way you want it. I’m just as relieved to be rid of you!
Actually, the person who was really relieved was the manager of the Hotel Bamer. He came down as I was checking out and was overly helpful and polite. He escorted us, Mr. Iveson and me, to the front door and, for the first time, I saw him smile.
Outside, Greg laughed. “They seem very eager to be rid of you.”
“Well,” I said reasonably, “can you imagine trying to run an expensive hotel with a guest like me? It’s a miracle I didn’t scare away half the guests!”
He laughed again and held the car door open for me as I got in. My two bags were stowed in the trunk, and we were on our way. Mr. Iveson chatted easily about Mexico City, and I just listened. It was a very comfortable ride.
Edna was waiting when we got back to the house, and she immediately took charge of me. After showing me to my room and explaining where everything was, she sat down on the bed and stared at me oddly. After a moment, she seemed to reach some sort of decision. She took a deep breath and said, “Ellen, I want to warn you about Charles Whitford. Oh, I know, it’s probably not necessary, but just in case…. Ellen, there have been some - I won’t call them incidentsproblems with Charles. Perhaps the kindest thing one could say is that he is a very charming man, but he doesn’t seem to be dependable. Or, rather, he does seem to be dependable for a while, then…. Well, there have been a few cases not scandals, really but cases where certain young women felt themselves badly treated. We all think highly of Charles Whitford’s abilitites, of course, but he does tend to take women rather lightly. Oh, Ellen, I know I’m putting this very badly, but I can’t bear to see a sweet young girl like you hurt!”
Stiffly I nodded, trying to keep my face a mask. I was not going to cry in front of a stranger, no matter how nice she seemed to be. Edna watched me for a moment, then stood, smoothing her long skirt. “I’ll leave you then, dear. Have a good night’s rest. And don’t worry about Charles. I’m sure my warning wasn’t really necessary. You look like such a sensible young woman.”
And then she was gone. I got ready for bed, but I couldn’t sleep. I was too keyed up over Rick, over Charles, over the attack, and over the kindness of the Ivesons. My life was rapidly becoming an impossible mess. But finally I did sleep, hoping to escape, in dreams, the fears and uncertainties that chased me.
Saturday. It was such a harmless-looking day that I couldn’t understand why I was shivering. I was sitting in the sun, sipping coffee and eating a roll. Edna was with me, and Greg had driven to the office to pick up some papers he had forgotten the day before.
“Cold?” Edna asked solicitously.
“No, no,” I said hastily. “Just - I don’t know. I’m still on edge, I guess.”
Edna nodded. “I know. I only hope that your stay with us will help ease that. It’s been horrible for you, I realize. Greg and I sympathize. It’s not easy to be treated that way the way Kemmler used you.”
“Used?”
“I’m not asking you to confide in me, dear. I’m just saying that I know how you feel. I certainly believe Rick didn’t tell you what was going on, no matter what the police say. And if you did help him, I’m sure you didn’t know what you were doing.”
The faint chill turned to ice. Was that what everyone was thinking? Were the Ivesons protecting me because they were truly concerned? About me? Or be
cause they were worried about the company’s reputation? I wished that I were back at the hotel with Charles, except except that could I even be sure of what he thought? What about his warning the morning of Rick’s arrest? And what about Edna’s warning last night? Was I even sure of Charles’s true role in the whole affair? Didn’t he seem to know just a little too much?
Suddenly, I felt too tired to care what anyone thought. I only wanted to leave, to go back to Chicago where crazy things like this never happened. At least, not to me. Maybe the police would let me leave if I called them and invented a little death in the family. I shook my head impatiently, knowing that I had to try to be rational about what was happening; I had to guess what might happen next and try to protect myself. If only I weren’t so tired!
Edna broke into my thoughts. “Did you bring a long evening dress?”
“What? Oh, yes, yes, I did.”
“Good, because we’ve all been invited to a New Year’s Eve party. Charles Whitford will join us as your escort.”
I nodded, feeling rather dazed. Charles? Whose idea was that? I wondered. And how did he feel about it? Suddenly, I realized that Edna was talking again. “I really don’t know who else I could find for you. And Charles would naturally be invited anyway.”
I nodded. “Of course. And after all,” I said, as casually as I could, “it is a party. He needn’t feel tied to me all evening, or Ito him.”
Edna smiled. “Precisely.”
Hating myself for caring so much about a man I hardly knew, I still dressed for Charles that night. I wore a silver-and-white dress with long, full sleeves and a soft skirt that swirled around my silver shoes as I walked. My hair curled down over my shoulders and I wore no jewelry except a sapphire pendant on a silver chain. The same pendant, I reflected bitterly, that had probably given Rick the idea for those earrings. But it had been my grandmother’s and, in spite of the old-fashioned setting, I cherished it as a reminder of a woman, now dead, who I had once loved very much.
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