The Captain's Caress

by Leigh Greenwood

  “Several ladies.”

  “Name just one,” the little maid challenged.

  “Roussillon de Cabrera,” said Summer.

  “Bah!” said Chichi scornfully. “She is lovely, but more mean-spirited than María.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I have seen her.”

  “Where?”

  “Here, at the hotel. Señorita de Cabrera does not wish to behave like a nice Spanish girl. She sometimes goes where another would not dare.”

  “She’s old enough to know how to conduct herself.”

  “She’s too old,” sniffed Chichi with all the bravado of a sixteen-year-old. “She couldn’t find anyone to suit her until she met the captain, but even with all her money, she is a shrew.”

  “How do you know this?” Summer demanded. “I will not have you telling me idle gossip.”

  “Oh no, señora, I would not tell you lies. The señorita cannot keep a maid. Havana is full of girls who tell of her selfishness.”

  “She seemed to be doing a lot of thinking about someone else this evening,” Summer said savagely.

  Chichi’s tinkling laughter erupted and all seriousness faded from her face. “She thinks about the captain all the time.”

  “I’m tired of talking about her,” Summer said petulantly. She twisted away from Chichi. “Besides there was a marquise there who was much more beautiful than Señorita de Cabrera.”

  “Señora Tragetto was there?” asked Chichi awestruck. “Did you talk with her?”

  “Just a few words,” Summer was at a loss to account for Chichi’s look of stupefaction.

  “What is she like? Is her skin as white as milk? Do the flames in her eyes really enslave all men? Is she really a witch?” Chichi asked breathlessly.

  “I’m sure she’s not a witch.” Summer stood up to rid herself of her corset and petticoat. “But it is true that men flock around her.” She wouldn’t care if the whole world threw itself at the marquise’s feet just as long as Brent did not.

  “Does she make men helpless? Do they fight just to hold her fan?” Chichi begged, enthralled.

  “Where did you ever hear such utter nonsense?” Summer was poised between amusement at Chichi’s gullibility and irritation at how close the girl’s description approached the truth.

  “They say that when she places a man under her spell, he can’t break away.”

  “She is certainly very beautiful.”

  “It is said that she consumes men and they kill themselves when she casts them aside.”

  “The marquise is a very lovely woman and men are strongly attracted to her, but if you must know, I had more crowding around me than the marquise and Roussillon together.” Summer was exasperated, but Chichi skipped about the room in childish delight and the absurdity of the girl’s reaction caused Summer’s brief spurt of temper to die. Her boast now seemed cheap and tawdry.

  “I shouldn’t have said anything. You will oblige me by forgetting every word I said.”

  “Of course, señora, I have forgotten it already,” Chichi said, her eyes twinkling.

  “You’re lying.” Summer slipped her arms into her robe and then sat down so Chichi could comb out her hair. “You’ll remember every foolish thing I’ve said and tell María just as soon as I’ve gone to bed.”

  “No, señora,” insisted Chichi, abashed to have her plans so exactly anticipated.

  “Don’t bother to deny it,” said Summer severely. “If you’re going to be my maid, you’ve got to learn loyalty and discretion. That means you aren’t at liberty to run about the hotel repeating every unwise word I utter.”

  “Of course, señora,” the girl said meekly.

  “And don’t you ‘of course, señora’ me. Repeat one word and I’ll tell the captain. He will see that Alonzo dismisses you from the hotel.”

  Chichi was completely cowed by this threat. It wasn’t easy to find good jobs in Havana. “I won’t say a word, I swear. I love you, señora. I wouldn’t do anything you didn’t like.” Her face puckered up.

  “Now don’t start crying. You haven’t known me long enough to love me, but I do like you rather well and I would hate to have to get used to María.”

  “I’d die before I’d give up my place to María,” Chichi declared dramatically.

  Summer smiled conspiratorially at Chichi. “If you’re going to help me outshine the local beauties, you can’t be giving away all my secrets, can you?” Chichi’s head bounced up and little imps began to dance in her smiling eyes.

  “señora, Jeanne and I will slave until you’re the most beautiful woman in all the world.”

  “There’s no point in trying for the impossible,” Summer said dryly. “I’ll settle for the general’s ball.”

  “But that is a certainty,” Chichi said elated. “With Madame Clothilde’s gowns and Jeanne and me to dress you, no one can match you.”

  “Don’t I get some of the credit?”

  “Of course, and so does the captain.”

  “The captain? How can you give him credit for what I look like?” Why did everyone insist upon talking about Brent when the mere sound of his name caused her whole body to tremble.

  “Just to be seen in the captain’s company is a great distinction,” said Chichi. “Everyone knows he sees only the most beautiful women.”

  “Let me assure you that he is not seeing me,” rasped Summer, “and I intend to see that no one even thinks he is.”

  “I didn’t mean anything improper,” Chichi assured her, “though I’m sure no one would blame you if you did.”

  “Chichi!” Summer exclaimed.

  “He’s such a beautiful man,” Chichi rhapsodized, “and his eyes shine with such a wicked gleam.”

  “I suppose it is his wicked gleam that attracts so many women to his side.” Summer’s tone was scathing. “It is wonderful that in this hot, steaming climate, his torrid energy can refresh and invigorate so many languishing females.”

  “The señora is angry with Captain Douglas?”

  “I’m almost always angry with the captain,” Summer replied. “He is the most difficult man I’ve met.”

  “And the most handsome,” Chichi added.

  “And the most handsome,” Summer agreed. “But he is not the greatest gentleman.”

  “But he is so handsome it doesn’t matter.” Chichi became so enraptured she pulled Summer’s hair quite sharply. “Oh I’m so sorry, señora,” she said contritely when Summer called her to order.

  “Never mind.” Summer’s anger quickly subsided. “It’s just one more thing I can blame on the captain.”

  “The señora forgives me?”

  “Only if you promise not to say another word about the captain. Now hurry and go to bed. I don’t want you nodding over your work tomorrow. We have a lot to do.”

  “I never would!” Chichi was indignant.

  “You won’t be able to avoid it if you don’t get some sleep. This dratted affair is being held in the afternoon, and I won’t be able to hide a single wrinkle.”

  “You don’t have any wrinkles.”

  “I’ll have crow’s feet if I stay up any longer. I’m so tired I could fall down right where I stand. I’d wager I’m more exhausted than the captain and he’s been working all day.”

  “Not all of it. He left here not an hour ago.”

  Summer stopped in her tracks. “What do you mean?” Brent had to have been working. The marquise had been at the party.

  Chichi wasn’t watching Summer and her reply was offhanded. “He came in a great hurry after you were gone and ordered his carriage to wait for him. He’s probably gone to see his mistress.” Summer felt blood begin to pound in her temples.

  “Whatever the captain does is no concern of mine,” she said angrily. “It wouldn’t matter to me if he had a hundred mistresses.” She immediately regretted this untruthful boast.

  “Not even Captain Douglas could please that many.” Chichi giggled as she picked up the countess’s clothes
and scampered off to the dressing room.

  “The rutting beast.” Summer stomped over to her bed, ripped off her dressing gown, and threw herself onto a cool sheet. “I don’t care if he never comes back,” she said out loud. “He’s nothing but a brute, and I never want to see him again.” She dabbed angrily at her streaming eyes with the corner of the pillow, but that didn’t stop her tears. Fatigue and jealousy were too much for her, and she cried her frustrations and loneliness into her pillow.

  “You’re a great fool,” she told herself after she had finally dried her eyes. “You’re going to have to make up your mind what you want. You can’t drive the man away and then expect him to remain at your side. You’ll just have to put him out of your mind.” She forced herself to think of all the new people she had met, but Brent’s face kept intruding on her thoughts and before long she gave up.

  “If you will be such a great bobby,” she said in disgust, “then go ahead and tease yourself with him, but don’t expect any sympathy from me.”

  Chapter 24

  Summer saw very little of Brent during the days that followed. He attended to business and at night he went elsewhere. Bit by bit she got used to being alone.

  She was positive that Brent went to see the marquise, or some other wanton, as soon as he left the hotel, and every night she wrestled with visions of what must be happening in some unknown bedchamber. Her stomach churned when she thought of Brent holding another woman in his arms, of jet black hair falling over his shoulders and crimson lips fastened hungrily to his. Sometimes it was nearly dawn before she fell into a fitful sleep.

  Even during her waking hours, Brent’s mistresses were rarely out of Summer’s thoughts. Every time she was introduced to another attractive woman, a persistent question bedeviled her: “Is she his lover too?” This constant suspicion kept Summer’s nerves on edge. As a result her temper was in shreds, and her pleasure in Havana was nonexistent.

  Meanwhile, her acquaintance with Gonsalvo’s family had progressed. His parents’ acceptance of her was genuine, and she had liked his sister instantly. Anita was pretty in a modest way, but she didn’t feel threatened by Summer’s transcendent loveliness. Summer looked forward to the time she spent with Anita. To have a friend of almost her own age who was neither competitive nor jealous was a pleasure.

  She wasn’t as happy in Gonsalvo’s company. True, he was a charming rogue, but she was not in the mood for rogues. However, every time she started to shy away from him, he would remind her that he was watching over her for Brent and her temper would flare. Then she asked herself, if Brent wanted her watched so closely, why did she hesitate to allow Gonsalvo to do it?

  On the day of her visit to Casa Carvalho she was able to free her mind of the jealousy that ate away at her. Now Summer relaxed against the deep cushions of the coach and listened to Anita’s gentle voice. There was a crispness to the air that was rare for the Caribbean, and she felt more alive than she had since she’d left the ship.

  “I told Mama she was making too many plans,” Anita was saying, “but she was afraid that you might become bored. She finds the country tedious and is sure that everyone else does too.”

  “Oh no,” Summer assured her. “I never have anything to do in the hotel. Everything will be a special treat.”

  “You must promise to tell me if anything fails to please you or if you become too tired,” Anita entreated her. “This day has been planned especially for you, and you’ll hurt my feelings if you say nothing.”

  “I’m certainly enjoying being out of the city.”

  “Don’t you like Havana?”

  “I suppose I do,” Summer admitted reluctantly, “but I grew up on a small island. At times I long to be back home, free to wander barefoot through the fields and the forests in a plain dress.”

  “It must have been very lovely.”

  “Not really,” Summer replied honestly. “Certainly not when compared to the houses I’ve seen in Havana, but I loved it just the same. It was my home, and I was happy there.” She was conscious of an unfamiliar sense of sadness. “I will probably never see it again.”

  “Do you ride?” Anita asked, hoping to find a subject that didn’t depress their guest.

  “Yes, but I didn’t bring a habit.”

  “You can use one of mine.”

  “The countess couldn’t possibly wear anything that would fit such a little dab as you.” Gonsalvo was coming out of his trance. “Any habit of yours would hardly reach her knees.”

  “I won’t be stopped that easily,” vowed Anita. “If you want to ride, I will find something for you to wear.”

  The two girls laughed contentedly, and then wiled away the time until they turned into the avenue leading to the house.

  Unlike most owners of Caribbean plantations who were content to carve a path through the trees, providing a route that was muddy half the year and rock hard the rest, Señor de Aguilar had laid down a drive and had planted trees on either side. Summer was impressed by the carefully manicured naturalness that prevented the avenue from looking too formal. The gradually increasing variety and liberality of the plantings aroused a sense of expectation in her, and she almost held her breath when they rounded the final bend and a full view of the lawn running down to the gardens lay before her.

  “It’s so beautiful,” she whispered, realizing how woefully inadequate her mother’s garden was. “How can you ever bear to leave it for the city?”

  “It is lovely,” agreed Anita, as the carriage passed beneath the branches of giant oaks hung with moss. “Every time I return I ask myself the same question. It’s so cool and peaceful after the noise and heat of the city that I can’t imagine why I ever wanted to go to Havana in the first place.”

  “It’s too quiet,” said Gonsalvo. “If you stayed here too long it would put you to sleep forever. It’s my home and I love it deeply, but I could not stay here all the time. I would miss the companionship, the gaiety, the life of Havana.”

  “How can you say that when it’s only a short ride to town?” asked Summer. “You can have the best of both worlds.”

  “I suppose we are more fortunate than we deserve.” Gonsalvo’s eyes danced. “We have the dashing countess from the city in the solitude of the country.”

  “I’m not the least bit dashing,” said Summer. “I’m really a country girl, and I intend to enjoy myself completely.”

  “How little we know of you,” said Anita, half to herself.

  Summer could have bitten her tongue. She was going to expose herself one day if she didn’t learn to be more circumspect. Fortunately the carriage came to a stop and Señora de Aguilar, trailing yards of silk, hurried out of the hacienda to meet them.

  “You must be uncomfortably warm from your journey,” she insisted as she ushered Summer into a cool parlor and handed her a refreshing drink. “The heat always exhausts me so I have to rest frequently. To do even the smallest thing drains me of all energy.” She sank into a deep chair in one of the dim corners of the room and gradually lost all animation.

  “Mama, you can’t greet our guest and then promptly close your eyes,” said Gonsalvo good-humoredly. “My mother really can’t stand the least exertion,” he added.

  “This is regrettably true,” concurred the señora, not the least bit disturbed by her son’s remarks. “I can no longer manage to work as I did when I was a young bride. Then there was no labor too exhausting for me to perform for my children or my husband. Isn’t that true, Vincente?” she asked of her husband who had just entered the room and was greeting Summer.

  “The heat this year has been very bad,” Vincente de Aguilar said quietly as he bowed over Summer’s hand. He was a tall man, and everything about him bespoke well-bred ease, but Summer felt a barely perceptible sense of inflexible purpose in him. “Refreshments are laid out in the salon, and a picnic lunch will be served at the river house,” he added.

  “It sounds wonderful,” said Summer. “I would love to see the gardens.”

/>   “The gardens are my father’s particular pride,” Anita informed Summer.

  “After the sugar mills, his horses, and his library,” Gonsalvo explained.

  “Don’t let Gonsalvo mislead you,” said his father. “It was his idea to have a summer house built on the river, and he can tell you as much about the grounds as anyone.”

  “I can hardly wait to see it all,” Summer declared eagerly.

  “You can’t possibly mean to start now,” exclaimed Señora de Aguilar, aghast that anyone would even consider a walk without taking a long rest beforehand.

  “I’m not the least bit tired,” Summer assured her. “I had plenty of time to rest during the drive.”

  “No one can rest in a carriage,” the señora stated with feeling.

  “Allow me a few minutes to change my shoes, and I will join you,” Anita said.

  The house was a white, two-story wood-and-stone structure, typical of the Spanish-style houses generally found in tropical climates. The windows were small, but porches ran around the inner courtyard both upstairs and down. Two enormous hundred-year-old oaks flanked the front entrance, their huge branches rising above the roof to shade the front half of the house during all but the hour at midday. While tall shrubs and the flowering vines that grew up trellises protected the porches from the merciless glare of the tropical sun. Even though the house was very large, it nestled, like a small jewel, in the vast, meticulously manicured grounds that surrounded it.

  The expanse between the house and the river was enormous. A small area was open to the full force of the sun, but in the remainder of the seemingly endless gardens dappled shade was cast by a bewildering variety of trees and flowering vines. In areas receiving the most light, beds of bright blooms presented a riot of color; shady spots were filled with ferns, vines, and plants with spidery foliage and variegated leaves. A series of paths, arbors, and alcoves provided access to the garden, and offered places of rest as well as focal points about which to arrange each part of the grounds. This magnificent display was tended by numerous gardeners who saw that everything was in perfect condition.