Sweet Torment

by Flora Kidd

  'No, thank you ! ' Sorrel spoke sharply. Although the upswept style certainly made her look more poised and elegant the knowledge that Inez had sometimes worn her hair in that way put her right off the style. 'I like it to fall straight down from a centre parting.'

  `Bueno.' Jovita brushed the hair into shape and laid down the brush. 'Are your ready now to eat your dinner with Señor Juan?'

  'Not quite. I'd like my bag from the truck. I can't eat dinner with him dressed like this. I've nothing on under the gown,' replied Sorrel firmly, imagining what it would be like sitting at a dining table opposite to Juan with his observant glance lingering on all that the low wide opening of the dressing gown revealed. 'I'll have to be properly dressed before I can have dinner with him. And you can tell him so, if you like.'

  A gleam of tolerant amusement came and went in Jovita's dark eyes, but she said nothing.

  'Please, Jovita,' Sorrel swung round appealingly. 'Please ask Señor Juan to fetch my bag from the truck. I left it on the seat. He knows what it looks like.'

  Jovita nodded and left the room. Alone, Sorrel wandered about sliding back the doors of the closet to find it empty. There was nothing in the drawers of the elegant rosewood dressing table or in the companion chest. Nowhere was there any sign that a woman had occupied the room as recently as this morning and gradually she began to be convinced that Inez had not used it.

  For some strange reason she felt better, not quite so much as if she had been chosen to step into another woman's shoes. She sat down in front of the dressing table again and studied her appearance critically. The black velvet lapels of the dressing gown set off the creaminess of her skin and in the soft lighting of the room her well brushed clean hair sparkled with ruby lights.

  A sound at the door made her turn defensively, but it was only Jovita returning with a tray laden with dishes of food which she placed on the dressing table in front of Sorrel.

  'I have brought your food here since you are shy of coming to the dining room wearing that gown,' said the old nurse, with an understanding which endeared her to Sorrel. 'There is beef stew, a little ensalada de aguacente, some mogollas and a glass of our good vino moriles. Eat well, senorita.'

  'Thank you.' The food looked and smelt appetising but Jovita was going away and she hadn't mentioned the overnight bag. 'Wait, Jovita, did you ask about my bag?'

  'I couldn't bring it, senorita. Someone has taken the truck with the bag in it. But Señor Juan says you will have it tomorrow. Now eat the good food. I'll come back for the tray later.'

  So he wasn't going to let her have her clothes. Her mind leaping with suspicion, Sorrel ate the delicious food. When Jovita returned she would ask her to take her to Juan Renalda to have it out with him, but when Jovita did come back she shook her head in response to Sorrel's demand.

  'I am sorry, senorita, Señor Juan has gone out.' She moved over to the bed, took off the damask bedcover and folded it neatly. Then she plumped up the already plumped-up pillows. 'You can go to bed when you wish. I expect Señor Juan will come to see you when he comes back. Is there anything else you would like me to bring for you?'

  'I...... er ...' Sorrel flicked an uneasy glance at the

  bed. `No, thank you. Do you know when Señor Juan will be back?'

  `No, senorita.' The wizened face was unrevealing. 'He did not tell me.'

  `Do you know where, he's gone?'

  `No. I go now, senorita, if you don't mind, and I will say buenas noches.'

  `Buenas noches.'

  After Jovita had gone Sorrel sat for a while thinking how neatly her attempt to leave the ranch house for the second time that night had been defeated before she had ever begun to make it. Without proper clothing she couldn't go traipsing about the countryside, and even if she did manage to reach Ibara she had no money, no credentials of any sort to prove who she was, as they were all in her handbag which was also in the truck with her overnight bag.

  But as she sat there she became aware of the silence of the house.

  Where could she find some clothes? The idea flashed across her mind, causing her to sit up as she considered it. In the room of Juan Renalda, of course—the answer came at once. A shirt and a pair of trousers belonging to him might be a little big for her, but they would be better than nothing. But first she had to find his room..

  Getting up from the stool, she went over to the door. She turned the knob and pulled, but the door remained obstinately shut. Several times she pulled, thinking that perhaps it was a tight fit and needed force to open it, then reluctantly came to the conclusion that it had been locked from the outside. Quickly she bent down and put an eye to the keyhole. There was no key in it.

  Anger leapt up like a flame and had to be expressed in violent protest. Flinging herself at the door, she banged on the panels with her fists and shouted at the top of her voice, then, breathless, leaned against the door to listen for the sound of footsteps in the passage outside. But all she could hear was the frantic pounding of her own heart.

  Turning, she surveyed the room, looking for a way of escape. Over to the windows she marched and swept aside the dainty ruffled curtains. The windows were narrow, set in deep embrasures, and through the glass panes she could just make out the shapes of the wrought iron grilles which covered them on the outside. Even if she could open one of the windows she wouldn't be able to get past those iron railings which made the room like a prison.

  With an exclamation of angry frustration she marched into the bathroom. No window there, but there was another door. Stepping over to it, she turned

  the handle and pulled. It remained shut too. It was also locked and there was no key in the keyhole.

  Damn him, damn him! He had done what he had threatened—he had made sure she didn't have any clothes to wear and had locked her into a room from which there was no way of escape. He must be crazy! There could be no other explanation for his strange behaviour. What was it Jovita had said about him, that the real Juan Renalda had died and that another spirit had taken over his body after that last fight in which he had been so badly hurt? Was that another way of saying he had become deranged?

  Slowly, the fire of her anger dying away, Sorrel returned to the bedroom and sat down on the edge of the bed to consider her position. Never in her wildest dreams had she ever imagined herself being held under lock and key by a man she had only just met; a man with whom she had only one thing in common, some Spanish blood, and who wanted her to stay and live with him in this Colombian valley far away from anyone and anything she had ever known before.

  I want you, Sorrel. Memory of his whispered words had the power to stir her blood. Lying back on the bed, she gazed up at the canopy and gave herself up to imagining what it would be like if she agreed to do as he asked, and found she liked what she was imagining.

  Then why had she run away? Because she had guessed the relationship would be temporary, lasting only a short time, possibly not much more than the six months Inez had stayed, and she had been afraid of being hurt again as she had been hurt by Martin.

  But to be hurt by Juan Renalda she would have to be in love with him and not have that love returned, and he had made no mention of love.

  She doubted if it was a currency he used in his relationships with women.

  The chiming of the small antique clock on the dressing table informed her that it was ten o'clock. She yawned and stretched. It had been quite a day and the bed was comfortable. Standing up, she slipped off the dressing gown and laid it on a chair. Then, bare as she was, she slid between soft silken sheets, enjoying the feel of them against her skin. She switched off the bedside lamps and lay in the darkness listening a while, half fearing yet half hoping to hear a key turn in the lock and the door open quietly. Would he come to see her when he returned? And what would happen when he came? Excitement sizzled through her developing into a deep, almost desperate yearning for him to come which shocked her so that with a little groan she rolled over on to her side and closing her eyes tightly, willed
herself to sleep.

  It was the closing of a door which wakened her and her first thought was that Juan Renalda had come back. Excitement made her heart beat fast and she lay with eyes closed pretending to be asleep and wondering how he would wake her. But nothing happened. There was no sound of anyone moving about the room, only the sound of water gushing from the shower in the bathroom. She opened her eyes and sat up, clutching the bedclothes about her. There was no one in the room and it was daylight, and the brocade dressing gown had gone from the chair where she had put it. In its place was her overnight bag.

  Who had put the bag there? Jovita? Sorrel scrambled out of bed and ran to the door. She turned the handle and pulled it. The door opened easily, no longer locked, and the key was in the lock on the inside. She glanced quickly up and down the passage. It was empty,

  streaked with early morning sunlight which was slanting through a window.

  She shut the door, went over to her bag and unzipped it. In a few minutes she was dressed in another summer skirt and a crisp white blouse which she had brought with her. Going over to the bathroom, she rapped her knuckles on the closed door. When there was no answer she opened the door. The mirrors of the bath were slightly steamed and water dripped from the shower fitting, and the other door on the opposite side of the room was slightly open.

  Tempted by that open door, she went across and pushed it open further and looked into the room, her eyes widening in amazement at the magnificence of the furnishings and decorations. Here again the predominant colours were crimson and ivory with touches of black, used to create an exotic yet thoroughly masculine retreat.

  Juan Renalda, dressed only in hip-hugging black trousers, was standing in front of a wide, wall-length closet, flicking through the shirts which were hung there. He selected one and turned. He caught sight of her hovering in the doorway and tossing the shirt on to the unmade king-sized bed stepped towards her.

  `Buenos dias, Sorrel," he said. 'Do you have something to say to me? Is that why you come so early to my room?'

  Her glance went to the long scar-which angled across his body just below his ribs and she took a step backwards.

  'I'm sorry, I'd no idea this was your room. The door was open and I just thought I'd ...' She broke off, remembering suddenly how that door had been locked last night. She lifted her chin and added sharply, 'You have a lot of explaining to do, Señor Renalda.'

  I have? About what?'

  'About last night.'

  A strange gleam came into his eyes. He stepped around her, and she turned—too late. He had closed the door to the bathroom and was leaning against it, his bare tanned torso dark against the background of smooth ivory paint. Under slanting black eyebrows his eyes were a hard clear grey as he stared at her.

  'Last night,' he repeated slowly, frowning a little as if he were having difficulty in remembering. `Ah yes, I remember now. I was late coming home. You were asleep: He pushed away from the door, raising a hand to her cheek as if to caress it. She stepped back quickly and his hand fell to his side. 'You look very beautiful when you're asleep,' he said softly, 'like a statuette carved from ivory, but I didn't have the heart to disturb you. Are you disappointed because I didn't?'

  Her cheeks flaming, her heart pounding, remembering that she had slept without any clothing and there was a possibility that the covering on the bed could have slipped off her, Sorrel struggled to maintain her composure.

  'No, I wasn't disappointed,' she snapped, conveniently forgetting she had been half-hoping he would come before she fell asleep. 'I want to know why you locked me in the bedroom and didn't let me have my overnight bag.'

  'You were locked in?' His expression of innocent amazement made her want to kick him. 'Please accept my apologies.' He stepped towards her again and again she stepped backwards and at once he advanced as if they were performing a dance of courtship. 'Jovita must have locked the door before she left the house. She wouldn't like leaving a young woman like you alone and unprotected.'

  'Oh, rubbish! ' shouted Sorrel, and stamped her foot in her irritation. 'If Jovita locked the door it was because you told her to.'

  `Now, why should I do something like that?' he asked.

  `Because you didn't want me to leave while you were out,' she retorted.

  `So I was right, you did intend to run away again,' he remarked dryly. 'Why?'

  'If you guessed I meant to leave you could also guess why,' she seethed. 'I didn't want to stay in the house of a man who regards women as ... as playthings designed for his amusement. I'm a free person, used to going where I like when I like. I came here to ask for your help in saving a marriage and instead of helping you treat me as if ...' She broke off, her glance going to the door which led to the passage and which was opening slowly. Jovita appeared carrying a tray on which there was a silver coffee service and cups and saucers.

  `Buenos dias, Señor Juan,' said the little woman. 'The senorita isn't in the other room, so I have brought the coffee tray in here.' Her dark eyes slid past Juan to Sorrel, who had covered suddenly hot cheeks with her hands. 'Buenos dias, senorita,' she added. 'I hope you slept well.'

  She put the tray down on a table in the middle of the floor and went out of the room.

  'Oh, what must she be thinking of me!' The words burst out of Sorrel.

  `Who? Jovita?' asked Juan as he stepped over to the table and began to pour coffee. 'Does it matter what she thinks of you?'

  `Yes, it does. I can't have her thinking I'm something I'm not.'

  'Por dios!' he exclaimed, flashing her an impatient glance. 'Why must you make everything so complicated? What is it you are not that Jovita thinks you are?'

  'I'm not a replacement for the woman who left yesterday. I haven't come here to be your next mistress.'

  Crash. The heavy coffee pot was set down violently on the silver tray and a cup was knocked to the floor, its contents spilling on the carpet. In two strides Juan was in front of her and the livid expression in his eyes made her take a step backwards.

  'What the hell are you talking about?' he demanded. 'Inez. The woman who was here. If she wasn't your wife she must have been your mistress.'

  He swore vigorously between taut lips and she put her hands up over her ears until he had finished.

  'What did that little devil say to make you think she was either?' he grated. 'Inez is my sister and as mischievous as they come. A few months ago she left her husband, came running to me complaining he was cruel to her. I said she should stay here until she had sorted out her problems. She seems to have done that now, but by God, wait until I see her again! I'll wring her neck for telling you that ...'

  'Oh no,' Sorrel interrupted quickly, alarmed by his anger. 'You mustn't blame her. It wasn't her fault—she didn't say anything. It was what Pancho said which led me to make a mistake and ...'

  'And what did Pancho say?' he drawled menacingly.

  'He thought I was from the States and asked me if I was a friend of the Señora's. I assumed he meant your wife and then when your sister answered the door I thought she must be Señora Renalda. Well, she was wearing a wedding ring and she didn't introduce herself, and she said she was leaving because she couldn't stand living with you anymore,' Sorrel defended her-

  self as she saw his eyes narrowing sceptically.

  'The feeling was mutual,' he growled.

  'And she spoke English like you do, with a North American accent,' continued Sorrel, determined to make him understand why she had been led to make a mistake about Inez.

  `Because she learnt the language like I did, from our mother who was a Californian,' he retorted. 'Okay, I agree. It would be easy for you to assume she was my wife,' but what made you think she was the other?'

  `When you said she wasn't your wife I ... I ...' Her eyes fell before his accusing glance and she hesitated.

  'You assumed again,' he supplied blightingly, 'basing your assumptions on what you'd learnt about me from Ramon Angel, I've no doubt, or possibly from that sex-starved littl
e fool, his wife.'

  'I'm sorry,' she said stiffly.

  He stood still and silent before her, so close that she could hear the regular beat of his heart, see the pulse of it in the hollow of his strong throat, smell the fragrance of the soap he had used, almost feel the warm vitality of him even though he wasn't touching her.

  `It's becoming clear to me now why you were angry yesterday,' he said slowly. 'You didn't like the idea of stepping into another woman's shoes so soon after she had left.'

  'Non I didn't,' she admitted frankly.

  'That was understandable. But now we've cleared the matter up shall we start all over again? Will you stay and live with me, Sorrel?'

  I ...' she began, and then caught her breath as his hands curved about her face. 'What are you going to do?' she demanded.

  'I have this irresistible urge to kiss you. It comes in the morning when I see you cool and fresh after your

  sleep. That's why I want you to stay and live with me, so I can kiss you every morning.'

  'But you've no right to kiss me if I don't want to be kissed by you,' she argued, trying to twist away from him.

  'Oh, Sorrel, how can you talk of rights?' he murmured, letting his hands slide down her cheeks and slip under the collar of her shirt. His thumbs probed the hollows of her throat delicately, sending sharp shivers of delight through her whole body. 'What is happening between you and me is above and beyond such cold arguments.'

  'Nothing is happening between us, nothing. I'm not going to let it,' she protested shakily, trying to ignore the desire which was beginning to throb through her veins. 'Can't you understand? Are you so blinded by your own conceit that you can't see? I'm not the sort of woman who goes in for affairs with men I scarcely know. I don't want you because I don't love you. Without love I can't ...' She got no further, because he silenced her with a rough, insolent kiss which forced her lips apart in intimate exploration of her mouth.