Sweet Torment

by Flora Kidd

  The gown was made from heavy ivory-coloured crepede-chine and was cut on simple lines.

  'It was Rosina's first ball gown,' said Eugenia as she slipped it over Sorrel's head, 'made for her specially three years ago when she was eighteen, but I'm sure she wouldn't object to you wearing it. And I hope you won't mind wearing it to be married in. It's supposed to

  be lucky, isn't it, to wear something borrowed?'

  `Yes it is,' muttered Sorrel, and stared in surprise at her reflection in the long mirror. The dress made her look so different from the way she expected to look, like someone who had stepped out of a picture in a book of fairy tales. The tight-fitting bodice had a low curving neckline and the sleeves were long, ending in points over the backs of her hands. From the waistline the skirt fell in full soft folds to her feet.

  It seemed to her that there was hardly any contrast between the colour of the gown and that of her skin, and as a result her hair seemed to take on an even more exotic glow and her eyes were deep pools of darkness.

  'What do you think? Do you like it?' Eugenia was already taking in the seams a little, sewing Sorrel quickly into the dress.

  'Oh yes, I like it, and it's very good of you to lend it to me,' replied Sorrel politely. 'Juan has put you and your husband to an awful' lot of trouble, deciding to get married in such a rush to someone he's only just met,' she added apologetically, 'yet you don't seem surprised.'

  `Nothing that Juan does can ever surprise me,' replied Eugenia with a little laugh. 'We are of the same breed, he and I. From the time he was born he's been a law unto himself and possessed of a cold determination to get what he wants even if it means worrying or even hurting other people to get it. Turn a little this way, for favor. I have to stitch you into it. There is no time to fix it any other way.'

  Obediently Sorrel turned and sighed, a low slow outgoing breath of sheer weariness, and Eugenia gave her a sharp glance.

  'Poor child, you're quite exhausted, aren't you?' she murmured. 'You shouldn't have run away like that. It

  only made him more determined to have you. Juan likes any sort of a challenge. Perhaps if he hadn't been born into a bullfighting family he'd have done something else which offered a similar challenge; mountaineering or sky-diving, stunt-flying or car-racing, anything in which he'd have to use his wits and skill to avoid death.'

  Sorrel stared at her reflection again. She did feel exhausted, absolutely drained of energy, and lonely, so very lonely because here she was preparing to be married to a stranger in a strange land far away from any relatives or friends. Why was she doing it? What had happened to her will-power and sense of independence?

  Perhaps if, she hadn't been so tired she wouldn't have given in to Juan, but he had worn her down with his lures and deceits just as he had worn down the bull that afternoon, until she had submitted and had agreed quite willingly to be his wife because she could no longer fight, not against him but against her own natural instincts to love him.

  Eugenia snipped a thread with small scissors and stood back to eye what she had done to the dress.

  'There, that is the best I can do. Now try on these shoes. They should fit. And for a veil I have this old lace mantilla which belonged to my mother.'

  The heavy ivory-coloured lace smelt of the lavender in which it had been stored and Sorrel fingered it with pleasure, touched by the knowledge that it had belonged to Juan's grandmother.

  `Come, querida, try to smile a little,' Eugenia rallied her. `To be married is good. It's the beginning not the end of loving. Now we shall go downstairs and Diego will give you a glass of wine to bring some colour to your cheeks.'

  Half an hour later, the fumes of wine which she had drunk still clouding her mind a little, Sorrel knelt with

  Juan before a small black-haired, swarthy-faced priest, who could have been a relative of Jovita's, and tried to concentrate on what he was saying in soft sibilant Spanish as he blessed their union and instructed them to keep the vows they had just made.

  For all it was a Christian ceremony which had been performed it seemed to Sorrel there was something barbaric about it, a feeling which was increased when she glanced round the candlelit, gold-glinting dimness of the old baroque church. The heavily embroidered purple vestments of the priest, the cloying scent of incense, the ornate gold ornaments of the altar, the primitive violence of the scenes depicted in the hard reds, blue and greens of the stained glass window all belonged to a culture which was very different from the one she had been brought up in and made her feel as if she were participating in some wild fantasy from which she would soon awake.

  Even the way she and Juan were dressed defied every convention she knew. For he was wearing his matador costume and, although pure in colour, her gown was hardly pure in design, since the lace mantilla which covered her head and face and fell to her shoulders could not hide the low cut of the bodice.

  The flames of the candle blurred before her eyes. She swayed, slightly overcome by dizziness induced by the scented heat of the atmosphere. An arm came about her waist. Juan helped her to her feet, lifted the veil back from her, face and kissed her gently on the lips, then pulling her arm through his he turned and led her down the steps and along the aisle.

  If only there was someone of her own standing there in the dark pews, a relative or a friend waiting to smile at her as she passed. But there was only Eugenia and Diego, Pancho and the men who had taken part in the

  bullfight that afternoon and some people from the town, fans of Juan who had heard a rumour that their idol was to be married that evening.

  From the church they stepped out into the warm air of the night and were greeted by noisy shouts of congratulation from the crowd of people waiting there. A shower of rice and glittering confetti pelted them, and grasping Sorrel's hand Juan made a run for it, pulling her after him down the long flight of steps to the limousine which was waiting for them.

  Back to the Cortez house where a party which had been arranged for the festival had become a wedding celebration. But how different from any other wedding party she had ever attended! There was no sit-down meal at long tables with many toasts and polite speeches followed by a little dancing and drinking. Instead the dancing and drinking took precedence, was actually in progress when she and Juan arrived at the house, and almost at once she was dragged from his side into the arms of a young man she had never seen before and was whirled about the room in an energetic Colombian dance performed to the music provided by some other young men on native guitars.

  Half an hour later, her cheeks flushed and her hair a wild tangle from having danced so many times with various picadors, banderillos and matadors, she looked around for Juan and saw him standing near one of the arched entrances of the big reception room talking to a woman; a woman whose smooth chignon, long neck and thin figure were very familiar : Isabella Cortez.

  It was all part of this exotic fantasy that Isabella should be there and meant possibly that it was coming to an end. Soon she would wake up to find herself in her room at the Angels' house, having dreamt everything that had happened since she had left Ramon Angel in

  his study on Sunday night.

  She started to move towards Juan and Isabella, half expecting them to fade into thin air as she approached them. But they didn't. Instead Juan turned away and stepped through the archway with a hand raised in greeting to some acquaintance who had just arrived. Isabella frowned, looked round and saw Sorrel, and at once her frown gave way to a faint mocking smile.

  `Ah, Miss Preston,' she said, touching fingers to her mouth in a gesture which pretended dismay, and added, 'Excuse me, por favor, I should say Señora Renalda. We meet again and in such unusual circumstances.'

  'What are you doing here?' exclaimed Sorrel.

  'I am here to visit my brother-in-law Diego and his wife for the festival. I'm afraid I'm a little late arriving.' Isabella frowned again and looked very anxious. 'I spent most of this afternoon with Monica and missed the afternoon plane from Medellin. I won
der what she is going to say when she hears about Juan's marriage to you.' Isabella looked around as if to make sure no one could overhear her. 'She told me this afternoon that she is hoping for a reconciliation with Ramon, that she has thought of a way to convince him that she and Juan are no longer lovers.'

  'But they have never been lovers,' asserted Sorrel.

  'How do you know? Did she tell you that?' Isabella seemed very surprised. Then she laughed when Sorrel nodded. 'But of course she would, to get your sympathy. What better way to win you over to her side than to say she had been maligned and that there is no truth in the story that she has been unfaithful to Ramon? Don't forget,' Isabella leaned closer, 'I know everything about her and Juan. I was in on the affair right from the start and have watched it grow. Did she ask you to go to the ranch to see Juan?'

  'Yes ... er ... no.' Suddenly Sorrel wasn't sure whose idea it had been for her to go and see Juan. She saw Isabella's eyebrows start to go up and the dark eyes begin to gleam knowingly and added lamely, 'It was my idea that she should ask for his help, and she agreed to my going to see him.'

  'And so you fell right into her little trap,' drawled Isabella. 'She wanted you to go so that Juan would know that Ramon had found out about the affair and that he had better do something about it, throw some dust in Ramon's eyes to blind him to the reality of the situation.'

  'I don't understand,' mumbled Sorrel. The heat and the excitement of dancing was fading away, leaving her feeling cold and very, very weary and confused.

  `No?' Isabella shook her head sadly. `I'm so sorry I wasn't able to see you before you left the Angels' house yesterday. If I had seen you maybe I could have prevented you from going to see Juan. You see, I know him well, know how he can turn anything which happens to his advantage. He'll use people, dupe them into serving his own ends, although I must admit I'd never imagined he would ever go as far as using marriage to someone as young and innocent as you are. But it could be all that's needed to convince Ramon that the affair is over and finished with,' Isabella shrugged and made a gesture with her hand, 'and so that Monica can keep her husband and her lover too. That is provided you continue to be a willing pawn in their amorous intrigue.'

  Now was the time to wake up, Sorrel thought, time to end this dream which was rapidly developing into a nightmare. But it wouldn't end, and she was standing staring at Isabella and feeling outrage grow slowly within her.

  Isabella smiled, a little bitterly, as her dark eyes raked over Sorrel, over the wild tangle of her hair down over the low-cut bodice of the ivory gown.

  'Didn't it occur to you to question the suddenness of this marriage?' she asked. 'It hasn't taken much flaunting of Juan's considerable charm to dupe you, has it? And a month or so from now when you're carrying Juan's child and Ramon is once more immersed in business concerns and Monica can walk again and go skiing, you can guess what will happen. Oh, my dear, I'm so sorry I have had to tell you this.' Isabella sighed. 'It seems to have become my place in life to reveal to people what they can't see for themselves. Even Ramon, wise man of business that he is, has been duped by his wife and your new husband. But what will you do now?'

  'I ... I ... don't know yet. I'll have to think. I'm very tired.' Sorrel rubbed a hand across her brow. 'I think I'll go to bed. Buenas noches, senora.'

  Lifting the skirt of her gown with both hands, Sorrel turned and walked swiftly away, pushing through the laughing, talking groups of people. In the hallway she saw Juan look up and see her. Ignoring his call to her, she started up the stairs. At the top she turned blindly in the right direction and ran to the door of the room where she had changed her clothes before the wedding. Once she was in the room, she shut the door and leaned against it to catch her breath. Her fingers found the key and she turned it quickly.

  The room wasn't completely dark. Light from lamps in the courtyard which its french window overlooked shafted upwards and glinted on glass panes. The silk of her gown shushing gently as she walked, Sorrel stepped over to the window, pulling the glass doors together and fastening them securely. Then she turned

  quickly, like an animal at bay, as someone turned the door handle, tried to push the door open.

  `Sorrel!' Juan's voice was sharp. 'Unlock the door, par favor.'

  Staring at the door, she wiped suddenly clammy hands on the skirt of her gown, Isabella's words banging away in her head like a hammer. She had to have time to think about them, to plan what to do.

  `Sorrel, I know you're in there,' Juan's voice was softer now, a little amused. 'Open the door, please '

  Licking her lips, she went over to the door. Her hand went out to turn the key and stopped half-way.

  `Can you hear me, Juan?' she asked.

  `Si, but I would rather see you.' The doorknob rattled again. 'Come on, open up. What sort of game is this you're playing?'

  `Juan, please try to understand. I ... I feel tired and would like to have a sleep.'

  `Then let me come in and sleep with you—I have the right to now.' Again he sounded amused. 'And you, querida, have the right to sleep with me.'

  `No, not yet, later. It ... it will be better for both of us if I have a rest first, please, Juan.'

  There was silence. She waited tensely, fully expecting him to react violently and burst the lock with a well-aimed kick. But nothing happened. He didn't even turn the knob again. Seconds went by and suddenly piqued by his silence, she spoke again.

  `Juan? Are you there?'

  Leaning her head against the door, she listened intently. She could hear nothing. Had he gone? Puzzled a little by his reaction or, rather his lack of it, to the locked door, she moved slowly away, resisting a temptation to unlock the door, fling it open and go after him and confront him there and then, accuse him of duping

  her into marriage with him in order to blind Ramon to the reality of his affair with Monica.

  She felt confused and weary, and the ache of disappointment was a deep gnawing pain. She dragged off the ball gown, left it lying a pool of silk on the thick pile of the carpet and climbed on to the high old fashioned four-poster bed. The soft sheets lapped her bare body, soothing it. She closed her eyes. The sound of the dance music coming from downstairs seemed to keep time with the beating of her heart, gradually lulling her to sleep.

  She thought she was on the plane flying across the Atlantic, that the fantastic dream was over at last and she was crying heartbrokenly because she didn't want to go back to England, didn't want to leave Juan, didn't care that he had deceived her. She wanted to be with him, wanted to feel his hands rousing her body to instant delight. Even in her dreams she could feel the warmth of his body close to the coolness of hers. The roughness of the palms of his hands was beneath her breasts, cupping them. His lips touched her nape and then trailed burningly along the slope of her shoulder.

  Sorrel opened her eyes. Dawn was a shaft of pale light coming through the slightly open window through which she could see the corner of a red tiled roof. She wasn't on the plane. She was still in the Cortez house in Copaya.

  Slowly she lifted her hands to her breasts and felt other hands there, big and muscular. She turned her head on the pillow and at once the hands holding her slid away. Clutching the sheet about her, she sat up and looked down at the man who was beside her and who was now lying on his back. The pale light slanted on to his scarred cheek. Thick eyelashes made fans of darkness in the hollows beneath his eyes and the slant

  of his well-shaped mouth was derisive as if he were amused by some inner mocking thought.

  How had he got into the room? And how long had he been in bed beside her? Curiously she leaned over him. Was he asleep or was he pretending? She raised a hand and touched the scar on his cheek, tracing the shape of it gently with the tip of her finger.

  Light glimmered between the thick lashes. He was awake and was watching her. Sorrel lowered her hand and stayed quite still. The moment quivered with an exciting tension. Then suddenly Juan exploded into action. His arm swept up and round her neck
and he pulled her down on top of him.

  `Buenos dias, Señora Renalda,' he murmured. 'I've been waiting for you to wake up. I hope you slept well and feel less weary, because it's kissing time again.'

  'No, Juan, wait!' She tried to push away from him. 'There's something I must know. I have to talk to you.'

  'You talk too damned much, but I know a good way to stop you.'

  She was crushed mercilessly against him, and the feel of his bare body beneath hers was rousing a wantonness in her which she was finding hard to control. Then the savagery with which he took possession of her mouth made her completely helpless so that he was able to push her back on to her back against the plump pillows. Under the slow subtle caresses of his hands her soft slim body changed and grew taut with a strange longing and out of the longing grew a new feeling, a wish to please him as he was pleasing her, so that there was no more holding back and the love which flooded through her made him suddenly welcome to take what he wanted because it was freely given.

  Afterwards as she lay in shaken silence against him, amazed by the completeness of her surrender to him,

  she heard him murmur against her hair,

  'So now you are truly mine and we are bound to each other, not only by the vows we made in church yesterday evening but also by what has just happened. Did you really think you could keep me from having you by locking a door against me, sleepyhead?'

  'How did you get in?' she asked. A delicious lassitude had spread through her limbs and she was reluctant to move, would have liked to have stayed for the rest of the day in this position. Lying close to him, being caressed by him.

  'Through the bathroom. There is a way into it from the corridor.' He laughed softly and tangled his fingers in her hair. 'You must have been very tired not to have thought of locking that too. But you didn't lock the door to keep me out just because you were feeling tired, did you? There was another reason, wasn't there? Are you going to tell me what it was, querida?'