Master of El Corazon

by Sandra Marton

  ‘I should never have let this—this Jezebel lure me to her room to—to try and destroy me.’

  ‘He’s lying,’ Arden said angrily. “Don’t you hear it in his voice? Can’t you see it in his face?’

  The stranger didn’t even look at her. ‘If you’re asking me to be discreet—’

  ‘Yes. Exactly. As one man to another—’

  ‘You have my word on it, señor.’ He turned slowly towards Arden. ‘Unless, of course, the señorita is correct, and you are lying.’ Lithgow began a sputtering protest, but the stranger silenced him with a look. He turned to Arden, who gave him a hesitant smile.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I kept hoping he couldn’t take you in, but I wasn’t—’

  “There would be no point in my pledging my silence, if that is the case,’ he said softly, his eyes locked with hers, ‘since the lady will wish to call the police and press charges. Isn’t that right, señorita?’

  Arden ran her tongue over her lips. ‘The police?’

  ‘Of course. If what you say of tonight’s events is true, you will call them and I will tell them what I saw when I first entered the room, you and this gentleman lying in each other’s arms, on that bed.’

  ‘We weren’t in each other’s arms,’ she said, her face white. ‘I mean, we were, but only because—because he was trying to force me to—to—’

  ‘Yes, so you’ve said.’ He smiled, and Arden thought it was the coldest excuse for a smile she had ever seen. ‘The question is, do you wish to make that same statement to the authorities?’

  ‘Yes. Of course. I—I—’

  She fell silent. She would not only be making it to the authorities, she thought frantically, she would be making it to her employers also, and who would they believe, her—or one of their own?

  ‘Well?’

  Arden looked up. The man was watching her, all attempts at pleasantry gone from his face. ‘What will it be, Senorita Miller? Shall I accept your version of Rashomon, or his?’

  Her gaze flew to Lithgow; she saw the faint gleam of perspiration on his brow and told herself to remember that one sign of weakness, for she suspected it would be her only victory in this ugly encounter, and then her shoulders slumped.

  ‘Get out of my room,’ she whispered. ‘Both of you. Get out, do you hear me? Get out!’

  Lithgow breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you, sir, thank you.’ He stuck out his hand ‘If I can ever be of assistance...?’

  The stranger looked at the outstretched hand as if it were diseased. ‘I have no more use for men who ignore the rules of morality than I have for women who invite them to do so.’ He nodded to Arden. ‘Buenas noches, señorita. It is my fond wish that our paths do not cross again.’

  Tears of rage blinded her as he turned and strode from the room. ‘You can count on it,’ she called out as she hurried after him. ‘You can absolutely—’ he threw open the door, stepped into the hall, and vanished. ‘Count on it,’ she whispered, her voice breaking. She fell back against the wall and put her hand to her mouth just as Edgar Lithgow came marching past.

  ‘You needn’t show up at the office tomorrow, Miss Miller,’ he said coldly. ‘I’ll have one of the other girls pack your things for you.’

  ‘You won’t get away with this,’ Arden said in a trembling voice.

  Lithgow smiled. ‘I already have,’ he said as he swept out the door.

  Arden closed her eyes as the door slammed shut after him.

  The worst of it was, he was right.

  CHAPTER THREE

  A NIGHT’S fitful sleep and the bright dawning of the Costa Rican sun combined to change Arden’s perspective. Last evening’s despair gave way to indignation and then to fury. She had been treated shabbily—although there had to be a better word than that to describe what Edgar Lithgow had pulled on her.

  And he’d never have been able to get away with it without the help and support of that damnable drifter. It was amazing how quickly the two men had joined forces against her. Arden’s mouth turned down as she zipped up the skirt of her blue gabardine suit. Apparently, you didn’t have to travel in the same social circle to come to the aid and assistance of a brother rat!

  But Lithgow would be on his own this morning. He wouldn’t have the stranger to back him up. God, how she despised that man! She grimaced as she brushed her hair back from her face. Lithgow was bad enough, but the other man—how dared he take Lithgow’s side, all but calling her a slut and a liar?

  Rashomon, indeed, she thought as she slammed the door to her room and set off down the hall. Not all the clever literary references in the world could disguise the simple truth. The man was an arrogant bastard, a male chauvinist of the worst sort. He’d shown what he thought of women during their first encounter, when he’d tried to pick her up. What had come later—his incredibly easy switch from rescuer to accuser—had only proved it to be true.

  And he’d probably got an extra kick out of coming to Lithgow’s assistance. After all, she’d spurned his advances, hadn’t she, and probably wounded that delicate male ego of his—

  Arden caught her breath. The door to the stranger’s room swung open just as she reached it—but it wasn’t he who stepped into the hall, it was the chambermaid, dragging her cleaning cart after her.

  ‘Good morning,’ Arden said with a little smile of relief.

  The girl nodded. ‘Buenos dias, señorita.’

  Arden glanced into the room as she walked past it. It was empty, the bed made and ready for the next guest. He was gone then, she thought, and thank God for small favours.

  She had no wish to ever lay eyes on his face again. If she did, she might well finish what she’d started last night and punch him right in the jaw.

  There was a lilt to her step as she marched towards the lift. More to the point, his absence was her ace in the hole.

  It meant that, today, Edgar Lithgow was strictly on his own.

  Arden’s counter-attack was carefully planned. She’d spent the hour before dawn plotting it from start to finish. She would get to work a little late, just late enough for Lithgow to be lulled into thinking she’d accepted his growled command that she not show up at the office again. The nerve of him! She had done nothing to be ashamed of, and the very first thing she intended to do was make that point—forcefully—to her former boss, for that was exactly what he’d be, as of this morning, after she’d made her short but pointed speech.

  ‘You’re right,’ she’d say, after she’d marched into his office and shut the door, ‘I won’t press charges—assuming you arrange immediately for my transfer back to the New York office and for my immediate promotion to administrative assistant.’

  If he gave her one moment’s argument—if he did, she’d—she’d...

  She’d what? She’d collapse like a deflated balloon, that was what, because the only thing worse than the prospect of letting Lithgow get away with this was the thought of having to stand up in a courtroom and describe the humiliation of what had happened. Even worse would be having to explain things to Lithgow’s bosses. They were all the same, his kind of people; she could almost see the knowing little smiles of disbelief they’d give each other.

  But things would never get that far. Lithgow wouldn’t call her bluff; he wouldn’t dare. Late last night, after she’d calmed down enough to think, she’d realised that her boss had as much reason to want to keep this quiet as she. Hell, he might even have more! He’d ticked off his sterling qualities for the stranger’s benefit, his community and church affiliations, his status in the company—none of them would change him from the lowlife he was into the decent man everyone believed him to be, but that was all the more reason he wouldn’t want a charge of sexual harassment hanging around his neck.

  ‘Buenos dias, señorita.’

  Arden looked up from the menu. ‘Good morning,’ she said, and then she hesitated. Was the waiter looking at her strangely? Come to think of it, had the chambermaid given her this same off-centre smile, as if she kne
w something Arden didn’t?

  She gave a little laugh as she set the menu aside. That was just what she needed now, a touch of paranoia to top things off.

  ‘I’ll have the melon,’ she said briskly in Spanish, ‘and toast. And a pot of coffee, please.’

  She wasn’t hungry, despite having never had supper last night, but there was still time to kill and besides, she’d need all the strength she could garner for the confrontation that lay ahead. Methodically, she ate everything that had been served her, washed it all down with three cups of strong black coffee, then pushed back her chair and rose from the table.

  The waiter materialised from out of nowhere and held out a small silver tray bearing the bill for her meal. Arden sank back into her seat and sighed. He wanted her to sign her name and room number, which was fine. It was just that the ritual was never the same. Sometimes you were asked to sign, and other times whatever bill you’d run up was automatically charged to the company’s account.

  ‘I’ll need a pen,’ she said. The waiter shrugged. ‘Una pluma, por favor, so I can sign for my breakfast.’

  He gave her an embarrassed smile. ‘I am sorry, señorita, but I cannot accommodate.’

  Arden sighed. ‘No problem,’ she said, opening her bag and digging into it. ‘I have a pen in here somewhere, if I can just—’

  ‘I meant that I cannot permit you to charge the meal to your room.’ She looked up, startled. ‘It is not my decision,’ he said quickly. ‘It is the decision of Senor Arondo.’

  There it was again, that peculiar little smile. A chill of premonition danced along Arden’s spine, but she told herself she was over-reacting. Arondo was the hotel manager, but he’d only been here a couple of weeks. A screw-up was more than likely.

  She dug some notes from her purse and tossed them on the tray. ‘Never mind,’ she said with a quick smile. ‘I’ll stop by later and sort things out.’

  She made her way to the parking area and headed for the place where she always parked her car. But the green Ford wasn’t there. The slot was empty.

  Arden swung around in a circle. Had she forgotten where she’d parked it? It didn’t seem likely, but anything was possible on a morning like this. The lot wasn’t very big; she would be able to see the car in an instant and—

  It wasn’t anywhere to be seen. The chill came again, this time sending a shudder through her bones. Don’t bother showing up at work, Lithgow had said, and this morning she’d had to pay for her breakfast—a breakfast that should have gone on the company tab—and now her company-supplied car was missing. It took no great stretch of the imagination to realise what had happened.

  Lithgow had already eliminated her as an employee. He’d taken back all the perks of her job.

  Arden’s eyes narrowed. Was he really so sure of himself? Well, he was in for a big surprise.

  ‘Get ready, Mr Lithgow,’ she muttered under her breath, ‘because you’re not going to get away with this!’

  Without a car, what should have been a few minutes’ trip to work became a half-hour walk. It was a hot morning and Arden felt sweaty and dishevelled by the time she reached her office. She longed to stop in the ladies’ room to splash cool water on her face, touch up her make-up and fix her hair, but the line between giving Edgar Lithgow enough time to build up a sense of false security and losing the edge she wanted was a narrow one.

  It was better to confront him right away, she thought, pushing open the door to his outer office...

  She stopped dead in her tracks. Julie Squires was sitting at Arden’s desk. The s.o.b. had certainly moved fast, she thought grimly, and made her way quickly across the room.

  ‘I want to see Mr Lithgow,’ she said.

  Julie shifted in her chair. ‘I’m afraid he’s not here.’

  Arden’s brows lifted. ‘Really,’ she said coldly.

  ‘It’s the truth, honest!’

  Arden folded her arms. ‘No problem,’ she said. ‘I’ll wait.’

  ‘But he won’t be back for a couple of days,’ Julie said, looking as if she’d rather be anywhere than here.

  ‘Listen,’ Arden said tautly, ‘I’ve sat in that seat, remember?’

  ‘I don’t know what you—’

  ‘I’ve smiled just as politely as you and lied through my teeth so I could turn away unwanted visitors for that man!’

  The other girl shook her head. ‘I’m telling you the truth! Mr Lithgow was called out of town on urgent business.’

  ‘What urgent business?’

  ‘I don’t know. He didn’t—’

  ‘When will he be back?’

  Julie shrugged. ‘I don’t—’

  ‘I have to see him, Julie,’ Arden said urgently. ‘You’ve got to tell me where he is!’

  ‘I swear, I don’t know.’ The girl looked around, then leaned forward over her desk. ‘What happened?’ she whispered. ‘I was shocked—we all were—when Lithgow announced he’d had to fire you.’

  ‘Is that what he said?’

  ‘Uh huh. He left something for you. I was supposed to send it over to the hotel, along with your things, but since you’re here...’ Julie took an envelope from her desk. ‘There’s a cheque in it,’ she said. Her eyes seemed to narrow just a bit and that same damned smile, the one Arden had seen on the faces of the chambermaid and the waiter, bloomed on her lips. ‘It’s for a lot of money. And he drew it on his own account, not the company’s.’

  Arden felt a flush rise in her cheeks. ‘You certainly know a lot about it.’

  The girl shrugged. ‘He wrote the cheque while I was standing at his desk. I couldn’t help but see it, could I?’

  Arden ripped the envelope open without ceremony, pulled out the cheque, and stared at it. It looked as if Edgar Lithgow had decided not to count on intimidation alone to keep her silent. The cheque was for twenty-five thousand dollars.

  Julie cleared her throat. ‘See what I mean?’

  The women’s eyes met. ‘Yes,’ Arden said carefully, ‘I do.’ With slow, deliberate movements, she tore the cheque in half and went on tearing it until it had been reduced to white confetti, then let it fall like snowflakes over the desk. ‘Tell Mr Lithgow he can stuff that wherever he likes,’ she said, trying to keep her voice from trembling, and she turned sharply and strode from the room.

  By the time she’d gone a block, she was calling herself all kinds of fool.

  What had it got her, that stupid bit of drama? She had destroyed Lithgow’s cheque, but damn it, to what end? She should have kept it and...

  No. She could never have done that. But she could have cashed it and kept at least enough money to get her home. One of the great benefits of this job had been that her room and board were all paid for and so she’d sent most of her pay home. Her mother had been ill last year and Arden had been slowly whittling down the medical bills.

  Wait a minute! Her steps slowed. The company owed her severance pay, if nothing else, and a return ticket home. She could go back and demand them...

  But what was the point? Lithgow would have to approve such arrangements, and he had conveniently vanished. Well, he couldn’t stay away forever. A few days, Julie had said. Arden’s shoulders straightened. All right, then. She had enough money to keep going that long. The minute he returned, she’d confront him, demand that he issue a cheque for the severance pay due her and meet his other obligations to her, too, including paying her air fare back to the States.

  It was the least he owed her.

  The days passed, but Lithgow didn’t turn up. His trip had taken him deep into new markets in South America, Julie said when Arden telephoned the office the third time late one afternoon, and he wasn’t expected back for several weeks.

  Arden thanked her, hung up the phone, and put her head in her hands.

  Now what? She couldn’t take another job, even if she could find one, not without a work permit. There was always the American Embassy, but the thought of telling her story to a bureaucrat who was probably another aristo-bastard lik
e Lithgow was more than she could bear.

  And even if he weren’t of Lithgow’s class, he might still give her that same damning look the stranger had. There were even nights she dreamed of the way those green eyes had narrowed with contempt at the sight of her, although why she should was beyond her to understand. She certainly didn’t give one fig for the man or for what he’d thought of her...

  There was a knock at the door. Arden stood up slowly and smoothed down her skirt. She’d half expected a visit tonight. Senor Arondo had left her a curt note earlier, reminding her that she had not yet settled her bill for the past week.

  She steeled herself, then walked to the door and opened it. But it wasn’t the manager who stood in the corridor, it was Alejandro, the bellboy, and he was carrying a covered tray.

  Arden breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Alejandro,’ she said, ‘you’ve made an error. I didn’t order—’

  ‘Buenos noches, señorita.’ The boy flashed her a quick smile. ‘Your supper.’

  If only it were her supper. She wasn’t in the mood to go out to eat tonight, but she’d given up ordering room service—it was too expensive. In fact, she’d given up eating in the hotel. The last couple of days, she’d found it much more economical to take her meals at a little shop around the corner.

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ Arden said. ‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Alejandro. I didn’t—’

  The boy winked as he moved past her into the room. ‘I hope the order is right,’ he said loudly.

  Arden frowned as she let the door swing shut. ‘Alejandro, what’s this all about?’

  ‘I had to have an excuse to come to your room, señorita.’ He put down the tray and smiled at her. ‘Otherwise, I would have got myself in trouble.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I am here on my own behalf. No. That is not correct. I am here on behalf of my cousin, Pablo.’