Marriage in Mexico

by Flora Kidd

  'Didn't Farley want to see your sister after all?' he queried, strolling back towards the bed.

  'I asked him to stay with me, but he said it would be best if I were alone when Mr Suarez answered the door.'

  'Did Mr Suarez answer the door?'

  'No. A man who was some sort of servant did. He said Mr Suarez wasn't at home right then. I asked for Judy, but he shook his head and closed the door in my face. I… I… guess I was disappointed. I walked back down the drive and found my way to the beach and… well, I've told you what happened next.'

  'And didn't the kind and helpful Farley try to prevent his friends from throwing you in the sea when he heard you screaming?' he asked with another sarcastic stab at Farley.

  'I don't know. I didn't see him when I got down to the beach. There were so many other people. Then I saw Brett…' She covered her eyes with one hand. 'Please don't make me talk about it any more.'

  'I have to if we're going to find out whether they intended to let you drown,' he replied quietly, sitting down on the edge of the bed again. 'Don't you see, chiquita, no one tried to rescue you. They all left the beach without searching for you. And Farley and Brett must have gone off in the hired car with your clothes and money. How much did you have?'

  'Three hundred dollars,' she whispered listlessly.

  'In cash?'

  'Yes. It was all I had left.'

  'And hadn't it ever occurred to you to carry such an amount in the form of traveller's cheques?'

  'I did have it in cheques, but Farley said it would be better to cash them before we came.'

  'Of course he did.' His irony seared her. 'Cheques which had to be signed by you before they could be cashed would be no good to you and his friend. Your three hundred should keep him going for a few days before he comes across another innocent abroad whom he can live on like the parasite he is. I expect you've paid for every meal he's eaten since he met you, haven't you?'

  'Yes,' she admitted miserably. 'But I'm sure he isn't what you say he is. He loved Judy and wanted to find her.'

  'Then why didn't he come to this house this afternoon and demand to see Roberto Suarez?'

  'This house?' she looked at him sharply. 'This is the house I called at? Then you must be… '

  'No. I'm not Roberto and I'm not a movie director. I'm Sebastian Suarez and Roberto is my half-brother. His place is nearer to Guadalajara than Manzanillo. He isn't here, nor is your sister. Your friend Farley took you for a ride, chiquita, on a wild goose chase.' He glanced at his watch. 'I have to go now—I have a dinner engagement. You're welcome to stay here and recover from your near-drowning. I'll send Manuela to you. She'll look after you.'

  'But tomorrow,' she demanded urgently, her glance following his lithe graceful movements as he stood up again. 'What shall I do tomorrow?'

  His eyes glimmered at her from between the fringes of thick black lashes as he looked down at her.

  'In Mexico we never worry about tomorrow,' he said softly, and touched her cheek again with his forefinger. 'I'll take care of it. Today I saved your life and now it is in my hands. Buenas noches.'

  He left the room and she stared at the archway through which he had gone, then groaning a little, she twisted on to her side. Had Farley tricked her as Sebastian Suarez had suggested he had? She didn't want to believe Farley was one of those confidence tricksters she had read about and had seen in movies who relied on their wits and their charm to dupe their victims. And what was more, she didn't want to believe she could be duped so easily in spite of the warnings which had been given to her by friends and neighbours when she had set out for Los Angeles to search for her sister.

  Where was Judy if she wasn't in this house? What had happened to her if she wasn't living with Roberto Suarez? Recalling what had nearly happened to herself that afternoon, she moaned again in horror. She had nearly drowned. If it hadn't been for the enigmatic stranger, Sebastian Suarez, she would now be a corpse, bloated with sea-water, being washed ashore further down the coast.

  Farley had known Judy, of that much she was sure. How could he have had a photograph of her in his possession otherwise? Had he beguiled Judy as he had beguiled herself? Had he taken her for a ride down the coast somewhere and let his friends drown her?

  Why hadn't he tried to stop his friends from throwing her in the sea? Had he been too high on some drug to notice what was happening to her? Once again she seemed to feel Brett's hands on her arms, feel his hot breath wafting across her face as he laughed. She clutched her head between her hands and rolled about the bed. Oh God, would she ever be able to forget what had happened to her that afternoon? Would she always be wondering if the same thing had happened to Judy, except that in the case of her sister there had been no dark god of the sea to rescue her…

  The whisper of sandals on the tiled floor made her look round. The dark-haired plump woman had returned. Over her arms she was carrying an article of clothing. She came over to the bed and by means of gestures indicated that Dawn should sit up and put on the gown she held.

  The nightgown, a confection of oyster-coloured silk and beige lace, slipped over Dawn's head with a rustle and clung to her slim body. Looking down at it she couldn't help wondering who owned it. Did it belong to the wife of Sebastian Suarez? Or to his mistress? She wished that either she could speak Spanish or that Manuela could speak English, then she could have found out more about the vital eagle-eyed man who had rescued her.

  Manuela pulled back the bedclothes. It was an invitation to Dawn to leave the bed. She slid cautiously to her feet and was glad of the support of Manuela's arm. Slowly the woman guided her across the bright mosaic pattern of cool tiles to a doorway and into a luxurious bathroom. In a few minutes Dawn was undressed again and sitting in shoulder-high scented foam in the deep mushroom-pink bath while the stickiness of sea salt which clung to her hair and skin was washed away by Manuela's big competent hands.

  After the bath, feeling soothed and deliciously drowsy, Dawn slipped on the nightgown again and returned to the bedroom where Manuela dried her hair with a blow dryer. Then back into the bed, which had been remade, to sit up against plump pillows, to eat a simple yet sustaining meal of soft-boiled egg and toast and to drink refreshing cold milk.

  When the meal was finished Manuela took away the tray and came back to remove one of the pillows from behind Dawn's back.

  'Buenas noches, seňorita,' she murmured.

  'Buenas noches y muchas gracias,' Dawn muttered sleepily, trying out a few of the Spanish words she knew, and thought she saw a smile glimmer in Manuela's dark eyes before her own eyelids, weighted with sleep, fluttered down.

  She awoke to the sound of birdsong, a sweet and flute-like solo against the booming beat of the surf on the shore and she opened her eyes to see a bright blue sky through the arched window. The fragrance of many blossoms mingled with the salty tang of the sea wafted in through the opening of the window and for a few minutes she lay still savouring the comfort and beauty of the room and wishing that her awakening moments could always be in such surroundings.

  'Buenos dias, seňorita.' Manuela appeared through the archway almost as if she hadn't gone very far in the night. She was smiling a little this morning and close behind her came the short sturdily built man who had answered the door of the house when Dawn had called the previous afternoon.

  'Buenos dias, Mees Aylwin, he said slowly, his broad-featured walnut-coloured face devoid of expression. 'I have come with Manuela to translate for her. I am Carlos Rivera, her husband. We look after this house for Seňor Suarez. You understand?'

  'Si, I understand.' Dawn sat up and nodded a little shyly.

  Manuela turned to her husband then and spoke quickly with many gestures. He listened gravely, frowning a little. When she had finished he talked back, obviously arguing. Manuela's eyes flashed and she interrupted him fiercely. He spoke again, sharply, and Manuela rolled her eyes, lifted her ample shoulders in a despairing shrug.

  'Manuela would like you to get out of b
ed and put on clothes she has brought for you,' said Carlos carefully. 'The clothes belong to our daughter.' He paused and glanced at the ceiling as if in search of inspiration. 'You can use them,' he went on slowly. 'Later you have new clothes.'

  'Thank you. Muchas gracias,' said Dawn. 'It is kind of you to lend them to me. Please thank your daughter.'

  'De nada. You are welcome,' said Carlos with a shrug. 'You have breakfast soon, on the terrace.'

  He gave her another solemn look and left the room. As soon as he had gone Dawn slid out of bed. In the bathroom she washed her face and hands and Peered at herself in the mirror. She had more colour this morning and her hair shimmered in waves about her face. Her eyes looked normal too, greenish grey set between long black lashes, and she felt better, a little more like her lively self.

  Manuela had brought nylon panties, an underslip and a wide cotton gown made from heavy, Mexican cotton. Pale cream in colour, it had wide sleeves and a deep slit at the front of its round neck. Round the edges of the sleeves and on either side of the slit flowers and leaves had been embroidered in vivid colours, scarlet, yellow, violet and green. Dawn pointed to the embroidery, then at Manuela, who smiled and nodded.

  'Esta bonita. It's pretty,' said Dawn, trying out another of her Spanish phrases, and Manuela's smile widened.

  When she was dressed Dawn slipped on the rope-soled espadrilles Manuela offered to her, then followed the woman from the room to find herself on a wide gallery, edged with black wrought iron railings. Looking up, she saw with surprise that set into the ceiling which was immediately under a flat roof were a series of sloping glass panels through which sunlight filtered, lighting the whole of the square hallway.

  She followed Manuela along the gallery past arched openings into other rooms and came to a spiral stairway made from wrought iron which led down to the lower floor of the hallway. In the middle of that floor was a big square pool of water, green and translucent, rippling where the sparkling water from a bronze fountain played into it.

  The walls of the hallway were painted a cool silvery green and the floor space at both ends and at both sides was furnished with long couches and easy chairs covered in grey velvet, heaped with grey, green and black striped cushions, round glass-topped occasional tables and strange pieces of sculpture. Potted palms and orange trees, flowering azaleas and other shrubs were everywhere giving the impression that the indoors had become outdoors.

  Dawn followed Manuela through an archway into a long sitting room. There were more couches covered this time in topaz-coloured velvet, scattered with cushions of black and gold stripes. Elegant silver candelabra and trays gleamed with discreet opulence against dark oak and paintings in bold vivid colours representing the harsh Mexican landscape hung on the walls.

  There were three long arched windows. Manuela opened one of them and indicated that Dawn should go out on to the terrace. Stepping out, she found the air warm and moist and was dazzled by bright sunlight slanting across snow-white walls. The same light touched to fire the roses and gladioli massed in flower beds and added brilliance to the purple of bougainvillaea which cascaded from upstairs balconies.

  After glancing at the table set in a corner shaded by lazily drooping palms pawn went to the wall which edged the terrace and looked over it. Seemingly smooth, living up to its name, the pacific Ocean stretched milky blue to a hazy violet horizon. Below, clear turquoise, it surged and gurgled among dark rocks at the bottom of the cliff.

  Daring herself to look, Dawn leaned over the wall and glanced to her left. She could just see the crescent curve of the beach of golden sand shaded by palm trees between which were looped drying fish-nets. Long rollers of surf creamed along the edge of the beach, but there was no one on it, not even a fisherman. Certainly Farley wasn't there looking for her.

  Frowning a little, trying to puzzle out why Farley had deserted her and had left her to drown, she turned away and went to sit at the table. At once, as if summoned by an unheard bell, Carlos appeared carrying a tray laden with dishes. He set before her a glass full of orange juice which was embedded in ice cubes set in a silver dish. Then he placed a silver coffee pot, a pretty ceramic cup and saucer decorated with Mexican designs close to her hand.

  'You like fresh fruit salad, cereal and cream, seňorita?' he asked politely, in his stilted English.

  'Si, por favor,' she replied in her equally stilted Spanish, and he went swiftly towards the house.

  To own a house like this which seemed to hang between the blue sky and the blue sea Sebastian Suarez must be very wealthy, thought Dawn, and at once she felt depressed. She had nothing now. All the money she had possessed had been stolen from her yesterday while she had struggled for life in the ocean.

  I'll take care of tomorrow for you, Sebastian Suarez had said. Your life is in my hands. All very well for him to say that, but she couldn't let him take over responsibility for her just because he had saved her life. Her innate pride and sense of independence wouldn't let her. She had got herself into this mess and it was up to her to get herself out of it.

  But how? That was the problem? How could she travel without money? How could she earn money in a country where she couldn't speak the language? And what was she going to do about identification? As far as she knew the only Canadian government representative was in Mexico City, and that was miles away.

  Lost in troubled thoughts, she hardly noticed when Carlos took away the empty fruit juice glass and set before her a dish of fruit salad and placed a bowl of cereal and a jug of fresh cream on the side. Only when he poured coffee into the cup did she look up to thank him and ask:

  'Where is Seňor Suarez?'

  'He come soon. You want more to eat?'

  'No, thank you. Does Seňor Suarez always live here?'

  'No, seňorita. He have another place in Guadalajara. This is la casa chica—the little house. Excuse me, por favor.'

  So this was the little house, was it? Dawn's mouth curved wryly as she dipped a spoon into the fruit salad. If this house was to be considered little a big house must be like a palace!

  For the next few moments she forgot about her problems as she enjoyed the delicious fruits; dices of juicy melon, segments of grapefruit and avocado pear, decorated with tiny sweet strawberries. Then she turned to the cereal. It was crisp and crunchy and the cream was smooth and rich.

  It was while she was sipping her last cup of coffee that she felt she was being watched. Looking across at the house, she saw Sebastian Suarez standing at one of the long windows, hands in the pockets of his trousers. When he realised she had seen him he stepped on to the terrace and strolled across to her. Dark glasses covered his eyes, but when he reached the table he removed them, dangling them from his fingers.

  'Buenos dias, Dawn. Have you breakfasted well?' he asked.

  'Yes, thank you.' She felt suddenly extremely breathless. Her heartbeats had increased at the most alarming rate and she could actually feel her cheeks growing hot. And what was even more alarming, she didn't seem able to stop staring at him in the same way that he was staring at her. Both of them were studying each other as if to make sure their eyes hadn't been deceived by what they had seen the previous night.

  She had missed a few details about him, she thought. She hadn't noticed the few streaks of silver hairs among the black close to his temples. Nor had she realised how deeply the lines of humour about his mouth and eyes had been carved. He was wearing a leisure shirt made from black knitted cotton. It was collarless and short-sleeved. Its deep slit opening at the front was carelessly laced together by a white cord. Its close fit emphasised the muscularity of his shoulders, chest and arms.

  His powerful physical magnetism packed a punch which struck her somewhere below the ribs so that she felt even more breathless and shaky. With an effort she looked away from him, down at the table, and fiddled nervously with the spoon in the cereal dish, and the spell which had held them silent and motionless for a whole minute was broken.

  He spun the other chair
round and straddled it. He tossed his sun-glasses on the table and folded his brawny hair-flecked forearms along the top of the back of the chair.

  'Forgive me for staring at you. It was rude of me,' he surprised her by saying. 'But you see I had doubts all last night about your existence.' His mouth curved in a grin of self-derision. 'Usually I'm not given to fantasy-making and it's a great relief to know that I haven't imagined you and all that happened yesterday afternoon and evening and that you are really here. So, how do you feel today? Better, hmmm?'

  'Yes, thank you,' she said again, stiffly and primly, keeping her glance on the silver spoon.

  'Carlos and Manuela have treated you well?' he asked, and there was a certain sharpness in his voice.

  'Oh, yes, of course they have,' she answered quickly. It wouldn't do for him to think that his employees hadn't done their best for her.

  'Then what is the matter?' he rapped.

  'Nothing.' She looked up, her eyes wide.

  'No?' The glint in his eyes and the twist to his mouth were sardonic. 'Is this the way you usually are, then, in the morning? Stiff and prickly like a little porcupine which senses danger. Ha!' His laugh was short and like his grin had been, self-mocking. 'Perhaps my imagination did run riot last night, for I had the impression of someone quite different, of someone warm and natural who didn't hesitate to show her feelings, of someone who would love deeply when she fell in love and never count the cost.'

  His voice had deepened to a caressing murmur and again she felt breathless. Cheeks aflame, she looked down again. The spoon tinkled against the cup as she fiddled with it. Then suddenly her hand was engulfed by a larger sinewy hand, deeply tanned and flecked with hairs, and the spoon dropped from her nerveless fingers. From under her lashes she gave him a slow glance which seemed to amuse him, for he grinned, his teeth flashing white.

  'So you give me a look which says go to hell just because I take your hand in mine, chiquita.' His fingers tightened remorselessly on her hand while his thumb caressed the thin skin inside her wrist so that a tingling sensation ran up the nerves of her arm and seemed to spread through her whole body like a shock. 'But you see,' he went on softly, 'I don't like it when you prefer playing with a spoon to looking at me, and I don't like being spoken to in that cold stand-offish way as if I'm of no account to you.'