Acknowledging the introduction, Anne thanked her. Ramón’s sister, with her friendly smile and outspoken manner, was instantly likable. The evening before her began to look less of an ordeal.
Estela turned to Ramón. “I came looking for you for our grandmother’s sake. She declares herself determined to come clown for dinner and requires your arm down the stairs.”
“Is she strong enough?” he asked quickly.
Estela smiled with quizzical humor. “She has always been strong enough to do what she really wishes.”
“That doesn’t make her well,” Ramón pointed out.
“She is over seventy years old. What do you expect?”
He made no direct reply. “Come then, Anne, and let me introduce you to the others before I go up.”
“Couldn’t I help ... with your grandmother?” Anne asked, holding back.
Surprise made his face blank for an instant before he replied, “I’m sure I can manage.”
It had been a peculiar offer, perhaps, in view of Ramón’s belief that she and his grandmother were near strangers. “Please,” she said, making her smile warm and personal and just faintly entreating. “I would prefer to wait and meet the others only when I know you are near — in case I run into difficulties.”
He took her point at once. His face cleared. “Of course, mi alma. As you wish,” he said, and encircling her waist with a casual gesture, led her out of the room under his sister’s amused and approving gaze.
Doña Isabel was ready, sitting bolt upright in a straight-backed chair, in black lace, a magnificent parure of diamonds, and holding an ebony walking stick. A small prayer mantilla of black lace shot with silver covered the white silk of her hair. She acknowledged the formal presentation of her grandson’s fiancée with a regal nod at variance with the kindling warmth in her eyes.
“You look charming this evening, my dear Anne. I may call you Anne?” the old lady said with an audacious smile for Anne alone. Receiving Anne’s prompt permission, she went on. “May I compliment you on your evening frock? It is perfectly delightful, though I think — Ramón, would you be so kind as to fetch me my jewel casket?”
His black glance considered her for a moment, but she returned the look with such a serene expression that he moved to obey her.
“Ah, here is what I was looking for,” the old woman said when the large satinwood box lined with green velvet was placed on her lap. From a small compartment she had taken a fine gold chain. Suspended from it was a lump of turquoise in the shape of a human heart. The stone veining on its surface had the look of gold tracery.
With an imperious gesture, Doña Isabel handed the gemstone to Ramón. “Here, put it on for Anne. It should go perfectly with what she is wearing. It was given to me many years ago by Ramón’s grandfather, a token to go with a gown I had then much in the style of yours.”
As he moved toward her with the pendant, Anne said in alarm, “I can’t take this. It — it wouldn’t be right.”
“Nonsense,” the old woman said, a satisfied look on her face as Ramón placed the chain around Anne’s neck. “Aren’t you going to be my grandson’s wife?”
That question, and the limpid look of innocence that went with it, haunted Anne all evening. The turquoise gradually warming against her breast, she descended with Ramón and Doña Isabel to the living room, or sala, as it was called. Estela came forward to help her grandmother into a chair, and with her light chatter, helped to integrate Anne into the company.
Estela’s husband was a quiet man several years her senior, a professor of history at the University of Mexico not far away. With his neat goatee, intelligent eyes, and briarwood pipe, he looked much like university professors everywhere. Ramón’s business associate and his wife, Señor and Señora Martínez, were a middle-aged couple, both of them on the plump side. They held their glasses of sherry with self-conscious gentility, and, perhaps because they were nervous, reached often for the plate of hors d’oeuvres that sat on the table before them. With sympathy, Anne realized they were new to affluence and a little out of their depths socially. The fact helped her to feel not quite so uncomfortable herself. She was not alone in finding the Castillo family overwhelming.
Ramón did not leave her side. He pressed a small glass of sherry into her hand, then stood with his hand resting on the back of the chair in which she was seated. Together, they fielded the questions about where they had met and when, how long she would be visiting, and the probable date of their wedding. It was Ramón, however, using a skillful blend of fact, humor, and audacious imagination, who made their supposed romance sound a fantastic adventure leading inevitably to this moment, without revealing that it had begun less than a week before. Regardless of how good he was at half-truths, it was a relief when dinner was announced. Presenting an arm to each, Ramón took both Anne and his grandmother into the dining room.
Anne had somehow expected the meal, her first in the household that was not served to her on a tray, to consist of typical Mexican dishes only. Nothing could have been further from the truth. The menu was continental, with a predominance of French dishes in rich sauces, fresh vegetables simmered in butter, a salad, and for desert, a fruit ice followed by strong, hot coffee.
They were sitting over the demi-tasse cups when Estela, taking advantage of a pause, asked, “What do you all say to a performance of the Ballet Folklórico at the Palacio de Bellas Artes? This is something, Ramón, that Anne should see if she is to learn anything of the country she must make her own. It is a beautiful spectacle, I promise you, Anne, as well as being educational.”
As Anne glanced uncertainly at Ramón, Estela went on. “Also there is Xochimilco — the floating gardens — Chapultepec Park and the castle, the pyramids at Teotihuacán—”
“Anne is not a tourist,” her brother pointed out mildly. “There will be plenty of time for that sort of thing.”
Turning to Anne, Estela said. “If I were you, I would watch him. If you let him he will do nothing but work, work, work, and you will soon find yourself a widow.”
“But a rich one,” Ramón observed.
“To some women that is no comfort,” his sister informed him with a tart edge to her voice, “believe it or not.”
Estela’s husband, Esteban, spoke before Ramón could rise to this bit of provocation. “Let me point out, my dear, that we have no tickets and it is getting rather late. Besides, I don’t believe Ramón’s other guests are as enthusiastic as you about the program.”
Señora Martínez made a deprecating gesture. “I am sorry if we cast a damper — is that correct? — on the outing. However, my husband and I have been several times to the ballet, and it is better this evening that we go home. We have a teenage daughter who is out with her young man, and we must be there to see that she returns at the appointed time. You understand?”
Estela protested, but the motherly woman would not be swayed. She insisted on leaving as soon as the coffee cups had been drained.
Her husband supported her. “No, truly,” he said as they stood at the door. “Youth is the time of enjoyment. We would be most unhappy, Ramón, if we were to cause you to miss this opportunity of showing your beautiful fiancée the nightlife of our wonderful city on this her first visit.”
Ramón, a thoughtful expression on his face, made no other attempt to keep them. Señor Martínez sketched a short bow in Anne’s direction, then with a final American-style handshake, maneuvered himself and his wife out of the door.
“A fine idea,” Doña Isabel said as they turned back into the room. “Even if the ballet is out of the question, there are other places to go in the evening.”
“There is an excellent singer at one of the big hotels on the Pasco de la Reforma, and they have a good dance band,” Estela added hopefully.
“You are taking up night life, Abuelita?” Estela’s husband asked.
“Not at all. I value my rest too much to join you. I will naturally not go, but I am not so old that I have forgotten what it is like to be young
with the night before me.”
Esteban slanted a look at Ramón, his shoulders heaving in a resigned sigh. “We seem to be outnumbered.”
“Except that we have not heard from Anne,” Ramón agreed. “What do you say, querida? Do you wish to go?”
She did, very much. It seemed such an anticlimax to have the evening end after so short a time. There should be something more to do justice to the fineness of the dress she was wearing and the haunting sense of anticipation she felt. Still she hesitated, by no means certain that Ramón really wanted to know her wishes. It was possible, since hers would be the deciding vote, that he was waiting for her to decline.
She lifted her gaze to his, a small, perplexed frown between her eyes. As if sensing her dilemma, he moved to her side and, taking her hand, carried it to his lips. “It shall be as you say, my love,” he said.
The grip of his fingers was firm and reassuring, the tone of his voice caressing. In his eyes was an expression she had not seen before, a soft gleam that, regardless of her understanding of the role he was playing, brought a hint of color to her cheeks. She must be careful, she told herself, then forgot the warning a moment later as her fingers curled around those of the man beside her of their own accord.
“I would like to go, if you would,” she replied, her mouth curving into a smile.
The lounge was plush, with velvet-covered seats in circular booths about small tables. The dim light of candles in red globes on each table was the only illumination. The band, in sequined jackets that winked in the semidarkness, was spotlighted on a raised dais with a small dance floor of smoked copper tiles surrounded by gold and red and black carpet directly in front of them. As Estela had promised, they were good, shifting effortlessly from one piece of music to the next, blending a half-dozen different types of music, from modern rock to Latin. The amplified sound was a little loud, but as the deferential waiter, with a greeting for Ramón, led them to a table near the wall some distance away, that did not trouble them.
Drinks were ordered and they sat for a time over them in desultory conversation, with Estela pointing out various people, government officials, artists, and a number of acquaintances, to Anne. Several people stopped by their table and were introduced, though after a time Anne gave up even trying to remember their names. There were too many, the names were too unfamiliar, and it seemed unlikely she would ever meet them again.
When a slow dreamy song began, Ramón turned to Anne. “Well, querida?” he said, holding out his hand.
Anne got to her feet reluctantly. It had been ages since she had danced, not since she had left the children’s home. The kind of men she had met had not been able to afford much more than a movie and a hamburger, in the way of a date. At the home there had been lessons given by the older boys and girls to the younger ones and the occasional Saturday-night dance party, nothing to give her confidence to move onto the floor with a man like Don Ramón Castillo. Still, she could hardly object without revealing to the others that they had never danced together.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve tried to dance,” she warned him as his arms closed around her.
“Don’t worry about it,” he said, his mouth against the silkiness of her hair. “Just relax and leave it to me.”
It was good advice, but hard to accept. She was too aware of the touch of his fingers on her back through the thin silk of her dress, of the brush of his thighs against hers, and the tantalizingly masculine smell of the aftershave he had used. It was strangely comforting to be held close, to feel the strength of his shoulder beneath her hand, and yet she longed for the music to come to an end. Under the circumstances, dancing was not a pleasure but a refined torment.
Ramón bent his head and for a moment Anne thought he intended to press a kiss into the curve of her neck. Instead, he whispered, “You might at least try to look as if you are enjoying it.”
Startled, she missed a step. “I’m sorry,” she said automatically.
“Don’t be,” he said, drawing back to look down at her. “I’m not going to eat you. But if you don’t smile, I’m going to kiss you right here.”
At the unlikelihood of his carrying out the threat, the smile he had requested appeared. “You wouldn’t,” she said with conviction.
A glint of amusement in his eyes, he answered, “So you think, but you’re taking no chances, are you? Ah, that’s it. A look of positive affection. Hold it, please, because we are being watched by my darling cousin, Irene.”
He covered her instant start of confusion with an expert gliding step. Her smile slipped, but she did not quite lose it. “I suppose we should not have come,” she said, voicing the first thought that came into her head in order to regain her equilibrium.
“It doesn’t matter, we had to meet her sometime,” he reassured her. “I would have preferred to wait until later, but perhaps it’s best this way. Don’t be surprised if she and her escort manage to run into us as we leave the floor.”
The music was slowing. As it stopped and they began to make their way with the other couples back to their table, Ramón kept her hand firmly clasped in his. They had not gone more than a few steps before Irene, with her escort in tow, barred their way.
“Cousin Ramón,” she drawled, “and his little—”
“Good evening, cousin,” Ramón said, overriding her strident tones without apparent effort. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“No, I imagine not,” Irene agreed, her gaze moving with studied insolence over Anne. Abruptly her eyes fastened on the pendant lying warm and glowing just above the soft curves of her breasts. The blood draining from her face, she gasped, “That necklace, she’s wearing Tía Isabel’s turquoise.”
Anyone listening would have thought she had stolen it, Anne thought in rising irritation at being passed over as if she were incapable of hearing or speaking.
“A gift,” Ramón answered stiffly.
“But it was to be mine,” Irene said. “Tía Isabel always said she was saving it for—”
“For the woman I was to marry,” he finished for her.
Irene took a deep, trembling breath. The action swelled the bodice of her tightly fitting dress of some heavy green material with a metallic sheen in its folds, and caused the long earrings of green and yellow feathers she was wearing to flutter against her neck. Suddenly Anne was reminded of a picture she had seen just that morning representing Quetzalcoatl, the Feathered Serpent of the Aztecs. At the ridiculousness of the idea, she was released from the paralyzing self-consciousness that had held her stiff at Ramón’s side. Now, turning to him, she placed her left hand with its sparkling diamond ring on the dark sleeve of his arm.
“Ramón, darling,” she said softly, “I don’t believe I have been officially introduced to your cousin.”
“Forgive me,” he said, covering her fingers with his own at once. “Anne, allow me to present to you my cousin Irene. Irene, my fiancée, Anne Matthews.”
“How do you do,” Anne said, holding out her free hand to the other woman with a smile that was perfectly cool and friendly. “I hope you will think of me as a cousin also, since we are all to be of the same family.”
Shock turned the woman’s face to wax. The fingers she placed in Anne’s hand were nerveless and cold. Glancing at her in concern, her escort introduced himself with a few phrases, then began to make their excuses. Irene allowed herself to be led away, but the look she cast over her shoulder at Anne held the glitter of sheer malevolence made all the more potent for being mute.
As they returned to the table Estela scanned their faces, an anxious look in her eyes. When Anne was seated, she leaned forward. “I saw you stop to speak to Irene just now. I hope she was not — that she did not say anything unpleasant?”
“Not really,” Anne answered, smiling again with lips that now felt stiff with the effort she had made to appear at ease.
Ramón, throwing a glance at Anne that was approving and yet faintly enigmatic, said, “I believe you could say t
hat we held our own.”
“I am sorry that you had to meet this soon, for I would not like you to judge all of Ramón’s family by this cousin,” Estela said earnestly.
Touched by the other girl’s concern, Anne could only shake her head. It was Ramón who answered for her.
“How could she judge only by Irene when she has also met Abuelita — and you?” he asked, the lift of an eyebrow taking the sting from that barbed compliment.
In the general laughter the tension eased. Esteban ordered another round of drinks, though Anne refused hers. A small throb of pain had begun again in her temple. It grew more noticeable as she listened to the amplified voice of the singer Estela had recommended. He was Latin, with a caressing and hypnotic timbre in his voice, but she was glad when he was done. Not long afterward Ramón, watching her rubbing her temple through narrowed eyes, suggested that they leave.
Estaban and Estela did not come into the house when they reached home. After an exchange of good nights they got into their low sports car sitting on the drive and drove away. Ramón left his car for the chauffeur to put away and followed Anne into the house.
Inside the entrance hall he touched her arm, turning her to face him. “It’s your head, isn’t it?”
She nodded, then winced. The pain had grown gradually worse on the drive home and even that small movement set off an alarming reaction.
“I should not have let you go,” he said, frowning. “I would not have, except you looked so much like an orphan child on Christmas morning after your one gift is opened, wondering if that is to be all.”
At the sudden stricken look in her eyes, he cursed under his breath and stepped closer to take her in his arms. “That was stupid. Forgive me, Anne. For a moment I forgot—”
His sympathy combined with the nerve-racking events of the past few days was almost too much. As she felt the hurtful rise of tears against her throat, she broke free of the arm holding her.
“That’s all right,” she said on a quick indrawn breath without looking at him. “You don’t have to apologize. I — I enjoyed the evening.”
The Abducted Heart (Sweetly Contemporary Collection) Page 7