by Anne Hampson
'The Americans usually have king-size beds,' Ramon had explained earlier, 'and these beds were bought in the States.'
So many things came from the States, Paula had discovered, but then, Puerto Rico was an American island.
'But we still retain our Latin American personality,' Ramon had been swift to assure her.
He had entered the bedroom behind her and closed the door with a quiet click. Paula swung round lightly, her dress flowing about her feet like that of a dancer. Ramon stood motionless, his eyes, dark and piercing, seemed for a fleeting moment to brood, and to stare beyond her as if he were looking for another picture to become focused within his vision. The atmosphere became electric; she whispered huskily, 'Ramon… what is it?' and the next moment he was smiling.
'My wife,' he murmured. 'How very tempting you are.'
He was dynamic, just as Paula had known he would be, with that Latin American temperament of his and the innate sense of mastery which was also a part of him. She steeled herself for the kind of lovemaking that not one in a hundred Englishmen would understand. She tingled in every expectant nerve as he moved gracefully towards her with lithe unhurried steps. She was vitally conscious of the languid, latent power that his body movements portrayed. There was arrogance in every step he took, all the inbred superiority of his Spanish ancestors. Like them, he would take just whenever he chose to do so, and in his own dominating way.
She was standing with her back to the window, moonglow behind her, a rapt expression on her face, her big eyes limpid pools of happiness. He was hers!—this superlative man who had chosen her from all other women he had known!
He stopped; she waited for the order that would bid her to go to him.
'Come here.' So soft the words, but authoritative, and his eyes, unwavering on her face, clearly reflected the command in his voice.
She obeyed, with steps that faltered in spite of her eagerness to be in his arms. Reaching out, he drew her possessively towards him, lean brown fingers immediately tracing a line along her cheek to the curves of her throat and shoulder. She looked up into his dark face, searching for an expression of love, but his eyes were unfathomable, his lips curved in a twisted, lingering smile. Paula could only stare mutely, wondering at his thoughts and feeling almost shut out… someone who was suddenly in the way!
He looked down at her at last, his expression veiled still, but the twisted smile was gone and he seemed to be coming back to her. Within moments she had forgotten everything but the thrill of his kiss, the pleasurable pain of his crushing embrace. Her sensitive nostrils became profoundly affected by the aroma of his body, mingling with the fresh wild heather of after shave and the result was magnetic, drawing her to him, stripping her of all reserve. Unashamedly she arched her slender body in seductive sensuality, allowing her arms to creep up around his neck, then wander to his nape and into his hair.
'You're incredibly tempting! Paula, you're so alive!' He wasted no time in dealing with the zipper of her dress, and she blushed adorably as its folds swirled downwards, to settle around her feet. Her bra was removed next and she was held at a distance so that he could take his fill of her near-naked body. Something more than passion stirred her senses… She was seeing him with other women, his almost lecherous gaze devouring their smooth-skinned beauty, and in his dark foreign eyes the shades of contempt. Her eyes lifted; she half-expected to see a scornful expression on his face, but what she did encounter was deep admiration. And yet almost immediately his expression changed and she could read nothing from the chiselled mask he had drawn over his face. Incomprehensible, with a shield around him still… But no. How could her thoughts be wandering on lines like that? She was facing the most wonderful moment of her life, for whatever came afterwards there would never be another night quite like their wedding night.
His hands were sliding over her body, warm and strong and very reassuring. Ecstasy swept through her as her blood was set on fire by the masterful provocation of his touch on her breast. His lips roved in sensual exploration to rest eventually against the ivory curve above his hand.
'You're… delectable!' Ramon's voice was hoarse, throaty, deepened by passion. 'I've never known seductiveness like this before. I always believed Englishwomen were cold, and even unapproachable when they chose to be perverse, but you… my beautiful, reciprocal wife—' His words shuddered to a stop as, having unbuttoned his shirt, Paula slid her hands against his ribcage. His body quivered against the yielding softness of her curves, and when, a moment later, she felt the hardening peaks of her breasts imprisoned in his long, sensitive fingers, the sensual abandon of her own desire was the flame to ignite the ardour already smouldering within him. A vein throbbed in his temple; his gaze moved to the gentle swell of her throat, then lower to the delightful lobes of her breasts, and with a wild, primitive motion he swept her into his arms, strode to the bed and laid her down. Her long lashes fluttered, for she was too shy to watch him undress. She heard the rustle of clothes, imagining him taking off his garments one by one. And then he was beside her; she knew the redolence of her flesh against his, knew the agony of desire stabbing through her loins; she gasped in the throes of ecstasy as one vibration after another racked her body as her husband swept her into the vortex of his primitive, unleashed ardour.
The week following their wedding had been a time of bliss for Paula, with her husband giving her all she could ever have wanted, both mentally and physically. They were attuned in matters of art and music, and of the appreciation of nature in all its aspects. She and Ramon had spent a little time on the beach during the first two days, with Ramon doing some underwater exploration. The following day he had taken her to Parguera, a pretty fishing village where they had eaten grilled lobster for lunch before setting off in a motor boat to tour the bay. Ramon had insisted they stay until dark so that Paula could witness the strange phenomenon of the bright green sparks flashing through the water of Phosphorescent Bay. He told Paula to draw her arm through the water, which she did, and exclaimed in wonderment and delight when a great arc of quicksilver flashes appeared.
They left the hacienda for Old San Juan four days after the wedding, but Paula did not mind in the least because she had many ideas for changes she wanted to make at the Casa Don Felipe. Not that she had any intention of changing the general atmosphere in any way, on the contrary, she was delighted with the shady patios glimpsed through leafy arches, the terraced garden—not nearly so grand as that of the hacienda, but delightful in a very different way—the ancient, intricate wrought-iron balconies… all these retained the flavour of old Spain, of the Spanish Grandees in their opulent prime, and to wander about among them was an experience of which Paula knew she would never tire. But the interior of the casa was in part somewhat severe, and she began to add a tapestry here and there, which she discovered in the attic rooms, secreted away in ancient wooden trunks and now brought to light again. She fetched rugs from little used rooms to adorn the marble floor of the dining room; she moved chairs and couches, added paintings and ornaments, side-tables and cushions.
Her efforts brought a flattering observation from her husband.
'It's beginning to look more like home every day. You're a marvel, especially as you are still working at the office.'
Paula laughed and was happy, basking in the rosy glow of his approval. All she wished was to serve him, to do whatever she could to make his life perfect in every way. Never could she have visualised loving like this; it was a soul-sweeping experience and she often felt herself floating, as if she were in the realms of heaven itself.
'I'm so happy I'm frightened,' she confessed to Ramon one evening when they had returned to the house after a very busy day at the office. 'Who am I to be as lucky as this?'
To her astonishment he uttered no words of reassurance, made no move to take her in his arms and kiss away her fears. Instead, he turned slightly from her and she suspected the action was made so that his expression would be hidden from her. She fell silent, staring at
the aperitif Ramon had poured for her and which stood on a side-table at her elbow. She and Ramon had not changed yet, and she was in a pastel green summer dress, low-cut and sleeveless. She crossed her shapely legs and leant back in the chair, her eyes now focused on her husband who had not yet turned to look at her.
What was the matter? Until now the only shadow on her horizon was that she would have had her husband a little more demonstrative, and yet she was at the same time accepting that, when she first knew him, she had been convinced that he was too cold and distant ever to be demonstrative, too self-contained ever to allow emotions—other than sexual ones—to come to the surface.
Again she was conscious of a thread of doubt, and now she began to wonder if it had been there all the time, and that she had automatically thrown it off, continuing to live in paradise, with the hours and days flying by on golden wings.
'Is something wrong?' she asked at last and Ramon turned then, and she noticed the brooding expression in his eyes.
He shook his head absently.
'No—what could be wrong?'
'You're not the same,' she faltered, an unconscious catch in her voice. 'You seem to be—er—sad…'
He stared at her, then shook his head again.
'Darling,' he chided, 'why should I be sad when I have a wonderful wife like you?'
Her world was rosy again; she went to him, put her arms about his neck and lifted her face for his kiss.
'I love you, Ramon,' she whispered huskily when he had kissed her. 'I love you so much that it hurts.'
He seemed to utter a little sigh of impatience, and a frown creased Paula's wide forehead. But as she lifted her face to look into his eyes she saw nothing to alarm her and she decided she had been imagining things. He bent to kiss her, and his arms were strong and reassuring about her. She was foolish and fanciful, she admonished herself later. If she wasn't very careful, she'd become a clinging wife whose continual need for demonstrations of love from her husband would very soon begin to pall, especially with a man like Ramon.
She resolved to be a little less emotional in future.
Chapter Six
It was five days later that Ramon told Paula he would be away from home and the office for a couple of days.
'I have to see a client who's a cripple,' he went on. 'He lives here, in San Juan, normally, but at present he's with his sister in Haiti. It's imperative that I see him, and it'll mean my staying overnight because there's rather a lot to discuss.'
'You don't need me with you?' the plea in her voice either went unnoticed or was deliberately ignored.
'You're needed in the office. There will be the phone to answer, and many of the calls will be important. There are letters, too, which I have already dictated to you.'
She nodded, feeling flat, and instantly admonished herself for it. After all, it would be less than two days that her husband would be away.
She wanted to drive him to the airport, just to be with him until the last moment; and she would also be able to meet him on his return the following day, but he would not hear of it. He would drive himself, he said, and leave the car at the airport overnight.
After his departure at lunch time, Paula busied herself until the usual time of five o'clock, when she closed the office and strolled home through the narrow streets paved with the stone brought as ballast in the galleons of Spain. The sun was going down, and in the slanting rays she was able to appreciate more than ever the atmosphere of sixteenth- and seventeenth-century Spain portrayed in the lovely old buildings with their curious arched doorways, mellowed and peaceful in the afterglow of the swiftly-lowering sun. Sights, sounds and smells all contributed to the heady sensation of unreality—the perfume of frangipani, the scent of mango flowers in the gardens she was passing, the perfume of lemon blossom drifting on crystal-clear air from some unseen place. At the northwest tip of the city rose the massive fortress of El Morro, soaring to a hundred and fifty feet above the Atlantic. Impregnable bastion of colonial Spain, it had resisted the determined attacks of doughty Englishmen like Drake and Hawkins, who had failed to break through its fortifications.
At last Paula found herself coming from the darkening streets of the city into the lighted courtyard of the Casa Don Felipe. From the terraced garden drifted the perfume of flowers—tropical lilies and orchids and numerous exotic trees. She stood for a few moments savouring the atmosphere of peace as the garden became enveloped in the lovely blue-mauve afterglow of a Caribbean sunset.
The house seemed strangely deserted as she entered, in spite of the ready greeting of the housekeeper and the delicious smell of cooking.
It was strange, dining alone, and yet Paula could not help but recall how, until she had come to work for the man who was now her husband, she had eaten alone almost every night of her life.
After dinner she went up to the bedroom, found herself pacing aimlessly about from one side to the other and, giving herself a mental shake, she found a book of poems, took it out on to the balcony, and found a secluded corner sheltered by a beautiful bougainvillaea vine. After switching on the muted light above her head, she settled down to an interlude of quiet reading.
It must have been less than a quarter of an hour later that voices intruded into the incessant trilling of cicadas and, frowning in puzzlement, Paula automatically lowered her book to her knees. One voice was that of Adela, the housekeeper, the other that of a younger woman—an arrogant, imperative Spanish voice speaking in English. Rising stealthily, Paula traversed the balcony, which ran the full length of three bedrooms and over a leafy stone-flagged courtyard which was at right angles to the front facade of the house. The voices were quite clear from this point and without compunction Paula listened, intrigued by the imperious, demanding voice of the visitor.
'I don't believe he's away! I know you, Adela—you dislike me and try to keep me from your master! You did it three weeks ago, remember, and I believed you and went away. But when I rang him the following day he said he was in! Let me pass, at once!' She was speaking in Spanish now but of course Paula could understand every word of what she was saying. Who was she? And by what right was she able to adopt this attitude with Ramon's highly-respected servant? Ramon himself would never have spoken to Adela in that particular tone of voice.
'He is away,' came the housekeeper's raised voice. She also spoke in Spanish and was answered even before the last syllable was out of her mouth.
'You lie, Adela! And why are you acting so strangely? You're furtive, glancing about you all the time. This proves to me that your master is in. He's in his study and I'd call if I thought he could hear me. Announce me at once!'
'I can't announce you to someone who isn't here, Senora Donado. Believe me, Senor Calzada is not at home!' A fleeting silence followed before the housekeeper added, unmistakable urgency in her voice, 'You must believe me, and leave at once!'
'That is just it, I do not believe you.' Smooth the tone all at once, but still commanding and imperious. Who was this woman? Paula was asking herself again, aware of her heart beating rather quickly and of a tautness affecting her nerves. 'It doesn't suit you for me to marry your master, does it?' the voice went on, its sneering quality lost on Paula as she took in the woman's incredible words. 'You know I shall dismiss you! at once, because of your persistent rudeness to me! I am not used to being treated so by mere servants! And now, woman, allow me to pass you. I shall see Ramon no matter what you say!'
'It doesn't suit you for me to marry your master…' The words were still repeating themselves over and over again in Paula's brain, and she was aware of perspiration breaking out on her temples, and in the palms of her tightly-clenched hands. The woman was well-known to Adela, obviously, and it was also obvious that her position with Ramon had been such that she believed she had a chance of marrying him. Paula's mind recalled the name… Senora Donado… senora. The title of a married woman, Paula herself now being known as Senora Calzada. Paula's natural instinct was to move, to show herself, but some
indefinable force held her back; she would listen for a little while longer.
'Go away, Miss Rosa—!' For some reason the housekeeper had broken into English, which she almost always used when speaking to Paula. 'Mrs. Rosa, I mean! It is not good that you stay, because I speak the truth when I tell you that Senor Calzada is not at home. He is in Haiti, with a client.'
A silence followed; Paula, nerves more erratic than ever, wished she could see the girl. From her voice she had gathered much about her personality, and now as her mind began to form pictures she saw her as an immaculately-attired woman carrying herself with total confidence and looking like something out of a glossy fashion magazine. Slinky, perhaps, and sexy, with a figure to be envied… the sort of figure that had attracted Ramon in the past.
'Stand aside!' came the insolent command at last. 'I intend to enter this house!'
'Please… Oh, Senora Rosa, you do not understand what has happened! I cannot let you in—it's impossible!'
For some reason Adela had decided not to inform the girl that Ramon was married and, understanding her discomfort, Paula decided it was time she showed herself. Speeding back along the balcony, she entered the bedroom, crossed it swiftly, and was soon descending the balustraded staircase with the same quiet haste. She saw the girl's eyes widen as she looked over the broad shoulders of the housekeeper.
'Who—?'
'Oh, dear!' cried Adela, having turned her head. There was an anxious, almost pained expression on her face, noticed Paula. 'Senora,' she began hesitantly, 'I'm sorry, but this lady called to see—' She stopped, biting her lip and glancing from one girl to the other. 'I tried to make her go, because she has come to see Senor Calzada, but she does not believe he is away from home.' Again she stopped, anger darkening her eyes as the visitor came past her into the hall and was standing in an arrogant pose, looking at Paula. In a fleeting but thorough glance Paula had taken in the classic Spanish beauty of the girl's features, the slender figure, the sleek black hair above delicately-arched brows, the large dark eyes, blue-shadowed and neatly lined. The girl wore a perfectly-cut suit of light blue linen, with shoes and handbag to match. In her ears she wore heavy drops, and a matching bracelet adorned her left wrist. A diamond and sapphire ring glittered on the third finger of her right hand; the fingers of her left hand bore no rings at all.