by Anne Hampson
'I don't believe you,' she murmured. 'You're just saying that because you want to be rid of me.'
'It's for the best.'
'That happens to be your opinion.'
'And yours, if you were honest.'
She fell silent, her mind in total confusion. She ought to leave, to accept the compensation he would offer and get herself established in England again. She felt sure he would give her more than enough for her to get a flat and furnish it, and even to carry on without a job if she had difficulty in getting one. Yes, it was the sensible thing to do, she decided, all her other resolutions going by the board. Revenge was all right, but if it hurt her more than it hurt him it was stupid to indulge in it.
'I'll go then,' she told him dully. 'If—if you can arrange everything f-for me—the flight and— and anything else…' Tears stung her eyes but she bravely held them back. He was not going to see just how much she was hurt. He believed her love was dead and she had no intention of doing anything that might give him cause to suspect he was mistaken. 'I'll go to bed-goodnight…' Unsteadily she rose from the chair, her head averted because she dared not let him see her expression and what it revealed—the pain and hopelessness, the dull resignation, the misery.
'Goodnight, Paula.' His voice was taut, with an odd, unfathomable inflection in its depths. 'Sleep well. And do not worry about the future. You will be well taken care of…' His voice trailed and she turned wonderingly, forgetful that she did not want him to see what was in her eyes. He was going slowly towards the window, so she saw only his back. She closed her eyes tightly against the ready tears that were quickly filling them.
'Goodnight,' she murmured huskily and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.
For the next couple of days Ramon was absent both from home and office. He was going to Haiti, he had told Adela, but Paula felt sure he was still in San Juan, but he was keeping out of her way until the day of her departure which was on the Tuesday following her decision to leave. It arrived and she awoke with a sensation of having a ton weight resting on her body, crushing it, numbing ail feeling and thought. She rose and moved mechanically to the window. The scene which had so delighted her on her arrival in the old city was dull and uninteresting in the atmosphere of low, ominous cloud that hung over it. The sun shut out… How fitting for the day when she was to leave it all. Turning, dry-eyed and without mental or physical awareness of anything much at all, she showered and dressed, remembering to include in her hand luggage some clothes which would be serviceable for the colder climate of England. All was ready when Ramon appeared; she heard his car scrape to a halt on the gravel and automatically looked down, her heart contracting as he came from the car with lithe and easy steps that made it seem he was in a nonchalant, satisfied frame of mind. He had phoned her late last night to say he would be there to drive her to the airport. She heard his voice as he spoke to Adela and she wondered what explanation he meant to give. She was soon to learn that he had merely said she was paying a visit to relatives in England and would be away for a few weeks.
'I can say, later, that you decided to stay,' he told Paula as they watched her luggage being loaded into the back of the car. 'I'll say that you couldn't settle here and so we have agreed on a divorce.' He paused a moment, but Paula could not speak for the agonising blockage in her throat. This was so final, the loading of her possessions into the car in readiness for its journey to the airport. 'I shall arrange an immediate transfer of money to the bank you mentioned,' he promised. 'You will have quite a large sum to draw on.'
She did not thank him, and when presently they were driving to the airport it was a silent journey, each being occupied by their own thoughts. He saw her suitcases checked in, made sure she had her documents with her and then they stood facing one another in that final moment before saying goodbye. His eyes were dark and brooding, hers filmed with tears, and dark with unhappiness. A tense unfathomable silence hung between them like an insurmountable barrier. She felt his hand take hers, its warmth and strength sending pulsations through her body. He said goodbye and then without another word he was striding away, out of her life without a backward glance.
She made her way to the lounge, her first class ticket clutched tightly in her fingers and in her other hand the rather heavy piece of luggage she was taking into the cabin. People were milling about, chatting together, laughing… She felt lost and alone, with a dry, choking sensation in her throat, and she wished that she could die.
The plane was late and it was dark before Paula was at last on board, her seat belt fastened. The roar of the engines increased and as she felt the pressure on her back Paula realised they were taking off. She glanced through the window, wondering where in the blackness beyond the airfield her husband was. Could he be sparing a thought for her—? Her unhappy musings stopped abruptly as her heart jerked right up into her mouth on the sudden violent lurching of the aircraft. Someone screamed; the tip of the wing hit the ground and on the instant sparks shot into the air. The blazing wingtip came up again but the next moment there was a shuddering, grinding noise and the plane spun into a ground loop and slowed to a stop. Paula, her heart thudding against her ribs, wanted nothing more than to rise from her seat, but controlled the impulse as the stewards and stewardesses began opening the doors and escape hatches. The next few minutes were like an eternity before it was Paula's turn to be guided to the shoot and told to slide down it. The fire was on the other side of the aircraft and the doors on that side were still firmly closed. Fire engines screamed along the runway, their lights trained on the airplane. From another direction a fleet of ambulances was approaching the crippled aircraft.
Dazed, but conscious that she was safe, Paula found herself back in the lounge. She heard someone say that the accident had been caused by a burst tire; she also heard that no one had been hurt.
'Paula!' The voice calling her name seemed to come from a long way off and yet it was loud and clear. Her heart turned a somersault; she twisted her head to look into the grey, haggard face of her husband.
'Ramon,' she quivered disbelievingly, 'how— what—?'
'I stayed in the observation lounge to see your plane leave—' He stopped, and at the ghastly colour that was spreading over his face Paula half-expected him to be sick. Nerves were pulsating in his throat and in his left cheek; perspiration was oozing from his forehead and upper lip. 'I saw the sparks, then the fire—' His voice faltered again and Paula, her eyes widening to their fullest extent, felt her pulses race… and this time it was something very different from fear that was the cause…
It was half an hour later that she heard herself say, 'I never thought I'd be grateful for a plane accident, Ramon. Oh, but why didn't you tell me you loved me before?'
'I intended to, but then things began to happen. Your friend Denis appeared and I saw you in his arms—' His words came to a stop when Paula put her fingers to his lips. They were on the balcony of the Casa Don Felipe, their arms about each other, their eyes staring over the lights of the city to where the moon hung low over the massive ramparts of the citadel. Ramon had brought her home where, he said, she would stay. He had explained much in the short drive from the airport to the house, and Paula learned that after seeing her with Denis in the car he had decided it was too late to confess that he loved her. He had killed her love by his treatment of her and although at first he had no intention of letting her go, he soon became filled with shame and remorse and felt that the only recompense he could make was to give her her freedom and a large settlement that would ensure her comfort and security for the rest of her life. 'It was sheer hell, letting you go,' he admitted. 'And you didn't make it any easier by saying you weren't leaving until you were ready. I knew I couldn't live in the same house and resist making love to you, and it did seem that, as you weren't in love with me—'
'But I was,' she could not help interrupting, going up on tiptoe to kiss him.
'I know that now, darling, but at the time I didn't, remember? And s
o it seemed that I would be taking you by force, and each time it happened you'd hate me a little more—'
'You really think so?' she broke in, curling her fingers along his nape and up into his thick dark hair.
'Sweetheart,' he chided softly, 'if you didn't keep interrupting I could finish my story and we could concentrate on more pleasurable pursuits.' He was laughing with his eyes. He bent his head and his lips met hers in a long and passionate kiss. 'As I was saying, you didn't make things easier by your decision to stay. So I had to make threats about living the old life—'
'It was cruel,' she accused petulantly, like a fractious child, and her husband gave her a little shake as punishment.
'I had to be cruel to be kind,' he went on after the interruption. 'I was doing what was the best for you—'
'What you thought was the best for me,' she corrected and received another shake for interrupting.
'I felt I owed you such a lot—'
'You could have repaid it by saying you loved me.'
'Paula,' said her husband in a dangerously soft voice, 'do you stop interrupting or do I put you over my knee and spank you so hard you'll not sit down for a week?'
She buried her face in his shoulder, vitally aware of his body warmth against her cheek.
'I won't interrupt again,' she promised, but she did add that it was a very long story and she had guessed a great deal from what he had already told her.
'Well, I intend to finish it,' he said. 'The hardest thing I have ever done in my life was to go away for those days before you were due to leave. Yet I had to, darling, for otherwise I'd have taken you by force. Then came another hard part: the taking you to the airport—'
'But why didn't you give me some hint of how you felt?' she broke in protestingly. 'I had no clue that you cared, Ramon—not one from the very beginning. And you did admit that you loved Rosa, you know,' she added as the thought occurred to her.
'At the time I genuinely believed I was telling the truth. Yet even then I was attracted by you, by your beauty, dearest, and your charming naiveté, your sincerity— Oh, so many endearing traits! Let me kiss you before I say any more!' And, suiting his action to his words, he crushed her eager body to him and kissed her with all the arrogant possessiveness of his Spanish ancestors.
She was breathless and laughing when at last he released her. She stared up into his face and thought what a difference there was from so short a time ago when he came to her in the airport lounge. He had convinced himself she had been killed, he had confessed on the way home. His life would not have been worth living, he admitted, for he would have blamed himself for her death, simply because, but for his treatment of her, she would not have been aboard the airplane.
She had smiled then, and told him her love had never waned, and all she had ever wanted was to have his love in return.
Yes, she mused as she stood close to him on the balcony, much had been cleared up during the short drive home, and now the rest was explained—or most of it. Anything else could wait, they both seemed to decide as they pressed their hungry bodies together, their lips meeting, their arms tight about each other.
'I love you, my dear, dear husband,' whispered Paula simply. 'Be with me always… always…' She leant away, her eyes adoring.
'Always and forever,' was his fervent promise before, sweeping her passionately into his arms again, he crushed her lips beneath his own in a kiss that was as primitive as it was tender, as arrogantly possessive as it was reverent. 'Always and forever, my dearly beloved wife.'