Captive Heart

by Patti Beckman

  "Look, Mr. Del Toro," she snapped, rising to her full five feet, five inches. "I don't like this any better than you do. I didn't want to come here. My father took sick, and I came in his place. There's nothing in the sales agreement that says your instructor has to be a man."

  "Just what qualifications do you have, seňorita?" demanded Del Toro, an angry flush rising from his collar.

  "Well, I've logged over a thousand hours in the air and I hold an instructor's rating for one thing," JoNell retorted. "As a matter of fact, I learned to fly an airplane before I learned to drive a car. I grew up around airplanes. I can fly them, gas them up, and even make some repairs. I may look young to you, seňor, but I know what I'm doing."

  Del Toro was frowning darkly, his eyes unrelenting. "Flying is serious business," he snapped.

  "I know that," she retorted.

  He shook his head, "You're a mere child, my dear," he insisted.

  "I happen to be of legal age—twenty-one," she said angrily, "hardly a child. I'm a senior in college—"

  He interrupted, "No—no. It's out of the question. I didn't bargain for this when I bought the plane. Other arrangements have to be made. I cannot accept delivery of the airplane under these circumstances—"

  JoNell looked hopelessly at Uncle Edgar, but realized she wasn't going to get a whole lot of help from him. He was laboriously trying to sort out the rapid-fire dialogue.

  This was a serious situation. Her parents needed to make this sale. And Del Toro was entitled to flight instruction with delivery of the airplane; that was in the contract. Possibly some arrangement could be worked out with a local flying instructor—but JoNell felt too stubbornly angry to settle for a compromise like that. First he had angered her by his infuriating manner of treating her as a "mere child." Then he was insulting her by inferring that she wasn't a competent pilot.

  Impulsively, JoNell exclaimed, "If you doubt my qualifications to fly, I'll give you a sample ride right now. Then you can judge for yourself!"

  Del Toro stiffened. Her suggestion obviously took him by surprise. For the first time since he'd walked so self-assuredly into the room, he appeared to be at a loss for words. She glimpsed a strange conflict in his eyes.

  JoNell pursed her lips, and tilted her head slightly to one side, as her brown eyes studied him challengingly. "What's the matter, seňor?" she asked softly. "Are you afraid?"

  For a long moment, a dropped pin would have rattled loudly in the deathly silence.

  Del Toro's gaze flicked in the direction of the other two Latin men in the room, the customs inspector and the hangar manager who had greeted JoNell and her uncle. They were watching and listening avidly.

  Del Toro looked at JoNell again. His demeanor was haughty. "Afraid, seňorita? Don't be ridiculous!"

  JoNell suppressed a giggle. Ah, seňor, but don't I detect a slight paleness in your cheeks? If you ask me, you're scared but you'd die before your Latin macho ego would admit it in front of these other men…

  JoNell felt a moment of heady triumph. "Then, come on. I'll give you a sample of how well a woman can fly."

  She led the way out the door, through the hangar and angrily jerked open the door of the Cessna. The customs man helped her remove the luggage. He promised to process it while they were in the air. Fine, she thought grimly. No flying projectiles sailing around the cabin when she proved her skill to Del Toro.

  He climbed silently in beside her. A quick jerk of her head tossed her long, blond braids over her shoulders. "Better buckle your seat belt," she warned, enjoying a situation where she could give him orders.

  She stretched out a slender hand to the ignition key. Two white tennis shoes pressed firmly on the brakes.

  Her strong, determined voice called "Clear!" out the side window. The Cessna's engine sprang into life, and with its roar, the propeller became a spinning circle.

  JoNell completely ignored Del Toro as she called the tower and received permission to taxi.

  With a deft touch, JoNell inched the plane forward. It rolled smoothly. She eyed the ground traffic and headed toward the designated runway. Fortunately, the drizzle had dissipated and the sun had come out. The ground was beginning to dry. Stopping short of the runway, JoNell pushed hard on the brakes and revved the plane up to cruising speed, checking both magnetos, making sure all instruments were operating, while working up her nerve to give the haughty Del Toro the surprise ride of his life.

  "Hold on," she warned through clenched teeth. She rolled out on the runway, lined the nose of the plane up with the white stripe running down the center of the pavement, and shoved in the throttle. The plane sprang forward eagerly. JoNell pushed forward on the stick, operated the rudders back and forth to steady the plane, and waited for that special feeling that always gave her a giddy shiver, the moment when the plane reached flying speed and she could sense that it wanted to make its leap into the air. At that precise moment, JoNell felt so exhilarated, she could almost have forgiven Del Toro his rudeness. She pulled back on the stick and the plane pulled away from the runway.

  There was always magic in that moment. The ground fell away under JoNell and the runway shrank into a smaller and smaller ribbon. There was a freedom in the air that she could never recapture on the ground. She felt she could go anywhere, do anything, be anybody, so long as she was flying high above the dwarfed structures on the ground.

  "Well, Mr. Del Toro, now do you admit I can fly a plane? I happen to be the person who flew this airplane all the way from Florida. Uncle Edgar is a mechanic; he doesn't fly, you know."

  Del Toro was sitting stiffly beside her. "But you are a woman," he said stubbornly. "It takes a man to handle a plane in an emergency—a man to instruct properly."

  JoNell went momentarily blind with anger. You never give up, do you? Well, you asked for it…

  Without warning, she rammed in the throttle all the way and pulled back hard on the stick. The plane went into a steep climb. When the altimeter read 3,000 feet, she suddenly cut the throttle and pulled back all the way on the stick. The plane slowed, began to slip backward, and then nosed downward into a stall. The earth rotated into view. The plane picked up speed in its dive toward the earth. There was no sound from the engine, only the rush and whine of the wind around them.

  JoNell shot Del Toro a glance. His teeth were clenched, his jaws knotted. He gripped his seat belt with knuckle-white hands. His green eyes were wide and his forehead gleamed with perspiration. But he didn't utter a sound.

  Poor guy must be scared stiff, she thought. She almost relented, then remembered how he had wounded her pride, letting her know that she was a "mere girl," incapable of really flying an airplane.

  JoNell watched the earth rushing toward them at a breathtaking clip. She eased in the throttle, and when she felt the plane regain control, she gently eased the plane into a level position.

  She climbed back to her former altitude and put the plane into another stall. But this time, as the earth rotated into view, she gave full right rudder and right aileron and the earth did corkscrew turns as they sped toward it.

  Aerobatics were not JoNell's favorite pastime. When she initiated a stall or executed barrel rolls, she always developed a quivering stomach. Trick stunts were better left to daredevil types. But she had learned all those stunts well, and now she was glad she had braved her queasy feelings.

  JoNell pressed her left foot against the left rudder and turned the yolk collar, which she still called a stick, back to a more neutral position and the spinning plane slowed. When she added the throttle, the dizzying ride came to a stop, and the plane once again cruised upright over the earth.

  Del Toro's olive complexion was definitely pale. She could see a pulse throbbing in his muscular neck.

  Should I, she asked herself? Why not, she replied. Here goes! She gave the plane full throttle, pushed forward on the stick to keep the nose of the plane level and shoved the rudder and aileron into position. The plane sped forward. JoNell and Del Toro were mashed
into their seats with crushing force. The earth turned upside down, came into view, then disappeared as the plane did a complete barrel roll, then another.

  "Well," she called over the roar of the engine. "How do you like your ride so far?"

  "Delightful," he managed through clenched teeth.

  She righted the plane and headed back to the airport. She was feeling twinges of guilt for giving Del Toro what had probably been the fright of his life. After all, it had been a shock to him to find his life entrusted to a woman when he had expected a man. Latin men expected their women to be demure and domesticated. They were unaccustomed to the more independent women in the United States.

  Well, he wasn't just a pompous stuffed shirt, all front and no substance, she had to admit. It had taken real courage to get in the plane with her when he was obviously nervous about flying. Either that or he had so much pride that he'd risk his neck before showing a weakness in public.

  "I guess I should apologize," she admitted. "I had no business doing that—scaring you that way. I just wanted to prove to you that I can really fly. And I guess I was more than a little mad."

  "You did scare me," he confessed. "But it wasn't what you did as much as it was having a woman flying the plane."

  "You're impossible!" exploded JoNell.

  Stubborn brown eyes clashed with cold green eyes. JoNell was so furious she could no longer speak. The two of them rode in stony silence back to the airport. As soon as she'd parked the airplane, she flung open the door, leaped out, and stormed into the office where Uncle Edgar was waiting for her.

  "He's impossible!" she blurted out on the verge of tears. But she knew Del Toro was close behind her and she bit her lip, forcing back the tears. It wouldn't do for Mr. Superior to see her reduced to tears. That would be just the kind of evidence he needed to convince himself that JoNell was, indeed, a "mere girl."

  Uncle Edgar got his large body to its feet faster than JoNell had seen in years. He strode to her side and put a comforting arm around her. "What did he do?" he demanded.

  Then a strong hand touched her bare arm. Fire and ice shot through JoNell. Her arm flamed where Del Toro's fingers brushed her arm.

  "I'm afraid I insulted your niece," Del Toro said, "and I owe you both an apology, seňor, seňorita." His bow was Latin elegance polished to perfection. "Miss 'Carpenter proved quite satisfactorily that she can pilot an airplane. I guess it wouldn't hurt to take a few lessons from her."

  The cold, hard glint in his green eyes had vanished. Something else, quite unfathomable, had taken its place.

  In spite of his patronizing, superior, macho attitude toward her—referring to her as a "mere girl"—he now was willing to concede that she knew how to handle an airplane. At least he was big enough to give that much to her.

  "I'll send my car for you," Del Toro said. He shook Uncle Edgar's hand. Then he turned to JoNell and took her hand. He bent over it, and his lips brushed her fingers. Her arm was limp and her fingers burned where his lips had touched.

  But when he raised his head, his green eyes met hers and the expression of amused scorn was clearly visible again. His sudden cordiality was a surface gesture. He was mocking her, and he wanted her to know it! He would stick to his part of the bargain, accepting her as his flying instructor, but he would continue to look on her as no more than an amusing child.

  He's insufferable, she thought. An ego as big as his should be stuffed and put on display in a museum. I despise him. I'll give him his darn flying lessons because we need the money and then take the fastest plane back home!

  Del Toro gave a perfunctory parting bow, then turned and strode from the small airport office.

  The door opened again almost immediately and a short, round man who wore a waxed mustache bounced in. He bowed graciously over a rotund stomach. "Miguel Sanchez, a su servida."

  "That means 'at your service'," JoNell translated.

  "The car," Miguel indicated with a gesture.

  JoNell and Uncle Edgar walked out ahead of the chauffeur to a long, black limousine. Miguel leaped ahead of them, swept open the back door with a flourish. The seat was filled with red roses. Miguel smiled broadly, his chubby face aglow. "Las rosas— they are for the seňorita."

  JoNell sucked in her breath. Delight swept through her. For a moment she was speechless, then she gasped, "There must be dozens!"

  "You like, seňorita?" Miguel beamed.

  "Oh, yes. I adore flowers!" she exclaimed.

  Obviously, they were a gift from Del Toro, arranged as a welcoming gesture when he thought she was to be a guest in his home while her father taught him flying. The flowers had no personal meaning. They were simply a matter of Latin protocol. He'd probably had a secretary take care of the matter, and he might not even remember he had left orders for the flowers to be delivered. Never mind; she'd enjoy the flowers for themselves.

  JoNell scrambled into the back seat, exclaiming over the huge bouquet. "Why, there must be a hundred roses here, Uncle Edgar," she sighed. "I've never seen anything like it!"

  "Pretty near fills up the back seat, doesn't it?" Uncle Edgar observed.

  Miguel twirled the pointed ends of his mustache, bowed again, then scurried around to the driver's seat.

  JoNell picked one of the long-stemmed roses from the array and sniffed the sweet fragrance.

  The ride to Del Toro's estate was delightful compared to her encounter with the arrogant Del Toro. Miguel entertained them with funny stories in his broken English mixed with Spanish. When necessary, JoNell translated for Uncle Edgar.

  Miguel drove like a maniac. JoNell giggled nervously, thinking that she had felt safer flying through the pass in the Andes at 13,000 feet! Everyone drove like that in Peru, Miguel explained. Through the window, JoNell saw other drivers wildly cutting in front of each other, making sudden, tire burning stops at red lights, waving angry fists and calling insults at each other. But in spite of all the emotional confrontations on the road, Miguel assured JoNell and Uncle Edgar that Peruvians had very few wrecks. Most of the cars on the road were older models since automobiles were quite costly in Peru. So the local citizens were careful not to bang up their prized transportation.

  As Miguel took them through the city, JoNell was conscious of the contrast between colonial architecture and modern skyscrapers. For several blocks they drove on wide avenues, then suddenly turned into narrow side streets and were transported into the sixteenth century when Peru was a Spanish colony. They passed houses with Spanish balconies and plazas with their dominating churches. JoNell had read a number of books on Peruvian history before this trip. She knew a great earthquake had destroyed half the city in 1746. When Viceroy Amat arrived in 1761, he had brought with him architects to rebuild the city, and during that period, colonial art had flourished.

  JoNell saw stucco walls surrounding buildings and homes. Arch-shaped passageways in the walls gave entrance to patios where banana trees and other tropical plants grew in lush profusion.

  They turned down the tree-lined Avenida de Descalzos which lead to the convent of the same name.

  Miguel pointed out one of the tourist attractions, the Quinta de Presa. It was a beautiful rococo palace built under the influence of Viceroy Amat, and now was a museum. JoNell made a mental note to visit the building if she had the opportunity to do some sightseeing while she was in Lima.

  At last they left the main part of the city behind and arrived at the residential suburbs. Miguel drove the big car through a gateway, followed a winding graveled drive under a thick grove of trees and finally arrived at a large parking area outside a bright yellow garage. Beyond the garage was a colonial style two-story home that could only be described as a mansion. The estate grounds were on a bluff and from this vantage point there was a view of the blue Pacific sparkling in the distance.

  "We are here," Miguel announced with an obvious note of pride. He jumped out of the front seat, hurried around to JoNell's side of the limousine and opened her door with a deep bow.

/>   "Seňor Del Toro tell me to say for him, Mi casa es su casa. My house is your house."

  Chapter 2

  "I show you to your rooms, then I bring your bags," Miguel said. He took JoNell's hand, helped her out of the back seat, then opened the door for Uncle Edgar. He showed the way along a graveled path that wound between shrubbery from the parking area to the mansion. "You be very comodo here. You like it?"

  JoNell sensed that it was extremely important to Miguel that she be pleased. "Oh, yes. It's beautiful," she said with total honesty. The great mansion was yellow stucco with black, wrought-iron filigree over the windows. The massive lawn was immaculate, not a blade of grass out of place. In the center of the yard, in front of the mansion, a water fountain bubbled and splashed. Along the stucco fence were trees, shrubs and flowers. Wild orchids grew in profusion. A greenhouse tucked back under the trees was as large as JoNell's little home back in Florida. A large balcony jutted out from one side of the house, under which was a sun deck. Behind the house was an Olympic size swimming pool.

  "Come inside," Miguel urged, opening a massive oak front door.

  The interior of the house was magnificent. A marble floored foyer led directly to an outdoor patio with another dazzling lighted fountain. The entire house was built around the patio, and all rooms opened onto it. High ceilings gave the rooms an air of spaciousness. Floor to ceiling windows were draped with red velvet. Expensive paintings gave a special touch of elegance to the walls. JoNell recognized an original Goya and a Rembrandt. Sparkling chandeliers hung from the high ceilings. White doves cooed inside golden cages on each side of a white marble statue of Venus. On one side of the main entrance room was a cage-like door which JoNell realized opened to an elevator.

  "Nice, huh?" Uncle Edgar finally commented.

  "I'd say that's an understatement," JoNell gasped. "Do real people actually live in houses like this?"

  "I dunno," replied Uncle Edgar. "But it appears we're about to find out."