The Paper Marriage

by Flora Kidd

  The memory of the dream depressed her all morning. Once more she helped Antonia in the kitchen and then sat for a while on the verandah. It was Friday, the day Miguel expected Owen to come, but after her dream Brooke was more than ever convinced that he would not come. Even the thought that dreams often go by opposites did not comfort her and she was silent and unresponsive at lunch time so that Miguel sent several concerned glances in her direction.

  They had just finished the meal when they heard the sound, a faint droning which came nearer and nearer until they could recognize it as the engine noise of a light plane. Miguel cocked his head to one side as he listened, his eyes glinting with interest. When the plane flew low over the house he sprang to his feet and went out on to the verandah. Brooke followed him.

  The plane was slightly smaller than the one in which they had flown from Caracas and its cream and white paint glittered in the sunlight. It turned and began to approach the runway. It seemed to Brooke that it was coming down far too steeply and too fast. Anxiously she glanced at Miguel. To her surprise he was smiling

  almost affectionately as he watched it approach.

  “Who is it?” she asked, as her heart began to pound inexplicably. He flicked a glance at her.

  “El toro. No one else would make an approach like that, like a bull charging at a gate. Didn’t I tell you he would come?”

  Hands to her face, Brooke watched the little plane hit the runway and bump along before it stopped. Already Miguel had left her side and was running down to the runway. Brooke did not follow because she was suddenly a little afraid.

  A man jumped down from the cockpit. Even from this distance she could recognize the big shoulders. As he stood with his hands in his trouser pockets, while Miguel talked to him with many gestures of his hands, Owen looked for all the world like a bigger edition of one of the peons, dressed as he was in white trousers and a bright short-sleeved casual shirt and an old wide-brimmed straw hat which was tilted forward to shade his eyes from the glare of the midday sun.

  Miguel seemed to shrug his shoulders, then turned to come back to the house. Owen moved slowly after him, but with a sudden lunge launched himself forward in a flying tackle. He caught Miguel round the legs and they both went down in the dusty grass beside the runway. For a moment Brooke stood transfixed, watching them roll over and over. Then she also moved, backing into the house, hurrying along the passage to the small bedroom where she had slept for the past two nights. Once in the room she shut the door. She could not lock it because it had no lock, so she sat down on the side of the bed and began to think what she should do.

  Owen had come after all, and judging by the way he had tackled Miguel, he was in a violent mood. Soon he would be coming to the house to find her and possibly to vent his anger on her. She must strive to be calm and to offer a cool reasonable explanation of all that had happened. Only in that way could she prevent him from behaving violently towards her.

  But it was difficult to control the wild excited beat of her heart and she had been sitting in the warm shuttered silence of the room for some time trying to calm herself when she heard Owen’s footsteps, light but purposeful, coming along the passage. Instead of meeting him on the verandah, out in the open, she was trapped in the room. Slowly she stood up as the footsteps stopped outside the door.

  The door opened suddenly. Owen entered the room and kicked the door shut behind him and leaned against it with his arms folded across his chest.

  His hat had gone, his hair was tousled, his face and clothes were streaked with dust. His wide chest rose and fell as he got his breath back after his recent violent exertions and his eyes blazed yellow. Yet when he spoke his voice was a dangerously soft purr.

  “And now, girl, I think it’s time I dealt with you,” he drawled. “Pity I haven’t shown you before that I’m your husband and intend to stay that way. It might have saved us both a lot of trouble.”

  He pushed away from the door and began to walk towards her. In spite of her resolve to remain calm Brooke panicked, backed away from him, came up against the bed and sat down on it. At once he grabbed her by the arm and yanked her to her feet.

  “Wait, Owen. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation,” she began.

  “I’m tired of being reasonable with you,” he said, and tilting up her chin he kissed her on the mouth.

  It didn’t last long, that kiss which was unlike any other kiss she had ever known, compounded as it was of anger and desire. Its message was clear and strong and found an answer in her own deeply-rooted desire to love him which awoke suddenly, so that of their own accord, or so it seemed, her arms crept round his neck and she held him close.

  But as he realized she was responding Owen pulled free from her looking down with a puzzled expression on his face.

  “I believe you’re really glad to see me,” he said.

  “Oh, I am. You’ve no idea how glad!” she cried, and to her own surprise burst into tears.

  “Miguel hasn’t hurt you?” The question came out in a low growl.

  “No. He’s been wonderful - so kind and thoughtful. Owen, why have you come?”

  He stared at her thoughtfully, watching the tears running down her cheeks as if they were some strange phenomenon.

  “I came because I had this strange impression that Miguel had taken something which I considered belonged to me. Someone said he had kidnapped you. Someone else said that you had come with him willingly, that you had left me because you preferred him. All I know is this: I had to come after you both and find out which was true. So I bullied Ramon Sanchez into lending me his Piper and flew here as soon as I could. I reckon I made pretty good time too.”

  Now he seemed to be amused, and she began to wonder if she had imagined his anger and his desire. Would he ever show her what he really felt? Or would he always be wary of showing emotion?

  “Why did you come with him, Brooke?” he asked, almost casually.

  “I was going to tell you, only you insisted on ... on ...”

  Tears, stupid silly tears welled up in her eyes again and she could not continue.

  “I insisted on taking my rights,” he put in wickedly. “Now what’s all this? Crying again? It’s not like you to weep. I thought you were cool, calm and unshakeable.”

  The mockery in his voice had the effect of stiffening her backbone. She knuckled the tears away, pushed her hair back from her forehead and glared at him.

  “I am,” she asserted, “only you’re such a bully.”

  Owen’s eyebrows tilted derisively, but he didn’t say anything, so Brooke went on.

  “I didn’t intend to come here. Miguel said he would arrange to take me to Ciudad Bolivar to see my father. I hesitated at first because of leaving Megan, but your stepmother and your father said they would look after her and explain to you when you came back, I told you all that in the note I left for you. Didn’t you get it?”

  He shook his head negatively.

  “But I left it in your bedroom! ” she exclaimed.

  “It wasn’t there. Inez told me why you had gone and implied that you wouldn’t be coming back if you could help it. Then Stella arrived and said she was sure you had left me. And finally Manuela phoned to say that you and Miguel had come here.”

  “I had no idea he would bring me here and prevent me from returning to Caracas. I only wanted to see my father - Owen, have you any news of him?” she asked anxiously.

  “Yes. As a matter of fact I travelled with him on Wednesday. He’s now in hospital in Caracas being treated for malnutrition. He should be out in a week. You can imagine his surprise when I told him you and I are married, and quite naturally he was anxious when he learned that you had left Caracas to go and see him. He doesn’t know yet that you were kidnapped and brought here.”

  “What happened to him after the helicopter crashed?”

  “He led the other two through the forest to an Indian village where they managed to persuade the tribe to let them have some food. Then he se
t off to search for the mountain he was looking for. Found it, too, and after a most fantastic walk managed to reach another village where he was eventually found. He’s brought back lots of information.”

  To her annoyance Brooke began to cry again. Sitting down on the bed, she covered her face with her hands. This time instead of watching her Owen sat down beside her, pulled her into his arms and held her until her sobs subsided.

  “What’s wrong, girl?” he asked eventually.

  “I’m happy, that’s all,” she sobbed.

  “Then why weep?”

  “Release of tension, I suppose. Daddy is alive and you’ve ...” She broke off and pulled away from him, brushing the tears from her face.

  “I’ve what?” he prompted.

  “You’ve come here as Miguel said you would. You see, that’s why he kidnapped me. He hoped to bait you so that you would take some action. He said that until you showed Stella that you were more interested in me than in her he would never stand a chance with her.”

  There was a funny little silence. Outside the house they could hear Miguel calling to someone. Through the shuttered window the sunlight slanted making yellow stripes on the wooden floor. The afternoon heat was heavy, almost tangible.

  “He knows me better than I know myself, clever devil that he is,” murmured Owen slowly.

  “What did he tell you when he met you off the plane?” asked Brooke.

  “He said you and he had spent two very pleasant days together and that he was glad I had come to join you and what a pity it was that I hadn’t brought Stella with me. It was then that everything seemed to boil over and I tackled him.”

  “Did you hurt him?”

  “I rubbed his nose in the dust. He’ll survive. He did in the past.” He chuckled softly. “It was like old times rolling over and over in the dust out there, both of us trying to get on top and hold the other down.”

  “Who won?” she asked.

  “I suppose I did, although we just stopped by mutual consent. We’re both of an age when that sort of brawling is unnecessary. You’re not the first woman he’s enticed away to this place. He’s been a bit of a playboy in his time, you know.”

  “He’s told me about that. He said that you used to come too, and bring your girl-friends so you needn’t pretend to be such a puritan, Owen Meredith,” she retorted, and he grinned at her.

  “That was before I married Glynis. I haven’t been here for years,” he replied.

  There was another silence. Owen traced with one finger the pattern on the Indian blanket which covered the bed. Then he said rather diffidently,

  “Were you really thinking of leaving me, Brooke?”

  “It had been suggested to me that it would be a good idea,” she

  replied, and he looked up quickly, his eyes light against the sun-bronzed skin of his face.

  “Who made the suggestion?”

  “Someone who would like you to be happy and thinks she knows how that could be achieved.”

  “Inez!” he rapped, and his eyes flared smokily.

  “Please don’t be angry with her. She meant it for the best. She thought you might have married Stella if you hadn’t gone to England and met me. It was her dearest wish ...”

  “I know. That’s why I went to England again. Remember me saying I acted fast in a crisis? Well, that was the crisis, and you came pretty close to guessing the truth when you suggested I was being chased.”

  “You mean you married me to escape marrying Stella?”

  “Not exactly. I never had any intention of marrying her. I didn’t love her and I knew she would be hopeless with Megan. But when someone as strong-willed as Inez gets a bee in her bonnet it’s very difficult to prevent her from pursuing it, and it had occurred to me that a marriage of convenience had suited my father very well, so I thought, why shouldn’t I try it and at the same time show Inez that I had no intention of being a sacrifice to grant her her dearest wish? I met you and ...”

  “Bullied me into marrying you?” she accused.

  He gave her a sharp underbrowed glance.

  “Is that what you thought? Oh, no, girl, I doubt if anyone could bully you and get away with it. I didn’t bully you - I made a suggestion and caught you on the rebound. Or have you conveniently forgotten Kevin’s letter?” he said softly.

  Words failed Brooke temporarily. The room around her faded and she was back in the living room of her flat reading Kevin’s letter before the electric fire, then coming to a decision and going downstairs to telephone Owen. She could see that he was right. He hadn’t bullied her. He had kept his distance and had left her to decide for herself. He had behaved with a subtlety she would not have credited him with. But how had he known about the letter?

  “You left it lying on the settee in your living room,” he explained blandly, guessing at her thought. “I read it while you were changing. I’d almost given up trying to find someone to take care of Megan when you phoned me that evening, and quite naturally I was curious about what had pushed you into making a decision. It was your decision, you know, girl, yours alone, that’s why I want to know if you really want to leave me. I know Miguel has got all it takes to attract a woman, but ... ”

  “Oh, yes,” she interrupted him, breathless with anger. Words came to her at last, a flood of them that had to be said. “Miguel is handsome in a dark romantic way. He’s courteous, sophisticated and charming. He knows how to court a woman and make her feel she’s the only woman in the world for him. But he has a touch of the medieval about him and sometimes he can be even more unscrupulous than you are. He goes in for revenge and kidnapping. You only read other people’s letters. You’re often rough and clumsy, but you know how to play upon other people’s feelings while revealing nothing of your own...”

  She couldn’t say any more because he stopped the flood of words in the way that men have stopped the flow of words from irate wives since time began, kissing her forcefully, hungrily, and as she began to respond to the passion expressed by his action he pushed her back against the pillows.

  There was a silence in the room for a long time, the soporific silence of siesta, which prevailed all over the hacienda as humans and animals settled down for an hour or two of rest, relaxing, perhaps dozing and, sometimes, making love.

  It was the sound of a door closing somewhere in the house which eventually disturbed Brooke. She glanced at the angle of sunlight slanting through the slats of the shutters. It had changed. She decided it must be about three o’clock. Siesta time was over.

  Conscious of an unfamiliar weight and warmth close beside her, she turned her head slowly. Owen was lying beside her, his hands under his head. His eyes were closed and although his face was barred by shadows she could see that the contentment which she was feeling herself was expressed there. For the first time since she had met him he looked really happy.

  She was just about to move away quietly and rise from the bed when he opened his eyes, reached out an arm and pulled her back

  against him.

  “Well, girl? Are you going to leave me?” he asked.

  “I will if you think you’ll be happier with Stella,” she parried teasingly.

  “You really believe that would be possible after this afternoon’s events?” he asked, a lilt of surprise in his voice.

  “I hope it wouldn’t be possible,” she replied cautiously. “But I love you enough to be able to let you go if you prefer her to me.”

  “I don’t prefer her to you,” he retorted impatiently. “I thought I’d just shown you that I don’t.”

  She was silent, refusing to give him any help, wanting him to tell her that he loved her.

  “I see. Actions aren’t enough. I’ve got to put it into words. Is that it?” he grumbled.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  “All right, here goes. I’ve never preferred Stella to you. She’s beautiful, elegant and as strong as steel, highly intelligent and forceful. She’s a woman who’s suitable to be the wife or mistre
ss of an ambitious man on his way to the top, a man like Miguel. But not to be my wife. I need someone who’s not only sensible, calm and competent, but who is also soft-hearted and kind, a fairy godmother with hair like the sunset and eyes like crushed violets; someone who’s pleasantly plump and who’s independent and holds some very up-to-date ideas about women’s rights. There, I think I’ve given myself away enough for one afternoon!”

  “Have you?” she teased.

  “You know I have. Do you believe that I’d have borrowed a plane and come out here if I hadn’t discovered that I love you and want you as my wife in every way possible? When I was told you’d gone away with Miguel my reaction was more than medieval, it was downright primitive. Nothing could stop me from charging in pursuit of you.”

  “El torn,” she mocked; and Owen’s arm tightened. His hand forced her chin up and he was about to kiss her again when they were both startled by the sound of an aircraft’s engine starting up.

  “Miguel!” exclaimed Owen, swinging off the bed and going to the door. He left the room and Brooke heard him running along the

  passage and out of the house.

  Slowly she slid off the bed. She glanced in the mirror on the wall. She was startled by the sight of a rosy-cheeked, sparklingeyed young woman who smiled back at her. No longer was she the haggard-faced woman who had lost her love and who had looked in a mirror one dim February afternoon in England. She looked now like a woman who had found her love and who knew she was loved.

  By the time she reached the verandah the little plane in which Owen had come had taxied to the far end of the short runway and was turning in readiness to take off. It came with a roar, rose bumpily into the air and flew directly over the house. She saw the white flash of Miguel’s smile as he waved to her and then the plane turned and flew down the valley.

  Owen joined her on the verandah.

  “Why has he gone?” she asked.

  “So that you and I can be alone here to have our honeymoon and also to tell Stella the outcome of his little plot,” he said, putting an arm round her waist as they watched the plane grow smaller and smaller and gradually fade from view. “He said he’d tell your father that you’re with me and that you’ll be seeing him in a few days.”