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The women’s eyes met. ‘Yes,’ Arden said carefully, ‘I do.’ With slow, deliberate movements, she tore the cheque in half and went on tearing it until it had been reduced to white confetti, then let it fall like snowflakes over the desk. ‘Tell Mr Lithgow he can stuff that wherever he likes,’ she said, trying to keep her voice from trembling, and she turned sharply and strode from the room.
By the time she’d gone a block, she was calling herself all kinds of fool.
What had it got her, that stupid bit of drama? She had destroyed Lithgow’s cheque, but damn it, to what end? She should have kept it and...
No. She could never have done that. But she could have cashed it and kept at least enough money to get her home. One of the great benefits of this job had been that her room and board were all paid for and so she’d sent most of her pay home. Her mother had been ill last year and Arden had been slowly whittling down the medical bills.
Wait a minute! Her steps slowed. The company owed her severance pay, if nothing else, and a return ticket home. She could go back and demand them...
But what was the point? Lithgow would have to approve such arrangements, and he had conveniently vanished. Well, he couldn’t stay away forever. A few days, Julie had said. Arden’s shoulders straightened. All right, then. She had enough money to keep going that long. The minute he returned, she’d confront him, demand that he issue a cheque for the severance pay due her and meet his other obligations to her, too, including paying her air fare back to the States.
It was the least he owed her.
The days passed, but Lithgow didn’t turn up. His trip had taken him deep into new markets in South America, Julie said when Arden telephoned the office the third time late one afternoon, and he wasn’t expected back for several weeks.
Arden thanked her, hung up the phone, and put her head in her hands.
Now what? She couldn’t take another job, even if she could find one, not without a work permit. There was always the American Embassy, but the thought of telling her story to a bureaucrat who was probably another aristo-bastard like Lithgow was more than she could bear.
And even if he weren’t of Lithgow’s class, he might still give her that same damning look the stranger had. There were even nights she dreamed of the way those green eyes had narrowed with contempt at the sight of her, although why she should was beyond her to understand. She certainly didn’t give one fig for the man or for what he’d thought of her...
There was a knock at the door. Arden stood up slowly and smoothed down her skirt. She’d half expected a visit tonight. Senor Arondo had left her a curt note earlier, reminding her that she had not yet settled her bill for the past week.
She steeled herself, then walked to the door and opened it. But it wasn’t the manager who stood in the corridor, it was Alejandro, the bellboy, and he was carrying a covered tray.
Arden breathed a sigh of relief.
‘Alejandro,’ she said, ‘you’ve made an error. I didn’t order—’
‘Buenos noches, señorita.’ The boy flashed her a quick smile. ‘Your supper.’
If only it were her supper. She wasn’t in the mood to go out to eat tonight, but she’d given up ordering room service—it was too expensive. In fact, she’d given up eating in the hotel. The last couple of days, she’d found it much more economical to take her meals at a little shop around the corner.
‘I’m afraid not,’ Arden said. ‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Alejandro. I didn’t—’
The boy winked as he moved past her into the room. ‘I hope the order is right,’ he said loudly.
Arden frowned as she let the door swing shut. ‘Alejandro, what’s this all about?’
‘I had to have an excuse to come to your room, señorita.’ He put down the tray and smiled at her. ‘Otherwise, I would have got myself in trouble.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I am here on my own behalf. No. That is not correct. I am here on behalf of my cousin, Pablo.’
Arden blinked. ‘Your cousin?’
‘Señorita Miller, please believe me when I say I have no wish to embarrass you, but...’ The boy caught his lip between his teeth. ‘But we hear things,’ he said, rushing the words together. ‘It is said that you—ah—that you had a falling-out with Senor Lithgow and that is why you no longer work for his company.’
She blew out her breath. ‘Well, that’s one way to put it.’
‘It is said, as well, that—that you need money. And—and—’
Her eyes focused on the boy’s reddening face ‘And?’
‘And that is where my cousin enters the picture.’
Arden shook her head. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’
‘Well—well, Pablo knows of this difficulty of yours, señorita. And he would like the chance to offer you a proposition.’
Her expression hardened. ‘Would he?’ she said in a flat voice.
‘Oh, yes, absolutely. Pablo lives an hour’s drive from here, in a very big house. A mansion, you would say.’ The boy’s face lit. ‘It is beautiful there. There is a pool to swim in, and horses to ride—oh, there are all manner of beautiful things to enjoy. And Pablo says you are the perfect woman for him.’
‘Indeed.’
Alejandro was not impervious to the growing frigidity in Arden’s face and voice.
‘I told him that such an offer might embarrass you,’ he said with obvious discomfort, ‘but he was determined I speak on his behalf.’
‘Yes, I can just imagine.’ Arden slapped her hands on her hips. ‘Well, you can just tell Pablo that I’m not interested. The damned nerve of him—and of you, Alejandro! How could you make such a proposal to me?’
The boy’s face fell. ‘Si,’ he whispered miserably. ‘I told him you would say this. “Pablo,” I said, “the señorita is a secretary, she is not a—”’
‘That’s right,’ Arden said with feeling. ‘I’m a secretary, although lately everyone else seems to think I’m—’
‘—she is not a nurse. “But she does not need to be a nurse,” Pablo said. “Old man Romero already has one of those,” he said, and it is true. What the old man needs is a companion, someone who will read to him and talk with him, someone who is a gringa because no tica has ever been able to stand up to his temper—’
‘Wait a minute,’ Arden said quickly. ‘What are you talking about? What old man?’
‘Never mind, señorita. Forgive me for having been so impertinent.’
Arden reached out and caught hold of the boy’s arm as he began to turn away.
‘Alejandro, please, tell me what this is all about. Is this—is your cousin—’
‘Pablo,’ he said helpfully.
She nodded. ‘Yes, Pablo. Is he offering me a job as his companion?’
‘Pablo?’ he said with a giggle. ‘No, certainly not. My cousin is the chauffeur to Señor Romero, señorita.’
‘He’s making the offer for Señor Romero, you mean?’
‘Sí. The old man has many servants but only Linda to keep him company, and—’
‘inda?’ Arden repeated. She was growing more baffled by the minute. Would she ever be able to sort this out?
‘The stepdaughter of Señor Romero.’ Alejandro made. a face. ‘You will not like her, I think. But El Corazon—’
‘El Corazon,’ Arden said numbly, as she sank down on to the edge of a chair.
‘The Romero finca. It is the place I told you of earlier. Pablo says to tell you that you would have your own room and bath.’ His voice fell to a whisper. ‘You could ask to be paid many colones, Pablo says, because no one else will deal with the old man. He is—how do you say—difficult.’
She sat staring at the boy. A job as a paid companion, she thought, and a lump rose into her throat. A job as a servant, that was what it was, a job she’d been destined for all her life, the same as her mother and half the female population in Greenfield...
‘Señorita?’
Arden swallowed hard. Alejandro was watching her with barely concealed eagerness. As far as he was concerned, he’d just offered her the opportunity of a lifetime.
Well, if it wasn’t that, it was, at least, a way to earn enough money to get her home. Did you need a work permit for a job like this? She didn’t know, and she wasn’t going to ask. That was Senor Romero’s problem, not hers.
Still, the thought of it made her flinch. How could she dance attendance on the rich, when the thought of it made her skin crawl?
How can you sit here and wait to be thrown out into the street? a voice inside her asked with cold precision.
‘Señorita? If you are not interested—’
‘But I am.’ Arden took a deep breath. ‘Tell your cousin I’d—I’d be happy if he could get me an interview.’
The boy grinned as he snatched up the tray. ‘I will tell him to make the arrangements.’
She closed the door after him, then sank back against it. Suddenly, she thought again of the man she’d met in the lift, of the things he’d accused her of. What would he say if he knew she was going to take a job as servant to this Señor Romero?
A bitter smile touched her lips. He’d never believe it.
But then again, neither did she.
CHAPTER FOUR
PABLO drove her to her interview with Felix Romero in an ancient, brilliantly polished Cadillac limousine. There would be, he warned, three separate interviews to endure, although only one would take place today.
‘Señorita Linda is away, but when she returns she will insist on questioning you, too,’ he said as they bounced over a dusty dirt road, ‘even though the decision of your employment is not actually hers to make. Whether or not you get the job is up to Senor Romero—and to Señor Conor, of course.’
‘Who?’
‘Señor Conor Martinez.’ Pablo looked into the rearview mirror. ‘He is—how would say?—he is the true master of El Corazon.’
‘But I thought—’
‘Someone had to take charge when Señor Romero’s health began to fail.’
Arden sank back against the seat. ‘Alejandro never mentioned any of this,’ she said glumly. ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me this Senor Martinez is as difficult as Senor Romero.’
‘Some would say he is even more so,’ Pablo admitted after a pause. His eyes met Arden’s in the mirror. ‘Senor Conor is of the old school. He demands obedience and perfection.’
Arden could see him in her mind’s eye, a tall, white-haired Spaniard, his face marked by age and discipline, until suddenly another image swept that one aside, that of a tall, handsome man with green eyes, an unsmiling mouth, and the certain belief that he could never be wrong.
‘You mean,’ she said, her words touched with bitterness, ‘he sets himself up as judge, jury, and executioner.’
The chauffeur chuckled. ‘An interesting description, sefiorita.’
And, without question, an accurate one. Arden closed her eyes. Wonderful. Just wonderful. She was about to sign on for a job that would make her a servant, answerable to not one man but two, a pair of elderly Spanish grandees who had no idea the world was moving swiftly into the twenty-first century.
Why had she let Alejandro talk her into this? Anything would be better than—
‘We are arrived, señorita.’
Arden opened her eyes and sat forward just as a pair of massive iron gates swung open to an electronic signal. The Cadillac slowed and began moving up the long driveway, and a little shudder went through her.
Alejandro had described El Corazon as magnificent; it was a word she’d heard often from her mother while she was growing up.
‘I’m going to be working for the Baileys,’ Evelyn would say, and then she’d sigh dramatically. ‘Their house is just magnificent!’
After a while, Arden had known what ‘magnificent’ meant. It was a synonym for grandiose and overdone, a way of saying that a house was far too big to be a home, had cost more money than anything should, and would surely impress the life out of anyone who saw it.
But none of that described El Corazon.
She leaned forward and stared out the window. El Corazon—The Heart—had seemed a romantic name, but this house was hardly romantic. Seen from a distance, it was large and imposing, larger, probably, than any of Greenfield’s pricey mansions. A flower-banked path bisected a wide lawn that looked as if it were carpeted with dark green velvet; it led to wide white steps and a porch whose graceful colonnades drew the eye upward to the house itself with its black trim and Spanish tile roof.
Arden sank back in her seat. What was she doing here? It was too late to tell Pablo to turn the car around, she would have to go through with the first interview, but at its conclusion she would politely thank Felix Romero for his time, then ask Pablo to drive her back to the city. And then she’d swallow what little was left of her pride, go to the Embassy, and beg for help.
Anything would be better than going to work as a servant in a house like this.
Romero was waiting for her in the library. He was a wizened old man with a full mane of white hair, gnarled hands that were tightly clasped around the ivory head of a walking stick despite the fact that he was seated in a wheelchair, and an expression sour enough to make a lemon seem sweet. After a brief few questions, he fixed Arden with a rheumy stare.
‘I am told that I am not an easy man to work for,’ he said brusquely. ‘I have a short temper, and I do not suffer fools lightly.’
Arden thought of telling him it didn’t matter because she wouldn’t take this job if he offered it to her, but she decided to be polite.
‘So I’ve heard,’ she said pleasantly.
‘If I ask you to work for me, I will expect you to rise early, to keep abreast of world affairs so we may discuss them, and to choose your companions wisely.’
‘If I were to decide to work for you, I would rise early because I have always done so, I would discuss with you whatever topics the both of us agreed were of interest, and I would choose my companions by my own standards, which I assure you are every bit as stringent as yours.’
She waited for him to respond, aware that she would never have answered with such arrogance if she hadn’t already decided she didn’t want this job. Felix Romero’s mouth twitched. It took a moment until Arden realised it was as close to a smile as he would offer.
‘It may be that you will work out,’ he said.
Arden stared at him in surprise. ‘Does that mean you’re offering me a job?’
‘Tell Pablo to go to San José and collect your things. I will give this a try.’
He would give it a try? She lifted her chin.
‘Perhaps you should ask me if I will give it a try,’ she said.
