My Love Betrayed (2 page)

In my room a few minutes later, I whirled
around and hugged Rick again. He seemed a little
ill at ease with my exuberance, but then he had
always been rather reserved. At least, about
demonstrating affection. Not when it came to
talking.

“How was your flight?” Rick asked, as he sat
down in an armchair.

“So-so,” I said, still standing. “I like flying, but
after a while my head started to hurt.”

“Change in air pressure, probably,” he said
authoritatively.

“And how have you been?” I asked hesitantly.

“Busy.” He grinned. “I’m the only one who
really understands these things here, and trying to
train semi-illiterates is not my idea of fun.
Especially since they’re all male and-”

“Rick!”

He grinned more broadly. “What, love? Are you
objecting to my statement about males or about
semi-illiterates?”

I frowned. Rick was baiting me, of course. He
knew all too well my feelings on the subject. “They
can’t be semi-illiterate if they were hired to work in
a computer division.”

Rick smiled and shrugged. “Forget about work.
Come here, love.”

I sat down near him before he had a chance to
pull me onto his lap. “Seriously,” I said, “how is it
going here? Do you like it? Would you want to
stay?”

Rick ran a hand through his hair. “For Pete’s
sake, Ellen, I don’t know. Sometimes, I love it
here. I’m important, I’m doing what I like best,
and I’m paid very well. But it gets to me, too, being
in a strange country, with strange people and
strange food.”

“Isn’t there anything redeeming about the
place?” I asked, amused.

He grinned again. “Sure, the women!”

“Rick!”

Laughing, he said, “Well, of course, if you’d
been here…”

What could I say to that? I kissed him. After a
few minutes, Rick asked, “How is everyone back
in Chicago?”

So I spent the next hour telling him, and it was
almost as if we were back in Chicago, at his place
or mine, discussing the week’s office gossip. All of
the awkwardness or strangeness I had feared, after
our four-month separation, was gone. And I was
very glad I had come. In fact, we almost seemed
closer than we had just before he left for Mexico in
the fall. I studied his face at one point as he talked
about a friend.

Rick’s brown hair fell forward toward equally
brown eyes. The chin and nose were firm and,
taken altogether, I knew Rick was handsome.
When he stood, he towered a full six inches over
me, and Rick dressed to emphasize his lean, tall
build. I knew I was the envy of every woman who
worked in our section. But, sometimes, I wondered. Rick had hinted, more than once, that he
wanted to marry me. But so far something had
held me back.

Rick’s voice jerked me back to the present.
“…again, this evening.”

“What?” I asked stupidly.

He was patient. “I said, I have a conference this
afternoon, but I’ll see you again this evening.”

Rick looked uneasy. Well, he ought to. I had
just arrived! Still, knowing these things happen, I
tried to smile as I nodded. “I understand.”

“Good girl!” he said. “See you then.”

He kissed me and was gone. It was several
moments before I realized Rick hadn’t told me
what time to expect him. Maybe I could catch him
before he left the hotel. I ran down the hall to the
elevator and cursed its slowness as it descended.
Then, stepping out, I looked around quickly for Rick. I saw him and hurried forward. And halted,
as I saw him greet a lovely young woman. With a
kiss. I stood there, staring. She looked about
twenty, with long, lovely dark hair. It curled down
and over the shoulders of her very expensive white
coat. Laughing, Rick put one arm around those
shoulders and, with the other, held open the door.
Finally, I think I shut my gaping mouth.

“I suggest you sit down.”

The voice came from over my shoulder and I
started. Before I could turn around, a hand
clamped down on my arm and guided me to a
chair. I looked up, about to retort angrily, but
something in the expression on the man’s face
stopped me. He sat down, also. “You don’t really
want to make a scene, do you?” he asked rather
contemptuously.

“No, I don’t,” I replied, quietly but frostily.

I sat waiting for him to excuse himself and leave
me alone. But he didn’t. He looked me over slowly
and, becoming angry, I stared back just as boldly.
This man looked quite presentable-young, rather
attractive, with a flattering, expensive suit and
glasses that made him look as though he were
accustomed to giving orders. But his breeding, I
thought, was deplorable.

As it became clear that he had no intention of
leaving, I said what I had intended to keep to
myself. “May I ask what concern it is of yours
whether I make a scene?”

He shrugged, saying nothing.

And I stood up and snapped, “Good day!”

As I strode toward the elevator, he caught up
with me. “Where are you going?” he asked.

I turned to face him. “That is definitely none of
your business. And if you don’t leave me alone, I’ll
protest!”

He merely raised his eyebrows. And stood there.
I turned and strode to the desk. The clerk looked
up, startled. “Excuse me,” I said evenly, “but this
man persists in annoying me. Could you please call
a house detective?”

He looked at my follower and stammered,
“But senor senorita-”

The man at my elbow spoke then. “She is
registered here?”

“Yes, sir.”

Without a word, he turned and left. Flushing, I
asked the clerk, “Who is he?”

The clerk looked shocked by the whole affair.
“Senor Whitford is an important guest.”

I closed my eyes for a moment, then said,
“Thank you.”

Slowly, I turned and walked to the elevator. My
head spinning, I reached my room. But it wasn’t
the refuge I had expected it to be. It was too full of
Rick. Grabbing my coat, I decided to take a nice,
long walk. I wasn’t sure which had upset me more:
seeing Rick with that woman or the encounter
with Senor Whitford.

Outside, I felt better. As I’ve said, opposite my
hotel was a park. It was full of trees and benches
and people selling soda, ice cream, and what
looked like tortillas and chips and large, crinkly
pancakes. Eating two tortillas with cheese improved my mood greatly.

Then I started walking. More by accident than
by design, I soon found myself on the Paseo de la Reforma. It was a wide, tree-lined boulevard that
made me think of Paris. There were even, I
discovered, sidewalk cafes. For a while, I sat and
watched the world go by. It seemed hard to
remember I was in a foreign country as I watched
couples touching hands, mothers pushing
strollers, and children running after one another.
Only the beggars reminded me of all the unseen
differences between Mexico and home.

I got back to the hotel at five. There was no
message from Rick, so I assumed he hadn’t come
back yet. I checked the bitter thought that came to
mind. Instead, I told myself that maybe, just
maybe, I had misinterpreted what I’d seen. I had to
give Rick an opportunity to tell me himself. And I
dressed with great care for that dinner date. By the
time he came, at seven, to pick me up, I was quite
satisfied with my appearance. My light reddish
hair curled down over my shoulders. My cream
pantsuit was cut in a very flattering style, and, with
some gold earrings and a dab of Shalimar
perfume, I was ready.

As soon as I opened the door, Rick said, “You’re
even more beautiful than you were this afternoon,
love.” (What could I say?) “I’m sorry I’m so late, it
was a rough afternoon.” (Oh? I let it pass.) “I
thought we’d have dinner here, in the hotel. I hope
that’s okay with you, Ellen.”

“Sure, whatever you suggest,” I said.

He glanced at me critically a moment, then said,
“Ellen, don’t wear earrings tonight, okay?”

“Why not?” I asked, annoyed.

He didn’t answer. But I took them off with a smile. Then we went down to dinner. Or rather,
up. To the top floor of the hotel. Windows ran
almost from the floor to the ceiling and most of the
tables looked out over the city. A small band was
playing. I noted, with a little surprise, that I was
the most informally dressed woman in the room.
Rick seemed quite at home here.

As we sat over coffee, after our delicious meal, I
felt completely relaxed. Rick had been his usual
charming self, and if, occasionally, doubts had
nibbled at my mind, I’d dismissed them.

“Ellen?” Rick asked softly.

I looked up from my coffee and saw him smiling
at me shyly. As I watched, he pulled a small,
brightly wrapped package from his pocket. “It’s a
few days early,” he said, “but I couldn’t wait.”

Hesitantly, I opened the package. Inside was a
pair of sapphire earrings. In amazement, I looked
up. “Rick I I can’t accept this!”

“Why not?” he demanded. “You know I can
afford it, and I want you to have them. Ellen,” he
said earnestly, “are you worried about propriety?
You know those rules were made in different
times. Times when men expected something for
such gifts.”

“And you don’t expect anything?” I couldn’t
help asking.

“No, I don’t!” Rick said angrily. “Ellen, you
know how I feel about you. I’m only giving these to
you a few months early.”

I had no doubt what he meant. “And if I don’t
marry you?” I asked. “You know I can’t promise I
will.”

He smiled wistfully. “I know that. And, believe me, I’m not asking you to decide now. No matter
what, Ellen, I want you to have those earrings.
Even if we just part friends, you’d have them to
remember me by.”

I bent my head, staring at the earrings to hide
my confusion. In the end, I accepted them.

Rick smiled. “Thank you, Ellen.” Then he
urged, “Put them on.”

I did, blushing.

It was a little later, as we were leaving the dining
room, that I decided to ask Rick about the woman.
I was sure there was a simple answer and I might as
well clear up the matter. As I opened my mouth, a
diner pushed his chair back, into our path. It was
Senor Whitford, regarding us cynically. “Good
evening,” he said as he slowly stood up.

He made no effort to move out of our way, and
we had to wait until he replaced his chair and
walked ahead of us, out of the dining room, before
we could go on. I could sense Rick’s temper rising
and I placed a hand gently on his arm. He smiled at
me warmly and I could tell he was calmer. But I felt
cold inside and, somehow, could not bring myself
to ask about the afternoon.

Rick escorted me to my room, and with a single
kiss, said good night. “I know you must be tired
after your long trip,” he explained. “I’ll call for you
in the morning.”

I smiled at his consideration. “Rick, thank you.
For everything.”

One more short kiss and he left. I sat down and
spent the next half hour or so in some very
pleasant daydreams.

I woke late the next morning, reveling in the
comfort of my room. It was large, with a
comfortable bed, a desk, two armchairs, and
several lamps, as well as a huge closet and dresser.
The floor, of course, was thickly carpeted, and the
curtains effectively shut out the morning light. I
felt wonderful.

The phone buzzed, just as I finished dressing, to
tell me Rick was waiting downstairs and would
meet me on the fifteenth floor for breakfast. I only
felt a moment’s concern as I went to meet him. The
sapphire earrings were safely in my purse and,
after a night’s sleep, I knew I had misinterpreted
what I had seen. Mexico was a very friendly country, so the guidebook in my room said, and
even a business acquaintance might be greeted in
that manner. Certainly, Rick’s eyes had not held
the same warmth for her that now greeted me.
“Ellen! How are you feeling this morning?”

“Wonderful, Rick!” I said truthfully.

“Good. I have some plans for today.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you after breakfast,” he laughed.

The breakfast room was beautiful, with its
hanging plants and crystal chandelier. Huge
windows on two sides looked out over the city.
Murals and a floor-to-ceiling mirror seemed to
expand the room to twice its size. We had plenty of
time to admire the decor. Even now, when I think
of Mexico, I think first of the food, with its very
leisurely dining pace.

Finally, as we were finishing, I said impatiently,
“Rick, will you please tell me what you have
planned for today?”

He grinned. “I thought we might visit Teotihuacan. The pyramids. Of course, if you don’t want
to…”

“Rick! I’d love it!” I cried, unable to resist the
bait.

“Good. It’s about a forty-five-minute drive.
With my car, anyway,” he said, still smiling.

“I never knew you were interested in things like
pyramids,” I blurted out.

Rick only shrugged. “You can’t come to Mexico
City and not see the pyramids. Besides,” he teased,
“there are lots of things about me you don’t know.
If I’m not very fond of museums, it’s because I’d rather see the original archaeological or historical
sites, instead. Most of the statues from the
Acropolis in Athens are actually in the British
Museum in London. But I’d rather see the barren
temples on the hill any day.”