My Love Betrayed (4 page)

I looked up to see Senor Whitford. “Certainly,”
I said frostily.

We glared at each other all the way up.
Fortunately, he got off before I did, and the
elevator girl smiled at me sympathetically. So my
spirits were recovered by the time I got to my
room. I decided maybe I’d write some letters.

I was up early again the next morning.
Christmas Eve. I decided to spend the day at the
National Museum of Anthropology. If I walked
the few blocks to the Paseo de la Reforma, I could
catch a bus that would go right there.

After breakfast, I left, carrying my coat against
a possible late-afternoon chill. Half an hour later, I
was entering the museum. The Museum of
Anthropology in Mexico City must be one of the
finest in the world; whoever designed the layout
did so with impressive efficiency. Sections lead
from one to another, with no doubts as to whether
one has missed a corridor or not.

But I didn’t realize all that at once. I was still browsing in the preclassical section when I heard a
voice at my shoulder. “My, my. Amazing who one
sees here, isn’t it?”

I knew, even before I turned, whom I would see.
“Well, Senor Whitford. Good day. Yes, it is
amazing. I certainly would never have expected to
see you here. I simply assumed you spent all your
time at the hotel, sneering at other guests and
interfering in their affairs.”

He flushed. “And you, Miss Steffee, have
abominable manners! I’m sorry I tried to help
you!”

He turned on his heel and started away. But I
couldn’t let that one pass. Catching up with him, I
demanded, “What do you mean, help me?”

Senor Whitford looked at me. After a moment,
he said quietly, “Suppose we tour the museum
together? I know it fairly well, Then, perhaps, I’ll
explain.”

I stared at him warily, then shrugged. Whatever
his motives, he could hardly assault me here. And,
somehow, I didn’t think I had to worry anyway.

My opinion of Senor Whitford began to go up a
little. He was a charming and witty guide. As he
said, he knew the museum fairly well. Certainly he
was more interesting than the guidebook I had
purchased outside. By the way, Senor Whitford
was not really senor, but mister. That is, he was an
American. I was simply in the habit of calling him
senor because the desk clerk at the hotel had
addressed him that way. Senor Whitford seemed
amused that I did so. At one point, he asked me
why.

I shrugged, slightly embarrassed. “I suppose
because it puts a distance between us.”

He laughed then, drawing a frown from the
security guard. “You think there’s not enough
distance now?” he asked, amused.

I frowned and shrugged and turned away,
pretending to study a statue behind the glass. I
could feel him standing at my shoulder, though he
said nothing, and it made me uneasy. Then,
reflected in the glass of the case, I saw him frown as
he studied me. A little too brightly, I said, “What’s
over there?”

Smoothly, he answered my question and we
moved on.

By early afternoon, we still had not seen
everything on the ground floor. “Perhaps we
should take a break for lunch,” Senor Whitford
suggested. I hesitated and he said impatiently,
“Come on. I don’t intend to go any further now.
I’m hungry, even if you’re not.”

“Okay, I am hungry.” I nodded.

The cafeteria at the museum was quite crowded,
but we managed to find a table. It was in the back,
and a little quieter than some of the others. I
pretended to study the menu as Senor Whitford
openly studied me. “Shall I order for you?” he
suggested.

“No!” My voice was clipped.

He raised an eyebrow, but said nothing as he
continued to study me. Eventually, a waitress
came and took our orders and Senor Whitford
spoke again. “Well, will you tell me a little about
yourself, Ellen?”

I stiffened. “How do you know my first name?”

He shrugged. “The same way I know your last
name. The clerk at the desk told me. Mine, by the
way, is Charles.”

It wasn’t really an answer, of course, but then I
hadn’t really asked what I wanted to know: Why? I
decided his reasons for finding out didn’t matter.
“I’m surprised that’s all you know about me,” I
said sarcastically. “Want more for the dossier?
Well, I grew up and went to college in Indiana, but
I live in Chicago now. I’m a computer programmer. I like parks and museums, skiing and
swimming, cooking and traveling. What else is
there to tell?”

“And balloons,” he added, with inexplicable
irritation.

“And balloons,” I agreed.

“You are very young, aren’t you?” he asked,
with the same puzzling anger.

“Twenty-five,” I challenged coolly.

“I, on the other hand, am thirty-five,” he
commented. I shrugged and he went on. “What’s
your relationship with this Richard Kemmler?”

I stared at him. “How do you know about
Rick?”

“I’ve heard him paged at the hotel.”

We continued to stare at each other and finally I
said, “I’m engaged to him.” Charles raised an
eyebrow and I said, defensively, “Practically…maybe. Oh, hell! Rick wants to marry me and
I haven’t quite made up my mind yet.”

Charles nodded coolly. “I see. And you will
refuse. Right?”

“No! I mean, maybe. I mean, it’s none of your
business!”

Charles frowned. The waitress arrived with our
food, a diversion for which I was grateful. When
she left, I said, “Are you going to tell me anything
about yourself? Or is this all one-sided?”

Charles raised an eyebrow, but answered
casually, “I am, as I said, thirty-five. I grew up in
San Francisco, attended Berkeley, and now I’m
a…business executive. What else is there to tell?”

He mocked my words, and I retorted, “Well,
you dislike balloons, young women, young men,
and probably dogs and cats as well. Not to
mention children.” He seemed to look at me with
pity and, stung, I said, “And you have an
overinflated opinion of yourself!”

“Perhaps. But at least I am aware of it. And I
have not made quite the study of rudeness that you
have.”

I flushed. “Why do you dislike me so much? And
Rick?”

Charles looked away for a moment. “Does it
matter?”

“Yes.”

“Very well. Contrary to your assumptions, Miss
Steffee, I do not dislike you. I dislike your friend
Rick.”

“Why?” I challenged. He was silent and I went
on, “Because of what we saw the other day? Rick
with some other woman?”

“If you wish.” He shrugged.

“Well you’re wrong! You misinterpreted what
you saw.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. Rick told me all about it and he’s not
involved with her romantically. It’s business,” I
said, feeling only a faint twinge at the lie.

Charles regarded me oddly. “So Rick keeps you
well-informed about everything?”

“Yes!” I said confidently.

I saw the anger again on Charles’s face as he
called for the bill. As he pulled out his wallet, I
quickly found mine and laid my share of the bill
and tip on the table. As he looked up, startled, I
said, “Thank you for a most interesting lunch,
senor.

And I left. Hurrying up the steps, I felt
unreasonably upset. What difference did it make
what this stupid stranger thought?

I quickly finished touring the first floor of the
museum and went up to the second. Senor
Whitford would not prevent me from enjoying the
afternoon, I was determined. The exhibits were
more modern here and fairly interesting, but I
found myself growing bored. After an hour or so, I
gave up and decided to have a cup of coffee and
then try again.

I don’t know why, but it came as no surprise
when I saw Charles still sitting at the table where I
had left him. There was something so forlorn in his
expression that I couldn’t help going over and
asking, “What’s wrong?”

He looked up, without surprise, and raised an
eyebrow. “What? Through already? No, please sit
down. I’ll try to curb my tongue. Coffee?”

I nodded and let him order it for me. Why I didn’t just walk away, I couldn’t say. But I sat
there. Waiting for Charles to say something. At
length he did. “Did you enjoy the rest of the
museum?”

“Not as well without a guide,” I said honestly.
“Or maybe it’s just that antiquities are inherently
more interesting.”

“Maybe. How is your coffee?” he asked.

“Quite good.”

He nodded. Silently, he seemed to come to some
sort of decision. But his next words reflected none
of that. “Are you enjoying your visit to Mexico
City?”

I smiled. “Yes. Are you?”

He shrugged. “I’m here on business. Not the first
time, either.” There was a brief pause. “No, I’m not
enjoying it at all.”

I wanted to ask why, but something told me it
was a question he wouldn’t answer. So I sat
quietly, wondering what he would tell me. Idly, he
asked, “Why did you come down here, Ellen?
Because of Rick?”

Reluctantly, I nodded. “He wanted me to come
and I’ve never been here before. So why not?”

“Why not?” he echoed. Then he abruptly asked,
“Shall we go? Back to the hotel?”

“I well, I was going to take a bus. Do you
know the schedule?”

He smile humorlessly. “Well, I intend to take a
taxi, in any case. So you may as well come with me
and be comfortable.”

I hesitated only briefly. Charles’s quiet courtesy
touched me, for there was no mockery in his tone as he spoke. I almost liked the man.

Charles was quiet in the taxi. And quiet when we
reached the hotel. But he smiled briefly when I
thanked him for being my guide at the museum.
Then he strode ahead of me into the hotel.

I followed, only to be startled by Rick’s voice.
“Ellen! Where have you been?”

Glancing up quickly, I saw Charles’s angry face
in the floor-to-ceiling mirror by the elevators.
Then I was turning to Rick. “Darling! What a
surprise! I was at the anthropological museum.
But what are you doing here? I thought you were
going to be busy all day.”

I didn’t care that I sounded like a stupid
schoolgirl. I did my best to look as if I breathlessly
awaited Rick’s reply. Senor Whitford stepped into
the elevator as Rick answered, “Oh, I got through
earlier than expected and I thought we might have
dinner together.”

“Sounds great!” I said.

We ate at the coffee shop of the Hotel Regis. It
was an unassuming place, but the food was good.
We were chatting quietly when Rick said, with an
odd urgency, “Ellen, was that Mr. Whitford I saw
you with at the hotel? I mean, do you know him?”

“Barely,” I said, puzzled, “and I don’t want to
know him better.”

“I wish you would, Ellen.”

“What?”

“Sssh. Ellen, I think he’s from the main office.
And I think he’s here to find out what the trouble is
with the new division.”

“So?” I said. “You aren’t responsible, are you?”

“But he might think I was if he listened to some
of the people I work with.”

Slowly, I said, “So you want me to make up to
him and find out what he’s thinking?”

Rick sighed. “Look, I understand he’s a
charming fellow. It shouldn’t be a hardship for you
to spend an afternoon or go out with him if he
asked you.”

Beginning to be angry, I said, “No, Rick. I don’t
like the idea. Besides, what good could I do? I
already know he doesn’t like you. Or me. And I’m
the last person who could influence him.”

“Ellen! Look, if you-” Suddenly, he broke off
with a laugh. “No, that approach wouldn’t work,
would it? If I said: `If you loved me, you’d do as I
ask,’ you’d say: `If you loved me, you wouldn’t
ask.’ Okay, Ellen, I understand how you feel. And
I think the problem is that you misunderstand
what I’m asking you to do. I’m not asking you to
pretend you’re interested in Mr. Whitford. Or to
dig for information. I’m only saying it’s inevitable
a man like Mr. Whitford would ask out a woman
as lovely as yourself. And he might happen to
mention his work, or what he thinks of me. You
didn’t mind being with him this afternoon, so why
should you object to doing it again? Please, Ellen. I
wouldn’t ask you if it weren’t so important! And if
you end up feeling you would be betraying a
confidence to tell me what he said, you can always
decide not to tell me.”

For a long time, I stared at Rick, trying to sort
out my thoughts. Eventually, I suspended judgment and agreed to what he asked. As he said, if at
any point I decided I couldn’t go through with it, I could back out. Besides, it cost little to say yes to
Rick when I knew it was unlikely Charles would
ask me out.

Soon we were laughing again, but there was a
change in the mood and I wasn’t sorry when Rick
left me at the hotel. Absentmindedly, I played with
the balloon Rick had bought me the night before.
Some decisions were going to be necessary, and
soon!