My Love Betrayed (5 page)

Christmas day. Okay, so in recent years I’d
found Christmas at home a difficult time. Still,
when I woke up alone in Mexico City, I felt very
homesick. The bright sun, when I should have seen
snow, didn’t help. Oh, I’d missed Christmas day at
home before, but I suppose it bothered me doubly
now because of my own doubts.

Abruptly, I determined to throw off my mood.
Rick would surely come early and I still had to
wrap his present. I’d brought the paper and ribbon
with me separately, because I hadn’t known if I
might have trouble going through customs with a
wrapped package. The present pleased me very
much. It was an original woodblock print I had found at a recent art sale. Rick had always
admired my prints, so I knew he would be pleased
with this. I had had it properly framed just before I
left Chicago.

I was barely finished wrapping it when the desk
clerk called to inform me Rick would be meeting
me in the breakfast room in ten minutes. It was
more like twenty minutes when I stepped off the
elevator onto the fifteenth floor. Rick was already
seated at a window table. He rose to give me a brief
peck on the cheek. “Hello, beautiful.”

I laughed, my good mood assured. Reaching
across the table, I set his present on his place.
“Merry Christmas, Rick.”

Rick smiled as he sat down again. “Merry
Christmas. I’ll open it as soon as we’ve had
breakfast. I ordered for you. I hope you don’t
mind.”

Well, I did mind, but I said nothing. Rick felt he
knew me so well that he could always guess my
preferences correctly. And, if I were honest, I had
to admit he usually did. Still, I liked to make my
own choices. As I waited for Rick to open his
present, breakfast seemed to stretch out interminably. Finally, he did. “Ellen! How wonderful! I
love it!” he said, and I smiled happily. “Where did
you find it?”

“Oh, at the little art gallery I’ve told you about
before. As soon as I saw it, I decided to get it for
you, Rick. I’m so glad you like it.”

“I do! So much so that I’m afraid to keep it
here.”

“What?”

“I’m afraid it would get misplaced or damaged or stolen. Ellen, could you take it back with you
and keep it at your place until I get back to the
States?”

“Sure, Rick.”

His suggestion was very reasonable, wasn’t it? If
he really liked the print, he wouldn’t want to take a
chance on anything happening to it, would he? As
we stood to leave, and Rick handed me the
package, I saw Charles staring at me across the
room. He was smiling grimly.

When I look back at my relationship with Rick,
I am amazed I could ever have been so naive. But
you have to understand, I was never homecoming
queen, never top sorority pledge, never overbooked for a dance. I was too intimidating to most
guys, I guess, to be all that popular. Oh, I had
dates, and they were almost always really nice
guys. But I never dated the class president, never
the football star. Not that I minded. I enjoyed
myself in school. But I missed the sort of status
that would have given me complete self-assurance
and the ability to distinguish between honest
compliments and flattery.

So I wasn’t ready for Rick. He was Prince
Charming incarnate, come to sweep me off my
feet. Even my mother liked him (probably the only
thing that made me stop and wonder). To him, he
declared, I was Cinderella at the ball: beautiful and
desirable. If others couldn’t see it, they were blind.

Rick was careful, always, to show interest in the
things I cared about. And he encouraged me in my
work. He made me feel cherished but not overprotected. I felt very fortunate. I enjoyed being Cinderella. Too bad midnight had to come. Only it
was Rick, not I, whose raiment turned to tatters.

But there was no hint of disaster as Rick and I
wandered through the park that Christmas day.
We bought tortillas with beans and cheese from a
vendor and tangerines from a child. There was ice
cream and soda and children and laughter. Wise
men had begun to replace Santas for photographs
and Rick insisted we have our pictures taken. I
have that photograph still, and sometimes I look
at it.

We bought a balloon and gave it away to a child
who had stared wistfully at us. And, finally, we
spent a long time on a bench talking about
ourselves and our future. Like any other happy
young couple, we laughed and smiled at everyone.
And I was happy.

For dinner, we went back to the hotel. There
was no sign of Senor Whitford that evening to
spoil our mood, and I went to sleep with
daydreams of endless tomorrows.

Monday began strangely. Rick called to tell me
he couldn’t see me that day or evening, and to
enjoy myself. Then, at breakfast, Senor Whitford
came over to my table as I was being seated. “Do
you mind if I join you?” he asked.

“Yes!” I retorted, annoyed at his air of
self-assurance. Something crossed his face as he
turned away, and I said quickly, “Charles, I’m
sorry! Please join me. You’re quite right about my
manners.”

“Thank you,” he said, sitting down. “It’s rather
crowded this morning.”

I nodded. It seemed that something still
troubled him, that he sat stiffly, and I said, “I really am sorry, Charles. I don’t know why I say the
things I do. To you, I mean. I’m not usually like
that.”

He shrugged. “It hardly matters, does it?”

For a few minutes, we were silent, except to
order our food. Then Charles said casually, “So,
are you going to see your boyfriend today?”

“No,” I said stiffly, conscious of Whitford’s
position, “Rick works today. It is a weekday, you
know.” Charles raised an eyebrow, skeptically, it
seemed, and I went on. “In fact, he expects to work
quite late. Today and maybe tomorrow, as well.”

“Oh? In that case, perhaps you would have
dinner with me?”

I turned a deep red. “I wasn’t hinting for an
invitation,” I said coldly.

Charles’s voice was quiet and perhaps amused.
“I know. But will you?”

“Why?” I blurted out, with my usual tact. “I
mean, why do you want me to? I’ve done nothing
but insult you!”

He sighed. “Yes, but that makes it interesting.
And you are attractive. Now, will you have dinner
with me or not?”

Mindful of Rick, upset with myself, I said,
“Yes.”

“Good. Shall we say seven o’clock?”

“Sure.” I even managed a smile.

We chatted in general terms about Mexico City
while we ate. But it was the strangest thing: as we
were about to leave the restaurant, Charles said,
very softly, “If you have anything unusual in your
suitcase, I suggest you dispose of it at once.”

I stared at Charles, but he looked away and said nothing more. In fact, from his attitude, one would
have guessed we were absolute strangers. As for
me, I was lost in confusion. What on earth could
he have meant? I shrugged it off as nonsense and
wondered if Charles had a drinking problem or if
he were just slightly unbalanced. At any rate, I was
determined to enjoy the day. Preferably outdoors,
since it promised to be another warm, sunny day.
So I headed for Chapultepec Park again. The
anthropological museum had been located there.

It’s almost impossible to describe Chapultepec
Park to someone who has never been there. To say
there are several museums, rowing lakes, a zoo,
many food stands, a castle, and gardens might give
the impression of crowding. But the grounds have
been laid out in such a way that one has a sense of
space and leisure. There seems no reason to hurry
from one attraction to another, for one has the
feeling they will always be there.

I wandered through the zoo first and then the
botanical garden. That left me only the afternoon
for Chapultepec Castle. It was the first castle I had
ever seen, and I was duly impressed. Carlotta and
Maximilian had used it, and some of their
furniture still remains. But there were also rooms
that gave a taste of other periods of Mexican
history. I could easily have spent days wandering
through the rooms. But somehow promptly at six
o’clock, I was back at the hotel.

I dressed with care, though why, I wasn’t quite
sure. Senor Whitford knocked on my door
precisely at seven. He seemed in an oddly grim
mood and, as his eyes rested on the earrings I wore
(the ones Rick had given me), his mien grew darker. Dismay must have shown on my face, for
he made an effort and said charmingly, “You look
very nice this evening.”

“Thank you,” I said warily.

“I thought we might have dinner here, in the
hotel.” He seemed uneasy.

“Fine.”

“Good. Shall we go up?”

I nodded and we left. It was odd, walking with
Charles. We said the usual commonplace things,
but we seemed more like strangers who are forced
to spend an hour or two together than a man and
woman on a date. The elevator girl regarded us
with frank surprise, and the waiter seemed to have
a hint of contempt in his smile. But perhaps I was
merely oversensitive.

After we ordered, Charles folded the menus as
my glance rested on his left hand. “I’m single!” His
voice cut across my thoughts curtly. “Don’t tell me
it just occurred to you to wonder?”

I stared at Charles, appalled by the sarcasm in
his voice. “No, I didn’t think to look before,” I said
quietly, “but then, since I hardly consider you as a
potential boyfriend, that’s not surprising, is it?”

Charles said, just as softly, “Oh! Then why
accept my dinner invitation?”

“Why not?” I countered. “You’re an American.
I’m an American. You’re reasonably interesting,
so why not? I would if you were a woman. Should
your sex make such a difference? I hardly thought
you were under the impression that I was madly in
love with you.”

His eyes met mine and I tilted up my chin. After
a moment, he sighed. “Of course not. I’m well aware of why you accepted. In fact, I’m waiting for
you to ask about my work.”

I felt myself go white, then red. Stammering, I
said, “Charles, I-maybe we’d better forget it.
Dinner, I mean. Your guess is close enough, and
I’m sorry. It’s not fair. To you or me.”

He sighed again. “Ellen, I knew it when I asked
you. And I still asked you. As a matter of fact, I’d
like to talk with you later about Rick.”

So I stayed. It was the strangest meal I’ve ever
eaten. Charles tried to be pleasant and, had
circumstances been different, the evening might
have been a happy one. Finally, over coffee,
Charles leaned back and said, “Now, I’ll tell you
about Rick. I suggest you hear me out and then
register any protest or ask any questions that you
have.”

I nodded and he went on. “As Rick perhaps told
you, I was called down to investigate problems at
our company’s new computer division here in
Mexico City. What I am sure he did not tell you is
that I was also sent down because the Mexican
police had instituted inquiries about one of our
employees. Inquiries involving smuggling. The
employee was your boyfriend, Rick. This morning, I was informed the investigation had reached a
climax. If all went as expected, Rick was arrested
an hour ago. And you can expect to be questioned
this evening. I suspect your luggage has already
been searched.”

Stunned, I blurted out, “Me! Why?”

“Because you were present Friday at the latest
transfer of goods.”

I just stared at him. My voice, when I spoke, was hollow. “What what are you talking about?”

Charles’s voice was weary. “At Teotihuacan. I
presume you will agree you were there? Friday?”

“Yes.”

“The transfer took place then.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked softly.

“Because I’m gambling you weren’t really
involved. And because the Mexican police can
be… difficult.”

“I see.”

But I didn’t. I couldn’t believe Rick was
involved. Surely, there was a mistake. And yet.
And yet, images of Friday kept filling my head.
Rick disappearing. My waiting for him. The boy
assuring me Rick would be back soon. “How do
you know all this?” I demanded, turning on
Charles.

He merely looked at me steadily. I started to ask
more, but a message was then handed to Charles
by the waiter. He glanced at it briefly and asked the
waiter for the check. Then he turned to me. “Now,
we go to the manager’s office and talk with the
police.”

The next few hours were a frightening blur. If it
hadn’t been for Charles, I would have spent at least
that night in prison. And I would have found
myself looking for a new hotel. Even Charles
barely had sufficient pull to keep me from being
evicted. The manager of the Hotel Bamer was not
pleased to have me stay.

I was trembling as I walked out of that office.
Too much had happened too quickly, and I was
frightened. For myself, for Rick. Charles was at my side, and he guided me to the service stairs. “I
suggest we walk up,” he said softly. “You’re in no
state to be seen.”