My Love Betrayed (6 page)

Unable to even think, I agreed. But, by the time
we reached Charles’s room, I was trembling much
less. Perhaps Charles was not as calm as he
seemed, for I noticed his key rattled in the lock.
Inside, I took the chair he indicated and made no
protest as he handed me a glass. I think it was
brandy. Charles took a seat opposite me and
waited. Finally, I said, weakly, “What next?”

He stared at his glass. “For you? Or Rick?”

“Both.”

“You will continue your holiday. Sad. Stunned.
But you will continue. Because you’ll be followed
and that’s the only way you’ll clear yourself.
Besides, you heard the police tell you not to leave
yet.”

“And Rick?” I asked.

“Prison. There’s no question about the case
against him.”

I was angry then. “You seem damn sure! I want
to see Rick! Talk to him. Find out for myself if he’s
guilty or not. Help him if I can.”

Charles looked terribly tired. “You know, don’t
you, the room will probably be bugged?” I
shrugged impatiently. He sighed. “All right. I’ll try
to arrange it.”

I leaned back. “Thank you, Charles.” I meant it,
too. “Charles, they said he was smuggling gems.
What kind of gems?”

His eyes strayed to my hand, which was
touching one of the earrings Rick had given me. Wearily he said, “Not sapphires. Some opals from
the mining region north of Mexico City. Mostly
emeralds stolen from mines in South America and
smuggled up here. From here, Rick’s gang was
somehow smuggling them into the U.S.”

It was a relief to know that Rick’s gift had not
been stolen. But I knew that I would have to return
the earrings as soon as I could. They were too
painful a reminder of the charges against Rick.
Charles’s voice cut across my thoughts. “Ellen…
I’m sorry.”

I looked at him and said quietly, “I know that.
But tell me, Charles, why are you helping me?”

He looked away, speaking roughly. “Because
you can’t seem to take care of yourself! Besides,
you and Rick are still officially-employees of
the company.”

I was too tired to argue, so I stood up. “I think
I’d better go back to my room, now, Charles. I
have a feeling I’m going to have a long cry, and I
don’t intend to inflict that on you.”

“Wait a minute.” His voice was surprisingly
gentle as he disappeared into the bathroom,
reappearing with a hot, wet towel. “Press this
against your face first. You still don’t look very
presentable.”

It was a good suggestion. Afterward, I felt much
better. Alone, I went back to my room. We agreed
it was better that way. I kept telling myself that I
was fortunate to have Charles, who believed I was
innocent. No one else seemed to. It was only as I
crawled into bed that I remembered Charles’s
warning at breakfast: clean anything unusual out of my suitcase. Well, now I knew what he had been
hinting at. And now I knew just how much he
trusted me. Or should I say, how little? My one
small comfort had turned to dust.

Morning found me still awake. I felt more
helpless, foolish, and frightened than I ever had
before. If the basic assumptions I had made about
Rick could be so wrong, how could I trust myself
to judge anyone, or anything, again? Also, how
would I face my family and friends, especially
those who had disliked Rick?

Maybe, just maybe, there was a mistake. I’d
always been an optimist.

I was still huddled in my chair when Charles
knocked. Not knowing who it was, I opened the
door reluctantly. He looked at me steadily for a
minute or two, then said, “You can’t hide in your hotel room, Ellen. You’ve got to face people as
soon as possible, or it’ll keep getting harder. Go on
up to breakfast.”

“Alone?” I demanded.

He nodded. “Do you really think I’d help, going
with you? It would only give them more to talk
about. Go up, by yourself. You’ll be okay.” His
hand rested on my shoulder for a moment. Then
he added, “Afterward, come down to the lobby.”

I took a deep breath. “Okay,” I said.

Charles was right, of course. I needed to face
people now. Perhaps they stared. But I concentrated on telling myself that I was young and
attractive and deserved to be stared at. Did it
work? Not very well, but I managed to eat
everything, and by the time I met Charles in the
lobby, I knew I was going to be okay. Charles was
carefully casual as he waved to me from across the
lobby. Matching his style, I smiled lightly and
walked over to where he sat, as though it were a
sudden thought.

“Good morning, Mr. Whitford,” I said in a
voice that carried.

“Morning, Miss Steffee. Have you been outside
yet this morning?” I shook my head and he stood,
saying, “How about a walk in the park?”

Charles refrained from taking my arm, for
which I was grateful. He also refrained from
speaking until we had almost crossed the park.
Then he merely suggested, “Sit down?”

I nodded and we found a bench. After several
minutes, he asked gently, “How are you feeling?”

I took a deep breath. “Okay, I guess. I didn’t sleep, of course. And I’m worried. About Rick and
about me. But I’m not ready to fold up, the way I
was last night.”

Charles nodded approvingly. “Good. Then
maybe you’d like to come to work, today.”

“What?”

“Well, the mess there still has to be straightened
out, and we need a programmer. I thought it might
be easier for you than wandering around, trying to
pretend you’re having fun.”

In spite of myself, I smiled. “You’re right, it
would be. I don’t speak any Spanish, though,” I
warned him.

“That’s okay. At least one or two in your group
will know English. If anything, you’ll have more
trouble with the fact you’re a woman and they’re
all men.”

“That I can handle. It won’t be the first time,” I
said, my confidence returning.

“Good. Let’s go. We’ll take a taxi. A slow one,
so your shadow can follow us without any
trouble.”

Startled, I looked around. There were several
people nearby, but no one who looked like a
policeman. “He’s there,” Charles said grimly,
reading my thoughts. “Two benches down, on the
other side.”

Skeptical, I studied the man. He looked up and
our eyes met. Hastily, we both broke contact. I
shivered as I stood up. “Let’s go,” I said curtly.

The Mexico City branch was downtown, not
that far from our hotel. It was housed in a tall,
modern building, full of glass windows. Next to it
stood a two-story, nineteenth-century Spanish style home. The contrast was incredible. Charles
paid the taxi driver and we went up the steps to the
wide glass doors. Behind us, a taxi pulled up and
the man from the park bench got out. Carefully, I
tilted up my chin.

Inside, Charles was greeted with deference by
everyone we met. I was greeted with frank surprise
and covert appraisal. We went to the fifth floor
where Rick had worked. (Still worked, I told
myself firmly.)

A very attractive young man came forward as
soon as we entered the office. “Good morning,
Senor Whitford,” he said.

“Morning, Carlos. Carlos, this is Senorita
Steffee. Ellen, this is Carlos Zapora. Ellen will be
replacing Rick Kemmler. Temporarily.” Carlos
regarded me with disapproval and Charles added
impatiently, “Someone has to take his place and
Miss Steffee is perfectly qualified!”

“Si, senor.”

Charles ignored the sarcasm. “Good. See you
later, Ellen. Good luck.”

I nodded. Well, he had warned me. I turned to
Carlos. “Well, I guess we’d better get started. Can
you fill me in? Tell me what’s already been done?”

Carlos’s English deteriorated rapidly, and I was
very glad I had asked Rick so many questions. The
early work had gone well and they were currently
debugging the software. Since I had worked with
Rick in Chicago fairly frequently, I was able to
follow his printouts with relative ease, a big
advantage. Most computer programmers have
their own way of writing programs. Reading one
can be like trying to decipher someone’s handwrit ing. Some programs are nearly illegible. But, as I
said, I’d worked with Rick before.

We all ignored each other while I sifted through
the stacks of printouts and the two brief reports
that Rick had left behind. I hadn’t gotten far by
lunchtime, but it was far enough for me to have
some idea of where things stood. I decided it was
time to do something about improving the
atmosphere of the office. “Well, where do we have
lunch?” I asked Carlos.

I have to admit he gave in gracefully. And, when
our group was seated in the small cafe he had
chosen, Carlos asked, “So, you made progress this
morning?”

“Some,” I admitted. “But I’m also confused by a
few of Rick’s choices-”

“Rick?” Carlos asked politely. “You knew
Senor Kemmler well?”

I looked around at the raised eyebrows.
Something odd was going on. Hadn’t Rick ever
mentioned me? Perhaps not. In any case, better
tread warily, I thought. These guys didn’t look
very pleased. “Rick and I worked together in
Chicago,” I explained.

“I see.” A pause, then: “Senor Whitford did not
explain why Senor Kemmler is not coming to
work.”

I pretended to study the menu in my hands. “I
understand there is some trouble with the police.”

“Ah,” Carlos clucked sympathetically. “How
fortunate for Senor Whitford, and the company,
of course, that you happen to be here, senorita.”

I couldn’t possibly miss the insinuation and I turned an angry red. Carefully keeping my voice
even, I said, “That insult is beneath contempt,
senor. I am a qualified computer programmer.
That is the only reason I am here. I suggest we
discuss the work.”

“But we are on the lunch break!” Carlos
protested.

I noticed the amusement on the other faces and,
smiling sweetly, I said firmly, “A business lunch,
senor.

I spent the next hour or so quizzing the men. I
was pleasantly surprised to find how wrong Rick
had been. Admittedly, it took a bit of pushing and
prodding and veiled insults to get them to open up,
but when they did, I found them bright, observant,
and well-informed. In fact, I discovered that
Carlos had a degree in computer science from the
University of California at Berkeley!

I looked at him, my jaw hanging open. “Then
why on earth did they send for someone from the
States?” I demanded. “Why didn’t they let you
head the project?”

“Me?” Carlos smiled stupidly. “I am only an
ignorant Mexicano. How could you expect such a
thing? It is an Americano company.”

I stared at him grimly. “That’s not funny!”

“No, senorita,” he agreed soberly, “it is not.
When they hired me and told me about the
computer they were bringing, I thought, Now I
will have a good job. Now I will be important.
Now I can be married. Instead, this Rick comes
and I find myself an office boy, fetching coffee,
translating for the others, and having even the simplest things explained to me. Senor Kemmler
never even asked whether any of us had ever seen a
computer before.”

Appalled, I sat in silence. Finally, I asked, “Why
didn’t you tell him?”

Carlos straightened his shoulders and his face
was set with dignity. “Why must I explain? These
things he should see for himself. In a year he would
be gone and the slowness can hurt only him.”

I stared, thinking, No, neither one would have
given an inch. And who could guess how much
damage such stubbornness had caused, would
cause? “Well,” I said, looking at the men, “I’m glad
to know I’ll be working with such qualified people.
It’s obvious you should be running things, Carlos.
And when we get back to the office, maybe you can
show me where the project is at.”

Carlos hesitated, trying to decide if I was
serious. Finally he said, “Sure!”

He kept his word and even showed me a method
of debugging he had been working on privately. In
return, I told him about a few of Rick’s program
idiosyncrasies that allowed Carlos’s method to be
simplified somewhat. The project was obviously
behind schedule but, Carlos said, “At least it now
feels as if this will be our computer.”

He repeated his comment in Spanish, and the
other men shouted their approval. We crowded
together, discussing ideas. I practiced my virtually
nonexistent Spanish, and they practiced their
limited English. Carlos refereed. I was almost
disappointed when Charles appeared at the door.

“Hi!” I called. “You’ll be pleased to know the work is going very well, Mr. Whitford.”

“Oh?”

“Si, senor.” Carlos’s tone was faintly servile.
“Muchas progress.”

“Cut it out, Carlos!” I said in mock annoyance.
Then I turned to Charles. “Did you know, Mr.
Whitford, that Carlos has a degree in computer
science from Berkeley?”

“Really?” Charles frowned.

“Please,” Carlos hissed at me, “this is not your
affair.”