My Love Betrayed (8 page)

As the taxi pulled away, I leaned back in the
corner opposite Charles. He surveyed me critically, then said, “Do you have a mirror? Makeup?
A little lipstick might help.”

I was too drained even to take offense, much less
protest. I dug out my mirror and took a careful
look. Darn him, he was right. Lipstick, blusher,
and eye shadow made me feel and look better.
Charles seemed pleased. Especially after I ran a
comb through my hair, as well.

Soon enough, we reached the Majestic Terrace.
It was another top-floor restaurant, with large
picture windows. But it was quieter than the one at
the Hotel Bamer, and I was grateful Charles had
not chosen to go there. I was also grateful that he
chose not to talk about Rick or prison or me
during dinner. Instead, he asked about the project
at work. And Carlos.

Between the wine and Charles’s efforts to be
charming, I was feeling almost relaxed. It was only
as we walked back to the Hotel Bamer that he
shattered the mood by saying, “You did realize,
didn’t you, that the room you were in, at the police
station, was bugged?” At the sight of my startled
face, he said urgently, “You didn’t say anything
incriminating, did you?”

I barely heard him as I demanded, “Did you
know that when you kissed me?”

His hand clamped down on my arm, hard, and
his face showed his anger clearly, even in the dim
street light. “Blast it! I wasn’t thinking about who
might or might not be listening! I was thinking
about you!”

I twisted my arm free, saying sarcastically,
“That’s right. I was hysterical, wasn’t I?”

I don’t remember clearly what happened next. I
think I might have tried to slap him. I do
remember running a block or two, then realizing I was making a spectacle of myself. I slowed down,
but still reached the hotel flushed and breathing
hard. And I remember almost swearing at the
elevator girl for being so slow. Then I nearly
jammed the lock, opening my door. And I threw
myself on the bed and cried.

I was awake and dressed early, determined to
avoid Charles. I planned to eat quickly and take a
taxi. But he was awake early, too, and I had barely
given the waiter my order when Charles appeared
in the breakfast room. He immediately came over
to my table and asked stiffly, “May I sit down?”

I flushed, wanting to say no, needing to say yes.
Charles must have sensed my confusion because,
almost immediately, he started to turn away,
murmuring, “Forget it.”

“No, wait, Charles!” I said quickly. “Please sit
down.”

We stared at each other, neither sure what to
say, while a waiter brought Charles a menu. He barely glanced at it before ordering a light
breakfast. It was apparently enough time to come
to some decision. When we were alone again, he
said, “Can you give me one reason why I should be
here? Why I shouldn’t just forget about you? And
Rick?”

His voice was gentle, and I tried to match his
tone. “Because I still need you. And because you’re
probably the nicest person I ever met. Look,
Charles… about last night, I’m sorry. I do
appreciate everything you’ve done for me. But I
can’t give you any reason for being here. You
certainly don’t owe me anything. Except maybe
rudeness.”

He grinned wryly. “And that I’m not willing to
give you. Ellen”

He was cut short by the waiter bringing our
food. We smiled together at the absurdity of it all.
When the waiter left, Charles reached across the
table and took my hand and said, “This isn’t the
best time to talk about things. You’re still in shock
over Rick and I have a lot of problems at work.
Neither of us is at our best. We’ll let things ride for
now, but I am here if you need me.”

He let go of my hand and I said, smiling wryly
myself, “Right! Hey, know something? I think I
like you!”

“It’s about time!”

And that set the tone for the rest of breakfast.
Neither of us wanted to face anything more serious
than the lightest banter.

If Mr. Iveson was puzzled by our mood later, in
his car, he covered it well. He even managed a little
whimsy on his own. Nothing could erase the horror of what was happening with Rick, but the
kindness of Charles and Mr. Iveson could help put
it into perspective. Maybe Rick’s life would be
ruined by this, but mine certainly didn’t have to be.

We parted at the steps of the building, but the
mood persisted and I was smiling when I reached
the office. Carlos was already there.

“Hi!” I called out cheerfully. “How’s it going?”

He smiled back. “Very well. How are you this
morning?”

“Ready for work!”

Carlos nodded. Yesterday afternoon had apparently decided him that I was a colleague and we
plunged straight in. There was no problem today
of Carlos’s English disappearing. Nor did the
other men hesitate to join us when they came in.

During a coffee break, we talked of more
personal matters. Two of the men were engaged,
and Carlos planned to be, soon. Somehow, I
found myself telling them about Rick. “He…he
was kind, attractive, secure,” I said. “The sort of
man I could always look up to. At least, I thought
he was. And I thought he wanted to marry me. But
I’m told he may be engaged to someone else.
Someone here.”

Carlos nodded sympathetically. “Senor Kemmler, he changes faces easily, I think.”

One of the other men muttered something, and
Carlos translated, “He says that you are to be
congratulated. That you have escaped marriage
with a man who would have been very bad for
you.”

I turned away quickly and fumbled with some
papers on my desk, not trusting myself to speak. Had everyone (except me, of course) guessed what
Rick was like? For a brief moment, there was a
hand on my shoulder, then Carlos was saying, in
Spanish, to the men, “Time to get back to work!”

The day was full of surprises. At noon, Mr.
Iveson appeared at the doorway to the office.
“Miss Steffee, would you consider joining me for
lunch?”

“Certainly, sir,” I said a little uneasily. “Now?”

“If it’s convenient.”

“Just let me get my purse.”

Carlos and I exchanged amazed glances and
then I Joined Mr. Iveson at the door. To my
surprise, as we walked through the building and
out to the street, Mr. Iveson didn’t ask a single
question. I ventured one or two optimistic
comments about the work, and he merely nodded
absently. It was only when we reached a small,
rather nice restaurant about half a block away that
he began to talk.

“How do you like Mexico City?” he asked
abruptly as we were seated.

“It’s beautiful!” I murmured. At his look of
surprise, I tried to explain, “I know about some of
the problems, and I’ve seen bits of poverty and
ugliness, here and there. I can’t say those things
don’t matter, because of course they do. But the
pyramids and museums and parks matter, too.
Especially to a tourist.”

Mr. Iveson nodded. Then he began to talk about
his perceptions of Mexico, pausing only to give the
waiter our orders. The service was typically slow,
but the food well worth waiting for. And as we ate, Mr. Iveson even talked a little about his wife’s
hobby, archaeology. Apparently, there were some
current digs not too far from Mexico City.

It was only over coffee that Mr. Iveson asked the
questions that mattered. “Tell me, Miss Steffee.
How did Mr. Whitford come to hire you?”

I hesitated a moment. Charles had advised me to
tell Mr. Iveson nothing about Rick. But I found I
couldn’t lie to this man. “Well, you see, I really
came to Mexico City because of Rick Kemmler.
When we were both working in Chicago, we dated.
I had a vacation, so I came to see Rick.”

I hesitated again, took a deep breath, and went
on. “I understand that Mr. Whitford came down
here to investigate problems with the new
computer setup. That meant checking on Rick.
Which meant that he ran into me. Especially since
I was staying at the same hotel he was at. Mr.
Whitford found out that I was a computer
programmer and… and when Rick was arrested,
Mr. Whitford suggested that I take over Rick’s
work.”

“I see. So your relationship with Whitford is
strictly professional?” Before I could answer, Mr.
Iveson went on. “And how do you feel about, er,
Rick now?”

I stared down at my coffee cup, reluctant to
explain. “He…I…there seems to have been
some sort of misunderstanding. The police say he
is engaged to another woman.”

“But you don’t believe it?” Mr. Iveson asked
shrewdly. “When you arrived, he was just as close
to you as ever?”

I nodded, feeling the conversation slipping away from me. I wanted to tell Mr. Iveson that I was
upset about Rick, concerned for him but definitely
not in love with him. Cinderella’s prince had
turned out to be an imposter. But there are some
things one does not tell a stranger, no matter how
kind and understanding he seems. Abruptly, I
realized Mr. Iveson was speaking again. “…sure
Mr. Whitford has no personal grudge in the
matter. Naturally, a man of his background is
inclined to be rather rigid in his standards, but I’m
sure the rumors are false. I hope they haven’t
disturbed you.”

“Rumors?” I felt lost. “No, no, they haven’t
upset me at all. I never believe rumors, Mr.
Iveson,” I somehow managed to stammer.

What rumors? About who? Charles? And Rick?
No one had passed any rumors on to me. And I
didn’t want them to. Especially Mr. Iveson, with
his gentle smile. Too much had happened already,
and I felt as though I couldn’t stand to be torn
apart anymore, and certainly not by rumors I
could have no way of checking. I sat there,
desperately trying to hold onto some shred of
poise as Mr. Iveson called for the check.

It was only as we were leaving that he said softly,
“Our conversation was not as irrelevant as it may
have seemed, Miss Steffee. How you will perform
on the job has a great deal to do with why you are
here. I can’t say that I’m delighted with your
connection with Rick Kemmler. However, you
seem to be a very sensible young woman. And
perhaps there has been some mistake, after all. As
for your abilities as a programmer, I am relieved to
see that Whitford’s judgment was an impartial one. You see, I, too am directly concerned over the
success of our computer setup here.”

I nodded, understanding better, now, his
questions. But I couldn’t help wondering just
where Mr. Iveson ranked in the company. I had
almost made up my mind to speak to him about
Carlos when he said abruptly, “I seem to have left
something back at the restaurant. You go on
ahead to your office.” He paused, then smiled as he
added, “It was a very pleasant lunch for me, Miss
Steffee. I never realized how attractive computer
programmers could be.”

As I stammered out some sort of answer, Mr.
Iveson turned around and started walking back to
the restaurant. Slowly, I returned to my office.

The men were already working and they wasted
a few minutes teasing me about my “date” with the
“big” man. Only Carlos regarded me more
seriously.

Rather defensively, I said, “He wanted a
progress report.”

“And?”

“And I told him we were doing great, of course.”

Carlos seemed to accept that and soon we were
in the middle of a pile of programs. But the
afternoon didn’t go as well as the morning had.
Half an hour early, we made a unanimous decision
to quit. No amount of work was going to get us
anywhere until we’d all had a chance to sleep on it.
As Carlos and I walked out the door, I asked him
about a place Mr. Iveson had mentioned.

He hesitated a moment. “I believe there are
some pyramids there. Why?”

I shrugged. “Apparently, Mr. Iveson’s wife is interested in archaeology. He made it sound like a
good place to visit.”

Carlos grinned. “Perhaps. If it is like many sites
here in Mexico, one might need a jeep to get
there!”

He left then, to go in a direction opposite to
mine. Twenty minutes later, I was at the
anthropological museum. I’m not quite sure why I
went there, or why it was so soothing. Maybe
because I was feeling so confused and anthropology always makes me realize how absurd our
notions about this or that are. Each society has its
own notions about what’s important, what’s
proper. Each society thinks it has all the important
answers. And yet, in time, all fades away except a
relic or two. The same would happen to our
culture, I knew. And what would people, five
centuries from now, think of the nose cones from
the Apollo space missions?

When I finally turned away, I was more at peace
with myself than I had been since Rick’s arrest. It
was impossible to take my problems too seriously
in the midst of all these ancient reminders of
human sacrifice. I mean, really! Those ancient
sacrificial victims had serious problems.

I decided to eat at the museum restaurant. The
food was as good as I had remembered and it was
nice to be able to relax over a cup of coffee. Alone.
Even the stares from men who passed my table
failed to unnerve me. In my present mood, their
questioning smiles gave my ego a much-needed
boost.