In Name Only Page 10

  "That's why you've done me the great honor of marrying me, for which I suppose, I should thank my lucky stars."

  For a moment they stayed looking at one another, measuring the depth of their emotions, two people married and worlds apart. Yet the air quivered between them. The feel of one another's bodies had already been exchanged. That could never be denied. Jill felt it now, even in the crush of his fingers on her arm, a fire that, once ignited, could flash dangerously, swallowing everything in its path. Jill was afraid that she would be powerless to put it out.

  Simon suddenly loosened his grip, but only in the act of pulling her toward him. His mouth searched out her neck, her ears, her eyes, in an uncontrollable rush of passion. She pushed her hands against his bare chest, afraid of giving in as his mouth against hers became a formidable weapon. She knew that in a moment all sense would leave her, that she would have to give in to his control, be at the mercy of a man who, by his own admission, intended to live his own life, his way. With a strength she did not know she possessed, she pushed him away.

  "Never," she cried, as he sat for a moment, a smile forming on his face at once haphazard and crude, as he watched her pull agitatedly at her housecoat.

  "Never?" He gave a small, cold laugh. "Never is a long, long time." He stood up abruptly and went to the door to his room. "Be ready at eight o'clock this evening, my love. Meanwhile, I'm afraid you'll have to have dinner alone once again." She heard the door close, the lock click shut. She swung her feet over the edge of the bed and stood up. "Oh, I hate him," she said in a whisper. "I hate him. He's arrogant. He's sure of himself and he's spoiled." That was it. Spoiled. If she didn't want him, he all but told her with his crude smile there were women ready for him, willing and waiting.

  They had drawn swords now, and she thought, grimly, that only a declaration of love on his part would stop the war between them. And that, she knew, could never happen.

  Chapter Eight

  Jill took one last look in the mirror, at the stranger who appeared there and stared seriously back at her. The year of preparations for the many dates she had had with Derek had not added up to the time and care she had spent getting ready for her date with her husband that evening.

  And now, looking at herself, at the new person she had turned into, she could not help but exult. Dressed for her debut into Manaus society, it was Simon she wanted to impress. She had pulled her hair into a thick braid at the back and fastened it into a soft knot at her neck with a hibiscus blossom. Apart from the flower and her rings, she wore no jewelry but for tiny diamond earrings, a precious inheritance from her mother.

  She had put on a strapless gown of sapphire crepe de chine with white and red flowers sprinkled along the bodice and hips, and a fuchsia velvet streamer tied at her waist. With it she wore gold sandals and carried a gold mesh bag which had been her grandmother's, and was still in perfect condition. At the last moment she dabbed on a faint French scent, clear yet vaguely powdery, fresh and not at all powerful, a teasing kind of aroma. He'll never get close enough to notice, she told herself. The touch was for her. It completed the picture. She picked up her sheer blue stole with its pale copy of the flower print and stepped quietly out of her room. She paused at the balcony overlooking the center hall and saw Simon standing below, talking quietly with the housekeeper.

  He was dressed in a tuxedo. It was expensively cut and seemed molded to his powerful body. She thought, with a feeling akin to longing, that he was one of those men who slid into clothes and the purposes for which clothing was meant, with extraordinary ease. He was graceful, his broad shoulders ramrod straight, as though he had been a military man, yet even as he stood, one hand gesturing in the air, the other casually in his pocket, he looked in his element, a man meant to grace social evenings, every eye upon him.

  The housekeeper looked up first and spotted her. She pointed to Jill, beaming, and Simon turned slowly. Jill walked down the stairway carefully, holding her long skirt, afraid that she might suddenly trip and go sprawling down.

  "Ah, but look at the way she walks. A queen," the housekeeper breathed.

  A queen, thought Jill, not daring to look at her husband. A queen ready to fall on her head. She was aware that he watched her closely, and for a moment she felt faint, as though all her efforts were in vain, that he disapproved thoroughly of her long hours of preparation.

  When she reached the hall, she walked carefully past Simon, keeping her eye on the door, determined not to let him make a fool of her.

  "Just a minute." His voice was harsh, a command. She turned, her heart beating rapidly. It was an inauspicious debut at the least. She wondered what she had done wrong. Everything, she supposed.

  She walked over to him, braving a smile. Simon held a velvet box in his hands from which he was in the process of removing a necklace, which she realized, drawing in her breath in surprise, was a strand of diamonds, all of equal length.

  "Stage prop?" she asked flippantly, in English, trying to hide her astonishment.

  "Hardly." He ground the word out, holding the strand carelessly, letting the brilliant fire flash for a few seconds. He handed the box to the housekeeper.

  "A wedding present," he said. "Turn around." She felt the cold metal against her flesh as he gently tied the clasp. Then his warm lips against her neck as he held her for a moment, a ruse she decided, for the benefit of Senhora Cordero. She wanted, unaccountably, to laugh, even as her flesh rippled under his touch. She had the strangest feeling that Senhora Cordero should applaud their performance and shout a few bravos as well.

  Jill twisted in his arms until she faced him. Surely a scenario would call for that. Her forehead against his lips, she whispered demurely, "Thank you. You're spoiling me."

  "I intend to," Simon said, still holding her. "You look very beautiful tonight."

  "Shall we go?" She turned away, feeling a flush rising to her cheeks.

  He bowed mockingly. "Of course, senhora. Let's go, by all means."

  Black and white tiles formed dizzying waves beneath their feet as Jill and Simon walked across the square toward the opera house. The Teatro Amazonia, lit by spotlights, glowed rosy and spectacular against the night sky. Still, Jill was not prepared for the beauty of the concert hall itself. Red and gold under the sparkle of Venetian crystal chandeliers, it took little imagination to feel she was back in the early nineteen hundreds at an opera gala.

  By the time they were ushered into their box, the houselights had begun to dim. "I've secured this for you for the season," Simon whispered to her.

  Jill threw him a grateful glance, but it was too dark for him to notice. The conductor was warmly applauded as he walked onto the stage, and Jill, surveying the crowded opera house now dimly lit and romantic, let out a deep sigh of contentment.

  She was a long way from Chicago.

  During the intermission, when the houselights were raised, and after the applause had died away, Simon turned to her.

  "Would you like something to drink?"

  She nodded, still full of the pleasure of the music. He took her hand and led her quickly out of the box. The hall outside was crowded and they had trouble fighting their way to the refreshment stand. Simon brought her champagne, and then, finding some space against the wall, stood over her, as if to protect her from the crowd.

  "Enjoying yourself?" he asked, the most attentive of husbands.

  "Yes. Very much so." She wanted the night to go on forever.

  "Your kind of music, I suppose."

  "Yes. Yours?"

  "Very much so." He gave her an attractive, boyish grin. "Mr. and Mrs. Todd like the same kind of music. Well, well, well."

  She was suddenly more serious than she had ever been in her life. "It's possible there are a lot of things we agree upon. Do you think we'll ever take the time to find out?"

  His black eyes, roaming her face, seemed lustrous, impenetrable pools. He rubbed the back of his hand softly along her cheek, and his voice, when he spoke, was pensive. "I wish
we had met some other way."

  Jill's heart began to knock confusedly. "I don't know what you mean by that."

  His body was very close to hers now, and he seemed on the point of explaining, when the moment was broken. Someone tapped him on the shoulder, an elderly acquaintance who asked to be introduced to Jill. After that they were drawn into a maelstrom of acquaintances and friends until the warning bell sounded and sent everyone scurrying back into the concert hall. Jill could not find Simon. She shrugged and returned to their box alone and settled into her seat to wait for him.

  As the orchestra tuned its instruments, Jill amused herself by examining the members of the audience. Patrician and well-groomed, she thought she had never seen so many distinguished people all at once. Of course, in Chicago, her concert seats had always been cheap ones, way up in the balcony with enthusiastic students and working people.

  She found herself staring into the box directly opposite hers, at a remarkably beautiful woman, whose blond hair was swept into a mass of attractive ringlets. Wearing a bright red gown that was dangerously low cut, she was engaged in conversation with a gentleman bending toward her, his back to Jill. The woman suddenly fixed her eye on Jill, who, embarrassed at being caught staring, turned to face the musicians onstage. When she looked up again, however, her eyes were immediately drawn to the box across the hall. She realized with a shock that the man was her husband, and that his conversation with the woman was so intense he had not changed his position.

  Jill knew she should turn away, yet the scene being enacted before her was too powerful a draw. The woman gazed at him raptly. By the dramatic way in which they faced one another, Jill could sense the intimacy of their relationship. She closed her eyes, her body numb with dread. To act in such a brazen manner in front of the entire audience, within sight of his own wife, was impossible to take in all at once. She was glad when the houselights dimmed and the conductor made his way to the podium. She lifted her hands to applaud his entrance, but she was beyond physical feeling.

  The music was well under way when Simon slipped back into their box. Putting his hand on her bare shoulder, he pressed it gently. She did not move, although the touch of his hand made her want to strike out in anger. She could no longer hear the music. It was just so much noise, as far as she was concerned. She blotted it out, as she played the scene she had just witnessed over and over again, trying in some way to shake it loose.

  When the concert was over, she found herself applauding the orchestra wildly. Simon whispered close to her ear. "Enjoying yourself?" His hand was at the back of her neck, caressing it lightly, as the applause died away and the houselights came on.

  Jill did not answer. She looked at the box across the way. It was empty. She stood up and Simon, taking her stole, draped it lightly across her shoulders. His hands still holding her, he pulled her close and asked the question again.

  "Enjoying yourself, Mrs. Todd?"

  "Very much, thank you," she murmured. She tried to pull away but he held her, very much in view of the audience which was moving slowly out of the auditorium.

  He put his hand to her chin and looked at her quizzically. "Something wrong?"

  She answered him archly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "You don't seem too happy."

  "I'm perfectly happy," she insisted. "I loved the music. What more do you want?" She turned and swept from the box. Simon caught up with her as she tried to make her way through the crowd. He locked his arm through hers, seemingly unaware of her anger. "Well, you've certainly had your share of admiring glances tonight. I suppose you're used to that."

  Jill gave a cold laugh. "Oh yes, very. It gets terribly boring after a while."

  "Well then, I'll have to keep you under lock and key," he said in a bantering, affectionate tone, which only served to fuel Jill's anger.

  "Oh, I'm quite faithful," she retorted. "I don't go chasing after other people, believe me."

  If her remark made no sense to him, he didn't show it. "Let's take a little walk, or would you rather go home?"

  "Let's take a walk, by all means." Home. The word seemed strange. Home. Is that what he called it?

  "I told Claudio not to wait, that we'd take a cab back. Are you hungry? Thirsty? I know a little outside cafe you might enjoy."

  They were through the portico now. The air was dry and cool. Ahead she saw the blonde, alone, hailing a cab. Simon took no notice of the woman, or if he did, was careful not to show it. Jill wondered what might happen if she deliberately crossed the woman's path. Simon, however, his hand on her arm, walked across the square at a snail's pace.

  "You seem to know an awful lot of people," Jill remarked, watching frustrated as the cab pulled away with its blond occupant.

  "It happens when you do business over a period of time."

  "I've a lot to look forward to, then. Meeting all your friends, I mean."

  He laughed. "You won't have to suffer them all, my dear. I can assure you of that."

  The Phoenix Cafe on Municipal Street was crowded and gay, the fragrance of freshly roasted coffee drifting to their seats at a small outdoor table. Although the hour was late, the street was jammed with pedestrians ambling good-naturedly along in both directions, as if the night would never end. Jill, however, stirring the sugar in her cafezinho, could not shake the thought of the blonde and at last she put the question directly to Simon.

  "What were you talking about so intently? With the blonde in the box across from ours."

  He turned to her puzzled.

  "You couldn't have forgotten," Jill said. "The blond Juno in the box opposite ours. You looked as if you might fall down the front of her dress any minute."

  He stared at her for a few seconds, his face expressionless. "Are you talking about Angela Branco?"

  "How do I know? You never saw fit to introduce us. I met a number of elderly gentlemen and their equally elderly wives. Stately blondes, I gather, need no introduction."

  He did not seem to think her remarks funny. He sipped at his coffee and ignored her question entirely.

  "She must be something pretty special, then," Jill added, not wanting the conversation to continue either, but unable to help herself. She was even sorry that she had learned the woman's name.

  Simon pushed his sleeve back and checked his watch. "I think you can use some sleep."

  Jill stood up quickly. "I'm not at all sleepy, but let's go home by all means. Home. That means the hotel in which I live for the time being."

  Simon placed some cruzeiros down on the table and took her arm. "We'll get a cab at the end of the street."

  On the way home he was silent. Jill knew she had gone too far and she was heartsick. The major question had gone unanswered. Who was the blond, and why hadn't Simon wanted them to meet? They needn't have met, for that matter. They might only have smiled across the width of the Teatro Amazonia.

  When they arrived back at the villa, Simon coolly excused himself and headed for his study. Jill wandered into the salon and then wandered disconsolately out again. She saw the light from under the study door as she crossed the center hall on her way upstairs. When she was almost at the second floor, she changed her mind. She couldn't face bed yet. She was too keyed up. The concert, the opera house and the crowds of people were heady stuff. And the blonde, who troubled her most of all. She came downstairs again and wandered back to the garden. She wanted to get out of the purified, air-conditioned atmosphere of Las Flores. The steady noise of insects hit simultaneously with the cool, night air. Tomorrow, she told herself, was going to be different. She was going to begin decorating the house. She was going to visit the offices of Carteret-Todd and find out what it was all about. She was going to take a cruise along the Amazon. She was, in a word, going to take charge of her life once and for all. The true niece of Daniel Carteret would carve out a life for herself in the jungle, or near the jungle, at any rate.

  She wandered deeper into the garden. The scent of night-blooming jasmine almos
t overpowered her. The gentle river breeze seemed almost like a watery, cooling flow. She turned back and sat down on an ornate marble bench near the villa. She blocked the unpleasant events of the evening from her mind and concentrated upon the heady atmosphere. Looking up, she was surprised to find the Southern Cross overhead. She caught her breath at the astounding sight of stars in the shape of a cross, not visible in the northern hemisphere at all. She felt tears start in her eyes at its serene beauty. Despite all its new industry and heavy traffic, Manaus's air was still startlingly fresh and fragrant. The uncanny light of the stars seemed magical, yet close enough to touch. Whatever happened, she would never be sorry she had come to this beautiful place.

  She was suddenly startled from her reverie by the sound of footsteps. She realized with a shaky lurch of her stomach, that Simon had walked out into the garden, and without catching sight of her, stood very still several feet away. He, too, was looking up at the Southern Cross. He held a cigarette in his hand, and every now and then it glowed red as he lifted it to his lips. He walked a few steps further on and then stopped, still not seeing her. Jill was reluctant to speak up. She wanted to hide from him, from the remembrance of his blond friend. He seemed deep in thought, his tuxedo jacket now open, and his bow tie hanging loosely from his open shirt collar. She could see him quite clearly in the light from the villa, although she herself was hidden in the shadows. His hair seemed mussed, as if he had run his fingers through it countless times.

  Her uncle had meant her to love this man. He could not have been so cruel, even at the moment of his dying, to have condemned her to a loveless life, just to protect his fortune. Surely he had meant Simon to love her, too. And yet the very opposite was happening. She could feel the cold metal of the diamond necklace circling her neck, a stupendous gift of great value, given with no love, but merely to decorate her so that she might show Simon Todd to advantage. There was nothing they could do to one another but step further apart with each meeting.