In Name Only Read online

  Jill smiled. "Another time."

  "The statue in front of the Teatro commemorates the opening of the Amazon to ships of all nations," he added, pointing to the rococo statue on San Sebastian Square.

  Many of the art nouveau buildings that had made Manaus unique were gone, though, replaced by skyscrapers. What remained were the governor's palace and the cathedral built of Cararra marble, a gift from Pius IX.

  More exciting to Jill was the visit to the waterfront, the floating docks, and the markets so colorful, she wanted to run to a shop and purchase a camera to photograph them.

  The floating docks, built in Europe, and brought to Manaus and reassembled there, could rise forty feet during the rainy season.

  A lacy, ironwork building proved the most fascinating to Jill. Once a brewery, like the floating dock, it had been built in Europe and reassembled in Manaus, and was now a market.

  "There's more," Claudio explained, recounting the pleasures of a trip to the zoo and the Indian museum.

  Wandering around the market in the heat when the effects of her endless journey south from Chicago had not yet worn off, had brought Jill to the edge of vertigo. It was time to go back to Las Flores. "No more," she protested, laughing. "Not today."

  Yet, when she returned to Las Flores, she was too excited to rest. She was away from Chicago, away from that dreary life, yet everything was askew. And she wanted to talk to someone about it, but there was no one, no one at all. Picked up and brought to a strange place and abandoned. That was precisely what Simon Todd had done to her.

  "You dreamed of this through four long years," she tried to tell herself firmly, "It's yours and you'd better learn to handle it."

  Out of the frying pan and into the fire. The alternative was to return to Chicago, to forget that Manaus and Simon Todd had ever happened. The very thought was calming, and she was able to sit down to dinner with a perfectly healthy appetite. After dinner she wandered out into the scented garden. The air was cooled by a vagrant breeze floating in from the river. The garden, a patch of land bordered by the gardens of adjacent villas was made private by high, dense hedgerows. She could hear the laughter of children, the bark of a dog, the gabble of a parrot. A path of mosaics meandered through a lush garden of hibiscus and bougainvillaea in blossom. There was a faint, delighted trill of a bird high in a mango tree. She made her way through a small orchard of trees bearing plump fruits that were completely unknown to her. Beyond the orchard she came upon an odd sight, a small vegetable garden on stilts, and tending it, the gardener, a bent, pleasant old man with a wizened face shaded by a wide brimmed hat, and a toothless smile.

  He touched his hand to his hat.

  "Beautiful evening, isn't it?" she asked. She pointed to the garden, in which she saw tomatoes and lettuce growing. "I don't understand why the garden is on stilts."

  He touched his hand to his hat once again. "To keep the ants away, senhora." He showed her in the soil, some solitary ants wandering about.

  The sun had nearly set, and the cool breeze from the river was like a delicate wash. "I'll have to learn the names of the fruits," she said lazily.

  "Mango, papaya, caju, biriba," he murmured.

  She nodded and thanked him. Making her way back to the house, she plucked an odd looking fruit off a tree, meaning to ask Senhora Cordero to identify it for her. She forgot about it almost at once, though, when she realized how tired she was. Yet she was loath to go to bed.

  She wandered into Simon's study and sat down at his desk for a moment. The telephone had several buttons on it, one of which connected to the kitchen. She hesitated before using it. She was finding it difficult to ask for things, to give orders, to accept being waited upon. It would come in time, she supposed. Then, at last, she punched the kitchen button.

  "Senhora Cordero, I think I'd like a cafezinho," she said when the housekeeper answered.

  "Yes, of course. Would you like anything else?"

  "I don't think so."

  When she replaced the receiver, she congratulated herself. It had not been so difficult after all. She picked up a pen and on Simon's personal stationery, wrote a note to Mrs. Hughes, telling her that the flight down had been exciting and that she was thrilled to be in Manaus. That much was true, anyway.

  Afterward, she sat down on the couch and picked up the remote control to activate the television set. To her surprise, she discovered that there were four channels in operation, even though one of them had an American program dubbed in Portuguese. She settled down, however, to watch a family drama on another channel and was deep into it when the housekeeper entered the room with the cafezinho and a bowl of fruit.

  She identified the fruit Jill had picked as caju which bore the cashew nut. "The stem of the caju is edible as a fruit," Senhora Cordero explained. "The little comma at the end of the stem is the fruit, actually, and that's the cashew nut which we roast."

  "One cashew nut to a stem. You'd have to pick an awful lot to make one pound of nuts. Now I understand why they're so expensive in Chicago," Jill said.

  After the housekeeper left, Jill turned back to the program. She had lost the thread by now, and even the cafezinho could not keep her eyes from closing. When the telephone rang, she was drowsy and the sound, loud and insistent, startled her. She ran to the desk to pick it up, punching the small, lighted button.

  Senhora Cordero's voice was at the other end. "Todd residence."

  "Put my wife on, would you, senhora?"

  Simon! Jill felt her heart, annoyingly since it seemed to have a mind of its own, skip a beat. "I'm here, Simon."

  She heard the faint click as the housekeeper hung up.

  "Everything okay?" Simon spoke in English, his question direct, cutting through apologies and politeness, the chairman of the board expecting a report from an obedient employee.

  She was obedient, if nothing else. "Of course." She could hear music in the background, and laughter, as though he might be calling from a party or a public place.

  The silence between them was unbroken for a few seconds, but for the faint noise in the background. Then he spoke once again, his voice with its soft Texas accent, achingly attractive. "I'm sorry I had to leave you, but it couldn't be helped."

  "It's perfectly all right," she said in cold, even tones.

  "Well, what have you been doing all day?"

  "I might ask you the same question."

  He let the silence run on again for a moment. "Nothing that need concern you."

  "I should think the affairs of Carteret-Todd would concern me. If that's what called you away." She couldn't help the remark. It seemed to come out of its own accord.

  "What do you mean by that?" he asked sharply.

  "I didn't mean anything. It was merely a statement."

  "You don't think I'm a liar, do you?" His voice, while bantering, perhaps because there was someone in the room with him, still had a cutting edge to it.

  "I don't know what to think," she told him.

  "This is hardly the time for a deep discussion about my character."

  "Oh, I agree," Jill said hastily.

  "And now would you like to answer my original question?"

  She could not resist the barb. "I'm afraid I forgot what it was."

  Again the long silence punctuated by the noise in the background. She had the most dismal feeling that he was with someone, a woman, perhaps even touching her.

  "Is there any special reason why you called me?" she asked, barely able to get the question out.

  The silence continued, and if it were not for the music, Jill could have believed he had gone away, hung up. She could so easily have put down the receiver at that moment, yet if they were playing games, as was usual with them, she was perfectly willing to go along. And she knew there was more to it than that. Having him at the other end of the telephone, for whatever purpose, and however painful, seemed infinitely more pleasurable than his hanging up.

  His voice, when he spoke to her, was suddenly softer, alm
ost forgiving. "The question, dear wife, was whether you're all right."

  "I'm fine," Jill said. "And now that Senhora Cordero knows that you have checked in with your bride, you may hang up."

  "Ah, I see what's bothering you. You think I should have pulled you out of bed this morning for a tender farewell scene. You didn't like Senhora Cordero telling you I'd gone away." He paused and added, "You're right there, of course. I should have."

  "A little note pinned to the blanket might have helped."

  "The blanket?" He seemed puzzled.

  "It was you who covered me with the blanket."

  There was a long silence, an unspoken admission: Simon had come into her room some time during the morning and had covered her with the blanket. Stood over her. Watched her sleep. She found her hand trembling.

  "It couldn't have been easy, having the housekeeper deliver a message that I'd gone away. I apologize, Jill. It won't happen again."

  "Simon, you wrote the book." She wondered why she couldn't shut up, just let matters take their course, be forgiving. "We're playing by the rules. The rules call for a bride to tear herself from the arms of her husband as he goes to fight the wars. As it was, I had to act upset and disoriented for the whole day. The bride on her honeymoon without her groom. It's quite exhausting, I assure you."

  "I've apologized," he told her quietly.

  "Accepted."

  Several seconds passed before he spoke again. "Where are you now?"

  "In your study." She let the beat of a couple more seconds go by. "Where are you?"

  "In my room at the hotel."

  "Really? It sounds as if you're calling from the Mardi Gras."

  "It's the radio, I assure you."

  "Any special hotel in any special place?"

  "I'm in Santarem. I'll be back on Monday. I had my secretary secure some seats for us at the Teatro Amazonia for Monday night. A concert. Would you like that?"

  "If we ever spend time getting to know one another, you might discover what kind of music I like."

  "Buy yourself something special to wear."

  "I promise you won't be ashamed of me, Simon."

  "I'll see you on Monday."

  Jill heard the abrupt click of the telephone and knew that she had gone too far. She slowly replaced the receiver, her face suffused with heat. Points. She felt as if she had to make points with him. Why? She got up and began to pace the room. The television set was still lit, its pictures flickering soundlessly.

  The windows of the study looked out on the side garden that separated Las Flores from the villa next door. In the light emanating from the study, she could see that a light drizzle had begun to fall.

  She switched off the television set and went upstairs to her room. It was almost nine-thirty when she went to bed, but the moment she lay down, Jill knew she would not be able to sleep. The telephone, on the table next to her bed, began to ring. The system was an intercom, and the housekeeper's voice told her to take Simon's call on the outside extension.

  She experienced a small thrill of triumph, even before she spoke her first words. "Hello, Simon?"

  "I realized that you don't know where to reach me in case you need me," he said in measured tones.

  "I appreciate that," she answered, deflated, and suddenly very tired. She found herself wishing that if they couldn't be lovers, at least they could be friends. "Simon," she went on, speaking quickly, not wanting to change her mind. "I'm not certain I like your rules. They're much too formal. Can't we at least tell a few jokes, or banter, or something? I mean we are stuck together now, at least for the foreseeable future. Must we always be so angry with one another?"

  It took him a few seconds to respond. "You're quite right, I suppose. I've been a little touchy. I've a million things on my mind. I'm handling a dual role now, one that used to be shared by your uncle. I don't mean to sound distant, but frankly, being saddled with a young bride in addition to everything else is—"

  "Saddled?" Jill interrupted angrily. "I guess that's a good word for it. If we were in love, you'd manage to make space for me, but as it is, I suppose I am quite a hindrance. Well I don't want to be, believe me. We're going to have to discuss our relationship, Simon. Not our personal relationship, but the one that put us in this fix in the first place. My inheritance, to be exact. I don't want to be excess baggage. I'm part of Carteret-Todd, and there's no reason why I can't fit into the business."

  "I think not." His words, cold and succinct, seemed to close the door on further discussion.

  "We'll see about that," Jill said evenly. "I believe you called back to give me your address in case something happened."

  Simon ignored her remark. "I called back because I'm lonely and I wanted to hear your voice."

  "What did you do before you married? When you were lonely?"

  He laughed. "Before I was married, I was never lonely."

  "I see. Will I get to meet your friends? The ones who kept you from being lonely?"

  "Some."

  "I see." She paused. "Some, of course, you will keep to yourself."

  "I don't think we need discuss it over the telephone."

  It was an admission of other women in his life, of that she was certain. "Oh well, what will we discuss?" she asked sarcastically. "The weather? It's raining."

  He clearly refused to rise to the bait, however. "I'm at the Tropical Hotel," he said calmly. "Just leave a message if I'm not here. What do you plan on doing tomorrow?"

  "If the sun ever comes out?" She asked the question as if the rain were Simon's fault, and for some reason she couldn't explain, she felt as if it really were.

  "Even if it doesn't."

  She gave up. Perhaps he had really called her because he was lonely. "Claudio has been showing me the city. I thought maybe tomorrow I'd take a boat ride to see the Wedding of the Waters."

  "Don't. I'll take you there myself next week when I can get away."

  "Of course," she said gaily. "Why didn't I think of that? The Wedding of the Waters. Perfect trip for a bride and groom. What does one do, throw coins into it or something?"

  "I'll see you day after tomorrow. Sleep well, little one." She heard the click of his receiver before she could answer.

  Little one. She lay for a long time looking up at the ceiling. Little one. She was, after all, Daniel Carteret's niece, the unknown quantity incapable of taking care of herself, whom he had had to marry.

  Little one, indeed.

  On Sunday morning it was still raining, and so Jill passed the time making notes about the size of Las Flores's rooms and how she might want to furnish them.

  For lunch, at her request, Senhora Cordero served her a salad of tropical fruits, picked fresh from the orchard. It was a heady but subtle mix of tastes, including the pink, sweet meat of caju, familiar mango and a strange taste of biriba which turned out to be a combination of banana and pineapple, or so it seemed to Jill.

  Later that day, when the sun came out, she took a short walk along the tree shaded street. Little one. The words, like a tattoo, seemed drummed into her consciousness. Words of endearment or a statement of fact?

  On Sunday night Simon called again, but admitted freely that he was at a party and couldn't talk for long. Their conversation was brief, a businessman's expected phone call to a wife of many years. Still, she was satisfied that her fears about his being with another woman, seemed unfounded, at least for the time being.

  On Monday morning she was at the breakfast table, when Simon entered the room in a rush. He was wearing a yellow jersey short sleeved shirt with blue jeans. She had not seen him dressed so informally before. With his deep tan and copper hair, he had the fresh, healthy look of an adventurer who lived satisfyingly in the wild, who needed nothing and no one.

  Senhora Cordero, beaming, came into the breakfast room behind him.

  Acting. Jill pushed her chair back and flew into his arms. It was part of the script, the warm way in which their lips met.

  "Mmm, I missed you," Si
mon told her in very precise Portuguese, while the housekeeper busily moved the breakfast things about.

  "I thought you'd never get here," Jill said breathlessly. "I've been counting the minutes."

  "Would you like breakfast?" Senhora Cordero's voice, full of motherly mirth, disappeared beyond the door leading to the kitchen.

  "Not now." Simon, with his arm about Jill's shoulder, led her upstairs to her room. Once inside, however, he dropped all pretense, and left her quickly for his own room. Jill was tempted to slam the door shut between their rooms, but unable to make up her mind, flopped down on her bed instead. The script called for them to remain out of public sight for a decent interval, she supposed.

  Simon came to the door, stripped to the waist, his bare brown chest and arms rippling with the muscles of an athlete.

  "Been keeping out of trouble?" he asked.

  Jill reached over and picked a magazine off her night table. She flipped through the pages, trusting herself better if she did not look at him. She was dressed in a light pink sleeveless housecoat which closed with a small tab at the waist. She realized in a terrible fit of longing that she wanted to tear it off and rush headlong into his arms. It was no way for a bride of a few days to feel about a husband she scarcely knew. Simon waited at the door.

  "Shouldn't that barrier between us remain closed?" she asked, at last, still turning the pages of the magazine.

  The door slammed shut. She looked up. Simon, at her bedside, reached over and took the magazine from her, tossing it to the floor. He sat down next to her, his hands gripping her arms.

  "We can keep a war going between us," he said, "or we can keep our relationship cool and easy. Which is it going to be?"

  "You're calling the shots, aren't you?" she asked, unafraid, not attempting to pull away from his touch.

  His voice had a bitter, rough edge to it. "Your uncle would have liked you. He was a scrapper. He never backed down from a fight, and as I recall, he usually won."

  "Then I'm glad I'm a chip off the old block."

  "Is that a declaration of war? As I told you, your uncle and I got along. That's why you're here." He smiled grimly, his fingers still digging tightly into her arms, as though he had forgotten he held her.