In Name Only (20 page)

Jill wanted more than anything to take the woman into her confidence, but she couldn't. Senhora Cordero's loyalty lay with Simon Todd.

"I'll have Claudio take you to the dock," the housekeeper said.

"No. You have him wait for my husband. I'll catch a cab." A cab to Ribeiro, where she would turn a corner and be lost to Simon Todd's sight.

Jill Carteret Todd had run away. She had run away to Edna Pinheiro's small, whitewashed apartment, with its wicker chairs and soft cotton hammocks, its open windows that let in the moist tropical air.

She had not told her new partners very much, merely that she was leaving her husband for a while. Edna would not hear of her trying to find an apartment in the crowded city.

"You come with me," she had said firmly. "I've room enough for the two of us."

Jill, grateful not to be alone for the weekend, felt she would be secure for a while. She did not know whether a vessel had gone up the Amazon from Manaus that day. It seemed that nothing worked on time in Brazil. Ships came and left on no particular schedule. Simon would have a hard time finding out where she had gone or even if she had left Manaus. It would, she hoped, give her time to open a new account at another bank, if she started first thing Monday morning. She would need a lawyer, too, but her partners in the co-op were able to hire one for her.

She also knew that if Simon cared for her at all, he would come for her. Her arms ached for him, and she knew he had only to ask.

Meanwhile there were excited plans to be made, a whole new life to be lived. She was Daniel Carteret's niece, full of spunk, on the brink of a great adventure, and if Simon Todd didn't figure in it, perhaps, after a time, the wound would heal.

"Slowly, slowly," Edna Pinheiro admonished Jill, "You Americans are always in a rush. You can't seem to sit still. You live with your eyes on the time clock. You know nothing about doing things in a slow, easy way. You'll get where you're going in due time, don't worry." She spoke in a fond, good-natured way, sealing the firm friendship that was theirs already.

They were sitting in wicker chairs in the shop. A small table between them was spread with some new fabric designs. A week had gone by since Jill had walked out of Las Flores, leaving no message for Simon. Her conversation with him on the telephone had been the last time she had heard his voice. She had told him everything then. She would not be there when he returned from Santarem.

It was a week in which papers had been drawn up and signed, and Jill Carteret Todd had become a full-fledged, full-time partner in the Manaus Clothing Cooperative. The week had flown by, every minute crowded with new experiences. She was comfortable in her new role; it was an event in her life that had been waiting to happen. The problem that seemed the most difficult to surmount was her enthusiasm. Plans seemed to spill out willy-nilly; she felt there was nothing that couldn't be done. While Jill wanted to shout her ideas to the world, it was her partners who counseled caution. At one point, she decided that nothing would do but to build a factory in which the fabric was produced at one end and the finished garment at the other.

"You're mad," Edna said, laughing.

"I know," Jill responded.

She wanted to rush off with samples to Rio and New York and Chicago. She was convinced that the entire universe would soon be dressed in hand-printed, hand-sewn garments with a "Made in Manaus" label in them.

"Men, too," she decided one day. "We haven't even started on shirts and bathing suits for men."

It was Edna, her eyes sparkling, yet very sensible, who knew just how much they could do.

"First things first, Jill. We've got all the time in the world."

"But we haven't, we really haven't. These people have to eat."

"They're eating. They'll get there. We'll improve things for them. You Americans!"

"That's the idea everybody has about Americans, that we rush, rush, rush, and that we don't enjoy ourselves," said Jill, not annoyed in the least. "But if you're excited about something, you want to get on with it, start things rolling and follow through." She wondered where it all came from, this feeling that she had the power to make everything work. But it would and she wanted to race along with it. "In the United States we don't have two hour siestas in the middle of the day, of course, and then come back to work still sleepy and stuffed with too much food."

"Siesta is resting time," Edna said. "It gives us the energy to go on."

"That's what everybody says. But look at the streets, crawling with cars. It takes an hour to get home for siesta and an hour to get back."

"That's exaggerating," Edna protested. "Anyway,
we
never close for siesta, although it doesn't do us much good, anyway, for all the customers that show up."

"They'll come," Jill said soothingly. "What was it you told me? Slowly, slowly. Slowly they'll all come."

They both laughed and turned back to the new silk-screen print designs that lay on the table between them. These were more subdued, the colors more subtle. Jill felt they would appeal to a broader range of buyers. During the week, she had gone to look over the silk-screen operation. It was located in an old shop at the edge of the city on the way to the airport. Edna and her partner had found an artist, a printmaker who was down on his luck, but who was experienced with the silk-screen process. He was able to produce a small amount of yardage each week, working with one helper only. It was Jill's plan to rent bigger space, and to hire more workers, with the artist as production chief. Only when they had more fabric, would they be able to make more clothes.

Edna was concerned about how Jill was spending her money. "First let's sell a few more garments," she begged. "We don't need additional fabric or clothing. You know we have a backlog."

"Edna, it's my money. It makes me dizzy with excitement to see how we can use it," Jill told her.

The profits of the co-op were to be turned back to the workers—when and if there was a profit. Jill's new accountant, a fussy man who didn't seem to approve at all of her plans, told her that she had to have a return on her investment. "Fine," she said. "We'll use it to finance new undertakings, then.
When
we have the return, and not
if
," she emphasized.

"You're new at this," Edna warned. "You can make a million mistakes. I don't want to feel guilty."

"Let me worry about that," Jill said firmly. "Look, I may sound as if I want to throw my money around, but I don't. We're going from A to B to C, aren't we? It's not enough to sell a couple of dresses and blouses each day, or even a dozen. We can make it work, Edna. Now either we can sit around doing nothing while I pay the rent for the next year, or we can attempt to make things happen."

"You're right, of course. We started the co-op with tremendous plans, but reality hit us in the face. It seems to me if I can just keep the women working and earning some money steadily, then we're doing all right."

"It's not all right," Jill insisted. "The world isn't going to beat a path to our door. We have to make it happen. We can knock on other doors in other cities, and we don't have to have a backlog, either. We must improve our fabric production first. I'm willing to take a chance on that, and you're going to have to let me."

"I just want to see customers walk into this shop and spend some money," Edna groaned.

"They will, as soon as they see those enticing ads." Jill had found a small advertising agency which had already come up with some sketches for ads. They were to run over the weekend in the local newspapers. Jill had boldly called up the editors and had been promised publicity. Her success convinced her to call the local television stations, and one of them promised to do a story about the co-op as well.

Jill's involvement in the business was so complete, that her thoughts about Simon were relegated to quiet moments—moments when, lying in the hammock in Edna's apartment, trying to sleep, her loss came over her in sickening waves. She could recall in the greatest detail, every moment they had spent together. His face, his copper hair, his elegant figure were imprinted on her memory, and she had only but to close her ayes for a moment to see him as he stood over her in Santarem. Her love for him seemed to grow every day, as if by being pushed back in her mind, while she went about other things, it rooted and spread. Yet she remained firm in her conviction that if he had wanted her, he would have found her. Even in a bustling city of half a million, swelled by businessmen and tourists from all over the world, still, if he wanted her, he would have found her. He had to know that she was still in Manaus, that she had not fled back to Chicago. Sometimes it seemed to her that he should somehow connect with the intensity of feeling she had for him.

Yet Jill had made attempts to cover her trail, to make it a little difficult for him to find her. She had early on, moved some funds to another bank, but it would have taken the simplest detective work to find out which bank. She had, cleverly, used the Rua Teresinha address, yet she knew she had left an easy trail to follow. It was a' trail she wanted him to follow, if he was so inclined.

There were times when she felt her loss so painfully, she had to restrain herself from picking up the telephone to call him. And she had hated having to fool the housekeeper concerning her plans. She was genuinely fond of Senhora Cordero and missed her. Some day she would have to see her and apologize.

When Jill was working, however, the excitement attending her new adventure was able to successfully engage her mind, if not her heart. She was the miracle tier partners had been praying for, but had given up believing could happen. Dependent upon her now were a dozen housewives and their families, women whose simply furnished homes were beginning to become familiar. There was every reason to remain keyed up, to keep her goals high, to push, even when her partners objected.

Toward the end of the second week of their partnership, Jill spoke her mind. She and Edna were sitting in the shop going over the day's receipts. The advertisements had begun to pay off. More and more customers drifted in, some out of curiosity with no intention of buying, some with the ads in hand, ready to buy.

"We're making progress," Edna said happily.

"Not enough," Jill told her. "Not enough to set the world on fire. To do that, I'm going to have to go to Belem and find us a good department store."

Edna looked distressed. "Belem is a thousand miles away!"

"So I heard," Jill answered caustically. "I don't intend to walk all the way. In fact I'm going to fly."

"But what if something goes wrong with the clothing? I mean, it's so far away."

Jill grinned. "We ship only first-class goods. Nothing will go wrong. I'm going to pack some samples maybe next week and fly to Belem and that's that."

"Santarem is closer. Try there first."

"No." Jill's answer was curt. She did not offer an explanation.

"Santarem has a population of one hundred thousand and plenty of money because of the gold strike."

"If I'm going to make the trip, I'll have to fly," Jill said. "If I have to fly, I might as well fly to Belem and make it worthwhile." Belem, on the Atlantic Coast, was at the mouth of the Amazon. Its population was nearing the million mark and had plenty of stores for their product.

"Santarem," Edna said.

Jill was anxious now to change the subject. She could never go to Santarem. It would be too great a risk. The town was small in area, in spite of its population. She was certain to run into Simon. The thought made her heart flutter. For a moment she abandoned herself to the thought of running into him. What would she say? How would she act? Would she just walk past him as if she had never even seen him?

"You're the most stubborn person I've ever met," Edna was saying.

Jill looked at her through clouded eyes. "I've heard that before. It was apparently my uncle's outstanding characteristic." The remark pulled her out of the dream. She could not afford to meet Simon, not yet, not until she was completely free of him, if such a thing could ever happen.

"Has it something to do with your husband?" Edna asked, her manner polite, as if she would respect Jill's privacy if that was what she wished.

Jill sighed. "I suppose so."

"I don't want to interfere," Edna said, and then stopped.

"I know what you're going to say," Jill interrupted. "Business is business and I shouldn't keep running away."

"Just about."

"I'll go to Belem first and then Santarem on the way back. How's that?"

Edna gave her a broad smile. "Whatever you say, partner. But I'm agreeing because I think you should get away. I have the feeling you're afraid you'll bump into your husband around every corner. You should be free of him for a little while."

Free of him! Jill wondered what it would be like to think of Simon without anguish and longing.