The Glory Game (41 page)

“I noticed.” The response was uninterested as Raul felt the rake of her dark glance, but when he turned, she was looking to the front.

Within minutes, they arrived at the hotel. Raul stopped the car in front of the entrance. While the uniformed doorman assisted Luz out of the front passenger seat, Raul opened the rear door for Trisha. She stepped out, then paused in front of him, blocking the opening so that he couldn't close the car door.

“Do we have to leave tomorrow, Raul?” she questioned. “I'd love to see the city. What would be wrong with having a short tour of it? It would be much more interesting if you took us around instead of a guide.”

“We are expected at the
estancia
tomorrow afternoon.” Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the glistening sweep of dark fur. He glanced across the top of the car at Luz, standing on the other side. The black sable coat was draped around her shoulders, the front held shut at the throat. She looked angry. Raul half expected to be the object of her glare, but it was focused on Trisha.

“Luggage, señor?” A uniformed porter waited by the curb with his baggage rack.

“St.”
Raul moved away from Trisha to unlock the trunk.

“Trisha.” Luz's call prompted her daughter to accompany her into the hotel.

After shutting the passenger door, Trisha walked around to the rear of the car, where Raul was supervising the removal of the luggage. “Are you coming inside, Raul?” She ignored her mother to stop beside him.

“It is unlikely there will be any difficulties with your reservation, but I will come in to make certain,” he replied.

“Don't say that. The idea of being stranded without a hotel in a city where I didn't know a soul and couldn't make myself understood doesn't bear thinking about.” But she laughed when she said it, as though she actually believed it might be an exciting adventure.

“I think there would be no fear of making yourself understood. Many people here are bilingual.” Again, Raul was conscious of the impatient look Luz was sending their way. “I believe your mother is waiting for you.”

That didn't appear to concern her. “I'll see you inside,” she said, smiling as she moved away to join her mother and Rob on the hotel steps.

He watched them enter the hotel, then turned back to the porter. When the last large suitcase was lifted out of the trunk, he closed the lid and checked to make certain it was locked, then followed the porter into the lobby. Familiar with the hotel's layout from previous visits, he went directly to the registration desk. Luz was filling out the necessary forms while Rob leafed through a magazine listing the city's entertainment. Trisha was looking through some brochures on the counter and didn't immediately notice him.

Raul paused next to Luz. “Are your reservations in order?”

“Yes.” She slid the form and the accompanying passports back to the clerk and turned to face him. “What time would you like us to be ready to leave in the morning?”

“I would like to start at ten o'clock, if that is not too early for you,” he replied, aware that both Rob and Trisha had come over to join them.

“Ten o'clock will be fine,” Luz stated as the desk clerk interposed to give the room key to the bellman.

“You will be joining us for dinner, won't you, Raul?” Trisha asked.

The instant the invitation was issued, he noticed the reproving glance Luz gave her.

“You will have to excuse me this evening. I have other plans. And I am certain after your long trip, you would prefer a quiet dinner,” he stated.

“You're quite right,” Luz agreed. “We will probably have a meal sent to our rooms.”

“I will meet you tomorrow morning in the lobby at ten o'clock, then. Have a good evening.” The statements were directed to all three of them.

There was an echo of goodbyes as he turned and started across the lobby to the exit. “Mr. Buchanan?” Luz called out to him before he was halfway across it. Pausing, Raul swung back. “I'll be there directly,” she said to Rob and Trisha, who were being escorted to the elevators by the bellman. “I just want to have a quick word with Raul … Mr. Buchanan.”

The almost imperceptible slip reminded him of the times she had called him Raul, and the way her lips had formed his name, slowly, lingering over it. He waited while she approached him, her high heels clicking over the tiled floor.

“Was there something else?” Raul checked the impulse to use her given name even though she had once given him permission to do so. Some instinct had guarded him against establishing such familiarity, and he obeyed it now.

“Yes.” The sable coat hung loosely about her shoulders, like a cape, a high collar framing her face with luxurious dark fur. Its color seemed as dark a black-brown as her eyes. “I'm sure you are aware that my daughter is very attracted to you. I would greatly appreciate it if you would not encourage that interest. You are not at all suitable for her, and I would not like to see her hurt. That's all, Mr. Buchanan.” She dismissed him and walked back to the others.

Stunned, he stared after her, anger slowly rising in him. She'd spoken to him as if he were a servant, treated him as something less than an equal, coldly informed him that he wasn't good enough for her daughter. Raul pivoted sharply on his heel and strode out of the hotel.

*   *   *

The next morning, the inner-city congestion slowed the traffic in the streets, but there was more of Buenos Aires to see in the daylight, so Luz didn't object to the slower pace. It allowed her to gain more of a sense of the city with its formal squares and broad avenues. The wide boulevards sometimes seemed severe. There hadn't been enough time for age to give them the grace and charm of their European counterparts, although when the jacaranda bloomed, Luz suspected much of its cold line would be softened. She hadn't noticed any narrow, winding streets. All of the avenues seemed to run endlessly block after block toward some distant vanishing point.

Most of the buildings appeared to be modern, decades rather than centuries old. She noticed an old Corinthian-columned cathedral that dominated one of the many plazas. Its architectural style was reminiscent of La Madeleine, the church that graced the Place de la Concorde in Paris. She made some reference to the cathedral when they passed within sight of it. Raul explained that it was one of the oldest buildings in Argentina, constructed in the eighteenth century, and held the mortal remains of General José de San Martin, the liberator of Argentina, who had led the revolt against Spain to gain his nation's independence, as well as that of Chile and Peru.

That was one of the few times he'd spoken since he'd picked them up at the hotel promptly at ten. Luz knew she was responsible for his present chilly attitude. Last night, she had bluntly stated her wishes and not allowed him to reply. She hadn't wanted Trisha's infatuation with him to become a subject for discussion. Perhaps she should have appealed to him as a concerned mother and possibly gained him as an ally, but it was too late. Besides, she didn't want him as an ally. She simply wanted him to stay away from Trisha, and she knew she had made that clear to him last night.

Her glance trailed over his profile. Unexpectedly, Raul turned his head, meeting her look. Beneath that bland expression, she knew there was anger. His eyes were a glacier-blue, yet burning the way hot ice did. They challenged her, but Luz refused to regret the action she'd taken despite the heightened tension it had created.

“Was there something you wanted to say, Mr. Buchanan?” she murmured.

A horn blared, drawing his attention back to the road. “Perhaps you have already read my mind,” Raul suggested smoothly.

“Perhaps I have.” Luz faced the front as well, her chin up.

“Then there is no necessity to express my feelings on the matter,” he replied. “The problem is not mine, but yours.”

“What did you say, Raul?” Trisha leaned forward from the rear seat. “I didn't hear.”

“Maybe because he wasn't talking to you,” Luz suggested, fully aware that if Trisha learned of the warning she'd given Raul, she'd be furious.

They hadn't gotten along all that well since she'd had that argument with Drew in front of Trisha. Maybe she shouldn't have interfered in this, but she couldn't stand idly by and watch Trisha make a mistake. When she had been Trisha's age, Jake had warned off two of her boyfriends on the basis of their less than respectable reputations. Since Drew refused to intervene, Luz felt she had no choice except to handle it on her own.

“I thought maybe you were pointing out something.” Trisha leaned over the top of the seat back, close to his shoulder. “Have we passed the place where you lived after you moved to Buenos Aires?”

“I lived many places.” The skyline of the city's towering buildings was behind them. They had recently traveled past an attractive residential area with English-style gardens and hedges, and now had entered a crowded area of tenement blocks.

With her forearms crossed on top of the seat back, Trisha rested her chin in the cup of her fist. “I was thinking about when you were a boy and the kind of house you lived in then. It's hard to imagine you as a skinny little kid with dirty pant knees and toads in your pockets. I have the feeling your mother had her hands full with you.”

“Is your mother living?” Luz wondered.

“No.”

“Your father?”

“I don't know. He packed up and left one day, and we never saw him again.”

It reminded her too much of her own similar abandonment and rejection by a husband she loved. The hurt it left went too deep and left too much loneliness. That was something Trisha couldn't understand. Her bitter feelings toward Drew were a
touchy issue between them, and certainly not a subject she was going to pursue in front of Raul.

“Where did you attend school?” Trisha tilted her head sideways to look at him. “I'll bet you were popular with the girls.”

“I know this will come as a shock to you, Trisha,” Rob said, “but there are other things in life besides sex.”

“There are plenty of other important ones, but it puts the life in living,” she replied with a provocative candor intended to stimulate Raul's interest. With difficulty, Luz kept her mouth shut, remembering when she had said things about sex to shock people and assert her maturity.

“Where did you get that clever bit of wisdom, Trish?” Rob mocked her. “Out of some book of witty sayings?”

“At least I read, which is more than I can say for you,” she retorted. “If a book isn't about horse care or polo, you never open it at all.”

“I presume you don't have any brothers or sisters, Mr. Buchanan,” Luz inserted with forced smoothness.

“No.”

“You missed out on so much bickering.” Her comment silenced the sniping pair, for the time being, at least.

The rows of tenement blocks began to thin out as they continued south. In their place, hovels sprang up like weeds. Luz stared at the acres of rusting roofs of corrugated metal sheets that slanted atop huts which appeared to be constructed from a collection of wood, sticks, and cast-off lumber. The grim shanties were crowded on top of each other with a few feet of ground in front fenced with wire, tin sheets, or rotting wood. Some were yards where children played, and others were patches of vegetable gardens. She noticed round-shaped women hauling buckets, with fat youngsters toddling behind them.

“Isn't that sad?” Trisha murmured.

“It reminds me of a refugee camp,” Luz said, unable to look away from the sight.

“That is partly true,” Raul said. “They are
campesinos
, rural people who come to Buenos Aires to find work in the factories, but there is no place for them to live. The government builds housing, but there is never enough for the numbers who come.”

“Do they find work?” Luz wondered.

“Some. Some have enough money to live in a house or apartment if one were available. If you look, you will see
television antennas on the roofs of some of the shacks. But it isn't always easy to find a job. Most of the
porteños
—the people of Buenos Aires, the port dwellers—work two, sometimes three jobs to earn a decent living. We have a large middle class in Argentina. But jobs can be scarce. There is not much left for the unskilled.” His gaze strayed to the shantytown, his expression unreadable. “Still, they come—in hope. They call this
villas miseria.”

“Isn't there somewhere else they can go?” Luz protested faintly.

“You must remember Buenos Aires is our largest city. One out of every three people in Argentina live here. We have other cities, but their populations number in the hundreds of thousands, not in the millions like Buenos Aires. It is difficult for you to comprehend the significance of that, but try to imagine a land that stretches from the Canadian provinces of Alberta and Manitoba all the way to the Yucatan Peninsula of Mexico with only one major city. That is Argentina. It is natural that someone from the rural area would look at Buenos Aires and say to himself, ‘There will be work there for me.'”

“I suppose it would,” she conceded.

She was relieved when the grim dwellings were left behind them. They turned onto a hard-surfaced highway that angled in a southeasterly direction across the countryside. For a time, the monotony of the scenery lulled her into indifference, vast tracts of pasture alternating with alfalfa fields or wheat and sometimes bare cropland waiting for spring seeding.

Slowly Luz became conscious of the unbroken sky all around the car. Its blue reaches were the walls and the roof over this flat floor of earth, and the flatness went on for miles, virtually treeless. The pencil-thin lines of a wire fence became an intrusion, and the pylons and blades of a windmill thrusting into the horizon seemed an event.

“This is the Pampa, isn't it?” she said.