In Name Only (15 page)

"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 almost 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.

She watched silently as he turned and looked upward, as if examining her lighted bedroom window. He stared at it for a few moments and then began pacing back and forth, glancing up every now and then. He was waiting for her to go to sleep, she supposed. He needn't worry. She had carefully checked the lock between their rooms earlier that evening. She wouldn't attack him in the dark. Well, it's his problem, she decided. She was not yet ready for sleep.

Then, suddenly, he looked up once more and threw his cigarette to the ground, smashing it with his left foot.

He was headed back to the villa, when he saw her sitting there, watching him.

"What the devil!" He stopped and glared at her. "What have you been doing? Spying on me?"

Jill managed a smile. "Simply sitting here, enjoying the night."

"I see. And watching every move I made."

"I'm afraid you didn't make very interesting ones," she said in a quiet voice.

He glanced upward almost involuntarily, as if checking to see if her window were visible from her vantage point. She did not say a word, since it was obvious that he could not resist anger and she could not resist sarcasm.

"I thought you were in bed," he said.

"Well, it's nice to know you were thinking about me." She could have bitten her tongue.

He gave her a long intense look, a look of curiosity, as if she were an object of which he had had possession for a long time, but which he had never really examined before.

Jill felt a sudden prick at her arm. A mosquito had found its mark. She slapped at the sting, but was not able in the dark to see whether she had caught it or not.

Simon was at her side. "Mosquito?"

"I guess."

"Show me where." He put his finger to his tongue and wet it and let Jill guide it to the bruise. She sat obediently still, letting the small irritation subside under his touch.

"I suppose they find you particularly juicy," he said. "You'll never do on a boat ride through the Amazonian jungle."

"I'd like to see that for myself," she responded.

"Oh well, you should. Don't take my word for it." Simon moved his fingers lightly along her arm. "Silken skin. The mosquitoes have good taste."

Jill giggled, suddenly drained of all need to fight. She leaned hack against the cool marble. Simon stood up abruptly. She wanted the night to go on and on, to watch the Southern Cross wheeling above her in the sky. She wanted Simon near, and for there to be no words between them. She wanted to make no more judgments about their relationship. If she could have moments like this, she would not make any demands on him.

Cold Chicago, trying desperately to climb out of snow and wind into spring. It was sinful to be sitting in a beautiful garden, inhaling the scent of jasmine, and demanding even more. Demanding love. She sighed. Maybe it was enough to have Simon near, to know that he would always have to leave Angela Branco to come back to her.

She closed her eyes, abandoning herself to pure feeling. When she opened them, she found Simon standing before her, a glass in his hand filled to the brim with a pale liquid.

"Have some," he told her, smiling.

"Did I doze off?" she asked.