The Adventurers (63 page)

He waited until Fat Cat had brought her another and then said, "Don't drink too much, we have an important dinner tonight. It would not create a good impression if you were to fall asleep in the middle of it."

"I won't fall asleep," she replied angrily. Her face was slightly flushed.

"I am going to take a little siesta. I suggest you do the same. It will be a long, late night."

"I'm not sleepy."

"Suit yourself. If your highness will excuse me?"

"You don't have to be sarcastic," she said, following him through the bedroom door.

He sat down on the edge of. the bed. "I'm not being sarcastic. I'm just tired."

She watched as he stretched out on the bed. She took another sip of her drink. "You were with that German woman this afternoon!"

He smiled up at her. "See? I warned you about the drink. Already it is making your tongue foolish."

"I am not foolish!" She stood over the bed looking down at him. Her face was quite flushed now. "I know about you. If you had not already been with a woman you would not allow me to stand here like this!"

He put his arms behind his head. "What do you know about me?"

"You forget I see all the foreign newspapers. They are not like the papers in Corteguay, which are not allowed to print anything bad about you. You have been involved with many women."

"So?"

Unexpectedly Amparo felt the tears come to her eyes, and she became even angrier. "Am I not a woman?" she demanded. "Is there something the matter with me?"

He laughed aloud. "You are very much a woman. There is nothing the matter with you. But—"

"But what?"

"Your father has entrusted you to my care. It is a question of honor. How do you think he would feel if he were to learn that I betrayed that trust?"

"You are not smiling when you say that? You are serious?"

"Yes."

Suddenly she began to laugh. "My father is right, you are the best diplomat Corteguay ever had."

"What do you mean?"

She looked down at him. "You know damn well what I mean! Why do you think my father threw us together on this trip if not in the hope that we would become involved?"

Dax didn't answer. For the first time he thought about it. It was exactly what the devious old bandolero might do. The direct approach would always be too simple for him.

"It is over between us," Dax said, "he knows that."

She stared at him. "That is really the reason, isn't it? You have never forgiven me for what happened."

"There was nothing to forgive."

"It was not my idea to deceive you; my father insisted. I wanted to tell you."

"It doesn't matter."

"It does matter," she insisted, "now. Then it didn't." Abruptly she finished her drink. "It always was you. But I was young then, and you were never there. So I fell in love with a man who reminded me of you, and my father had him murdered. After you left there was nothing, no one. When I learned of your marriage I cried all night."

"You don't have to tell me all this."

"I have to tell you," she replied, almost harshly. "How long must I be punished? How long must I bear the pain of your thinking that I tried to deceive you?"

He didn't answer.

She sank to her knees beside the bed. Putting the empty cocktail glass on the floor, she pulled his robe away. He felt her tiny hot kisses on the soft flesh of his underbelly, and the power flooded into his genitals. She captured his surging phallus; her sharp teeth scraped him, and her tongue laved him.

Abruptly he sank his hands into her hair and twisted her face up to him. "Amparo"—his voice was harsh, his eyes searching—"it is not the gringo liquor in you?"

She looked at him almost shyly. "It is not the liquor," she answered in a low voice, "nor is it my father. This is for me. He will never know."

He still held her in his firm grip, his eyes demanding the truth.

"A few minutes ago you said it was over between us," she whispered, "but you were wrong. It never began." She pulled his hand from her cheek and buried her lips in its palm. He scarcely felt the movement of her lips. "Now it begins."

CHAPTER 21

Marcel picked up the telephone on his desk, and the secretary in his office downtown answered immediately. "Anything special this morning?" he asked.

"No, Mr. Campion. I kept the morning free as you suggested."

"Good. I should be at the office before lunch."

"If anything comes up can I reach you at Mr. Schacter's office?"

"No, I don't want to be disturbed there."

Marcel put down the telephone and went out through the private side entrance where his car and chauffeur were waiting. He paused for a moment and looked back at the gray stone building. A glow of pride came over him. It was one of the last decent town houses on Park Avenue. And a corner, too.

Fortunately it was not large enough to house an embassy or the price would have been prohibitive. Still, it was more than large enough for him. Thirteen rooms. The agent had laughed embarrassedly. "Some people think it's an unlucky number."

Marcel had laughed, remembering all the gamblers who had fetishes about the number. One number had been the same as any other for him. The house did just as well on the lucky numbers as it did on the unlucky ones. "I don't mind. I'm not superstitious."

The deal had been made, and he had moved in even before the workmen had finished the renovation. He couldn't wait to get out of the hotel to which he had moved after his separation from his wife. He had the feeling that too much about his private affairs filtered back to her and her father. Hotel employees were very susceptible to bribes.

Another thing he liked was the private entrance. Through it he could go directly up to his quarters, if he so desired, without passing through the rest of the house. This was most useful when he didn't particularly care to have his servants know his comings and goings, or the identity of certain of his guests.

Marcel had no illusions about himself. He had not suddenly become more attractive merely because his name was constantly in the newspapers. It was the money, purely and simply. It was amazing how attractive that made him.

Anna, her father, and their lawyers were already waiting for him when he arrived at his attorney's office. "Good morning," he said pleasantly.

Anna didn't answer, she merely stared, a sullen look on her face that accentuated the shadow on her upper lip, which persisted despite the elaborate and expensive electrolysis. Amos Abidijan grunted some indistinguishable answer. Their two attorneys shook hands and Marcel sat down.

He glanced at his attorney questioningly. Schacter cleared his throat. "I thought it best to wait until you came."

Marcel nodded. "Thank you."

"We'll begin then." Schacter turned to the others and cleared his throat. This was old routine to him. Rich people and their divorces. Money was always the great complication. No matter how much there was, there was never enough for two. One or the other always felt he or she had to have the lion's share.

"Ordinarily I would try to effect a reconciliation," he said smoothly, "but we all are agreed that matters have progressed beyond a point where any such attempt would be practical."

He waited for a moment, then continued. "What we are faced with then is the best way to reach an agreement between both parties to a divorce which will have the least possible bad effects on the children involved. To that end my client, because of his love for the children, is willing to agree to any reasonable determination we can work out. He has no desire to see the children involved in a long disputed court action."

"There is nothing your client could do that would involve the children," one of the other attorneys said quickly. "There is no question that Mrs. Campion has been an exemplary wife and mother."

Schacter smiled agreeably. "We do not dispute that here. However, in a court we should be forced to act in quite another manner, regardless of our personal feelings. You understand that."

Amos Abidijan couldn't remain silent. "What about the money he owes me?"

"What money? So far as I know my client owes you no money."

"It was my money he used to found his business. We were working together on the deal, and he stole it."

"That's not true," Marcel replied quickly, "you know very well that you turned me down on the proposal. It was you who suggested I look elsewhere for financing. You didn't want any part of it."

"Gentlemen." Schacter held up his hands. "Please, one thing at a time. This is not the subject under discussion at the moment."

"You can't separate them," Abidijan replied angrily. "He used my daughter. He used me. Now he thinks he can throw her over because he has what he wanted. We'll agree to nothing until that question is settled."

"In other words, Mr. Abidijan," Schacter said smoothly, "a divorce between your daughter and Mr. Campion is contingent entirely upon a financial agreement with you?"

"I didn't say that! I'm only interested in seeing that my daughter and grandchildren are amply protected. I don't want anything for myself."

"Then you would have no objections if a settlement was worked out for their benefit exclusively?"

"I would have no objections," Abidijan replied stiffly.

"Neither would we," Schacter said quickly. "Now, since we are agreed in principle we can proceed to actualities. Do you have any suggestion as to what you would consider an equitable settlement?"

"It's very simple," Abidijan said before his attorneys could answer. "An outright settlement of five million dollars to cover past indebtednesses, and a division of all properties after that fifty-fifty."

Marcel got to his feet. He was not surprised at the demand. But it was stupid and Amos should have known it was. He did not have that kind of money and even if he had he would never agree to it. He looked down at his father-in-law "Amos," he said quietly, "you've gone completely senile." He turned to Anna. "I suggest before we meet again that you have a guardian appointed for your father."

Anna stared back at him. There was a thin white line of tension around her mouth. "It isn't my father who has gone mad but you with your desire for money and power. What do you think all those women who are hanging around you want? You're not that handsome. What are you trying to prove?"

Marcel turned to his attorney. "I told you a meeting would be useless I will file suit in Corteguay as originally planned."

"It would not be recognized here," one of her attorneys said quickly.

"I think it will," Schacter replied quietly. "You see, my client is a citizen of Corteguay, and under their laws so are his wife and children. Our laws are quite specific on that point. Any divorce, if valid in the country of the participants, is valid here."

"Mrs. Campion is an American citizen."

"Not according to the laws of Corteguay," Schacter replied smoothly, "and I'm willing to dispute that in court with you after my client has obtained the divorce."

Abidijan looked at his attorneys. This was something he hadn't expected And he was familiar enough with laws of other countries through his shipping business to know that anything was possible. "I would like to speak privately with you."

Schacter got to his feet. "Don't move," he said. "My client and I will go into another office."

Marcel looked at Schacter as the door closed behind them. "What do you think?"

Schacter nodded confidently. "We got them. I just hope the information you gave me about Corteguayan law is correct."

Marcel smiled. "If it's not, he said, "I'm sure I can arrange the necessary legislation. And that would be much less expensive than Amos' demands."

CHAPTER 22

"I'll go to Paris for my wedding gown," Amparo said, "and from there Dax and I will go on a grand tour of Europe."

"You are not going anywhere," el Presidente replied quietly, "you are staying here. Your gown will be made locally as your mother's was."

Amparo walked over to the front of his desk and stared down at him. "What gown of my mother's?" she asked sarcastically. "You were never married."

"That has nothing to do with it; your mother never went to Paris for a gown."

"How could she?" Amparo retorted. "You were even afraid to let her out of the house for fear she might leave you."

El Presidente got to his feet. "You will call in a dressmaker; you will remain here. There is much for you to do—"

"I have done enough already! Now I want to see what the rest of the world is like. I don't have to stay here and wallow in the filth along with the campesinos."

"Don't forget that you owe your exalted position to the campesinos!" the old man roared. "Who gave you the name la princesa? They did. Who set you up as an example to Corteguayan women? The campesinos."

"So I must spend the rest of my life being eternally grateful to them?"

"Exactly. You do not belong to yourself, you belong to the people." "I might as well be in prison." Suddenly a new thought struck her. "You mean I am to remain here while my husband goes gallivanting all over the world?"

El Presidente nodded. "He has his job to do just as you have yours."

Amparo began to laugh. "You must be out of your mind. You know what kind of man he is; women won't leave him alone. At a party in New York, out of the twelve women there he had been to bed with eleven of them."

El Presidente was suddenly curious. "He told you that?"

"Of course not, but I am no fool. I can tell from the way a woman acts whether she has been to bed with a particular man."

El Presidente was thoughtful for a moment. "The twelfth woman—what was she like?"

Amparo stared at him. 'Too old, much too old."

"You're a fool," he said, "the marriage will be good for you. You know how the people feel about Dax. They worship him. Just as they do you."

"It will be no good," she said darkly. "Not for him nor for me. We're too much alike. We're physical people."

"Don't talk like that!" he shouted, angry again. "Remember, you're a lady."