Captive Heart (6 page)

A tapping at the door jolted JoNell out of her reverie.

"Who is it?" she called.

"It's me," said the voice of Uncle Edgar.

"Come on in," JoNell answered, scrambling out of bed and slipping into a nylon robe.

"I found Miguel coming down the hall with your breakfast. I told him I'd bring it to you." He placed the heavy silver tray on her bedside table.

JoNell touched the rich, gleaming metal. It was solid silver, she was certain, not cheaply plated.

"Thanks," she said. "I'm really hungry. What time is it anyway?" she asked around a mouthful of dark, tasty fruit.

"It's getting late, Pet," Uncle Edgar said slowly. "I have to leave for the airport soon. I let you sleep as long as possible. You seemed mighty tired when the dinner party was over last night."

I had every reason to feel that way, JoNell thought wryly—having to defend myself against two attackers. First Del Toro, who finally conceded I could fly, and then Consuelo Garcia, who is convinced I'm the next willing victim on Del Toro's list of conquests.

"Well, I'm fine now," she assured her uncle. "I slept just great. Did you?"

"Not entirely." Concern edged his voice.

"Why not?" JoNell asked a bit anxiously. "Do you feel all right, Uncle Edgar?"

"Well, yes and no," the large-faced man answered, a weary frown creasing the deep wrinkles of his brow. "My mind feels okay. It's my heart I'm worried about."

JoNell felt color drain from her face. Maybe the trip had been too much for him. All those years of heavy drinking had to take their toll on his body.

"I'll call a doctor," she said quickly.

"Oh, no, Pet. That's not the way I mean it," he reassured her. He sat on the edge of the bed beside her and gently patted her shoulder. "Before we left home, your father made me promise not to leave you here if I thought you would be in any danger."

"Danger?" JoNell asked, puzzled. Then a smile crossed her face. "But Uncle Edgar, I'm not in any danger," she laughed.

"I'm not so sure," he slowly murmured. "I saw the way Del Toro looked at you. My head tells me you can take care of yourself. But my heart, well that's a different story. It tells me not to leave you here at the mercy of a dashing, handsome, rich foreigner. My heart tells me you're much too young and vulnerable for the likes of seňor Jorge Del Toro."

"Uncle Edgar! What kind of a girl do you think I am?" she gasped.

"Last night I saw a gorgeous woman, not a girl. I'm sure Del Toro saw the same thing. You've grown up, JoNell. You're a woman now. But you're inexperienced. I've been around, as you know. And I've seen every kind of man that lives. Believe me, Pet, I've seen men like Del Toro, and they're dangerous."

"Dangerous? What do you mean?" But she knew all too well exactly what Uncle Edgar meant. She had felt the powerful attraction of Jorge Del Toro the first instant she had seen him. He had a magnetic quality, a strange and fatal fascination that no woman could deny. And he could be utterly ruthless with women.

Uncle Edgar gave her a long, searching look.

"Yes, I guess I do know what you mean," JoNell finally conceded. "I felt it, too. But Uncle Edgar, he's no worse than a lot of the rich playboys who've come into the office back home. I'm used to his type. And I can handle him. Believe me."

"I don't know. I promised your father…"

"It's because of father that you have to let me stay," JoNell argued. "It might kill him if this deal for the sale of that airplane falls through."

"It would surely kill him if anything happened to you, Pet," Uncle Edgar said gravely.

"Well, I'm not leaving, and that's it. I won't let Daddy down."

"But you expect me to?"

JoNell felt a wave of guilt. "Uncle Edgar, remember that young good-looking stockbroker from Miami who took flying lessons from Daddy for so long? He tried his best to make me one of his conquests. He had a lot going for him, too, where women were concerned. Remember that flashy Porsche he drove? Well, he didn't get to first base with me. And there have been others. I'm impervious to that type. I've been around enough of them to know how to take care of myself. I certainly wouldn't for one minute believe their flowery lines. Trust me, Uncle Edgar. I wouldn't let you go back without me if there was any chance that Del Toro could fool me. But he can't. I'm on to his type. And what's more, I find him insufferable. And you know how he feels about me!"

"Maybe you're right," Uncle Edgar gave in. "But I won't rest easy until you're back home and I know you're safe."

"I'll be just fine," she said firmly, wishing she felt as firm deep down. She was doing a good job of convincing Uncle Edgar. Now if she could only convince herself!

"If you'll excuse me, I'll get ready to go with you to the airport."

Uncle Edgar left JoNell to her dressing.

Soon they were speeding along in Del Toro's black Rolls Royce with Miguel at the wheel. JoNell and Uncle Edgar chatted about the plush surroundings they had been enjoying and how different life was in the upper stratum of South American society.

"As glamorous as it all is, I could never fit in," JoNell quipped with a laugh, and then had a strange, uneasy feeling. Was it because Consuelo had made such biting remarks about her middle-class background? Or was there another reason, which she, herself, did not understand?

At the airport, JoNell felt herself torn emotionally. Sudden loneliness at seeing Uncle Edgar leave coupled with an uneasy feeling at being abandoned so far from home in the company of a man like Del Toro almost prompted her to give up her stubborn plan and ask Uncle Edgar to take her home with him. But she swallowed her temporary weakness, reminding herself that she must stay if only for her father's sake. She had never let him down in any way that really mattered, and she wasn't about to start now.

JoNell waited in the observation tower until Uncle Edgar's plane faded into the horizon. She sat for a long moment, sighed deeply, then resolutely squared her shoulders. She felt like an accused primitive who had to prove himself worthy by walking over live coals. Her test of fire took the human shape of a handsome man, but it would be a grueling test all the same. She would have to continue to prove to him that she was as capable as any man to give him flying instructions, and at the same time be on guard against his overpowering charm.

On the ride home, JoNell listened with only half an ear to Miguel's running chatter. She laughed politely at his jokes and humorous observations about life, but her mind was elsewhere. Then Miguel began talking about Del Toro, and JoNell found herself paying attention.

"The seňor is not what you may think," Miguel was saying. "He is a good man. He has a big heart."

"So I've heard," JoNell murmured. The irony in her voice was obviously lost on Miguel.

"The seňor is really a man of the people," he said.

"So I've heard again," JoNell agreed.
All of them women
!

"It is a sad situation," Miguel continued.

For scores of broken-hearted women.

"He is really quite unhappy in some ways."

Because he doesn't have time for more women?

"He is a very generous man."

Yes
—
with his flowery lines
.

"Most people don't know what he is really like."

Just ask his previous lovers!

"But I know a side of him no one else has ever seen," Miguel offered.

"Oh?" For some reason no sarcastic thoughts came to mind now, and she leaned forward to better hear Miguel.

"I know the real man," Miguel said in a confidential, important tone. "I am one of the few persons in the entire world who knows the real Jorge Del Toro."

JoNell waited for a long, expectant minute. But Miguel fell silent. He darted expertly in and out of the fast-moving traffic.

"Well, go on," JoNell prompted.

"I'm driving as fast as I can."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it," JoNell said with a grin. "Finish what you were going to say about seňor Del Toro."

"Oh, then you are interested?" A light danced in Miguel's eyes.

"Well, of course," JoNell said. "I'm going to teach him to fly. The more I know about him, the better I can teach him."

"The seňor is a good man. He has been good to me and to all who work for him. He pays me very well. He paid for an operation for my youngest child, Pachia, who would have been a cripple. I owe him much."

Again Miguel fell silent. JoNell waited impatiently. When it was obvious Miguel had come to the end of what he was going to say, JoNell prompted him again.

"Go on, please."

"I think I should not. I have said too much already. The seňor would not like for me to tell you about his private life."

JoNell fumed silently. Why did Miguel bring up the topic of Del Toro's private life if all he planned to do was tease her with it? No matter how she felt about the man, anyone would be eager to hear more about the private side of South America's most notorious lover. Maybe Miguel wanted to be persuaded. Perhaps he needed to feel important.

She leaned forward until her arm rested on the back of the front seat. "Miguel, I'd really like to know more about seňor Del Toro. Please tell me—"

The car careened at a dizzying angle as Miguel suddenly darted from a slower lane of traffic and sped even faster down the road. Having somehow averted the total destruction of their vehicle by a matter of inches, Miguel settled down and resumed his story. "Seňor Del Toro is really a man of the people. Don't let all his money fool you. Yes, he is very wealthy, but in his heart he is not truly happy in that big house day after day. So he goes to a little town in the mountains. I have relatives there. It is the seňor's retreat away from the world. You don't know him as I do. I have seen him many times working in the village side by side with the poorest of men. He puts on his old clothes and goes deep into the copper mines that he owns there. He visits many poor people in the village, and he tells me to take care of their needs. He sends food and clothing."

"The happiest days the seňor spends are those in the village high in the mountains," Miguel continued. "I have heard him laugh and talk with the men. I have seen him play with the children and take care of the sick. Everyone there loves him for himself. They do not love him just because he is rich. They love him because he is a good man. The seňor has many charities. He has done much for the villagers. He gave money to build a school. He set up a medical clinic and pays doctors to visit the village and care for the sick. I tell you, the seňor is a good man. Ask anybody who works for him. They will all tell you of the good things he has done for them. But you must never tell the seňor I have told you this. He would be very unhappy with me."

"Of course," JoNell answered.

"Promise me, seňorita."

"Yes, I promise, Miguel. Don't worry. I'll be here only a short time to give seňor Del Toro his flying lessons. Before you know it, I'll be gone. You needn't worry that I'll let any of what you told me slip out between now and then. But thanks for telling me."

JoNell settled back in the seat. After a brief silence, Miguel began his usual stream of chatter. JoNell tuned him out for the most part, her mind busy puzzling over the things he had said about Jorge Del Toro. Did the notorious Latin playboy actually have a secret side to his character—one that included compassion and charity for the less fortunate? She ransacked her memory of the two times she had been exposed to the man, at the airport yesterday, and at dinner last night. She shook her head. The picture Miguel had drawn of him just did not fit the man she had seen. Arrogance and conceit were the only two facets of his nature he had exposed to her. If there was a human, decent side to him, he kept it well hidden.

Or, was there really another side? Miguel was obviously the faithful servant, Del Toro his
patron
. Fierce loyalty often characterized such a relationship. Perhaps Miguel wanted so much for his employer, his
patron
, to fit the idealized image, that his imagination colored the truth. Maybe Del Toro did occasionally visit his mining operations to see that they were run properly. Perhaps he had donated a small percentage of the profits from the mines—money he would never miss—to build a school and a clinic in the town in order to keep his employees content to work under unhealthful, underpaid conditions. From these few facts, Miguel had imagined a lovely story about Del Toro that had nothing to do with the real man, the ruthless man.

There was also the possibility that Miguel had lied just to get JoNell's attention. He obviously couldn't stand to be ignored. Perhaps when he saw JoNell's interest perk up, he had decided that taking her into his confidence about a "secret" side to his employer's nature was a good way to hold her attention and give himself some importance.

Of course there was a third possibility. She wouldn't put it past Del Toro to have Miguel trained to deliver a glowing characterization of his employer to any young women guests. It could be part of the Latin Casanova's methods to undermine a woman's defenses.

Frustration grew in her. Whether the story was a fanciful fabrication designed by Miguel for attention, whether Del Toro had instructed Miguel to lie, or whether the story actually had some truth in it, JoNell would never find out. She had assured Miguel that she would not reveal to Del Toro what Miguel had said, and she was always true to her word.

With an impatient toss of her head, she determined to put the matter out of her mind. Whether Jorge Del Toro was a saint or a sinner, or a little of each, did not really concern her. She was no more than a minor irritation to him—an upstart American woman he had to put up with for a few days to get his flying lessons. With movie starlets, South American socialites and the beautiful Consuelo Garcia at his feet, he would hardly have any romantic interest in a girl from a middle-class American family—a girl who wore tennis shoes, jump suits and tied her hair in braids!

At the thought of Consuelo Garcia, JoNell felt a wave of compassion for the exquisitely lovely, pale girl. She must be deeply in love with Del Toro, and probably, in his way, he loved her. But what torture the poor girl was going to have to endure all her life, married to a conceited, arrogant Casanova who made a game of breaking women's hearts!