Authors: Jeanne Stephens
About an hour later, when she came out of the bathroom dressed in jeans and a sleeveless red cotton shirt that buttoned all the way to the high round collar, her hair blow-dried and neatly in place, she heard voices coming from the sitting room. Creeping to her bedroom door, she eased it open and stood listening to the two male voices that drifted down the hallway.
Derek was speaking, but she only caught the last few words.
"… Margarite is so happy. She's really quite a woman."
The other man laughed—a sound of agreement—and then said something in such low tones that all Terri heard was, "… fortunate man…"
Then Derek said, "You're right, old friend. Life with Margarite will always be rich and exciting."
Terri stood there, hanging on to the half-open door, and a dizzy feeling swept over her—a vertigo that made the walls in the hallway seem to sway toward each other and then move back again. Jealousy so intense that it made her feel nauseated twisted in her stomach. Derek thought Margarite was "quite a woman," and from the gist of the conversation in the sitting room, he had come to some kind of decision about their relationship. Clearly, he intended to make it more permanent. How else was Terri to interpret his observation that life with the Mexican actress would be rich and exciting? Derek was planning a life with Margarite. She leaned her forehead against the sharp edge of the door, trying to steady herself.
The men were discussing the year's sisal crop now and Terri, managing to get a grip on her tumbling emotions, took a deep breath, stiffened her spine, and walked into the sitting room.
The man who sat on the couch facing Derek appeared to be in his early forties, stockily built and very muscular. His dark hair, unmarked by any hint of gray, was brushed smoothly back from his forehead and grew in deep sideburns down each cheek. With his thick, neatly trimmed mustache and the rugged facial features, he was quite an attractive man and, Terri was certain, when dressed more formally, most distinguished-looking. Now he wore white trousers and shirt with brown riding boots and a brown-and-white figured kerchief knotted jauntily about his neck.
Terri stood in the doorway until Derek looked up and saw her. "Come in, Terri. I want you to meet our host, Salvadore Divila."
The plantation owner was standing, smiling broadly, his teeth flashing white against the dark mustache and tanned face. He came forward and took Terri's hand in a firm grip. "How nice to meet you at last, seňorita. I hope you will accept my humble apologies for not being here to greet you upon your arrival."
Terri found herself smiling into his friendly, open face. "I understand that you were called away unexpectedly."
She could not tell whether the glance he gave Derek had any secret meaning. "I hope you have found everything you need," he said to Terri. "I left explicit instructions with the servants."
Surmising that he was the courtly sort of man who would not be seated while a woman stood, Terri moved to the unoccupied leather chair and sat down. "We have been quite comfortable."
Divila returned to his place on the couch. "I neglected to leave word that you were to use the courtyard and pool if you wished. I hope you have done so." His interested appraisal caught the slight flush on Terri's cheeks at this, as well as the furtive glance she darted in Derek's direction.
"We have been busy working," Terri laid in a strained voice.
Derek, who was slouched in the other chair with one blue-jeaned leg thrown over a leather arm, smiled lazily and said, a taunt in his tone, "We did use the pool once, however, and found it quite—invigorating. Didn't we, Terri?"
Terri felt her cheeks flaming now as she fixed her eyes on Salvadore Divila's face, trying to ignore the cruel mockery in Derek's words. "The pool and the courtyard are lovely, Seňor Divila. You must find a great deal of enjoyment in having access to such beautiful surroundings whenever you wish."
Salvadore Divila's expression showed a trace of regret. "Alas, my business interests keep me to occupied that I am not able to avail myself of those surroundings as often as I would like. Lately I've been trying to arrange things so that I will have more time for relaxation. That was the purpose of my recent trip. I like to work and I confess I do have mixed feelings about these new arrangements I am making."
"I'm certain Terri can empathize with you, Salvadore," Derek said. "She prefers to stick to business herself."
Divila looked from Derek to Terri, a puzzled expression on his face. "Ah, but such a young and beautiful woman must have a full social life," he said, smiling. "If not, I am quite disappointed in the men in your country, Derek. More than that, I despair of their good sense."
"You are very kind," said Terri, lowering her eyes.
"No," Divila insisted, "only honest."
Derek was watching them with an amused curve to his lips. He knows I'm embarrassed, thought Terri, and he's enjoying it! "I overslept this morning," she said hastily. "I'd better go see what I can find for break-fast." She got to her feet. "No, don't get up, Seňor Divila. Would you stay and have breakfast with us?"
"Thank you, seňorita, but no. I have already eaten, and I must get ready to leave again."
Terri had stopped halfway to the kitchen. Now she asked in surprise, "You are going away again soon?"
"A few days from now," Divila confirmed. "I fly to Mexico City."
"You
are
a busy man," said Terri sympathetically.
He inclined his head in acknowledgment. "That will change soon—at least to a degree. And this time I shall have charming company for the return trip."
"Oh?" Terri asked with polite interest.
Derek surveyed Terri from his chair. "Salvadore is bringing Margarite back with him."
"Do you know Miss Lopez, seňorita?" Divila inquired.
Feeling a despairing sinking in her stomach, Terri shook her head sharply. "I haven't had the pleasure."
"Oh, but you must have seen her movies," Divila returned.
"I'm afraid I haven't," Terri told him, feeling Derek's eyes on her face. "I—I am sure they are very good, though." Money-making, anyway, she added to herself. Nor did it matter much whether Margarite Lopez's movies were well received. She had Derek, didn't she? To Terri that seemed quite enough for any woman.
Divila chuckled. "Miss Lopez is the most popular film star in Mexico. If she is not the most accomplished actress, as well, that is of little importance to her admirers." He made a dismissing gesture and added, "She is such a bundle of feminine charms that one can overlook small faults. Do you not agree, Derek?"
Derek's laugh blended with Divila's. "I do indeed!"
Terri felt absolutely grungy in her jeans and cotton shirt. "P-please—" She found herself stammering. "Excuse me." She retreated to the kitchen, where she caught hold of the cabinet and willed her thudding heart to slow down. Divila was bringing Margarite back with him! Terri saw everything clearly at last. Divila was going to Mexico City to intervene in Derek's behalf with Margarite Lopez, to smooth out whatever misunderstanding between the two had caused Derek to leave the city so suddenly. She had known that Derek could be heartless, but this was the cruelest thing he could possibly have done. To bring Margarite here—to flaunt their relationship in Terri's face! Naturally, Margarite would stay in the guest house—share Derek's bedroom, no doubt. And Terri would have to watch the lovebirds make up! What was she supposed to do meanwhile—photograph the sisal plants?
She heard Salvadore Divila leaving, bidding goodbye to Derek at the door. Then Derek came into the kitchen, where he stood with one shoulder propped against the refrigerator and looked at her.
"What are we having for breakfast?"
Terri turned to stare at him. How could he stand there as if nothing were wrong and ask her a question like that? "I don't know what
you
are having, Derek. As for me, I suddenly don't feel like eating."
"It's your turn to cook this morning. Don't tell me you aren't going to keep up your end of the bargain." He said this lightly with a twinkle in his eye. Incredibly, it seemed he intended to go on with their activities here as if Margarite Lopez did not exist. Unflappable—that was the only word for him!
"I'm not cooking breakfast!" she flung at him. "So sue me!"
He straightened, his thick brows lowering in an impatient expression. "You're certainly in a foul mood this morning. Your little escapade of last night hasn't made you ill, has it?"
Her anger and resentment had been growing by the second. Now she plopped her hands on her hips and her eyes blazed into his. "Oh, I feel ill, all right! Nauseated, in fact! But last night has nothing to do with it, except that it proved once again what an unfeeling heel you are. And to think you dared to call David Almedo a gigolo!"
His frown was puzzled, uncertain. "What are you raving about? Is all this because I wanted to make love to you last night? Is that a criminal offense?"
She tossed her blond hair, rearranging the shining golden cap into a careless tumble of waves. "Oh, I'm sure it's all in a day's work with you, Derek. The world's greatest lover! Don't you ever get off stage?"
He made a harsh, humorless sound. "Come off it, Terri. Aren't you overreacting a bit? You weren't exactly indifferent to me last night. I know you like to present a chaste, untouchable image, but this is a bit much. Now why don't you cool off and fix breakfast so we can get to work."
Terri set her jaw stubbornly. "I told you, I'm not fixing breakfast. I wouldn't cook a meal for you if you beat me!"
"Don't give me any ideas," he retorted darkly.
Rigid with outrage, she brushed past him. "I have to get some fresh air." She ran across the sitting room and out the front door.
Behind her, Derek called, "Come back here, Terri! What's gotten into you?" A moment later, she heard his footsteps on the gravel. He soon caught up with her and spun her about to face him.
The tears that had been threatening in the kitchen were beginning to slide down her cheeks. He sighed, this time raking both hands through his hair. "Look, I think you got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. Maybe we both did. Let's try to start the day over."
"I don't want to start anything over with you, Derek," she flared.
His hands clenched into fists at his sides and he looked heavenward, clearly near the end of his patience. "Why are you acting like this?"
"Do I have to draw you a picture? I was sitting right there in the room when Salvadore Divila said he was bringing Margarite Lopez back with him from Mexico City. Are you going to stand there and deny it?"
He looked at her, his head to one side. "No, of course not."
She thrust her chin forward. "Well, if you think I'm going to stay on the same plantation with you and—and that woman, you're crazy!"
He stared at her for a long moment, and then he threw his head back and laughed. "So that's what this is all about. Terri, will you grow up? Margarite won't interfere with us that much. She'll be staying in the main house, and—"
"And that's supposed to make it all right!" Terri sputtered, almost choking on the words. "She won't
interfere
! I can't believe this, Derek! Is this some kind of cheap thrill for you or what?"
"Terri—" He reached out for her, but she spun away from him.
"Keep your hands off me!" A bitter sob escaped her. "I hate you!"
He glared down at her, fire in his eyes and fury in his stance. "Come back to the guest house and clean up." His tone was cold, implacable. "And don't try to run away again," Derek went on, a relentless note in his voice. "If you do, I'll carry you back and lock you up—if I have to."
It's hopeless, Terri thought, her body sagging. This whole situation—everything—is hopeless. Eyes averted, she walked past Derek and returned to the guest house. He stayed at her heels all the way, but neither of them said a word.
Terri went straight to her room. She would have liked to lock herself in the bedroom, but that would only postpone the inevitable. She had to face Derek and try to be civil enough to finish the work here. She went back to the sitting room and heard him running water in the kitchen. Evidently he had made his own breakfast and was now washing the dishes. Momentarily, he came into the sitting room, carrying a large mug.
"Coffee—for you," he said matter-of-factly, as he set the mug down on the coffee table.
"Thank you," Terri replied, with what she hoped was an impersonal tone. "I'd like to finish reading the Maya manuscript if you don't mind."
He nodded and went into his bedroom, returning with a thick stack of pages, which he handed to her. "That should keep you occupied all morning while I do some writing in the bedroom."
She carried the manuscript and coffee to the corner table and sat down. With no further glance at Derek, she found the place where she'd stopped reading the last time and bent over the typed page.
Derek cleared his throat. "We're invited to have dinner with Salvadore at the main house this evening."
Terri looked up, disconcerted. She couldn't imagine anything more trying to her nerves than having to spend the evening with Derek and his friend. "I—I'd rather not. I don't feel like—"
"Terri," Derek cut in, "it would be extremely rude if you refused, after Salvadore's generous hospitality."
He was right, of course, but that didn't make her look forward to the evening with any less dread. "All right," she muttered crossly, "I'll go."
"Good," he said.
She returned to the manuscript, and, after a moment during which Terri felt his eyes on her, Derek went back into his bedroom and closed the door. A few minutes later she heard the steady tapping of his typewriter.
The morning seemed interminable to Terri. She finished the Aztec manuscript and, her anger having been gradually transformed into a dreary depression, she retreated from her vow not to cook for Derek and fixed lunch. It was something to do. In the afternoon they went to two lesser known Mayan sites in the area so Terri could get more photographs. What conversation there was between them was stilted and strained.