A Dangerous Game (10 page)
bustle of the airport; the boredom of the flight (Faisel slept for most
of it); and the oven-hot air that engulfed her when she finally stepped
out of the plane.
Faisel's father was in America.
His mother, a
stunningly elegant woman in a white, linen designer suit, greeted
Faisel with theatrical emotion, but eyed Jacey coolly, offered her a
slim hand and a frosty smile, and then ignored her.
Jacey spent the
next three days on her own, in a plushly furnished apartment, attended
by servants, but isolated by her lack of Arabic and her inability to
ask where her husband was.
When Faisel finally appeared, he did at least apologise.
It was, she
recalled, probably the last time he ever did so.
He had been obliged
to visit a variety of relatives, he said.
These things were expected
of him;
he had a large family.
He sat next to her on the large settee.
It was
the first time they had been alone together since their marriage.
How would I describe what happened next?
she thought.
In those days,
I could still pretend that we were making love.
But she knew now that
Faisel's actions had nothing to do with love.
He copulated with me,
she thought.
It had hurt because she wasn't ready or aroused.
He had
wanted her to use her mouth but she wanted him to put his arms round
her and kiss her.
She remembered his irritation as he unzipped his
trousers and pushed her head between his legs.
"Make it hard," he ordered.
"Suck me."
"I don't want to."
She vividly recalled the strength of his hands on
her head as he tried to push her down over his lap.
"Not yet.
Let's talk."
"Talk?"
He turned it into a swear word.
"You're my wife.
Behave like a wife."
He managed to push her down. He
was not even partially erect and his penis felt flaccid against her
lips.
"Do your duty," he said.
"Service me."
She had started to cry, and he let her go, muttering something in
Arabic under his breath.
He took hold of himself and masturbated.
It
was the first time she had ever seen a man do that.
He achieved his
erection quickly, and turned to her.
"Open your legs.
You want me, don't you?"
She had wanted him, she remembered, but with tenderness and love, not
the crude speed of a rutting dog.
When he had satisfied himself and
rolled off her, he added the final insult.
He stood up, zipped up his
trousers, and left.
And I forgave him, she recalled bitterly.
Those first few times I
forgave him.
I even thought I was being noble and understanding by
forgiving him.
And I thought it would get better as we got to know
each other.
What a little fool I was.
What a dewy-eyed, empty-headed,
fucking little fool.
I deserved everything I got.
Didn't I?
No, she
thought, I didn't.
No one deserved what happened to me.
Why am I remembering this?
she wondered.
It was twelve years ago. She
did not want to think about the time that had elapsed either.
It's
over and finished.
Forget it.
But she knew that she never could. It's
made me what I am, she thought.
An ex-boyfriend had called her hard when, easily and without regrets,
she had broken up with him because he had kept talking about
marriage.
Hard?
she thought.
She preferred the word 'strong'.
Strong enough to
resist male flattery and promises.
Strong enough to discard a man when
he started to expect more than she was prepared to give.
She walked purposefully down the corridor towards Peter's office.
She
liked Peter Draven.
He was good company and apart from that odd first
incident he always satisfied her in bed, or anywhere else he decided
was a suitable venue for sex.
She didn't think he wanted anything more
than a light-hearted, fun affair, but if he did start to become
possessive, she knew she could break off the relation ship without
regrets.
At least Faisel gave me that much, she thought.
He taught me
not to let silly, romantic notions about love screw up my life.
Peter was updating his computer records when she entered the room.
He
glanced at the clipboard she was carrying.
"Here, give me that.
I'll put it on file for you."
"You might as well repeat my last reports," she said, unable to keep
the irritation out of her voice.
"Nothing's changed."
He grinned.
"You don't want your patients to get worse, do you?"
She shrugged and managed a slight smile.
"It would make me feel useful.
At the moment I feel like a social
worker, walking round with a big smile, handing out a few vitamin
tablets and saying good morning, all for sex maniacs like Senor
Valiente and Senora Atriega."
Peter pushed his chair back and spun round to face her.
"Do you really miss being a house doctor?
The long hours, the night
calls, the senior consultants who treat you like an idiot, and the
patients who do contrary things, like dying in spite of all your
efforts to save them?
Do you miss the smell of blood and guts, and disinfectant and excrement
and' "Yes," she interrupted.
"Stupid and illogical as it sounds, I miss it all.
The blood and guts
and excrement, and the wonderful feeling when you tell a patient the
operation was a success, and they're going to be all right."
"And little Johnny will play the violin again?"
He smiled.
"Yes, I know.
Our job does have a few perks.
So, how would you like
to recapture the glamour and excitement of being a real doctor again
for a couple of days a week?"
She looked at him curiously.
"Tell me more."
"I do voluntary work downtown, at a hospital you've probably never
heard of.
El Inviemo," he said.
"The Winter Hospital?"
she translated.
"Odd name."
"That's what everyone calls it," he said.
"And if you think it's a dig at La Primavera, you're right.
El Inviemo
is under-funded, understaffed, the equipment's ancient and they're so
short of beds they usually ask patients to bring their own mattresses
and park them on the floor.
Money was poured into La Primavera.
The
staff at El Inviemo have to grovel for crumbs.
But it'll certainly
satisfy your craving for the lovely smell of blood, urine and
disinfectant."
His smile disappeared.
"And it's all most of the poor sods in Techtatuan have got when they
get ill.
The senior doctor is Filipe Rodriguez.
He's five foot nothing, irascible and brilliant.
He might even be some
kind of saint.
I'm sure the locals think so, anyway.
You'll like him.
He'll probably like you, too."
"Sounds great," she said.
And she meant it.
Not only would this give
her an opportunity to use her medical skills, but it might also provide
her with a chance to find out more about Lohaquin.
"But will I get permission to have a couple of days off?"
"Of course you will," Peter said.
"Leave it to me.
I'll arrange it."
He grinned.
"I have friends in high places.
And talking of friends, I've been
invited to a party.
Have you heard of Carlos Marquez?"
The name was familiar.
It had been on Major Fairhaven's briefing
sheet.
The Marquez family were very rich, and friends with
Generalissimo Hernandez and Nicolas Schlemann.
"Isn't Marquez the name of a legal firm?"
she asked casually.
"The biggest and the best in Techtatuan," Peter said.
"Which means the biggest and the best in the country.
They have money
and influence.
Alfonso Marquez started with nothing and ended up a millionaire.
He
died a couple of years ago from a heart attack and his three sons
inherited the business."
"Are they all lawyers?"
she asked.
Peter laughed.
"Carlos practises.
Raoul is qualified, but he hasn't decided yet
whether he wants to be a lawyer or a polo player, or an actor, or
whatever else takes his fancy.
Leonardo is still in diapers."
He saw
her expression and grinned.
"Well, not literally.
He's the baby of the family, though."
"Who's throwing the party?"
"Carlos, ostensibly.
It'll be very conventional to start with, then
Carlos and his wife will go home, followed by the more traditionally
minded guests.
After that things will probably hot up a little."
He
glanced at her.
"Well quite a lot, actually.
We can go before that happens, of
course."
"It turns into an orgy, does it?"