A Dangerous Game (12 page)

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Peter sat up.

"Come on," he said.

"You know exactly what I mean.

Nicci's not bad looking, if you like them tall with black hair.
 
And

I'm told he can be very charming, when it suits him."
 
He smiled.

"Does the thought of having sex with him excite you?"

Jacey smiled back.

"What an odd question," she said, sweetly.

"Does the thought of me having sex with him excite you?"

Peter lazed back on the bed.

"Maybe.
 
I think it could be great fun to watch you perform.
 
To

watch

Nicci undress you slowly, and go to work on your mouth, and your neck

and your nipples, and then go down and warm up your clitoris with his

tongue.
 
I'd like to see you panting and losing control, and bucking

and writhing, until he gave you the kind of climax you deserve."

"You're a closet voyeur," Jacey accused.

Peter shrugged.

"Most men are."

She had a sudden suspicion.

"Schlemann didn't suggest anything like that to you, did he?"

Peter laughed.

"No.
 
But I wouldn't mind betting he'd go along with it if you were the

star performer."

"Not a chance," Jacey said.

"I'm not an exhibitionist and I've got no intention of jumping into bed

with Senor Nicolas!"

But was that really the truth?
 
Jacey asked herself, as she tried to

decide what to wear to the Marquez party.
 
Unwanted thoughts about

Nicolas Schlemann were distracting her.
 
She was not vain but she was

sure Peter was right about Schlemann's intentions.
 
If he considered

all beautiful women to be candidates for his bed, he was probably

planning to add her to his list of conquests.
 
Thinking back on their

meeting, she realised how cleverly he had played his hand.
 
It was a

variation of the Mr.
 
Nasty and Mr.
 
Nice Guy interrogation technique.

He had made her angry, and then totally disarmed her by being the

opposite to what she had expected.

Clever bastard, she thought.
 
I was determined not to like you and you

almost persuaded me to change my mind.
 
But although you didn't know

it, you started off with a few advantages.
 
I always did have a soft

spot for tall, slim, dark-haired men.
 
But fancying you, and going to

bed with you, Senor Schlemann, she admonished him, are two totally

different things.

She held her favourite little black dress against her naked body and

surveyed her image in the mirror.
 
Too short?
 
Too sexy?
 
Her other

choices included a silver, beaded gown, with a high neck and a very low

back which was more suitable for a nightclub, and a sedate, designer

ball-gown, which hugged her figure just tightly enough to be discreetly

provocative but which she felt was too formal, for the kind of party

Peter had described.

It has to be the little black number, she thought.
 
She hadn't worn it

for some time and so slipped it over her head just to check that it

still fitted in all the right places.
 
The HEMLINE came just above her

knees.
 
She turned.
 
The skirt fitted neatly over her behind, and the

cut of the bodice lifted and held her breasts so well that she had no

need for a bra.
 
Just right, she thought.
 
Sexy but nice.
 
She was sure

Peter would approve.
 
Another thought teased her.
 
Would Nicolas

Schlemann be at the Marquez party?
 
She had a feeling that he would

be.

She turned again, looking at her reflection.
 
She did not look much

like the professional, white-coated woman he had met.
 
She lifted her

arms and released her hair, letting it tumble to her shoulders.

Because the dress was not properly fastened, the movement lifted her

breasts upwards and for a moment her nipples were visible.
 
She smiled

and adjusted the neckline decorously.
 
Well, Senor Schlemann, she

thought, if you're at the party, sorry, but this is all you're going to

see!

On the day before the party Jacey arranged to go to El Inviemo for the

first time.
 
Some of the staff at La Primavera had expressed surprise

that she was visiting the hospital, let alone intending to work

there.

But when he came to collect her, Paulo was delighted.

"Where you're going, the people need you.
 
Eh" Muldaire Not like the

patients here."

"Some of the people here are ill, Paulo," she said.

"They are more seriously ill at El Inviemo," he answered.

She soon discovered he was right.
 
She had been prepared for

overcrowding and antiquated equipment but the reality of El Inviemo

appalled her.
 
Peter had not been exaggerating when he told her

patients brought their own mattresses and slept on the floor.
 
She

picked her way carefully over sprawled bodies and family groups who

were camping out next to their sick relatives.
 
When she found Dr.

Rodriguez he was swabbing an open wound on a young boy's arm.
 
He

looked tired and hot.

"Dr.
 
Muldaire?"
 
His eyes assessed her without welcome or

enthusiasm.

"Are you willing to get your hands dirty?"

"I'm a doctor," she said crisply.
 
And added, with the trace of a

smile, "Just like you."

She did not get a smile back.

"Not like me.
 
You get paid ridiculously high wages at La Primavera,

and I guess that you do very little."
 
He thrust a swab at her.

"Here, carry on with this.
 
Don't take too long.

There's a queue of people outside who need attention."
 
He glanced at

her white blouse and pale, linen skirt.
 
It was a totally impersonal

appraisal.

"I hope you've got an overall in that expensive bag of yours.
 
Those

fashionable clothes won't look so good with blood all over them."

She refused to take offence.

"I've got an overall," she said.

"And I've also got some antibiotics."
 
She saw no change of expression

in his dark eyes and added hastily, "I didn't steal them.
 
They're a

gift, from Dr.
 
Draven and the staff at La Primavera."

"I wouldn't give a damn if you had stolen them," he said.
 
For a moment

she thought he almost smiled.
 
Then he turned to go.

"Thank Peter, and the others," he said abruptly.

Thrown in at the deep end, she looked at her first patient.
 
Two

mournful brown eyes stared up at her.
 
Quickly she found a new swab and

started work on the boy's arm.
 
His mother watched her as she worked,

her face as smooth as a carved mask.

"There you are Jacey said, as she finished cleaning the boy's wound.

"That will soon be better."
 
She smiled at him and received a solemn

stare back.

"How did this happen?"
 
she asked the equally impassive mother.

"They won't answer you."
 
Jacey turned and saw a plump young woman in a

white overall standing behind her.

"I'm Paloma," the woman said.

"Your helper."

"You're a nurse?"
 
Jacey enquired.

Paloma smiled sunnily.

"No, I'm not qualified at all.
 
But I've picked up lots of knowledge

since I've been working here."
 
She turned to the boy and his mother

and said something in a guttural language Jacey did not recognise.
 
The

woman smiled, turned and walked away.

"What language was that?"
 
Jacey asked.

"Chachte," Paloma said.

"One of the old languages.
 
You know, the ones the people spoke before

the Spanish came."

"And you speak it too?"

Paloma shrugged.

"I had to learn some of it.
 
Lots of the Indians won't speak Spanish.

They think it'll bring them bad luck.
 
And when you read how the early

settlers used to treat them, you can't blame them.
 
I mean, I'm Spanish

but some of the things my ancestors did make me ashamed."

Jacey soon realised that Paloma was a non-stop talker.
 
As she dealt

with a succession of patients, some silent, others chattering volubly,

she lea mt more about public opinion in Techtatuan than any of Major

Fairhaven's carefully worded briefing papers had taught her.

"That's it," Paloma said, at last.
 
She glanced at her watch.
 
Time for

a quick coffee."

She led Jacey to the tiny staff restroom.
 
A sluggish ceiling fan

stirred the hot air.
 
Travel posters were pinned to the walls in an

effort to brighten up the rather dismal decor.

Paloma unlocked a cupboard.

"You mustn't leave any valuables here unless you lock them up," she

warned Jacey.

"That includes coffee and cups.
 
The people are poor and they will

steal things to use or sell."

She added aggressively: "You can't blame them.
 
You'd do the same, if