Cinderella in Overalls (17 page)

Her feet, which had been leaden only moments ago, suddenly flew along the ground, keeping up with his. Together they negotiated the crowded sidewalks, edging around couples walking arm in arm and window shoppers, their faces pressed against the glass of smart shops. In front of the supermarket she paused.

“Instead of going out to dinner we could buy some groceries and initiate your stove,” she suggested.

“Can you cook?”

“Can I cook?” she repeated incredulously. “Can chickens lay eggs? I can cook for barn raisings and church socials. I can cook for field hands and cornhuskers. I ought to be able to cook for one banker with both hands tied behind me.”

“That won’t be necessary,” he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “I haven’t had a real meal at home since I got here.”

“Not that there’s anything wrong with the food at your favorite restaurant,” she said, pushing the door open. “But it will be interesting to see what they’ve got in here. A little market research on my part. Some comparative shopping.”

He pushed the cart while she walked ahead, picking up cans and putting them back, frowning at prices and raising her eyebrows at the produce. She picked up a head of lettuce. “Shall we have a salad?”

“Sure.” Suddenly self-conscious, he looked around at the other shoppers. “Have you seen any other men in here?” he asked in a loud whisper.

“I don’t think so. In Aruaca only housewives go shopping. Men have better things to do.”

“Like having a siesta on the couch, I’ll bet. I’d rather be with you... in the supermarket. Since I don’t have a couch.”

She snapped some green beans between her fingers. “Day old,” she whispered, and Josh rolled his eyes in dismay. “But we’ll make do,” she assured him, “with a little lemon juice and butter.” Then she found the meat counter and told the butcher to wrap up two thick lamb chops.

Standing in line at the checkout counter, Catherine stood on tiptoe and whispered in Josh’s ear. “The vegetables aren’t as good as ours. And they’re twice as expensive.”

“But there’s no bargaining. That’s what I like.”

She smiled, thinking of him standing in front of her with the mangoes in his hand, placing the money in her palm. Still feeling the touch of his fingers as he closed her hand and held it tightly. Remembering how the sounds of the market had faded around her. There was no shouting in this supermarket, no gleeful cries or arguments over the prices.

Josh paid the clerk and carried the groceries in one hand, using the other to link with Catherine’s as he led her through the streets to his apartment. While they waited to cross the street, he tapped his foot against the pavement impatiently. He wanted to see her reaction to his apartment. He tried to picture her there with her wide skirts and her hat and her braid. Could she fit into his life? Would she want to? Probably not. And whatever he wanted he had no right to draw her into his life. There was no place for her or for dreams. He needed to become more secure before he could forget about his poor, lonely childhood and make plans for his future. He’d have to wait. She’d have to wait. Josh made himself control his growing feelings. Now wasn’t the time for them.

They took the elevator up to the penthouse. He unlocked the door, and she stood in the doorway and stared out across the pale carpet to the breathtaking view of Teregape with the last rays of sun on it.

“It’s beautiful,” she said breathlessly. She slipped out of her shoes, stepped over a cardboard box and went to the window. He opened the sliding glass door, and she walked out to the balcony. Standing behind her, he remembered seeing it for the first time, that incredible view. He lifted her hat from her head and set it on the table. His fingers itched to loosen her braid and see her hair cascade to her shoulders.

Finally she looked around. “You don’t have any furniture. It looks as if no one lives here.”

“I have a stove,” he protested. “And a bed. The essentials. And we could really do without the stove.”

She stifled a smile. Her gaze turned to the boxes stacked in the corner. “What’s in those?”

“I don’t know. I can’t remember. I packed so long ago. They must have come by sea with the refrigerator. By the time I get around to unpacking, it will be time to pack up again.”

Startled by the thought of Josh leaving, she smoothed the hair that strayed from the edges of her braid. “You mean you’re not staying... I thought...”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m up for a promotion. I guess I mentioned that. If I get it, I’ll go back to Boston and they’ll send someone to replace me here. I don’t know when it’ll come or if it’ll come. If it does, I’ll have to pack up and go. They told me not to get too attached to anything I couldn’t bring back in my suitcase.” His eyes traveled the length of her body as if he were measuring to see if she’d fit.

She felt the heat course through her body until she would have bet she could have been melted down and packed in an overnight bag. She tore her gaze from his and looked around desperately. “I haven’t seen the... uh...”

“The bed?”

“The stove.”

“Right in here.”

In the compact kitchen she ran her hand over the smooth ceramic surfaces, opened the broiler and examined the grill. She turned on the oven, then washed the lettuce, relieved to have something to do with her hands and something to think about except Josh’s leaving. She shook the lettuce leaves so vigorously that Josh held up his hands in self-defense.

“I was just thinking about taking a shower,” he said.

“Uh-huh,” she said absently, and watched him disappear down the hall. It was like playing house, cooking in this little kitchen with its shiny new appliances. When he came back, he’d showered and changed into his blue jeans and a striped T-shirt. When he shed his suit, he seemed to shed some of the stiffness she always associated with bankers. Although there had been nothing stiff about the way he looked at her on the balcony.

He sniffed appreciatively at the smell of lamb sprinkled with rosemary that wafted through the air. The room was filled with steam from the green beans simmering in a pot. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her. The smell of his clean shirt made her want to bury her face against his chest. His voice sunk to a low rumble.

“So this is what I’ve been missing at the restaurant.”

His cheek was next to hers, his hair damp. She lifted her hands to his shoulders.

He pulled her close. She had a glimpse of longing in his eyes, the same longing that threatened to engulf her. Added to the steam and the smoke in the air there was desire. She stood still, afraid to move, afraid to break the spell. It was the oven timer that did it with its shrill ring, and they broke apart.

“We’ll eat on the balcony,” he said, taking a bottle of wine from a rack on the counter and two glasses from the cupboard. She followed him with plates of food. Dusk was falling and the lights of the city sparkled below. He saw the sight every night, and yet he felt as if he’d never seen it before. He stole a look at Catherine, her profile so perfect that he felt a lump in his throat.

They ate in silence, watching the sky change from navy to blue-black. He left her there while he made coffee, and when he returned, she had her head tilted back against the wrought-iron chair.

“You’re right,” she said, taking the cup from him. “You can’t make out the constellations from here.”

“No,” he agreed. “Your hammock’s the best place to be.”

She didn’t answer. It was clear neither of them would ever forget that night. “I’ve forgotten where the Southern Cross is.”

He set his cup down. “I should get my telescope.”

“Where is it?” she asked lazily. She felt her bones turn to jelly. She was totally relaxed, totally happy gazing out at the city below with Josh at her side, saying nothing, just knowing he was there. It was odd. Here she was far from home under an unfamiliar sky with a man she scarcely knew, and yet she felt a strange sense of belonging that caught her by surprise.

She, who hated the city, felt uneasy in crowds and detested bankers, had come to a high rise in the middle of a big city with a bona fide banker, kicked off her shoes and cooked dinner for him. And was having the best time she’d had in years. She reminded herself that all it was play. They were both playing a game, knowing that everything here was temporary. They were in a different hemisphere, everything was turned upside down and anything seemed possible. Only it wasn’t, not really. One day he’d go away and she would, too. But not yet. Not quite yet.

Reluctantly she left the dark balcony and followed Josh to the living room where he snapped on the lights and ripped open the top of the first carton. She knelt next to him, looking at the clothes on top and the books on the bottom. Books on economics and books on banking, but no telescope.

Wrapped in felt was a framed diploma from a university outside Boston. Catherine whistled under her breath. “No wonder you’re such a good banker. You have all the right credentials. And you read all the right books.” She leaned back against the wall, sinking into the soft, thick carpet.

“I don’t know why I brought that diploma along. I thought I’d hang it in my office.”

She drew her knees to her chin, her long skirt covering her legs. Undoing her braid, she shook her hair loose. “Where did you get the funds to go to that school if your father blew all his money chasing rainbows?”

“Scholarship.” He opened the next box. More clothes and a can of baked beans and a tin of brown bread. He looked up with a sheepish grin. “Emergency rations.”

At the bottom he found a framed photograph wrapped in cotton batting. As he unwrapped it, she moved to his side and rested her chin on his shoulder. It was an old black-and-white picture taken at the entrance to a cave. A group of Indians leaned on shovels and stared seriously at the camera. In the center was a young man smiling proudly, binoculars around his neck and a pick in one hand.

“My father,” he explained after a long silence. “At the Tochabamba Mine.”

She exhaled softly. “So it really does exist.”

He shook his head. “No, it doesn’t. It’s a dream.”

She pointed to the picture. “Then how...?”

“The mine was real. The silver wasn’t. It was low-grade ore from what I can figure. Fool’s silver. And right there is one of the biggest fools who ever spent his last dollar on shares in a silver mine.” He clamped his lips together and shook his head. “So even if there hadn’t been an avalanche, it wasn’t worth the effort.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to go there, just to see—”

“Yes. Old Pedro is right. If the God of Thunder closed the mine, he must have had a good reason. We have no right to disturb it”

She thought for a long moment, then ran her finger around the frame of the picture. “You should hang it on the wall, as a reminder...”

“A reminder of what not to do with your life? I don’t think so. Growing up without money is bad enough. Growing up without a father is even worse.”

“Then why did you bring it with you?”

He lay flat on the floor and stared up at the ceiling, his arms folded under his head, the telescope forgotten. “I don’t know.”

She studied the photograph. “There’s a resemblance there, something in the eyes...”

“Between him and me? Uh-uh. We couldn’t be more different.”

Catherine studied Josh’s face. The overhead light emphasized the tight muscles in his neck and the lines in his forehead. Maybe he didn’t know why he’d brought the picture. Maybe he didn’t recognize the dreamer in himself. But she saw it in his eyes and heard it in his voice.

“Catherine.” He didn’t move from his prone position on the floor, but there was a note of urgency in his voice. “What do you want? What are you looking for?”

She didn’t hesitate. “I’m not looking for anything. I’ve found it. My life is helping farmers help themselves. The fates and the weather and the bank took my farm away from me, but they gave me a chance to use what I learned in other ways. It’s taken me a long time to see it that way, but now I think this was my destiny all along.”