Fires of Paradise (36 page)

One of her first stops was the American consulate.

Lucy wanted to meet the secretary Shoz had referred to, Janice. She was a short, plump woman in her forties, and Lucy was ashamed of having jumped to the wrong conclusion. She had picked an importune time to visit, for the consulate was a beehive of activity due to the riots of the day before. The wires between Washington and Havana seemed to be in constant use. "I'm sorry," Janice apologized, looking harried. A cacophony of typewriters, telegraphs, telephones, and voices made it hard to hear her. "But we're almost in a state of emergency; this is exactly the kind of trigger that might cause McKinley to declare war on Spain!"

Lucy shuddered at the thought. As the revolution dragged on, the American press had begun speculating on the possibility of American intervention to gain Cuban independence. When she had been in New York, the idea had seemed remote, but now, amidst the chaos of the consulate, it seemed very real, and frightening. "Janice, I'll come back another time."

She left, but not before overhearing Janice telling a cohort, excitedly, that the State Department had put the USS
Maine
, stationed at Key West, Florida, on alert. She hurried outside, into the sunny brightness of the Havana morning. Here, amidst the tall, stately buildings of the government district, it seemed peaceful and serene—as if the riots of yesterday and the revolution did not even exist.

Lucy wondered at the connection between Janice and Shoz. Janice was working for the United States government; Shoz was obviously deeply involved with the rebels. Was she a spy? A spy for the rebels? Why else would she be passing messages to Shoz?
Or was he a spy?
Exhilaration suddenly gripped Lucy, stopping her in her tracks. When they were in Brownsville, her grandfather had said that the government was sending Shoz to Cuba, to supply the rebels with guns. And if he was working with Janice, than he must be some sort of spy for the United States. Lucy didn't know whether to be terrified for Shoz, or proud of him.

On her fourth night in Havana, the Spanish governor-general held a small dinner party in honor of the new American consul, who had just arrived. Janice had secured Lucy an invitation. The American community in Havana was small and cohesive, and as a Bragg, she was a welcome addition and had already met most of the wives of the consulate staff. The evening affair was held at the governor-general's palace. Lucy was introduced to the ranking officials of the Spanish government, the rest of the foreign community, and their wives. She found the occasion to be little different from any New York ball. The men flirted openly with her; their wives were eager for a newcomer to relieve the tedium of their exile. And as she had just arrived from the States, everyone was eager to know the "real" mood in America. Would Washington really go to war for the sake of a few Cuban rebels?

Soon the group she was with began to discuss excitedly the latest exploits of one of the rebels, someone they called El Americano. As usual, he had attacked and harassed the Spanish troops right under the noses of the government, this time at Castillo del Morro, where a bomb had gone off, destroying part of the fortification and causing great chaos— and even more embarrassment. The Americans in the group appeared to admire him.

"Is he really an American?" Lucy asked, pale. She couldn't help thinking of Shoz.

"Oh, I don't think so," one of the consulate secretaries said. "He's called that because he speaks Yankee English, when most Cubans speak English with a British accent. They say he's dark as sin; he's probably part Indian and part Negro—and all Cubano." She laughed.

Lucy did not have time to dwell on her suspicions. For she saw Leon.

It was a great shock. He was standing across the room, staring at her coldly. She could not believe this coincidence; she went white. He turned away, but Lucy, recovering, excused herself and crossed the room.

"What are you doing here!"

"I should ask you," he said coldly. He eyed her bare shoulders with a combination of interest and distaste, and Lucy felt naked in her yellow sheath.

"I decided to leave New York," Lucy said.

"I'm the new American consul."

She gasped, stunned. "But I thought you were posted in Puerto Rico!"

"I was. This is a new assignment," Leon said, and rudely he turned and walked away, leaving her standing there alone.

"A very foolish man," someone said behind her. Lucy whirled, embarrassed that someone had seen Leon cut her off.

"We haven't had a chance to speak, and I regret it greatly," General Valeriano Weyler said.

They had briefly been introduced, but had not talked. Lucy managed to smile, still shaken by Leon's presence in Havana. The general was tall and handsome, with tawny hair and olive skin and pale blue eyes—-yet he was not attractive. He had an intensity that disturbed her. He was the general already infamous in the States for his policy of herding up the local population and confining them to limited areas, ostensibly to create fire-free zones where the rebels would not have any local support. According to sensational press reports, Weyler's camps were overcrowded and inadequately supplied, causing much pain and hardship and even death.

"Hello, General," Lucy said evenly.

He took her hand and kissed it. Lucy did not like the feel of his mouth on her skin. "You are a true beauty, my dear, a ravishing one. I see you have already met your new consul."

Was he merely making conversation, or was he prying? "Thank you," Lucy said. "Leon and I are old friends; our families are quite close."

"Indeed? A small world. Then you must be quite fond of Senor Claxton."

"He is my friend; once, he was a beau." Lucy didn't particularly care for the turn of conversation, or for admit-ting more than She wanted to.

"Ahh, yes, I see. The poor fellow looked somewhat surly."

"I'm sure you only imagined that." "I like loyalty in a woman."

"I imagine you like loyalty in all those who serve you, General."

"Ahh," he said with a smile. "I knew you were as clever as you are beautiful. Have you had the time to visit Maravilla yet?"

"No, but soon I shall go." She was eager to see the plantation again. Weyler did not miss her mood.

"You cannot, of course, travel there yourself, because of the rebels. Perhaps I can be of service. Tomorrow I have a meeting with some of my local commanders not far from Maravilla. I will be happy to escort you there."

Lucy's mind raced frantically. Her instincts warned her not to go anywhere with the general; on the other hand, what safer escort could she have? Even though she had only been in Havana a few days, she knew he was right, she could not go alone with her coachman to Maravilla. "I don't know."

"I will stop by your villa at eight tomorrow. You have the entire evening to decide."

Lucy opened her mouth to protest, but he bowed and left. She was relieved, for their short conversation had somehow made her uneasy. She decided that no matter how much she wanted to see Maravilla again, she would not go with Weyler.

Lucy left the party just before midnight, being one of the first to depart. Her coachman was waiting; his face bright-ened at the sight of her. It was only a short drive back to her villa, and the night air was warm, still, and balmy. She realized, as Venida let her in, that she was tired, but pleasantly so; it had been an enjoyable evening. She smiled and hummed a little tune as she let herself into the luxurious pink room.

"Just where the hell have you been all night?" "Shoz!" Lucy cried.

Chapter 43

"Where the hell have you been?"

Lucy recovered from the shock of finding him standing there in the middle of her bedroom. "What are you doing here?!"

"Or rather," he gritted, his gaze sweeping her strapless yellow sheath, "who the hell were you with?"

Lucy thought she heard a noise, and suddenly realized how compromised she was, with Shoz in her bedroom. She turned and shut the door quickly. "What does that mean?"

"It means who the hell are you sleeping with now!'' Shoz shouted, and he flung his arm out, slamming his fist into the mirror above the mahogany bureau.

Lucy gasped as the mirror shattered, falling over the bureau and to the floor. Shoz stood motionless, holding his arm aloft, while blood from his hand began spotting the beautiful Aubusson rug. Lucy moved.

"What have you done!" she cried, rushing to him and taking his wrist.

"Dammit," he cursed. "Only you do this to me."

Lucy had already fled into the bathroom and returned with a fluffy pink towel, which she wrapped quickly around his hand. "For your information," she said stiffly, recalling his horrendous accusation, "I was at a party."

"With who?"

Before Lucy could answer, there was a sharp rapping on her door. "Miz Lucy, is that you? You all right?" It was Venida.

"No!" Lucy cried. "Don't—"

But Venida opened the door and saw the mirror. "Lawdy!" Then she saw Shoz.

For a moment the tableau was frozen. Shoz and Lucy standing together, his hand wrapped in the pink towel, Lucy holding his arm, Venida staring. Disapproval formed swiftly on her black face. "Well," she humphed. "I can see you got company and no need for me!" She turned and marched out with as much indignation as a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound woman could manage. She left the door open.

"Oh, God!" Lucy cried, running to the door and closing it. She leaned against it, breathless. "Of all the people, that nosy Venida! She won't say anything, will she?"

"Servants love to gossip," Shoz stated flatly.

Lucy moaned.

Shoz looked at the mirror and grimaced. "Stupid, real stupid. I'll replace it." "Forget the mirror," Lucy snapped, frazzled now. She grabbed his elbow and propelled him into the hallway. "I'm sure there's antiseptic in the kitchen, and at least there's soap."

Venida was in the kitchen smoking a cigarette when they came in. The kitchen was spotless, but when she saw them, she put it down, turned, and began banging pots and pans around. Lucy gave Shoz a warning look that said, "Shut up and sit," and approached her. Shoz sat at the kitchen table, saying nothing, but his mouth quirked. Venida slammed a lid on a pot.

"Do we have antiseptic?"

"In the pantry." She began to wipe down the scrupu¬lously clean counter, with long, hard strokes.

Lucy soon found everything she needed, filled a bowl with water, and joined Shoz at the table. She began cleaning his hand. None of the cuts were deep, but she had to remove many splinters of glass.

"Whose party?"

She didn't look up. "I was at the governor-general's." "Ah, yes. And how did you wrangle that invitation?" Venida paused in her scrubbing of the countertop. "Janice."

Shoz raised a brow.

Lucy looked up. "Just in case there's trouble, I thought I had better make her acquaintance."

Shoz's stern expression softened. "That was smart."

Lucy bit back a smile at his compliment, if it was such, and began dabbing antiseptic on his cuts. Venida made a noise.

Lucy looked at her. "I think the kitchen is clean enough, Venida; why don't you call it a night?"

"As you surely are about to do," she sniffed, and waddled out.

Lucy clenched her fists; Shoz laughed.

"She's not funny," Lucy hissed. "She's a big busy-body—what was she doing upstairs anyway when you hit the mirror? Spying on me? She was certainly eavesdropping here in the kitchen!"

Shoz chuckled again, the sound warm, rich. "She's probably harmless. I think I like her."

"You would!" Lucy flared, yanking his hand forward and slapping more antiseptic on. "Ow!"

"You would like anything that makes my life more dif-ficult."

He said, "So how's the new American consul?" Lucy froze. "You know? You know it's Leon?" He nodded.

"Why didn't you warn me!"

"I didn't know you needed warning."

Lucy wrapped his hand in gauze and taped it. "That wasn't fair, what you said earlier." She had lowered her voice.

"What should I have thought?" He knew exactly to what she was referring. "It's one in the morning, and you come in singing, dressed to kill a man."

"You shouldn't have thought that," Lucy said, gathering up all the items she had used. She put them away, disposing of the soiled linens. She paused before Shoz, gripping the back of her chair. He stared at her.

The crisis past, Lucy was gripped with a very familiar longing. She could feel the increased beat of her heart, the tension in her spine. "Why did you come?"

"You know why I came."

She could barely breathe. "Then," she said huskily, "why don't we adjourn upstairs?"

He kicked back his chair, standing. Lucy lowered her gaze, afraid she would reveal too much of the intense desire—and emotion—she was feeling. He followed her upstairs wordlessly. Lucy paused in the bedroom, and heard Shoz close and lock the door behind them. She did not move, filled with excitement, yet filled with anguish, too.

This was what she wanted, why she had come to Cuba, to be with him, even if it was only in his bed. And this was why he had come, to sleep with her—and not for anything more. It was so bittersweet.

"Lucy," he whispered from behind, closing his large hands on her bare shoulders.

Lucy heard herself sigh as he pulled her pliant body against his. She arched into him.

"You are the most beautiful woman I know." His mouth touched her neck.

A wonderful thrill raced across her, yet it was as much, or more, in response to his words than to his touch. He had never given her such an extravagant compliment before. Tears flooded her eyes.

And then his hands slid across her bare collarbone, across the flat upper planes of her chest, and then down into her bodice. He gripped her breasts, his teeth finding the skin of her neck. Lucy reached behind her to grasp the fabric of his jeans, anchoring him more firmly against her. His phallus was already engorged, pulsing deeply in the cleft of her buttocks.

"I am going to die," she gasped.

"I'll help you," he said.

Something banged, a door, awakening Lucy. She was incredibly tired, as if she hadn't slept at all, and she rolled over, reaching for a pillow to cover her eyes as sunlight suddenly poured into the bedroom. As if someone had opened the blinds. Then she remembered—Shoz. She smiled, a warm, wonderful happiness assailing her.

"Jist ain't right, good folks ought to know better; now, if'n it was po' trash, why, then I'd understand, but good folks? Lawdy!"

Lucy gasped, realizing that Venida was in the bedroom, her eyes flying open. One look showed her that she was alone; Shoz had already left. Thank God!

"Such carryings-ons I neveh did see! 'Bout time you opened them eyes!"

Lucy sat up. "What time is it?"

Venida set a tray of hot chocolate down by the bed. "Seven."

"Seven!"

"You tol' me last night, when you first came in, to wake you at seven 'cause mebbe some general was goin' to come by. Or have you forgot?" Her hands fisted on her hips.

Lucy had told Venida to wake her just in case she changed her mind and decided to go to Maravilla. "Thank you, Venida," she said, her tone dismissive.

Venida walked to the door. "If'n your daddy knew the goin' ons in his house—in his bed*—if he knew what his daughter was up to, he'd jist about die!" With that, she left.

Lucy's annoyance fled. She grinned like a cat, stretching luxuriously. Last night had been wonderful. Better than ever, oh yes. And she was in love, madly, hopelessly in love, again. Maybe she was a fool, but it was worth it!

Of course, nothing had been settled between them, and Shoz had not said when he would return. In truth, they had barely done any talking. He had taken her time and again like a starved man, and Lucy knew, finally, that his need for her was almost as great as hers for him. She had no doubt that he would come back to her.

Of course, she wanted more than just this, his visiting her in the dark of the night. But this was a beginning. She would make sure that his occasional visits became frequent, routine. She would become his mistress—his only one. And then, maybe, they could find something more.

But first, now, she had to decide if she was going to allow General Weyler to escort her to Maravilla or not.

Lightning struck her. What if she could help Shoz, show him she was more than a woman to warm his bed? Earn his appreciation, his gratitude? Lucy leapt from the bed, excited. What better way than to become friendly with the man in command of all the Spanish troops—the greatest enemy the rebels had? What if she could leam something of value to the rebels—to Shoz!

Miraculously Lucy was dressed and downstairs promptly at eight, appearing as fresh as if she had slept more than eight hours and not a mere two. She was a bit taken aback to see that her escort consisted of fifty heavily armed, mounted cavalry. She was also surprised to find herself sitting in a supply wagon next to the driver, while Weyler rode ahead with several other officers after greeting her at the front door.

It was a three-hour ride to Maravilla, and Lucy was upset to realize that she had no chance to eavesdrop on the general in order to help Shoz. She had obviously misjudged his interest in her at the party. She had no desire to converse with the driver of the buckboard, but the scenery was lush and gorgeous, and she had her memories of last night to keep her company.

Maravilla was five thousand acres of verdant, sugar-yielding hills fringed with tropical jungles and stretches of shell-white beach. Weyler dropped her off at the plantation house's front door, promising to return for her at four. Lucy thanked him, and waved until he had driven away.

Maravilla! Lucy turned exultantly. The big, white-shingled manor reminded her of the southern plantation homes she'd seen in Natchez. She turned slowly, pleased to find the house whitewashed and fresh-looking, the lawns carefully manicured, a profusion of pink and orange tropical blooms creeping along the drive and against the walls of the house. A long, gray-floored veranda ran the length of the front, furnished with white wicker chairs and sofas in green and pink striped upholstery. Huge potted fems marked the four corners of the porch. Lucy noticed that the emerald-green shutters were closed on all the windows.

Lucy frowned. The place was very still and quiet, as if deserted, yet the manager lived here—or at least, he was supposed to. Lucy hurried up the porch steps to knock on the heavy door. There was no answer.

Lucy tried the door and found it locked. Her heart sank; she had a terrible feeling that the place had been abandoned. But that did not make sense. Lucy walked around to the back.

As it turned out, the house wasn't deserted, merely locked as a precaution against unruly, looting soldiers and rebels. The housekeeper let her in, introducing herself as Bamie. She explained that Harris, the manager, was out in the fields, supervising the day's work.

Lucy was pleased to see that everything was in order at Maravilla, as if the war had not touched the sugar plantation at all. Bamie informed her that in fact they had lost five hundred acres last year to a fire, which had broken out after a skirmish between the rebels and the Spanish troops. Other than that, the plantation had escaped the revolution un-scathed and in nearly full productive capacity. Lucy assured Bamie she would not be spending the night, but urged her to prepare a guest suite should she be able to come for a weekend. After a light lunch of crisply fried fish and delicious greens, Lucy decided to take a mount out to ride across the land, heeding Bamie's warning not to go too far.

Promptly at four, Weyler returned for her, and Lucy was ready. Again she rode in the buckboard while he rode ahead with his officers. They stopped to water the horses an hour after leaving the plantation. As he had done when they had paused to rest that morning, Weyler rode up to her. "I hope the wagon isn't too uncomfortable."

She gave him her best smile. "Not at all. I'm very appreciative of the escort. But I think I will stretch my legs."

He shouted a command to the soldier driving the wagon, who helped Lucy down while Weyler rode off to re-join his officers.

Lucy was certain they would not stop again before reaching Havana. This would be her last and only chance to spy, and she knew it. Her adrenaline was racing wildly. Afraid her excitement and fear showed, Lucy strolled along the creek, in the direction of the general. Weyler had dismounted and was in what appeared to be a deep conversation with a lieutenant. Lucy tried not to appear interested, ostentatiously viewing the scenery, yet she ambled closer until she could hear almost every word. She was surprised that there appeared to be a shortage of necessities for the Spanish troops, particularly meat, boots, and ammunition. New supplies were expected next week. This did not strike Lucy as important, but the fate of a rebel leader did. Apparently he had been interrogated to the general's satisfaction, because he was slated for a public execution the following day at noon. Lucy kept her facial expression impassive, but her heart was thumping madly.

She turned to gaze up at a hawk soaring overhead, determined to tell Shoz about the execution. But did she even have time? She would have to instruct Janice to make sure Shoz got her message that very evening.

Feeling slightly faint, Lucy returned to the buckboard, unaware that Weyler had turned to watch her.