Men of Intrgue A Trilogy (21 page)

“I’ll bet she really fills out a bathing suit,” Helen said sadly.

“Never seen her in one.”

“You’ve seen her in less,” Helen said, unable to resist it.

He sighed heavily. “Okay, we’re going to talk about this once, and never again, got that?”

She didn’t answer, gazing at him stubbornly.

“I slept with Alma to scratch an itch, and that’s it. I don’t love her and never did. Are you satisfied?”

“Does she know you think of her as first aid?” Helen said tartly, pitying the other woman.

“She knows the score,” he said shortly.

“Do I know the score?” Helen asked, her voice not quite steady.

He tumbled her to the ground, pinning her under him. “Will you stop this?” he said huskily. “That was over and done with before I met you and it has nothing to do with us now.”

“She still wants you,” Helen pointed out.

“She wants the
jefe,”
he replied flatly. “She would have been sleeping with Olmos tonight if he’d won the fight.”
 

“That’s terrible,” Helen murmured. “You’re saying that she trades her body for what she wants, like... barter.”

“Alma’s a very practical woman. She doesn’t have much else to bargain with; she makes use of what God gave her.”

“He gave her quite a bit. She makes me look like an undernourished Campfire Girl.”

He shook silently and she realized he was laughing. “Don’t worry about it,” he said at length. “In ten years she’ll be going to Weight Watchers.”

“In Puerta Linda?” Helen asked, smiling.

“Well, she’ll be on a diet, then. And you won’t.”

“That’s true. In my family the women don’t get fat as they get older, just bony and regal, like Katharine Hepburn.”

He grinned.

Helen snuggled closer, noticing with dismay that daylight was creeping under the hem of the tent. Soon she would have to help Theresa and Matteo would be going off as well.

“I never thought it would end up like this,” she said dreamily, rubbing her nose on his shoulder. “The morning you came back after your mission I thought you didn’t want me any more.”

He drew back to look at her. “I thought you didn’t want me. You seemed so distant, so put off by what you’d seen.”

Helen held his gaze, admitting to him what she had known since that day. “You were right. Talking about it is one thing but actually seeing you do it is another.”

“And how do you feel now?” he asked directly, never one to dodge an issue.

“I don’t think anything could change my mind after last night, Matteo,” she answered just as bluntly. And it was true.

She couldn’t tell whether he was pleased by this or not; he was wearing his impassive, nonjudgmental face, what she thought of as his “fearless leader” expression, and it gave nothing away.

They both looked up at the sound of movement outside the tent. The rain was stopping and people were beginning to stir.

Matteo got up and said, “You have nothing left of the clothes Theresa got you?”

Helen shook her head. “We’ve been wanting to wash them, but we had to wait for rain because the supply of drinking water was running low.”

“I’ll send something over for you,” he replied.

Helen could see him changing back from her lover to the leader of the camp. His mind was switching gears and he was already thinking about the problems of the day.

He kissed her swiftly on the forehead. “I have to go. I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Okay,” Helen answered. What else could she say?

She dressed after the clothes arrived and walked through the muddy center lane of the camp to the cookhouse. Water was still dripping from all of the tents, and she had to bypass huge puddles along the way. But it was about twenty degrees cooler than it had been the day before, and the dryer, rain-washed air was like a tonic.

Theresa was already at the cookhouse and surveyed her with a wry, intent expression.

“So,” she greeted Helen, “things have changed between you and Matteo, eh?”

Helen didn’t even try to dissemble. “How can you tell?” she countered, feeling the flush creeping up her neck.

“I figured the fight would do it,” Theresa said sagely. “It took the threat of another man to bring Matteo to his senses and force him to claim you.” She took a sip of her coffee and added, “Besides, Matteo didn’t go back to his tent last night.”

“Why are you so sure about that?”
 

“I saw,” Theresa said airily.

“You mean everyone knows?” Helen whispered, drawing the obvious conclusion.

“Pretty much.”

“Oh, no,” Helen groaned, mortified.

Theresa shrugged. “You cannot keep such a thing secret; we are all in each other’s pots here,” she said, using a Puerta Lindan expression for closeness. “Anyway, Matteo is the
jefe.
Everyone watches him.”

Great, Helen thought. And she would be on display all day dishing out the food, like people’s exhibit number one.

“Tell me,” Theresa said conversationally, “is Matteo a good lover?”

Helen stared at her, turning redder, if that were possible.

Theresa raised her brows, noting her reaction. “You don’t discuss such things in America?” Theresa asked.

“No,” Helen replied, flustered. “At least, I don’t.”

Theresa waved her hand. “I just wondered if he could be as good as he looks.”

Helen busied herself with a stack of plates, wishing for something to deliver her from this conversation. “He is,” she finally said, and Theresa burst out laughing.

“The gringa is convinced,” Theresa caroled, pinching Helen’s cheek, which made Helen feel even more juvenile than she already did. Theresa was a widow with four grown children and remarkably blase´ about such matters.

“I think he is,” Helen added defensively. “Though I have no basis of comparison.”

“Eh?” Theresa said, her English not equal to the phrase.

“I’ve never been with anyone else,” Helen clarified.

“It was your first time?” Theresa said seriously, catching on.

“Yes.” Helen studied her face, past embarrassment now, wondering about Theresa’s change of attitude. Her expression was no longer congratulatory, but concerned.

“Did Matteo know this when he came to you?” she asked.

Helen nodded.

Theresa considered that a long moment before she said, half to herself, “You must be more important to him than I thought.”

Helen didn’t know quite how to take that remark and said nothing. Theresa was sharp enough to drop the subject, realizing that this relationship was vastly different from Matteo’s affair with Alma, which had been treated lightly, the subject of snickering anecdotes throughout the camp. Theresa had a pragmatic attitude about sex and felt that a man like Matteo, who had so much responsibility, was entitled to his relaxation, his little dalliances. But this thing with Helen was another matter. Matteo was highly sexed but not without a conscience; he would never take a virgin like this little American without realizing, and accepting, the consequences. For the first time Theresa saw that he might really be in love with the “
gringa blanca
,” as Helen was called in the camp, and she began to worry.

Helen spent the day looking for Matteo, wondering when she would see him again. He didn’t come in for his meals, but sent one of the men for food in the late afternoon. She didn’t think he was actually avoiding her, just that he was preoccupied. So she went about her tasks cheerfully, remembering the previous night, certain that the coming evening would bring them together once more.

Toward dusk, as she and Theresa were packing up, Alma appeared, and Helen’s stomach began to flutter. Alma was sure to have heard the gossip, and Helen didn’t want an ugly scene to mar her newfound happiness. She felt no sense of triumph over the other woman, merely an empathy for her. Helen could well imagine the pain of wanting Matteo and not being able to have him.

Alma paused before her, selected a piece of fruit, newly arrived that day, and raised her brown eyes to meet Helen’s. Here it comes, Helen thought, and braced herself.

Alma made a comment, looking from Helen to Theresa, waiting for the older woman to translate.

Theresa looked back at Alma, surprised, and Helen said quickly, “What is it? What did she say?”

Theresa turned to Helen, her eyes wide. “She says to tell you that she heard you didn’t have anything to wear, and she has some extra clothes if you would like to borrow them.”

Helen was rendered speechless. It was an overture of friendship that she would not have expected if she was running around the camp in gunny sacks.

“Please tell her that I appreciate the offer and I’ll let her know if I need anything,” Helen said to Theresa. After Theresa had spoken Helen added, directly to Alma, “
Muchas gracias.”

Alma nodded and went on her way. When she had left Helen said to Theresa in an undertone, “What do you think that was about?”

“¿Quien sabe?”
Th
eresa replied, looking at the ceiling. “Who knows?”

“It was a very generous thing to do,” Helen said thoughtfully.

“I’m not so sure,” Theresa said, her expression calculating.

“What do you mean? She’s trying to be nice, mend the fences; what else could it be?”

“More likely she senses which way the wind is blowing and wants to get on your good side to keep in with Matteo. She knows she’s lost the battle and is trying to make sure she doesn’t pay the consequences. You could use your influence, turn Matteo against her. That’s what she would do in your place, get rid of the old flame so she’s not around to provide comfort if things go wrong between you and the
jefe
in the future.”

“I wouldn’t try to oust her,” Helen said quietly.

“Oust?”

“Get rid of her.”

“Maybe not, but remember, Olmos is gone now. She must be feeling alone, and she knows how to play the game, believe me.”

“I prefer to think she wants to be friends,” Helen said.

“You must have been raised in a church,” Theresa observed, shaking her head. “That one would cut your throat
in a minute if she didn’t know Matteo would slit hers in return,
inmediatamente
.” S
he slashed her forefinger across her neck.

“Please,” Helen said, sickened by the analogy, even though she knew Theresa was exaggerating.

Theresa threw up her hands.

“Matteo hates vindictiveness in personal relationships. He would never listen to me if I tried to do what you’re suggesting,” Helen told her.

“‘Vindictiveness is getting back, getting even?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe she doesn’t know he feels that way. Maybe that’s why she lost him,” Theresa said. “All I’m telling you is to be careful. You’re a child in these matters and she is an old woman.”

“I’ll be careful,” Helen assured her, trying to get off the topic. “Should I put away this bread?” she asked, and as Theresa answered she wondered how much of what the other woman said could be true.

It was almost dark by the time she walked back to her tent. Helen nodded to several of the people she passed, who inclined their heads in return. She sensed that she was no longer disliked, but tolerated as an eccentricity of Matteo’s, like his fondness for books and
beisbol
and Americana in general. They were disposed to forgive their leader anything, and it was obvious that they were forgiving him her presence in their midst. Helen slowed near the entrance to an alley created by the proximity of two tents, and an arm snaked out to pull her into it.

“Hey, lady, you got ten bucks?” Matteo rasped in her ear.

“What is that supposed to be,” she said, laughing, “the Bronx?”

“Brooklyn,” he replied, offended. “Can’t you tell?”

“Matteo, all your American accents are done with a Spanish accent. It spoils the effect, if you get my meaning.”

“Ah, what do you know?” he said, nuzzling her neck. “You rich girls never go to Brooklyn.”

“I beg your pardon; I went to the Academy of Music all the time.”

“Exactly my point. The Academy of Music isn’t Brooklyn, just like Lincoln Center isn’t Manhattan. Did you miss me today?”

“I did.”

“Good. We’ll make up for it tonight.” He kissed her deeply, lifting her into the cradle of his hips so she could feel him pressed against her.

“Damn,” he moaned. “I wish I could take you right here, right now.”

She wished he could, too. She clung to him with her eyes closed, shutting out the world.

“Let’s go to your tent,” he said urgently, taking her arm.

She held back. “Matteo, everybody knows. They’ll be watching us. I don’t want to be on display like that.”

He fell silent, thinking. Then he said, “You’re right. Those bodyguards are always hanging around, and I can’t wait till the middle of the night to get rid of them.” He glanced over her head into the dusk and added, “There’s a spot on the other side of the stream, under a big jacaranda tree. You’ll find it easily. I’ll meet you there in ten minutes.”