Cade

Two

Fourteen months preceding Cade’s trip to Eastonville, he was in Acapulco, Mexico’s fashionable, white-beached playground, completing a series of photographs for the coloured supplement of the Sunday Times.

At this period, Cade was at the top of his lucrative career. He was strictly free-lance, creating his own assignments, taking superb photographs which Sam Wand, his New York agent, promptly sold, crediting Cade’s bank account with the considerable proceeds.

At this period, Cade was very fortunate: he was famous, wealthy, sought after, in excellent health and his creative talent set him in a class of his own. Success hadn’t spoilt him. But like most creative artists he had his failings: he was extravagant, he drank more than was good for him, and he was over-fond of the company of beautiful women. To off-set these failings, he was generous, unselfish, kind and a champion of the “Have-nots.” With no wife nor family, he was often lonely. He had no roots. Basically, he was a simple man with a brilliant talent. Much of his time was spent in trains, aircraft and cars. The whole world was his workshop.

He had recently returned from Santiago on the Lake of Atitlan where he had taken a series of sensitive photographs of the Indians’ way of life. They were good pictures that made you feel the dust and smell the dirt and made you understand the continuous struggle the Indians were making to survive.

To put a frame to these photographs, Cade decided he needed contrast. Part of his talent was blending vinegar with oil in the exact proportions.

So he had come to Acapulco. With a 20 cm telephoto lens he had obtained comparison pictures of the fat and the suety, the old and the veined, the vulgar and the exuberant who lay like gas-inflated corpses in the sun. For Acapulco shares with all other expensive and exclusive sun spots of the world the spectacle of the too rich, the too fat, the too pendulous and the blind to ugliness.

He was staying at the Hilton Hotel. His pictures were on their way to Sam Wand. He now felt the usual let-down of his inner self which he always experienced after a difficult and exacting assignment. As he sat in the canvas lounging chair by the big swimming pool, a Tequila Collins in his hand, he began to wonder about his future plans.

The American tourists, noisy, vulgar and near naked, splashed like amiable whales in the water. Cade watched them bleakly. It depressed him that so many of the old and so few of the young had money.

He finished his drink, then picking up his Minolta, he walked over the bridge to reach the far side of the pool and made his way with easy strides to the public beach.

Without knowing it, he was about to keep a fatal appointment with his destiny. It was on this hot sunny afternoon that he first met Juana Roco, a woman who was to ruin him, reducing him to the wreck of a man who was later to be beaten nearly to death in a town called Eastonville.

Mexican women mature very young. Unless they watch themselves, and few do, they quickly become fat, overblown and unattractive. Juana Roco was Mexican and seventeen years of age: an age of twenty-six or seven for the normal American woman. She was slightly taller than most Mexican girls and her fine black hair reached to her knees. Her skin was the colour of the discreet blend of coffee and cream. Her eyes were large, luminous and black. Her nose small, but classically shaped and her mouth a promise of sensuous dreams. Her body was the most perfect sexually exciting feminine equipment a man could imagine.

She lay on her back on the sand, her hair making a frame for her face and body. Her eyes were closed and she was alone.

Coming upon her, his mind busy with future plans, Cade stopped short, involuntarily catching his breath.

A small strip of scarlet cloth covered her breasts. Another strip covered her groin.

Cade thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. So beautiful that he thought of her as a “thing” and not as a woman. It was only a little later that he became aware of her sensuality.

His shadow fell across her face and she opened her eyes. They looked at each other and she smiled. She had strong white teeth and her lips as she smiled were a temptation.

“All alone?” Cade said, standing above her.

“There’s you.” She had an accent and it was attractive. “I saw you last night. You are at the Hilton, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

She sat up and swept her mass of hair over her shoulders into a gleaming black rope.

“You are Cade, aren’t you? The photographer.”

He laughed: delighted.

“How did you know?”

“I know lots of things.” She looked at him, so friendly, so beautiful. “I’ve seen many of your photographs.” She shook her head. “You must be very unhappy sometimes.”

He knelt beside her, intrigued.

“Why do you say that?”

“Aren’t you?”

They looked at each other and he was a little worried by her eyes. He had a feeling they were seeing too much of him for comfort.

“Don’t let’s talk about me,” he said. “Let’s talk about you. Tell me your name.”

“Juana Roca.”

“Are you on vacation?”

“Something like that.”

“Where are you staying?”

“Room 577, Hilton Hotel,” and she laughed, running her slim long fingers through the strands of her hair.

For a moment it didn’t jell, then he became abruptly alert.

“That’s extraordinary! I am in Room 579.”

“I know. I changed rooms this morning.”

It was at this moment he forgot she was merely a beautiful thing and became acutely conscious of her overpowering sexual attraction. He felt his blood quicken and his heartbeat became uncomfortably fast.

“Did you?” His voice was a little unsteady. “Why?”

She looked beyond him at the blue Pacific, an inscrutable smile on her lips, then she asked, “What is the time, please?”

“The time?” For a moment he could only stare stupidly at her, then he hastily looked at his strap watch. “It is twenty minutes to two.”

“Oh, dear!” She scrambled to her feet and snatched up the bathing wrap on which she had been lying. “I must go. He hates to be kept waiting. I didn’t know it was so late.”

“Who? Don’t go! Wait...”

But she was already running across the sand. Unlike most girls, she ran gracefully with the easy strides of a man. Her shoulders were set square, her waist narrow and her derrière was small, full and firm unlike the usual back pieces of Mexican women.

Cade remained kneeling in the sand. He watched her out of sight. He had been in and out of love with dozens of women, but this was a new experience. This was disturbing, even a little painful. He found himself suddenly unsure of himself. Changed rooms? Had she been joking?

He picked up his camera and returned to the hotel. Halfway across the bridge, he paused and looked towards the open-air restaurant, shaded under a canopy of straw. Nearly all the tables were occupied. The Mexican waiters, carrying trays of exotic food, were moving around the tables with the precision of oiled, well ordered machines. Fat American women, wearing grotesque flowered sun hats and in boned swimming suits bulged over in their chairs and across their tables. Hairy old men in swim trunks with bellies on their knees shouted cheerfully to one another from table to table.

Finally he saw her. She was at a table with a tall, lean Mexican: a man around sixty-five with a thin, aristocratic face, thick white hair and hard blue eyes. He wore an impeccable yachting blazer, white flannel trousers, a white silk shirt and a Club tie: an anachronism amongst the undressed flesh around him.

Cade stared at the man, then with a sudden feeling of depression, he continued across the bridge. He made a deliberate detour to avoid passing anywhere close to their table. He had planned to have a simple lunch, but now he was no longer hungry. Instead, he went up to his room.

On entering the room, he noticed for the first time that there was a communicating door between his room and the adjacent room. It was bolted on his side and he was sure it would be bolted on the other side.

She had told him she had moved into this adjacent room, so sometime tonight, they could have easy access if that was in her mind.

He lay on the bed, disturbed and excited.

Who was the man with her? Her father? Her husband? Her lover?

The telephone bell startled him. Frowning, he scooped up the receiver.

“Mr. Sam Wand of New York is calling you, sir,” the operator told him. “Shall I connect you?”

It could only be a new assignment, probably miles away from Acapulco. Cade looked across the room at the communicating door. He thought of her long rope of hair, her full breasts and the way she had smiled at him.

“No,” he said. “Please tell him I am away for a week. I have left no forwarding address. Would you do that for me?”

Because he was Cade and famous, the operator giggled excitedly. In a conspirator’s whisper she said she would take care of it and broke the connection.

That evening, Cade drove in his rented Jeep to La Gama restaurant which faced El Morror beach. He had arranged the previous day to have dinner with Ricardo Oroseo, the gossip columnist of the Acapulco News.

Oroseo had interviewed him on his arrival. Cade had liked him and had been happy to accept Oroseo’s invitation to dinner.

He found the columnist waiting for him: a small, wiry Mexican of uncertain age who wore his white tuxedo with considerable dash and whose dark complexioned face was constantly wreathed in smiles.

They had a sea-food meal. During the meal they chatted of this and that, and it wasn’t until coffee was being served that Cade decided to make use of Oroseo’s knowledge of the V.I.P. tourists.

“There’s a Mexican staying at the Hilton,” he said, stirring his coffee. “I was wondering if you know who he is. A tall, thin man of about sixty-five. He has thick white hair and blue eyes. When I saw him, he was wearing...”

“I know who he is,” Oroseo broke in, and he regarded Cade with an amused expression on his face. “So he interests you, amigo? Is that really true? Would it not be more honest and nearer the truth if you said his little companion is the one who has caught your eye?”

Cade grinned.

“You’re too sharp for me. Anyway, who is he?”

“His name is Manuel Barreda. He owns a shipping line and he operates from Veracruz. He is extremely wealthy. He has an invalid wife, three sons in business and a daughter who is married to the President of the Bank of Yucatan.”

Cade was a little startled. He sipped his coffee while he digested this information.

“Is that his daughter with him?” he asked finally.

This question convulsed Oroseo with silent laughter. While he beat his knee with his brown hand and mopped his eyes with a handkerchief, Cade waited patiently.

“Excuse me,” Oroseo said when he had recovered himself. “No, that is not his daughter. If you had seen his daughter, you would understand why I am so amused. Mr. Cade, his daughter is a very large woman; very respectable, you understand; but extremely large. They say she uses a melon net to support her bosom. Her derrière...”

“Never mind her derrière. Who is the girl with him?”

“Ah!” Oroseo shook his head. “If I were given a ten dollar bill for every time I have been asked this question I would be able to buy the Mercedes I long for. Every day, every hour, since she has been here, I am asked who she is.”

“That still doesn’t tell me,” Cade said.

“Her name is Juana Roca.”

“That’s something I have found out for myself. Who is she and what is she?”

“I know what she is,” Oroseo said and shook his head. “She is the present mistress of Senor Barreda. There can be no doubt about that, but who she is becomes more difficult. I have made inquiries. Before she met Senor Barreda, she was a dancer at the San Diego Club in Mexico City. She is known to have been very friendly with the bull fighters. Or perhaps it would be fairer to say that the bull fighters are known to have been very friendly with her.” He tapped his short nose as he smiled at Cade. “There is a subtle difference. It could mean that the bull fighters, although very friendly with her, did not get far with their intentions. I don’t have to tell you about the intentions of bull fighters when they see a woman as beautiful as Juana Roca, do I?”

“No.”

“Nor do I have to enlarge on the intentions of a brilliant, talented photographer who obviously is interested in her?”

Cade finished his coffee.

“Let’s have some more of this. Mexican coffee is really excellent.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Oroseo smiled happily. He snapped his fingers at a passing waiter. There was a pause while their cups were refilled.

Cade asked, “What is Senor Barreda doing here? I would have thought he would have been too occupied with his ships to be in Acapulco.”

“Yes, you would have thought so, wouldn’t you?” Oroseo looked reflective. “But no one should jump to conclusions. Actually, he is recovering from a heart attack. His doctors advised the sun of Acapulco. So he is here. His sons are dealing with the ships for the moment.”

“A heart attack?”

“Quite severe. There were distinct moments of acute danger.”

Cade turned this over in his mind. Oroseo anticipated his next question by saying, “You are wondering how it is that an old man with a bad heart is staying at the Hilton Hotel with a beautiful, vigorous young woman like Juana Roca. Isn’t that what you were wondering?”

“It did occur to me,” Cade said, smiling at Oroseo.

“But women as beautiful as this one inspire risks. It is really very simple and not unheroic. At home, Senor Barreda would be in difficulties. At Acapulco, no one pays attention to love affairs. It is obviously worth the risk to him.”

“I suppose it is,” Cade said and felt suddenly deflated.

If Barreda was prepared to risk his life for Juana Roca, Cade felt he had no right to intrude even though Juana had taken the trouble to change her room. He had a sudden admiration for the old man. He felt it would be in the worst possible taste to spoil such a dangerous honeymoon.

He shrugged his shoulders.

“Well, so much for Senor Barreda and his mistress. Let’s go. How about a drive up to the mountain?”

Oroseo called for the bill.

“It is impossible. I have to return to the office.” He signed the bill with a flourish. “Mr. Cade, may I give you some advice? I never give advice usually, but I like you. My advice is this: there are many women in Mexico, so be careful who you choose to amuse you. It is said in Mexico City that Juana Roca is fatal to men. She is our modern Carmen. Two bull fighters have already died because of her. You can’t fight a good bull successfully if your mind is preoccupied with a woman. It would be better for you to look elsewhere. With that suggestion, Mr. Cade, I leave you. Be careful. Not tomorrow nor the day after, but now. If you are careful now, you will avoid trouble. Remember that a woman’s beauty can often be the tempting bait that covers a barbed hook.” He shook hands with Cade. “I have the greatest admiration for your work. Let us meet again very soon.”

Cade watched him walk briskly to his car. He now had the idea he wouldn’t stay longer in Acapulco. But like most people who are too sure of themselves, he dismissed the advice that had been offered.

When Oroseo had driven away, Cade left the restaurant. He paused by the Jeep and looked up at the stars that shone with an intense blue light against a background of soft black velvet. The air was close and hot. He could hear the sound of the sea as the waves slid over the sand and retreated. In the distance he could see the mountain. Its lights formed the shape of a giant iguana. The headlights of the descending cars were like fireflies as they appeared and disappeared behind the screen of trees along the road.

He drove thoughtfully back to the hotel. He kept thinking of Barreda. He decided he would call Sam Wand and find out what he had to offer. He would leave Acapulco the following morning. Once occupied with a new assignment, he was sure he would forget about Juana. He had absolutely no right, he told himself, to spoil such a honeymoon. Barreda wouldn’t be risking his life unless he was fatally in love with this woman.

Arriving at the hotel, Cade went immediately to his room. He put through a call to Wand’s apartment. Then, sitting on the bed and lighting a cigarette, he watched the moon’s reflection on the sea while he waited for the connection.

He got Wand after a twenty minute wait.

“They told me you were away for a week,” Wand said in the usual bellow that he had cultivated to impress people that he was truly alive.

“Well, don’t break my ear drum. I changed my mind. What is it, Sam?”

“What’s the trouble?” Wand asked, slightly lowering his voice. “Wouldn’t she lie down for you?”

“Skip the comedy act. This call is costing money. What is it?”

“Bull fighting,” Wand said. “There’s a new rag coming on the market next month. It’s called See For Yourself. It’s very moral, very stuffed shirt and crusading, but they have lots of lovely money. They reckon they can stop bull fighting dead in its tracks with pictures taken by you. How simple can you get? But they are offering three thousand and twenty-five per cent if the pictures are reproduced outside the States which, of course, they will be. You know the stuff they want: the broken down horses, the panting bull, the cowardly toreador, the sadistic tourists. I don’t have to tell you. There’s a good fight this Sunday. I’ve talked to Creel. He says the bulls will be good this Sunday. Diaz is fighting: popular hero right now; big time; big wheel. Can you make it?”

This was Friday night. It suited Cade very well.

“Okay, Sam, I’ll take care of it. Have Creel get the tickets. Two rows from the bottom and tell him to buy the seats either side of me. I need lots of room.”

“Okay.”

“Tell him I want to talk to Diaz before he fights and after he fights.”

“That could be a little tricky. Diaz is a big shot now. Maybe he won’t play.”

“That’s up to Creel. You tell him I want it fixed.”

“Okay. Should I reserve a room for you at El Presidente?”

Cade hesitated. His eyes went to the communicating door.

“No. I’ll take care of that. Did you get those last pictures I sent you?”

“Just arrived. They are sensational! Val, you are truly terrific. I mean that. I...”

Cade who had heard it all before gently replaced the receiver. He sat for some moments, thinking. He was pleased with the assignment. It offered him a new challenge. He would have to work with a fast shutter and because the light wouldn’t be good, with a large aperture. The depth of field would be tricky, but he liked tricky problems.

He picked up the telephone receiver and asked the Hall Porter about the planes leaving for Mexico City tomorrow. He was told that there was a plane leaving at 09.15 hours. There was no need to reserve a seat. The plane was never full. Cade thanked him and hung up. He then looked across the room at the communicating door. He got to his feet, went over to the door and putting his ear against the panel, he listened. No sound came to him. He walked out onto the balcony and leaning forward he examined the window of the adjacent room. The window was shut and no light showed. He returned to his room.

So it had been a joke, he thought rubbing the back of his neck and frowning. She hadn’t changed rooms. A stupid, rotten idea of a joke.

He took his Valapack from the closet and began to pack. He was angry with himself for being so angry. Hadn’t he already decided that he wouldn’t intrude? Then what was he getting so worked up about? His packing completed, he wondered if he should go down to the bar for a last drink. It was now a little after midnight. He decided to go to bed.

He stripped off his clothes, then before going into the bathroom, he again listened at the communicating door. Again silence greeted him.

“Oh, the hell with it!” he said aloud.

He remained under the cold shower for some time. And when finally he turned off the water and dried himself, he felt relaxed and no longer angry.

As he walked out of the bathroom, his telephone bell rang. He put on his pyjama trousers before lifting the receiver.

“Hello?” he said, wondering if Sam Wand had forgotten some detail of the assignment and was calling back.

“Hello. I saw your light was on.”

Her voice and accent were unmistakable. Immediately his heart began to beat very fast and he found himself suddenly short of breath.

“Oh, did you?” It was all he could think of to say.

“Yes. Have I disturbed you?”

“No... no... of course not.”

“That’s good. I wanted to tell you my side of the door is unlocked.”

Even with this unbearably suffocating excitement, he did think of Barreda.

“I was just going to bed,” he said, aware that his voice was unsteady.

“I am in bed.”

He replaced the receiver and walked quickly across the room, slid back the bolt on the communicating door, opened the door and paused to look into the room.

She had shaded the bedside lamp with a blue silk scarf. There was just enough light for him to see her stretched out on the bed. Her gleaming black tresses covered her naked body. She was looking towards him and smiling.

He moved into the room and closed the door.

They had a mad rush to catch the 09.15 plane, arriving at the airport with only seven minutes in hand. There were only eight other passengers: a group of American tourists, festooned with cameras, flowered sun hats and enormous sombreros.

As they might have expected, the aircraft was late. Their furious drive now turned out to be a needless risk. The aircraft finally took off at 09.55 hours.

The adventure — it was the most exciting and unique adventure Cade had yet experienced — was slightly spoilt for him by his feeling of guilt.

It was when the dawn was lighting the night sky, and as they lay side by side, spent by their fierce love-making, that she said she was coming to Mexico City with him.

“Who told you I was going to Mexico City?” he demanded, startled.

“I heard you on the telephone. You are going to take photographs of the bull fights, aren’t you? Well, I’m coming with you.”

“But you can’t do that.” Desire for the moment satisfied, he was able to think of Barreda. “Are you forgetting you aren’t alone here? You must think of him. What will he say?”

She lifted one long leg and peered in the half-light at her small, shapely foot.

“My foot is pretty, isn’t it?” she said. “Look. Not many girls have such a pretty foot.”

He sat up abruptly.

“Now, listen. We shouldn’t have done this! He is ill. He is in love with you. He...”

“He is old, and he bores me,” Juana said, lowering her leg. “I have packed everything. My luggage is with the Hall Porter. I am going to Mexico City with you tomorrow.”

“I can’t let you do it! He didn’t bore you before you met me. I’m not...”

“He has always bored me. I should never have come here with him. It was a mistake. What have I to do with an old man like him? I am going back to Mexico City. If you don’t want me, say so, and I will go alone.”

“But what will you say to him?” Cade asked, worried. He leaned over her, trying to see her face in the half-light.

“I shall say nothing. He gets up late. By the time he is up, I shall be gone.”

Cade was genuinely shocked.

“That’s no way to behave. At least you must send him a note.”

“There is no need to send him a note. The Hall Porter will tell him I have gone. That’s all he needs to know.”

“You can’t do a thing like that! It would be humiliating him. You must either see him or write to him. I’ll help you write a letter. Let’s do it now.”

“Now we will make love again,” she said, turning to him. She put her arms around him, her mouth seeking his, her body arching against his naked flank.

When next he woke, Cade saw it was 08.00 hours. In the rush to get dressed, to get his check settled and his luggage in the car, the letter to Barreda was forgotten.

It was only when they were half-way to Mexico City that he remembered and by that time it was too late. He thought of the old man and he felt a little sick. He looked at Juana, sitting contentedly at his side. Seeing her smile to herself, so obviously happy, he found it difficult to believe she had this callous, hard streak in her, but her attitude to the old man left him in no doubt that she did have it.

“I know of a little house that we can rent,” she said, seeing he was looking at her. “It is facing the Chapultepec Park, and it is very nice but a little expensive. We can rent it for a week, a month or a year. It would be nicer than staying at an hotel, wouldn’t it? I am a fine cook. I will look after the house and cook for you. You would like that, wouldn’t you?”

She was wearing an expensive sleeveless white dress. Her hair was piled high on the top of her shapely head and she wore flat gold ear clips and a gold collar around her throat. The very idea of such a beautiful, sophisticated woman running a house and cooking made Cade laugh.

She frowned.

“You don’t think I can cook?”

“I didn’t say that,” he said, seeing he had hurt her. “I am sure you can, but how many servants will you want?”

“Servants?” She grimaced. “I don’t want any servants. If we have servants how can we make love when we want to — any time during the day? Who wants to share a house of love with servants?”

He was touched. All the women he had previously known had submerged him with servants.

“I think that’s wonderful,” he said enthusiastically. “Let us rent a house then.”

She stroked his hand, smiling at him.

“I will arrange everything. Have you any money for me? I shall need money to make you comfortable.” She opened her bag and looked inside. “I have only six hundred pesos. Poor Manuel is very mean.”

“That reminds me. You really must send him a telegram.”

“I asked if you have any money to give me,” she said, withdrawing her hand. “It bores me when you talk about Manuel.”

Cade sighed. He took out his billfold and gave her five thousand pesos bills.

“I will cash a cheque when we get to Mexico City. That’s all I can spare right now.”

“It is enough. You will find I am very thrifty.” She began to stroke his hand again. She looked up at him, her luminous dark eyes expressive. “I love you very much. We are going to be very happy together. I would like it very much if we could make love now.”

“So would I,” Cade said, his hand closing over hers. “But I don’t think these other people would be too happy about it, do you?”

She giggled.

“There is that,” she said.

They arrived at Mexico City a little after 11.00 hours. Adolfo Creel, Sam Wand’s Central-American representative, was there to meet them. He was a fat, balding man with a seedy air and a bland manner. He wore a panama hat with a curly brim and light brown suit that was a little too small for him and liberally sprinkled with food stains.

He made no attempt to conceal his admiration when Cade rather perfunctorily introduced him to Juana. Creel swept off his hat and bowed so low Cade thought he was going to fall flat on his face.

“Did you get the tickets?” Cade asked as Juana, flattered, gave Creel a dazzling smile.

“Certainly,” Creel said. “You will be perfectly satisfied, senor. Everything is as you ordered.”

“When do I see Diaz?”

Creel lost his bland smile. He looked inside his hat, frowned, then sadly shook his head.

“That unhappily, senor, is impossible. A thousand regrets. Senor Diaz never sees anyone before he fights... not even the President. He is a very religious man. He prays and prays before he enters the ring. No, it is not possible.”

“I have to see him before he fights,” Cade snapped. “I told Mr. Wand to fix it with you.”

Creel skipped from one foot to the other. He beat his fat leg with his hat.

“Senor Cade, I swear I have done everything possible. No one could have done more than I have, but Senor Diaz is very firm about this. He sees no one before or after the fights.”

“Diaz is a stupid blown-up frog!” Juana exclaimed, her eyes flashing. “If you really want to see him, cariño, I will arrange it for you. You will find that there are many things in Mexico that I can arrange for you. Now I leave you. I must arrange about the house. We will move in tomorrow. Let us spend tonight at El Presidente. Wait for me there. I will be with you late this afternoon.”

“Hey, wait a minute,” Cade said. “You really mean you can fix Diaz for me?”

“Of course. I never say anything unless I mean it.” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him on the mouth. “I love you, cariño. Look after my luggage,” and she was gone.

Cade looked at Creel who was simpering into his hat. Catching Cade’s eye, he said, “You are very fortunate, senor, to have such a beautiful lady who is able to achieve the impossible.”

“Yes,” Cade said, and picking up his overnight bag, he walked to where the luggage was waiting.

Since Cade was basically a simple and decent man, he had never ceased to wonder at and be grateful for his continuous success. He still often recalled his first overwhelming excitement when at the age of ten, he had won the one thousand dollar prize for the best amateur photograph in a World competition. From then on, he had led a charmed life. He had never had a serious illness. He couldn’t remember when he hadn’t owned a car. He had never been short of money. He had never been hungry. He had never been seriously unhappy and he had never been without some glamorous woman who was willing to share his bed.

Perhaps because of all this, Juana Roca’s abrupt appearance in his life hadn’t utterly surprised him as it might have surprised a less fortunate man. But that didn’t mean that Cade wasn’t a little dazed and didn’t fully appreciate this extra lavish gift from the gods.

As he sat in the bar at El Presidente hotel with its lighted waterfall and its big swimming pool, a Cinzano Bitter and ice on the table before him, waiting for Juana, he tried to put the past twelve hours into perspective.

The girl herself was an enigma. She had admitted that as soon as she had seen him as he was checking in at the Hilton she had fallen in love with him. She had made inquiries and had found out who he was and also his room number. According to her, it was the most natural thing in the world for her to change rooms so that when he wanted her, as she knew he would want her, she would be within discreet and easy reach. They had had no time up to now to get to know each other, although she did seem to know much more about him than he did about her. That wasn’t surprising since he was famous and a public figure.

Their lovemaking had been the most explosive, satisfying and exciting experience he had had with any woman. Her sexual technique was at once tender, professional, abandoned and devastating.

Thinking about her now, he realised, not without a pang of fear, that life would be utterly unbearable without her. He had never felt this way about any other woman. Previously, he had always warned himself to be careful and not to get permanently hooked. Now, the thought of setting up house with her, having her constantly with him filled him with a burning excitement that chilled only when he remembered how she had treated Manuel Barreda. But then, he assured himself, Barreda was a man of sixty-five. How could such a sick, old man possibly hope to match her vigorous, demanding passion? Cade was sure, as he remembered the way she had looked at him, had kissed him and had held him, that she was as much in love with him as he was with her: and, he told himself, that kind of love lasted.

Finishing his drink, he went into the restaurant and had a lonely lunch, wondering what she was doing, what the house would be like and missing her. Then he forced himself to think of the bull fight the following afternoon.

Creel had promised to telephone that evening for instructions. He had a car which was at Cade’s disposal. He would be happy to act as Cade’s guide and chauffeur. Cade had explained that he would be using three cameras, and he would want Creel to sit beside him and hand him whichever camera he called for so that he would be sure of continuous shooting with whatever lens he might need. He liked Creel. The fat man was so willing and anxious to please that no one could fail to like him. It had been Creel who had suggested that he should buy a large bunch of carnations for Juana’s room which communicated with Cade’s room. It had been Creel who had hurried out of the hotel, bought the flowers and had instructed the maid where they were to be placed.

After lunch, Cade went up to his room and lay on the bed. He had eaten well and was relaxed. He was also tired after the exertions of the previous night. He slept.

When he woke it was dusk, a little after 19.00 hours. He got up, feeling fine. Stripping off his clothes, he took a shower and as he came from the bathroom, the telephone bell rang.

It was Juana.

He could hear over the open line the sound of men’s voices, a lot of laughter, guitar music and a man singing. His falsetto voice set Cade’s teeth on edge.

“Where are you calling from?” he asked, suspicious and worried.

“From a café,” Juana said. “The noise is driving me mad! Listen, cariño, Diaz will see you tomorrow at half past two. He will be at the Hotel de Toro. Is that all right for you?”

“Yes, of course — wonderful! How did you manage it?”

“Renado is a very good friend of mine. He is the manager of the Toreros. He is very flattered that the great Cade wants to photograph one of his fighters. Now, Diaz is also flattered... the puffed-up frog!”

A very good friend of mine. What exactly did that mean?

“That’s wonderful!” Cade repeated, “but what are you doing in a café, darling? Why aren’t you here with me?”

“Renado is here. I am leaving now, but I won’t be back until ten o’clock.”

“But why not?”

“There is still so much to arrange. I have the house, but now I have to see the agent and pay him some money. It will take a little time because he is a thief and I will have to bargain with him. The house is beautiful. You will love it. It will be ready for us to move in after the fights tomorrow. Let us go tonight to the Restaurant Negrui. It serves fine food. Do you know it?”

Cade said he didn’t.

“Then it will be a small experience for you. Will you book a table? I must go. I have still so much to do. Do you still love me?”

“If you were here I would demonstrate the strength of my love,” Cade said.

She laughed happily.

“I would like that very much. Adios, cariño,” and she hung up.

A little later Creel telephoned. Cade told him about Diaz. The fat man said it was the most remarkable thing he had ever heard.

“You do not know, senor, you cannot imagine how I tried to arrange this interview for you. Diaz is a sonofabitch. It was brilliant of the lady to have thought of Renado. He is very important and also very difficult. She must know him very well to have persuaded him to help you.”

This did not help to reduce Cade’s worry and growing jealousy.

Creel said he would call for Cade at 14.00 hours and would take him to the Hotel de Toro.

A few minutes after 22.00 hours, Juana came rushing into the bedroom where Cade was waiting.

After kissing the whole of his face with gentle nibbles, she lingered on his mouth until his hands began to move over her body. Then, laughing, she pulled away, shaking her head at him.

“Not yet, cariño. I am terribly, terribly hungry, but not for you. I want a big, beautiful steak. Later...”

He was astonished how quickly she showered and changed. By 22.25 hours she was ready to go.

The meal at the Negrui Restaurant was excellent. While they ate, she chattered. Everything was now arranged. The house was perfect. She had paid a week’s rent. They could have it for as long as they liked. Was he pleased about Diaz? This man was stupid: a vain frog, but she had heard he was very good with the bulls. Renado was very enthusiastic. It took a lot to make Renado enthusiastic. He had handled many fine matadors.

Finally, when she paused for breath, Cade said, “Creel tells me Renado is important and difficult. Just how did you manage to persuade him?”

She was cutting into a creamy pastry. She looked at him, then she smiled.

“This is good. You are a little jealous. It is good for a man to be jealous of a woman. It proves he loves her.”

Cade pushed his plate away.

“Never mind the wise talk... please answer my question!”

“You are angry?” her eyes sparkled.

“Not yet, but I could be.”

“I like men who become angry. It shows character. Without character what is a man?”

“Will you please tell me how you persuaded a man like Renado to grant me this favour?” Cade said in a scarcely controlled voice.

“Of course: there is no mystery about it.” She finished her pastry and sat back with a little sigh of content. “My father was Tomas Roca, one of the greatest picadors who ever lived. He was starting his career with the novilleros when Renado was trying to become a manager of toreros. My father hired Renado to look after his affairs. It was because of my father’s rise to fame that Renado has become as rich and as powerful as he is now. So it is natural that he should wish to help me when I ask for help.”

Cade relaxed. He touched her hand.

“What happened to your father?”

“He became too old to be a picador. He now owns a shop in Taxco. He sells silver. There are many shops in Taxco selling silver, but because my father is who he is, he does very well. He is a dull, hard, boring man. He wanted a son. That I can understand, but it cannot excuse his treatment of me. When I was fifteen, I ran away, I have not seen him since. Nor have I seen my mother. She too is a dull, hard and boring woman.”

“How old are you?” Cade asked, caressing her hand.

“I am seventeen.”

“And for two years you have been living away from your family.”

“Yes, it is good to be independent.”

He stared at her.

“But how have you earned a living?”

“You are very curious, cariño.” Her eyes became anxious. “Men don’t like to hear about such things. They imagine they do, but they don’t really.”

Cade sighed, then signalled to the waiter and asked for the check.

“Let us go back to the hotel.” He smiled at her. “I love you.”

She became gay immediately.

“Finding you is the best thing that has ever happened to me,” she said.

“Yes, and for me too.”

They left the restaurant arm in arm and drove back to the hotel.