Captive Heart (3 page)

There was always magic in that moment. The ground fell away under JoNell and the runway shrank into a smaller and smaller ribbon. There was a freedom in the air that she could never recapture on the ground. She felt she could go anywhere, do anything, be anybody, so long as she was flying high above the dwarfed structures on the ground.

"Well, Mr. Del Toro, now do you admit I can fly a plane? I happen to be the person who flew this airplane all the way from Florida. Uncle Edgar is a mechanic; he doesn't fly, you know."

Del Toro was sitting stiffly beside her. "But you are a woman," he said stubbornly. "It takes a man to handle a plane in an emergency—a man to instruct properly."

JoNell went momentarily blind with anger.
You never give up, do you? Well, you asked for it
…

Without warning, she rammed in the throttle all the way and pulled back hard on the stick. The plane went into a steep climb. When the altimeter read 3,000 feet, she suddenly cut the throttle and pulled back all the way on the stick. The plane slowed, began to slip backward, and then nosed downward into a stall. The earth rotated into view. The plane picked up speed in its dive toward the earth. There was no sound from the engine, only the rush and whine of the wind around them.

JoNell shot Del Toro a glance. His teeth were clenched, his jaws knotted. He gripped his seat belt with knuckle-white hands. His green eyes were wide and his forehead gleamed with perspiration. But he didn't utter a sound.

Poor guy must be scared stiff, she thought. She almost relented, then remembered how he had wounded her pride, letting her know that she was a "mere girl," incapable of really flying an airplane.

JoNell watched the earth rushing toward them at a breathtaking clip. She eased in the throttle, and when she felt the plane regain control, she gently eased the plane into a level position.

She climbed back to her former altitude and put the plane into another stall. But this time, as the earth rotated into view, she gave full right rudder and right aileron and the earth did corkscrew turns as they sped toward it.

Aerobatics were not JoNell's favorite pastime. When she initiated a stall or executed barrel rolls, she always developed a quivering stomach. Trick stunts were better left to daredevil types. But she had learned all those stunts well, and now she was glad she had braved her queasy feelings.

JoNell pressed her left foot against the left rudder and turned the yolk collar, which she still called a stick, back to a more neutral position and the spinning plane slowed. When she added the throttle, the dizzying ride came to a stop, and the plane once again cruised upright over the earth.

Del Toro's olive complexion was definitely pale. She could see a pulse throbbing in his muscular neck.

Should I
, she asked herself?
Why not
, she replied.
Here goes
! She gave the plane full throttle, pushed forward on the stick to keep the nose of the plane level and shoved the rudder and aileron into position. The plane sped forward. JoNell and Del Toro were mashed into their seats with crushing force. The earth turned upside down, came into view, then disappeared as the plane did a complete barrel roll, then another.

"Well," she called over the roar of the engine. "How do you like your ride so far?"

"Delightful," he managed through clenched teeth.

She righted the plane and headed back to the airport. She was feeling twinges of guilt for giving Del Toro what had probably been the fright of his life. After all, it had been a shock to him to find his life entrusted to a woman when he had expected a man. Latin men expected their women to be demure and domesticated. They were unaccustomed to the more independent women in the United States.

Well, he wasn't just a pompous stuffed shirt, all front and no substance, she had to admit. It had taken real courage to get in the plane with her when he was obviously nervous about flying. Either that or he had so much pride that he'd risk his neck before showing a weakness in public.

"I guess I should apologize," she admitted. "I had no business doing that—scaring you that way. I just wanted to prove to you that I can really fly. And I guess I was more than a little mad."

"You did scare me," he confessed. "But it wasn't what you did as much as it was having a woman flying the plane."

"You're impossible!" exploded JoNell.

Stubborn brown eyes clashed with cold green eyes. JoNell was so furious she could no longer speak. The two of them rode in stony silence back to the airport. As soon as she'd parked the airplane, she flung open the door, leaped out, and stormed into the office where Uncle Edgar was waiting for her.

"He's impossible!" she blurted out on the verge of tears. But she knew Del Toro was close behind her and she bit her lip, forcing back the tears. It wouldn't do for Mr. Superior to see her reduced to tears. That would be just the kind of evidence he needed to convince himself that JoNell was, indeed, a "mere girl."

Uncle Edgar got his large body to its feet faster than JoNell had seen in years. He strode to her side and put a comforting arm around her. "What did he do?" he demanded.

Then a strong hand touched her bare arm. Fire and ice shot through JoNell. Her arm flamed where Del Toro's fingers brushed her arm.

"I'm afraid I insulted your niece," Del Toro said, "and I owe you both an apology, seňor, seňorita." His bow was Latin elegance polished to perfection. "Miss 'Carpenter proved quite satisfactorily that she can pilot an airplane. I guess it wouldn't hurt to take a few lessons from her."

The cold, hard glint in his green eyes had vanished. Something else, quite unfathomable, had taken its place.

In spite of his patronizing, superior, macho attitude toward her—referring to her as a "mere girl"—he now was willing to concede that she knew how to handle an airplane. At least he was big enough to give that much to her.

"I'll send my car for you," Del Toro said. He shook Uncle Edgar's hand. Then he turned to JoNell and took her hand. He bent over it, and his lips brushed her fingers. Her arm was limp and her fingers burned where his lips had touched.

But when he raised his head, his green eyes met hers and the expression of amused scorn was clearly visible again. His sudden cordiality was a surface gesture. He was mocking her, and he wanted her to know it! He would stick to his part of the bargain, accepting her as his flying instructor, but he would continue to look on her as no more than an amusing child.

He's insufferable, she thought. An ego as big as his should be stuffed and put on display in a museum. I despise him. I'll give him his darn flying lessons because we need the money and then take the fastest plane back home!

Del Toro gave a perfunctory parting bow, then turned and strode from the small airport office.

The door opened again almost immediately and a short, round man who wore a waxed mustache bounced in. He bowed graciously over a rotund stomach. "Miguel Sanchez,
a su servida
."

"That means 'at your service'," JoNell translated.

"The car," Miguel indicated with a gesture.

JoNell and Uncle Edgar walked out ahead of the chauffeur to a long, black limousine. Miguel leaped ahead of them, swept open the back door with a flourish. The seat was filled with red roses. Miguel smiled broadly, his chubby face aglow. "
Las rosas
— they are for the seňorita."

JoNell sucked in her breath. Delight swept through her. For a moment she was speechless, then she gasped, "There must be dozens!"

"You like, seňorita?" Miguel beamed.

"Oh, yes. I adore flowers!" she exclaimed.

Obviously, they were a gift from Del Toro, arranged as a welcoming gesture when he thought she was to be a guest in his home while her father taught him flying. The flowers had no personal meaning. They were simply a matter of Latin protocol. He'd probably had a secretary take care of the matter, and he might not even remember he had left orders for the flowers to be delivered. Never mind; she'd enjoy the flowers for themselves.

JoNell scrambled into the back seat, exclaiming over the huge bouquet. "Why, there must be a hundred roses here, Uncle Edgar," she sighed. "I've never seen anything like it!"

"Pretty near fills up the back seat, doesn't it?" Uncle Edgar observed.

Miguel twirled the pointed ends of his mustache, bowed again, then scurried around to the driver's seat.

JoNell picked one of the long-stemmed roses from the array and sniffed the sweet fragrance.

The ride to Del Toro's estate was delightful compared to her encounter with the arrogant Del Toro. Miguel entertained them with funny stories in his broken English mixed with Spanish. When necessary, JoNell translated for Uncle Edgar.

Miguel drove like a maniac. JoNell giggled nervously, thinking that she had felt safer flying through the pass in the Andes at 13,000 feet! Everyone drove like that in Peru, Miguel explained. Through the window, JoNell saw other drivers wildly cutting in front of each other, making sudden, tire burning stops at red lights, waving angry fists and calling insults at each other. But in spite of all the emotional confrontations on the road, Miguel assured JoNell and Uncle Edgar that Peruvians had very few wrecks. Most of the cars on the road were older models since automobiles were quite costly in Peru. So the local citizens were careful not to bang up their prized transportation.

As Miguel took them through the city, JoNell was conscious of the contrast between colonial architecture and modern skyscrapers. For several blocks they drove on wide avenues, then suddenly turned into narrow side streets and were transported into the sixteenth century when Peru was a Spanish colony. They passed houses with Spanish balconies and plazas with their dominating churches. JoNell had read a number of books on Peruvian history before this trip. She knew a great earthquake had destroyed half the city in 1746. When Viceroy Amat arrived in 1761, he had brought with him architects to rebuild the city, and during that period, colonial art had flourished.

JoNell saw stucco walls surrounding buildings and homes. Arch-shaped passageways in the walls gave entrance to patios where banana trees and other tropical plants grew in lush profusion.

They turned down the tree-lined Avenida de Descalzos which lead to the convent of the same name.

Miguel pointed out one of the tourist attractions, the Quinta de Presa. It was a beautiful rococo palace built under the influence of Viceroy Amat, and now was a museum. JoNell made a mental note to visit the building if she had the opportunity to do some sightseeing while she was in Lima.

At last they left the main part of the city behind and arrived at the residential suburbs. Miguel drove the big car through a gateway, followed a winding graveled drive under a thick grove of trees and finally arrived at a large parking area outside a bright yellow garage. Beyond the garage was a colonial style two-story home that could only be described as a mansion. The estate grounds were on a bluff and from this vantage point there was a view of the blue Pacific sparkling in the distance.

"We are here," Miguel announced with an obvious note of pride. He jumped out of the front seat, hurried around to JoNell's side of the limousine and opened her door with a deep bow.

"Seňor Del Toro tell me to say for him,
Mi casa es su casa
. My house is your house."