Captive Heart (9 page)

JoNell sat alone in the airport office, staring at the flight log. She and Del Toro had flown back in icy silence. As soon as they had landed, he had dashed off to a pressing business appointment.

Now she looked at the flying time she had recorded—one hour—and could not believe the figure she had written. She had lived a lifetime this morning. How could she write down only
one hour
! But that was the actual time in the air not counting the time they had spent on the beach.

Del Toro's purchase agreement had stipulated ten hours of flying lessons. That meant she had nine more hours in the air with that man, sitting in the cramped quarters of the small plane. That would be painful for her—but safe. He wouldn't dare make any romantic overtures when they were flying.

Because of Del Toro's busy schedule, it had been necessary to spread the ten hours of flying instructions over a two-week period. JoNell's heart sank at the prospect of spending two weeks in the household of Jorge Del Toro. Her only hope was that Del Toro's demanding business schedule would keep him so occupied she could avoid him at all times except when they were flying.

Remembering the hypnotic spell Del Toro had cast over her on the beach made a shiver run through her. How glad she would be when she was safely home in Florida, a continent away from seňor Jorge Del Toro!

JoNell was filing Del Toro's flight log in a cabinet when Miguel bounced into the airport office, his jolly face a circus of grins.

"Come, seňorita. The seňor tell me to show you some of the city. I take you to the markets and stores. You will like these places very much."

"Thank you, Miguel. I would enjoy that."

Yes, she thought, a shopping trip would be good therapy for her jangled nerves.

Miguel drove her to a section of the city between the Bolivar and Crillon Hotels, where a four block area was filled with shops specializing in Peruvian handcrafts. JoNell spent several pleasant hours browsing among displays of alpaca wool sweaters, llama rugs, Indian masks and reproductions of Inca jewelry in gold and silver. She made a few modest purchases of souvenirs to take home with her.

Miguel waited patiently in the limousine, reading a magazine. When she finished her shopping tour, he took her on a sightseeing expedition of the impressive churches of Lima. She was certain she would have nightmares after viewing the mummified body of Francisco Pizarro in the cathedral, and the thousands of bones, skulls and skeletons laid out in neat rows in the catacombs of the Church of San Francisco. Miguel was so proud of being her guide that she didn't have the heart to object, but she was enormously relieved when they were back outside in the daylight.

They were walking to the car when something quite terrifying took place.

JoNell heard a distant rumble, and the earth quivered under her feet. She uttered a cry of alarm, clutching at Miguel's arm.

He chuckled. "It is nothing, seňorita. Please do not be frightened. It is just an earthquake."

"
Just
an earthquake?" she gasped.

"Oh, not a real earthquake. Just, how you call it, a tremor. We have them all the time in Peru. Nobody pays any attention."

But this unsettling experience was the last straw after everything else that had happened to her today, and JoNell felt a distinct need to lie down. "Could you take me home, Miguel? I'm suddenly very tired."

"Certainly, seňorita." He opened the car door with his usual flourish.

Miguel's usual breakneck speed on the way home was stifled at several places by crowds gathered around speakers. "Politicos doing much talking," Miguel muttered, steering his way through the throng, his horn blaring impatiently. "It is the
presidente
election soon to be held."

JoNell saw giant posters of a gray haired, mustached man glaring from under bushy eyebrows.
Gustamente por Presidente
was proclaimed in foot high letters.

Miguel proceeded to give her a discourse on Peruvian politics for the rest of the trip home. It seemed that Jorge Del Toro was bitterly opposed to Gustamente and was throwing his considerable influence behind the opposing candidate, Sergio Mendez de Cardova. Miguel painted a dismal picture of Geraldo Gustamente's qualifications and what would happen to the country if he were elected.

But the matter was of no importance to JoNell. She tuned out Miguel's running chatter and dozed the rest of the way back to Del Toro's mansion.

After a four o'clock lunch of delicious hard-crusted bread, butter and tea which was waiting for her in her room, JoNell stretched out on the enormous bed and was asleep in seconds.

It was dusk when a tapping at her door awakened her.

"Who is it?" she called sleepily.

"Miguel."

"Come in, Miguel," she said, sliding off the bed and heading for the door.

The door opened and a huge white vase filled with long-stemmed roses bobbed toward her.

"For you, seňorita," said Miguel's voice from behind the advancing flowers.

More flowers, and her room already looked like a rose garden in full blossom! The roses were gorgeous. She cupped her hands around a cluster of damp buds and sniffed their rich fragrance. Under any other circumstances, she would have been delighted. She did love the flowers, no matter that they did come from Del Toro. But his card that came with them made her both furious and frightened:

"
A symbol of our first kiss and what is yet to come
…"

"What was yet to come" for reasons JoNell could not fathom did not develop into the problem she anticipated during the next two weeks. She saw practically nothing of Del Toro except for the scheduled flying times, which he kept religiously. But when he did arrive at the airport for the lessons, she could see that he was being pressed for time. He often arrived with an entourage of cars. Business-suited men and secretaries followed him across the airfield to the waiting plane. He discussed business and dictated notes up to the moment that he climbed into the airplane beside JoNell.

She could tell that he was under a strain. He looked haggard and weary. She assumed it had something to do with the presidential election that Miguel had talked about. But it was none of her business, and she had no intention of inquiring about it. She was just thankful that Del Toro was being kept too busy to follow up on the threat he had made that day on the beach, "
I will have you when the time is right
. …"

She had not drawn an easy breath for two weeks, worried about what kind of new trick Del Toro might have up his sleeve to trap her into another dangerous, intimate situation like that day on the beach. But, except for daily bouquets of roses accompanied by notes of apology for not being a better host, he had shown no personal interest in her. He was preoccupied during the flying lessons, and she was cold and professional.

She had come to the conclusion that love was a game, a pastime to a philanderer like Del Toro. During that first flying lesson, he'd had a little time to spare, and he had been in the company of a young woman. So, he amused himself by seeing how far his charms could get him with her.

It had meant no more to him than that, and she would be grateful forever that the moment had stopped short of her making a terrible fool of herself.

The ten hours of flying lessons were completed on schedule. JoNell was packing to leave. And none too soon. Her mother phoned her that afternoon, her voice full of worry. JoNell's father was suffering a depression. Health and business worries had pushed him to the verge of an emotional breakdown.

JoNell managed to keep her voice cheerful and reassuring. "I'm through here, and I'm arranging to catch the earliest possible commercial flight home. Don't worry, Mom. Everything is going to be just fine…"

But the minute she hung up, she burst into tears. She sat weakly on the edge of the bed.

"Seňorita, what is the matter?" asked a familiar masculine voice from the direction of the doorway.

JoNell raised long, wet lashes and saw the figure of Jorge Del Toro.

"Nothing—it's a personal matter," JoNell said unsteadily, brushing tears from her cheeks.

He took a step into the room. "But you're crying. You look very upset."

"I—I've had some disturbing news from home."

"But what is it?" He took another step toward her, a look of concern furrowing his brow. "Please tell me." His voice was gentle—quite out of character for him.

She hesitated. "I—I just had a call from my mother. It's my father's illness. He has become very depressed."

"I'm so sorry. Is there anything I can do?"

The note of kindness in Del Toro's voice surprised JoNell. Was he actually capable of showing sympathy for another human being?

"No," she said. "It's a family matter. I hope I can help cheer up my father when I get home."

He glanced toward the bed, saw her packed bags, and frowned. "You are leaving?"

"Yes. We've completed the sales agreement. Ten hours of flying instructions. There's no reason for me to stay any longer. I want to take the earliest commercial flight home that I can get."

Del Toro slumped into a chair, his frown deepening. His green eyes looked dark and troubled. "I had not expected you to be in such a hurry to leave. Is it because I have been such a poor host? You have not been happy in my home? Please forgive me for the bad hospitality I have shown you, seňorita. This has been a difficult time for me… the presidential election… I have been under a great deal of pressure…"

JoNell again noticed the lines of worry and fatigue in his face. For an instant, she almost felt a touch of compassion for him. But her voice was aloof when she replied, "That has nothing to do with it, seňor. As I said, I was here to do a job, and that has been completed. Now I must go home."

A strange expression crossed Del Toro's face. There was a strained silence before he spoke again. "Couldn't you delay your trip home for a few days so I can show you more of our city?"

You'd like that, wouldn't you, Del Toro? You suddenly remembered that unfinished matter back on the deserted beach.

"Thank you," she said coldly. "But I have no more time for sightseeing. As I told you, my father's health is growing worse. He has so many business worries in addition to his poor health. I must get back to help him."

"How can you help, seňorita?"

"I'm not exactly sure," she admitted. "I was planning to finish college next year, but, of course, now that is out of the question. Instead, somehow, perhaps, I can help save my parents' business. It's the worry about the business that has undermined my father's health so badly."

"His business is not doing well?" She shook her head. "No, frankly it is not. We were never rich, you understand. But we got by quite nicely. Then the naval base in our area closed last year, and many people moved away. That's when business started dropping off. My father worried a great deal. He tried to keep up a happy front, but he couldn't fool my mother. Finally, the strain was too much for him and he had a heart attack. You couldn't possibly know what it's like to be middle class and lose your business. The airplane you bought from us was a financial boost for a little while, but when that money is gone…" Her voice trailed off as she choked back her tears.

Del Toro frowned again. He arose and began pacing the room, slapping a tightly gripped, folded newspaper against the palm of his left hand. He appeared to be struggling with some kind of inner problem and trying to decide what to do about it.

"I'm going to make you an offer," he said at last.

"An offer?" she asked suspiciously, suddenly very wary of him.

"Let's call it a business proposition that will be of much benefit to both of us." He paused. "You are aware of how busy I have been 'lately?"

"Yes."

"Here, read this." Del Toro handed JoNell the newspaper he had been holding.

JoNell opened it. "GERALDO GUSTAMENTE WINS ELECTION," said the headlines in Spanish. She recalled that "Gustamente" was one of the names she had seen painted on walls around the city.

Del Toro explained, "It was a bitter fight between Gustamente and the other candidate, Sergio Mendez de Cardova. I backed de Cardova. It was no secret that I gave him all the support I could muster, which is considerable. Unfortunately, it wasn't enough. As you can see, de Cardova lost."

"But what does that have to do with me?" JoNell asked.

"Gustamente considers me his most dangerous political enemy in Peru. He knows that after his inauguration, I will not cease to oppose him. He is an evil man. All he wants is power and wealth for himself. As soon as Gustamente takes office, I will be in a dangerous position."

"I still don't understand."

"You do not know politics here in South America. Unlike your country, where the will of the people is supreme, in Peru, powerful factions can seize control of the government. It can be very dangerous to be an enemy of the regime in office. Gustamente will surely move to confiscate my business holdings. And he will have the power to do it. In fact," Del Toro said darkly, "my life will be in danger. Gustamente would not hesitate to have political enemies assassinated."

JoNell gasped and a fleeting picture of Del Toro lying in a pool of blood made her shiver. She didn't doubt for one minute that such a possibility existed. Even in the United States, which Del Toro considered so democratic and civilized, assassinations of well known political figures had taken place during her lifetime. And she remembered reading about the assassinations in Cuba when Castro took over. She knew how ruthless power hungry people could be.

"I am making plans now to get out of the country," Del Toro went on.

"But why are you telling me all of this?" JoNell asked a bit impatiently. "Where do I fit in?"

Del Toro gave JoNell a long, steely look. "I know what you think of me," he said bitterly. "But consider carefully what I am going to say. It could be very important for both of us."

He hesitated. The room became almost unbearably tense.

"JoNell, I want you to marry me."