In Name Only (21 page)

"You're coming with me tonight. I can't have you hanging around every evening waiting for your husband to come to you." Edna, her hands on her ample hips, stood at the door to her tiny kitchen watching Jill prepare breakfast. Four weeks had gone by, four weeks without seeing or hearing from Simon.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jill snapped, afraid to face the truth.

"Of course you do." Edna began to busy herself setting the table. "You jump every time the phone rings or someone comes to the door."

"I've been too busy to think of him," Jill said. "My nerves are just a little shot, that's all."

"I should think so. I know hammocks aren't easy to get used to, but you do enough tossing and turning for a dozen people. If you miss him and want to see him, for heaven's sake call him."

Jill shook her head. She had never discussed Simon with Edna, and she didn't want to start now. There was no way they could honestly discuss a marriage that had never even reached completion, a marriage of convenience, a marriage she had pledged would never appear in its true light to anyone.

"You're coming with me tonight," Edna said, once -again. "You've been working too hard."

"It's beginning to pay off," Jill said resentfully.

Edna came over to her and put her arm about Jill's shoulder. "I know it is and I'm so grateful. Everything is going along miraculously well, thanks to you."

"I'm just touchy," Jill told her. "Let's eat." She woke up every morning, aching for Simon, yet still able to see the day ahead as exciting. Her money gave the enterprise a shot in the arm, but her enthusiasm sparked fresh ideas. She worked hard, her day was full, and yet when she returned to Edna's apartment in the evening, she wanted to be quiet, to think about Simon. And to be there if he called. If he cared, surely he would find her.

"If you need me, I'll always be there." He had spoken the words in Chicago. And Jay Wilhelm had told her Simon Todd was a trustworthy, wonderful man.

She poured some coffee for herself and Edna, and sat down to a breakfast of orange juice, coffee and rolls.

"I don't like to see you like this," Edna told her.

"Like what? I'm fine. I'm doing what I want, how I want and when I want. The only thing I don't like is crowding you out of your apartment."

Edna grinned. "You just keep crowding. Your man is going to come by for you sooner or later, and I want to be around when it happens."

"We might both be old and gray by then."

Edna was determined to have her way. "You're coming with me tonight. No ifs, ands or buts."

Jill felt herself weakening, although she made a last attempt to get out of it. "Edna, it's the Teatro Amazonia. My husband has a box there. I can't possibly go. I really don't want to meet him."

"Never mind. This is a splendid concert. I'm not going to miss it and neither are you. I bought tickets for the third tier because that's all I could afford. So you see? There's no problem at all."

"I still don't like it. Simon wanders around during the intermission."

"He's not going to wander up to the third tier. Would you?"

Jill pursed her lips. She was close to giving in. Even if she were to see Simon, the chances of his noticing her in the opera house were small. "On what side of the third tier?" she asked suspiciously.

"Center back. What side is your husband's box?"

"Right side."

Edna smiled reassuringly. "He won't see us. He'd have to have eyes like a hawk."

"Who did you say was appearing?"

"A group of madrigal singers from Rio. They're very good and very popular. You'll like them."

"I'll come." Jill took a deep breath. Now she had something new to worry about. What if Simon were not there? Would that make her feel any better?

"I'm wearing this." After dinner, Jill put on a brightly printed strapless dress from the shop, a splash of flowers on black cotton, slit to the knees, with an uneven hem. Her high-heeled sandals were a bright red.

"Heads will turn," Edna warned with a look of mock disapproval.

"You look sensational," Jill said shyly. Edna had put on a loose dress of dark cotton which had the effect of making her look slimmer. With her pretty face and charming, ready smile, she was extraordinarily attractive and sweet.

"That's a lovely compliment," Edna told her. "But I'm interested in heads turning and admiring that dress."

"Well, if we have to, we'll sell it right off my back." They both giggled. Jill realized that she was looking forward to the evening. She was determined to enjoy herself, and if possible to test her obsession with her husband. If he were there, she would stay cool. If he were not there, better yet.

The trouble was, she did not know which circumstance she preferred in truth.

"We ought to make up little cards that read, 'You, too, may have this gorgeous outfit from the Manaus Clothing Co-op'," Edna told her, laughing.

Jill checked her hair in the mirror and brushed the loose, thick waves once more.

"Anyone would think you were dressing for someone special," Edna commented as Jill dabbed on a touch of perfume.

"Just for the Manaus Co-op, I assure you."

Later, walking across San Sebastian Square toward the Teatro Amazonia, in spite of her best efforts to remain calm, Jill felt faint with worry. She scanned the road for signs of her husband's limousine.

Edna cautioned her to stop acting as if she were on the brink of heart failure.

"I don't know what you mean," Jill said shakily. "I feel fine."

"You're walking these mosaics as if you expected to slip in between them and disappear from view."

"Ha ha," Jill murmured, the tension slightly released.

Still, as they approached the front portico, Jill began to wish more and more that she
could
disappear, or turn invisible at the very least. "Don't dawdle," she told Edna, who had stopped to greet a friend. She dragged her into the opera house and up into the third tier long before the houselights dimmed. Simon's box, she saw with a mixture of disappointment and relief, was unoccupied.

"Okay, tell me where this frightening creature of yours is supposed to be," Edna whispered.

"Not here," Jill answered, trying to act unconcerned.

"And if he were here, where would he be?"

"Down there, second box from the stage, on the right, first tier. Satisfied?"

Edna nodded. "Completely." She opened the program and began to check through it. "Just relax," she said. "You're here to enjoy yourself."

As sweet as the madrigal singing was, Jill's eyes slid constantly, in the darkened house, to the shadowy box near the stage.

Halfway through the beginning program, she saw a slight flurry as the door to the box opened and two figures entered. Simon, she realized in a heart stopping moment, as the light from the corridor flashed briefly, had come in, dressed in his tuxedo. With him was a blonde in a bright red gown, whom she thought to be Angela Branco. She had to grip the sides of her chair to keep herself from leaving the performance and flying out into the night. Edna reached over and placed a staying hand on hers, an acknowledgement that she understood what Jill was going through.

The rest of the program, leading to the intermission, went by in a whirl of sound, of which Jill heard not one note. "I must get out of here," she said to Edna in a panic as the lights came up.

"You can't keep running," Edna said. "We're going outside for a little walk and then we're coming back and you're going to sit through the performance."

Jill recoiled in horror. "Not downstairs. I can't meet him."

"You won't. We'll go into the corridor outside and march up and down until you're calm again. How's that?"

Jill involuntarily looked at the box beyond. It was empty. She turned and patted her friend's arm. "You're really good to me, Edna. I don't know what I'd do without you."

When they returned to their seats after the intermission, Jill felt better. Edna had talked long and hard, trying to convince her that she had her own life to lead, and that she had to keep on with it. Jill had begun to believe she was right.

Simon was already in his box with Angela Branco at his side. He was talking animatedly to her, while the blonde scanned the house with a pair of opera glasses.

Jill bent over her program. If Angela Branco knew who she was, it would be awful to be caught staring. She counted on the woman not to mention her presence to Simon.

"Oh, oh." Edna poked her. "You have your choice. You can look up and smile, or you can turn away. Your husband is staring this way and there's every chance he's seen you."

Jill, turning suddenly giddy, did not move. "That's his affair," she said, keeping her eyes on her program. "Why don't the houselights dim?"

"From what I can tell, even at this distance, he's wonderfully attractive. He's looking at you."

Jill still did not look up. The houselights thankfully, went low. "Why did you tell me about him?" she groaned. "Why did you insist I come?"

Edna did not respond, as the singers walked onto the stage to swelling applause. Jill, determined now to hear every note sung, raised her hands in applause, too. Simon, having turned to face the stage, could only be seen dimly now.

The concert was not over until three encores were performed. During the second one, Simon and Angela Branco left. Jill breathed a sigh of relief. She was in turmoil, but at least she wouldn't have to deal with running into him.

A confrontation would have been impossible. It was quite clear that Simon profited in every way by her leaving. He still had a wife and so was not an easy mark for a woman set on marrying him. He had control of Carteret-Todd, the bulk of Daniel Carteret's estate in his keeping, everything. He was a man without a care in the world, and she should have seen the outcome, back in Chicago.

If Simon had wanted her, he would have found her. He was not a man without power in the community, without resources. He could have found her; it was that simple.

Outside the opera house the evening was balmy, the sky polka-dotted with stars. The Southern Cross seemed perched on the tip of a nearby skyscraper. They meandered slowly across the black and white mosaics. There was an air of celebration about the brightly lit square, as of partygoers who did not want the night to end.

"Over your jitters?" Edna asked.

"Just about."

"Good girl. You can stand on your own two feet now. I'm going to give you the Order of Merit. Earned by one Jill Todd, the right to a life of her own."

Jill giggled, feeling curiously free and in charge of herself, when suddenly a hand touched her arm, and she heard a familiar voice at her ear.

"Jill, I'd like to talk to you."

She stopped, her voice stuck somewhere at the back of her throat. Simon, deeply tanned, his face thinner than she remembered, looked down at her out of his dark, smoldering eyes. They stood with their eyes engaged as the crowd parted around them, the noise of cars and voices, and even a plane overhead, suddenly faded to nothing. Edna had, unknowingly, walked on a few steps.

After what seemed an eternity of silent communication, Jill remembered her friend. It took her several seconds more to recover her voice.

"Edna?"

Her partner turned, saw them, raised her eyebrows, and after a second's hesitation, came reluctantly back.

"This is, this is my husband," Jill stuttered. "Simon, this is, this is Edna Pinheiro. She's my partner. My business partner. We're in business together." The words came in a rush now, as they shook hands. "We make clothing. I'm wearing one," she dashed on. "All handmade from the ground up."

Edna smiled at Jill. "I'll see you later."

"No." Jill reached out to her. "Don't go. I'm coming with you."

"I've my car here, senhorita," Simon interrupted. "Can we drop you off somewhere?"

"No, it's a fine night," Edna told him in a bright voice. "I'm going to walk. Please don't bother about me."

Simon, however, with his customary autocratic air, took her arm as well as his wife's, and led them both across the square to his limousine.

"Claudio," he said to the waiting chauffeur, "take Senhorita Pinheiro home, and then go back to Las Flores. We'll return under our own steam."

The chauffeur touched his hat and held the door for Edna. "Call me," she whispered to Jill, as she stepped into the limousine.

Jill nodded, feeling powerless to say anything or do anything. The limousine entered the slow-moving line of traffic.

Simon directed Jill across the street to a small park with benches. "This suit you while we talk?"

"Yes." Her voice, shaky with emotion, was still not an instrument to be trusted. She sat down on a bench facing Simon, her hand in his. The light from a street-lamp behind her, illumined his face clearly.

"I once told you that if you needed me, I'd be here," he began. "There's no reason to believe you would hang on to my every word, but I wondered if you remembered. Or whether you've needed me at all."

"I remember what you said quite well," Jill responded. "But I also remember that it's a promise you seem to make to everyone. I didn't feel it was anything I could count on."

He regarded her carefully. "I'm sorry then that you feel that way. It's a promise that I make to people I care for."

She stiffened and almost involuntarily pulled her hand away. Angela Branco. It was coming down to that.

"I know what you're thinking," Simon went on. "Angela Branco."

Jill nodded, her eyes averted. She asked for the truth and it was being laid out for her.

"Angela Branco," Simon told her, "was a special friend of your uncle's. They had known each other for a number of years. Do you understand what I'm telling you?"

"Yes." She whispered the word. Uncle Dan was her father's younger brother. She had even once, when the letter from Simon had arrived, wondered whether he hadn't suddenly married.

"Your uncle made provisions for her several years ago. She owns some real estate in Manaus, and when your uncle was alive, he managed it for her. I didn't want to tell you about it, or even bother you with it, but his dying words were for me to care for Angela. And that's a promise I intend to keep."