Master Of El Corazon. Sandra Marton
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at her. ‘Otherwise, I would have got myself in trouble.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘I am here on my own behalf. No. That is not correct. I am here on behalf of my cousin, Pablo.’
Arden blinked. ‘Your cousin?’
‘Señorita Miller, please believe me when I say I have no wish to embarrass you, but...’ The boy caught his lip between his teeth. ‘But we hear things,’ he said, rushing the words together. ‘It is said that you—ah—that you had a falling-out with Senor Lithgow and that is why you no longer work for his company.’
She blew out her breath. ‘Well, that’s one way to put it.’
‘It is said, as well, that—that you need money. And—and—’
Her eyes focused on the boy’s reddening face ‘And?’
‘And that is where my cousin enters the picture.’
Arden shook her head. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’
‘Well—well, Pablo knows of this difficulty of yours, señorita. And he would like the chance to offer you a proposition.’
Her expression hardened. ‘Would he?’ she said in a flat voice.
‘Oh, yes, absolutely. Pablo lives an hour’s drive from here, in a very big house. A mansion, you would say.’ The boy’s face lit. ‘It is beautiful there. There is a pool to swim in, and horses to ride—oh, there are all manner of beautiful things to enjoy. And Pablo says you are the perfect woman for him.’
‘Indeed.’
Alejandro was not impervious to the growing frigidity in Arden’s face and voice.
‘I told him that such an offer might embarrass you,’ he said with obvious discomfort, ‘but he was determined I speak on his behalf.’
‘Yes, I can just imagine.’ Arden slapped her hands on her hips. ‘Well, you can just tell Pablo that I’m not interested. The damned nerve of him—and of you, Alejandro! How could you make such a proposal to me?’
The boy’s face fell. ‘Si,’ he whispered miserably. ‘I told him you would say this. “Pablo,” I said, “the señorita is a secretary, she is not a—”’
‘That’s right,’ Arden said with feeling. ‘I’m a secretary, although lately everyone else seems to think I’m—’
‘—she is not a nurse. “But she does not need to be a nurse,” Pablo said. “Old man Romero already has one of those,” he said, and it is true. What the old man needs is a companion, someone who will read to him and talk with him, someone who is a gringa because no tica has ever been able to stand up to his temper—’
‘Wait a minute,’ Arden said quickly. ‘What are you talking about? What old man?’
‘Never mind, señorita. Forgive me for having been so impertinent.’
Arden reached out and caught hold of the boy’s arm as he began to turn away.
‘Alejandro, please, tell me what this is all about. Is this—is your cousin—’
‘Pablo,’ he said helpfully.
She nodded. ‘Yes, Pablo. Is he offering me a job as his companion?’
‘Pablo?’ he said with a giggle. ‘No, certainly not. My cousin is the chauffeur to Señor Romero, señorita.’
‘He’s making the offer for Señor Romero, you mean?’
‘Sí. The old man has many servants but only Linda to keep him company, and—’
‘inda?’ Arden repeated. She was growing more baffled by the minute. Would she ever be able to sort this out?
‘The stepdaughter of Señor Romero.’ Alejandro made. a face. ‘You will not like her, I think. But El Corazon—’
‘El Corazon,’ Arden said numbly, as she sank down on to the edge of a chair.
‘The Romero finca. It is the place I told you of earlier. Pablo says to tell you that you would have your own room and bath.’ His voice fell to a whisper. ‘You could ask to be paid many colones, Pablo says, because no one else will deal with the old man. He is—how do you say—difficult.’
She sat staring at the boy. A job as a paid companion, she thought, and a lump rose into her throat. A job as a servant, that was what it was, a job she’d been destined for all her life, the same as her mother and half the female population in Greenfield...
‘Señorita?’
Arden swallowed hard. Alejandro was watching her with barely concealed eagerness. As far as he was concerned, he’d just offered her the opportunity of a lifetime.
Well, if it wasn’t that, it was, at least, a way to earn enough money to get her home. Did you need a work permit for a job like this? She didn’t know, and she wasn’t going to ask. That was Senor Romero’s problem, not hers.
Still, the thought of it made her flinch. How could she dance attendance on the rich, when the thought of it made her skin crawl?
How can you sit here and wait to be thrown out into the street? a voice inside her asked with cold precision.
‘Señorita? If you are not interested—’
‘But I am.’ Arden took a deep breath. ‘Tell your cousin I’d—I’d be happy if he could get me an interview.’
The boy grinned as he snatched up the tray. ‘I will tell him to make the arrangements.’
She closed the door after him, then sank back against it. Suddenly, she thought again of the man she’d met in the lift, of the things he’d accused her of. What would he say if he knew she was going to take a job as servant to this Señor Romero?
A bitter smile touched her lips. He’d never believe it.
But then again, neither did she.
CHAPTER FOUR
PABLO drove her to her interview with Felix Romero in an ancient, brilliantly polished Cadillac limousine. There would be, he warned, three separate interviews to endure, although only one would take place today.
‘Señorita Linda is away, but when she returns she will insist on questioning you, too,’ he said as they bounced over a dusty dirt road, ‘even though the decision of your employment is not actually hers to make. Whether or not you get the job is up to Senor Romero—and to Señor Conor, of course.’
‘Who?’
‘Señor Conor Martinez.’ Pablo looked into the rearview mirror. ‘He is—how would say?—he is the true master of El Corazon.’
‘But I thought—’
‘Someone had to take charge when Señor Romero’s health began to fail.’
Arden sank back against the seat. ‘Alejandro never mentioned any of this,’ she said glumly. ‘I suppose you’re going to tell me this Senor Martinez is as difficult as Senor Romero.’
‘Some would say he is even more so,’ Pablo admitted after a pause. His eyes met Arden’s in the mirror. ‘Senor Conor is of the old school. He demands obedience and perfection.’
Arden could see him in her mind’s eye, a tall, white-haired Spaniard, his face marked by age and discipline, until suddenly another image swept that one aside, that of a tall, handsome man with green eyes, an unsmiling mouth, and the certain belief that he could never be wrong.
‘You mean,’ she said, her words touched with bitterness, ‘he sets himself up as judge, jury, and executioner.’
The chauffeur chuckled. ‘An interesting description, sefiorita.’