My Love Betrayed (13 page)

Edna’s rich, gentle laughter cut me off. “My
dear! There’s really no need to apologize. It
happens to everyone, on occasion. And I assure
you, you were quite charming!”

“I don’t remember much,” I ventured.

Still grinning, Edna said, “Under the circumstances, I’m surprised you remember anything at
all!” Her good humor was infectious and I smiled,
causing her to exclaim, “That’s much better!”

“Where’s Greg?” I managed to ask.

Edna waved a hand airily. “Oh, at the office, I
expect.”

“The office?”

“Oh, something apparently came up yesterday, and he thought he’d better take care of it right
away.”

I nodded, as if I understood, but all I could think
about was how badly my head still hurt. We sat for
several minutes in silence. Something nagged at
me and, finally, I asked, “Edna, did Charles
Whitford and I have a fight last night?”

She grinned wryly. “Two, at the very least! I
gather he tried to give you a rather expensive and
inappropriate present.” She paused, then went on,
“Being a sensible young woman, I imagine you
resented having someone try to buy you. Naturally, Charles was angry at having his plans
misfire, and the two of you said some rather nasty
things to each other. Your voices carried quite
clearly, I’m afraid, and I had to come in and warn
you. Do you remember, now?”

I hesitated. “I think so.”

I shook my head, trying to clear it. Something
didn’t seem right about Edna’s explanation, but I
couldn’t put my finger on what it was. I just didn’t
remember enough. Edna misunderstood the gesture and said, “I know, my dear, but it really is
better this way. Now you know what Charles is
like. It’s not the first time he’s tried to buy a
woman; they haven’t all been as sensible as you
were.”

Forget it, I told myself, but I couldn’t. “You said
we had two fights. What did you mean?” I asked.

Edna laughed, self-consciously. “You mean you
don’t remember that, either? Both of you disappeared at the party last night. Greg and I were
frantic! Finally, Greg insisted we come back here,
before we called the police. Imagine our amaze ment when we found the two of you here, on the
patio. You had passed out and Charles refused to
explain anything!”

“But the fight?” I persisted.

Edna looked away uneasily. “We managed to
rouse you and you said good night to Charles. He
was tired and said some things. It doesn’t really
matter what, does it?”

“What did he say?” I asked grimly.

She shrugged. “Oh, Charles is a prig! He can’t
understand that it’s possible to, well, misjudge
how much, well, alcohol one can handle. Especially at this altitude, when one isn’t used to it. And
there seems to have been a stupid misunderstanding about some young man.”

Suddenly, I began to remember. Stupid was
right! Edna’s sympathetic voice went on. “Don’t
worry about it, Ellen. His opinion really doesn’t
matter. You had to see a lot of him when you were
both at the Bamer, I know, but you don’t anymore.
I’m only sorry that I asked him to come along last
night. Usually, he has better manners.”

I was quiet. Something was very wrong here. I
was starting to remember more and more, and
Charles’s behavior just didn’t fit. I realized, finally,
that Edna was looking very concerned. I forced
myself to smile and shrug. Then she smiled,
apparently satisfied, and said gently, “Why don’t
you lie in the sun a while and take a nap? You still
look rather tired, Ellen.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” I said lightly,
“but I’ll go inside, I think, for the nap. The sun
seems very bright today.”

She nodded. “Do that, dear.”

I left her reading contentedly in the sun and
made my way back to my room. It wasn’t the sun,
of course, that drove me inside. I needed to think.
In private. Where no one would interrupt me. As I
said, more and more was coming back to me
(except that final fight on the patio with Charles)
and I wasn’t happy about what I remembered.

The maid was tidying my room, and I waited
impatiently as she finished making the bed. She
gave me a strange look as she left. Or perhaps I
imagined it; I’d never had a hangover before.

When I was alone, I went over what had
happened the night before. Moving around,
talking with people, eating from the buffet laid out
on the patio. Music and people dancing. Wine?
Champagne? I must have had some, but I couldn’t
remember drinking any great amount. In fact, I
seemed to remember thinking that I hadn’t been in
the mood for it. Go on, I told myself, what else
happened? Ralph. The study. Charles and the
bracelet. But it was all so hazy, and I couldn’t
remember what anyone had said. Ralph again.
Now I remembered champagne. But surely just
one glass. Or was it two? Escaping. Being sick
outside. Charles again. Walking. Walking in the
dark. In the dark? Had we been crazy?

I frowned. There was something important
about that walk. I had to remember it. Something
Charles had said. Drugged! He had asked if I had
been drugged!

My head spun for a moment as I fought to stay
calm. Was that what had happened? When?
Ralph? No, that was absurd! He was a guest. He
couldn’t have followed me to the party. People knew him. But he had followed me in his car.
How? How had he known where to look? I was
sure I hadn’t told him where 1 was staying. But
who else could have drugged me? It must have
been Ralph. I felt myself becoming paranoid and
tried to stop the chain of my thoughts.

But I couldn’t. The idea that someone had tried
to drug me at the party was no more impossible
than the attack three days before. Someone
wanted me out of the way. Badly. Could I afford
not to be paranoid?

“Charles, where are you?” I wondered aloud.
Silently I added, I need you! You’re the only one I
can trust, and I need to talk to someone. What am
I going to do? I’m not safe anywhere, am I?

But Charles obviously couldn’t hear me. Edna
had said there’d been a fight. That Charles had
been angry I’d been drunk. But that didn’t make
sense. He was the one who’d said I might have been
drugged. Had he changed his mind? Or, and here I
froze, or was it something else? Did he know I’d
been drugged, and was he trying to hide it? Why?
And what did I really know about Charles?

I shook my head several times. This had to stop!
I couldn’t suspect everyone, especially not
Charles. Besides, I thought, feeling foolish, he’d
hardly have brought me back to the Ivesons’ if he
were on the other side! I did need to talk to
Charles. Alone. As soon as possible. And, for now,
I needed more sleep.

It was late afternoon before I saw Mr. Iveson.
He, too, was very understanding about the night
before. “My dear Miss Steffee, I assure you, you were very charming and no one was offended.”

“Except Whitford,” Edna put in softly.

Greg looked embarrassed, then angry. “Except
Whitford,” he agreed. “That sanctimonious prig! I
apologize, my dear, but it’s not as if Charles
Whitford never had one glass too many, you
know. But don’t worry, Ellen. You won’t have to
see him again. I understand he flew back to
Chicago today and won’t be back for a few weeks.”

“Chicago?”

“That’s what I said. You probably won’t have to
see the man again,” Greg repeated impatiently.

I was stunned. I could only stare at the Ivesons
with my mouth open. And I almost blacked out.
When I could finally think, again, Edna was
already saying, “…relief. I don’t think, Greg, that
you heard about the present. Whitford apparently
wants to add Ellen to his list, and he-”

“Please!” I broke in angrily. Trying to be calm, I
took a deep breath. “It really doesn’t matter what
Charles Whitford did, Edna, as you keep reminding me. But I would rather not talk about it!”

Both the Ivesons were sympathetic and understanding. They immediately changed the subject to
some neutral matter. And somehow I made it
through until evening. Then Greg, more perceptive than I had realized, suggested a game of chess.
He had a beautiful inlaid table, complete with
onyx chessmen. Greg was an excellent player and I
found myself with no time to think of anything
else. Somehow, one game stretched to three, and
then the evening was over, and Edna was fondly
saying good night.

And, in spite of the kindness of the Ivesons, it was with relief that I retreated to my room. There,
as I drew the drapes, all the fear, loneliness, and
shock of the day closed over me. Once more, I
cried myself to sleep.

I woke to the sound of someone tapping at my
door. “Yes?” I called sleepily.

The answer was a jumble of Spanish, but I
realized the maid was telling me breakfast would
be ready in twenty minutes. Sure. Then it hit me,
and I was out of bed and on my feet in seconds. I’d
never be ready that soon!

But I was. I reached the patio just as the maid
arrived with the pot of coffee.

Edna greeted me with a friendly smile and said,
“You look lovely, Ellen. Sleepy, but lovely.
Doesn’t she, Greg?”

Reading a Spanish newspaper, Greg merely
grunted. Edna made a slight moue and explained, “He’s hopeless before breakfast! Did you sleep
well, my dear?”

I said that I had, and we chatted as we ate. Or,
rather, Edna chatted, and I listened. I’m not much
good for talking until I’ve had breakfast, either.
Nor was this the leisurely meal I had grown
accustomed to since arriving in Mexico City. Greg
was too eager to leave for the office. Frankly, I was
just as glad. I felt much too restless to dawdle over
a second or third cup of coffee. No matter how
genial I found Edna.

In the car, Mr. Iveson fired off questions about
my work: what the problems were, what we had
done, what we were trying to do, my prognosis for
the setup. I answered as best I could, hampered by
Mr. Iveson’s obvious lack of understanding of
computers. It was a problem I’d encountered
before. Unless you’ve ever worked directly with a
computer, you tend to both underestimate and
overestimate its capabilities. And the things that
can go wrong.

Any computer programmer can tell you that
each computer is, in a sense, an individual, with its
own quirks. Not that I mean to imply it can think
or it has a personality. I only mean that before a
computer can be used, a basic program has to be
developed. And that program invariably carries
the imprint of the people who developed it. So, if
you are given two computers, identical in a
physical sense yet having different basic programs,
you have two different computers. The same new
programs, run on the two differently programmed
computers, may give different answers. So it is
very important that the basic program is a sound one. We were trying to develop a solid basic
program-easier said than done.

I tried to explain all this to Mr. Iveson, but I
don’t think I did a very good job. I guess I’d
worked with computers for so many years that it
was hard for me to remember that other people
might find them confusing.

Anyway, I think we were both relieved when we
reached the office. As usual, Greg dropped me off
at the front steps and then drove away to park the
car. I went on in. The security guard nodded and
smiled. By now, he accepted me as a regular
employee.

Carlos was already at his desk. When I walked
in, he looked up and said, “Buenos dias.”

His eyes were thoughtful, and it took him a
moment to answer when I asked, “How’s it going?”

But then he was as businesslike as ever. To my
relief. After the last few days, I needed something
solid and familiar. Like Carlos and the computer.

So we worked. It was late morning when the
interruption came. A young woman I had never
seen before knocked at the door. Carlos questioned her in rapid Spanish. She fired back an
answer, staring at me. I gathered she was talking
about the police. Carlos frowned and asked a
couple of more questions. Finally, he turned to me
and said, “Conception says that the police are here
and they wish to speak with you. She does not
know why. They are waiting for you in one of the
conference rooms and she is to take you there.”

He seemed truly concerned about me, and I
tried to smile reassuringly. Conception said nothing as we walked down the hallway, but I had
the impression she was displeased about something. I was too concerned with my own thoughts
to care.

As Carlos had said, they were waiting for me in a
conference room: the inspector, as I thought of
him, another policeman, notebook in hand, and,
to my surprise, Mr. Iveson. When he saw me, Greg
came forward. “Ah, there you are, Ellen. These
gentlemen would like to ask you some questions.
Just relax and tell them what they want to know.
It’s about the attack the other night.”

Before I could do more than nod, he turned to
the police and said, “I’ll be in my office if you need
me, Senor Ramirez. Would you like my secretary
to stay and take notes for you?”