The Sanchez Tradition

Ramon chewed his lower lip. ‘Both.’

Rachel smiled. ‘You’re as impulsive as ever, Ramon. Tell me, is it by chance you’re here, or do you work here?’

‘The casino is my concern,’ replied Ramon reluctantly. ‘I am here most nights. I will be honest. My man, Arnoux, he noticed you here earlier, and he has been keeping an eye on you.’

Rachel gave a short laugh. ‘A suspicious character, is that it?’

‘Something like that,’ Ramon admitted. ‘But necessary, you must agree. One cannot be too careful.’

‘No, one cannot,’ she agreed, rather dryly.

Ramon rose abruptly to his feet. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘We cannot talk here. We will go to my suite.’

Rachel looked up at him lazily. ‘What have we to talk about?’

‘André.’

Rachel’s cheeks coloured slightly. ‘It’s André I wish to see.’

‘I know that.’

Rachel frowned. ‘Is it inconceivable to a member of the Sanchez family that I should be in New Providence for any other reason than to see your brother?’ Her tone was harsh.

Ramon bent, resting his hands on the table. ‘Yes,’ he said bleakly. ‘At this time—yes.’

‘At this time?’ Rachel’s frown deepened. ‘What does that mean?’

‘Do not pretend to be naïve with me, Rachel. Come: I insist. We cannot talk here.’

‘And if I refuse?’

‘Then you will never see André!’

Rachel compressed her lips. She knew better than to doubt his word, and this might be her last chance to achieve what she came for. With a resigned sigh, she rose to her feet, gathering her gloves and purse. ‘Very well,’ she said, ‘I’ll come with you.’

Ramon’s eyes narrowed. ‘I rather thought you might,’ he remarked.

They descended the steps into the casino, the brilliance of its lights contrasting sharply with the intimate lighting of the restaurant. The noise was terrific, and Rachel wondered how the players managed to hear what was going on. Trays of champagne cocktails and heavier spirits were being carried about, and the atmosphere was filled with the scent of perfume and cigar smoke. The thick carpet underfoot was embedded with stubs of cigarettes and cigars, and she wondered how often new carpets were laid. From the opulent appearance of the place it must be redecorated every couple of months or so.

At the far side of the hall was a door marked ‘Private’ and Ramon unlocked it with some keys from his pocket, nodding casually to the two men who stood, one to either side like bodyguards. Rachel shivered. She rememberd the bars of this gold cage so well.

Inside the office the furnishings were equally as opulent. There was a plentiful supply of drinks on a cabinet, and a positive network of telephones on the wide desk. Ramon crossed to the drinks cabinet and poured her a drink, but she shook her head when he offered her the glass and accepted a cigarette instead. Ramon poured himself a drink, and then walked behind the desk and stood, regarding her intently.

‘Won’t you sit down?’ he requested, nodding to a comfortable chair, and as her legs felt slightly shaky, she did as he suggested. When he was seated too, he said: ‘You’re looking very beautiful, Rachel. But you don’t need me to tell you that.’

Rachel bent her head. ‘Where is André?’ she asked blankly.

Ramon shrugged, and lay back in his chair. ‘What have you been doing with yourself—all these years?’

Rachel compressed her lips. ‘Where is André?’ she repeated quietly.

Ramon swallowed half his drink and looked deep into his glass. ‘He won’t see you, you know,’ he said chillingly.

Rachel looked up. ‘Shall we let him decide?’ she asked shortly.

Ramon finished his drink, and getting to his feet walked over to the cabinet again. Rachel’s eyes followed him. He was so calm, so aloof, so different from the exuberant young man she remembered. He wasn’t much like André really. He was shorter, broader, and younger, of course. During the past five years he had shed that air of youthfulness, and now, at thirty, he was poised and assured. But then all the Sanchez family were poised and assured. It was a family resemblance, and en masse it could be destructive.

‘Tell me, Ramon,’ she said at last, as he poured himself another drink, ‘what did you mean when you averred you knew I was in Nassau to see André?’

Ramon turned and came back to his seat. ‘You had his letter?’

‘His letter?’ she echoed incomprehensively.

‘The letter from his solicitors, then,’ amended Ramon.

‘I’ve had no letter!’ exclaimed Rachel, shaking her head. ‘No—no letter at all.’ She frowned. ‘What was in this letter?’

Ramon looked sceptical. ‘You don’t know?’

Rachel clenched her fists. ‘If I did, would I be asking?’

‘You might. You might have thought of some clever ploy to thwart André’s plans!’

‘Plans? What plans?’ Rachel got to her feet. ‘I tell you I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ramon. I wish I did. At least if I’d had a letter from him—or his solicitors—I would have known where to find him.’

‘I doubt it. André’s whereabouts are not for publication.’

Rachel drew herself up to her full height of five feet six, and gripped her purse tightly. ‘I’ll ask you for the last time, Ramon. What is this all about?’

Ramon chewed his lip, studying her thoughtfully, as though trying to decide whether or not to believe her. Then he lifted his shoulders and said: ‘Sit down, Rachel.’

Rachel shook her head. ‘I prefer to stand, thank you.’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, sit down,’ he snapped. ‘All right, all right, so you’ve had no letter. Why are you here?’

‘That’s my business!’

‘You’re not prepared to tell me?’

‘No. It’s a private matter I want to discuss with André.’

Ramon heaved a sigh. ‘I doubt very much whether André will see you, whether he believes you received his letter or not,’ he replied. ‘He’s finally gotten you out of his system. I don’t think he will wish to admit you even to his thoughts again.’

Rachel’s colour deepened. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

Ramon smote his fist on the table. ‘Don’t play the innocent with me, Rachel. Five years ago my brother wanted to kill you!’

Rachel shivered again. ‘But he didn’t!’