Master Of El Corazon

‘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.’

And, without question, an accurate one. Arden closed her eyes. Wonderful. Just wonderful. She was about to sign on for a job that would make her a servant, answerable to not one man but two, a pair of elderly Spanish grandees who had no idea the world was moving swiftly into the twenty-first century.

Why had she let Alejandro talk her into this? Anything would be better than—

‘We are arrived, señorita.’

Arden opened her eyes and sat forward just as a pair of massive iron gates swung open to an electronic signal. The Cadillac slowed and began moving up the long driveway, and a little shudder went through her.

Alejandro had described El Corazon as magnificent; it was a word she’d heard often from her mother while she was growing up.

‘I’m going to be working for the Baileys,’ Evelyn would say, and then she’d sigh dramatically. ‘Their house is just magnificent!’

After a while, Arden had known what ‘magnificent’ meant. It was a synonym for grandiose and overdone, a way of saying that a house was far too big to be a home, had cost more money than anything should, and would surely impress the life out of anyone who saw it.

But none of that described El Corazon.

She leaned forward and stared out the window. El Corazon—The Heart—had seemed a romantic name, but this house was hardly romantic. Seen from a distance, it was large and imposing, larger, probably, than any of Greenfield’s pricey mansions. A flower-banked path bisected a wide lawn that looked as if it were carpeted with dark green velvet; it led to wide white steps and a porch whose graceful colonnades drew the eye upward to the house itself with its black trim and Spanish tile roof.

Arden sank back in her seat. What was she doing here? It was too late to tell Pablo to turn the car around, she would have to go through with the first interview, but at its conclusion she would politely thank Felix Romero for his time, then ask Pablo to drive her back to the city. And then she’d swallow what little was left of her pride, go to the Embassy, and beg for help.

Anything would be better than going to work as a servant in a house like this.

Romero was waiting for her in the library. He was a wizened old man with a full mane of white hair, gnarled hands that were tightly clasped around the ivory head of a walking stick despite the fact that he was seated in a wheelchair, and an expression sour enough to make a lemon seem sweet. After a brief few questions, he fixed Arden with a rheumy stare.

‘I am told that I am not an easy man to work for,’ he said brusquely. ‘I have a short temper, and I do not suffer fools lightly.’

Arden thought of telling him it didn’t matter because she wouldn’t take this job if he offered it to her, but she decided to be polite.

‘So I’ve heard,’ she said pleasantly.

‘If I ask you to work for me, I will expect you to rise early, to keep abreast of world affairs so we may discuss them, and to choose your companions wisely.’

‘If I were to decide to work for you, I would rise early because I have always done so, I would discuss with you whatever topics the both of us agreed were of interest, and I would choose my companions by my own standards, which I assure you are every bit as stringent as yours.’

She waited for him to respond, aware that she would never have answered with such arrogance if she hadn’t already decided she didn’t want this job. Felix Romero’s mouth twitched. It took a moment until Arden realised it was as close to a smile as he would offer.

‘It may be that you will work out,’ he said.

Arden stared at him in surprise. ‘Does that mean you’re offering me a job?’

‘Tell Pablo to go to San José and collect your things. I will give this a try.’

He would give it a try? She lifted her chin.

‘Perhaps you should ask me if I will give it a try,’ she said.