Tender Triumph

There was nothing more to do tonight except sleep. She sat down on her bed in Gabriella's spare bed­room and listlessly looked around. She had wanted time—now she had it. She had the rest of her life ahead of her to wonder whether she had thrown away her chance for glorious happiness, or escaped from another nightmare of a marriage. Katie glanc­ed up at the mirror, and the grief-stricken face that looked back at her was a perfect reflection of her in­ner feelings.

Gabriella was asleep, and Eduardo had gone out immediately after dinner. Katie shuddered just re­membering that ominous meal. Not one word had been spoken by anyone. Eduardo had eaten in furious silence and Gabriella, who was as pale as death, kept giving Katie pitiful little smiles of sym­pathy and reassurance in between muffled sniffling noises. Katie, who was incapable of swallowing past the lump in her throat, had carefully avoided Eduardo's thunderous gaze and looked with helpless apology at poor Gabriella. When the meal was over, Eduardo had shoved his chair back, stood up and glared wrathfully at Katie. "I con­gratulate you," he said between clenched teeth. "You have managed to destroy a very great man. Not even his own father succeeded when he tried, but you did." Then he turned on his heel and stalk­ed out.

Katie glanced automatically at the plastic clock beside the bed when she heard the front door open and close. Eduardo's heavy footsteps were coming toward her bedroom. Hastily she swiped at her cheeks with her fingertips, then glanced up to see Eduardo looming in the doorway. Her chin came up in weak defiance as he stalked over to the bed where she was sitting.

Thrusting a large leather-bound photograph album at her, he said coldly, "This is the man whom you have reduced to the level of a beggar in the eyes of this village."

Numbly Katie took the album from him.

"Open it," he snapped. "It belongs to Rafael and his wife. They want you to see it before you leave."

Katie swallowed. "Is Ramon there with them?"

"No," Eduardo said curtly.

When he left, Katie opened the album. It was not filled with snapshots: it was filled with dozens and dozens of magazine and newspaper clippings. Her eyes riveted on the first one, and her hand began to tremble violently as she lifted the plastic-covered page. It was a newspaper photograph of Ramon standing in front of a dozen microphones as he ad­dressed the World Business Conference in Geneva, Switzerland. "Oh, God," she whispered. "Oh, my God."

Snatches of copy flew out of her; pictures of Ramon in a hundred different poses assailed her senses. Ramon, his handsome face very grave as he spoke to a gathering of Arab oil sheikhs; Ramon, lounging back in his chair at a conference table with international business leaders; Ramon, with his briefcase in hand, boarding a jet airliner with the name "Galverra International" emblazoned on the side.

Katie tried to read the articles, but her whirling mind could only absorb phrases:

Noted for his genius as a negotiator, Galverra was responsible for the acquisitions that elevated Galverra International to the status of a financial empire.. .Fluent in Spanish, French, Italian, English and German.. .Graduate of Harvard Universi­ty. . .Master's degree in business administra­tion.. .Masterminded mergers all over the globe.. .An innately private man who resents the intrusion of the press into his personal life....

There were shots of Ramon in a tuxedo, gam­bling at a casino in Monte Carlo while a dazzling blonde smiled adoringly at him, Ramon leaning against the railing of his huge ocean-going yacht, the breeze ruffling his hair.

Many of the other pictures testified to his reported refusal to admit the press into his per­sonal life, for they were fuzzy and obviously taken from very far away with some sort of special lens.

It was all there, including the beginning of the end. There were pictures of half-completed skyscrapers in Chicago and St. Louis, along with stories about the corporation suffering staggering financial losses in Iran.

Katie closed the album and wrapped her arms around it, clutching it protectively to her heart.

She laid her cheek against the binding, and her body shook with harsh wracking sobs. "Oh, darling, why didn't you tell me?" she choked brokenly.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Garcia carried the last two pieces of her luggage out to the Rolls, and Katie turned to Gabriella, who was hovering despondently in the living room. "I am so sorry," Gabriella whispered as Katie hugged her goodbye. "So very sorry."

Eduardo stepped forward and stiffly offered his hand. "Have a good flight," he said, his attitude more coldly aloof than it had ever been.

Garcia opened the door to the Rolls, and Katie got in. She looked at the sumptuous white leather in­terior with its gold-trimmed gadgetry that had once delighted her. This was Ramon's car, of course, Katie realized with a fresh stab of sorrow. No wonder he had looked so bleak when she had been enchanted with it—he was losing the car. He was losing everything—even her.

Realizing that Garcia hadn't closed the door yet, she glanced up at him. He reached into the pocket of his black uniform and extracted a bank draft. Katie stared at it in dumb misery. It was for thirty-five hundred dollars—five hundred dollars more than she had spent. Apparently Ramon hadn't even believed her when she was telling the truth.

Katie felt sick. Most of what she was being blam­ed for wasn't even her fault! If only Ramon hadn't tried to pass himself off to her as an ordinary farmer, she wouldn't have been so suspicious and afraid to marry him. She wouldn't have felt she had to pay for half of everything. None of this would have ever happened. But it had happened. She had shamed and humiliated him, and he was sending her away.

Sending her away, she thought as the car pulled down Gabriella's driveway. What was the matter with her, letting Ramon send her away like this! This wasn't the time to start being obedient. It wasn't the time to be frightened and intimidated, either, but she was. With a shiver of terror Katie remembered the raging fury in his expression yester­day, the murderous wrath in every carefully enun­ciated word he said to her. But most of all, she remembered his threat: "Lie to me one more time, and I will make your first husband look like a saint!" In that moment, he had looked enraged enough to do it.

Katie bit her lip, desperately trying to find enough courage to ask Garcia to take her to Ramon so that

she could explain. She had to go to him. Frantically, she told herself that Ramon wouldn't do the things

to her David had. Ramon didn't know what he was threatening her with when he said that. Anyway, she

was not going to lie to him, so he would have no reason—

It was no use, Katie realized. She wanted to go to him, to explain, but she couldn't face his rage alone. Irrational or not, she was terrified of physical violence.

She needed someone to go with her to confront him. Katie's hands began to tremble with a combination of panic and determination. There was no one here to help her, and it was already too late. Ramon hated her for what she had done. No, he loved her. And if he did, he couldn’t possibly stop loving her this easily.

He had to listen to her, Katie thought feverishly as the maroon Rolls glided through the village and stopped to allow a group of tourists to cross the street. Dear God, someone had to make him listen! Just then, Katie saw Padre Gregorio crossing the square from his little house to the church, his dark robes billowing in the gentle afternoon breeze. He glanced toward the car, saw her face through the window, and slowly turned away. Padre Gregorio would never help her.... Or would he?

The Rolls was already picking up speed. Katie couldn't find the button to open the communicating window. She knocked on it and called "Stop—;Parese!" but only the merest flicker of Garcia's eyes in the rearview mirror told her he had even heard her. Obviously, Ramon had instructed Garcia to put her on a plane, and he meant to do just that. She tried the door handle but it was elec­tronically locked.

In inspired desperation, she covered her mouth with her hand and cried, "Please stop, I am going to be sick."

That got results! In a flash Garcia was out of the car, opening her door and helpi

ng her out.

Katie jerked her arm loose from the amazed old man who thought he was helping her. "I'm better now," she called, running across the square toward the church, toward the one man who had once of­fered to help her explain to Ramon. She darted a glance over her shoulder, but Garcia was waiting be­side the car, apparently under the impression that she was having some seizure of religious fervor.

At the top of the stone steps Katie hesitated, her stomach tightening with dread. Padre Gregorio had nothing but contempt for her now; he would never help her. He had told her flatly to go back to the States. She made herself push open the groan­ing oak door and step into the cool candle-lit darkness.

She scanned the altar and the little decorative alcoves where candles flickered in small red glass holders, but the priest wasn't there. And then she saw him, not performing some task as she had ex­pected, but sitting all alone at the front of the church in the second pew. His white head was bent, even his shoulders were bent, in a posture of abject despair, or devout prayer, Katie wasn't certain which.

Her footsteps faltered, and her meager reservoir of courage went dry. He would never help her. In his way, Padre Gregorio disliked her as much as Eduardo did, and for more and better reasons. Turning, Katie started back down the aisle.

"Senorita!" Padre Gregorio's sharp, imperative voice cracked out like a whip, making her whole body stiffen.

Slowly, Katie turned and faced him. He was stan­ding in the center of the aisle now, looking more stern than she had ever seen him.

Katie swallowed past the raw ache in her throat, and tried to drag air through the thick ropes of ten­sion in her chest. "Padre Gregorio," she said in a ragged, pleading voice. "I know what you must think of me, and I don't blame you, but I never understood until last night why it would be so hu­miliating for Ramon to have me paying for things, especially in the village. Yesterday, Ramon dis­covered what I have been doing, and he was furious. I—I've never seen anyone so furious in my life." Her voice dropped to a suffocated whisper. "He's sending me back home."

She searched his austere face, hoping for some sign of empathy or compassion, but he was staring at her with narrowed piercing eyes. "I—I don't want to go," she choked. She lifted her hand in a helpless, beseeching gesture, and to Katie's utter horror, tears flooded her eyes and began racing down her cheeks. Too humiliated to even look at him, Katie tried unsuccessfully to brush away the torrent of tears streaming down her face. "I want to stay here with him," she added fiercely.

The priest's voice was a gentle whisper. "Why, Katherine?"