“I rest entirely too much. What I need is diversion. Now, who is this?”
Long, tapered fingers drew back the thin curtain, and Jessie gasped. “You’re so young!”
“Not as young as I used to be, my dear.”
“But I had another image of you,” she blurted without thinking. “Gray-haired, wrinkled... damn, I didn’t mean—”
Don Carlos chuckled. “What a delight you are, young woman. Come closer so I can see if you are as pretty as you appear. My eyes may not be failing me, but the light in here is deplorable.”
Jessie moved to the side of the bed, amazement growing. She had not once considered that resemblance would bear out the truth, but it did. The man lying in the enormous bed was so like Chase it was uncanny. Older of course, but not nearly as old as she had thought. It had not occurred to her that he could have been so young when he knew Mary. He was only forty-six or -seven now, gaunt and pale and quite underweight, but that did not hide the fact that he was much too young to be dying. His hair was as black as her own, with only a single thin streak of gray running above his forehead. His eyes were dark and inquisitive. His lips turned up at her perusal, just the same way Chase’s always did.
“You seem even more surprised by my appearance than you were before,” Don Carlos said.
“Señor,” Jessie replied disconcertedly, “it is just that you look like someone I know.”
“Jessica,” Rodrigo’s voice warned her.
“It is true, Rodrigo.” He caught her double meaning, and she nodded at him. “But I have not forgotten our talk.”
“Talking about me, eh?” Don Carlos sighed. “A disagreeable subject for young people to be discussing.
You should be talking of gay things, of parties and—hasn’t my nephew confessed his skills as a matador?”
“Ah, no, señor, he has not.”
“Really, Rodrigo? You usually charm all your new ladies with tales of your bravery.”
Jessie reddened at the assumption.
“You are mistaken about Rodrigo and me. We have only just met.”
“You are Nita’s friend then?”
“No, I... my name is Jessica Summers. I was traveling—”
Jessie couldn’t finish. How could she lie to him?
“Traveling?” Don Carlos repeated. “On a tour through Europe perhaps? And now you are my guest? But this is wonderful. I am glad to know the hospitality of my house has been extended even though I could not extend it myself. And where is your home, señorita?”
“It is señora, and my home is in America.”
“America. How delightful. You will have to visit me often, and we will speak English together. Mine has grown rusty, and I would like to test it.”
“I will be glad to, señor.”
“Señor, señor— you must call me Carlos. And where is this lucky man who is your husband?”
“We, ah, became separated during our travels.”
“But will he find you here?”
“I am certain of it, Don Carlos.”
“Good, good. You must bring him up to meet me as soon as he arrives. And no nonsense from you, Rodrigo, about my being too ill to have visitors. I need the stimulation. Why, this lady’s company has done me a world of good.”
Rodrigo smiled. “That is wonderful, Uncle, but you really should rest now.”
“You are not listening to me, Rodrigo. Why don’t you run along and leave me to converse with my guest? Have you not told her of my trips to America? She and I have much to talk about.”
“Trips, Uncle? But you have only been to America once, when you were even younger than I am now.”
“Nonsense,” Don Carlos announced, “I returned ten years ago. But of course you wouldn’t know that. It was after Francisco’s funeral, and your mother immediately took you off with her to France.”
“You sailed to America? Why?” Rodrigo asked.
“To search for someone.”
“You didn’t find her, did you?” Jessie asked quickly, before Rodrigo could stop her.
“No. That country of yours is much too big, my dear,” Don Carlos replied sadly. He looked at her strangely.
Jessie saw the startled look that came over him and realized she had blundered. She’d assumed he had gone back to look for Mary, and she’d said “find her.”
“I... I really should be going now, Don Carlos,” Jessie said uncomfortably. “I couldn’t forgive myself if I overtaxed you.”
“You haven’t, I assure you,” he replied in an unusually quiet voice. “But you will come again?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Then I suppose I must let you go.”
She took his hand, and he brought her fingers to his lips. All the while his eyes locked with hers so penetratingly that she felt he could read her every thought.
Don Carlos stopped her as she reached the door. And his English words, the first he had spoken and which she knew Rodrigo could not understand, made her catch her breath.
“One more thing, Jessica Summers. This man that I remind you of and my overcautious nephew would rather you not speak of, who is he?”
Jessie looked back at him. She thought she heard hope in his voice. Impossible. He couldn’t have guessed, not by the little she had said. But she had come so far, and he had to know. “He is my husband, Don Carlos.”
“My God,” he whispered brokenly. “Thank you.”
Chapter 43
THE sun was at its highest, and heavenly scents drifted through her open window with the heat from the garden. But Jessie did not appreciate the lovely day. She had spent a restless night thinking about Don Carlos. She suspected that she had done what she’d set out to do, she couldn’t be sure. Oh, where was Chase?
As if she didn’t have enough worries, she had felt the first stirrings of her baby last night, just the faintest flutterings, but enough to set her wondering about the next few months. Damn Chase, when would he get here?
Chase couldn’t believe his luck. It had gone sour for a while after they’d had that bad storm at sea and been blown so far off course that they were nearly a week behind schedule. He’d made port in Malaga and found an interpreter who could also act as guide. Most promising was that the name Carlos Silvela was well known, through his shipping and banking concerns. It proved easy to find him, and now here he was.
But he was afraid his luck was about to turn again, for the beautiful blonde who had opened the door was looking at him as if he had two heads. Her mouth was open, but no words came out. He was about to call his guide when the lady finally spoke.
“So it’s true!”
“I beg your pardon?” Chase replied. “I don’t speak Spanish.”
“Dispense. I... I speak English, but not so well. You come for... to see ...”
“Carlos Silvela,” Chase supplied. “My guide assured me this is the place. Is he here?”
“Slower, señor. Too fast for me.”
“I’m sorry. I’m looking for Carlos—”
“Si, si,” she interrupted. “This I know. Your wife, she say you would come. I did not believe her story.”
“My wife?” Chase frowned. “Ah, I think you are mistaking... let me get my guide.”
“You are not Chase Summers?”
He had turned away, but he spun around again. “How could you know that?”
“It is as I say, señor, your wife is here.”
“Impossible!”
Jessie had let it go on long enough. She stepped out from her biding place just off the foyer.
“Not impossible, Chase.”
Nita looked from Jessie to Chase, confusion overcoming her. “You see, señor, your wife. Now I leave you to her. Understanding your English has given me the aching head.”