“I understand, senor. Like Diaz, you have courage.”
“Oh, shut up!” Cade said irritably. “Drive faster! I want to get home.”
The house surprised and delighted him. It consisted of a large living-room, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a fitted kitchen and a double garage. There was a garden full of flowers, a small fountain and shady trees. The furnishing was modern and comfortable.
After he had been over the house with Juana and they had returned to the living-room, she looked expectantly at him, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Up to this moment, he hadn’t said anything, now he took her face in his hands and kissed her mouth.
“You don’t know what this means to me,” he said, and he was moved. “It is wonderful, darling. It’s the first decent place, the first real home I have ever had, and all thanks to you. After you, this is the most wonderful thing that has ever happened to me.”
She hugged him.
“I was hoping you would say that. I am so happy. This is ours, cariño, for as long as we like. You and me and this, and no one else.”
It wasn’t until they had returned from a good dinner they had had in a nearby restaurant — Cade wouldn’t listen to her protestations that she should cook for him that night — that he showed her the photographs.
They sat side by side on the settee, the french windows leading into the garden open, the sound of the fountain making a soothing background noise as she examined the pictures.
She made little comment until she reached the close shot of Diaz shouting at Franoco, then he heard her catch her breath. Pushing aside the other photographs, she stared with fixed concentration at the savage, cruel face so sharply produced in the print.
“Does he really look like this?” she asked.
“I had to wait some time before his guard was down. Yes, that is Pedro Diaz. Not as he sees himself nor as most people see him, but as he is.”
She turned and stared at him. Her dark eyes uneasy.
“I wouldn’t like you to photograph me, cariño,” she said, then seeing his surprise, she forced a laugh. “I am not serious. He won’t like this.” She dropped the photograph onto the settee and stood up. “Let us go to bed. It is our first night in our new home. It must be an important occasion.”
“You haven’t looked at the fighting pictures,” Cade said. “They are good too.”
“Yes, everything you do is good. I know that. Let’s go to bed.” She smiled invitingly. “Don’t you want to?”
Cade got to his feet.
“This will be the christening of our house,” he said.
They walked together to the door, his arm around her shoulders. They paused while he turned off the light, then in step, they mounted the stairs.
The following morning while they were drinking coffee, Cade asked Juana if she could drive a car.
“Of course,” Juana said. “Why do you ask?”
“You need a car here. I’ll look around. I should be able to find some kind of second-hand bargain... a run around.”
Juana gave a squeal of delight and threw herself on him, covering his face with kisses.
“Hey! You’re smothering me,” Cade said, pulling her onto his lap. “So you would like a car?”
She drew in a long ecstatic breath.
“I have always longed for a car of my own.”
“Well, fine, I’ll get you one.”
“But can we afford it, cariño? This house...”
“Of course we can afford it. Now I have to get off. I’ll be back by four o’clock. I have a lot to do. If you want me I will be at Olmedo’s photographic shop. I have enlargements to make. I must get these pictures off on tonight’s plane. Will you be all right until I get back?”
She laughed happily.
“Of course. I have the house. I will prepare a wonderful dinner for you. Tonight I will prove to you what a good cook I am.”
Cade took out his wallet and placed a wad of five hundred pesos bills on the table.
“When you want more, ask for it. This is your own money, Juana. Buy yourself a dress or something. From now on, we share what I have.”
Lifting her off his lap, he dumped her on the settee and ran from the house where Creel waited in his Pontiac. Cade had never felt happier. He was utterly in love and like all lovers, he was in the mood to give what he had.
As Creel, after a smiling greeting, started the car and drove down Reforma, Cade said, “I want your help, Adolfo. First, I want a car. What’s the market like for a Thunderbird?”
Visibly impressed, Creel thought for a moment, then he said, “That could be arranged, senor. I have a good friend in the car business.”
“I want it by three o’clock this afternoon.”
“If I can’t get it by then, I will never get it.”
“Okay, so you get it. Now another thing: I want a bracelet... something in diamonds. What can you do about that?”
Creel’s eyes opened wide. He nearly hit an overtaking taxi. The exchange in Spanish between the taxi driver and himself was lurid and obscene.
“Diamonds?” he said when the taxi driver, worsted in the exchange, had sped away. “But, senor, diamonds cost a lot of money.”
“Never mind about the money,” Cade said. “Can you do something about diamonds?”
“Anything can be arranged in this City providing there is money,” Creel said. “A bracelet? Well, I have a friend who deals in diamonds. Leave it to me.”
He pulled up outside the photographic shop.
“Meet me here at three o’clock,” Cade said. “With the car and the bracelet.”
“Certainly, senor,” Creel said, lifting his panama hat.
Cade grinned at him.
“You are a good man, Adolfo. Thank you.”
“She is beautiful,” Creel said. “But I am a practical man. I am happy to be of assistance, but I am also aware that when dealing with gold, the gold rubs off a little.”
Cade laughed and walked into the shop where the owner, Tomas Olmedo, was waiting for him.
By 14.30 hours, Cade had finished his prints, had packed them ready for mailing to Sam Wand. He had also completed a carefully selected and flattering batch of prints for Pedro Diaz. Olmedo said he would send his assistant around to the Hotel de Toro with the prints.
While waiting for Creel, Cade sat in Olmedo’s office and picked up the morning newspaper that was lying on the desk.
A photograph of Manuel Barreda brought him upright in his chair.
The caption under the photograph read: Manuel Barreda, the well-known ship owner, died early yesterday morning from a heart attack. Senor Barreda had been recuperating from a previous heart attack at a luxury hotel at Acapulco. He...
Cade let the newspaper slip out of his hand. He felt cold and sick. This man would have been still alive if Juana hadn’t left him. Of that he was sure. He had stolen her from him... he was responsible for his death. He put a call through to Juana who answered after a little delay.
“Have you seen the paper?” Cade asked.
“Cariño! I am too busy to read newspapers. Why?”
“Barreda had a heart attack yesterday morning. He’s dead.”
There was a pause, then she said, “Is he? Something is boiling over. I must go and look after it. You will be...”
“Did you hear what I said?” Cade demanded, his voice rising. “Barreda is dead! We probably killed him!”
“But, cariño, he was old and ill. Old men do die. Why should we, more than anyone else, have killed him? What is the matter? You sound upset?”
Cade rubbed his sweating forehead as he stared at the big photograph on the opposite wall of a girl in a bikini. Her body was insipid in comparison with Juana’s.
“Aren’t you upset?”
“Well, I am sorry, of course, but...”
“We shouldn’t have done this to him, Juana.”