Henry, freshly awoken next to her, smiled.
Sometimes he felt he was in a wonderful dream. And now, as he slowly opened his eyes and reality unfolded itself around him, he was almost glad he’d been shot.
He rubbed his rib where the bullet had grazed him. The place didn’t hurt any more, and the bruise had long since vanished.
His newly found contentment made him wonder about the rest of his life since the accident that had taken his family. If you’d asked him only a few weeks ago why he’d chosen the isolation of Antarctica, he would have said he had simply gotten into his work, that he hadn’t chosen isolation per se. Now he wasn’t so sure. Sarah was snuggled next to him on one side, and on the floor within arm’s reach was Shep. Everything he wanted as a family was with him. He wondered if he really wanted to go back to the ice at all.
That it had been a lifestyle fraught with danger hadn’t bothered him before. Perhaps, even, he had hoped at some deep level that the ice would one day claim him, as it had so many others. It would have been an honourable death, and no one would have called it suicide. And he wouldn’t have had to grow old alone and tortured by the loss of everything he loved.
He looked around the room. Bright blue wall paper backed up a large ornate crucifix that hung next to smaller delicate paintings of flowers. Sarah had been quite taken by the simple style of this bed-and-breakfast on the outskirts of Santiago.
She was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.
“You look lovely this morning, my dear,” he said as she yawned sleepily. “I’m sure Enrique keeps in touch with President Frei at all times. We can put a call through if you want when we leave for the hotel. We’ll likely as not be spending most of the day in the limo.”
Sarah pushed the flowered comforter aside, got up and walked to the window, unselfconsciously naked. She gently parted the curtains and peered out at the scenery.
“Oh, Henry, come look.”
He sat up and slipped on his pants, then went to her side.
They were on the ground floor of a sprawling hacienda perched on a hillside west of Santiago. The sun nearly blinded him, but soon his eyes adjusted to the scene. Red roofs and multicoloured single-storey cottages dotted the landscape. Between them, trees and shrubs decorated the otherwise barren land. Here and there purple wisteria added a complementary blue to the scene. In the distance, off to the left and right, Santiago sprawled; while the city seemed to go on forever, it was dwarfed by the mighty wall of the Andes that hung over it like a monstrous purple wave.
They remained at the window for some minutes, peering from behind the curtain.
Suddenly the now familiar mustachioed face of their driver, Enrique, interrupted their view.
“Oh goodness. I see you are awake, Sir Henry and Miss Sarah.”
Sarah screamed and jumped into the shadows, reaching for a robe.
Henry looked at Enrique scornful y. “You been standing there all night?” he asked.
The man laughed. “I am walking on the path from breakfast, Sir Henry,” he said. “It is after ten, and if you don’t hurry you will miss the delicious food.”
Henry glanced at his watch. “Sheesh, you’re right. It is late. And I have to walk the dog before we can eat.”
He waved his hand, shooing Enrique away. “Okay, thanks. You can go now.”
Henry closed the curtains and looked at Sarah, now clutching her robe tightly around herself. He laughed.
“It’s okay. He didn’t see anything. Let’s get dressed.”
Breakfast was still being served when they reached the dining room. The hostess, Aldonza, met them with the same cheerfulness she’d displayed when they’d arrived.
“I was going to call you to breakfast, Señor Gibbs. Good that you did not miss the delicious huevos enchiladas and cornbread cakes our Consuela has made this morning. There are still many left. Do not worry.”
Aldonza seated them at a sofa under a large painting of a waterfall and poured coffee into two cups set before them on a wide coffee table adorned with a vase of yellow and blue flowers. In a sunny corner a large cactus was blooming with pink blossom. The room had the delicious aroma of coffee, cinnamon and sandalwood. The golden morning sun spilled into the room through double doors that led to a garden full of roses.
She pointed to a laden table against the wall.
“Please help yourself to everything that pleases you, Señor and Señora Gibbs. If there is anything else you need, just ring the silver bell and Consuela will come.”
Sarah looked at Henry and smiled. Señora Gibbs, indeed.
They’d left Shep tied up outside the house on an extra long rope, rather than bring him into the dining room, but the pains of his exile were being tempered by a large patty of ground meat and a massive bone left over from dinner the night before. Nearby, Enrique was sitting on a bench reading a newspaper.
“Hola,” he said as Henry and Sarah emerged from breakfast. He folded the newspaper and put it under his arm. “The dog is not friendly this morning, Sir Henry, I am thinking.” He gave Shep a baleful look. “I try to give him a nice pet, but he is thinking I want his bone and becomes most fierce.”
“Did he try to eat you?” asked Henry, winking at Sarah.
“Eat me?” roared Enrique. “I should say not, Sir Henry.”
“Okay, well, that means he likes you.” Henry untied Shep and affixed the leash to the dog’s red leather col ar. “He always eats his enemies. Right, Sarah?”
Sarah was wearing a dark green lightweight sweater and a long brown-and-gold print dress that caught the breeze when she walked. Henry was dressed in his usual jeans, but had decided to wear a cream-coloured silk shirt he’d bought at a nearby men’s store.
Since Sarah had brought only enough clothes for a week in cold weather and Henry had just his ice gear with plaid shirts and torn pants — hardly suitable for travel or warm weather — they had expended a fair amount of cash on a wardrobe. He normally hated to shop, but had found the experience delightful in Sarah’s company. In fact, everything they did together was fun because of her. She seemed to want to walk where he did, to stop and investigate the same things he was curious about. And, as good as they were in bed, their times just talking and being together were even better. Soon they didn’t fight it any more and accepted it when people took them for husband and wife.
In the limousine on the way to Santiago, Henry asked Enrique if he’d been keeping in touch with Frei.
“Absolutely, Sir Henry,” said the driver. “I am talking with his secretary this morning.”
“There you go, Sarah. If they want us they’ll know where to find us.”
Both Henry and Sarah had arranged to have cash from their American banks transferred to the hotel. Until it arrived, their credit cards were taking a hammering, while Henry was also using money given to him by the Chilean Government. He felt ill at ease about using it for personal items, but Sarah saw it as if he had simply hit the lottery or was receiving a form of workman’s compensation. She told him to have fun with it: hadn’t he earned it for taking a terrorist’s bullet? He didn’t argue, but felt there was something wrong with her logic. Still, to have refused the money might have been taken as an insult.
He had a fair amount of cash and securities at home, and the insurance money and his family inheritance had made him a millionaire and then some, but he didn’t broadcast his fortune. Primarily, he saw it all as ill- gotten gains. And he didn’t mention it to Sarah because he wanted her to choose him for himself, not for his money. He had decided to use only what he needed of Chile’s gift until he got his own cash, and to spread the rest as largesse around among the local citizenry. Money, after all, crosses language barriers and opens doors rather well.