The Sanchez Tradition

Ramon gave the woman behind his brother an apologetic smile, and said: ‘Good evening, Leonie. I’m sorry about all this.’

The woman called Leonie moved forward, a frown marring her perfect features. ‘But what is all this, Ramon?’ she enquired, in a husky voice. ‘I do not understand. André? Do you know this woman?’ She looked at Rachel with appraising eyes. ‘Is that why you are all acting like statues newly come to life?’

André Sanchez thrust his hands into the pockets of his dinner jacket and stepped to one side of her. ‘I am sorry, Leonie,’ he said, rather grimly. ‘It was not my intention to create this situation. However, as my brother has seen fit to acquaint himself once again with my wife, I must introduce you.’

‘Your wife!’ echoed Leonie, a trifle sceptically. ‘You cannot be serious, André!’

‘It’s not what you think, André!’ began Ramon protestingly, but Rachel was chilled once again by the look André turned in his brother’s direction.

‘Leonie, this is Rachel—my wife!’ he said bleakly, and Rachel wondered rather wildly whether she was expected to shake hands. But fortunately, Leonie made no such gesture and instead looked up at André appealingly.

‘But why is she here?’ she demanded. ‘You told me you had already contacted your solicitors!’

‘So I have,’ replied André, glancing in Rachel’s direction. ‘It may be that their instructions were not explicit enough.’

Rachel had had enough of this suddenly. The numbness she had felt when she first encountered André Sanchez’s icy blue gaze was beginning to wear off, and anger was rapidly taking its place. Everyone was acting as though she were a deaf-and-dumb spectator to their theatrical production. No one had seen fit to address a single word to her, and in addition André was acting as though her presence here was beneath contempt. He had not even had the decency to introduce her to the woman who was to be his wife. What right had he to treat her so diabolically? They were not divorced yet! The agony of it all was that when she looked at him she didn’t remember the bad times at all, only the good, and memories could tear her apart.

With a stifled exclamation, she brushed past all of them, making for the door, aware that she was destroying any chance she might have had of making André see reason for her father’s sake. All she wanted was escape; escape from the coldness of André’s eyes, escape from the compassion in Ramon’s, escape from the pitying disdain in Leonie’s.

But as she passed her husband, his hand shot out and caught her wrist in a cruel grasp, preventing her headlong flight, and bringing her closer to the bleakness of his face. ‘A moment, Rachel,’ he murmured harshly. ‘Do not imagine you can make a fool of me and get away with it a second time!’

Rachel glared at him, aware that she was fighting back stupid emotionalism as tears burned the back of her eyes. ‘Don’t touch me!’ she cried bitterly. ‘Let me get out of here!’

André shook his head slowly. ‘I think not. At least—not until I know how and why you are here, and what lies you have been telling my brother.’

Rachel’s hand stung across his cheek before he could prevent it, but he still did not release her wrist, tightening his grip so that she felt the blood drain away. She could not see Ramon’s expression, he was behind her, but the woman, Leonie, stared at her in disgust. ‘André darling—–’ she began, touching his arm appealingly, but André’s attention was centred, for the moment, on Rachel.

‘Still the same old Rachel!’ he snarled. ‘Did you enjoy doing that? Do you know how near I came to returning the compliment?’

Rachel trembled. ‘Oh, let me go! God, I was a fool to come here!’

‘I would agree with you there,’ he commented savagely. He looked across at Ramon. ‘You tell me! Why is she here?’

Rachel cast a compelling glance in Ramon’s direction, and although he opened his mouth to reply he closed it again, and merely shook his head.

André’s expression grew cynical. ‘Ah, I see. Already you have bewitched poor Ramon again. What did you promise him if he let you in here?’

Rachel struggled to free herself. ‘You are a brute!’ she exclaimed fiercely.

‘Why? Because I jump to obvious conclusions?’

‘They’re only obvious to you.’

‘Oh no. Not only to me.’ He released her abruptly, and she stood before him rubbing her wrist into which the blood flowed with painful intensity. ‘However, it seems apparent that this is neither the time nor the place to indulge in arguments of this kind.’ He rubbed the back of his hand down his cheek where the marks of her fingers could still be seen. ‘Ramon. Where is she staying?’

Ramon shrugged. ‘I don’t know. In all honesty, André, I don’t know.’

André looked at Rachel’s mutinous expression and then raised his dark eyebrows thoughtfully. ‘And of course you will not tell us,’ he remarked bleakly.

Rachel took a deep breath. ‘Why not? I’ve got nothing to hide. Besides, I know you well enough to realise that if I refuse to tell you you have only to make half a dozen phone calls to find out.’ She smoothed her hair behind her ears. ‘I’m staying at the Empress Hotel. It’s in one of those small streets behind Bay Street.’

André’s eyes darkened. ‘I know it. It’s little more than a pension! And it has a doubtful reputation. Why in hell are you staying there? Why aren’t you at one of the decent hotels, or a beach club? As my wife, you would be entitled—–’

Rachel glared at him. ‘But I’m not here as your wife! My name is Jardin—Miss Jardin!’

André’s expression was grim. ‘Nevertheless, you are still my wife, Rachel, and until you are not—–’

‘Don’t you threaten me, André!’ she exclaimed furiously. ‘What I do is my affair, and mine only. Or do you want to make it otherwise, with your—your—girl-friend looking on!’ Her deliberate attempt to antagonise him succeeded, and she stepped back from the burning anger in his eyes.

Controlling himself, he turned to Ramon. ‘We have to go, Ramon. Leonie’s parents are expecting us. I wanted to discuss the new extension, but that can wait until tomorrow.’

‘Yes, André,’ Ramon nodded.

‘That’s all, then.’ André took Leonie’s elbow in his fingers. Then he glanced back at Rachel. ‘Oh, and Ramon! See that—my wife—gets back to her hotel, will you?’

‘Of course.’ Ramon nodded again.

‘Good.’ André turned to go, and Rachel turned away, willing him to go quickly. She couldn’t maintain this mask of indifference much longer, but she refused to make a fool of herself in front of him or his proposed fiancée. Ramon walked with them to the outer door, and she heard the rumble of male voices as André’s bodyguard joined them. He went nowhere without an escort, and Rachel felt that chilling feeling envelop her again. The doors closed, and Ramon came back into the room, closing the inner door behind him. Then and only then did Rachel’s composure desert her, and she sank down weakly on to the chair she had previously occupied and buried her face in her hands.

Ramon came to her side, sinking down on to his knees beside her chair and forcing her fingers away from tear-wet eyes. ‘Hey,’ he said softly, ‘what is all this?’

Rachel brushed the tears away with a hasty finger. ‘Nothing,’ she denied miserably. ‘It was just—well—everything!’

Ramon frowned. ‘You could hardly expect André to feel kindly disposed towards you,’ he said reasonably. ‘Naturally he was cruel. You were pretty cruel to him yourself.’

‘I know, I know. Oh, Ramon, my journey here—–’ She lifted her shoulders hopelessly. ‘It’s all been for nothing. I couldn’t ask him for anything now.’

‘And what did you come to ask him?’

She shook her head. ‘I’d rather not discuss it,’ she said quietly.

Ramon gave her a regretful smile, and rose to his feet. ‘So what will you do now?’

‘Go back to England,’ she replied, rising too.

Ramon studied her green eyes which still glinted with unshed tears. ‘Tell me something,’ he said softly. ‘Was it money?’

Rachel coloured. ‘I’d like to leave now,’ she said, evading a reply. ‘I—I can easily get a cab. Th-thank you, Ramon, for everything.’

Ramon shook his head. ‘You’ll get no cabs here,’ he remarked sardonically. ‘This isn’t the West End of London, you know. Come, my car is outside. I will take you back to your hotel. After all, that is what André instructed me to do.’

Rachel hadn’t the heart to refuse. Instead, she accepted his offer passively, and after he had made the necessary arrangements with his manager, she accompanied him out of the side door on to the car-park. They were immediately joined by a tall, broad man who looked rather like a wrestler in city clothes, and Rachel glanced at Ramon in wonder.

‘You, too,’ she murmured incredulously.

Ramon shrugged defensively. ‘You can’t be too careful at night,’ he remarked smoothly. ‘Henry doesn’t intrude. But when he’s around, nor does anyone else!’

Rachel glanced again at the huge black man who walked just behind them. ‘But why?’ she exclaimed. ‘Why?’

Ramon halted beside a low-slung white limousine, and inserted his key in the lock. Swinging open the passenger door, he helped Rachel inside. Then he walked round and slid in beside her, behind the wheel. Henry climbed into the back, levering his bulk on to the softly padded seats almost silently. Rachel looked at Ramon, waiting for his answer, and with a gesture he said:

‘As the owner of the casino at Pointe St. Auguste, I have many enemies.’ He swung the limousine round in an arc and allowed it to run smoothly down the ramp on to the road. ‘All my clients can’t be winners!’

‘But that’s ridiculous!’ gasped Rachel, staring at him. ‘Oh, Ramon, I thought you were free of this cage that surrounds the Sanchez family, but you’re not—you’re not!’

Ramon glanced her way. ‘Don’t we all have cages, of one kind or another?’ he queried gently. ‘Do you think you are freer now, living the life you have chosen?’

Rachel did not immediately reply, but looked out on the beauty of the night. She could inhale a thousand perfumes at a breath of the many flowering shrubs and trees, and in the car’s headlights the brilliance of poinciana and hibiscus, growing in profusion by the roadside, excited the senses. There was a magic about the place, she had to admit, and in honesty the thought of returning to London wrapped in the drabness of January was not appealing. But freedom was a mental as well as a physical thing, and while money could buy many things, it could not buy happiness, this she had discovered. For money had seemed to create all the problems in her life.

Now she said: ‘No one is ever completely free. But freedom comprises many things, and bars need not be tangible things. Some people make bars where no bars exist.’

Ramon sighed. ‘I guess you’re talking about André.’

‘I guess I am.’

‘He only wanted what was best for you.’

‘You think so?’ Rachel’s voice was impassioned suddenly. ‘He took me—he moulded me—he controlled me! All he wanted was a puppet on a string!’

‘He made you unhappy?’

‘Yes! Yes!’ Rachel was adamant.

‘But you loved him.’ He frowned. ‘At least—so you said.’

‘I did!’ Rachel bit her lip until she tasted blood in her mouth. ‘Of course I loved him. But then I discovered that the man I loved bore no resemblance to the man I married!’

‘You’re talking in riddles.’ Ramon sounded impatient.

‘No, I’m not. Once we were married—once André took me to Conchera, I was expected to fall in with his every wish!’ She gave a deep sigh. ‘I wasn’t even allowed to go out alone!’

‘You were André Sanchez’s wife. You were vulnerable,’ intoned Ramon, and Rachel thought he sounded a little like André used to sound.

‘How was I vulnerable?’ she snapped. ‘No one troubled me! No one knew me! Why couldn’t I act like any other tourist in Nassau?’

Ramon swung the wheel through his fingers. ‘We are at impasse,’ he commented, controlling any annoyance he might have felt at her avowals of injustice. ‘You cannot see my way—André’s way—and I cannot see yours.’

‘You used to be able to.’

‘I was much younger then. I think I have matured now, Rachel!’

‘And I have not?’ she asked chokingly.

‘Maybe so,’ he agreed quietly, and Rachel turned and stared out of the car’s windows. Thereafter they did not speak, and not until they reached her hotel did Ramon break the uneasy silence which had fallen.

Then he said: ‘You know, Rachel, that I would do anything to make you smile again. My feelings for you were always transparent. They have not changed.’

The car was still and he turned towards her, his arm along the back of the seat. He seemed totally unaware of his man in the back seat, but Rachel was not, and she could not relax as she would have done had they been alone. Instead, she said: ‘You’re very kind, Ramon. If it is any consolation, you’ve made me feel a little better.’

Ramon touched the softness of her hair with a lazy hand. ‘You’re a very beautiful woman, Rachel,’ he murmured, ‘as I said before. If André does divorce you, will you marry again?’

Rachel bent her head. ‘That’s a little difficult to say,’ she prevaricated.

Ramon straightened, and swung round in his seat. ‘Yes, it is,’ he agreed. ‘I’m sorry. Goodnight, Rachel.’

‘Goodnight, Ramon.’

Rachel slid out of the car, appreciating its length and luxury. It had attracted quite a crowd of sightseers in a street like this, and she hastened inside before anyone should attempt to prevent her. She heard the limousine glide away, and her shoulders sagged. Was that all there was to be? Was that what she had come here for? Was her defeat so complete? She shook her head wearily, and climbed the stairs to her room. Outside, the town of Nassau was still alive and full of noise and excitement, but in her room, that small cubicle whose only claim to air-conditioning was provided by the slowly revolving fan in the ceiling, she sought the bleakness of her lonely bed and a sleeping tablet to dispel the memories that persisted in haunting her tired brain. Tonight, even the narcotic powers of the drug gave her no relief from the tortuous train of her thoughts, and she lay on her back staring at the night sky through the casement wondering whether there was some point in her life where everything started to go so wrong.

She considered her father, back home in London, waiting for news from her that his immediate problems were over. Was he managing adequately without her? Was he eating? And more importantly, had he found that bottle she had hidden so carefully in the bathroom cabinet?

She rolled on to her stomach, refusing to give way yet again to the self-pitying tears that threatened continually. Feeling sorry for herself would solve nothing and would merely make her eyes conspicuously puffy in the morning. The management of this small hotel were curious enough about her as it was without providing them with further room for gossip. Not that it mattered now, of course. This was probably her last night in Nassau.

The sky was ablaze with stars, and somewhere on New Providence or one of the outlying islands André Sanchez was sleeping. Was she in his thoughts as he was in hers? She doubted it very much. She was alone, but the chances that he was alone also were extremely limited. That woman, Leonie, she was not the type to withhold her favours, and André was a man with strong, passionate emotions, Rachel knew that so well from experience. And why was it that after all that had happened, all the hateful things he had done, all she could remember was the lean strength of his body and the demanding pressure of his mouth?

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