Page 45 of Sweet Savage Love
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B eing Miguel Lopez’s official paramour was not really too bad after all, Ginny discovered as society began to return to Mexico City in throngs, in the wake of the emperor. The city returned to its old frantic gaiety, and she attended just as many balls and tertulias as she always had, with the difference that Miguel, and not the Comte d’Arlingen, was now her “protector”, and Miguel was not in the least jealous.
He took her to all the more important functions, and seemed as devoted and attentive as ever in public. In private, he made few serious demands on her, except to oblige him when he decided he wanted her—and as a lover he could be quite exciting, if a trifle perverted in his tastes. Ginny refused to let this upset her. After all, why should it? She had done almost everything, she had learned all the tricks of a whore—what difference did it make? At least, Miguel did not use force on her, and he was always impeccably clean. He made her feel, at such times, as if they were playing some kind of game; competing with each other as if they had been children. And they could be perfectly honest with each other, with no need for playacting.
Miguel Lopez enjoyed showing her off in public as his latest acquisition. It gave his rather jaded reputation a kind of cachet to have it known that he had stolen her from right under the nose of a French nobleman, and almost on the eve of their wedding, at that. If she had decided to take another lover, or more than one, he would merely have laughed and asked her for details. He had grown quite fond of her, he admitted, but he was hardly in love with her. After all he was married—and kept his wife safely tucked away in his small hacienda in the country, protected from the corruption of the city. And he had other women—he made no bones about it.
He made Ginny his confidante and related endless stories of his various conquests, his amours. Sometimes he even went so far as to ask her advice or help in some affair of the heart.
“Fancy, chica, ” he laughed, “you’re the first woman I’ve really been able to talk to quite frankly. You’ve made our little arrangement a pleasure.”
“But what about your side of the bargain?” she said quickly. “Haven’t you been able to find out anything yet?”
“Patience, querida, patience!” he cautioned her. “You know I’ve been working on it, but these are such uncertain times, and he appears to be an extremely difficult man to pin down.” He smiled lazily at her, playing with a lock of her hair. “Did you know that some Porfirista guerrilleros blew up that painfully constructed railroad they were building to Puebla? Yes—in spite of all the precautions we had taken, they sneaked through our armed soldiers like puffs of smoke—destroyed all those months of hard labor! And then disappeared quite safely, to make matters worse. On top of everything else, it’s really a bad business!”
She sat bolt upright. “What are you trying to say? Do you think that he was one of them?”
“Oh, I’ve no doubt he engineered the whole thing! Such multifaceted talent—such a resourceful man, isn’t he? I suppose I’ll have to send down to ask my dear aunt the condesa all about it—I’m sure he must have paid her a visit at the same time. Did I tell you how struck she was by him? I was quite bored, listening to her rattle on about his good looks, his magnificent physique, his—er—other qualifications.”
“Oh, damn you, Miguel, damn you! I do hate you when you’re in a cruel mood like this!” She beat at him furiously until he caught her wrists, still laughing, and held them over her head while he brought his face down.
“I think I have a way of making you forget how much you hate me,” he whispered, and after a while her furious struggling stopped. It was the kind of defeat he enjoyed inflicting on her, and she thought with a pang, how much Steve had enjoyed doing the same thing. Steve—Steve—she closed her eyes. That would be her revenge on Miguel!
In spite of the almost endless round of amusements that Mexico City provided, Ginny found the time dragging. Christmas came and went—the rain showered down and then the sun came back and baked them. She kept reminding Miguel about his promise until he pointed out that she was becoming a nag, and he was doing his best. All she had to sustain her was the thought that Steve was still alive—Miguel was able to tell her that much at least. And she had learned this much about Miguel, that he had his own peculiar sense of honor in spite of his deviousness and cynicism. If he took the trouble to give his word, he would keep it.
But Miguel too was preoccupied these days. The war was going very badly—that was all everyone could talk about, and Ginny sometimes thought she would go mad, listening to the endless discussions, the battles refought. What was the point? It was now one victory after another for the Juaristas, and Maximilian still vacillated dreamily while his generals talked of nothing but “ man?ana, ” when they would push the hated revolutionaries back to the sea, with or without the damned turncoat French.
It was now an established fact that the French were packing up to leave. The Emperor Louis Napoleon, preoccupied by the war with Prussia, had finally given in to the adamant demands by Secretary Seward of the United States. He promised to withdraw his troops, and made repeated requests, echoed by the Emperor of Austria, that Maximilian should give up this mad venture and return to Europe himself.
Maximilian, his pride pricked, listened instead to the urgings of his generals. He had adopted Mexico as his own country, he announced. He would never leave it. He could never desert his loyal Imperialist troops, nor abandon all those who had supported him to the not-too-tender mercies of the Juaristas. Stories of brutalities, of torture and mutilation of prisoners, of mass executions of defeated Imperialist troops by the Juaristas began to float around the city.
“They say it’s only in revenge for the Black Decrees, and for what the French did to them, but do two wrongs make a right?” Agnes du Salm sounded vehement. “That Juarez is a monster—did you know he is pure-blooded Indian? If he had been Spanish he might have been more honorable.”
“Were the French all honorable?” Ginny retorted, stung. “You forget, Agnes, I’ve been at the receiving end of some of their brutality.”
Her friend shot her a strange look. “I do keep forgetting that your husband is on the other side. And here you are, with Miguel of all people. Are you sure you two are not in contact with each other?”
Ginny stared at the other woman disbelievingly. “Are you accusing me of being a spy? Oh, really, Agnes, this is too much, even from you! If I knew where Steve was I’d be with him—I don’t care on what side!”
“Ginny, I’m sorry! I truly am—of course I didn’t mean anything—it’s just that this damned war has got on all our nerves! You’ll forgive me?”
Agnes threw her arms round Ginny and pressed her face against hers for a moment. “Darling,” she went on, “I understand how you must feel. And believe me, I do wish you luck—you deserve some good fortune.”
Ginny thought bitterly that fortune seemed to have deserted her entirely. Miguel was too busy with the war to pay her more than token attention—she attended theater parties and went to balls with escorts who couldn’t seem to wait to put their hands on her and whisper propositions in her ear.
Quite often, these escorts were American. Mexico City seemed to be thronged with them now. Businessmen, newspaper reporters, hard-faced mercenaries. The diplomats had all moved to Vera Cruz, for even Orizaba, as close as it was to Puebla, was now menaced by the steadily-growing, slowly advancing army of Porfirio Diaz.
The Juarista Generals Escobedo and Corona, winning victory after victory as whole provinces fell into their hands, continued to advance from the north and west. Acapulco fell—Taxco—even Cuernevaca, where the Emperor had his summer palace. More and more rich hacendados who had supported the Imperialist cause left Vera Cruz, the only port now belonging to the empire. Refugees choked all the roads leading to Vera Cruz, travelling in convoys and in fear of their lives, because now the guerrilleros were everywhere—their daring raids coming closer to the border of the City itself.
Where is Steve? The question plagued Ginny constantly. Is he with Diaz? Is he one of those guerrilleros everyone is so frightened of? What is going to happen?
Michel Remy, still bitter and unforgiving, had already left Mexico City and was on his way to France when, late in January the French made their last preparations to quit the city for good. They began to make their final march through Mexican territory, to the port of Vera Cruz, where their troopships already awaited them. And the emperor announced, smiling, that he was at last free. With his loyal generals, he would defend Mexico himself.
“The poor, deluded man!” Ginny exclaimed when she heard. “Loyal generals indeed—they’re all cutthroats, it’s only because they know what kind of reprisals they’re in for if the Juarists win that they remain so loyal!”
“So now you’re a little politician as well, eh?” Miguel teased.
He seemed in an exceptionally good mood that evening, in spite of all the bad news they had been receiving of late.
They were dressing for a tertulia at the house of some American friends, and he came up behind her to help fasten her dress. Ginny frowned slightly as she watched his face in the mirror.
“You’re up to something, Miguel! I can always tell, when you have that particularly innocent smile on your face. Are you going to let me into the secret now, or will I have to wait?”
“Ah, but you know me too well, I can’t keep anything from you!” He gave her a pat on the bottom as he finished fastening her gown, and continued a trifle obliquely, “So—the vultures continue to gather for the kill. Have you noticed how many new faces we see recently as the old ones fade away? Mexico City is no longer such a gay place to be, I’m afraid. Yes, in fact it’s a place we’re all better out of. I’ve even heard rumors that Max plans to go to Queretaro soon, to organize its defense.” His sarcastic smile flashed. “No doubt we’ll all go trailing after him there—his loyal friends—his last loyal friends! Except those of us who have more sense and leave for Vera Cruz instead, even if it does mean braving those overcrowded roads and the guerrilleros! ”
Something in the tone of his voice made her swing around to face him, her silk skirts swishing. Her eyes had gone very wide, almost pleading.
“Miguel! For God’s sake—tell me! You’ve heard something.”
“But how would I manage to glean any real information about one of our enemies? Don’t you think they’d be afraid I might betray their whereabouts? We still have an army of sorts, you know.” His voice suddenly became abrupt. “Don’t stand there staring at me as if I’ve destroyed all your hopes, chica. Cheer up. Tonight I intend introducing you to an American gentleman who most certainly knows where your husband can be found. A Mr. Bishop, who carries a newspaperman’s credentials from the Washington Star. Of course, I happen to be one of the few persons who knows that Mr. Bishop is in reality an agent of the United States—another one of the vultures, I’m afraid. But your Esteban used to work for him, and I’ve reason to believe they still keep in touch. I’ll perform the introduction, but you must do the rest, querida. For obvious reasons, I can’t afford to be mixed up in such a matter. Be bold—blackmail him if you have to—use your charm!”
He took her arm, while she still stood rigid, staring at him.
“Don’t you think it’s time we left? We’ll miss a magnificent supper if we’re late, and there’s a pretty young American actress who will be waiting for my arrival with a beating heart. Come along, Ginette.”
If Jim Bishop was surprised when he recognized the beautiful “Madame du Plessis” as Steve Morgan’s wife, he hid it well under his stiffly formal manner. Ginny, on the other hand, could not prevent her little gasp of shock when she recognized the same man who had given her away at her long-ago wedding.
Since Miguel had left them together after he’d made the introductions, Mr. Bishop had no choice but to offer Madame du Plessis his arm, and escort her in to supper. When she insisted, in a low voice, that she must speak to him in private, on a very urgent matter, he did no more than nod his head politely as he acceded. However he did look slightly shocked later, when she invited him to visit her apartment.
She gave a slightly hysterical laugh. “Mr. Bishop! I swear I don’t mean to seduce you. But really, it’s the most private place I can think of. The servants have the night off, and as you can see, Miguel has found—a friend to occupy his time with. I don’t expect him to visit me tonight. Won’t you trust me?”
He gave her a bluntly direct answer that surprised her. “I really don’t know, madame. But—” he gave a small shrug and a thin smile touched his lips for a moment “—you hardly leave me with an alternative, do you? Very well. And as a matter of fact, I should warn you that I have a few words for you, as well.”
She was so excited, so deathly sick with anticipation, that she could not eat, and she hardly knew what she said to anyone else for the rest of the evening. Miguel had gallantly left her his carriage, and when at last she thankfully emerged into the cold night air, Mr. Bishop himself took the reins while she gave him directions.
Ginny came directly to the point when they were comfortably settled in the small sala of her apartment. She offered the gentleman some champagne which he refused with a slight lift of his eyebrow, and then she leaned forward, fixing her eyes on his.
“Mr. Bishop, I want you to send me to join my husband. No,” she hurried on, noticing the slight contraction of his brows, “please don’t say anything yet—until I have explained. You see, I didn’t know, all these months, that he was alive—that he had been sent to prison. I thought he had been executed! And I didn’t betray him, you must believe that. It was a trick that Colonel Devereaux played on us both—making Steve believe that I had been the one to plan it all—making me believe that he would spare his life if I—” She bit her lip and looked away for a moment. “I suppose he did keep his word to me, in a way! But, oh God, if I’d only known!”
Bishop cleared his throat in an embarrassed fashion. “Really madam, I see no point in your—er—upsetting yourself in this manner! But as for sending you to your husband—that’s quite another matter! You must realize it is out of the question! In fact, I had intended to ask that you leave Mexico City immediately, for Vera Cruz. Although it’s very difficult, I think I can arrange a passage for you. Your father, the senator, is extremely concerned for your safety, as you can imagine. In fact, he has even talked to President Johnson about it. I have been instructed to see that you leave here as soon as possible, and I must remind you, madam, that it is now only a matter of months—perhaps even weeks, before President Juarez will be back in Mexico City to take up the reins of government. Your remaining here, with the risk of fighting imminent, is out of the question!”
“Mr. Bishop!” Ginny’s eyes flashed like green flame as she clenched her teeth together. “I will not be ordered to do thus or so, by anyone! Not my father, not even the President of the United States himself! I’ve become quite used to taking care of myself, and I’m capable of continuing to do so. I want to see my husband. I love him, can’t you understand that? I will not and cannot leave Mexico until I have at least spoken to him face to face, and settled matters between us. I can’t have him go on thinking that I was responsible for what they did to him! I must see him! And if you won’t help him then I’ll go looking for him myself—do you think I care so much what happens to me? It can’t be worse than what I’ve already had to endure.”
“Madam, I must insist.” Mr. Bishop’s voice, usually so colorless had sharpened with impatience, but Ginny, who didn’t really know him, ignored this symptom of his perturbation.
“It is I who must insist, Mr. Bishop! Steve Morgan is my husband, and I have a right to know where he is!”
“Very well, madam.” Pale gray eyes looked into hers as the quiet voice continued. “Mr. Morgan is a captain in General Porfirio Díaz’s army. But he also plays another role, with the full knowledge and cooperation of General Díaz himself. He has been on temporary assignment, at various times, with certain guerilla bands.” Bishop permitted himself a thin smile. “I’m sure Colonel Lopez was able to tell you that much, at least. In addition, since he is still, technically at least, an undercover agent of the United States, he also manages to keep in contact with me—or certain of our other representatives here. He is usually somewhere in the vicinity of Oaxaca province—sometimes even closer to the east—but I’m afraid that it is, well, almost impossible to keep track of his exact movements.”
“But you said he keeps in contact with you—how could you know where to reach him, then?”
“I said, madam, that he keeps in contact with me.” Bishop’s voice was dry. “It is he who makes all contacts. I merely arrange to have messages waiting, if I happen to have something important to communicate to him. And I should not even be telling you as much as I have. You are really a very disrupting influence, young woman!”
He watched, with disapproval, as she tilted her glass of champagne, draining it to give her courage.
“Mr. Bishop,” she said at last, “I do not intend to give up! Do I make myself clear? I will not go anywhere unless I go to my husband. And you can send me to him. I warn you—I can be thoroughly unscrupulous when I have to be. And I will see Steve again!”
“Am I to understand that you are threatening me, madam?”
Bishop’s impeccable poise slipped for an instant, and the shocked surprise was obvious in his tone.
“If you want to call it that—yes!” Ginny gave a careless shrug and looked directly into his eyes. “You see, Mr. Bishop—you will not be rid of me unless I can meet my husband, and talk to him. Just once is all I ask. And after that—if he does not want me—I’ll go to Vera Cruz or anywhere else you say, without making a fuss.”