Newman wanted to tell him that Lydia had demanded they marry anywhere but here. He wanted to tell the older man many things, but he held his tongue. He could understand his feelings of betrayal, and although he could not help him, he would not make it any more difficult than it already was.
“I will not accept your offer, Jorge. Lydia and I will marry this morning, and afterward we will leave here and remain away for as long as you wish.”
Vance-Ehrhardt stared at him a moment longer, then turned, stalked out, and slammed the door behind him.
For a time Newman remained still, listening to the sounds of the house and to the roar of yet another approaching aircraft, but then he turned away, took his cigarettes from the bureau, and lit one.
The wedding was scheduled for 11:00 A.M., and afterward there was to be a reception on the lawn beside the pool. Lydia had made him promise that they would remain only two hours, and then they would leave. It would be one more thing Vance-Ehrhardt would blame on him, but in the end it wouldn’t really matter.
They had been friends once. Now they had become fierce competitors, not only in business, but for the affection of Lydia, Vance-Ehrhardt’s only child.
A deep sorrow passed through Newman, because he knew that his marriage to Lydia would never work out. They were bound to fail. And if there were bad feelings all around now, they would worsen with time. And yet he could not help himself. Because he did love her.
5
The heat shimmered off the main east-west runway at Mexico City’s International Airport as the gigantic Aerolinear Argentinas 747 came ponderously in on its final approach. Newman glanced past Lydia, who was seated by the window, his earlier agitation finally subsiding. They had flown all night, and a thick early-morning haze covered the city so that he could not see the mountains, and he was glad that they would not be staying here, as they had originally planned. The city was too depressing. They had only two weeks, and he wanted to relax and enjoy himself.
He sat back away from the window, and Lydia reached over and kissed him on the cheek. “It wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be, was it?” she asked.
“Still, we should have stayed a little longer.”
“So what?” Lydia said disdainfully. “You and he would have gotten into an argument sooner or later. My mother would have cried. Pablo would probably have threatened you. And my uncles would have stormed out.” She tossed her right shoulder and glanced out the window as they crossed over the end of the runway. “We saved them all that grief.”
Newman reached for her hand, and she turned back to him. “No regrets?” he asked.
She started to laugh, but then she read the serious expression on his face. “No regrets, Kenneth,” she said softly. “But I’m frightened.”
It was a rare admission for her, and Newman wondered if she was merely toying with him. “Of what?” he asked, nevertheless.
“Of myself,” she said solemnly.
For several seconds they looked into each other’s eyes, but then the aircraft touched down with a lurch and a loud bark of its tires, breaking the mood. Lydia smiled.
“I really don’t know what married life is all about, yet. But as soon as I get you into our hotel room, I’ll see what I can do about that.”
“There’ll be a slight delay,” Newman said, and before she could say anything, he added, “I’ve got a little surprise for you.”
“Surprise? What kind of surprise?” Lydia bubbled.
“You’ll just have to wait and see.”
“What have you done?”
“Soon,” Newman said. “You’re Mrs. Newman now, not Lydia Vance-Ehrhardt.”
Lydia’s expression darkened for just an instant, and Newman felt certain she was going to flare, but then she settled back in her seat, a quiet smile on her lips. “Mrs. Kenneth Newman. Strange.”
They were slowing down now, and as they turned off the main runway onto the taxiway, the stewardess came down the aisle. She was smiling. Newman looked up.
“Mr. and Mrs. Newman, you will be the first off the aircraft. There is transportation awaiting your arrival.”
“Thank you.”
“I hope you enjoyed your flight.”
“Yes, thanks,” Newman said, “Our luggage will be taken care of?”
“Yes, sir, it will be sent on.”
“Sent on where?” Lydia asked sharply.
Newman glanced at her. “You’ll see.”
The stewardess went back up the aisle, and Newman watched her go. She was a plain girl, but she had a pleasant Spanish face and a warm smile. How different his life would have been, he thought, had he never met Jorge Vance-Ehrhardt. Had he never fallen in love with Lydia. How different, and how much less complicated.
Lydia squeezed his hand, and he turned back to her again. “Any regrets?” she asked.
“Lots,” he said. “But not because I married you.”
Lydia gazed down the aisle toward where their stewardess was talking with another. “You’re not sorry you didn’t marry someone less complicated?”
“Simple women bore me,” he said.
“I’ll never bore you.”
“I don’t think so.”
The aircraft lumbered up to the terminal and stopped, but before the loading tunnel was attached, the stewardess came back to them. “You may deplane now, your car is waiting. And may I offer my congratulations?”
“Thank you,” Newman said. He unbuckled his seat-belt, then got up, helping Lydia out of her seat. They went down the aisle, the other first-class passengers looking up curiously. Boarding stairs had been pushed up beneath the waiting tunnel at the front door, and the stewardess smiled at them again as they left the aircraft.
It was hot outside, and the air smelled strongly of burned jet fuel and automobile exhaust. Paul Saratt, Newman’s business assistant, was waiting at the bottom, a huge grin on his face.
“Welcome to Mexico City,” he said, as they came down the steps. “And congratulations.”
Newman shook his hand. “Thanks, Paul, but don’t say a thing to Lydia about our plans, she has no idea yet what’s going on.”
“May I offer my congratulations to you, Mrs. Newman,” Saratt said gallantly.
“Only if you tell me what’s happening here,” Lydia retorted testily.
“My lips are sealed,” Saratt said. He was a heavyset man of medium height, with white hair and a wide, pleasant face. He had worked with Newman for the past eight years and knew almost as much about the grain business as Newman himself, and certainly more about Newman’s actual holdings. They had become great friends, and Newman trusted him more than any other person on the face of the earth. It had hurt Saratt that he was not invited to the wedding, but he said he understood. Newman had the distinct impression, however, that Saratt did not entirely approve of Lydia.
He led them to a waiting Rolls and, when they were in the back seat, climbed in the front with the uniformed driver. They headed rapidly across the field, toward the private aviation hangars and terminal.
“Will someone tell me what’s going on here?” Lydia asked.
Saratt did not turn around, and Newman stared out the window, a silent grin on his face. Two weeks ago he had arranged all this with Saratt, and now he intended to play it to the hilt. As far as the Vance-Ehrhardt family knew, he and Lydia would be spending the next couple of days here in Mexico City, and then a week and a half at the family’s estate near Mazatlán, before returning to the States. Several weeks ago, however, he had been offered the use of a lovely villa overlooking the Mediterranean just above Monaco, and he had accepted. Very few people would know where they had gone, which was the way Newman wanted it. He knew he would have felt uncomfortable in a Vance-Ehrhardt house, with a Vance-Ehrhardt staff watching his every move and reporting back to Jorge.