A Dangerous Game [130-066-4.9]

By: LUCINDA CARRINGTON

Synopsis:

"I can handle Nicolas," said Jacey.

"That's what plenty of other women have said," Carmen warned her.

Maybe they have, Jacey thought.  But I have an advantage over them.  In
their case Nicolas Shiemann was using them.  In my case, I'm using
him.

I'll use his knowledge, and his body.  And I'm going to enjoy every
minute of it!

Doctor Jacey Muldaire knows what she wants from the men in her life: 
good sex and no strings.  And it looks like she's going to get plenty
of it while working in an elite private hospital in South America.

However, Jacey is not all she pretends to be.  A woman of many guises,
her first loyalty lies with British Intelligence.  And her femme fatale
persona gives her access to places that other spies can't get to.

The men she's got her eye on, dictators and charismatic rebel
leaders, do not know that while playing along with their sexual
games, she's forcing them to play hers.  Every day is full of risk and
adventure, and everyone is playing a dangerous game.  


By the best-selling author of The 90 Days of Genevive,

THE PUBLISHERS RECOMMEND THAT THIS BOOK SHOULD BE SOLD TO ADULTS ONLY

Cover design: Staffer-Anderson Cover photograph: Steve Diet Goedde
Black Lace is an imprint of Virgin Publishing Ltd.

ISBN 0-352-33432-0

Adult fiction

A Dangerous Game

Jacey surveyed her reflection in the mirror.  You look like a tart, she
thought, amused at her image.  She knew this was exactly what Nicolas
wanted.  In this game he wanted a woman who would do as she was told.

I'll act the part for him, she thought.  She smiled.  There was
something Nicolas did not suspect.  She was playing games too with him.
But her game was no fantasy and in it she was the one in control.

By the same author:

THE NINETY DAYS OF GENEVIEVE.

A DANGEROUS LADY.

THE MASTER OF SHILDEN.

A Dangerous Game

LUCINDA CARRINGTON

Black Lace novels are sexual fantasies.  In real life, make sure you
practise safe sex.

First published in 1999 by Black Lace Thames Wharf Studios, Rainville
Road, London W6 9HA Copyright Lucinda Carrington 1999 Reprinted 1999

The right of Lucinda Carrington to be identified as the Author of this
Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs
and Patents Act 1998

Typeset by Set Systems Ltd, Saffron Walden, Essex Printed and bound by
Mackays of Chatham plc

ISBN 0 352 33432 0

All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance
to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of
trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated
without the publisher's prior written consent in any form of binding or
cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar
condition including this condition being imposed in the subsequent
purchaser.

Chapter One.

Jacey Muldaire could see Anton lying on the bed, a sheet twisted
loosely round his knees.  His cock was limp now, but still an
impressive size.  It gave her a thrill of pleasure to look at him,
half-naked, and asleep.  He was always sleepy after making love.

She sighed, knotted the sash of her black silk kimono, and switched on
the kettle.  Anton O'Rhiann, she thought.  French mother, Irish
father;

an explosively gorgeous combination.  A body like an athlete and dark
eyes that could melt steel.  Most of the nurses were drooling over him,
envying anyone who was able to get close to him, and certainly envying
her.  And I didn't even try to hook him, she remembered.  If he hadn't
questioned me when we were doing the ward rounds, I probably wouldn't
have even noticed him.  Then she smiled.  Well, maybe that's not quite
true, she thought.  I would have noticed him, but I wouldn't have
encouraged him.  He did all the chasing.  And I did warn him.  I told
him I wasn't into permanent relationships.  He didn't believe me then,
and he doesn't believe me now.  Neither does anyone else.  They can't
see why I don't grab him with both hands while I've got the chance.

The water boiled and the kettle switched off.  She took two red mugs
from the cupboard and glanced through the open door again.  Anton
shifted lazily, turning on his side, displaying his neatly rounded
buttocks.  He's attractive in bed, and out, she admitted to herself.

He always gives me an orgasm.  And if we run out of small talk we can
always discuss work!

She knew that gossip at the hospital had already decided they were a
perfect couple.  The nurses were probably taking bets on when she would
announce her engagement, and Anton's friends were deciding what kind of
embarrassing tricks to play on him on his stag night.  They don't
understand, she thought.  And Anton doesn't understand either.  She
knew that he was hurt by her constant refusal to consider any kind of
permanent relationship.  He felt it was an insult to him.

"You can carry on working," he had often told her.

"I'm not suggesting you give up your career, for God's sake.  In fact,
I'm proud of you, Dr.  Muldaire!  Beauty and brains; it's a very sexy
combination."

He often told her she was beautiful.  She glanced at him again.  His
eyes were closed and his breathing was steady.  He had been on duty
before coming to see her.  It seemed a shame to wake him when he was so
tired, just to give him a mug of coffee.  She left the mugs on the
table and walked over to her full-length mirror.  Beauty and brains?

Well, I made it through university without too much trouble, she mused.
But beauty?  She had never considered herself beautiful.  She liked the
deep burnished red of her hair, a colour you could never find from a
hair-dye, but although she knew she had good cheekbones, she thought
her face too square and her lips too full to be described as
beautiful.

Striking perhaps, she conceded.  She had a dancer's legs, long and
slim, and a dancer's supple grace.  Her breasts were OK; not huge, but
at least visible.  She had never liked her bottom, and she thought her
hips were too narrow.  It was then that she heard a soft wolf-whistle
behind her and turned.  Anton was sitting up in bed.

"I thought you were asleep," she said.

"All good doctors sleep with one eye open," he said.  He grinned.

"Stop posing.  You know you're gorgeous."

"I'm not."  She twisted to look over her shoulder.

"My bottom's too small, and it looks like a man's."

Anton laughed.

"No one's ever going to mistake you for a man."

"I played Romeo in a school play," she said.

"I was very convincing.  I got good reviews."

"And how old were you?"  he scoffed.  Twelve?  Thirteen?  Flat-chested
and spotty?  You wouldn't fool anyone now.  You're all woman."  He
patted the bed.

"Lie down and enjoy it."

She gave a theatrical gasp of surprise.

"Already?  Your powers of recovery are remarkable, sir."

"With you to inspire me I could be a six-times-a-night man."  He
glanced down at his now semi-erect cock.

"See?  Just thinking about you is making me hard.  Come and use that
lovely mouth on me and inspire me a little bit more."

She shook her head and backed away.

"No.  I'm going to make coffee."

When she reached the kitchen she glanced back and saw that Anton had
stretched out on the bed again, his eyes closed.  She smiled and went
into the living room, where most of Anton's clothes were scattered.

She picked up his denims and tugged them on, surprised to find that
they were quite a good fit.  His soft, leather bomber jacket was too
large but it disguised her breasts.  She dragged her hair back as
severely as she could and pushed the pony tail under the jacket collar.
Then she found an old baseball cap which someone had given her one day
when it was raining.  She pulled it on, walked back into the bed room
and shook Anton roughly.

"Wake up, big boy," she growled.

"Fancy some action?"

She saw the bemused expression on his face as he opened his eyes.  It
was momentary but it satisfied her.

"Fooled you!"  She pirouetted in front of him.

"And I wasn't really trying.  Think how much better I'd look in a man's
suit."

He grinned lazily.

"I've seen pictures of Marlene Dietrich in a suit.

She looked very sexy.  But she didn't look remotely like a man.  And
you wouldn't, either."

Jacey struck a camp pose, one hand on her hip.

"Well, handsome, d'you want me or not?"

He caught her wrist and pulled her down on the bed.

"I don't know," he said.

"I'll have to inspect what you're offering."  He deftly unzipped the
jeans and slipped his hand inside to discover that she wasn't wearing
panties, and that she was wet and aroused.  His fingers explored her.

"Well now, young man," he murmured.

"Something seems to be missing here."

"There's nothing missing," she teased back.

"Every thing's there.  It's just a question of size."

He captured her clitoris and tugged it gently.

"You mean you think you can satisfy me with this?"

She leant back on the bed and opened the leather bomber jacket.  Her
nipples were already erect and the cool air tightened them even more.

She knew he enjoyed seeing them like that, small and hard.

"Oh yes, I can satisfy you," she promised.

His eyes took her in admiringly.

"That's cheating," he said.

"And if you were a young man I'd be interested in your arse, not your
chest.

Turn over."

She turned lazily, and felt him pull the jeans down to her knees.

"You'd be the butch one, would you?"  she murmured.

"Well, we've just established that you haven't got what it takes," he
agreed.  He straddled her suddenly, pinning her down.

"But I have."  She felt the warmth and weight of his body and the
growing strength of his erection against her buttocks.

"I could take you as if you were a boy," he whispered, close to her
ear.

"Would you like that?"

The suggestion excited her.  She had never tried sex that way before.

She could feel his body trembling in anticipation; the idea obviously
also appealed to him.  She found that surprising.  They had discussed
some mild sexual fantasies before, and played out some of them Anton's
included watching her doing a strip tease, and oral sex in unusual
places, including the storeroom at the hospital but he had never
mentioned this one.

He dragged the jeans off completely and she pretended to resist him,
laughing, struggling and kicking She knew she could have escaped from
him quite easily; in fact, she guessed, he would probably have been
shocked at how easily.  But now she let him push her down roughly, his
hand on her back.

"Behave yourself," he growled.

"Or you'll get a spanking first, and then a fucking!"

She was startled at this unexpected piece of play acting, and by her
own hot rush of excitement at the aggressive way he was treating her.

The fantasy of being at his mercy was highly stimulating.  She would
love it if he indulged in a little erotic spanking.  No man had ever
spanked her before.

But instead he turned her on to her stomach, man handled her into
position, and pulled her legs open even wider.  She felt the end of his
cock probing her anus.  She was not sure if she would like this new
experience but she was aroused enough by now to want to try it, and to
try it there and then!  She wanted to feel him push his way inside her.
She wanted to feel him come, even if she didn't have her own pleasure.
She knew he would satisfy her afterwards with his mouth or his hands.
But having started his unorthodox advance, Anton hesitated.  He still
clasped her tightly, holding her captive, but he seemed reluctant to
penetrate her.  Hoping to tempt him into behaving in a more forceful
manner, she pretended to struggle again.

She realised, too late, that it was a mistake.  He pulled back at
once.

"Don't worry," he murmured, close to her ear.

"I won't hurt you.  I wouldn't do anything you didn't like."

"Don't be stupid!"  she muttered, angry now.

"Fuck me!"  She reached backwards and gripped his cock.  She heard him
groan as she tightened her hand around it and tugged.

"Put this thing in me.  Do it now!"

"All right."  She could hear the excitement rising in his voice now.

"You want it!  You can have it!"

His cock slid out of her grasp and nudged between her legs.  She was
already very wet, and he slid vigorously against her, anointing himself
with her musky secretions.  He probed again, searching for her
entrance, then, just as he was about to plunge into her, quickly
withdrew.

"I'm sorry," he muttered.

"It'll hurt you.  I can't -' He rolled away from her on to his side,
with his back to her.  She knew he wouldn't go on now, and didn't
bother to try and encourage him.  She also knew that he was embarrassed
at his behaviour.  She reached out and touched his shoulder.

"It's OK," she said softly.

"I shouldn't have started this," he began.

"I wanted it.  Truly."

"Perhaps another time," he mumbled.

But she knew it was a cover-up.  He would not try anything unorthodox
again.  Mr.  Nice Guy, she thought ruefully.  What a pity I'm not your
Mrs.  Nice Girl.  He shifted on to his back, and she realised that he
had lost his erection.  Reaching down, she caught hold of his cock.

"Bet you I can make you come in two minutes flat?"  she challenged.

He smiled rather wanly.

"Do you really want to?"

"Oh, Anton," she said briskly, "stop trying to turn me into a bloody
martyr.  It's not my style."  She twisted round on the bed, and moved
her lips over him, licking him lightly with the tip of her tongue.

"Two minutes," she said.

"Time me."

"I can't see the clock," he said.

"Tough," she said.

"You'll have to trust me."

She enclosed the tip of his cock in her mouth, and felt him push
upwards.  Moving with him, grasping him lightly with her teeth and
letting them scrape over his sensitive skin in a way she knew he
enjoyed, she brought him to the edge of orgasm much quicker than she
expected.  Anton never came in her mouth.  He pulled away from her and
held himself as the spasms of orgasm shook him.  Then Jacey heard a
contented sigh.

"I won," she said.

"I believe you," he said.

"What do I do?  Pay a forfeit?"

"Buy me a meal maybe?"  she suggested.

He propped himself up on one arm.

"I was going to."

She swung her feet off the bed.

"You fibber.  When?"

"Next week."  She stood up and walked away from the bed, taking off his
leather jacket as she went.

"Where are you going now?"  he asked.

"To make coffee," she said.

"I can make coffee too, you know.  How come you never let me?"

"I've tasted it," she said.

"My coffee isn't that bad."

"You coffee is appalling."

He grinned.

"Actually, my mother would agree."  He paused.

"I'm sure you'll get on well with her."

She stopped and turned.  She had an idea where this was leading.

"Anton, I haven't time to take a holiday in France."

"You don't need to be said.

"Mother's coming over here."  She stared at him blankly.

"You'd forgotten," he accused.

"I told you, mother is coming over for my birthday.  My sister's coming
down from Leeds.  We're all going for a celebration, a slap-up meal.
You too."

She had forgotten.  His birthday, she thought, I forgot about his
birthday.  How could I?  Easily, she realised.  I often forget my own,
but I can hardly tell him that.

"You'll see what a nice family I have," he teased her.

"And they'll see what a nice girlfriend I have.  I've told them so much
about you."

She wondered if her expression betrayed her feelings The last thing she
wanted was a family reunion with Anton's mother.

"I'm not your girlfriend," she said.

His expression changed.

"Then what are you?  We've been together for eight months.  Doesn't
that mean anything to you?"

"It doesn't mean I'm your property," she snapped, more sharply than she
intended.

"Oh, for God's sake!  Whoever said it did?"  His uncharacteristic flash
of temper disappeared as suddenly as it had come.

"Marriage wouldn't make you my property either.  It'd make you my
partner."

"I told you when we started this," she said.

"I'm not the marrying kind."

He relaxed back on the bed again, smiling.

"So you keep saying.  But wait until you meet my mother.

You'll love her.  And she's determined to have you as a
daughter-in-law."

I don't need this, Jacey thought, I really don't need this.  How can I
get out of it?"

As if on cue, the phone rang.  And when she picked it up she knew that
she might have found her answer.

Major Fairhaven was exactly as Jacey remembered him.  The immaculate
hair, the immaculate suit, the little enamel badge in his buttonhole
that discreetly announced he had been in the Royal Marines.  She could
never imagine him as a marine.  But then, she thought, I can't really
imagine him as a young man.  I can't imagine him as anywhere else
except sitting in this boring office, with its cream walls, government
issue furniture and framed print of the Queen on the wall.

The major smiled at her across his desk.

"Good of you to come, Dr.  Muldaire."  He paused.

"Actually, I wasn't sure you would."

She shrugged.

"I'm curious.  Why me?  It's two years since I worked for you.  And I
seem to remember telling you when I left that I wanted to make a new
life for myself.  A quiet life so that I could pursue my profession."

"You did," he agreed.

"And I respected your choice."  He leaned back, linked his fingers
together and looked at her benignly.

"Are you enjoying yourself as an over-worked and underpaid factotum in
the Midland General?"

"I get job satisfaction," she said.

"I'm sure you do."  Another pause.

"Dr.  Anton O'Rhiann is a good-looking young fellow, I'm told.  And a
combination of Irishman and Frenchman must make for some interesting
evenings."

She knew Major Fairhaven far too well to be angry.  Instead she
laughed.

"I'm not impressed.  Any junior nurse could have told you that much.
Just tell me why you called me, after all this time."

He leaned back in his chair.

"Ever heard of Techtatuan?

"No."

"Not many people have," he admitted.

"It's in Guachtal, in central South America."  He handed her several
sheets of paper.

"Read this."

She read fast, then looked up.

"Lots of rain forest, a few villages, and one major town.  The original
native people are of Inca descent, the ruling classes are Spanish,
descended from the Conquistadors.  They field a good polo team, host
the occasional second-rate film festival, and probably throw lavish
parties and get riotously drunk on the local vino."  She scanned the
second page.

"And the economy is crooked.  Well, that is a surprise.  Nazi gold
deposited when the SS generals began to lose faith in the Thousand Year
Reich, some money-laundering and a nice line in business addresses for
tax evaders."  She looked up at the major.

"And no free elections, of course.  So who's the boss in Guachtal?"

The major slid a photograph across his desk.  Jacey saw a tubby man
wearing a bemedalled uniform and a broad smile.  He was holding both
arms in the air in a victory salute, and was flanked by armed
soldiers.

"That's Generalissimo Hernandez," the major said.  He smiled briefly.

"With his bodyguard."

"A bully boy?"  Jacey guessed.

"Surprisingly enough," Fairhaven said, "Hernandez is quite popular.  He
has a good military record and the army is solidly behind him.  Some of
those medals are genuine too, although they were won when he was a
young man.  I gather he was the kind of soldier who was too stupid to
recognise danger when it was staring him in the face.  But the fact
remains, he won the gongs, and lots of people think he's some kind of
war hero."

"And a financial genius too?"  Jacey was sceptical.

"No."  The major grinned faintly.

"But this gentleman is."  He tapped the photograph again and Jacey
noticed the group of civilians behind Hernandez.

"Senor Nicolas Schlemann.  A very clever fellow.  He's quite happy to
let Hernandez parade around in front of the crowds, but he controls the
purse-strings, and that makes him the real power behind the throne."

The civilian faces were out of focus.  Nicolas Schlemann looked like a
blurred shadow.  Jacey could make out dark hair and a dark suit but
that was all.

"A German?"  she asked.

"German father," Major Fairhaven said.

"Spanish mother.  His father arrived in Guachtal in 1945, and by the
early 1960s he'd doubled the illegal fortune he brought with him.
Nicolas has probably trebled it since."

Jacey glanced at the anonymous face again.  How old would this man
be?

Thirty?  Thirty-five?  You couldn't tell from that smudgy,
black-and-white image.  A crooked wheeler-dealer who kept a smalltime
dictator in power.  She didn't think she would like Senor Nicolas
Schlemann.

"And he knows how to spend as well as save," Fairhaven added.

"Wine, women and song?"  she asked.  Her voice was cool.

"Women, women and women," the major asserted.

A dissolute WOMANISER, too?  Nicolas Schlemann went even further down
in her estimation.  She pushed the photograph back towards the major.

She was beginning to understand why he had called her.  But do I want
this?  she asked herself.  I need to get away but is this the answer?

"When I worked for you I was part of a team," she said.

"We trusted each other.  This would be different.  I don't think' "Wait
a minute," Major Fairhaven interrupted gently.

"This isn't anything like last time."  He smiled at her.

"The hospital at Techtatuan needs a doctor, preferably one who speaks
Spanish and English.  It's all above board.  You can even use your own
name."  His smile was warmer now.

"They call it La Primavera because it was built in the spring, and it's
supposed to be symbolic of new growth, a new beginning.  It's a
beautiful place, so I'm told, and I don't think your duties would be
too arduous.  You'd have plenty of time to enjoy yourself and to
socialise."

"Oh, come on," she said, with undisguised sarcasm.

"You're beginning to sound like a tour operator.  If you're not
planning to remove the crooks who've running Guachtal, why do you want
me to go out there?"

"At the moment we need a barometer," Major Fairhaven said.

"One that we can trust.  We want you to talk to people.  Listen to the
gossip.  And then send us the occasional, er, weather report, so to
speak."

She smiled.

"Now you're making sense.  You're expecting storms in Guachtal?"

"Let's just say we want to know which way the winds will be blowing in
the near future," the major said.

"South America is opening up.

They're cutting roads through the jungle right now.  Guachtal's main
resource is the rain forest.  They haven't done much with it yet but
that could change quite soon."

"They could start destroying it, you mean?"  Jacey said.

The major smiled.

"You're not turning eco-warrior on me, are you?"

"It seems a shame to destroy something irreplaceable."

The major shrugged.

"If your country was in debt, and the people starving, you might not
feel so sentimental about a few trees.  But that's also what we want
you to find out.  How do the people of Guachtal see their future?"  He
linked his fingers and leant forward.

"Or to put it more accurately, how does Hernandez and his clever friend
Schlemann see it?  It would give us a chance to make our own plans." He
smiled.

"An occasional report, that's all we need."

"And if I say yes," she said, 'what about my job at the hospital?  I
can't just walk out."

"If you say yes," the major said, 'we'll organise a replacement for
you, don't worry."

She gave him a long, hard stare.

"I bet you've got someone lined up already."

The major laughed.

"It's a nice assignment," he said.

"More like a holiday."

"When do you want my decision?"

He shrugged, still smiling.

"Go home and think about it.  Let me know by the end of the week."

After Jacey had left.  Major Fairhaven picked up the phone and dialled
an internal number.  He listened for a moment and then said
pleasantly:

"Oh, she'll go.  Yes, I'm sure of it."  He paused, listening again.

"Oh no, nothing they do in Techtatuan could shock Dr.  Muldaire.  She's
a very liberated lady.  And the perfect choice for this assignment.  Of
course, she doesn't realise exactly how perfect she is."

On the plane Jacey felt ashamed that she had been such a coward.  She
had posted a letter to Anton, telling him that she hated tearful
goodbyes.  By the time he read the letter she would be on the way to a
new job in South America.  She reminded him that she had never been
interested in marriage although she knew he was and that her decision
to leave England would prevent them from reaching the inevitable
painful break-up.  Hopefully he would remember her with affection and
not bitterness.  She left out details of her new address.

When she arrived at Techtatuan there was a modern car waiting for her
at the tiny airport.  The driver looked as if he would have been too
young to hold a licence in England.

"Dr.  Muldaire?  I am called Paulo.  I have been instructed to take you
to the hospital."  His smile was friendly and his darkly tanned face
looked as if it had been carved from smoothly polished wood.  It was an
unusual face, she thought, and rather beautiful.  His Spanish had a
distinct accent that she realised must be typical of the indigenous
population.

"Don't worry," he added solemnly, as he helped her load her bags into
the boot.

"I am a very safe driver."

She discovered that this was true, although there was very little
competition on the roads.  Most of the other mechanised vehicles were
old, rickety-looking trade vans.  She was surprised by how bright and
clean the town looked.  The buildings were white walled, with vibrant
splashes of colour coming from window boxes and gardens.  Paulo turned
to her and started to make conversation.

"This is a pleasant town.

You'll be happy here."

"Were you born here?"  Jacey asked.

"No, I was born in the village of Mata.  My family has lived there for
generations."  He paused.

"Long before the Spanish came."

"So why did you leave?"  she asked, guessing the answer.

"There's no work in Mata," he said.

"The villages are dying."

"Doesn't the government help?"  she asked.

"The government does not help Indians."  She noted the bitterness in
his voice.

"I came to Techtatuan to earn money for my family."

"And you've been successful?"  she guessed.

He shrugged.

"I have adapted.  I lea mt to read and write, and to drive a car.  I
don't mind speaking Spanish, or using a Spanish name."  She heard his
voice change.

"But I have not forgotten my heritage.  I will never do that."

The car cruised down an avenue of trees and Jacey noticed large posters
pinned to some of the trunks, all depicting the same crudely drawn
portrait: a man with bulging, fanatic's eyes glaring from a gaunt,
bearded face.  His tangled hair was topped by a military-style fatigue
cap.  One word stood out in large print, a word she did not
understand:

LOHAQUIN.

She tapped Paulo on the shoulder.

"Who's the man on the posters?  And what does Lohaquin mean?"

There was a brief pause before Paulo answered.

"You want to make a lot of money?  Find that man and hand him over to
the police."

"He's a criminal?"  Jacey guessed.

Paulo laughed shortly.

"Many would say so.  Lohaquin lives in the rain forest.  It protects
him.  He wants to change things here in Guachtal."

"Lohaquin?"  Jacey repeated.

"That doesn't sound Spanish."

There was another pause.

"It's the old language," Paulo said.

"My language.  Lohaquin means a sort of ghost, but not the ghost of a
dead person.  More like a spirit, a spirit who lives between two
worlds, our world and the invisible world.  It's difficult to
translate."

Interesting, Jacey thought.  A ghostly rebel, with a large reward on
his head?  Someone was obviously taking this 'spirit' very seriously
indeed.  Why didn't Major Fairhaven mention this mysterious character
to me, she wondered.  Clearly the situation out here isn't quite as
simple as he pretended.  She leant back in her seat again.

"Does this Lohaquin have much support?"

Paulo shrugged.

"Who can say?  If anyone supports him, they don't talk to strangers
about it."

Well, Jacey thought, that's put me in my place.  Don't ask the wrong
questions, Dr.  Muldaire, because I won't answer them.

"But no one's claimed the reward?"  she persisted.

"Obviously Lohaquin has friends who protect him."

"The rain forest protects him," the boy said.

"I don't know of anyone who claims to have seen him."

"Someone drew the picture," Jacey observed.

Paulo laughed.

"There are plenty of people with good imaginations.  I have heard that
Lohaquin has green skin like the trees, and that he is seven feet tall.
Also that he is quite small.  Women like to dream that he is very
handsome, and will come to them in the night and make love to them. Who
knows the truth?"

Someone must know, Jacey thought, making a mental note to find out more
about the elusive Loha quin.  The car drove along the side of a high,
white wall and stopped by a pair of ornate but solid-looking iron
gates.  Paulo hooted.  A man in uniform opened the gates, and closed
them as soon as the car had passed through.

"Rather heavy security for a hospital," Jacey commented lightly.

Paulo shrugged.

"There are some very important people here.  They need to be private
and peaceful when they're ill.  Even Generalissimo Hernandez comes
here."

"And Nicolas Schlemann?"  she asked.

"You know Senor Schlemann?"  Paulo's voice was suddenly wary.

"No," she said.

"I've heard of him, that's all.  He's as important as Hernandez, isn't
he?"

"He's very powerful," Paulo agreed after a moment.

He glanced at her.

"No doubt you will meet him in due course."

"Oh, I don't expect I will," Jacey said brightly.

"Why would he want to meet me?"

The car halted outside a large white building.

"Because Senor Schlemann likes beautiful women," Paulo said.

"I'm here as a doctor," Jacey said, 'not as entertainment for Nicolas
Schlemann."

"Senor Schlemann considers all beautiful women are for his
entertainment."  She was surprised at the sudden note of concern in
Paulo's voice.

"You should be careful not to offend him, Dr.  Muldaire.

Senor Schlemann is used to getting his own way."

"I won't offend him if he doesn't offend me," Jacey said curtly.

Nicolas Schlemann was someone she liked less and less.  A jumped-up
bully, she thought, who uses his position to tyranni se women and
anyone else too frightened to fight back.  Paulo still looked worried,
so she smiled brightly.

"Don't worry, Paulo," she reassured him.  On an impulse she kissed her
fingers and tapped the kiss lightly on his cheek.  His skin felt smooth
and warm.

"I can look after myself.

Believe me."

Later that night Jacey lay in bed, recapping on the events of the day,
her mind too active for sleep.  Her room was spacious, air-conditioned
and cool, pleasantly different to what she had been expecting.  The
staff quarters were set apart from the main hospital building and
looked like an expensive apartment block.  She had a living room,
bedroom, bathroom and a small kitchen, plus a balcony crowded with
brightly flowering plants.  A smiling young nurse had previously shown
her the staff canteen (as luxurious as a first-class restaurant), the
gym, a sports hall and a swimming pool.

The hospital's senior doctor, Garcia Sanchez, had officially welcomed
her.  A charming, elderly Spaniard he complimented her on her Spanish.
He told her he was not born in Guachtal, but had lived there for fifty
years.

"It's a fine country with nice people.  You'll enjoy working here, Dr.
Muldaire."

"I'm looking forward to it," she said.

"Perhaps tomorrow someone can explain what my duties are?  I'm anxious
to start work."

Dr.  Sanchez laughed.

"There's no rush.  We have emergencies, of course, but most of our
patients come in for routine check-ups and minor problems.  All we ask
is that you wear your pager when you're in the hospital and carry your
mobile phone when you go out.  I'll get Dr.  Draven to explain how we
do things here.  You'll like him; he's English too.  Until then you
must relax.  Recover from your journey."

What kind of hospital is this, she wondered, as she lay in the
semi-darkness.  It was the first time she had ever been told to relax
at the beginning of a new job.  She was certain that Major Fairhaven
had not been honest with her about La Primavera.  From what she had
seen so far, the place looked more like a health spa than a hospital.

And if the major was interested in weather reports, why hadn't he told
her about Lohaquin?  She recalled the gaunt, fanatical face on the
posters.  This man was obviously keen to change the political climate
of Guachtal.  I'll have to check him out, she thought.  And I think I
know someone who might help.  I'm sure Paulo knows more about Lohaquin
than he pretends.

She suddenly remembered the warmth of Paulo's tanned skin when her
fingers had touched his cheek.  She remembered his slim body,
loose-limbed and leggy as a young colt.  Exactly how old was he?

Sixteen?  Seventeen?  Was he a virgin?  Somehow she knew he was.  It
was strange, but she found she could think of him as sexually
attractive, without actually desiring him.  He was a sweet boy.  Sweet
and innocent.  Her memories stirred.  Appearances could be deceptive.
She turned restlessly on the wide bed.  Don't think about it, she told
herself.  But her mind was already forming the pictures, unwinding them
like a film.  And she watched, even though it hurt.

A beach.  Golden sand and palm trees, a picture-book exotic location.

A girl with auburn hair, sunbathing, eyes closed.  On holiday.  Her
first holiday abroad, without her parents.  Jacey remembered that it
had taken sustained nagging to get her parents to allow her to join a
group of friends for that trip.  And some lying.  Their destination was
a singles-only holiday camp and her friends were determined to sample
the local talent.  She had not told her parents that, but had justified
the deception by telling herself that she had no intention of behaving
immorally.  She simply wanted a holiday where she could do as she
wished without considering anyone else.  Get up when she wanted, go to
bed when she wanted, laze about all day on the beach without being told
that too much sun was bad for you.

Behaving immorally?  Jacey thought.  She had actually used words like
that when she was eighteen, when she was still a virgin with her body
and her ideals untouched.  Apart from daydreaming wistfully over the
glossy, flattering photographs of a couple of good-looking actors, her
main interest in her teenage years had been sport.  Any sport, the more
dangerous and athletic the better.  Men were simply companions, or
sometimes rivals.  She rode, did martial arts and went rock-climbing.

Her father taught her to shoot.  She raced Go-carts and learned to
glide.

She realised later that she had been lucky.  As an only child she had
been thoroughly spoiled by her proud parents.  Life was easy.  Her
parents were delighted when she told them she wanted to study medicine.
She did well academically, and this holiday was her reward, a chance to
relax prior to university.  She had made it clear to her friends that
she was not interested in man-hunting, so while they were, in their own
words, 'looking for a good fuck', she swam, read a book, did some lazy
shopping, dozed in the sun.  And enjoyed it, she remembered.  For seven
of the ten days.  And on the eighth day everything changed.

The memory was as sharp as reality.  She could almost feel the sun that
had warmed her as she dozed on the beach in a secluded spot that she
had discovered earlier that week.  She remembered how the sand had
shifted slightly, and she knew someone had stopped in front of her.  If
I hadn't opened my eyes, she thought, what would my life have been
like?  How different would it have been?  But I had to be NOSEY.  What
a fool I was.

She remembered her first view of Faisel.  He was looking down at her.

He wore a bright red, silky bathing slip, so brief it was almost a
posing pouch.  It was tied at both sides and did absolutely nothing to
disguise the bulge of his sexual parts, a bulge made even more
impressive because his hips were jutting forward and his legs were
slightly apart.  He was reed-slim and the sun had enhanced his natural
tan.  His hair was jet black, and his eyes, which captured hers as soon
as she opened them, were liquid brown.  She gaped at him in startled
amazement.

"Hello," he said politely, and added in perfect English "You have the
most amazingly beautiful hair."

Today, faced with such an opening compliment, she would have retaliated
with something like "And you have the most amazingly beautiful body',
but at eighteen her repartee was limited by shyness.

She remembered saying, "Thank you'.  She remembered that he squatted in
front of her with easy grace, smiled, his white teeth contrasting with
that beautiful brown skin, and asked her name.

"Jacey?"  he repeated.

"That's unusual."

"It's really Jane Catherine," she explained.

"Jacey is from the two initials.  No one calls me Jane."

"Well, that's sensible," he said.

"You shouldn't be called Jane.  Plain Jane, don't they say?"  He sat
down and relaxed next to her.

"You're not a plain Jane, are you?"

His eyes wandered over her body, and she felt flattered and confused.

She was strangely aware of his closeness, and his almost indecent
near-nakedness.  His skin was surprisingly hairless and his nipples
were clear, dark aureoles on his smooth chest.  Why did she feel so
disturbed when she looked at him?  There were plenty of other young men
on the beach in brief bathing slips and many of them had bodies more
muscular than his.  Some of them had already tried to pick her up.  A
girl on her own in a tourist area known for its singles-only holidays
was an obvious target for locals and fun-seeking tourists.  But she
hadn't felt anything except slight irritation when they had stopped,
posed, and tried to chat.  They did not interest her.  So why did this
dark-haired boy make her feel both awkward and excited at the same
time?

He told her he was an Arab, his name was Faisel, and he had been
educated in England.  He knew London very well and had an apartment
there.  He had recently graduated from Cambridge and intended to work
in his father's business.  That surprised her.  She told him she had
assumed that he was her age.  He laughed.

"I look young, do I?  That's because I lead a blameless life.  I don't
smoke.  I don't drink.  Novices at all."  He captured her eyes
again.

"And no girlfriend, either."

She remembered giggling like a silly schoolgirl.  And that's what I
was, she thought.  A silly, inexperienced virgin schoolgirl, bowled
over by her first taste of sheer physical lust.  Lusting after that
beautiful, soulless bastard, and thinking that lust was love.

"And how about you?"  he had asked, smoothly.

"No boyfriend?"

"No," she said.

"I find that amazing."

"It's true."

"So it's OK if I ask you out tonight?  For a meal at the Gala Hotel?"

The Gala was the most expensive hotel in town.  She had seen the guests
arrive, the men in dinner suits, the women in long gowns.

"Oh, but I couldn't," she said.

"I haven't anything suitable to wear."  She knew now that she had
responded exactly as he'd planned.  How could she have been so pliable?
So stupid?

"That's not a problem," he said.

"We'll go shopping."  He stood up, and again she studied the outline of
his penis and the curve of his balls beneath the thin, silk bathing
slip.  Tell me the name of your hotel, and I'll come and collect
you."

It had been a perfect afternoon and a perfect evening Faisel had been
attentive, funny, and generous.  He bought her a beautiful white silk
dress and a gold chain, plain and tasteful.  The meal was excellent but
when it was finally time to go home, she felt suddenly nervous.  Now
he's going to expect his payment she thought.  He hasn't spent all this
money on me for nothing.  And although the idea excited her, she was
afraid she would disappoint him.  He might not have a girlfriend but he
would certainly have had other women.  Maybe even professionals, who
would have entertained him with their repertoire of exotic tricks.
What could she offer?  She'd never touched a man in a sexual way in her
life.

But it didn't happen like that.  Clever bastard, she thought, turning
on the bed, the pictures clear in her mind.  Taking me home, kissing my
cheek.  Thanking me for a wonderful evening.  Waiting a moment, then
kissing me gently on the lips.  Treating me like the romantic innocent
that I was.

She remembered lying in bed that night, drowsily listening to her
friends talking about their conquests.

"And then he said, open your legs, I'm going to put my tongue right in
there and lick you.  And he did."

"What did it feel like?"

"Nicer than having them stick their cocks in.  I came so fast, I
couldn't believe it.  And then he made me do it to him."

"Suck him, you mean?"

"Yeah."

"Urgh!  I couldn't."

"Did he come?"

"You bet he did.  I'm good."

"Kinky cow!  You'll be asking them to pay for it next."

"Good idea.  Maybe I will.  It'll pay for my next holiday."

Jacey remembered feeling sorry for them as they giggled together.  They
made sex seem sordid and cheap.  She had something special, something
they would not understand.  A man who wanted her for herself and not
just for what he could get from her.  But the crude descriptions her
friends were bandying about sparked up pictures in her own mind.  She
imagined Faisel's glossy head between her legs, his tongue working,
giving her the same kind of pleasure that she gave herself sometimes
with her own fingers.  The idea excited her but it embarrassed her,
too.  What an innocent I was, she thought.  I was unreal.

I thought he would give me a nice clean, romantic orgasm, wrapped up in
tissue-paper like a pretty gift.  We'd make love differently to
everyone else because we were special.  We were in love.

She remembered her first time.  They had spent the day on the beach
then she had gone back to her apartment to change before meeting him
for a meal.  She told him she was flying back to England the next
morning.  He had reacted with a suitably shocked expression, and had
reached across the table and taken her hand.

"Will I see you again in England?"

"If you want to," she said.  She felt her heart beating.

"I'd like us to be friends."

His fingers had tightened round hers.  He tugged at her gently, forcing
her to lean towards him.

"I want more than that," he said.

"But we can be just friends, if that's what you prefer."

She remembered that she had actually blushed.  No, she had told him, it
wasn't what she preferred.  She wanted more than that, too.  She had
expected him to look grateful but he simply smiled and said:

"That's what I thought.  I have rooms here, you know?  We can go up
after our meal and you can stay as long as you like."

Thinking back on it now she realised how mechanical his love-making had
been.  She let him use her because she did not really know what to
expect.  And he had known that, had counted on it.  She forgave him all
the things she did not like.  She convinced herself he was the kind of
lover she wanted and ignored the truth.

He had undressed her and encouraged her to undress him.  Her hands
shook when, as his clothes came off, her fingertips touched his skin.

She wanted to linger, to caress his chest, his nipples, the hollow of
his neck.  Kiss his ears, his eyes, his lips.  But he seemed
uninterested.  He hurried her on, pushing her hands to the buttons of
his shirt and the waistband of his trousers.

He said very little until they were both naked.  She noticed that
although his penis was large, he was not erect.  Because she was so
inexperienced, she thought he was deliberately holding back so that he
did not rush her.  When he pushed her on to her back she was startled
but compliant.  When he straddled her and pushed his limp penis into
her mouth, she struggled briefly.

"Do it."  He put his hand under her head and lifted it slightly.

"For me.  Do it for me."

She was not even sure what to do.  His penis filled her mouth.  She
tried to suck, to nibble and caress.  He moved his hips and she felt
him swell and heard him gasp.

"Yes, good.  It's good."

She was pleased because he seemed pleased.  When he was hard, he
groaned, pulled out of her mouth and pushed her legs open.

"Are you ready for me?"  She felt his hands on her pussy and shuddered
with unexpected pleasure.  He made no attempt to excite her, but simply
inspected her quickly.

"Yes," he muttered.

"You're ready.  Now I'll make a woman out of you."

He entered her quickly, thrusting with rapid movements, and she felt a
keen sense of disappointment.  She wanted to be touched and kissed. She
would have liked to feel his lips explore her secret places.  She would
have liked a slow build-up to the final pleasure.  Instead he came with
a violent jerking of his hips and a groan of relief, and immediately
pulled away from her and lay on his back.  She felt nothing.  No pain,
no pleasure.  And even then, she remembered, she did not blame him.
She thought this was how it should be, the first time.

"Was that good?"  he asked.

"Yes," she lied.

He knew very well it wasn't good, she thought,

remembering.  And when I lied, he knew I was his.  He'd baited the hook
with pretty words, some pretty gifts and a couple of nice meals, and
he'd landed his prize.  A silly, besotted, sexually ignorant
teenager.

Just what he wanted.  The bastard!

She made a determined effort to shut off the film that was running
through her mind.  Why do I still think about the past?  she
wondered.

Why torture myself?  She turned restlessly in the bed.  She knew why.

She blamed herself for everything that had happened to her, for every
horrible detail.  And after ten years, it still hurt.  It hurt like
hell.  Especially at times like this, at night, in the darkness, when
she felt alone.  She felt her teeth clench with anger and frustration
as she thought about Faisel.  Bastard!  I didn't know what hate was
until you taught me!

And yet I can still be turned on by a beautiful young body, she
thought, after all that Faisel did to me.  I must be crazy.  Although I
don't think I'd fuck Paulo, even if he asked me to.  From now on I'm
sticking to adults, men who want the physical fun without the emotional
baggage.  Men who don't want to get married.  She stretched out under
the light sheet that covered her.  Men like Nicolas Schlemann.

The thought jolted her.  Why the hell am I thinking about him?  she
wondered.  She remembered Paulo's warning.  She had no doubt that he
was right.  Nicolas Schlemann was clever, ruthless and powerful.  He
was used to getting his own way and he considered all beautiful women
were available for his entertainment.  He probably also thought they
would feel HONOURED to perform for him.  Was that really the kind of
man she needed?  No, she decided, it wasn't.

Dr.  Peter Draven turned out to be a pleasant surprise.  For some
reason she had been expecting someone middle-aged, not a loose-limbed
young man with a charming smile, casually dressed in jeans and an
open-necked shirt.

His shock of blond hair and tanned skin made him look slightly
Scandinavian, she commented.  He laughed.

"My grandmother was Swedish.

The hair missed a generation and decided to favour me.  My mother has
never forgiven me.  Do you want coffee before I show you round?"

They sat in the spacious staff room, which overlooked a garden full of
exotically colourful shrubs and flowers, and swapped stories about
their student years.  By the time he decided to show her the hospital,
Jacey knew a great deal about Peter Draven's hopes and ambitions.  He
had no steady girlfriend, and she suspected that he would jump at the
chance of sex with her if she gave him the slightest encouragement.

Well, why not?  she thought, as she followed him into the airy
corridor.  He could be just what I need.  We already have a lot in
common.  He has a sense of humour and he's not bad looking; nice smile,
nice eyes, and nice hands.  We can have some fun and games, just as
long as he doesn't want a long-term commitment.  She hung back and let
him lead her down the corridor.  Nice bum, too, she noted.

Her tour of La Primavera confirmed her suspicions that this was no
ordinary hospital.  It was incredibly well-equipped, with beautifully
furnished private rooms.  Many of them were empty and the occupants
that she did see looked more like guests relaxing on holiday than
patients suffering from any kind of disease.  Mostly middle-aged men,
they lolled comfortably on their beds, reading magazines or sleeping.

Peter Draven led her into an operating theatre so clean and sparkling
that she doubted if it had ever been used.  She turned to him.

"This place must have cost a fortune to build, and I bet it costs a
fortune to run.  Where does the money come from?"

He shrugged.

"Who cares?  There's plenty of it."

"It's the most under-used hospital I've ever seen," she observed.

"All this fantastic equipment.  It seems such a waste."  , "The
patients here want privacy," Peter said, echoing Paulo's comment.

"And they're willing to pay through the nose for it.  We just do our
job, and don't ask questions.  And the operating theatres do get used,
believe me."

"I've been told Hernandez comes here," she hinted casually.

"Lots of people come here," Peter said.  He was standing in front of
her now, and she felt the edge of the operating table brushing against
her thighs.

"Important people."  He was almost touching her.

"If you play your cards right you can have a very nice time."

"If I'm nice to the right people, you mean?"  Her voice was cool.

"Like Hernandez?"

He smiled back.

"You mean you'd fancy Hernandez?  Mind you, he is the Numero Uno around
here, and they do say power is a potent aphrodisiac."

"I'd need more than a potent aphrodisiac to fancy Hernandez," she
said.

"Anyway, I thought Nicolas Schlemann was the real power behind the
throne?"

"Oh, you fancy the tall, dark and handsome Nicolas, do you?"  Peter
nodded.

"Well, I'm not surprised.  Lots of women do."

She put her hand on his chest and pushed him back.

"No, I damn well don't fancy Schlemann, whether he's tall, dark and
handsome or not."

"Nicci will certainly like you," Peter said.  His eyes wandered quickly
over her body in an unashamed sexual appraisal, and then back to her
face.

"But then he always did have very good taste."

She was not immune to the compliment and Peter Draven's body, close to
hers, was beginning to have an effect.  The more she looked at him, the
more comfortable she felt with the idea of a nice, no-strings affair.

"If we had known each other a little longer," she said, "I would think
that was a pick-up line."

He stepped forward.

"You'd^be right, he said.  His blue eyes held hers.

"You fancied me the first time you saw me.  Admit it."

"That's your diagnosis, is it?"

He put his hands on her shoulders, and then let them slide down slowly
to her breasts.

"My expert opinion," he agreed.  His fingers began to unbutton her
blouse.

"I don't think this is the time or the place for a medical
examination," she said but she made no attempt to rebuff him.

"Actually," he leaned closer to her, 'it's exactly the right time and
place."

She felt his hands exploring her skin, and saw him smile with approval
when he realised that she was not wearing a bra.

"Easy access," he said.

"I like that."  His hands cupped her breasts, his fingers exciting her
nipples.  He kissed her on the lips lightly, then harder.

Suddenly she felt both his hands move down over her thighs towards her
knees.  He grasped the hem of her skirt and yanked it up and the
lightweight material fucked up to her hips.  He caught her round the
waist, hoisted her into a sitting position on the operating table, and
stood between her legs.

"Lie back," he murmured.

She felt his tongue caress her ear, felt his fingers tugging at her
lacy briefs.  She tried to push him away.

"Not here, for God's sake.

Someone might come in."

"No one will come in," he muttered.  He had managed to slide her
panties down and the surface of the table felt cool under her naked
bottom.  She saw the round theatre-lights above her and fantasised that
they would suddenly illuminate, displaying her to an audience of
first-year students, who would stare down at her, eager to watch her
making love.  It was a surprisingly arousing fantasy.  Her body tingled
with the need for sex.

Peter was lying on top of her now, struggling with his jeans.  His
erection was so large and urgent that he was having trouble pulling
down his zip.  She felt her hands tangle with his as she helped him,
sensed him wince as the metal teeth scratched his skin.  He gasped,
half with laughter, half with desire.

"Jesus, you're in a hurry, aren't you?"

He entered her strongly, and she moved her hips towards him, tightening
her muscles to pull him deeper.  He began to match her rhythm, his
breathing now more regular.  The tension was building deliciously.  And
then suddenly his body jolted, out of control, and he came with an
explosive groan.  For a moment she felt his full weight on her.  After
a while he propped himself up on his elbows and eased himself off
her.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I'm really sorry.  I just couldn't help myself."

She lay on her back for a moment, wondering if he was going to use his
mouth or his hands to satisfy her.  But to her disappointment, he
simply slid off the table and zipped up his jeans.

"That's never happened to me before."  He smiled rather sheepishly.

"You shouldn't be so damn sexy."

Is that supposed to be a compliment?  she wondered Or is he blaming me?
Frustrated sexual tension made her feel shaky.  And irritable.  She
stood up and tidied her clothes.

He watched her.

"I didn't expect that to happen.  I'll make it up to you next time, I
promise."

"What makes you think there'll be a next tune?"  Her voice was
distinctly frosty.

He looked at her anxiously.

"Come on, I'm only human."

"So am I" she said.

"And I like to have an orgasm, just like everyone else."

"Sorry," he repeated inadequately.  She turned and walked towards the
door, and he added dolefully:

"Haven't you ever been overcome with passion?"

Despite herself, she smiled.

"Peter, stop talking like a bad film."

"Well, what would you prefer to call it?"  he persisted.

"Love?"

Her smiled disappeared.

"You're not trying to tell me you're in love with me, Peter?"

"No," he said.  He hesitated.

"But you never know what might happen later on."

"I do," she said.  She stopped and turned to face him.

"Let's get one thing straight.  Sex can be a lot of fun, but romance is
out.  I'm just not interested."

"Fun and games, but no commitment?"  He smiled.

"Well, I won't argue with that.  With you as a playmate, few men would.
Very well then."  He held out his hand solemnly.

"Our relationship will be strictly sex, without the hearts-and-flowers
stuff.  I'll never mention passion, or love, again.  Do we have an
agreement?"

She tapped his hand away lightly, and laughed.

"Maybe," she said.

"Now, how about finishing our tour?"

"I think I've shown you everything," he said.

"Except where I'm supposed to report for duty in the morning."

He laughed.

"The most important thing of all.  You'll have your own office.  Come
and see."

The office was carpeted, decorated in pastel shades, with a huge window
with slatted shutters opening out on to the hospital gardens.  Peter
tapped the brand-new computer on the glass-topped desk.

"You can access all the medical files and the hospital library."  He
tapped the modern.

"And if you get bored, you can surf the Net.  We'll get you fixed up
with an e-mail address."

"Great," Jacey said.  She sat down and switched the computer on.

"Can I send an e-mail right now?  My friend Chris is waiting to hear
from me."

"Chris?"  He smiled.

"I'm jealous."

"Chris is a girl."

He shrugged, still smiling.

"I could still be jealous."

"Chris has three children and a loving husband," Jacey said.

"Definitely not my type.  But I told her I would keep in touch.  I
promised."  She logged on and typed a message: Hi Chris.  I'm here. The
weather isn't quite what I expected, but at least one of the natives is
very friendly indeed, blue eyes and blond hair!  Got to go he's waiting
for me!

Make what you like out of that.  Major Fairhaven, she thought.  If you
knew about this mysterious Lohaquin, you'll guess what I'm talking
about when I mention the weather.  And if you didn't, that should keep
you guessing until I find out more.

By the end of her first day on duty Jacey began to understand a great
deal more about what went on at La Primavera.  The first clue came when
she was doing her morning rounds.  She found the middle-aged and
affable Senor Valiente - who was under observation for bronchial
problems dictating letters to a startlingly attractive blonde in a very
short skirt, who looked as if she would be more at home on stage as an
exotic dancer than in an office.  The air smelled of expensive cigar
smoke.  Senor Valiente smiled at her, flashing several gold teeth.

"Just catching up with a little business, doctor.  It keeps my mind
active."

"You've been smoking," Jacey accused.

The improbable-looking secretary laughed, and crossed her long legs,
displaying dark stocking-tops and suspenders.

"He's a naughty boy," she said, in a husky voice.

When Jacey closed the door she heard them both laughing.  The woman's
giggling was abruptly silenced.  Jacey strongly suspected that if she
found an excuse to go back into the room again she would find her
patient and his so-called secretary engaged in something very far
removed from dictation.  It was Senor Valiente's body that was being
exercised and not his mind.

From then on she began to look more closely at the steady stream of
hospital visitors.  As all the rooms were private, people arrived at
any time during the day.  Many of them were obviously family members,
often with neatly dressed children obediently in tow.  Others were
young businessmen in smart suits.  But quite a few were ladies who did
not fit into any conventional category.  Immaculately dressed, they
arrived in large, chauffeur-driven cars.  They exuded sexy confidence
and seemed popular with all the staff, from the cleaning women
upwards.

That evening Jacey went to Peter Draven's office.

"Why didn't anyone tell me that this hospital also functions as a
brothel?"

Peter looked up from the report he was writing.

"Who says it does?"

"Oh, come on!"  She sat down opposite him.

"No wonder there are so many healthy-looking patients here.  They just
check in for a medical so they can fuck in comfort."

He grinned.

"Elegantly put.  But their money keeps this place running, and pays
your wages too."  He signed his report and pushed it aside.

"You're not trying to tell me you're shocked?"

"Surprised," she said.

"Why don't these men just visit the local cat-house?"

Peter shrugged.

"Because they're members of a strictly traditional society.  As long as
they behave themselves in public, everyone turns a blind eye to their
private weaknesses."

"Everyone?"  she enquired acidly.

"Including their wives?"

Peter leaned back in his chair, and smiled.

"What makes you think their wives don't know what's going on?  They
probably even know which women are servicing their husbands.  The women
who come here are some of the highest paid whores in Techtatuan.
They're discreet and they're clean.  If you were married wouldn't you
rather your husband used some one like that, instead of the local
brothel, where anything goes?"

"Is that supposed to make it acceptable?"  she enquired coolly.

"I'm cheating on you, dear, but don't worry, I won't catch anything
nasty."

He laughed.

"Do you think it's all one-sided?  Have you seen the elegant young man
who comes in to visit Senora Atriega?  The one she calls her nephew?"

Jacey nodded.

"I met him in the corridor."  Senora Atriega's nephew had given her a
soulfully lingering look as he went on his way to his aunt's room.

"At first I thought he was trying to flirt with me."

"He probably was," Peter said.

"Having you as a client would be mixing business with pleasure in a big
way."

"You mean he's a whore?"  She was genuinely startled.

"Of course he is," Peter said.

"One of the best, I'm told."

She laughed.

"Well, I suppose that's one kind of equality."  She glanced at Peter
mischievously.

"He was rather nice.

Perhaps I'll try him out."

"You wouldn't be able to afford him," Peter said.  He leant forward
conspiratorially: "And just between the two of us, I've given him a
couple of check-ups, and I can tell you that there isn't much to choose
between him and me when it comes to size."

She grinned.

"But perhaps he has better control?"

"Ouch.  I suppose you think t deserved that?"

"Yes," she said.

"Don't you?"

"Maybe," he agreed.

"But first impressions can be deceiving.  Are you going to give me a
chance to redeem myself?"

She shrugged.

"I suppose I could be persuaded."

"Tonight?"  he suggested.

"I'll take you out for a meal.  Is that a date?"

"Dates are for girlfriends," she said.  She grinned.

"This is a more of a trial run."  She smiled.

"When are you going to pick me up?"

He smiled back.

"About eight."

It had been an enjoyable meal, and Jacey was pleased when Peter hinted
that he was not going to push her into any follow-up.  I can do without
sex, she thought, but it would be pleasant to have someone to share my
off-duty time with.  Peter is good company.  I'm sure I can educate him
into being more accomplished in bed, given a little time.  It might
even be interesting.

She accepted Peter's invitation for a nightcap in his apartment.

Together they finished a bottle of wine.  When Peter planted his first
kiss on her, it soon became apparent that her services as a tutor would
not be needed.  This time he was in no hurry.  His mouth moved gently
over her face, lingering on her lips.  With the tip of his tongue he
drew patterns on her throat and neck, then moved up to circle her
ear.

His hands on her blouse were so light and gentle that she did not
realise he had unfastened the tiny buttons until the tips of his
fingers touched her nipples, pinching them gently, arousing them even
more.

She lay back and allowed him to undress her, moving languidly to help
him.  The air felt warm on her flesh.  He peeled away her blouse and
took off her flimsy bra.  She wriggled her hips as he removed her
skirt, and returned the compliment by tugging down the zip of his
trousers.  But he seemed far more interested in taking off her clothes
than having her take off his.  He laughed softly when he discovered
that she was wearing suspenders and stockings.  With his fingers he
traced the dark circle of her stocking tops, and pulled gently at the
lacy suspenders.

"I like these.  I thought all modern women wore tights."

She smiled.

"When we want to rum someone on, we try a little harder."

"You're trying to turn me on, are you?"

She reached for him.  He was already hard.

"Looks like I've succeeded," she observed.

"You didn't really have to try," he said.

"The sight of you is enough."

When she was finally naked, he pushed her back and, as she remembered
his last hurried finale, she thought, maybe that's it?  Playtime's
over?

But he knelt across her, smoothing his hands down to her thighs,
following their exploratory caresses with his mouth and tongue, until
he was nuzzling the dark red bush of her pubic hair.  He pressed his
palms against her inner thighs, encouraging her to spread her legs, and
his fingers parted her secret lips.  He bent over her, letting his
tongue find her swelling clitoris, and circled it.  She loved this most
intimate of kisses.  He licked her, gently at first, but with
increasing pressure, until she felt her whole body trembling with the
need for release.  He looked up at her.

"You're ready for me, aren't you?"

She pushed his head down again.

"Don't stop," she ordered huskily.

"Please don't stop."

Peter laughed softly, enjoying her pleasure, and went to work again,
his tongue sliding and probing her folds.  She writhed with delight,
feeling the sensations mount to their inevitable, explosive climax.

Her body convulsed and she clutched at Peter's head, digging her
fingers into his scalp, pulling him in close.  He waited until her
tremors had subsided, then shifted his position.

"I've got to have you," he muttered, hoarsely.

"Right now."

He entered her easily.  His thrusting prolonged her fading orgasmic
spasms, encouraging her to yet another peak of pleasure, this time more
gentle than the first, but equally potent.  Her sigh of delight escaped
at the same moment as his own deep groan of fulfilment.

Afterwards, as they lay drowsily together on the settee, she wondered
idly why he'd had such trouble controlling himself the first time they
made love.  Surely he hadn't been worried about being discovered?  He
had been the one to instigate the action, after all.  It was hard to
equate that performance with the one which had left her so sated
today.

Perhaps he was just nervous, she thought.  And then another unbidden
thought came into her mind:

why?  She shifted her position and felt his warm body move comfortably
with hers.  Stop asking questions, she admonished herself sleepily.

You're not working now.

But she couldn't stop the doubts nagging at her mind.

Chapter Two.

Lacey soon settled into a pleasant and undemanding routine.  After only
two weeks she was seriously bored.  She was working in conditions that
would have turned her friends back at the Midland General green with
envy and yet she felt a growing sense of frustration.

She knew there were plenty of people in Techtatuan who could have
benefited from her medical knowledge, people who could not afford to
come to La Primavera.  These were the people she should be mixing with
and talking to.  If Major Fairhaven wanted an accurate 'weather report'
she ought to find out more about Lohaquin, and she certainly wasn't
going to discover anything worthwhile from her rich and idle so-called
patients.  Why had the major sent her to this particular hospital?  She
would learn nothing of value here.

Her sense of frustration made her irritable, and although she was too
professional to allow it to affect her work, she found it increasingly
difficult to be sociable with people like Senor Valiente and his ever
present 'secretary', or Senora Atriega.  When she was accosted during
her morning rounds by a young man in the corridor, asking her where he
could find the Senora, she could barely contain her annoyance.  Another
nephew, she thought, irritably.

He was attractive, she had to admit.  With his large, brown eyes, dark,
brown hair that seemed to glint with a hint of gold, and a beautiful
smile, he was almost too perfect.  She liked a little irregularity in a
man's features, something that added individuality to his face.  This
boy looked as if he had employed a plastic surgeon to turn him into a
text-book gigolo.  He was smaller than average height, but his body was
perfectly proportioned, and he moved with the grace of a dancer.  I bet
he's practised every gesture in front of a mirror, Jacey thought
crossly.  Posing and preening, and calculating the effect it would have
on any woman who cared to watch him.  Well, it won't have any effect on
me.

She treated him to her most frosty smile.

"Senora Atriega is in Room Fourteen," she said.

"I really think you should check details like that before you
arrive."

He looked slightly surprised.

"But I only flew in from London this morning.  I came straight here to
see dear Julia, and give her all the gossip.  She's not in terrible
pain, is she?"

"Hardly," Jacey said coolly.

"Terribly bored, most likely."

"I'll cheer her up."  He smiled disarmingly.

"Isn't that what friends are for?"

Jacey was getting irritated by his pretensions.  Just flown in from
London?  Did he really expect her to believe such a stupid story?

"Well, "friend" is a new name for it," she observed acidly.

"But it's probably more honest than calling yourself the Senora's
nephew."

He looked momentarily puzzled and then his smile broadened.

"That's what they all say, isn't it?

Nephew, or cousin, maybe?  But I'm not like the others."

"You look just like them to me she said.

"Really?"  He stepped back and his brown eyes wandered over her body.

It was an impudently sexual appraisal, and she suddenly felt glad that
she was covered by her straight-cut, white doctor's coat.

"Well, you certainly don't look just like any doctor I've ever seen."
He struck a pose, one hand on his hip.

"Would you like to give me a thorough medical?  I'm sure it would be
very arousing for both of us."

What would it be like to make love to a professional she wondered
suddenly.  A man who was being paid to please her?  Would it excite
her?

Or would she feel cheap and maybe slightly ridiculous?  Would she
wonder what he was really thinking while he used all his skills on her
body, and murmured his standard repertoire of compliments?  She had
read that female prostitutes switched off their emotions when they were
working.  It was all mechanical for them: get it up, get it in, and get
him out of the door.  Would male prostitutes be equally dispassionate?
Surely a man would have to think about something to turn himself on,
particularly if his client was unattractive.

"So, do you want to make a booking?"  She came back to the present with
a jolt.  He was still smiling at her.

"I'm very clean, very discreet, and very imaginative."

"And no doubt very expensive, too?"  she said, curious to know how he
would respond.

He hesitated for a moment.

"A thousand dollars.  American dollars, of course."

She stared at him for a moment and then laughed derisively.

"Are you crazy?  No man in the world is worth a thousand dollars, and
certainly not second hand goods like you."

"It's for a whole night."  He sounded slightly piqued.

"I wouldn't pay that for a whole week," she scoffed.

He shrugged.

"Then I'll just have to go and be nice to Julia."

And more fool her, if she parts with that kind of money for sex, Jacey
thought, watching him walk down the corridor.  He does have a nice
tight little bum, she thought, and then checked herself crossly.  I bet
he knows it, too, conceited little brat.

But she did have a sneaking sympathy for him, and others like him.

Even her brief experience of Guachtal had shown her that the majority
of people there were poor; for most of them there was probably no
escape from their poverty except to sell their bodies.  Could she
really blame that beautiful young man for cashing in on his assets?

What would I have done, she wondered, if I had been born here?  Would I
have married, produced a dozen children, and been worn out by the time
I was thirty?  Or would I have sold myself to the highest bidder? After
all, men use us, so why shouldn't we use them?  The thought prompted a
memory.  A memory she did not want, which had a habit of resurfacing
when she least expected it.

A man in an elegantly tailored suit, looking incredibly sexy and
desirable.  And a wide-eyed girl standing next to him, dressed in
white, her burnished, red hair piled up and held in place by a circlet
of tiny, white flowers.  My wedding day, she thought.  Supposedly the
happiest day in any woman's life.  What sentimental crap.

Despite the fact that she was married in a registry office, she had
wanted to wear white.  Faisel had promised her a religious wedding when
she returned home with him.  She did not question why he wanted a civil
ceremony in England first.  Her parents had attended, looking unhappy
because they disapproved of Faisel and the way he had steamrollered her
into a quick marriage.

They were also unhappy that she was going to fly back to the Arab
States with him that evening.

It's a holiday, she had told them.  A honeymoon.  And I have to meet
his family.  She repeated all the lies Faisel had told her.  We'll be
back in London soon.  Faisel is going to work in his father's City
office.

I'm going to apply to London University to study medicine.

Faisel had seemed only a little concerned at her parents' misgivings.

It was natural, he said.  They felt they were losing their only
daughter.  When he returned to England with Jacey he would make a
special effort to win her parents' approval.  And I believed him, she
remembered.  I believed all his lies.

The time that passed between her marriage ceremony and her arrival at
Faisel's home was still a blur in her mind, a jumble of images: the
bustle of the airport; the boredom of the flight (Faisel slept for most
of it); and the oven-hot air that engulfed her when she finally stepped
out of the plane.  Faisel's father was in America.  His mother, a
stunningly elegant woman in a white, linen designer suit, greeted
Faisel with theatrical emotion, but eyed Jacey coolly, offered her a
slim hand and a frosty smile, and then ignored her.  Jacey spent the
next three days on her own, in a plushly furnished apartment, attended
by servants, but isolated by her lack of Arabic and her inability to
ask where her husband was.

When Faisel finally appeared, he did at least apologise.  It was, she
recalled, probably the last time he ever did so.  He had been obliged
to visit a variety of relatives, he said.  These things were expected
of him;

he had a large family.  He sat next to her on the large settee.  It was
the first time they had been alone together since their marriage.

How would I describe what happened next?  she thought.  In those days,
I could still pretend that we were making love.  But she knew now that
Faisel's actions had nothing to do with love.  He copulated with me,
she thought.  It had hurt because she wasn't ready or aroused.  He had
wanted her to use her mouth but she wanted him to put his arms round
her and kiss her.  She remembered his irritation as he unzipped his
trousers and pushed her head between his legs.

"Make it hard," he ordered.

"Suck me."

"I don't want to."  She vividly recalled the strength of his hands on
her head as he tried to push her down over his lap.

"Not yet.  Let's talk."

"Talk?"  He turned it into a swear word.

"You're my wife.  Behave like a wife."  He managed to push her down. He
was not even partially erect and his penis felt flaccid against her
lips.

"Do your duty," he said.

"Service me."

She had started to cry, and he let her go, muttering something in
Arabic under his breath.  He took hold of himself and masturbated.  It
was the first time she had ever seen a man do that.  He achieved his
erection quickly, and turned to her.

"Open your legs.  You want me, don't you?"

She had wanted him, she remembered, but with tenderness and love, not
the crude speed of a rutting dog.  When he had satisfied himself and
rolled off her, he added the final insult.  He stood up, zipped up his
trousers, and left.

And I forgave him, she recalled bitterly.  Those first few times I
forgave him.  I even thought I was being noble and understanding by
forgiving him.  And I thought it would get better as we got to know
each other.  What a little fool I was.  What a dewy-eyed, empty-headed,
fucking little fool.  I deserved everything I got.  Didn't I?  No, she
thought, I didn't.  No one deserved what happened to me.

Why am I remembering this?  she wondered.  It was twelve years ago. She
did not want to think about the time that had elapsed either.  It's
over and finished.  Forget it.  But she knew that she never could. It's
made me what I am, she thought.

An ex-boyfriend had called her hard when, easily and without regrets,
she had broken up with him because he had kept talking about
marriage.

Hard?  she thought.  She preferred the word 'strong'.  Strong enough to
resist male flattery and promises.  Strong enough to discard a man when
he started to expect more than she was prepared to give.

She walked purposefully down the corridor towards Peter's office.  She
liked Peter Draven.  He was good company and apart from that odd first
incident he always satisfied her in bed, or anywhere else he decided
was a suitable venue for sex.  She didn't think he wanted anything more
than a light-hearted, fun affair, but if he did start to become
possessive, she knew she could break off the relation ship without
regrets.  At least Faisel gave me that much, she thought.  He taught me
not to let silly, romantic notions about love screw up my life.

Peter was updating his computer records when she entered the room.  He
glanced at the clipboard she was carrying.

"Here, give me that.  I'll put it on file for you."

"You might as well repeat my last reports," she said, unable to keep
the irritation out of her voice.

"Nothing's changed."

He grinned.

"You don't want your patients to get worse, do you?"

She shrugged and managed a slight smile.

"It would make me feel useful.  At the moment I feel like a social
worker, walking round with a big smile, handing out a few vitamin
tablets and saying good morning, all for sex maniacs like Senor
Valiente and Senora Atriega."

Peter pushed his chair back and spun round to face her.

"Do you really miss being a house doctor?  The long hours, the night
calls, the senior consultants who treat you like an idiot, and the
patients who do contrary things, like dying in spite of all your
efforts to save them?

Do you miss the smell of blood and guts, and disinfectant and excrement
and' "Yes," she interrupted.

"Stupid and illogical as it sounds, I miss it all.  The blood and guts
and excrement, and the wonderful feeling when you tell a patient the
operation was a success, and they're going to be all right."

"And little Johnny will play the violin again?"  He smiled.

"Yes, I know.  Our job does have a few perks.  So, how would you like
to recapture the glamour and excitement of being a real doctor again
for a couple of days a week?"

She looked at him curiously.

"Tell me more."

"I do voluntary work downtown, at a hospital you've probably never
heard of.  El Inviemo," he said.

"The Winter Hospital?"  she translated.

"Odd name."

"That's what everyone calls it," he said.

"And if you think it's a dig at La Primavera, you're right.  El Inviemo
is under-funded, understaffed, the equipment's ancient and they're so
short of beds they usually ask patients to bring their own mattresses
and park them on the floor.  Money was poured into La Primavera.  The
staff at El Inviemo have to grovel for crumbs.  But it'll certainly
satisfy your craving for the lovely smell of blood, urine and
disinfectant."  His smile disappeared.

"And it's all most of the poor sods in Techtatuan have got when they
get ill.  The senior doctor is Filipe Rodriguez.

He's five foot nothing, irascible and brilliant.  He might even be some
kind of saint.  I'm sure the locals think so, anyway.  You'll like him.
He'll probably like you, too."

"Sounds great," she said.  And she meant it.  Not only would this give
her an opportunity to use her medical skills, but it might also provide
her with a chance to find out more about Lohaquin.

"But will I get permission to have a couple of days off?"

"Of course you will," Peter said.

"Leave it to me.  I'll arrange it."

He grinned.

"I have friends in high places.  And talking of friends, I've been
invited to a party.  Have you heard of Carlos Marquez?"

The name was familiar.  It had been on Major Fairhaven's briefing
sheet.  The Marquez family were very rich, and friends with
Generalissimo Hernandez and Nicolas Schlemann.

"Isn't Marquez the name of a legal firm?"  she asked casually.

"The biggest and the best in Techtatuan," Peter said.

"Which means the biggest and the best in the country.  They have money
and influence.

Alfonso Marquez started with nothing and ended up a millionaire.  He
died a couple of years ago from a heart attack and his three sons
inherited the business."

"Are they all lawyers?"  she asked.

Peter laughed.

"Carlos practises.  Raoul is qualified, but he hasn't decided yet
whether he wants to be a lawyer or a polo player, or an actor, or
whatever else takes his fancy.  Leonardo is still in diapers."  He saw
her expression and grinned.

"Well, not literally.

He's the baby of the family, though."

"Who's throwing the party?"

"Carlos, ostensibly.  It'll be very conventional to start with, then
Carlos and his wife will go home, followed by the more traditionally
minded guests.  After that things will probably hot up a little."  He
glanced at her.

"Well quite a lot, actually.  We can go before that happens, of
course."

"It turns into an orgy, does it?"

He looked at her quizzically.

"Would that interest you?"

"No, it wouldn't," she said sharply.

"I'm fussy who I share my body with, and I've never been into group
sex."

He smiled.

"Don't worry, we'll leave before anyone starts taking off their
trousers, if you're harassed by a randy young stud, I'll protect you."
He picked up his clipboard.

"I have a couple more patients to check and then we can go for a
coffee.  Wait here for me, I'll be right back."

She sat in one of the comfortable swivel chairs, and spun herself round
gently.  Protect me, would you?  she thought.  Thanks for the offer,
but I think I can protect myself.  She remembered her schooldays and
the first book she had read on judo.  When one of the boys had tried to
grab her bag, she had used a throw, pulling him off balance and
sweeping his ankle, to tumble him to the ground.  She still remembered
the expression of surprise on his face.  It had probably equalled hers,
she thought, because she had never expected the technique to work.  But
success had excited her and she talked her parents into letting her
join a judo club, achieving her black belt in the minimum period
allowed.  She had hoped to take her second Clan, but working for her
A-levels, she had no spare time.

The memory of her examinations automatically triggered a picture of
Faisel.  If I hadn't passed with such good grades, I wouldn't have gone
on holiday, she thought.  My life would have been so different.  I was
able to take care of myself physically but Faisel overpowered my mind
with a few lies and a beautiful smile.  Talk about the world's most
deadly weapon.  Sexual attraction, masquerading as love, takes some
beating.  It certainly turned me into a weak-kneed victim.

She had never gone back to judo but before she qualified as a doctor,
the deceptively gentle elegance of aikido had intrigued her.  She
studied it for two years before the -pressure of exams, and then the
pressure of work, made it impossible to continue training.  When she
began working for Major Fairhaven, many years later, she found herself
being taught methods more suited to dirty street-fighting than a
martial arts DOJO.  But her past skills, and her natural sense of
timing, had given her a definite advantage over some of the others in
her class.

Peter's desk phone rang suddenly, bringing her back to the present.

She picked it up and heard an authoritative, masculine voice on the
other end, a voice she did not recognise.

"How much longer are you going to keep me waiting, Draven?"

"Dr.  Draven isn't here," she said coolly.

"This is Dr.  Muldaire.  Can I help you?"

"Muldaire?  You're the new woman, aren't you?"  There was a pause.

"Are you properly qualified?"

Jacey bit back a sharp rejoinder.

"Yes," she said abruptly.

"Come to Room Six.  Now."  The last word was an order issued in a tone
of voice that was guaranteed to infuriate her.  Before she could
respond, the phone went dead.  She hesitated for a moment, then stood
up.  This was obviously one of the patients Peter had been planning to
see.  She was tempted not to answer the abrupt telephone request but
there was some thing about the voice that made her want to go and see
who this man was, and put him in his place.

With her temper almost under control, she stalked down the corridor.

She knew that Room Six was a small consulting room in the general
accident wing.  But the man on the phone did not sound as if he was
suffering from anything other than a severe lack of good manners.

When she opened the door she saw her prospective patient standing by
the window, looking out.  He turned when she entered, smiled
charmingly, walked towards her and held out his hand.

"Dr.  Muldaire?

I'm Nicolas Schlemann.  I'm delighted to meet you at last."

Jacey wasn't often lost for words but this tall, dark figure in his
immaculate suit effectively managed to both silence and disorient
her.

She shook hands without thinking.  His grip was warm and firm.  His
dark brown eyes surveyed her.

"I'm afraid I was rather abrupt on the telephone," he said.

His German patrimony could be seen in his narrow face, and his features
were attractively angular.  His Spanish mother had given him a natural
tan and his glossy, straight black hair was beautifully cut, with
sideburns just long enough to be discreetly fashionable and a fringe
irregular enough to look rakish, without being untidy.

She realised that she was still holding his hand.  Annoyed with
herself, she pulled away from him and stepped backwards.

"Yes," she said.

"You were rather impolite."

"I am in rather a hurry."  He began to take off his jacket.

"I have a meeting with Generalissimo Hernandez."  He was unbuttoning
his shirt now and she realised that he had a bandage strapped round his
ribs.

She also noted that he had the body of an athlete, and moved with the
grace of a dancer.  His hand touched the bandage.

"This is becoming irritating.  Surely I can dispense with it now?"

"What happened?"  she asked.

"I fell off my horse," he explained.  Again that charming smile.

"My fault entirely.  I was pushing him too hard.  I broke two ribs."

"Sit down," she said.  She unwrapped the bandage and pressed his ribs
gently.

"Does that hurt?"

He winced slightly.

"No," he said.

"Senor Schlemann," she said, "I don't believe you."

"It's doesn't hurt much," he qualified.

"And the bandage is damned uncomfortable."

He flexed his arms and shoulders and she saw his muscles move
sinuously.  She was reminded of a cat preening, a cat which was well
aware of the effect it was having on her.

What effect?  she thought, almost guiltily.  This is the man I was
certain I was going to dislike.  A womanising crook.  Am I really
attracted to him?  Yes, she thought, just a little, but only
physically.  It's a purely biological reaction.  He's an
agreeable-looking man.  What a pity his character doesn't match his
body.

"Please keep still," she said.  She inspected his ribs.  His skin felt
warm and smooth under her fingers.  She prodded him a little harder
than necessary but this time he hardly reacted at all.  She stepped
back.

"You seem to have healed very well."  She kept her voice neutral.

"You can throw the bandage away.  You don't need it."

"Thank you."  He stood up gracefully, reached for his shirt, shrugged
it back on, and buttoned it.  She was certain he made the actions take
longer than necessary.  He unzipped the top of his trousers and tucked
his shirt in, hesitating just long enough, she felt certain, for her to
admire his sharply defined abdominals.

"Are you happy working here, Dr.  Muldaire?"

"Yes," she said simply.

He knotted his tie and put on his coat.  She watched him silently.

"I

imagine you're very popular with the patients," he said.

"If you're ill, you tend to like someone who makes you feel better,"
she said.

He smiled.

"And if that person is very beautiful, that's an added bonus."  He
moved his body experimentally.

"It still hurts a little," he said.

"I'm sure you'll learn to live with the pain," she said dryly.

He reached the door, opened it, and turned.

"If it gets really bad, I'll come back and see you."  His smile was
briefly inviting.

"I'm sure you'll be able to make me comfortable."

She walked past him.

"Come back and see Dr.  Draven," she said.

"You're his patient.  He's properly qualified too, you know."

"Well, the notorious Senor Nicolas didn't waste much time checking you
out," Peter commented.  He lay sprawled across Jacey's bed.  The
sunlight, filtering in through the shutters, striped his naked body
with shadows.

"What did you think of him?"

"Conceited," Jacey said.  She switched the kettle on and searched in
Peter's cupboard for the coffee jar.

"Sexist."  She smiled.

"A typical male animal."

Peter watched her lazily.

"And he didn't attract you at all?"

She turned crossly.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Peter sat up.

"Come on," he said.

"You know exactly what I mean.

Nicci's not bad looking, if you like them tall with black hair.  And
I'm told he can be very charming, when it suits him."  He smiled.

"Does the thought of having sex with him excite you?"

Jacey smiled back.

"What an odd question," she said, sweetly.

"Does the thought of me having sex with him excite you?"

Peter lazed back on the bed.

"Maybe.  I think it could be great fun to watch you perform.  To
watch

Nicci undress you slowly, and go to work on your mouth, and your neck
and your nipples, and then go down and warm up your clitoris with his
tongue.  I'd like to see you panting and losing control, and bucking
and writhing, until he gave you the kind of climax you deserve."

"You're a closet voyeur," Jacey accused.

Peter shrugged.

"Most men are."

She had a sudden suspicion.

"Schlemann didn't suggest anything like that to you, did he?"

Peter laughed.

"No.  But I wouldn't mind betting he'd go along with it if you were the
star performer."

"Not a chance," Jacey said.

"I'm not an exhibitionist and I've got no intention of jumping into bed
with Senor Nicolas!"

But was that really the truth?  Jacey asked herself, as she tried to
decide what to wear to the Marquez party.  Unwanted thoughts about
Nicolas Schlemann were distracting her.  She was not vain but she was
sure Peter was right about Schlemann's intentions.  If he considered
all beautiful women to be candidates for his bed, he was probably
planning to add her to his list of conquests.  Thinking back on their
meeting, she realised how cleverly he had played his hand.  It was a
variation of the Mr.  Nasty and Mr.  Nice Guy interrogation technique.
He had made her angry, and then totally disarmed her by being the
opposite to what she had expected.

Clever bastard, she thought.  I was determined not to like you and you
almost persuaded me to change my mind.  But although you didn't know
it, you started off with a few advantages.  I always did have a soft
spot for tall, slim, dark-haired men.  But fancying you, and going to
bed with you, Senor Schlemann, she admonished him, are two totally
different things.

She held her favourite little black dress against her naked body and
surveyed her image in the mirror.  Too short?  Too sexy?  Her other
choices included a silver, beaded gown, with a high neck and a very low
back which was more suitable for a nightclub, and a sedate, designer
ball-gown, which hugged her figure just tightly enough to be discreetly
provocative but which she felt was too formal, for the kind of party
Peter had described.

It has to be the little black number, she thought.  She hadn't worn it
for some time and so slipped it over her head just to check that it
still fitted in all the right places.  The HEMLINE came just above her
knees.  She turned.  The skirt fitted neatly over her behind, and the
cut of the bodice lifted and held her breasts so well that she had no
need for a bra.  Just right, she thought.  Sexy but nice.  She was sure
Peter would approve.  Another thought teased her.  Would Nicolas
Schlemann be at the Marquez party?  She had a feeling that he would
be.

She turned again, looking at her reflection.  She did not look much
like the professional, white-coated woman he had met.  She lifted her
arms and released her hair, letting it tumble to her shoulders.

Because the dress was not properly fastened, the movement lifted her
breasts upwards and for a moment her nipples were visible.  She smiled
and adjusted the neckline decorously.  Well, Senor Schlemann, she
thought, if you're at the party, sorry, but this is all you're going to
see!

On the day before the party Jacey arranged to go to El Inviemo for the
first time.  Some of the staff at La Primavera had expressed surprise
that she was visiting the hospital, let alone intending to work
there.

But when he came to collect her, Paulo was delighted.

"Where you're going, the people need you.  Eh" Muldaire Not like the
patients here."

"Some of the people here are ill, Paulo," she said.

"They are more seriously ill at El Inviemo," he answered.

She soon discovered he was right.  She had been prepared for
overcrowding and antiquated equipment but the reality of El Inviemo
appalled her.  Peter had not been exaggerating when he told her
patients brought their own mattresses and slept on the floor.  She
picked her way carefully over sprawled bodies and family groups who
were camping out next to their sick relatives.  When she found Dr.
Rodriguez he was swabbing an open wound on a young boy's arm.  He
looked tired and hot.

"Dr.  Muldaire?"  His eyes assessed her without welcome or
enthusiasm.

"Are you willing to get your hands dirty?"

"I'm a doctor," she said crisply.  And added, with the trace of a
smile, "Just like you."

She did not get a smile back.

"Not like me.  You get paid ridiculously high wages at La Primavera,
and I guess that you do very little."  He thrust a swab at her.

"Here, carry on with this.  Don't take too long.

There's a queue of people outside who need attention."  He glanced at
her white blouse and pale, linen skirt.  It was a totally impersonal
appraisal.

"I hope you've got an overall in that expensive bag of yours.  Those
fashionable clothes won't look so good with blood all over them."

She refused to take offence.

"I've got an overall," she said.

"And I've also got some antibiotics."  She saw no change of expression
in his dark eyes and added hastily, "I didn't steal them.  They're a
gift, from Dr.  Draven and the staff at La Primavera."

"I wouldn't give a damn if you had stolen them," he said.  For a moment
she thought he almost smiled.  Then he turned to go.

"Thank Peter, and the others," he said abruptly.

Thrown in at the deep end, she looked at her first patient.  Two
mournful brown eyes stared up at her.  Quickly she found a new swab and
started work on the boy's arm.  His mother watched her as she worked,
her face as smooth as a carved mask.

"There you are Jacey said, as she finished cleaning the boy's wound.

"That will soon be better."  She smiled at him and received a solemn
stare back.

"How did this happen?"  she asked the equally impassive mother.

"They won't answer you."  Jacey turned and saw a plump young woman in a
white overall standing behind her.

"I'm Paloma," the woman said.

"Your helper."

"You're a nurse?"  Jacey enquired.

Paloma smiled sunnily.

"No, I'm not qualified at all.  But I've picked up lots of knowledge
since I've been working here."  She turned to the boy and his mother
and said something in a guttural language Jacey did not recognise.  The
woman smiled, turned and walked away.

"What language was that?"  Jacey asked.

"Chachte," Paloma said.

"One of the old languages.  You know, the ones the people spoke before
the Spanish came."

"And you speak it too?"

Paloma shrugged.

"I had to learn some of it.  Lots of the Indians won't speak Spanish.
They think it'll bring them bad luck.  And when you read how the early
settlers used to treat them, you can't blame them.  I mean, I'm Spanish
but some of the things my ancestors did make me ashamed."

Jacey soon realised that Paloma was a non-stop talker.  As she dealt
with a succession of patients, some silent, others chattering volubly,
she lea mt more about public opinion in Techtatuan than any of Major
Fairhaven's carefully worded briefing papers had taught her.

"That's it," Paloma said, at last.  She glanced at her watch.  Time for
a quick coffee."

She led Jacey to the tiny staff restroom.  A sluggish ceiling fan
stirred the hot air.  Travel posters were pinned to the walls in an
effort to brighten up the rather dismal decor.

Paloma unlocked a cupboard.

"You mustn't leave any valuables here unless you lock them up," she
warned Jacey.

"That includes coffee and cups.  The people are poor and they will
steal things to use or sell."

She added aggressively: "You can't blame them.  You'd do the same, if
you were poor."

"I would," Jacey agreed.

There was a small picture stuck on the inside of Paloma's cupboard
door.  It was a pencil portrait of a handsome young man with a neat
beard wearing a military style fatigue cap.  His large eyes had an
expression of soulful fervour.  A faint circle behind his head hinted
at a halo.

"Who's that?"  Jacey asked Paloma.  She already knew the answer.

Paloma hesitated for a moment.

"Oh, no one really," she said awkwardly.

"Someone gave it to me."  She smiled.

"He's good-looking, isn't he?  That's why I kept it."

Jacey took a gamble.

"He doesn't look so handsome on the reward posters."

"So?"  Paloma looked at her calculatingly.

"You've heard about Lohaquin?"

"Not really," Jacey said.

"Only rumours.  I'd like to hear the truth."

"Well, you won't hear it from a stupid girl like Paloma."  The sound of
Dr.  Rodriguez's voice startled Jacey.  He glared at the Spanish
girl.

"I've told you before about pinning up those drawings.  You're turning
a terrorist into some kind of saint."

"So you think Lohaquin is a terrorist?"  Jacey asked.

Rodriguez turned to face her.

"What would you call a man who is supposed to have an army hidden in
the rain forest and who says he wants to take over the country?"

"I'd call him an optimist," Jacey said.  She hesitated.

"Or maybe even a hero."

Rodriguez snorted.

"Then you're as stupid as Paloma.  I hope you don't go around voicing
opinions like that.  They'll get you into a lot of trouble."  He
scowled at Jacey.

"And if you think your precious British passport will save you, you
don't understand men like Nicolas Schlemann."

"I thought he was a financier," Jacey said, 'not a policeman."

"He's anything and everything," Rodriguez said.

"He has far too much power and he's very dangerous."  For a moment,
Jacey thought she saw concern in the Spanish doctor's eyes.

"Just remember that when you deal with him."

"Any dealings I have with Nicolas Schlemann will be strictly
professional," Jacey said lightly.

"Bear that in mind when you meet him at the party tomorrow," Rodriguez
said.  His voice was dry.

How did he know about her social life?  She masked her surprise.

"I

didn't know he'd be there."  She shrugged.

"Nicolas wouldn't miss one of the famous Marquez extravaganzas."

Rodriguez's voice was bitter.

"Do you know that the money spent on one of those parties would keep
this hospital running for a month?"  She was about to speak but he
silenced her.

"Don't feel guilty.  Go and enjoy yourself.  It won't make any
difference if you sit at home like a martyr.  But remember that because
people are smiling at you, they're not necessarily your friends.
Particularly people like Nicolas Schlemann."

* *

"Very interesting," Peter said.  He had come into her room on her
invitation.

"But indecent."

Jacey turned to him and smiled.  She was wearing only her stockings, a
wispy suspender belt and a silky thong.

"Are you complaining or is that a compliment?"

"A bit of both," he said.

"Complaining because I haven't time to take advantage of you."

"You mean you get thrown in jail if you're late for one of the famous
Marquez parties?"  she teased.

"I don't mind being late," he said.  He moved towards her.

"But if I start on you now, I won't even want to go out."

She shrugged and turned slowly in front of him, her hands shielding her
breasts in mock modesty.

"So we stay in.  I don't mind."

She could tell that he was tempted.  To entice him further, she turned
again, and stretched her hands above her head, tensing her buttocks,
knowing that as the black line of her thong disappeared in the cleft
between them it emphasised their rounded appeal.  The stretch-lace
suspenders attached to the dark bangles of her stocking tops were also
an invitation to let his fingers stray.  Peter was a 'legs-and-bum'
man; he had already made that clear.

She smoothed her palms over her bottom, then half turned towards him
and bent one leg, stroking her inner thigh.

"I can undress," she suggested.

"It won't take a minute.  And I have an unopened bottle of wine in the
fridge."

He unselfconsciously adjusted his swelling erection.

"No," he said thickly.

"Paulo will be here in five minutes."

She walked towards him and saw his eyes move from her naked breasts to
the tiny vee of her thong which barely concealed the red bush of pubic
hair.

"So?"  she shrugged.

"We can tell Paulo to go away again."

"No.  Get dressed.  We're going out."

She was startled at his vehemence, and a warning bell rang at the back
of her mind.  Peter had never refused her before, and she knew that he
didn't really want to now.  But he was edgy.  His attitude reminded her
of the first time they had made love in the operating theatre; he had
acted as if he had something on his mind.  She knew that he wasn't
being completely honest with her now, and it annoyed her.  What was so
special about this party?  She walked towards the wardrobe door, where
her black dress was hanging, and lifted it down.  As she slipped it
over her head, she saw an expression of relief in his eyes.  Fully
covered, she glanced at him.

"Better?"  she asked sweetly.

"Do you feel happier now?"

"I feel uncomfortable," he grunted, 'and you know it."

"Well, you had your chance to do something about it," she said
unsympathetically.

She wanted to ask him what was wrong.  Instead she quickly checked her
appearance in the mirror.  Her loose hair fell to her shoulders like a
smooth, red curtain.  She glanced down and saw the hard peaks of her
nipples pushing against the silky dress fabric.  The mock seduction act
had aroused her as well as Peter.  Maybe I should wear a bra, she
thought.  Then she heard the sound of a car horn outside; it was too
late to change now.  She noticed Peter was looking at her with unusual
intensity.  She pirouetted playfully.

"Do I look suitably dressed for this party?"

"You look fine," he said.

"Very sexy."

"But not sexy enough to persuade you to stay home."

He looked suddenly guilty.

"The hospital gets money from Carlos Marquez.  So we have to b
sociable."

The warning bells started ringing again.  She sai nothing but she did
not believe him.  Was he suggesting that the Marquez family would
refuse to fund the fashionable La Primavera if one or two of the
medic;

staff weren't at a party?  There was something wrong about all this.

Peter was keeping something from he and it made her feel angry.

Whatever it was, she was determined to get to the truth before the
evening was over.

Chapter Three.

"The Marquez villa was on the outskirts of Techtatuan.  After driving
for about twenty minutes, Paulo stopped in front of a pair of massive
gates.  He blasted his horn, and the gates swung open, letting through
two burly men.  They both wore smart suits that looked slightly too
small for them and they stopped when they reached the car, one on each
side.  Paulo wound down the window and the largest of the two men
peered in.  A pair of dark, snakey-cold eyes gave Jacey a swift,
impersonal glance.  She shivered unexpectedly.  She recognised this
type of man;

he would kill without compunction, if his paymaster gave the order.

"You have an invitation, sir?"  The question, aimed at Peter, sounded
only barely polite.

Jacey felt suddenly irritated at being so pointedly ignored.

"We both have invitations," she said crisply.

The blank killer's eyes looked at her again.  The man said nothing but
simply held out his hand and took the card that Peter offered him.  A
quick look, and it was handed back.

"Is this your woman, sir?"

"Yes," Peter said.

The man nodded and stepped back.  A different face suddenly appeared at
Paulo's window.

"Don't loiter, Indian.  Drop your passengers and come straight out.
We'll be waiting."

"Of course, Senor," Paulo said obsequiously.  As the car moved forward
he muttered something that Jacey recognised as Chachte.  It sounded far
from polite.

She turned angrily to Peter.

"So I'm your woman, ami?"

Peter shrugged.

"What did you want me to say?"

"You could have told him to go away and find some manners, the fat
sexist pig!"

"You don't say that sort of thing to Schlemann's heavies," Peter
said.

She stared at him.

"I thought this place belonged to Carlos Marquez?"

Peter shrugged.

"It does.  But the goons are Schlemann's.  He gives the orders and they
obey.  Why do you think everyone's so afraid of him?"

"Doesn't Hernandez object?"

"Of course not," Peter said.  He smiled without humour.

"The Generalissimo needs Schlemann.  How else would he get the money to
buy all those pretty uniforms?"

The car swung round a thick clump of trees.  Jacey had been expecting
the Marquez villa to be impressive, but even so, she was surprised at
its overpowering opulence.  Before them was a massive, columned portico
and huge double doors, and the whole building was swept by coloured
searchlights that bathed the white walls in alternating shades of blue,
pink and green.

"I don't believe this," Jacey exclaimed.

"Disneyland meets the Grand Hotel."

"I believe Senora Marquez had a hand in the design," Peter said dryly,
as he got out of the car.

"She had rather flamboyant tastes."

"Had?"  Jacey repeated curiously.

"She's dead?"

Peter hesitated.

"Presumed dead.  She disappeared about six months after old man Marquez
died.  She didn't leave a note and she didn't take anything with her.
She was always loaded with expensive jewelry, but she didn't take any
money or clothes.  Just went out for a walk, and never came back."

"Kidnapped?"  Jacey guessed.

"No one ever made a ransom demand."

"Suicide?"

"Overcome with grief at her husband's death, you mean?"  Peter smiled
briefly.

"Very doubtful."

Jacey got out of the car and mouthed a 'thank you' to Paulo.  Paulo
grinned at her, then reversed the car and drove away.  Jacey walked
towards the villa with Peter.

"Murdered?"  she persisted.

"There was no body," Peter said.

"No one was arrested, even though the Marquez family tried very hard to
get information.  They offered a huge reward but there weren't any
takers."

"Mysterious," Jacey murmured.  She added, only half joking: "Perhaps
the boys bumped her off to get the family fortune?"

"Unnecessary," Peter said.

"Juanita Marquez doted on her sons and spoiled them rotten, and they
all have nice fat trust funds anyway."

They reached the villa doors.  Jacey could hear laughter and a band
playing Latin American tunes.

"Do you think Nicolas Schlemann had anything to do with it?"  she asked
lightly.

Peter shrugged.

"I wouldn't think so.  Schlemann and the Marquez family have always
been as thick as thieves.  Carlos and Nicolas dine with each other
regularly, and their fathers were great pals, too."

"I bet they were," Jacey murmured.

"The ambitious young lawyer and the ex-Nazi with plenty of illegal
cash.  Sounds like they were made for each other."

They went inside, and for a moment Jacey was dazzled by the central
chandelier which blazed with the light from hundreds of flickering
candles.  Squinting up at them, she realised that they were all fakes,
powered by electricity.

"Beautiful, isn't' it?"  Jacey turned to see a stately, elderly lady
smiling at her.

"One of dear Juanita's little extravagances.  She designed it herself,
and it was made in Europe.  Very expensive."

"Senora Collados."  Peter took the proffered hand and kissed it
lightly, surprising Jacey.

"How lovely to see you again.  Allow me to introduce you to my new
colleague at La Primavera, Dr.  Jacey Muldaire."

"I know who she is, foolish boy," the old lady said.

"Everyone's talking about the beautiful young doctor with the
extraordinary hair."

She smiled at Jacey.

"Please, you must call me Ana."  She took Jacey's hand.

"You won't know anyone here, of course, so let me introduce you to all
the best-looking men."

"Are you going to steal my partner, Senora Colla dos?"  Peter asked.

The question sounded light-hearted but there was a note of displeasure
behind it.  Ana Collados smiled at him, and Jacey realised that she
must have been quite a beauty in her youth.  She still had dark,
luminous eyes and a wide, sensual mouth.

"You must let me gossip with her, Peter.  I'll return her to you soon."
Turning her smile to Jacey, Ana edged her away from Peter Draven. Jacey
felt sorry for Peter, standing alone in the glittering foyer.

"Peter is a dear boy," Ana said.

"But English men can be so chilly, can't they?"  She glanced up at
Jacey.

"Are you sleeping with him?"

Startled, Jacey said coolly: "I really think that's my business."

Ana nodded.

"That means you are.  Well, never mind.  After tonight, maybe you'll
have found someone whose temperament will match that fiery hair of
yours, eh?  But first, come and meet my nephews.  Carlos is married,
and very boring, but as he's our host perhaps we ought to speak to him
first."

"I didn't realise you were related to the Marquez family," Jacey
said.

"I'm Juanita's aunt."  Ana nodded.

For a moment Jacey was uncomfortable.

"Oh.  I'm sorry.  Peter told me' "That she was dead?"  Ana laughed.

"Well, I suppose he would believe that story.  Lots of people do.  It's
nonsense, of course."

"You think she's alive?"  Jacey was surprised.

"Of course she's alive."  Ana's eyes were bright and conspiratorial.  A
thin hand patted Jacey's arm.

"You must understand that dear Juanita was a woman of great passions.
Making this house look beautiful, a love affair, a great cause;
whatever claimed her attention, she gave herself utterly.  And, of
course, she didn't care a fig for convention.

She thought it necessary to leave here, so off she went.  She's
pursuing one of her dreams.  Believe me.  I know."

Jacey looked at the old lady and smiled.

"Well, I hope you're right."

"You think I'm an old fool, don't you?"  Ana said bluntly.

"But Juanita isn't dead.  I'd know if she was."  Jacey realised she was
being guided through a crowd that parted to move out of her way.
Suddenly she was facing a thick-set man with glossy, slicked-back hair.
He was wearing an immaculate evening suit.  A slim woman, glittering
with too much jewelry, stood next to him.

"Carlos," Ana said, 'this is Dr.  Muldaire."

Carlos smiled and held out his hand and Jacey noticed the heavy gold
Rolex on his wrist.

"Delighted to meet you at last, Dr.  Muldaire.  I'm glad you could
come."

They exchanged pleasantries.  Carlos Marquez exuded the kind of
professional charm that Jacey knew could be turned on and off at will
and his bejewelled wife next to him gave Jacey a frigid smile and an
unresponsive hand to shake.

"Carlos takes after his father," Ana said, as she guided Jacey away.

"Alfonso Marquez was a very boring man.  Rich, of course that's why
Juanita married him but so dull.  Raoul and Leonardo are quite
different, thank God."

"They take after their mother?"  Jacey asked.

"Oh, no.  They take after their fathers, too."  Ana smiled at Jacey.

"Raoul's father was a Frenchman.  Charming, a beautiful man. Leonardo's
was an Italian.  Tall and thin, and rather shy.  I didn't see the
attraction but Juanita was besotted with him for at least a year."

"She chose her children's names according to the nationality of her
lovers?"  Jacey was amazed.

"Didn't her husband mind?  I thought Spanish men were very jealous."

Ana shrugged.

"Alfonso was too busy making money to care, scheming with that
disgusting Nazi, Heinrich Schlemann.  And Juanita had done her duty by
him, hadn't she?  She gave him Carlos.  That's what he wanted: a son.
There's no doubt about Carlos's paternity.  He looks just like
Alfonso."  She pointed suddenly.

"There's dear Raoul.  Come and meet him.  You'll love him.  All the
women do."

Jacey saw a young man in a crowd of laughing guests, and as Ana urged
her forward she suddenly realised that he looked familiar.  Much too
familiar.  She recognised the large, brown eyes, the perfect oval face,
the dark, brown hair with a hint of gold.  She felt her cheeks begin to
flush with embarrassment.

"Raoul, my dear."  Ana pushed Jacey forward.

"I

want you to meet our new doctor.  This is Jacey Muldaire."

The young man turned with the same dancer's grace that Jacey had
admired before, and smiled.  Jacey remembered the smile, too.

"We've already met," he said.

"Oh?"  Ana looked slightly put out.

"You didn't tell me," she challenged Jacey.

"Aunt Ana," Raoul said, "I doubt if you gave the poor lady a chance to
get a word in edgeways."  He held out his hand to Jacey.

"I'm so glad you could come, Dr.  Muldaire."  Instead of relinquishing
his grasp, he tightened it, and pulled her gently forward.

"Please, come and talk to me.  I'd like to practise my English."

The crowd parted for them and Raoul led Jacey towards an open French
window and on to a wide balcony surrounded by a balustrade.  There were
several other couples already out there but they slipped discreetly
back inside when Raoul appeared.

By now Jacey's embarrassment was turning to anger.

"You let me make a complete fool of myself at the hospital," she
said.

"Why on earth didn't you tell me who you were?"

He turned her to face him suddenly, and held her by both shoulders.

Once again, she saw how handsome he was, but his perfectly proportioned
body and flawlessly regular features made him seem vaguely androgynous.
Looking at him gave her the same kind of pleasure she got from seeing a
beautiful painting but it did not excite her sexually.

"Please," he said, in English, 'you must forgive me."

"Please," she said, in the same language, 'explain why you lied to
me."

He laughed.

"Because it was so amusing to be mistaken for a gigolo.

And one of Julia's gigolos at that.  Julia thought it was hilarious.

But she also thought I would be worth a thousand dollars for a night of
love.  I was very upset that you did not agree."

"It was a ridiculous price," she said.

"And fancy telling Senora Atriega.  Whatever will she think of me
now?"

He shrugged.

"Nothing bad.  How could she?  She has often told me that I am so
desirable that I should sell myself and make a fortune."  He looked
suddenly mournful.

"And then you tell me you wouldn't buy me.

I'm desolated."

"No, you're not," Jacey said crisply.

"I'm sure this house is full of young women who would be only too happy
to leap into bed with you."

"You're absolutely right," he agreed with disarming honesty.

"But I don't want them.  I want you."  He moved closer to her.

"We could make sweet music together," he said soulfully.

It was so corny that she almost laughed.  She had to put him off.

"I'm already in a relationship," she said.

"With Peter Draven?  I can give you so much more than he can."  His
brown eyes explored her face with such intensity that she felt as if
they were stroking her skin.

"Much, much more," he murmured.

"What do Englishmen know about making love?  They're always in a
hurry."  He fixed his gaze on the expanse between her neck and the top
of her black dress, moving his eyes deliberately to where her nipples
pressed against the silky cloth.  He pursed his lips slightly and
smiled, leaving her in no doubt as to what he was thinking.

"I could arouse you just with my mouth," he said softly.

"Just my lips and my tongue.

I would start by kissing you until you were breathless, and then I
would move all over your body, very slowly.  Can you imagine the tip of
my tongue exploring you?  Exploring every part of you?

Every secret part."  He leant closer and she felt the warmth of his
breath brushing her cheek.

"Think about it.  Imagine my lips on your skin, torturing you with
pleasure."

It was a ridiculously theatrical speech, she thought, like a seduction
scene out of a bad movie.  Yet it was also curiously stimulating.  She
longed to be aroused by the intimate movements of someone's mouth.  She
had always enjoyed the sensation, but several of her previous partners
had no idea of the interesting ways in which they could use their
tongues.  Some of them didn't even know how to kiss properly.  They had
often left her disappointed and frustrated.  She had a feeling that
Raoul would be one of those rare men who actually enjoyed lengthy
foreplay, and that he would take the trouble to discover exactly how
his partner liked to be caressed.

"Maybe I would explore your beautiful neck?"  His voice was a low,
hypnotic monotone.

"Would you enjoy that?  And then your shoulders.  And your throat.  And
then down to your breasts.  I think you would unfasten your dress for
me.  I think you would encourage me."

He was closer still, his mouth approaching hers.  Although his words
were certainly making her feel sexy, she was acutely aware that in her
mind's eye she was seeing a totally different kind of man.  Taller,
harder, and more masculine.  Nothing like the beautiful Raoul; her
composite man was not unlike Nicolas Schlemann.  And the more she tried
to banish the image, the stronger it became.

She remembered his dark, unreadable eyes, the firm grip of his hand,
and the attractively irregular hair framing that dangerous-looking
face.  She remembered the way his taut muscles moved under his tanned
skin when he stripped off his shirt.  All right, she thought, Nicolas
Schlemann is physically attractive.  And he was deliberately being nice
to me.  Like a cat playing with a mouse?  The image came to her
unexpectedly.  He had reminded me of a cat, a cat preening.  That
prompted another memory:

the controlled power of his movements when he had partially undressed
and then pulled his clothes back on.  How would he make love, she
wondered?  She had a feeling that he would like to be in control.

All the time.  Would it exciting to be told what to do?

She suddenly remembered Faisel, and his brutal use of her body and
emotions.  She heard his voice, still clear in her mind after all those
years, demanding service me!  But that was different, she thought.  He
wasn't acting out of love, or even sexual desire.  He used me for his
own selfish ends.  I was an innocent, silly teenager.  And he was a
bastard who really hated women.

She remembered the first time she had seen Faisel with one of his
boyfriends, seen them holding hands, then kissing.  She had watched
Faisel turn his head and stare at her as she gawped at him, her mouth
half-open with shock.  He had deliberately reached for his companion's
crotch, fondled the bulge of his erection for a few moments, then
unzipped the boy's jeans and pulled them slowly down to his knees.

The boy was not wearing any underwear.  His penis looked huge as it
strained upwards.  Faisel knelt down and grasped the boy's buttocks,
fingers digging and massaging, while his mouth sucked greedily at that
swollen cock.  She remembered the boy's noisy orgasm, his body shaking
violently, and the way Faisel had turned to her and smiled triumphantly
afterwards.

It was then that she had discovered why he had duped her into marriage.
His family expected him to conform.  She must have looked like a gift
from heaven, too young, infatuated, and innocent to suspect the truth.
A foreigner, who would be a virtual prisoner once she arrived in his
native country, trapped by her ignorance of the language and the law.
He had married her with callous disregard to her future and her
happiness because his family expected him to be a dutiful son, and a
husband.  She remembered sobbing with frustrated rage, determined to
find a way of informing his parents about his deception, and wondering
how to enlist their help to get back home.

She did not realise that the true horror was yet to come, and that his
family would be willing collaborators.

She dismissed her memories.  She was well aware that Nicolas Schlemann
was probably a womaniser, but if she had an affair with him, at least
she would be in control.  She could walk away from him any time she
liked.  Then her common sense took over.  Don't even consider it, she
told herself.  You, of all people, should not be seduced by
appearances.  And Nicolas Schlemann is probably a selfish, hasty
lover.

Raoul put his hands on her waist and began to slide them upwards.

"I

think you would like to feel my tongue circle your nipples," he
whispered.

"I think maybe they are already erect, waiting for me to excite them
even more."

She abruptly stopped daydreaming, and tried to think of a polite way of
discouraging him from going any further.  She didn't want to hurt his
feelings.

His voice changed tone, became more urgent, louder.

"Come upstairs with me.  There is a beautiful room where we can be
alone."

She put her hands on his chest and pushed him back playfully but
firmly.

"You're very sweet, Raoul, but I'm ... too old for you."

He laughed.

"You're not.  I'm twenty-one and you're maybe six years older?"  She
did not correct him.

"That's no age at all," he said.

"I

wouldn't care if you were forty.  I have made love to many older women.
I adore older women.  They're adventurous and knowledgeable.  I adore
all women."  He closed in on her again.

"I adore you."

She backed away again.  Tm with Peter," she said.

He caught her hand, and kissed it.  His mouth felt light and warm on
her skin.

"I see no ring on your finger."

"We have an agreement," she said.

Raoul looked at her with his melting brown eyes.  She wondered suddenly
if he gave that soulful look to all women to entice them.  His voice
dropped to a seductive whisper.

"Peter won't mind.  He brought you here, didn't he?"

She stiffened.

"What is that supposed to mean?"  Her voice was sharper than she
intended.

Raoul was close again.

"We are very modern here."  His lips brushed her ear.

"Do you understand me?  Peter knows that."  His hands went round her
waist.

"I want you, Jacey.  I wanted you as soon as I saw you in the hospital
corridor.  I wanted you more than anyone else in the whole world.  Is
it so bad of me to feel that way?"

"No," she said.

"Foolish, maybe."

But a suspicion was forming in her mind, and the more she thought about
it, the more she felt certain it was the truth.  Peter had been very
anxious for her to come to this party.  He had turned down her blatant
offer of a nice, private sexy evening, something he had not done
before.  Why was he so keen for her to go along with him?  So that
Raoul Marquez could try and charm her into making love?

Raoul could have engineered any number of ways to meet her, but here at
the villa everything was laid on.  There was even a convenient bedroom
upstairs.  A bedroom with a two-way mirror?  she wondered.  With a
hidden camera?

Was Raoul into exhibitionism?  Maybe Peter had been testing the water
by asking her if she would perform with Nicolas Schlemann?  Maybe he
was going to suggest instead some fun and games with Raoul Marquez.

Perhaps I'm supposed to be a bribe, she thought.  Raoul's family helps
finance La Primavera.  If they're happy, they'll be generous.  Was that
why Peter had objected weakly when Ana commandeered me?  Did he know
she would take me straight to Raoul?

Raoul was nibbling her ear but although the sensation was pleasurable,
she jerked her head away from him.

"Did you ask Peter to bring me here?"  she demanded.

He looked surprised.

"I suggested it.  I thought you would like to come to a party."

"This was all planned, wasn't it?"  She couldn't disguise her annoyance
any longer.

"Peter brought me here for you."  She pushed him hard away from her,
and he staggered back.

"Well, I'm not having it."  She headed for the French window.

"Peter's a bastard, so are you, and I'm not interested in either of
you."

She did not notice the man standing beside the French window until she
had almost cannoned into him.

"Lover's tiff?"  His dark eyes showed sardonic amusement.

She stepped back.

"Do you normally listen in on private conversations, Senor
Schlemann?"

"Often."  He leant against the doorpost, blocking her exit.

"But your conversation was far too noisy to be considered private, Dr.
Muldaire."

He shifted his position, with lazy elegance, and again she was reminded
of a sleek jungle cat.

"Exactly who are you no longer interested in?"  he asked, curiously.

"Our young cut-price Valentine, Raoul Marquez?"

"Don't try and be humorous, Nicci," Raoul interrupted angrily.

"You're not very good at it."

"I could say the same about your attempts to be romantic," Nicolas
said.

"Not having much success with Dr.  Muldaire, are you?"  He smiled,
moved towards her, and put a hand possessively on her shoulder.

"Maybe I'll have better luck."

Raoul stepped forward, his face tight with anger, and for a moment
Jacey thought there would be a fight.  Nicolas Schlemann was outwardly
relaxed, but she felt-the tension in his body.  Instinct told her that
he was well able to take care of himself.  She was not so certain about
Raoul.

Anxious to diffuse the tension, she pulled away from Nicolas.

"Please, gentlemen, do stop behaving like silly children."  She smiled
brightly at both of them.

"It's very flattering to be wanted, but I'm not on offer to either of
you.  I'm here with Peter Draven."

She was relieved to see Raoul stop, and then shrug.  Nicolas made no
further attempt to touch her.  Raoul turned to him and said, with a
note of challenge in his voice, "Dr.  Muldaire is quite right, Nicci.
We shouldn't force our attentions on her, should we?"

Nicolas smiled mockingly but did not move.

"I've never forced myself on a woman in my life."  He paused, and his
voice changed to a seductive murmur.

"Although the right kind of force can be exciting."  His hand reached
for Jacey again.  His fingers rested lightly on her neck, then tangled
briefly with her hair.

"Don't you agree, Dr.  Muldaire?"

Jacey knew that the next move was hers.  Common sense told her that she
should snub Nicolas Schle mann, and go back to the main room to find
Peter.  But she still couldn't fathom why Peter had brought her to this
particular party.  Had he really been planning some voyeuristic fun and
games with Raoul, it would serve them both right if she ended up with
Nicolas Schlemann instead.  Just for the evening, she told herself.
She certainly did not intend to get seriously involved with this
conceited and undoubtedly dangerous political racketeer.

Nicolas was regarding her with amused confidence.

"The desirability of using force is always open to debate," she said
lightly.

/! enjoy a good debate," he said smoothly.

"Let me get you a drink, and we'll talk."

He moved round her and at the same time managed to put himself behind
Raoul, so that as he walked towards the French window he edged Raoul
forward.  Before he left, Raoul turned to glance at Jacey, and she felt
suddenly and unexpectedly sorry for him.  He looked young, vulnerable,
and disappointed.  But at least this scenario would prove that she
really wasn't interested in ending up in bed with him.

Do I really want Nicolas Schlemann?  she asked herself.  Although she
had been determined to dislike him, she found it very hard to actually
do so when he was close to her.  Again, she had a strong feeling that
she should walk out on him, there and then.  But, for some reason, she
waited until he returned, carrying two glasses.  He had not asked her
what she wanted, but had brought her champagne, and whisky for
himself.

She took the glass from him.

"What are we celebrating?"  she asked.

"The fact that I've saved you from being pestered , into bed by Raoul
Marquez," he replied.

"Or is making love to an overgrown schoolboy your idea of an exciting
evening?"

"I had no intention of going to bed with Raoul," she said.

"I was about to go and find Peter."

"You wouldn't have found him," Nicolas said.

"Peter's gone home."

She stared back at him incredulously.

"I don't believe you."

Nicolas shrugged.

"Then go on.  Find him."  He lounged back against the balustrade.

"I'll wait here.  Come back when you get tired of looking."

She paused.  She felt certain that Nicolas was telling the truth.  How
dare Peter bring me here and dump me, she thought.  Now she was certain
that he had connived with Raoul.  She glanced at Nicolas.  He was
watching her with a sardonic smile.  To hell with Peter, she thought,
and to hell with Raoul.  I'll stay with Nicolas for the evening.

"It looks as if I've been abandoned," she said, trying to sound
flippant.

"Aren't you lucky," he said.

"Instead of being bored to death by Dr.  Draven, or pawed by that idiot
Raoul, you can enjoy a far more stimulating evening with me."

"Peter is a good friend of mine," she said.

"And I'm sure Raoul isn't an idiot.  He was just getting a little
emotionally over-enthusiastic, that's all."

Nicolas laughed.

"What a neat way of putting it.  Raoul is always getting
over-enthusiastic about some thing.  A woman, a new hobby, or a
splendid good cause.  He's an emotional dilettante.  But what do you
expect from the offspring of a Frenchman and a whore."

"Just because Juanita Marquez had a couple of affairs after she was
married, it doesn't make her a whore," Jacey said.

"She was a whore before she married," Nicolas said.

"A whore who thought marrying money would make her a lady.  Which it
didn't, of course.  And she didn't just have a couple of affairs, as
you so politely say.  She fucked everyone she could lay her hands on,
male or female.  She even made a play for me.  She liked to tease, to
lead people on.  In the end, someone obviously got frustrated with her
games, and killed her."

"You think she's really dead?"  Jacey asked.

"Of course."  He gave her a quizzical look.

"Don't you?"

"Some people think she's still alive."  Jacey was hedging.

He grinned suddenly.

"You've been talking to that senile old fool Ana, haven't you?  She
believes all that reincarnation rubbish that the Indians teach.  She
probably thinks Juanita has come back as a parrot, or something equally
ridiculous."

"She thinks Juanita was bored with her life here and ran away with a
lover," Jacey said.

Nicolas laughed derisively.

"He would have to have been a very rich lover to persuade Juanita to
leave Techtatuan.  Alfonso Marquez treated her far too leniently when
he was alive, and she inherited this villa and a sizeable portion of
his money when he died.  She would never have willingly left all this."
He smiled mockingly at Jacey.

"Like most women, she was far too fond of money and comfort."

"Am I included in that sweeping condemnation?"  Jacey asked.

"Why call it a condemnation?"  His smile was meant to challenge her.

"Women have their place in the order of things.  It's natural for them
to want to live a life of luxury, and natural for them to expect a man
to pay for it."  He was watching her closely.

"In return, of course, they have to be taught obedience.  To behave
themselves in the bedroom.

To please their man, and act out his fantasies for him.  That's far
more natural than wanting to wear a white coat and be a doctor."  For a
moment Jacey was speechless.  Nicolas smiled, with genuine humour this
time.

"However, as a patient I must say I preferred your professional touch
to that of Dr.  Draven.  I haven't forgotten how delightful your hands
felt when you examined me His put his empty whisky glass on the
balustrade.

"But you enjoy being thought sexy and desirable too, don't you, Dr.
Muldaire?  You enjoy men?"

"Some men," she said carefully.

Then like Peter Draven?"  He shook his head in mockery.

"Whatever did you see in that colourless Englishman?"

Although she was feeling angry with Peter, Jacey could not be disloyal;
she didn't intend to criticise him to Nicolas Schlemann.

"He's dedicated his entire life to helping people," she said.

"Well, so have I."  Nicolas took a step forward but she stood her
ground.  She was close enough now to feel the masculine warmth of his
body, and smell the very faint, sharp scent of cologne as he spoke.

"I'm responsible for most of the modernisation you see in Guachtal."

"And for turning it into a police state?"

He lounged back against the balustrade again.

"What an odd accusation.

I'm just a simple business man.  Generalissimo Hernandez controls the
army."

"And who controls the professional heavies who insulted me when I
arrived here?"

"I provided the security men for this party," Nicolas admitted.

"Which one insulted you?"

"The large one, on the gates."

He thought for a moment.

"That sounds like Marco.  What exactly did he say?"

"Nothing," she said.

"That's my point.  He ignored me.  He asked Peter if I was his
woman."

"Oh dear."  Nicolas grinned lazily.

"How very politically incorrect of him."

"Don't compound the insult by laughing at me," she snapped crossly.

"If you're going to let your pet goons loose on the general public, at
least teach them to be polite."

"Marco is useful," Nicolas said, 'but perhaps a little uncouth."  He
straightened up and stretched, and she was reminded again of his
prowling, feline strength.

"I can understand you not wanting to be Peter Draven's property."  One
step brought him close to her.

"But what about me?  Would you object to belonging to me?"

"I don't like the word "belong"," she said.

"I'm an independent, professional woman, remember?  I believe in
equality."

"At work, maybe," he agreed.

"I have no quarrel with that."  Another step forward.

"But that's not the kind of relationship I'm referring to."

Although she knew she should back away, instead she wanted to reach out
and touch him.  Trace her finger round the line of his jaw.  She found
herself wondering what his mouth would feel like pressed over hers.  Or
travelling downwards, to excite her body.

"I really don't know what you're talking about," she lied.

"Yes, you do," he said.

"I'm talking about sex.  And you're thinking about it."

She felt herself blushing.  Was she that transparent?

"Don't tell me I've embarrassed you, Dr.  Muldaire?"  He grinned
crookedly.

"An independent, professional woman like you?  You knew we were going
to end up together, didn't you?  You knew it when I first met you at
the hospital."

No, she thought, I didn't.  When you walked across to me with that
charming smile, and your hand outstretched, it reminded me of the way I
felt when I first saw Faisel.  That sudden, dangerous, unmistakable
physical thrill.

"Do you always assume that every woman you meet is going to fall for
you, Senor Schlemann?"  Jacey asked coolly.

"The ones I want usually do he said.  He stepped back, then reached out
and placed his hands lightly on her shoulders.  He began to massage her
flesh gently.

"And I want you, Dr.  Jacey Muldaire."

"Don't take me for granted," she warned.

She felt his grip tighten.

"But you like being dominated, don't you?"

His fingers dug into her flesh.

"You like strong men, and power turns you on.  Once the bedroom door
has closed you're quite happy to stop giving orders, and start taking
them.  Master and servant?  Master and slave?"  She was swaying as his
hands worked on the muscles of her shoulders.

"The idea excites you, doesn't it?"  His voice became softly
seductive.

"And luckily for you, that's just the way I like to play it, too. We'll
make an ideal couple.  I'm going to enjoy finding out exactly how far
you're willing to go.  How far I can push you.  Exactly what you'll do
to please me."

"You can't assume anything," she said unsteadily.

"You don't know a thing about me."

"I know enough," he said.

"You want me as much as I want you.  And what's more, I can prove it."
He let her go and stepped back, smiling his charming, crooked, and
utterly self-confident smile.

"Walk away from me, Dr.  Muldaire.  Walk away, and I promise I'll never
bother you again."  He paused.

"Even if you change your mind and beg me to.  Walk away from me.
Now."

She should take him at his word.  You're just a trophy to this man, she
told herself.  One more victory on his score sheet.  He knows you're
attracted to him and that gives him power.  He'll use that power
ruthlessly to get what he wants.  Just like Faisel, she thought
suddenly.  But this is different; my eyes are wide open now.  This
isn't a romance, and neither of us need to pretend that it is.  This is
almost a business arrangement.

Nicolas Schlemann wants what I want:

a no-strings affair, like a courtesan with a client.  The idea was
beginning to excite her.  And so was the possibility of finding out
exactly what kind of games he liked to play.

"I don't beg she said.

He raised one eyebrow.

"That's a rash claim, Dr.  Muldaire."  His smile was dangerous now, the
smile of a predator, sure of his prey.

"I'll have to put it to the test."  He held out his hand.

"Come with me."

He linked her arm in his, and she walked beside him through the French
window towards the chattering guests.  She noticed how swiftly people
stepped aside to let them pass, as if Nicolas was royalty.  When he
stopped to talk to anyone, he was greeted with effusive jollity.  But
the smiles looked forced, and Jacey had a strong feeling that anyone he
talked to was heartily glad when he moved on.

And yet he seemed determined to linger.  He put his arm possessively
round her shoulders while he was talking, and although he included her
in his conversations only once or twice, she received her share of
smiles.  But they looked wary, she realised, rather than sincere.

Nicolas guided her through the crowd, and she knew his indulgent
friendliness was as hypocritical as that of the guests.  He reminded
her of a leopard stalking at a waterhole, looking for the most
succulent victim to devour.

When he finally made for the door she murmured ironically, "You do seem
to have a lot of friends."

"I do, don't I," he murmured back, equally ironic.

"Is there anyone in particular you'd like to meet?"

"The famous Generalissimo Hernandez?"  she suggested.

He looked momentarily startled.

"Whatever makes you think he's here?"

She shrugged.  Teter told me these parties get lively later on.  Even
dictators like to relax occasionally, don't they?"

Nicolas laughed.

"Hernandez wouldn't like to hear you call him a dictator.  And he
doesn't attend parties like this.  His wife, wouldn't let him."

This time she joined in the laughter.

"You're joking?"

"I'm not," Nicolas said.

"Filar Hernandez is a very formidable woman.

The Generalissimo is devoted to her and he respects her opinions."

"The power behind the throne?"  Jacey hinted.

"Not as often as she thinks," Nicolas said smoothly.

"But as it happens, this is one of the few times that I agree with her.
Attending this kind of party would be bad for the Generalissimo's
public image."

Jacey shrugged.

"Why should he care about his image?  He has the guns to back up his
position."

"I'd rather he didn't need guns," Nicolas said.

"Guns are expensive, but public affection is cheap.  And you don't try
to depose a leader that you love."

"But the people don't exactly love him, do they?"  She was determined
to challenge him.

They had left the crowded room behind them and Nicolas was guiding her
towards the wide stairs.

"What makes you think they don't?"  he asked.

"A lot of them want a change of leadership," she said.

He stopped abruptly and swung round to face her, trapping her against
the ornate bannister post.

"Really?"  His voice was cold.

"Who told you that?"

"No one," she said.

"But I'm sure Lohaquin would confirm it, if I asked him."

Nicolas stared at her for a moment, and she saw fury in his eyes.  Then
he relaxed, and laughed, but there was no humour in his dark gaze.

"That playacting clown.  Who's been talking to you about him?"

"No one in particular."  She was fascinated by his sudden mood
change.

"I saw the wanted posters in town."  Ingenuously, she added, "But I did
hear a rumour that you're offering a huge reward for Lohaquin's
capture.  He must be very dangerous if you're so anxious to arrest
him."

"He's not dangerous," Nicolas snapped.

"He's just a scruffy trouble-maker who's talked a few Indians into
believing they can run this country better than we can.  He skulks in
the rain forest, and tells people that he's some kind of mysterious
saviour.  The Indian boys are the only ones he can dupe with his
ridiculous ideas about changing Guachtal."

"So there's no reward money?"  she asked.

Nicolas shrugged.

"We would show our gratitude if someone helped us catch him, I
suppose."  He smiled a predatory, dangerous smile.

"Why?

Are you planning to supplement your wages at La Primavera by trying to
arrest Lohaquin?"

"I wouldn't know where to start looking," she said innocently.

"Keep it that way," he advised.  His tone was light, but she suspected
that he meant her to take his warning seriously.

"Don't meddle in our politics, Dr.  Muldaire.  Stick to the things you
understand."  He smiled and it softened the hard lines of his face.
Here was the man who had charmed her so unexpectedly at the hospital.

"Things like making people feel good."  His voice changed, too.

"Making men feel good.

You're going to make me feel good soon, aren't you, doctor?  You're
something of an expert at that, I believe."

"You make me sound like a whore," she said reprovingly.

"All women are whores at heart," he said.  His hands slipped under her
arms, and his thumbs touched the underside of her breasts, then slid
upwards to brush her nipples.  She was not wearing a bra, and because
his light touch was intensely arousing, her nipples contracted
noticeably.  She gasped.

"No underwear?"  He grinned.

"How delightful."  He put both thumbs against her nipples and then,
with erotic roughness, captured her breasts in his hands and pushed
them upwards until they met the tight neckline of her dress.  He bent
down and kissed the cleft between them with an unexpected gentleness
before the tip of his tongue traced a moist pattern on her bare skin.
His arms slipped behind her and down to her bottom, and suddenly, as
she felt his fingers tugging at the dress, trying to pull it up, she
remembered exactly where they were.

"For heaven's sake."  She tried to pull away from him.

"Not here."

"Not embarrassed, are you, Dr.  Muldaire?"  he asked, laughing.

"I assure you, what we're doing is totally innocent compared to what
will be going on here very soon."

"Just as long as I don't have to participate," she said.

"You're quite safe," he said.

"No one would dare to touch my property."

She realised at once why he had escorted her so publicly through the
crowd of guests; he had been making a clear statement of ownership.

She did not know whether to feel angry or amused.

"You'll have to tell Peter that I'm your property," she said lightly,
testing him.

He gave her a curious look.

"You can tell him yourself," he said.

"The next time you see him."  He stepped back, abruptly.

"Wait for me here," he said.

"I have to arrange something."

Before she could say anything, he strode away.  She stood at the bottom
of the stairs.  Guests walked past her in pairs or groups, and nodded
and smiled.  Several of them peered at her surreptitiously from the
main room, then dodged back when they saw that she had spotted them.

"You really shouldn't, you know."  The familiar voice made Jacey turn
round.  Ana Collados came towards her.

"It's very foolish of you."

Jacey smiled politely.

"Foolish to be friends with Nicolas Schlemann, you mean?"

Ana nodded.

"I daresay you find him attractive.  Many women do.  But the Indians
have offered him to the loha.  It will destroy turn.  And you as well,
if you're with him."

"Destroy him?"  Jacey repeated, intrigued.

"How?"

"The loha will strike him when he least expects it," Ana said.

"It's very powerful.  Powerful and cruel.  It will not spare you
because you're innocent."  She looked at Jacey, obviously concerned.

"Let me introduce you to someone less dangerous."

Jacey smiled politely.

"Don't worry," she said.

"I can take care of myself."

"You don't understand," Ana said.

"There is no protection against the loha."

"What exactly is aloha Jacey asked.

"Something like Lohaquin?"

Ana nodded.

"It's like a part of the Lohaquin.  The loha lives in the space between
the worlds.  That's what the Indians say."  She glanced over Jacey's
shoulder, and suddenly her face changed.  She smiled brightly and
patted Jacey's hand.

"So just remember what I've told you," she said and walked away.

Jacey turned to see Nicolas walking towards her.

"What did that old fool want this time?"  he asked.

"She was telling me about aloha Jacey said.

"Whatever that is."

"It's an idiotic native superstition," he said.

"Some kind of spirit."

"Well, apparently it's waiting for you," Jacey said brightly.

Nicolas sighed irritably.

"Ana and Juanita made a good pair.  They were both fascinated by all
that rubbish the Indians teach."

"Apparently the loha is going to destroy you said Jacey.

"It's powerful and cruel.  Don't you think you should be just a little
bit worried?"

"It'll take more than a few natives dancing about in the forest
muttering incantations to destroy me Nicolas replied.  He grabbed hold
of her hand and pulled her towards the stairs.

"Come with me.  I've arranged something for you.  I think you'll enjoy
it."

He hustled her up the wide staircase and along a carpeted corridor.

When he opened a door for her, she fully expected to find herself in a
bedroom, or a room designed for some kind of amorous dalliance, maybe
furnished with comfortable chairs or a chaise longue.  Instead she was
in a rather conventional study.

A large, old-fashioned desk stood by the window, with a padded swivel
chair behind it.  There were glass-fronted bookcases, and framed
photographs of polo players on the walls.  Nicolas went behind the
desk, sat down and picked up the telephone.

"Come in now," he ordered abruptly.

Almost immediately the door opened and Marco came in.  His cold,
snake's eyes glanced at Jacey without obvious recognition, and then at
Nicolas.  Even larger than Jacey remembered, he made Nicolas look
lightweight.

"Marco," Nicolas said.

"You've offended my friend Dr.  Muldaire."

Marco's eyes switched to Jacey, then back to Nico las again.

"I wasn't aware of it, sir."

Nicolas smiled.

"Are you calling me a liar, Marco?"

"No, sir," Marco said quickly.

"Certainly not, sir."

"That's good."  Nicolas pushed the revolving chair far back enough to
allow him to stretch his legs and put his feet on the desk.

"Apologise to Dr.  Muldaire, Marco."

Marco looked at Jacey, his eye dark and glacial.

"I am sorry if I have offended you, Dr.  Muldaire/ he said blankly.

"That's not good enough."  Nicolas lounged back.

"I want Dr.  Muldaire to be absolutely certain that you're sorry for
your boorish behaviour."

His feet swung to the floor suddenly, and he leant forward.

"Kneel on the floor, Marco, and ask Dr.  Muldaire to forgive you."

Jacey was about to protest that this kind of apology was unnecessary,
but Marco obeyed instantly.  He knelt down, and as he looked up, again
she found herself gazing into his impassive eyes.  Jacey was flustered
and surprised.

"I am very sorry that I offended you, Dr.  Muldaire," he said, his
voice as blank as his expression.

"I apologise."

"I humbly apologise," Nicolas prompted.

"I humbly apologise," Marco repeated.

"Now kiss her feet," Nicolas instructed.

"No, really' Jacey began.

Marco hesitated.

"Do it!"  Nicolas ordered.

Marco bent forward, and she felt the brief tap of his mouth against her
shoe.

"Stand up," Nicolas said.  Marco stood up.  Nicolas smiled.

"You'll be polite to Dr.  Muldaire in future, won't you, Marco?"  He
paused for a brief moment.

"As long as she's a friend of mine, you'll be very polite."

"Yes, sir," Marco said.

When the door closed behind him, Jacey couldn't help saying: "You
really are a bastard, aren't you?"

Nicolas lazed back in his chair again.

"Is that all the thanks I get?

You enjoyed it, didn't you?"

"No."  But she knew it was a lie.  While it had not given her any kind
of sexual kick to see Marco humiliated, she did derive a certain
satisfaction from receiving his unwilling apology.

"And you've made me an enemy," she added.

Nicolas stood up, and came round to the front of the desk.  Reaching
out for her, he put his hands on either side of her neck.  She felt his
fingers grip gently, then one hand moved to the back of her head.  The
other stroked the line of her jaw, and ended under her chin.  His grip
tightened and he forced her head back slowly.

"As long as you're my woman, you're quite safe," he said.

She felt herself being drawn towards him.  She wanted him to kiss her,
and yet, perversely, she wanted to resist, to make him force her.

Almost imperceptibly, she pulled away from him and immediately felt his
grip turn to iron.  Although she knew it was a fantasy, she was filled
with the sensation that if she resisted him too much, he would snap her
head back and break her neck.  Why did she find this situation so
arousing?  His lips touched hers.  Firmly closed, they rested on her
mouth lightly.  She felt the warmth of his skin and the hard strength
of his body moving against her.  Then, slowly, his tongue began to
force her lips apart.

And then the phone rang.  Nicolas pulled away from her abruptly, and
said, in German, something brief and vicious.  His phone conversation
was short and to the point.

"Yes.  You did the right thing.  I'll be with you in ten minutes."
Turning back to Jacey he smiled, and shrugged.

"The police have just caught two boys they think I'd like to question.
I'm sorry, but I have to go."

"An interrogation?"  she asked.

"An interview," he said.

"All very civilised.  I hope you don't think I use knuckle-dusters and
a cosh."

She wondered exactly how much power she needed to entice him to stay.

"Can't it wait?"  she murmured seductively.

"A couple of boys can't be that important."

"That depends on who they're working for," he said.

"They're Indian kids.  They could be stealing for themselves, or if
they're really stupid, they'll be doing it for Lohaquin."

She snuggled closer to him.

"Surely you don't have to go right now?"

He put his hands round her waist and held her tightly.

"Prisoners tend to tell the truth when they're confused and frightened.
Don't you have a saying in English about striking while the iron's
hot?"

She was close enough to feel his erection pushing against her
stomach.

She slipped her hand down and captured it with gently probing
fingers.

"What a pity that maxim only applies to your prisoners," she
murmured.

"It doesn't."

He lifted her suddenly, dumping her roughly on the desk.  Moving
quickly, he lodged himself between her outstretched legs, preventing
her from closing them.

She wriggled, pretending to protest, only to ruche her skirt even
higher round her thighs.  He pushed at the hem until it reached her
waist, revealing her wispy, black, suspender belt and her matching
silky thong.

As she lay there spreadeagled, he surveyed her body.

"Very nice," he approved.

"Very sexy."  His fingers touched the taut, shiny triangle that barely
covered her pubic hair.

"You must wear something like this for me again.  I like to see women's
bodies decorated with silk, or lace, or jewelry."  She felt his nails
scrape tantalisingly over the cloth.  Her clitoris was already swollen
and sensitive and his light touch excited it even more.

"But for my immediate needs, you're overdressed."

He reached into a pocket and she was briefly aware of something small,
dark and shiny in his hand.  Then a thin blade appeared, released by a
spring from its ebony handle.  A quick hooking move cut the ties that
held the thong in place.  He pulled the tiny piece of cloth away, and
tossed it on to the floor.

"That's better."

The knife disappeared back into its handle.  He pulled her towards him,
forcing her legs even wider apart.  Before she realised fully what was
happening, he had unzipped and thrust into her with brutal urgency.

Everything that had happened to her that evening had aroused her to
some degree, including Nicolas Schlemann's unconventional seduction
techniques, and now, as she felt him deep inside her, she was unable to
disguise a groan of pleasure.  His hands slipped under her bottom,
lifting her slightly, pulling her close.  After his initial haste, he
seemed willing to slow down, but she discovered to her surprise that
she had found his rough dominance exciting and erotic.  To provoke him,
she made a pretence of struggling.  He caught her wrists and forced her
arms back over her head, pressing them against the desk top.

"Trying to escape?"  She felt his grip tighten.  His hips thrust
faster, and she writhed against him.

"You don't fool me, doctor.  You like it quick and hard, don't you? And
you like servicing a man you've only just met."  His breathing was
ragged now.  She could feel him losing control.

"You want me.  Just as much as I want you."

His climax came suddenly and she felt the shuddering spasms of pleasure
roll through his body.

Although she did not manage to reach orgasm, she still felt a certain
erotic glow.

"Well," he said, zipping himself up, 'this isn't exactly the way I
planned it.  But it was very nice, all the same."  He held her hands
and pulled her up to a sitting position.

"I have to go now.  You can stay, of course.  I'll have a car standing
by for you, when you want to go home."

"Will you be coming back here?"  she asked.

"No."  He walked to the door, and added smoothly:

"I've accomplished my objective for this evening."

She stood up and adjusted her dress.  Smug bastard, she thought,
without rancour.  I saw, I conquered, I came!

"Don't bother about the car," she said sweetly.

"I'll ask Raoul to drive me home."

Nicolas turned.

"If you're trying to make me jealous that isn't the way to do it. Raoul
isn't man enough to satisfy you, and you don't want him anyway. You
have what you want now, and what you need."  He smiled his crooked
smile.  He paused, briefly.

"I'll phone you when I want you again.  Good night, Dr.  Muldaire."

He closed the door before Jacey had a chance to retaliate.  She sat
down on the edge of the desk.  Is that true, she asked herself.  Is he
really what I want?  Right now, he is, and I'm not ashamed to admit
it.

Why shouldn't I have an affair, without commitment, with this
conceited, but undeniably attractive, man?  I've been sent to Guachtal
to check out the political climate, and Nicolas Schlemann seems to be
the country's ruler in everything else but name.  She smiled to
herself.  He's everything I need, is he?  Perhaps it's just as well he
has no idea how accurate that is.

She had no qualms about ending her relationship with Peter Draven.

Inadvertently Peter had helped her to do the job she was sent here to
do.  She was disappointed in him, though.  And in Raoul Marquez.  Peter
had behaved like a pimp, and Raoul had condoned it.  She gave her dress
one final tug and glanced down at the remains of her silky thong lying
on the floor.  Well, she thought, that'll give the cleaners something
to gossip about in the morning.

But when she went out into the corridor she realised that her discarded
underwear would be small fry compared to some of the other items the
staff would probably find littered about the next day.  The party
atmosphere was changing.  There were new guests of a type Jacey was
certain that Carlos and his wife would have nothing to do with.  As she
walked towards the stairs a statuesque blonde in a stunning,
full-length silver dress swayed past her.  The hip-hugging skirt was
split from waist to ankle at the back, and as the woman moved, her
naked bottom was tantalisingly revealed.

"Dr.  Muldaire?"  The woman turned suddenly, and Jacey recognised
Carmen, Senor Valiente's 'secretary'.  "Whatever are you doing here?"

"The same as you, I imagine," Jacey said.

Carmen laughed.

"I hope not.  I'm working."  Turning round she parted the long, silver
skirt, revealing even more of her bottom, and wiggled provocatively.

"As you can see."

Jacey smiled.  She was beginning to like the earthy Carmen.

"I hope Senor Valiente approves?"

"Oh, he's not here," Carmen said.

"He wouldn't dare come to a party like this.  His wife might find out.
Pity really, he's a lot easier to please than the bastards who'll be
fucking me later on this evening.

He pays me promptly, too."

"And the people here don't?"  Jacey asked.

"Carlos pays us," Carmen said.

"Eventually.  But it's like getting blood out of a stone.  The girls
are nice to people he owes favours to, or wants favours from, or
whatever, and if we're lucky we get our money in about six months'
time."  There was a touch of contempt in her voice.

"Good old respectable Carlos.  We can hardly sue him, can we?"  She
gave Jacey a curious stare.

"But why are you here?  Don't you know what goes on when Carlos and his
stuck-up little wifey go home?"

"I heard things might get a little wild," Jacey admitted.

"Wild?"  Carmen laughed.

"This place turns into a whorehouse.  Didn't anyone tell you that?  And
the wives of some of the guests are worse than we are.  I'm not judging
you, but it's not the kind of thing I think you'd enjoy."

"I wouldn't," Jacey agreed.

"But Peter asked me to come, and' "Peter Draven?  Dr.  Draven?"  Carmen
sounded shocked.

"You're not serious?  I mean, some of the young doctors at La
Primavera, they've enjoyed themselves with us, you know, especially in
that operating theatre.  But not Dr.  Draven.  He was always so decent.
He actually asked you to this party?  I'm amazed!"

"He did promise to take me home before things got out of hand," Jacey
explained.

"Why hasn't he?"  Carmen demanded.

"Where is he, anyway?"

"He's gone," Jacey said.  She knew that Carmen would find out about her
relationship with Nicolas before very long, and decided that she might
as well forestall any gossip.

"Actually, I'm with Nicolas Schlemann now."

Carmen stared at her with a look that Jacey realised was almost one of
pity.

"Well," she said, 'our Nicci didn't waste much time, did he?"

"I have to admit I didn't exactly discourage him," Jacey said.

Carmen sighed.

"Why do so many decent women fall for that bastard?  Men like Nicolas
should simply pay for sex.  He can't hurt whores like me;

we don't matter.  But you're an educated woman.  Don't you know that
Nicolas likes playing kinky games, and when he gets tired of you, he'll
dump you?  It usually takes him about four weeks.  Six has been the
longest so far."  She looked at Jacey with genuine concern.

"I

think he gets a kick out of it, especially if he knows the woman still
fancies him.  I wouldn't want to see that happen to you."

"It won't," Jacey said.

"Believe me.  I know all about men like Nicolas Schlemann." Impulsively
she caught hold of Carmen's hand.

"And don't put yourself down.  Whores don't matter, indeed!  There's
not a lot of difference between you and me.  We're both trying to make
people feel better."

Carmen smiled.

"Well, at least no one here will dare touch you."  She paused.

"Except maybe Raoul, and I'm sure you can handle him."

"Raoul and Nicolas are two of a kind, aren't they?"  Jacey said
dismissively.

Carmen looked at her in surprise.

"No, they aren't.  Haven't you met Raoul?  He's a sweetie, a romantic.
His only problem is that he's seen too many American movies.  He thinks
life is all about fighting the bad guys and getting the girl, you
know?"

No, thought Jacey, I didn't know.  That isn't how I picture Raoul
Marquez.  Certainly some of his romantic dialogue wouldn't have been
out of place in a film.  But I can't see him challenging Nicolas Schle
mann, or daring to steal his woman, come to that.  Getting someone else
to bring a woman to him seems to be more his style.

The two women walked down the wide staircase together.  The Latin
American band had disappeared and noisy rock music was beating out from
hidden speakers.  But nobody was dancing.  Jacey saw one woman being
manhandled by two men.  They were both trying to strip her, pulling
down the straps of her dress, and fumbling with her breasts.  Giggling,
she pretended to fight them off.  Finally they both hoisted her up off
the ground, one of them holding her under her arms, and the other by
her feet, and carried her up the stairs, while she shrieked with
delight.

Carmen watched in disgust.

"Look at that.  She's a stuck-up bitch who'd refuse to talk to someone
like me.  The wife of one of the Generalissimo's chief advisors."

"Where's her husband?"  Jacey asked.

"Probably fucking his latest boyfriend."  Carmen shrugged.

Jacey looked round at the guests.  Everyone seemed to be shedding both
their clothes and their inhibitions with equal speed.  The music
thumped even louder.  Through the open door she could see couples, and
groups, kissing and pawing each other.

"Aren't any of these people afraid of being black mailed?"  she
asked.

Carmen laughed briefly.

"Who by?  Nicolas?  If he wants to destroy someone he doesn't have to
bother with blackmail."

A half-naked man ran past them, pursuing a young, totally naked, Indian
boy.  The boy had a smooth, brown body and straight, shoulder-length,
black hair.  His delicate limbs reminded Jacey of a young gazelle's.
His pursuer caught up with him, pinned him against the wall, and began
to kiss him roughly, starting with his face and then quickly descending
lower.  The boy leant back against the wall submissively, neither
helping nor hindering, his face blank, as the man nuzzled between his
thighs.  As the boy gazed out into the room, for a brief moment his
eyes caught hers but they were dark and expressionless.

A group of guests, men and women, appeared suddenly and when they saw
what was going on, began to laugh and shout lewd encouragement.  The
boy's face remained impassive, as if they weren't there, but the man
responded.  He stopped his rough caresses and turned, joining in the
laughter.

"You want him?"  he invited.

"He's for sale.  Come on, make me an offer.  Highest bidder gets him!"
Jacey was incredulous and what was more, felt embarrassed.  She turned
and walked away, and Carmen followed.

"Don't blame the Indian boys," she said to Jacey.

"It's hard for them to find work in Techtatuan.  They have to either
whore, or steal."  She paused.

"They give most of their money to their families, you know?

And the families are forced to spend it on the over priced food that
the government sends out to the reservations."

"There are reservations for the Indians?"  Jacey asked.

"Some," Carmen nodded.

"There was a move towards resettlement, some time ago.  But I don't
think the Indians were given any choice.  Their villages were
flattened, and they had to move, because of a scheme to start logging,
which came to nothing in the end."  She shrugged.

"I

sometimes wonder what the Indians really think of us.  It's hard to
tell.  But I'm not surprised that they want to change things."

"By supporting Lohaquin?"  Jacey hinted.

"I wouldn't know," Carmen said, quickly.

"I'm not political."  She gave Jacey a hard stare.

"And don't start talking about Lohaquin to Nicolas.  It won't make you
very popular."

"I can handle Nicolas," Jacey said confidently.

"That's what all the other women have said," Car men warned her.

Maybe, Jacey thought.  But I think I have an advantage over most of
them.  In their case, Nicolas Schlemann was using them.  In my case,
I'm using him.  In more ways than one.  I'll use his knowledge, and
I'll use his body.  I'm going to enjoy every minute of it!

Chapter Four.

Jacey woke up, glanced at her clock, then turned over lazily in bed,
and stretched.  She wasn't on duty until eleven, and she intended to
enjoy breakfast on her balcony before sending a message to Major
Fairhaven.  This time, she thought, she had something interesting to
tell him.  While Nicolas Schlemann might want to encourage Hernandez to
exploit Guachtal and all its resources, Lohaquin and his supporters
clearly had other ideas.

Whether they had the power to act as a serious opposition was another
matter.  Maybe this mysterious Lohaquin could depose Hernandez with
some outside help, but she knew that such help would come with a price
- and that would be the kind of price a political visionary might not
want to pay.

Any government willing to support Lohaquin would have to be sure that
he was a viable alternative to Hernandez and Nicolas Schlemann, not
just an impractical dreamer, or the kind of man who could encourage a
revolution, but not govern.  More important still, they would have to
be sure that he would keep the promises he made to them when he gained
control of Guachtal.  I need to know much more about Lohaquin, she
thought.  In fact, I need to meet him and make a first-hand
assessment.

She knew that her main point of contact was someone like Paulo.  He was
a native Indian, and she was sure that his involvement with Lohaquin
went further than just giving verbal support.  However, he was hardly
likely to trust her once he knew that she was considered to be Nicolas
Schlemann's new woman.

But she was already planning ahead.  Nicolas had openly admitted to her
that he was a power freak, and she remembered what Carmen had said:

that he enjoyed discarding his women when he grew tired of them.  It
probably made him feel powerful.  She had no doubt that their affair
would be interesting, but short.  How many weeks had Carmen given
her?

Four?  Six at the outside?  And when Nicolas dumps me, she thought,
I'll make it clear I want revenge.  After a public humiliation, no one
will doubt me.  Nicolas may have even given me a perfect excuse to win
sympathy from at least a few of Lohaquin's supporters.  She smiled at
her optimism.  There would be a certain poetic justice in that, but in
her heart of hearts she knew that it was unlikely; revolutionaries took
a dim view of the mistresses of dictators and military men.

She went into the kitchen to make coffee, and toast some slices of the
tasty, seeded bread that the hospital chef baked for the staff.

Afterwards, as she showered and washed her hair, she thought about the
message she had intended to send to Major Fair haven.  Perhaps I'll
wait, she thought.  I'll wait until I have something more than
speculation.  In my next report I may be able to tell him tell him I've
met the mysterious Lohaquin in person.

Jacey was dreading seeing Peter.  She walked past his office and
noticed that the door was half open.  Let's get this confrontation over
with, she thought, and went in.  But the office was empty, and looked
unusually tidy.  Surprised, she went to her own office, and prepared
for her rounds.  She finished them with out seeing Peter, and met Dr.
Sanchez in the corridor.

"Ah, Dr.  Muldaire."  The elderly Spaniard gave her a charming smile.

"I

was looking for you.  Will you be able to cope on your own?"

Jacey stared at Sanchez in surprise.

"Isn't Dr.  Draven here?"

Sanchez was equally surprised.

"Didn't he contact you before he left?

He had a call from England last night.  A death in the family; a road
accident, I believe.  He had to catch an early plane."

"He didn't say anything to me about it."  Jacey did not know whether to
be relieved or angry.

Sanchez looked concerned.

"Perhaps he didn't want to worry you.  And he did have to leave in a
great hurry.  He told me he felt sure you could carry on here without
him."

"Of course I can," Jacey said.

Sanchez patted her arm.

"It won't be for long.  I'm sure Dr.  Draven will be back soon."

Jacey couldn't help feeling that Peter's return to England had come at
a very convenient time.  Perhaps he's ashamed of himself, she
thought.

And maybe he ought to be, if he really intended to pass me round to his
friends like some kind of fancy treat.

After a few days she began to suspect that Peter had no intention of
returning.  Her suspicions were confirmed when she heard nothing as the
time passed.  He made no attempt to even send her an e-mail.  She
wondered if Dr.  Sanchez would ask her to take on Peter's patients on a
permanent basis.  She could cope easily, but longer hours at La

Primavera would mean she had less time to spend at El Inviemo, where
she knew she was really needed.

The next morning, when she went into Peter's office before making her
rounds, she was startled to see a tall, slim woman with sleek, blonde
hair pulled back into a plaited knot sitting in front of Peter's
computer.

"Dr.  Muldaire?"  The woman's voice was seductively deep.  I'm
delighted to meet you."  She had a slight accent that Jacey couldn't
quite place.

"Perhaps you can help me?  Some of the patients listed here have OH
next to them.  What does that mean?"

Jacey hated being caught unawares.

"Where's Dr.  Draven?"  she asked abruptly, not bothering to conceal
her annoyance.

The woman looked surprised.

"He's gone to England.  I thought you knew that."

"I was expecting him back by now," Jacey said untruthfully.

"But he's not coming back," the woman said.

"He has resigned.  Dr.  Sanchez was not pleased, I understand.  I am
his replacement, Ingrid Gustaffsen."  She looked suddenly concerned.

"They didn't tell you?

Really, they are so inefficient.  But typical of this country, don't
you think?  Manana, always manana.  But tomorrow never comes."  She
stood up and held out her hand.  Jacey noted that she wore a very short
skirt, and had long, slim legs.

"I hope we are going to be friends, Dr.  Muldaire."

"I'm sure we will be," Jacey said, coolly polite.

Ingrids's smile did not waver.

"If I'm to take over Dr.  Draven's rounds, perhaps you can give me some
details about his patients?  I can see that many of them are not
seriously ill.  But what is this OH?"

"None of the patients here are seriously ill," Jacey said.

"And OH means On Holiday."

Ingrid frowned.

"But they are still here.  Are they planning to leave?"

"It was Peter's way of indicating that there was nothing wrong with
them at all," Jacey explained.

"They've come in to get away from their wives and enjoy the company of
their girlfriends.  Or boyfriends."

She smiled briefly.

"La Primavera is basically a hotel.  If you're hoping to get a lot of
clinical experience, I'm afraid you're going to be disappointed."

Ingrid shook her head cheerfully.

"Oh, I'm not looking for clinical experience.  I went from my training
hospital in Sweden to the States for five years.  Good pay, but hard
work.  So I needed a rest."  She lowered her voice conspiratorially.

"I'm looking for a different kind of experience here.  Do you
understand me?"

"I'm afraid not," Jacey said frostily.

"Oh, you English!"  Ingrid walked round the desk to confront Jacey.

"Of course you know what I mean.  You're fucking that horny guy,
Schlemann, aren't you?"  She leant forward and tapped a beautifully
manicured finger against Jacey's chest.

"Don't deny it.  I wouldn't mind doing it myself.  Long legs and nice
smile.  I've heard he's a sexist pig and a fascist, but so what?  I
wouldn't want to marry him, and neither would you."

"No," Jacey said coolly.

"I wouldn't."

But Ingrid was unabashed.

"So, tell me," she asked gaily, 'what is he like?  Lots of staying
power?  Personally, I am so bored with men who come too fast.  I had
several in America like that.  A little bit of panting and groaning,
and then it was "aaah, baby, that was great"."

She laughed.

"Great for them, maybe.  A fast orgasm is all some men want.  But I
like to feel a cock inside me for a long, long time.  I can take it.

I'm not made of Dresden china.  And I'm fit.  Very fit.  I work out.
Pump iron.  It was very popular with my friends in America."  She
crooked her arm.

"Feel that.  Feel the muscle."

Despite herself Jacey reached out and felt Ingrid's biceps.  They were
rock hard.

"So?"  Ingrid insisted.

"What do you mink?  Am I not strong?"  She struck a typical body
builder's pose.

"Do you think I should enter for Miss Universe?"

Jacey laughed.  Ingrid's tall, slim body looked more suitable for the
catwalk than a muscle woman competition.

"I think you should start making your rounds," she said.

"Do you like strong women?"  Ingrid was suddenly serious.

"Would it excite you to make love to a woman with muscles like a
man's?"

"No, it wouldn't," Jacey said.

"You've never thought about making love to a woman?"  ingrid
persisted.

"Many women have that fantasy, even if they don't do anything about it.
You have never looked at a particular woman, and wondered what it would
be like to have sex with her?"

"Never," Jacey said truthfully.

"It can be very satisfying," Ingrid said.

"Sure, men are interesting.

I like their hard bodies, and there are times when I like to have a
cock inside me.  But for sensual pleasure, women are best.  Women
understand each other physically.  Have you ever known a man who can
give head properly?  Men don't understand the clitoris.  They don't
know what to do with it.  They try a few flicks of their tongue, or
they suck at you so hard it's just ridiculous, and they call that
foreplay.

They think they are doing you a great favour, that they've aroused
you."  She gave a dismissive snort of laughter.

"After a few minutes, they want to enter you, and then it's all over.
Women are different.

They understand each other, and they are not in a hurry."  She smiled
invitingly at Jacey.

"To have a really good time, you need a woman to go down on you.  Why
don't you visit me tonight, and I'll show you what nice things you've
been missing."

"My God," Jacey said, amused despite herself.

"Do you normally proposition complete strangers five minutes after
you've met?"

"If I think they'll be interested," Ingrid admitted cheerfully, 'yes,
of course.  Then it's up to them to take advantage.  Many women do.

You'd be surprised how many."

"What made you think I would be interested?"  Jacey asked.

ingrid smiled.

"I can see it in your eyes.  I think you're a very sensual woman, and
curious.  I think you'd like to experiment."

"And I think you're indulging in wishful thinking," Jacey said.  She
glanced at her watch.

"We ought to start our rounds.  Even if our patients aren't exactly
dying, they do expect to see us every morning."

Later that day, relaxing in her room, Jacey found herself thinking
about her conversation with Ingrid.  Had she really looked interested
in Ingrid's suggestions?  Or was it simply that all the talk about oral
sex had encouraged her to picture what she and Nicolas could both do to
each other when they got together again?

The thought of an expert tongue exciting her to near orgasm was a
pleasant one.  But not Ingrid's tongue.  I've had never had any lesbian
fantasies, she realised.  Even when Faisel turned out to be such a
bastard, it didn't put me off men.  It did put me off love and romance,
all the stupid emotional baggage that makes women so vulnerable.

She leant back in her chair and wondered idly what ingrid looked like
without her clothes on.  She was obviously fit, and her legs were
enviably long, but she had no noticeable breasts, and her height and
build would probably make her look like one of those lanky, androgynous
fashion models.  She imagined Ingrid striding naked with that typical
model's walk, her ribs visible, and her pelvic bones jutting.  It did
not excite Jacey at all.

She closed her eyes and imagined Nicolas Schlemann.  That's much
better, she thought.  She had not seen him totally naked yet but she
could easily assemble a composite picture from the parts she had
already observed.  The body, with its natural tan, hard with muscle.

The lean thighs.  The impressive cock and balls bulging from the glossy
mat of dark pubic hair.

Then the phone rang.  She picked it up, still daydreaming.

"Dr.  Muldaire?"  The voice on the other end was lazily confident,
slightly mocking!  hope you're not too busy to talk?"

"Well, you're the one who's obviously been busy," she retaliated.

"I

thought you were going to call me?"

"I'm calling you now," Nicolas said.

"I want your company tomorrow night."

"Not another party at the Marquez house?"  she asked.

"Would that be so unpleasant?  Didn't you enjoy the last one?"  He
sounded amused.

"I did.  The last ten minutes of it, anyway."

"You walked out on me," she reminded him.

"After a quick tuck over a desk.  And you haven't contacted me since. I
expected something better from a man with your reputation, Senor
Schlemann."

"What did you expect?  A dozen red roses and a thank you note?"  He
laughed.

"You've got the wrong man for that, Dr.  Muldaire.  And I didn't walk
out.  I was called away on official business, remember?"

"Oh yes, you had to go and interview a suspect,"

she said, coolly and with a hint of sarcasm.

"That's your job, isn't it."

"Part of it," he agreed amiably.

"I'll send a car for you at eight."

"I haven't accepted yet," she said.

"Is this going to be another semi-official orgy?"

"It's a fully official formal dance," he said.  Toliticos and military,
and Hernandez and his wife.  They'll all be there on their best
behaviour.  And looking forward to meeting you."

"I'm flattered," she said.

"I wasn't aware they even knew I existed."

"Of course they do," Nicolas said.

"The new, beautiful doctor with the flame-red hair, who actually
doesn't mind getting her hands dirty at El Inviemo?  Everyone's talking
about you."

"Including the Generalissimo's wife?"  she asked sweetly.

"Especially the Generalissimo's wife," he said.

"She wants to meet you more than anyone.  But I'm the one who'll be
enjoying tender moments with you later, and they know that.  Be ready
when the car arrives.  I hate being kept waiting."

He rang off abruptly, and Jacey put the phone down.  Well, she thought,
what a charmer you are, Senor Schlemann.  Then she smiled.  And how
useful you're proving to be.  This will give me the chance to check out
the Generalissimo, his formidable wife, and most of the other big names
in Guachtal as well.  Yes, dear Nicci, this liaison is just what the
doctor ordered in more.  ways than one.

Knowing how her evening was going to end made it easy for Jacey to
decide what to wear.  She opened her wardrobe and let her hands wander
briefly over the high-necked, low-backed silver beaded gown that hugged
her figure so tightly it would show the tiny peaks of her nipples, and
accentuate the cleft of her behind.  That would give the party guests
something to talk about.  What a pity it was totally inappropriate.
Instead she chose the designer gown, which also hugged her figure, but
was nowhere near as revealing.

Made of heavy, very dark, green silk, it could be dressed up or down as
the occasion demanded, and would always look right.  This time she
decided to dress it down.  She felt certain the female partners of
Guachtal's military and political elite would be taking this
opportunity to display their finery.  She would be a contrast.  Her red
hair would stand out like a beacon above a body sheathed in plain, dark
silk.  If they expected Nicolas Schlemann's woman to glitter, they were
in for a surprise.  And if Nicolas doesn't like it, she thought, too
bad.

She was aware that the dress would come off much later in the
evening.

She guessed that Nicolas would like frilly, feminine underwear.  The
tarty look black or red probably with suspenders, and stockings with
seams.  She remembered him saying something about liking his women to
be 'decorated'.  Like dolls, she reflected.  That's undoubtedly how he
sees us.  Playthings.  Objects of pleasure, to be used.

She saw nothing wrong in dressing up for sex.  She had an erotic but
uncomfortable bra, some impractical lacy underwear and some
black-seamed stockings, a legacy from her affair with Anton.  But with
her underwear, like her gown, she decided to go for spartan
formality.

She did not need a bra with the ball-gown, which was beautifully cut
and discreetly boned, and gave her a full, comfortable cleavage.  She
took out a pair of French knickers, tailored by hand from silk almost
the same colour as her gown.  She knew they fitted her perfectly, like
a second skin, smoothing over her buttocks and pulling just tightly
enough between her legs to emphasise her sex.  Instead of a suspender
belt she wore hold-ups, plain dark grey, with no seams.  She chose
black sandals, with medium heels and narrow, black straps.

To top all this, she was tempted to leave her hair loose.  She knew, it
would look stunning; she would be the only natural redhead in the room.
But again, she felt it was too obvious.  Instead she made a semiformal
pleat, carefully pinned to look as if any strenuous activity would make
it tumble to her shoulders.

She was ready when the car arrived for her.  An official flag on the
bonnet, and tinted glass windows that she suspected were bullet-proof,
it was driven by one of Nicolas's cold-eyed thugs, who opened the door
for her, but did not speak, and drove all the way in silence.

Because of the darkened glass she found it difficult to know where she
was going, but when they arrived at the huge gates of the
Generalissimo's official pal ace, she could see it clear enough, picked
out by floodlights, and decorated with elaborate shields.  The car
stopped and a uniformed guard peered in.  He looked at Jacey and, much
to her surprise, jumped back and saluted.  The car eased forward again
until it reached the palace forecourt and stopped at the foot of a
flight of white, balustraded steps that led to the palace doors.

Impressively huge, they now stood open, and once she was out of the car
Jacey could hear the sound of sedate music, voices and laughter.

The car cruised away, leaving her alone at the foot of the steps and
she stood there for a full minute, feeling increasingly angry.  Was she
supposed to wait, or go inside and look for Nicolas?  The night wind
stirred her hair.  Another car drew up and an elderly man with a
plain-looking younger woman got out, passed her on the steps with an
indifferent stare, and said nothing.  Jacey's patience evaporated.  She
headed up the steps, rehearsing some cutting remarks with which to
greet Nicolas when he finally appeared.

Inside, the couple who had just passed her were having their
invitations checked by a large, plain-clothed, and slow security guard.
The elderly man was clearly annoyed, but said nothing.  Jacey waited in
the marble-tiled entrance hall, under a huge chandelier, until the
guard finally allowed the couple to proceed.  When he did glance at
her, she glared back, willing him to come and ask her for an
invitation, or to challenge her in some way.  At that moment she would
have been delighted to take advantage of her association with Nicolas,
and tell him exactly who she was waiting for.

"Good evening, Dr.  Muldaire."  She turned to see Nicolas coming
towards her, tall and elegant in his black evening suit.  The brilliant
white of his shirt emphasised his tan.  When he smiled she was
irritated with herself; not only was she pleased to see him, but she
felt a surge of sexual excitement as well.  He offered her his arm.

"How very delightful you look.  Not that I expected anything else.
You're a classy lady, aren't you?"

She took his arm.

"For a man who doesn't like being kept waiting," she said coolly,
'you're not very punctual, are you?"

"I didn't say I minded keeping other people waiting," he said
amiably.

"Particularly women."  He bent his head towards her and for a moment
she felt his lips close to her ear.

"It makes them appreciate me just that little bit more.  Don't tell me
you weren't pleased to see me."

"Only because I was getting tired of standing around," she said.

He laughed.

"You'd only just arrived."  She opened her mouth to protest and felt
his hand tighten on her arm.

"Don't deny it.  I know exactly what time the car picked you up, and
what time it arrived here."

They moved further inside and past the couple she had seen on the
steps.  The elderly man's eyes flicked briefly from her to Nicolas, and
back again.  His expression changed from surprise to an ingratiating
smile.  His female companion also smiled, displaying her large teeth.

"Well," Jacey said, 'that's not how those two greeted me earlier on.

They looked right through me outside."

"Now they know you're with me," Nicolas said, 'they'll be polite to
you.  He's a local tradesman of some sort.  Not important, but he
served with the Generalissimo in the army years ago, so he gets invited
here once in a while.  The ugly girl is his daughter.  Single, of
course.  Can you imagine anyone being stupid enough to marry her?"

"Beauty is more than skin deep," Jacey said lightly.

"Not from a man's point of view," Nicolas said.

They entered the ballroom and for a moment Jacey was overwhelmed by the
combination of glittering light from the chandeliers, and the white of
the marble floor.  An orchestra played a slow, Spanish tune.

Some of the guests wore decorative military uniforms, but the majority
wore evening suits.  The women were on the whole middle aged, and
wearing heavily boned Spanish-style dresses, with boat neck lines and
long skirts lavishly decorated with frills.  A few emphasised the
Spanish theme of the evening with a lace mantilla and a large fan.  All
the guests turned as Nicolas strolled across the polished floor.  The
men acknowledged him with slight bows, or a deferential movement of
their heads and the women smiled.  Nicolas nodded back once or twice,
with sardonic condescension.

Suddenly Jacey saw a face she recognised, one of her 'patients' from
La

Primavera.  One, she remembered, who had been visited regularly during
his stay by a series of good-looking young men.  He inclined his head
towards her, politely, as did the haughty-looking woman standing next
to him.  Jacey wondered how many more of her ex-patients were there
tonight.

Nicolas seemed to be reading her thoughts.

"Seen anyone you recognise?"

"Yes."

"Senor Controssna, with his wife?"  Nicolas grinned.

"They're probably both thinking about their boyfriends.  They used to
share the same one.

In fact they shared him with a lot of people.  Until he started to get
greedy and tried to blackmail the wrong client."

"And what happened?"  Jacey asked, finding it hard to imagine Senor
Controssna and his frigid-looking wife in a menage a trois.

Nicolas shrugged.

"He disappeared.  And I doubt if anyone missed him, except maybe those
clowns in the rain forest.  It was rumoured he wanted the money to give
to Lohaquin."

"You had him killed?"  She was ready to challenge him.

"It was politically expedient to have him removed," Nicolas
corrected.

"That's what happens to anyone who supports the so-called rebels."  His
fingers tightened round her arm.

"Don't ever forget that."

"I'm sure you won't let me," she said.

"It's for your own good."  He guided her forward.

"You women are so easily fooled by romantic ideas about freedom
fighters and revolutions.  The truth is, this Lohaquin is a scruffy
illiterate, and so are his followers.  He couldn't govern Guachtal,
even if he was given the chance."

That's exactly what I want to find out for myself, Jacey thought.

Nicolas was guiding her towards a uniformed group standing apart from
the others, and surrounded by plain-clothes security men.

She recognised Generalissimo Hernandez, but at close quarters this
rotund little man in his braided, bemedalled uniform looked even less
like a dictator than he had in the photograph Major Fairhaven had shown
her.  She was far more impressed by the imperious woman who stood a
head and shoulders taller behind him.  She guessed that this was the
formidable Pilar.  Unlike her husband, she looked perfectly capable of
governing and perfectly capable of challenging anyone who opposed her,
Jacey decided.  No wonder Nicolas didn't like her.

"Generalissimo," Nicolas said, 'may I present Dr.  Jacey Muldaire."

Jacey felt a warm hand enclose hers.

"Dr.  Muldaire."  At least Hernandez sounded pleased to see her, Jacey
thought.

"Dear lady, welcome to my home.  Welcome to my country.  We've heard so
much about you."  He guided her forward and turned to his wife.

"Haven't we, my dear?"

Pilar gave Jacey a frosty smile.

"Your work at La Primavera has been commented on, Dr.  Muldaire."

"Beautiful hospital, isn't it?"  Hernandez enthused, patting Jacey's
hand.

"Do you have anything like it in England?"

"Well, not quite," Jacey admitted truthfully.

"Nicolas helped raise most of the money," Hernandez said.

"Private subscriptions.  People were very generous."

"I believe you also do some work at El inerviemo, Dr.  Muldaire?" Pilar
Hernandez said unexpectedly.

"Well, yes."  Jacey nodded.

"El mviemo was funded from the treasury," Pilar said, 'which explains
the differences in the amenities."  Her dark eyes fixed on Jacey.

"My husband does try and fulfill the needs of the people."  Her eyes
moved briefly but obviously over Jacey's shoulder to Nicolas, and back
to Jacey again.

"When he is able."

There was a moment's uncomfortable silence, then Hernandez gave a
forced laugh, let go of Jacey's hand, and turned to his wife.

"Now, my dear, no politics tonight.  No politics."

And that, Jacey thought, probably says it all.  The Generalissimo likes
the parades, the social functions, and the roar of the crowd.  And
Nicolas gives him all that, in exchange for a free hand with the
economy.  A very nice arrangement.  For Senor Schlemann.

She was aware that Nicolas was edging her away from the Generalissimo's
group, and back towards the dance floor The band were playing a slow
waltz and Nicolas swung her round to face him.  Without asking her if
she wanted to dance, Nicolas guided her in time to the music.

"Senora Hernandez seems rather frosty toward you," she said.

"Did you oppose the building of El Invierno?"

"No," he said shortly.

"I opposed the amount of money spent on it.

Let's discuss something more interesting, please.  Tell me what you're
wearing under this expensive dress?"

"Certainly not," she said.

"That's for you to find out."

His hand moved against her back.

"No bra," he said.  An elderly couple waltzed by.  Nicolas treated them
to a charming smile.  Jacey saw their eyes follow his hand, as it
slipped down to her buttocks.  They quickly looked away.

"No knickers?"  he guessed.

"Wrong," she said.

His hand moved up to the small of her back again.

"We'll spend precisely one more hour here, and then I'm taking you back
to my apartment."

"Won't the Generalissimo think that's rather impolite?"  she asked.

"We've only just arrived."

"I've fulfilled my part of the bargain," Nicolas said.

"Hernandez wanted to see you.  Now he has."

"And everyone that matters knows that you've added the beautiful
English doctor to your list of conquests," she added.

"Congratulations."

"I've done you q favour," he said.

"You'll find doors will open for you now.  You'll be invited to the
best dinners, and the best parties.

You'll have a good time."

Until you drop me, Jacey thought.  Then all the creepy little social
climbers, and the people who have been nice to me because they're
afraid of you, or want something from you, will ignore me, and start
smiling at your next trophy.  Who will it be, she wondered.  Someone
else from the hospital, perhaps?  What about ingrid Gustaffsen?  Jacey
found it difficult to believe that the Swedish doctor would appeal to
Nicolas.  She was too obviously strong-willed and too masculine.

The hour passed quickly.  After the first dance Nicolas seemed content
to let Jacey circulate on her own.  It was as if he had put his mark on
her, and felt quite confident that no one else would usurp his
property.  While he spent most of the time talking to some of the other
male guests, she waltzed sedately with two of Hernandez's military aides
(who kept their conversation carefully neutral and their hands
immobile), and exchanged pleasantries with several old men, tactfully
ignoring the way their eyes strayed along the curved edge of her
neckline to the swell of her cleavage.  She noticed Carlos Marquez and
his wife on the edge of the dance floor and they acknowledged her with
polite nods and cool smiles.  There was no sign of Raoul.

After almost precisely one hour, Nicolas strolled over to her and said,
"Time to go."

As he escorted her across the dance floor she felt the guests' eyes on
them both.  She suspected that he had waited until she was at the
farthest edge of the ballroom before coming for her, to make a show of
the fact that she was his.  He's like a schoolboy, she thought,
displaying his possessions.  Look, but don't touch!

Despite the fact that he had mentioned taking her to his apartment, she
half expected to end up at a palatial estate on the outskirts of town.
Instead the car-ride was surprisingly short, and she quickly found
herself outside a forbidding-looking official building with a facade of
blank windows, and a large, national flag flapping on a jutting pole.
The car eased round a corner and stopped.  Nicolas got out and opened
the door for Jacey.

From the pavement, the side of the building looked as grim as the
front.  She turned to Nicolas.

"You live here?  It looks like a prison."

"It is," he said.

"And Police Headquarters."  He guided her to a blank, iron-reinforced
door.

"I stay here when I'm in Techtatuan."  He smiled briefly.

"I never get burgled."

He slotted a card into the external security lock and waited.  When,
after a few moments, the door swung open, Jacey smelt polish, and the
faint tang of disinfectant, the smell of official buildings.  Her
footsteps sounded loud on the bare, stone flags as Nicolas ushered her
down harshly lit corridors and up steps to another door.

Once through it, she was in another world.  The floor was deeply
carpeted, the lighting subdued and the walls papered in warm,
burnt-orange silk.  The door shut behind her with an ominously loud
click.  Startled, she glanced back at it.

Nicolas watched her.

"Yes, it's locked.  But even if you tried to leave without me, you
wouldn't get far.

My security card activated an internal alarm system, so we've been on
camera all the way here."

He opened another door and she preceded him into a room furnished with
richly upholstered chairs and dark, carved furniture, much of it
antique, she guessed.  The walls, panelled with polished wood, were
hung with a variety of pictures, several of them modern portraits.

Nicolas lounged against a tall cabinet as she surveyed the scene.

Over a huge marble fireplace it looked rather out of place and was
clearly never used was a large oil painting of a slim man in a black
suit and black shirt.  He was clearly European, with slicked-back, pale
hair, and an arrogant expression.  Jacey thought the dark outfit looked
far too much like an SS uniform.  She suspected she knew exactly who
this man was.

Nicolas confirmed her suspicions.

"My father.  Heinrich Schlemann."

"I can see a resemblance," she said.

"And what about your mother?"

He pointed to a smaller portrait on the other side of the room.  A
slender Spanish girl in traditional costume stared solemnly down at
Jacey.  Senora Schlemann had clearly been much younger than her
husband.

"She's beautiful," Jacey said truthfully.

"She was one of the most beautiful women in Techtatuan, so I'm told,"
Nicolas said.

"Apparently she was planning to marry a penniless Spaniard.  My father
persuaded her parents that he would make a much better son-in-law."

Jacey gazed at the Spanish girl.  How had she felt, forced into
marriage with a cold and arrogant foreigner Had she pined for her
chosen lover?  Had she ever been happy?

"What was your mother like?"  she asked.

Nicolas shrugged.

"I've no idea.  She died giving birth to me.  I was told my father had
a choice, and he chose to save me."

Jacey glanced at Heinrich Schlemann again.  And I bet you didn't even
agonise over the decision, she thought.  You'd got what you wanted.  A
son to carry on the family name.

Nicolas turned and opened the tall cabinet.  He took out a bottle and
two glasses.

"Wine, Dr.  Muldaire?"

"It's about time you started calling me Jacey," she said.

"And yes to the wine."  He filled a glass and handed it to her.

"Do you feel Spanish rather than German?"  she asked.

"I mean, you were born here.

Do you feel close to your mother's roots?"

He stared at her for a moment, and then startled her with a quick burst
of laughter.

"Roots?"  He shook his head in disbelief.

"I lea mt my creed from my father: look after yourself.  He knew
Germany was going to lose the war and he deserted the sinking ship,
before it was too late.  If he'd believed in that "Fatherland" rubbish
he'd have stayed home, and died young."

"And if Guachtal starts sinking?"  she asked.

"Will you desert the ship, too?"

His laughter was more patronising this time.

"Guachtal won't sink," he said.

"Not while I'm in control of the treasury."  He went over to one of the
large, padded armchairs and sat down.

"That's another thing my father taught me.  A healthy respect for
money.  Because money ensures that other people have a healthy respect
for you."  He lifted his glass to her in a mock toast.

"And he taught me how to treat women, of course.  A very valuable
lesson."

She lifted her glass to him in return, and smiled.

"Your father was a compulsive womaniser too?"

"I've been told he never lacked for female companionship," Nicolas
said.

"Either before my mother died, or afterwards.  But compulsive?  That
implies lack of control, My father was always in control.  And so am I"
He leaned back in his chair.

"My father chose his women with care he was a connoisseur.  He used to
bring them here, to this room.  These walls have seen more sexual
conquests than a brothel."

Had all the women come willingly, she wondered.  Were they seduced, or
were they paid?  Were any of them threatened or blackmailed?  And if
they were, did the element of coercion sometimes make it more exciting
for both parties?  Heinrich Schlemann was probably a sexist bastard,
but judging from his portrait he was not unattractive.  Sometimes it
was exciting to be coerced into sex by someone you were already
attracted to.  It took the responsibility out of your surrender, or the
sin out of your adultery.  She also knew that she was not immune to
this type of excitement She could tell herself that it was in her
professional interest to let Nicolas think he had seduced her, but she
could not deny that she was physically attracted to him, and she was
finding it stimulating to mix business with pleasure.

"I had my first woman here, too," Nicolas said.

"And how old were you?"

"Nearly sixteen."  He relaxed back in his chair and stretched out his
legs, slightly apart.

"I was educated by private tutors.  I had a desk by the window over
there and I had to be at the desk at eight o'clock sharp.  It was like
being in a real school."

"It couldn't have been much fun," Jacey said.

"All on your own."

He grinned lazily.

"It had its compensations.  One of my tutors was a woman.  She was
young, probably in her early twenties.  She wore very expensive
perfume.  I suppose if I'd had any sense I might have wondered how she
could afford it.  She dressed very conventionally, in a jacket and
rather long skirt, but after a few days she started to wear those
peasant-style blouses.  You know the kind of thing?  With a drawstring
round the neck?

"She used to bend forward over me when she was correcting my work, and
I could see the cleft between her breasts.  I knew she wasn't wearing
anything under the blouse.  The string was getting looser, and the
neckline was getting lower, and she used to smooth the cloth over her
body, and pull it tight, so that I could see that her nipples were
erect.  I knew enough to realise that she was arousing herself by
teasing me.

"I got a hard-on just thinking about her.  Imagining her stripped to
the waist, her hands tied behind her back, so that I could touch her
anywhere I wanted, do anything to her that I wanted.  I imagined her
protesting, but really enjoying it.  I imagined her naked, with her
legs spread apart.  While she was teaching me arithmetic, I was
daydreaming about fucking her, and trying to prevent her from seeing
the bulge in my trousers."

"Poor boy," Jacey teased, smiling.

"It must have been very uncomfortable for you."

He grinned back, and shifted in the chair.

"It was.  But not for long.

I decided that if the game was cat-and-mouse, I'd prefer to be the cat.
The next time she leaned over me to correct some mistake I'd made, I
grabbed that blouse with both hands, and ripped it."  He paused.

"That was one of the most erotically satisfying moments of my life. She
gave this startled yelp, and the cloth split, and I saw everything. The
full round breasts, the hard, little nipples, and her shocked
expression as she tried to cover herself.

"It was great.  I felt powerful and damned uncomfortable.  Now I'd seen
it all, I wanted to have it all.  We ended up on the carpet, rolling
around together."  He laughed softly.

"Right up to the end, I honestly thought she was trying to fight me
off.  I thought she was afraid because things had gone too far, got out
of hand.  Because I was in control now, and she knew she'd have to play
the kind of games I chose.

"I managed to get one of her nipples in my mouth, and my hand up
between her legs.  I pulled her panties down to her knees, and then to
her ankles.  And then there she was, just like I'd always imagined,
lying there naked, and making futile little protest noises, with her
legs wide apart.  And I was on top of her, with the best hard-on I'd
ever had in my life."

"You didn't feel sorry for her?"  Jacey asked.

He laughed.

"I was fifteen.  I just wanted it, and at that time I only knew one way
of getting it."  He shrugged.

"And it was good.  Probably one of the best orgasms I've had. Certainly
the one I remember most clearly."

"You raped her," Jacey said.

"And I suppose you got away with it?"

He looked at her for a moment, then burst out laughing.

"I didn't rape her.  I told you, she was asking for it."

"She was teasing you.  It was pretty irresponsible of her.  But that
didn't give you the right to force yourself on her."

Nicolas stopped laughing.

"You just don't understand, do you?  Perhaps I should have said, she
was getting paid for it."  He leant back comfortably in his chair.

"She was a whore.  My father paid her to make a man out of me.

Or to see whether I was capable of behaving like one.  After I'd proved
myself, he let me j go to all the whorehouses in town.  He wanted me to
learn what women were like."

"And did you?"

"I learnt that women will give you what you want if you pay them," he
said.

"And they always have their own agenda."

"Is that supposed to include me?"

"Of course."  His voice was suddenly cold.

"Very much so.  Why else did you break with Peter Draven, and give
yourself to me?"

For one horrible moment Jacey thought that Nicolas knew exactly why she
had come to Guachtal.  And exactly how she was planning to use him
during their relationship.  But her apprehension did not show in her
face.

"I wanted to find out if you were as good a stud as everyone said you
were," she said coolly.

"You knew I would be," he said.

"Powerful men turn you on.  For all your intelligence, and your smart
job, you like to behave like a whore.  You like to be treated like a
whore."  He smiled coldly.

"Peter Draven would have bored you in a week.  So you willingly dropped
him for me.  I'm exactly the right kind of man for you.  Tell me I'm
wrong, Dr.  Muldaire."

"Would you believe me if I did?"  she asked.

"No," he said.

"I wouldn't.  I know you better than you know yourself.

Now, take off that dress."

She smiled.

"You've been longing to say that all evening, haven't you?"

"I've been looking forward to seeing you do it all evening," he
agreed.

"I didn't get a chance to inspect you properly when we had our little
tete a tete at the party.  Now there's no hurry.  Take the dress
off."

Jacey put her wine glass down, reached behind her back and tugged at
her zip.  She did it slowly, turning until her back was to Nicolas. The
dress slipped off her shoulders, over her breasts to her waist. She
turned again, slid her hands under the heavy, green silk of the skirt,
and tugged it downwards, bending forward so that her breasts swung
tantalisingly.  The skirt rustled as it reached her knees, and then her
ankles.  Pleased that the hold-ups were still in position, she stepped
out of the dress, lifted it and placed it over the back of a chair.

"No suspenders?"  He sounded regretful.

"How do those things stay up?"

"Elastic," she said.  She walked forward, stopped in front of him, and
straddled his outstretched legs.  Slowly and deliberately she lifted
one foot and put it on the seat of the armchair.  She ran a finger
round the top of her hold-up, delicately easing the grey garter band
away from her thigh.

"See?"

"Ingenious," he said.  But he was not looking at the stocking top.  His
eyes were on the cleft between her legs, where the damp, green silk
clung to her inner lips as mute evidence of her own arousal.  He put
his fingertips on her stomach and pushed her backwards.

"Get them off," he ordered, abruptly.

"The stockings?"  she asked, deliberately misunderstanding.

He stood up and grasped her silky French knickers in both hands.

"Not the stockings."  One violent tug and the knickers were round her
ankles.

"You can keep them on."  He stepped back and sat down again.

"They won't get in the way."

"In the way of what, exactly?"  she asked sweetly.

"They won't get in the way when I tongue you," he said.

"Which is exactly what you're asking for right now, isn't it?"

He put his hands on her waist and pulled her towards him, so that she
was forced to straddle his legs again.  Then his hands slipped round to
cup her bottom and pull her closer still.  His lips touched her
stomach, and she felt his tongue circling her navel, slowly, before
descending to the red bush between her thighs.

"Open your legs wider," he demanded.  She felt the warmth of his
breath, and tried to obey him, but her feet began to slip.

"I can't," she said.  Tm sliding ... falling" He pushed her back
suddenly, and swiftly slid down to lie on the floor.

"Kneel over me," he instructed.

She obeyed, her knees on either side of his shoulders.

"Your nice suit will get dirty."

To hell with my suit."  He grinned.

"Let's see how well you dance, Dr.  Muldaire."  His hands reached for
her waist again, and he pulled her down until she faced him, her thighs
spread above his face.

"Lower," he said.

"I want to taste you."

She leant forward over his head, and bent her legs until he could reach
her, until she felt the insistent probing of his tongue.  He lifted his
arms and reached for her breasts, finding her semi-erect nipples,
inciting them into harder peaks with rough fingers.

"Move," he ordered.

"All the best whores know this dance."

She expected him to just lie there and let her do all the work, but his
tongue encouraged her, circling the tip of her clitoris, then
tantalised her by sliding away and forcing her to gyrate her hips in
erotic, choreographed movements, in order to bring him back to the spot
that gave her the most pleasure.  As she lifted her hips above him,
briefly, she heard him say something, but she was barely conscious of
anything except her need for release.

She felt him grasp her wrists and flip her suddenly over on to her
back.  He unzipped his trousers with one hand, and then she felt his
knees between her legs, forcing them apart.  His mouth nuzzled her neck
and breasts, now with a lack of control.  An animal noise came from the
back of his throat; it was clear that his mind was on his own needs
rather than hers.  But she was so wet and aroused that his first thrust
pushed into her deeply, filling her, exciting her with new
sensations.

Her own ragged breathing began to match his rhythm, but he seemed
selfishly determined to postpone his own climax for as long as
possible, without any thought for her.  And then, suddenly, he
withdrew.  She moaned in frustration, her body limp.  He turned her
over, on to her hands and knees, his erection as strong as ever, and
spread the cheeks of her bottom.  One hand slid under her, finding a
nipple, while the other sought her clitoris.  She felt the sensations
that had been slowly dissipating gather together in strength once more,
building up to new peaks of pleasure.  When he entered her, pushing
between her buttocks, she heard herself gasping in tandem to each of
his thrusts.

"Do you like it, Jacey?"  His mouth nuzzled the back of her neck, his
voice muffled by her tangled hair.

"Do you like it this way?"

She groaned in affirmation, surprised at how turned on this man made
her feel.  Again he with drew, and again she was turned over.  By now
her body was sheened with sweat, and she felt as exhausted as if she
had run a marathon.  He slid his hands roughly under her buttocks, his
fingers kneading her flesh, as he pulled her towards him.  Through
half-closed eyes she could see his face.  He was smiling, and his black
hair was dishevelled.

"Can Draven keep it up this long?"  His voice was savagely
triumphant.

"Do you want to come, Jacey?"  His mouth was close to her ear.

"Ask me nicely.  Beg me.  You're exhausted, aren't you?  I'll make you
come, but you've got to beg."  He entered her once more, with a strong
thrust.

"Otherwise I can keep going for a very long time."

"I told you once," she panted.

"I don't beg."

She heard him laugh, and tried to contract her muscles and pull him
deeper, forcing him into an orgasm against his will.  He frustrated her
by shortening his thrusts, making them shallow and fast.  They battled
for supremacy for a little longer, until Jacey suddenly felt an
overwhelming desire for relief, even if it meant admitting defeat.

"Yes," she groaned.

"Yes, please, now."

His rhythm, changed to accommodate hers rather than fight it, and she
felt him search between her legs again with his long, expert fingers.

Then the sudden intensity of her own orgasm blinded her to everything
else.

As her sensations subsided she realised that he had climaxed with
her.

She had a strong suspicion that he had probably been nearer to reaching
the end of his undoubtedly impressive staying power than he wanted her
to believe.  But after all, she felt so happily exhausted and fulfilled
that she did not care which of them had won.

He helped her to a chair, and tidied himself up.  She lay back and
closed her eyes.  She heard him open the wine cabinet, heard the clink
of bottles and then felt him put a glass in her hand.  She sipped the
wine with her eyes still closed and sighed.  This really was the best
kind of exhaustion, she thought.  How lovely it would be to be lifted
into a wide bed, with fresh, white sheets, and fall asleep.

"The car will be round for you in five minutes," Nicolas said.

"Put your dress back on."

The abrupt order brought her sharply back to the present.  She opened
her eyes.

"So that's it?"  she said.

He smiled at her cynically.

"What else is there, Jacey?  I told you not to expect any romantics.
This isn't that kind of relationship.  You wanted sex, and so did I.
Didn't you enjoy it?"

"Yes."

He poured himself a glass of wine while she struggled into her dress,
the silk clinging to her damp skin.

"My women always do," he said.

"Not another exciting invitation?"  Ingrid perched on Jacey's desk as
she opened her morning mail.

"Another boring invitation," Jacey corrected her.

"It's amazing what having sex with the right man will do for your
social life," Ingrid observed.

"Please hurry up and finish with Nicolas Schlemann, and give him to
me."

Jacey laughed.

"I don't think Nicolas would approve of being handed over as a
present," she said lightly.  To her surprise she found it impossible
not to like ingrid Gustaffsen.  The Swede had already had brief flings
with some of the patients in La Primavera, both male and female.  She
was also a very good doctor, and Jacey was trying to persuade her to
spend some time at El Inviemo.

"If I gave him good sex, Nicolas would approve.  And I always give good
sex."  Ingrid crossed her long legs.

"What does he like?  Tell me, please.  If it's something I have never
done before, I'll go away and learn about it."

"From what you've been telling me," Jacey said, 'there isn't anything
you haven't done before."

"Oh, you're so flattering."  Ingrid laughed.

"But I know it's only because you want me to go with you to that funny
little native hospital.  It's guilt, you know?  You slap on a few
dressings to sublimate your guilt about the money you're earning here."
She stretched, and exhaled contentedly.

"Certainly, this is a sinecure.  So many opportunities to fill up the
piggy bank.  Do you know how much Senora Ittapaz gave me to go down on
her?  I won't tell you, because you'll be envious, and wish you'd got
there first."

"I wouldn't," Jacey said, opening another envelope.

"Poor woman," Ingrid sighed.

"She is so bored, so frustrated.  Her husband wanted her to walk around
the house wearing only high-heeled shoes and stockings, and she
refused.  So now he doesn't touch her, and pays whores to do it
instead.  Personally, I would have obliged him.

This is a warm country, after all, and I like to walk around naked
anyway, so what the hell?  The Senora wants me to visit her when she
goes home, and maybe I will.  Senor Ittapaz is hardly ever there.  He
has a plantation or something, somewhere or other, and he spends most
of his time there."  She giggled suddenly.

"Perhaps he gets all his staff to walk about naked?  Or maybe only the
pretty ones?"

"A plantation worked by underpaid Indians," Jacey said.

Ingrid shrugged.

"It's an unfair world.  You can't change it overnight.

It's too big, too complicated."

"If everyone thought like that, there wouldn't be any changes at all,"
Jacey said.

"But you're not a politician," Ingrid said.

"Your job is to make people well."  She watched Jacey toss another
invitation card into the wastepaper bin.

"And maybe enjoy yourself a little," she added.

"Surely you can accept just one party invitation?"  She paused.

"And invite me to come with you?"

Jacey laughed.

"OK," she said.  She waved an embossed card at ingrid.

"This one.  A polo match.  A nice, healthy afternoon in the open
air."

"Well, that sounds great."  Ingrid obviously approved.

"Lots of rich, young men in very tight, white trousers.  Will Nicolas
be there?"

"In tight white trousers?"  Jacey grinned.

"Maybe."

"So you'll introduce me?"  ingrid hinted.

"Maybe," Jacey said.

Jacey didn't even know where the polo ground was, but Ingrid had found
out all the necessary details,

and had arranged a car.  She was slightly miffed when Jacey insisted on
using Paulo as chauffeur.

"His car is an old wreck," she said.

"It isn't," Jacey said.

"It's clean, and Paulo needs the money."

"You are a one-woman charity," Ingrid grumbled.

"No doubt he will expect a large tip as well."

Paulo seemed politely pleased to see Jacey again, but she sensed this
was simply a business facade.  Clearly he had heard about her
association with Nicolas and, as she expected, it had altered their
original relationship.  Paulo was wary now.  Despite working at El
Inviemo, she had placed herself in the enemy camp.  But not for long,
she thought; in a few weeks' time, everything will change.  I won't be
Nicolas Schlemann's woman.  I'll be his nemesis.  And I'll be looking
to you, dear Paulo, to help me get revenge!

When they reached the polo club Jacey was amused to see Ingrid hang
back and slip Paulo a handful of money.

"I doubt if Paulo expected quite that big a tip," she murmured, when
Ingrid caught up with her again.

"I was just ensuring that he will be here to take you home," Ingrid
said.

"To take us home, you mean?"  Jacey said.

"I intend to go home with someone exciting," Ingrid proclaimed.

"I

hope to get off with a nice polo player."

Given that ambition Jacey wondered why Ingrid had not dressed in a more
feminine fashion.  She was wearing a pale linen suit, tailored in a
rather severe style, and a matching, wide-brimmed trilby hat.

Combined with her long-legged, angular frame, it looked decidedly
masculine.  Jacey had chosen a summer dress in a subtly printed, silky
material, with a fitted bodice and a flowing skirt that clung to her
hips and legs when the wind stirred.  Her hair was loose, and she wore
a simple, brimmed straw hat to protect her head from the sun.

She had been rather worried that her outfit would look too casual, but
when she entered the club she realised that she had made a wise choice.
Most of the other women were in smartly casual clothes.  Only a few of
the older ones looked as if they were planning to attend a formal
dinner party.

"Dr.  Muldaire."  A smiling, middle-aged man came towards her.

"I'm Enrico d'Osolo.  We met at the Generalissimo's party.  Do you
remember?

You were gracious enough to dance with me."

"Of course I remember," Jacey said.

"It was kind of you to invite me here today."  She saw Senor d'Osolo's
eyes move to Ingrid.

"This is Dr.  Ingrid Gustaffsen," she said.

"She works with me at La Primavera.

She's very interested in polo."

"Really?"  Senor d'Osolo looked distinctly sceptical.

"Do you play, Dr.  Gustaffsen?"

"No," Ingrid said cheerfully.

"I just find it exciting to watch all those men in boots.  And with
lovely whips too.  Such fun."

Thrown by this comment, Senor d'Osolo turned back to Jacey.

"Senor Schlemann will be playing, of course.  His team is expected to
win."

"If Senor Schlemann is playing, I'm sure they will," Jacey said.  After
d'Osolo had handed them drinks, and left them alone, Jacey turned to
Ingrid, half angry, half amused.

"Shame on you, you embarrassed the poor man."

"Nonsense," Ingrid said.

"It got him hard.  Didn't you see how he was walking when he left us?
Now when he sees the polo players, he'll remember what I said, and
he'll have a lovely fantasy of me being whipped by a sexy guy in
boots."  She thought about it for a moment.

"Or maybe he'll imagine me in boots, whipping him."

"It's more likely to remind him to ban you from coming here again,"
Jacey said.  She glanced round and saw a couple of large men near the
door of the club room.  She recognised them as Nicolas's heavies.

"See those two over there," she murmured to ingrid.

"If you don't behave, I'll get them to throw you out."

"Really?"  ingrid looked over Jacey's head and surveyed the men.

"You mean those apes in suits?  Who are they, anyway?"

"Security," Jacey said.

"They work for Nicolas."

"They have a sort of primitive charm," Ingrid said.

"I wonder what they're like in bed?"

"Dr.  Muldaire," a familiar voice said, in English.

"Please tell me you've forgiven me?"

Jacey turned, and found herself face to face with Raoul Marquez.  He
was kit ted out for polo, and she had to admit that he looked extremely
attractive.  She could tell from Ingrid's smile that the Swedish doctor
thought so too.

"Why should Jacey have to forgive you?"  Ingrid asked curiously.

Raoul treated her to his most charming smile.

"I offended the doctor.

I was overcome by her.  I forced myself on her."

"And that offended her?"  ingrid marvelled.

"How bizarre."

Raoul smiled, but before Ingrid could ask any more questions Jacey
interrupted firmly: "I've forgiven you, Raoul.  It was all a
misunderstanding, anyway."  She smiled brightly.

"This is my colleague, Dr.  Ingrid Gustaffsen.  She works at La
Primavera with me."

Raoul held out his hand.

"I have heard of you," he said.

"The beautiful doctor with hair like spun gold."  He held on to her
hand, and gazed at her soulfully.

"If I am injured today, will you take care of me?"

"Even if you are not injured," Ingrid offered.

"I'm a very good nurse.

A very good surgical nurse."

It seemed an odd remark to make, but Jacey sensed that Raoul somehow
understood what it meant.

"You are a liberated lady," he said.

"But I am a romantic.  I like to make love in a large, four-poster bed,
with the windows open and the moonlight streaming in."

"Well, I could enjoy that too," Ingrid said.

"In fact, it would be quite a novelty."

Jacey pushed her empty glass determinedly into Ingrid's hand.

"Ingrid, be a dear and get me another drink."

Ingrid took the hint, and wandered away.  Jacey turned back to Raoul.

"Listen," she said, 'it's true I was angry with you at the party, but
that's all in the past.  Did you know that Peter's gone back to
England, and I'm with Nicolas now?"

"Everyone knows you're with Nicolas," Raoul said dolefully.

"I can't imagine why.  You could have had me.  Why were you so angry
with me?"

"I don't like being manipulated," Jacey said.

He looked at her in surprise.

"I wanted to make love to you.  Is that manipulation?"

"Peter was very anxious for me to be at that party," Jacey said.

"He wanted to push me into bed with you.  And you probably put him up
to it.  That's manipulation."

"I know nothing of Peter's motives," Raoul said.

"I only know my own."

He gazed at her again.

"I would not insult you by treating you as if you were a commodity to
be exchanged between two men.  I am deeply hurt that you should think
this of me."

Jacey stared at him.  She had a feeling that he was being honest with
her.  She remembered Carmen praising Raoul.  What was it she had called
him?  A sweetie?  A romantic?  A man whose only problem was that he had
seen too many movies, and thought life was black and white, a battle
between the good guys and the bad guys?  She remembered how she had
rejected this description of Raoul at the time.  Now she wondered if it
was much nearer the truth than she wanted to believe.

"Perhaps I've been unfair to you," she conceded.

"You have," he agreed, 'if that's what you thought of me.  But
misunderstandings can be forgiven.  Now, maybe, we can be friends?"

"Just good friends?"  she teased gently.

"Of course," he said.

"I am capable of friendship with women.  I would ask you to dine with
me, but I am certain Nicolas would not approve."

"I'm sure he wouldn't," Jacey said.

"You two aren't exactly friends, are you?"

"We are mortal enemies," Raoul said dramatically.

"Today we will battle it out on the polo field.  In the future who
knows?

Governments are not indestructible."

"You're not thinking of opposing Hernandez?"  Jacey asked.

"Hernandez is a fool," Raoul said.

"A weak fool.  But he is not evil.

Nicolas Schlemann is another matter altogether."

"Nicolas has a lot of power."

"The Marquez family have been in Guachtal much longer than he has."

Raoul's voice was suddenly cold.

"And they will be here long after he has gone.  Believe me."

"Aren't you taking a risk, telling me all this?"  Jacey asked.

"I might report you."

Raoul laughed, and the mood between them lightened.

"You wouldn't do that.  You are too beautiful to be treacherous."  He
shrugged.

"And you wouldn't be telling Nicolas anything he doesn't already
know."

"So you would support Lohaquin?"  Jacey asked.

"You'd support a revolution?"

Raoul laughed again.

"I support my country.  I am a patriot."  He glanced up at the clock.

"And I am also the captain of my team.  I must go."  He took her hand
and kissed her fingers theatrically.

"Will you forgive me when my team defeats your lover's?"

"I've been told Nicolas is going to win," Jacey said.

Raoul shrugged.

"If the best man wins, as you say in England, it will obviously be me.
We shall see."

Ingrid wandered back to Jacey.

"What a cute guy," she said.

"It's a pity he talks like a bad romantic novel.  Was that nice bulge
all genuine cock and balls?"

"I've no idea," Jacey said.

"Surely you've fucked?"  Ingrid sounded surprised.

"Didn't he say he forced himself on you?"

"He tried," Jacey said.

"But I said no."

"Are you crazy?"  ingrid shook her head in disbelief.

"He's beautiful.

Think of the fun you could have, dressing him up as a woman."

Jacey stared at her in disbelief.

"That would be fun?"

"Oh, yes."  ingrid nodded.

"It's very sexy.  Have you never played that game?  Men love it.  You
know those very conventional men, in their suits and ties and their
polished shoes?  They love to be put into stockings and suspenders, and
lots of frilly things.  Makeup, too.  I had a guy in the States who got
a hard-on just talking about it, and really it was very difficult
getting the silk panties on him.  I had to scold him.  Make him
behave."  She grinned wickedly.

"A nice paddle across his bottom.  It works wonders.  I can whack very
hard.  Maybe I should have been a dominatrix instead of a doctor."

"I don't find men in drag very sexy at all," Jacey said.

"If I was expected to make love to a man in a dress, I'd probably start
laughing."

"What's wrong with laughing?"  Ingrid shrugged.

"Who says you have to be serious when you fuck?  And believe me, you
would fuck.  It's an amazing turn-on to see a guy in women's underwear,
doing whatever you tell him.  It's like having a slave.  They're so
anxious to please.  And your friend would look perfect; he's far too
pretty to be a man.  I'm sure he would like to play kinky games with
me."

They heard clapping, and moved over to the large window.  The two polo
teams were already on the field.  It was difficult to make out faces at
that distance, but Jacey thought she recognised Nicolas.

"Let's sit outside," she said.

They found themselves a table under the shade of an awning.  A waiter
appeared with a tray of drinks and bowed deferentially.

"With the compliments of Senor d'Osolo, refreshment for Dr.  Muldaire
and Dr.  Gustaffsen."

"Well," ingrid said, arranging her lanky frame comfortably.

"This is the life, don't you think?"  The polo ponies thundered past.
Ingrid glanced at them.

"Do you understand what this funny game is about?"

"Not really," Jacey admitted.

"They play so many chukkas, and score goals."

"Like football, but on a horse?"  Ingrid shrugged dismissively.

"Very exciting, I'm sure.  Let's talk about something more interesting.
Like your pretty friend.  Your pretty, rich friend."  There was a
sudden polite cheer and burst of clapping from the crowd.

"Maybe someone has scored a goal," ingrid guessed.

"Bravo.  Your friend is rich, isn't he?"

"I believe so," Jacey said.

"But I'm not sure I'd call Raoul my friend."

Not yet, anyway, she thought.  But he soon will be.  If Lohaquin has
supporters among the upper classes, and Raoul knows something about
him, I shall certainly have to cultivate his friendship.

Ingrid said: "The ponies have stopped galloping about.  I wonder why?
Do you think someone has been hurt?"

"It's the end of the first chukka, Senorita."  The waiter passing
behind them had overheard Ingrid's remark.

"The players will rest for three minutes, and then play again for
seven."

"So you don't have to run over and administer your skills as a doctor,"
Jacey murmured, after the waiter had gone.

"And while we're on the subject, what did that comment about surgical
nursing mean?"

"Doctors and nurses," Ingrid said.  Jacey looked blank, and Ingrid
prompted: "At La Primavera."  She stared at Jacey.

"Are you going to tell me you have never played those games?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Jacey said.  But she suddenly
recalled something else that Carmen had said to her.  Something about
the young doctors at La Primavera enjoying themselves in an operating
theatre, but Peter being too 'decent' to be involved.

"Unless it's got something to do with an operating theatre?"  she
hinted.

"Of course."  Ingrid nodded.

"That special operating theatre with the viewing gallery."

A nasty suspicion was beginning to form in Jacey's mind.

"I didn't know that operating theatre had a viewing gallery," she
said.

Ingrid looked at Jacey curiously.

"Do you mean to say you've never watched the girls playing nurses with
those frustrated old men?  I have to admit, it isn't always
interesting; sometimes they just fuck.  But often they are asked to use
the rubber tubes and the dildoes, and the electric clamps.  And
sometimes the old men want to play at being doctor instead of being
nursed.  They can be most inventive.  And if you know the right people,
you can get an invitation to watch."

"I don't think I'd want to," Jacey said rather primly.

But she had a sudden clear picture of herself in the sparkling clean
operating theatre.  A picture of herself submitting to Peter Draven's
exploring hands.  With her trained memory, she distinctly recalled a
snippet of their conversation.  She had jokingly protested that it was
hardly the time or place for a medical examination and Peter had said
something about it being 'exactly right'.

Now that comment made sense!  The bastard, she thought.  She remembered
lying back on the operating table, thinking how bright the lights were,
and fantasising that a group of medical students were looking down at
her.  But that was my personal fantasy, she thought furiously.

I was in control of it.  The idea that she probably had been watched,
without her permission, made her angry.

She also remembered that Peter's technique had lacked control, in
contrast to his performance on later occasions.  Was that because he
found the idea of a hidden audience almost too stimulating?  Or should
she give him the benefit of the doubt?  Maybe he was embarrassed.  But
in that case, why agree to perform?  Who put him up to it?  And who was
watching?

Until that afternoon she would have suspected it was Raoul.  But she no
longer thought that likely.  Raoul's romanticism was clearly genuine,
if unusual.  She did not believe he would indulge in underhand,
voyeuristic tricks.  But Nicolas Schlemann would.

For the next hour, Jacey found it difficult to concentrate either on
the polo, or Ingrid's conversation.  The more she thought about it, the
more convinced she became that she had been used as a sexual puppet, to
amuse a hidden viewer.  When the game finished her anger had reached
boiling point.  She hardly noticed Senor d'Osolo when he came up behind
her.

Tapping her on the shoulder, he handed her a note.

"From Senor Schlemann, Dr.  Muldaire."  He smiled obsequiously.  /!
believe he wishes to give you an opportunity to congratulate him."

"His team won, did it?"  Ingrid asked.

"Of course," d'Osolo said.

"Do you think that pretty little friend of yours let him win?"  Ingrid
asked Jacey, after Senor d'Osolo had left them.

"Raoul wouldn't do that," Jacey said.

"Definitely not."

"Your sexy Nicolas does seem to get his own way around here," Ingrid
commented.

"Jacey, do you want me to wait for you?"

"Of course," Jacey said shortly.  She glanced at the note.

"Nicolas is in the members' bar.  I'll just tell him how marvelous he
is, and I'll be back."

"Now, now," Ingrid chided, grinning.

"That's no way to talk about your lord and master."

"Considering he didn't even bother to invite me to see him play," Jacey
said tartly, 'he's got a nerve to expect me to rush over and compliment
him."

The members' bar was noisy and crowded when she reached it.  Some of
the players, with their girlfriends and wives, were grouped round a
buffet table, good-naturedly discussing the game.  The conversation
stopped, rather disconcertingly, as Jacey pushed through the swing
doors.  The crowd parted to let her through.

"I'm looking for Nicolas," she said.

"Of course you are."  One of the polo players smiled condescendingly at
her, and she took an instant dislike to him.  He pointed to a door.

"Through there, Dr.  Muldaire."

Jacey found herself in a corridor, panelled in dark wood.  There was
another door directly in front of her.  She opened it into a changing
room, as darkly-panelled as the corridor, the walls crowded with framed
photographs of polo matches.

Nicolas was lounging against one of the polished wooden lockers.  His
polo shirt was damp with sweat, and his knee-high boots were spattered
with mud.  Despite his dishevelled appearance, the sight of him gave
her a sexual thrill.  His tight, white breeches clung to his body like
a second skin, emphasising his lean thighs and the very noticeable
bulge of his penis.

Jacey deliberately kept her eyes on his face.

"I've been told I'm supposed to congratulate you," she said tartly.

"Congratulations are in order," he agreed.

"We won.  But that's not why I asked you here."  He leant back against
the locker and slowly unzipped his breeches.  As she watched, he
disengaged himself from the support pouch he was wearing, and stood in
front of her, cupping his balls.  He was semi-erect.

"Come here," he said.

Despite herself, she took a step forward.

"For God's sake," she said.

"The door isn't locked.  Someone might come in."

He smiled briefly.

"No one will come in.  They know I'm here, and they know you're here.
And they know why."  He ran his fingers up and down his cock.

"Get on with it, doctor.  Use your mouth."

Jacey moved closer.  She told herself that it was part of her plan to
humour him, but she knew very well that she was going to enjoy it.  She
could smell leather, and the musky, masculine scent of his sweat.  His
overpowering maleness was an extremely potent aphrodisiac.

She knelt down in front of him and took him in her mouth.  She felt his
body shudder as he parted his legs and leant back.  She moved her lips,
caressing him with her tongue.

"That's right," he muttered.

"Nice and slow.  Make it last for me, Jacey."

She tried to oblige him, but his excitement built up much more quickly
than she expected.  Suddenly his hands were on her head, holding her
close, while his hips pushed forward, almost against her face.  He
filled her mouth, and her throat, and for a moment she felt suffocated.
Then his orgasm rocked him, and she heard his groan of relief.

It took him a moment to recover.  Unselfconsciously, he tidied himself
up, and then grinned at her.  To the victor the spoils," he said.

"That was just what I needed."

"Just as long as you don't expect me to do the same for all the other
victors," she said.

He put his hands on her shoulders and she felt the strength of his
fingers biting into her flesh.

"Would you object?"  She saw a gleam of excitement in his eyes.

"You like behaving like a whore, don't you?"

"I like to choose who I share my body with."

"You'll do it with a man you've only just met," he persisted.

"That's what a whore does."

"A whore does it for money," Jacey said.

"It's work.  If I do it with a man I've just met, it's for pleasure.
Because I fancy him.  It's my choice."  She stepped back out of his
grasp.

"My body.  My choice."

Suddenly her well-trained memory kicked into gear again.

"You accused me of that before," she remembered.

"Of not minding if I serviced a man I'd just met.  Why?"

"You fucked Peter Draven quickly enough," he said.

"In the operating theatre at La Primavera."

"You were watching us?"  She felt her anger rising once more.

"What a disgusting trick."

He shrugged, and laughed.

"I'm a busy man.  I can't afford to waste time on someone who isn't
going to be worth it.  I like to see my women in action, before I try
them out myself."

She slapped him without thinking, across his face.  The blow was harder
than she intended; it snapped his head back, and sounded like a pistol
shot.  She immediately regretted her impulsiveness.  What if he
retaliated?  She knew he was quite capable of doing so; he would not
have any chivalrous notions about not hitting women.

In that case, should she use her training to try and defend herself?

Perhaps resistance would infuriate him.  And she wasn't even sure if
she could handle him if he attacked her.  She had been taught to take a
victim by surprise, and kill him, not to stand up to a fully grown man
in a raging temper.

In that brief moment, as she stood in front of him, and saw him lift
his hand to his face and shake his head slightly as if to clear it, she
realised how vulnerable she was.  Here in Guachtal, Nicolas Schlemann
was the law.  He could probably have her murdered, and get away with
it.  He could block any investigations.  A few diplomats might make
angry noises.  A file would be opened.  There would be an insincere
promise of an investigation.  Weeks would drag into months, and the
file containing details of her case would gradually find its way to the
back of a shelf, where all the other unsolved cases mouldered.

Then Nicolas smiled with a sinister expression in his eyes.

"I really don't deserve that.  Peter Draven was quite happy to oblige
me by putting on that little performance.  And he didn't mind obliging
me by bringing you to the Marquez party either."

"Suppose I'd chosen Raoul instead of you?"  Jacey challenged.

The smile returned.

"I wasn't afraid of that, Dr.  Muldaire.  Raoul would bore you.  I've
told you before, you need a man like me.  And you know it.  You come
running when I call you, because you enjoy it."  He opened the nearest
locker.

"And now I must get changed.  I have a meeting with Hernandez in an
hour."

"And how about a meeting with me?  From my point of view, this one
hasn't been very satisfying."

He smiled at her condescendingly.

"I'll call you.  When I have some time to spare."  He slung a towel
over his shoulder.

"Make sure you're available.  I don't like being kept waiting,
particularly by women.  And especially when I want sex."

Chapter Five.

Jacey's anger simmered for the next few days.  It hurt to have her
suspicions about Peter Draven confirmed.  Whatever his reasons, he had
used her.  She would have broken off their relationship herself, if it
had become necessary to do so.  But she would have had a legitimate
excuse: she was not a free agent.  She needed information, and she had
to take any opportunity she was offered in order to get it.  And I
would have made it a gentle break, she thought.  Peter had no excuses.
He had left without an explanation.  I trusted him, and he used me.
Like Faisel, she realised.

She did not want to remember Faisel, but she could not banish the
memory now her mind had dredged it up.  At their last meeting, Faisel
was sitting between his glacially beautiful mother, and his Savile Row
suited father.  Faisel listening mutely as his parents spelled out her
fate.  He let them calmly tell me how they intended to ruin my life,
she thought.  She had hated him, then.  Wondered why she ever found him
attractive.  Wondered how she could have believed she was in love.

She remembered the cold, hard knot of anger in her stomach, when she
realised that she was powerless.  Faisel's family could do what they
liked.  She was in a foreign country, and alone.  She had felt naked
and helpless.  It was horrible, frustrating, and infuriating.  She made
a vow never to be put in that position again.  In the future she would
always be in control of her own life.

She had also been determined never to fall in love again, either.  It
had been an easy resolution to keep in the early years.  The pressure
of work kept her from thinking about the past.  She took up her studies
again, qualified, and became an overworked junior hospital doctor.

There wasn't much time for romance during that period, even if she had
wanted it.  Most of her leisure time was spent sleeping.  She had a few
one-night stands with fellow doctors, but they meant nothing.  Anton
had been her first steady relationship, and she had been honest with
him about not wanting a long-term commitment.

She leant back in her chair, and sighed.  Not that he had taken any
notice.  He could not accept the idea of a woman who did not want to
get married.  He would probably have made a good husband, she
thought.

She tried to imagine waking up and seeing him every morning.  Chatting
about work, discussing what they were going to do that evening.  Anton
would probably take his lead from her, accept what she wanted.  And
perhaps that was the problem, she thought.  He was far too nice.  If I
had to live with him, I'd be bored to tears in a couple of months.

Perhaps Nicolas is right; I need someone unpredictable, I need
excitement.  I need a dominant man for sex, and I need freedom in my
everyday life.  And I don't want to be used by men whenever they feel
like it.

To relieve her feelings, she slammed down a medical chart on her
desk.

ingrid came through the door.

"Oh dear," Ingrid said.

"A touch of PMT?"

"I don't suffer from PMT."

"Then it's frustration."  Ingrid perched on the edge of Jacey's desk.

"You miss your sexy boyfriend.  You want to give him another blow job,
maybe?"

"No, I don't," Jacey said, 'and I wish I hadn't told you about that."

"You think no one knew?  All those people in the members' bar knew. And
I've been hearing things about your Senor Nicolas.  Treating women like
whores gives him a kick."  She leaned towards Jacey.

"You are tense.

You need to relax.  Come on, forget about Nicolas.  Come out with me
this evening.  I know a very nice little club.  We can have a few
drinks and a dance."

"I'll think about it," Jacey said.

"About eight o'clock."  Ingrid stood up.

"And we'll use your little Paulo as a chauffeur, to ease your social
conscience.  OK?"

Jacey did not think any more about ingrid's offer until later that
afternoon.  She had to admit that she did feel edgy.  She had been
remembering far too much about her past, and about Faisel.  It can
still hurt me, she thought, even after all these years.  I thought I'd
come to terms with it, but it's like a wound just waiting to be
reopened when I least expect it.  Will it haunt me for the rest of my
life?  Will I ever be able to forget?

Perhaps an evening out would be a good thing?  she wondered.  Although
knowing ingrid's liberal sexual orientation, she would probably end up
in a lesbian hideaway, or a bisexual's S&M dungeon.

In fact later that evening, she realised her worries were unfounded.

Ingrid took her to a discreet club, where a local band played sixties
and seventies ballads.  The couples moving gently round the small dance
floor were young, and smartly dressed.  This was Techtatuan's
professional middle class, Jacey guessed.  The food, a selection of
local dishes, was delicious.

"What do you think?"  Ingrid tucked into a bowl of mixed vegetables,
spiced with an aromatic sauce.

"Wonderful, isn't it?  The best vegetarian food in town."

"It's very good."  Jacey had chosen an omelette, cooked to
perfection.

"You like this club?"  Ingrid munched contently.

"I love the music.  It reminds of when I was at school."

"It's very nice," Jacey said.

"Not what I expected."

"What did you expect?"  Ingrid poured herself another glass of wine.

"Something a little more unorthodox," Jacey said tactfully.

"Oh?  Lesbians with strapped-on dildoes?"  Ingrid grinned.

"Do you think I'm only interested in sex?"

"You do give that impression," Jacey admitted.

"To be honest," Ingrid said, "I wouldn't know where to find a lesbian
club in this town.  And I don't think I'd want to.  I get enough sex at
La Primavera.  Here, have some more wine."

By the end of the evening Jacey felt pleasantly light-headed.  Several
couples, recognising Ingrid, had come over to talk.  They greeted Jacey
politely enough, but she sensed a certain reserve in their attitude.

Later, when Paulo had dropped them both off at La Primavera, she
mentioned it to Ingrid.

Ingrid shrugged.

"It's because you're Nicolas Schlemann's woman.

They're afraid of you."

"He's the one with the power," Jacey said, more sharply than she
intended.

"I'm just his current entertainment."

Ingrid looked at her, and then smiled.

"You can't blame them for being cautious.  You know Senor Schlemann's
reputation."  She put her hand lightly on

Jacey's shoulder.

"Come into my room for a nightcap.  I'll mix you something special."

Without really thinking about it, Jacey let herself be guided into
ingrid's apartment.  She sat on the settee while ingrid went to a
cupboard, took out some bottles, and mixed two drinks.

"Do you know who told me about that club?"  ingrid handed a glass to
Jacey, but did not sit down.

"Your pretty friend, Raoul Marquez."

"Really?"  Jacey was surprised.

"You're not going to tell me you've added Raoul to your list of
conquests?"

ingrid shook her head.

"No.  He is a nice young man, but quite wrong for me.  I would be very
bored with all that romantic nonsense.  If I want to fuck a man, I do
it, and that's that.  I don't want to receive red roses and poetry."
She moved behind the settee, and put her hands lightly on Jacey's
shoulders.

"But maybe that's what you would like?

Someone to make you feel special?  You know, you won't get it from
Nicolas Schlemann.  Why don't you exchange him for Raoul?  He would
make you much happier."

"That's not what I would like," Jacey said shortly.

"The last thing I want in my life is a romance.  Nicolas is absolutely
right for my purposes at the moment.  Good sex, and no strings."

She felt ingrid's fingers kneading her flesh.

"So your life is fine?

Then why are you tense?"

"I'm not," Jacey said abruptly.

ingrid said: "Did I tell you I once worked as a masseuse?  When I was a
medical student, I needed the money.  I was a real masseuse.  I did not
give quick hand jobs."  She laughed suddenly.

"Not very often, anyway."

Despite herself Jacey felt her body relax, ingrid's fingers were
strong, but soothing.  The wine, and ingrid's nightcap, had made her
drowsy.  She closed her eyes, and her body rocked slightly as Ingrid
worked on her neck and shoulder muscles.  She was not really aware of
exactly when Ingrid changed position, moving to sit next to her.  She
simply felt Ingrid's hands, palms flat, massaging her chest, making
circular movements.

"No' Jacey protested, without much conviction.

"Yes," Ingrid insisted softly.

"It will make you feel good."

Jacey realised that Ingrid was right.  She did feel good.  Relaxed, and
strangely sexy.  Ingrid's hands smoothed over her breasts, gently
now.

It was quite unlike any sensation she had ever had before.

"Now," Ingrid said, 'if you want me to stop, you must tell me.  Then we
will say good night, and that will be that.  I will not be offended."

Her fingers lingered near the buttons of Jacey's blouse.

"I find you attractive.  I want to make love to you.  But you have to
want it, too."

"I... don't know," Jacey murmured.

Ingrid opened her blouse.  She touched Jacey's nipples, massaging them
softly through her cotton bra.

"Tell me to stop, and I will."

Part of Jacey's mind prompted her to leave, but her body told her
something different.  She did not want the massage to stop.  Ingrid's
caresses were both soothing and pleasurable.  She felt Ingrid tug at
the thin straps of her bra, loosen them, and then unfasten the clasp at
the back.  Then Ingrid was kissing her, first on the neck and
shoulders, and moving down to her nipples.  Moving slowly, as if she
was enjoying the taste of Jacey's skin.  Her hands felt quite unlike a
man's.  They lingered, exploring.  Her mouth closed over one nipple,
and her tongue circled it gently.  Her other hand cupped Jacey's breast
and massaged it.  Jacey closed her eyes and sighed, curiously divorced
from reality.  Sleepy and warm.  So sleepy, in fact, that she wondered
vaguely if Ingrid had put more than alcohol in her 'nightcap'.

She felt ingrid's hands become rough and more demanding.  It broke the
mood, and when she opened her eyes, she was startled to see that Ingrid
had removed her linen jacket and cotton shirt, and was naked to the
waist.  Her body was angular and muscular, and her breasts small.

With her blonde hair tied back, she looked distinctly masculine.  Her
hands reached for the waistband of Jacey's skirt, and at the same time
she leant forward and kissed Jacey on the lips.  The kiss, and the
sight of ingrid's androgynous body, dispelled Jacey's lethargy.  She
sat up quickly and her action caused ingrid to jerk back.

"No," Jacey said.

"I'm sorry but no."

ingrid looked hurt rather than angry.

"I thought you were enjoying it."

Jacey felt confused, and a little guilty.  She had been enjoying
Ingrid's caresses, without actually connecting them to the thought of
any kind of follow-up sex.  The massage had been pleasant: even the
touch of Ingrid's lips on her nipples had not repulsed her.  Perhaps,
she thought, that was because I had not really been picturing Ingrid
there.  I was just enjoying the sensations.  But the sight of ingrid's
body had brought her back to reality.  She felt no desire to touch
Ingrid, or indeed to have Ingrid touch her, in any more intimate way.

And if she let ingrid continue, she knew very well what would follow,
knowing Ingrid's predilection for oral sex.

"I'm sorry."  Jacey reached for her blouse.

"I'm sorry, but I can't -' She was surprised to see Ingrid smile.

"That's all right.  I'm sorry too.  But we are both adults.  If this is
not for you, then we will never mention it again."

"You must think I'm the worst kind of tease," Jacey said.

"No."  ingrid shrugged.

"Sometimes you don't know what you want until you try it.  I have
always liked women, but I wasn't sure about men.

Then I fucked a few, and decided that I could like that, too.  It was
different, but still good."  She stood up unselfconsciously and reached
for her shirt.

"The important thing is not to be ashamed.  And to be honest.  You have
been honest, and we will still be friends."

Despite Ingrid's apparently graceful acceptance, Jacey found it
difficult to believe that her rejection would not put a strain on their
relationship.  But the next morning Ingrid greeted her as cheerfully as
ever, and later that week handed her a heavy vellum envelope which
turned out to contain an invitation from Carlos Marquez.

"A garden party?"  Jacey read the invitation and looked up at Ingrid in
amazement.

"Why is Carlos inviting me to a garden party?  I didn't think he even
liked me."

"He probably doesn't," Ingrid said.

"But Raoul does, and the invitation comes from him.  He has invited
both of us."  She smiled.

"You should feel complimented.  Normally such an invitation would cost
you several weeks' wages.  It's a fundraising party, to send food
parcels to the forest Indians."

"Carlos is involved in that?"  Jacey asked in surprise.

"It's a tradition," Ingrid said.

"Started by his mother.  She must have been an interesting person. It's
a pity she died.  I would have liked to meet her."

"I met her aunt," Jacey remembered.

"She said Juanita was still alive."

"Well, perhaps she is," Ingrid said.

"She was never found, was she?"

"It's easy enough to lose a body in the rain forest," Jacey said.

"Yes."  Ingrid nodded.

"Nicolas Schlemann could certainly arrange it."

"Why would he want to?"  Jacey asked.

"He doesn't like opposition," Ingrid said.

"And especially not from women.  I was told that after her husband
died, Juanita made no secret about giving money to Lohaquin's
followers.  That was brave of her, don't you think?"

Jacey was immediately interested.

"Very brave, if it's true.  It could be a rumour."

"Well, the fundraising for the food parcels is true," Ingrid said.

"Clearly this lady wanted to help the Indians."

Jacey tapped the invitation card against her palm as she thought.  If
Juanita Marquez really was involved with Lohaquin, Raoul might know
more about the elusive rain forest rebel than he was willing to
admit.

He's clearly forgiven me for snubbing him.  Perhaps I should start to
cultivate his friendship.  And when Nicolas gets tired of me, I'll have
a willing shoulder to cry on, and maybe a lead to Lohaquin, too.

Having only seen the Marquez villa at night, Jacey realised she had
totally misjudged the extent of the grounds.  They were far larger than
she expected.  A huge marquee, liberally decorated with flowers, housed
a buffet and bar.  A band played under an elegant, striped canopy.  A
wooden dance floor surrounded by poles festooned with fairy lights, had
been laid over the grass.  Several couples were already dancing to
gentle, traditional tunes.

Jacey had tried to sound Paulo out about the food parcels, and found
him unimpressed.

"Yes, it is a kind idea," he admitted.

"Senora Marquez was a kind lady.  But these Indians only go hungry
because they are forced to live in reservations.  They are people of
the rain forest.  If they were left in the rain forest, they would not
need help to eat."

"So why were they moved?"  Ingrid asked.

"Because they were in the way," Paulo said.

"There were many rumours that the trees would be cut down."

"But it didn't happen," Jacey said.

"There hasn't been any logging in Guachtal: Why haven't the Indians
been allowed to go back?"

She saw Paulo's hands tighten on the wheel.  There was brief silence
before he replied.

"Because it will happen.  It is only a matter of time.  Those who want
to make money out of the trees will make it happen.  When the roads are
built, the trees will be destroyed, and more Indians will be moved.
Perhaps my village, too.  And then there will be no rain forest
left."

"And Lohaquin opposes this?"  Ingrid asked.

"Many people oppose it," Paulo said.

"Not only Lohaquin.  Not only the Indians.  Many people."

"But it will make your county prosperous," Ingrid said.

"It will make certain people prosperous," Paulo answered.

"Like Nicolas Schlemann?"  Ingrid suggested.

"Certain people," Paulo repeated.

"But not the poor people.  And not the Indians."  Despite some gentle
probing, he refused to discuss the matter any further.  Jacey saw his
eyes in the rear view mirror glancing towards her now and again, and
knew her presence was making him uncomfortable.  That's what you get
for being Nicolas Schlemann's woman, she thought.

Later, as they mingled with the party guests, Ingrid said: "Do you
really think the Indians will benefit from any of this?"

"If Raoul has anything to do with it, they'll get their food parcels,"
Jacey said.

"If you can call that a benefit."

"I'm sure they'll adjust to their new life," h-igrid said, 'in time."

"They shouldn't have to adjust," Jacey responded angrily.

"They should never have been forced to leave their villages in the
first place."

"Your good friend Nicolas would probably argue that this is progress,"
Ingrid said tartly.

"I'd call it vandalism," Jacey answered.

"There must be a better way to boost the economy than by destroying
something irreplaceable."

"Don't let Nicolas hear you say that," Ingrid said lightly.

"I'm sure he'll get a lovely handout from the men who build the roads,
and from those who do the logging."

Jacey knew that this was probably true.  And the chattering guests, who
had bought the expensive tickets to attend this charitable party, would
also probably benefit from new roads and a timber indus try.

What a lot of hypocrites, she thought angrily.

Another thought occurred to her.  What about the British government?

Why did Major Fairhaven really want information about the political
situation in Guachtal?  Because he would have to advise the government
on whether or not the country was an economically sound proposition for
investment.  We're all as bad as one another, she thought, feeling
suddenly depressed.  Now I know how Lohaquin must feel.

"So you both managed to find time to visit our little jamboree?"

Jacey turned, and faced Raoul Marquez.  He was dressed in an elegant,
pale linen suit, with an open-necked shirt, as if he was about to pose
for a glossy fashion magazine.  He kissed Jacey's hand, and then turned
to Ingrid.

"Are you going to make me a happy man?  Are you going to stay with me
tonight?"

"You don't want a wicked woman like me Ingrid laughed.

"I would corrupt you."

"But I would enjoy that," Raoul said earnestly.  Jacey glanced over
Raoul's shoulder and saw a tall, slim young man walking towards them.

His body looked loose and coltish under his pale suit, but unlike the
self-assured Raoul; he gave the impression that he had dressed
hurriedly, and felt slightly uncomfortable in his smart clothes.  His
hair was thick, straight and black and his face had a vulnerable look
that Jacey found surprisingly appealing.

Raoul turned round to follow Jacey's gaze.

"What kept you so long?"  he asked the young man in Spanish.

"Carlos has been asking for you."

"Well, now I'm here," the boy said sullenly.

"Let me introduce you to my little virgin brother," Raoul said,
continuing in Spanish.

"Ladies, this is Leonardo, who hates being sociable, and is still young
enough not to care who knows it."

"I don't mind being sociable," Leonardo said.  He stared hard at
Jacey.

"I just care who I'm sociable with."

"Shake hands with Dr.  Muldaire," Raoul said, 'or you'll have me to
answer to."

Leonardo held out a slim hand to Jacey.

"I'm delighted to meet you, Dr.  Muldaire."

"You're a very bad liar," she said, sweetly.

"What have I done to annoy you?"

She wondered why she found his unsmiling mouth so desirable.  She had
never been attracted to anyone younger than herself before, but his
finely drawn, slanting eyebrows, his smooth natural tan, and his
narrow, almost feminine hands, were all surprisingly seductive.  He
looked untouched, unspoiled and petulant.  She felt she wanted to shake
him.  Or, she thought, surprising herself, strip off his clothes and
spank him.

"He's an idealist," Raoul said.

"You know what it's like when you're young?"

Jacey smiled at Raoul.

"I thought you were an idealist, too?"

Raoul looked suddenly serious.

"I am."  He held her gaze.

"But I'm sensible enough to know who my real enemies are.  Leonardo
hasn't yet learned how to make that distinction."

Leonardo had already shaken hands with Ingrid, and treated her to a
brief smile.  He turned back to Raoul.

"Must you always make me sound like an idiot?"

"If you dislike Dr.  Muldaire simply because you don't approve of some
of her friends," Raoul said, 'you are an idiot."  He smiled suddenly
and patted his brother on the shoulder.

"Go and find Carlos, and then go and be nice to Aunt Ana.  And stop
looking so miserable."  After Leonardo had walked away, he added, in
English: "Don't you have an expression "a pain in the neck"?  That's
how I sometimes feel about my dear little brother."

"He's not so little," Ingrid said.

"And he's rather sweet.  Is he really a virgin?  Maybe I should educate
him?"

"Dear Dr.  Gustaffsen," Raoul said, 'it would be much nicer if you
would educate me."

"You don't need educating."  Ingrid laughed.

"Does Leonardo approve of Lohaquin?"  Jacey asked.

"Like your mother?"

Raoul shrugged.

"Leonardo approves of anything he thinks is unconventional.  And
anything he thinks will annoy Carlos and Schlemann.  In that respect,
he is certainly like my late mother."

And maybe he could furnish me with the lead I'm looking for, Jacey
thought.  Either a direct lead to Lohaquin, or someone who can provide
me with one.  I need him to trust me, and unfortunately he won't do
that as long as I'm with Nicolas.

After Raoul had left them to chat to other guests, and Ingrid was
commandeered by a vivacious-looking woman, Jacey wandered off on her
own, hoping to see Leonardo.  She caught sight of him several times,
but always at a distance.  Then, when she least expected it, she turned
to see him standing close by, staring across at her.  He quickly looked
away, but for an instant their eyes met.  His expression was angry but
also had a hint of curiosity.  He doesn't dislike me as much as he
pretends, she thought.

She decided to shadow him until she was able to corner him.  She smiled
to herself.  Then she could accuse him of following her.  That would
annoy him, and maybe make him defensive but at least it would start a
conversation.  Given an opening, she could charm him.

She told herself she was doing this purely to gain information, but she
knew very well that she was also going to enjoy it.  No doubt
Leonardo's brothers, and his Aunt Ana (and his mother, when she was
alive) had spoiled him silly.  Now someone would have to teach him how
to act like an adult.  She would enjoy proving to him that he shouldn't
judge people too hastily.  She would enjoy getting him to eat out of
her hand.

As Leonardo moved away, and she prepared to follow, her mobile phone
rang.  For a moment she could not place the gentle trilling sound.  It
was the first time anyone had contacted her on the mobile since she
started work at La Primavera.  Her mind immediately switched from the
pleasure of Leonardo to work.  Convinced that it must be an emergency,
she mentally listed her current patients.  None of them had any
life-threatening illness.  She held the phone to her ear.

A familiar voice said: "Good evening, Dr.  Muldaire."

"Nicolas?"  She was startled, then angry.

"This number is for emergencies only.  What exactly do you want?"

"You," he said, 'of course."

"I'm at a garden party," she said.

"I know where you are," he drawled.

"I always know where you are.  And I also know where you'll be in about
twenty minutes."

"Still here," she said.

'm my apartment," he corrected.

"I have something for you.  A car will collect you in about five
minutes."

As she started to protest, the phone went dead.  She wondered briefly
what would happen if she refused to go with Nicolas's driver when he
appeared.  He could hardly pick her up and carry her.  She did not
believe that even Nicolas would dare to give that kind of order.

She glanced round.  Leonardo had disappeared.  There'll be plenty of
time to pursue that lead later on, she thought.  Nicolas had aroused
her curiosity.  What did he have for her?  A present?  She rather
doubted it.  Not after what he had already told her about the kind of
relationship he wanted.  She managed to catch sight of Ingrid and wave
to her, and was looking round for a last glimpse of Leonardo when she
saw the large, dark-suited security man walking towards her.

"You're leaving us, Dr.  Muldaire?"  Carlos Marquez stopped her as she
reached the edge of the crowd.

"I have another engagement," Jacey said.

She saw Carlos look first at the security man, then back at her.  A
chilly smile touched his mouth.

"Of course."  He paused for a moment.

"You met my brother Leonardo, I believe?"

"Very briefly," Jacey said.  She smiled.

"I don't think he approved of me."

"He's young," Carlos said.

"The young sometimes have foolish ideas."

So that's why you've condescended to speak to me, Jacey thought.

You're worried that your little brother has been indiscreet.  She kept
smiling.

"We didn't discuss any of his ideas," she said, 'foolish or
otherwise."

"Good," Carlos said.  He stepped back.

"Good evening, Dr.  Muldaire."  He paused.

"I hope your next engagement is an enjoyable one."

"Oh, I'm sure it will be," Jacey said, sweetly.

At Police Headquarters, the driver used his own card to open the iron
door, and preceded her down the stone-flagged corridors until they
reached the entrance to Nicolas's apartment, where he left her.  She
walked down the carpeted, silk-walled corridor to the panelled living
room.  Nicolas was lounging in a leather armchair.  He was wearing a
dark, formal suit, and a tie, and looked as if he was about to go to a
board meeting.  He glanced at his watch.

"Congratulations," he said.

"You must have come straight here."

"Did I have a choice?"  she asked.

"Of course," he said.

"You came because you wanted to."

"I came because you said you had something for me," she said.

He smiled.  There was a box on the table next to him.  He tapped it
with one finger.

"Take this into the next room.  When you open it, you'll know what to
do.  Then come back to me."  He shifted in the chair.

"And don't be too long."

She took the box without a word, and went out into the corridor.  One
door stood half open.  She went through it and found herself in an
old-fashioned bathroom, with a huge bath standing on clawed feet, and
brass pipes running round the walls.

The floor tiles were black and white squares, and there was a
full-length mirror fixed on the wall.

She opened the box.  The first thing she took out was a bright, red
blouse, made of a shiny material.  It had a deep scoop neckline, and
was liberally deco rated with frills.  She held it against her body,
not sure whether to laugh or be angry.  The next item was a very short
skirt made of imitation leather, with a buttoned front.  Then she found
a pair of silky black stockings with fancy seams, a leather-look
suspender belt, and some black patent shoes with absurdly high stiletto
heels and narrow ankle straps.

She did not need an explanatory note to know that he wanted her to put
these clothes on.  She looked round the room, wondering if there were
any hidden spy holes Was he watching her?  She thought not.  There
would be no point.  He was going to see all he wanted of her very
soon.

She removed her dress, and hesitated about her bra.  Another look at
the red blouse confirmed that it was not designed to be worn with any
kind of underwear.  She picked up the suspender belt, and then looked
in the mirror.  Her plain, stretch cotton briefs looked absurdly
prim.

After a moment, she slipped them off.  Clearly this outfit did not go
with functional Calvin Klein underwear.  She rolled on the stockings,
spent some time straightening the seams, then stepped into the tight,
button-fronted skirt.  Finally she strapped on the high-heeled shoes.

They were an excellent fit.

She practised walking in the shoes they were much higher than she had
ever worn before, and then stopped in front of the mirror.  Her hair
was still folded into a neat French pleat.  She loosened it and let it
fall to her shoulders.  Almost without thinking, she adjusted the
blouse so that the neckline exposed most of her breasts, then posed
with one hand on her hip, her legs apart, forcing the lower buttons on
the fake leather skirt to pop open.

You look like a tart, she thought, amused at her unfamiliar image.  She
knew this was exactly what Nicolas intended.  It was another way of
exerting control.  He had turned her into the kind of woman he felt
comfortable with.  A woman who offered herself for money.  A woman who
would do what she was told.  Sex with no ties.  And isn't that exactly
what I want, too?  Jacey thought.  The fun, without the emotions?  She
turned, inspecting herself from all angles.  I'll play the whore for
Nicolas, if that's what turns him on.  Let's see if he likes the woman
he's created.

She walked back into the dark-walled room, even darker now that the
light outside was failing, and saw Nicolas still lounging in the
armchair.  Now he had a bottle and a whisky glass on the table next to
him.  She posed in front of him, the same pose that she had tried out
in the mirror.

"Is this outfit supposed to be a present for me?"  she asked sweetly.

"Or for you?"

He took his time inspecting her.  Finally he said:

"For both of us.  Come here."

She walked towards him, the stilettos making her both shorten her
stride and swing her hips.  He stood up, and caught hold of the
waistband of her skirt.

"You've got this on the wrong way," he said.

"Turn around."

She turned, and he tugged the skirt round her, so that the buttons
ended up at the back.  She felt him opening them, and the cleft between
her buttocks was exposed.

"Part your legs," he ordered.

She obeyed.  He traced the division between her cheeks, following it
down from the base of her spine until it curved between her thighs.

"Do you like dressing up?"  he asked softly.

"Most women do."  He pulled her closer until she was astride his lap.

"It's a kind of freedom, isn't it?"  He leant forward and reached up to
cup a breast, searching for the nipple beneath the silky, red blouse.

"Freedom to be some one else."

She felt both nipples tighten as he played with her, lightly at first,
and then harder, pinching her flesh.  His other hand explored between
her legs, up towards her clitoris, and she gasped sharply as his
fingers slid over her moist and sensitive flesh.  He rubbed her gently,
and then with increasing pressure, and she felt the familiar sensations
stirring in her body, the delightful tension, the ache for release. His
breathing quickened as he felt her react.

"It doesn't take much to turn you on, does it?"  he murmured.

"Not when you do that," she replied.

He laughed and stood up.  Somehow he managed to manoeuvre her towards
the nearest armchair, while keeping his hand between her legs.  She
expected him to swing her round, and maybe encourage her to use her
mouth on him, or perhaps to straddle him so that he could use his
tongue on her.  Instead he bent her over the arm of the chair, then
gripped her waist and hoisted her roughly upwards into the position he
wanted, her face pressed against the chair's leather seat, her bottom
jutting into the air.

His fingers returned to the moist warmth between her legs.  He played
with her soft flesh for a few more minutes, before he unzipped himself
and entered her, easily and quickly.  She was so relaxed and wet.  His
weight pinned her against the chair and she felt captive and
helpless.

She was surprised to realise how much she enjoyed this sensation; she
could surrender to his strength and have his total physical attention.
He half withdrew, and then thrust again, using her selfishly now,
intent on his own climax, and she heard her own gasps matching the
rhythm of his harsh breathing.

His fingers dug into her waist, holding her.  As his excitement mounted
she tightened her internal muscles, squeezing him each time he pulled
back.  At the same time she reached between her legs with one hand and
worked herself, rubbing her clit furiously, determined to indulge her
sensual self for both their pleasures.  She heard him groan once, then
his body began to shudder.  At the same time, her own climax gripped
her, and she writhed beneath him.  For a brief moment his full weight
crushed her, and the air rushed from her lungs in a cry of relief and
consummation.

She hardly felt him lifting her up and turning her round so that she
slumped in the chair.  She realised that she was panting as if she had
been running, and her hair was damp with sweat.  She closed her eyes
and took several deep breaths.  Her body relaxed.  Then a glass was
pushed into her hand.  Without thinking she took a mouthful and choked
as the fiery liquid stung her throat.  She heard Nicolas laugh.

"What a way to treat good Scotch whisky."

She looked up at him.  His face was sheened with sweat, and his hair
was dishevelled.

"I thought it was wine," she said.

He sat down opposite her, and smiled.

"That was very satisfying."  He swallowed a mouthful of whisky.

"As good as any whore I've ever had.

You look that part, and you act the part.  Very satisfying indeed."

"So why not just get the real thing?"  she asked.

"Why pay, when I can get it free?"  His eyes assessed her again.

"And where would I find a whore as good looking as you?"  Then he
glanced at his watch.

"You'd better get changed.  The car will be here for you in about five
minutes."

"You arranged it in advance?"  She could not keep the anger out of her
voice.

He looked surprised.

"Of course.  I knew how long I was going to be."

She stood up.

"That's a little cold-blooded, isn't it?"

He looked at her for a moment, and then shrugged.

"Did you expect us to sit and hold hands?"

"I expected something more than wham-bang-thank-you-ma'am," she said.

He smiled lazily.

"I seem to remember warning you not to expect a romance."

"Ten minutes or so spent talking to me would hardly constitute a
romance," she said.

He gave her a mocking smile.

"What would we talk about, Dr.  Muldaire?

Do you think we have anything in common?"

"Maybe," she suggested, 'we could try and find out?"

He laughed indulgently.

"Why do you women always want the illusion of a relationship?"  His
smile turned suddenly cruel.

"Make the most of what you have.  You can never be sure of how long it
will last."

"Why do you put up with it?"  Ingrid asked.

"I don't understand you."

Jacey shrugged.

"He's a very attractive man.  You said so yourself.  And he gives me a
great orgasm."

"His body is attractive," Ingrid agreed.

"But to be called, and fucked, and sent home?  That is degrading.  You
are letting him control you.  Is this what you really want?"

"He isn't controlling me," Jacey said lightly.

"It's just a fantasy thing.  We're playing games."

"Nicolas Schlemann does not play games," Ingrid said.

"Dump him.  Give him a taste of his own medicine.  There are plenty of
men out there.  If they're not good at sex, you can teach them."

"I like Nicolas," Jacey said.

"I don't want anyone else."

But it was only partly true, although Jacey didn't want to admit that
to Ingrid.  She enjoyed sex with Nicolas, and she intended to stay with
him until he dumped her, and gave her the chance to play the woman
scorned.  But when she had an idle moment, and was able to let her
thoughts wander, she found them centring more and more on Leonardo
Marquez.  Why?  she asked herself.  Ever since the nightmare with
Faisel, she had never been attracted to younger men, and Leonardo was
at least ten years her junior.  Furthermore, there had been something
innocent about him that made her sure he was a virgin and she had never
liked inexperienced men.  So why Leonardo Marquez?

After Ingrid had left the office, Jacey leant back in her chair and
recalled the time she had noticed Leonardo watching her.  He was sure
he wouldn't like me, she thought, but he found me interesting.  That
must have confused him.  And maybe excited him?  She remembered the way
his hair had fallen forward, a heavy, uneven fringe that almost reached
his eyebrows.  She remembered the delicate slant of those brows, and
the slightly petulant mouth.  Then she remembered Ana Collados
describing Juanita Marquez's Italian lover as tall and thin, and rather
shy, commenting that her niece was besotted with him for at least a
year.  If he looked like his son, Jacey thought, I can understand
exactly what she saw in him.

She tried to imagine Leonardo without his clothes.  Not completely
nude, but in an interestingly brief bathing slip.  He would lack
Nicolas's taut strength.  His body would be more angular, but his tan
would probably be darker, and, if he had any body-hair, that would be
dark too.  She imagined the ridges of his ribs would be visible.  His
stomach would be flat, but not yet hard with muscle.  His legs would be
long and lean, and his bottom small.  And his cock and balls?  She
smiled.

They protruded attractively from between his thighs in the bathing slip
she had mentally dressed him in and their weight strained the narrow
holding thongs.  She imagined cutting them, snapping them, letting all
that enticing flesh bulge free.

Leonardo would probably try to cover himself.  She would grasp his
wrists and force his hands apart.  He would have to stand there, naked,
while she inspected him.  Despite his embarrassment, being forced into
that position would excite him.  His cock would swell and rise, and he
would blush and apologise.  And, she thought, smiling to herself, she
would thoroughly enjoy his humiliation.  That would teach him to judge
her arbitrarily.  Maybe she would even pretend to be angry with him.

She had a tantalising vision of him bending over, his neat bottom
exposed and ready, perhaps quivering a little in anticipation, and then
her own hand landing flat on it, in a satisfying flurry of slaps.

She realised, in surprise, that it was arousing her.  She had never
really been interested in sexy spanking games before, apart from the
one occasion with Anton.  But now the scene was in her mind she found
it difficult to dislodge.  Wriggling in her chair, she felt herself
growing moist and warm at the idea of disciplining Leonardo, and her
imagination began to invent other scenarios, mostly ones which involved
her ordering him to take his clothes off, or where she stripped him
herself.

The telephone suddenly interrupted her reverie.

"Dr.  Muldaire?  Jacey?"  For a moment she did not recognise the
voice.

"I hope I haven't caught you at an inconvenient time?"

"Raoul?"  She dismissed all thoughts of Leonardo from her mind.

"I'm just about to start my rounds.  Is this important?"

"To me," he said.

"I'm coming to La Primavera to visit a friend.  I have a personal
favour to ask of you."  As if sensing her rejection, he added quickly,
"Not for myself.  It's for Leonardo."

Later, when Raoul was sitting in front of her in her office, as
beautiful as ever in a dazzling, white open-necked shirt, and
immaculate sand-coloured chinos, Jacey could hardly believe what she
was hearing.

"But your brother doesn't even like me," she protested.

"He won't want to come and take English lessons from me."

"He will," Raoul said.

"Actually, he reads quite well already, but he hasn't had much chance
to practise his conversation.  All you would need to do is talk to
him."  He smiled.

"It might improve his manners as well."

"Your English is excellent," Jacey pointed out.

"Surely you could coach him?"

"I don't have time," Raoul said.  He leant forward.

"Jacey, my little brother will kill me if he discovers I've told you
this, but he actually asked me to approach you.  I think he's
fascinated by you."

Jacey masked her surprise.

"Oh, I see," she teased.

"You're acting as a matchmaker."

Raoul smiled.

"I'm sure Leonardo would be shocked at such a suggestion.  He's an
innocent.  I don't think he'd know what to do with a real woman."

But I know what I'd like to do with him, Jacey thought, after Raoul had
arranged a date for her first meeting with Leonardo.  Rather than
visiting the Marquez villa, Jacey preferred that Leonardo came to La

Primavera.

"It'll save time," she said.

"And stop any tongues wagging.

Leonardo could always say he was visiting friends."

"If you're worried about Nicci finding out what you're doing," Raoul
said, 'he will anyway."

Jacey shrugged.

"Nicolas won't be jealous of Leonardo."

He'll be sure that I couldn't possibly find a younger man like Leonardo
sexually attractive, she thought.  And up until now he would probably
have been right.

Although she found Leonardo physically appealing the thought of holding
him at arm's length was surprisingly seductive.  She liked the idea of
being obvious about what she had to offer, but withholding an
invitation for him to take advantage of it.  She knew very well that he
would not force himself on her; he would sit there and suffer.  She
could tease him, and enjoy watching him getting uncomfortable.  She had
never had sexual control of that kind before.  She began to look
forward to giving Leonardo his first lesson, and wondered whether he
was anticipating it with as much pleasure.

In fact, when he arrived at her room, he looked cross rather than
eager.  He was dressed in a light weight suit, and a shirt and tie, and
carrying a zipped leather folder.  He asked, in Spanish, if he could
take off his jacket, and when she nodded, he removed it slowly.  Once
again she admired his loose-limbed body.  His waist was so narrow, she
thought she could span it with her hands.  He looked like a healthy
young colt.  His trousers were smartly casual, and not tight enough for
her to see through fabric what she hoped to see in the flesh later.

Having taken rather too long to arrange his coat over the back of the
chair she had positioned for him, he sat down, hugged the zipped folder
close to his body like a shield, and fixed her with a reproving gaze.

"This was my brother's idea," he said in Spanish.

"Speak English," she said abruptly.

"And put that folder on the floor."

"I have brought paper," he said in English.

"I might like to take notes."

"You don't need to take notes," she said.

"Put it on the floor."

He hesitated, and then put the folder down.  Without it he suddenly
looked vulnerable.

"Now talk," she ordered.

She saw his lips tighten, and wondered again why she found his mouth so
sexy.

"What do you want me to talk about?"  It sounded like a challenge.

"Good heavens," she said crisply.

"Talk about anything you find interesting.  Films, books, food.
Anything."  She very nearly said politics but checked herself.  That
would come later, when he trusted her.

"Talk about women, if you like.  Tell me about your girlfriend."

He wriggled on his chair.

"I don't have a girlfriend."

She smiled, and then deliberately pulled her chair closer to his so
that their knees were almost touching.  For a moment their eyes met.

"Do you mean your brother was telling the truth?"  she asked softly.

"You really are a virgin?"

She saw his body stiffen.  He looked away from her.

"My brother talks a lot of nonsense," he said.

"So you're not a virgin?"  she persisted.

"I do not think this is a fit subject for conversation," he said
frostily.

"Dear me."  She mocked him gently.

"Have I embarrassed you?"

"No," he said.

She leant back and stretched out her legs.  She saw his eyes flick
quickly to her knees, and then suddenly shift to a neutral spot, over
her shoulder.

"So you choose a subject," she suggested.

"But talk."

After a little more fidgeting he began, hesitantly at first, to discuss
films he had enjoyed.  Slowly he relaxed, and then became positively
animated.  Jacey prompted him with questions, and occasionally
corrected his grammar.  After half an hour, he was smiling at her.

"Well," she said, after he had explained at length why he admired Clint
Eastwood, 'that wasn't so difficult, was it?"

His smile disappeared.  He looked wary.

"What wasn't difficult?"

"Talking to Nicolas Schlemann's lover," she said.

"I really don't concern myself with other people's private lives," he
said.

"Then why were you so rude to me at the charity party?"

He twisted his long fingers together.

"I was not aware that I was rude."

"You know very well you were," she said.  She paused.

"Nicolas Schlemann's politics really aren't anything to do with me."

He stood up.

"Of course they aren't," he said, and she noted the suppressed anger in
his voice.

"You are a foreigner.  A visitor to our country.  You have come here to
do a job, and to get very well paid.

Why should you concern yourself with politics?"  Jacey knew that the
rapport they had built up while they were talking about films had now
disintegrated.  He picked up his leather folder.

"Thank you for your help, Dr.  Muldaire."  He turned towards the
door.

"Maybe next time we can discuss some of the books you enjoy?"  she
said.

He stopped by the door, and hesitated.  She knew that this was a
crucial moment.  If he was really interested in her sexually, he would
agree to come back again.  If not, any chance of starting a
relationship and any chance of learning anything about Lohaquin from
him would be lost.

"Perhaps tomorrow evening?"  she suggested.  It seemed like a very long
pause, and then he said:

"That would be very agreeable, Dr.  Muldaire."

Jacey was drafting out a report to send to Major Fairhaven.  It sounded
more optimistic than she actually felt.  She was certain that Leonardo
could provide her with a lead to the elusive Lohaquin, but winning his
trust was going to be difficult as long as she was with Nicolas.

And Nicolas showed no signs of wanting to end their relationship yet.

If anything, he was becoming more possessive.  His car had arrived
three times that week, with the minimum of warning, to drive her to
Police Headquarters.  Each time he had offered her a drink, and then
had abruptly unzipped and ordered her to get to work.  He had delayed
his orgasm as long as possible, forcing her to experiment with as many
techniques as she could, until her mouth was sore with the effort of
trying to satisfy him.  Afterwards he had used his hands on her,
rubbing her off with practised expertise.  She had tried to withhold
her own orgasm in order to prove that she could equal his iron
self-discipline.  But the closeness of his body turned her on as much
as his sexual manipulation, and each time she lost control far more
quickly than she intended.

When he had once triumphantly claimed: "You can't resist me for long,
can you?"  even the touch of his lips on her ear had sent a shudder of
need through her body.  Sexually, he looked, and behaved, in a way that
was guaranteed to arouse her.  And she had to admit, the knowledge that
he was both powerful and dangerous added spice to their meetings. But

God help anyone who actually fell in love with him, she thought.  She
could just imagine him taking full advantage of such a weakness.  He'd
probably arrange a fantastic wedding, invite the elite of Guachtal,
then leave the poor woman stranded at the altar.

He certainly had a sadistic streak.  Once that week he had kept her
waiting for an hour, and then arrived and taken her roughly and without
any preliminaries, stripping her clothes off as he manhandled her
towards the door that led to his bedroom.  And his behaviour had given
me a great orgasm, she remembered, contentedly.  Afterwards, when she
lay on the bed, exhausted but satisfied, she had made a token protest
about him being late, and he had looked down at her, with his familiar
crooked smile, and said: "But it was worth it, wasn't it?"

Yes, she realised, it was.

She stared at the computer screen, and her report.  When Nicolas
decided that he was no longer interested in her, hopefully she would be
able to write something more positive to Major Fairhaven.  Some
information about Lohaquin, and the extent of his strength, perhaps
even details obtained first-hand from a personal meeting with the
elusive rain forest rebel.

But what if Lohaquin turned out to be just a scruffy troublemaker, as
Nicolas had once claimed, with no back-up support, a man playing a game
he could not possibly win?  The thought depressed her.  She was not
against economic progress, but without protection the rain forest of
Guachtal would be destroyed by the road-builders and the loggers.

Lohaquin seemed to be the country's only hope against political
entrepreneurs like Nicolas Schlemann.

She typed in the necessary codes, sent her report, and pushed her
swivel chair back from her desk.  Jacey Muldaire, she told herself,

you're getting too involved in all this.  Leonardo would have been
surprised to find out exactly what type of job she had come to do as a
foreigner in Guachtal.  When you've got enough information, you can go
home, she thought, and before long Guachtal and all its problems will
be just another memory.  Be sensible.  Be professional.  You can't set
the world to rights all on your own.

Jacey's next meeting with Leonardo was almost as formal as the first.

He came in his usual light-coloured suit, with his thick, black hair
neatly combed, sat primly in front of her, and started a dry, academic
discussion of books that he read, sounding as if he was reciting
prepared notes.  When he had finished dissecting his third book on
political theory, she said, "Don't you ever read anything light and
entertaining, Leonardo?"

His dark eyes surveyed her reprovingly.

"I read to educate myself, Dr.  Muldaire."

"That's fine," she nodded.

"So have you read the Kama Sutra?"

She was gratified to see him wriggle uncomfortably.

"Certainly not," he said.

"It's educational," she teased.

"I am not a profligate like my brother Raoul," he said pompously.

"Oh, really, Leonardo," she scoffed.

"Stop talking like a dictionary.

It doesn't impress me at all.  Your brother's just a normal man.  He's
interested in women.  And sex."  She leant towards him.  There was a
sheen of sweat on his upper lip.  She had deliberately chosen to wear a
buttoned blouse with a deep vee-neck, and her cleavage was clearly
visible.

"A normal man," she repeated softly.

"Like you."

"I am nothing like my brother," he said stiffly.

"But you'd like to be, wouldn't you?"  she suggested.

"Not many women say no to Raoul."

"You did he said.

"You preferred Nicolas Schlemann."  The name sounded like an insult.

She smiled, and relaxed back in her chair.

"Well, he is very sexy," she said.

"And very powerful.  That's a potent mixture, Leonardo."

"He's a bastard," Leonardo said angrily.

"He exploits our country.  He has grown rich on the poverty of others.
We would be better off without him."  He stared at her defiantly.

"And you can tell him that, if you wish."

Jacey thought how attractive he looked when he was angry.  She almost
smiled.

"Nicolas and I don't talk politics," she said.  She paused, and added
casually, "If you deposed Nicolas, who would replace him?"

Another pause.

"Lohaquin?"

Leonardo had his emotions under control now.

"Lohaquin has the interests of Guachtal at heart," he said.

"And you can tell Senor Schlemann that I said that, too."

"Stop insulting me, Leonardo," she ordered, sharply.

He looked startled.

"I am not insulting you, Dr.  Muldaire."

"You are," she said.

"You're implying that I'm some kind of informer.

Nothing you say will go further than this room."  She managed to hold
his gaze.

"I enjoy Nicolas Schlemarm's body," she said.

"But that doesn't mean he owns my mind."

Leonardo looked embarrassed.

"You must have some feelings for him," he said awkwardly.

"You are not a street woman.  And women are not like men;

men can approach sex in a purely physical manner, but women need love
and romance, and so forth."

He sounded so serious that Jacey laughed.

"Did Raoul tell you that?"

she asked.  He nodded.  She moved towards him again.

"Well, it may come as a surprise to you, Leonardo, but women can nick
and forget, just the same as men."  She had intended to shock him, and
she knew she had succeeded.  He was actually blushing.

"Oh dear," she said.

"Did your brother also tell you that women never swear?  You do have a
lot to learn."

"He did not tell me anything of the kind," Leonardo said.  He shifted
uncomfortably on his chair.

"I am aware that I don't understand women.

But I would like to learn."  He looked up at her and she thought there
was a gleam of excitement in his eyes.

"I admire women.  Particularly intelligent women.  Strong women, with
independent minds."  He lowered his eyes briefly, then glanced up at
her.

"Women like this are usually older than me, but I find that kind of
woman very attractive indeed."

Jacey was certain that was an invitation for her to make the obvious
suggestion.  She thought how deliciously vulnerable he looked, sitting
straight-backed, his long fingers clenched together.  I could get him
to do anything I liked, she realised.  And he'd enjoy it.

"I'm sure there are plenty of women who would love to teach you," she
said.  And added sweetly, "Perhaps you could get Raoul to introduce you
to some of his girlfriends?"

He looked away.

"They do not interest me.  They are mostly young and stupid."

"You're very particular, aren't you?"  she chided.

"What makes you think an intelligent woman would be attracted to
you?"

He gazed at her.

"I don't know."  Then he bowed his head submissively.

"I simply hope I will find someone, one day."

She stood up briskly.

"Well, I'm sure you will," she said patronisingly.

"If you wait long enough."

She was gratified to see the disappointment on his face.  If you
thought it was going to be that easy to get your own way, young man,
she thought rather smugly, you were mistaken.  You want something from
me, but I want something from you, too.  Having sex with you would
probably be a delightful experience.  But would, it mean you'd trust
me?  Trust me enough to take me to Lohaquin?  I'm afraid we're both
going to keep our clothes on until I've discovered the answer to
that.

"I'll see you in two days' time," she said.

"And we'll discuss art."

The sound of her mobile phone no longer startled Jacey.  She knew
before she answered that it was very unlikely to be an emergency
call.

Medically, none of her patients at La Primavera were likely to need her
immediate attention.  When the phone trilled now, she expected to hear
Nicolas's coolly authoritative voice telling her what time a car would
be coming to collect her.  He always seemed to know exactly where she
was, and the calls always came when she was on duty at La Primavera,
spending some leisure time in her apartment, or relaxing by the
hospital pool.  Although she was certain Nicolas knew she still worked
regularly at El Inviemo, he had never commented on it, and never
summoned her while she was there.

Despite her involvement with Nicolas, her relationship with the staff
at El Inviemo remained friendly.  She knew it would be pointless to try
and discuss politics or Lohaquin with them, and deliberately kept her
conversation light and general.  Dr.  Rodriguez was the only one who
ever mentioned Nicolas.  He criticised Nicolas repeatedly, and asked
Jacey what she saw in him, but this proved to her that he trusted her
and was confident she would not inform on him.

"He's sexy," she said, defending herself yet again as she assisted
Rodriguez during a minor operation.

"He's a crook," Rodriguez grunted.

"A thief.  I wouldn't mind, but the money he's stealing comes from my
taxes."

Paloma tut-tutted from behind her surgical mask as a warning for him to
stop.

"It's no good you making those noises, my girl," Rodriguez added.

"You know you really agree with me."

Once or twice when they were alone, Jacey had attempted to draw
Rodriguez out on the subject of Lohaquin.  In a rare moment of
confidence he had admitted to Jacey that not only did he believe
Lohaquin would never gain control of Guachtal, but that he did not
deserve to.

"He should have made his move before now," Rodriguez had said.

"But what has he ever done, except skulk in the forest while your
boyfriend tightens his hold on Guachtal?"  He fixed her with an angry
glare.

"Don't fall into the trap of hero-worshipping Lohaquin.  Leave that to
silly girls like Paloma.  Lohaquin is a fraud and a failure, whoever he
is."

"Nicolas thinks he's important enough to offer a large reward for his
capture," Jacey said.

Rodriguez smiled briefly.

"He probably knows he'll never have to pay it.  Lohaquin takes care not
to make himself visible.  I've never met anyone who claims to have seen
him.  Even liars!"

Operating or assisting during an operation was one of the duties that
Jacey really enjoyed.  The patients at El mviemo frequently needed
surgery, and to help save lives was particularly satisfying for
Jacey.

Once he trusted her, the over-burdened Dr.  Rodriguez passed more and
more of his cases over to her.  One day she was in the middle of a
tricky suture when her mobile rang.  Paloma was acting as her theatre
nurse.

"Answer that for me," Jacey requested, without looking up.

"It might be someone at La Primavera."

When Paloma started waving the phone at her and making cryptic
gestures, she knew it wasn't.

"Nicolas?"  she guessed.

Paloma nodded vigorously.  For a moment, Jacey was tempted to ask
Paloma to switch the phone off, or at least tell Nicolas to ring back
later, but she knew this would not deter him from calling again.  She
indicated with her head for Paloma to bring the phone close to her ear,
and heard Nicolas's voice giving her the familiar instructions.

She interrupted him more abruptly than she'd intended.

"I can't come now, I'm operating."

There was a brief pause.

"Then hand over to some one else," he said.

/! can't."

"Are you the only doctor at El Inviemo?"

There was an undertone of anger in his voice that she had not heard
before.  She realised this was the first time she had refused his
orders.

"I'm in the middle of a delicate surgical procedure," she said.

"I

have a patient to consider.  I can't come, I'm sorry.  Ring me
later."

She indicated to Paloma to switch the phone off.  Paloma's eyes were
nervous.

"Maybe I should get Dr.  Ramez?  I think he is still on duty."

"You stay here," Jacey said sharply.

"Nicolas will have to learn that I'm a doctor first, and his woman
second."

"I don't think he is going to be very happy about that," Paloma
mumbled.

"Too bad," Jacey said brusquely, and turned back to her patient.

She was still busy when a frightened nurse appeared at the operating
theatre door and beckoned wildly to Paloma.

An animated conversation ensued, and then Paloma came over to Jacey.

"There's a car outside," she said.

"It's come for you."

Jacey felt a wave of anger wash over her.

"Tell it to damn well go away," she said.

"I haven't finished here, and even if I had, I just don't feel like
indulging Nicolas right now."

Paloma looked horrified.

"No one will say that," she stammered.

"It's one of Senor Schlemann's men."

"Then let him wait," Jacey said, 'and I'll tell him myself.  After I've
finished here."

She deliberately took her time completing the suture and cleaning up
afterwards, and when she finally went outside she fully expected to
find that the car had gone.  But it was still standing there, its dark
suited driver inside.

"Tell Senor Schlemann I'm not coming," she said.

"I'm still working."

The man stared at her for a full minute, and Jacey stared back.  Then
he turned, opened the car door and indicated that she should get in.

The fact that he had ignored her comment, and assumed that she would
obey him anyway, infuriated her.  She had not imagined her showdown
with Nicolas would come quite so soon, but she felt that this might be
a good time to precipitate it.  She was sure that Nicolas would break
off their relationship if she openly opposed him.  She could then claim
that he was unreasonable, play the woman scorned and get to work on
Leonardo.

"You appear to be deaf as well as stupid," she snapped at the driver.

"Not coming means just that.  I'm staying here.  And you're leaving.

Now."  She paused, and added for good measure, "Without me."

When Jacey arrived back at La Primavera she wondered if she would find
the car, and the security driver, waiting for her.  Then she smiled to
herself.  Nicolas would not stoop to following her around like a
lovesick suitor.  It simply wasn't his style.

She went to her apartment and ran herself a hot bath.  After liberally
sprinkling the water with scented oil, she spent half an hour lazing
contentedly in its perfumed warmth.  Feeling much more relaxed, and in
a much better temper, she pulled on a silky kimono and poured herself a
glass of wine.

As she dozed in her chair she heard the sound of a car pulling up
noisily outside, then doors banging, and some shouting.  It was only
when the sounds came nearer, accompanied by the pounding of booted
feet, that she began to take notice.  There was an impatient thumping
on her door.

Clutching her kimono round herself, she opened the door to find three
uniformed men.  Although they looked like soldiers, she knew they were
actually police.  Their faces were shadowed under the peaks of their
military-style caps, and they were armed with light machine-guns.

"You are Dr.  Muldaire?"  The tallest of them moved forward.  He had
three horizontal stripes on his sleeve.  The barrel of his gun was
pointing directly at her.

"I'm Dr.  Muldaire," she confirmed.  She noticed Dr.  Sanchez behind
the policemen.  He looked terrified.  She added in her most
authoritative voice, "I hope you have a very good reason for this
behaviour, sergeant?"

The sergeant smiled wolfishly.

"You are to come with me," he said.  His smile disappeared.

"You are under arrest."

"Arrest?"  Jacey repeated.  It took a few moments for the word to make
sense.

"What for?"

"No questions."  He jerked the gun barrel up at her.

"You may put on some clothes.  But hurry."

"They don't need a reason to arrest anyone."  Dr.  Sanchez held out his
hands to her pleadingly.

"Do as they say.  I'm sure it's all a mistake.

After all, you do have important friends."

A suspicion was forming in Jacey's mind.

"Yes/ she said grimly.

"I do, don't I?"

She went into her bedroom and pulled on a loose pair of drawstring
pants and a cropped sweat top.  When she came out, two of-the police
took up a position on either side of her.  She smiled encouragingly at
Dr.  Sanchez as she walked past him.

"Don't worry," she said.

"I'll be back quite soon."

Outside she was bundled into a windowless police van.  The policemen
did not speak to her.  It was an uncomfortable ride, and she was glad
when the van slewed to a halt.  When she stepped outside she saw not
the iron door to Nicolas's apartment but the pillared entrance to the
main Police Headquarters building.  Inside she was unceremoniously
bustled down a stone-floored corridor, harshly lit by unshaded lights,
until she found herself in front of a closed door.  The sergeant pushed
it open.

"Inside," he said.  He did not follow her.

Jacey stepped into a room that was dominated by a huge, old-fashioned
office desk.  Nicolas was seated behind the desk, wearing a dark suit
and a black polo-necked shirt.  She was reminded fleetingly of the
portrait she had seen of his father.  She walked towards him, but
ignored the chair in front of the desk.

"Well," she said with a brief, cool smile.

"That's one question answered.  Now I know what all this is about."

Nicolas returned her smile, equally briefly.

"I knew I'd get you here eventually, Dr.  Muldaire.  The other question
you should be asking yourself is, am I going to let you leave?"

Chapter Six.

' If this is your idea of a practical joke Jacey said coldly, 'it's a
very poor one."

Nicolas pushed his chair back and stretched his long legs under the
desk.

"I don't play practical jokes," he said.

"Did you think I was joking when I sent for you today?"

"You know I was with a patient," she said.

"You could have handed over to someone else."

"I was in the middle of an operation.  My patient could have died."

He shrugged.

"I'm not unreasonable, Jacey," he said.

"I wouldn't drag you from the operating theatre, even if you were only
sewing up some Indian."  He paused.

"But my driver waited.  You sent him away."

"I needed rest," she explained.

"Surely you understand that?  I'd had a long day at the hospital."  She
smiled.

"I wouldn't have been much fun."

His expression changed.  Ice touched his voice.

"That's for me to decide.  You come when I call for you.  As long as
we're together, those are the rules.  My rules.  And you obey them."
She opened her mouth to protest, and he lifted one hand to silence
her.

"Do you know why, Jacey?"  His voice was silky now.

"Shall I explain some facts to you?  Inside this building I can play
all the games I like.  Inside this building you don't have any rights
at all.

And you've already seen how easy it is for me to bring you here."

"So I'm your prisoner, am I?"  she said.

"Are you going to chain me up in a dungeon?"

"That's an interesting suggestion."  His eyes moved over her body
slowly.

"But maybe you'd enjoy that."  Suddenly he sat upright, and leant
forward.

"Here's another scenario.  I call Marco, and tell him to fuck you,
right now, on the floor.  You do remember Marco, don't you?

He certainly remembers you.  And not with any great affection,
either.

Maybe you wouldn't enjoy that quite so much."  He smiled cruelly.

"Don't think I wouldn't do it, Jacey.  If I wanted to, I could even
arrange for you to, shall we say, disappear."

"Why don't you just say you could have me killed?"  she challenged.

"I could have you killed," he agreed.

"Do you doubt me?"

"No," she said.

She knew that was the answer he wanted.  She also knew that it would be
easy to dispose of her body in the rain forest, where ants could reduce
her to a skeleton in less than a day.  Another thought struck her.  Who
would investigate her disappearance?  She had no close relatives. Major
Fairhaven would be suspicious but he wouldn't have proof. Questions
might be asked, and letters exchanged, but Guachtal was a long way from
England.  Was she important enough to warrant an international enquiry?
Major Fairhaven might well prefer to play the whole incident down.
She suddenly realised just how vulnerable she was.

But would Nicolas really murder her?  And would he really allow Marco
to do whatever he wanted with her?  She didn't think so.  She might
have believed it of him when she first came to Guachtal, but now she
wasn't so sure.  She guessed it gave Nicolas some kind of pleasure to
threaten her, but she felt that he was more feared for what people
thought he could do than what he had actually done.  He was obviously a
crook in a smart suit, but whether he was liable to change into a thug
with a knuckle-duster was another matter.

She decided to challenge him.

"You'd consider having me killed, just for not coming when you called
for me?"  she asked lightly.

"Isn't that rather extreme?"

/! enjoy sex with you, Jacey," he said.

"But don't think that will save you if you oppose me.  I'm not going to
be made to look a fool.  As long as we're together, you do as I tell
you.  I like it that way."  He smiled.

"And so do you, don't you?"

"I don't like being dragged out of my bed by your police goons," she
said, He laughed, and lounged back in his chair.  They stared at each
other for a moment, and she found herself aroused, despite his threats.
She hated herself for knowing that she still found him devastatingly
sexy.

"Come here," he said.  She walked round the desk, and he pushed his
chair back so that his legs were stretched out in front of him.

"Take off those unflattering trousers."

She undid the drawstring and the trousers fell to the ground.  She
hadn't had time to put on any underwear.  She stood there, wearing only
the sweat top.  He surveyed her for a few moments and then reached out
to the red bush of her pubic hair.

"You haven't really hated all this at all, have you?"  he asked,
softly.  His fingers probed her expertly, discovering in a second that
she was moist and aroused.

"Nobody likes the police banging on their door," she said.

He played with her gently.

"A little fear," he said, 'can be an aphrodisiac."

Pulling her towards him, he forced her to straddle his lap.  He ran his
finger over her clitoris, with just the kind of pressure she enjoyed.

Her body began to shudder with delight and she could see his erection
bulging attractively and probably uncomfortably, she thought against
his fly.  She reached down and unzipped him to free his cock, and felt
it throbbing in her hand.  She grasped him tightly, in revenge for the
way he had treated her, but he merely groaned encouragement, and moved
his own hand faster, pleasuring her roughly, sliding first one finger,
and then two, into her warm depths.

She reached down to his balls and massaged them, but it was hard to
concentrate when her own body was responding so strongly to his
delightfully forceful handling.  She rocked back and forth, locked in
the rhythm of desire, hardly aware that she was still gripping him and
exciting him, too.  She closed her eyes, and when her orgasm came she
heard a harsh cry, and only a few seconds later recognised her own
voice.  Her'.  body thrashed wildly for several elated moments, and
then she collapsed into his lap, falling forward against his chest. She
lay there, disorientated by the physical waves of sexual euphoria that
had just shaken her.

"You can let go of me now," Nicolas said softly.

Jacey was still holding him.  She loosened her hand gently.  Even in
its relaxed state, his penis was still an impressive size.  Lulled by
the drowsiness that often followed good sex, she felt blissfully calm
and sleepy, and for a moment forgot exactly where she was, and how she
had come to be there.  Nicolas's body felt warm and comfortable under
her.

She could hear the beating of his heart.  For a brief moment they could
have been two lovers, recovering together after a session of shared
passion.

But only for a brief moment.  Her heartbeat slowed and her mind
returned to the present.  The cold, bare walls of the room jolted her
back to reality, and reminded her that her partnership with Nicolas was
far from romantic.  He treated her like a possession.  And, she knew,
he could do it again, at any time.  She untangled herself from him, and
stood up.  He zipped himself up, and she bent down to pick up the draw
string pants.

"No," he said.

"Not yet."  He lounged back in his chair.

"Go over to the wall."  Surprised, she did so.

"Now turn," he instructed, 'and come back."  She could feel his eyes on
her crotch as she walked towards him.

"Stop," he said, 'and lift up that unflattering sweater."

She pulled up the sweat top until it was level with the underside of
her breasts.  Then, slowly, she lifted it higher.  Her previous sexual
excitement had contracted her nipples into hard, little buds, and the
cool air in the office was tightening them again.  Nicolas stared at
her for what seemed like a very long time.  She expected him to beckon
her forward, but he simply said, "Very nice.  You can get dressed
now."

He watched her pull on her drawstring pants.

"Do you sleep in that outfit?"  he asked.

"I sleep in my skin," she said.

"I keep this outfit for when I'm dragged out of bed by the police."

He laughed.

"They won't do that again, unless you keep disobeying me.

And that's not going to happen, is it?"

"That's up to you," she said.

"Remember, I have a job to do.  I'm a doctor, and my patients always
come first."

/! appreciate that," he said.

"But I come a close second.  A very close second.  Don't ever forget
that, Dr.  Muldaire."

"I can't believe that he could do that to you," Ingrid said angrily,
after Jacey had confirmed the previous night's story.

"Poor Dr.  Sanchez was convinced we would never see you again."  She
leaned over Jacey's desk, her face serious.

"You must be very careful not to antagonise Nicolas.  Dr.  Sanchez
believes he murdered Juanita Marquez.

He is a psycho!  And are you sure it's safe to continue giving English
lessons to your little virgin Leonardo?  Won't it make Nicolas
jealous?"

Jacey laughed.

"Nicolas wouldn't see Leonardo as a threat.  Anyway, Leonardo doesn't
even like me.  You saw the way he behaved at the charity party."

"You don't take private lessons from someone you don't like," Ingrid
said.

"You do if your big brother tells you to," Jacey answered.  And added
untruthfully, "The lessons were Raoul's idea, not Leonardo's."

"Please."  Ingrid caught Jacey's hand impulsively, and gripped it.

"Promise me you will only teach the boy the English language."

"There isn't anything else he wants to learn from me," Jacey said.

But she knew that was a lie as well.  She was playing a strange kind of
game with Leonardo now.  During each lesson he made at least one
comment that she could take as an invitation to steer the conversation
towards sex.  He clearly hoped that things would go further than just
banter, but was too nervous or too inexperienced to make the suggestion
himself.  Jacey found it enjoyable to tease him, sometimes by being
deliberately obtuse, and sometimes by reprimanding him for being too
forward.

She had decided to keep the game strictly at a flirtation level as long
as she was with Nicolas and when he dumped her, as she had fully
expected him to do, she would have an excuse both to encourage
Leonardo, and to act the woman scorned.

But now she was not so sure of her plan.  Nicolas seemed to be getting
a perverse kind of enjoyment at having a different kind of woman than
usual under his control.  Most of his previous partners had probably
been besotted with him, or paid by him, but she was a professional
woman, with a mind of her own.  He was enjoying the challenge, and like
many people hooked on power-play, he would keep pushing to see how far
he could go.

But she did not want to be the subject of his sexual experiments.  She
had a suspicion they would get more and more extreme.  She had a vision
of herself at Police Headquarters, forced to play prisoner to Nicolas's
gaoler.  She didn't mind a little sexual dominance in the bedroom, but
didn't fancy exploring the more extreme forms of restraint.  Major
Fairhaven's mission was important, and now she wanted to complete it
before her relationship with Nicolas escalated into risky games.  She
needed information on Lohaquin and she needed it soon.  Her best lead
was Leonardo Marquez, and she wanted to make use of him as quickly as
possible.

The next time they met, Jacey allowed Leonardo to talk about music
almost until the end of their hour together.  He sat in front of her,
in loose-cut chinos and an open-necked shirt, his sleeves rolled up to
his elbows.  As he finally came to the end of his discourse having
revealed an unexpected liking for thirties and forties dance bands she
began to look at him intently, keeping her eyes on his face with an
unwavering stare.  It disconcerted him, just as she intended.  He
blushed and began to stumble over his words.

"And I enjoy Ellington's Mood Indigo.  But also musicians like Gene
Krupa and, er.  Blues in the Night, from a film with the same title in
1941,1 believe' He tailed off, and then said abruptly, Tiease stop
looking at me like that.  It's making me feel uncomfortable."

She did not shift her gaze.

"Why don't you tell the truth, Leonardo?"

she said.  And then without changing her tone, she said, "You mean it's
making you feel sexy, don't you?"

He looked startled and then his blush deepened.

"No," he said.

"It's making you hard, isn't it?"  she persisted.

"No."  His voice sounded strangled.

"Stand up," she said.

For a moment he hesitated, and then slowly, he stood up, and she knew
she had won.  She stood up too, and moved close to him.

"If it isn't making you hard," she said, "I shall be extremely
angry."

"Why?"  he whispered.

His face was only inches away from hers.  She admired the smoothness of
his tanned skin, and the delicate slant of his fine eyebrows.  There
was sweat on his upper lip.

"Because it's an insult to me," she said.

"Every time we meet, you hint that you like intelligent women, strong
women, older women.  I think I fit that description.  And now you're
saying that you don't fancy me at all?  That's an insult, Leonardo."

"I can't-' he mumbled.

"I mean, you're Nicolas Schlemann's woman' "So why have you been coming
on to me?"  she demanded.

"I haven't."

"You have."  She glanced down at him, but the loose cut of his trousers
disguised the physical reaction she was certain he was experiencing.

"It's a pity those trousers aren't tighter," she said.

"If they were, I could see exactly how you're feeling.  I'm determined
to see if you really fancy me, Leonardo."  She moved away from him.

"So take them off."

"Off?"  he repeated.  He took a step backwards.

"No.  Certainly not."

She was convinced that she detected a note of excitement in his voice
now.

"You're not embarrassed, are you?"  She smiled.

"I'm a doctor.

I've seen hundreds of cocks."  She added, "Maybe I'll strip you myself,
and check out just how much of a man you are.  Would you prefer
that?"

She saw his mouth twitch nervously, but his eyes were bright with
anticipation.

"No," he protested.

She caught his wrist and twisted his arm, turning him so that his back
was turned towards her.  It would have been easy even if he had tried
to resist.  She felt the warmth of his body against her breasts and
deliberately held him close, so that he could feel her nipples touching
him through his white cotton shirt.

"All right then," she said.

"You do it.  Right now."

"Please, let me go," he said.  It did not sound convincing.

She put her mouth close to his ear, and resisted the temptation to run
her tongue round it.

"Take your trousers off, Leonardo," she said.

"I

want to see if your cock is paying me the right kind of compliment."

She tightened her grip on his arm.

"I shall be very angry if you haven't got a good erection."

She watched over his shoulder as he reached down to his fly and rumbled
with the buttons.  His hands were shaking and she could feel his body
beginning to tremble.  If he didn't have a hard-on before, she thought,
I bet he's got one now.

"Hurry up," she ordered.

"You're not trying to delay things, are you?"

She felt his body jerk as if an electric shock had touched it.

"Come on now."  She shook him crossly.

"Show me what kind of a man you are, Leonardo."

She found it quite delightful to feel his body wriggling as he finally
unbuttoned his trousers and they slid to the ground.  She pushed him
forward so that he stepped out of them, the tails of his shirt flapping
gently against his thighs.  His legs were long, slim and brown, with
very little hair.  She felt him react with another violent tremor as
she reached under the shirt and cupped his buttocks.  They were small
and tight, arousing her with a sudden surge, but she resisted the
temptation to explore between his legs.  Instead she ran a finger round
the top band of his tight briefs.

"These come off next," she ordered.

He tried to push the briefs down, but had trouble getting them over his
erection.  His slim body writhed against her in an awkward,
unintentionally sexy dance.  She wanted to peep over his shoulder and
see exactly what was hampering him but after he managed to get the
briefs down to his knees balancing on one leg to free them she let him
go and walked round to look at him.  He looked beautiful: slim, young
and desirable.

"Lift the shirt up," she said.

He rumbled for a moment, catching the cloth and screwing it up in his
hands.  Very slowly, he raised the shirt tails, revealing an erection
that was impressively upright, and surprisingly large.  His balls were
also bigger than she expected, full and heavy.  The size was enhanced
by his small waist and his narrow hips and coupled with his lean
thighs, it was a seductively enticing sight.  He stood there, looking
at her with a mixture of anxiety and anticipation.

Tie the shirt tails up she said, and when he had knotted them at waist
level, she added, "Now go into the bedroom."

She enjoyed the way his cock moved as he walked past her, and then
admired the movement of his taut buttocks.  When he reached the bed, he
turned.  His slim, brown body, and thick, black hair, suddenly reminded
her of Faisel.  He was taller than Faisel, and his body was leaner and
more angular, but there was enough of a similarity to make her angry.

She knew that was not Leonardo's fault, but when she noticed a slight
smile touching his mouth, and saw a gleam of triumph in his eyes, she
realised that he knew exactly what he wanted, and exactly how he was
affecting her.

She felt a combination of lust and anger grip her.  She moved forward
and grabbed him by the wrist, spinning him round and pitching him, face
down, on the bed.  He gave a grunt of surprise, and struggled, but she
tightened the arm lock and held him down.  The flat of her hand landed
on his bottom with a sound like a pistol shot.  Leonardo's yelp of
surprise was almost smothered by the pillow.  He turned his head
sideways, and she slapped him again, several blows in quick succession.
She knew she was being far from gentle with him, and during the first
flurry of slaps it was as if she really was beating Faisel, in fury,
not playing a sexual game with Leonardo.

For a moment she felt guilty.  Then she looked at Leonardo's face.  His
black hair was spread out over the pillow, and his expression was as
contorted as a man in the throes of an orgasm.  Clearly he was loving
every minute of this painful humiliation.

"Don't you dare come before I'm ready," she said, matching each word
with a slap, but lighter ones this time.

"Then hurry," he muttered, between clenched teeth, 'because I can't
hold out much longer."

She let him go and turned him over.  It took her a few seconds to strip
off her skirt and panties.  This was not how she had planned it, but
suddenly she and Leonardo were rolling together on the bed.  Then he
was under her, and she straddled him.  She grasped his cock and guided
it in.  She was wet and ready for him, and as she lowered herself on to
him she heard him groan, a mixture of desire and relief.  Using her
weight to pin him down, she controlled him with thrusting hips.  But
she could tell from his shaking body, and the rising crescendo of his
frenzied cries of delight, that he would not be able to hold back for
long.

And she was right.  His orgasm rocked him, and his body bucked and
trembled.  Although she had not experienced any release, she didn't
feel any urgency.  She made no further demands on him, allowing him to
enjoy both the explosive sensations of pleasure, and the slow return to
normality.

She lay on her back next to him.

"Well," she said.

"That wasn't a bad performance, for a first time."

"Is it always as good as that?"  he murmured sleepily.

"Sometimes it'll be better," she said.

"And sometimes maybe not so good.  But that's all part of the fun."

He turned his head towards her, and grinned mischievously.

"You really enjoyed spanking me, didn't you?"

"Every bit as much as you enjoyed it," she agreed.

"Have you ever done it before?"

"As a matter of fact," she admitted, "I haven't."

"Has a man ever spanked you?"

She gave him a mock frown.

"Don't ask impertinent questions, young man.  And don't start getting
any ideas."

"Oh/ he said, his voice suddenly low and seductive, "I've got plenty of
ideas.  There are plenty of things I'd like to try with you."

"The first one you can try," she said, 'is learning how to give me an
orgasm."

"You mean, I didn't-?  You didn't-?"  He seemed genuinely surprised.

"No, you didn't.  And I didn't," she said.

"But don't worry.  I'll forgive you this time."

"So I'll get another chance?"

He sounded so anxious that she laughed, and put her arm out to stroke
his damp hair.

"You know you will.  Lots of chances.  But Leonardo," she turned
towards him, seriously, 'this has to be kept secret.  Nicolas can be
very jealous.  And very dangerous.  I didn't realise until recently how
dangerous he can be.  Don't even tell Raoul."

"I wouldn't," Leonardo said.

"He might guess, but he would never put you in any danger.  And neither
would I. But I know that Nicolas Schlemann is a very dangerous man.  I
am well aware of that."  He propped himself up on his elbow, and stared
gravely at her.

"In fact, I'm already feeling some guilt.  I should not have let this
happen."

"You didn't let it happen," Jacey said.

"We both let it happen."  She turned towards him.  Now, she thought,
it's time to make him feel even more like a man.  A protector.

"To be truthful," she said, "I'd like to end my relationship with
Nicolas, but I'm afraid of what he might do.

The decision will have to come from him, not me.  Did you hear that he
dragged me to Police Headquarters because I upset him?"

"Yes."  Leonardo nodded.  I thought maybe it was an exaggeration."

"No," she said.

"It was true.  He actually threatened me.  He told me how he could have
me killed."  She paused, wondering just how frightened she should
appear to be.

"I believed him, Leonardo.  I'm certain he's quite capable of murder."
She paused again.

"I heard a rumour that he was responsible for your mother's death?"

Leonardo avoided her eyes.

"Well, no, I don't think so.  Although I'm sure he was happy when my
mother disappeared."

"Your Aunt Ana doesn't think your mother is dead, either," Jacey
hinted.

"I didn't say she was alive," Leonardo said quickly.

"But as you know, her body was never found."

"Do you think she joined Lohaquin?"  She had caught Leonardo off guard,
and she noticed the nervous twitch of his mouth.

"Of course not," he said rather hurriedly.

"But people do go into the rain forest and join the rebels, don't
they?"

He squirmed on the bed.

"I don't know.  I think so."

"Have you ever met Lohaquin, Leonardo?"  she asked bluntly.

"No."

She believed him.

"Do you know anyone who has?"

He squirmed a little more.

"No."

"You don't trust me, do you, Leonardo?"

"Yes," he said.

"I believe now that you have a good heart.  You care about people.  You
work at El Inviemo.  Dr.  Rodriguez likes you.  I didn't understand why
you became Nicolas Schlemann's woman, but now I understand a little
better.  You can't be blamed for finding him attractive.  Many women
do.  Until they discover exactly what kind of man he is."  He looked at
her seriously.

"Nicolas Schlemann has too much power.  But maybe things will change.
Many people hope so."

"I hope so, too," Jacey said.

Later that evening Jacey reflected that she had made a good start with
Leonardo.  She had made him want her, and feel protective towards
her.

It was a potent combination for a young and inexperienced boy to deal
with.  I have a feeling that Leonardo Marquez is going to be just the
man I need, she thought contentedly.  In more ways than one.

"You mean that Mr.  Aren't-I-Wonderful Curtis Telford hasn't asked you
to fuck him yet?"  Ingrid perched on Jacey's desk.

"I'm amazed.  He's asked everyone else.  Perhaps Nicolas has warned him
off."

Jacey shrugged.

"All I know is that he's an American friend of Nicolas's.  We hardly
had two minutes together.  He wanted something for jetlag."

"He wants his finger amputated," Ingrid said.

"Not all the nurses here like having their bottoms pinched."

Curtis Telford had arrived at the hospital with Nicolas, and in one of
Nicolas's own cars.  He was a large, golden man, built like a
Chippendale, but not quite so pretty.  He had cropped, blond hair, and
a deep, Californian tan.  Jacey put him around forty, maybe older.  He
had smiled at her, displaying perfect teeth, and his eyes had stayed on
her face for less than a second before they lowered to her breasts.

When they came back to her face, she returned his smile,
professionally.

He turned to Nicolas.

"You didn't tell me your little lady was this pretty?"

Nicolas shrugged and said, "All my women are beautiful."

As he left, Telford had turned to Jacey and winked.  She kept her smile
firmly in place, but wondered whether he would have looked so smugly
pleased with himself if he had really known what she was thinking.  She
wondered who he was, and why he was in Guachtal.  Unlike ingrid, her
questions about him were prompted by something more than simple
curiosity.

But whoever Curtis Telford was, it was clear that Nicolas was anxious
to impress and indulge him.  He had the use of a car, and a blank-faced
security man as a driver.  He arrived unannounced at the hospital, and
wandered about, making assignations with Carmen and the other girls.

Carmen also grumbled to Jacey that the American wanted increasingly
bizarre services, and did not pay a cento for them.  When Jacey asked
why not.  Carmen shrugged.

"We have been told not to charge him," she said.  Jacey did not have to
ask who had given the order.

Jacey knew better than to ask Nicolas for information, but she was
surprised to find that Leonardo claimed to know nothing about the
American either.  She waited until they were lying comfortably together
on her bed after a lengthy session which she had described to him as a
tutorial.

This time she had made him keep his clothes on while he undressed
her.

But she controlled the slow strip, and controlled the order in which
her clothes were removed.  She made him slow down as he unbuttoned her
blouse, and use his mouth and tongue on her ears, neck and shoulders as
he peeled the garment off.  He clearly wanted to grab at her breasts,
but they were out of bounds.  She also refused to let him touch her
nipples when he undid her lace and satin bra.

She knew he was uncomfortably hard.  Before he could do anything about
it, she made him remove her skirt, unfasten her silky stockings and
roll them down, unhook the lacy suspender belt, and remove her shoes,
all with the minimum of hand contact, using only his mouth to pleasure
her as he worked.

Finally, when it seemed he could hold out no longer, he was allowed to
ease down her satin panties.

"And don't touch me there," she ordered, as his finger strayed towards
the glossy red bush of her pubic hair.

"That's off-limits for now."

"Why?"  he demanded.

"Because I want to feel your hands, and your mouth, on lots of other
places first," she said.

"Diving between a woman's legs is not always the best way to arouse
her."

"It arouses me," he muttered.

"That's because you're an impatient, sexually uneducated boy," she
said.

"And that's why I'm giving you this tutorial.  It'll help you to be a
much better lover."

She guided his hands to her breasts, and made him touch her lightly,
first with his fingers and then, when her nipples had tightened into
little protruding buds, with his mouth and tongue.  She knew he was
enjoying himself, and had to push him away and order him to go to work
on other places.

"No," he protested.

"I like this.  You taste wonderful."

"Leonardo," she said.

"You're making me sore.  Now I want you to lick the back of my legs."

"And that arouses you?"  He was sceptical.

"Just behind the knees," she said.

"It's deliciously sexy."

She lay there with her eyes half closed, ordering him to move higher or
lower, press harder or not so hard, and, as he roved over her body,
stimulating many erogenous zones, one after the other, she realised
that it was a very long time since a man had pleased her so much.

Although Nicolas always man aged to satisfy her, he was ungenerous.  It
aroused him to treat her like a whore, and it had aroused her, but he
had never bothered to find out what other kind of treatment she
enjoyed.

Would she have liked to feel his mouth moving gently over her skin,
searching for the special places that excited her?  Yes, she thought,
she would.  But she knew it was never going to happen.  For Nicolas,
sex was a personal ego-trip.  Could he actually perform properly if he
was not totally in control?  Poor Nicolas, she thought, what a lot of
pleasure he's missing.

Leonardo was clutching himself uncomfortably.

"What's the matter with you?"  she chided him.

"If you don't let me have you soon," he said, "I shall come anyway."

"There's one more place to go," she said.

"I've kept the best until last."

He grunted with delight and made a grab between her legs.  She slapped
him sharply on the head.

"Haven't you learned anything?  I meant the best for me.  I'm going to
teach you how to go down on a woman properly."

She opened her legs for him, and saw the look of delight and lust on
his face.  The last time they had made love, she remembered, he hardly
had time to look at any part of her.  Her clitoris was pink and
swollen, and she guessed that this was the first time he had seen a
woman's sex.  He muttered something that she did not catch, and she
made him repeat it.

"It's not like the pictures in magazines," he said.

"So you've looked at dirty magazines?"  She pretended to be shocked.

"A few," he muttered.

"But they didn't - I mean, I couldn't -' He floundered a moment and
then dabbed a ringer quickly between her legs.

"The pictures were nothing like this."

"Of course not," she murmured.

"This is for real.  And it's just for you."  She saw him run his tongue
over his lips.

"That's good," she said.

"You've got the right idea.  Only now you're going to use your tongue
on me."

She guided his head down, and felt his warm mouth close over her.  At
first, as she expected, he was in too much of a rush, nuzzling at her
like a hungry animal, totally unaware of which parts were the most
sensitive.

"Slow down," she instructed.

"The bit I want you to lick is the little mound, right there in the
middle, and if you learn to do that properly, you'll please every woman
you ever make love to."  She pushed his head gently back, so that he
had to look at her.

"Right here," she said, demonstrating.

"It gives us the same kind of pleasure that you get from your cock.  It
even swells up when we get excited.  The trick is finding out how each
woman likes to be pleased."  She put her hands on his head again, and
guided him down.

"You have to listen, really listen, and do what your partner wants, not
what you think she wants.

But if you start lightly, with just the tip of your tongue, you can't
go wrong."

He bent his head over her.

"Like this?"

She felt his tongue moving, and remembered how seductive she had found
the shape of his mouth the first time she had seen him.  Now that mouth
was servicing her intimately, and the thought was almost as arousing as
the smooth, stroking movements of his tongue.

"That's lovely," she murmured, and meant it.

"But harder.  Just a little more pressure.  Yes, just there, right
there."  She gave a groan of delight as he found her most sensitive
spot.

"Oh, yes, that's it!"

She felt him squirming and knew he was having trouble controlling
himself.  Perversely, she forced him to pleasure her a little longer,
then she took pity on him.

"All right, Leonardo.  I think it's time to make you comfortable."

He had no trouble entering her and she was so aroused that she came
almost at once.  His pleasure came a little while after hers, and she
was glad she was able to watch the expression on his face as his orgasm
rocked him.  Afterwards, as they lay together, he asked her, "Will it
always be like this?"

"No," she said.

"Sometimes you'll want to do it fast and sometimes you'll take your
time."

"Do women enjoy it fast?"  he asked.

"Sometimes we do," Jacey said.

"That's why relationships are so interesting."  She remembered
Nicolas.

"But the cardinal rule is not to do only the things you like all the
time.  Having sex is a shared experience, a voyage of discovery."

"Why don't you say "making love?"  he asked.

"Because I don't like lying," she said.

"We've been having sex, Leonardo.  And very nice it was, too.  Let's
leave it at that."

"Have you never been in love?"  he persisted.

"Once I thought I was," she said curtly.

"I was wrong.  Now let me ask you a question.  Who is Curtis
Telford?"

He looked surprised.

"I don't know.  I was going to ask you.  All I know is that my brother
Carlos is angry about the American coming here.

Carlos has helped Nicolas make money in the past, and now he thinks
Nicolas is planning to make money without him.  I also think this time
Nicolas is going to exclude him, and take the profits all for
himself."

Yes, Jacey thought after Leonardo had gone, that sounds very likely.

But what exactly is Nicolas planning?  It has to involve the rain
forest.  Maybe it's a logging deal?  Whatever it was she had to find
out more.

One of the advantages of Curtis Telford's stay in Techtatuan was that
the number of times Nicolas Schlemann called Jacey on her mobile
decreased.  She knew from Carmen, and from ingrid, that the

American had an insatiable appetite for sexual experimentation, and
guessed that Nicolas was too busy indulging his guest to indulge
himself.

Curtis had already tried to talk Ingrid into performing for him with
another woman.

"I have no objection to three in a bed," Ingrid admitted.

"But I just don't fancy Mr.  Golden Boy.  And he is so crass, he
actually offered me money.  I told him, I like sex, but I am not for
sale."

Because of her increased amount of freedom, Jacey spent more time at El
mviemo.  It was while she was working in the out-patients' clinic with
Paloma that she noticed the number of Indian men and women who wore
amulets, or had patterns drawn in red dye on their foreheads.

"It's for healing," Paloma said, when Jacey commented on it.

"But they still come to the clinic," Jacey observed.

Paloma laughed.

"The Indians are very sensible.  They don't see why they shouldn't
explore all the possibilities."

"I daresay some of the traditional methods do work," Jacey said.

"Not the amulets and magical things, but medicines derived from rain
forest plants?"

"Oh, they work."  Paloma nodded.

"My mother was healed by a mochto.  She had very heavy bleeding after
her first baby and there were no hospitals like this one, or doctors
like you.  So she went to the mochto and was given a spell, and
something to drink.  It cured her."

"A spell?"  Jacey repeated, amused.

"Paloma, I thought your family were Catholics?"

"Oh, we are," Paloma agreed.

"And your mother went to a witch doctor?"

"A mochto is not a witch doctor," Paloma said.

"She's a healer."

"What does she do?"  Jacey was still unable to take this seriously.

"Sacrifice a chicken?"

"Certainly not Paloma said.

"The mochto has respect for life.  Nothing is ever killed during the
healing ceremonies.  That would be a contradiction, wouldn't it?  You
can't buy life with a death."

"You seem to know a lot about this," Jacey said.

Paloma shrugged.

"I became friendly with some Indian women and one of them invited me to
a healing ceremony.  It was very interesting."  She paused.

"And I saw many cures."

"Just from spells?"  Jacey asked.

"Or from medicines?"

"Both," Paloma said.

"I'd like to attend a ceremony," Jacey said.

"Is that possible?"

"Oh, I'm sure it is."  Paloma nodded.

"After all, you're a healer too.

If you like, I'll arrange it for you."

The room was small, crowded and dark, with a heady aroma of herbs.

Paloma urged Jacey forward, towards the tiny woman sitting cross-legged
in a circle marked out by bunches of dried grass and flowers.  The
woman looked up at Jacey with small, bright eyes and said something in
the indian language.

"The mochto welcomes you," Paloma translated.

"She wants to know if you need healing?"

Jacey gazed into the healer's wise, kindly eyes.  She felt tempted to
say.  Yes.  Cure me of my memories, of my bad dreams.  Cure me of
remembering what Faisel did to me.

The mochto rocked slightly, and nodded encouragement.

"No," Jacey said to Paloma.

"Thank her, but tell her I'm fine."

The mochto nodded again, and Jacey had the uncanny feeling that the old
woman was aware of her problems anyway.

Don't be stupid, she chided herself.  No one can read minds.  The
darkness and the herbs are getting to you.  She followed Paloma to the
back of the room.  When the ceremony started Paloma translated, for her
into Spanish.

First the mochto chanted and waved burning bunches of herbs in the
air.

"To placate the spirits," Paloma explained.

Then various people came out of the crowd and sat in front of the old
woman.  They conversed in low whispers.  Sometimes the mochto simply
laid her hands on the petitioner's head, or drew a pattern on their
forehead with a small stick dipped in a pot of dark liquid.

"The spirits will heal that one," Paloma murmured.

At other times assistants brought out small bags or jars, and handed
them to the healer, who always opened them to check them before handing
them over.  This was the kind of cure Jacey could understand.

"What's in the jars?"  she asked.

"Would the mochto tell me?"

Paloma shook her head.

"It's secret.  Indian magic.  They won't tell."

It's more likely to be Indian herbalism, Jacey thought.  She wondered
how many cures western science would find if they learned the Indian's
secrets from the rain forest.  Rather than destroy the area, they
should learn from it, she thought.

After everyone who wanted to speak to the mochto had done so, the old
woman was helped to her feet by her assistant, and the circle was
cleared.  Oil lamps were lit, and Jacey realised that the room was
bigger than she thought.  The mochto had been helped to a chair and
people gathered round her, laughing and joking, without the reverential
attitude they had displayed when she sat in the circle.

"Now they exchange gossip," Paloma said.

"And drink tea.  I don't recommend the tea.  It's very bitter."

Jacey had not seen any money change hands.

"Does anyone pay for their cures?"  she asked.

"Only if they work," Paloma said.

"Then you pay what you can afford.

It doesn't have to be money.  If you're cured, you come back here and
bring a gift for the mochto."

"She trusts people?"

Paloma smiled.

"If you try to cheat her, you risk angering the spirits.  No one wants
to do that."

"Spirits like the loha?"  Jacey remembered.

"The one that's supposed to be waiting for Nicolas?"

Paloma looked uncomfortable.

"That's what they say.  The loha is a very bad spirit.  But I'm a
Catholic.  I don't believe in such things."

Jacey smiled.

"Nicolas doesn't believe it either."  She looked idly round at the
chattering crowd and saw that the attendees were not all Indians. There
were far more Spaniards present than she had first imagined.

"Mind you," she added, 'a lot of Spanish people seem to trust the
mochto's spirits."

"These people can't afford to pay a doctor," Paloma said.

It was then that Jacey saw a face that was definitely not Spanish, a
man talking to one of the Indians.  He was a tall man in a white shirt
and faded Levis.

Jacey nudged Paloma, and pointed at him.

"Who's that?"

"Felix Connaught," Paloma said.

"He's an American."  She paused.

"Do you want to meet him?"

"Of course I do," Jacey said.

"Is he a doctor?"

"No," Paloma said.

"He's just strange."  She waved her hand and caught the American's
attention.  Rather too easily, Jacey thought.  He waved back and then
pushed through the crowd towards them.

As he came closer Jacey realised that he was older than she thought.

Nearer forty than thirty, she estimated, although it was difficult to
guess precisely.  He had the kind, of quirky good looks that did not
depend on regular features.  His thick brown hair was roughly but
attractively cut.  He was not wearing a watch, but had a narrow
bracelet made of beaten metal on one wrist and, round his neck, an
Indian amulet on a beaded leather thong.

He smiled at her, the kind of open, friendly smile that it was
difficult to resist.

"Hi," he said.

"I'm Felix."  He held out his hand.

"And you're Dr.  Jacey Muldaire, from La Primavera and El Inviemo."

"Hi," Jacey said.

"All I know about you is that you're American, and you're strange."

"I meant nicely strange," Paloma said hurriedly.

Felix laughed.

"You're right, Paloma.  I'm strange.  And to prove it I'm going to ask
you to get me a cup of Indian tea."  He turned to Jacey.

"You don't want a cup too, do you?"

"Paloma warned me against drinking it," she said.

"Quite right."  He nodded.

"It takes about twenty years to get used to it."

"You've been here twenty years?"  she asked, after Paloma had gone.

"Longer," he said.

"I came here when I was three.  I've been away a few times, but I
always come back."

"How come I haven't seen you before?"  she asked.

"At the Marquez parties, or at polo?"  He shrugged.

"I'm never invited.

The elite of Techtatuan don't like me.  Not that it bothers me."

"What did you do to offend them?"  Jacey asked.

He laughed.

"I'm that pitiful creature, the man who has gone native.  I actually
prefer the rain forest, and the Indians, to Techtatuan and men like

Carlos Marquez.  And particularly to men like Nicolas Schlemann."  He
paused.

"Is it all right to say that to you?"

"Well, you seem to know a lot about me she said.

"So it's hardly surprising that you know about my relationship with
Nicolas."

"Almost every beautiful woman who's ever come to Techtatuan has been in
the same situation with Nicolas," Felix said.

"If he could market whatever it is that attracts them, he'd be a
multi-millionaire."  He looked at her quizzically.

"Or maybe not.  I understand that the allure can wear off quite
quickly?"

She looked back at him, all innocence.

"Whatever makes you think that?"  she parried.

"When the beautiful woman starts to look elsewhere," he shrugged, 'one
assumes it's because she's bored?  Or even afraid, maybe?"

"It could be she just likes multiple lovers," Jacey said flippantly.

"It could be," he agreed.

"But in this case, I don't think so."

Paloma was pushing through the crowd, a small cup in her hand.

"I need to talk to you, Dr.  Muldaire," Felix said.

"We have a lot in common."

"Have we really?"  she asked.

"I socialise with people you dislike.  I sleep with a man you detest.
We don't seem to have anything in common at all."

"I think we can help each other," he said.

"What makes you think I need help, Mr.  Connaught?"  she asked
coolly.

"Felix," he corrected.

"You want to help the people of Guachtal.  And so do I. I know a lot
about you, Dr.  Muldaire.  We have mutual friends.

But we can't talk here.  Will you visit me at home?"

"I don't know where you live."  She was filled with curiosity.

"Paulo does," he said.

"Paulo will call for you tomorrow evening.  If you're not busy, come
and see me.  If you are busy, we'll make new arrangements.  But please
come.  We need each other."

Jacey sat on the bed next to Leonardo.  She had just ordered him to
strip, and now he lay naked, waiting for more instructions.  Simply
taking orders from her gave him an erection.  He had removed his
clothes so slowly, in an effort to prolong the pleasure of submission,
that she felt a stab of frustration.

She still found him physically desirable.  His tanned body, his
delicate features, his neatly defined eyebrows and his glossy shock of
black hair, aroused her as much as when she had first seen him.  When
she saw his half-unbuttoned shirt, she wanted to open it completely,
cover one of his nipples with her mouth, and tantalise the other with
her fingers.  It was a caress he thoroughly enjoyed.

She remembered the first time she had let her tongue travel over his
smooth skin, tasting him, feeling the ridges of his bones, and then
moving up to find his nipple and gently tease it.  He had let out a
startled yelp of pleasure, and for a moment she thought he wanted her
to stop.  But as her head moved away, he caught hold of her, and pulled
her back.

Tiease," he said.

"Do it."  And then later: "Is this how it feels for a woman?  Is this
how it feels when I touch your breasts?"

"I don't know," she murmured.

"How does it feel?"

"It's painful, but wonderful," he said.

"Your tongue and your teeth nipping me it's unbearable.  But I don't
want you to stop."

"Painful?  Wonderful?  Don't stop?  Please stop?"  She laughed.

"I think you need to sort yourself out, young man."

It became a private joke between them: don't stop, please stop.  Now
she sat next to him on the bed, and let her hand stray down over over
his flat abdomen towards the dark tangle of his pubic hair.  She
circled his upright cock in her hand, and then bent over and took him
in her mouth.  After a few minutes she released him, and asked: "How
did that feel?

He was panting now, his hips thrusting convulsively.  He mumbled
something, his eyes closed and his face contorted.

"Don't stop, or please stop?"  she prompted.

"Don't stop," he gasped.

"Don't stop, please."

"Please."  He put his hands on her head and tried to push her down on
him again.  But she evaded him, and, moving with a speed that took him
completely by surprise, flipped him over on his face.  Then she
straddled him and reached between his legs, grasping his balls roughly.
He let out a strangled yelp of pain.

"Leonardo," she said, close to his ear.

"You've been gossiping about me."

"I have not," he protested.

She tightened her grip.

"You know an American called Felix Connaught?"

He paused, and she shook him, eliciting another yelp.

"Yes," he admitted.

"What have you told him about me?"

"Nothing."

She twisted his balls a little.

"Don't lie.  I met him last night."

"I didn't tell him much," Leonardo gasped.

"Only that you are sympathetic to the Indians.  That you are a kind
person.  He's my friend.  He would like to be your friend, too."

She kept hold of him.

"Perhaps I'd prefer to choose my own friends, Leonardo."

"He can tell you about Lohaquin."  Leonardo was wriggling and bucking
now, and Jacey found it difficult to hold on to him.  She had excited
him so much that he was rapidly losing control.

Taking pity on him, she loosened her hand, and grasped his cock
instead.  He came almost at once, with a long cry of delight.  After
his-body had calmed, she allowed him to turn over.

"Felix Connaught is Lohaquin, isn't he?"  she said.

She had hoped to catch him by surprise, but he simply gave her a
startled look and then smiled.

"No, no," he said.

"He isn't."

"How do you know?"  she insisted.

"You once told me you'd never seen Lohaquin."

"Felix is not Lohaquin," he said.

"I'm certain of it."

"Has Felix seen him?"

Leonardo shrugged.

"Why don't you ask him?"  He smiled.  Rather smugly, she thought.

"When you visit him."

Jacey knew immediately from Paulo's enthusiastic greeting that he
trusted her again.  He chattered nonstop in the car, driving her to the
outskirts of Techtatuan, then to a badly made road that led to the edge
of the rain forest, and finally along a track so bumpy that she feared
for the car's rickety suspension.

Felix Connaught lived in a rambling bungalow built from natural
materials, with a covered veranda.  It was surrounded by tall trees and
tangled undergrowth, and close to a river.  In an area of cleared
ground around his house, he grew vegetables and large clumps of exotic
flowers.

Felix came to meet them in his usual faded Levis and open-necked shirt.
Jacey noted a neat patch on the shirt's sleeve.  The metal bracelet
gleamed on his wrist.  He handed her a cool drink in a tall glass.

"Welcome to my home, Dr.  Muldaire."

"Jacey," she said, taking the drink.

Paulo left to make a quick visit his own village, which was not far
away.  Felix led Jacey to the veranda, where two chairs stood
waiting.

Jacey sipped at the refreshing, citrus drink.

"My own recipe," Felix said, when she complimented him on it.

"The rain forest supplies the flavours, and the river keeps it cool."

"Don't you buy anything from Techtatuan?"  she asked.

"Very little," he said.

"If I haven't already got it, and the rain forest doesn't supply it, I
do without it."  He smiled at her.

"Which means I have most of the things I really need."

"Did you build this bungalow?"

He shook his head.

"My parents built it.  They came to Guachtal thirty-six years ago, when
I was three.  My father was an engineer who was fed up with the rat
race, and my mother was a doctor.  She wanted to help people.  I don't
know why they chose Guachtal, but I do know that once they made their
decision, there was no going back.  They sold everything, and came here
with the family rocking chair which I still have some crockery and
cutlery, and a lot of books.  Everything else they obtained by barter,
or made for themselves.  They loved the Indians, and their culture, and
the way the rain forest sustained them.

My mother found that the Indians didn't need her medicine; they had
their own.  She spent years studying it.  My father used his
engineering skills to build irrigation systems, and turned himself into
quite a passable farmer.  He kept us alive, anyway."

"And you're interested in medicine, too?"  she guessed.

"Because I was at the healing ceremony?"  He grinned at her
engagingly.

"I have a confession to make.  I went there to meet you.  I arranged it
with Paloma."

"I get the feeling I've been manipulated," she said rather crossly.

"Only nicely so he said.

"I did want to see the mochto again.  We're old friends."  He gave her
an intense look.

"And I wanted to meet you face to face.  I need to do that, before I
trust someone completely."

"And you trust me completely?"  she asked.

He nodded.

"I do now."  He smiled again.  It was an attractive smile, she thought.
Friendly and sexy at the same time.

"I asked several people about you first," he said.

"People whose judgement I respect.

That's the way I usually play it, and it's worked for me so far."  He
stood up suddenly and went inside the bungalow.  When he came out he
was carrying a large pottery jar.  He put it on the small table next to
her chair.

"Home-made biscuits," he said.

"Help yourself.  Very healthy.  I think you'll like them."

Jacey took a biscuit.  It was thick and knobbly, and tasted of nuts and
spice.

"So why are you so interested in Lohaquin?"  Felix asked casually.

"Am I?"  she parried.

"Yes," he said.

"You are."

"He's mysterious," she said lightly.

"A ghostly eco-warrior living in the rain forest.  That's
interesting."

Felix looked at her quizzically.

"You can do better than that, Dr.  Muldaire."

"OK," she said.

"How about this?  There seems to be a lot of inequality in Guachtal.
Maybe if a rebel army marched into Techtatuan they could even things
out."

"So you think Lohaquin is a rebel leader, with a secret army?"  He
sounded amused.

"Isn't he?"  she asked.  She crunched her biscuit.

"These are delicious."

He pointed to the jar.

"Keep on eating.  They're very good for the intestines."  He leant back
in his chair and stretched out his legs.

Nice, long legs, she thought.  /!  can tell you now, Jacey/ he said,
'there is no hidden army, and Lohaquin isn't a rain forest Che Guevara.
It's a romantic notion, and Lohaquin hasn't discouraged it because it
gives the poor and disadvantaged of Techtatuan something to hold on to.
But he's not planning an armed rebellion.  It would be a disaster for
Guachtal."

"Because Hernandez would fight back?"  she predicted.

"There'd be a civil war?"

"Sure, that too," Felix agreed.

"But the real tragedy is it wouldn't make any difference if Lohaquin
won.  When the dust settled, there wouldn't be any money left in the
banks, or the treasury.  At the first sign of trouble, the rich would
run, and take their money with them.

And that includes Schlemann and Carlos Marquez.  Those two have their
asses well covered."

"But what about Raoul?"  Jacey protested.

"He wouldn't run."

Felix laughed.

"You've got a soft spot for the idealistic Raoul, have you?  No, I
guess Raoul would stay and fight like a hero.  And so would Leonardo.
But Carlos controls the purse-strings.  He's the older brother."

"So the winners would be losers?"  Jacey said.

"Guachtal would be destitute."

"Right."  Felix nodded.

"You'd have a country on the poverty line and very soon also deeply in
debt.  So no prizes for guessing who'd move in with the tempting
offers.  The guys who want to slam roads through the rain forest, and
cut down the trees."

"I thought Lohaquin was opposed to that?"  Jacey said.

"How long do you think his resistance would last?"  Felix asked.

"Environmental idealism doesn't feed babies.  I think we both know what
would happen when the chips were really down."

"If Lohaquin knows all this," Jacey said, 'why bother to hide in the
jungle and pretend to have an army?"

"Actually, the army story grew on its own," Felix said.

"And like I said, the idea gives people something to hold on to.  I?ut
violence isn't the only way to change things.  It can be done from the
inside."

"Well, Lohaquin will have to come out of the jungle to do that," Jacey
said lightly.

Felix smiled.

"Maybe he will.  And maybe you can help."

"You're really Lohaquin, right?"  she challenged.

"Wrong," he said.

"Are you willing to help me?"

"What do you want me to do?"  she asked cautiously.

"Don't look so worried," he grinned.

"Just tell me what you know about this guy Curtis Telford."

Jacey looked surprised.

"He's American.  He's sex-mad.  Nicolas seems very anxious to be nice
to him, and Carlos Marquez isn't very happy about it."

"Why not?"

Jacey shrugged.

"Gossip says Carlos suspects Nico las is planning some kind of deal,
and he's not included."

Felix stood up.

"I'll be back in a moment," he said.  Jacey helped herself to another
biscuit.  When Felix returned he handed her a faded colour
photograph.

"Look at this," he said.

"Is Curtis Telford there?"

Jacey looked at the picture.  It showed a group of five men in suits,
obviously friends, social ising in what appeared to be a large garden,
with a huge swimming pool in the background.  The men were not looking
at the camera.  The problem was, none of them looked like the
golden-haired, golden-skinned Curtis Telford.  She scrutinised each man
in turn, rejecting three faces as being the wrong shape and the wrong
age.  Of the remaining two, she used her imagination to alter the hair
style and colour, and made her final choice.

"This one she said.

"He's dyed his hair, and had a crew cut, but for my money, this is
Curtis Telford."

Felix nodded.

"That's what I thought."

"That helps you?"  she asked.

"A great deal," he said.

"More than you can imagine."

"He's a crook?"  she guessed.

Felix laughed.

"That depends on your definition of crook.  Some people would call
businessmen crooks.  And the people who pave the way for them to make
their deals."  He shrugged.

"It's all a matter of definition, isn't it?  But there is one other
thing you can do for me, Jacey.  Keep me informed.  I'd like to know
when Telford goes back to the States."

"How do I tell you?"  she asked.

"You don't appear to have a phone."

"You could come out and see me again," he said.

"Paulo would always bring you.  It gives him a chance to visit his
family."  He paused.

"Would that be a problem for you?"

"I don't think so," she said.

"You sound a little doubtful," he said.

"If you want to, you can send a message through Paulo.  Or even
Leonardo."

"It's just that Nicolas has a habit of sending for me at a moment's
notice," she explained.

"I'm not sure how he'd react if I was out here another time."

Felix stood up, and she realised for the first time how fit and strong
he looked.

"Nicolas intimidates you?"  His voice was soft.

"No," she said.

"I knew what I was getting into when I started the affair.  Nicolas
didn't pressure me into it.  It was my choice."  She looked up at
Felix.

"It's just that I don't want to get you into any trouble.  He can be
very jealous."

The atmosphere changed between them.  Felix looked down at her.

"But he's got nothing to be jealous of," he said quietly.

"Has he?"

She had a distinct feeling that he was going to add 'yet'.  "No/ she
said.

"But he doesn't need any excuses."

Felix laughed, and the tension eased.

"Don't worry about me," he said.

"I've survived for twenty years.  I'll survive for twenty more.  I've
still got my American passport, and plenty of friends in the States.

I can handle any trouble Nicolas Schlemann tries to hand out."

"Do you go home often?"  she asked.  She wanted to know more about this
man.

"This is home," he said.

"But I go back to the States from time to time.  I did my schooling
there.  My parents wanted me to see what life was all about in the
great big world.  They wanted me to be able to make my own choices
about where I'd live, and how."

"And you chose Guachtal?"  she said.

"I chose the rain forest," he said.  He reached out, and took hold of
her hands.

"It's a beautiful world," he said softly.

"A world of infinite complexity.  There are so many secrets to be
discovered.  It deserves to be protected.  To be cherished.  You
believe that too, don't you?"

"Yes," she said.  I do."

"That's what I thought," he said.

"I think we're kindred spirits, you and I. We've still got some time
before Paulo comes back.  Tell me more about yourself."

She sketched her life history for him, but it was far from the whole
truth.  She said nothing about Faisel, and nothing about the work she
had done, and was still doing, for Major Fairhaven.  In return he told
her some equally sketchy details about himself.  Both his parents had
been killed in a plane crash.  He had studied computer science in the
States, and had worked there for a time, but could not stay away from
the rain forest for long.  He did not mention any romantic liaisons.

As she bumped home along the rutted track with Paulo, Jacey thought
about Felix Connaught.  Clearly he liked her, and trusted her.  And if
I've read the signs correctly, she thought, he'd like to be more than
just good friends.  Did she feel the same?  She wasn't sure.

Felix was intelligent, humorous and physically attractive.  They seemed
to have interests in common.  So why did she feel apprehensive?  Was it
because she had the distinct impression that he would not be interested
in a casual affair?  He would want commitment?  The kind of commitment
she was not prepared to give?

Or was it because she found it difficult to trust him emotionally?  Was
he too good to be true?  Would he end up letting her down, just like
Faisel?  And Peter Draven?  Would he start pressuring her into
domesticity, like Anton O'Rhiann?

At least I knew Nicolas was going to be a bastard before I even met
him, she thought.  And Leonardo is just a pleasant diversion.  I know
where I am with both of them.  Felix Connaught is an unknown, and that
bothers me.

She gave herself a mental shake.  What's the matter with you, Jacey
Muldaire?  she asked herself.  Why concern yourself with Felix
Connaught?  You've got what you wanted.  You know that Lohaquin doesn't
represent any kind of trouble in Guachtal.  You can tell Major
Fairhaven that anyone who wants to invest in future logging can go
right ahead.  They can decimate the rain forest, and make a lot of
money.  No one will stop them.  In fact, Nicolas Schlemann will
encourage them and he's probably working on it right now, with Mr.
Curtis Telford.

She looked out at the trees which bordered the rough road.  That's what
you want to hear, isn't it, Major?  she thought.  Congratulations, Dr.
Jacey Muldaire you've completed your mission.  But she also knew that
particular achievement did not make her feel happy or fulfilled.

Chapter Seven.

Nicolas stretched out his legs, and smiled at Jacey across her office
desk.

"Are you going to tell me what you've been doing for the last week, or
shall I tell you?"

Jacey smiled back at him sweetly.

"You can tell me," she said.

"You've been giving English lessons to baby Leonardo.  And you've
visited that crazy American, Felix Connaught."

"Crazy?"  Jacey repeated.

"I would call Felix Connaught intelligent and interesting."

"I suppose he told you the Indians can solve the world's health
problems with a few plants and some mud?"  Nicolas scoffed.

"And the spirits of the rain forest will destroy Techtatuan if anyone
cuts down the trees?"

"Something like that," she agreed.

"You're a scientist, Jacey," he said.

"Don't you find it pitiful when a westerner starts believing in all
that superstitious rubbish?  If Connaught was ill, he'd rather chew a
few leaves from the rain forest than ask you for help.  Does that sound
intelligent to you?"

"Chewing the right leaves might help him more than I could," she
responded.

"I doubt it Nicolas said.

"There's nothing special about Indian medicine.  If you could show me
an Indian who lived for five hundred years, because of some potion or
other, I might be impressed.  But Indians get sick and die, just like
everyone else."

"You don't know what's in the rain forest until you investigate," Jacey
said.

Nicolas laughed.

"I know what's in the rain forest.  Trees.  And trees equal money."

"And you intend to exploit that," she said accusingly.

"You and Curtis Telford.  You'll destroy the rain forest, and destroy
the Indians."

"My dear Jacey," he said patronisingly.

"You often have to lose something to gain something.  And we won't
destroy the Indians, we'll resettle them;' "And what if they don't want
to be resettled?"

He smiled cynically.

"Too bad.  They've had plenty of time to assimilate into our culture,
but most of them won't even try to learn Spanish.  The rain forest is a
resource, and I intend to see that Guachtal gets full benefit from
it."

"It isn't yours to use like that," she said.

"I suppose you're going to tell me it belongs to everyone?"  Nicolas
sneered.

"That we all live in a global village?  The kind of nonsense Connaught
preaches?"

"It's a treasure house," she said.

"It's the Indians' home.  And it's irreplaceable.  We should cherish
it."

Nicolas laughed.

"Don't be naive, Jacey.  This is the real world.

Phoney spiritual idealism doesn't pay national bills."  He gave her a
calculating look.

"I'm surprised at you.  I didn't think you cared so much about a few
trees."

"I didn't," she said.

"Before I came here."

"And now Mr.  Connaught's propaganda has persuaded you to become an
eco-warrior?"  He smiled but it was a cold smile.

"Well, take a little advice, Jacey.  Don't go off and join Lohaquin and
his supporters, wherever they're hiding, because they won't have a safe
haven in the rain forest for much longer.  And neither will Connaught.
Or the Indians.  When the logging gets under way, they'll all be
flushed out, and there's nothing any of them will be able to do to stop
it."

"That's disgusting," she said.

"That's progress," he answered.

Later, Jacey wondered why Nicolas had left her office without demanding
any sexual favours.  It was the kind of situation she thought he would
have relished.  It would have been easy to tell her to lock the door,
easy to take her quickly, over the desk, or force her to pleasure
him.

Perhaps he's already getting tired of me, she thought.  She didn't feel
any disappointment at having been denied what was usually a satisfying
sexual experience.  Perhaps the novelty of our affair is wearing thin
for me too, she reflected wryly.

She decided that the same could be said for her liaison with
Leonardo.

While he still delighted in playing the submissive innocent, he was
also getting more knowledgeable, and more demanding.  Their sex games
were no longer spontaneous journeys of discovery.  She was enjoying
them less and less.  At their last meeting, after hinting that he had a
surprise for her, he had produced a complicated piece of equipment that
seemed to consist mainly of thin, black leather straps.

"Look at this," he said proudly.

"I made it."

"What is it?"  she asked unenthusiastically.  She had never been
attracted to leather gear.

"It's for me," he said.

"A restraint."  He handed it to her.

"Tell me to undress, and then you can put it on me."

She took the tangle of straps, still unclear about their purpose.  She
knew that Leonardo expected to be ordered to remove each item of his
clothing in turn.  It had become a required ritual, but now, even
though he would be aroused by this enforced humiliation, it no longer
excited her.  It had been fun when he was an unsophisticated boy,
unsure of what was coming next.  It had given her a feeling of erotic
power to sense his apprehension, and to know that he would do whatever
she told him.  Now she was no longer his teacher; she was an accessory
to his games.  He had lost his innocence, and with it, she thought, a
lot of his appeal.

He was fumbling with the buttons of his shirt.

"Shirt first?"  he asked.

"Or trousers?  You must tell me."

"Leonardo," she said.

"Don't give me orders."

"But I want you to use the restraint," he said.

"I have to undress first."

There was a note of impatience in his voice that annoyed her.

"Maybe I don't want to use any restraint," she snapped.

"But you'll like it," he insisted, and added, "Please.  I want you to
see it."

"All right," she agreed.  But she was unconvinced.

She went through the routine list of orders, and watched him strip, but
although he had an erection by the time he was naked as he usually did
she felt unaroused.  I'm glad one of us is enjoying this, she
thought.

He took the restraint from her.

"Look," he said, demonstrating.

"This goes round my waist, and this down between my legs.  Then you
have these four little straps to buckle up."  His eyes were bright with
anticipation.

"Do it as tight as you like.  Very tight."

She wondered why she had not sussed it out before.  The long straps
kept the gadget on him, while the short straps were designed to go
round his penis, holding it upright against his stomach.  As his cock
enlarged, they would cause him a considerable amount of discomfort, and
then actual pain.

So he had made this appliance himself.  If this was the way he saw
their sex games going, she wanted no part of it.  It did not shock
her;

she simply knew she would get no pleasure out of him trussed up in an
increasingly complicated selection of bondage gear.  A little gentle
dominance, and a little brisk spanking, was the limit of her interest
in S&M.

Leonardo was already fixing the restraint round his waist, clumsily
trying the buckle the straps, his hands shaking with excitement.  He
glanced up at her, and grinned ruefully.

"Please help me.  I'm too clumsy.  I want the straps very tight."

"No," she said.

He looked bemused.

"But why not?"  Then his expression changed.

"You have a better idea?"  he asked hopefully.

"Tell me."

"No," she repeated.

"I don't have any other ideas, and I'm not going along with this one,
either."  She saw bafflement in his eyes.

"This isn't my idea of fun, Leonardo," she said.

"I enjoyed what we had before, but if you want to go down this path,
you'll have to find another companion."

The baffled look gave way to anger.

"I didn't realise you were so old fashioned," he said.

"Don't be stupid," she snapped, angry herself now.

"I'm just not interested in bondage and pain."  He was about to say
something, but she talked him down.

"Because that's where it's going, Leonardo.  And if you want it, good
luck to you.  There are plenty of women out there who'll be happy to
truss you up, and tighten your straps, and whip you, if that's what
turns you on.  And they'll thoroughly enjoy themselves doing it.  But
I'm not one of them."

He looked forlorn and very young, she thought sadly, standing by the
bed, still with a partial erection, the black straps dangling against
his lean body.  She found herself hoping that he would find a bondage
companion.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"But I can't lie to you."

"It's over, isn't it?"  he said.

"I think so."

He pulled the restraint off.

"I expected more."  His voice was sullen.

"Be grateful for what you've had."

He dressed in silence and she watched him, still with a feeling of
regret.  Was she regretting the end of their affair, or the loss of
that vulnerable sexual charm that had first attracted her, and which
had gone forever.

He finally pulled on his lightweight jacket.

"I am very sorry to have caused you embarrassment," he said stiffly.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," she said in exasperation.

"And I think it would be best if we did not see each other again," he
added, still rigidly formal.

"Yes, if that's what you want," she agreed.

He went to the door, and then turned.

"Thank you for the lessons," he said.

"They were very enjoyable."

She smiled.

"I hope the English lessons were enjoyable, too."

She hoped he would smile, and relax, but he turned without looking back
and closed the door behind him.

The next day a large bunch of flowers arrived at Jacey's apartment.

The card said, in English: I lea mt a great deal from all of your
lessons, and of course I look forward to seeing you again.  Always your
friend, Leonardo.  She smiled, and carried the flowers down to her
office with her.  She was arranging them in a vase when Curtis Telford
strolled into the room.

"Very pretty," he said.

"They're from an admirer," she said sweetly.

"Oh, you mean the flowers?"  The wrapping paper, with the card pinned
to it, was still on her desk.  Curtis picked it up.

"Always your friend, Leonardo," he read.

"Little Leonardo, eh?  What lessons did you give him?"

"English lessons," Jacey said.

He sat on the corner of her desk.

"I wouldn't mind taking lessons from you, Dr.  Muldaire.  I'm sure I
could learn a lot.  What would you like to teach me?"

"Manners," she suggested.

"Like please, as in please can we fuck?"  He grinned.

"Like how to knock on an office door before you come in."  She took the
wrapping paper out of his hand, detached the card, and stuffed the
paper into her waste basket.

"And not to read other people's correspondence."

"A greetings card?"  He laughed.

"It isn't as if I've opened any envelopes."

"I'm sure you would," she said, 'if you thought you could gain
something."

"Hey," he said, "I get it.  You're one of these tree lovers, aren't
you?  You think those ape men in the forest ought to rule the world?"

"I think you ought to leave the rain forest alone," she said.

He shrugged.

"This little backwater country wants cash, lady.  I can help them make
the right deals.  I can open doors, and not just in the States.  Your
boyfriend likes the sound of that, even if you don't."

"Nicolas Schlemann is not my boyfriend," she said.  She pushed past
him.

"And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to do my rounds."

turns you on.  And they'll thoroughly enjoy themselves doing it.  But
I'm not one of them."

He looked forlorn and very young, she thought sadly, standing by the
bed, still with a partial erection, the black straps dangling against
his lean body.  She found herself hoping that he would find a bondage
companion.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"But I can't lie to you."

"It's over, isn't it?"  he said.

"I think so."

He pulled the restraint off.

"I expected more."  His voice was sullen.

"Be grateful for what you've had."

He dressed in silence and she watched him, still with a feeling of
regret.  Was she regretting the end of their affair, or the loss of
that vulnerable sexual charm that had first attracted her, and which
had gone forever.

He finally pulled on his lightweight jacket.

"I am very sorry to have caused you embarrassment," he said stiffly.

"Oh, don't be ridiculous," she said in exasperation.

"And I think it would be best if we did not see each other again," he
added, still rigidly formal.

"Yes, if that's what you want," she agreed.

He went to the door, and then turned.

"Thank you for the lessons," he said.

"They were very enjoyable."

She smiled.

"I hope the English lessons were enjoyable, too."

She hoped he would smile, and relax, but he turned without looking back
and closed the door behind him.

The next day a large bunch of flowers arrived at Jacey's apartment.

The card said, in English: I lea mt a great deal from all of your
lessons, and of course I look forward to seeing you again.  Always your
friend, Leonardo.  She smiled, and carried the flowers down to her
office with her.  She was arranging them in a vase when Curtis Telford
strolled into the room.

"Very pretty," he said.

"They're from an admirer," she said sweetly.

"Oh, you mean the flowers?"  The wrapping paper, with the card pinned
to it, was still on her desk.  Curtis picked it up.

"Always your friend, Leonardo," he read.

"Little Leonardo, eh?  What lessons did you give him?"

"English lessons," Jacey said.

He sat on the corner of her desk.  I wouldn't mind taking lessons from
you, Dr.  Muldaire.  I'm sure I could learn a lot.  What would you like
to teach me?"

"Manners," she suggested.

"Like please, as in please can we fuck?"  He grinned.

"Like how to knock on an office door before you come in."  She took the
wrapping paper out of his hand, detached the card, and stuffed the
paper into her waste basket.

"And not to read other people's correspondence."

"A greetings card?"  He laughed.

"It isn't as if I've opened any envelopes."

"I'm sure you would," she said, 'if you thought you could gain
something."

"Hey," he said, "I get it.  You're one of these tree lovers, aren't
you?  You think those ape men in the forest ought to rule the world?"

"I think you ought to leave the rain forest alone," she said.

He shrugged.

"This little backwater country wants cash, lady.  I can help them make
the right deals.  I can open doors, and not just in the States.  Your
boyfriend likes the sound of that, even if you don't."

"Nicolas Schlemann is not my boyfriend," she said.  She pushed past
him.

"And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to do my rounds."

Curtis followed her into the corridor.

"So, I got the wrong words.

Nick's your boss, your master, what ever you like to call it.  Funny, I
wouldn't have put you down as the submissive type.  Dressed in leather,
and using a whip, that's how I see you."  He grinned.

"I don't mind a, bit of that myself.  Perhaps I can persuade you to
change?"

She ignored him, opened the door of her first patient's room and went
in, hoping Curtis Telford would be gone when she came out again.  He
wasn't.  He stayed with her during her rounds, pestering her to indulge
his sexual fantasies, and he was still close behind her when she
returned to her office.

"So how about it?"  He sat on her desk again.

"You and me, and a little bit of domination?  Or you and the ice
maiden, putting on a show?  Give me some sweet memories to take home
with me?"

"You mean you're going home?"  she asked, frigidly polite.

"That's splendid.  When?"

"Soon," he said.

"Next few days."  He stood up and came round the desk.

"I've just got a little business to finish up first."

"Then I suggest you get on with it," she said.

"And let me get on with mine."

"Part of it concerns you," he said.  His hands landed on her
shoulders.

"You and I have to nick, lady.  You and the ice maiden are the only two
I want, and haven't had."  He turned her round to face him.

"I'm willing to forget about the Swede.  She's a dyke anyway.  But I'm
not going to forget about you."

"Even if I fancied you, Mr.  Telford, which I don't," Jacey said
coolly, "I wouldn't even consider it.  Nicolas is the jealous type."

Curtis waved a finger under her nose.

"You'll have to do better than that.  Nick has already told me you're
hot stuff, and he's given me the go ahead to check you out."  He
grinned at her.

"If you don't believe me, just ask him."  He moved closer, and she felt
his hands tighten on her shoulders again.

"So feel free to enjoy yourself.

You've got the boss's permission.  We can start right now with a blow
job."  Jacey tried to evade him but he crowded her against the desk.

"And don't try and pretend you're shocked, lady, because I know you
like acting the whore.  And that's real good, because I like whores.  I
like the way they get down to business, and do as they're told."  He
was unzipping his trousers as he spoke.

"So get to work.  You know you really want to.  Do it now."

His cock was partially erect, and partially on view, when she lifted
her knee and caught him between his legs.  She hardly used any force,
but it still doubled him over with a yell of pain.  He clutched himself
and leant against the desk, his face contorted.  It took him several
minutes to recover.

"Bitch," he said.

"Fucking bitch.  What d'you do that for?"

"That's a very stupid question," she answered coolly.

"I don't give a fuck what Nicolas has told you, I choose my own
partners.  And you're not even in the running."  She went to the door
and opened it.

"And now get out.  I have work to do."

He left, his face flushed with rage.  She was pleased to see that he
had some difficulty walking.  Her anger that Nicolas had discussed her
sexual preferences with him, and offered her services to him, was
tempered by the fact that Curtis Telford had told her exactly what she
wanted to know.

Paulo seemed delighted to drive Jacey out to see Felix Connaught
again.

"If everyone was like Senor Connaught," he said, 'this would be a
wonderful country for the Indians.  Senor Connaught cares about us, and
he understands us.  That is unusual for a westerner."

"Did you know his parents?"  Jacey asked.

Paulo shook his head.

"No.  They died before I was born.  But my parents knew them.  They
were good people.  Senora Connaught went to a mochto to learn the
healing magic."

"And the mochto taught her?"  Jacey was surprised.

"I thought that kind of knowledge was secret?"

"It is," Paulo agreed.

"But Senora Connaught was here for many years.

The mochto trusted her, and accepted her as an apprentice."

"Would a mochto trust me?"  Jacey inquired.

"Maybe," Paulo said.

"If you lived here for many years."  He smiled at her.

"So perhaps you should stay with us?"

"Perhaps I will," she said lightly.

But she knew it was a lie.  She was already considering returning to
England.  She had all the information Major Fairhaven needed.  She was
glad that Leonardo still wanted to be friends, but her affair with him
was definitely over.  She thought of her feelings for Nicolas as a kind
of addiction.  When she saw him, she wanted him, but when she was back
in England that would not be a problem.  There's nothing left for me in
Guachtal, she thought, except to fulfill my promise to Felix
Connaught.

When they arrived at the bungalow, Felix greeted her like an old
friend, led her to a chair on the veranda, and poured her a cool
drink.

"So Telford's little business trip was successful," he said, when Jacey
gave him her news.

"Good."

"What's good about it?"  she inquired.

"He's made a deal with Nicolas to start logging."

"Not quite," Felix said.

"Curtis Telford is an intermediary.  He makes sure the businessmen will
be welcome.  He gets rid of any opposition.

And he takes a healthy cut of the profits when the deals are
completed."

"Well, he didn't have much opposition here," Jacey said.

"Less than he expected, probably," Felix agreed.

"I'm sure Nicolas was very obliging."

"So the road-building and the logging will go ahead," Jacey said
angrily.

"No one's going to stop it, are they?  Lohaquin will hide in the
forest, and do nothing."

Felix stared at her for a moment, then laughed.

"You do really care about the rain forest, don't you?"

"Of course I do," she said.

"And it makes me angry to think that Nicolas and Curtis Telford have
won."

"They haven't," Felix said.

"Trust me."

"Why should I trust you?"  she countered.

"I've a feeling you're not really trusting me."

"I want to," he said.

"Believe me, I want to."

"Does my association with Nicolas bother you?"  she asked.

"Because I think it's just about over."  She shrugged.

"It never was serious, anyway."

"It did bother me," he admitted.

"But only because I couldn't understand why a woman like you could get
involved with a man like that?"

"A woman like me?"  she teased gently.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"A caring woman," he said quietly.

"An intelligent woman."  He leant forward and took her hands.

"I know Schlemann is considered to be physically attractive, but I
couldn't believe that you didn't want something deeper than that."

"Well, you're wrong," she said.

"That's exactly what I did want.  A man with a good body, who could
give me good sex.  Nicolas was perfect."

Felix looked perplexed and she suddenly felt a perverse desire to hurt
him.  What right had he to judge her?  To decide what kind of a woman
she was, and what her needs were?

"Nicolas treated me like a whore," she said, 'and I enjoyed it.  Does
that shock you, Mr.  Connaught?"

"No," he said gently.

"It makes me sad."

"I really don't see why," she said as offhandedly as she could.

"Because it shows that you're deeply unhappy," he said.

"I hope this isn't going to turn into a therapy session?"  she said,
keeping her tone flippant.

He took her hands again, and she felt the warmth of his fingers as they
held hers.

"Why do you hate yourself, Jacey?"  he asked softly.

"What happened to make you hate yourself?"

She looked into his eyes and saw real bafflement, and a genuine need to
understand.  Suddenly her anger dissolved.  For the first time in her
life, she wanted to talk.  To talk about her past.  Why not talk to
this man, she thought.  It might help me.  He's a kind man, a caring
man.  And pretty soon I'll be leaving this country, and I'll never see
him again.

"I fell in love," she said.

"A long time ago.  Or maybe I should say, I thought I was in love."

"And he dumped you?"  Felix nodded.

"He married me," she said.  The memories came flooding back.

"I

married, and I had a baby."  She was vaguely surprised at how easy it
was to say the words.

"A son."  She paused.

"He'd be about ten years old now."

"He died?"  Felix asked compassionately.

"No," she said.  Tm sure he's still alive."  Suddenly, sitting there
with the muted noises of the rain forest all around her, she found the
words gushing out.  It was as if a dam had broken, and all the pent-up
rage and frustration and pain spilt out.

"I was very young, and I married an Arab boy.  I went back to his
country, and when my baby was born, his parents took the baby, and told
me that unless I did exactly as I was told, I would never see him
again."

"And your husband agreed to this?"  Felix was shocked.

"My husband didn't care," she said.

"He was gay, and his family had ordered him to give them an heir.  He
did.  As far as he was concerned, that was the end of my usefulness.  I
was a westerner.  I didn't matter."

"But his parents let you see the child?"  Felix asked.

"I never saw my baby again," she said.

"They took him away the day he was born.  They told me to divorce my
husband, and go back to England.

They told me that if I caused trouble, they'd have me deported and I'd
never see my son again, but if I behaved, they'd let me come back and
visit him.  It was all lies.  They never intended to let me see him.
But I believed them; I was young, frightened and alone.  I had to
believe them."  She shrugged.

"Of course, when I tried to get in touch with them later it was
impossible.  My letters were returned unopened.  I tried to get help, I
tried to get my son back, but I'd married in England, of my own free
will, and gone out to my husband's country willingly, and no one was
interested in my case.  I had the impression that some people thought I
deserved everything I got for being such a gullible fool.  Maybe they
thought my son was better off without such a stupid mother.  And I
suppose that for years I secretly thought that they were right.  That
it was all my fault."  She drew a deep breath and smiled.

"And that's it.  The dark skeleton in my cupboard.  What do you make of
it, Mr.  Therapist?"

"You decided never to trust a man again," Felix said.

"And I can't say I blame you."  He was still holding her hands.  Now he
pulled her closer to him.

"But we aren't all like that, Jacey.  Believe me."

"Don't feel sorry for me," she said.

"Being footloose and fancy free seems to suit me."

He gazed at her seriously.

"And you've never wanted to settle down?"

"Never," she said.  She smiled at him brightly, trying to lighten the
atmosphere.

"Perhaps my ex-husband did me a favour.  I've had a good life, with no
emotional ties, and no emotional responsibilities."

"Is that really good?"  he asked.

"Doesn't it make you feel rather incomplete?"  Before she could answer,
he let go of her hands and stood up.

"Come inside with me, Jacey.  I want to show you something."

The interior of the bungalow felt cool and the windows were shaded with
bamboo blinds.  Some of the furniture was western and Jacey guessed it
had probably been bought in Techtatuan, but much of it had obviously
been made from indigenous materials.  Felix led Jacey into a small
room.  It had wall-to-ceiling shelves, and they were all crammed with
bulging files, books, and papers gathered into bundles A large table
was piled with documents and ring-binders and a pot of fresh, bright
flowers stood in the middle of the chaos.

"My mother's workroom," Felix said.  He saw her looking at the flowers,
and smiled.

"My mother always had flowers everywhere.  I like to keep up the
tradition."

Jacey touched one of the thick ring-binders.

"May I look?"

"Of course," he said.

"That's why I brought you in here."

The binder was full of botanical drawings, annotated with meticulous
neatness, a strange contrast to the untidy room.

"It's a treasure trove," Felix said.

"For anyone who can understand it all.  This represents years of
research.  My mother lea mt from the Indians, from the healers.  I
don't think anyone else has had that opportunity, certainly not a
western doctor."  He watched as Jacey looked round the room.

"There's a wealth of knowledge here.  I can't do much with it, I'm just
a computer buff."  He moved closer to her.

"But if I could find a sympathetic helper, someone who was willing to
dedicate themselves to a voyage of discovery, things could become
exciting."

"Are you offering me a job?"  she asked gently.

"If I was, would you accept?"  he murmured.

"It would take a lifetime to work through all this," she said.

"You have a lifetime," he answered.

"Haven't you?"  She knew he was going to kiss her, and when he did she
wondered why she was allowing it to happen.  Although she certainly
found him attractive, he did not give her the kind of instant sexual
jolt that she felt when she looked at Nicolas, or the rush of
unexpected lust she had experienced when she first saw Leonardo
Marquez.  But she felt desire, and need, as he grasped her shoulders
and pulled her close, his body pressing against her.

Telling him about her past had acted as a catharsis.  She felt
light-hearted, and carefree.  As his lips moved over her face and down
to her neck, she relaxed against him, neither encouraging nor hindering
him.  She guessed he would be gentle and thoughtful, and that was just
what she needed.  She wanted to be made love to.  She did not want to
do anything; she wanted to let him pleasure her.

And he seemed quite willing to do so.  His kisses grew more passionate,
and she felt his hands moving to her breasts.  He cupped them, and
explored her nipples with his thumbs while, she made soft, encouraging
noises in her throat.  He pressed harder, massaging the sensitive peaks
into hard little buds.

She was wearing a loose, sleeveless top without buttons.  As he tugged
the garment upwards, she helped him by raising her arms.  He pulled the
top over her head, and then quickly removed her bra.  She felt his
excitement mount.  Keeping her hands linked behind her neck, and her
arms bent, she raised her elbows so that her breasts were level with
his mouth.  His lips closed over one erect nipple, and his fingers
sought the other one.  He concentrated for so long on exciting her
breasts with his tongue, and his hands, that in the end she felt a
slight impatience.  She loosened the waistband of her skirt and it
dropped to the floor.  Surprised, he stopped his caresses and took a
step backwards.

"Oh dear," she teased.

"I've shocked you."

"No," he said.

"It's just that I didn't expect1 mean, I wasn't trying to pressure
you."

"You weren't?"  She reached up and linked her hands round his neck.

"Well, you could've fooled me."  She pulled his head forward and kissed
him.

"Do you have a bed in this bungalow?  A nice, soft bed?"

"I have a bed," he said, his mouth still over hers.

"Then take me to it, and make love to me," she said.

"Gently and slowly.  Please."

He lifted her into his arms in one easy movement.

"The bed isn't that soft," he warned.

"I don't care," she said.

The bedroom was cool and shuttered.  He put her down, and then
unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans.  She wriggled out of her
panties, and waited for him to finish stripping.  But when he stretched
out next to her, she realised that she no longer felt particularly
sexy, simply drowsy and pleasantly relaxed.

He began kissing her face again, but this time he moved down towards
her breasts almost at once, and then lower, to her stomach, and then to
her thighs.

His hands moved under her body to her bottom, and raised her up.  She
parted her legs slightly, and felt his mouth on her, his tongue
touching her gently, too gently to really arouse her.

But she did not care.  She was content to lie there and let him caress
her, let him enjoy his own explorations.  When at last he entered her,
she responded to his thrusting movements more from politeness than
desire.  His body felt pleasantly safe next to hers and his strength
and warmth were comforting.  She knew he wanted to please her, and she
did not want to disappoint him by appearing indifferent.  As his
thrusts grew deeper and less controlled, it triggered a natural
response within her, and, when he finally climaxed with a shuddering
cry, her own little moans of pleasure were quite honest.  Her orgasm
had been so gentle, it was hardly noticeable.

Afterwards they lay together for a long time, talking.  He told her
about his several attempts at romance, all of which failed when each of
the girls refused to leave America and return to Guachtal with him.

"One of them actually came over here for a holiday," he said.  He
laughed softly.

"When she discovered I didn't have electricity or a John that flushed,
she caught the next plane back to the States."  He rolled over on his
side and reached out to brush a strand of red hair from Jacey's face.

"That sort of thing doesn't bother you, though, does it?"

"No," she said.

"I've lived under worse conditions than that."

But she did not explain where.  She did not share any more of her own
past with him.  Much later, when she had dressed, and was ready to
leave, he put his arms round her again.

"Will you come out here again?  Soon?"

"Yes, I will."

She felt a stab of guilt because it was a lie.  She felt warm towards
him because he was the first man she had ever confided in, without
knowing why.  But he wasn't her type, she told herself; he was too damn
nice.  It wouldn't work.  He would not let her down.  Quite the
opposite.

He would undoubtedly be loyal, stable and devoted.  But could she give
him those qualities back?  She was not sure.  And she did not want to
see the disappointment in his eyes when she explained that she could
not give him a long-term commitment.  It was easier to lie, to lie by
keeping quiet about the fact that she had already booked her ticket to
England.  One way.

She told Ingrid and Dr.  Sanchez that a relative was getting married
and she wanted a brief holiday.  She lied to them, too, promising to be
back after a couple of weeks.  She did not say goodbye to Raoul, or to
Leonardo.  And she did not see Nicolas.

Two days after her visit to Felix Connaught's bungalow she was back in
London.

Jacey was surprised to see how grey and colourless London looked after
Guachtal, despite the fact that the sun was shining.  She also felt
cold, and gratefully accepted Major Fairhaven's offer of a cup of
tea.

"You've done well," he said, after she had explained her conclusions
about the situation in Guachtal to him.

"You didn't follow the expected path, but you got there is the end."

"What expected path?"  she asked.

The major looked slightly embarrassed.

"Well," he said awkwardly, 'we, er, thought that you and Nicolas
Schlemann might get together, and that maybe he'd confide in you."

"How sweet of you," she said coldly, inwardly seething.

"You sent me out there as a bribe.  Here you are, Senor Schlemann,

here's a nice lady for you to make use of, and we hope that a good fuck
will loosen your tongue."

She saw the major wince, and remembered that he hated foul language.

Tiease," he said, 'it wasn't like that at all.  Do you really think
we'd be so cold-blooded?"

"Yes," she said.

"What a pity you didn't do a little research first.

You'd have soon found out that Nicolas isn't the type to start
whispering state secrets when he's in a euphoric post-coital daze."

"We never intended anything of the sort," the major said stiffly.

"It was simply a question of maybe it would happen.  And maybe you
could use the situation, if it did.  After all' he tried to charm her
with a smile, but she stared stonily back "you're a very attractive
woman, and Schlemann has a reputation.  It was just one of the
options.

There were others."  He was still smiling, a fixed and insincere
grin.

"And you found some of them, didn't you?  All's well that ends well,
after all."

"For you," she agreed.

"And for the businessmen.  But not for the rain forest."

"My dear girl," he said, and she heard the irritation in his voice.

"You haven't been seduced by all that green nonsense, have you?  The
dangers to the rain forest have been grossly exaggerated, and countries
run on money, not hippy ideals."

Jacey stood up.

"Do you know," she said sweetly, 'you sound just like that crook
Nicolas Schlemann.  Isn't that strange?"  She turned to go, and then
stopped and smiled.

"But on second thoughts.  Major, perhaps it's not so strange after
all."

The first familiar face that Jacey saw when she returned to the Midland
General was Anton O'Rhiann.  He looked harassed, had a bundle of papers
under his arm, and was hurrying down the corridor.  If she had not
spoken to him, she was sure he would have gone past without recognising
her.

"Jacey?"  For a moment his eyes did not seem to focus on her, and she
knew he was very tired.

"What are you doing here?"

"Visiting," she said.

"Well."  He stared at her for a moment.

"Thanks for the letter."

For a moment she did not understand what he meant.  Then she remembered
the letter she had sent him, telling him she was leaving for South
America, and their affair was over.

"I didn't have the courage to say goodbye to your face," she
admitted.

"Obviously," he said.

There was a long pause, and she wondered if he felt as awkward as she
did.

"You're busy," she said.

"Perhaps we can meet later?"

"What for?"  His voice was bitter now.

"So that you can tell me what a good time you had in South America?
What were the men like, Jacey?  All out for a good time?  Sex and no
strings?  Did you have a lot of nice, non-permanent relationships?"

She was beginning to feel guilty.  She had treated him badly, running
out on him and leaving him a letter that didn't really explain much.

But she had not felt able to face him, and lie to him.  His increasing
insistence on legitimi sing their relationship had been part of the
reason why she had accepted Major Fairhaven's assignment.  She knew her
affair with Anton was virtually over.  Making a clean break had seemed
the right thing to do at the time.

"I went to Guachtal to work," she said.

"Oh, I'm sure you did," he agreed.

"And how long were you planning it?

You don't just drop everything and get a job abroad.  You must have
known for weeks in advance.  I don't suppose it occurred to you to tell
me?"

"It wasn't like that," she said.

"It all happened very quickly."

She knew he did not believe her, and she did not blame him.  But she
could not tell him the truth.

"That's what hurts the most," he said.

"You knew that you were going to leave me.  When we made love, you knew
it.  And you didn't say anything."  They faced each other in silence.
Then he said, "I have to go.  I'm very busy."

"I know what being a house doctor is like," she said.

"Oh, you remember, do you?"

"Hard work, but lots of job satisfaction," she said, saying the words
more lightly than she felt.

He stared at her for a moment.

"I hope you're not planning to re-apply for a position here."  He
turned away from her and started to walk down the corridor.

"Because if you do, I shall leave."

Jacey was sitting in the lobby of her small London hotel, reading the
British Medical Journal, when she sensed someone standing in front of
her.  She glanced up and saw Peter Draven smiling at her.

"Looking for a job?"  he asked.

"Yes," she said calmly, masking her total amazement.

"Why?  Do you know of one?"

He grinned.

"Very good.  Not even a glimmer of surprise.  A good doctor can
disguise her true feelings under all circumstances.  Very useful when
you have to tell someone they're going to die."  He sat down.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Only if you tell me what you're doing here?"  she said.

"I've been back for some time," he said.

"I mean here," she said.

"Would you believe coincidence?"

She shook her head.

"No.  I wouldn't."

"You'd be right," he said.

"I knew you were back.  It wasn't difficult to find out where you were
staying."  He grinned at her.

"Any good secret agent could do it."

"But you're a doctor," she said.

"So are you," he countered.

She stared at him.

"Tell me that what I'm thinking is nonsense."

"If you're thinking, does he work for Major Fairhaven's department too,
then it isn't nonsense," Peter said.

"Now tell me what you were doing at La Primavera," she said.

"More or less the same as you."  He shrugged.

"But with less success.  I didn't manage to penetrate Nicolas
Schlemann's secret circle of friends, probably because I don't think he
had a secret circle.  That man is a consummate professional.  I doubt
if he confides in anyone."

He smiled.

"Not even in the throes of passion.  Am I right?"  I "Absolutely," she
said coolly.

"So it was a waste of time giving you to Nicci," Peter said.

"I could have disobeyed orders, and kept you to myself."

i "Orders?"  she repeated.

"You were told to get me involved with Nicolas?"

Peter nodded.

"You don't think I'd have been stupid enough to do it otherwise?  Not
after what we had going for us.  Our mutual bosses were pretty certain
Nicci would notice you, but I had to make absolutely sure the two of
you got together.  And then I was told to come home, and leave you to
it.  I don't mind telling you, I didn't want to.  But you know how it
is.  Orders are orders."

"Oh, I know how it is," she agreed.

"Major Fairhaven wanted a Spanish-speaking doctor, attractive enough to
catch the eye of Nicolas Schlemann, and willing enough to jump into bed
with him, and he looked down his list and found me."  She noticed that
Peter looked uncomfortable.

"And you were told to help things along.  It was as cold-blooded as
that."  She smiled at him humourlessly.

"Don't look so miserable.  That's the way the game is played."

"I suppose it is," he said.

"And what are you doing now, Dr.  Draven?  Tailing me?  Making sure the
major knows where I am, in case he needs me for another exciting
assignment?  I wonder what it'll be this time?  Perhaps I'll be offered
to an eastern potentate as a bribe."

"Actually, I'm waiting to be sent out to America," Peter said
awkwardly.

"When I heard you were back, and in London, I thought I'd look you
up."

"Why?"  she asked.

He looked increasingly uncomfortable.

"I thought we could spend a few days together."

"For old times' sake?"  she asked pleasantly.

"Or because it's cheaper than hiring a whore?"

He flinched as if she had hit him.

"That's unfair.  I thought our affair was a mutual thing.  I thought we
had something together."

"We did," she said.

"Sex.  But that was all.  And I haven't forgotten that while you were
fucking me in that operating theatre, you knew very well Nicolas
Schlemann was watching."

"That was his idea," Peter said.

"I know very well it was his idea," she answered.

"But you could have refused.  And maybe you could have told me a little
of what was going on."  He was about to say something but she silenced
him.

"Don't say you couldn't because you were obeying orders."

"What else can I say?"  He shrugged.

"You know the rules.  If it's any consolation to you, I didn't enjoy
playing a double game with you."

"It isn't any consolation to me," she said.

"But do you know what's even worse?  I can sit here and know I've been
manipulated and used, and treated like some kind of whore, and I don't
even feel angry any more.  I just feel numb.  That's what working for
Major Fairhaven does to you, Peter.  And that's why I'm finished with
it, for real, this time.  I got out once before, and I let' the major
talk me back in, but this time it's over.  I'm going to go away and
turn myself into a nice, normal human being, with a nice, normal
boyfriend, and a nice, normal life."

"I wish you luck," he said.

"Thank you," she said.

"And if the major has really sent you to find me, and check out if I'm
ready for another assignment, you can tell him from me to hick off. And
please use those exact words."

She thought she saw a spark of devilment in Peter's eyes.

"If I was going to report back to the major," he said, 'it would be a
real pleasure to give him your message."

Jacey could not really decide whether it was the rain that had sent her
down to the travel agency to buy a ticket to Guachtal, or her daydreams
about Felix Connaught.  She had never bothered much about British
weather before, but now each grey morning made her miss the bright
colours of Techtatuan.  And she had never had daydreams about a man who
was less than exciting in bed either, but she found herself remembering
Felix Connaught's smile, his voice, his long legs in the faded Levis,
and the glint of the narrow bracelet on his wrist.  She could not get
him out of her mind.  What would it be like to work with him, live with
him, share her life with him?  The more she thought about it, the more
she wanted to find out.

Maybe we could both give Nicolas Schlemann a run for his money over the
logging, she thought.

Maybe we could drag this Lohaquin out of hiding, and turn him into more
than just a symbol for revolution.  The possibilities were there;

it just needed someone to give them impetus.  And maybe, she thought,
I'm that person.

As far as the staff at La Primavera were concerned, there had never
been any doubt that Jacey would return.  When they asked her if she
enjoyed the wedding, she made up some stories to satisfy them.

Ingrid told her that Curtis Telford had returned to the States.

"And I didn't fuck him," she said, with obvious satisfaction.

"Not once.  Do you think I'm becoming a good girl at last?"

"I think you just didn't fancy him," Jacey said.

"And I don't blame you."  She grinned.

"Did I tell you I kneed him in the balls?"

Ingrid gave a shout of laughter.

"You did not.  Tell me now."

Jacey explained briefly what had happened, and Ingrid punched the air
with her fist.

"Yes!  That's what he deserved.  Why didn't I do it myself?"

"Because you're a well-brought-up ice maiden," Jacey said.

After Ingrid had gone, Jacey worked through her patients' files and
realised that, as usual, no one had any serious ailments.  She
completed her notes, and completed her rounds, and decided to go back
to her apartment for a shower.

She unlocked her door to find Nicolas lounging in her armchair, wearing
a smart, dark-grey suit.  His jacket was undone and his shirt collar
unbuttoned.

"Welcome home," he said politely.

"Thank you," she said, equally polite.

"It would have been nice to know in advance that you were taking a
holiday."

"I thought you already knew everything about me," she countered.

"And that seems to include how to get into my apartment."

"I got the master key from the cleaning woman," he said.

"I'm told you went to a wedding?"

"That's right."  She took off her white coat and tossed it over a
chay.

"I did think you might have gone to America," he said.

"With Felix Connaught."  She made no effort to disguise her surprise,
and he smiled.

"You didn't know?  How remiss of Mr.  Connaught.  I thought he would
have told you."

"Why should he?"  She loosened her hair, which had been tied back.

"It's really no business of mine where he goes."

"I wouldn't have been very pleased if you'd gone with Mr.  Connaught,"
Nicolas said softly.

"Wouldn't you?"  she said coolly.

"It's really no business of yours where I go either, is it?"

"Yes, it is."  He had stopped smiling now.

"I don't like sharing my women."

Jacey knew that she no longer needed to pander to Nicolas's possessive
control, but as she stared at him, his long legs stretched out in front
of him, she felt a surge of sexual desire.  What the hell is the matter
with me?  she thought angrily.  I was sure our affair was over; I
didn't even give him a thought while I was in England.  And now I walk
in here, take one look at him, and all I can think about is how much
I'd like to take all his clothes off.  Or have him take mine off.  Or
go down on him.  Or have him Nicolas interrupted her thoughts.

"I hope you missed me while you were in England."  He grinned the
cynical smile that always made him look both dangerous and desirable.

"I hope you thought about me when you went to bed."

"I didn't," she said truthfully.  And added, "Why should I?  We've
never actually been to bed."

"How many men did you fuck in England?"  he asked pleasantly.

"None," she said just as pleasantly, and wondered if he would believe
her.

"How many women did you fuck while I was in England?"

He shrugged.

"A few, mainly to please Telford.  He liked group sex."

"And was it so very necessary to please Curtis Telford?"

He nodded.

"Yes.  Financially necessary."  The cynical grin twisted his mouth
again.

"But none of the whores were as good as you."

"Well," she said, 'that's very flattering, I'm sure.  If I ever want to
give up being a doctor, it's nice to know that there's another
profession I'm eminently suited for."

"You're right," he said.

"Go into the bedroom and take your clothes off."

She smiled at him.

"Why don't we do it a little differently this time?

We'll both go in there and I'll take yours off."

She was surprised when he stood up.

"What a very good idea," he said.

He preceded her into the bedroom.  She walked over to the window and
half closed the blinds, so that the room was dappled in shadow.

"Well?"  He was standing by the bed.

"Are you going to make a start?"

She sat on the bed.

"Change of plan," she said.

"Do you know I've never seen you completely naked?"

He shrugged.

"So?  Why don't you do something about it?"

"No," she said.

"You do something.  Strip."

He looked at her for a moment, and then, to her surprise, took off his
jacket slowly.  He removed his shirt, turning round so that she could
admire his lean musculature, kicked off his shoes, and then unzipped
his trousers.  He took his time, letting them slide down his legs to
the floor.  He sat on the bed in his tight, dark briefs and pulled off
his socks.  Then he stood up and smiled.

/! don't think you've quite finished," she said.

Still smiling, he hooked his thumbs under the top band of his briefs
and pushed them down in a smooth movement, stretching the briefs over
his erection, as he turned his back to her.

"Very neat," she said.

"You could make a living as a stripper."

"I thought they did it to music," he answered.

She laughed.

"Next time I'll put on a CD.  But you'd also have to learn not to
short-change the paying customers.  Turn round."

He turned, unselfconsciously displaying himself, his cock rising almost
vertically above his heavy balls and the thick mass of his black pubic
hair.  She was reminded, briefly, of Leonardo.  Nicolas had the same
long thighs, neat hips and small waist but his physique was more
mature.  He had more dark body hair, and better muscle definition.

Dancer's muscles, she thought.  Sinewy and strong, but not
over-developed like a body builder.  She had been impressed by his
torso when she had given him that first medical examination.  She was
even more impressed now she could see his whole body.  There did not
seem to be an ounce of spare flesh on him.

"Lie down on the bed," she ordered.  It was a novelty to see him
obey.

She let her eyes move over his body for a few more seconds, then she
walked to the bed and sat down next to him.  She put out her hand and
smoothed her palm over his chest.  As her fingers touched his nipple
she heard him gasp.  She moved her other hand lightly over his pecs,
found the other nipple, and traced a decreasing circle around that
too.

She felt his excitement rising, and increased the pressure, catching
each nipple between her fingers, and tugging.  He bore it for a few
minutes, his eyes closed, and his face contorted with pleasure, then
suddenly reached up and caught her head with one hand.  Twisting his
fingers into her hair he forced her down towards his erection.

She took him in her mouth, more roughly than she intended, and heard
him groan.  She wanted to delay his orgasm for as long as possible,
until he begged her for release, but he held her down, thrusting into
her mouth and throat.  He filled her; it was uncomfortable, but
exciting too.  She thought about moving back, out of reach, forcing him
to beg her to continue.  But before she could, his orgasm jolted him
with an unexpected suddenness.  He pulled away from her, and she
watched his body thrash in uncontrolled spasms.  Finally calmed, he lay
on his back, panting, his face sheened with sweat.  After a few
minutes, he said drowsily, "That was really good."

"Better than usual?"  she asked.

"The best," he said.

"For a long time."

"It can be fun to change roles occasionally," she observed.

He smiled lazily.

"Obviously."  He tugged at her blouse.

"Why don't you take this off?"

"Why don't you undress me?"  she asked.

He stretched his arms, and linked them behind his head.

"Because I feel too comfortable, and too relaxed."

She stood up, and removed her own clothes, but without any attempt at
artifice.  When she was naked, she lay down next to him.  He rolled
over to face her, and propped himself up on one arm.  Slowly, he let a
hand explore her body.  It started as a wandering, directionless
caress, a voyage of discovery, and it reminded her that this was the
first time he had ever treated her in this way.  Slowly his fingers
became even more exploratory, searching for erogenous zones he had
never bothered to touch, and lingering on them, gauging from her
reaction how long he should stay there, and how heavy or light he
should make his caresses.  She wondered sleepily if he had ever handled
a woman this way before.  Then she felt his body move.  He twisted on
the bed until his head was at her feet.

"Open your legs," he said.

She parted them, and felt him edge up between them.  She closed her
eyes and the thought of what was about to happen gave her a sexy thrill
in exactly the place she hoped he would put his tongue.  He parted her
thighs with his hands so that he could move more easily, and when his
mouth touched her, jl her body shivered with pleasure.

His tongue was ,1 strong and insistent: her only regret was that she
;

would not be able to enjoy his expertise for very long, t because she
could already feel herself losing control.  I When her orgasm came, she
felt her body buck and roll on the bed so violently that he had to
grasp her hips to hold her down.  It took her several minutes to regain
her self-control, and then she realised that i Nicolas had returned to
his original position next to her, and was watching her with a
self-satisfied grin.

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?"  he said.

"Yes," she said simply.

"So that's both of us satisfied," he said.

"Do you have any wine?"

"In the fridge," she said.

She was surprised when he stood up and walked over to her kitchen, and
even more surprised when he came back with a tray and two glasses.

"I thought the traditional thing was a cigarette?"  she said.

"Filthy habit," he said.  He poured her a drink.

"This is much better for you."

As they lay together, naked, drinking wine, Jacey realised that this
was another first.  He had never stayed with her so long after having
sex.  He lay next to her until he had finished his wine, and even then
did not seem in any great hurry to get up.  When he did, he smiled at
her and asked gently, as if not to disturb her, if he could use her
shower.  She lay on the bed and listened to the water cascading,
imagining it polishing his lean body.  As she watched him dress, in her
drowsily satiated state she found this reverse form of striptease
arousing.

He glanced at his watch.

"The car will be waiting for me," he said.  He sounded almost
regretful.

"No doubt you'll phone me when you want me?"  she asked.

"Yes," he said.  Even then he hesitated, and she could see that he was
reluctant to leave.  He smiled, his familiar, crooked smile.

"It's been very pleasant," he said.

"Expect to hear from me again, quite soon."

Jacey lay in bed that night thinking about Nicolas, and wondering about
the subtle change in his attitude.  If I didn't know him better, she
thought, I could almost believe that he had missed me, that he was glad
to see me again, that he's beginning to think of me as something other
than just another trophy.

But I don't really know him, she realised.  I've made judgements based
on what I've been told by others, and what I've seen for myself, but
although we've been as physically intimate as a couple could be, we've
shared very little else.  A story about his first sexual experience
which may or may not have been true and some political sparring about
the fate of the rain forest.

And it hasn't mattered to me, she thought.  He makes me feel as sexy as
hell when I'm with him, but when I'm not, I hardly think about him.

While I was even more exploratory, searching for erogenous zones he had
never bothered to touch, and lingering on them, gauging from her
reaction how long he should stay there, and how heavy or light he
should make his caresses.  She wondered sleepily if he had ever handled
a woman this way before.  Then she felt his body move.  He twisted on
the bed until his head was at her feet.

"Open your legs," he said.

She parted them, and felt him edge up between them.  She closed her
eyes and the thought of what was about to happen gave her a sexy thrill
in exactly the place she hoped he would put his tongue.  He parted her
thighs with his hands so that he could move more easily, and when his
mouth touched her, her body shivered with pleasure.  His tongue was
strong and insistent: her only regret was that she would not be able to
enjoy his expertise for very long, because she could already feel
herself losing control.

When her orgasm came, she felt her body buck and roll on the bed so
violently that he had to grasp her hips to hold her down.  It took her
several minutes to regain her self-control, and then she realised that
Nicolas had returned to his original position next to her, and was
watching her with a self-satisfied grin.

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?"  he said.

"Yes," she said simply.

"So that's both of us satisfied," he said.

"Do you have any wine?"

"In the fridge," she said.

She was surprised when he stood up and walked over to her kitchen, and
even more surprised when he came back with a tray and two glasses.

"I thought the traditional thing was a cigarette?"  she said.

"Filthy habit," he said.  He poured her a drink.

"This is much better for you."

As they lay together, naked, drinking wine, Jacey realised that this
was another first.  He had never stayed with her so long after having
sex.  He lay next to her until he had finished his wine, and even then
did not seem in any great hurry to get up.  When he did, he smiled at
her and asked gently, as if not to disturb her, if he could use her
shower.  She lay on the bed and listened to the water cascading,
imagining it polishing his lean body.  As she watched him dress, in her
drowsily satiated state she found this reverse form of striptease
arousing.

He glanced at his watch.

"The car will be waiting for me," he said.  He sounded almost
regretful.

"No doubt you'll phone me when you want me?"  she asked.

"Yes," he said.  Even then he hesitated, and she could see that he was
reluctant to leave.  He smiled, his familiar, crooked smile.

"It's been very pleasant," he said.

"Expect to hear from me again, quite soon."

Jacey lay in bed that night thinking about Nicolas, and wondering about
the subtle change in his attitude.  If I didn't know him better, she
thought, I could almost believe that he had missed me, that he was glad
to see me again, that he's beginning to think of me as something other
than just another trophy.

But I don't really know him, she realised.  I've made judgements based
on what I've been told by others, and what I've seen for myself, but
although we've been as physically intimate as a couple could be, we've
shared very little else.  A story about his first sexual experience
which may or may not have been true and some political sparring about
the fate of the rain forest.

And it hasn't mattered to me, she thought.  He makes me feel as sexy as
hell when I'm with him, but when I'm not, I hardly think about him.

While I was in England, I didn't even fantasise about him, which I
usually do when someone really turns me on.  I didn't wonder what he
was doing, or care if he was with other women.

But she did think about Felix Connaught, she remembered, rather to her
own surprise.  And not about how he performed in bed, but about his
ideas and his hopes for Guachtal.  It made her happy to know that
someone cared about the future of the rain forest.  And he was the
first man the first person she had been able to talk to about her
stolen baby.  It was easy to tell him.  It actually made her fed
better.  And since then, her horrible memories hadn't bothered her so
much.  Even the thought of her son didn't cause her pain.  He was being
brought up by a rich family, who wanted him desperately, and who were
probably spoiling him silly.

She smiled sleepily.  I'm halfway towards accepting , what happened to
me, she thought, thanks to Felix.  He was the right man, in the right
place, at the right' time.  He's decent and trustworthy, and I like
him.  I like him a lot.  She wondered drowsily if she could settle down
with a man like Felix.  Although she had told Peter Draven that she
wanted a nice, normal life, and a nice, normal boyfriend, she wasn't
absolutely sure that it was true.  The knowledge that she was now in
complete control of her life, and could make her own choices, was very
attractive.  She no longer had a secret agenda, and Nicolas's voice on
her mobile phone could no longer summon her like a slave.  She could be
nice to him, but only if she wanted to.

Did she want to?  That was another question she had to answer.  Jacey
Muldaire, she reprimanded herself, if you are going to stay in in
Guachtal you will have to sort out the men in your life.  Felix
first,

she decided.  I have to know how hA really feels about me.

The next day, she telephoned Leonardo and asked him to come and see
her.  As soon she walked into her office she realised that in the weeks
she had been away, he had changed completely.  He had lost the
innocent, vulnerable look that had attracted her when she first saw
him.  The awkward boy had gone forever and an elegant, self-assured
young god in his place.

Jacey held out her hand and he grasped it "Leonardo," she said.

"You look very nice She smiled at him.

"I'd guess that you've got a new girlfriend' He nodded.

"The most wonderful woman in the world."  And then he added hastily
"After you, of course, dear Jacey."

"Don't fib," she said.

"I disappointed you' "On the contrary," he said.

"You Are my tutor I owe everything to you.

I'd never have had the confidence to approach Margarette if I hadn't
learnt about women from you."

"So," Jacey prompted, 'what's she like?"

"Quite a lot like you," he said diplomatically "Beautiful, intelligent,
and a little bit older" he paused, and then smiled.

"Well, quite a bit older than me.  We like the same kind of music and
the same books."

"And the same kind of sex?"

His smile broadened.

"We have designed some equipment together.

Margarette is Very inventive She has such an imagination; you wouldn't
believe the ideas she comes up with.  And she is very strict. Sometimes
I cannot sit down for 3 days after I've spent time with her."

"She sounds just what you need

"I think so," he agreed.  He stared her.

"But there is always room for another woman.

"Leonardo," she chided, 'you're getting to be just like your brother.

I didn't ask you to come here so that we could start up a relationship.
I need to speak to Felix.  When will he be back from America?"

"Soon Leonardo said.  He paused.

"Felix was unhappy that you did not tell him you were visiting England
for a wedding."

"I didn't go to a wedding," she said.

"I needed some space to sort out my feelings, to find the answers to
some questions.  I wasn't sure what decision I was going to make.  I
didn't even know if I was coming back to Guachtal."

"But you're here," Leonardo said, 'and I'm glad."  He paused.

"I think Felix will be glad, too."

"I hope so," Jacey said.

"Do you think he'll contact me when he returns?"

"I'm sure of it," Leonardo said.  He smiled.

"And I i think he will have something very interesting to tell you."

It was a week before Paulo came to Jacey with a message from Felix and
a date for a meeting.  As she sat next to him in the car, she had a
feeling he was keeping something from her.  He seemed especially
cheerful, and kept hinting that she was going to get a surprise, but
when she pressed him for more details he suddenly became a picture of
innocent ignorance.

At the bungalow Felix came out to meet them.  He took Jacey's hands and
held them for what seemed a long time.

"I'm glad you came back," he said simply.

"Did you doubt it?"  she teased.

"When you left without saying goodbye?"  He smiled.

"I wasn't sure."

"It was cowardly of me," she said.

"But I needed time to think."

"I won't ask if you're here to stay," he said.

"But at least promise me that if you leave again, you'll tell me before
you go."

"I promise," she said.  She smiled.

"How was America?"

"Mercenary and crowded," he said.

"But useful."  He held out his hand.

"Do you fancy a walk?  I have a couple of surprises for you.  The first
one is in the rain forest."

Paulo was still standing by the car.  Felix glanced across to him, and
nodded.  Paulo got into the car and started the engine.

"Don't worry," Felix said to Jacey.

"He's coming back.  This isn't a kidnap attempt."

He led her into the rain forest.  It was the first time she had walked
under the canopy of trees and she imagined it as a green tunnel with a
high roof.  The air smelled warm and damp and, as she followed Felix, a
myriad of noises accompanied her.

"Where are we going?"  she asked.

"To Mata," he said.

"Paulo's village.  There's someone I want you to meet."

The village was larger than Jacey expected, with neat, round huts
spread over a wide area, separated by cleared ground and some
cultivated plots.  A group of small children ran forward to greet
Felix, and they stared solemnly at Jacey.  Felix spoke to them in
guttural Chachte, and Jacey thought she heard the word mochto.  The
children all gaped at her, open-mouthed.

"What have you told them?"  she asked Felix.

"The truth," he said.

"That you are a very powerful healer."

He led her to a hut at the edge of the village, close to where the rain
forest took over again.

"Hola tachta!"  he called, in greeting.

Jacey was expecting to meet the elderly mochto from the healing
ceremony.  She was totally unprepared to see a tall woman wearing
native clothes, her black hair falling loosely down her back, her skin
burned brown.  She was obviously not an Indian.

The woman smiled, held out her hand and said in perfect Spanish:

"Welcome, Dr.  Muldaire.  I'm Juanita Marquez.  I'm glad.  to meet you
at last.  I've heard so much about you from Felix.  Won't you sit down
and drink toltoc with me?"

Jacey squatted on the ground with Felix.  She felt amazed and pleased
that Juanita was still alive.  A young Indian girl came out of the hut
carrying two gourds which were filled with a deliciously spicy smelling
liquid.

"This is a traditional welcome drink," Felix explained.

"And it's quite safe.  Just fruit juices.  Drink first, and then we'll
talk."

"I'll answer all your questions," Juanita said.

"I'm sure you have a great many."

"I suppose the first one ought to be, what's it like being dead?"

Jacey said.

Juanita laughed.

"The reports of my death have been exaggerated.

Didn't someone famous say that once?"

"Most people seem to believe the reports," Jacey said.

Juanita leant forward, serious now.

"Well, in a way, they're true.  I'm not the greedy girl who married
Alfonso for his money, or the silly woman who did crazy things, like
redesigning that ridiculous villa.  I don't regret my passionate
affairs, and I love my sons.  But the woman who did all those things is
dead.  Quite dead."

"So who are you?"  Jacey asked, quite amused.

"A woman of the rain forest," Juanita said.

"I have been reborn."  She waved her hand round at the village.

"Everything I need is here.  I'll never go back to the town.  There's
nothing there for me now."

"Does anyone else know you're here?"  Jacey asked.

"Apart from Paulo and the villagers, and Felix."

"Leonardo knows," Juanita said.

"But it's dangerous for him to keep coming out here.  In the end
someone will suspect.  That's why I didn't tell Raoul.  He's a dear
boy, but so impulsive.  He would have been forever checking whether I
was safe, which is quite unnecessary, of course.  This is the safest
place in the world.  No one can arrive unexpectedly, and if someone
comes that I don't want to see, I simply hide until they've gone away."
She smiled.

"But I'm not isolated.  I know exactly what's going on in
Techtatuan."

"So you know Nicolas has plans to let the loggers into the rain
forest?"  Jacey said.

Juanita nodded.

"I know all about Nicolas Schlemann," she said.

"Do you know all about Lohaquin?"  Jacey asked.

Juanita looked startled, and Felix laughed.

"Jacey is determined to meet our famous eco-warrior," he said.

Juanita looked at him reproachfully.

"Doesn't she know?  Surely you've told her?"

Jacey turned to Felix.

"Told me what?"  she demanded.

"What is this mystery about Lohaquin?"

"There isn't one," Felix said.  He smiled.

"There isn't a mystery, because there isn't a Lohaquin.  There never
has been.  I started the rumour myself, mainly to give Nicolas some
opposition, and it gathered momentum, rather like a game of Chinese
whispers.  Everyone made Lohaquin into what they wanted him to be."  He
laughed.

"I must admit, I was surprised when I first saw him on the wanted
posters.  I had no idea I'd created such a scruffy-looking guy."

Taloma has a much more flattering picture," Jacey said.

"But didn't you feel you were raising false hopes?  You've created a
ghost, and ghosts can't help anyone."

"They can," Felix said.

"People brought money for Lohaquin, and I always used it to help the
Indians."

"But what about the loggers?"  Jacey insisted.

"A ghost can't fight them."

Felix stood up and smiled.

"Maybe not.  But I can."  He took Jacey's hand.

"Come and meet some of my friends here in the village.  And then we'll
go back home for the second part of my surprise."

Jacey enjoyed seeing the village, and felt pleasantly relaxed as she
walked back to the bungalow.  Paulo's car was outside.

"Good," Felix said.

"Our guest has arrived."

Jacey was not sure who she expected to see but it certainly wasn't the
tall, dark-suited man who turned angrily to face them as they came
in.

Nicolas Schlemann looked at Felix, then at Jacey, and then back at
Felix again.

"What the hell's going on?"  he demanded.

Jacey turned to Felix.

"This is the surprise you promised me?"

"Part of it," Felix said.

"You've brought me out here on false pretences, Connaught," Nicolas
said.

"I understood you had a business proposition for me, but if it concerns
Dr.  Muldaire, I'm not even interested in opening negotiations.  I
don't share my women."  He smiled cruelly at Jacey.

"Although I sometimes give them away."

Jacey saw Felix's expression change.

"Just leave Jacey out of this," he said tightly.

"She didn't know you'd be here until she walked through the door.  My
offer to you was genuine.  I have something for you.  Something you
need."

"You don't have anything I need," Nicolas said.  He walked over to the
door, then stopped and turned, and looked carefully round the room
until his eyes rested on Jacey.

"You don't seem to have anything of worth at all."

"I'm offering you a chance to escape," Felix said.

"A chance to avoid going to jail."

"Living with the Indians has got to you.  Connaught," Nicolas
drawled.

"You're as crazy as they are.  What makes you think I'd ever end up in
jail?"

"You will," Felix said, 'when Hernandez finds out you've nicked large
sums of money from the treasury and put them into a European personal
account.  And when Curtis Telford hears that the money he's paid out
for the logging rights in Guachtal has gone the same way."

For a moment Nicolas looked bemused.  Then he smiled derisively.

"You've been drinking too much jungle juice, Connaught.  It's softened
your brain.  I haven't touched any treasury money, or Telford's money
either.  And I don't have a European account.  Why would I need one?"

"Because you're planning to leave Guachtal," Felix said.

"You've been planning it for years, and this is the big pay-off.  Why
stay here for the rest of your life, when you can live like a
millionaire anywhere you like?"

"You're insane," Nicolas said contemptuously.

"I have no intention of leaving Guachtal."

Felix smiled.

"I know that," he said softly.

"But no one else does."

Nicolas stared at him.

"And the evidence is going to look pretty damning," Felix added.

"The money's been transferred, Nicci.  It's safely stashed away in a
numbered account.  An account that I will be happy to prove belongs to
you.  The treasury is bare."

For the first time Nicolas began to look nervous.

"That's impossible," he said.

"No one can access the treasury account except me."

"Wrong," Felix said.

"There are friends of mine in the States who can access the Bank of
England, or the White House, or the Pentagon, or any other secret files
they damn well please.  Sometimes they do it just to prove that they
can.  Other times they do it to help friends like me."

It took Nicolas a few minutes to gather his thoughts.

"What do you hope to gain from this trickery?"  he demanded, at last.

"Once I explain what's happened, you'll be the one who goes to jail."

Felix's smile did not waver.

"Nicci," he said, 'you've overlooked one very important point.  You're
not the most popular guy in Guachtal.

People accept Hernandez, because he's relatively harmless.  But they
don't like you.  You've got too much power.  If they see a chance to
destroy you, they'll grab it with both hands.  They won't question the
evidence.  They'll just thank me for providing it."

"I'll fight," Nicolas said, his voice thick with suppressed fury.

"You'll lose," Felix said.

"Think about it.  Who's going to support you?  Hernandez won't, because
his wife will order him not to.  Carlos Marquez won't either, because
you cut him out of the logging deal, and he's never really been your
friend anyway.  He used you, just like you used him."

Jacey saw Nicolas clench his fists, and for a moment she thought he was
going to punch Felix.

"Take what I'm offering you, Nicci," Felix said softly.

"I'll give you time to run.  There's plenty of space in South America.
I'm sure a talented guy like you will find a niche somewhere.  I'll
even put some money in an account for you, enough to support you for a
while."

"Why do that?"  Nicolas asked suspiciously.

"What's in it for you?"

"You might not believe this," Felix said, 'but I'm grateful to you.

You've kept this country financially stable, in your own crooked way.

You've given us a base to build a future on.  So I'm willing to give
you a chance to escape.  Just don't come back to Guachtal."  He smiled
again.

"It's your best bet, Nicci.  Better than jail."

"How long do I have to decide?"

"Until tonight," Felix said.

"If you want to wait that long.  I think we both know what you're going
to do."

Nicolas looked at Jacey.

"I missed you," he said.

"When you went back to England, I actually missed you.  I was delighted
when you returned.

It's the first time I've ever felt like that about a woman."  Then he
went out of the door, leaving her flabbergasted, staring after him.

"So," Felix said cheerfully, 'what did you think of my surprise?"

"Hail, saviour of the rain forest," she said flippantly.

"Well, of our little piece of it."  He looked at her critically.

"You're pleased, I hope?"

"About the trees?"  She nodded.

"Of course I am."

"And about Nicolas?"  he persisted.

"Guachtal will be much better off without him."

"Let's hope so," she said.

"Let's hope whoever takes on the treasury can run it as well as he
did."

"I hope I'll be able to take on the treasury," Felix said.

"And I've already got some deals lined up.  You've heard of IN Bio

She nodded.

"The organisation in Costa Rica making an inventory of all their forest
animals, plants and micro-organisms."

"And selling the information to pharmaceutical firms."  He nodded.

"They've already been paid several million dollars by conglomerates in
the States for exclusive use of their research material.  We could do
the same thing."  He smiled at her.

"My mother's research will come in useful after all."

"Have you thought," Jacey said, 'that the loha destroyed Nicolas after
all?"

"The loha?"  For a moment Felix looked perplexed.  Then he grinned.

"Oh, you mean the spirit?"

"Ana Collados told me the Indians had offered Nicolas to the loha,"
Jacey said.

"She said it lived in the space between the worlds, and it would strike
him down when he least expected it.  And Nicolas has been destroyed by
information that was manipulated in cyberspace."

"Very strange," Felix said, clearly unimpressed.

"Dear old Ana is as crazy as Juanita when it comes to Indian ghosts and
spirits."

"She said it was a cruel spirit," Jacey said.

"And it's true."

"You think what's happened to Nicolas is cruel?"  Felix asked.

"It could have been much worse.  How long do you think he'd have lasted
in jail before someone knifed him?  At least I've given him a chance to
make another life somewhere else."  He reached for her hands and held
them.

"Tell me you don't care about Nicolas, Jacey?"

Jacey smiled.

"I don't care about Nicolas," she said.  She squeezed his hands.

"But I do care about you."

Was it the truth?  Later that night, as she lay next to Felix, and
listened to the constant symphony of sound from the rain forest, Jacey
couldn't help wondering what would have happened if Felix had not
managed to destroy Nicolas, and she had continued her affair with
him.

Would they have eventually found they could share something more than
just sex?  She would never know.  If she stayed in Guachtal, she would
certainly never see him again.

Would she stay?  She glanced at Felix, who was sleeping contentedly
after their brief bout of love-making.  He had given her an orgasm,
kissed her, rolled off her, and told her she was wonderful.  But she
still felt unfulfilled.  This is the man I'm thinking of spending the
rest of my life with.  Am I making a mistake?

It took six months for Jacey to confirm her doubts.  It was a busy six
months.  She saw La Primavera become an open hospital, with Dr.
Rodriguez as senior physician, Ingrid Gustaffsen as his assistant and
Dr.  Sanchez taking over as head of a newly formed interns training
programme.  She saw deals struck with pharmaceutical companies.  She
heard enthusiastic plans for eco-tourism.  She saw the Indians
returning to the rain forest to rebuild their villages.

And she saw Felix Connaught changing.  He was still concerned with the
economy and the rain forest, but now he was Generalissimo Hernandez's
right-hand man.  Lightweight suits had replaced his faded Levis, his
hair was neatly cut, and he wore a watch instead of his metal bracelet.
Jacey saw less of him, and when they met, he was often too tired to
make love.  She realised that he was far more interested in his work
than sex.  Their affair became less and less physical, until they were
living together like a brother and sister.

That's when she knew she had to leave Guachtal.  She kept her promise,
and told him she was going.  He made her give him a contact phone
number, which he tucked into his pocket as he left for a meeting, but
he wasn't able to come and see her off.  Another meeting with
Hernandez, he explained.  Ingrid and Paulo went with her to the
airport.

"Behave yourself," Ingrid said at the barrier.

"And think of us sometimes."

"I'll do better than that," Jacey said.

"As soon as I get a job and make some money, I'll visit you."

"And behave yourself on the journey," Ingrid added.

"No joining the Mile High Club."

Jacey laughed.

"Chance would be a fine thing."

Once inside the plane, she found her seat, and glanced across the
aisle.  An attractive-looking man with an angular face sat reading a
book.  Nice long legs, she thought.  Nice hands.  He sensed her
watching him, and moved his hand so that she could see the book's
title.  Sex in the Twenty-first Century, she read.  He moved his hand
again, so that the title was covered but she could see the author's
name:

Gregory Ballantine.

A stewardess came down the aisle and stopped level with Jacey to speak
to the man.

"I'm sorry we had to move you, Mr.  Ballantine.  Are you sure you're
comfortable there?"

"I'm fine, thanks, just fine," he said.  He smiled across at Jacey. She
smiled back.

This is going to be a very interesting trip, she thought.