The following morning, the two men left New York for Hollywood. This was an assignment that had been set up two weeks previously. They were to do an article on the forgotten movie stars, an opportunity for Cade's camera work that Mathison was sure would be unique.

  They returned to New York ten days later. Cade had been following the Friedlander case in the newspapers. The affair had been quickly disposed of as Bernstein had promised. Marshall had been discharged, and Friedlander had gone to Rome to recuperate.

  Among his pile of mail, waiting for him at the apartment, was a short note from Vicki Marshall.

  Dear Mr. Cade,

  I want to thank you for what you did for Jerry. Could we meet? Would you come here when you have a free moment? I am at home most evenings. Yours sincerely, Vicki Marshall.

  The same evening, Cade rang on her front doorbell. He found this girl serious, gentle, understanding and artistic, the companion he had always hoped to find, but up to this moment, had believed a mirage of his imagination.

  They talked until two o'clock in the morning. Jerry, she said had gone to Canada. He had a friend in Vancouver who ran a skittle alley and had been pressing Jerry to work with him as his partner. It was a pretty nightmare thing, she said, to have a brother who was homosexual, but it was something you just had to accept. They had always got on well together, and were very fond of each other, but she realised now they were better parted.

  She told Cade she was a tremendous admirer of his work. She talked about some of his recent successes, and it pleased him she really knew what she was talking about. This wasn't idle flattery.

  When he finally looked at his watch and saw the time, he got to his feet.

  'I have a few free days,' he said. 'How are you fixed? Could we go somewhere tomorrow? We could get out of town ...'

  She looked at the clutter of drawings on the big table under the window.

  'I can't. I would love to, but not tomorrow. You could come here tomorrow evening for dinner. Would you like that?'

  'Very much. All right, suppose we go out? I know a place . . .'

  She smiled.

  'Are you afraid of my cooking?' He suddenly thought of Juana. Vicki saw his sudden expression of pain and she said quickly, 'Then let's go out. I would like that.'

  'No, I would prefer to come here. It's nicer here.'

  For the next ten days, he was around at her apartment every evening. It was after the fourth evening, after he had told her about Juana, about his drinking, about the nightmare weeks when he had lived in an Indian shack not caring whether he was alive or dead that he realised he was in love with her. He was careful to say nothing although he felt she was also in love with him. The ghost of Juana was too close still and too dangerous. He was frightened of starting something that would come to pieces as the Juana episode had come to pieces.

  He welcomed the assignment that took him and Burdick to Paris. It was May, and Burdick thought they should do an article on the American tourist invasion of Paris. Cade agreed. He needed time and distance to get his association with Vicki into perspective. He thought continuously of her while in Paris, and on the flight back, eight days later, he made his decision. He would get his divorce, as soon as he was free, he would ask Vicki to marry him.

  Without saying anything to Burdick, he consulted a lawyer, specialising in divorce. He was told there would be no difficulty. Mexican divorces went through quickly and easily. He would have to go down to Mexico City for a couple of weeks. The lawyer gave him the address of his Mexican representative who he said would arrange everything.

  Cade told Mathison he had sudden urgent personal business to take care of and would be out of circulation for two weeks. That was all right with Mathison. He had plenty of Cade's material to run on.

  Cade told Burdick he was going to Mexico to get his divorce. Guessing what was in the wind, Burdick wished him luck.

  Cade spent the evening before his departure with Vicki. He said nothing about the divorce. He feared there might be an unexpected snag, and until he was sure he was free, he couldn't bring himself to confide in her. He said he had to go to Mexico to clear up some outstanding business.

  The following morning, he flew to Mexico City.

  chapter six

  Cade walked through the main lobby of El Prado hotel where Rivera's fifty-foot-long A Dream on a Sunday Afternoon mural was being gaped at by a large gathering of American tourists.

  He had had a lonely lunch in the grill room. He wasn't sure now what he was going to do with himself. The day was Sunday. He had spent the past three days talking to his Mexican lawyers who airily told him there would be no difficulty about the divorce, but kept asking him to consult with them, to sign papers, and to check and recheck the obvious evidence of Juana's adultery which he was now sick of explaining to them.

  He walked to the bookstall with the idea of getting a paperback and then going to sit in the Alameda Gardens until the sun went down.

  'Senor Cade!'

  He looked around and was confronted by Adolfo Creel's beaming face. A great weight of loneliness lifted from him. To see this fat Mexican who had been such a good friend to him was the nicest thing he imagined could happen to him. But as he shook hands, he felt a twinge of guilt that he hadn't contacted Creel before. He knew why. Creel was too close to his past, but now they were together, Cade felt nothing but pleasure.

  'This is a very special moment in my life, senor,' Creel said, his eyes moist with emotion. 'I had no idea you were here. You look wonderful! Senor Cade! I am very, very happy!'

  'That makes two of us,' Cade said. 'Let's have a drink or something and talk. Have you the time?'

  'Of course.' Creel went with Cade into the dimly-lit bar. 'I don't have to ask. All is well with you. I have seen your magnificent work for the Sun. Forgive a stupid, uneducated man like myself, but your photographs move me.'

  Cade was glad of the dim lighting. He squeezed Creel's fat arm. It wasn't until they were sitting side by side on the padded bench and Cade had ordered a Coke for himself and a coffee for Creel, that he was able to say in a steady enough voice, 'Adolfo, for Pete's sake, stop calling me Senor Cade. I regard you as the best friend I have ever had. Call me Val, and what is all this nonsense about being stupid and uneducated?'

  Creel squirmed with pleasure. 'Tell me please. Why are you here?'

  Without hesitation, Cade told him about Vicki.

  'This girl, Adolfo, means everything to me. I'm here for a divorce. You must meet her. She is everything that Juana isn't. I guess I was crazy getting mixed up with that woman. Now, I'm seeing sense at last. All I want is to be free of her.'

  Creel put three lumps of sugar into his coffee.

  'That I can understand. Juana is not for you. She has a fatal destiny. She thinks only of the body and of money. This is a disease with her.'

  Cade jiggled the ice cubes in his glass.

  'What has happened to her?'

  'She is here,' Creel said.

  Cade felt a sudden tightening in his throat.

  'Still with Diaz?'

  'No. Here then is an example of her destructive-ness. When they returned from Spain, it was all over. This afternoon, I am going to see what I hope will be Pedro Diaz's last bull fight.'

  Cade stared at him.

  'What do you mean ... his last fight?'

  'He is now a wreck of a man. Yes, I know, through him you were brutally beaten. He was arrogant, cruel and vicious, but he had courage. She has taken away his courage so he has nothing left but his skill, but skill is nothing without courage. You would be sorry for him if you saw him. Last Sunday they threw bottles at him. The Sunday before they whistled at him. This afternoon ...' Creel lifted his fat hands and let them drop heavily on his knees.

  'But why, Adolfo?'

  The fat Mexican looked at him, then away.

  'Do you remember a certain Indian shack? You ask why?'

  Cade flinched.

  'What goddamn fools we men are, aren't we?'

  'Yes, I suppose you can say that in truth. She has a fatal fascination.'

  'What about her?'

  'She is living in the house you once rented in the Chapultepec Park. At the moment she is unattached. Diaz gave her many expensive presents. She goes every night to the San Pablo night club where the rich Americans are. She arranges her life very well.'

  Cade forced his mind away from the image that came suddenly of her brown, sensual beauty and the long black tresses acting as a shield to the most exciting body he had ever known.

  'Could I come with you, Adolfo? I want to see Diaz fight.'

  'That I can understand. Yes, there will be plenty of seats. It is only those who expect tragedy who go now to watch Diaz: the vultures who hope for death.'

  'Yet you go?'

  'It is an ending of a chapter,' Creel said, shrugging. 'I have lived a little of my life with you, with her and with Diaz. It was because of him, I lost my tyres. We Mexicans remember small things like that. Perhaps I am also one of the vultures, but when something begins, I wish to see it finish.'

  At 16.20 hours, they made their way down the steps to their seats at the barrera, right by the red-painted fence around the sanded ring. As Adolfo had said there were plenty of seats, but there was still a big crowd.

  Below and a few yards from where they sat, Cade could see the sword handlers of the three matadors who were fighting that afternoon. He easily recognised Regino Franoco, wearing a white shirt with bishop's sleeves and wine coloured trousers. He was honing a sword, his movements expert and practised, a sullen frown on his face.

  Seeing Cade watching, Creel said, 'Yes, he is still with Diaz ... one of the faithful. When they threw bottles last Sunday, he wept.'

  On the far side of the ring, in the direct light of the sun, they were forming up for the paseo.

  Cade recognised Pedro Diaz who was in silver and black. He stood, waiting, flanked on either side by two matadors: both elderly and fat, one of them bald. Behind them were the men of the curilla. Behind them, the mounted picadors.

  With their right arms swinging, the men began to march across the sand, followed by the bull ring servants and the mules.

  Cade was aware of a feeling of sick excitement, aware too that his heart was thumping unsteadily.

  As the three matadors made their bows to the President, he examined Diaz.

  Yes, Adolfo was right. There was nothing there now but a shell. The cruel, hawk-like face that had made one of Cade's finest photographs was now slack and flabby. The small eyes moved uneasily, the thin mouth was twitching.

  'He has the first bull,' Creel said.

  Diaz walked over to Franoco. They spoke together, then Franoco took Diaz's dress cape from him and spread it over the fence.

  Diaz looked up and stared at the faces looking down at him. He looked at Cade, looked away, then stiffening, he looked back at Cade. He said something to Franoco who looked round quickly and also stared at Cade. The sudden entry of the bull made both men jerk around.

  'He knew you,' Creel said in a satisfied voice.

  Cade was looking at the bull that had come into the ring with a blind rush and was now trotting around in the sun, cutting at the air with his horns.

  'Well, he is big enough,' Creel said and Cade thought this was an understatement. The bull seemed enormous to him.

  A thin, shabby man ran out, trailing a cape. The bull charged, hooking with his left horn. He continued around the ring after he had lost the cape, then seeing another cape flopping at him, he charged again.

  'Diaz will have to watch that left horn,' Creel said. 'Aye! Aye! This is a big one!'

  Cade looked down at Diaz, immediately below him. Diaz was watching the bull. Franoco was leaning over the fence whispering furiously at Diaz, a nagging, scolding, womanish expression on his handsome face.

  'Shut up!' Cade heard Diaz say. 'Give me the bottle!'

  Franoco handed him a big, narrow-necked jug. Diaz drank. Cade saw him shudder as he handed the jug back.

  'They think it is water,' Creel said, 'but it is Tequila.'

  There was a commotion going on in the ring. The bull had caught the horse and had flung it over.

  The picador, cursing, rolled clear. The capes took the bull away.

  Diaz looked directly at Cade. He gave a sneering grin.

  'So we meet again,' he said, pitching his voice so that Cade could hear. 'I give you this bull but I owe you nothing. I am even sorry for you.'

  The crowd along the seats either side of Cade leaned forward to stare at him. Franoco snarled at him and spat at the sand beyond the fence.

  'Good luck,' Cade said. He meant it. The small shell of the man incited his pity.

  Creel said quietly, 'He is very drunk.'

  They watched the short, stocky figure walk out towards the bull. The banderillo had done his work.

  The scene was now set for the encounter between Diaz and the bull which stood solid across the far side of the ring in the sun.

  Diaz seemed in no hurry to reach the bull. He was slightly unsteady on his short legs, and twice during the long walk he staggered. The crowd watched in silence.

  Cade saw Franoco talking urgently to the other two matadors who listened, shrugged and nodded.

  Taking their capes, they trotted after Diaz. Three men of the curilla joined them. They formed a wide protective circle behind Diaz.

  When he was within thirty yards of the bull, Diaz looked around. Seeing the men moving forward, he waved them away. He cursed them in Spanish. Some of the crowd began to whistle.

  Cade saw Franoco was moving frantically around the ring, between the fence and the seats, heading towards the bull.

  'What that fool thinks he is doing, I can't imagine,' Creel said. 'He will only distract Diaz.'

  Diaz was now within fifteen yards of the bull. He stopped, unfurled his cape and shook it at the bull.

  By now Franoco was immediately behind the bull, his hands clutching the top of the fence.

  The bull's tail went up as it charged.

  It happened so quickly Cade was unable to see exactly what had gone wrong. He heard a thumping impact and he saw Diaz go up in the air and come down on the sand on the back of his head.

  He heard Creel say, 'Well, that's it then,' and let out a long, hissing sigh.

  The bull turned with the quickness of a cat. The capes were flopping as the men ran in, but the bull was only aware of Diaz who was struggling up on his knees. Franoco sprang over the fence, but the speed of the bull beat him. The left horn chopped into Diaz's chest, slamming him against the fence.

  The horn struck again.

  Franoco was screaming. He now had the bull by the right horn and was beating his fist on the bull's nose.

  Cade was only vaguely aware of the uproar. Like everyone, he was standing and shouting.

  The bull shook his head and Franoco, like a stringless puppet, was thrown away. He fell on his side.

  The bull charged, but the flick of a cape caught his eye and he charged over Franoco, one of his hoofs thudding into Franoco's upturned face as the bull went with a rush across the ring, pursuing a running matador.

  Three bull ring servants picked Diaz up. They ran with him out of the ring. Another of them helped Franoco to his feet, his face streaming blood.

  'Let's get out of here,' Cade said, sickened.

  'Yes,' Creel said and the two men walked quickly up the steps and away from the ring.

  As they reached the exit, Cade said, his voice unsteady, 'How badly do you think he was hurt?'

  Creel shrugged.

  'He is dead. A chest wound like that is always fatal. He had no chance. The horn smashed the cage of his ribs.'

  Cade wiped his sweating face. He was completely unnerved.

  'Get me back to the hotel, Adolfo. I'm not staying here any longer. I hate this City.'

  'Yes,' Creel said. He led the way through the hundreds of parked cars to where he had left his Pontiac. ‘Don't dwell on it. He brought it on himself.'

  They drove in silence back to El Prado hotel. Cade could think only of the broken body that hung so limply in the arms of the bull ring servants as they ran with it across the sand.

  'I'll have to return in a few days,' he said as Creel pulled up outside the hotel. 'I'll call you, Adolfo.'

  The two men shook hands. Cade forced a smile before climbing the steps to the hotel.

  He went immediately to the Travel Agency office and booked a New York flight, leaving at 11.00 hours the following morning.

  He took the elevator to his room, unlocked the door and as he opened it, he thought it was still early. The long evening ahead of him depressed him.

  He shut the door, then stood motionless.

  Juana was standing there with her back to the window. She was wearing a simple white dress, no jewellery and the sunlight made a hazy glow around her beauty.

  'There is no one and there never can be anyone like you,' she said. 'I have returned because I love you and will always love you.' She moved forward, holding out her hands to him. 'Do you want me? If you do, then take me.'

  The following morning, Cade called down from his room to the Travel Agency office and cancelled his flight to New York.

  Juana, naked and on the bed, her long black tresses draped across her body, listened, smiling and reached for his hand.

  They had made love and talked, made love and talked during the night.

  'It was only when I lost you that I realised how much you mean to me,' she had said, her head on his chest, her fingers stroking the back of his hand. 'It was because you were in hospital and I was alone that this bad thing that is in me made me go away with Pedro. If you had been with me, it would never have happened.'

  Cade had thought of the agony she had caused him and the debts she had incurred, but he didn't care. He knew that however badly she behaved, she was the only thing in his life. For better or for worse, he thought bitterly. It was a crushing sentence, and it depressed him.

 

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