Tender Triumph Read online

  Before Katie could gather her wits, his mouth was at her breasts, obliterating her thoughts, driving her into a state of hot need. With one arm around her shoulders and the other around her waist, he shifted her down onto the sofa, his body half covering hers. "He is dead," he reminded her fiercely. "And I do not want his ghost between us." Despite the harsh­ness of his tone, his kiss was filled with sweetness. "Bury him," he implored in a whisper. "Please."

  Katie wrapped her arms around his shoulders, arching her lower body to his, and immediately for­got the world.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The next day, Miguel strode past the startled secre­tary, opened the door to Ramon's office, and shut it firmly behind him. "Tell me all about your good friend Sidney Green in St. Louis," Miguel said, with sarcastic emphasis on the word friend.

  Ramon, who was leaning back in his chair, en­grossed in some legal documents he was reading, glanced distractedly at Miguel. "He is not a friend of mine, he is merely a man who knew a friend of mine." Returning his attention to the documents, he said, "He approached me at a cocktail party at this friend's house nine years ago, and described a new formula for paint that he had worked out. He said that using his formula he could produce paint that would wear better and last longer than any other paint on the market. The next day he brought me an analysis of his paint, which was performed by an independent testing laboratory, and proved his claims.

  "He needed three million dollars to begin to manufacture and market it, and I arranged for Galverra International to lend it to him. I also put him in touch with several of my friends who owned com­panies that bought paint for use on the products they manufacture. You will find the information in a closed file somewhere. It was as simple as that."

  "Part of the information was in the file, I got the rest from the treasurer of the corporation this morn­ing. It was not quite as simple as you think. Your father had Green investigated, found out he was a small-time chemist, and decided as such, he would never have the business acumen to market his prod­uct, and the the three million would be wasted. Be­ing the 'kind, loving father' that he was, your father decided to teach you a lesson. He instructed the treasurer to advance three million dollars into your personal account and make the loan from you per­sonally to Green. One year later, when the loan was to be repaid, Green wrote and said he wanted an ex­tension. According to the treasurer, you were in Japan at the time, and he took Green's letter to your father. Your father said to ignore the letter, and not to make any attempt to collect the loan; collecting it was your problem.

  Ramon sighed irritably. "Nevertheless, the loan was repaid. I remember my father telling me that it had been."

  "I don't give a damn what that devil told you—it wasn't. Sidney Green told me so himself."

  Ramon's head snapped up, his jaw clenched in anger. "You called him?!"

  "Well.. .yes.. .you told me not to waste any more time going through the files, Ramon," Miguel reminded him, flinching under Ramon's furious glance.

  "Damn you! I gave you no authority to do that," Ramon exploded. Leaning back in his chair, he briefly closed his eyes, obviously struggling with his rampaging temper. When he spoke again his voice was controlled. "Even when I was in St. Louis, I did not call him. He knew I was in trouble; if he had wanted to help he would have contacted me there. He will interpret your phone call about an old loan as a pitiful ploy on my part to try to get money from him. He was an arrogant bastard nine years ago when he had nothing but the shirt on his back; I can imagine what he must be like now that he is successful."

  "He is still an arrogant bastard," Miguel said, "And he never repaid one dime of the money. When I explained that I was trying to locate the records of the repayment of the money you loaned him, he said that you are too late to take him to court over it."

  Ramon listened to this with cynical amusement. "He is right, of course. It was my responsibility to see that the money was repaid, and when it wasn't, to take appropriate legal action within the allowable time limit."

  "For God's sake! You gave the man three million dollars and he is refusing to pay you after you made him rich! How can you just sit there like that?"

  Ramon shrugged ironically. "I did not 'give' him the money, I loaned it to him. I did not do it out of kindness or charity, I did it because I felt there was a need for the superior product he could manufacture, and because I hoped to make a profit. It was a busi­ness investment, and it is the investor's responsibili­ty to look after his money. Unfortunately, I did not realize that I was the investor, and I assumed the corporation's auditors would oversee it. To Green, his refusal to repay it now, when he does not have to, is nothing personal—he is merely looking out for his own interests. That is business."

  "It is theft!" Miguel said bitterly.

  "No, it is merely good business," Ramon said, regarding him with dry amusement. "I suppose that after telling you he would not repay the money, he sent me his regards and his 'deep regrets' for my sad state of affairs."

  "Like hell he did! He told me to tell you that if you were half as smart as everyone always said you were, you would have demanded your money years ago. He said if you, or anyone else representing you, contacted him again to try to collect it, he would have his legal staff file suit against you for harass­ment. Then he hung up on me."

  All of the amusement vanished from Ramon's ex­pression. He put his pen down. "He what?" he asked with deadly softness.

  "He—he said those things, and then he hung up on me."

  "Now that was very bad business," Ramon said in a silky, ominous voice.

  He leaned back and was thoughtfully silent, his mouth quirked in a faint, ironic smile. Abruptly, he reached over and punched the intercom button. When Elise answered his buzz, he gave her seven names and seven phone numbers to call in seven dif­ferent cities all over the world.

  "If I recall the terms of the loan correctly," Ramon said, "I loaned him three million at what­ever interest rate was being charged on the day of repayment."

  "Right," Miguel said. "If he had repaid the loan in one year, the interest rate then was eight percent, and he would have owed you about $3,240,000."

  "Today the interest rate is seventeen percent, and he has owed it for nine years.''

  "Technically he owes you more than twelve million dollars," Miguel said, "but it does not mat­ter. You cannot possibly collect it."

  "I have no intention of trying," Ramon said af­fably. His gaze shifted to the telephone on the desk, waiting for the first of the transatlantic calls to go through.

  "Then what are you going to do?"

  Ramon's brow lifted with amusement. "I am go­ing to teach our friend Green a lesson he should have learned long ago. It is a variation on an old saying."

  "What old saying?"

  "The saying that when you are climbing up the ladder of success, you should never deliberately step on anyone's hands, because you may need them to help you when you are on your way down.''

  "What variation are you going to teach him?" Miguel asked, his eyes beginning to gleam with de­lighted anticipation.

  "Never make unnecessary enemies," Ramon an­swered. "And the lesson is going to cost him twelve million dollars."

  When the calls came through, Ramon pressed a button on his telephone that activated a speaker sys­tem so that both sides of the conversation were clear­ly audible to Miguel. Several of the conversations took place in French and Miguel struggled desper­ately to follow them, hampered by his rudimentary knowledge of a language Ramon spoke fluently. After the first four calls, however, Miguel had gath­ered enough of what was taking place to be utterly staggered.

  Each of the men Ramon talked to were major in­dustrialists whose companies either used or had used paint manufactured by Green's company. Each man treated Ramon with warm friendliness and listened with amusement as he briefly explained what he was trying to do. When each call was completed, Miguel was a little surprised to hear everyone of them ask if there was anything the
y could do to help Ramon in his "difficult circumstances," and in every case Ramon politely declined.

  "Ramon!" Miguel burst out when the fourth call was over at four-thirty in the afternoon. "Any one of those men could bail you out of this financial disaster you are in, and they all offered to help."

  Ramon shook his head. "It is a polite formality, nothing more. They offer to help, and it is under­stood that I will decline their offer. That is good business. You see," he said with a shadow of a smile, "we have all already learned the lesson Mr. Green is being taught.''

  Miguel could not suppress a chuckle. "If I fol­lowed those calls correctly, tomorrow the Paris press is going to report that their major automobile manufacturer had a problem with Green's paint fading on their test car, and has decided to use something else."

  Ramon went over to the liquor cabinet and poured drinks for himself and Miguel. "It is not quite as lethal to Green as it sounds to you. My friend in Paris had already told me he'd decided against using Green's paint because it was too ex­pensive; I was the one who had put him in touch with Green nine years ago. The problem with the fading paint was because it was incorrectly applied by his factory personnel, but of course he has no in­tention of mentioning that to the press."

  He carried the glasses over to Miguel and handed him his. "The farm-equipment manufacturer in Germany will wait one day after the Paris press an­nouncement before calling Green and threatening to cancel his order because of what he saw in the Paris press."

  Ramon shoved his hands in his pockets and grinned at Miguel, a cigar clamped between his white teeth. "Unfortunately for Green, his paint is no longer superior; other American manufacturers have since produced an equally good product. My friend in Tokyo will respond to the Paris press an­nouncement by stating to the Tokyo press that they have never used Green's paint so they have no trou­ble with their automobiles' finish fading.

  "On Thursday, Demetrios Vasiladis will call from Athens and cancel all orders for marine paint for all of his shipyards."

  Ramon took a swallow of his drink, sat down behind his desk and began loading papers into his briefcase that he would go over tonight after he left Katie.

  Intrigued, Miguel leaned forward on the edge of his chair. "And then what?"

  Ramon glanced up as if the matter had lost its interest. "Then it is anyone's guess. I expect that the other American paint manufacturers who make an equally good product will take up the sword and do their best to demolish Green in the American press. Depending upon how effective they are, the adverse publicity will probably drive down the value of Green's stock on the stock exchange."

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Early Thursday morning, Miguel was going over the financial statement he had prepared with Ra­mon, when Elise entered Ramon's office without her customary knock.

  "Excuse me," she said, her face pale and stony. "There is a man—a very rude man—on the tele­phone. I have told him twice that you cannot be interrupted, but as soon as I hang up the telephone he calls back and starts shouting at me again."

  "What does he want?" Ramon said impatiently.

  The secretary swallowed apprehensively. "He— he wants to talk to the dirty bastard who is trying to put some green paint down his drain. Do you—is that you?"

  Ramon's lips twitched. "I believe so. Put him through."

  Eagerly, Miguel leaned forward. Ramon flipped on the phone's external speaker, then relaxed back in his chair, picked up the financial statements he had been reading, and calmly continued to study them.

  Sidney Green's voice exploded through the room. "Galverra, you bastard! You're wasting your time, do you hear me? No matter what you do, I'm not paying one dime of that three million. Have you got that? No matter what you do!" When there was no response, Green shouted, "Say something, damn you!"

  "I admire your courage," Ramon drawled.

  "Is that your way of telling me you plan more guerrilla tactics? Is it? Are you threatening me, Galverra?"

  "I am certain I would never be so crude as to 'threaten' you, Sid," Ramon replied in a bland, pre­occupied voice.

  "Damn you, you are threatening me! Who the hell do you think you are?"

  "I think I am the bastard who is going to cost you twelve million dollars," Ramon said and, with that, he reached out a hand and disconnected the call.

  Katie quickly signed her name to the charge slip for one-half the cost of the furniture she had just purchased, then paid for the rest with some of the money Ramon had left for her. The salesclerk gave her an odd look when she asked for two receipts, each for one-half the actual amount of the purchase. Katie firmly ignored it, but Gabriella blushed and looked away.

  Outside, the temperature was deliciously warm, and tourists were strolling along the sun-drenched streets of Old San Juan. The car was parked at the curb; a battered but reliable old automobile that belonged to Gabriella's husband, and which he was allowing them to use for their shopping expeditions.

  "We're doing great," Katie sighed, rolling down her window to let the breeze into the stuffy car. It was Thursday already, the fourth day of their frenetic, but successful shopping spree, and she was happily exhausted. "I wish I could get over this feeling that there's something I'm forgetting, though," she mused, glancing over her shoulder at the two lamps and an end table that were crammed into the back seat. "There is."

  Gabriella's pretty face was concerned as she turned the key in the ignition and shot Katie a rueful smile. "You are forgetting to tell Ramon the truth about how much this is costing." She pulled into the stream of downtown San Juan traffic. "Katie, he will be very angry with you when he dis­covers what you have done."

  "He isn't going to discover it," Katie announced cheerfully. "I'm not going to tell him and you promised you wouldn't."

  "Of course I will not!" Gabriella said with a hurt look. "But Padre Gregorio has spoken many times on Sundays about the need for truth between a hus­band and—"

  "Oh, no!" Katie moaned aloud. "That's what I forgot." She leaned her head back and closed her eyes. "Today is Thursday, and at two o'clock this afternoon I was to meet with Padre Gregorio. Ra­mon made the arrangements on Tuesday and re­minded me this morning, but I completely forgot about it."

  "Do you want to see the padre now?" Gabriella offered an hour later as their car rattled into the village. "It is only four o'clock. Padre Gregorio will not be having his evening meal yet."

  Katie quickly shook her head. She had been think­ing all day about the picnic she and Ramon were going to have up at the cottage tonight. She was to bring the food up there where he was working with the other men. When the men left, Katie and Ramon were going to have a few hours alone—their first in the four days since she had arrived.

  When they reached Gabriella's house, Katie slid behind the steering wheel, waved goodbye to Gabriella, and turned the dilapidated old car back toward the village where she could stop in the general store for food and a bottle of wine for the picnic.

  These past four days had a strange, unreal quality for her. Ramon had been working at the farm in Mayaguez in the mornings, and at the cottage in the afternoons until it was dark, so she only saw him in the evenings. She spent her days shopping and plan­ning and choosing color schemes for Ramon's house with only her idea of Ramon's tastes to guide her. She felt as if she were on a vacation, earning her way by redecorating his house—rather than planning for her own home. Perhaps it was because he was so busy and she saw so little of him, and when they were together there were always other people near­by.

  Rafael and his sons were also working up at the cottage with Ramon, and at dinner every night the four men were cheerful, but plainly worn-out. Al­though Ramon lavished her with his attention in the evening, keeping her near him while they sat in the friendly atmosphere of Rafael's living room with the rest of his family, the "time and place to share ourselves with each other" so far had not presented itself.

  Each evening, Ramon walked her back to Gabri­ella's darkened house, led her
over to the sofa, and drew her down beside him.

  By now, Katie could hardly pass that sofa in the daylight without feeling her face grow warm. For three nights in a row, Ramon had tenderly stripped her of most of her clothing, aroused her until she could hardly stand it, gently dressed her again, walked her back to the bedroom, and silently bade her good-night with a final, passionate kiss. And each night Katie crawled beneath the cool sheets of her temporary bed in a state of aching, unfulfilled desire, which she was beginning to think was pre­cisely what Ramon intended her to feel. Yet there was no doubt in her mind that he was always more aroused then even she was, so it made no sense for him to put them both through this torture.

  Last night, in a welter of confusion and desire, Katie had taken matters into her own hands and volunteered to get the blanket from her bed so that they could go outdoors where there would be privacy and no fear of interruption.

  Ramon had gazed down at her with eyes like fiery black coals, his face hard and dark with passion. But he had reluctantly shaken his head. "The rain will interrupt us, Katie. It has been threatening for the last hour." Even as he spoke a flash of heat lightning cast an eerie glow through the room. But it had not rained.

  Tonight, no doubt, was the "time and place" he had been waiting for, Katie decided, and she was charged with anticipation. Katie pulled the car over in front of the general store and climbed out. Push­ing open the heavy door, she walked into the crowd­ed interior of the ancient building, blinking her eyes to adjust to the light.

  Besides doubling as the village post office, the general store stocked everything from flour and canned goods to bathing suits to inexpensive pieces of furniture. Stacks of merchandise covered the wooden floors with only a narrow aisle between them for customers to walk through. The counters were heaped with goods, as were the shelves high along all the walls. Without the assistance of some­one who worked there, it would have taken Katie and Gabriella weeks to dig their way through every­thing.