seemed tense.
"Why don't we fly along the coastline?" he suggested. "The scenery there is impressive. While you're teaching me to fly, I can show you some of the sights of my beautiful country."
It seemed a reasonable request. "Okay," she agreed. "But keep the plane level. You're climbing."
"Yes, seňorita," he said with a hint of mocking deference.
They flew in silence for a while. Del Toro seemed lost in thought and JoNell was occupied with checking on the plane's flight and occasionally glancing down at the scenery which was indeed impressive. The mountains and tangled jungle terrain had given way to coastal desert plains and sparkling white beaches. From the air, the Pacific was a deep emerald.
Suddenly Del Toro said quietly, "You are a most competent flying instructor, seňorita. You inspire confidence. Again I must apologize for my rude behavior yesterday. I am glad you persuaded me to allow you to give me the flying lessons."
He caught her completely off guard. Had he made some kind of crude pass, tried to put his hand on her knee, or made a remark filled with sexual implications, she would have immediately known how to respond. She was prepared for
that
. But his apologetic, friendly manner left her speechless.
"Are you no longer angry with me for my rudeness when you first arrived?" he asked in English.
"N—no," she stammered, not knowing in her confusion what she felt at the moment.
Then he said, switching to Spanish, "I must tell you, seňorita, that you took my breath away when you appeared at my humble dinner last night. I had trouble believing the little girl with the braids and tennis shoes was the same stunning sophisticated woman who graced my dinner table. Now I can hold back my thoughts no longer. I must tell you how beautiful you are."
With that, JoNell's thoughts were jolted back to reality. The confused warmth she had momentarily felt at his distractingly sincere apology was dispelled by a flow of ice water through her veins. She almost felt relief that he was back in character, the compulsive Latin wolf. As she had expected, the inevitable had happened. Alone with a young woman in this isolated situation, he just couldn't resist making an obligatory pass at her. And how typical to do it in Spanish, a more romantic and flowery language!
Now her defenses were in place. "Yes, I know," she said coldly, and in English. "Everyone tells me so. So I'm afraid it really doesn't flatter me to hear you say it as much as you might hope."
"You are still angry. And you mock me unmercifully to show it."
"Unmercifully, seňor? Not nearly so unmercifully as you mock a trail of women that you left with broken hearts. I'm quite afraid I know all about you and your reputation with women. Unfortunately for you, I am impervious to your charms."
He chuckled softly, joining her in speaking in English now. "Surely you do not believe all the romantic gossip you hear about a rich man? I am single, JoNell. Yes, I have known some women—but not nearly so many as the gossips would like to believe or the scandal magazines invent to sell their papers. But you must believe I am sincere when I say that none of the women I have known was like you. You were like a breath of fresh air coming into my life when you stepped out of this plane yesterday."
Again she was confused, her thoughts scattered. Her breath had caught in her throat when he used her first name.
For a reason she couldn't define, her relationship with Del Toro took on a subtle new dimension. What the use of her first name had to do with it, she didn't know, except that he was less formal with her now. It had put them on a different footing, an intimacy that she did not wish to develop between her and the notorious Jorge Del Toro, and she didn't know how to put her feelings in reverse to back out of the situation.
"Of course your women were not like me," she retorted. "They were all rich. I am middle class." Consuelo had pronounced her of the common class. It
"Why don't we fly along the coastline?" he suggested. "The scenery there is impressive. While you're teaching me to fly, I can show you some of the sights of my beautiful country."
It seemed a reasonable request. "Okay," she agreed. "But keep the plane level. You're climbing."
"Yes, seňorita," he said with a hint of mocking deference.
They flew in silence for a while. Del Toro seemed lost in thought and JoNell was occupied with checking on the plane's flight and occasionally glancing down at the scenery which was indeed impressive. The mountains and tangled jungle terrain had given way to coastal desert plains and sparkling white beaches. From the air, the Pacific was a deep emerald.
Suddenly Del Toro said quietly, "You are a most competent flying instructor, seňorita. You inspire confidence. Again I must apologize for my rude behavior yesterday. I am glad you persuaded me to allow you to give me the flying lessons."
He caught her completely off guard. Had he made some kind of crude pass, tried to put his hand on her knee, or made a remark filled with sexual implications, she would have immediately known how to respond. She was prepared for
that
. But his apologetic, friendly manner left her speechless.
"Are you no longer angry with me for my rudeness when you first arrived?" he asked in English.
"N—no," she stammered, not knowing in her confusion what she felt at the moment.
Then he said, switching to Spanish, "I must tell you, seňorita, that you took my breath away when you appeared at my humble dinner last night. I had trouble believing the little girl with the braids and tennis shoes was the same stunning sophisticated woman who graced my dinner table. Now I can hold back my thoughts no longer. I must tell you how beautiful you are."
With that, JoNell's thoughts were jolted back to reality. The confused warmth she had momentarily felt at his distractingly sincere apology was dispelled by a flow of ice water through her veins. She almost felt relief that he was back in character, the compulsive Latin wolf. As she had expected, the inevitable had happened. Alone with a young woman in this isolated situation, he just couldn't resist making an obligatory pass at her. And how typical to do it in Spanish, a more romantic and flowery language!
Now her defenses were in place. "Yes, I know," she said coldly, and in English. "Everyone tells me so. So I'm afraid it really doesn't flatter me to hear you say it as much as you might hope."
"You are still angry. And you mock me unmercifully to show it."
"Unmercifully, seňor? Not nearly so unmercifully as you mock a trail of women that you left with broken hearts. I'm quite afraid I know all about you and your reputation with women. Unfortunately for you, I am impervious to your charms."
He chuckled softly, joining her in speaking in English now. "Surely you do not believe all the romantic gossip you hear about a rich man? I am single, JoNell. Yes, I have known some women—but not nearly so many as the gossips would like to believe or the scandal magazines invent to sell their papers. But you must believe I am sincere when I say that none of the women I have known was like you. You were like a breath of fresh air coming into my life when you stepped out of this plane yesterday."
Again she was confused, her thoughts scattered. Her breath had caught in her throat when he used her first name.
For a reason she couldn't define, her relationship with Del Toro took on a subtle new dimension. What the use of her first name had to do with it, she didn't know, except that he was less formal with her now. It had put them on a different footing, an intimacy that she did not wish to develop between her and the notorious Jorge Del Toro, and she didn't know how to put her feelings in reverse to back out of the situation.
"Of course your women were not like me," she retorted. "They were all rich. I am middle class." Consuelo had pronounced her of the common class. It
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