was a term JoNell could not bring herself to use. Maybe to Jorge Del Toro she was of the common class. But she had a fierce pride that refused to accept Consuelo's definition.
"That's part of your attraction," said Del Toro.
JoNell bristled. Perhaps Consuelo was right! Del Toro's interest in her could be because of her background. She was a challenge to him, a new type of woman he had not toyed with before. Maybe he would find it amusing to sample a woman far beneath his station just for curiosity's sake.
"There is something different about you that is very appealing," he continued.
"It's called poverty!" she said tartly.
"Now I've offended you again. I'm truly sorry. I didn't mean it the way you took it."
"I understand what you meant, all right," JoNell said hotly. "You Latin men are all alike. Don't think because I'm from the United States, I'm ignorant of your ways. I grew up around Cubans. I know how Latin men flatter women. But it means nothing. Now, let's change the topic, shall we? I'm supposed to be giving you flying lessons, not listening to you tell me how gorgeous I am."
A black mustache twitched above a lip drawn tight between upper and lower teeth. But he did not pursue the matter any further.
JoNell had mixed feelings. True, Del Toro was a philanderer, but it was flattering nevertheless to have one of the richest, most powerful and handsome men in Peru tell her she was beautiful. A woman would have to be dead not to enjoy hearing it, even when she knew it was a pack of lies. Still, it was a dangerous game to play, enjoying that kind of flattery even for a moment, so she swept the temptation from her mind and concentrated on flying the airplane.
"Could we land on the beach below?" Del Toro suddenly asked.
"I don't know. Why would you want to do that?"
"I have something I wish to show you."
"What?" she asked suspiciously.
He smiled mysteriously. "Please. It is something I would like very much to show you. But would it be safe to land here?"
"It might be. Some beaches are smooth and hard packed, just like a runway. Let's take a closer look."
She took the controls from him. The plane banked and made a low, swooping pass over the beach. JoNell gauged the surface of the beach with a critical eye, and noticed the direction the wind was blowing the tree leaves. She bit her lip. "It looks safe enough. No driftwood or gulleys that I can see."
Del Toro nodded. "I am sure it is a good beach for landing. I have friends who fly here often to fish. They have never had any difficulty landing their planes."
"Then I guess it's okay."
She banked the plane and approached the beach again. "The wind is coming off the water. Normally, if at all possible, you land a plane into the wind. But here the wind is coming from the side, so we'll come in at an angle, sort of sideways. We call it 'crabbing' into the wind."
She spoke in as impersonal a tone as she could manage as the sparkling beach loomed before them. "You land with the power off and then use it only to control the plane." Slender fingers gripped the throttle tightly and eased it back with a control born of long experience. Had JoNell not been so expert at her maneuvers, she surely would have given Del Toro a rough landing. That was how unsettling his presence was.
"The key to a successful landing is feeling when the plane is ready to settle to the ground," JoNell explained in concise tones.
The plane descended in a smooth, controlled glide. The roar of the engine subsided as the power waned.
JoNell kept her eyes straight ahead as she explained each succeeding move. "You must line yourself up with the runway—in this case, that hard packed stretch of beach. Now put your hands on your set of controls and follow through. As we near the landing surface, pull back on the stick, like this. Watch out your side window. Keep looking at the ground. Feet on the rudders. Keep pulling back on the stick. Think of trying to hold the plane off the ground as long as
"That's part of your attraction," said Del Toro.
JoNell bristled. Perhaps Consuelo was right! Del Toro's interest in her could be because of her background. She was a challenge to him, a new type of woman he had not toyed with before. Maybe he would find it amusing to sample a woman far beneath his station just for curiosity's sake.
"There is something different about you that is very appealing," he continued.
"It's called poverty!" she said tartly.
"Now I've offended you again. I'm truly sorry. I didn't mean it the way you took it."
"I understand what you meant, all right," JoNell said hotly. "You Latin men are all alike. Don't think because I'm from the United States, I'm ignorant of your ways. I grew up around Cubans. I know how Latin men flatter women. But it means nothing. Now, let's change the topic, shall we? I'm supposed to be giving you flying lessons, not listening to you tell me how gorgeous I am."
A black mustache twitched above a lip drawn tight between upper and lower teeth. But he did not pursue the matter any further.
JoNell had mixed feelings. True, Del Toro was a philanderer, but it was flattering nevertheless to have one of the richest, most powerful and handsome men in Peru tell her she was beautiful. A woman would have to be dead not to enjoy hearing it, even when she knew it was a pack of lies. Still, it was a dangerous game to play, enjoying that kind of flattery even for a moment, so she swept the temptation from her mind and concentrated on flying the airplane.
"Could we land on the beach below?" Del Toro suddenly asked.
"I don't know. Why would you want to do that?"
"I have something I wish to show you."
"What?" she asked suspiciously.
He smiled mysteriously. "Please. It is something I would like very much to show you. But would it be safe to land here?"
"It might be. Some beaches are smooth and hard packed, just like a runway. Let's take a closer look."
She took the controls from him. The plane banked and made a low, swooping pass over the beach. JoNell gauged the surface of the beach with a critical eye, and noticed the direction the wind was blowing the tree leaves. She bit her lip. "It looks safe enough. No driftwood or gulleys that I can see."
Del Toro nodded. "I am sure it is a good beach for landing. I have friends who fly here often to fish. They have never had any difficulty landing their planes."
"Then I guess it's okay."
She banked the plane and approached the beach again. "The wind is coming off the water. Normally, if at all possible, you land a plane into the wind. But here the wind is coming from the side, so we'll come in at an angle, sort of sideways. We call it 'crabbing' into the wind."
She spoke in as impersonal a tone as she could manage as the sparkling beach loomed before them. "You land with the power off and then use it only to control the plane." Slender fingers gripped the throttle tightly and eased it back with a control born of long experience. Had JoNell not been so expert at her maneuvers, she surely would have given Del Toro a rough landing. That was how unsettling his presence was.
"The key to a successful landing is feeling when the plane is ready to settle to the ground," JoNell explained in concise tones.
The plane descended in a smooth, controlled glide. The roar of the engine subsided as the power waned.
JoNell kept her eyes straight ahead as she explained each succeeding move. "You must line yourself up with the runway—in this case, that hard packed stretch of beach. Now put your hands on your set of controls and follow through. As we near the landing surface, pull back on the stick, like this. Watch out your side window. Keep looking at the ground. Feet on the rudders. Keep pulling back on the stick. Think of trying to hold the plane off the ground as long as
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