Heaven Is High by Kate Wilhelm Page B

students facing an oral exam they had not prepared for. Santos was tall and slender, dressed in a fawn-colored silk shirt and close-fitting trousers of the same color. He reminded Barbara of pictures she had seen of the conquistadors, with sharply chiseled features and a rather haughty, disdainful expression. His hair was brown and wavy, with a strand on his forehead in what looked like a carefully arranged coif, as if he expected the photographer to pose him along with the orchids and had assumed the right appearance, the right expression, the right hairdo.
    Barbara knew he had to be in his sixties, but his demeanor, his stance, everything about him was youthful.
    At the table, Ronstadt introduced Barbara and David to Julius Santos. He bowed deeply to her.
    â€œI am charmed, Ms. Holloway, to have the opportunity to meet such a lovely photographic assistant. Please, join us. May I offer you a cool drink? A mixture of local fruit juices? Lemonade? Iced tea?” His voice was velvety smooth, seductive. And his eyes were as cold as black ice, Barbara thought.
    â€œThank you, but no,” she said. “I understand our time is limited.”
    â€œIt will go faster if she assists me,” David said. Then to Barbara, he said, “Ready to go to work?”
    â€œIn my country a man would be considered very foolish to rush to conclude any activity that involves such a lovely companion,” Santos said, continuing to focus his attention on Barbara. “But as you wish. I’m sure Dr. Ronstadt will offer every assistance possible. He is our expert.”
    â€œReady,” Barbara said, placing her beach bag on the floor near the verandah rail. “I’m really eager to see more of the orchids.” She nodded to Santos and turned away, aware that he was continuing to watch her.
    â€œDr. Ronstadt,” David said as they started to walk down the verandah, “why don’t we begin with the ones you consider the most beautiful or the most startling, something like that.”
    â€œGood, good,” Ronstadt said, smiling even more broadly. “My own favorites. Of course, that’s a difficult task, to pick favorites. I daresay parents would voice the same objection in having to choose the favored child, but we do have favorites, don’t we? Built-in prejudices, largely unconscious ones.”
    â€œWe won’t need the scientific names,” David said. “These shots are for a brochure, just an indication of the beauty and variety. I’d like pictures of at least half a dozen individual orchids, and several more general shots of the verandah, to show the whole, overwhelming effect of so many rare flowers in one place.”
    The orchids were incredible, Barbara was thinking as they walked and David and Ronstadt talked about the photo shoot, the best way to get the effect David wanted. She had nothing to contribute, and examined the verandah and the stunning array of flowers. They were in hanging pots that looked ridiculously small for the number of leaves and the blooms. They were on the verandah railing, and in pots on the floor. Dazzling colors, with strong whiffs of perfume now and again, flowers growing in sprays, uprights, in sizes ranging from no bigger than her little fingernail to mammoth blooms eight inches from top to bottom, or even larger.
    Even as she admired the display, she was aware that behind some sliding glass doors to the verandah, men were standing, keeping an eye on them. Maybe they were afraid David would pull a gun from his bag and start shooting, she thought. Or maybe they suspected she might try to steal a bloom, or a whole plant.
    â€œThis is a special flower,” Ronstadt said, stopping to indicate a hanging orchid that at first glance looked almost transparent. One of the single large blooms, it was a pale violet pink, with two parallel streaks of bright red on the petals.
    â€œWe’ll start with it,” David said. He opened his case and