“You should change,” Perla said. “You’ll catch a chill.”
She was right. Despite the temperate climate, the rain felt like ice on his back. He hurried up the stairs and peeled off his clothes, changing into a dry shirt and trousers. Then he combed his hair and went downstairs again. He heard music coming from the sitting room and headed there.
Perla had also changed and was at the piano. He stood next to her, and she continued her playing. Chopin. At last, her hands stilled, and she looked at him.
“Brava,” he said.
“Thank you,” she said primly.
“You must have had a good music teacher.”
“I did. My father thought it was important that we learn music, he said ladies of quality played the piano. Not that it matters nowadays. People are more likely to want to listen to the radio.”
“Yet you remain a lady of quality.”
She didn’t smile with her mouth, but he could tell she was pleased by his words. “Of course.”
“Although, to be perfectly frank, I’m not certain I know how to behave myself around a lady of quality,” he said, with an open and friendly look that edged on the guileless. “They’re difficult to find these days.”
“This is true. But then, young women are not properly educated. When we were growing up, we had a governess who spoke perfect French. Our mother inculcated in us correct manners. TheManual de Carreñowas second only to the Bible. We were taught respect for our elders, love for our country, and the decorum necessary to inhabit polite society.”
“You were taught well, I’m sure.”
“Absolutely.”
“I had the impression, from the moment I arrived, that you belonged to one of the best families in town.”
“There was hardly a better one, when I was a girl. My sister and I, we were treated like princesses, and my brother was a prince.”
I’m sure you were a spoiled, stuck-up brat,he thought, but he spoke softly. “They died, you said. Long ago?”
“Yes. Inés has been my charge for many years now. I do what I can for her, but she’s not as rigorously educated as we were. The war did much damage, not only to the finances of the best families of Puerco Ahogado, but to the moral fiber of this nation. Inés thinks more about sewing pretty dresses than her prayers. And yet she is my niece and my ward.”
“My father told me the same thing—may he rest in peace.” Ulises made the sign of the cross. “He said that the Revolution coarsened the nation.”
“It’s true, sadly. When I was young the world was made of a different kind of material.”
“You’re still young.”
“No. Not for ages now.”
She sounded as serious as a Mother Superior and twice as dull as she spoke with her thin, bloodless lips, her fine hair pulled back from her face. Nevertheless, he smiled and caught her hand, pressing a kiss against the back of it as gently as Romeo with his Juliet.
“Dear lady, you must forgive me for my impertinence and permit me this caress,” he said, and he looked into her eyes.
He thought she’d melt at that. Instead, her face seemed to harden. No maidenly blush colored her cheeks. She stood up, looking aggrieved, and withdrew from the room. He was left in utter shock.
Inés’s words rang in his head, mockingly.I told you to give it a try.
—
He hardly slept that night, replaying the events of the previous day; he was going to develop dark circles under his eyes from living in thishouse. The fiasco of a trip in the car with the whistling driver, the bland conversation in the sitting room, and Perla’s dignified refusal. How could he have bungled it? He’d hardly done anything! Maybe that was the problem. He wasn’t doing enough.
Whatcouldhe do, though? Normally he would have taken his time reeling the woman in, learning more about her predilections and her dreams. But money had been darn tight, and after the debacle with the widow he was desperate. He’d exchanged a handful of letters with Perla. What seemed to have clinched his invitation to the guesthouse had been his photograph.
He was handsome, but the lack of information on his target was causing serious issues. A pretty face was not enough for an important job. Once again, he scoured Perla’s letters, trying to discern more about her. But they were bland and devoid of details. He rubbed his temples, hardly ate a morsel of the eggs that constituted his breakfast. The coffee was bitter, while the toast was burned at the edges.
Maybe he should read the broadsheet to distract himself. But the newspaper wasn’t in his room, even though Inés had promised it would be brought to him each morning with his breakfast.
