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Chapter Eight
Tomas, the Aragon’s personal chef, glanced over his shoulder as Maggie entered the kitchen. “You should use the proper rear entrance to the house.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to disturb you. Where is it?”
The man glanced upward in a silent prayer. “Adolfo, show her the door.”
Adolfo was a short, rotund young man who wiped off his hands and gestured for Maggie to follow. He exhaled in puffs as he hurried down the back hallway. They passed a small lounge where that day’s nurse was seated on the sofa, watching television. Adolfo stopped at a rear door located behind the central staircase. When he unlocked it and turned the knob, it was stuck fast.
“Thank you, Adolfo,” Maggie murmured. “It appears the door needs some attention.” She heard Mrs. Lopez’s furious little footsteps approaching and wasn’t surprised when Adolfo hurried away.
“He shouldn’t be out of the kitchen,” the housekeeper exclaimed. She grabbed the doorknob and gave the bottom of the door a swift kick to swing it open.
“I’ll remember that,” Maggie promised, “but how does one open the door from outside?”
Mrs. Lopez straightened to her full five feet in height. “Manuel will have it fixed by this afternoon.”
“Thank you.” The window by the door provided another stunning view of the sea and Maggie remained there until the housekeeper walked away. “Dance lessons,” she recalled. She went to find the twins and came across Santos sitting at the bottom of the stairs with his head in his hands.
He looked up. “Vida called me a bastard on her way up the stairs. I hope she falls and breaks both legs on her way down.” He stood and pulled a key from his pocket. “Don’t lose this, and be sure you give it back to me before you leave for home.”
“I will. Are we supposed to be using the door behind the stairs to enter the house from the beach?”
“No, it sticks. There’s another door that opens into the den, but then we track sand into the house and never hear the end of it. Walk through the kitchen as often as you like. It gives Tomas an opportunity to scold us, which is all we ever hear here.”
“I’m going to miss you, Santos,” Maggie admitted with a warm smile. “Do you know where the family photo albums are? I’d like to see what our grandfather looked like.”
“I’ll show you.” He rose, led her into the den and quickly found the leather-bound album on the shelf closest to the desk. “There are a few pictures of Augustín in this one, but most of his things are at the ranch. We should go out there tomorrow. It’s where I was born, and there’s a lot to see.”
“Yes, I’d like that.” She opened the scrapbook and found sepia-toned photographs of men and women in their best clothes. “Who are these people?”
“Our great-grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins; I can never keep everyone straight. Augustín is in the back. Here, let me show you.”
Maggie recognized him instantly as a slightly older version of their father and a very handsome man. “Did you know him?”
“I learned to stay out of his way,” Santos recalled. “Here he is before a fight.”
Maggie leaned close to study her grandfather’s expression. Despite his magnificent suit, he looked thoroughly mean, and she didn’t understand why he and Carmen hadn’t been perfect for each other. “He looks awfully tough.”
“Tough is a good word. Our father inherited his looks and talent, but he loves people and Augustín didn’t. Or maybe he couldn’t.”
The twins came in, swishing the long skirts they’d found in a guestroom closet. They snapped their fingers and twirled around Santos. “Are you never still?” he asked. “I’ll talk to Father later about going to the ranch. Do you two want to come along?”
The pair slid to a halt. “The ranch is all dusty,” Perry complained.
“And our ponies are gone,” Connie added.
“You’re too big for ponies now anyway,” he countered.
“Are you going?” they asked Maggie.
“Yes, I’d like to see the ranch while I’m here. Now, let’s practice dancing while you’re dressed for it.”
They walked out to the entryway and went through the steps she’d taught them, with Santos softly clapping the rhythm. Maggie understood they ought not to make too much noise, but Cirilda soon interrupted them with a message for the twins.
“Your mother wants to speak with you. Use the telephone in the den.” She went to the doorway to listen to the girls’ side of the conversation. Maggie and Santos could hear their excited shrieks from where they stood.
Perry handed the telephone to her sister and yelled, “Our agent has some print ads lined up for us, and we may get to model in one of Donatella Versace’s shows!”
