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He kicked my bench. “Stopthat.”
I fluttered my eyelashes, the picture of wide-eyed sweetness. “Isn’t this what you’re looking for? I’m returning your flirtation.”
“The hell you are,” he snapped. “Say one more idiotic thing to me and I’m telling our driver to take us back to Shepheard’s.”
I relaxed against my seat, laughing.
Mr. Hayes didn’t say another word to me for the rest of the ride.
CAPÍTULO NUEVE
Whenever Mamá came home to Buenos Aires, she took me out for tea at the earliest opportunity. It was just the two of us, sitting across from each other as waiters delivered a steaming pot and matching porcelain cups, along with pastries dusted in sugar and coconut flakes. She would look me over, catalogue how much I’d grown, observe my pretty manners. She wanted to know everything that had happened while she was away. The gossip, news about our neighbors, and especially my aunt’s treatment of me.
Which I grudgingly admitted to being doting.
It was my favorite time with her. I knew she was happy to see me, in the same way I was desperate for her, too. She would laugh and smile as she recounted the trip, and I could have eaten every word with a spoon. But as time went on, days turned into months, her smiles dimmed, and I knew it was because life in Argentina,ourlife, wasn’t enough.
She missed Egypt. They both did.
As we neared the patisserie, an ache for my parents unfurled. I would give anything to sit across from my mother again, to hear her voice, to have her easel next to mine, the pair of us painting side by side.
Groppi’s stately entrance, made of gray stone and pristine glass, loomed at the corner of a busy intersection. Inside, colorful tiles laid in a unique pattern decorated the floor. The buttery scent of fresh-made croissants and nutty coffee wafted into my nose. Mr. Hayes acquired a small round table near the back of the busy establishment. Some of the same faces I’d seen in the lobby of the hotel stared back at me. There was the partyof Englishwomen enjoying ice cream, and the foppish American sitting by himself over at the next table, accompanied by his faithful briefcase. Effendis chatted among friends, sipping strong coffee and nibbling on cookies. Curious gazes watched us as we sat down together. I wore no ring on my finger, and a chaperone wasn’t trailing after me like the long train of a wedding dress.
“Hark! I believe I see the remnants of my reputation being blown to smithereens.”
“You asked for it.” Mr. Hayes peered at me from above the edge of the menu. He sat across from me, facing the door. His attention flickered around the room, onto the sheet of paper in his hands, to the entrance, and then to the other patrons dining.
I shrugged. “I’m not from your part of the world, though I certainly know all about theton,and their regimented rules for young ladies. Maybe gossip will travel across the ocean to Argentina, but I hardly doubt it. I’m not really part of society yet. None of the people here know who I am.”
“Easy enough to discover your identity,” Mr. Hayes countered. “People make discreet inquiries all the time. Letters reach the four corners of the world.”
“Then allow me to repeat myself,” I said softly. “Since my parents’ disappearance, I don’t give a damn.”
He settled back against the chair and regarded me quietly. “Have I told you how sorry I am?”
I shook my head.
“They were fine people and I truly cared for them.” There was no smirk hidden in the line of his mouth or the depth of his eyes. He gazed at me from the other side of the wall he’d erected, completely unguarded. I never dreamed I’d see him look so… earnest.
“When was the last time you’d seen them?”
My question shattered the moment. He shifted in his chair, visibly retreating. His voice came out clipped. “A few days before they disappeared.”
“How did they seem to you?”
Mr. Hayes folded his arms. “Why put yourself through hell? They’re gone, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
I flinched. Not one minute ago, I would have expected his flippant remarks. I would have been prepared for his elusive conversation that went nowhere. But then he let me see the man behind his charming smirk. He’d been kind and sympathetic.
His abrupt change wounded me.
“If it were your family, wouldn’t you want to know?”
Mr. Hayes dropped his gaze to the table. His lashes were thick, resting against his cheeks like outstretched wings. “Yes, I would.”
He didn’t say more than that. The waiter came by our small table and took our order; coffee for me, tea for Mr. Hayes. He ordered the chocolate-covered dates and two buttery croissants stuffed with Chantilly cream.
Mr. Hayes began talking about Groppi. He had plenty to say about the establishment, how most of the staff were multilingual, and how in the kitchens you’d find world-class pastry chefs. He pointed out several customers. Some were Egyptian politicians, ministers and the like, others renowned tourists. The place certainly seemed to house Cairo’s upper society: Pashas, beys, effendis, well-heeled tourists, and foreign dignitaries.
