Chapter 1 #4
She brushed a hand against the top button of her blouse, as if making sure it had not come undone, and when she looked at him again, her composure had returned.
“Some accident befell you?” she asked.
“Pardon me?” he replied.
“Your jacket,” she said, and plucked a cigarette from a case.
“That,” he said, standing up and lighting it for her with a leisurely swagger that drew an admiring glance from the girl, who was watching them with interest. He laughed. “A child was eating ice cream at the station and bumped straight into me. I don’t know if I’ll ever get the stain out.”
Perla made a gesture with a hand and her niece handed her a glass ashtray. The aunt had beautiful hands, dainty and well shaped; the niece’s nails were broken, her hands rougher. “They’ve taken your things to the room?” Perla asked.
“Yes, thank you.”
“It’s a large room, though I’m afraid it doesn’t have its own bathroom. There’s one down the hallway, close enough. But otherwise it’s a good room, very elegant.”
“I’m sure it is. You have a lovely home.”
“Thank you. My father decorated it to suit his taste. He cultivated coffee. He was Osorio Inclán of the Inclán Coffee Company. Have you heard of it?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“It was a long time ago. No need to trouble you with the details of the family’s history,” she said, although she sounded disappointed, as if he ought to have known about forgotten coffee barons.
There was a furious scratching at the door and then the dog barked, wanting to be let in. The young woman rushed to the door and opened it a crack, muttering to the animal, while Perla threw an irritated look in her direction. Then the door was clapped shut and the girl turned around.
“He’s hungry,” she said. “I should feed him.”
“How can it be hungry? Doesn’t Estrella feed that animal ten times a day?”
“But it’s her day off today.”
“Fito would have fed it, then. You wait here, I’ll need you in a minute.”
“I’ll be quick.”
“Sit down. And do not tap your foot.”
The young woman sat down, slouching, her eyes downcast. In contrast, Perla Inclán sat straight, her hands primly in her lap.
She reminded him of an etiquette teacher, the kind of woman who made girls walk around a room with books atop their heads to improve their posture and rapped their knuckles when they misbehaved.
Sitting in front of her, he felt younger than his twenty-nine years.
He wondered if he didn’t look younger too.
Boyish. He’d added years to his true age to seem more presentable, but he wasn’t sure he’d succeed in the ruse, silver hairs or not.
“Mr. Linares, as I was saying, you have a very good, very handsome room, although it lacks a bathroom. We serve three meals a day, six days a week. I’m afraid your arrival on a Sunday means the maids and the houseboy have the day off, although Fito was good enough to fetch you from the station on this occasion.
We do not open the dining room on Sundays.
The lodgers all know not to eat here on this day.
Nevertheless, I asked the cook to leave a dish for you, thinking you might be hungry.
Inés will find fresh bread and bring it up to your room. ”
Her tone was growing so aloof that he began to wonder if he had misinterpreted her letters. She was acting like he was more an inopportune visitor than a cherished guest. This was not the lover’s welcome he’d pictured.
“That would be lovely. Perhaps we might have a drink before dinner?” he asked. “I make a delightful martini.”
He didn’t see a bar cart or a decanter anywhere in the living room, but he imagined some form of spirits might be had in this house. But Perla looked at him with a raised eyebrow, almost as if she wished to scoff.
“We have sherry after dinner, and the odd glass of wine. And on evenings when I organize a tertulia we might have drinks. But we wouldn’t have martinis on a Sunday.”
“Sherry after dinner would be fine, then,” he said, and he smiled, but Perla brushed a hand against the crucifix. Her gaze was cool, self-possessed.
“Inés helps us with the laundry. I imagine you’ll want your jacket washed and ironed. You can hand it to her. She’ll get that stain out. Any loose buttons or hems that you might need, she can handle them.”
“Thank you.”
“Inés, show Mr. Linares his room and find that bread,” Perla said, and she took a long drag of her cigarette and looked at a corner of the room, dismissing them both with a cutting tilt of her head.
“Mr. Linares,” the young woman said.
He followed her, the dissatisfaction he’d felt since arriving in town increasing with each of his steps.
Nevertheless, he catalogued every piece of furniture with his eyes, estimated the price of the clock on the wall, totaled the numbers, and the figure he came up with was not altogether dispiriting.
The girl climbed the stairs ahead of him. He took note of her bare, shapely legs before she pushed a door open and ushered him into the Butterfly Room.
It was, as Perla Inclán had promised, a large room, bereft of wallpaper or color on its walls, with a bed, a wardrobe, and a table upon which had been set a mirror with a crack running down its middle and a washbasin.
Half a dozen shadow boxes filled with pinned butterflies served as décor, likely giving the room its name.
His luggage had been left by the side of the bed.
The windows were open; a breeze stirred the thin muslin curtains.
He measured everything by sight, attempting to determine whether this place was worth his time.
When he turned around, the young woman was leaning against the doorway, looking at him with those inquisitive, skeptical eyes.
She was a tad unnerving. He felt as if she were analyzing him as carefully as he was taking the measure of the house.
“Take off your jacket,” the girl said, and for a second he was dumbfounded. It sounded like the demand you’d make of a lover.
“Oh, yes,” he said, remembering the stain.
Clumsily he shrugged out of the jacket and handed it to her.
She folded it over her arm. “I’ll bring your supper in a bit.”
“Wait one minute, please,” he said, and she stopped and nodded. “May I ask how many guests are staying here?”
“Manuela and Eduviges Zorrilla. And Professor Nepomuceno.”
“Three people? I thought there’d be more lodgers.”