Parlor Games: A Novel Part 28

So much for our plan." I walked to my hotel-room window and gazed absently down on the avenue. Spare-branched treetops stood inert in the breezeless sky. Beneath their boughs, suited men, perhaps officials from nearby offices, and the occasional woman sauntered along, all of them probably making their way to a midday meal. My stomach rumbled; I smoothed a hand over it. Hungry as I was, I had to think.

I glanced over my shoulder at Philip and Saskia. They sat side by side on the couch, hunkered over their knees and staring at the floor.

"All this way," said Philip. "And for what?"

Saskia draped her hand over Philip's shoulder and muttered something in Dutch.

I strode before them and stood akimbo. "From what little I understand, the Diaz government isn't above striking back-door deals."

Philip looked up at me. Early afternoon's bright light deepened the creases between his eyebrows and the wrinkles tugging at his mouth. He shook his head. "True, but it is not easy to penetrate their circle."

"We mustn't give up yet." I'd set out to help Philip with this business matter, and I was determined to succeed.

Philip leaned back on the couch and looked up at me. "The announcement won't be made until Friday," he said, a hint of hopefulness lifting the end of his sentence.

Saskia allowed herself the glimmer of a smile. "If anyone can solve this problem, it's May."

"I must manage an audience with Secretary Elvira Perez," I said. Grabbing my hat from the dresser, I rushed to the door. "If you'll excuse me, Florence Walker has business to conduct."

When I got to the National Palace, I found the door to the Secretary's office locked. I walked around the second-floor rectangle twice, trying the door each pa.s.s. When, on my third go-round, I spotted Mr. Lopez alvarez unlocking the door, I hurried to let myself in.

"Senor, do you mind if I wait and see if the Secretary can spare a few minutes?"

"I doubt he will be available, senorita, but you may stay."

I sank onto the red sofa against the wall perpendicular to his desk. Although I wished to strike a friendly note with Mr. Lopez alvarez, I simply couldn't summon the energy for conversation. Arranging my skirt comfortably over my knees and legs, my hands on my lap, and my spine flat against the sofa, I endeavored to rest my body and compose my thoughts. Once Mr. Lopez alvarez's absorption in his work exceeded his interest in my presence, I even closed my eyes.

Not an hour later, a man in a sand-beige suit rushed in. He glanced at me as he pa.s.sed and then greeted Mr. Lopez alvarez by his first name. After that, they spoke rapidly in Spanish. Although I could not comprehend the content of their brief discussion, I discerned that the visitor, who threw up his hands as he hustled off, left disappointed.

I looked inquiringly at Cesar.

"You see," he said, "not even his son can get in."

"His son." I slanted my head in thoughtfulness. "I believe my a.s.sociate met him last year. I've forgotten his name."

"It is Alonso Elvira Alamo."

I rose. "Yes, that's it. I really should convey my regards. If you'll excuse me."

I bolted out of the office and headed down the hall to the stairway, lifting my skirt enough so I could lengthen my stride to a trot. There he was, rounding the corner at the bottom of the stairs.

I bounded down the steps on the b.a.l.l.s of my feet-to keep my heels from clacking on the marble stairs. As he opened the main door, I called out, "Senor Elvira Alamo."

He pivoted around. "Si?"

He stood stock-still, his compact five-seven-ish frame centered in the doorway. Bright light glowed around his head, sun-blinding me to his expression. Had I surprised him? Was he annoyed?

A million tiny sunbursts sparked before my eyes. My legs wobbled like rubber. Then I fainted.

Moist fingertips dabbed my cheeks. I fluttered my eyes open to find myself lying on the red couch in the Secretary's office. Mr. Elvira Alamo knelt beside me, spritzing my face with water, and Cesar stood beside him, gazing down on me.

"Senorita," said Cesar, "you are well?"

Mr. Elvira Alamo swiftly withdrew his hand, as if he'd been caught at an uninvited intimacy, and asked, "Shall I get a doctor?"

His voice, as fluid and sonorous as a cello, calmed me. He fixed his chocolate-brown eyes on me in an expression concentrated with concern. He had an oval face, with a refined brow and gently sloping nose, and his black hair coiled against his skull in a ma.s.s of curls-reminiscent of a bust of Apollo. I flushed at the realization that he had carried me here. Lifting myself up on my elbows, I said, "No, no, it's the alt.i.tude, that's all."

Mr. Elvira Alamo rattled some command to Cesar, who rushed out. He offered his hand. "Are you able to sit up?"

I gripped his smooth, dry palm and righted myself. "Forgive me for inconveniencing you. I'll be fine."

Mr. Elvira Alamo rose from his knees and seated himself beside me. "You have just arrived here?"

"Yes, late yesterday." I blinked from dizziness and slouched forward. My limbs tingled with weakness. The spasm in my hollow stomach reminded me: I was voraciously hungry.

"Where are you from?"

"Michigan. I've come to see your father on business."

Mr. Elvira Alamo chuckled. "First you must rest. I will take you to your hotel."

Cesar returned with a gla.s.s of water. I gulped every drop, relis.h.i.+ng its coolness coating my tongue, coursing down my throat, and pooling in the pit of my stomach.

"Thank you. I needed that."

Mr. Elvira Alamo escorted me down the stairs to the street and signaled for a carriage.

He helped me into the compartment and sat across from me. "Are you feeling any better?"

"Yes, a little. I've overexerted myself."

"Do you have any traveling companions?"

I smoothed my thumb over the inside of my bare ring finger, a.s.sured by the absence of my wedding ring. And I knew no one could have seen me with Philip and Saskia. "No, I'm here alone."

"Then you must allow me to stay with you. Until you are sure you do not need a doctor."

"No, really. I don't want to bother you."

"I insist," he said. "You are a guest in my country."

At the moment, I could think of little other than food. "Then, if you would allow me to buy you a meal, I would be grateful for the company."

But Mr. Elvira Alamo objected when I requested the bill for our afternoon luncheon, which turned into a relaxed, indulgent affair. "You are in Mexico, senorita. The man pays here. And we are not finished. You must try our special coffee drink, with chocolate."

"What a lovely meal," I said, waving my hand over the table. "The ceviche, the pambazos. Everything."

The sun slanted under the eave of our west-facing window, intensifying the ocher reds and yellows of our sc.r.a.ped-clean plates. The satisfaction of a meal much needed and agreeable company to pa.s.s it with suffused me.

Mr. Elvira Alamo looped his arm over the back of his chair. "You were hungry, si?"

I nodded. "I couldn't have asked for a better introduction to Mexican cuisine, Mr. Elvira Alamo."

"Por favor, you will call me Alonso."

"Then I am Florence."

"And how long are you visiting, Florence?"

"At least as long as my business takes. I must meet with your father."

"He is not an easy man to see."

"I have an appointment next week, but I'd hoped to see him sooner."

Alonso planted a finger on his cheek, as if he were concocting a plan. "He will attend a state reception Thursday evening. Would you like to join me?"

"That would be lovely."

Alonso's complexion glowed with an umber burnish, and he smiled with the abandon of a guileless youngster. "Perhaps tomorrow you will permit me to show you around the city? To the places I have told you about?"

I spent all of Wednesday afternoon sightseeing with Alonso, touring the expansive Zocalo, the Metropolitan Cathedral, and Alameda Park. When he dropped me off at the Gran Hotel in the early-evening hours, I took the elevator to the third floor and waited for an opportunity to knock undetected on Philip and Saskia's door. This time they were waiting for me.

Saskia took my hand and whisked me in. "I can't wait to hear about your day."

"Florence, darling." Philip stood by the couch in a black velvet smoking jacket, a thumb tucked into his red sash belt. He chuckled-I imagined over using my a.s.sumed name-and pointed at a bottle of brandy on the coffee table. "Come, have a drink."

Saskia and I joined Philip around the coffee table. He poured for us, and I lifted my gla.s.s in a toast: "To the next step."

Without taking a sip, Saskia lowered her gla.s.s to the table. "You've had some success?"

"It's too soon to use that word. But Alonso has promised to introduce me to his father tomorrow evening."

"Does Alonso hold a government post?" Philip asked.

"He's a lawyer. And, from what I can gather, an unofficial a.s.sistant to his father."

Philip rolled his gla.s.s between his palms. "Then we should discuss strategy."

"I have an idea," I said.

By the time we'd reviewed my plan twice, the bottle's contents had dropped a few inches and I was ready to declare, "Enough, for goodness' sake. Isn't there a Dutch version of that expression about beating a dead horse? Or don't you trust me to think on my feet?" Instead, I said, "I have to tell you about the most thrilling experience I had today."

Philip blinked his eyes into focus.

I set my gla.s.s on the table. "Alonso knows the curator of the University of Mexico's rare-book collection."

Saskia, as alert as daybreak, folded her hands on her lap and tilted her head.

"He showed us a fourteenth-century copy of Dante's Divine Comedy."

"How extraordinary," said Saskia.

I held my right hand up, contemplating my fingertips. "I touched a page of the Inferno."

"I must keep you by my side," Alonso said as we walked arm in arm into the National Palace. "All the men here will want to steal you from me."

"They wouldn't dare," I said, pleased I'd packed my maroon gown. It was perfect for the occasion.

He raised his eyebrows in an is-that-so question.

I squeezed his arm. "Not that I would want to be stolen from you."

The palace's interior courtyard flickered with fist-thick candles planted on iron pedestals. At the court's center, blazing firepots arranged beneath canopies provided sanctuary from the chill night air. Waiters in white jackets carried trays of refreshments, handing them off and then glancing away, like shuttlec.o.c.ks batted from one racket to another. As we waded into the thick of the gathering, Alonso signaled a pa.s.sing waiter and whisked two drinks off his tray.

He offered me a gla.s.s. "Wine for you?"

"Please," I said, accepting the gla.s.s and tilting it toward the crowd. "Are these all government officials?"

"Si. And their guests."

"What's the occasion?"

"A Belgian delegation is visiting."

I sipped my wine and surveyed the guests. "On any particular business?"

"They want to sell steel rails for our National Railroad."

"They're not bidding on the iron mining?"

"No, they want the rails business." Alonso steered us toward a table overflowing with hors d'oeuvres.

I tucked my hand under his arm. "I imagine the bidding is all very confidential."

"It depends on who you are."

Squeezing his arm, I said, "You're obviously a man of many hats."

Alonso glanced sidelong at me, arching an eyebrow. "Spoken by a woman of mystery."

"For the moment," I said, hunching a shoulder, "I'm a businesswoman."

"And you are worried about your company's bid."