Part 28 (1/2)

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.