“I’m Mrs. Addison,” said the stout woman who came from the back of the entry hall to meet them at the foot of the stairs. She wiped her hands on the edge of a white apron and tucked a loose strand of waving gray hair into an old-fashioned bun at the back of her neck. “I’m Mrs. Montalvo’s housekeeper. Been with her for more’n twenty years. Sara, she’s the only other help, except for Mr. Addison, of course, came much later. Hired by Doctor Montalvo, don’t you know.”
Elena wondered if she had heard a sniff. She was sure that she had heard disapproval.
“And since she’s not here today,” Mrs. Addison continued, “I’ll show you to your rooms myself.” She paused, her hand on the railing. “You do talk English, don’t you?”
“Yes. Yes, I do. My name’s María Elena Vargas. I am called Elena. And this is my brother Carlos.”
“Dear, dear, for a moment there I took him for Mario. Not that they look alike,” she added hurriedly, “except, of course, for that thatch of curly hair. You boys will hit it off fine, now, won’t you?”
Carlos looked up at her and grinned. Elena said, “I’m sorry. I forgot to say that my brother doesn’t speak English.”
“That so? Well, he’ll soon pick it up,” Mrs. Addison said comfortably. “Looks like a bright boy. Come along now.” She started up the stairs.
The room to which Mrs. Addison led them was in the right wing of the second floor. It was a large corner room, with a balcony facing south and a bay window on the west wall. The carpet was a rich avocado green, and the sheer white curtains and bedspread on the high, cushiony bed were scattered with flowers of pale yellow and apricot. There was a small corner fireplace. On its mantel, a porcelain clock, too, was sprigged with tiny yellow and orange flowers. Elena dropped the suitcase, turned full circle, and drew in her breath.
Mrs. Addison smiled. “It’s a pretty room, isn’t it?” she said. “And a comfortable one. That’s a good-drawing fireplace, and there’s plenty of firewood downstairs in the workroom. Mr. Addison laid a fire for you, just ready for the lighting, but after this you’ll be needing to help yourself.”
“I will, of course, I will,” Elena said. “That was very nice of him. He must have a lot to do.”
“He does indeed,” Mrs. Addison said, and this time there was a sniff. “There’s more to do than a man can handle. It’s that fiesta of Doctor Montalvo’s that’s putting the load on us, don’t you know. But it will soon be over.” She turned to a door on the wall opposite the bay window. “This leads to the bathroom, and the door on the other side connects with a small room that’s a sitting room or study. The couch there makes into a good, firm bed. That’ll be the young man’s. Carlos, is it?”
“Yes, Carlos,” Elena said. “And where is he?”
“On the balcony. Look at him. I dare say he’s checking out the trees to see which ones are meant for climbing.”
“You read minds, Mrs. Addison. Because that’s just what he’s doing.”
Mrs. Addison pulled the drapes open all the way. “Mr. David could tell him about the trees. He had them all checked out before we’d been one full day in this place, and him hardly a day over six. He was an active one, and adventurous. Not a bit like Mario.”
“Mr. David?”
“Miss Ana’s older son. Full grown now, of course, into a fine, strapping young man. And not one of your wild ones. Not Mr. David. Oh, he’s got red blood in his veins, and he’s a handsome one, but he’s a good son, kind and devoted to his mother.”
“Does he live here?”
“Dear me, no. He’s a law student. Up to all hours researching and studying, don’t you know. Wouldn’t do at all for him to live at home. Besides, Doctor Montalvo and David…” She stopped suddenly, patting the drape unnecessarily to straighten its folds. “Doctor Montalvo and David,” she repeated more thoughtfully, “are not at all alike. He, Doctor Montalvo, I mean, is an archaeologist. Teaches at a university. Eastmount. But there, you wouldn’t be interested in all of that, now would you?”
“Yes, I would,” Elena said. “After all, I’m going to work here.”
“Well, that’s kind enough. But I expect you need your rest more than you do my chattering.” She moved firmly to the door, but once there hesitated and turned. “It’s nice to have young people about the house again. Mario needs company. He misses his brother, don’t you know.” With that she was gone, but Elena had the feeling that with even the slightest bit of encouragement Mrs. Addison would have stayed and talked.
Elena called Carlos, and he came in reluctantly. “There are trees out there,” he said, “with branches that are of the best for climbing. This is a fine place.”
She grinned and said, “There is a bathroom in there, Carlos, with a tub that is of the best for bathing. Fill it with warm water and get in. And wash well. I’ll rest a bit until you’re through.” She kicked off her shoes and lay on top the bed, glancing at the clock on the mantle. It said twenty minutes after ten.
It was two-thirty when she awakened. She sat up, rubbed her eyes, and then lay back on the pillow. The room was a part of a beautiful dream, and she did not want to awaken. Abruptly, she sat up again. No, this was not a dream, and in a real, wide-awake life, a man called Doctor Montalvo had told her to spend the afternoon with his wife. Now the afternoon was half gone.
“Carlos,” she called, and when there was no answer, she swung her feet to the floor and went through the bathroom to look for him. Carlos was not to be found, but there was evidence that he had bathed: little lakes of water dotted the floor, a large wet towel lay huddled in a corner, and soapy bath water had painted a ring around the tub.
She dressed quickly and hurried down the curved staircase to the entry hall. She wanted to find the kitchen and Mrs. Addison. Which way now? Across from where she was standing, next to the tapestry-covered bench on which she had waited earlier, was a high double door. She tiptoed to it and turned the knob. She was looking into a large elegantly furnished room with a high ceiling from which hung glass chandeliers. There was a grand piano at the far end. She closed the door quietly and glanced again around the entry hall. Opposite the door to Doctor Montalvo’s study was the archway through which Ana Montalvo had disappeared earlier. Mrs. Addison, she remembered, had come from that direction, too.
She started across the hall. Before she had taken two steps, she heard the sound of a door slamming. Then that of an angry mutter. “You have no right, Montalvo! No right at all!” With his head thrust forward, a dark-haired man in jeans and sneakers charged toward her.
She moved to the right, then to the left to avoid him, but she failed. “Ah-h-h!” she gasped as he bumped into her. She clutched his shirt to keep from falling, and the strong grip of his hands on her arms steadied her. She pushed away and said, “Oh, I’m sorry!”
“‘Yeah? Well, so am I,” he said, and strode past her and out the front door.
She smoothed her dress, tightening its belt with unsteady fingers, and glared at the closed door. She was left with an impression of thick black hair and large sunglasses, and a rage that was almost touchable. Whoever he was, he was not only angry but rude. And rude, not only to her, but to Doctor Montalvo. With one last look at the closed outside door, she headed toward the archway. She had to find Carlos and then Señora Montalvo.
The corridor under the staircase led to a room that was papered in a cheery ivy pattern. An oval table in the center held a bowl of white daisies. This was a place for eating, so the kitchen had to be nearby. When she looked through an open door on her right, she found the kitchen, Mrs. Addison, and Carlos. He gave her a swift look, flushing a slow, unflattering red. Carlos was perched on a high stool by a counter peeling potatoes.
Mrs. Addison winked at her. “I’ve fed him lunch and put him to work.”
“Good. I’m glad. I was afraid he’d be in the woods looking for squirrels.”
“Oh, he’ll see my family of squirrels when he’s through with the potatoes,” Mrs. Addison said. “But he still has some to go.”
“You made him understand? I didn’t think he would.”
“Did you now,” Mrs. Addison said primly. “Well, I’ve picked up a word or two of Spanish.”
Elena said, “Where can I find Señora Montalvo? I should have been with her long ago.”
“She told me not to hurry you. Take time for some lunch.” Elena shook her head. Mrs. Addison pushed a glass of milk across the counter. “There. Drink that. It’s not enough, but I can see you’re not going to stop for more.” She waved her arm. “You went right by Mrs. Montalvo’s sitting room. The plant room, she calls it. It’s off the corridor. To your left as you walk back.”
Elena gulped down the milk and found the door in the hall. At her knock Señora Montalvo called, “Come in.”
She was standing by a round table, a small watering can in her hand. Elena took in the white wicker furniture, the baskets and pots of hanging plants and the view of the pool and the woods all in one glance. Her gaze returned to the woman at the table. She was dressed in white wool pants and a beige and white silk shirt. The lady of the castle in modern clothes, Elena thought as, once again, she smoothed the skirt of her dress.
Ana Montalvo put the watering can down and said, “I’ve been looking forward to our visit. Come sit by the window where I can see you better.” She motioned to an armchair. “Now,” she said when they were seated, “let us talk. I know your town of Playa Blanca. I visited Sylvia Lewis there.”
Close to two hours later, when she was ready to leave, Elena realized that she had done most of the talking. The other woman had listened as she told about her reasons for leaving Playa Blanca and of Carlos’ pleading to come with her. “The city is exciting,” she ended, “but already I miss Playa Blanca. The distances here are so great. Playa Blanca is so small that my cousin Carmen and I can walk from one end of it to the other in ten minutes. And every face we see belongs to someone we know. Of course,” she added, “those are the very reasons why everybody in Playa Blanca knows everybody else’s business.”
“Yes,” the older woman said. “That was my impression when I visited there.”
“Well, then, Señora Montalvo,” Elena said, “you know that the people of my town are courteous and good, but that they do not open themselves up to strangers.”
Ana Montalvo nodded and said, “Privacy is important. And Playa Blanca is a lovely place. I can see why so many Americans are hurrying to retire there. Well, I think we are through for today, Elena.”
She was dismissed. Elena walked slowly to the kitchen and when she found no one there, turned and went up the curved staircase to her room. Hanging from the doorknob, she found a note from Mrs. Addison. “Carlos is with Mario in the library. Mario’s tutor is with them. Doctor Montalvo will see you at five-thirty.”
Somewhere, perhaps in the salon, a clock chimed the half-hour as she knocked on the door to Doctor Montalvo’s study. Once more she sat on the ladder-back chair across the table from him. Once more she listened to his precise voice, this time explaining details of her position.
Each morning at nine, he said, she was to report to his wife so that they could plan their day. She was to serve as secretary and driver, as well as companion.
“Secretary? But here is the thing, señor. I cannot type. Perhaps I am the wrong person.”
“Let me be the judge of that.” Had she imagined a hint of amusement in the look he threw her? “Reassure yourself, señorita. My wife’s correspondence is mostly social and, therefore, done by hand. You will have no problem there. Do you like to walk?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “Ana, before her sight was impaired, was a great walker. She knows all the footpaths in these woods.”
Before her sight was impaired. So I was right, Elena thought. There is something wrong with Señora Montalvo’s eyes.
“You’re wondering about my wife’s eyesight.” Was it possible—no, of course, not. And yet the man seemed to have read her mind.
“I won’t go into details,” he said, “except to say that it is something she must learn to live with. With medication, there is no reason why she should not write and read and drive, in other words do all the things you have been hired to do, but lately her vision has worsened. We expect the setback to be temporary.” He frowned and looked momentarily at the case with the Indian artifacts. Then he turned back to her and talked about the boys.
She would spend time with them in the afternoons and evenings, lending a hand with their schoolwork. Carlos, he told her, would attend Loring School starting the next day. He would be tested and placed. “Some of the testing will be oral and in Spanish. Do not worry. We do not expect too much of Carlos.”
She stiffened in her chair as a little flame of anger sparked within her. Carlos was not dumb. How dare Doctor Montalvo assume such a thing!
“Each night at seven,” he went on, “you and your brother will join us for supper in the dining room.” He must have seen the question in her eyes because he added, “You are our guests and will be treated as such. Your second role, that of companion, is a matter of convenience to us and we appreciate it.”
He shuffled through some papers and said, “Your driving lessons will begin on Saturday morning.” As to your salary, it will be minimum wage to begin. You may have a week’s pay in advance, if you wish.”
“No, thank you. I will accept my pay only when I have earned it.”
His eyebrow rose as he nodded curtly. Then he stood up. The conference was over.
Later, after Carlos was asleep and she was getting ready for bed, Elena thought again of her talk with Doctor Montalvo. He had been nothing if not generous. There was no reason for her discomfort and yet there it was inside her, unmovable, solid and heavy like a rock.
She pulled the drapes back and night lights from the swimming pool area brightened the room. That big, beautiful bed was all hers. No narrow cot in a small room shared with three cousins. She, alone, would sleep in this lovely room. The luxury of the house was hard to get used to. Eating supper in that elegant dining room had been like being in a movie. And her job! All she had done today was talk. Maybe tomorrow the real work would begin. But no matter what her duties would be, they certainly would be better than washing out dirty test tubes for Doctor Flores in Playa Blanca—and fighting off his hands.
She got into bed, pulled the soft quilt up to her chin, and sighed. She had hoped to be spending this night in a three-room apartment on the second floor of a house on Emerald Avenue. There, Carlos and she would have been sleeping on the floor, maybe, or on a couch, but it would not have mattered, so long as it was with her father. Right now, right this very minute, that is exactly where she wanted to be.
But when at last Elena fell asleep, she wasn’t thinking of her father. She was thinking about the angry young man who had bumped into her in the entry hall.