The Spanish Daughter(39)

I was used to always being the hostess at my chocolate shop. I would wander from corner to corner making sure everyone was well tended to and satisfied and even cracked a joke or two. I’d always enjoyed feigning voices, especially telling gallego or old lady jokes. It was so foreign to see my sister Angélica taking on that role. It bothered me somewhat. (Was I turning into a jealous person? I’d never been one. This experience was certainly having strange effects on me.) But at the same time, I felt an odd sense of pride. It wasn’t just her beauty, although people were always drawn to good-looking women, but she had an ease about her, a way to make everyone crave her attention. I could see it in the way her friends held her arm to call her attention or whispered into her ear. In return, she would reward them with a heartfelt laugh.

Laurent looked more vivacious than ever. He thrived telling stories about his travels, his many friends, his expensive purchases to enjoy his hobbies (he mentioned a Brownie camera brought from France and a pair of binoculars for bird-watching). After a while, I was ready to stuff one of those conchitas asadas into his mouth to see if that would keep him quiet for two minutes.

With her customary discretion, Julia made sure our drinks were always filled to the rim. The cook, Rosita, whom I’d just met, brought in a serving bowl of cazuela de mariscos—the main star of the evening—while her plump derrière wobbled from side to side.

I had no other choice but to continue shoving copious amounts of food in my mouth until I found the perfect moment to escape.

The time came after dinner, when Angélica invited the group to the patio. There, they’d set up three rows of tables. On each table were bingo cards and chips. I sat in the last row.

There was a lot of movement around me. Laughter, gossip, men flirting with women and women flirting with men. The only person who seemed as out of place as me was Catalina—I only hoped she stayed here and didn’t decide to wander about the house, too.

As Laurent and Angélica called out numbers, I took advantage of the distraction and, making sure no one was watching, I stepped away from the group at the same time a woman yelled: “Bingo!”

I darted up the stairs, glancing behind me every few minutes, and headed straight to Angélica’s bedroom. Hopefully, she didn’t lock her door.

Drying my sweaty hands on my trousers, I turned the knob.

My sister’s chamber consisted of two rooms: a sitting area and a sleeping area. I felt a little stupid standing there, not knowing where to look, playing detective. What could I possibly find here to tie my sister to Franco?

“Quiere cacao, quiere cacao.”

?Mierda!

Ramona flew toward me. I ducked.

“Quiere cacao, quiere cacao.”

“Shhh,” I told her, but she kept repeating the same mantra.

Before anyone else could hear her, I headed for one of the night tables and opened the top drawer. There didn’t seem to be anything remotely incriminating unless you considered a French-Spanish dictionary and a jewelry box suspicious. Inside the second drawer was a pile of letters wrapped in a red ribbon. Upon inspection, there seemed to be letters to Angélica from different men. Admirers? I thought it strange that she would keep letters from other men in close proximity to her husband.

There didn’t seem to be any correspondence from Franco, at least not in the letters I checked. Underneath all the envelopes was a photograph of a little girl, her face vaguely familiar though I couldn’t pinpoint why. I was only certain that this wasn’t Angélica or Catalina because both of my sisters’ coloring was much lighter than this child’s. The girl, who couldn’t have been older than ten, stared at the camera with a hardened expression, as though she couldn’t stand the thought of having her picture taken. But there was more than anger here. Her expression revealed pain, too, as if she’d been crying minutes before the picture was taken. Her hair was fixed in two stiff braids and she wore a sailor dress she had outgrown.

As I circled the bed toward the other table, I noticed a glass box sitting under the window. A rectangular, large cage. A slight tremor took over my legs. I slowly made my way to the cage. Curled on the bottom, behind a large rock, was the red, black, and white snake I’d seen in my room. Ramona became more agitated. She flew over my head. This time she was saying something else, some kind of warning, but I couldn’t understand her.

My hands turned sweaty.

Why would Angélica keep a snake in her room? Even worse, why was her venomous snake in my bed the other night? It would be too much of a coincidence that it had escaped its properly secured cage and found its way next to me, wouldn’t it?

But I didn’t have time to ponder any further because there was a noise in the hall. I looked around in despair, but before I could move a single muscle, I heard someone at the door, and that someone was turning the knob.





CHAPTER 20

Catalina Vinces, 1907



Yesterday I saw that girl again. She waved at me from the other side of the pond. Part of her allure was that she didn’t have to wear fancy clothes like Angélica and I did. I was tired of fluffy sleeves and long stockings. I wished I could just wear a slip all day and run along the stream like Elisa did. I waved back and circled the pond to meet her.

“I have something for you,” she said. She was kneeling by the edge of the water, her fingers buried in the mud. One of her tight plaits fell on her shoulder.