Tango Read Free

was common and many of the officer class had been
educated in Europe or America. There was no mistaking the vulnerable mobile mouth, though, nor the hazel eyes of his English mother. He remembered helping Carlos with his English prep in return for
chocolate.
    ‘I am pleased you are bringing business to our country,’ Carlos said when William had finished.
    William inclined his head. ‘As you brought some to mine.’
    ‘But your company must not bleed us. You must give as well as take.’ Carlos spoke more loudly than before.
    ‘At present we take nothing. We put money in.’
    ‘Neither do we want your charity. Remember that.’ Carlos looked about him. ‘We ask no charity of anyone. Only honest dealing, non-interference and the chance to achieve social
justice.’
    His escorts nodded to the crowd. The tall man looked at Carlos who looked back at William, smiled and switched into English.
    ‘Actually, I enjoyed my time in England. People were kind to me. I think I was popular, especially with women. You were not always so fat?’
    ‘No, I wasn’t. It’s since coming here.’
    ‘But you were always quite fat.’
    ‘I suppose I was.’
    ‘See you.’
    He spoke the words as if they were chic or daring, and moved on.
    The tall man stopped before William. ‘I am sorry,
señor
, I did not hear your name.’
    He spoke with courteous deliberation. When William had introduced himself the man shook hands, once, very firmly.
    ‘I am pleased to have met you,
Señor
Wooding. My name is Manuel Herrera.’
    The presidential party left. Cigars were re-lit, wine poured, conversation began again. A number of people stared at William.
    ‘You know the president?’ asked Ines, wide-eyed.
    ‘We were at school together in England.’
    ‘And he remembers you?’
    ‘So it seems.’ He caught Theresa’s eye. ‘Who was the man, the tall one?’ he asked her across Ines.
    ‘Manuel Herrera.’
    ‘Is he part of the junta – of the government?’
    ‘Yes, he is one of the colonels. But he was trained in Cuba.’
    She spoke slowly, perhaps for his benefit. He wanted to go on talking but quite suddenly they were leaving, their steaks unfinished.
    ‘What do you do?’ he asked hurriedly, addressing both. ‘Where do you work?’
    They hesitated.
    ‘We are singers,’ replied Ines. They both said ‘
chau
’ and left.
    William went back to his steak. His appetite returned with eating. When he paid, the bald
padrón
took his money.
    ‘
Gracias, señor.
And the
señoras?
’
    ‘Have they not paid?’
    The
padrón
smiled with his head on one side. ‘
Señor
, you are far from England.’ He held out his hand.

Chapter 2
    The office was above the shop and that afternoon William continued his task of cleaning the window-panes. Having sorted out the stock, the filing system, the records and the
stores, this was all that was left for him to do when there was no Ricardo, no telephone and no customers. Every five minutes or so he picked up the telephone to see if it had come on again.
Meanwhile, by turning his creaking wooden swivel chair – with arms, a definite improvement since in London he had had an uncomfortable modern contraption with no arms – he could reach
each of the twelve small panes in the bow window by his desk. He cleaned them with an old shirt he had found in the ‘complaints’ file, scratching with his fingernail at every speck of
ingrained grime. Ten panes were now spotless. In the cold sunlight of the street below was a solitary stall laden with hundreds of oranges; by it a huddled figure sipped the inevitable maté
from a gourd. No one went and no one came. Farther up the street was the wreck of a 1930s Dodge saloon, rusty and lopsided with one headlight hanging loose like a disgorged eye. Unlike the
orange-seller, it had not been there yesterday.
    From downstairs came the sound of the two shopgirls giggling. They often giggled. At first he had thought it was at him, then that it was because Ricardo