The Infamous Miss Rodriguez: A Ciudad Real Novella Read Free Page B

by the time they trickled down to the lower orders. Vicente reached for the photographs still splayed over her blotter and slipped them back into his pocket. “I’ll keep these safe for you until after the dinner party.”
    Miss Rodriguez gave him a narrow look. “Surely you don’t think I’d renege on our agreement.”
    “I’m sure you wouldn’t,” Vicente said. “But my line of work has taught me to be cautious. I’ll see you on Friday, Miss Rodriguez.”

Chapter 3
    G raciela had read plenty of novels where beautiful young girls railed against their engagements to gruesome old beasts. Her own fiancee was young, handsome, charming and very, very wealthy.
    She looked at him from under her eyelashes as they sat across from each other at Mrs. Gonzalez’s dinner party. He was cutting into a slice of roasted guinea fowl and chatting animatedly with the elderly spinster sitting beside him, who looked charmed by whatever he was saying. His dark brown hair shone in the light from the electric bulbs along the wall and the silver candelabra on the table.
    It might have been easier if he’d been ugly. Physical ugliness she could overcome. It was the internal kind that was more difficult to overlook, especially when it grew more and more evident with every day that passed.
    He glanced over to her and gave her a slow smile, and Graciela, hoping her dislike showed in her face, gave him a nod in return.
    The lack of warmth in her response didn’t seem to bother Alvaro. After the early days of their courtship, Graciela had found that the more she demonstrated her lack of interest, the harder Alvaro pursued her. She’d heard often enough that men liked the thrill of the hunt when it came to courtships and Graciela’d always had the uncomfortable sensation that Alvaro saw her as prey.
    A word from the hostess brought Graciela’s attention back to the dinner party.
    It was the usual sort of affair. Twenty four people sat around Mrs. Gonzalez’s table, their voices as loud as the symphony of frogs and crickets that came from the tall doors on the far side of the room, which had been left open to let in the breeze. The strong scent of damp vegetation and tuberoses wafted in instead, and mingled with the smell of perfume and sweat and the citronella candles used to ward off mosquitoes.
    The air was awfully still that night, and between the stultifying chatter, the suffocating heat, and the very fine Spanish wine Mrs. Gonzalez had served, Graciela was feeling more and more like tearing her off gown and prancing up and down the table in her underclothes. She poked the tines of her fork into the stuffed quail on her plate. The conversation was moving along familiar lines, and so was the dinner. After the quail would come hare in a wine sauce, which would be followed by dishes of stewed figs in syrup and an array of tropical fruit for the benefit of a visiting Frenchman. Then the women would withdraw and amuse themselves until the gentlemen returned reeking of cigar smoke and the conversation would resume its dreary pace.
    On the other side of the table, Graciela could see Mrs. Gonzalez’s eldest daughter, Camila, trying to look interested as she listened to General Espaillat drone on. From past experience, Graciela knew he had two favorite subjects: the single campaign he had been involved in roughly thirty years before, and the pigs he was raising in his farm. Maybe she should jump onto the table, if only to give everyone something new to talk about.
    As it turned out, a new subject was introduced without her having to leave her seat.
    It was the man sitting at her right who brought up the speech Senator Benitez had given the week before. His hair, so pale a brown it was almost blond, blazed against the darkness of his tails. He’d arrived late, as the party was going in to dinner, and Graciela hadn’t had a chance to catch his name or any particulars other than a comment Aunt Elba had made some moments before. As she studied