“Do I care?” Stella muttered as she turned away. “I could always bunk in the Hacienda with the boys. I bet they’d find a way to keep me happy.” And she shot him a challenging look as she walked past him up the steps and into the main house.

Mr. Goldman cleared his throat. “Alfredo will drive you down to your cottage, Claire,” he said. “When you’ve settled in, come up to the house and I’ll give you the grand tour. Drinks will be waiting beside the pool. Bring your costumes if you want to swim. Don’t worry about the breeze. The pool is heated.”

A young and ruggedly handsome man started loading our luggage aboard a little motorized cart. It crossed my mind that he might be one of Mr. Goldman’s discoveries who hadn’t measured up and been discarded like Juan. We climbed aboard and crunched across the gravel forecourt, along a flagstone path, finally stopping outside a cottage that looked as if it had been taken, brick by brick, from a quaint English village. Honeysuckle climbed over the porch. Inside was furnished to complete the illusion, with a tall Welsh dresser full of blue and white china, copper pots, low ceilings and wood beams. As we entered it even smelled old. The furniture was definitely antique—the sort of tables, sideboard, writing desk and high-backed armchairs you’d find in any English country house. Mummy was still grinning. “I wonder if he bought the whole thing and had it shipped across from England,” she said. “How horribly quaint. I’d rather have had the Spanish-style bungalow where the men are staying. At least that’s close to the house. But I suppose he wants us to feel at home in a replica of Merrie Olde England.”

“At least it’s a trifle better than that other cottage beyond this.” I pointed out of the window to where a replica of a cottage that might have housed Hansel and Gretel’s witch stood nestled among tall oak trees. It had tiny paned windows, a ridiculously pointed roof and weathered shutters.

“No accounting for taste.” Mummy shivered.

Claudette unpacked for Mummy and I hung up my own things. I couldn’t help imagining what Queenie’s reaction to this place would have been and how she made me laugh as well as exasperating me. I wondered if I’d ever be able to afford another maid. I swallowed back the lump in my throat. When Mummy had changed into more casual wide-bottom slacks and blouse, tied her hair back with a red scarf and repaired her makeup, we followed the path back up the hill to the house. Of course we were one of the last. Mummy never dresses in a hurry.