“It’s just that everyone is asking after him . . .”

“They’ll have to wait.”

“I promised him I’d only stay until nine. Three hours less than Cinderella.”

“In that case we’d better hurry before I turn into a pumpkin,” the governess joked halfheartedly.

They followed the path across the garden under a festoon of lamps that lit up the faces of strangers; strangers who smiled when she went by as if they knew her, their champagne flutes shining like poisoned daggers.

“Is my father going to come down to the dance, Doña Irene?” asked Mercedes.

The governess waited until she was far enough away from indiscreet ears and prying eyes before replying. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen him all day.”

Mercedes was about to answer when they heard some sort of commotion behind them. They turned to discover that the band had stopped playing and that one of the two gentlemen who had muttered maliciously when Mercedes walked by was about to address the guests. Before Mercedes could ask who the man was, the governess whispered in her ear: “That’s Don José María Altea, minister of the interior.”

A young official handed a microphone to the politician, and the murmuring of the guests dropped to a respectful silence. The musicians adopted a solemn expression and looked up at the minister, who smiled as he gazed at the compliant and expectant audience. Altea surveyed the hundreds of faces observing him, nodding to himself. Finally, in a slow, deliberate manner, and with the calm and authoritarian composure of a preacher who knows the meekness of his flock, he drew the microphone to his lips and began his homily.

3

“Dear friends, it is for me a great pleasure and honor to be able to say a few words before such a distinguished audience—an audience gathered here today to pay a heartfelt and well-deserved tribute to one of the great men of this new Spain, reborn from the ashes of war. And it is all the more gratifying for me to make this address in a year that marks the twentieth anniversary of the glorious triumph of the national crusade of liberation, a triumph that has placed our country at the very acme of world nations. A Spain led by the Generalissimo with God’s help, and wrought with the valor of men like the one who welcomes us to his home and to whom we owe so much. A key man in the development of this great nation—which today fills us with pride and is the envy of the West—and a key man in its immortal culture. A man that I am proud and grateful to count as one of my best friends: Don Mauricio Valls y Echevarría.”

A flood of applause ran through the crowd from one end of the garden to the other. Even the servants, the bodyguards, and the musicians joined in. Altea weathered the ovations and bravos with a benevolent smile, nodding his head paternally and calming the enthusiasm of those gathered around him rather like a cardinal blessing the congregation.