So we decided to talk about ourselves instead. I told him what my favorite activities were (in no particular order): climbing lemon trees, lying on the grass to make out animal shapes with clouds, looking for four-leaf clovers, playing the violin, and reading novels. His were: carving wood, swimming in the river, and playing dominoes. He said that from my list, the only thing that interested him was climbing trees for fruit and he might consider searching for four-leaf clovers, but he didn’t have any interest in playing music (or listening to me play) and he didn’t know how to read. Occasionally, he would look at clouds, he confessed, but then declared that such activity was for small children. On his end, he offered to let me play dominoes with him.

I accepted with a shrug but was shocked to hear that a boy his age couldn’t read. I made a solemn vow that day: I would teach him.

CHAPTER 19 - Puri

CHAPTER 19

Puri

April 1920

I heard Angélica sobbing last night.

It happened after I left Catalina, on my way to my room. I could hear my sister clearly from what I assumed to be her bedroom, and Laurent seemed to be consoling her, calling her ma chère and telling her calmes-toi. I stood by their door for a few minutes but after a while, I couldn’t hear them anymore.

This event, however minor, had propelled an interesting discovery: I now knew where Angélica’s chamber was, and tonight might be my only opportunity to go inside and see if there was any evidence connecting her to Franco or the check in my possession.

During breakfast, I’d come up with the perfect plan. Tonight was Bingo Night and a few couples were coming. They did this every week, Angélica said while serving me a glass of papaya juice, and they rotated hosts and houses. I didn’t care about bingo or my sister’s friends. What this meant was that people would be so distracted they might not notice if I stepped out for a few minutes. And Julia, who seemed to have eyes everywhere, would be too busy tending to the guests. I might even be able to get a hold of my father’s journal in the study.

I wore one of Cristóbal’s better outfits: a three-piece suit with a striped waistcoat, wool trousers, and a matching jacket. The selection might be too thick for the weather, but this was one of Cristóbal’s fanciest suits and Laurent was wearing a tuxedo. It was astonishing how much confidence—and power—an elegant suit could give a person. In it, I felt like a man. I put on my husband’s gambler hat and stepped out of my room.