Early the next morning, Ginny and Steve rode up to the main house to visit with Don Francisco. They were greeted by Don Francisco’s longtime bodyguard, Jaime Perez, still imposing despite his age, with gray at his temples and sprinkled through his hair.
“Don Esteban, your grandfather awaits you in his study. And Doña Genia, there are refreshments in the sala.”
Ginny’s brow rose, but she did not comment as she took the hint and went to the tiled sala that was filled with light and lush plants. It looked different than when last she had seen it, with clearly a woman’s touch at decorating with greenery and pretty vases, and a few paintings by European masters on the walls. She paused before a huge oil painting.
“Degas,” a voice said behind her, and she turned to see a dark, trim woman with vibrant eyes and skin approaching. “I find his work intriguing. L’Orchestre.”
“Yes, he loves to paint everyday scenes of life.” Ginny surveyed the older woman, and returned her radiant smile.
“I am Doña Teresa, though you may not recognize me, as you suffered from blindness when we first met.”
“I would recognize your voice, Doña Teresa, for it is soft and lovely,” Ginny replied graciously.
Doña Teresa smiled. “I am relieved to see you are so well. Francisco admires your courage and strength greatly, you know.”
“Does he?” Ginny accompanied Teresa to the small patio off the sala where freshly squeezed orange juice waited in tall, frosted glasses of ice. Fruit overflowed a bowl; cakes dusted with thick sugar were arranged on a large flat plate.
To her surprise, Ginny found Teresa to be very charming and not at all stiff, as Steve had once said she was. Their first meeting had been so brief, her mood then so dark, that they had spoken little. Now they spoke of the children, and of everything but where Ginny had been the past few years. It was difficult to reconcile the fact that this woman was Richard Avery’s mother, for she was so petite and fragile in appearance, with lustrous dark hair gleaming among the strands of silver, a reminder of her Persian ancestry. It was easy to understand why Lord Tynedale had rescued her so long before, and then married her, though she had been but a girl at the time.
Easier still to understand why Don Francisco had fallen in love with her, as well.
As if sensing the direction of her thoughts, Teresa said quietly, “My son writes often. Before we met, he told me of you and what a lovely young woman you are. It is a pleasure to know that he did not exaggerate.”
“Thank you.” Ginny took a sip of juice, suddenly uncomfortable. “I am delighted he speaks highly of me, as I do of him.”
“It has been a difficult year for him, with his wife’s death and the loss of his child. I am so relieved that he is out of danger now, and moving back to Cuba after he returns from his visit to Russia. I had so hoped he would return to Mexico, but alas, he has not agreed to do so. Perhaps I shall have to travel to him if I want to see him again.”
“I hope he is enjoying his time in Russia,” Ginny said politely. “I know he loves to travel to exciting places.”
“Yes, though he did express some concern about the political upheaval there.” Teresa laughed softly. “After the revolution in Cuba, and the one here in Mexico, I would think he would be immune to such conflicts, but he seems quite concerned. He even suggested I warn you to be cautious in the future, as there is a fanatical fringe that seem quite intent upon damaging the Tsar. Richard seems to think they might even attempt to harm you.”
“Me? I hardly think they would go that far. After all, I’m half a world away!”
“Yes, so I think, but Richard has always been one to worry unduly about those he—admires.”
Before the conversation grew too uncomfortable, Teresa adroitly changed the subject, much to Ginny’s relief.
“But how long do you and Esteban intend to stay here? I know Francisco has been looking forward to your visit for some time. Despite the fact that they may not always get along so well, he adores his grandson, as I am certain you realize.”
“Yes, I’ve also recognized that their relationship is rather—volatile. I fear that Franco is growing to be much like his father in that way….”
This was safer ground, and they talked for a while of the children, until finally Ginny heard Steve and Don Francisco approaching down the hallway, their boots clicking against the polished tile floors.
“Next week,” Don Francisco said after greeting Ginny, “is the fiesta! Already guests have begun to arrive.”
“What of my baggage?” Ginny asked. “Has it arrived?”
“Your baggage? I’m afraid that I know nothing of your baggage, but—”
“Apparently it’s been delayed,” Steve said then, “but Ginny is determined that she not shame you in front of your friends. I told her we must travel light.”
“I have an excellent seamstress,” Teresa said, “and if you have nothing suitable, she can alter one of my gowns. We are very close to the same size, I believe, though of course, I do think some of your gowns may still be in storage here. Did you not leave some here some time ago?”
Ginny smiled mechanically, but even as she replied to Teresa and Don Francisco, she was convinced that Steve’s excuse of sending her baggage ahead had all been a ruse.
“God, Steve, what are you up to?” she demanded when they were alone in their spacious room on the second floor of the main hacienda. He gave her an impatient glance.
“Christ, don’t start that again, Ginny. You know I can’t tell you.”
“Yes, I suppose I do, but you must admit that all the uncertainty is maddening. How can I relax if I think you’re entangled in one of Bishop’s
