Parlor Games (37 page)

“He’s a lawyer. And, from what I can gather, an unofficial assistant to his father.”

Philip rolled his glass between his palms. “Then we should discuss strategy.”

“I have an idea,” I said.

By the time we’d reviewed my plan twice, the bottle’s contents had dropped a few inches and I was ready to declare, “Enough, for goodness’ sake. Isn’t there a Dutch version of that expression about beating a dead horse? Or don’t you trust me to think on my feet?” Instead, I said, “I have to tell you about the most thrilling experience I had today.”

Philip blinked his eyes into focus.

I set my glass on the table. “Alonso knows the curator of the University of Mexico’s rare-book collection.”

Saskia, as alert as daybreak, folded her hands on her lap and tilted her head.

“He showed us a fourteenth-century copy of Dante’s
Divine Comedy
.”

“How extraordinary,” said Saskia.

I held my right hand up, contemplating my fingertips. “I touched a page of the
Inferno
.”

“I must keep you by my side,” Alonso said as we walked arm in arm into the National Palace. “All the men here will want to steal you from me.”

“They wouldn’t dare,” I said, pleased I’d packed my maroon gown. It was perfect for the occasion.

He raised his eyebrows in an is-that-so question.

I squeezed his arm. “Not that I would want to be stolen from you.”

The palace’s interior courtyard flickered with fist-thick candles planted on iron pedestals. At the court’s center, blazing firepots arranged beneath canopies provided sanctuary from the chill night air. Waiters in white jackets carried trays of refreshments, handing them off and then glancing away, like shuttlecocks batted from one racket to another. As we waded into the thick of the gathering, Alonso signaled a passing waiter and whisked two drinks off his tray.

He offered me a glass. “Wine for you?”

“Please,” I said, accepting the glass and tilting it toward the crowd. “Are these all government officials?”

“
Sí
. And their guests.”

“What’s the occasion?”

“A Belgian delegation is visiting.”

I sipped my wine and surveyed the guests. “On any particular business?”

“They want to sell steel rails for our National Railroad.”

“They’re not bidding on the iron mining?”

“No, they want the rails business.” Alonso steered us toward a table overflowing with hors d’oeuvres.

I tucked my hand under his arm. “I imagine the bidding is all very confidential.”

“It depends on who you are.”

Squeezing his arm, I said, “You’re obviously a man of many hats.”

Alonso glanced sidelong at me, arching an eyebrow. “Spoken by a woman of mystery.”

“For the moment,” I said, hunching a shoulder, “I’m a businesswoman.”

“And you are worried about your company’s bid.”

“Of course, but I also have other business with your father.”

Alonso reached for an empanada. “Tomorrow they will announce the winner.”

“And you say you don’t know much about it.”

“He
is
my father.”

I swung around in front of him and brought my face close to his. “I have some information that may be of interest to him—about the bidding. Do you think you could arrange a private meeting tonight?”

“For you, I will try,” he said.

The meeting arranged and the reception winding down, Alonso and I scurried to the Secretary’s office and settled on the couch in the waiting room. The tap, tap, tap of a man’s compact heels sounded in the hallway, the volume of their beat ever increasing until they stopped abruptly. Secretary Elvira Pérez entered. He was short and thickset, with shiny black hair and eyes like those of a lynx—quick and concentrated.

I stood and extended my hand. “Señor Elvira Pérez. It is an honor to meet you.”

“Señorita Walker,” he said, giving my hand a delicate squeeze and motioning toward his office. “My pleasure. Please, come in.”

He opened the door to a spacious office—of perhaps seven hundred square feet—with a rectangular red carpet emblazoned with the government seal, a desk situated two-thirds of the way from the entrance, and oil portraits of distinguished-looking men lining the walls. Secretary Elvira Pérez motioned for Alonso and me to seat ourselves in the thick-armed wooden chairs in front of his desk.

He eased into the carved high-back chair behind his desk. “You are from Iron Mountain Mining, Señorita Walker?”

“Yes, sir. As you know, we submitted a bid on the iron contract.”

“We had many bids. I regret to inform you that yours was not the highest.”

“Yes, I know.”

Mr. Elvira Pérez tucked his steepled fingers under his chin. “May I ask how you learned this?”

“Not from Alonso, I can assure you.”

He and his son exchanged amused glances. The Secretary looked to me. “I assume that means you will not tell me how you learned.”

“I’m sorry,
señor
. I can’t.”

“Do you also know that we will announce the winning bid tomorrow?”

“That is why I wished to speak with you this evening.”

Mr. Elvira Pérez interwove his fingers and rested his hands on his desk. “Yes?”

I looked down at my lap and demurely raised my eyes. “I believe I can bring in a better bid.”

“From your company?”

“No, sir. My company has made its best offer.”

“Then from whom?”

“A Dutch company.”

The Secretary tilted his head questioningly. “If it is not your company, why involve yourself?”

“I have several reasons. Most would not interest you. Except perhaps one: your son.” I smiled at Alonso, who sat back in his chair, his eyes bright with mirth. I looked back to Secretary Elvira Pérez. “I am here alone, and he helped me when I needed assistance. I should like to repay the kindness.”

Mr. Elvira Pérez spread his interlocked hands, flipping his thumbs up. “Is it truly as simple as that?”

“I have no financial connection to this Dutch company, sir, if that is what you’re asking.”

“And what can you tell me of it?”

“It is based in Holland but also has a U.S. office. By happenstance, a contact of mine learned they have great interest.”

“This all sounds very vague.” Mr. Elvira Pérez tossed his head in a show of impatience or perhaps exasperation.

“I know your time is valuable,
señor
.” I leaned forward on my chair. “I offer you the same discretion I am affording the source of my information.”

“I would have to reopen the bidding to even consider this.”

I knew from Philip’s report that his department had manipulated the bidding period to allow a Mexican company to win the contract. “Yes, I understand you may not wish to open the bidding a second time.”

Even if Mr. Elvira Pérez wondered how I had gathered this intelligence, he showed not the least discomfort at my insinuation that the bidding had been fixed. Or perhaps he cared little about that. Still, I was an American, and he probably preferred not to alienate American business interests. He shifted in his chair and drummed his fingertips on his desk. “And you think this would be worth my trouble?”

Secretary Elvira Pérez appeared anxious to be done with me. I could think of only one way to convince him that what I desired most was to serve his interests. “You could name the figure that would make it worth your trouble, sir.”

The Secretary massaged the tuft of beard below the center of his bottom lip and regarded me with somber, inquiring eyes.

I returned his gaze, softening the lines around my eyes and mouth into respectful complaisance.

He reached for his pen and a slip of paper and dashed out a line. Holding the paper before me, he said, “Can your party have its bid on my desk by ten tomorrow morning?”

Studying the number, I said, “I can convey the message that they must if they wish to be considered.”

He crumpled the paper in his fist, pocketed it, and stood. “Now, what you have come for,
señorita
. The view from my office is lovely this time of night.”

Mr. Elvira Pérez was obviously signaling that our meeting was over—and that I should pretend it had never even happened. But this only confirmed my hunch that he considered it a fruitful exchange and that my mission had been accomplished.

LOVE, SO HARD TO RESIST
MEXICO CITY—NOVEMBER 1902-JANUARY 1903

T
hree days later, on the last day of November, I hurried to Philip and Saskia’s room at the arranged hour.

Saskia let me in, and we traded kisses on the cheeks.

Philip turned from the window and strode to me, hands extended. “My dear May.”

“I shall miss both of you terribly,” I said, clutching Philip’s hands.

Philip lifted my hands and kissed both of them. “I will never be able to thank you enough.”

“I’m delighted I could be of assistance,” I said, my cheeks warming with the pride and contentedness of having handily delivered a favor.

Saskia hugged me. “I hope your dear husband won’t be dismayed by your delay.”

“I’m sure Rudolph will understand.”

They turned to leave.

“Oh, one more thing,” I said. “Philip, did I give you the notes I took on the train?”

He paused and looked at me, his hand on the doorknob. “No. Why?”

“I can’t seem to find them.”

“Well, they’re of no consequence now.”

And then they left me standing alone in their room. Save for the rumpled bedcovers and the lingering scent of Saskia’s peppery carnation perfume, no sign of their presence remained. I looked around—at the dresser and coffee table devoid of any personal effects, at the curtains billowing over the windows from which Philip had so often gazed at the city. I missed them already.

My goodness, I thought, I nearly forgot: I wanted to admire the lobby’s Art Nouveau design with them. I dashed out the door and trotted down the stairs, reaching them just as they neared the lobby exit.

“Philip, Saskia,” I called out.

As they turned toward me I saw, through the lobby doors, Secretary Elvira Pérez. Had he come to see them off?

Philip frowned at me. Saskia’s eyes widened with alarm.

“Oh, excuse me,” I said, feigning surprise in hopes of creating the impression I’d mistaken them for someone else. That, however, seemed implausible in view of their singularity—not just one, but two distinctively large-sized and well-dressed foreigners. I spun around and retreated, praying that the reflection on the outside glass had prevented Mr. Elvira Pérez from recognizing me.

I could have kicked myself for the stupidity of it all. After pulling off such a coup, I’d allowed myself to slip at the last possible moment. Still, the winner of the bid had been publicly announced, and the Mexican government was unlikely to pass up such good money. No, I calculated, Philip’s contract was safe, despite my lapse.