‘El Día de los Muertes, of course,’ said Doña Victoria.
‘Of course,’ said Don Enriquez.
‘What would have happened if Jesús had killed Juan?’ said I.
‘The same. He would have to stay away a little longer.’
‘There would not be the usual formalities attending murder?’ said E.
‘A knifing,’ said Don Enriquez. ‘Our police isn’t very interested in that kind of thing.’
‘We should have half the population sitting in gaol twiddling their thumbs,’ said Don Jaime.
‘Servants are hard enough to get as it is,’ said Doña Victoria.
Later that night, Anthony came to my room and reported. ‘It’s all been fixed,’ he said. It appears that Don Enriquez and his wife are going to have three rooms set aside for them at the Hacienda, and floor space for their boatmen, the valet and the maid, which still leaves a possible number of bedrooms to the hotel. Their sons and daughter, and the Jaimes and their children will be put up by Don Otavio at the Villa whenever they choose to come. They will be his guests, and he’ll have the running of his house. Don Jaime will receive the profit from the rooms he foregoes to occupy at the Hacienda. They all seem pleased by the arrangement: everybody thinks he has got what he wanted. Don Otavio loves to have Doña Concepción and his house full of nieces and nephews, and Don Jaime does not come very often.
‘It’s really quite brilliant,’ said I. ‘I wonder who thought of it.’
‘I did,’ said Anthony.
‘You?’
‘Yes. So much nicer for Joaquím and Orazio, too. Doña Victoria keeps such an eye on them when she gets the chance. I doped it all out and told Juan, and Juan told Otavio, and Otavio made Luís propose it as a disinterested party.’
‘A rare role. What about Don Jaime’s extras?’
‘Me again.’
‘Anthony, you should live in Mexico.’
‘Oh S,’ said E, ‘I’ve been talking to such an interesting German woman this afternoon. A bit of a rough diamond, but most instructive about Doctor Adenauer. Who is she? The doctor?’
‘The witch. Anthony thinks she’s a fake.’
‘S, we have been much mistaken about the aims of Western Germany,’ said E.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Doublecrossings
Nous avons au grenier un nombre suffisant,
Ce me semble, de vieilles planches?
MR MIDDLETON stood on his verandah, watch drawn. ‘Three and twenty minutes to five,’ he said. ‘Hear you had quite a rumpus yesterday. Gardener killed his wife and two of the mozos, and wounded some of the housemaids. If I were Otavio, I’d make it an excuse to sack the man. Shocking gardener. Fellow hadn’t even heard of a mulch.’
‘Hello,’ said Blanche Middleton, ‘hello. I didn’t sleep a wink last night thinking of you.’
‘Only one mozo was wounded – the merest gash; and no one, I am grateful to say, was killed,’ said E.
‘Natives exaggerate so,’ said Mr Middleton. ‘No way of getting accurate information about anything. Great nuisance. Usually make a point of finding out myself. They didn’t have the sense at San Pedro to send for me.’
‘They sent for a German from Ajijíc,’ said Anthony.
‘Oh, the homeopathic quack. The woman’s a fool, but the natives are impressed. My crocuses are out. Come and look at them.’
‘Richard, tea’s ready. You said it was seven minutes past your tea time.’
‘Twelve now. Well pour it out, Blanche, pour it out. So you’re having all the Xs down at the Hacienda? What do you make of them? Enriquez, I dare say is behaving like God Almighty. Fellow can’t even keep his wife in order. Be quiet, Blanche, it’s been all over the clubs for years about Doña Victoria and Doña Concepción’s brother. Nobody seems to mind. They’re a rotten lot, the bunch of them. Doña Concepción has had her romances too, but she’s more discreet. Felipe, the other chap, is always hanging round. I wonder he hasn’t come down with them this time. Oh of course, they’re thrashing out that hotel deal.’
‘E calls it the Conclave,’ said Anthony.
‘How is it going?’
‘We wouldn’t know,’ said Anthony, with his sweet smile.
‘Well, I’ve been to Guadalajara and I can tell you a thing or two. Enriquez was going to put up the capital and he was going to pocket the profits. If there are any. I’m going to give them a piece or two of advice, hope they have sense enough to take it. The others were supposed to get just something in proportion with their share in the place. Nobody seems to know what Otavio’s is. Some say it’s less because he’s got the Villa, some believe it’s more because he was supposed to have had it all. Any rate, he was to get something extra as he’s supposed to run the hotel. Not really run it; he’ll have a manager and a fellow to cook the books and whatnot, these people never think of raising a finger themselves if they can help it. But he’ll keep an eye on things and play host. Otavio’ll be worth his keep with the trippers, I dare say. Now it seems that Enriquez hasn’t produced the capital he said he would – you wouldn’t know how hard it is to lay hands on a bit of cash in this country – and there is this RC aunt of theirs suddenly chipping in with a good round sum, in Otavio’s name if you please. Otavio is to go full shares with Enriquez, and get a director’s salary as well. That makes Otavio topdog of the show. It was sprung on them all last week. Enriquez doesn’t really care two pins – after the first shock – the more capital the better and he can always get his way with Otavio. A fly could walk over that fellow. But the other two must be feeling rather in the cold now. Enriquez alone was one thing. They’ve smelt money and they’ll have to be squared. After all, they must own about half the place between them. It’s more tricky than that because there are all sorts of mortgages and family loans, and they say Luís sold his share sub rosa to Enriquez years ago. I dare say it isn’t true or Enriquez hasn’t paid. Fact is, nobody quite knows where he stands. Jaime may. He’s supposed to have it all at his fingertips. He’s got the brains, Enriquez’s got the guts in that family. Slippery customer Jaime. You can’t tell what he’s after. Sometimes it’s money, and then again it’s not. His eldest girl could have married the government wallah who cornered all the oil. Jaime wouldn’t hear of it. I wonder what he’ll do now. So far he’s always stood in with Enriquez in a family bust-up. Luís doesn’t count. He’s been thinking crooked for so long, he wouldn’t know a straight deal if he saw one. So now you know what it’s all about.’
‘Thank you,’ said Anthony, his face grave.
‘Mr Middleton,’ said E, ‘you left us such a peculiar message yesterday. At least in the unreliable native version.’
‘Quite,’ said Mr Middleton. ‘I was going to ask you whether you had ordered your coffins? I dare say you haven’t. Well, I advise you to do so at once. There’s quite a handy little man just out of Jocotepec, cheap too, who doesn’t take all week either, with a bit of prodding.’
‘May I ask you,’ said E, ‘what causes you to take so gloomy a view of our life expectancies? Poor Anthony here is barely twenty, you know.’
‘I always make a point of telling newcomers to have their coffins made. The other day we had two men from the Botanical Institute at Bombay to tea. Interesting chaps. One of them wrote a book on mimosa, all theory I dare say. I had to tell them too. Nobody seems to take in that by Mexican law they have to be buried within twenty-four hours, coffin or no coffin. Well, you’d be hard put to get one made in that time, native workmen being what they are. This is one of the few laws out here you can’t get round. I have mine of course, and one for my wife; and I insisted on having a suitable coffin made for our servant. Naturally the coffin remains my property if he leaves.’
‘All those great big coffins Richard keeps in the cellar,’ said Blanche; ‘they give me the creeps.’
‘You have to air them now and again,’ said her husband; ‘the wood warps so. People never think of anything. When that American chap died of flu last spring – DTs if
you ask me – his wife came running round asking for mine. As if I hadn’t told them. Blanche bamboozled me into letting them have it – for the last time, Blanche – and would you believe it, it took me five weeks to get that woman to replace my coffin. Of course she drinks too. So don’t say you haven’t been warned, and don’t come asking for mine.’
‘Then has everybody out here got their coffin, Sir?’ said Anthony.
‘Well, Waldheim has two. One here, and one at Mexico. I told him. Sensible chap, Waldheim. One can always count on the Germans. Reliable people. Pity the old girl is so down on him. Won’t let his boys go to the German school at Guadalajara. Took them out at the beginning of the war, and stuck them into the American school instead. Sloppy kind of place. After the Fall of France, Waldheim, who is a bit of a wet rag, pulled himself together and put the boys back into the German school. After the Battle of Britain, Mrs Rawlston took them out again; after Tobruk, Waldheim put them back; Mrs Rawlston pulled them out for Lend-Lease and Waldheim put them back for Singapore. Boys changed schools twelve times before D-Day. After that Mrs Rawlston just kept them at the American school. Now she doesn’t like their manners. Well, she can’t expect to have it all her way, as I keep telling her.’
‘I never heard you say that to Mrs Rawlston, Richard,’ said Blanche Middleton.
‘The cottage was to have been the thin wedge for the coffin,’ said Anthony in the boat.
‘Mr Middleton is what my mother called an impertinent man,’ said E.
‘I am grateful,’ said Anthony. ‘Think how bad Juan is at figures. What a hash he would have made of those mortgages.’
It was obvious at once that something had gone wrong. Don Enriquez was pacing the lawn by himself, and the brow of Jupiter was clouded.
We sought Don Otavio, and learned that he had left for Guadalajara half an hour ago in his brother’s motor boat. And for the present we learnt nothing else. Doña Victoria was closeted with Don Jaime. Doña Concepción had gone to lie down. Don Luís was walking alone with a light tread.
Presently a message came for him to see Doña Victoria, and he started like a guilty schoolboy.
‘Money has come up,’ said Anthony.
We were told that Don Otavio was spending the night at his aunt’s house and would not be back until some time next afternoon.
Later Doña Victoria came out on to the terrace, looking like Phèdre. Dinner was strained, and the house not the same without Don Otavio. The courses were shuffled the wrong order; afterwards Doña Victoria and Don Jaime played bézique.
Don Enriquez sat alone over his cigar. ‘Where did he get it from?’ he said once in a loud voice, addressing no one in particular.
‘No soap,’ said Anthony later on that night. ‘Juan says Otavio left in such a hurry, he didn’t say goodbye to him. He says Pedro heard his master say that Don Luís had put a bombshell on the table. Juan is very puzzled.’
Next morning there was no conclave. People stayed apart, drifted into groups and came apart again, and nothing seemed to happen. As the day wore on, it became clear that everyone was waiting, more or less openly, for Don Otavio’s return.
‘I told the little one to take my car to Chapala,’ said Don Enriquez; ‘that should make him faster.’
After breakfast Doña Victoria spoke to me. She was extremely nervous, one might almost have said frightened, but her words were her own. ‘I am afraid we must have seemed most inhospitable last night,’ she said. ‘My husband has made such efforts to keep up San Pedro, and now we found out that his plans have been crossed in the most unscrupulous manner. My husband has worked so hard and he is the head of the family. It is most incorrect and treacherous.’
Doña Concepción sought Anthony on the lawn. ‘Don Antonio, will you do me a very great favour? Will you take this letter in for me and post it? I know it is unusual, but it is quite all right. See it is addressed to my brother. Will you take it yourself? The servants are so unreliable. Will you see that the postmistress puts on the mark before your eyes? You must always do that or they will steal the stamps and throw away the letters. This is an express letter and has expensive stamps. Even so it will take days, Santísima María. But I don’t think we should telegraph. And Don Antonio, will you not tell anyone?’
Doña Concepción went at once to where Doña Victoria was sitting; she looked up and followed Anthony with her eyes.
‘Do you think they know about Mr Middleton and the Jocotepec telegrams?’ said Anthony to E. ‘Oughtn’t I take this letter to him first? We Anglo-Saxons are a small colony out here and must do all we can for each other.’
At noon, Don Luís brought a gin fizz to E. ‘Rum lot, my family,’ he said, ‘you’d think you’d be doing them a favour by helping them out a bit and they treat you like a criminal. No real sense of business in our country.’
Dressing for luncheon, Don Enriquez exploded in front of his valet, and consequently Juan was found to be more enlightened, though still puzzled, as to the nature of Don Luís’ bombshell. What Don Luís had put on the table were centavos, Juan told Anthony.
‘Shouldn’t have called it centavos, either,’ said Anthony. ‘Twenty-five thousand pesos the bastard produced in hard cash. I should have liked to see their faces. Now what’s eating them? There isn’t that much reason to be put out? Of course it was cheek of Luís.’
‘One begins to see the point of primogeniture,’ said E.
‘This lets Don Luís in on the profits,’ said I. ‘The place couldn’t carry so many shareholders, and they particularly did not want Luís. I suppose if they refused his money, he could refuse permission to have the hotel.’
‘Yeah,’ said Anthony. ‘But twenty-five thousand pesos ain’t hay.’
‘Where did he get them from?’ said E.
At tea-time Don Jaime unburdened himself, obliquely to E, ‘If you were about to launch an enterprise,’ he said, ‘and someone you knew had nothing insisted on investing a substantial sum, what would be your conclusion?’
‘That there was someone else behind your man,’ said E.
‘Yes. I am afraid so. And what would be the motive?’
‘To get in on your venture, of course.’
‘That, or revenge,’ said Don Jaime. ‘Where did he get it from?’
It was nearly dusk and there was still no sign of Don Otavio. Doña Victoria was standing on the waterfront, now almost haggard with anxiety. Then there was the sound of a motor. The boat came in sight, landed; Don Otavio stepped out with Doña Victoria clutching at him. The two came up the garden, Don Otavio grave, Doña Victoria a woman changed by relief. Don Enriquez walked rapidly down to meet them. The rest of us stood on the terrace, watching. Doña Concepción crossed herself. She turned to me. ‘You know we are in trouble,’ she said. ‘Luís has a large sum of money and it is a great worry. Tavio is bringing Aunt Isabella-María’s advice. Oh, where did he get it from?’
Down in the garden, Don Enriquez suddenly rocked with laughter: he slapped his thighs and thumped at Don Otavio. He looked up to us. ‘From our pious aunt!’ he shouted.
CHAPTER NINE
A Family and a Fortune
How pleasant it is to have money, heigh ho!
How pleasant it is to have money.
THE REST OF THE FAMILY had been more slow to see the joke, and dinner that night was still glum.
‘Am I to understand,’ said E when we were alone, ‘that this eminent lay-nun is a doublecrosser?’
‘No, no, no,’ said Anthony; ‘it’s all out now. Luís got the dough out of the pious aunt two months ago for some crackpot scheme of his. It went bust even before Luís had time to get in.’
‘I daresay an experience unique in his career,’ said E.
‘So Luís hung on to the money. The old girl is furious. She made a screaming row with her confessor. You see the dope had told her to put Luís on his feet for the sake of his nine children.’
‘What are they going to do about it now?’
‘The pious aunt wants
her money back. Otavio brought a letter telling Luís. Some letter. The others are pretending they know nothing about it. They’re going to offer Luís a thousand pesos to stay out. They’re that relieved it wasn’t some tycoon who wanted to do them out of the whole place, they’re going to play it soft. What beats me is what Doña Victoria was so scared about. Luís is asking five thousand. He hasn’t seen the letter yet. They think they can settle for two. Otavio has got them on him. From the pious aunt.’
‘Ready money cannot be as tight in Mexico as Mr Middleton would have us believe,’ said E.
It was settled, thanks to Don Otavio’s firmness, for fifteen hundred.
‘Who is going to get the extra five?’ said E and I at once.
‘Otavio is returning them to the pious aunt. She always tips him.’
Everybody appeared in high spirits and agreements were signed that morning with a flourish. Don Jaime brought off a small coup of his own. He had meant to ask for a modest share in the profits in return for an investment of five thousand pesos, but in view of the reception given to Don Luís’s offer had decided to desist. He now took advantage of the reversal of mood to ask for this profit without an offer of capital and so impressed Don Enriquez and Otavio by his loyalty in not springing cash on them that they consented at once.
Mrs Rawlston came to lunch. She seemed upset about something. ‘You all set now to rook each other and the public?’ she addressed the company.
‘Mrs Rawlston is always herself,’ said Doña Victoria.
‘Is this not a pretty dress?’ said Don Otavio.
‘That’s right, Victoria,’ said Mrs Rawlston; ‘put every cent you’ve got on your back.’
‘Mrs A, you a Democrat?’ she asked E over the rice.
‘We are all so fond of Doña E,’ said Don Otavio.
A Visit to Don Otavio Page 18