Obviously it had been prepared in advance, for she had hardly made the request before the stodgy-looking servant walked in with a tray containing two exquisite china cups and a matching pot. He poured coffee and milk and served it with small cakes.
"Thank you, Manuel," Elena said. "I won't be needing anything else this evening."
He nodded with that everpresent deadpan expression. "Buenas noches, Señora."
35
As they drank coffee and nibbled on the cakes, Elena told Roddy about the group he would be addressing. It was made up mostly of spouses of some of the city's most prominent businessmen and politicians. They met monthly at the museum where she served on the board of directors.
"Most of them were friends of my mother," she explained. "I'm afraid they disapproved of my marriage, but my husband has been dead for several years now."
As she paused for a moment, Roddy noticed a flash of hardness in her eyes.
"The ladies have forgiven me," she said, then added a contemptuous chuckle. "Not that I gave a damn what they thought. But, you see, we are somewhat alike. I, too, have a skeleton in my closet."
He cocked his head to one side and studied her with a curious look. "You fascinate me, Señora."
She set down her cup and leaned toward him with a hand out in a warning gesture. "If you're going to be Roddy, you will have to call me Elena. Okay?"
He nodded with a grin.
"And why should I fascinate you?"
"You aren't at all what I expected. A friend told me some of the things that had been said about you in financial circles. I don't find you that way at all."
"Because you don't have to deal with me in a business context."
He shrugged. "Possibly. But I believe this is the real you. What was it they said, 'tough as nails'? I'll bet you can be that way if you have to. But I think underneath you're really a warm, amiable, caring lady."
"You're too flattering," she said with a shake of her head.
"No, not flattering. Just observant."
"Tell me about yourself," she said, reversing the subject. "Do you have a wife, children?"
"Ex-wife," he said with a wave of his hand, "and two grown daughters, back in the States. As you know, I fly helicopters for Aeronautica Jalisco. Part-time. I'm afraid my life hasn't been too exciting. Nothing like yours. I understand you're involved in your father's businesses."
She nodded. "I'm chairman of the food export business, but not concerned with day-to-day activities. However, I'm more intimately involved with the cattle operation. I was raised with horses. I go out frequently and ride about the ranches. It gives me an opportunity to unwind while staying abreast of what goes on. The scenery in the mountains is fabulous. I love it."
"I can agree with that. I've seen a lot of it from the air."
She raised a well-drawn eyebrow. "Now there's an idea. Maybe I should buy a helicopter and hire you to fly me around my properties. They're spread out over the area."
He knew she was merely making conversation, but it sounded like a great idea to him.
When they had finished their coffee, Elena suggested they go for a tour of the mansion. But as Roddy started to get up, his right knee gave way and he stumbled, nearly falling, though he quickly regained his balance. He gave her an embarrassed grin.
"Are you all right?" she asked with a worried frown.
"No problem. Just my gimpy leg. Sometimes, when I sit awhile and start to get up, the knee doesn't hold. It's like a 'football knee,' only it didn't result from a football injury."
"Was it from the helicopter crash?"
"Yeah. I was pretty badly banged up."
"Broken bones?"
"The leg and several ribs. I also had a severe concussion and suffered from post-traumatic syndrome."
Elena was an attentive listener, and he soon found himself relating the agonizing aftermath of the plunge into the Zagros Mountains. After he had told her of the severe headaches, the confinement in a wheelchair and the trauma of hearing that he would never return to flying status, he confessed, "It nearly left me an alcoholic."
"I can see why," she said sympathetically. "Is that what led to the divorce?"
"Right. I don't blame her. I doubt if anybody could have lived with me during that period."
"You have obviously made quite a comeback. I admire your fortitude." As they talked, Elena led the way to her father's book-lined study, then into a formal dining room that contained several large paintings, including one by José Clemente Orozco, Guadalajara's famed muralist.
"I don't picture your father as a man who would condone leftists," Roddy said. "Did he have any problem with Orozco's communist leanings?"
"My father was a forgiving man," she said. It sounded a bit rueful. "But Orozco is universally admired for his work, not for his political beliefs. Incidentally, why did you become an expatriate? I'm sure political beliefs were not involved there. Was it our weather?"
He chuckled. "It was Dutch Schuler, General Wackenhut's son-in-law. He saved me from myself, talked me into coming down here to further our recuperation."
"Was he in the crash, also?"
"He was my copilot. He suffered shoulder and internal injuries. He's an expert tennis player, and I was afraid he would never play again. But down here he regained his form, and I pretty well got my life back together. I owe a lot to Guadalajara and Lake Chapala."
"I believe the credit for your recovery must go to you. I don't know how I would manage under such trying circumstances. The closest I've come to it would be the automobile accident that killed my husband. Fortunately, I came out of it with nothing more than cuts and bruises. And shock, of course."
Roddy followed her into a more modest breakfast room with glass doors opening onto a flower-lined central courtyard.
"It must have been a terrible shock to realize that your husband was dead," he said, a pained look on his face.
She nodded. "It was bad, but the sadness did not linger so long as it might have. Our relationship had been deteriorating for some time prior to the accident. He had become so wrapped up in his causes that he seemed to lose interest in me."
Roddy's eyes took in the shapely figure and her attractive face. He gave her a skeptical look. "Lose interest in you? I find that hard to believe."
She smiled. "You don't know what a hellish bitch I can be."
"Sure. Hell hath no fury—"
"Like a scorned woman. If we're going to indulge in cliches, don't forget that beauty is only skin deep."
"Ah, but what skin."
She laughed, a happy, bubbling laugh. "I think you could be a naughty boy, Roddy."
"Possibly," he said, shrugging. "It's been so long, I can't remember."
They walked through a recreation room that adjoined the swimming pool and finally a spacious, modern kitchen.
"Some of the other rooms in the back are servants quarters," she said. "For the rest of the tour, we go upstairs."
She showed him her parents' large bedroom, still furnished as when they were alive. He saw the nursery with its pink crib, stuffed animals and toys she had used as a child. There were spacious guest rooms and more bathrooms. Then Elena ushered him into a bedroom that more closely resembled a suite in a fancy hotel. It had a totally feminine look, an odd contrast of old and new. Polarities, he thought. The kingsize bed was solid oak with intricately-carved designs, covered by a white spread decorated with purple roses. Lampshades on the bedside tables were a matching lavender. A table and chairs sat at one side, flanked by a large projection TV. One door opened into an oversize bathroom with both shower and jacuzzi. Another revealed a large, walk-in closet. The opposite side of the room featured a set of glass doors shrouded by curtains.