She waited to see if there was any reaction, but other than polite interest there was none that she could see. Subconsciously Da Silva knew he had been waiting for the revelation since her arrival, and equally subconsciously he had been preparing for it.
“Paraíso?” he said, and his great disappointment that this lovely, desirable girl should be part of a murdering death squad was well masked by the natural curiosity he displayed as he went on. “No, I never heard of it. Where is it?”
The girl visibly relaxed. You’re a great little actress in the middle of Act One, Da Silva thought with a bitterness he kept well concealed, but you should learn not to flinch at the curtain lines. He wished he could get up, go to the bar and pour himself a triple brandy, but he knew he wouldn’t. He also knew he wouldn’t turn her over his knee and spank her, as one would a naughty child, although she obviously deserved it. But it would be so nice consoling her after a spanking, and kissing away her tears...
“It’s in Piauí state,” she said. “Near both the Maranhão and Ceará borders—”
Da Silva came back to earth. “That far away, eh?”
“It isn’t far at all, not by plane. Oh, I suppose it’s in what you could once have called the ‘backlands’ but Paraíso is really quite a growing city. You’ll be surprised when you see it.” I’ll bet I will, Da Silva thought. In fact, surprise isn’t the proper word; struck speechless might be closer. How did a girl like you ever get tangled in a web like this? Isabela glanced at her wrist watch. “You know, we could even go up tonight. If we left now, we could catch the last flight from Congonhas. I could call Paraíso from the airport and I’m sure our manager wouldn’t mind waiting late for us at the office, or even coming to meet us at the airport.”
I’m sure, Da Silva thought. “Tonight?” He smiled and shook his head. “I’m not much for traveling by air at night.” He did not mention that he wasn’t particularly overjoyed by traveling by air in the daytime, either; it didn’t seem too germane to the conversation. “But tomorrow morning I’d be quite willing to go with you to this — what is it?”
“Paraíso. But it must be at night.” Isabela seemed to realize this may have sounded a bit odd. “The manager is out all day calling on accounts,” she said. “He’s only available at night. And you wouldn’t want to spend all day in Paraíso with nothing to do.”
Not a bad recovery, Da Silva thought, and gave her three points. “All right,” he said. “We’ll make it tomorrow night, then. That will at least give me twenty-four hours to work up courage.”
Isabela looked disconsolate. “I really would prefer to make it tonight. I... well, I expected to go back tonight so I didn’t bring a bag, or make any hotel reservation, and I expect they’re very difficult to get.” She smiled at him touchingly. She really did want to go to Paraíso; she wanted to get the whole business over with as soon as possible. “I guess I overrated my ability to persuade.”
“Not at all,” Da Silva said gallantly. “You just underrated my cowardice.” He looked at her idly, but he was watching for her slightest reaction as he added, “Of course, you could go back tonight, and I could come up tomorrow...”
“Oh, no!” Isabela sat more erect and then forced herself to relax, separating the hands that had been clasped too tightly in her lap. She smiled. “I mean, in that case I probably wouldn’t get the credit for your coming to make the deal, you know. No, I have to come with you.”
And if I couldn’t think of a better excuse in five minutes, I’d swear off being a liar, Da Silva thought. It seemed she got paid for the ones she personally led to slaughter; so much per head, you might say. Still, her excuse was pitiable — if one could feel compassion for the bellwether intent upon leading one down the chute. On the other hand there was no reason not to get as much information as he could in the time allotted to him before putting his head on the block. He might, he conceded, even enjoy himself in the process, if only he could forget for a while that he would be enjoying himself with a murderess. He leaned toward her, smiling.
“I’ll tell you what we’ll do. If you’re from a small town, you’ll certainly enjoy a night in a big city like São Paulo. I know a little place for drinks I’m sure you’ll like, and then to Fasano’s for dinner and dancing, and then—” He shrugged. “We’ll find someplace for a nightcap.”
“But—”
“You mean, a place for you to stay tonight? I know most of the hotel people in town. After all, I sell them back a lot of their imported tablecloths and napkins.” He smiled, taking the sting from the admission, while he thought that with the contacts of the Correio de Manha, a simple hotel room should be no problem. “What do you say? Then tomorrow we can go to Paraíso and everybody will be happy. All right?”
Indecision was written plainly on her face. This was something the unknown man on the telephone had not given instructions on. Still, refusal to go along with Carvalho might result in his not going to Paraíso at all and that would be disastrous to her. There was also the rationalizing thought that spending the evening with this Carvalho would prevent him from exercising any curiosity. True, Maritime Indemnity and Casualty was a genuine enough company, but the branch in Paraíso was a figment of the imagination of the man on the telephone, and a simple call was all that was needed to expose that fact.
“All right,” she said, and forced herself to blank her mind to the thought of dancing in the arms of a man who would be dead, the following night, through her agency. Don’t think about it, she told herself angrily; don’t think about it. Don’t think about it...
“Good!” Da Silva said enthusiastically, and came to his feet. “You pour yourself a drink for starters while I put on a tie and jacket.” He disappeared into an inner room and returned a moment later, pulling his necktie straight. He started to shrug himself into his jacket just as the telephone rang. Not another damned insurance company at this hour! he thought with disgust, and marched over to pick it up.
“Yes?”
It was Wilson. “Is the lamp all lit and trimmed in the window? Is all forgiven? Can the wandering boy come home again?”
“No.”
“Oh! Congratulations,” Wilson said, “although from the speed with which you answered, plus the sharpness of your usually dulcet tones, I gather you did not have to come running from the bedroom to get the phone.”
“That’s right,” Da Silva said, and put his mind, always active, into high gear. There was a very good chance that Isabela also spoke English, but that was still the language he intended to use. His voice was expressionless as he went on with the line that had come into his head, brought on by the exigencies of the situation. “What? Well, in that case I might be interested.” He covered the mouthpiece and looked at the girl, shrugging apologetically. “Business...”
She nodded her understanding and returned to the magazine she had found under the end table beside her chair. Da Silva noted the perfect profile, the full lips seen from the side, promising a rich harvest to some lucky man, and then became aware that Wilson was speaking. He reluctantly brought his attention back to his conversation.
“What?”