The sun was warm, people were laughing and making merry, and the city had the feel and appearance of Spain or southern France with its orange and lemon trees and brightly berried hedges, and the smell of blossom. It also appeared to be thriving, judging by the commodities which were on the levee. A fight, the driver said. That can’t be right. There was so much merriment and there didn’t appear to be any hardship. None at all.
When he returned to the hotel he found Allen fast asleep in his own room, but he had unpacked the luggage and hung Edward’s clothing in the cupboards, so he didn’t call him but lay on his bed and closed his eyes. He must have fallen asleep for he was awakened by a light tapping.
The same houseboy was at the door, holding a message. Edward put his hand in his pocket before remembering that any coin he gave to him would go to the hotel owner. The boy saw his hesitation and slightly opening his lips he pointed to the inside of his mouth. Edward nodded and gave him the coin and watched as the boy slipped the silver into his cheek. He touched his cap and silently departed.
‘Hope he doesn’t swallow it,’ Edward muttered, and opened up the envelope. The message was from Señor Rodriguez, who requested that he join him for lunch the following day.
He rose early the next morning and accompanied by Allen went in search of a new suit of clothes, something lighter and more suitable for the climate. He bought a cream linen suit and a wide hat to keep the heat of the day from his head. The hat was made, he was told, from the leaves of the palm tree. He fitted Allen out with a cotton coat and trousers.
‘They maybe won’t do for California,’ he said to him. ‘But I like the feel of this place so we’ll stay a while before moving on.’
He hired a chaise and presented himself at one o’clock at the gates of Señor Rodriguez’ house. The guard, obviously expecting him, unlocked and opened them and advised him to continue up the long drive which divided the wide, lush green lawns where palm trees and the purple-blue jacaranda grew. Mulatto and Negro workers were rolling the clipped grass and trimming the hedges.
He drew up outside the door and looked with admiration at the house in front of him. Wide steps led up to the front door and the cream-coloured brick gave off a sunny warmth. Wrought-iron balconies at the upstairs windows held stone pots and jars of brightly coloured flowers, and white muslin curtains floated gently in the warm breeze.
A young mulatto girl opened the heavy wooden doors. She was bare-headed and barefoot and wore a red cotton skirt and white embroidered blouse. ‘Good day, Mr Newmarch, sir,’ she said in a sing-song voice. ‘Come right in. Señor Rodriguez is expecting you.’
Edward followed her through the entrance hall and up a wide staircase with an elaborate scrolled-iron rail to a landing with double doors. She opened one of them and, holding out her hand, said, ‘Go right on in.’
He walked into a large room painted white and gold and filled with heavy but elegant furniture, the chairs and sofas with carved scrolled frames and richly brocaded cushions. At the furthest end of the room, open glass doors led out onto a balcony where the muslin curtains he had seen from below billowed to and fro. From up here he could see the brown Mississippi and the crowded levee.
Señor Rodriguez rose from a sofa to greet him with outstretched hand. He was tall and slimly built, sharp-featured with a long nose and thin cheeks and well-groomed silver hair. He wore a white linen suit with a narrow black silk cravat tied in a simple knot.
‘I am delighted to welcome you to New Orleans, Mr Newmarch.’ He glanced keenly at Edward. ‘I have had a meeting with Captain Voularis only this morning and he mentioned you.’ He spoke in a cultivated voice with just a trace of Spanish accent. ‘I understand you are looking for a new life in America?’
‘I want something different
When he returned to the hotel he found Allen fast asleep in his own room, but he had unpacked the luggage and hung Edward’s clothing in the cupboards, so he didn’t call him but lay on his bed and closed his eyes. He must have fallen asleep for he was awakened by a light tapping.
The same houseboy was at the door, holding a message. Edward put his hand in his pocket before remembering that any coin he gave to him would go to the hotel owner. The boy saw his hesitation and slightly opening his lips he pointed to the inside of his mouth. Edward nodded and gave him the coin and watched as the boy slipped the silver into his cheek. He touched his cap and silently departed.
‘Hope he doesn’t swallow it,’ Edward muttered, and opened up the envelope. The message was from Señor Rodriguez, who requested that he join him for lunch the following day.
He rose early the next morning and accompanied by Allen went in search of a new suit of clothes, something lighter and more suitable for the climate. He bought a cream linen suit and a wide hat to keep the heat of the day from his head. The hat was made, he was told, from the leaves of the palm tree. He fitted Allen out with a cotton coat and trousers.
‘They maybe won’t do for California,’ he said to him. ‘But I like the feel of this place so we’ll stay a while before moving on.’
He hired a chaise and presented himself at one o’clock at the gates of Señor Rodriguez’ house. The guard, obviously expecting him, unlocked and opened them and advised him to continue up the long drive which divided the wide, lush green lawns where palm trees and the purple-blue jacaranda grew. Mulatto and Negro workers were rolling the clipped grass and trimming the hedges.
He drew up outside the door and looked with admiration at the house in front of him. Wide steps led up to the front door and the cream-coloured brick gave off a sunny warmth. Wrought-iron balconies at the upstairs windows held stone pots and jars of brightly coloured flowers, and white muslin curtains floated gently in the warm breeze.
A young mulatto girl opened the heavy wooden doors. She was bare-headed and barefoot and wore a red cotton skirt and white embroidered blouse. ‘Good day, Mr Newmarch, sir,’ she said in a sing-song voice. ‘Come right in. Señor Rodriguez is expecting you.’
Edward followed her through the entrance hall and up a wide staircase with an elaborate scrolled-iron rail to a landing with double doors. She opened one of them and, holding out her hand, said, ‘Go right on in.’
He walked into a large room painted white and gold and filled with heavy but elegant furniture, the chairs and sofas with carved scrolled frames and richly brocaded cushions. At the furthest end of the room, open glass doors led out onto a balcony where the muslin curtains he had seen from below billowed to and fro. From up here he could see the brown Mississippi and the crowded levee.
Señor Rodriguez rose from a sofa to greet him with outstretched hand. He was tall and slimly built, sharp-featured with a long nose and thin cheeks and well-groomed silver hair. He wore a white linen suit with a narrow black silk cravat tied in a simple knot.
‘I am delighted to welcome you to New Orleans, Mr Newmarch.’ He glanced keenly at Edward. ‘I have had a meeting with Captain Voularis only this morning and he mentioned you.’ He spoke in a cultivated voice with just a trace of Spanish accent. ‘I understand you are looking for a new life in America?’
‘I want something different
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