safely in the study with cigars and brandy and the women on the patio with coffee, Mercedes’ eyes widened in disbelief. ‘Like a turkey! She could hardly get her bosom into her dress! Any tighter and she’d pass out.’
Embeth and Sophia giggled together conspiratorially. Sophia and Mercedes took a lively interest in the comings and goings of the household. They knew more than their employers did about what really went on. Both had been with the Hausmanns for ever. Mercedes was a couple of years younger than Miriám . . . Embeth couldn’t exactly remember the intricate route of relationships by which she’d come to them – her mother had worked in service for Miriám’s mother, or some such – but she genuinely was one of the family. Sophia had been there almost as long – thirty years at least.
‘
Ay Dios
,’ Sophia murmured quietly, putting away the remains of a beautifully pink poached salmon. ‘And as for Señora Cabral . . . well, I wouldn’t like to guess where Señor Cabral was this evening.’
‘I
know
. D’you notice how they never go out together?’
‘
I
heard he’s got another little apartment in town—’
‘No, don’t tell us. You heard it from that little
puta
who works at the Madrigál place?’
‘How do you know?’
‘You’re not the only one with spies, you know—’
Embeth was comfortable in the way of a child, sitting at the table with her arms folded across each other, resting her cheek in the crook of one elbow. The gossip ebbed and flowed. The two women bustled good-naturedly around her, stopping occasionally to exclaim or protest or giggle. Miriám came in and frowned when she saw Embeth slouched over the kitchen table, but said nothing, just raised an eyebrow in that way of hers that said more than words ever could. Sophia hurried after her with the silver tray of coffee pots and exquisite porcelain side plates of
petits fours
that always accompanied the after-dinner coffees on the terrace.
‘So, I saw Señor Hahn here yesterday,’ Mercedes said as soon as they’d gone out, casting a sly, sideways glance at Embeth as she carried a stack of plates to the sink where the girl who did the washing up was waiting.
Embeth inspected her nails. ‘So?’
‘Don’t gimme that look,’ Mercedes grinned. ‘What did he want?’
‘Nothing,’ Embeth said lightly. She sighed deeply. Why couldn’t anyone find anything to talk to her about other than potential suitors? ‘He just came to say hello.’
‘
Claro que sí
and Prince Charming just stopped by to see
me
. Come on, spill the beans, girl!’
‘There
are
none,’ Embeth insisted. She slid off the seat. ‘Besides, he’s barely out of high school.’
‘
No exageres!
He’s older than you!’
‘Doesn’t look it. Anyhow, what’s the rush? I’ve only just got back.’
‘You gonna be an old maid if you don’t watch out,’ Sophia giggled, coming back into the kitchen. ‘Like me and Mercedes.’
‘You speak for yourself,’ Mercedes piped up. ‘I ain’t gonna be here for ever, you wait and see.’
Sophia cackled heartily. Both women were in their fifties. Their chances of finding husbands were long gone, though neither seemed to display any resentment. They’d both given their lives to the care and running of the Hausmann household. What, Embeth wondered suddenly, was their reward? She looked at them as though seeing them for the first time. Mercedes was almost completely grey-haired; her once thick, black hair, springy at the roots (yes, definitely ‘tar’ in the family in
her
case), was pulled back into a rather severe bun at the nape of her neck. Her body that had once been slender and slight had thickened; she looked every inch the plump, well-fed matriarch, except she was no matriarch. No family to speak of other than the Hausmanns, no children, no husband. What would happen to her when she was no longer able to work? What would happen to them both?
She brought the subject up the following
Embeth and Sophia giggled together conspiratorially. Sophia and Mercedes took a lively interest in the comings and goings of the household. They knew more than their employers did about what really went on. Both had been with the Hausmanns for ever. Mercedes was a couple of years younger than Miriám . . . Embeth couldn’t exactly remember the intricate route of relationships by which she’d come to them – her mother had worked in service for Miriám’s mother, or some such – but she genuinely was one of the family. Sophia had been there almost as long – thirty years at least.
‘
Ay Dios
,’ Sophia murmured quietly, putting away the remains of a beautifully pink poached salmon. ‘And as for Señora Cabral . . . well, I wouldn’t like to guess where Señor Cabral was this evening.’
‘I
know
. D’you notice how they never go out together?’
‘
I
heard he’s got another little apartment in town—’
‘No, don’t tell us. You heard it from that little
puta
who works at the Madrigál place?’
‘How do you know?’
‘You’re not the only one with spies, you know—’
Embeth was comfortable in the way of a child, sitting at the table with her arms folded across each other, resting her cheek in the crook of one elbow. The gossip ebbed and flowed. The two women bustled good-naturedly around her, stopping occasionally to exclaim or protest or giggle. Miriám came in and frowned when she saw Embeth slouched over the kitchen table, but said nothing, just raised an eyebrow in that way of hers that said more than words ever could. Sophia hurried after her with the silver tray of coffee pots and exquisite porcelain side plates of
petits fours
that always accompanied the after-dinner coffees on the terrace.
‘So, I saw Señor Hahn here yesterday,’ Mercedes said as soon as they’d gone out, casting a sly, sideways glance at Embeth as she carried a stack of plates to the sink where the girl who did the washing up was waiting.
Embeth inspected her nails. ‘So?’
‘Don’t gimme that look,’ Mercedes grinned. ‘What did he want?’
‘Nothing,’ Embeth said lightly. She sighed deeply. Why couldn’t anyone find anything to talk to her about other than potential suitors? ‘He just came to say hello.’
‘
Claro que sí
and Prince Charming just stopped by to see
me
. Come on, spill the beans, girl!’
‘There
are
none,’ Embeth insisted. She slid off the seat. ‘Besides, he’s barely out of high school.’
‘
No exageres!
He’s older than you!’
‘Doesn’t look it. Anyhow, what’s the rush? I’ve only just got back.’
‘You gonna be an old maid if you don’t watch out,’ Sophia giggled, coming back into the kitchen. ‘Like me and Mercedes.’
‘You speak for yourself,’ Mercedes piped up. ‘I ain’t gonna be here for ever, you wait and see.’
Sophia cackled heartily. Both women were in their fifties. Their chances of finding husbands were long gone, though neither seemed to display any resentment. They’d both given their lives to the care and running of the Hausmann household. What, Embeth wondered suddenly, was their reward? She looked at them as though seeing them for the first time. Mercedes was almost completely grey-haired; her once thick, black hair, springy at the roots (yes, definitely ‘tar’ in the family in
her
case), was pulled back into a rather severe bun at the nape of her neck. Her body that had once been slender and slight had thickened; she looked every inch the plump, well-fed matriarch, except she was no matriarch. No family to speak of other than the Hausmanns, no children, no husband. What would happen to her when she was no longer able to work? What would happen to them both?
She brought the subject up the following
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