Read Online Private House by Anthony Hyde - Free Book Online

on the phone, he’s lived for years near Grasse growing flowers for the perfume industry—he can’t leave because of some warrant, I don’t know for what . . . the man I want to speak to here is wanted for murder and robbery, though of course he says it’s a frame-up.”
    â€œIt probably is.”
    â€œWell, maybe I’ll find out. I’m going to see him today for lunch.”
    â€œBut you’ve been here several days?”
    She nodded. “I came early, so I could get a feel for the place. And I wanted to see Castro’s Primero de Mayo performance in the Plaza de la Revolución.”
    â€œI went, too. I wanted to see him—you know, to be able to say I’d seen him.”
    â€œWhat did you think?”
    â€œI was glad I went, but I didn’t think it was very good public relations. Chavez, the man from Venezuela, seemed so much stronger.”
    â€œI know,” said Mathilde, “in his red shirt. I thought Castro looked silly in his guerrilla uniform and that cap. Like an actor dressed up for the part.”
    â€œAn actor who doesn’t know when to get off the stage!”
    â€œBut you are a supporter of the regime?” Mathilde’s voice, asking the question, was clearly uncertain of the reply.
    â€œI suppose I am. I support Cuba. Cubans . I think the Americans should leave them alone.”
    â€œThe trouble is, they’re Stalinists. I have problems with that.”
    â€œWell, Murray always said that the Cuban revolution was a failure, but an honourable one, and he still put the emphasis on the ‘honourable.’”
    â€œI suppose I would agree, but I might put the emphasis the other way around.”
    Lorraine finished her coffee, and Mathilde followed suit. It was clear they were leaving. Lorraine said, “We’re quite a pair. I’m seeing a priest, and you’re having lunch with a Black Panther.” Mathilde laughed. She could see, at the moment of parting, bashfulness coming over Lorraine, the shyness that was probably an important side of her character. It seemed to leave things up to her, and as they stepped into the lobby she said, “Perhaps we should meet every morning to keep up to date with each other’s adventures?”
    Lorraine was pleased, and the pinkness she’d picked up from the sun deepened. “I’d like that very much.” She turned away, then looked back: “Au’voir—à demain.”
    Mathilde, again, was surprised: not quite . For Lorraine’s French had been quick, her accent not so much correct as natural. She seemed to be a type, someone you could sum up fairly easily; but it didn’t turn out that way. She watched as Lorraine went down the steps, into the brightness of the hotel entrance, and disappeared. I am everything Adamaris desires to be, and Lorraine is everything I don’t wish to become. But this thought was only a test, formulated to be denied. She would have believed it yesterday, on the basis of seeing Lorraine around the hotel. But now she knew it wasn’t fair; it wasn’t even true. But it was interesting; whether thinking of Adamaris or Lorraine, she was faced with the fact that you did become someone , not just for yourself, but for other people. A “character.” Who would she be?
    2
    The address Lorraine had for the church was on Calle 13, but when the taxi dropped her, she discovered it was on the corner of Calle K, so it wasn’t far from the house where Almado had lived and whereshe’d been the day before; which made it slightly more plausible that Almado had actually gone to the church and was known there.
    The church charmed her at once. This was Vedado, so it was almost impossible to see, lost in a plantation of palm, magnolia, and oleander—and even one scraggly pine; but when she stood back, on the other side of the street, she could make it out, white, Spanish Mission in style, through the