to an unnatural degree. He had an expression of
concentrated gloom. It was impossible to tell whether he was focusing on what he saw, or saw nothing. His long fingers wandered expertly across the strings. The dancers laughed and swung their
hips. William permitted one foot to tap.
An infusion of yet more people on to the floor, a crowd who had come in together, raised the tempo and temperature. William was still staring at the staring guitarist when he felt a hand on his
shoulder.
‘You do not have to be a spectator. Here even
un Inglés
who is married can enjoy himself.’ Ricardo smiled.
William stood quickly as if caught out. ‘What are you doing here?’
Ricardo laughed. ‘I should ask you that question. I have come to dance. But you?’ He held up his hand. ‘You have come for Ines and Theresa?’
‘No, not just that, I was helping—’
‘Do not worry, you are not the only man who comes for this reason.’ He turned to a girl at his side. ‘Maria, this is William. He is my very English partner.’
Maria was small, pretty and dark. They shook hands and William moved his duffel-coat from one of the free chairs. The hammer clonked against the table. ‘Won’t you sit down?
There’s plenty of room.’
‘Yes, but first we will dance. We are with others but we will all join you and you can dance with Maria.’ Ricardo smiled again. ‘Then you need not feel guilty. You look very
married tonight, William.’
William smiled back. ‘I am.’
For Ricardo dancing was an exhibition, his partner a necessary prop. He curled and cavorted, swayed and swung, taking up more room than anyone else. It was a good exhibition, energetic and
graceful, but vitiated by being a performance. He danced as if before a mirror and William soon wearied of watching. Instead he watched Maria, who at least was trying to dance with her partner, her
movements modest but responsive. William’s attention was again distracted by the guitarist, whose stare was fixed in its concentration or vacuity.
When the cha-cha finished another table was pulled alongside, more chairs gathered, drinks ordered. Ricardo’s companions were boisterous with each other and elaborately polite and
uninterested with William. Ricardo continued to call him his ‘English partner’, implying inferior status. Maria smiled and was quiet. William exchanged smiles with her but did not
speak. The music and the clamour of rapid simultaneous conversations strained his Spanish.
Ricardo lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair. ‘Does your wife know you are here?’
‘Of course, yes. I came to help Theresa start her car. I told her.’
‘Of course, yes, to start her car.’ Ricardo smiled. ‘Does Theresa know you are married?’
‘Oh yes. Well, no, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, anyway; it’s not like that.’
Ricardo put his hand on William’s shoulder again. ‘Maybe you forgot to mention it, yes? It has slipped your mind. But William, I have news for you: you have competition for that
woman.’
‘I’m not in competition for her.’
‘Big competition. From the president himself. He is coming here tonight. If he likes her, he will take her as his mistress. It is her big chance.’
‘Good for her.’
He tried to sound nonchalant. No doubt this was what Box would call an opportunity. It was important not to show too much interest. He looked around. ‘Who owns this place?’
Ricardo pointed to the staring guitarist. ‘He does. He is a very rich man who never spends anything unless it is to earn something. Your predecessor,
Señor
Wicks, used to
make arrangements with him. The best girls are here.’
‘Does he always play the guitar?’
‘When he wishes. It is a hobby for him. And the girls here, they are examined medically and have to audition just to work. They cannot come in off the street. He is a very strict man. He
is famous for his money and his principles.’
‘Does he always stare like that?’
‘Always. He is
concentrated gloom. It was impossible to tell whether he was focusing on what he saw, or saw nothing. His long fingers wandered expertly across the strings. The dancers laughed and swung their
hips. William permitted one foot to tap.
An infusion of yet more people on to the floor, a crowd who had come in together, raised the tempo and temperature. William was still staring at the staring guitarist when he felt a hand on his
shoulder.
‘You do not have to be a spectator. Here even
un Inglés
who is married can enjoy himself.’ Ricardo smiled.
William stood quickly as if caught out. ‘What are you doing here?’
Ricardo laughed. ‘I should ask you that question. I have come to dance. But you?’ He held up his hand. ‘You have come for Ines and Theresa?’
‘No, not just that, I was helping—’
‘Do not worry, you are not the only man who comes for this reason.’ He turned to a girl at his side. ‘Maria, this is William. He is my very English partner.’
Maria was small, pretty and dark. They shook hands and William moved his duffel-coat from one of the free chairs. The hammer clonked against the table. ‘Won’t you sit down?
There’s plenty of room.’
‘Yes, but first we will dance. We are with others but we will all join you and you can dance with Maria.’ Ricardo smiled again. ‘Then you need not feel guilty. You look very
married tonight, William.’
William smiled back. ‘I am.’
For Ricardo dancing was an exhibition, his partner a necessary prop. He curled and cavorted, swayed and swung, taking up more room than anyone else. It was a good exhibition, energetic and
graceful, but vitiated by being a performance. He danced as if before a mirror and William soon wearied of watching. Instead he watched Maria, who at least was trying to dance with her partner, her
movements modest but responsive. William’s attention was again distracted by the guitarist, whose stare was fixed in its concentration or vacuity.
When the cha-cha finished another table was pulled alongside, more chairs gathered, drinks ordered. Ricardo’s companions were boisterous with each other and elaborately polite and
uninterested with William. Ricardo continued to call him his ‘English partner’, implying inferior status. Maria smiled and was quiet. William exchanged smiles with her but did not
speak. The music and the clamour of rapid simultaneous conversations strained his Spanish.
Ricardo lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair. ‘Does your wife know you are here?’
‘Of course, yes. I came to help Theresa start her car. I told her.’
‘Of course, yes, to start her car.’ Ricardo smiled. ‘Does Theresa know you are married?’
‘Oh yes. Well, no, I don’t know. It doesn’t matter, anyway; it’s not like that.’
Ricardo put his hand on William’s shoulder again. ‘Maybe you forgot to mention it, yes? It has slipped your mind. But William, I have news for you: you have competition for that
woman.’
‘I’m not in competition for her.’
‘Big competition. From the president himself. He is coming here tonight. If he likes her, he will take her as his mistress. It is her big chance.’
‘Good for her.’
He tried to sound nonchalant. No doubt this was what Box would call an opportunity. It was important not to show too much interest. He looked around. ‘Who owns this place?’
Ricardo pointed to the staring guitarist. ‘He does. He is a very rich man who never spends anything unless it is to earn something. Your predecessor,
Señor
Wicks, used to
make arrangements with him. The best girls are here.’
‘Does he always play the guitar?’
‘When he wishes. It is a hobby for him. And the girls here, they are examined medically and have to audition just to work. They cannot come in off the street. He is a very strict man. He
is famous for his money and his principles.’
‘Does he always stare like that?’
‘Always. He is
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