The locals on the balconies broke their stasis and waved: the men handkerchiefs, the women ribbons or lengths of lace. Though they didn’t raise their own voices, the servants standing behind them cheered loudly.
Flora released the Count and threw herself into Daniel’s arms. “Master Leary of Bantry?” she said, raising her lips for what was certainly not intended to be a peck on the cheek.
“Madame Pansuela,” Daniel said, keeping his own face lifted toward the women waiting on the balcony—some very nice ones there, yes. He patted the lady’s shoulder-blade with a masculine firmness. “Honored to meet you, Madame, and your esteemed husband.”
By making a quarter turn to the right, then quickly reversing his motion, Daniel detached himself. He extended his right hand to Enrique, effectively preventing Flora from gripping him again. From the corner of his eye he saw her return her attention to Count Klimov with a moue of frustration.
A striped creature the size of a cat humped halfway across the courtyard, then stopped to raise and lower its front half repeatedly in quick succession. It had either no legs or very short ones; a pair of tiny, bright eyes framed its prehensile nose.
“Very good of you to grant us your hospitality,” Daniel said as he pumped his host’s hand with verve, trying to mask the fact of Madame Pansuela’s obvious play for him. Though he didn’t imagine it was a new experience to her husband.
Bloody Hell, perfumed powder from the lady’s bosom was smudged across the front of his Dress Grays. He’d be lucky if he didn’t sneeze!
“Ours is the honor, Captain,” Pansuela said. His speech had a slight glaze and he moved with the stiff formality of a drunk. Daniel couldn’t smell alcohol on his breath, but the old man was either ill or on some drug. “Will you and your fellow Patrons accompany me? I wish to introduce you to our friends before dinner and to show you Pansuela House.”
“Yes, I’d like to meet your friends,” said Valentina, eyeing her husband with mild distaste. “Some of them, anyway.”
She offered Pansuela her arm imperiously. He took it, bowed, and started up the broad stairs with her at his side.
Adele set her hand firmly on Daniel’s biceps, providing both of them with cover. That probably wasn’t necessary, because Flora had welded herself to Klimov; the Count seemed pleased with the attention. The priest watched them from the landing with eyes like chips of obsidian.
As Daniel and Adele followed the other couples to the second floor, he caught a glimpse of the striped animal. It resumed hopping toward the far wall. Following it now were a half dozen similar creatures of half the size, making cheerful little squeals.
A good omen, Daniel decided; but from the hard line of Adele’s lips as she watched Flora Pansuela, he decided not to whisper the thought to her.
CHAPTER 15
“Do have a bite of this breast, Captain Leary,” said Estrella, the strawberry blonde on Daniel’s left, offering him a tidbit of chicken between her thumb and index finger. She giggled and with her other hand plucked the deep-scooped neck of her blouse momentarily below her nipples. “Wouldn’t you like that?”
“I think Dannie prefers dark meat,” said Margolla, the brunette on his other side as she leaned against his arm. Her top covered her from chin to wrists, but the fabric was translucent even in dim light and so thin he felt not only her warmth but her heartbeat. “Do you like dark meat, Dannie?”
“At the moment . . . ,” said Daniel with a catch in his throat. “I think I’ll have some more of this excellent wine.”
He emptied his glass and looked around for a waiter. Two servants converged on him, each carrying a ewer. They jostled for a moment, then one poked the other in the ribs with his free hand.
“Boys!” Daniel snapped. He pointed his finger at the servant who’d jabbed the other and said, “Stand back!” When the servant obeyed, bowing and scraping with his free hand, Daniel offered his glass to the other fellow to fill.
Daniel saw Adele reach into her jacket pocket when he raised his voice. She alone of the forty-odd diners appeared to have noticed anything. She sat at the end of the table on Enrique Pansuela’s right; he’d been lecturing her about the curio cabinets covering the walls to the mezzanine walkway.