She climbed off Pacha with a mastery I didn’t think I would ever achieve with this horse or any other. Lifting her skirt as to not dirty the hemline, she started toward the front of the house with a determined gait. What had happened?
Before I’d finished putting on my trousers, I heard her screechy voice, more upset and unhinged than I’d ever heard her. She was already inside.
“Where is she?” Angélica said.
She?
Oh, no, she’d figured out who I was. But how? Nobody but Martin knew and he’d been with me the entire evening. At least I thought so.
I tried to lock the bedroom door but the knob seemed to be broken.
She was climbing the stairs now, her feet stomping against the wood, her voice getting closer. Martin was telling her to calm down, to come downstairs, calling her by her first name instead of se?ora. This familiarity of theirs, Angélica’s demands, her ringing voice. It almost sounded like she was jealous. They both sounded more like lovers than work associates.
“I know Silvia is here! I know! She left the party right after you did! Oh, I know her so well. She couldn’t wait until her husband cooled down in his grave before coming to see you! Silvia, Silvia!”
She was in the hall now. I was halfway through putting on my corset.
“Silvia is not here,” Martin said. “Stop with this nonsense.”
“You’re such a liar!” Her voice was filled with contempt, but also pain. She was vexed, yes, undoubtedly, but at times it sounded like she might break down and cry.
I was tucking my shirt inside my pants when I heard the door opening in the adjacent room.
“Stop hiding, Silvia! I know you’re in here!”
?Virgen de la Macarena! I’d never moved faster. I didn’t even have a mirror to glue my beard and mustache. Should I try to hide somewhere? The first place she would look would be under the bed.
When the door flew open, I’d just managed to attach the beard to my chin, but I had to hold on to it with my hand so it wouldn’t fall off. I was sitting in the chair where my clothes had been with my legs crossed, my spectacles crooked, and my hand on my chin.
“Don Cristóbal! What are you doing here?”
She stopped sharply by the door. Her eyes taking in the scene in front of her. The bed was still unmade, the breakfast unfinished on the night table, her sister’s husband holding on to his chin as though it might fall.
“Good morning,” I mumbled. “Don Martin was kind enough to let me spend the night here. I’m in horrible pain, you see, I think it’s my molar.”
I only wished she wouldn’t ask to see it.
“Yes,” Martin said promptly. I wouldn’t look him in the eye. “We left the party because Don Cristóbal could barely handle the pain in his mouth, but he didn’t want to ruin your evening, Do?a Angélica. Hard as we tried, we couldn’t find a single doctor to help him, so we just came here so he could rest.”
I couldn’t bear the sight of him. He was so good at lying. It had come so easy to follow my lead.
“I’m so sorry to hear that, Don Cristóbal.” Her breathing had slowed down, but her cheeks were still red. “I can arrange for Laurent to take you to the doctor today. I’ll have him come over immediately to pick you up.” Then, adjusting the sleeves of her sheer overblouse, she turned to Martin. “I wish you would’ve told me right away that Don Cristóbal was here.”
“I tried,” he said between clenched teeth.
“There’s no need for anybody to bother taking me. I can walk to town,” I said. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment while I finish getting ready, I’ll be on my way.”
“Of course.” Angélica walked out of the room. Martin raised his finger, as though asking me to stay, but I avoided his face and put on my jacket.
*
I somehow managed to attach the facial hair and swiftly left the room. Angélica was already climbing on her horse. Martin was telling her something, and she was nodding. I circled the house so neither one of them would see me leave, and I then I hastened down the road in the direction of Vinces.
There was an unbearable pressure in my chest that my hand couldn’t soothe.
I didn’t want to talk to Martin, and I certainly didn’t want to go back to the hacienda. I just wanted to be alone and think about what I’d just learned.
Martin and Angélica were lovers. It had been obvious.
Everything made sense now: why Angélica had left the house that night while her husband was away playing cards and she thought everyone was sleeping; why at times Martin seemed so irritated by Laurent’s presence or his nearness toward Angélica. My suspicions about Laurent liking men, and why there seemed to be a mere companionship, not affection and certainly no sexual tension, between Angélica and her husband. It also explained why Martin was a still a bachelor. A man his age would’ve found a woman to settle with by now instead of fulfilling his urges with prostitutes until Angélica could come to him during Corazones night.
For how long had this been going on? And what did Silvia have to do with them? Had Martin cheated on Angélica with this woman? Catalina had mentioned a rupture between the two friends. And then, last night at the party, Martin had wanted to leave as soon as that woman had arrived and had avoided talking to either one of them.
I’d been such a fool. I’d fallen directly into Martin’s trap. He’d been on Angélica’s side from the very beginning. He’d wanted my father’s land all along. The worse part was that I’d known this. He’d even made an offer to buy my share of the estate. He’d been trying to get his hands on the plantation in every possible way he could: if not through Angélica, then by purchasing my part, and since neither one worked, he was going to get it through me.
What better way to get full control of the plantation than by having the majority holder fall in love with him? That was why he hadn’t told Angélica about me. Because I was certain now that she didn’t know. I could see it in her humiliation a moment ago. If Angélica had thought for a second that I was a woman, her jealousy would’ve multiplied. Instead, her anger had dissipated when she realized that I wasn’t a threat, that I didn’t want her man.