The first thing she noticed upon walking into Virgil’s room was an imposing painting of Howard Doyle, hands clasped together, an amber ring on his finger, staring down at her across the room. Virgil’s bed was half hidden behind a three-fold painted screen depicting branches of lilacs and roses. The divider created a sitting area, with a faded rug and a pair of shabby leather chairs.
“You’ve gone to town again this morning,” Virgil said. His voice came from behind the divider. “Florence dislikes it when you do that. Just off, without a word.”
She approached the painted screen. She noticed that among the flowers and the ferns there lay a snake. It was cleverly hidden, the eye peeking from behind a clump of roses. It lay in wait, like the snake in the garden of Eden.
“I thought driving alone into town was the issue,” Noemí replied.
“The roads are bad, and the rains will grow stronger any day now. Torrential rains. The soil turns into a sea of mud. The rain flooded the mines the year I was born. We lost everything.”
“It does rain, I’ve noticed. And the road is not good. But the roads are not impassable.”
“They will be. There’s been a lull in the rain, but it will fall ferociously very soon. Fetch me the robe on the chair, please.”
She grabbed the heavy crimson robe that had been left on one of the chairs and walked back toward the wooden screen. She was startled to see Virgil hadn’t bothered putting on a shirt and stood there half naked and nonchalant. This was much too casual; it was frankly immodest, and she blushed in shame.
“How, then, will Dr. Cummins make his way here? He’s supposed to visit every week,” she said, averting her gaze quickly as she held out the robe. She tried to maintain a cool tone of voice despite the warmth on her cheeks. If he wanted to mortify her, he must try harder.
“He has a truck. Do you honestly think the cars we have are fit for driving constantly up and down the mountain?”
“I assumed Francis would let me know if he felt it was hazardous.”
“Francis,” Virgil said. She glanced at him when he said the name. He tied the robe’s belt. “It seems you spend most of your time with him rather than with Catalina.”
Was he reproaching her? No, she thought it was slightly different. He was assessing her, the same way a jeweler might gaze at a diamond, trying to measure its clarity or an entomologist would look at a butterfly’s wings under the microscope.
“I have spent a reasonable amount of time with him.”
Virgil smiled without any pleasure. “You are so careful with your words. So poised in front of me. I picture you, in your city of cocktail parties and careful words. Do you ever lower your mask there?”
He gestured for her to sit down in one of the leather chairs. She pointedly ignored the gesture. “It’s funny, here I thought you could teach me a thing or two about masquerades,” she replied.
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not the first time Catalina was ill like this. She drank the same tincture and had the same bad reaction.”
She had thought to say nothing of the matter, but she wanted to gauge his reaction. He’d assessed her. Now it was her turn.
“You have indeed been spending time with Francis,” Virgil said, distaste clear on his face. “Yes, I forgot to mention that previous episode.”
“How convenient.”
“What? The doctor explained to you that she has depressive tendencies, and you thought it was all lies. If I’d told you she was suicidal—”
“She’s not suicidal,” Noemí protested.
“Well, of course, since you seem to know everything,” Virgil muttered. He looked a little bored and waved a hand, as if shooing an invisible insect. Shooing her. The gesture made her furious.
“You took Catalina from the city and brought her here, and if she is suicidal then it’s your fault,” she replied.
She wished to be cruel. She wanted to repay him with the same coin he’d used with her before, but once she had spit her venom she regretted the words, because for once he seemed upset. He looked as if she’d physically stricken him, a pure moment of pain or perhaps shame.
“Virgil,” she began, but he shook his head, silencing her.
“No, you’re correct. It’s my fault. Catalina fell in love with me for the wrong reasons.” Virgil sat very straight in his seat, his eyes fixed on her, his