The Most Beautiful Girl in Cuba - Chanel Cleeton Page 0,42
intercept the boats first, but the Spanish do everything they can to prevent the filibusters from making landfall. After all, considering how much both sides are struggling to adequately supply their forces, having ammunition can make all the difference in the world.”
It’s a new facet of his personality, one I never would have guessed at. But then again, it explains so much about his friendship with Will Hearst. They are both men with streaks of idealism you never would imagine given their outward appearance.
“How long have you been sending arms and aid to Cuba?”
“Two years. I’m not sure how much of a difference it makes, but I can spare the boats.”
I don’t know why he’s downplaying his role in all of this, but I doubt it’s a very small thing.
“There’s money to be made in smuggling,” he adds.
I stop walking and study him for a moment. He’s entrusting me with something important about himself, and I feel a need to respect his honesty and return it with some candor of my own.
“It’s not just that. You’re not a reckless man, and there must be far easier ways for you to make money. Not that you likely need all that much, anyway. You do it because you care.”
He looks momentarily embarrassed. “Can you ever have enough money? I’m not sure that’s possible.”
“I don’t believe that’s your motivation. Try as you may, you’re not going to convince me you’re that mercenary.”
“Why do you care so much about my motivations?”
I open my mouth to reply, and then close it again, no good answer coming to mind.
“I suppose you can call it my sentimentality, then,” Rafael finally replies. “I am Cuban even if I don’t live on the island, and it’s impossible to not hear of the atrocities they’re suffering and not feel some desire to help out, even if I’m not entirely convinced it isn’t all for naught.”
His gaze lingers on me, and I duck my head, my cheeks heating at the intensity of his stare. With each moment that passes, it feels as though the conversation grows more intimate, and I realize we are standing uncomfortably close together on the crowded street.
“Who were you meeting at Delmonico’s that day?” he murmurs. “I confess I’ve thought about it a great deal.”
Embarrassment floods me as I remember the impression I gave him, how he teased me over whether I was meeting a lover there. Except there’s nothing joking in his demeanor, now.
“Not a lover.”
He quirks a brow at me in question.
I take a deep breath, the words rushing out. “I was meeting Joseph Pulitzer.”
“Pulitzer? Don’t tell me he’s trying to steal you away from the Journal.”
Maybe it’s my guilt over betraying his confidence with the Clemencia Arango story. Or the fact that he trusted me with his secrets, and I can’t help but share something about myself with him. Or maybe I suppose I consider him to be a friend after all, too. All I know is I surprise us both, I think, by telling him the truth.
“I’ve been spying on Hearst. For Pulitzer.”
He gapes at me. “You’ve—”
“That day we met in Hearst’s office, I had gone to see Pulitzer first about a job at the World. But Pulitzer wasn’t interested in hiring me unless I proved myself. I was too inexperienced, but he saw an opportunity to use me. He knew Hearst had spies in his newsroom, and he wanted me to do the same for him at the Journal. He didn’t think Hearst would suspect someone like me.”
He doesn’t speak for a beat that stretches on longer than I’d like and then—
“What have you given Pulitzer?”
I can’t decipher the tone of his voice, and I don’t look him in the eyes, for I don’t think I could bear to see disappointment in me reflected there.
“Little things here and there. When you told me there were problems with the Clemencia Arango story, I shared that information with Pulitzer. I’m sorry. Truly. I do regret that. Maybe most of all.”
“Why did you do it then?”
“I’d given Pulitzer so little information since I started working for him. He offered me a year to prove myself, and it’s almost up, and he was clearly growing frustrated with me. I didn’t want to lose my chance, but I also didn’t want to tell him about Ricardo Ruiz. I figured since the Clemencia Arango story was already beginning to leak, it wouldn’t matter so much, he’d learn the truth eventually. I suppose that’s how I justified what I