Spy in a Little Black Dress - By Maxine Kenneth Page 0,74
other beautiful homes on La Avenida, the gated managers’ row. Jackie inhaled the fragrant bougainvillea in the arbor and stared at the stately arcades and columns of the sprawling mansion surrounded by profuse gardens. It looked like Merrywood transplanted in a tropical setting.
Emiliano pulled Jackie aside before they reached the guard at the front gate and said in a low voice that only she could hear, “Now, remember, Walter Mitchell is a close friend of Batista’s. He has no inkling of my involvement with the rebels, so you must never breathe a word of it or say anything favorable about Fidel Castro. I’ll make up some story about who you are and why we’re here in such a sorry state.”
“Got it,” Jackie said.
The private guard, a sleepy-eyed, middle-aged man in a pale green uniform, gave Jackie a wary look but recognized Emiliano and nodded at him. “Buenos días, Señor Martinez,” he said, and opened the gate for them.
Jackie eyed the Olympic-sized turquoise pool on the grounds enviously, wishing that she could tear off her damp, grimy clothes and dive in, but she quelled that urge as she followed Emiliano to the front door. After several loud raps of the brass knocker, the door opened, and there stood a stout, pale, motherly-looking woman with graying hair piled high on her head in a towering beehive and a wide smile on her face.
“Emiliano, how nice to see you,” the woman said, holding her hands out to him. “Do come in.” She eyed Jackie with a look of curiosity tinged with sympathy, as if to say, Who is this poor, bedraggled creature?
“I hope we’re not disturbing you with this surprise visit, Mrs. Mitchell,” Emiliano said in a contrite tone, “but my friend and I had a car accident on the road, and we had nowhere else to turn.”
“A car accident? Oh, you poor dears,” Mrs. Mitchell clucked. “Of course you’re not disturbing me, Emiliano.” She glanced at Jackie. “And who is your beautiful friend?”
Jackie smiled, grateful for the “beautiful,” as she thought how her mother would have disowned her on the spot had she seen Jackie out in public looking so god-awful, no matter how calamitous the reason.
“This is Jacqueline Bouvier,” Emiliano said. “She’s an American journalist on a tour of Cuba. A mutual friend asked me to show Jacqueline Oriente Province. I was happy to be her guide, but unexpectedly, my car had some kind of mechanical failure. It happened so quickly that we went off the road and crashed into a tree. Luckily, we weren’t hurt, but we had to continue on foot until we got here.”
“How awful,” Mrs. Mitchell exclaimed with a little shudder. Then her face brightened, and she returned to being a cordial hostess. “Well, thank heavens you weren’t injured. Make yourselves at home,” she said as she led her guests into the breathtakingly spacious, lavishly furnished living room, an architectural triumph with a stunning parquet floor, marble columns, and vaulted windows. “I’ll have Esmerelda fix you something to eat and drink, and then you can rest up and spend the rest of the day here doing whatever you like.”
“That’s so kind of you, Mrs. Mitchell,” Jackie said. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your hospitality.”
“My pleasure, dear.” Mrs. Mitchell beamed at Jackie and Emiliano as if she had some good news. “Actually, you two couldn’t have picked a better time for a visit. Tonight, we’re having a dinner dance for Ambassador Beaulac, and of course you’re invited to join us. Mr. Mitchell is at the club now, but I know he would insist on it if he were here.”
Jackie gulped. “That’s such an honor, but…” She glanced down at her filthy, torn cotton dress, and her voice trailed off.
“Oh, don’t worry about what to wear,” Mrs. Mitchell said quickly. “You can borrow something from the clothes my children left behind when they went off to college. They’re living in dungarees now.” The wistful note in her voice reminded Jackie of Emiliano’s description of the Mitchells as lonely parents who missed having their children at home. “A dinner jacket of Ricky’s should fit you perfectly, Emiliano.” She looked at Jackie with an appraising eye. “You’re about the same size as my daughter, Stephanie, so help yourself to a gown of hers for tonight and feel free to borrow whatever else you need for the daytime.”
Mrs. Mitchell left Jackie and Emiliano comfortably ensconced on a plush, hibiscus red sofa and went off to tell the cook to