Page 47 of It Takes Three To Tango

I place the box down on a chair.

“Are you thinking of using this as a workroom?”

“I was, but we could do with a table so I can set my laptop up.”

“I’ve got an idea; be right back.” I go in search of my aunt and find her resting in her rooms. We have dinner planned for later, so she’s conserving her energy. She tells me where I can find a suitable table and I go back to the Hollywood room, meeting Constantin in the lobby.

“I brought lunch,” he says, holding up some paper bags.

“Perfect. Drop them in the kitchen and give me a hand.”

“With what?” he asks, following me through the kitchen to a storeroom beyond.

“We’re turning the Hollywood room into an office for Rafe.”

“The Hollywood room?” He frowns. “Is that the room with the photographs?”

“The very same.”

“Did Rafe call it that?”

I just give him a look and he laughs as he picks up his end of the table. “Was he ever really straight?”

“The jury’s still out on that one.” I hoist the table, and we carry it through to the room.

“Oh, that’s perfect,” Rafe exclaims when we enter. We set the table down and place a few chairs round it.

“Good. Now come and get the lunch I brought.”

“What are you looking for?” Constantin takes one of the diaries and throws himself onto the couch.

“Anything interesting,” Rafe says. Then follows it up with, “Okay, that wasn’t very helpful, was it?” Constantin snorts.

Rafe rips a couple of pieces of paper off his pad and hands one to each of us.

“First, write down which diary you have and the dates it covers. Then, as you read through it, note any significant events that occur and any important details. Also, jot down people she meets. Hopefully, we can build up a picture of her life and I can use these details to decide the structure of the biography. Then I can use what you’ve written as an index to find the information for the details.”

“That’s impressive,” I say. “It’s like you’ve done this before.”

“Well, not quite on this scale.” Rafe laughs.

I grab a diary and settle into one of the large, comfortable chairs. Rafe sits at the table with his laptop, a diary, and a notebook.

We work for a few hours, exchanging a few little quotes. The diaries we’re going through are of her early life, and I gain a few interesting facts about her life growing up in Argentina and my own grandparents.

I’m roused from my absorption in the diary by Rafe nudging my foot. I look at him and he tilts his head towards Constantin, who’s fallen asleep.

“Should we wake him?” he whispers.

“Is he grumpy when he wakes up, do you think?” He seems like he might be the type.

“There’s only one way to find out.” Rafe is already walkingover to the couch and kneeling down beside Constantin. I join him.

“Constantin,” he says quietly, but there’s no movement.

“Constantin.” This time he gives a little sing-song voice.

“Mmmm, siesta,” he mumbles, barely coherently.

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