Page 116 of Hit Man
Yes, time certainly makes the heart grow fonder.
I understood his father and mother had separated, and that Little Lord resided with both parents. Yet having never met Señora del Leon, I based my expectations of her home off of the strange man I met that day outside The Linguistic Academy. I expected cold. Uninviting. A closed-off air about it. What I never anticipated was the natural, breathtaking beauty of this hacienda.
It’s the kind of house I’d die to live in.
Its adobe-clad frame is a pale butterscotch color, offset by the red clay roof tiles and pavers leading up to the double-doored entrance. Wide arching windows overlook the meticulously groomed grounds. Iron shutters and lighting features add to the home’s rugged romantic beauty. The hacienda offers the perfect textures of stone, wood, earth, and tile. Unpretentious in its exquisiteness.
Once inside, a dark wooden beamed ceiling invites you in and a magnificently large spiraling staircase, with rails of wood and wrought iron, make you never want to leave.
But as I’m led into a parlor to my right, it’s the sight of the massive, intricately designed stained-glass window, featuring a rainbow of roses, irises, daisies, and daffodils, that steels my breath away. Colorful light dances off the cool white tile floor.
I’m in total, absolute love.
I glance around in wonderment, until my gaze halts on a woman with rich chestnut-colored hair standing off to the side by the door. She’s dressed in a crisp black button-down top and black straight-line skirt.All she needs to complete the outfit is a red ribbon tied around her throat,I think. The perfect picture of a humble servant except for . . . her hostile stare that seems to reach across the room, grab me by the throat, and say, “You are not welcome here.”
“Señora del Leon is preoccupied preparing for her departure. You are to sit and wait. Tea and crumpets will be brought in shortly,” she offers in a sharp American accent.
Little Lord, standing by my side, enthusiastically claps his hands. “Teatime.”
“You’ll wash up first.”
Little Lord sticks out his tongue and seems totally unperturbed by her harsh manner. His tongue is still stubbornly stuck out as she marches across the room, snatches his hand, and ushers the little hustler right out of the room.
Hostile or not, my respect for her has automatically multiplied.
I settle down onto a creamy white settee, and think about my conversation with Señora del Leon. She seemed only too delighted that I’d belatedly accepted her offer to meet. “Perfect timing,” she’d said, as she and her son were headed off to Kenya for a once-in-a-lifetime safari vacation. I’m hoping after she hears about the fiasco at the airport, she’ll offer me a place to stay for the night. I intended to stay at a nearby hotel. Yet what I wouldn’t give for time spent exploring this marvelous home.
Which is why I shouldn’t let the nanny’s lackluster welcome ruin my visit. It’d be nice to leave Mexico on an upbeat, nondramatic note.
I bite my lip as Antonio’s words flicker through my thoughts. “You haven’t seen the last of Diego.” But despite his reassurances, I don’t see how a reunion between us is even possible. Seriously? Government work or not, it’s unlikely he’ll track me down in the Bay Area, where I’m hoping to find an apartment. I want to be close to Stanford and work on my connections there. I have important work to do, just like he does.
A servant enters carrying a silver-plated teapot. Soft clouds billow out of its spout as she sets it down on the tea tray on the coffee table before me. As she leaves, another woman enters.
I stand and offer her my hands in a warm greeting. “Señora del Leon.”
“Aubrey, welcome to Hacienda Santo Miguel. My Sylvester has told me so much about you. I owe you the deepest gratitude for keeping my baby safe.” She greets me in perfect English. “I understand that a bomb went off near the school? His father is a careless man who should have paid a bit more attention to his son instead of his maid staff. He thought I wouldn’t find out.”
I blink, unsure how to respond to that. “Yes. Incredible, right? A wall inside the school split right open from the vibration of it. I didn’t think bombs were such a common thing in Mexico. But as I told you, my flight home was cancelled due to a security scare.”
“It was on the television. This nonsense happens all over the world though I plan on creating a bit of a fuss if it’s not resolved by Saturday. Tea?” Without waiting, she picks up the silver pot and pours an aromatic blend of amber brown liquid into a dainty white teacup. “There’s cream and sugar cubes.”
I fix my tea and watch her graceful movements as she does the same for herself.
She’s an attractive woman. Midthirties, I’m guessing by the faint crow’s-feet around her eyes. Her blond hair is pulled back into a neat ponytail. Her makeup is a bit more than what I’m comfortable wearing, with bright red lipstick that leaves a lip print on the teacup. She’s wearing a crisp white blouse and matching slacks, not a wrinkle or dirt smudge in sight. Other than a scratch on her hand and two chipped fingernails, she’s the perfect picture of refined elegance, just like her home.
“How did you expect to fly home without a passport, eh?” she asks.
I stiffen. Her tone is polite yet there’s something in her manner that is unsettling. I refrain from telling her how the Irishman made arrangements for me. I feel her stare, and offer her a lie. “I’d heard that there’s a custom office inside the airport. I’d hoped to replace my passport there.”
“It sounds reasonable.”
I resist the urge to shake my head.No, it sounds like I’m lying to you.
“You like my home?” she asks, mercifully changing the subject.
“I love it. Your stained-glass window is absolutely exquisite. I love how the light plays off of the white decor.”
She smiles with pleasure. “I own several around the world but this one is my favorite. I suppose it’s because my son was born here. My youngest son, Sylvester. My oldest was born under different circumstances.” She frowns, but soon recovers from whatever bad memory had flickered across her thoughts. “I dreamed about living in such a place as a little girl. I worked with an engineer, an architect, and an interior designer on this house, planning every room, every detail. The exterior. Interior. The grounds.” She sighs. “I’m pained to have to leave it.”
