Page 137 of The Moon Sister
José rolled his eyes, but ten minutes later the bus pulled up in front of a grand hotel, its imposing front doors flanked by two doormen in smart red uniforms.
‘Wait here and I will go inside.’ Lucía clambered down as Meñique hastily followed her. She marched past the doormen and through the marble-floored lobby to the reception desk.
‘I am Lucía Albaycín,’ she announced to a startled receptionist. ‘Myself and mycuadroare here to perform in the Teatro da Trindade, and we need some rooms.’
The woman took one look at the street urchin in her filthy flamenco dress, and immediately called the manager.
‘We have gypsies in reception,’ she murmured as she led the manager out to the front desk.
The manager strode towards Lucía, ready for trouble, then did a double take and immediately smiled.
‘Lucía Albaycín, I presume?’
‘Sí, señor, I am only glad that someone in this godforsaken country recognises me.’
‘It is an honour to have you here. I have seen your film three times,’ the manager explained. ‘Now, what can I do for you?’
Fifteen minutes later, the company were installed in a set of luxurious rooms. Lucía had been given a suite. She danced around it, stealing apples and oranges from the fruit bowl, along with two ashtrays and a bar of soap from the bathroom, then hiding them in a cupboard to take with her when she left.
‘We must eat,’ she declared as the rest of the company gathered in her room. ‘Order from the menu for me, if you can understand the Portuguese for sardines, and I will take a bath.’
‘I hope Geraldo is prepared to give us a loan; these rooms must cost the ransom for King Alfonso,’ muttered José as he knocked back brandy from the bottle he’d found in the bar.
When room service arrived, they sat on the floor of the suite and ate hungrily with their fingers. Fernanda and Bernardo – who spoke fluent Portuguese – had been despatched to find Lucía something to wear for her meeting as her flamenco dress soaked in the bathtub.
‘How do I look?’ she asked Meñique an hour later, twirling in the red-spotted dress that Fernanda had found in the children’s department of a local store.
‘Lovely.’ He smiled and kissed her. ‘Shall I come with you?’
‘No, it is better I go alone,’ she said as she walked towards the door.
With Bernardo as her guard and translator if needed, Lucía found the offices of the impresario. The receptionist insisted he was out, but Lucía marched straight in.
‘Geraldo,’ she said as she walked towards the man sitting behind an elegant partners’ desk. ‘I am here!’
The heavily moustached man looked up from his paperwork and studied her. Eventually, recognition dawned, and he waved his anxious receptionist out of the room.
‘Señorita Albaycín, how delightful to meet you in person,’ he said in passable Spanish.
‘And you, señor.’
‘Please, sit down, and forgive my bad Spanish. Is this your father?’ he asked, indicating Bernardo, who was standing sentry-like next to her.
‘No. I brought him to translate, but I see there is no need.’ Lucía waved her hand imperiously towards Bernardo. ‘Thank you, you can wait outside now. So, where is the theatre I am to perform at?’
‘I . . .’ He stared at her as though she’d appeared in a dream. ‘I must admit, I am surprised to see you here.’
‘We would not let you down, señor,’ Lucía smiled, sitting in the chair opposite him. ‘Why are you surprised?’
‘Madrid of course . . . the Nationalist attack . . . I did not think that you were able to come. You were meant to open here last night.’
‘I know that, señor, but you can imagine it was a little difficult to leave the country. We are here now, and that is all that matters. We came with the clothes we stood up in. Our money was taken by the military, so I must ask you to make us a loan against our wages for accommodation.’
‘Well now’ – the impresario mopped his brow – ‘when I heard a few days ago what was happening, I, having heard nothing from you, assumed that you would not be coming. So, I have’ – he cleared his throat – ‘employed another company who were . . . available. They opened last night and were a success, so I hear.’
‘Then I am happy for them, señor, but now you will have to un-employ them,sí? We are here, as promised.’
‘Señorita, I understand, but you are late and I have . . . well, I have cancelled your contract.’
