“I got several.”
Ben flaps his hand, indicating he wants Daniel’s camera. He hands it to Ben, expecting him to wind and remove the film.
“All right, gentlemen. Let’s get Preston Hollow at El Pardo.” Ben snaps a photo of Daniel and his father, with the palace behind.
“Father-and-son photo. Some journalist. You’re more sentimental than a girl, Stahl,” chides Van Dorn.
“And you’re more bitter than a jilted lover, Shep,” replies Ben with a stare. He winds and removes the film and hands the camera to Daniel. “Well, I suppose you and your pop may want to have a celebratory brunch or head back to the hotel. I myself am headed to sleep.”
But Daniel isn’t thinking about celebrating. He’s unnerved. He knew they were in Madrid for an oil deal. He knew that Spain would be different from Texas. But he didn’t anticipate feeling so conflicted. And right now, he can’t shake the unsettling feeling of seeing his father smiling and clasping the hand of Francisco Franco.
91
Ana walks down the seventh-floor hallway, the steel passkeys hanging heavy in her apron pocket. What time did Daniel leave for the photo assignment? She lets herself into his room. Has he thought of the dance as she has? Julia’s lecturing was nonstop.
“He’s a rich boy from Texas and a guest at the hotel. Ay, what are you doing, Ana? It’s some sort of fling for him. For you this could have terrible consequences. What about Fuga? He seems to have . . .” She searched for a word. “Potential.”
“Fuga has more potential than Daniel?”
“I see. Now you’re on a first-name basis with Señor Matheson?”
“Stop. I’ve never given Fuga a thought before today and you haven’t either. He’s a bullfighter, Julia. You believe there’s a safer future with a bullfighter than with an American boy?”
“You’re from the same culture. You share similar struggles. Common ground paves for smoother relationships. Antonio’s parents suffered the same fate as ours. He understands me. Deeply.”
Her sister means well, but her objections have grown tenfold overnight. Julia knows her well enough to see that she’s feeling something. And she is. She loves spending time with Daniel. She feels safe with him.
Ana thinks on her sister’s words. “It could have terrible consequences.” She pulls the note from her pocket. It was in her apron when she arrived this morning. Just when she thought perhaps things were changing, threats fading, they return as if she’s being watched from every corner.
You are a liar, little mouse. Do you know what happens to liars?
She’s tried to forget the notes. She’s ignored the notes. But today, she’s angered by them.
Ana looks to the wall of photos. What did Daniel think of the captions from Tom Collins? Did he even notice them? Did he see her caption under his picture? As she nears the wall, she knows that he did see the message. The caption, Hola, Daniel, is gone. In its place is a new caption that now says, Hola, Ana. Would you like to dance?
She thinks of Daniel’s question near the car in Vallecas, if there was a way to help.
Julia reminds her constantly of silence, but Daniel reminds her there are those who will listen. She wants to leave him a note, but what should it say? Ana’s expected to cower and cave to demand, keep everything from everyone. What if instead of what’s expected, she does the unexpected? A secret isn’t a secret if you share it.
She’s going to tell Daniel everything.
92
“Join us in the embassy car. We’ll drop you at the hotel,” says Mr. Van Dorn.
“That would be mighty kind of you,” says Daniel’s father.
Daniel had hoped to be alone with his father. His questions have been fast accumulating. But there is something Van Dorn can weigh in on.
“Mr. Van Dorn, may I ask a question?”
“You bet.”
“What’s America’s position on the dictatorship?”
“Well, that’s a big question,” intercepts his father.
“But a fair one,” says Van Dorn. “Daniel’s probably seen enough of Madrid to observe a disparity. The administration feels that bringing American commerce to Spain will help the Spanish people in the long run, more than it will help the dictatorship.”
“And the U.S. air bases here?”
“Strategic positioning. Keeping us all safe from the Soviets.” Van Dorn winks.
The answers seem fair, even if well rehearsed. But of course they’re well rehearsed. Journalists and photographers capture stories and, as public affairs officer, Van Dorn positions them in the best frame and most flattering light.
“Have you made any friends so far in Madrid?” asks Van Dorn.
“A few,” says Daniel. The minute he responds, he regrets it.
“Really?” says his father. “Your mother will be pleased. Who are they?”
Daniel fiddles with his camera. “Well, Nick and Ben, of course. It was nice of him to bring me today. And Miguel at the camera shop. I’m learning a lot from him.”
Van Dorn turns from the front seat. “And maybe a pretty maid at the hotel?” He gives another wink and laughs.
“Dan is a gentleman,” says his father flatly. His tone is curt. Implication hangs in the car. Is his father stating that Nick isn’t a gentleman? Or is his father implying that his son wouldn’t fall for a maid?
“Of course he’s a gentleman,” says Van Dorn. “A boxing photographer of a gentleman. He must take after his mother . . . or an uncle.” Mr. Van Dorn extends the dig with a smile and offers a smoke to his father. “Cigar to celebrate your big deal?”
“Mighty kind, but no thank you, Shep.”
Van Dorn turns back around and stares out the windshield.
What just happened? In a matter of seconds, his father and Mr. Van Dorn have faced off. The hum of tension in the car is louder than the traffic. Daniel lifts his camera to load a roll of film. Hanging from his camera strap is the press badge. Ben forgot to take it back. Daniel quickly stuffs it in his pocket.
93
“You opened a coffin?” whispers Antonio. He steals a glance at the orange crate where Lali sleeps. “Why didn’t you mention this before?”
“Well, we didn’t open it. It sort of . . . broke,” says Rafa. “When Fuga saw it was empty, he exploded. He often says that the infant caskets feel too light, but I never paid much attention.”
“Caskets? There have been others?”