Cast a Yellow Shadow by Ross Thomas Read Free Book Online Page A

you,” the maid said. She unlatched the screen door and held it open for us. We went in and followed her down an entrance hall. She stopped at a pair of sliding doors and opened them. Padillo went through first.
    The woman wasn’t as old as I had expected. She must have been around thirty when she was in love with Padillo’s father for she was no more than sixty now and in the dim light of the drawing room she could pass for fifty. She was erect in a wine-colored chair and smiled at Padillo as he crossed the room and bent over her hand. “May I present my colleague, Mr. McCorkle,” he said.
    I bowed over her hand, too, and she said that she was enchanted. There was a network of ridged blue veins on the back of her hand that gave it a slightly arthritic look. The rings on her fingers I estimated at close to ten thousand dollars.
    â€œYou will join me in coffee , Michael; you and Mr. McCorkle?”
    â€œThank you.”
    â€œYou can serve the coffee now, Lucille,” she said to the maid who stood in the doorway.
    The maid said “Yes, ma’am,” and left. Padillo and I took two chairs that faced Senora de Romanones across an inlaid table whose curved legs ended in lions’ heads that held round glass balls in their mouths. The rest of the furniture was of the same period, whatever it was. Dark wood glistened with polish and use. The floor was covered with oriental rugs that overlapped and the dusty-rose walls were hung with somber oil portraits of family or friends or just strangers whose features were obscured by the dimness of the room. A Knabe piano was tucked into one corner. Its keys were exposed, its lid was open, there was sheet music on its stand, and it looked as if somebody might have been playing it just before we arrived. The outside world was kept out by drawn maroon velvet curtains. Sunlight probably did nothing for either the oriental rugs or for the fine network of lines in the face and neck of Senora de Romanones.
    â€œIt has been such a long time, Michael,” she said. “I despaired of seeing you again.” She had a curiously penetrating voice, not loud, but well-toned and full of command.
    â€œIt was three years ago in Valencia,” Padillo said.
    â€œDo you speak Spanish, Mr. McCorkle?”
    â€œNot well, I’m afraid.”
    â€œHis German is excellent,” Padillo said. “If you would prefer—”
    She smiled slightly. “I remain cautious, Michael. So we shall speak German.”
    â€œUsually, Michael, you come to see me only when you have some dreary task at hand.”
    â€œI am grateful for the tasks, because they give me the opportunity to be with you.”
    She laughed. “Give me a cigarette. The way you turn a compliment reminds me of your father. He was such an articulate man, although his politics was pathetic.”
    â€œYet you helped him many times, Madelena. And my mother.”
    She waved the cigarette that Padillo had given her. “I helped him because I foolishly was in love with him despite the fact that he was married. I helped your mother because of you. I never liked her really. She was too beautiful, too intelligent, too good.” She paused for a moment and smiled. “Too much competition, I suppose.”
    The maid came in with a tray containing a silver coffee service and some almost translucent cups. Senora de Romanones poured and the maid passed us the cups.
    â€œThat will be all, Lucille.”
    â€œYes, ma’am,” she said and left, closing the double doors behind her.
    â€œSo how do you like it, Michael, my little not-quite-suburban nest?”
    â€œI was surprised when I heard that you had left Madrid. I was even more surprised when I learned that you had come to Washington. I can see you in New York, Madelena, but not Washington.”
    She waved her cigarette around again. She did it gracefully. “This, my dear young man, is where things take place