‘But of course,’ Marina butted in, jumping to her feet. Sean, seemingly surprised, uncoiled himself from the Chesterfield. ‘You’ve been very kind. Would you allow us to reciprocate in some way? Take you to dinner maybe?’
‘No, thanks, this is nothing…’
‘We’d be delighted,’ Pablo said, leaping at the offer with a fresh grin.
‘Pablo! No, Marina. We just…’
‘But I insist. We would enjoy your company enormously. We don’t know anybody here. It would be great to take you guys out tonight. Learn from you about a nice place, somewhere off the beaten track. In fact, you’d be doing us another favour.’
‘I would gladly take you to wherever you want to go,’ Pablo said, also in Spanish, shaking his head and lifting his hands, palms up. The body language was meant to emphasize that he was the most friendly and helpful of habaneros. ‘There’s this nice private restaurant. It would have to be after five, you know. That’s when I leave the office.’
Marina interpreted for Sean.
‘By all means,’ he said when his wife had finished speaking. ‘I won’t take no for an answer.’
‘Sean says he would consider it an honour to take both of you to dinner tonight. It has to be tonight because we are leaving tomorrow. We rented a car, so we can pick you up.’ And turning to Elena. ‘Please, Elena, you admitted two complete strangers into your home. That’s real hospitality. Don’t turn us down. Please?’
Elena shook her head and forced a smile.
‘C’mon, sis,’ Pablo said in a false pleading tone.
Elena considered it. ‘Okay, tonight. At eight.’
‘Eight’s perfect,’ Marina said.
Once they had bid fond farewells, the joggers left the apartment building, reached the corner of 24th, turned left, and disappeared from view. Unaware that he had got away with a traffic violation, the tall overweight man shot a last admiring glance at the big trees before climbing back into his rental and speeding off.
Late afternoon was turning into dusk, birds had settled in their nests in the ficus, and bats were beginning to swoop when Marina rang the buzzer. The door was immediately swung open by a perky Pablo in a garish shirt, a pair of jeans, and pigskin loafers with two-inch heels.
‘Come in, my friends, come in,’ he said in English as he stretched out his hand to the woman first, then to Sean. ‘And how is my…’ he frantically searched for the words, didn’t find them, and reverted to Spanish ‘…mareado amigo?’
‘Dizzy friend,’ Marina interpreted.
‘Much better, Pablo, ready for a wild night out, if you know what I mean,’ Sean said with a conspiratorial wink and a mischievous snicker.
‘Good! Good!’ Pablo exclaimed, but then cast a slightly worried glance at Marina. ‘I want to…offer you mojitos. You know what a mojito is?’
Sean and Marina nodded.
‘Okay. You sit down on the sofa. I go prepare mojitos. My sister is getting dressed. Women, always late. One minute.’
Marina noticed that the living room had been tidied up. The marks on the coffee table were barely visible, the ashtray was empty and clean, the floor had been mopped. The black-and-white TV set was turned on, its volume low. From the kitchen came the sounds of tinkling ice cubes, the opening and closing of cupboards, a metal spoon stirring the drinks.
Anticipating that Elena’s wardrobe probably lacked evening gowns and ersatz gems, Marina had opted for a pink, short-sleeved blouse, an ivory-coloured mid-calf skirt, leather sandals, and a purse. Her make-up was very light, her blonde hair was gathered at the back of her head in a bun, her only piece of jewellery a gold wedding band; she looked stylish in a quiet way. Sean wore a maroon and white fine-striped dress shirt, its cuffs folded up to his elbows, khakis, and cordovan loafers. They glanced at each other and Sean pulled a face at Marina. She grinned and crossed her legs.
Pablo returned to the living room carrying a tray with three tumblers filled to the brim with the cocktail. He placed the tray on the coffee table, handed the drinks to his guests, then with his glass clinked theirs before easing himself into a club chair.
‘Salud.’
‘Salud,’ concurred Marina and Sean. He didn’t mix one for Elena, Marina observed as she extracted a sprig of mint before sipping.
‘Great,’ a wide-eyed Sean said, lifting his eyebrows in admiration.
‘You like it?’ Pablo asked, obviously pleased.
‘Best I’ve ever had,’ Sean responded with a satisfied nod.
‘And you, Mrs…’
‘Marina, please. It’s superb.’
‘I’m glad you like it. Now, I tell you about this place I’m taking you to. Would you please interpret for Sean, Marina?’
‘But you don’t need it. Your English is very good.’
‘You think so? Not very good, I know. But it’ll improve with time. I’m studying hard.’
From the TV set’s speaker came a fanfare of trumpets.
‘Oh, the news. Ugh!’ Pablo fumed. ‘Always the same. Send Elián back, everything in Cuba is perfect, the rest of the world is a mess. Just a moment.’
Marina translated the bald man’s blanket contempt of the Cuban newscast as he turned the TV set off and returned to his seat. Sean seemed amused.
‘Please, Marina, interpret for your husband. For many years, the government didn’t allow private businesses in Cuba. Now, some are allowed. They are heavily taxed, can’t expand beyond a certain point, have to comply with many regulations. It’s why some are…clandestine. In fact, all the best are clandestine. I’m taking you to what Cubans call a paladar, a private restaurant. How would you translate paladar, Marina?’
‘Sense of taste?’
‘I’ll remember that. Now, few foreigners dine at a clandestine paladar. You need a sponsor to get in, someone whom the management trusts and can make a reservation. We’ll be the only customers there tonight. The food is excellent, the service great, fine entertainment…’
‘Good evening,’ Elena said with a pleased smile on entering the living room. Sean stood up. She shook hands with him, bent to kiss Marina’s cheek, overlooked her brother, then eased herself on to the edge of the remaining club chair. Fresh out of the shower, with just a touch of make-up around her eyes and on her lips, she was even more attractive than twelve hours earlier, Sean observed. The thick, long, dark-blonde hair fell past her shoulders gracefully. She appeared to be wearing the same skirt and shoes, but her black, long-sleeved silk blouse embroidered with multicoloured butterflies would have won approving looks at the most exclusive of fashion shows.
‘What a beautiful blouse!’ Marina said with sincere admiration.
‘You like it? It belonged to my grandmother, my mother inherited it, then she gave it to me a few years ago, arguing she was too old to wear it.’
‘It’s lovely. Your brother mixes excellent mojitos. Would you like one?’
‘Yes, I would.’
Pablo was nonplussed for a moment, but he recovered fast. ‘Sure,’ he said, before getting to his feet and marching into the kitchen. Marina zeroed in on Elena and girl talk prevailed for a couple of minutes. Pablo returned with the cocktail and handed it to his sister. ‘Drink it quickly,’ he snapped. ‘We are late because you were