“Part of the tribunal the British set up after the bombing to restore order,” he said. “Now, Olivera, remember to say as little as possible. You don’t need to explain yourself, nor launch into superfluous details no one asks for. Just say what you came to say. That’s all.”
“Yes, I’ll remember,” I said, my nerves taking flight deep in my belly. I felt as if I had a flock of butterflies invading my person. “Anything else?”
“Maintain eye contact,” he went on. “Let him know that you’re an important personwithoutsaying you are important. Keep your back straight, don’t fidget, and be confident. And one more thing.”
“Yes?”
He smiled. “I thought you didn’t want me to talk.”
If I could, I would have hit him right there on the front steps of the bank. “You are so exasperating,” I said, turning to face the front door. A large rectangular room filled with wooden desks and low chairs greeted us as we walked inside. Several workers stood at the entrance. Some of them walked forward, dressed in tailored suits and pressed shirts, shoes gleaming. They spoke a mixture of Italian and French. I spoke neither, but then one of them began in clumsy English.
“Yes,” I said instinctively. “I’d love your help.”
He motioned for us to follow him down a narrow corridor that opened to various offices. Whit was a silent and formidable shadow. Many of the attendants looked at us with apparent unease as we walked past. With a quick glance over my shoulder, I found Whit scowling.
“Behave,” I whisper-yelled.
“I am Romero,” the bank employee said. “Is this your first visit to Alexandria?”
I caught myself before nodding. “No. I’ve been here plenty. I love seeing all the sights.”
His dark brows reached his hairline. “The sights? Most travelers bypass the city altogether in favor of the pyramids or temples found in Upper Egypt. All we have is a field of ruins.”
My confusion must have shown because he pressed on.
“The city has shrunk since the time of the Greeks and Romans, and what’s left are toppled columns and bumpy stretches of land that no one has excavated. It’s a pity—I’m sure there’s lots to be discovered beyond the city limits.”
“Perhaps it’s only a matter of time,” I said.
Romero stopped in front of a thick wooden door and, after opening it, gestured for us to walk inside. The walls were covered in a muted wallpaper depicting swirls and filigree, and a leather couch offered comfortable seating. Sitting across from it was a sturdy antique desk with ornate carvings around the legs.
“Would you like tea? Coffee?” Romero asked.
“I’m fine, thank you,” I said. “I really am in a hurry.”
He rocked back on his heels, nodding. “Then how may I assist you?”
“Well, I have an account here,” I began, “and I’d like to update my address from the previous one listed.”
He blinked. “You have an account with us?”
I nodded, maintaining eye contact and a sweet smile. “That’s right.”
Romero’s confusion persisted. “What is your name?”
“I am Lourdes,” I said, pausing before admitting my last name. What if my mother hadn’t used it? What if, instead, she had used her maiden name? Or gone by Mr. Fincastle’s name? I thought frantically about what alias she might have chosen for herself. She was living on her own terms and a life that she wanted. What name would she have given herself?
Sweat beaded at my temples as I fixed the smile on my face as if with adhesive.
“Lourdes…” Romero waited expectantly.
Whit stood behind the couch since it wouldn’t have been appropriate for him to seat himself next to me. I could sense his frustration in not being able to help me.
“Oh, I recently married, and I was about to give you the wrong name,” I said with an embarrassed laugh. “It’s Fincastle.”
Romero’s confusion cleared. “That name sounds familiar. Please forgive me; I’ve only been working at the bank for a few months. Wait a moment while I retrieve your file.” He left, shutting the door quickly behind him.
I stared straight ahead, unwilling to let my guard down.
