Anyone else would have been exasperated at this point, but Alicia’s only sign of impatience was the occasional tapping of her terracotta-colored nails against a tabletop. She was tall and long-limbed, with the robust sensuality of Sofia Loren, and a wide, perfect smile. Her skin was flawless. She was sixty-six years old, but if not for her white hair, which she wore cropped and swept off her face, she could have passed for forty. Not that she was trying to. Like Ofelia, Alicia seemed completely comfortable with age. She did not agonize over it; when asked, she told the truth.
