Readers of our previous tales will recall the majesty of Palacio Haedo as it was in Moneypenny's days...ancient, crumbling, clanking, dusty, and chaotic in a sedentary way.
Inside, the lift is its first indicator of antiquity. You probably thought that elevators with lattice doors and mesh sides through which like a caged canary you watch the ascent to higher floors, had been discontinued for ever. Here in Buenos Aires this is not the case. Those familiar with the city will know that Portenos prefer the mesh to the tomb.
I pull the concertina door closed with a snap, press a large green button and the lift mechanism jolts into a slow ascent as if an elderly lift operator was hauling it arm over arm. At each floor I sense it will to stop for breath before continuing, but somehow it manages to keep going despite grinding noises from its motor. On reaching the fourth floor it stops five centimetres above floor level before dropping a fraction and releasing the door lock.
Horacio has called ahead using the Ministry's internal system of wires and bells which for historic reasons have survived. Raul awaits on the landing. His shock of grey hair is more unruly than ever. Having come down from the roof garden he wears the old straw hat that somehow has survived years of summers. His fingers, soil stained, are those of a true gardener, quick and searching. Most prominent is his smile, a face creased by the sun over decades of southern hemispheres seasons. He holds out a welcoming hand as I struggle with my flight bag.
'Welcome back, James, I knew you would return some day', he says as he switches to the ubiquitous Porteno greeting, the hug. 'It's been a long time. But you don't look a day older!', he continues before releasing me from his grasp.
The palacio, still supposedly occupied by the Administracion de Parques Nacionales and Bibliotica Francisco Moreno, has been under renovation for what seems like years. Shrouded in scaffold and sheeting, it disappeared from view, to re-emerge in 2024 spendour.
However, the fact that the lift finished at the fourth floor and an unnoticed door opened onto a wooden staircase leading to the roof, concealed the existence of a roof-top apartment, historically leased to the UK government. Whilst the remainder of the building was restored, the top floor rooms and roof garden remained exactly as they were left in 1923.
Rosa, the maid, clearly has not visited in a while. The staircase is dust-covered, marked by gardener's shoe soles and cat paw prints. But dusty shade gives way to a flood of Buenos Aires sunshine as we exit onto the terrace. Beyond lies the apartment. But what surprises will await there?
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