Dead Clever (20 page)

She drank and as she did so the loosely tied towelling robe fell open and ironically the picture she now presented was far more erotic than when she had been coatless. Desire, fuelled by bitterness and despair, flamed in his mind. He stood, crossed to the settee, ran his hand under her bikini top to cup her left breast as he kissed her wildly.

She struggled to free herself, then swung her left hand round to hit him on the side of his head. The blow brought him back to his senses. He jerked his hand free and stepped back.

‘You’d better go.’

He gestured with his hands, pleading for understanding and forgiveness. ‘Now,’ she shouted wildly.

Haifa kilometre from Ca’n Feut the Porsche passed him, again travelling in the opposite direction, and this time he identified Bennett. The cynics were right and he was wrong, he thought; money could buy anything and especially a woman’s honour.

The soup had been almost tasteless and Jaime had looked with surprise at Dolores, but in the end he had decided to observe discretion and remain silent. However, when he began to chew his first mouthful of meat and found it to be almost inedible, he could no longer remain silent. ‘What the hell’s happening? The soup was bloody awful and this is worse.’

Isabel and Juan stared wide-eyed at him; Alvarez continued to eat, as if totally unconscious both of the quality of the cooking and of Jaime’s reckless audacity in so forcefully criticizing it.

Surprised, and heartened, by Dolores’s silence, Jaime continued: ‘The meat’s tougher than old boots.’

‘Is it?’ she said disinterestedly.

‘Try it.’

‘I’m not hungry. And how can I worry about what kind of meat the butcher is trying to sell me when all I can think of is poor Miguel, who longs to return home to be with his family, but cannot because Enrique will not permit that.’

They looked at Alvarez. He continued chewing.

She continued, in tones of high tragedy: ‘That any relative of mine should not care enough to help a relative of his!’

Alvarez finally swallowed. ‘I’m doing all I can,’ he muttered.

‘Are you? When Ana does not have her man or Elena her grandson? Knowing that, how can I worry about cooking?’

Jaime, his tone shocked, said: ‘You’re not suggesting we’re going to have to eat like this until Miguel’s back home?’

Her silence was her answer.

Alvarez stared through the window of the office and, despite the fact that the sun shone as fiercely as ever, saw only grey.

The phone rang. After a while, he lifted the receiver.

‘Enrique, thank goodness I’ve managed to get hold of you. Your cousin wouldn’t understand me and I was scared I’d never find you in time.’

He gripped the receiver so tightly that his knuckles whitened. ‘What’s happened, Serena?’

‘I’m leaving soon and I must see you before I go. You will meet me, won’t you? Please, it’s so important.’

‘Where?’

‘My plane leaves at four-thirty and I have to book in by three which means leaving here by two. So anywhere you like before then.’

‘How are you getting to the airport?’

‘I’m ordering a taxi.’

‘I’ll take you. And we could have lunch in Palma first if we went soon.’

‘Oh God, Enrique, life would have been so much easier if you weren’t so wonderful.’

The world was no longer grey. ‘Where are you now?’

‘At the house. Pat’s away for the morning.’

‘Then I’ll come up right away.’

He said goodbye and replaced the receiver, closed the shutters, and left. His car was in the square and he had forgotten to set the parking dial to the time of his arrival and one of the municipal police had made out a ticket and stuck it under the windscreen wiper; he pulled this free, screwed it up, and threw it into a nearby litter-bin. He drove out of the square and through the village faster than he normally did and once on the main road he floored the accelerator, careless of how much he was stressing the tired engine. He had to express his feeling somehow.

The gates of Ca’n Feut were open and he drove up the road to the turning circle. As he climbed out, Serena came through the doorway of the house. For him, the sight of her was like looking at a painting he knew and loved, yet had not seen for some time; he discovered fresh beauty in the natural curls of her hair, the shell shape of her ears, the high cheekbones, the cheerful nose, the sensuous mouth, the graceful neck, the shapely body; and finally in the warmth that was in her dark brown eyes.

She said in a low voice: ‘I’ll never be able to thank you enough for coming here.’

‘There’s no need.’

She briefly laid her cheek against his. ‘Yes, there is.’ She stepped back. ‘I’ll just get my suitcases . . .’

‘Where are they?’

‘In the hall.’

She followed him inside. ‘I must find Juana to say goodbye and to give her a note from Pat. I won’t be a second.’

He carried out the suitcases and put them in the car, then waited, standing within the shade of the house. When she returned, he went ahead of her and opened the passenger door; she did not make any immediate effort to climb inside, but stood, staring out at the surrounding countryside to the north and the mountains which backed this. ‘ “Where every prospect pleases, And only man is vile.” The good bishop should have been charitable enough to write some men, even though it wouldn’t scan.’ She finally stepped into the car and sat.

She was silent until they had left the grounds and were half way to the main road and then she rested one arm along the back of his seat and turned until she could look at him. ‘You know why I was so foul to you, don’t you?’

‘I think so.’

‘It’s funny. How ever many times have I boasted to you about understanding other people, yet you understand me so much better than I do myself.’

‘You told me that if your emotions became involved, you could no longer see clearly.’

‘Did I? I don’t remember. But it’s true . . . I persuaded myself that it was because I was certain Pat could make me happy again that I joined up with him. And this when all the time I had to know, deep down, that what I was really wanting to do was to hurt Tim because he’d betrayed me and to hurt you because you’d forced me to acknowledge his betrayal; and perhaps also to hurt myself. . . You were so right—yet again. Perhaps some ancestor of yours was born in La Verry. Will you forgive me for the beast I’ve been?’

‘I’ve forgotten.’

She stroked his neck. ‘Why are you so wonderfully understanding?’

He showed his warrant card to the guard at the entrance of the departure area and went through. He waited whilst Serena’s handbag and holdall passed through the X-ray machine, and she went through the metal detector, and then they crossed to the bar. ‘We have a saying on the island . . .’ he began.

‘For every occasion, it seems.’

He smiled. ‘We say that a last long copita makes for a short separation.’

‘A saying obviously encouraged by the brandy barons.’

‘Nevertheless, let’s each drink a copita.’

‘The longer the better?’

Before drinking, they linked their arms. ‘To a very short separation,’ she said. Her eyes were only inches from his and he felt engulfed by their warmth. For several seconds she remained motionless, then she sipped her drink, after which she disengaged her arm.

He offered her a cigarette, flicked open his lighter. ‘How long will you be in Changres?’

‘Probably until the lease runs out, which is only about another three weeks. Tim will never turn up there because that would be far too dangerous for him . . . Oh God, do we have to talk about him even now?’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It wasn’t your fault and you know perfectly well it wasn’t . . . Shall I look into your soul just once more? You accept blame so quickly because you want to save distress. Right?’

‘Perhaps. But only when I care about someone.’

She touched his arm briefly. ‘Remember my jeering at you because you insisted there was still room in our lousy world for a verray parfit gentil knight? You keep proving you’re right.’

He drank, wishing that time could stand still. ‘What will you do after the lease is up?’

‘I don’t know exactly.’

‘But you will tell me what is happening; and when everything is settled, we’ll see each other again?’

‘Do you really have to ask?’

‘No. But I like to hear the answer. If you ever need any help ‘My knight in shining armour will come riding?’

‘Galloping.’

‘In fact, do you ride?’

‘No. But I will learn.’

The speakers announced that boarding would begin on Flight PF 363, destination Paris. She finished her drink. ‘I hate prolonged goodbyes, so please don’t wait around until I actually board; leave now.’ She waited until he was standing, then kissed him. ‘Au revoir, Don Quixote.’ She picked up her holdall and hurried away.

Salas telephoned Alvarez on Monday. ‘I’ve been expecting to hear from you for several days.’

‘Señor, I intended . . .’

‘They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions; no doubt you can confirm that fact. Have you discovered where the Englishman is hiding?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘Actually, it’s all a bit complicated . . .’

‘Naturally.’

‘The thing is . . . Well, I’m positive he’s no longer on the island.’

‘Why are you so certain?’

‘He flew off on Tuesday.’

‘That’s interesting in view of the fact that I’ve just had a report that the inquiries among the hotels and hostals for Terence Galloway have finally been completed, without success. Is it just possible that you forgot to inform the department concerned on Tuesday that their inquiries had become unnecessary?’

Alvarez leaned over until he could slide out the bottom right-hand drawer of his desk. He was going to need fortification.

Dolores plied the crochet hook with dextrous speed; the ball of cotton thread jumped as if it had been patted. ‘I saw Elena again today.’

Jaime looked at Alvarez, who concentrated even more closely on the television.

‘She wants to know if it’s all right now for Miguel to return home?’

Alvarez cleared his throat. ‘Not really.’

‘Why not?’

‘I’ve told you, over and over again. If he appears on his own, having been injured, without his boat, it’s obvious Carlos has disappeared. I’d have to ask what’s happened and that would immediately make Miguel a witness; he’d have to say his brother was murdered and there’ll be an investigation and he’ll have to admit that he’s a smuggler.’

‘Everybody knows he is; the Navarros have always been smugglers.’

‘The forasteros don’t know that,’ he said, using the term which indicated men from the Peninsula; men who would not understand the customs of an island race.

‘The family has almost no money coming in. Ana needs her man, Pedro needs his father, and Elena needs her grandson.’

‘Yes, of course, but . . .’

‘So what are you doing about it?’

‘What I can. But can’t you see that the problem’s really beyond me because the crime’s so serious . . .’

She put down her crocheting on the small olive table, stood. Her tone was icy. ‘That I should ever have to hear my cousin say that the problems of his own flesh and blood are no concern of his!’

‘Why won’t you try to understand . . .’

‘Understand a blasphemy? . ; . Now, I suppose I must go and prepare supper, since even a man who denies his own family expects a woman to feed him. But I am worn out with worry, so I can’t prepare much.’ She swept out of the room with the majestic grace of a prima donna who was upstaging the baritone.

‘Why don’t you do something?’ demanded Jaime.

‘What, for instance?’ replied Alvarez.

‘How should I know? But do you want to have to go on eating meals that aren’t fit for a bloody dog?’

Cristina drove round the side of Ca’n Feut and parked beyond the double garage; Bennett did not like the staff cars to be in evidence. She let herself into the utility room, in which were the second and larger deep freeze, the washing-machine, and overhead lines for drying the washing in wet weather, and went through to the kitchen; one of her more ambitious daydreams was one day to own a kitchen as well equipped as this. To one side was a small room and she went into this and changed into her maid’s frock. She checked her image in the long, upright mirror, smoothed down a curl of hair, returned to the kitchen. It had been her day off yesterday and was Juana’s today and any message concerning her work would be on the pad by the food mixer, written in Juana’s laboured handwriting. The top page of the pad was bare. So it was just the usual routine— thoroughly clean the master bedroom and change the sheets since they had been used for two nights (she’d never heard of another man so pernickety about cleanliness), vacuum the sitting-room, dust as many of the other rooms as possible, sweep down the pool patio, check for dirty glasses in the cocktail cabinet . . .

At midday she went out to the patio and spoke to Bennett who was swimming in the pool, cutting through the water with an elegant crawl. He had learned no Spanish and so she had to use her school English when he came to a stop in the shallow end. ‘What you wish to lunch, señor?’

‘Whatever there is.’

‘How is that?’

‘Cook whatever comes out of the deep freeze first.’

After some reflection, she was satisfied she understood. ‘And you wish some vegetables?’

‘Potatoes and beans.’

She returned to the kitchen where she peeled three potatoes and cut them into small cubes, then put them into a saucepan, ready for boiling. From the refrigerator she collected a bag of French beans and took out of this a handful, which she topped and tailed. As she worked, she wondered if Juan from Cala Roig would ask her to the wine festival at Santa Eulalia when the harvest was celebrated with dancing in the street, free wine, and one of the best fireworks’ displays on the island. Juan was tall, dark, and handsome. What a pity he was only a mechanic and would never be able to give her a dream kitchen . . . She finished the beans, went through to the utility room where she opened up the large deep freeze and from the end tray took out one of the meals prepared by Juana which she would heat in the microwave oven.