Letters to a Stranger

by Mercedes Pinto Maldonado

  My precious work done, I sat my friend down in her chair and went on to my next task: sorting the letters back into their years and sequence of dates.

  Once they were all in order, I made myself something to eat, mulling over everything that had happened. Who was the stranger I’d seen jumping over the hedge in the garden? Could it be the same man who’d been spying on Alfonso and me at the restaurant, the same one who’d phoned me and then hung up without saying a word? Why did he want the letters? Suddenly I became aware of how vulnerable I was living alone in this house and started to panic. I left the beaten eggs in the bowl and the frying pan on the stove and, before making the omelette, went through the house making sure that all the doors and windows were locked. When I came back, the kitchen was full of smoke and that was the final straw – I broke down.

  I turned off the stove, sat down in the fug of smoke and burst into tears again, this time in true despair. I felt quite overwhelmed at the series of events over the past few days, sobbing out my sadness, rage, helplessness, panic . . . and because of that damn wind which had almost taken my letters and was driving me mad. There is nothing more tragic than crying alone. Normally when we open the floodgates, we seek out company to comfort us and share our pain, as though the act of weeping on one’s own would be pointless. When our eyes fill up without someone close by to care for us, it’s because we simply can’t take any more.

  I don’t know how long I sat there with the tears streaming, pouring out my frustrations into the smoke; I only know that I caught sight of Aris gazing up at me with seeming compassion. Well, no, I guess I hadn’t been crying alone after all then. I picked him up and rocked him like a baby; both of us had had so little affection in our lives . . . ‘We have to clean all this up and eat, otherwise I’ll end up being the next victim of this madness,’ I told him.

  I cleaned the kitchen and at nearly one o’clock in the morning finally sat facing an omelette and salad, this time without incident – it was perfect and delicious.

  I took another shower to get rid of the smell of burning, but under the stream of water it felt as though I was being watched, more naked than ever. Through the frosted pane of the window I seemed to see shadows crossing the garden, and wasn’t sure it was just the branches of the willow blowing in the wind. That was the fastest shower of my life. I tried calling Teresa but she didn’t answer – it was too late. Exhausted, I crawled into bed with my companions.

  Chapter 13

  Monday, 23 June 2014

  I woke with a start – I had an important appointment scheduled with the solicitor this morning, who was waiting for the documents he’d requested. I’d been too scared and it had been too late to wash the smell of burnt cooking oil from my hair during my rushed shower the previous night. It was twenty to nine now, according to my phone, and I still had time, so after feeding and petting Aris the first thing I did was take another shower, then I had breakfast and left. No sign of Teresa, which surprised me, but I didn’t have time to think about it.

  It was a hassle being without a car again and I had to take a bus to the metro station, but at least the wind had subsided and it was a beautiful morning. Grabbing the files I needed, which weighed a bloody ton, I headed out for the law firm with my hair still wet. I bumped into Teresa on my way to the station.

  ‘Morning, dear.’

  ‘Hi, Teresa.’

  ‘I’m so glad to see you. I called yesterday but you didn’t answer – I was worried about you. I hurried over as soon as I was done at the doctor’s.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know, maybe I was in the shower. That’s funny – I called you too, but I think it was too late in the evening.’

  ‘You know I’ve always liked going to bed early.’

  ‘Well, as you can see, I’m OK. We’ll talk tomorrow.’

  ‘I brought you some fruit and chicken in sauce—’

  ‘Oh hell, there’s my bus. See you later.’

  When I got out of the metro, Madrid seemed more gorgeous and alive than ever before. Being among so many people was invigorating.

  I had to wait for over an hour. I wished I had my Kindle on me so I had something to look at. I felt so exposed in front of all the clients and lawyers passing by . . . Feeling spooked, I saw my stalker in every man.

  At last, the married couple who had the appointment before mine emerged and the secretary invited me in.

  ‘Hello, Señorita de Castro,’ said the solicitor, holding out his hand. ‘Did you bring what I asked for?’

  ‘Hello. Yes, I think I have it all – everything related to the two properties at least,’ I answered, putting the files down on the lavish office desk.

  ‘I see, I see,’ said the solicitor, gazing down at the thick files. ‘If you want, I’ll return anything that’s not necessary, but you’ll need to wait for Julia to review all the paperwork.’

  Julia peered over the top of her glasses to look at the hours of slog awaiting her, and said, ‘These other files will keep me busy for a while, and I won’t be able to look over your ones until I’m done—’

  ‘That’s OK,’ I said, interrupting. ‘I’ll pick it all up next time I’m here. I don’t think I’m going to need anything from the files if I haven’t missed it over the last fifteen years . . . I know you’d asked me to look out for specific documents, but I didn’t know precisely what you might need. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Well, I do hope you’re less trusting with the rest of the world,’ Julia noted. ‘If you say you don’t even know what’s among these papers . . .’

  She was right – I should really have some vague notion of what I was handing over to the lawyer representing my sister.

  ‘Perfect,’ Ramón said, intervening to make sure I didn’t have any change of mind. He looked to be in a hurry. ‘We’ll send someone to value the house in Madrid this week, and give you plenty of notice. We don’t need a new valuation for the house in Marbella – it was done recently when the sale was reviewed. I hope to have everything sorted out by next week, or the week after that at the latest, all depending on how your sister’s lawyer gets on,’ he said to wind up the conversation. He rose to his feet and held out his hand, unable to hide his air of urgency.

  ‘Until next time then, Señor Soler.’

  I felt somewhat disappointed – I’d given up an entire morning, only to deliver two files. I had hoped to get some information, sign some paperwork, something. Although on second thought, if I had anything right now, it was plenty of time on my hands.

  The episode from the previous night was weighing heavily on my mind. I didn’t want to go home, and still shuddered at the memory of that man’s shadowy form running across the garden. The normal thing would have been to tell the police, but I didn’t want to jeopardise my own investigation. If I’d called the police, I might have been forced to tell them that I’d hired a private detective and then I’d have had to answer a thousand more questions. No, I wanted to keep moving ahead with my own inquiry, and on my own terms. I decided to take a long walk through town and wandered about as though in a dream, completely absorbed, looking for answers. At one point I had the feeling that someone was following me. Even if I couldn’t say who it was, I was too terrified to turn around and see my pursuer. I didn’t dare take the metro, so I called a cab and went home. I didn’t even know if anyone was really there.

  The simple act of unlocking the front gate was not just routine but starting to require all my courage. I had never felt safe in this house, and now I felt even less so. I focused on Aris, hoping with all my might that he would be waiting for me. And there he was – he never failed me. What a relief to see his green eyes as I opened the front door.

  ‘Hello, handsome! Hey there,’ I said in greeting, hugging him gently. He purred loudly in appreciation. ‘I love it that you wait for me. Did you take good care of the house while I was gone?’ I asked as if he could understand.

  No matter the content of what I said, I knew he liked the affectionate tone of my voice. He let him
self be petted as he nuzzled his head against my neck over and over.

  ‘My God, you’re a weight! I don’t know much about cats, but I reckon you’re a little bit on the heavy side. I’m going to have to talk to Teresa – I think we’re both feeding you every day.’

  I decided to make myself comfortable, fetch my dry laundry in from the clothes line and carry on with my reading. The second task wasn’t necessary after all, because I found the sheets and towels ironed and folded with incredible precision and lying on my bed. It was only to be expected from someone who had worked for Alberta for so many years.

  Alfonso came into my thoughts while I was changing and taking off my make-up. I hadn’t heard from him since Friday, and suddenly it occurred to me that something terrible might have happened. Investigating Bodo’s disappearance was becoming a far more dangerous activity than I had anticipated. I got the chills thinking that we were both being watched and that the house wasn’t safe. I’d have to change the locks or leave, because the situation was affecting my state of mind.

  I was heading out to the garden when a WhatsApp message pinged through to my phone. It was Brandon, letting me know that the money was now in my account. It was very curt, without even a basic greeting – his own particular means of expressing his irritation.

  The afternoon was perfect for relaxing under the willow tree.

  Olympic National Park

  2 February 2005

  My beautiful Yolanda,

  I have to tell you, it’s official now: Nadia and I are dating. I don’t think it’s likely to end well – one person can’t build a relationship all on their own. I’m a clear example of that, chained by a love that exists only in my imagination, just like with Nadia. Or are you there after all? Tell me! Tell me before I move forward with a relationship that will just hurt everyone.

  (I wanted to shout at him, Yes, I’m here, but my name is Berta!)

  When she and I are together, I try to let myself be loved, although that’s really hard for me. I think I let myself go because I know how it feels and I don’t want her to suffer over me the way I suffer over you. I think I would also be OK with you allowing yourself to be loved by me this way, if I could share part of my days with you. That would be so much more hopeful than this absurd and empty waiting. I’m satisfied with so little . . . She has infinitely more than I do.

  She’s a very patient girl. I know she’s dying for me to hug her occasionally or whisper ‘I love you’. She says she’ll wait for as long as it takes . . . I don’t know – I’m sure she’s telling the truth but it’s also true that time changes everything in its path and she’ll end up hardening her heart. I expect to hear from you less and less each day. The hopelessness that’s growing slowly within me also makes me feel a suffocating guilt. What if you can’t answer my calls for help? What if you’ve disappeared, just like your husband? Do you know how it feels to have one part of me that blames you and the other part that sees you as a victim? Not knowing is the worst torture of all. Still, I’m trapped in the love that you and I shared – it’s as though the days we spent together leave every other emotion in the shadows. It was all so intense . . . If only I could give Nadia a tiny piece of what I felt when I was with you . . . But no, I’ve been too badly damaged and I think I’m incapable of loving again. The fact you’re no longer in my life only makes whatever’s wrong with me worse.

  It’s already night and the soft lighting in the cabin is enveloping the paintings around me with a magical glow. It’s enveloping you – all my works have your essence in them.

  I have to leave you now – the group is waiting for me at the restaurant. At this time of year we have the whole place to ourselves.

  A kiss, if you want it, from,

  Saúl

  I felt like an invisible part of a bizarre romantic quartet, an intruder in that love triangle where love flowed in only one direction, imprisoning some without allowing them the possibility of being loved back. I too had tried the hallucinogenic potion and was trapped, but felt so much more alone than the others. I was the only one they didn’t even know about.

  Part of me felt close to Nadia. I understood her better with each letter and wanted her to be loved in return, for her own sake and also because it would mean that Saúl had finally escaped from Yolanda’s clutches and could be happy – although I was also bitterly jealous of her closeness with the man by the lake. I wanted him to be happy, of course, but I also wanted him for myself.

  I was coming to realise that the winters accentuated Saúl’s natural melancholy. He couldn’t use his oils and brushes to express his creativity because the fumes meant he needed ventilation, and the cold prevented him from throwing open the windows. Also he was deprived of his long rambles through the lush forests that surrounded him, which further increased his endless anguish with life.

  In the last letter he told me . . . he told Yolanda that he still couldn’t make love to Nadia. ‘I can’t – I still can’t love her like a man should love a woman, and she needs more than just affection,’ he told her, after blaming himself for having ever allowed the relationship to begin in the first place. He seemed so honest and so true to himself . . . so sincere!

  In the same letter he sent a photograph of Dylan, Carol, Nadia and himself sitting at a restaurant table, next to a huge window that framed Lake Crescent. The light from outside washed out the picture and I couldn’t see their faces, especially that of Saúl. I could tell that Dylan was mixed race and well built, and that Carol was blonde and slender. I could barely see Nadia next to Saúl, who was in the foreground, the two of them completely in shadow. The direction of light through the window scarcely hit the right-hand side of Dylan’s profile. But one detail was easy to make out: everyone was smiling except for Saúl.

  When Harry asked me why I’d never been able to fall in love in my life, I’d always answered that I hadn’t yet found the man with enough of a sense of humour to balance out my own reserve, and that it would be hard to find a man like that in London, where the inhabitants usually mix this trait with an irony I could never understand. But I was lying – Harry had a great sense of humour and contagious optimism. What’s more, Saúl had many qualities I’d fallen in love with, but he didn’t seem very happy. Nonetheless, he had won my heart purely through the words he had written.

  I went back into the house as dusk fell, feeling like a sitting duck out there in the garden, protected only by the light of the street lamps, and all the more so after what had happened the night before. I gathered up the letters, meaning to keep on reading after dinner.

  Teresa’s chicken was sensational. I finished it even though I wasn’t hungry just so I could savour every bite, though I did share a small scrap with Aris. I was enjoying the last delicious mouthful when the entryphone rang – the first time I’d heard it since coming home. I jumped so violently that the morsel of chicken flew right out of my mouth. I picked up the entryphone by the front door, my nerves in tatters.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘It’s Alfonso Salamanca. I know it’s late . . .’

  ‘Just a minute.’

  I didn’t dare buzz him in straight away because his voice had come through distorted via the speaker, and the camera showed only a sinister-looking shadow. Instead I went out and walked over to the front gate, which had a small barred window I could look through, just to be on the safe side.

  ‘Alfonso . . . what are you doing here?’

  ‘Can we talk?’

  ‘Sure, of course,’ I answered firmly, opening the gate at last. ‘Come on in. You don’t know the fright you gave me.’

  ‘I can imagine. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Shall we sit out?’ I asked, still flustered, leading him towards the central area of the garden.

  ‘Sounds perfect – it’s a beautiful night. Ah, I see you were having dinner, and in good company too,’ he said when we passed through the kitchen, seeing the leftovers of my meal and Neca sitting at the head of the table. Aris trotted close on our heel
s. ‘Sorry to interrupt.’

  ‘That’s all right, I’d just finished. You should have come ten minutes earlier in fact – I ate way too much. Would you like something to eat? I don’t have much in, but—’

  ‘No, thank you, I also dined rather well. A nice little snifter might be just the thing to aid the digestion and relax me, however. It’s been quite a day.’

  ‘Sounds good. Take a seat and I’ll be right back.’

  From the kitchen, as I was preparing the drinks, I glanced out at Alfonso, bathed in the artificial light of the garden. He was not hugely good-looking and rather unkempt, reeking of tobacco and expensive hair gel, though in his favour it was obvious that he showered regularly and kept his nails clean and trimmed. Everything in his round face looked too small: his eyes, nose and mouth had too much space around them somehow, as though nature had made a mistake and given him the features of a child. Maybe that’s why he looked both innocent and wise at the same time.

  His face was sad and he seemed bowed down with constant worry, exuding loneliness while simultaneously coming across as trustworthy. That was all at superficial level, because as soon as you got close to him and talked with him a bit, he turned into a man with a certain attraction, wise and experienced, and his gestures and smooth movements hinted at a certain polished education. He held a cigarette in one hand and petted Aris tenderly with the other.