In the letter he came across as remorseful and guilty for staying in a relationship where Nadia gave everything and he only allowed himself to be loved. He said that Dylan had noticed his aloofness towards her and had had words with him about it, but that everything was pointless. He ended his letter by saying that he had to meet the others for dinner, and that he was going to treat them because he had sold seven more paintings. I didn’t have time to open another letter as the doorbell rang for the second time that day.
The locksmith was a young guy, every bit as efficient as the man who had valued the house, but so much nicer. In half an hour he had changed the locks on both the garden gates, the front door and the kitchen door. He charged me one hundred and twenty euros for labour and materials, gave me two copies of each key and left.
The empty afternoon stretched ahead, so I went out to rent another car and do some shopping.
By seven o’clock in the evening I was driving a brand-new blue Volkswagen Passat and heading into the heart of the city. I did my supermarket run and a few other errands in the only shopping centre I still recognised, and with the provisions safely stashed in the boot, bought myself a ticket to the movies at the local cinema.
I took in a far-fetched romantic comedy, which seemed better suited to a lazy afternoon on the sofa by the TV than to the big screen. Even so, the film cleared my head and let me forget everything for a whole hour and a half.
Saúl popped straight back into my mind as I was leaving the cinema. I was starting to be so obsessed with him that in spite of all the bombshells that had hit me since my return to Spain, each more upsetting than the last, most of my thoughts were taken up with him and him alone. A handful of letters, written in a different time and location, had achieved what only a few days before I would have sworn was impossible with any man I could meet in person: I had fallen so deeply in love that I’d forgotten all about my life in London, and everything I had built up over so many years and with so much effort – in fact, everything I’d been so proud of to that date. My restaurant, my independence, my flat in the city, my friends . . . it all now seemed so bland and trivial . . . It’s true what they say, that everything else fades into the distance, the closer you come to true love. And yet this love of mine was forcibly platonic and anachronistic in the strangest of situations, which broke every mould – and I was already almost thirty-five years old.
When I got home, Aris was waiting right behind the door. I loved this feeling of having someone there for me, of not being alone, particularly in this house, which became more menacing than ever at night. I had to figure out how to bring him back to London with me – we needed each other. He followed at my heels as I unloaded the shopping from the car into the house, and then sat patiently in the kitchen until I’d put everything away, as if guarding my purchases. It seemed that Aris too was grateful for my company.
Before going to bed, I went out to make sure that both garden gates were firmly locked, and spotted a sheet of paper on the ground by the front gate that I hadn’t seen earlier in all the bustle of bringing in the shopping. It said: ‘I came by and couldn’t open the gate – you must have changed the locks already. I’ll come back tomorrow after ten so I don’t wake you. Teresa.’
Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea not to give her a key. I’d talk to her about it the next day.
Taking the three photographs with me, along with my two best friends and the bundle of unread letters still left from 2005, I crawled into bed. Going on my phone to set the alarm so Teresa wouldn’t find me asleep the next day, I found a voicemail from my detective: ‘I tried calling a couple of times, but you didn’t answer. I’ll pick you and Teresa up from your house tomorrow. I’ll call you in advance to confirm. Alfonso.’
In actual fact, I had not two but three missed calls, one from Harry. They must have tried calling while I was in the shopping centre, where the music over the loudspeakers was especially loud, or while I was in the cinema. It was a good feeling to end the day on, knowing that at least I had a plan for the next morning, and that Alfonso was still busy with the investigation. As per usual, no email from Boston in my inbox – it seemed increasingly clear that no one was using that account any more.
Before drifting off into sleep I thought of all the things I would say to him if I were answering his letters, revealing my identity and how much I felt for him. So very many things . . .
Chapter 15
Wednesday, 25 June 2014
Teresa didn’t come the next morning. By eleven o’clock I was starting to get twitchy, because when Teresa said she was going to do something, she would do it, come hell or high water. I ran through all the possible reasons in my mind while making my bed and picking up my dirty clothing, strolling through the garden with Aris, drinking two cups of coffee . . . By noon I was really starting to properly worry that something bad had happened to her. Above all else, Teresa was a woman of her word and it was highly unusual for her not even to contact me to explain. Soon afterwards there was a call from Alfonso.
‘Hello, Berta.’
‘Hi, Alfonso.’
‘Can I come and pick you up around five o’clock—’
‘I think something’s happened to Teresa,’ I said, interrupting his flow.
‘What makes you say that?’
‘She came by yesterday while I was out shopping and slipped me a note under the gate . . . She couldn’t get in because I’d had all the locks changed.’
‘Well done. What did her note say?’ he asked in a hurried tone, like someone with not a lot of time to spare.
‘That she’d come back after ten o’clock today – but she’s still not here.’
‘There could be any number of reasons for that. What makes you think the worst?’
‘Because she always, always does what she says. I just know something serious must have stopped her from coming when she promised – I’m absolutely convinced of it.’
‘I see . . . Look, I’ll come to your house at five and we’ll talk then.’
‘OK, see you later.’
I realised I needed to go to the bank for cash to pay Alfonso, and they were closing soon. I called Teresa’s mobile for the second time to let her know I’d be out over the next hour, but she didn’t answer.
When I got back, there was no note to say she’d been here while I was gone. I called her again and still she didn’t answer. Not in the mood to prepare a proper meal, I made myself a tuna sandwich, only to keep body and soul together. I was worried. After lunch I went out in the garden with Aris.
It didn’t feel right to keep reading Saúl’s letters, so I got out my Kindle but couldn’t concentrate. I was more and more taken with the idea that something really terrible must have happened to Teresa and I couldn’t get it out of my head. Thinking it over, I came to the conclusion that my beloved housekeeper couldn’t be as alone in the world as it seemed. She had to have told someone about our forthcoming meeting with the detective, and that simply had to be why she was missing. Had she been talking to Yolanda? Did this have anything to do with the letter thief of the other night?
Anxious to share my suspicions with him, I waited two hours in the garden for Alfonso. The time seemed to drag on for ever. At quarter to five, the entryphone rang at last. I picked up and buzzed him through.
‘I know I’m early. I’ll wait for you to finish getting ready,’ he said once he was inside, seeing me without make-up and standing there in my slippers. I didn’t have to be a genius to realise that my appearance was quite a bit different from that on previous occasions when we’d met.
‘Do we have to go out? I’m not exactly in the mood to sit still in traffic.’
‘Well, no, not if you don’t want to . . .’
‘Let’s sit out in the garden then – we’ll be much more comfortable and it’s a whole lot more private.’
‘I only meant to come and pick you up . . . I didn’t think you’d hired another car yet, but I can see I was wrong . . . To tell the truth, it’s no
t customary for me to hold meetings in my clients’ homes – it seems like such an imposition on their privacy.’
‘Don’t worry about it – can I tempt you with some coffee?’
‘That would be great,’ he answered, obviously delighted by the prospect of staying. ‘Did you say that this house is on the market?’
‘Yes, or at least it will be as soon as the deed has been made over to me,’ I responded, already in the kitchen.
‘Would you mind showing me around quickly while the coffee’s brewing?’
‘Are you interested?’ I asked in surprise. It would never have occurred to me that a man like him, seemingly such a loner, might have plans for a permanent base.
‘Could be. Technically I have a house in Germany, a little place my parents left me, but the truth is I’m hardly there for months at a time. I travel too much, live out of hotels – usually whatever’s most convenient for the local airport where I’m working on a particular job – and sometimes in rented flats, but lately almost all the work I do is out of Madrid. I like this neighbourhood; it seems very quiet.’
‘Too quiet for me, having lived in London for fifteen years. Listen . . . if you do go for it, it might not be such a bad idea for us to deduct the five hundred euros a day that you’re charging from the house price, because if the investigation goes on for much longer and my solicitor doesn’t sign over my inheritance soon, I don’t know if I’m going to be able to pay you,’ I said jokingly, although there was some truth to my words.
‘That’s really not a bad idea,’ he said, smiling – for the first time in my presence, I think, ‘but don’t you worry, I wouldn’t abandon this case just because of the money. I’m sure we could come to some arrangement if necessary. When I start on an investigation it’s like starting on a puzzle – I can’t leave it until I fit all the pieces together. Each case ends up as a personal challenge for me. It wouldn’t be the first time a client canned me before the job was done and I kept working on it for my own satisfaction.’
‘Wow, that’s not what I expected. All right then, I’ll show you the house while the coffee’s on.’
It was a very quick tour, though I was sure that not a single detail had escaped his keen observation. When we were looking around the main sitting room, he commented, ‘You ought to open the window and air this room out. It has a wonderful grille over the opening – I doubt even Aris could get through there.’
‘You smell it too? It’s horrible – it smells as though my mother’s sitting right there.’
‘I have a good nose despite being a smoker, but I wouldn’t need one to smell this: it’s an overpowering blend of expensive perfume and urine.’
I was terribly embarrassed at not having cleaned the upholstery on the sofa, but took his advice, raised the blinds and threw the window open. Straight away the sunshine came streaming into the room.
‘That’s better with the sun in here, otherwise it’s a very cold and chilly room.’
‘Yes, it is . . . I thought I was the only one to notice that.’
A little later on the grand tour, we passed the door to my mother’s room. ‘And this is the master suite – or rather the queen’s chambers – which were my mother’s quarters. Be my guest,’ I added, gesturing for him to take a look around, although I wasn’t going in myself.
‘Why doesn’t this room have a window?’ came his voice from the little private sitting room that connected with the bedroom. ‘Unless I’m mistaken, this wall faces on to the garden.’
‘Ah, that’s just one of the secrets my crazy mother took with her to the grave,’ I answered, without stepping into the room, raising my voice a little too loudly and breathing in and out through my mouth. I was starting to feel giddy.
‘It’s just that this would make the perfect office if you added a nice window. You could also turn it into a dressing room, though I don’t need one myself.’
After a quick look at the attic, we sat down in the garden with our coffee.
Alfonso was a touch more smartly dressed this afternoon – he’d taken care to smooth down his hair for once, maybe even with a dab of product, and his shirt looked freshly pressed. For a fleeting moment I wondered if he was starting to like me, if he had done all this for my benefit, and felt flattered.
‘I suppose you haven’t heard yet from Teresa . . . ?’
‘Not a word, and she hasn’t answered my calls either. I’m genuinely very concerned about her.’
‘Calm down, she’ll be all right.’
‘Well, how do you know? Oh, that’s a foolish question – it’s your job to know.’
‘At twenty past two this afternoon I saw her entering her house with two shopping bags and a young girl, about eleven or twelve years old, I would guess. I’m not particularly good at estimating ages where children are concerned.’
‘I’m so relieved to know she’s all right, but now I . . . I don’t understand. Maybe she had to take care of a neighbour’s daughter . . .’
‘Just hold on, I’m getting to the good part,’ he said, and then fell silent for a moment while he lit a cigarette. ‘The girl lives with her, and so does that crook who followed us to the restaurant.’
‘Are you sure?’ I asked, dumbfounded, leaning in close to emphasise my question.
‘Positive. I’ve been tailing her for two days. That’s why I asked you to bring her to our meeting, because her life just doesn’t seem to fit what she’s been telling you.’
‘That can’t be right . . .’ I couldn’t get over my surprise. ‘When I asked if she lived alone, she told me that—’
‘I know, I know, you told me. She lied, and it seems she has two good reasons: this bloke who’s her cousin, and the girl.’
‘I just can’t believe it . . .’
‘The guy’s name is Pedro Vidal, and yes, he’s the son of Teresa’s cousin. He doesn’t have a job as far as I could tell, other than watching us and frequenting brothels and dodgy bars. His standard of living doesn’t match his situation – he’s been unemployed for a long time.’
‘But . . . I remember Teresa telling me that he ran a car body repair shop.’
‘You’re right there – he shares the business with two other partners, but never actually goes, and I doubt very much that this one suburban repair shop makes enough money to finance all his extravagant habits. I reckon he’s the one who impersonated Saúl to incriminate him; in fact I’d bet my life on it. I’m planning to visit the witness who said he recognised him this weekend.’
‘You’re going to Marbella?’
‘Yes. You want to come?’
‘Just a second.’ I held my hand up, palm out. ‘One step at a time. I’m a bit stunned. You’re telling me that this relative of Teresa’s was the one who carried Bodo’s body out of the house, put it in a van, brought it to the harbour and loaded it on the yacht to dump it in the ocean?’
‘I think that’s exactly what happened,’ he said, slowly blowing out a cloud of smoke.
‘But . . . why? What on earth would Teresa’s relative have to do with all of this?’
‘I’d venture to say that someone who knew both him and Saúl noticed the resemblance, and that besides being an idiot he’s also a scoundrel. It must have been easy enough to persuade him to do it in return for a nice wad of cash.’
‘So you think he killed Bodo and that he’s coming after me because he’s afraid I’ll find out what he did?’
‘No, no, nothing of the sort. What happened before Pedro Vidal took the body out of the house where your sister and her husband lived is a completely different matter. And, what’s more, I don’t think his part in all this went any further than leaving the house with the bundle and putting it on the yacht.’
‘Hang on. Let me see if I’ve got this straight – so it could have been my sister who killed Bodo and paid this guy who happens to look like Saúl to get rid of the body, so the witnesses and police would think that . . . ? That just seems so . . . so . . . warped and evil . . .’
‘Go on, surprise me – although that might be hard right at this minute.’
‘Well, we’ll see. The young lady’s name is María Teresa Kraser de Castro.’
Yes, that took me by surprise all right. It took me a moment to understand exactly what her name signified. Alfonso waited patiently for me to work it out in my own time. He lit another cigarette and stared off into the darkness of the garden, as if respecting my privacy. At last I drew myself together. ‘I think I need a drink. Is this a good time?’
‘It’s a perfect time.’
Within minutes, our coffee cups had been replaced by two glasses of whisky and ice.
‘So, as if by magic, I have a new sister who is also my niece. Who could possibly top that?’ I murmured at last.
‘That certainly seems to be the most logical hypothesis. She’s attended the same school all the way through since nursery – a private school very close to Teresa’s home, which means that—’
‘That she raised her,’ I answered. ‘That’s what she’s been hiding from me – she’s been keeping quiet to protect this child . . .’
‘That, and the fact that her cousin’s mixed up in this whole shady business – she must surely know about that. The guy found out first-hand that you were back in Madrid and started following you, and it’s possible his aunt even told him about my wanting to meet with her and he’s been threatening her. The chap’s a bit slow in the brain department, frankly. It’s been all too easy to check into his miserable life, and he’s a lousy spy, an alcoholic and who knows what else. He spends all day away from home so we can visit Teresa any time we want. I don’t think it would be too difficult to get the information we need from her. She’s the key to cracking this case wide open, though she’s also a victim and we don’t know exactly how much she knows about what’s happened.’
Letters to a Stranger Page 22