Letters to a Stranger

by Mercedes Pinto Maldonado

  I didn’t want to believe him; I wanted to think it was all simply a lie said to convince me, but at the same time I knew he had never once lied to me before.

  The mist is still out there, but now I don’t know if it’s real and I’m plagued by the doubt. I call Dylan constantly to ask if he can see the mist. Today he told me that, yes, it really is there outside my window.

  In hospital they prescribed me some psychiatric drugs that I stopped taking the day I got back to the cabin; they made me too sleepy, in a constant state of drowsiness. Recently I’ve started taking them again – maybe that’s why I can better resist the temptation to go back to my brushes. Sometimes I draw and sketch with my pastels so I can partly soothe this itch, which more and more feels like a slow and deadly poison.

  Nadia is distant with me. She comes to visit, brings food and we chat a bit, but never about us, because she doesn’t want to talk about that. Tonight we’re meeting Dylan and Carol for dinner at the restaurant . . . I don’t know if it’s a good idea. Things aren’t like they were before and it could be upsetting for everyone.

  Today I woke up wondering what’s been happening in your life. I think my mind is clearer with having so many hours and not a lot to do, and so I’ve started thinking of something other than the mist. I hope you’re happy, and that the love we shared hasn’t made you a prisoner like it has me.

  So long, Yolanda.

  Saúl

  Consumed with unhappiness, I looked again at his photos and then, still sitting on the bed, stared at myself in the mirror on the wall. Was I also trapped in that endless meandering labyrinth where unrequited lovers are doomed to wander? I could already mark the passing of time in the fine lines starting to form around my lips and my eyes. ‘The best years of your life are passing you by, Berta – it’s now or never,’ I told myself. I took a deep breath and started to get myself ready for lunch.

  A group of people stood waiting to go up to their rooms as I stepped out of the lift, Alfonso among them. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t even notice me. I called out to him before he followed the rest of them into the lift. ‘Hey, Alfonso!’

  ‘Hi, Berta, how’s your morning going?’

  ‘Lonely. I’m going to have a bite to eat – want to join me?’

  The lift doors closed behind him and he remained in the hallway, but then immediately pressed the button to call it back again.

  ‘Thanks, but I’ve already eaten. I need some time out . . .’

  ‘You’re not going to fill me in on the latest?’

  ‘Sorry, but we’ll have to talk another time. I need a rest. I’ll text you this afternoon, OK? I can tell you right now that there’s not much news.’

  ‘OK, well, I’ll see you later then,’ I said, a little disappointed.

  Before stepping into the lift, he called back to me. ‘Berta.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You should eat out today. See you later.’

  And the doors shut behind him. My melancholy over Saúl’s last letter gave way to anxiety. Had Teresa’s cousin found us again? Was he watching me from around the corner at this very moment? One of the other lifts opened and I hurried into it, pressing the button to take me down to the underground car park.

  After ten minutes of aimless driving, I stopped at the first service station with a restaurant, where I chose a pasta salad and pastry, and then went back to the till for a coffee.

  I must have presented a pretty pathetic picture: a thirty-something woman, all alone, drinking coffee in a roadside diner, surrounded by coarse lorry drivers who made no effort to hide their looks of lechery. I managed to hold back until after I’d paid the bill, but burst into tears as soon as I’d found shelter back in the car. There was a whole legion of reasons why I might feel so miserable, but right then I couldn’t have explained precisely why. I was simply overwhelmed by fear, uncertainty, sadness, loneliness . . . and the painful joy and longing of my love. There was no concrete reason in my mind, only the need to release all the pent-up emotions that had been building over the past few weeks. I’d felt completely ridiculous sitting with that cup of coffee in the midst of sweaty men thirsty for female company, but quite honestly that was only one of the clouds that caused the storm.

  Looking up, I saw a group of lorry drivers swagger past. They glanced back at me and talked among themselves, although this time they seemed a little more respectful – maybe softened by my tears.

  I stayed parked in front of the restaurant for fifteen minutes at least, until I felt a bit better and the ringing of my phone finally rescued me. ‘Hello,’ I answered weakly.

  ‘Hi, Berta, it’s Alfonso. Are you all right?’ he asked immediately. He’d probably noticed the tone of my voice.

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m all right. What’s up?’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘To tell you the truth, I’ve no idea. I’m at a service station a short way from the airport.’

  ‘How about we meet in half an hour near the exit of the hotel car park and pay a visit to Teresa?’

  ‘Sounds great,’ I said, suddenly more lively, which I’m sure he also noticed. ‘I’ll be there.’

  He wasn’t there when I drove by because I was a little early, so I found a parking bay, then headed off to the rendezvous point where I spotted him in his car to one side of the entrance. He saw me and got out to open the passenger door. Quite the gentleman.

  Sitting in the passenger seat, I flipped open the mirror in the overhead sun visor; my somewhat blurry gaze blinked back at me in the reflection. My tears had made my mascara run and my eyes looked like two black holes. Suddenly I felt embarrassed. He looked at me in sympathy.

  ‘Tough day, huh?’

  ‘It hasn’t been the best of my life. I ought to go up to my room and fix my make-up.’

  ‘You can do that right here. I’m sure you have everything you need in your bag – you ladies all do. I’ll step out and have a smoke while you’re busy.’

  He got out of the car and leaned back against the driver’s-side window. It didn’t take long for me to wipe the make-up from under my eyes, touch up my eyeliner, powder my face and slick on some lip gloss. Then it was my turn to wait until he’d finished his cigarette.

  Finally he got back into the driving seat. ‘Better now?’

  ‘Much better. Are you going to tell me about Aranjuez?’

  He pulled out of the car park and started telling me about his morning as we drove along.

  ‘That’s where she lives all right, when she’s in Spain. It was hard to be certain – seems like no one in the area knows her, and her postbox only says Señora Kraser. I didn’t actually catch sight of her, nor was I able to confirm whether she’s currently in Madrid. It’s all very peculiar.’

  ‘Just like everything else about my family, quite honestly. Alfonso, what do you reckon happened? I’m sure you’ve come to your own conclusions and you have a theory.’

  ‘Sure, I’ve got my own theory, but it’s better to wait in situations like these, even more so in a case as complicated as this one. It’s true that instinct can be a big help, but it’s also true that preconceptions cloud your ability to see clearly, and it’s important to be open to any possibility until you know all the facts. But I am absolutely sure that the people involved have a big stake in all this – there’s a lot of money wrapped up in it.’

  ‘It’s clear to me that Teresa’s cousin is the one who killed Bodo, and that my sister paid him to do it.’

  ‘Well, I’m not so sure. That would be the simplest interpretation, but . . .’

  ‘But all the evidence points to him . . .’

  ‘I don’t know – it’s still too soon and we’re missing a lot of information. Shall we get a coffee before we see Teresa?’ he asked, slowing down to stop at a cafe beside the next exit.

  ‘If you want.’

  When we were sitting at the table, I asked him, ‘What are we going to do? Just go right up and knock on the door?’

  ‘Yeah, w
e don’t have a lot of options. I don’t think her cousin will be home at this hour, because when he gets up he’s out until dawn. It’s possible he’s looking for us right now.’

  ‘I’m kind of nervous . . .’

  ‘I know. Don’t worry, you’re with a survivor.’

  ‘So far, but you have to die sometime,’ I said, trying to make a joke.

  After spending some time reading texts and typing on his phone, while I stirred my empty cup over and over, he said, ‘Sorry, the person I have watching Teresa’s house was messaging me . . .’

  ‘You have someone watching Teresa’s house?’

  ‘Something’s happened. I’m so very sorry to have to tell you this: Teresa is dead.’

  I couldn’t speak for a few seconds, taking in what he’d said. Teresa . . . In the blink of an eye my beloved nanny and housekeeper no longer existed . . . Suddenly I could hardly breathe and my heart was pounding in my chest, but for a few seconds I was unable to cry. I just couldn’t react because it was too great a shock. Teresa . . . the closest thing to a mother I had ever known . . . I couldn’t speak because of the utter despair bearing down on my chest and suffocating me.

  ‘Jesus Christ, Alfonso!’ I cried finally. And then the tears slowly started to flow, between choking sobs. ‘That’s horrible . . .’

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he repeated, unable to find any other words to ease my pain right now.

  ‘How? What happened?’

  ‘I don’t know yet. All I can say is that the police are at her house right now . . .’

  ‘The police? Why? Teresa . . . my darling Teresa . . .’

  Burying my face in my hands, I was getting more and more upset by the minute. All the happy memories with Teresa from my childhood began to flash through my mind like images on a carousel: those days full of laughter on the beach, the stories and goodnight kisses, the special smile she gave us when she came to pick my sister and me up from school, the winter afternoons playing ludo . . . Without her I never would have survived my childhood, and my life in London would never have happened; the strength I’d needed to face those awful years had come from her. I remembered the sheer relief that came from knowing I had her complicity and her company among all the day-to-day punishments, reproaches and coldness. Teresa . . . I felt her loss so deeply. I broke down fully at last in a storm of tears and sobbing.

  Alfonso took hold of my hands and waited, quiet and patient. After several minutes I was able to pull myself together enough to speak. ‘I should have listened to her and not gone digging up the past – maybe my obsession had something to do with her death . . . She warned me about it in her own way . . . It’s all my fault . . . my fault . . .’ I mumbled between sobs, burying my face in my hands. A young couple stared at me from the bar and I discovered that I could still feel shame alongside my grief.

  I stopped and looked for a tissue in my bag so I could blow my nose and wipe away my tears, but my hands were shaking so badly that I couldn’t even open the zip. Alfonso took a handkerchief out of his own pocket and gently dried my cheeks with it.

  ‘Don’t torture yourself with that now, Berta. None of this is your fault, especially not Teresa’s death. We still don’t know what happened – there could be a thousand reasons why she died. Maybe it was an accident or a heart condition . . . who knows?’

  I assumed that he had basically ruled out a natural cause of death. It would have been too great a coincidence – for a woman who until a few hours earlier had never shown any sign of a health problem to meet her end straight after we had scheduled a meeting in order to ask a few questions . . .

  ‘I need to know what happened – I want to go and see her.’

  ‘Of course, I’ll take you. But give yourself a few minutes first and order some tea. You need to calm down.’

  My tears continued to flow as I drank the tea, my body still trembling with the shock. Sip after sip I mourned her loss with short, heartfelt words. Alfonso waited until he saw me a little more composed.

  ‘Are you going to be able to go to her house?’ he asked me.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘All right then, let’s go,’ he said, holding out his hand to help me to my feet.

  On the way to Teresa’s house, my tears fell steadily, dripping slowly down my cheeks. I couldn’t even think. I was too shocked, and sadder than I’d ever been in my whole life.

  I’d lived with both of them throughout my childhood. I’d spent the same amount of time with each of them – the same number of days with the woman who had brought me into the world, my mother, as I had with Teresa. How could it be that the death of the first was nothing more than an inconvenience, and yet the death of the second broke my heart? It’s not that I was incapable of feeling; it was just impossible to love the woman who had given me life.

  Alfonso parked on the street next to Teresa’s.

  ‘Ready? We don’t know what we’re going to find in there, and I need you to remain as calm as possible,’ he cautioned me before we got out of the car.

  ‘I’m ready,’ I said without conviction, without even being sure where I was or what I was doing.

  Still in the car, he took his handkerchief out of his pocket, dried my tears carefully and, taking my face tenderly in his hands, said, ‘Berta, you don’t have to do this if you’re not up to it. Stay here if you’d rather. I won’t be long.’

  ‘I can do it,’ I said, fishing for my make-up bag to repair the damage for the second time that day.

  The narrow cul de sac looked to be part of a humble housing complex. When we got there we found it crowded with people, who swarmed around two police cars and the front door of one of the buildings. My heart knocked harder in my chest and I looked up at Alfonso, feeling dizzy.

  ‘Listen carefully,’ he said, raising my chin so I would look at him. ‘You’re going to go up to those officers and introduce yourself for who you are: Berta, the daughter of Teresa’s employer for forty years. You’ve come here because she hasn’t been to the house in a few days or answered your calls. That’s it – understand? You have to do it alone and they can’t see me with you. If you go to the police and tell them who you are, they may take you in for questioning. We can’t risk them asking who I am and what my relationship is with you. You started this investigation outside the law and it might turn out poorly if they discover certain information, like your not handing over the letters or that someone broke into your house and you didn’t report it – you might end up as a suspect yourself. I’ll stay here and look around, try to figure things out.’

  ‘OK,’ I said, drawing in a deep breath to gather my strength.

  ‘You’ll do great – you’re doing this for Saúl. Remember: you know absolutely nothing. You’re as shocked and surprised as all the neighbours,’ he finished, giving my shoulder a light shove to move me forward.

  I had a hard time getting near the police, because there were so many nosy onlookers packed around them that I could hardly get through, but I finally made my way past the crowd and approached one of the officers. Inhaling deeply, I tried to hide my overwhelming grief and sadness.

  ‘Hello, officer, my name is Berta de Castro,’ I said by way of introduction, when at last I caught his attention. ‘I’ve here to visit someone who lives on this block.’

  ‘And who might that be?’

  ‘Teresa. Teresa Ros,’ I answered, saying her name as though I had to drag it from the depths.

  ‘I’m sorry to have to inform you, but this woman was found dead in her home this afternoon. Her house is under guard.’

  ‘But . . . how? What happened?’ I was still so shocked by the news that it wasn’t hard to act surprised.

  ‘We don’t have any information for the moment. They took the body away half an hour ago. How did you know Teresa Ros?’

  Hearing the officer talk about my recently deceased nanny with such coldness made the tears flow freely once again. I gathered all my remaining strength to go on and introduce myself.

 
‘I’m the daughter of the woman Teresa worked for for forty years.’ I paused to take a breath. ‘I’m sorry, I’m in a state of shock. She was . . . I came because she hasn’t come by the house for a few days or answered any of my calls,’ I managed to tell him, following Alfonso’s instructions.

  ‘I see. I’m sorry for your loss. I need your name and phone number. We may have to contact you.’

  I gave him my details, and he wrote them down in his notebook before excusing himself and going to talk with one of the neighbours. Two women stared at me and whispered as I wept, unable to hold back the bitter tears of my pain any longer. Perhaps they were surprised at the grief etched so clearly on my face.

  I stayed there a while to listen to what the neighbours were saying. According to one lady, who looked very upset, the little girl, tired of waiting for her aunt to pick her up from her dance class, had come home alone. When no one answered the door, she went over to the neighbour’s house to get the keys, and then they found her dead in the sitting room.

  ‘The little girl came to my door, so upset. Just imagine, the poor dear . . .’

  The officer interrupted her account, apparently not that interested in what had happened; the young man just wanted to do his job and clear the area. ‘Have any of my colleagues taken your statement?’

  ‘Er, yes, a little while ago, when they first arrived. I told them that . . .’ answered the woman.

  ‘All right, ma’am. We’ll call you if we need anything – you can return home now. It’s time to clear the street, people!’ said the policeman to the rest of the crowd.

  Before leaving, I got him to answer one last question. ‘Can I go in to see the girl who was living with her?’

  ‘She’s with social services now, ma’am.’

  Depressed, demoralised, completely destroyed, I retraced my steps in search of Alfonso’s car. Teresa was dead . . . The only person who had ever really loved me. In some way I did still feel responsible – ever since I came back I hadn’t been able to put myself in her place for a single moment. I’d thought only about myself, about finding out what she was hiding from me, sure that she was doing it to protect herself. Now I realised that perhaps, as always, she was just taking care of the people she loved. I was so lost in thought and so miserable that I almost walked right past the car.