by Lucy Gordon
‘She finds you rather alarming.’
He was perturbed. ‘I never knew.’
‘Is it really too late?’
‘We’ll be in Seville next week for the opening of the regional parliament. I’ll talk to some people.’
In Seville she found herself at the centre of a new world. Now it was Sebastian’s fellow politicians who crowded around, eager to know her. Over a series of tiring but triumphant dinner parties she completed what her husband called, ‘the conquest of Seville’. His pride in her was enormous. Their closeness seemed to grow every day. By the time they returned home three weeks later they both felt they could dare to hope that the problems were behind them.
Sebastian reached the Casa Mayorez in the middle of the afternoon. Carlos was waiting for him.
‘I don’t know if I did the right thing in calling you, Señor,’ he said nervously.
‘You were very vague and mysterious on the telephone. Why don’t you simply tell me what had happened?’
Carlos picked up a newspaper, bearing the picture of a ruffianly, unshaven man, whose face Sebastian found unpleasantly familiar.
‘It’s him,’ Carlos said, indicating the picture. ‘His name is Miguel Vargas, and he’s just been arrested for murder. It was on television too, and when my master saw this man’s face on the screen he became very agitated.’
Sebastian studied the picture and went cold. Now he knew where he’d seen Miguel Vargas before-at the trial of Roderigo Alva. He was an associate of Alva’s and had given evidence against him. According to him, Alva had boasted of having robbed the Casa Mayorez once already-something which Alva had been eager to admit, since his defence had been that the previous burglary accounted for his fingerprints on the scene.
‘He said the place was stacked with riches, and he was going back,’ Vargas had claimed. But this Alva had frantically denied. The two men had had a screaming match across the court. Vargas was an unpleasant character, but nobody had doubted he was telling the truth about this.
‘How-agitated?’ Sebastian asked Carlos now.
‘He kept saying, “Him”, “Him”,’ Carlos said. ‘I asked him what he meant, and he said, “He killed me.” And then he began to weep. He kept repeating over and over, “He killed me.”’
Sebastian tried not to listen to the thoughts that were shouting at him. It was monstrous, impossible. For if it was true-
If it was true, then Roderigo Alva was innocent of the crime for which he had been convicted. And that meant…
He pulled himself together and read the rest of the newspaper story. Miguel Vargas had been arrested for shooting down a policeman in cold blood in the presence of witnesses. There was no doubt of his guilt, or the fact that he would spend the rest of his life behind bars for this crime alone. Nothing Sebastian did or didn’t do would make any difference to that.
‘What am I to do, Señor?’ Carlos asked. ‘I thought of going to the police, but an identification by such a sick man after four years-’
‘Would be very little use,’ Sebastian agreed.
‘And they would question my master and upset him further. Shouldn’t I spare him that? Advise me, Señor.’
‘Let me think about this,’ Sebastian told him. ‘In the meantime, say nothing. Try to keep him calm, and if possible, don’t let him watch the news. I’ll be in touch.’
He spent a troubled evening at home, glad that they were entertaining guests, and his preoccupation might pass unnoticed. When the guests had gone he told his wife that he would work late, and spent the night pacing his study.
On the face of it, there was no doubt where his duty lay. If an innocent man had been wrongly convicted, then, even though he was now dead he was entitled to have his name cleared. It was all very simple. Except that…
Except that the discovery of her husband’s innocence would reconcile Maggie to his memory. At just the moment when she had begun to turn to himself, she would learn something that would be like a new barrier between them.
It dawned on Sebastian, with a kind of relief, that he could do nothing without first taking this up with the legitimate authorities. He thought of Hugo Ordonez, a good friend and local politician, influential in police circles. Early next morning he called him, received a warm greeting, and by lunchtime Sebastian was sitting in the man’s study.
‘It’s about Miguel Vargas, who was arrested recently,’ he said. ‘Or, rather, it’s about Felipe Mayorez.’
Ordonez looked surprised. ‘However did you get to hear so soon?’ he said.
‘I don’t understand. Hear what?’
‘About Vargas having committed the attack on Señor Mayorez. Not that we’re sure it’s true, but it’s hard to see why he should have confessed otherwise.’
Sebastian’s head shot up. ‘Confessed?’
‘Taunted us with it. Why not? A dozen witnesses saw him murder that police officer, so he knows he’s got nothing to lose. I suppose he thought he’d treat himself to the sight of authority with some explaining to do. Although, as I say, he may be lying for the hell of it.’
‘No,’ Sebastian said heavily. ‘He isn’t lying. Mayorez has identified him.’
He told the story of his talk with Carlos and Ordonez whistled thoughtfully.
‘What happens next?’ Sebastian asked.
‘Hard to be sure. It would still be difficult to charge him on the basis of what we’ve got. He’s just as likely to deny he ever confessed. We’ll probably spend so much time arguing about the likely outcome that it will just vanish in the files.’
And then nobody would ever have to know, Sebastian thought as he left. Nobody, including the woman whose burdens would be doubled by the knowledge of Roderigo Alva’s innocence.
Hadn’t she suffered enough? Wouldn’t it be an act of kindness to shield her from this revelation? But his conscience told him that he wanted Maggie kept in ignorance so that she would turn more fully to himself. If she knew what he’d discovered, would she ever truly be his? Fiercely, he longed to keep the truth to himself, and not risk shattering the closeness that was building between them. But had he the right to stay quiet for his own sake?
All the way home he struggled with his fears. There were so many good reasons for doing what suited himself, and as a man of power he was familiar with most of them. But he was also a man with a rigid moral code, and he had always found temptation easy to resist.
Until now.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
S EBASTIAN had been wrong in thinking that Maggie hadn’t noticed his preoccupation the night before. She’d seen it, and she’d also guessed that he hadn’t stayed up to work. So when he returned home that afternoon with a heavy step, she was ready for him.
‘What is it?’ she asked, rising and coming to stand before him, searching his face.
Until this moment, he’d thought there was still doubt about what he would say. Now he knew the decision had already been taken, because there was no way he could lie to her.
‘What has happened, Sebastian? Where have you been?’
‘With a man called Hugo Ordonez. He has extensive contacts with the police. I went to ask him about Miguel Vargas, who was arrested the other day for killing a policeman.’
She became very still. ‘Do you mean the man who gave evidence at Roderigo’s trial?’
‘Yes. Now it seems that evidence was false. It was Vargas himself who committed the attack on Felipe.’
She stared. ‘What are you saying?’
The words almost choked him. ‘I’m saying that Roderigo was innocent. Vargas was the guilty man.’
‘Vargas said that?’
‘Yes.’
‘But why would he?’
‘Because he has nothing to lose. He’s facing a life sentence, and he knows that this admission will cause trouble for the police but none for him.’
He couldn’t be sure how much she had taken in. It was almost as though she were holding the news away from her, the better to examine it, and perhaps def
end herself from it.
‘And you think he’s really the man who attacked Felipe?’ she asked at last, slowly.
‘I’m sure of it. Felipe saw Vargas’ face on television on the day he was arrested, and managed to tell Carlos that he was the man. Maggie-!’
Her face had gone so white that he feared she was about to faint. He reached for her but she backed away, clutching a table to hold herself upright.
‘Roderigo was innocent,’ she said in a dazed voice. ‘He was telling the truth all the time? No-that can’t be right. It can’t be!’ The words were a plea.
‘I’m afraid it is, though.’
‘Oh, dear God!’ she whispered. ‘What am I going to do?’
‘You don’t have to do anything. I’ll start the proceedings for clearing his name-’
But she hadn’t meant that, he realised when he saw her desperate eyes. What was she to do now with her memories and her fears?
She began pacing up and down. ‘All this time,’ she was saying half to herself, ‘all this time I hated him-and he was innocent-’
‘You didn’t just hate him because of this,’ he reminded her. ‘Even without it, he’s still the man who took you for a very nasty ride.’
‘I know, I know. I’m trying to be sensible about it, but it’s hard. I deserted him, don’t you see? If I’d stayed…’
‘Maggie, he brought it on himself.’
She whirled on him. ‘Did he bring it on himself that Vargas lied?’
‘Yes,’ he shouted. ‘How did he know Vargas in the first place? Because they were fellow criminals. If he’d been an honest man, they’d never have met. Yes, he brought it on himself, and if you were thinking straight you’d see that.’
‘How do you expect me to think straight when I can hear him in my head, begging me not to leave? I could cope with that when I thought him guilty, but- Oh, God! what shall I do now? If I’d stayed-fought for him-he might have had the will to live.’
‘And he would have lived in prison. There was nothing to clear him, then. Vargas only confessed now because he’s dead. You couldn’t have freed him by staying.’
‘But he begged me to believe him,’ she cried, turning away, ‘and I just assumed the worst.’
‘Because he’d given you ample cause.’
When she didn’t answer, something snapped in Sebastian. He seized her shoulders and pulled her around to face him. ‘Listen to me,’ he said fiercely, ‘I’ve known you as a strong, sensible woman. That’s how you’ve always wanted me to see you. Well, act like one. See him as he was, a waster and a scoundrel who lived off you and broke your heart. Don’t give him a halo because he was innocent of this one crime. That’s a piece of sentimentality I didn’t expect from you.’
She stared at him, seeming dumbfounded. Sebastian had the dreadful feeling of fighting a mist. Nothing he said or did seemed to have any effect, and as his fear mounted it expressed itself as anger.
‘You had the guts to fight me,’ he shouted, giving her a little shake. ‘Why haven’t you got the guts to fight him? How much do you want to fight him?’
‘Wh-what?’
‘Why don’t you admit it?’ he demanded bitterly. ‘He’s still the one. It’s true, isn’t it?’
‘No-what are you saying?-of course it isn’t true.’
‘Words,’ he snapped. ‘Everything about your actions tell me you’re still holding him in your heart.’
‘Suppose I was?’ she raged. ‘Would you have any right to complain? You married me to ease your pride. Well, you got what you wanted. My feelings are none of your business. Now, leave me alone!’
She ran out of the room, leaving Sebastian alone, looking at the wreckage of what he had done.
He never knew where she went, and she never told him of the hours she had spent wandering in the further reaches of the grounds. There was nobody out here to see her violent storms of weeping, followed by trembling calm as she fought to get control of her dreadful thoughts. He’d been innocent, and she’d deserted him.
‘He’s still the one. It’s true, isn’t it?’
No, it isn’t! Don’t look at me like that-as though you saw what I was too appalled to see!
Then another burst of weeping, which went on until she was too tired to cry any more.
In the early evening she went in search of Sebastian and found him in his study.
‘We both said a lot of things we didn’t mean,’ she said.
Tell me you didn’t mean it.
His smile was constrained. ‘I only wanted to help you through this. I probably did it clumsily, for which I apologise.’
Tell me you no longer love him.
‘No, no, you’re right,’ she said, ‘about me building him up now. It’s just a matter of common sense.’ She smiled. ‘Just give me a little time to get my head around this.’
‘Margarita, don’t pretend just because you feel you have to. I’m your husband. If this is hard for you, I want to share it.’
‘You and me? Share this?’ She gave a small choking laugh.
‘Don’t,’ he begged. ‘Don’t shut me out.’
‘I’m not,’ she said, too quickly. ‘There’s nothing to shut you out from. I’m all right about it, really I am. It won’t make any difference to us.’
His heart sank. He heard the sensible words, and saw her smile, as bright as a shield. And they were like a door slammed in his face.
A week later, Sebastian came into the room as Maggie was setting down the telephone. ‘What is it?’ he asked, seeing her face.
‘I was talking to my landlord, in England. He wants to know what’s going to happen. When I left I paid two months rent in advance, but I have to decide what I’m going to do now.’
‘What is there to decide?’ he asked quietly. ‘You’re my wife. This is your home now.’
‘Yes, of course, I just meant- there are things to be sorted out. When I left, I only meant to be away for a few weeks. You have to spend some time in Seville, so it’s a good time for me to return to England to arrange matters.’ She gave a shaky laugh. ‘I think I may have some overdue library books. The fines must have mounted by now.’
His silence had a bleak quality, as though a dark cloud had settled over him. Looking at his face she saw in it everything that was passing through his mind.
‘Call your landlord,’ he said at last. ‘He can return your books. I’ll send someone to collect your things-’
‘No-I don’t want anyone else going through my belongings. And I have people I must see-old friends-I need to say goodbye-’
‘Is it goodbye you’ll be saying?’
‘Of course,’ she said, too quickly.
A tremor shook him. ‘Don’t go, Margarita. It can all be done by others.’
‘I don’t-I want to do it myself.’
‘Very well,’ he said after a moment. ‘When will you leave?’
‘The sooner the better.’
He drove her to Malaga Airport himself, that very day. Inside the terminal he took her bags and waited while she checked in. Their manner to each other was calmly correct. There was nothing in Sebastian’s appearance to suggest that he was consumed by hideous fear.
He came with her as far as he could. ‘How long will you be gone?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know,’ she said with difficulty. ‘How long do these things take?’
‘Not very long, if somebody wants to hurry home. I wonder how much you want to hurry.’
‘Sebastian-’
‘Are you coming back to me?’ He was holding her hand tightly.
‘If I said I wasn’t-what would you do?’
His clasp tightened. ‘Margarita-’
A crowd was trying to press through. ‘Hurry along there, miss. It’s the last call.’
The crowd surged. Her hand was free. She didn’t know how or why it had happened. Her last view was of Sebastian, reaching out to her across the barrier, touching only air, his face full of a terrible question. She thought he called her
name, but she couldn’t be sure, and then she could no longer see him.
As the plane landed in London, Maggie realised how badly she was looking forward to being back in her own little flat. It was small and shabby but it was the place where she was herself. It would welcome her.
But just at first, it didn’t. She shivered at the cold as soon as she stepped inside. But of course, the heating had been off throughout the winter. She could soon have it warm again. Quickly she put on all the lights and switched on the central heating. As she felt the air grow warmer she looked around, trying to take pleasure in surroundings as familiar as old friends. Her books, her CDs, everything spoke of her taste, her personality.
But her personality seemed to have undergone a change. She wasn’t the same woman she’d been when she left here. That woman lived in the past, the more intensely because she was trying to flee it. She had met Sebastian, disliked him, challenged him, been drawn to him against her will.
Now she was standing on a bridge. A future beckoned but it was still misty, and the past hadn’t released her. With Sebastian she’d known the heat of desire, the unexpected thrill of anger. She ought to have left him behind, but he was here with her, filling the silence. He’d never been in this place, but somehow she had brought him with her. Once she had been pursued by Roderigo’s ghost. Now, mysteriously, it was Sebastian who haunted her.
Whatever she did, his face was there. Sometimes it was hard and judgmental, as she’d seen it on their wedding night, blaming her. But that expression faded soon-as it had done at the time, she realised-and there was a new Sebastian, shocked by her wretchedness, concerned, puzzled, gentle. This was the man who’d stayed with her on the Wall of Death, refusing to leave her side while she was in danger. No coldness or insult had driven him away, she recalled with a faint smile. Not like Roderigo, who would have flounced off in a sulk with far less provocation.
That same Sebastian was there with her as she curled up on the sofa, listening to music with the lights out. In the darkness she might have been sitting on the sofa in the hotel at Sol y Nieve, where he had carried her in the bathrobe and dried her feet.