‘So, when will you see Mercedes?’ he asked.
‘Next week, whenever you have the money,’ she said.
Oliver nodded. ‘I should be able to get it for you tomorrow. We signed some cheques in advance so I don’t need her signature on anything.’
‘She doesn’t want a cheque. She specified cash,’ she said.
‘It’s twelve thousand euro, Carmen. You’re hardly going to get the train to Belfast with twelve thousand euro in your back pocket now, are you?’
‘It’ll look strange though, no? Why would Mercedes make a cheque out to herself?’
‘True. And I suppose she doesn’t want any trouble cashing it. I’ll tell you what – I’ll make the cheque out to you. That way you can give her the money and there won’t be any questions asked.’
Carmen nodded and bit into her toast. She didn’t question his readiness to write the cheque, and he wondered again what the money was for. He figured it was something specific, that she hadn’t just decided to rob her sister of her savings without good reason. Again he contemplated the possibility that she suspected the truth; that she knew that Mercedes was unlikely to turn up demanding to know where her twelve thousand euro had gone.
Carmen stood up to clean away their plates. When she spoke her voice was bright. ‘Why don’t I cook for you tonight?’ she said. ‘Paella, you like that, right?’
‘Sure, I love it.’
‘It’s probably better if I make it at your place. This kitchen, it’s impossible to do anything. There’s no space.’ She waved her hand in the direction of the kitchen. Her dressing gown fell slightly open. He wanted to reach over and tear it from her. Instead he tried to concentrate on her words. He also thought of Joanna. He hadn’t called her in the last few days. A part of him thought that he ought to let it fizzle, that it probably couldn’t go anywhere and he didn’t want to hurt her, but then neither could his tryst with Carmen, could it? That Joanna had mistaken Carmen for Mercedes was still vital should Mercedes be reported missing. For now, he had no choice but to keep both women on side.
‘I have to go into the office today, not sure how late I’ll get away. In fact, I ought to get moving, there are some things that I need to pick up from the house. How about we do dinner another night – Friday maybe?’
Carmen nodded. ‘Okay. I’ll hold you to that.’
Oliver stood up. Carmen walked with him to the door. Outside in the hallway another door slammed and someone shuffled past, a dark shape beyond the frosted glass.
‘You ought to put a blind up there. People can see you moving about.’
He put his hands beneath her dressing gown, pushed it back until the belt loosened and she stood naked before him. She moved towards him, but he stopped her. He wanted to look at her. He put his hands under her full breasts and caressed them. Carmen moved towards him again and this time he let her. Her breath was hot, her tongue probed and circled his, toying with him. He breathed hard. She raised one leg and hooked it round him, pulling him closer. They were standing in the hallway still. He unzipped his jeans. He couldn’t bear it. He stumbled, slammed her against the wall a little harder than he’d intended, but she didn’t say anything. She was clawing at him, her hands beneath his shirt. She said something in Spanish, raised her legs so that they circled him and she cried out, her nails digging into this flesh as he pushed harder against her, only semi-aware of the pain.
She was waiting for him when he emerged from the bathroom.
‘So, I’ll see you on Friday then,’ she said.
He kissed her and this time pulled her gown around her. She laughed. He didn’t know what it was she was up to but he would enjoy it, and her objective would become clear in time.
He whistled as he walked down the hallway. He wondered if they’d been heard. He’d never lived in a flat and was surprised by the proximity in which people lived. You couldn’t do anything in such a place without being seen or heard. No doubt Carmen was already an object of some curiosity among the tenants. He didn’t like to think about the kind of looks she’d attract from the men, particularly from the kind of men that lived there. He must warn her to bolt her door at night.
THIRTY-SIX
Oliver had called Joanna the night before the exhibition. It had been three days since she’d spoken to him and she’d begun to think that maybe she wouldn’t hear from him again. Her heart sped up when she saw his name flash on the screen, despite her reservations. He told her he was really sorry; he’d got tied up with a case and had been in the office until ten every night trying to prepare his files. She couldn’t help but remember Patrick Arnold’s words when they’d met on the Luas – but Oliver accepted her invitation to the exhibition, saying he’d be delighted to come along.
Now Joanna stood by her photos on the lookout for both men and her mother. Already the room was thronging. Most of the people were friends and relatives of the students, but there were others, too, who had seen the exhibition advertised and had wandered in from the street. It was an exhilarating and unnerving experience to move among the crowd and listen to their comments.
Next to her, one of the other students, Karl, was discussing his photos with two bohemian-looking girls who she’d seen around the college and believed were art students. They were hanging on to his explanations – and she wondered if it was the pictures or Karl that they were interested in. Whatever the attraction she knew their type – pretentious to the core. But he seemed to be enjoying the attention, and she turned away to check the door again, wondering, tensely, who would show up first.
She was walking around the room looking at the other students’ collections while occasionally glancing at the door when she saw Patrick come in. She was surprised and a little taken aback to see Rachel Arnold with him. How would her mother react to Rachel’s being there? She wondered that Patrick hadn’t considered that. Or maybe he had. Maybe he had some kind of agenda in bringing the two women together.
They stood looking around the room, and rather than going to meet them Joanna made her way back to where her photos were mounted, observing them until they had noticed her. Rachel raised a hand in greeting and touched Patrick’s elbow.
‘Hi Joanna. I hope you don’t mind my coming along. Patrick mentioned it, and I really wanted to see your pictures. Wow.’ Rachel stepped closer to the display and studied the photographs in detail. ‘They’re wonderful. I love the atmosphere, the contrast between the bride and the graffiti in the street … and the light in this one …’ She pointed to the shot of the bride in the window. ‘Her face, it’s so full of yearning.’
When Joanna glanced at Patrick, she found him looking towards the door. Checking to see if her mother had arrived? When he looked up and found her watching him, he smiled and shrugged as if to say what can you do?
‘Did it take you long to put the collection together?’
Joanna turned back to Rachel. ‘I’ve been working on it since the beginning of the semester. I took literally hundreds of pictures. It was a matter of picking out the right ones.’
Rachel nodded. ‘You’ve a real talent,’ she said. ‘Just like Vince. You really must come over to the house to see his albums.’
‘Yes, I was telling her that,’ said Patrick. Another glance towards the door. As if reading her mind, Rachel looked around the room.
‘Is your mother here?’ she said. ‘She probably won’t be happy if she sees me.’
‘Not yet, but she should be along soon.’
Joanna looked at Patrick. No reaction. Why had he brought Rachel? Didn’t he know it would annoy her mother to find her here? And besides, she’d probably think that she, Joanna, had invited her.
Rachel looked at Patrick. ‘Maybe we’ll just go and take a look at a few of the others before we leave?’
‘No need to rush, is there?’ Patrick said. Was he enjoying this – the potentially explosive scene that might unfold at the meeting of Vince’s two women? If they left, of course, it would be worse. Joanna wouldn’t get to witness
how Patrick and Angela related to each other.
‘That’s right. Look, don’t worry about Mum. She’s always late; probably won’t get here for another hour at least. There’s wine and a few nibbles over there. Take a look around.’
Patrick smiled. ‘Wine? Of course. What? – Did you think I’d come to see your pictures?’
That over-familiarity again.
Rachel nodded. ‘If you’re sure it’s not a problem.’
‘No, no problem.’ Joanna watched as they made their way to where the wine was being served.
They had just left when Oliver came in. He looked around the crowded room. Joanna stood on tiptoe and waved to try to get his attention, but he didn’t see her. She pushed her way through the crowd, circled round and crept up behind him.
‘Ah, there you are. It’s a good turn out,’ he said. Joanna couldn’t help smiling. ‘Where are these famous pictures?’ he said. ‘It is the arty self-portraits portfolio you’re exhibiting, isn’t it?’
Joanna punched him in the arm. ‘Of course. They don’t call it an exhibition for nothing.’
She led him through the crowd to where her section of the exhibition was.
‘Look – I really want to apologize. I had meant to contact you, you know. You must have been annoyed?’ He gave her a sheepish look designed to disarm her and it did.
Joanna shrugged. ‘To tell you the truth, I haven’t had much time to notice. I’ve been up to my eyes getting this lot ready.’ To tell you the truth. With all due respect. How many other expressions meant the direct opposite?
He stepped back to look at the pictures. ‘They look even better now that I see them like this. You must be very proud.’
Just then Joanna saw her mother come in. She hadn’t had time to warn Oliver that she’d be there, nor had she had a chance to tell him that his old friend, Patrick Arnold, was there too. She put her hand on his arm. ‘Listen, my mum is here. I hope that doesn’t make you uncomfortable … she knows about you, that we’re friends …’
‘Ollie, what brings you here?’
Before Joanna could finish, Patrick had come from the opposite direction of her mother and slapped Oliver on the back. He turned, surprised.
‘What do you think of our Joanna here? Talented young woman, isn’t she? Of course, I believe you two have become friends.’
Joanna felt her face burn at Patrick’s words. What else was he likely to say, to insinuate? She did a quick scan of the room. She couldn’t see either Rachel Arnold or her mother. At what point were the two women likely to converge on the gathering?
‘Where’s Rachel?’ she asked, to save Oliver from having to answer. Patrick waved a hand.
‘Not sure. She went to the ladies; I’m sure she’ll find us.’
‘Not due back in Italy yet?’ Oliver asked.
‘No, I’ve a few bits of business to look after here first. Maybe we’ll find time for a beer before I go back. We didn’t really get to catch up properly, did we?’
‘Maybe. I’m so busy these days, I’ve had to let a lot of things slide.’
‘All work and no play, Ollie … we can’t have that. The wife must never see you. Lovely girl, I heard – Spanish, is she?’
Oliver nodded, evasively. He wasn’t about to tell Patrick Arnold his business. Still, he could have mentioned that they’d separated, not made Joanna feel like the woman on the side.
Just then, to Joanna’s relief, Rachel appeared.
‘You remember Oliver Molloy,’ Patrick said.
Rachel looked surprised. ‘Y … yes. Have you some interest in photography, Oliver?’
An awkward silence. ‘Not exactly. Joanna invited me; I thought I’d take a look.’
‘Oh, I wasn’t aware that you knew each other. It really is a small world.’ Rachel looked at Joanna, curious.
‘We don’t, well, didn’t. Oliver showed me the spot where Vince’s body was found.’
‘Oh.’
Silence at the mention of his name. Patrick stood by looking amused at everyone’s discomfort.
Oliver looked at his watch. ‘I’d better be going,’ he said.
But before he had a chance to do so, Joanna’s mother appeared.
‘Well, isn’t this quite the party,’ she said. ‘Rachel, I certainly didn’t expect to see you here.’
Joanna looked at Patrick, but his expression was unreadable. Rachel had coloured slightly.
‘I expect not, but Patrick mentioned it and well … I thought it would be interesting to see Joanna’s photos.’
Joanna felt sorry for Rachel; if anyone was innocent here, it was she. Patrick Arnold and her mother had failed to even look at each other. Joanna decided it was time to intervene.
‘Oh, I’m sorry – you two haven’t met before, have you? Mum, this is Patrick – Vince’s brother.’ She watched as her mother held out her hand stiffly.
‘Angela,’ she said.
‘Of course,’ Patrick took her hand, squeezing it briefly.
No admission of any prior acquaintance. If Rachel hadn’t been there, she’d have called them on it right then, but she figured the woman didn’t need to be embroiled in this particular showdown. And then there was Oliver.
‘I’m sorry, but I really should get going,’ he said.
Rachel looked slightly panicked. ‘So should we, in fact.’ She glanced at Patrick, and left her glass of wine, almost untouched, on a nearby table.
Patrick caught her mother’s eye. ‘That’s a very talented young lady,’ he said. ‘You must be proud.’
Angela nodded, and put her arm around Joanna. ‘She certainly is.’ She looked defiantly at Rachel who refused to meet her stare.
‘Thanks for asking me, Joanna. Great pictures,’ Oliver said.
‘Give me a second, I’ll walk you out. Mum, there’s wine and snacks if you want to get yourself something. I’ll be back in a second.’
‘Yes, we’ll be going too,’ said Rachel, desperate, Joanna thought, not to be left alone with her mother.
Patrick and Rachel walked ahead, then Oliver, with Joanna bringing up the rear.
Outside, a few smokers were congregated around the doorway. They said goodbye to the Arnolds and then walked in the opposite way.
‘God, I’m so sorry about that,’ Joanna said. ‘Talk about awkward. I didn’t know Rachel was coming; my mother’s face when she saw her. And Patrick … is there some history between you two? He seems, I don’t know … a bit …’ She cast around for the right word. ‘It’s like he’s set on embarrassing you or something. But maybe he’s like that with everyone?’
Oliver looked away. ‘We’ve never exactly been friends. A few of the guys I knew were friendly with him, that’s about it. I don’t know where he gets off with the whole Ollie thing. My friends don’t even call me that. Like you said, I think he likes to set people on edge.’
‘They know each other.’
‘Who?
‘My mother and Patrick. I found a picture from years ago – and then a few days ago I saw them together in a café.’
‘Is that unusual?’
‘It is when both of them claim never to have met.’
Oliver looked thoughtful. ‘Hmm, that is odd.’ He looked at his watch again. ‘Look, I’m really sorry, Joanna, but I honestly have to rush off; I’ve another few hours to do in the office. I don’t suppose you’re free tomorrow night?’
‘I might be, why?’
He grinned. ‘I thought you might like to come over; we could order in, watch a movie, see what happens? You can tell me what’s been going on with the Arnolds.’
Joanna nodded. ‘Sounds good. What time?’
‘Say seven?’
He looked around to see if anybody was watching and then gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.
Joanna stood for a minute and watched him leave. Then she turned to go back inside and face her mother.
THIRTY-SEVEN
Oliver left the exhibition and hurried to the Dart station. In little over an hour
Carmen Hernandez was to arrive. He checked his briefcase to ensure that he had the chequebook for his and Mercedes’s joint account. There were two cheques remaining that bore her signature. He’d write a cheque to Carmen for twelve thousand euro, and backdate it to the day before he’d booked the Eurolines ticket. If she asked any questions, he’d tell her the date had already been written, that he’d started writing a cheque for something else. It was no big deal anyway; it would have no bearing on her cashing it. He still wondered what had inspired Carmen to ask for the money. It was a risk. How did she know that Mercedes would not contact him for that exact reason? Either she needed it badly or she didn’t care what Mercedes thought anymore. He hoped it was the latter; it might stop her looking for her sister. On a whim he stopped off at a supermarket and bought chocolates for Carmen, as well as an expensive bottle of wine.
It was after seven o’clock when she arrived weighed down with bags.
‘I had to go to two different supermarkets to find what I needed,’ she told him. She went straight to the kitchen and emptied the food out on the counter.
He had a fleeting image of Mercedes doing the same thing and tried to erase it from his mind.
‘I guess you know where to find everything?’ he said.
Carmen shook her head. ‘You can show me. You know how to make paella, no?’
‘Me? No, I’m not much of a cook actually.’
Carmen raised an eyebrow. ‘Five years living with a Spanish girl and you don’t know how to make paella? So today you will learn. You can be my assistant, and next time you can make it for me.’
‘Won’t I be in the way?’
‘Uh-uh.’
The Girl Behind the Lens: A dark psychological thriller with a brilliant twist Page 16