He thought about the number of people he had coached – the executives who had struggled with relationships in their high powered jobs. How he had asked them provocative, powerful questions to help them reflect and break through into insights into what they needed to do to improve these relationships. How he encouraged them to create clear objectives which they would review together. They would explore what made work challenging, the impact of global dynamics, the pace of change, the need for innovation and agility. How he talked about the role of emotions, the importance of developing self-awareness, self-control, executive disposition and stress tolerance.
Now he was unable to decide how to approach Cornelia. He felt nervous about asking her if she had been with Nuala earlier the day that she died and frightened of how Cornelia would react.
He tried to do what he encouraged others to do – to get in touch with his feelings. What was he feeling now? He was confused, afraid, anxious and also feeling like a fool – a hypocrite, a Pharisee. Someone who could talk about relationships, someone who knew all the theory about emotional intelligence but couldn’t live it out in practice. If Cornelia had murdered Nuala, he felt a sense of self-loathing for having allowed this to happen by maintaining his friendship with Cornelia. Maybe in some way, he was to blame for Nuala’s death.
What about Henry? Had Gurtha not betrayed Henry? Not by having sex with Cornelia, but with something much deeper. He had tried to possess Cornelia’s soul. Was that not a more significant treachery than possessing her body?
As these thoughts and these feelings of remorse, confusion and despair surged within him like lava from a volcano, he reached down to his side, where there was a deep twisting pain, as if someone had stabbed him. It was a physical pain – buried deeper than his seeking for approval from the academic world, his coachees, the rounds of applause and laughter at his after dinner speeches. He felt a sense of humiliation, a disintegration of who he had known himself to be. He felt himself melting into nothingness – or the somethingness of a burning stream of lava, moving downhill. Previously he had searched for ascent in life, acquiring what he had thought brought greatness. He now knew it was a tale of empty promises and false hopes.
♥
At twelve thirty in the Gallery, Barry kissed Cornelia on the cheek. His fringe back in its normal position. His lips felt soft and soggy on her skin. She felt her cheek contract and shrivel. As he moved towards the Nespresso machine, she wiped her cheek with a handkerchief.
“Did you enjoy your walk?”
Barry pressed the expresso button and opened the cake tin.
“It was too hot – like you said. But I need to lose weight.” He patted his stomach.
She noticed that his face was red and blotchy, as was his neck. He swivelled right and left surveying the room, cramming a piece of fruit cake into his mouth.
Cornelia turned up her nose,
“You’ll find that if you don’t eat so much, it’s an easier way to lose weight than walking in thirty five degrees centigrade. Not pleasant I’m sure. You look as if you’ve caught the sun.”
DAY 24
TUESDAY 3RD SEPTEMBER 2013
GURTHA TRIED to pluck up courage to speak to Cornelia. Laura had texted him to insist that he call her immediately, reminding him that investigating Police officer Andy Finn would not be impressed if Gurtha again delayed in providing new information relevant to the case.
♥
He reassembled once again the jigsaw pieces from which he had created a picture of Cornelia in the past – a picture in which he no longer believed. In those first University days he remembered the pleasure he took from their conversations. It was like a sparring match. They exchanged words without ever hurting one another, preparing themselves for the jousts of life. These conversations were intense, delving deeper and deeper – words mingling onto a page and reassembling sense and meaning. They would try to catch one another out, to respond with new insights and dealing blows to old ways of being. It was intoxicatingly exciting. They were creating their own wisdom together. Henry wouldn’t contribute to the discussions but instead searched for exotic recipes which they prepared together. As Cornelia sliced a lettuce leaf into small pieces, Henry broke open a crab’s leg and removed the flesh. Cornelia pontificated.
“Religion is dead. It is as Marx said, ‘The opium of the people’. It is designed to instil fear, to control people, to make them believe that there is a God who is watching them and who will punish them. It doesn’t exist. We have to think for ourselves.”
Gurtha lay back on the sofa, looking into the flames of logs burning on an open fire.
“Henry – what do you think?”
As it was a Friday, Henry was wearing his indigo blue cravat with a white shirt and navy blue silk trousers. He sucked on a crab leg.
“I think we complicate life. It’s simple. Enjoy it. This crab has done a wonderful job sacrificing itself for my pleasure. I am grateful to it.”
Gurtha laughed, walked over to Henry, lifted a second crab leg and sucked it.
“Let me also be grateful. Thank you Mr Crabby.”
Then he turned to Cornelia who was removing charcoled skin from a roasted pepper. Gurtha patted Cornelia on the head as he said, “I think that you’re wrong. Rules are made to protect us because we have not developed a level of consciousness which sees a reality beyond the superficial thinking mind and emotional body. That consciousness moving towards the depths of our being is a different awareness. If we could access that awareness, we would see differently and would not need the rules made for children who need protection until they know.”
Cornelia inspected an anchovy which she removed from a gourmet jar.
“How elitist of you, as always. I suppose you see yourself as one of the highly vibrating energy forces pulsating love into the world, whilst the rest of us are fools and inferior human beings?”
Gurtha was unmoved by her petulance.
“Do the science. Observe the consequences in your own life. Of your actions and the impact which they have on you and others. I don’t need to read any books to work that one out.”
Cornelia pushed the anchovy to one side and dissected the last remaining lettuce leaf.
“If I happen to have a lower level consciousness than you do – whatever created me – if anything did – must have wanted me to enjoy this – to experience my limitations and humiliations.”
Gurtha picked up a poker and stirred the burning embers.
“Yes, but the purpose could be to guide you to an experience of love.”
Cornelia looked at him out of the corner of her eye.
“What’s holding this intelligence back then from doing it?”
Gurtha threw another long log on the fire.
“You know. I don’t.”
Cornelia laughed, throwing her head back in a way which was so familiar.
“I think I know what it means in one word.”
Cornelia snorted,
“Of course you would Mr Bright Guy. One word. Spit it out then.”
Gurtha gently said, “Sacrifice.”
He remembered how she seemed to tremble at that word, falling unusually silent.
♥
Gurtha decided to ring Cornelia and stop procrastinating over the conversation about Nuala’s death.
“Cornelia can I meet you for a coffee in the Plaza?”
“Of course. When?”
“Now, if it is OK for you.”
“It sounds urgent. Is it something to worry about?”
“I’d rather tell you when we’re face to face.”
“Oh dear. That does sound like something to worry about. Let’s meet in Café Es Planet in half an hour.”
Gurtha looked at his watch.
“Can we make in in one hour? I’d like to walk down.”
“That’s perfect.”
He lifted his rucksack, checked that he had a torch and rope as always and looked for a bottle of chilled water in the fridge. He began his de
scent, walking along a track which would join the main hiking path into the town. Wasps buzzed low over lavender. Their long bodies held together as though by a black thread – not like the sturdy wasps from Belfast. He crossed the main road leading to Lluc and continued down a pathway covered in small yellow flowers, past a convent and a small chapel. He passed a man and a woman who were building a stone wall. The woman had no hands, only stumps which ended below her elbows. They allowed her to lift the stones and set them into place whilst the man, who Gurtha imagined to be her husband, looked for new stones a little further along the path.
Everything which appeared before Gurtha was a story being told. A story with hidden, deep messages. From now on, everyone and everything would tell him a story and what part it had to play in his life.
Descending, he passed a house where, through the gate, a giant black dog the size of a small horse, was chained to a pole. The dog snarled ferociously. Gurtha shuddered, imagining that it might break loose, leap over the gate and sink its fangs into his neck. Cornelia now seemed like that Mallorcan Shepherd dog – dark haired, potentially aggressive and guarding secrets.
In the Plaza, Cornelia was already sitting at a table on the terrace outside Es Planet. Beside her were stalls filled with cheeses, olives, honey, local Mallorcan salt, bread, curled up sausages and sobrasada. A musky smell hung over everything, lightened by flower stalls crammed with pots of gerberas, herbs and delicate begonias and petunias.
Cornelia removed her sunglasses as Gurtha approached. She was wearing a straw hat with a black ribbon tied in a bow, the ends of which fell onto her shoulders. Her dress was emerald green, a mixture of silk on top and a chiffon skirt with matching emerald sandals. She held both arms out, warmly embracing him as he reached the table.
“How is Paddy?”
Gurtha heard himself say words which he hadn’t plan to say. The tone was gruff.
“Missing Nuala, as you can imagine.”
Cornelia didn’t react to his aggression but smiled at him.
“That’s normal. With his dementia, it’s probably even more difficult for him. I’m sure he finds it hard to believe that she is dead.” She sat down.
“Would you like a coffee, or maybe a beer in this heat?”
Gurtha took off his hat and sat down beside her, lowering his rucksack onto the ground.
“I’ll have a beer, thank you.”
The waiter approached, a smiling broad faced, slightly unshaven man who spoke excellent English.
“What would the gentleman like? I was afraid that this beautiful woman was going to be left alone.” He smiled at Cornelia and then looked at Gurtha.
“She is so dainty – a chocolate in a fine chocolate box. I can see you are a man of taste.”
Cornelia dropped her eyes demurely to the table. When the waiter disappeared, she said.
“I’ve been thinking a lot about Nuala. Do you remember the last time we were all together – you, me, Nuala and Paddy? Henry wasn’t able to join us. He was quite ill – all puffed up and inflated like a hot air balloon.” She gave a short laugh, caught Gurtha’s expression and adopted a more sober tone.
“That’s what he called himself. A hot air merchant. He said that was what being in the world of banking turned him into.” Her smile changed to sadness and regret.
“I so miss him, too. I know what Paddy must feel like.”
Gurtha watched her intently, attempting to read between the lines. Was she telling the truth or telling lies? He decided to ask her a question.
“So, you’re saying that the last time you saw Nuala alive was that evening on Paddy and Nuala’s 40th wedding anniversary in Belfast at my house. Is that the case?”
He was rather proud of the way he was interrogating her, like a prosecuting Barrister. He was also feeling a little uncomfortable, remembering that the reason he had chosen his house to celebrate their wedding anniversary rather than Nuala and Paddy’s was that he was ashamed of their home. Gurtha had arranged for a catering company to cook and serve for them. They had lychees for starter. Paddy couldn’t eat them because he had no teeth and no way to remove the flesh of the lychees from the stones. This was followed by crab bisque which Nuala thought was going to be a crab dressed up in a risqué costume and they all laughed. Then there was a stuffed pork fillet with roast potatoes and apple sauce. They finished with a chocolate bombe with a hot toffee sauce. Nuala joked that there had been enough bombs going off in Belfast during the Troubles without needing to eat another one.
The first question that Nuala directed to Cornelia that evening was, “What are the symptoms of Henry’s ill health? It’s always interesting to know, as I have a bad heart myself.”
Cornelia raised her eyes towards the ceiling and answered,
“He’s very tired, lethargic, has put on a lot of weight, arthritis, diabetes, depression, gasping for air in the middle of the night, at times not breathing in his sleep and I have to give him a push to waken him up … Not good.”
Nuala took a sip of her coffee,
“You must be really upset not to be with him this evening if he is in such a poor condition.”
Cornelia gave Nuala a withering look.
“Life has to go on – do you not think?”
She then grabbed her glass of white wine and finished it in one large gulp as a silence fell over the room.
Gurtha broke the silence asking, “Anyone for a digestif?”
Paddy brightened up.
“I’ll have three digestive biscuits and a cup of tea, if you don’t mind.”
♥
In the Plaza, Gurtha took a sip of chilled San Miguel.
Cornelia straightened her hat to cover her face from the sun. She hadn’t answered Gurtha’s question. He decided on a more direct approach.
“Did you see Nuala on the day that she died?”
There was silence. Gurtha sat with his hands on his knees waiting.
Eventually Cornelia spoke, with a certain hesitation.
“Well, yes, I was with her.”
Gurtha sat upright.
“At what time were you with her?”
“It must have been close to mid-day.”
“But you have never mentioned this before. Knowing that Nuala was murdered, you never said a thing to me, or for that matter, to the Police. What were you doing with Nuala?”
“I had arrived early as I had bought you a present for your birthday. I wanted it to be a surprise.”
Gurtha asked,
“What was it?”
“A box of Roses. You said that they grow on you. I thought that you would get the joke and know they were from me.”
“What happened?”
“I arrived at the house and Nuala opened the door. I explained why I was there. She took the chocolates from me and said that she would give them to you.” Cornelia began to sniffle and look for a handkerchief.
“I asked if I could see your bedroom. We had a bit of an argument. Argument is too strong a word. It was a slight disagreement over nothing really. She said that she didn’t like to show me your room without you being there. Paddy looked a bit upset and she sent him out to buy some milk - I think – she wrote something down on a piece of paper.
After Paddy left, I explained how upset I had been since Henry’s death and that this small act of generosity as a surprise for you made me feel better. I know that you sleep in your big house on the Malone Road but I wanted to see where you used to sleep and to leave the chocolates on top of your pillow. It would be as if an angel had dropped by.”
“What happened next?”
She hesitated, looking as if she was about to leave the table and then, gripping her handbag close to her chest, she took a deep breath.
“She tripped on the carpet on the landing after showing me the room. She tumbled downstairs. There was nothing I could do about it. Why didn’t you make sure the carpet was tacked down safely?”
“Why did you leave her and not stay with her and call an ambulance?”<
br />
“She was dead. There was no pulse. I checked.”
“Anyone normal would still have called for an ambulance. It’s called abandoning the scene of a crime. It’s an offence.”
“Nobody would have believed that it was an accident if I had stayed.”
“Why not?”
“Because nobody ever believes a word that I say. They never have done.”
“Maybe there is a good reason for that.”
“What?”
“That you are a confounded liar. How do you explain the Coroner’s report said that Nuala had been murdered?”
The waiter rushed towards the table as Cornelia pulled at the glass of beer in Gurtha’s hand. He let go of it. She threw the contents into his face.
“Don’t call me a liar. It wouldn’t be the first time that a coroner has made a mistake.”
The beer trickled down his face. Gurtha stared after Cornelia as she ran towards the tram. The waiter used a napkin to dab the beer from Gurtha’s t-shirt. Then Gurtha got slowly to his feet, gathered the rucksack from the ground, paid the waiter and walked slowly away from the Plaza in the opposite direction. The tram tooted as it passed by with Cornelia inside.
♥
Gurtha walked along the sea front and turned right to follow the road which would take him past Cornelia and Barry’s house. From the Port, he would have to climb the steep path home. The heat sizzled below a cloudless sky and not a bird was to be seen. Suddenly, an eagle swooped in a quick curve from a tall pine in the hill in front. It disappeared into the long dry grass.
What was the truth about what had happened to Nuala? He was ashamed at his own behaviour during the conversation with Cornelia. He had wanted to find out the truth but to do so gently. Yet it had descended into an unsightly brawl rather their usual sparring match. Barry had commented on Cornelia’s vitriolic anger. Gurtha had witnessed her mood swings in La Quinta and now in the Plaza. What might she have been capable of doing to Nuala? The coroner’s report contradicted Cornelia’s story. Yet there was no obvious motivation for why Cornelia would want to kill Nuala. It didn’t make sense.
The story of the box of chocolates did not seem credible. A box of chocolates is hardly an extravagant present which would make an impression on anyone – least of all Gurtha. What did she do later with the chocolates? The box of chocolates would have been covered with the fingerprints of Cornelia and Nuala. If Cornelia had stayed with Nuala, called an ambulance, the box of ‘Roses’ chocolates lying upstairs on the pillow might have given weight to Cornelia’s story that it had been an unfortunate accident. But what about the fact that the coroner had said that there had been evidence of a struggle? In fact, Gurtha hadn’t told anyone as it was too upsetting to imagine. The coroner thought that it likely that Nuala had not fallen down the stairs but had been violently pushed over the bannister after a desperate struggle with her killer. It was only then that she had been dragged into a position to make it look as if she had fallen downstairs.
The Secret Wound Page 24