‘At this time of night?’ she asked sharply.
‘I won’t be long.’
‘I thought you specially wanted to watch that programme on the telly?’
‘Work has to come before pleasure.’
‘Since when? Where are you going?’
‘Only to try and find out something.’
‘From whom?’
‘The work’s very confidential . . .’
‘Naturally!’
Jaime looked at them. ‘What are you two on about this time?’ he asked plaintively.
‘That’s none of your business.’ She began to clear the table; her actions suggested anger, but her expression was worried. In matters of the heart, men were like children, unable to see the dangers towards which they were racing; but unlike children, once those dangers had been identified to them they blindly refused to heed them but insisted on continuing into disaster . . .
Alvarez left the house, totally unworried about whether he was approaching disaster. He would, he told himself, present all the facts calmly and unemotionally; Serena would, of course, initially try to reject the conclusion to which these facts irresistibly led, but she was too intelligent a woman not to accept them finally.
She was in the dining-room, one of only eight guests still there. She smiled as she pointed at the chair on the opposite side of the table. ‘Enrique, how wonderful to see you! Especially as I’ve been feeling rather blue and need someone to jolly me up. So welcome, knight in shining armour.’
Was it so very stupid for a nearly middle-aged man to feel his heart beat a little faster? Did age always make ridiculous what had once been romantic?
‘You’re off on one of your brown studies again. What are you thinking about this time?’
‘That if my horse could gallop instead of just trot, I’d have been here much sooner.’
She laughed, finished her last spoonful of ice-cream. ‘Let’s conform to tradition and have coffee and brandy outside. There’s something you should realize. You’re leading me into very bad habits. Until I met you, I only drank brandy very occasionally; now it’s every day.’
They had coffee and brandy outside the hotel, then left the table, crossed the road and walked on to the beach. She took off her shoes. ‘Come on, this time you do the same.’
‘I’d really rather . . .’
‘Now! Cast aside all those inhibitions and advance to a second childhood.’
‘Serena, there’s something I have to say before we do anything more.’
‘And from your tone of voice, I’m not going to like listening to you. Then forget whatever it is until tomorrow. This is the land of mariana—do as the Romans do.’
‘I have to speak now for your sake.’
‘Dammit, why do people always become so eager about other people’s sakes?’
‘Because they’re worried about them. I can’t bear to see you get hurt any more.’
‘When I learned about Tim’s death I promised myself that I’d never take anything more seriously so that life could never hurt me again. But it’s not all that easy to banish the past. You’ve discovered that, haven’t you? I can see it in you . . .’
‘You virtually admitted last time that you know he’s alive.’
‘For God’s sake, don’t start that again.’
He longed to stay silent, but knew that the longer he did so, the greater must be the hurt she eventually suffered. ‘Let’s sit down.’
She sat on the sand and he settled by her side. Still without speaking, she reached out and gripped his hand, asking for, and receiving, comfort.
‘I now know almost everything,’ he said sadly. ‘Señor Green decided to defraud the insurance company by staging an air crash from which it must seem he could, not possibly have escaped; in fact, he’d made certain Señor Bennett would pick him up at sea after he’d jumped from the plane. In the past, Señor Bennett had found a way of defrauding rich men that was safe so long as no one could prove that his intention was to defraud them; Señor Green, who’d worked for him, could provide that proof and his price for silence was Señor Bennett’s help.
‘As soon as the boat docked in Stivas, Señor Green went ashore; because it was too late to travel that night, he booked in at a hotel, under the name of Thomas Grieves, and the next morning he took a woman back to the hotel—’
‘No!’
‘I’m very, very sorry but that is what happened.’
‘But he couldn’t have done such a thing . . .’
And then she leant against him and he felt her shaking and he knew that she was at last accepting the bitter truth. He put his arms around her and stared out at the bay.
‘I didn’t know . . . I never thought . . .’ Her voice died away.
He held her tighter as the words raced through his mind. She hadn’t known that Green was a masochist . . . Although he’d assured himself again and again that this must have been so, one small and nasty part of his mind had repeatedly reminded him that there were women who were ready to condone, or even liked, perversions . . .
After a while, he continued speaking. ‘Señor Green returned to this island either because he thought there might be trouble—and here could be one of the safest places to hide—or because by then he knew there was trouble. Señor Bennett was threatened with blackmail at the hands of a fisherman who, with his brother, had been at sea on the Saturday night. The señor refused to be blackmailed, saying he’d taped the threats, and the fisherman became too frightened to pursue the blackmail. Then, a couple of days later, señor Bennett offered him money to stay silent. The only possible explanation for this unnecessary change of attitude is that señor Green had told him to pay because the fisherman’s evidence would, in a civil court, be fatal to the plan to defraud the insurance company.
‘Blackmail is a crime that only finally ends when the victim has nothing left. señor Green knew this and that now there was only one way of making certain he was not financially bled white. He decided to kill the brothers. He planted a bomb aboard their boat that was detonated by a trembler and timing device; the trembler was activated by the movement of the boat, which made certain they’d put to sea, and it started the timing device, which made certain they were well out from shore when the bomb exploded. But the elder brother was very lucky and was up for’d and he survived the explosion to be picked up by another boat.
‘I know señor Green is on the island because he hired a car in Cala Blanca on the 3rd and has been at señor Bennett’s in it at least once. He is a murderer, a fraudster, and a . . .’ He stopped. The word ‘pervert’ seemed to echo. ‘Serena, he’s rotten through and through. I’m going to have to find and arrest him and if you’re with him you’ll be inculpated in the fraud and possibly even in the murder, although you had nothing to do with that. So please, please leave him.’
After a while, she said, in a low voice: ‘You shouldn’t have told me a lot of that, should you?’
‘Perhaps not.’
‘You’re a policeman, yet you’re warning me even though you’re quite certain I helped him with the fraud. You’re betraying your duty.’
‘I can’t help that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Surely to God that’s obvious?’
Her answer was to brush his cheek with her lips. He began to turn his head, but she put a finger on his cheek. Conscious that her emotions must be in a state of such turmoil that, the last thing she’d want would be further emotional stress, he forced himself to relax.
She spoke in a distant voice. ‘I tried to tell you the other day what kind of a man he is, but I don’t suppose I succeeded. He’s so full of the fun of living that with him the world becomes painted in glowing colours; even walking down a road you’ve walked a hundred times before becomes wonderfully exciting . . . I suppose you’re asking yourself how, after all my proud boasting about being descended from the women of La Verry, I failed to see what kind of a man he really is. The answer’s very simple. As I once hinted, when
my own emotions are involved I can be as blind as the next person—I see what my emotions want me to see and not what’s actually there. But just occasionally when I was with him something would happen momentarily to lift the blindfold and I’d gain sight of something that scared me. He always knew when that had happened. He’d whirl me back into a state of blindness.’
‘But surely you couldn’t hide from yourself the nature of the intended fraud?’
‘Of course not.’
‘Didn’t that tell you what he’s really like?’
‘There’s no connection. And you know there isn’t.’
‘A man who’s so ready to commit one crime—’
She broke in. ‘Can be the nicest and kindest person you’ll ever meet. You’re a policeman and so have to condemn crime, but you’re far too humane really to believe what you’ve just tried to say—that every criminal is morally rotten. Steal to feed your starving children and the law says you’re a criminal; do you morally condemn the thief? Buy a company, strip it of its assets and throw out of work its previous employees, and legally you’ve just been clever; morally, I say you’ve committed a crime.’
‘If everyone thought like you, there would be chaos.’
‘Not chaos, because morality would reign and morality looks at all the circumstances which the law never does . . . And for me, when a man has worked for years and his work has made his employer very rich and then he is thrown aside, he is owed. So why shouldn’t he claim his debt, if to do so will hurt no one?’
‘You cannot defraud without hurting.’
‘To a company that is worth billions, what Tim set out to get was no more than petty cash. Enrique, you’re arguing because you feel you ought to, not because you believe what you’re saying.’
Was she right? He didn’t know. If he believed a crime like fraud branded a man as rotten, what was he since he was trying to find a way of proving Green had murdered Carlos without exposing Miguel’s smuggling activities? Why, when he knew she had been an accomplice to fraud, had he warned her about Green and so betrayed his work?
‘I’m feeling all cold inside; perhaps I’ve taken off too many layers of internal protection. Do you mind if we go back to the hotel?’
‘Please remember all I’ve told you and don’t see him again.’
She stood, waited until he was on his feet and then came forward to kiss him gently on the lips, once more breaking free before he could respond. ‘If it won’t embarrass you too much, I’ll tell you a secret. You’re a rather wonderful person.’
They left the beach and returned to the hotel and she came to a stop by the side of the first of the outside tables. ‘I’m going to go straight up to my room and have an early night. Maybe the world will look brighter when I wake up.’
‘May I see you tomorrow?’
‘I don’t know. I’d really like to, but . . . Stripping isn’t ever as much fun for the stripper as for the audience.’
‘I haven’t enjoyed—’
‘That wasn’t what I was trying to say . . . Good night, sweet prince.’ She stared at him for a second, her deep brown eyes filled with emotion, then turned and walked quickly into the hotel.
He returned to his car. He had had to make her understand and accept what kind of a man Green really was. But did anyone ever thank the person who stripped away one’s illusions?
CHAPTER 19
Alvarez stepped into the entrada of Cristina’s house and called out. Her mother came through from the room beyond and screwed up her eyes, since she should have been wearing glasses, as she stared at him. ‘Enrique! I haven’t seen you for a time; not since Julio Gomila’s christening.’
‘That was a spread and a half!’
‘Had you seen the like of it before? I told Caty, when she has a christening, she can’t expect anything like that. They say it cost the family over three hundred thousand pesetas. Where could they have got that sort of money?’
‘I reckon it’s probably better not to ask.’
She laughed, showing a wide gap in her front teeth.
‘How’s your back now—Cristina said it’s not been too good?’
‘That it hasn’t and the doctors don’t seem to be able to do anything about it. Just give me pills and tell me I’ve got to expect that sort of thing as I get older. Doesn’t need a doctor to tell me that . . . But come on through and have something to drink.’
He followed her into the next room and sat in a very comfortable armchair as she poured him out a brandy. She asked him how his family was and then told him at considerable length how hers was. Only when she’d poured him out a second drink and handed him the glass was he able to bring the conversation round to Cristina.
‘You’re not saying she’s in trouble?’
‘Good Lord, no. It’s just I want a word with her.’
‘You had me worried . . . She won’t be back until later.’
‘I expect she told you I didn’t recognize her at first because she’d grown so beautiful?’
‘Aye, she did. And it’s that that makes me worry. With her looks, the men keep after her. I said, they’ll offer all the gold in the world if only she’ll open her legs to ‘em, but if she does all she’ll ever see will be sneers.’ She was another woman who had been brought up on a farm and spoke about sexual matters in a direct manner. ‘You’ll have seen all the little bastards there are around the village these days and the mothers as bold as brass. When we were young, if a woman had a bastard she kept right out of sight. Times have changed.’
‘That’s true enough.’
‘And I’m too old for all the changes.’
‘Can’t say I’m happy with most of them . . . So about when d’you expect Cristina back from work?’
‘She never leaves the house before six and sometimes not even then because the señor tells her to do something more. When he does, there’s never any more money for her. You’d think with all he’s got, he’d pay her something extra.’
‘He obviously wants to stay rich.’ He drained his glass. ‘I’ll be back later on, then: and tell her it’s only to ask a couple of questions about a car and to show her a photo.’
He returned just after seven, parked his car, and walked along the pavement, past a couple of gossiping women who sat out on chairs. The last time he had seen Cristina she had been wearing a navy blue and white maid’s dress, notable only for its decorous utility; the colourful frock she now had on appeared to him to have but one object and that was to reveal by suggestion all that it hid. If he were young, he’d be one of the young men offering her a fortune in gold . . .
Her mother, knitting, was in the second room and she greeted him, then told Cristina to pour him out a brandy. Once again, he first spoke about family matters, observing good manners, before questioning Cristina. ‘I expect your mother told you that I’d like a chat about how things are up at Ca’n Feut?’
She nodded. Her eyes were bright with curiosity.
‘You told me Juana Esteva is the cook?’
That’s right.’
‘Yet the first time I went up there, she opened the door.’
‘When it’s my day off, she has to do that sort of thing and a bit of housework as well; the señor wants things dusted every day.’
‘Then you seem to have the best of the bargain since you don’t have to do the cooking when it’s her day off.’
Her mother said: ‘She’s too lazy to learn. Yet as I keep telling her, how will she ever make a good wife until she can cook.’
‘Perhaps I don’t want to be a good wife.’
Her mother’s lips tightened. Alvarez quickly changed the subject. ‘So what happened yesterday? When I went up, the señor opened the door himself. Was it your day off?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Then Juana was ill?’
‘No. The señor gave her the day off’
‘Does he often do that?’
‘Well, I . . .’ She looked surprised, as if she hadn’t considered the questi
on before. ‘I suppose that’s the first time since I’ve been working up there.’
‘Did he give Juana any reason?’
‘She’s not said that he did.’
‘Has he had any guests recently?’
‘There was one last night.’
‘Male or female?’
‘I wouldn’t know. They’d gone before I’d arrived and there wasn’t anything said.’
‘How do you know there was someone?’
‘The señor said to tidy the main guest-room. I stripped the bed and vacuumed the carpet and took the towels from the bathroom for washing; all the usual.’
‘Have a look at this, will you?’ He passed her the photograph of Green. ‘Have you ever seen him at the señor’s?’
She shook her head as she returned the photograph. ‘Never.’
‘There was a hire-car parked outside the front door yesterday—a white Ford Fiesta. Was that there when you arrived this morning?’
‘Didn’t see any car.’
‘Have you seen a white Fiesta up there recently?’
‘Well, there’s the señorita’s, but no one else’s.’
‘That’s it, then; thanks for helping.’
‘So what’s it all about?’
‘Just something that needs checking up.’ He finished his drink. ‘I’d better be moving on, but before I do, will you tell me where Juana lives?’
Calle Aragon, one of the narrowest of streets in the village, was on the north-east side. Esteva was a carpenter and his workshop took up the whole of the ground floor of his house; throughout a working day the sounds of wood being sawn, planed, and hammered, echoed along the road.
Alvarez climbed the stairs to the family’s accommodation, on the first and second floors, and Juana answered his call. She said she was busy preparing supper, but if he liked to talk while she got on with the work, that would be all right. They went through a room in which two young boys were watching television and into a well-equipped kitchen.
‘I can’t say why the señor gave me the day off,’ she said, as she stopped peeling an onion and used the back of her hand to brush the tears from her eyes. ‘These things make me weep!’
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