‘I’m not a keen swimmer.’
‘When you live here? Shame on you!’
The drive, long in time but not in distance, was seldom less than dramatic, with constantly varying views of idyllic bays, glass-smooth sea, monstrous cliffs, and ever more hills.
On the descent towards the hotel, he said: ‘We’re coming to the point of turning off for the lighthouse. What would you like to do: carry on and come back for a drink, or stop now?’
‘Which do you suggest?’
‘If we carry on, we can see the sun set; sometimes the sea can look as if it’s on fire.’
‘That would be a fitting climax to such an exciting drive. We simply can’t miss the chance of that. What’s more, it’ll mean I’ll have my swim in the dark, which is twice as much fun because of the mystery.’
There were more questions he had intended surreptitiously to put, but she was so obviously enjoying herself it struck him that to question her tonight would be to mock her naivety. As he changed gear and turned left, he assured himself that his decision had been made on purely professional grounds.
They drove for several kilometres along what had become a nearly level road, then this began to climb once more, passed through a tunnel, and became increasingly tortuous until it finally brought them to the lighthouse, on the tip of the island.
As if to order, the setting sun turned the water a glittering, golden red.
‘Wow!’ she said.
Hardly a poetic reaction, but not even lines by Felipe Almunia could have pleased him more.
* * *
They had two drinks on the gently lit terrace of the hotel, then walked through the gardens to the beach. He sat at the base of a palm tree. He had expected her to move well away to change because there was some moonlight, but she remained where she was. As he looked firmly out to sea, he heard the quick rasp of a zip being unfastened. He tried very hard not to imagine the consequences of that evocative sound …
‘I love swimming,’ she said, ‘so I can spend ages in the water without realizing it. When you get bored, give me a shout.’
As she ran across the sand and into the sea, becoming too indistinct to be more than a moving shadow, he wished himself an Olympic gold medallist, capable of cleaving the water like a torpedo.
* * *
He drove into the car park and braked to a halt close to the green Mercedes.
‘You’ve given me an evening to remember for a long, long time,’ she said.
‘I’m glad,’ was all he could find to answer.
She opened the door and stepped out. Belatedly, he left his car to cross with her to the Mercedes. She unlocked, sat behind the wheel, pressed a switch to lower the window. ‘Once again, thanks a million.’
The nearest streetlight was sufficiently far away that her face was only partially illuminated; shadows added a touch of intriguing sophistication.
‘See you sometime.’
‘How about tomorrow evening?’ he asked.
‘Great!’
CHAPTER 21
Dolores sighed. As Alvarez cut himself a second slice of coca, she sighed again.
‘What’s up?’ he asked.
‘You can ask?’
He realized what the sighs portended. He ate a mouthful of coca and added another spoonful of sugar to the hot chocolate.
‘I heard you return last night.’
‘I’m sorry. I tried to be quiet.’
‘It was after midnight.’
‘Was it? I didn’t keep an eye on the time.’
‘What man does when he loses his wits?’
‘Why go on and on like this? I only saw her last night because of work; but for that, I wouldn’t have bothered.’
‘You think me so stupid as to believe that?’
‘I’ve told you…’
‘You tell me many things. Only because I am a simple, trusting person do I manage to believe even half of them.’
‘There’s evidence I have to check and she can help me do that.’
‘And in order to do so, it is necessary to spend the whole night with her?’
‘All night? You’ve just told me I was back soon after midnight.’
‘I did not say “soon” … Enrique, can you not see how it distresses me to know you are going to be hurt once more?’
‘Why should I be when I know exactly what I’m doing?’
‘When a man says that, he knows less than nothing.’ She turned her back on him and banged a few things around.
‘You don’t understand.’
‘My misfortune is that I understand perfectly.’
‘It’s not like you think. Why won’t you listen?’
‘Because it is always the same story when an old man meets a young woman.’
‘I am not an old man.’
‘To her, you are.’
‘There are only a few years’ difference between us. I promise you…’
‘Men only make promises when they intend to break them.’
He gave up.
* * *
He was thinking that it was nearing time to leave the office when the telephone rang. The caller was Phoebe.
‘I’m sorry, Enrique, but I’ve got to call off our trip this evening.’
‘Why?’ he said, far more sharply than intended.
‘The two maids have the night off and the daily who was supposed to come in and house-sit because Larry and Vera are out to dinner has just rung to say she can’t turn up because her husband’s ill. Larry doesn’t like leaving the place empty and asked me to stay in, not knowing I’d arranged to meet you. The moment he heard that, he said not to worry, but after all their kindness, I feel I can’t let them down.’
He had been looking forward to seeing her again and his disappointment was sharp – a disappointment, he hurriedly assured himself, which arose from the fact that a few more artfully hidden questions should provide all the remaining answers he needed. ‘I could come and see you at Son Preda if you’d like?’
‘To tell the truth, I did think of suggesting that, but then I reckoned it was such a way to have to drive for a boring evening.’
‘It’s no distance and it couldn’t begin to be boring.’
‘Ever the diplomat!’ She chuckled.
* * *
He drew up in front of the house. As he left the car, the front door opened and Phoebe stepped out and unbidden there came into his mind that more than any other woman he’d ever met, she presented the two faces of Eve – fresh innocence and lusty promise.
‘I hope you like sitting out for drinks and a snack meal,’ she said. ‘For me, that’s one of the supreme joys of living here. As it gets dark, the air becomes cooler and fresher, the stars are crystal clear, the world hushes … You’d have to have lived in England to understand why it’s all so special. Come on in. I thought we’d settle by the pool because of the view. I hope you’ve brought your costume.’
‘I haven’t because I didn’t know there was a swimming pool here.’
‘Would you have done had you known?’
‘Yes,’ he answered rashly.
‘Then there are several spare costumes and one of them is bound to fit you.’
‘That’s good,’ he said, hoping he sounded more enthusiastic than he felt.
The pool was two hundred metres behind the house and had been sited so that from the open section of the complex a wide arc of the surrounding land was visible.
‘I always tell myself that here one can look out at part of the island as it once was – before the tourists arrived.’ She came to a stop. ‘Is that so?’
‘In a way, I suppose it is.’
‘But something’s very different?’
‘In the old days, every field would be under cultivation and there’d be men, women, and older children working in them right up to dark.’
‘You love the land, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ he answered simply.
She went over to one of the cane chairs groupe
d around the table, and sat. ‘Will you be barman? The drinks are inside. I’d love a long gin and tonic, going easy on the gin, with lots of ice. If you can’t find what you want for yourself, give me a shout and I’ll get it from the house.’
The large, central room in the complex was equipped for casual living and there were gas stove, refrigerator, store cupboards, dining-table and chairs; on two of the walls hung woven squares with primitive designs in bold colours, on the third, four framed prints of Mallorquin scenes; matting covered much of the tiled floor.
He poured out the drinks, added ice and a slice of lemon to her glass, ice to his, returned outside.
She had moved her chair so that she was in the low-angled sunshine and had drawn up her skirt until her legs were fully exposed. He handed her a glass, sat, and tried to concentrate on anything but her legs.
‘What are you thinking?’ she asked.
He hastily prevaricated. ‘That one usually remembers the good and forgets the bad.’
‘What’s got you dissecting life instead of enjoying it?’
‘You asked if looking out at the land was like seeing the past and that made me nostalgic. But I’m quite certain that if I’d been one of those labouring in the fields from dawn to dusk, I’d have been longing for the future.’
‘When you couldn’t have known the future would be so much better?’ She raised her glass. ‘No more deep thoughts. I don’t like you all serious.’ She drank. ‘Supper will have to be easy to prepare because I’m only half-domesticated and don’t enjoy cooking. Would you like a steak?’
‘Very much.’
‘Thank goodness. How would you like it?’
‘Rare to medium, please.’
‘I’ll try, but no guarantees … It’s odd, but when I told Vera you’d be coming here tonight, she began to worry what I could give you to eat because she thought you might be a vegetarian. Heaven knows why. You’re much too nice.’
‘Are all vegetarians nasty?’
‘Of course not. It’s just that I always treat vegetarians with caution. Not long ago, Fenella decided to become a vegan and she made life hell for everyone because she became so bad-tempered. Perhaps it was her Frenchman who made her change her mind – if so, he gets my thanks.’
‘Her Frenchman?’
‘She met him at some literary do in London and was bowled over. Vera was warned by someone that he was a rotter – shades of Tancred – and in a large part that’s why she suggested the holiday in Pellapuig; hoped to talk Fenella out of the relationship.’
‘Did she succeed?’
‘Fenella would probably have refused to believe anything nasty about him just to be bloody-minded, but Neil’s sudden appearance and Vera’s giving him money made certain of it.’
‘Then Señora Dewar still sees this Frenchman?’
‘A couple of days ago, friends told Vera over the phone that Fenella had gone to stay in a Paris hotel. Vera, ever optimistic, rang her there and tried to talk some sense into her. Naturally, the only thanks she got was a vicious request to mind her own business. Fenella then went on to say she was marrying him and was selling up in England and going to live in France.’ She drained her glass. ‘Vera’s been in a state since then, but as I keep saying to her, Fenella’s old enough to be left with the consequences of her own mistakes … Enough dismal talk. From now on, only cheerful chatter. How about another drink before I get the meal?’
* * *
He settled back, a glass of cognac warming in the palm of his hand, and stared into the darkening scene, enjoying an unusual sense of inner contentment.
She broke the silence. ‘Is it still the best medical advice to wait for an hour before swimming?’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know.’
‘Since there’s no rush, let’s assume it is; then when we go in, it’ll be dark … Why don’t you really enjoy swimming?’
‘When I was young, there was little or no chance for such things.’
‘Was life very hard?’
‘My parents had to work the land all possible hours and as soon as I was old enough and not at school, I had to help.’
‘Are your parents still alive?’
‘They died from broken hearts soon after they were cheated out of their land.’
‘Who cheated them?’
‘A foreigner who knew its true value.’
‘Is it because of them that you’re a policeman?’
He said slowly: ‘I’ve asked myself that many times and never found the answer.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Perhaps we never truly know why we do what we do.’
‘So you don’t know why you’ve never married?’
‘On the contrary,’ he answered bitterly.
‘I’m sorry, I should never have said that.’
His mind reached back in time and he saw Juana-María laughing, her eyes bright with love, eager to be his wife and yet slightly fearful because in those days marriage had been a mystery surrounded by myth …
She said softly: ‘Something awful happened, didn’t it?’
‘A drunken Frenchman in a car pinned my fiancée against a wall and killed her.’
‘You … you must curse me for so stupidly reminding you.’
‘It happened a long time ago and the years soften everything but themselves.’
‘I hope they do,’ she said quietly.
* * *
There was a mirror on the wall of the changing-room and it showed his lily-white flesh to disadvantage. He squared his shoulders and pulled in his stomach, but the difference was not great. He was thankful that she so enjoyed swimming in the dark.
He left the changing-room and walked out on to the pool patio. He could just make out her head at the deep end.
‘Jump in,’ she called out.
He had seldom felt so ashamed of his fears as then. Prior observation told him the level of water was not more than thirty centimetres below the lip of the pool patio, but because she had not turned on the underwater lights and the moon was behind a puffball of cloud, the drop was dark and his imagination smothered logic and told him it was infinite. Cravenly, he walked to the end of the pool and went down the steps into the warm water.
She swam to where he was, came to her feet. ‘We’ll race over two lengths.’
‘I am a very slow swimmer,’ he protested.
‘I’ll bet you’re only saying that to try and gain an unfair advantage. All ready? One, two, three, go.’ She began to swim with vigorous skill.
He knew only a laboured breaststroke. His breath shortened, his arms tired, and his heart beat ever faster. As he reached the deep end, he told himself he could swim no further. But, fearing her contempt, he turned and struggled on, finally and breathlessly reaching the shallow end.
She moved through the water to where he stood. ‘Loser’s forfeit is to stand on your head underwater for twenty seconds.’
‘I’m…’ He choked on the words: too old for that sort of thing. He took as deep a breath as possible and plunged under the surface. As he touched the bottom with his hands, he started to slide sideways and crashed into her. He spluttered to the surface to find her against him so that he could feel the gentle pressure of her barely restrained breasts against his chest. He knew a sudden madness and put his arms around her and kissed her passionately. For a moment, she responded, then she drew apart and he experienced the bitterness of rejection.
‘Not yet, Enrique,’ she murmured.
His bitterness vanished. Her tone had not been angry, outraged, or amused, it had been soft, warm, appealing to him to be patient – she needed to be certain of her own emotions before willingly acceding to his.
CHAPTER 22
Alvarez walked into the kitchen. ‘What a lovely day! Not a cloud in the sky!’
Dolores, who had been mixing eggs and flour in a bowl, said sourly: ‘Would you expect it to be snowing in August?’ She stirred more vigorously. ‘There’s no coca and I haven’t had the time to go out and buy an ensaimada. The bre
ad’s stale, but it might make toast. I’m very busy, so if you want some chocolate, you’ll have to make it yourself.’
‘If you’re trying to…’
‘I am trying to prepare lunch since it is my duty to do so, not because I wish to. Every woman understands the meaning of duty, unlike any man.’
‘Last evening I had to…’
‘It is a matter of indifference to me. Life has taught me that a man will sit at any table which serves the food he craves.’
‘I’ve told you before, it’s work.’
‘Even though a foreigner, she professes reluctance?’
‘Goddamnit…’
‘Please do not swear in the house.’
The day had temporarily clouded over.
* * *
The phone rang at eleven-fifteen on the following Monday. ‘The superior chief’, said the secretary in her plum-filled voice, ‘will speak to you.’
So the strained back was better …
‘Where the devil’s your report?’ Salas demanded.
‘Which report, señor?’ Alvarez answered.
‘The final one in the Lewis case. A case which, due to mishandling, has cost the department so many pesetas that I am having to explain matters in detail to Madrid who seem unable to appreciate that one man’s incompetence could solely be responsible.’
‘I haven’t been able to send it to you yet.’
‘Why the devil not?’
‘Because it’s only in the last day or so that I’ve been able to complete my inquiries.’
‘Good God, man, weeks ago you admitted you’ve been chasing shadows.’
‘I don’t think it’s quite that long since I last spoke to you, señor. What has happened is, I decided it was necessary to check the facts by questioning someone who could independently confirm them.’
‘It takes you all this time to question one person?’
‘It had to be done very subtly.’
‘This is hardly the occasion for attempted humour.’
There was a pause. Salas spoke again. ‘Well? What have you learned from your “subtle” questioning?’
A Maze of Murders Page 14