Cortez sat in a chair opposite her. ‘I regret I have bad news for you, Señora Evangeline.’ That took her by surprise. No one here ever called her by her first name, other than Don Carlos and even he rarely.
‘Please go on.’
‘There has been a tragedy. Don Carlos is dead, señora.’ He paused to see how she would take the news. He could not be certain after his last visit whether she would cry tears of grief or tears of joy.
Evangeline took a deep breath, held it, then released it slowly. She was not sure about a response. ‘How?’
Cortez looked pained. It was as if he had no wish to tell her. ‘He shot himself, señora. He took his own life. Suicide.’ Again he paused.
‘Why?’
‘It is my task to tell you that. I was sent by Don Ferdinand for that purpose – but if you would prefer to wait for another moment, perhaps tomorrow, I will call on you again.’
Evangeline shook her head. ‘You know, señor, this marriage was one of convenience. Though I now think it was more for his convenience than mine. So I shall not insult you with false grief, for there is none. If you had not come when you did I would have been gone. I was leaving – you caught us in the act of flight. Now it seems it is unnecessary. So let me hear whatever it is you came to say. Why would he kill himself?’
Cortez was about to reply but she stopped him, holding up a hand and then standing. ‘Wait, I will call Tamaya; I think a glass of brandy would be in order. Can I offer you one?’
‘Thank you.’ Cortez nodded his acceptance.
‘So,’ he continued as soon as Tamaya had served them and left. ‘Did you know of his investment in the bauxite mine in the Argentine?’
‘I did. He said he expected it to make him rich, and independent of Don Ferdinand.’
‘It failed. They found little. The mine was barren and the money he invested ran out.’
‘That was my money, Señor Cortez.’ Her voice had become hard and brittle. ‘He stole it; he took it from me without my consent.’
Cortez held up both hands. ‘I know, señora.’ He gave a little shrug and a nervous jerk of his head. ‘But the law permits it. I am sorry, but it is the law.’
‘So what happens now? Who will bury him – and where? If what you say is true then I have no money.’
‘The family will take care of these matters. Don Ferdinand has instructed me that you are not to be involved with any of it. You are now a widow; you will inherit – though there is nothing to inherit. Don Ferdinand and his family have expressed the wish to be free of you. I am to ask you to stay away from whatever arrangements are made for the last rites of his passage to the life hereafter.’ He put his hand to his forehead and then made the sign of the cross. ‘May God forgive him.’
‘And what of his property; is there anything?’
‘Only what he left behind him here. Not the house, nor the furniture. I have been instructed that what else there is shall be left to you. The family do not want any of it. I am to draw up a paper of inheritance.’
‘Is that it?’
‘There is one other thing, señora. I am instructed that you must leave this house. It is the property of the de Lorca family and they want you gone.’
‘By when?’
‘You have forty-eight hours in which to make alternative arrangements.’
‘That is impossible. It is unreasonable.’
Cortez looked ill at ease. He had no relish for the duty that had been laid upon him by the de Lorca family.
‘But señora, just minutes ago you were making ready to leave everything and run away. How has this changed?’
‘With the death of Don Carlos everything has changed. There are things to put in order. I am now a widow – this changes everything señor.’
‘I understand your position señora. Nevertheless you must leave. The family have demanded it and it is their right. You may not like it, but those are my instructions.’
Evangeline gave a deep sigh of frustration. She stood up, a signal that his visit was at an end. He took the cue and got to his feet. She accompanied him only as far as the front door. On the threshold she paused. ‘I shall await your letter of inheritance. Is there anything you need me to do?’
Cortez shook his head. ‘Only that you leave the house the day after tomorrow.’
They went through the cupboards, the drawers and the wardrobes, removing the clothes and possessions of Don Carlos. When they had emptied everything they tied the clothes in bundles. ‘Please take these to town,’ she told Tamaya. ‘There is dealer there who will buy them. Do you know where his shop is?’
Tamaya gave a respectful nod. ‘Yes, madame.’
‘Get the best price you can. We are going to need every peseta. I have a plan.’
When Tamaya had gone, Evangeline walked through the house checking that she had missed nothing. The place now felt cold and alien, even though outside the temperature was rising. It was June already. Her inspection completed, she wandered into the study, a place that had now lost its sense of foreboding and sanctity. The paintings on the walls were de Lorca property: sombre old men and long-suffering women in ridiculous mantillas. She had no love of them and doubted anyone would buy them even if they were hers to sell. She sat at the desk and gazed aimlessly about her, flicking through the debris of the drawer she had earlier upturned. She pulled open the smaller drawers set in a row at the top of the desk, little cubby holes with keys sitting in the locks. One by one she pulled them out of their spaces and turned them upside down, letting the contents pile on the desk.
There was little of interest in any of them until she got to one that was locked and had its key missing. She concluded Carlos must have taken it. That thought was followed by the notion that if he had taken the key, then there was probably something of value inside. She went to the outbuilding and found a heavy screwdriver. Returning, she wedged it into the underside of the drawer and levered hard down on it. The wood was no match for the metal. With a sharp crack the drawer gave up and fell open. Inside she found the gold wrist watch and jade cufflinks she had given him on the day of their wedding. He had never used them, nor taken them out of the cases that contained them. They had cost her 10,000 pesetas.
When Tamaya returned there was no spring in her step and she looked downcast. ‘The price was poor, madame. The man is a thief. He said that no one in the town would dare to be seen wearing de Lorca clothes for fear of Don Ferdinand. He said he would have to take them to the market in Girona if he was to sell them.’
She put a small bundle of peseta notes and some coins on the kitchen table. ‘I am truly sorry, madame.’
Evangeline patted her on the shoulder. ‘It is not your fault, Tamaya. Thank you for what you have managed. I should only have burned them if you had not sold them. At least we have something for them. Now why don’t you make us tea.’
They drank their tea and ate small almond cakes that Tamaya had baked.
‘Madame,’ Tamaya said ruefully, ‘will I still be able to accompany you – now that this dreadful thing has happened and you have little money?’
‘Of course.’ Evangeline got up from the table. ‘Tamaya, I am going to see Don Ferdinand. There are things I have to ask him; questions I need answering. The plans are changed a little. I will tell you when I return.’
*
The door of the de Lorca mansion was opened by a woman in a severe black dress with a white underblouse. She scrutinised Evangeline, then asked who she was and what was her reason for calling. When Evangeline told her she wished to see Don Ferdinand but that she had no appointment the woman looked down her nose disdainfully. ‘It is not usual for the master to entertain visitors without invitation,’ she said sniffily. Evangeline baulked; she insisted she would not be turned away. In the end the woman relented and asked her to step into the hallway where she left her while she went to consult with her master.
When she returned she led Evangeline to a salon that was set aside for visitors, and there she waited
. After a long interval Don Ferdinand entered the room. He was a tall, long-faced man with pale skin, jet-black hair streaked with grey, and a fine aquiline nose. There was, she suspected, a trace of Arab blood somewhere in the family, probably going back to the Moorish occupation. He did not offer to shake her hand or invite her to sit. He greeted her curtly using the French title ‘Madame’. His manner was a mixture of antagonism and disdain.
‘I do not understand why you have come to this house. You know you are not welcome, and there is no favour I can offer you.’
‘I look for no favours, señor, only my rights as the widow of your son.’
Don Ferdinand turned his head as if to ignore her. ‘Madame, you delude yourself. The marriage was not legal. My son is dead. You are not welcome here.’
Evangeline took a folded paper from her bag. ‘This, señor, is my certificate of marriage.’ She shook it open and held it out in front of him. ‘Your son proposed the marriage and I accepted it. He acted out the part of husband and I as wife. I now carry his child in my belly; your grandchild. Does that not move you?’
He looked at her through unrelenting eyes. His reply was neither angry nor roused; it was simply cold, the face deadpan. ‘My son made a fool of you, madame.’
‘Your son made a contract to marry, señor.’
‘It was not legal and I shall take steps to have it declared so. Have you not understood? This marriage was a device. You were deceived. This whole thing was no more than a subterfuge. In my eyes there was no marriage.’
Evangeline felt the anger rise in her and struggled to control it. ‘Very well, señor.’ The words came through gritted teeth. ‘If we were not married then your son is a thief. He took all the money from my account with the bank in Girona and used it to prop up his mining business. I am constantly told that it was his right as my husband.’
Don Ferdinand showed no flicker of concern, or emotion of any sort. His response was slow in coming and his words considered. ‘What is it you want of me?’
‘I shall stay in the house until I am ready to leave, which will not be in forty-eight hours. I also want the return of my money. I have a child coming, and it will need to be fed.’
‘Impossible. The money was not yours; it belonged to your husband.’
‘But you say he was not my husband and that you will challenge the marriage. So which is it to be, señor, husband – or will you add thief to his already criminal act of suicide?’
Don Ferdinand stood there, his thumbs hooked behind the lapels of his formal jacket. She had trapped him and he knew it.
‘Husband,’ he said with the hint of a sneer on his voice. ‘At least I shall save the money.’ He thought some more, then added, ‘As his wife you may keep such possessions as he left with you. I council you to remain silent on the matter of his death. As to the house, you may stay for one month – not a day longer. I will instruct Señor Cortez on the matter; I suggest you call on him. Now, madame, kindly have the grace to leave my home and take the bastard child in your belly with you. You may have me on a point of technicality, but your child will have no legitimacy with me.’ He turned his back on her and walked out of the room, leaving her to make her exit unaccompanied.
She wasted no time. At the office of Cortez y Garcia she rang the bell and waited. To her surprise she was expected.
‘Welcome,’ Cortez smiled. ‘I have received a telephone call from Don Ferdinand. I congratulate you; he is a hard man to persuade. I wonder that you were able to manage it.’
‘I have a question for you, Señor Cortez.’ From the sound of her voice and the expression on her face Cortez knew it was something he would not want to hear.
‘Which is?’
‘In the last few hours I have discovered a number of disturbing things about my late husband. I want to know your involvement in what happened to me. If you do not tell me truthfully I shall take the matter to a higher place and your career as a lawyer will be finished.’
She could see the hint of fear on his face and she decided to play on it. She knew he was involved in arranging what had transpired; she just wasn’t sure how deep the plot had been.
‘I now know from the mouth of Don Ferdinand that the marriage was nothing more than a deceit to obtain my money. You knew that and you helped him.’
Cortez went a little pale, but he also looked angry. She thought at first she had overdone it, that he was innocent of any involvement, but she had let the hare out of its cage. She took the chance and set it running.
‘You can start with the body of the faceless man in the garden. Was that your doing?’ It was a longshot but it seemed to hit the mark. He tried to push it away from him.
‘No, that was Carlos. He got one of the estate workers, Rojas, to do that. Then he arranged for Ramirez to be informed.’
She had hit the bullseye. It had been pure speculation on her part but it had paid out. ‘Ramirez. Was he involved too?’
Cortez waved his hands defensively. ‘No, no, no. He knew nothing of it. He is an ordinary policeman. Carlos used him.’
‘You knew, though?’
‘Not at the time, not until much later. I knew of Carlos, but I had not met him until your servant came to employ my help. That was not in his plan. At the time he had hoped he could get to your money by getting into your affections. He thought that by helping the first time with Ramirez it would open the way. When that didn’t seem to be working he arranged for the wife of Rojas to make the complaints that led to your second arrest. He knew the women in the town did not like you and he played on it. When I went to the Guardia to help you, he saw an opportunity. Later he told me of his plans to persuade you to marry. Though I did not know even then the goal behind it. It was only just before he went to Buenos Aires that he confided in me.’
She was shocked. The revelations had been more than she had expected and she now saw how the whole awful mess fitted together. ‘And the abortion, you knew that would be illegal?’
‘That was not Carlos, or not directly. It was on the instruction of Don Ferdinand, though Carlos did not fight it.’
‘And the money?’
Cortez hung his head, like a scolded dog who knows his shame. ‘Lost. I am sorry for you.’
Evangeline stood up. ‘Spare me your pity. At least you have the good grace to admit your part,’
‘What will you do now?’ Cortez asked apprehensively.
‘I shall leave the house when I am ready. In the meantime, prepare the papers for such as I have from the inheritance. You need not worry. I do not consider any of you worth my time. I suggest you learn from this.’
Chapter 21
The man from Paris
The man who came down the steps of the airliner was of medium height and slight build. He had a thin hawklike face, dark hair, tinted glasses and a pencil line moustache. He had flown first class in the comfort of the latest Dewoitine airplane, from Le Bourget to Casablanca. There had been a short refuelling stop at Barcelona where a decent lunch had been served in the airport restaurant. It had been a good flight, although the passenger in the seat behind him had vomited noisily into a brown paper bag. Not that it worried Pierre Bonny; he was used to people throwing up, usually out of fear for what would happen to them next. He was, after all, probably the most feared man in Paris,
In Casablanca he had business to transact – and an old score to settle.
He came out through the main entrance and stood for a moment on the pavement, looking beyond the line of taxis until his eye caught what he was looking for: a green Renault saloon. There was a man standing next to it: a tall, robust-looking man dressed in a pale linen suit with a brand new straw boater covering his pale hair. Seeing Bonny he raised a hand in greeting.
‘Welcome to Casablanca, Inspector Bonny. How are things in Paris?’
Bonny brushed the remark aside with a backward wave of his hand. ‘Do you have my merchandise?’
The man in the new straw boater engaged first gear, let up the clutch and pul
led the car smoothly into the stream of traffic. ‘We have half of it. There has been a slight disruption – but it is only temporary. We already have a plan in place to complete matters.’
Bonny pulled a pigskin cigarette case from his jacket, took out a cigarette and lit it. ‘And the American …,’ he blew out the smoke noisily through pursed lips, ‘… is he dead?’
‘I believe so, but I am not sure. We wait to hear from our contact inside.’
At this, Bonny shrugged moodily. Things had not gone as he had expected. ‘Monsieur von Meyer,’ he used the French title even though the man in the new straw boater was a German. ‘I am not happy that you lost Alphonse Bouchard. He was one of my best men.’
Von Meyer let out a short, hard, laugh. ‘Huh! That is war, my dear inspector. There are casualties. That is how it is.’
Bonny flicked his half-smoked cigarette out through the open window, an action that reflected his irritation. ‘Where is the British spy at the moment? Do you know?
‘Still here in Casablanca. We are not sure where precisely but he is in the city. He sent a cable to his handlers this morning. He is lying low but we shall find him.’
‘Do. This man Grainger has caused me more than enough trouble. The Gestapo want him for interrogation. After they have finished, I get the satisfaction of executing him. But before that I shall find and arrest that French woman who ran with him. I have something very unpleasant lined up for both of them.’
On the waterfront, at the commercial dock, the green Renault came to a halt in front of one of the warehouses. Von Meyer gave three blasts on the car horn. Moments later the hangar-style door on the warehouse slid open.
A dark-haired woman in a pencil slim skirt appeared through the open door.
‘Sophie,’ von Meyer called out to her. ‘This is Sophie Romero,’ he said, turning to Bonny. ‘She is, how shall we say, my partner in this enterprise. She has very good connections – even with the British.’
THE BOY FROM THE TANGIER SOUK Page 17