Twenty minutes later, Antoni Mates and Guillem de Lloberola were exchanging the usual pleasantries. When he heard Guillem’s voice, Antoni Mates had a moment of panic, of horrible panic, which he disguised as best he could. The young man’s voice had reminded him of another voice. Oh, yes, Antoni Mates was familiar with that voice, or another that was practically identical. He remembered having heard it recently, in a feverish, or drunken, or dream-like state, in a moment of sweat, of nervous contortion … an inexcusable moment. But, of course, that was impossible. It was mere chance, one of those idiotic and utterly illogical resemblances that crop up in life. The young man’s air, his physique, also gave the Baró de Falset an uneasy feeling, but he couldn’t pin down the memory. There had been so little light, he had been so beyond himself … No, the cotton merchant had fallen victim to a gratuitous attack of panic. It was impossible, absolutely impossible. Guillem de Lloberola … Guillem de Lloberola … He was perfectly familiar with the name, and the boy’s clothing and demeanor reassured him. All these thoughts had run through his head in under three seconds. The moment of panic had passed.
“I do not have the pleasure of having met el Senyor Baró personally, but I believe you are a very good friend of my brother’s.”
“One of my very best friends, indeed. Don’t you ever go to the Eqüestre? Are you not a bridge player?”
“No, no, sir, I’m not.”
“Well, I don’t want to give you the wrong idea, I don’t play very often. It is quite a waste of time, and I have a great deal of work! I would be delighted to while away the hours as your brother does. But we working men, you understand … So, tell me, what is it that brings you here? How can I be of assistance?”
“It is precisely about a question affecting my brother that I have come to see you. And it doesn’t only affect my brother, but also my poor father. Father is in very delicate health, and any unpleasantness could kill him. Just yesterday he gave us an awful scare. My brother Frederic is a bit frivolous, as you are probably aware …”
“Oh, not at all! A delightful, elegant man, your brother is; a first-rate companion, first-rate …”
“Well, on the social scene he can be very pleasant … and even elegant; you are very kind and have an undemanding concept of elegance … Well, Senyor Baró, I realize that I am robbing you of your precious time. What I have to say is extremely distasteful to me; I find myself in the obligation, not so much for him, but for my poor father …”
“Please, speak, whatever is in my hands …”
“I believe you have in your power a promissory note you extended to my brother …”
“Excuse me, my dear sir; just the day before yesterday we discussed this question of the note, that is, he discussed it.… This is a question between your brother and me.… Frankly, it is hard for me to understand how you have become involved in this affair … Or how your brother has …, well …, has brought you into it …”
“Forgive me, Senyor Baró. As I have already said, my brother is of very little concern to me. If I have come to see you it is on account of my poor father …”
“All right, young man, all right; tell me what it is you want …”
“I simply want you not to demand my father’s signature; I don’t want my father to know that Frederic … Understand me: my father’s situation is rather critical … Relations between my father and Frederic are quite strained …”
“You are very young, my dear sir; you are a child, and perhaps you are not aware of the significance of some things … I did your brother a favor; I trusted him and two other persons I considered good friends. What your brother has done with me is something, how should I put it … not entirely decent. Your brother has cheated me. I could take him to court, do you understand? I don’t know what explanation your brother has given you, but the truth is that his behavior is an abuse of confidence. Naturally, you can object that the amount is not astronomical, and that my position and my home do not depend on the fifty thousand pessetes that your brother owes me. But you must also understand that I am under no obligation to allow myself to be swindled. I am aware of your family situation. I know perfectly well that the grandeur and pomp your brother has the nerve — forgive me — to go on about are a sham. But I also know that your father can answer for the fifty thousand pessetes — which are mine, after all — without risking death.”
“But couldn’t another person be found to answer for the debt, someone other than my father?”
“Of course, as long as it is someone who offers me some guarantee. But this is up to your brother. As you can imagine, it is not up to me to provide him a guarantor on a silver platter! That will be the day, my friend! You bloodline “aristocrats” (because, you must know and understand, your brother always brings up his blue blood) are a bit too blasé or distracted … What can I say, I’m sure you follow me.”
“But if my brother can’t find this person …”
“Well, of course, because no one trusts your brother. He’s charming enough, full of jokes, with lots of friends when the time comes to buy champagne. But when things get difficult, my friend, people … how can I put it … prefer someone with his feet on the ground …”
“Well, then, let’s get our feet on the ground, Senyor Baró. I mean, let me get my feet on the ground …”
“I want nothing more than that, my son! Nothing more!”
“Senyor Baró, I am under the impression that you give a great deal of weight to material credit. What about … moral credit?”
“Naturally, to moral credit. Above all, to moral credit. It is for this moral credit that I was willing to lend your brother those funds, in the belief that I was dealing with a gentleman, and not — forgive me, I realize the word is a bit strong — with a swindler.”
“Precisely, Senyor Baró. With a swindler, you couldn’t be more correct. Well, not exactly correct, because my brother has not yet swindled you out of anything, and as you understand, my father would never allow such a thing. He would beg for alms before he would allow it to be said that one of us …”
“I am certain of it! I have never for a moment doubted your father’s honor!”
“Excellent, Senyor Baró. ‘Moral credit!’ ‘Honor!’ These are precisely the cards I am missing …”
“Missing, what do you mean? I don’t follow you.”
“I’ll tell you what I mean. The cards I’m missing to play a hand that, I must confess — and you, as a bridge player, will understand this perfectly — is quite a hard nut to crack. Senyor Baró, I imagine you hold your moral credit, your honor, your immaculate and invulnerable situation in the world of money and in the world of decent people, in even higher esteem than your fortune. You have looked into my father’s situation; I, too, have taken the liberty of looking a bit into your situation. And I congratulate you, Senyor Baró: it is an enviable situation. You are scrupulously conscientious, your relationships smack of solid honesty and capital. Your clients … that pin from the Parish Perseverance League on your lapel …”
“Excuse me, I don’t understand what this is all about. I don’t understand and what’s more, I warn you, I am getting irritated …”
“That is perfectly natural, Senyor Baró. But it is necessary for me to make these affirmations so that we can come to an agreement. As you well know, in Barcelona, in a world more or less left to its own devices, a world that lives day to day and without many scruples, and which, moreover, doesn’t have anything to lose, certain … things, certain … perversions, haven’t the slightest importance. But in your world, in the world of prejudices and ‘moral credit,’ in the world of holding on to clients by dint of breast-beating and paying for chapels and schools, there are certain types of scandals that can do one real harm … A sort of scandal that, understand me, may lead the victim to an often desperate and almost always fatal solution. Because there are some things that people don’t understand … or don’t want to understand … People are so hypocritical, so cruel, with those who fall from favor! And, when this fallen person is a gentleman with a great deal to lose, well, just imagine …!”