‘Did Valera say what sort of thing Marlasca wanted to write?’
‘A book of poems, or something like that.’
‘And you believed him?’
‘I’ve seen many strange things in my work, my friend, but a wealthy lawyer who leaves everything to go and write sonnets is not part of the repertoire.’
‘So?’
‘So the reasonable thing would have been for me to forget the whole matter and do as I was told.’
‘But that’s not what happened.’
‘No. And not because I’m a hero or an idiot. I did it because every time I saw the suffering of that poor woman, Marlasca’s widow, it made my stomach turn, and I couldn’t look at myself in the mirror without doing what I was supposedly being paid to do.’
He pointed around the miserable, cold place that was his home.
‘Believe me: if I’d known what was coming I would have preferred to be a coward and wouldn’t have stepped out of line. I can’t say I wasn’t warned at police headquarters. With the lawyer dead and buried, it was time to turn the page and put all our efforts into the pursuit of starving anarchists and schoolteachers with suspicious ideologies.’
‘You say buried… Where is Diego Marlasca buried?’
‘In the family vault in San Gervasio Cemetery, I think, not far from the house where the widow lives. May I ask why you are so interested in this matter? And don’t tell me your curiosity was aroused just because you live in the tower house.’
‘It’s hard to explain.’
‘If you want a friendly piece of advice, look at me and learn from my mistakes. Let it go.’
‘I’d like to. The problem is that I don’t think the matter will let me go.’
Salvador watched me for a long time. Then he took a piece of paper and wrote down a number.
‘This is the telephone number of the downstairs neighbours. They’re good people and the only ones who have a telephone in the whole building. You can get hold of me there, or leave me a message. Ask for Emilio. If you need any help, don’t hesitate to call. And watch out. Jaco disappeared from the scene many years ago, but there are still people who don’t want this business stirred up again. A hundred thousand francs is a lot of money.’
I took the note and put it away.
‘Thank you.’
‘Not at all. Anyhow, what more can they do to me now?’
‘Would you have a photograph of Diego Marlasca? I haven’t found one anywhere in the tower house.’
‘I don’t know… I think I must have one somewhere. Let me have a look.’
Salvador walked over to a desk in a corner of the sitting room and pulled out a brass box full of bits of paper.
‘I still have things from the case… As you see, even after all those years, I haven’t learned my lesson. Here. Look. This photograph was given to me by the widow.’
He handed me an old studio portrait of a tall, good-looking man in his forties, who was smiling at the camera, against a velvet backdrop. I tried to read those clear eyes, wondering how they could possibly conceal the dark world I had found in the pages of Lux Aeterna.
‘May I keep it?’
Salvador hesitated.
‘I suppose so. But don’t lose it.’
‘I promise I’ll return it.’
‘Promise me you’ll be careful and I’d be much happier. And that if you’re not, and you get into a mess, you’ll call me.’
We shook on it.
‘I promise.’
30
The sun was setting as I left Ricardo Salvador on his cold roof terrace and returned to Plaza Real. The square was bathed in a dusty light that tinted the figures of passers-by with a reddish hue. From there I set off walking and ended up at the only place in town where I always felt welcome and protected. When I reached Calle Santa Ana, the Sempere & Sons bookshop was about to close. Twilight was advancing over the city and the sky was breached by a line of blue and purple. I stopped in front of the shop window and saw that Sempere’s son was saying goodbye to a customer at the front door. When he saw me he smiled and greeted me with a shyness that spoke of his innate decency.
‘I was just thinking about you, Martín. Everything all right?’
‘Couldn’t be better.’
‘It shows in your face. Here, come in, I’ll make you some coffee.’
He held the shop door open and showed me in. I stepped into the bookshop and breathed in that perfume of paper and magic that strangely no one had ever thought of bottling. Sempere’s son took me to the back room, where he set about preparing a pot of coffee.
‘How is your father? He looked fragile the other day.’
Sempere’s son nodded, as if appreciative of my concern. I realised that he probably didn’t have anyone to talk to about the subject.
‘He’s seen better times, that’s for sure. The doctor says he has to be careful with his angina, but he insists on working more than ever. Sometimes I have to get angry with him, but he seems to think that if he leaves me to look after the shop the business will fail. This morning, when I got up, I asked him to stay in bed and not to come down to work today. Well, would you believe it, three minutes later I found him in the dining room, putting on his shoes.’
‘He’s a man with fixed ideas,’ I agreed.
‘He’s as stubborn as a mule,’ replied Sempere’s son. ‘Thank goodness we now have a bit of help, otherwise…’
I adopted my best expression of surprise and innocence, which always came in handy and needed little practice.
‘The girl,’ Sempere’s son explained. ‘Isabella, your apprentice. That’s why I was thinking about you. I hope you don’t mind if she spends a few hours here each day. The truth is that, with the way things are, I’m very grateful for the help, but if you have any objections…’
I suppressed a smile when I noticed how he savoured the double ‘l’ in Isabella.
‘Well, as long as it’s only temporary. The truth is, Isabella is a good girl. Intelligent and hard-working,’ I said. ‘And trustworthy. We get on very well.’
‘She says you’re a despot.’
‘Is that what she says?’
‘In fact, she has a nickname for you: Mr Hyde.’
‘How charming. Pay no attention to her. You know what women are like.’
‘Yes, I do,’ said Sempere’s son in a tone that made it clear that he might know a lot of things, but certainly hadn’t the faintest clue about women.
‘Isabella might say that about me, but don’t think she doesn’t tell me things about you,’ I countered.
I noticed a change in his expression, and let my words sink through the layers of his armour. He handed me a cup of coffee with an attentive smile and rescued the conversation using a trick that would have been unworthy even of a second-rate operetta.
‘Goodness knows what she says about me.’
I left him to soak in uncertainty for a few moments.
‘Would you like to know?’ I asked casually, hiding a smile behind my cup.
Sempere’s son shrugged his shoulders.
‘She says you’re a good and generous man; she says that people don’t understand you because you’re shy and they can’t see beyond that, and, I quote, you have the presence of a film star and a fascinating personality.’
Sempere’s son looked at me in astonishment.
‘I’m not going to lie to you, Sempere, my friend. The truth is I’m glad you’ve brought up the subject because I’ve been wanting to talk to you about it and didn’t know how.’