25
I left Casa Marlasca in low spirits and wandered aimlessly through the maze of lonely streets that led to Pedralbes. The sky was covered with a mesh of clouds that barely allowed the sun to filter through. Needles of light perforated the grey shroud and swept across the hillside. I followed these lines of light with my eyes and saw how, in the distance, they caressed the enamelled roof of Villa Helius. The windows shone in the distance. Ignoring common sense, I set off in that direction. As I drew near, the sky darkened and a cutting wind lifted the fallen leaves into spirals. I stopped when I reached Calle Panamá. Villa Helius rose before me. I didn’t dare cross the road and approach the wall surrounding the garden. Instead, I stood there for God knows how long, unable to leave or to go over to the door and knock. Then I saw her, walking across one of the large windows on the second floor. An intense cold invaded me. I was about to leave when she turned and stopped. She went up to the windowpane and I felt her eyes resting on mine. She raised her hand as if she were about to greet me, but didn’t spread out her fingers. I didn’t have the courage to hold her gaze; I turned round and walked off down the street. My hands were shaking and I thrust them into my pockets. Before turning the corner I looked back again and saw that she was still there, watching me. I tried to hate her but I couldn’t find the strength.
I arrived home feeling chilled to the bone. As I walked through the front door I noticed the top of an envelope peeping out of the letter box. Parchment and sealing wax. News from the boss. I opened it while I dragged myself up the stairs. His elegant handwriting summoned me to a meeting the following day. When I reached the landing, the door was already ajar and Isabella was waiting for me with a smile.
‘I was in the study and saw you coming,’ she said.
I tried to smile back at her, but can’t have been very convincing. She looked me in the eye and her face took on a worried expression.
‘Are you all right?’
‘It’s nothing. I think I’ve caught a bit of a chill.’
‘I have some broth on the stove. It’ll work wonders. Come in.’
Isabella took my arm and led me to the gallery.
‘I’m not an invalid, Isabella.’
She let go of me and looked down.
‘I’m sorry.’
I didn’t feel like a confrontation with anybody, still less my obstinate assistant, so I allowed her to guide me to one of the gallery armchairs into which I fell like a sack of bones. Isabella sat opposite me and looked at me with alarm.
‘What happened?’
I smiled reassuringly.
‘Nothing. Nothing has happened. Weren’t you going to give me a bowl of soup?’
‘Right away.’
She shot off towards the kitchen and I heard her rushing about. I took a deep breath and closed my eyes until I heard her footsteps approaching.
She handed me a steaming bowl of exaggerated dimensions.
‘It looks like a chamber pot,’ I said.
‘Drink it and don’t be so rude.’
I sniffed at the broth. It smelled good, but I didn’t want to seem too docile.
‘It smells odd,’ I said. ‘What’s in it?’
‘It smells of chicken because it’s made of chicken, salt and a dash of sherry. Drink it.’