Leire flicked through a free magazine, full of photos and interviews with singers she didn’t recognize and who, with few exceptions, looked like they’d been hungry for a good while. Her infusion was getting cold, but she couldn’t drink it. After the first trimester the nausea had given way to sudden foolish fads about a wide range of foods. At that moment she found the red fruits tea indescribably revolting. She told herself that she would get up and leave when she got to the last page of the magazine, and so she would have had she not received a message on her cell phone, not from the person she was awaiting, but from Tomás. Asshole, she thought as soon as she saw his name on the screen. He’d shown no sign of life since New Year’s Eve-that is, twelve days before.
How are you? I’m coming to see you this weekend. T.
Annoyed at herself because deep down she felt like seeing him, she was preparing to answer him when she heard someone clearing their throat nearby. She looked up and tried to change her irritated glare to a smile. Though she’d arrived almost twenty-five minutes late, Carol hadn’t stood her up.
She’d only seen her once, at the station, just after Ruth’s disappearance, and even then she’d been astonished at how beautiful she was. Very dark, even in winter, her whole body silently proclaimed her physical fitness. With an angular face and hair cut very short but stylishly, she couldn’t help her expression and gestures having a brusque, almost belligerent air, as if she lived in a constant state of alert. Her dark eyes and long eyelashes expressed wariness, and her tone of voice was less firm than on the phone when, after requesting a Diet Coke from the apathetic waitress, she said, “Well, go ahead.”
It wasn’t a very promising beginning, and Leire was going to lumber her once again with the discussion she’d already had twice by phone when suddenly her patience deserted her. The tea she couldn’t drink, the skinny waitress, Tomás’s message and the recent arrival’s indolent pose formed a kind of internal spring that made her lose her temper.
“Listen, if you don’t want to talk to me, you don’t have to. Really. This isn’t an interview and I’m not here in an official capacity, so there is no obligation on your part.”
Carol raised an eyebrow without saying anything and looked at her intently. Then she shrugged and almost smiled.
“Calm down. Don’t get upset, it mustn’t be good for-”
“I’m not upset,” Leire lied. “Or no more than anyone would be having spent half an hour waiting for a person who, to top it all, doesn’t even have the decency to apologize when they arrive.”
Carol exhaled and looked away. The other customer in the café watched them, though only out of the corner of his eye. Leire grabbed her bag and made as if to get up.
“No. Don’t go. I’m really sorry I’m late.” Carol spoke in a low voice. “In fact, I arrived before you and saw you go in. I went for a walk, to think a bit … And in the end I was late.”
This is better, thought Leire. So she also softened her tone in her reply.
“What do you say we start again?”
“Well, go ahead,” repeated Carol, but this time the sentence was accompanied by a half-smile. And she immediately added, “You said on the phone you wanted to talk about Ruth.”
“Yes. I know it seems strange. I’m not even sure I understand it, but … I have the feeling that this case wasn’t dealt with in the best way.” She corrected herself before her listener could come to inappropriate conclusions. “We were all too involved, Inspector Salgado especially so. And a lot was going on at the time.”
She stopped for a few seconds before finishing her reasoning.
“I’d like to take another look from a cooler perspective. And for that I must know things about her: what she was like, what she did … What worried her.”
Carol nodded slowly. Although a hint of uncertainty clouded her gaze, she seemed determined to give Leire a minimal vote of confidence, at least.
“I wish I could tell you what she was … is like. I don’t want to speak of her in the past tense and I’m not exactly objective on the subject.”
“It doesn’t matter, be as subjective as you like.” She understood that Carol wasn’t given to confidences, so she decided to help her. “How long were you together?”
“I don’t know if I should tell you …” She wasn’t looking at her; her eyes were fixed on the magazine cover.
“This is between you and me. I already told you, Inspector Salgado isn’t aware of what I’m doing. And I want it to stay that way,” she stressed.
Carol exhaled.
“Héctor … God, how I’ve come to hate that name! Something about that guy, isn’t there? There are men like that, who make the world spin around them. No, I know, they never ask for anything. They act as if they are self-sufficient, but at the same time they are screaming for help. Or that’s the impression they give you …”
Leire took advantage of this road to approach the subject that interested her.
“Is that what Ruth thought?”
“Ruth has spent her whole life understanding Héctor. Not as if she were his mother, but in some reactions she seemed like his … I don’t know how to say it. His elder sister. She was breaking free of this role little by little, although it took a great effort for her to do it.”
“When did you get together?”
“Officially, six months before she broke up with her husband. In reality the mutual attraction arose when we met each other. At least on my part, and bearing in mind how things developed, I’d say on hers also.”
“You were working together, right?”
“Not exactly. Ruth had spent years focusing on illustration. I don’t know if you’re aware, but it pays very badly. She’d had an exhibition as well, though not with much success. But I saw some of her work and I proposed using some of her designs in the field of interior design. At first I thought she was going to be offended: some artists shudder at the thought of ‘commercialization.’ ” She smiled. “But she threw herself into it with enthusiasm, as if it were an adventure, something that had never occurred to her. And with amazing results.”
Leire knew it. Over the last few days, among other things, she had focused on reviewing Ruth Valldaura’s designs. She had started with a home textiles line, but within a couple of years she had increased her collection to a great variety of objects, revealing immense creativity. If you searched for Ruth Valldaura on Google, in an instant a good number of shops, mostly in Spain, France and Italy, where her products were exclusively sold would appear. Not especially expensive shops, but all original, well chosen by the woman in front of her now.
While they were talking, the young customer had decided to leave the virtual world and return to his true occupation, that of a tourist, and the waitress was still standing motionless behind the bar, less beautiful than she believed herself to be. Leire was thirsty, but she was almost afraid to disturb the stillness of that sphinx by reminding her that she was there to do something useful. Luckily, Carol decided she needed something stronger than Diet Coke and Leire took the opportunity to ask for a bottle of water. Carol went to the bar and returned five minutes later with the water, a glass of red wine and an amusing expression of desperation.
“God, I thought she was going to break in half uncorking the bottle,” she said.
Leire laughed and drank half the bottle in one gulp. She was beginning to like Carol.
“I don’t know what to do now,” Carol said thoughtfully, after taking a small sip of wine. “I mean the apartment, and the money that keeps coming in. I suppose I should speak to Héctor …”