Dead Clever (19 page)

Alvarez looked across the office at the calendar which hung on the wall and puzzled over the date until he realized that he had still not yet torn off July. It called for too much effort to get up and put things right, so he used his fingers to work out how long it was since he had seen Serena. Several days, yet she had promised to contact him as soon as she felt emotionally stable. Perhaps she’d tried to get in touch with him either here or at home and the guard had forgotten it or Dolores had deliberately not told him because she was being totally unreasonable. He used the internal telephone to ask the guard on the front desk whether there had been a telephone message for him; there had not. He looked at the outside line, but decided it would be wiser not to ask Dolores directly, but to wait until he was at home and then to approach the matter obliquely.

He checked the time and was delighted to discover it was coffee-time. Afterwards, since he could no doubt find good reason to go down to the port, he might as well call in at the Hotel Regina and leave a message for her . . .

Three-quarters of an hour later, he spoke to the receptionist at the hotel and asked if Señorita Collins was in.

‘The señorita booked out on Wednesday morning.’

‘But . . . but that’s impossible.’

The receptionist looked curiously at him before rechecking a list. ‘It’s right enough, Inspector.’

A woman, middle-aged, stout, dressed in a T-shirt and very brief shorts which might have suited a shapely eighteen-year-old, pushed past Alvarez, almost knocking him off his balance. In adenoidal, South Kensingtonian English, she demanded to know where was the car that she and her friend had ordered for eleven o’clock. The receptionist politely said he was sorry to hear it had not been delivered and would immediately ring the hire company. She didn’t thank him, but angrily muttered that everyone on the island was totally incompetent before she stamped off.

Alvarez said: ‘Have you any idea where she’s gone?’

‘No, but I know exactly where I’d like to send her.’

‘I meant, Señorita Collins.’

‘Oh! Hang on, will you, while I find out what’s happened to the old cow’s car.’

Three minutes later, the receptionist replaced the receiver. Alvarez asked him whether he’d been on duty when Señorita Collins had booked out.

‘No. Francisco must have been.’

‘If he’s around, I’d like a word with him.’

‘I’ll find out if he is.’

Alvarez went over to a chair and sat, mopped his forehead, face, and neck with a handkerchief. Had he misjudged the way she would react because he had forgotten that there were women so loving and loyal that they rejected all logic and all experience; women who gained so intense a pleasure from sacrifice that they forgave even the crassest betrayal?

But could even the most forgiving of women condone a brutal murder, the motive for which was greed . . .?

Francisco, whom Alvarez had met on his first visit, came up to the chair. ‘You want to know about señorita Collins? There’s nothing I can tell you, really. She asked for her account, paid it, and left.’

‘You’ve no idea where she was off to?’

‘None at all.’

‘How did she leave here—by taxi?’

Francisco shook his head. ‘I asked her if she wanted me to order her one, but she said someone was meeting her. She waited a few minutes and then a man turned up and she went off with him.’

‘Have you any idea who he was?’

‘Never seen him before.’

‘English?’

He shrugged his shoulders.

‘Can you describe him?’

‘I was being driven crazy by a party of guests who wanted to book an excursion, but couldn’t decide which to choose and kept on and on asking stupid questions. I saw him with her and that’s all.’

‘Try and remember something about him. Was he tall, clean-shaven, and with a long, narrow face that had an expression on it which suggested he thought everyone else needed a bath?’

‘It’s no good. He was dressed casual, but still looked smart; that’s all I noticed.’

Alvarez left the hotel and walked slowly along the front road towards his parked car. That the man had been smartly dressed was hardly a definite description, yet he was certain the man had been Bennett. Come to collect Serena to take her to Green? But the car hired by Green from Motos Bon Viatge had been left at the airport, suggesting he’d flown from the island. A bluff on top of a bluff? Had he decided to remain because it was so obvious that he must flee once the original bluff had been exposed? If so, then despite all she’d said, Serena had forsworn her resolve to have nothing more to do with him . . .

He had to discover where she’d gone and somehow find the words that would finally strip away the last illusion and force her to understand that there were times when love and loyalty ceased to be admirable traits and instead became stupid and deadly dangerous.

As he stepped into the entrada of Folchs’ house, Alvarez felt the tension mount until it seemed to be squeezing his breath. Would either Cristina or Juana be able to tell him what he must know?

Cristina came into the room. ‘I thought I recognized the voice. It’s strange, isn’t it? You don’t see somebody for years and then you see ‘em every other day.’

There was a hint of excitement in her manner which made him think that she would soon be meeting a boyfriend. If he had the powers of a fairy godmother, he’d wish her the most valuable of all gifts—that she be allowed to escape the more bitter complications of personal relationships.

‘Here, are you all right?’ she asked, with sudden concern.

Just thinking . . . You’ll remember that photo I showed you?’

‘Sure.’

‘Has the man turned up at Ca’n Feut in the past couple of days?’

‘I haven’t see him.’

‘Could he be in the house without you knowing—are there rooms you don’t normally go into?’

‘No way. The señor’s crazy about keeping the place clean and tidy and I have to dust in every single room most days.’

‘You know señorita Collins, don’t you?’

That’s right.’

‘Have you seen her recently?’

‘She’s been around for the past couple of days.’

‘When was she last up there?’

She said, in puzzled tones: ‘I’m saying, she’s staying there.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Couldn’t be surer.’

He spoke aloud, but more to himself than to her. ‘But if Green isn’t there, she’s on her own and . . .’

‘I wouldn’t say it was like that.’

‘Why not?’

‘Don’t you understand?’

And suddenly he realized what she was inferring. ‘How dare you!’ he said violently.

She stepped back, momentarily frightened by his sudden anger.

‘Keep your vile ideas to yourself.’

Her fear, since she had considerable spirit, turned into resentment. ‘Why are you shouting at me like that?’

‘It’s disgusting to suggest she’d have anything to do with the señor.’

‘Hasn’t anyone told you, that sort of thing happens these days.’

‘I know what goes on better than you do and I also know that there are still some people who are decent.’

‘You sound like my Aunt Maria . . . I make the beds, right? And I’ve only been making the one in his room because none of the others has been used even though she’s staying there. And I’ll tell you something more. From the look of the sheets in the morning, the bed’s not been used just for sleeping.’

He longed to believe that she was merely gaining a salacious excitement from lying, but he could not deny his conviction that she was telling the truth. An aching, despairing sadness began to freeze his mind.

She stared at him. ‘Something is the matter! Are you feeling rotten all of a sudden? Can I get you a drink?’

He shook his head, turned, and crossed to the front door, only vaguely aware that she was saying something more. He left the house and walked along the pavement, with the shuffling steps of someone old, passing a man who was beating out the wool from a mattress. How could she? Bennett was immensely wealthy whereas Green, if his attempt to defraud the company failed, had little to offer. But knowing her, it was impossible to accept so facile and sordid an explanation. So what could make her give herself to Bennett on so short an acquaintance? Slowly and painfully he began to understand. When a woman of her nature discovered she had been deceived and betrayed by the man she loved, her sense of loss was far more acute than it would be for another, and less emotional woman; so acute, in fact, that love became hate and loyalty disloyalty, since one was the mirror image of the other. How best could she express her newborn hate and disloyalty? By giving herself to a man she disliked because this was the opposite of the reason for which she had previously given herself. . .

But understanding did not ease the ever-growing pain. On the contrary, it increased it because he could judge how she would be hating herself even as she revenged herself.

He was only a few hundred metres from the entrance gates of Ca’n Feut when a yellow Porsche rounded the corner in front of him and passed at a speed which rocked his car. The Porsche had been going too fast for him to identify the driver, although he could be certain there had been no passenger, but it was the kind of car he would have expected Bennett to own. If it had been Bennett’s, and Serena was up at the house, he’d the chance to speak to her on her own. He reached the gates, spoke to Cristina over the speaker, then drove through and up the winding road. Cristina opened the front door.

‘Is the señor in?’ he asked.

She shook her head. ‘He left a moment ago to collect the mail . . . Are you better today?’

‘Yes, thank you . . . And the señorita?’

She looked curiously at him, intrigued by the tone of his voice. ‘She’s out by the pool.’

Serena, lying on a chaise-longue, was wearing a brief bikini and despite the fact that her figure was fuller than would normally have been advisable in so skimpy a garment, she was flattered rather than mocked. She turned her head and watched him approach, her eyes hidden by reflective dark glasses.

He’d thought of many opening sentences, any one of which would have subtly reminded her how hurt he must be, but as he came up to her, he blurted out: ‘You’ve never called me.’

‘I said I’d be in touch when I felt ready.’ There was neither warmth nor any suggestion of remorse in her voice.

‘But . . .’ He stopped.

‘Why have you come here?’

He had expected embarrassment, hoped for contrition, found only rejection. Bewildered, he gestured with his hands. ‘But surely . . .’

She came to her feet. ‘You’d better come inside and have a drink.’

As his bewilderment slowly became replaced by bitterness, he followed her around the pool and into the house. The mobile cocktail cabinet was near a display cabinet and she gestured at it. ‘Pour yourself out what you want. I’m going to put on something; Pat keeps the air-conditioning so high the house is like an ice-box.’

He watched her walk the length of the room to pass through the doorway and the smooth movements of her flesh filled his mind. Cursing his weakness—please God he would soon reach an age when the desires of the flesh were lost—he crossed to the cocktail cabinet, opened the two top flaps which brought up the shelf of bottles, and poured himself a very large brandy.

When she returned, she was wearing a pink towelling robe. ‘Have you found what you want?’

‘Yes, thanks. What can I pour you?’

‘A red vermouth with soda and lots of ice.’

‘There isn’t any ice.’ The formal politeness with which they spoke mocked him.

‘I’ll go and get some.’ She left, to return with an insulated ice-bucket which she handed to him. Their fingers briefly met and the touch was, for him, painful. He poured out a vermouth, added soda and ice, carried the glass over to the large settee where she now sat. He returned to the cocktail cabinet and dropped three ice cubes into his brandy, went over to an armchair. ‘I’m sorry if I sounded . . .’

She interrupted him. ‘Enrique, let’s be completely straight with each other. I’m sorry if you feel I’ve done something wrong, but although we had good fun together, it was never more than that.’

‘You know it was.’

‘Not as far as I’m concerned.’

She’d spoken with such cold conviction that he momentarily found himself wondering if he had been totally and ludicrously mistaken about her.

‘So that’s why I didn’t get in touch with you again. There was simply no point in it.’

He said slowly: ‘Something’s happened, hasn’t it?’

‘Lots of things have happened.’

‘But something which has completely changed you. Why are you staying here?’

‘Obviously, because I want to.’

‘But how can you want to?’

‘You can’t understand? You should, since you’re responsible.’

‘Me?’

‘You went on and on until you convinced me of the kind of man Tim really is; it’s you who destroyed my illusions.’

‘I had to. You couldn’t go on believing a lie. But why let that make you come here?’

‘Why not?’

‘The truth is, isn’t it, you’re here because you discovered you’d been so terribly betrayed? You’re trying to get your own back on señor Green by humiliating yourself. For God’s sake, stop it. What you’re doing now can only make you hate yourself later on . . .’

‘God Almighty, you’re old-fashioned enough to be able to remember the dinosaurs! You do know Queen Victoria’s dead, don’t you?’

‘Why are you acting like this?’

‘Because you’re talking like a blind fool. Do you really think in the world of today there’s still room for verray parfit gentil knights and ladies fair whose lives are governed by the laws of the courts of love?’

‘There is still room, yes.’

‘Then like the dinosaurs, you’re not going to survive . . . I’ll tell you exactly why I’ve moved in with Pat. There’s nothing romantic about the reason. I’m not nearly complicated enough to set out to humiliate myself in order to gain revenge. That strikes me as being just plain bloody silly since it means suffering twice over. I’m here because I’ve no money and if Tim tried to give me some, I wouldn’t touch a penny of it even though I’d do almost anything rather than be poor. You talk about humiliation; there’s no humiliation more terrible than poverty. Pat’s rich. If you’d been rich, I might have been in touch with you again; but you aren’t.’