An Artistic Way to Go Read online

  ‘Yesterday morning.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘Well, it was after the visitor had gone. I heard a noise of something falling here, in the hall, and came out to see what had happened. The señor had knocked the jug in which they keep pencils on to the floor.’ She pointed to a small beautifully proportioned side table with fluted frieze and tapered legs, on which stood a heavily chased silver jug next to a telephone and answering unit. ‘When I saw his face I thought he must be ill, but when I asked him if anything was wrong, he didn’t seem to hear. Just went out and slammed the front door behind himself.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘I picked up the pencils and the jug, put ’em on the table, went back to the kitchen to help Clara.’

  ‘Did he drive off?’

  ‘Don’t expect the likes of him to walk, do you? Left as if the devil was tapping him on the shoulder. As I said to Clara, I’m glad I wasn’t standing in front of the car.’

  ‘Can you say why you thought he might be ill?’

  ‘Not really … I mean, it’s not easy to say. You look at someone and think he’s not well, but it’s difficult to explain exactly why you do. D’you understand?’

  ‘Perfectly. He didn’t say anything to you?’

  ‘Not a word. It was like he didn’t even know I was there.’

  ‘Do you know who the visitor was?’

  ‘Never seen him before.’

  ‘When he was here, d’you think he and the señor might have been having a row?’

  ‘When you’re in the kitchen, you can’t hear anything of what goes on in the sitting-room.’

  ‘And the señora did not return until after the señor had left?’

  ‘Quite a long time after.’

  ‘She must have been surprised not to find him at home?’

  ‘Can’t rightly say.’

  ‘Did you tell her you’d been worried that he might be ill?’

  She shook her head. ‘I didn’t say nothing … The thing is, neither of ’em likes us saying what we think.’

  ‘Then you had no reason to mention it,’ he said reassuringly. ‘I’d better have a word with the señora now.’

  ‘Come on through with me. As far as I know, she’s out by the pool, swimming or sunbathing.’

  With or without a costume? he found himself wondering as he followed Rosa into the sitting-room. She suggested he waited there, leaving him no immediate chance to find out the answer to his question. She went out through the French windows on to the patio, in shade, thanks to the overhead roof, and disappeared from sight. He looked around himself. The furniture and furnishings spoke of money and taste. Chinese carpets, pelmeted curtains, luxuriously comfortable chairs and settee, occasional tables in a very dark, shiny wood, two glass-fronted display cabinets in which were some of the finer Lladro pieces, a bookcase filled with matching, leatherbound books, framed paintings of local scenes …

  Movement, half seen, caught his attention and he turned. Through one window and then the French windows, he saw a woman approach across the patio. Words flooded his mind. Wavy blonde hair styled by a winsome zephyr; wide, deep blue eyes that could spur a cripple to run a kilometre merely to gain the favour of their rich glance; lips so shapely that Helen of Troy would pout with vexation; a body – enticingly, partially revealed as the lightweight swimming robe swirled to her movements – that undoubtedly could wear even the most mini of bikinis with nothing but credit … He halted the words, alarmed by their exuberance. No man was a greater fool than one for whom middle age was no longer a complete stranger, who looked at youth and thought himself young again …

  She entered, closed the door, retied the belt of the swimming robe. ‘Are you the person I spoke to this morning?’

  ‘Yes, I am, señora.’

  ‘It’s taken you long enough to get here.’

  She possessed the arrogance of youth as well as the arrogance of wealth. ‘I’m sorry, but as I think I mentioned over the phone, I had to complete some very important work before I could come here.’

  ‘My husband isn’t important?’

  ‘As I also mentioned, in almost all cases of the sudden disappearance of an adult, the person concerned has suffered no harm and soon gets in touch with someone to explain the reason for the disappearance.’

  ‘I haven’t heard from Oliver.’

  ‘It is still relatively early and…’

  ‘He’d know how terrified I’d be; he’d never let me suffer like this if he could help it.’

  The question that formed in his mind was as inevitable as it was unwelcome. Would a woman very distressed by her husband’s disappearance choose to spend her time by the swimming pool rather than searching everywhere for him?

  ‘We’re supposed to be flying to England tonight because the cruise starts tomorrow.’

  ‘A cruise?’

  ‘Oliver’s always wanted to see the Arctic, though God knows why. When he saw the cruise advertised, he said we’d go on it even though it costs a small fortune. But if we don’t fly tonight, we can’t join the ship in time tomorrow.’

  This directly contradicted the possibility that had begun to form in his mind only a moment before. He should have remembered that a person’s reactions to any situation were often a poor guide to his emotions; where one would cry, another might appear quite calm … A rich man was always very careful of his money; he would never willingly forgo the enjoyment of something for which he had paid. ‘Señora, I will need to ask many questions so perhaps we could sit?’

  She crossed to the settee, sat. He settled on one of the chairs. ‘Have you spoken to everyone who might be able to help?’

  ‘Of course I have.’

  ‘And no one knows where your husband might be?’

  ‘No. But it was all too obvious what some of them thought.’

  ‘And what did they think?’

  ‘Since malicious gossip is the favoured pastime, they decided he was with another woman.’

  ‘I very much regret having to do this, but I must ask, is that possible?’

  ‘You think he’d prefer one of those dried-up prunes to me?’

  Crudely put, but who drank brackish water when champagne was on offer? ‘I understand there was a visitor yesterday morning – was he a friend of your husband’s?’

  ‘Oliver had no idea who he was.’

  ‘Are you sure of that?’

  ‘When I told Oliver that a man called White had phoned and would be arriving at midday to see him, he was very annoyed because he thought the man must be selling something.’

  ‘Did Señor White say where he is staying?’

  ‘No. There was no way we could get back on to him or Oliver would have done so and told him not to bother to come. He was very American and just assumed he’d be welcome.’

  ‘Can you be certain he is American?’

  ‘You don’t get an accent like that from anywhere else.’

  ‘You weren’t here when he arrived yesterday morning?’

  ‘I was out shopping.’

  He wondered why she’d suddenly spoken with unnecessary emphasis? ‘Is there anything you can think of, señora, which might suggest why the meeting with Señor White so disturbed your husband?’

  ‘Who’s said it did?’

  ‘Your maid told me that just before the señor left the house, he looked so upset she thought he had been taken ill.’

  ‘Neither of them has said anything to me. How can people be so stupid?’

  ‘It wasn’t stupidity. She came to the conclusion she must have been mistaken because had the señor been taken ill, he must surely have said so. And she didn’t want needlessly to alarm you. But in the light of what has happened, it seems possible that the señor was not ill, he was concerned.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘You know of nothing that might answer that question?’

  ‘Haven’t I said, I don’t?’

  Once again, that emphasis. Something was giving her sharp concer
n, yet she wasn’t prepared to say what it was …

  She suddenly stood, crossed to the French windows, and looked out. ‘What can have happened to him?’

  ‘At the moment, I fear I have absolutely no idea.’

  She turned round. ‘It has to be something awful or he’d be here, getting ready to leave to catch the plane tonight.’

  ‘We must hope that he turns up in time.’

  ‘And if he doesn’t?’

  ‘Then I fear that you will miss the cruise. I am sure that in the circumstances you will not wish to go on your own.’

  ‘Of course not.’

  For the third time she spoke in such a way as to attract his curiosity. Was she secretly hoping her husband would never return? That reminded him of what Caimari had said earlier … ‘One last thing, señora. What kind of car does the señor drive and what is its registration number?’

  ‘It’s a BMW. But I don’t know what the number is.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter. I can find out from the records.’ He stood. ‘I can assure you, señora, that I shall be doing everything possible to learn why your husband has disappeared.’ A double-edged assurance if ever there had been one.

  CHAPTER 8

  Alvarez drove back to the field in which Caimari was working and parked in front of the bottom gate, leaving just enough room for another vehicle to pass. He climbed out of the car and stared at the scene, so drawn by the sights and sounds that for a while he was not conscious of the burning heat of the sun. Cicadas shrilled, starting and stopping as if to a conductor’s baton; in the field beyond a rough line of prickly-pear cacti, a small flock of sheep were, with ridiculous optimism, grazing stubble, marking their progress with the unrhythmic, flat-toned clanging of the bells around their necks; a flock of pigeons rose, with clapping wings, from another field; the piping calls of unseen guinea-fowl suggested they were even more worried than usual; chained dogs whose job was to guard fields (though no one knew quite how a field could be stolen) barked in an intermittent but interminable chorus; a kestrel hovered, wings beating, tail swerving, then flew off in a curving sweep. Alvarez drew in several deep breaths and convinced himself that not only could he distinguish the pungent, bittersweet smell of the orange trees, but also the rich muskiness of the newly turned earth. His thoughts, ever susceptible to memories of his youth, soared into pretentious mode. Man’s umbilical cord to true happiness was to be found in participation in the endless cycle of the soil. But modern life, which had taken so many men away from the soil, taught that happiness lay in amassing ever more, ever bigger riches and so men never understood their growing discontent …

  He walked up the half-metre strip of unploughed headland that ran alongside the stone wall until he came level with Caimari. The mule plodded towards him, head down, looking as if about to run out of all energy, yet continuing at the same even speed; drawing, as much from its own skills as Caimari’s, a furrow almost as straight as an arrow.

  Caimari brought the mule to a halt, released the reins. ‘You ain’t found anything to do yet?’

  ‘I don’t mind taking a turn to give you a break.’

  ‘And smash my plough?’

  ‘I can still draw a neat furrow.’

  ‘When there’s not a tree to run into.’

  Alvarez took a pack of Celtas from his pocket. ‘D’you smoke?’

  Caimari took a cigarette. He had always been a small man; age was beginning to shorten him still further. Lines in his face formed a map of hardship and suffering, and the quiet cunning that had enabled him to overcome both.

  Alvarez flicked open a lighter, held it out. ‘How are the oranges looking?’

  They both stared at the nearest trees, whose fruit could only just be distinguished. ‘Could be better,’ Caimari said.

  Alvarez had not really expected any other answer. Only a farmer who was a fool allowed that his crops were good – the gods of drought, rain, wind, and pest, were always ready to punish optimism. ‘I’ve been told Javier’s giving up. Says he can’t make money out of sheep any more, not with all the lamb coming from abroad that’s in the shops cheaper than it costs to rear.’

  Caimari snickered. ‘He’s giving up because he’s taking so much money from the government he doesn’t need to work any more.’

  Alvarez was not surprised to hear that. It had not taken the local farmers long to discover that the Common Agricultural Policy was a horn of plenty – there were grants for more sheep than one owned, for buying tractors that were never delivered, for modernizing barns that didn’t exist. ‘What’s he going to do with the land?’

  ‘Leave it fallow. The only person willing to rent it was Virgilio and Javier wasn’t having any of him!’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘You can ask? You didn’t know that his grandfather and Virgilio’s came to blows?’

  The rich mixture that was the peasant, Alvarez thought, proud to see himself as one. The traditionalist and the opportunist. The grandsons who prolonged a feud even though they’d probably no clear idea what it was about, who made a fortune out of bureaucrats so stupid they would pay others to do what had always been done.

  They smoked, the air so still that the smoke hardly rippled until a metre above their heads.

  ‘There’s something I’d like to know,’ Alvarez said.

  Caimari’s expression became blank.

  ‘You told me earlier you were surprised Señora Cooper had bothered to report her husband was missing. Why?’

  ‘How should I know why he’s disappeared?’

  ‘I’m asking why you’re surprised?’

  Caimari smoked. Alvarez waited, knowing that impatience would merely earn the other’s amused contempt.

  ‘Did you know Narcis Serra?’ Caimari finally asked.

  ‘To talk to, that’s all.’

  ‘Who’d want to do anything more when someone’s daft enough to gamble away his land?’ Caimari spoke with brief anger. To lose one’s land through stupidity was the ultimate sin. ‘His place was bought by a German who spent more pesetas than there are stars in the skies on a house and swimming pool. He wanted a huge garden and Jorge looked after it. When the German sold, Jorge stayed on.’

  ‘Jorge?’

  ‘Amoros. He talked to Eduardo and Eduardo talked to me. The señor was away and only the señora was there. Jorge went to fetch something he’d forgotten – more like to pinch some flowers to sell – and saw the señora in the swimming pool.’

  ‘What was unusual about that?’

  ‘She’d no costume on.’

  ‘That must have cheered him up!’

  Caimari sniggered. ‘Not much he could do about it.’

  ‘He’s not that old.’

  ‘Maybe he ain’t, but the man in the pool with her was a lot younger.’

  ‘Was he naked?’

  ‘Would you keep your clothes on if she was flashing it around?’

  So his intuition, imagination, call it what one would, had been correct.

  * * *

  Despite his best efforts, Alvarez could not find a reason for not phoning.

  ‘Yes?’ said the superior chief’s secretary in her superior, plummy voice.

  ‘May I speak to Señor Salas, please?’ He was not surprised when she failed to offer him the politeness of asking him to wait. Her manners were a reflection of those of the superior chief.

  As he waited, he stared through the window at the wall of the building on the opposite side of the road and tried not to imagine Rachael in the nude.

  ‘What is it?’

  Salas was a man of moods; bad tempered and very bad tempered. It sounded as if he were suffering the latter.

  ‘Earlier today, señor, I received a report of a missing man and I have made a preliminary investigation. I judge there is cause…’

  ‘Did you by any chance think to ascertain the name of the person?’

  ‘Yes, of course, señor.’

  ‘Regrettably, where you are concerned there can be no such cer
tainty. What is it?’

  ‘Cooper. He’s an Englishman and…’

  ‘With such a name, he is hardly likely to be a Spaniard. Who reported him missing?’

  ‘His wife.’

  ‘Why does she think he’s missing?’

  ‘Because he has not returned home and…’

  ‘If a wife reports her husband is missing, do you find it strange that he has not returned home?’

  ‘What I was about to add, señor, was that although there can be circumstances when a man’s absence is explicable, in this case…’

  ‘Circumstances such as what?’

  ‘Perhaps a lady friend whose company he has enjoyed for an overlong period.’

  ‘Alvarez, this is not the first time I’ve been forced to comment on the most regrettable urge you suffer, that of introducing a libidinous motif into a case.’

  ‘I’ve only mentioned what is already there.’

  ‘You know as fact, then, that Señor Cooper has a mistress?’

  ‘No, señor, but…’

  ‘Then why introduce the possibility unless it is because you derive a perverted pleasure from doing so?’

  ‘It was you who introduced it, señor, not I.’

  ‘How the devil do you mean?’

  ‘Well, maybe not directly. But you had said that if a man was missing he could not have returned home and so I was trying to explain that circumstances might show that if he was missing from home, he wasn’t missing despite his wife’s belief that he was. If this were so…’

  ‘I’ve had a very heavy day. Try not to increase its weight beyond all endurance. If such a thing is possible, tell me the facts simply and without any elaboration or explanation.’

  Alvarez began to detail the brief course of his investigation. He was interrupted when he described how Amoros unexpectedly visited Ca’n Oliver and had seen Rachael and an unknown man swimming …

  ‘Are you suggesting that there is any significance in that fact?’

  ‘I think there has to be.’

  ‘You really find it impossible to envisage that a married woman can invite a male friend for a swim without eagerly assuming she is indulging in an adulterous affair?’

  ‘It is difficult when one knows that both were naked.’