The lawyer nodded and pressed a bell on the desk. The secretary who had greeted me appeared in the doorway. Valera and I shook hands.
“Señor Martín is leaving. See him to the door, Margarita.”
The secretary inclined her head and led the way. Before leaving the office I turned round to look at the lawyer, who was standing crestfallen beneath his father’s portrait. I followed Margarita out to the main door but just as she was about to close it I turned and gave her the most innocent of smiles.
“Excuse me. Señor Valera just told me Señora Marlasca’s address, but now that I think of it I’m not sure I remember the street number correctly …”
Margarita sighed, eager to be rid of me.
“It’s 13. Carretera de Vallvidrera, number 13.”
“Of course.”
“Good afternoon,” said Margarita.
Before I was able to say good-bye, the door was shut in my face as solemnly as a holy sepulchre.
21
When I returned to the tower house, I looked with different eyes at the building that had been my home and my prison for too many years. I went through the front door feeling as if I were entering the jaws of a being made of stone and shadow and ascended the wide staircase, penetrating the bowels of this creature; when I opened the door of the main floor, the long corridor that faded into darkness seemed, for the first time, like the antechamber of a poisoned and distrustful mind. At the far end, outlined against the scarlet twilight that filtered through from the gallery, was the silhouette of Isabella advancing toward me. I closed the door and turned on the light.
Isabella had dressed as a refined young lady, with her hair up and a few touches of makeup that made her look ten years older.
“You’re looking very attractive and elegant,” I said coldly.
“Like a girl your age, don’t you think? Do you like the dress?”
“Where did you find it?”
“It was in one of the trunks in the room at the end. I think it belonged to Irene Sabino. What do you think? Doesn’t it fit me well?”
“I told you to get someone to take everything away.”
“And I did. This morning I went to the parish church but they told me they couldn’t collect and we’d have to take it to them ourselves.”
I looked at her but didn’t say anything.
“It’s the truth,” she added.
“Take that off and put it back where you found it. And wash your face. You l
ook like—”
“A tart?” Isabella said.
I shook my head and sighed.
“No. You could never look like a tart, Isabella.”
“Of course. That’s why you don’t fancy me,” she muttered, turning round and heading for her room.
“Isabella,” I called.
She ignored me.
“Isabella,” I repeated, raising my voice.
She threw me a hostile glance before slamming the bedroom door. I heard her beginning to move things about. I walked over to the door and rapped with my knuckles. There was no reply. I rapped again. Not a word. I opened the door and found her gathering the few things she’d brought with her and putting them in her bag.
