“I didn’t do it for the money!”
Now we were getting somewhere. I spurred on:
“No? You did it out of the kindness of your heart, then? Come on, where’s Monica? If I don’t find her, it won’t be just a kidnapping, it’ll be murder.”
It took pain and perspiration, threats, lies, promises… She wouldn’t budge, this gal, but I finally managed to get her between a rock and a hard place, and she began to fall apart altogether.
Her dark voice, with a foreign accent I wasn’t able to identify, broke down. First she cried and cried, and then, sheltered by the darkness, she explained it all to me.
VIII
“Patricia made me swear I wouldn’t make out my report until you’re on your way to Australia,” I said.
“Will you stick to that?” Monica asked.
“If you’ll write a letter for me explaining the whole thing. It’s a matter of professional pride.”
We were in the bar of the Carse Hotel, near Westminster. Patricia had set up the appointment herself the previous day, but Monica still didn’t quite trust me.
“Why did you come to London?” I asked, just to say something.
“To get ready to go to Australia. Patricia must have told you that, didn’t she?”
“Just out of curiosity, personal not professional,” I said. “Why didn’t you take all the money out of your account? Because I assume your father will disinherit you.”
“So I wouldn’t leave any leads behind. But you can see that didn’t do me any good. It didn’t work, either, for us to stay apart until everything was ready. If my husband had hired a man instead of a woman, even if he’d found Patricia, she’d have gotten rid of him. But you put it all together, and now look.”
I’d established some kind of complicity with Monica in spite of myself. I didn’t like Patricia at all, but Monica was so pleasant, so peaceful, just the opposite of that gnawing tigress. But she did have, as Victor had told me, the habit of drumming her fingernails against that enamel pendant. It really was unnerving.
“Well, what’s the deal then, about the letter?” she said.
“You can write it right now, if you like,” I said.
“No, I want to really give it some thought. Tomorrow, same time, here, okay?”
“Absolutely.”
She got up, stretching her arm out to caress me. I pulled back instinctively.
“You’re still an uptight, repressed conservative, my friend,” she said softly, I watched her leave, balancing on a set of spike heels that made me dizzy. She must not have been too comfortable in them, because when she went to go up the two steps leading to the vestibule, she twisted an ankle and nearly ended up all over the floor, She turned around and smiled mischievously.
The next day, at the same time, Monica had had to go out, but she’d left the letter for me. Typewritten, shit! But I assumed that the signature would make it plenty valid.
That night I caught a plane for home. With the money I’d get for that job, I’d treat myself to a nice little week off.
IX
Victor was waiting for me at his pavilion. He was furious. He’d been calling me every day at the office, and Quim told him the truth at first, that is, that I was in Paris and then in London checking out some leads, and then lies, that is, that I was still in London. I’d given my word to the two women that I’d give them a little head start, ten days to be exact. Ten desperate days for Victor, I was sick to death of sticking around the house, and Quim was in a rage for having to deal with the details.
He ushered me in without saying a word, but he made up for that with the look on his face. His curiosity about what had happened overcame his anger at not being kept informed, After all, we had agreed to keep him abreast of all the details.
I gave him Monica’s letter.
Dear Victor,
By the time you read this letter, I won’t be Monica anymore. Get used to the idea. Think of it as a death, because that’s the truth. I haven’t been your wife for a very long time, and I’ve had to make colossal efforts to keep you from noticing. It’s not just a question of love worn out, it’s a matter of total incompatibility, not just with you personally, but with you as a man, a male. I know it’s going to hurt you, but I’ve been Pat’s lover for a long time. My sexual relationship with you wasn’t a disaster because I was frigid, but because I’m a lesbian. I hope you won’t dismiss and scorn me-because I don’t consider my condition shameful-but if you do, and if I disgust you, it’s all the same to me, and I won’t even be surprised, knowing you as I do. I hope you won’t take all this as a big tragedy. Just try to understand, and try to make a new life, as I’ve done.
Love, Monica
P.S. Tell Daddy to let you go ahead with the development. My opposition was a silly childish stubbornness, totally illogical.
Victor looked at me, beside himself.
“Do you want to read my report?” I asked.
“What’s the point?”
“Well, it would clear up a few details,” I said, positive that what I was saying was absurd.
“It’s all as clear as a bell,” he mumbled.
A very long silence ensued. He stared at the letter, without seeing it. Finally, he exploded.
When the fireplace had consumed all the photographs, including the ones I’d made, he seemed to calm down a little.
“Listen, Lonia, I don’t think I’m up to giving this letter to my in-laws. Would you mind? You could give them the report, too.”
“Victor, read it yourself first, then decide whether you really want her parents to read it. There’s some stuff…”
He wasn’t listening to me. I left the report on the couch, went through the Pradells’ yard with Monica’s letter in my purse, and rang their doorbell.
X
“Hi, sweetie,” Quim greeted me.
He was munching on a tired-looking old sandwich and reading the paper, as usual. Every day. I let the dog out and looked over the mail. All business letters, of course. Bank statements, junk mail.
“A crazed guy showed up,” Quim said distractedly. “Seems his wife is fooling around. Shall I do it, or do you want to?”
I broke a toothpick and let him choose. Without even looking, he picked the shorter one.
“Guess I get to do it,” I said.
“Let me finish reading the paper and I’ll tell you all about it.”
I finished looking over the mail. There was an impersonal note from Victor, accompanied by a check that knocked me over.
“Hey, Quim, you’ll have to find the gal that’s cheating on her old man after all. I just struck it rich!”
Quim dropped his sandwich when he saw the figure.
“We’re partners, right, sweetie?” he said.
“Sure, but I’ll just help myself to a few bucks first so I can get a permanent. This very day. I’m off to the bank, and then to the beauty parlor.”
Quim’s mouth fell open, He didn’t know what to say. I don’t know whether he grumbled or not, since I was already gone.
At the beauty parlor, with all kinds of critters running around in my head, I realized that Victor didn’t want to have any more to do with me. My sorrow was somewhat assuaged by the roll of banknotes I had in my purse, though. A victim of the ups and downs, I leafed through one of those worn magazines, the kind that tell you all about how such and such a singer has the flu, or how Mr. Bullfighter gets terrible headaches.
Then I saw her: Mrs. Monica Pradell de Cabanes at a dinner in honor of who knows whom. And Victor two spaces away from her. Except that Monica wasn’t Monica. While they were taking my curlers out, with the permanent half done, my little brain was in sixth gear. By the time I walked out the door, my strategy was set: it was the beginning of a crazy week.