Thirty
‘Of course it’s all right with me, woman,’ Mac exclaimed. ‘D’you think I’ve never made the tea before? You go to this wake, or whatever the hell it is, and I’ll allow my grandson to crush me at the video game of his choice.’
‘If you’re sure,’ I told him. ‘If I don’t go now that I’ve been invited, it’ll look as if I’m snubbing them. It’s not that I’m looking forward to it. . it’ll be weird. . but Angel needs support.’
With the go-ahead given, I decided that I’d better dress up for the occasion. I showered, shampooed, and gave myself a good going over with the Gillette Venus (confession: I’ve taken to shaving it all off in the summer; it’s cooler) before coating myself in a very expensive moisturiser that my sister recommended to me, and coaxing my hair into its most sophisticated presentation, rather than its quick and easy format. When all that was done I chose a light, below-the-knee, plum-coloured satin dress with a halter neck, and matching shoes. And that was all; yes, I often go commando, but I never tell anyone. My shawl would have set it off perfectly; I had another look around for it, but still couldn’t find the damn thing, so I settled for the shoulder bag in the same material, that I’d bought with the dress.
Mac whistled when I came downstairs. ‘Are you sure this is a funeral reception?’ he asked. Even Tom looked a wee bit surprised.
I was mildly embarrassed. ‘Yes,’ I retorted, defending myself. ‘You don’t know the way the women dress here; they do glam pretty well. I’m not going over there looking like a country mouse. And besides, I don’t often have the chance to get jazzed up.’ This was true. I’d always dressed conservatively whenever Gerard and I went out to eat, to avoid provoking the gossips even more. ‘I’ll be back in a couple of hours, I expect.’ I pointed at my son. ‘Do not wait up for me, young man.’
I made my way outside and down the square, towards Meson del Conde; I drew a few looks as I went, but didn’t return any of them. The terrace restaurant isn’t quite as described. It’s a glass-walled, air-conditioned extension to the main building, with its own entrance. Angel was standing just inside the doorway. He was still wearing his dark funeral suit but the black tie was gone and his shirt was open at the neck. We shook hands, and he thanked me for coming. ‘Is Elena here?’ I asked.
‘No, she’s too upset. . over her mother,’ he added, not that I thought there would be another reason, given that her very attendance at his father’s send-off had been a toss-up.
As I stepped inside, a waiter offered me a glass of something pink with bubbles in it; Perelada rosada cava, I suspected, a little frivolous for the occasion but never mind. I took one, and scanned the room for a familiar face. As I’d expected, all the women were dressed to the nines. L’Escala is a competitive place in some surprising ways; I’ve learned to play that game, and I’m not accustomed to losing at anything, other than love.
‘Good evening, senora.’ The voice came from my left. I looked around and saw, to my surprise, the little figure of Father Olivares approaching. No cava for him, his hand clutched a glass of what looked like a dark garnaxa.
‘And to you,’ I replied.
‘I am pleased to see you here,’ he said. ‘Angel has told me of your difficulty with José-Luis. It shows a kindness of spirit that you have put that aside and come to pay your respects.’
‘I’m here for Angel and his wife,’ I told him.
‘I appreciate that, but the same principle applies.’ He paused, then glanced up at me. ‘If you’re looking for my young colleague, he’s not coming.’
‘I wasn’t, but thank you for telling me.’
‘He was invited,’ the old priest continued, ‘but he declined. He won’t tell me why, but he’s upset about something. In fact he was sharp with me when I asked him about it. You don’t know what might be troubling him, do you?’
‘I might,’ I admitted. ‘We had a disagreement; a rather public disagreement.’
‘I thought it might be something like that. And of course, you’re both powerful, proud and stubborn personalities, and neither is in a mood to apologise.’
‘I can only speak for myself; I have no idea what he’s thinking.’ I frowned at him. ‘Are you getting round to warning me off, Father?’
‘No, no I’m not,’ he said, quickly. ‘After some initial reservations, I’ve come to approve of your friendship. It’s good for a priest, especially a young, modern priest, to have a private circle, of people who are not necessarily of our church, and if it includes single ladies like yourself, I have no problem with that. However, there can be volatility within such groups, arguments, and they can bring out the worst in anyone. I have a great regard for Father Hernanz; I admit it, he’s my protégé. But I can see his faults; there’s a fire in him and as with all fires, if it’s fanned it can burn out of control. I don’t want that to happen. So, my dear, it might be for the best if you and he were to avoid each other for a while, until things have cooled and you are able to discuss your differences calmly and rationally.’
‘Would that include me keeping my son away from the church?’
‘Who would that penalise?’
‘Only Tom.’
‘Then of course you shouldn’t. Gerard won’t turn him away, I promise you, or treat him any differently.’
I smiled at him. ‘Okay,’ I promised, ‘I’ll do what you ask and let time take care of it. Thank you, Father Olivares,’ I added. ‘I think I’d like to have you as a friend too.’
‘You have, my dear.’
For a moment, I was on the verge of leaning forward and kissing him on the cheek, but I reckoned that some of the older women in the room might have burned me at the stake if I’d done that, so I restrained myself. Instead, I moved on towards Justine who was standing with two of the men who’d been with her in the front row at the church. She was poshed up too, in a tight-fitting black silk dress that came close to making me feel frumpy. She detached herself from her group and joined me at a table where a pica pica buffet had been set out.
‘Any news of your mother?’ I began. As I spoke I saw Alex Guinart on the far side of the room, standing half a pace behind Gomez; he was looking in our direction, with a small frown on his face. I guessed that he knew what we were discussing.
‘Nothing. The police have even checked with my uncle in Belgium; I told them it was useless, and it was.’ She laid her glass on the table and picked up a plate. I followed suit and together we chose from the dishes on offer; a wide selection, prawns, quail’s eggs fried on circles of bread, feta cheese cubed, meatballs, olives, and a few things that even I had never seen before. ‘I don’t know what to do, Primavera; I’ve never felt so helpless. Elena, she’s a complete wreck; the doctor’s had to give her a sedative.’
‘She’ll turn up,’ I reassured her, inanely, for I had no greater reason for optimism than anyone else. I picked up my glass and drained it as we ate. One of the waiters saw that I was empty and came across with a refill; the quail’s eggs were loaded with salt, so to save him a return trip, I took two. ‘What about Angel’s dad?’ I asked her. ‘Has Gomez told you anything about that?’
‘Yes,’ she replied, but her tone had changed, become more hesitant. ‘But he insisted that it was in confidence, so. .’
‘It’s okay,’ I said at once. ‘Forget I asked. Anyway,’ I added, ‘I suspect that I know what his current thinking is.’
She gave me a curious look, but said nothing more than, ‘Mmm.’
We ate some more then went back to the table, where new, more substantial, hot dishes were waiting for us. I found that I was out of cava again, so I picked up a glass of red something. That was rather nice too; it was familiar, reminded me of one I’d had from Ben, even though I probably shouldn’t have been drinking it with fidua.