Matthews put his thumb in his waistband. ‘About thirty-four just now. What’s wang shine anyway?’
‘Wing chun is the martial art I study. It’s Chinese, something like karate.’
‘I’m only kidding,’ Liam said. ‘I know what it is and I can guess what it means: it means, “Don’t mess with me,” right?’
‘No; actually it means “Forever springtime”. It’s close to what my mother’s name means in English.’
‘Whatever, young man,’ the ex-grappler chuckled. ‘I am more pleased to meet you than you could ever imagine.’ He extended his hand and Tom shook it. Then he looked at me. ‘And I’m just as pleased to meet you again, Mrs Blackstone.’
‘Stop kidding around,’ I told him. ‘It was Primavera back then and it still is. So, Mr Matthews,’ I continued, as the singer reappeared to finish her set, ‘what brings you here? Are you a tourist, and if so is Mrs Matthews back at the hotel? Her name was Erin, wasn’t it?’
‘Don’t you give me the “mister” either,’ he replied then shook his head. ‘Erin was never officially sanctioned, so to speak, nor has anyone else ever been. If you remember, she was an air hostess. She wound up marrying a pilot she thought was a safer bet than me.’
‘Maybe the Specsavers look put her off. I didn’t mark you down to wear those ever.’
He shrugged. ‘I don’t like contacts, and I won’t let anyone burn my eyes with lasers. These are the best I can do. You’re still twenty-twenty, yes?’
‘So far,’ I said. ‘So, Liam, what are you doing here?’
‘It isn’t a long story,’ he replied, glancing up at the stage, ‘but this is probably not the place to tell it. If you’d like to meet for lunch tomorrow, today rather,’ he corrected himself, ‘I’ll tell you then.’
Given the Susie situation, I wasn’t sure how the day would pan out. ‘Lunch might be a problem,’ I said. ‘Coffee would be better. Same place you were earlier, eleven thirty?’
‘That’s good for me. I’ll say goodnight then.’
‘Aren’t you staying for the music?’
He looked up at the singer once again. ‘Better not,’ he chuckled. ‘I can’t understand a word she’s singing; I can only guess at it, and it’s driving me crazy.’
Six
We called it a morning at one thirty. Just being there had been enough for Janet and Tom. Sheer excitement — and that coffee — kept them going for a while, but eventually they both showed signs of flagging, and didn’t protest when I suggested that we head for home.
I was as tired as they were but I didn’t sleep very well. My head was still buzzing with jumbled visions of Susie, her new husband, and a younger version of Liam Matthews, complete with big hair, drifting in and out of mental focus.
I got up at the usual time, showered and dressed, maybe a little further upmarket than usual, with my coffee date in mind. I did flirt with the idea of dialling Susie’s mobile in what would have been for her the very early hours of the morning, to get even for her drunken, abusive phone call, but Culshaw would probably have answered, and the only thing I wanted to hear of him was his eulogy.
But I did call Alex Guinart, as soon as I reckoned he’d be at his desk in Girona. ‘How was San Juan for you?’ I asked him when he answered. ‘Quiet?’
He laughed. ‘Quiet is not a word I’d apply to it, but in police terms it was peaceful, as it usually is. The firefighters were busy as always, but most people were too happy or drunk to make trouble. How was yours?’
‘Mixed. Tom and Janet took me to the beach concert for a while. I needed the diversion because I’d had a difficult day. Alex,’ I asked, ‘do you remember that man you helped me get rid of last year, the would-be extortionist?’
‘Hah,’ he barked, ‘I remember him very well. Mr Duncan Culshaw. I didn’t simply let it go, you know. I opened a file on him, and entered it into our database. He is now officially a person of interest in Spain.’
‘So you still have the recording?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘I don’t suppose you could give me a copy?’ I ventured.
‘That would be correct, Primavera, I couldn’t. But I could give it to any criminal authority that is investigating him. He’s not trying to con you again, is he?’ he asked.
‘It’s worse than that.’ I told him about Susie’s nuptials. ‘He’s persuaded her that black is white, and that it was us who tried to set him up.’
‘To hell with that!’ he exclaimed. ‘Make that denuncio. It’ll still be valid and I’ll act on it. Where do they live?’
‘Monaco, but-’
‘Fine. He may think he can thumb his nose at us from there, but he’s wrong. Spain has an extradition treaty in place with that country, and if we have a criminal action against him we can get him.’ My friend was seriously pumped up.
‘Slow down, Alex,’ I pleaded. ‘I didn’t make an official complaint against him last year because I didn’t want the publicity that would flow from it. That still applies. But if there’s some way I can prove to Susie that she’s married a crook … That’s what I’m after, you see.’
He was silent for a few seconds. ‘Let me think about it,’ he murmured, eventually. ‘Let me talk to my boss in Barcelona. Maybe he would authorise me giving you a transcript of the recording, since your voice is on it. But I’m not confident,’ he warned.
I didn’t press him. I knew that if he could make it work, he would. But even if he did, and I laid a notarised transcript in front of Susie, I had a foreboding that the loathsome Culshaw would be able talk his way out from under it.
I spent the morning tidying the house and catching up on the laundry. To his eternal credit Conrad always insisted on doing his own, and he would have done Janet and wee Jonathan’s as well if I hadn’t drawn the line at that.
Janet was on edge, waiting for her next call from her mother, and maybe brooding over her illness. In the bright light of morning I regretted having told her about it, but I knew that if I’d lied I’d have been regretting it more. To get her out of her preoccupation, I proposed that Conrad take all three kids off for a morning at the water park in Ampuriabrava. The youngsters jumped at it, although I’m not sure he did.
I was at a table in La Terrassa d’Empuries, with an unusually placid Charlie at my feet, when Liam came up the slope and into the square. He was less immaculately dressed than the night before, but stood out more. It wasn’t the shorts, they sported Mr Tommy Hilfiger’s discreet badge; not the Croc flip-flops. No, it was the T-shirt. The GWA corporate logo was all over his chest and at its centre was his own image in wrestling gear, white sequinned tights and boots to match, with a shamrock logo on each one … not that anyone in the square, apart from me, would have linked the pouting poster beefcake to the guy who was sporting him.
I laughed as he approached. ‘Did you wear that in my honour,’ I asked, ‘or are you always so understated?’
He smiled. ‘No, this is for a special occasion. I stuck a couple in my bag for the trip … and yes, I admit it, in case you and I did meet up.’
There was a camera slung over his shoulder, a big, heavy Nikon digital SLR, with a zoom lens. As he seated himself, he placed it on the table.
‘That looks like a serious piece of kit,’ I remarked, as he asked the waiter for an orange juice, freshly squeezed. ‘Are you into photography now?’
‘Yeah, it’s become quite a serious hobby. More than a hobby, actually; I write the occasional magazine piece and if there’s a photograph needed, yes, I’m good enough to supply it myself.’ He glanced down at Charlie. ‘Nice dog. Is he your other minder?’
‘Him? He has enough trouble minding his manners,’ I retorted. ‘As a guard dog he’s all sound and no substance, I’m afraid. As for the minder-in-chief, this is one of his mornings for just being an ordinary kid.’
‘Rather than following his mother everywhere,’ he murmured, ‘like the kid in a poem I learned when I was one myself?’
I stared at him, genuinely surprised. ‘You’re full of surprises. You didn’t strike me as a man who would know his A.A. Milne.’