“That’ll give you plenty of courage,” Blasi said, laughing. “But if it’s a matter of the heart, spare me because I’ll "nd it hard to hear.”
“Sort of… Do you promise you’ll be frank with me?”
“Listen, that wasn’t the deal. You were going to ask me something.”
“I’m getting to that. Will I be questioned again?”
Their drinks had been served, and Betty lifted the glass to her lips, apparently concentrating on the task of drinking the whisky without disturbing the ice cubes at the bottom.
“I can’t promise you won’t, but it’s unlikely.”
After taking a couple of sips, Betty placed her glass on the table and cupped it in both hands.
“What did Rita say to you?” she asked.
Her eyes had lost their sardonic shine and were fixed on Blasi with trusting warmth.
“Why do you suppose she said something to me?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’m going to tell you anyway,” Betty sighed. “I need some advice and you seem like the best person to ask.”
She stretched out her hand towards him.
“I want you to understand. What I’m going to tell you isn’t anything bad, but I couldn’t say it… It would make things unnecessarily complicated at home. The night of señora Eidinger’s death, I was with Boris Czerbó.”
An uncomfortable weight plummeted in Blasi’s stomach. To encourage Betty he returned the half-smile she offered as bait.
“I got home from the cinema before one a.m.,” she went on, “and I went straight to the Czerbós’s apartment. I often did that when I went out at night. Boris was waiting for me. My visits weren’t what you’re thinking; we used to meet at that time to avoid comments from Rita, who isn’t as harmless as she seems. She’s jealous of her brother’s friendships and I wanted to avoid any trouble.”
“What trouble would there have been if your relationship with Czerbó is as innocent as you make out?”
“It’s because of my father. He doesn’t trust anyone. He would have been against it. Sometimes I think that the fact I’m trusting and like making friends is a reaction against him. Ever since I was little he’s terrified me with his distrust. And, even so, you see what I’m capable of. It’s not like me to be telling a secret to a police officer.”
The uncomfortable, oppressive feeling in Blasi’s stomach seemed to double.
“Are you trying to tell me that your visits to Czerbó are the result of a childish desire to rebel?” he asked sarcastically.
Betty was staring into her glass again.
“If you interrogate me like that you’ll make me regret telling you. I just wanted you to tell me if I should keep quiet about my visit that night. I’d prefer to, of course, but my confession could constitute a defence for Boris Czerbó.”
“No one’s accusing him, so you can keep quiet. Did anyone see you leave the apartment?”
The question was obviously unexpected because Betty didn’t hide her surprise.
“I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it. I’d just got in when Torres came to get us. Gabriela might have heard me. She spends a lot of nights awake. Dad’s illness has destroyed her nerves.”
“She ought to get some fresh air. Doesn’t she ever go out?”
“Hardly ever. She’s got such an exaggerated sense of responsibility that you could load all the world’s problems onto her and she’d be convinced it was her job to sort them out.”
“Do you blame your father for that, too?” Blasi asked with friendly sarcasm.
“I don’t blame anyone. I say things as I see them.”
Two or three tugs of the lead let Blasi know that Muck wanted a change of scene. It annoyed him to have to comply. Any interruption of his conversation with Betty could mean a change of tack that might not favour him, but he feared a disaster if he did not obey the pressing appeals reaching him via the leather lead.
“Would you excuse us?” he said, gesturing to Muck. “Paternal responsibilities. Order another round while I’m gone.”
As he waited outside with forced acquiescence, he asked himself why Betty had decided to make such a confession to him. Their meeting in the lift had been unexpected, which meant her confidences were not premeditated. Was she suspicious of Czerbó? Was she afraid that he had talked first? What was the point of associating herself with such an unpleasant man as the Bulgarian ex-photographer? The answer to any of these questions could represent a change in the orbit of the moon that Ericourt had mentioned.
From the door he saw Betty hunched over, brooding. Away from the public gaze she was a simple girl with a genuine, honest expression. As he walked back to the table to join her, he noticed she was staring over his shoulder with a look of surprise. Hadn’t she expected to carry on with the conversation?
“There’s no mistaking you,” said Dr Luchter behind him. “I spotted you from the corner when you were coming into the bar and it occurred to me that Betty would be with you.”
So that was why.
“Have a seat, Doctor. We’ve just ordered a second round.”
“Why were you looking for me, Doctor?” Betty couldn’t hide her discomfort.
“Don’t worry, Betty,” Luchter answered distractedly as he tried to get the waiter’s attention. “I’ve just paid a quick visit to your father at señora de Iñarra’s request. I gave him an injection.”
“But Dad was fine when I left the house.”
“It was a simple precaution. Your mother was alarmed for no reason.”
Betty picked up her purse and gloves.
“I’d better be going, then. If Dad hasn’t been feeling well this morning I don’t want to give him any reason to complain by making lunch late. Thank you for the drink, señor Blasi. I’ll leave you with Dr Luchter.”
It was not a bad game of hide-and-seek. Blasi lifted his glass once more, inviting his companion to join him in a toast.
“To the happy conclusion of the inquiries. I imagine they’ve been rather a nuisance for you.”
He peered sidelong at Muck, who was sniffing the doctor’s shoes.
“It’s not a problem. I’ve learned not to concern myself with other people’s business.”
“I envy you that ability. Give me the recipe for when I’m sitting in the cinema next to one of those women who can’t help but comment on the film.”
Luchter was working his way through the peanuts, shelling them with the tips of his fingers before dropping them into his mouth from above. It was time for a change of subject.
“I’d like to ask you a question,” said Blasi, feigning seriousness now. “Do you think it can ever work to give up everything that reminds one of a difficult time in life?”
“We doctors are not fond of abstractions,” replied Luchter, unflappable. “If you’re referring to a particular case I’d rather discuss it as such. We deal with patients, not diseases.”
“I was thinking of Czerbó.”
“I’m not particularly familiar with his case.”
“It’s an interesting one. You must’ve met plenty of men like him. People who take up a new profession because they need to completely forget the past.”
“If I’ve met people like that the best I can do is put a considerable distance between them and myself. They were the reason I left my country.”
“Do you mean to say you left voluntarily?”
Luchter was still methodically eating the peanuts. Muck was dozing at Blasi’s feet with his head on his front paws. Blasi shot him an envious look.
Ten minutes more of conversation with this lump of lead and I’ll be doing the same, chum, he thought.
“You’re a good assistant,” he heard Luchter say.