27
All the way back up the autopista I could think only of Susie, and what she’d told me at the airport. I had accepted Chandler ne Fowler as her attacker not just because it was convenient but because it was the only logical explanation.
But if it wasn’t him. . and it wasn’t. . then who on Earth, and, yes, just as important why on Earth?
If Susie didn’t have an enemy, that just left me. I ran through the field.
Fortunato? Never in a hundred; I was the answer to the guy’s prayers. When Prim turned up in L’Escala again he must have been the most relieved man in town to see that she had brought a new husband with her, after the way he had ditched her. The grief she could still have given him over that must have weighed heavily on him, especially with things patched up with Vero and her believing, as naively as I had, that he knew nothing about Prim’s aborted kid.
Steve Miller? He was an even less likely candidate. His remodelled hooter gave him something against me, but until then he hadn’t taken me seriously. I knew quite well that he’d seen me as no more a sap over whom he held a supposed edge, by virtue of having shafted Prim once upon a time. Anyway, no way was he capable of picking a lock expertly, nor could I see him manhandling Susie either.
Reynard Capulet? Even if he was still in the vicinity, which I doubted in a big way, what could he possibly have against me? I was the guy who had bought his house, and given him a big slab of money for it into the bargain. Okay, I had found the stiff in the pool, but someone had to, eventually, especially if they’d been meant to.
Someone from my recent, fairly exciting, past? Again, no, for one good reason; those who might have had an axe to grind against my skull are all dead. Okay there’s one who isn’t, but if he had been going to have a pop at me he’d have done it long ago, and somewhere else.
No one came to mind; no one at all. By the time I hit L’Escala I was back to thinking of Susie again, about our incredible three days together, and of the many truths she had told me and shown me, about herself, about Prim and about me.
No, Oz doesn’t love any more, not anyone alive, at least, but he can be attracted if the magnet is strong enough. I hadn’t thought of her in that way before. Back then, she was with Mike Dylan and he was my pal, and the old Oz didn’t do things like coveting a pal’s lady, far less covering her. Now, I thought of her, of our last kiss at the airport, of her retreating back, and I felt that pang again.
I swung the Voyager into the driveway, through the gate which I had left open, and drove it into the garage, beside the Merc. I took the shorter route to the back door, unlocked it, and stepped inside, my hand going up quickly to disable the alarm. But the active light was out. I frowned and walked along the short corridor, into the kitchen.
She was leaning over the dishwasher, with her back to me. I looked at her, and felt even more disorientated than I had on the previous Thursday, when Susie’s voice had sounded behind me. I had had more than enough surprises for a while; and I sure wasn’t ready for this one. I had wanted time, time to think about her, and of what I was going to say to her.
My foot squeaked on the tiled floor and she jumped. She turned quickly, gasped with relief and smiled.
‘I know that “Welcome home” is in order,’ I said, ‘but I have to ask. How the hell did you get here?’
‘It’s a short story, really,’ she answered. She came to me and hugged me. ‘After we spoke on Friday, I went out for lunch with Miles and Dawn. We met an actor friend of his, Nicky Johnson. You’ve heard of him, I’m sure. Miles mentioned that I was there from Spain, and he said that he was about to fly to Madrid, in his private jet. He offered me a lift, said he would drop me off in Barcelona.
‘I thought it was too good a chance to miss, so here I am. I beat you home by five minutes; my taxi’s just gone.’ I had passed a Barcelona Airport taxi as I crossed the town boundary; its green light on top had caught my eye.
‘So where’s Susie?’ she asked.
‘She’s gone home. She felt awkward,’ I lied glibly, ‘with just the two of us being here, so she brought her flight forward. I’m just back from the airport myself.’
‘It’s a wonder I didn’t see you there, with our luck.’
Too right, I thought. Then something important came to me. ‘Put on the coffee,’ I said. ‘I won’t be a minute.’ I strode out of the kitchen and up the stairs. Quickly, I stripped the sheets and pillowcases from our bed and shoved them into the laundry basket in our bathroom; then I crossed the hall and did the same in the bedroom which Susie had used, if only briefly.
Prim was in the living room when I came downstairs; a mug of instant lay, waiting for me, on the coffee table. ‘So,’ I began, ‘tell me all about Elanore.’
‘She’s recovering well from the surgery,’ she replied. ‘They decided to hold off on the chemo for now: they’re going to give her time to regain a bit more strength. I had a long talk with the surgeon who operated; he’s as optimistic as he could be under the circumstances.
‘He thinks he got it all, and he thinks that the follow-up treatment will minimise the risk of spread, but he can’t say for certain.’
‘Worst case, what could happen?’
‘She could develop another tumour, maybe in the liver or colon, and that in time would be that. I prefer to think of best case, that she has full remission from the thing and dies of old age.’
She sipped her coffee as I settled on to the sofa beside her. ‘What about you, now? What did you and Susie get up to?’
I looked at her, poker-faced. ‘What do you think?’ I replied. ‘We shagged each other senseless.’
Prim laughed. ‘I’d know if you had,’ she said. ‘You’d have bags under your eyes and you’d be tripping over yourself with guilt.’
‘You can see though me in a second, can’t you?’ I murmured.
‘You better believe it. No, really, what did you do?’
‘Saw the sights, ate well; that was it. I told you about going to Barcelona on Friday. We did Pals as well and some of the other sightseeing places.
‘One very odd thing did happen, though.’ I told her from start to finish of Gabrielle’s arrival on the previous morning, and of the strange story she had to tell. As it unwound, I watched her expression become more and more indignant.
‘Do you mean to tell me that the girl’s father sold her to a pimp, as if she was livestock?’
‘Exactly so; and she turned up here looking for Capulet, so that he could give her the once over, make sure the sailors hadn’t given her the clap, or anything like that, on the way across, then put her to work. The poor wee lass is completely innocent. She really did think she was going to be a cocktail waitress.’
‘Can we find her father, Oz? Can we trace him and report him to the Filipino police?’
‘We won’t have to; your old boyfriend’s taken her under his wing. He’s going to arrange her repatriation through the Philippines consulate. When they hear the story, I’m sure that Papa Palacios will get what’s coming to him.’
‘Let’s hope so.’ Prim frowned and chewed her lip; that mannerism always means that she’s about to come out with something. It didn’t take long.
‘Darling,’ she murmured. ‘Have you considered that if the girl was sold out of poverty, it might not be the kindest thing in the world to send her back to it?’
‘The thought did flutter across my mind, my jewel, to be followed by another. What the fuck’s it got to do with us? I’m not, we’re not, sending her anywhere. We just happen to have bought a house that seems to have been used as a dropping-off point for prostitutes on their way to long-term horizontal employment.
‘I’m as angry as you are about what happened to the kid. But I’m chuffed that we’ve saved her from a life of shame, as the Daily Star would put it. What more can we do?’