The Angel's Game (The Cemetery of Forgotten 2)

The lawyer nodded and pressed a bell on the desk. The secretary who had greeted me appeared in the doorway. Valera and I shook hands.

“Señor Martín is leaving. See him to the door, Margarita.”

The secretary inclined her head and led the way. Before leaving the office I turned round to look at the lawyer, who was standing crestfallen beneath his father’s portrait. I followed Margarita out to the main door but just as she was about to close it I turned and gave her the most innocent of smiles.

“Excuse me. Señor Valera just told me Señora Marlasca’s address, but now that I think of it I’m not sure I remember the street number correctly …”

Margarita sighed, eager to be rid of me.

“It’s 13. Carretera de Vallvidrera, number 13.”

“Of course.”

“Good afternoon,” said Margarita.

Before I was able to say good-bye, the door was shut in my face as solemnly as a holy sepulchre.

21

When I returned to the tower house, I looked with different eyes at the building that had been my home and my prison for too many years. I went through the front door feeling as if I were entering the jaws of a being made of stone and shadow and ascended the wide staircase, penetrating the bowels of this creature; when I opened the door of the main floor, the long corridor that faded into darkness seemed, for the first time, like the antechamber of a poisoned and distrustful mind. At the far end, outlined against the scarlet twilight that filtered through from the gallery, was the silhouette of Isabella advancing toward me. I closed the door and turned on the light.

Isabella had dressed as a refined young lady, with her hair up and a few touches of makeup that made her look ten years older.

“You’re looking very attractive and elegant,” I said coldly.

“Like a girl your age, don’t you think? Do you like the dress?”

“Where did you find it?”

“It was in one of the trunks in the room at the end. I think it belonged to Irene Sabino. What do you think? Doesn’t it fit me well?”

“I told you to get someone to take everything away.”

“And I did. This morning I went to the parish church but they told me they couldn’t collect and we’d have to take it to them ourselves.”

I looked at her but didn’t say anything.

“It’s the truth,” she added.

“Take that off and put it back where you found it. And wash your face. You l

ook like—”

“A tart?” Isabella said.

I shook my head and sighed.

“No. You could never look like a tart, Isabella.”

“Of course. That’s why you don’t fancy me,” she muttered, turning round and heading for her room.

“Isabella,” I called.

She ignored me.

“Isabella,” I repeated, raising my voice.

She threw me a hostile glance before slamming the bedroom door. I heard her beginning to move things about. I walked over to the door and rapped with my knuckles. There was no reply. I rapped again. Not a word. I opened the door and found her gathering the few things she’d brought with her and putting them in her bag.