Долорес Редондо – Offering to the Storm (страница 10)
‘Amaia …’ Ros whispered to her sister as she brushed past.
James watched her leave the room then looked uneasily from Ros to Engrasi.
‘James—’ Engrasi started to say.
‘Please don’t, Auntie. Please, I beg you, don’t feed Amaia’s fears, or encourage her doubts. If anyone can help her turn the page, it’s you. I’ve never asked anything of you before, but I’m asking you now – because I’m losing her, I’m losing my wife,’ he said dejectedly, slumping back in his seat.
Amaia kept rocking Ibai until he stopped crying, then she lay down on the bed, placing him beside her so that she could enjoy her son’s bright eyes, his clumsy little hands touching her eyes, nose and mouth until gradually he fell asleep. Just as his mother’s tension had overwhelmed him earlier, she felt infected now by his placid calm.
Amaia realised how important the show at the Guggenheim had been for James; she understood why he was disappointed that she hadn’t gone with him. But they’d talked about this. If she
‘My darling boy,’ she whispered, marvelling at his perfect little features, enveloped by a mysterious calm she only experienced when she was with him, bewitching her with his scent of butter and biscuits, relaxing her muscles, drawing her gently into a deep sleep.
She realised she was dreaming, and that her fantasies were inspired by Ibai’s scent. She was at the bakery, long before it became the setting for her nightmares; her father, dressed in his white jacket, was flattening out puff pastry with a steel rolling pin, before it became a weapon. The squares of white dough gave off a creamy, buttery smell. Music drifted through the bakery from a small transistor radio her father kept on the top shelf. She didn’t recognise the song, yet, in her dream, the little girl who was her was mouthing some of the lyrics. She liked to be alone with her father, she liked to watch him work, while she danced about the marble counter, breathing in the odour she now realised was Ibai’s, but which back then came from the butter biscuits. She felt happy – in that way unique to little girls who are the apple of their father’s eye. She had almost forgotten how much he loved her, and remembering, even in a dream, made her feel happy once more. Round and round she spun, performing elegant pirouettes, her feet floating above the ground. But when she turned to smile at him, he had vanished. The kneading table was empty, no light penetrated the high windows. She must hurry, she must go home at once, or else her mother would become suspicious. ‘What are
James entered the room, closing the door behind him. He sat down beside her on the bed, contemplating her for a moment, experiencing the pleasure of seeing someone who is truly exhausted sleep. He reached for the blanket lying at the foot of the bed, and drew it up to her waist. As he leaned over to kiss her, she opened startled unseeing eyes; when she saw it was him, she instantly relaxed, resting her head back on the pillow.
‘It’s okay, I was dreaming,’ she whispered, repeating the words, which, like an incantation, she had recited practically every night since she was a child. James sat down again. He watched Amaia in silence, until she gave a faint smile, then embraced her.
‘Do you think they might still serve us at that restaurant?’
‘I cancelled; you’re too tired. We’ll go there another time …’
‘How about tomorrow? I have to drive to Pamplona, but I promise I’ll spend the afternoon with you and Ibai. In which case, you have to invite me out to dinner in the evening,’ she added, chuckling.
‘Come downstairs and have something to eat,’ he said.
‘I’m not hungry.’
But James stood up and held out his hand, smiling, and she followed him.
Dr Berasategui had lost none of the composure or authority one might expect from a renowned psychiatrist, and his appearance was as neat and meticulous as ever; when he clasped his hands on the table, Amaia noticed that his nails were manicured. His face remained unsmiling as he greeted her with a polite ‘good morning’ and waited for her to speak.
‘Dr Berasategui, I confess I’m surprised that you agreed to see me. I imagine prison life must be tedious for a man like you.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’ His reply seemed sincere.
‘You needn’t pretend with me, Doctor. During the past month I’ve been reading your correspondence, I’ve visited your apartment on several occasions, and, as you know, I’ve had the opportunity to familiarise myself with your culinary taste …’ His lips curled slightly at her last words. ‘For that reason alone, I imagine you find life in here intolerably vulgar and dull. Not to mention what it must mean to be deprived of your favourite pastime.’
‘Don’t underestimate me, Inspector. Adaptability is one of my many talents. Actually, this prison isn’t so different from a reformatory school in Switzerland. That’s an experience which prepares you for anything.’
Amaia studied him in silence for a few seconds, then went on:
‘I have no doubt that you’re clever. Clever, confident and capable; you had to be, to succeed in making those poor wretches perpetrate your crimes for you.’
He smiled openly for the first time.
‘You’re mistaken, Inspector; my intention was never for them to sign my work, but rather to perform it. I see myself as a sort of stage director,’ he explained.
‘Yes, with an ego the size of Pamplona … Which is why, to my mind, something doesn’t add up. Perhaps you can explain: why would a man like you, a man with a powerful, brilliant mind, end up obeying the orders of a senile old woman?’
‘That isn’t what happened.’
‘Isn’t it? I’ve seen the CCTV images from the clinic. You looked quite submissive to me.’
She had used the word ‘submissive’ on purpose, knowing he would see it as the worst sort of insult. Berasategui placed his fingers over his pursed lips as if to prevent himself rising to the bait.
‘So, a mentally ill old woman convinces an eminent psychiatrist from a prestigious clinic, a brilliant – what did you refer to yourself as? – ah yes, stage director, to be her accomplice in a botched escape attempt, which ends in her being swept away by the river, while he’s arrested and imprisoned. You must admit – not exactly your finest moment.’
‘You couldn’t be more mistaken,’ he scoffed. ‘Everything turned out exactly as planned.’
‘Everything?’
‘Except for the surprise of the child’s gender; but I played no part in that. Otherwise I would have known.’
Berasategui appeared to have regained his habitual composure. Amaia smiled.
‘I visited your father yesterday.’
Berasategui filled his lungs then exhaled slowly. Clearly this bothered him.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me about him? Aren’t you interested to know how he is? No, of course you aren’t. He’s just an old man whom you used to locate the
Berasategui remained impassive.
‘Some of the bones left in the church were more recent. That oaf Garrido would never have been able to find them; only someone who had contact with Rosario could have known, because she alone had that information. Where are the remains of that body, Dr Berasategui? Where is that grave?’
He cocked his head to one side, adopting a faintly smug expression, as though amused at all this.
It vanished when Amaia continued:
‘Your father was much more talkative than you. He told me you never spent the night with him, he said you went to a hotel, but we’ve checked, and we know that isn’t true. I’m going to tell you what I think. I think you have another house in Baztán, a safe house, a place where you keep the things no one must see, the things you can’t give up. The place where you took my mother that night, where she changed her clothes and no doubt where she returned when she ran off leaving you in the cave.’