‘Gin, whisky, brandy, lager or wine, red, white, rosado?’

  ‘Coñac with just ice, please.’

  ‘Shan’t be a moment.’

  After he left, Alvarez picked up a magazine proudly calling itself the essence of the English countryside. The English pub? About to open it and find out, he stopped as a woman entered. Recalling another strange custom, he stood.

  ‘I’m Leila, Tom’s wife.’

  ‘Enchanted to meet you, señora.’ She had a pleasant face, but one which would not be readily recalled; she was dressed for comfort.

  ‘Please sit again. Tom said you want to talk about Keith?’

  ‘That is correct.’

  ‘There’s a suggestion he was killed. Forgive my asking, but is that so?’

  ‘Yes, it is.’

  ‘And you believe . . . Well, that Tom might know something about that?’

  ‘Señora, at the moment I can believe nothing because there is so much I don’t know. I am here because I have been told your husband visited Señor Sterne shortly before his death and so would like to ask him if he can tell me anything that might be of importance.’

  ‘Recently? He can’t have done.’

  Park returned, carrying a tray on which were two glasses. ‘What can’t I have done?’

  ‘Gone to Keith’s place not long before he died.’

  ‘Quite right. I didn’t. And I’ve left your drink on the kitchen table because you said you were about to wash-up.’

  ‘It can wait.’

  Park sat, raised his glass. ‘Cheers.’

  Alvarez returned the greeting, drank. One of the cheaper coñacs, nevertheless a coñac. ‘Señor, your wife asked me if Señor Sterne had been killed and I told her it was true. So I have to try to find who was guilty and need to know as much as possible about him from people who were friends of his.’

  ‘I’d say we were acquaintances rather than friends.’

  ‘The difference being what?’

  ‘He was amusing, interesting, and could be good company. But it was easy to dislike him.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘One has to be younger than I and much more open-minded to accept his behaviour.’

  ‘You are saying you did not admire him. Does that also mean you disliked him?’

  ‘Let me put it this way. If we met in a shop, a café, we had a brief chat, but I never made an effort to see him.’

  ‘Did you visit him last Monday?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Where were you that morning?’

  ‘Monday?’ He thought. ‘Friends were with us all day.’

  ‘They had lunch with you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What did you have?’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘What did you eat at luncheon?’

  ‘Nothing unusual. Leg of lamb, mint sauce, roast potatoes and chocolate mousse. Hang on. There was a starter. Avocado pears with oil and vinegar dressing.’

  ‘What is the name of your friends?’

  ‘Dunn.’

  ‘Where do they live?’

  ‘Lluchmajor.’

  ‘May I have their address and telephone number?’

  ‘I’m beginning to feel suspected of something.’

  ‘It’s my superior, señor. He has to know everything, even when of no consequence.’

  ‘I’d better check their address because I can never remember the number of the flat.’ He left the room, returned, an address book in his hand. ‘Flat four, Titto Bosch, Lluchmajor.’

  ‘And, if I may, their phone number?’

  He gave it.

  Alvarez left twenty minutes and a second drink later. Once seated in his car, he used the mobile phone to speak to Dunn. Having introduced himself, he explained the reason for his call.

  ‘Señor, will you confirm you had lunch with Señor and Señora Park on that day?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘How long did you stay with them?’

  ‘From the middle of the morning to the evening.’

  ‘What did you eat at lunchtime?’

  ‘A strange question!’

  Alvarez did not offer an explanation.

  ‘What did we have . . . Mary’s a good cook . . . Avocados, leg of lamb and chocolate mousse.’

  He thanked the other, rang off. He drove along the coast road, then halfway to Playa Neuva, turned inland. A kilometre from the bay, he stopped to study a herd of red sheep, a Mallorquin breed which had been saved from probable extinction by the enthusiasm of a few breeders and government subsidies. The Mallorquins had learned the need for conservation before it had become too late. Black vultures, a unique species of frog, foreshores, and woodlands, were protected; buildings of note were being repaired, rather than destroyed. Properties like Son Cascall were protected from development . . .

  He was annoyed to find himself yet again considering the estate.

  He had a pleasing siesta, overextended, as Dolores pointed out when he came downstairs.

  ‘You are not returning to work?’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘The time.’

  ‘I worked late this morning so was owed time.’

  ‘You are no longer in credit.’

  ‘Is there some hot chocolate?’

  ‘I face endless work which must be finished, as does any woman who has a family who regard a wife, mother, or cousin as an unpaid skivvy. Yet, at your command, I am to make you hot chocolate?’

  ‘It would be very kind of you.’

  ‘As my mother observed, “A man’s kindness is promoted by need.”’

  ‘Your mother and mine must have been of very different characters.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘I can’t remember my mother ever criticizing men in general.’

  ‘She allowed herself to believe they had the right to sit at the head of the table.’

  ‘That was the tradition.’

  ‘In male eyes.’

  He sat and watched her prepare the chocolate. Dolores’ mother was probably as responsible as anyone for the growth of the erroneous belief that women had equal rights to men.

  Alvarez peeled a banana. ‘I have to drive into Palma soon.’ It was not something to relish with tourist buses and cars turning the autoroute into a will-he-won’t-he speed up, slow down, turn, stop.

  ‘I’ll give you a list of what I want from that shop at the back of Jaime Three,’ Dolores said.

  ‘I won’t have time for that sort of thing.’

  ‘A pity. Then I shall have to go into Palma by train and won’t be back in time to prepare lunch.’

  Jaime said to Alvarez: ‘Drive in a little early.’

  ‘And get caught up in all the outgoing traffic when I’m leaving?’

  Dolores’ tone was sharp. ‘You clearly would rather not help me.’

  ‘I’d be happy to do what ever you wanted, if . . .’

  ‘If you were willing.’

  ‘I promise you . . .’

  ‘Promises and pie crusts are made to be broken.’

  ‘But what would the superior chief say if he learned I’d been shopping when I was supposed to be working?’

  ‘The same as usual,’ Jaime suggested.

  ‘There is no need to bother you further,’ she said sharply. ‘I will go by train, however little I like being in one. Jaime will drive me to Mestara to catch it.’

  ‘I’m very busy at the moment,’ Jaime said.

  ‘I will not spoil your exaggeration by asking, doing what? I should, had I thought, not expected either of you to find time to help me, even though my whole working day is spent helping you.’

  ‘If it’s going to cause so much fuss, I’ll drive you to Mestara,’ Jaime muttered.

  ‘A gift unwillingly given is worthless.’

  Jaime reached across the table for the bottle.

  ‘There is no reason to drink any more,’ she said.

  ‘I’m thirsty.’

  ‘There is water in the tap.’

  ‘Every year, thousands more in the world die from drinking water than wine.’

  ‘And you wish to lower the odds?’

  Years of marriage, Alvarez thought, had not taught Jaime that openly to deny a woman’s wishes was not a path to peace.

  ‘What does foot rot mean?’Dolores asked.

  ‘A pair of stinking feet,’ Jaime answered.

  She ignored him, faced Alvarez.

  ‘I’m not certain how you mean,’ he said.

  ‘They have found foot rot in some of the sheep and what should they do?’

  ‘Who has?’ he asked, certain what the answer would be.

  ‘Ana rang. She doesn’t know what to do about it and is certain you will be able to tell her.’

  ‘Female slyness,’ Jaime said.

  ‘You are unable to appreciate there are some who do not falsely pride themselves on being omniscient?’

  ‘If her farm manager doesn’t know what to do, he needs sacking. It’s just her way of getting hold of Enrique and drawing the tentacles more tightly.’

  ‘Your tongue betrays your mind. Enrique, I assured Ana that you would be in touch as soon as possible.’

  ‘But that . . .’ Alvarez began.

  ‘Does not mean tomorrow.’ She stood. ‘You can clear everything and stack it neatly either in the washing-up machine or on the draining-board.’

  ‘Why are you asking us to do that?’ Jaime demanded.

  ‘I have a headache and am going upstairs to lie down.’

  ‘We haven’t had coffee.’

  ‘After great difficulty, I believe Enrique has learned how to switch on the machine.’

  They watched her climb the stairs to go out of sight.

  Alvarez brought the recently opened bottle of Felipe II out of the sideboard, poured himself a drink, passed the bottle. Jaime held his glass in one hand, the bottle in the other.‘I don’t understand what’s holding you up. Do you want it lined with diamonds?’

  ‘You think only money counts? What about affection?’

  ‘That’s teenagers’ nonsense. Go on like you are and Dolores will have us clearing the table after every meal.’

  ‘You’re making something out of nothing.’

  ‘And you’re making nothing out of something.’

  There was a call from upstairs. ‘Have you phoned her, Enrique?’

  ‘I’m just about to.’

  ‘One day you’ll do something before you’re just about to.’

  He drank, went through to the kitchen, prepared the coffee machine. There was a mobile by the stove. He switched it on, dialled.

  ‘What fun it is to hear from you,’ Ana said.

  ‘You’re asking about foot rot in sheep. It’s a virus which lives in the foot and on the ground, especially when that’s damp. Very contagious, it needs to be treated immediately. A vet will provide the treatment, which must be very carefully followed. If possible, move the sheep off contaminated land once treatment is complete and plough it.’

  ‘You know so much!’

  ‘I worked on my father’s smallholding when I was young and helped a nearby farmer who paid me a few pesetas.’

  ‘Only a few?’

  ‘Money was very short.’

  ‘As it is for most. But some are lucky. Haven’t you often wished you could be lucky?’

  ‘Perhaps I will win the lottery.’

  ‘There are other ways.’

  ‘I must hurry off to work.’

  ‘Dolores told me you couldn’t hurry anywhere. Are you trying to get rid of me?’

  ‘If I could, I’d carry on speaking to you for a long time yet.’

  ‘Ever the gentleman! That’s what first made me . . . I nearly said more than I meant to.’

  ‘I have a very important case in hand.’

  ‘It’s wonderful to know you are there to make certain we can live peacefully. Do you see yourself as a knight in shining armour?’

  ‘Not very often.’

  ‘Other people will. But you haven’t time to listen to me chatter when you’re aching to get to work. So goodbye, sweet Enrique.’

  He returned to the sitting room.

  ‘Have you done the coffee?’ Jaime asked.

  ‘It’s doing.’

  ‘Who was that on the phone?’

  ‘I phoned Ana to explain foot rot.’

  ‘People get their kicks in odd ways.’ He emptied his glass. ‘If you don’t pull yourself together and tell her she’s the moon in your sky, you’ll likely lose her.’

  ‘I’m not trying to hold her.’

  ‘Then even a headshrinker can’t help you.’

  There was a further call from upstairs. ‘Have you phoned her?’

  ‘I’ve just finished doing so.’

  ‘Then you’re on your way to look at her sheep?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘She didn’t ask me to.’

  ‘And you lack the common sense to go? Aiyee! but the men in this house have minds of air.’

  He waited, but there was no further criticism.

  There had been clouds before sunrise, but these had vanished and the sunshine was strong; the tailback at the junction of the autoroute and the Ronda was longer than usual and Alvarez disliked other motorists who sat behind closed windows with air-conditioning units switched full on. Recently, he had had his car valued as a trade-in; to buy a new one would leave him exposed to being unable to visit a bar at will, virtually to have to give up smoking, and when there would not be a meal at home, to eating at a restaurant offering the menu del dia for as low as nine euros.

  He swore. Comparisons were the arsenic of life. Life with Ana would be . . . She might seem to favour him, but there were women of theatrical nature who were free with affectionate flattery as a means of attracting attention.

  A car’s horn jerked him back to the present. He drove forward a few metres, stopped, drove, finally reached the Ronda where the traffic was moving with some regularity.

  The underground car park was full, but the regular egress of vehicles meant he had only a fifteen-minute wait before driving down and finding a free parking space. He made his way up to street level. What had seemed proximity on the map proved to be a very considerable distance on the crowded, airless pavements. He had read in an English magazine that Palma was one of the most attractive towns in the Mediterranean and would not disagree with that, but he disliked it, as he did all cities, because of their lack of space, overflowing pavements on which people banged into one without a word of apology, roads which could not be crossed because of the relentless flow of traffic.

  Parry lived on the top floor of the building and there was no lift. Alvarez arrived at the small, dimly lit landing, sweating freely. The door was opened by a man of his own height whose face lacked character, a fact accentuated by a despondent moustache and beard.

  Alvarez introduced himself.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Parry spoke nervously.

  An initial question he was constantly asked, often with aggression, whether the person was honest or dishonest – in the one case because of resentment, in the other, because of concern or fear. ‘You have heard that sadly, Señor Sterne was killed a week ago?’

  ‘Yes, but . . . You’d better come in.’

  Alvarez stepped inside. The small hall was overburdened with furniture which drew attention, not because of its quality. ‘I am here, señor, because I understand you knew him.’

  ‘Only . . . Hardly at all.’

  A woman entered from an inner room. Slightly taller than Parry, several years younger, her appearance, like the furniture, drew attention for the wrong reasons. Blonde hair was straggling in current “style”, make-up had been generously applied, in particular, the brilliant red lipstick, her décolletage was sufficient to show she was braless, the hem of her skirt could be described as reduced to danger levels, and had the diamond on the brooch been genuine, she might have needed a bodyguard.

  Parry mangled an introduction to his wife.

  ‘What is going on?’ she demanded.

  ‘I’m not certain, my sweet. I mean, our visitor just said he was a policeman and . . .’

  Alvarez cut short the inarticulate answer. ‘I have come, señora, to ask a few questions.’

  She regarded him with dislike. ‘Why? Why do you want to learn something? Why do you interrupt?’

  ‘Angel, he is a policeman,’ Parry hurriedly said, disturbed by her aggressive manner.

  ‘I have all the right papers which cost a fortune. In this country, it is pay, pay. What is wrong with them?’

  ‘Señora, I am not concerned with such matters,’ Alvarez answered.

  ‘Then you do not need to be here.’

  He could not identify her accent; it resembled none he had heard before from an English-speaking person. ‘I am here because of the sad death of Señor Keith Sterne.’

  ‘That . . .’ She spoke briefly, staccato style.

  The words meant nothing to him, but he had no doubt she was cursing Sterne. Then, to his astonishment, she produced a handkerchief and dabbed her eyes in a sign of grief.

  ‘Inspector,’ Parry said, ‘we knew Keith, but we weren’t close friends.’

  ‘Because you were so stupid,’ she said furiously.

  ‘Angel, you know how things seemed to be.’

  ‘I know nothing.’

  ‘You were close friends?’ Alvarez asked.

  ‘Not really,’ Parry answered.

  ‘Yes,’ she said.

  Parry hurried to explain the discrepancy. ‘I think “friends” does not mean the same thing in Hungarian as it does in English. I would say we were acquainted rather than friends.’

  ‘That might suggest a reservation.’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘That you did not particularly like him.’

  ‘We like him very much,’ she said loudly.

  ‘I have been told he was not a man one would quickly warm to. Would you agree with that, señor?’

  ‘He could be very rude . . .’

  ‘You talk sheet. I no longer hear beastly lies. I go to lie down.’ She stamped out of the room.

  Parry coughed. ‘She is very upset by his death.’

  ‘So I gather.’

  ‘Hungarians seem to see things differently.’

  ‘What things?’

  ‘I just thought . . . Maybe if I had realized . . .’

  ‘Señor, you had a violent row with Señor Sterne shortly before his death. What was that about?’

 

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