The Frozen Heart (109 page)

Raquel laughed along with him, playing for time, but she could already feel a tingling euphoria beneath her skin.

‘Good,’ she said, picking up the envelope and the key and slipping them into a drawer. ‘Well ... I’ll go and have a look at the place, but it won’t be for a couple of days because I’m moving into my grandmother’s apartment over the weekend, it’s been standing empty for ages ... I’ll call you Monday, OK? Tuesday at the latest.’

Sebastián López Parra nodded, but he made no move to leave.

‘That’s it? You’re not going to tell me anything?’ he ventured at last. ‘Please...’

‘It’s a long story, Sebastián,’ she cut him off, ‘a very long, very old story. You wouldn’t understand. Anyway, I think it’s better if you don’t know.’

She got up to signal that the meeting was at an end and walked him to the door. It was only 12.45, but her one o’clock appointment was already waiting. As she chatted with him, going over the figures of his current investments, she found it difficult to ignore the fact that the envelope she had not even opened and the key that came with it were sitting in her desk drawer. She had lied to Sebastián, she would not be able to move into the apartment on the Plaza de los Guardias de Corps for at least another fortnight because her grandmother had decided to have it repainted, but she now knew that Julio Carrion did not like to wait, and when she had checked that the contract was exactly as Sebastián had outlined, she decided to persevere in her strategy. This, however, did not prevent her from wolfing down a tortilla in the nearest bar as soon as she got out of work, then rushing off to see her brand-new apartment.

The building was indeed within walking distance of the Retiro, the most expensive part of the Salamanca district. But the building was nothing compared to the apartment itself. The hall was so huge that at first she mistook it for the living room. When she had recovered from the shock and went to explore the rest of the apartment, she found herself in a room so vast she didn’t know what it was. Divided into separate living spaces by three small steps, the room contained a dining table and eight chairs and in the other section, three huge white sofas laid out in a U. There was only one bedroom, the back wall curved like the apse of a cathedral. The most surprising thing was the size of the bathroom, also in two sections, the first enormous in itself and the second completely taken up by a Jacuzzi the size of a small swimming pool with spectacular floor-to-ceiling windows and a view almost as spectacular as that from the terrace. This was the room she liked best. The kitchen, on the other hand, was so ridiculous that she had trouble finding it; in fact, at first she thought it was just a corridor with a built-in wardrobe on either side. This she didn’t quite understand. The rest, she understood perfectly.

So, you’re not scared of me, you little bastard?

She wandered through the new apartment, more slowly this time, focusing on the details. An antique pink-and-grey marble fireplace which must have been salvaged from some mansion, two huge plasma-screen televisions, one in the living room, the other in the bedroom, a parquet floor, probably original, like the ceiling roses and the cornices. More marble, more expensive hardwood, high-tech fittings, even in the bathroom. At first, Raquel felt like a little girl in an amusement park; she spent the whole afternoon here, looking, touching, turning everything on and off until she grew used to the space. Then she sat on one of the sofas, staring straight ahead, as if Julio Carrion González were watching her, and she laughed.

‘You’re going to shit yourself, you bastard.’ She said it again slowly, articulating every word. ‘You’re going to shit yourself ...’

By now, she had managed to stop listening. It had not been easy, because from the beginning, from the moment she realised what was happening, she knew that she was going to betray both her grandfather and her grandmother. She had promised her grandmother that she wouldn’t doing anything stupid, the same promise Ignacio would have extracted from her had he been alive. Ignacio Fernández Muñoz had forgone revenge, reducing it to a threat he had no intention of carrying out, preferring to think of his children’s future, his grandchildren’s future, his serene old age, and, all these years later, his wife had made the same choice with a smile. But this was different, this was business, their granddaughter thought, just business. It did not occur to her that the current owner of this apartment had thought the same thing in the spring of 1947, because he too had stopped listening.

It was not easy, but she managed to convince herself that this had nothing to do with her family and everything to do with her talent. After all, for the past ten years she had been perfecting a get-rich-quick scheme that would never come to fruition, she would never board a plane with Paco Molinero, split the proceeds down the middle and deposit her three or four million euros in a bank account in the Cayman Islands. That had only ever been a game, but it was her favourite game. Raquel Fernández Perea mentally calculated the value of this apartment, which would be hers the moment she signed the contract. This way, I end up with almost as much money, she thought, and I don’t have to break any laws, I barely have to lift a finger. Then she thought of Julio Carrion, the last words he had said to her:

‘That’s the way life goes ...’

After that, everything was brilliant, easy, simple.

 

‘What’s happened, Raquel?’ Nati asked when she saw her on Monday. ‘You’ve been acting very strange.’

‘Me? Nothing ... it’s nothing.’

‘Don’t give me that. Ever since you didn’t show up at the notary’s office with us, you’ve been acting like a lunatic.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Nati,’ Raquel forced herself to smile, ‘nothing’s happened.’

And it was true, nothing had happened yet. Nothing happened until Sebastián López Parra, tired of waiting for her to phone, called her on Tuesday afternoon. She was perfectly charming. She told him she’d seen the apartment and she loved it, that the view was magnificent, and that she would drop by on Friday morning to sign the contract.

‘You needn’t trouble yourself,’ he protested. ‘Surely you noticed that I’ve already signed both copies on behalf of Don Julio, so all you need to do is sign one of them and send it back by courier. We can sort out the rest at the solicitor’s office.’

‘I know, but I’m free all Friday morning,’ she went on, sounding like an excitable teenager.

‘Whatever you like ... You know it’s always a pleasure to see you.

Poor Sebastián, thought Raquel as she hung up, and she thought it again as she left his office on Friday morning.

‘So, I’ll see you at the solicitor’s office, then ...’ He looked at her, blushing. ‘Now that this whole thing is over, I was hoping maybe we could have dinner some night?’ He kissed her on both cheeks and walked her to the lift.

‘OK, so you’ll call me?’ Raquel turned, and realised he was about to come with her. ‘You don’t need to see me out, Sebastián, I know the way, I’m hardly likely to get lost ...’ She went to push the button for the ground floor, but when the doors closed, she pushed the button for the third floor instead.

This time, there was no one waiting for her, but she remembered the way and walked quickly towards the waiting room. The door was open, but there was no sign of the secretary who had been there the previous week. She thought perhaps she had made a mistake, perhaps Julio Carrion had decided not to come to work that morning, but she did not stop to think about it. She turned the handle, pushed the door and found him sitting at his desk, telephone in hand.

‘She’s right here in front of me,’ Raquel heard him say. ‘Yes, she’s here. I’m telling you, I’m looking at her right now ...’

‘Sebastián has nothing to do with this,’ she said, in the same tone she had used a week earlier when she asked him not to use her first name. ‘He thought I was leaving.’

‘OK, OK,’ Carrion attempted to reassure Sebastián, ‘it doesn’t matter. I’ll call you later.’

He hung up, and stared at her, and Raquel stared back, calmly, with a slightly impudent smile.

‘I thought we had nothing more to discuss.’

‘We don’t. Not about the Tetuán apartment, anyway,’ she said. ‘As I’m sure Señor López Parra has told you, I’ve accepted your offer — a very generous offer, I might add — so I have no problem with you on that score.’

‘I’m delighted to hear it, because I have no intention of wasting any more time answering your questions.

‘Oh, don’t worry about that, I’ll be doing the talking today. All you have to do is listen. And it won’t be a waste of your time, I assure you. In fact, I think I can say it will be time well spent.’

‘I’m sorry, señorita,’ he looked down his nose with the condescending smile she recognised, but this time it had no effect, ‘but I don’t believe you have anything to say that will interest me.’

‘Well, you are wrong, Señor Carrion, and not for the first time. Even courageous men grow soft in their old age, to quote what you said the other day. I’m sure you’re right, but let me give you another little saying: Even the cleverest, most cunning men can become fools as they grow older.’ She smiled. ‘I always thought it was true, but you’ve given me ample proof. For example, the apartment you have just given me in exchange for my little place in Tetuán. As I said, it was a very generous offer, but so disproportionate that it made me think. I’ve done a lot of thinking and I’ve come to a number of conclusions. The first is that you are clearly a bigger liar than I am. Last week, you told me I couldn’t frighten you and, at first, I admit, you had me fooled. But now, thinking about the manner in which you have dealt personally with this matter, I don’t believe you. You are frightened of me, Señor Carrion, very frightened. And you were mistaken enough to let it show.’

She paused, the first of a series of strategic silences.

‘Oh, don’t get me wrong, I understand your motives, your reasoning ... For a rich man like you, a few hundred thousand euros hardly matters, does it? You calculated that, given the value of the apartment, I would go away happy, but you were wrong.’ She feigned an expression of affable surprise. ‘Did you really think that Ignacio’s grandchildren didn’t go to university?’ She smiled. ‘Didn’t Sebastián tell you what I do for a living? No, Señor Carrion, a genuinely intelligent man would have put himself in my shoes, anticipated my reaction, but you ... you didn’t even try. I, on the other hand, tried to put myself in your shoes, tried to see the situation through your eyes. It was not terribly difficult and it allowed me to draw some conclusions. That is why I was fairly sure that, after talking to me, you would think that peace and quiet were priceless.’

She paused again, but he said nothing, simply looked at her with the same attentive curiosity he might have lavished on some exotic artefact in a glass case. You’re hard as nails, she thought, but she was not discouraged.

‘And there, too, you were mistaken. But I can understand, honestly I can. In fact, I understand so well, I’m going to propose a deal. I’ve come to offer you the peace and tranquillity my grandfather refused to sell to you. I admit it, I’m not a good person like Ignacio. I’m not as brave, as deserving of your respect, but I don’t suppose you care, in fact, you probably find that comforting — after all, respect has no place in business.’ She looked at him again but could not fathom his expression. ‘As you can imagine, it’s not going to be easy for a poor soul like me, moving from the Calle Tetuán to life on the Calle Jorge Juan, there’ll be a lot of expenses: furniture, clothes, accessories ... It’s going to cost me a fortune to live up to my address.’

Now he chose to speak, though he kept it as brief as possible.

‘Are you attempting to blackmail me, Señorita Fernández?’

‘Blackmail you?’ Raquel’s eyes flew open and she gazed at him, all innocence. She shook her head and smiled. ‘Good God, no, I wouldn’t think of trying to blackmail you. I’m simply proposing a business transaction. I have something you want and I’m prepared to sell it to you, that’s all. I’ve scanned the documents we talked about the other day so that you can check them and see that I’m not lying to you ...’ She took a thick white envelope from her bag and pushed it across the desk. ‘I’ve put them in chronological order.’ As Julio reached towards the envelope, she picked it up and took out the contents. ‘It’s all there. All my great-grandparents’ title deeds, the powers of attorney made out in your name, the letters you sent, “with love to the children”, a receipt for the bank transfer of five thousand pesetas you sent to stall them, the letters from the lawyer they engaged and all the attendant documentation ...’ He flicked through the documents one by one as though they barely interested him. ‘Everything. Your peace and tranquillity. A million euros and they’re yours.’

‘A million euros?’ Julio Carrion burst out laughing. ‘Are you mad? It’s not 1977 any more.’

Raquel remained calm. ‘I realise I promised you earlier that I wouldn’t ask you any questions but ... Tell me, Señor Carrion, do you read much?’ She looked at him curiously, but he did not bother to answer. ‘I didn’t think so, so I’m guessing that you don’t spend much time in bookshops. It’s a pity, really. I think you might find it interesting. You wouldn’t believe the number of books being published in Spain these days about people like you, lives just like yours ... It’s amazing. You only have to look at the covers:
brigadistas,
militiamen, women too, of course. It’s an interesting phenomenon and one that can’t really be explained, not even by me, and I’m the daughter of Reds. Anyway, I don’t have to tell you that, you know my family’s story by heart ... So, no, it’s not 1977. You see, in 1977, people were still scared to death to talk about these things. Not today.’

‘Indeed,’ he said, ‘that’s what I’ve been trying to get you to understand.’

‘Yes, but I think you’re the one who doesn’t quite understand. I think we’re talking about a different kind of fear. You really should let me finish ... Do you mind if I smoke?’