by Kitty Sewell
‘Wow,’ said Mimi, staring up into the vast turret of the stairwell.
‘It’s a historic building,’ said Mr. Stagnetto, pointing to a stone plaque with 1754 carved into it. ‘As you can see, we don’t look after our heritage as well as we should.’
The flopping of Mimi’s sandals echoed in the empty space as they climbed the steps. She poked Sebastian in the side and whispered, ‘mindblowing’. He patted her shoulder and whispered back, ‘Hold your horses. Let’s just wait and see.’
‘Carlo Montegriffo,’ read Mr. Stagnetto from a name plate. ‘Oh, yes. I know this man. But wrong apartment. Ours has got to be on the top floor.’
They trudged up two more turns of steps. On the top floor were two doors, one of them open to a large roof terrace from which sunlight flooded in. Mimi and Sebastian walked straight out and drew breath. Together they looked out over a higgledy-piggledy roofscape that formed a chaotic foreground to the spectacular view. Below them lay the old part of town; beyond it, the new luxury developments on reclaimed land, and the harbour, teeming with tankers, cruise ships and ferries.
‘Mrs. Esther Cohen,’ Mr. Stagnetto called out. ‘We’re in the right place!’
Sebastian left Mimi patting a black cat that had appeared out of nowhere. With interest, he watched the rental agent fumbling with one key after another until at last he found one that fit and the door swung open.
‘Well, now,’ he said, pulling out a crumpled kerchief to mop his brow, ‘what treasure will we find?’ adding, ‘I did warn you.’
‘No worries,’ Sebastian said. ‘You did.’
‘Mrs. Cohen passed away recently and left the property to her nephew. He forewarned me that the apartment probably hasn’t been updated for decades. He’s not set foot in Gibraltar for years himself and is not planning to, so if you’re interested in a long lease we can surely come to some arrangement on the rent. A free hand to adapt it to your needs. Within reason, of course.’
Sebastian smiled. ‘What are we waiting for?’
They stepped into a wide corridor towards the interior, lined waist high with the same patterned tiling as the stairwell. Mimi caught up with them and trailed a hand along the cold tiles.
‘Grandeur,’ she said, true to her habit of testing out words.
The high ceiling in the inner hall was festooned with intricate plasterwork – now crumbling – cherubs missing wings and roses with broken petals. There was a stillness – a sense of lifelessness – as though every particle of dust had settled a long time ago and no movement had been made, no word uttered in these rooms since. Sebastian felt his steps creating an almost visible turbulence of molecules.
Stagnetto led them straight through a wide corridor into the living room. The expanse of it lay in darkness, the walls a dull mud colour and crammed like an auction warehouse with antique furniture. At the far wall were four tall, arched windows. Sebastian stepped up and parted the heavy velvet curtains. He smiled when he saw that it faced the Rock, although the sharply rising incline didn’t let much light in. The tower of the ancient Moorish castle loomed to the left under the highest peak.
Studying this vertical bit of wild nature, Sebastian saw nothing that betrayed the mystery within, the secret spaces hidden in its interior. He knew that the Rock of Gibraltar was honeycombed by nearly fifty kilometres of manmade tunnels, most of them burrowed by thousands of soldiers during World War Two. But there were others, hundreds of years old. It was a structural engineer’s dream, the layering of passages and spaces within this megalith of solid rock. Also, there were one-hundred-and-sixty natural caves, some with subterranean lakes. As soon as he had a moment, he’d apply to the Ministry of Defence to have one of their private tours of the tunnel systems.
‘Sebastian,’ Mimi called from the doorway. ‘Get your butt back on the tour here.’
He let the curtain fall and a cloud of dust billowed into the room.
Beds, overstuffed armchairs and enormous oak wardrobes filled the three bedrooms. Two of them were tidy and austere, like show pieces. The biggest room, however, looked like it had recently been lived in. It had a dressing table covered with numerous pots and flasks. Two pearl necklaces hung over the mirror. The double bed had been hastily made and had a burgundy dress draped over it. On the back of a chair hung a pair of old-fashioned women’s drawers, a petticoat and a brassiere, as if the occupant had just slipped out of them in order to do her evening ablutions. Sebastian felt uneasy about trespassing on a woman’s intimate space. A dead woman, at that.
His attention was drawn to the middle of the floor. Where a dark patch stained the floorboards, a lady’s shoe lay, as well as something hairy and dead. Mimi was the first to react, approaching to pick it up by her thumb and forefinger.
‘Ah, goody, a dead rat. Can I keep it? If you don’t mind, Mr. Stagnetto. I love desiccated bodies.’ She dangled it in the air and winked seductively at the rental agent who had not ceased sweating.
What had got into her? One of those devilish moods. Perhaps she was coming out of her glumness and getting over her resentment at finding Eva installed in his life.
‘Not funny, Imogen,’ said Sebastian, trying to keep a straight face. He patted Stagnetto’s arm. ‘I think it’s a wig.’
‘Would you like to see the bathroom?’ said Mr. Stagnetto.
‘How far is it?’ said Mimi, draping the wig on a bedpost.
The bathroom, too, was like a ballroom, floor and walls tiled in white. A tiny frosted window threw a grey gloom over the fixtures. A Victorian bathtub – big enough for a regatta – dominated the room, and above it, heavy black iron brackets anchored a massive hot water tank to the ceiling. It sizzled audibly, and a red light indicated that the contraption was lit.
‘Did you know this water heater is on? Sebastian asked. ‘It’s boiling.’
‘Goodness!’ said Mr. Stagnetto, staring at it for a long moment. ‘So it is.’
He quickly motioned them into a vast kitchen. Along three walls were vintage hand-built counters laid with beautiful antique tiles. An enormous pine table dominated the centre of the room. Only one chair belonged to it, and on it, one plate and one glass. Some substance on the plate had shrunk and cracked, and the contents of the wine glass had dried to blood-coloured dust. A linen napkin lay neatly folded on the side, graced with one clear impression of red lipstick.
The three of them stared at this tableau for several seconds and even Mimi was speechless. Taking a few steps forwards to peer at the plate, she gave a tinny laugh and quickly covered her mouth with her hand. Sebastian approached, putting a paternal arm around her shoulders. They studied the leathery remains of a meal.
‘Oh, heavens!’ Mr. Stagnetto threw his hands in the air. ‘I can’t apologise enough. I was told the place had been sealed up, but somehow I never imagined… I should have checked before bringing you here. I did warn you, Mr. Luna, but you insisted…’
‘How did she die?’ Sebastian asked quietly.
‘Right, well… I won’t lie to you. She choked, I’m afraid. But be assured, it was a while ago. A year perhaps…at least six months.’
‘Macabre,’ murmured Mimi. ‘Who found her?’
‘I understand it was the downstairs neighbour who raised the alarm. He used to drop in to check on the old dear from time to time.’
‘How long?’ Mimi wondered. ‘I mean, between his visits.’
‘Mimi!’ Sebastian gave her a stern glare.
‘Well, think about it,’ she went on. ‘It’s pretty obvious what’s happened here. A piece of that very meal got stuck in her throat. She managed to run into the bedroom where she tore off her wig. Or perhaps the wig fell off when they carted her out of there. I just wondered how long it took for the neighbour to come and visit.’ She lowered her voice. ‘Shit, it would make a great subject for a short story.’
Sebastian’s hand tightened on her shoulder. ‘C’mon. Cut it out!’
‘No, no. This is all my fault,’ cried Mr. Stagnetto. ‘I should h
ave trusted my instincts and not brought you here. This apartment is not… I shouldn’t have…’ With his short chubby arms he tried to herd them back towards the hallway but Mimi stood her ground.
‘It’s perfect,’ she declared. ‘We’ll have the place, won’t we, Sebastian?’
‘Mimi, don’t get ahead of yourself.’ He turned to the agent. ‘My fiancée will have to see it. I’m not sure the girls will see eye-to-eye on this.’
Mr. Stagnetto’s face was florid, but he chuckled. ‘Of course, of course. I understand. Miss Luna can obviously see the potential here. With the right little touches, this place could be quite impressive. Fit for a king.’
‘Majestic, capacious, imposing,’ Mimi whispered.
Sebastian tried to look unconvinced but the truth was, he agreed. Dilapidated though it was, the apartment had space to house an entire army, and the cool darkness of the building appealed to him – too much light intensified his insomnia. Besides, the particular ‘spirit’ of this apartment moved something in him. Within his very bones stirred a memory of wellbeing and security. Of course! It was the same dark rooms, the echo off the indigo tiles and the high ceilings, the smell of old furniture of his grandfather’s house. In his childhood he’d spent many a month in Seville with Papito, until his parents divorced, his studies took precedence and he became Mimi’s designated babysitter.
But would Eva like this sombre atmosphere? He hoped that the extensive terrace might win her over. He could get someone to rig up some sort of awning and buy a barbecue, some potted plants and garden furniture; perhaps that way she could be swayed.
While Mimi had another dash around the rooms, Sebastian took Mr. Stagnetto aside in the hallway. ‘If my fiancée wants to see the apartment, could you make sure all traces of Mrs Cohen have been removed? In fact,’ he lowered his voice further, ‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t refer to it. I think it’s best to just forget whatever it was that happened here. There is no reason why we should know about it.’
‘Quite, quite,’ said Mr. Stagnetto. ‘In fact, there is absolutely no need for me to be present. Come by the office tomorrow afternoon and pick up the keys and you can show Miss Eriksson around yourself. I’ll send someone over this afternoon to clean and remove any evidence of the…tragedy.’
Eva
She’d left Sebastian to his migraine and walked through Gibraltar, crossed the airport runway and the frontier, flashing her passport at the Spanish border guards. Ten paces further and she was in the Spanish town of La Linea, and knew immediately she’d entered another country; it had a totally different feel to it.
The shop was easy to find; Movistar was a popular cellphone network provider. She waited patiently in the line-up. The girl behind the desk was taking an inordinately long time, dealing in passable English with a handsome young German. Eva couldn’t believe the sheer leisureliness of the transaction, but nobody else in the queue seemed particularly bothered. This was Spain after all, with its famous cliché: mañana.
Finally it was her turn and she opted for a cheap model with a pay-as-you-go contract.
‘Are you sure it will have coverage in Gibraltar?’
‘Yes!’ The girl sighed with a slight roll of the eyes. ‘I said this already.’
‘From Spain, and outside Spain, with this Spanish number?’
‘Movistar don’t like this, but Gib is too near, so what can we do?’ The girl launched a long scarlet fingernail towards the glass frontage of the shop. ‘There, look! There is your English Rock.’
Everyone in the line-up turned in unison to look behind them, including Eva. Yes, there it was, the megalith of Gibraltar penetrating the sky, so near you could almost touch it… a tiny British colony and a great big thorn in the Spanish flesh.
‘I’m not English,’ Eva said quietly. ‘I just live there.’
‘If you live on the Rock, why you not get Gib phone?’
A couple of people sniggered affirmatively.
‘Look… I’ll take the damned phone.’
She sat down on a bench on the La Linea seafront promenade and looked at the gadget in her hand. Calling California would eat up a chunk – if not all – of her free minutes, but this first phone call was shamefully overdue. Her hand felt unsteady as she dialled the number from memory, then held her breath while the call raced across the vastness of the Atlantic and the whole landmass of the U.S.A.
‘Yeah?’
‘Is that you, Linda?’
There was a long pause. She’d forgotten all about the time difference.
‘Linda?’ Eva repeated. ‘It’s me!’
‘What!’ Linda shrieked. ‘I can’t believe it! Chantelle?’
Eva flinched on hearing the name. It sounded so foreign. ‘Yes, well no. Forget Chantelle. I’m back to being plain old Eva. How are you, Linda?’
‘My God, girl! You! It’s been almost a year.’
‘Yeah, I’m really sorry. I just didn’t dare call anyone back home.’
‘Never mind,’ Linda said softly. ‘I got your message, right after you did it. I was so thrilled for you, but totally terrified. Where are you?’
‘It’s better I don’t tell you. But I’m okay. I’m happy. I’m with someone…’
‘Someone?’ said Linda, at once suspicious.
‘You’d approve, I think. He’s amazing, but different.’
Linda wasn’t easily convinced. ‘Different from what?’
‘Very different from Adrian.’
‘Oh, baby, I hope you know what you’re doing.’ Linda paused. She was lighting a cigarette – some things never changed – then inhaled deeply. ‘You can tell me anything, you know. You trust me, don’t you?’
Eva regretted sounding cagey. Linda was the best friend she’d ever had, her only confidante for nine unbearable years.
‘Of course I trust you. I’m in Spain,’ she said knowing that this truth was a roundabout lie, and the very logic behind getting a phone in Spain instead of Gibraltar.
‘Spain! How romantic,’ Linda trilled. ‘So who is this mystery man? Spanish?’
‘No, English. I met him in Dubai, diving. He’s an unusual guy, very smart and…intense.’ She laughed. ‘Linda, you have every reason to mistrust my judgment, but I think he’s the one.’
‘Well, you sure as hell deserve it,’ Linda said darkly. She’d hated Adrian. In fact, the feeling had been mutual. Adrian had done everything to keep Linda at a distance.
‘Do you know anything about him?’
‘No,’ Linda said. ‘I saw his brother in a gas station a few months back, but he didn’t recognise me. I didn’t see the point of saying “hi”. He might have mentioned me to Adrian and he’d come looking for me with a cricket bat. He had ways to make you talk, didn’t he?’
‘Yeah, just as well you didn’t.’
‘Have you googled him? That might bring something up.’
‘A few times, but it’s pointless. I’m sure his identity and movements are classified for security reasons.’
‘Right, of course. I didn’t think of that.’
‘I’m putting all bets on the present.’
‘That’s my girl. Just be sensible.’
‘I miss you, Linda. I’m so sorry I’ve taken this long. Listen, you’ve got my number now, you can call me if you hear anything you think I should know.’
‘Hey, I’m thinking about a holiday. Where in Spain are you?’
Like a small tornado, anxiety stirred within her. She was not ready for it – opening the door to let her past come back in – not in the flesh. ‘God, Linda. I’ve not even asked you how you’re doing. How’s Michael? You still together?’
‘Ah, no. He went back to his wife. The kids, you know. I can’t say I blame him. He comes around for a tumble once or twice a month and while he does a good job, why should I put him off?’
Eva chuckled. Linda, practical as always. ‘And sales…? Are you still with Century 21?’
‘No, I’ve teamed up with Miles Haynes and opened our ow
n little agency. We’re doing great…that’s why I feel I can afford a holiday. Haven’t had one for nearly a year.’
‘Give me a couple of months to get settled,’ Eva said hurriedly. ‘It’s all very new and I’ve inherited a teenager – a little sister – and I’ve got to try and form some kind of working relationship with her, which is proving quite a challenge.’
Linda hesitated. ‘Okay. I get it. No worries. Maybe in the fall, then. Let’s keep in touch.’
‘Yeah. Let’s keep in touch.’
Linda must have caught the restlessness in her voice. ‘All right, baby. You take it easy, you hear?’
‘Big hugs, Linda. Thanks again for being such a wonderful friend.’
*
She surfaced from a dive in a murky sea, awakened by Sebastian’s dynamic pacing around the room. The first thing she saw was the open suitcase at the foot of the bed. She had no idea what time it was but she could hear the squawking of thousands of gulls, a sure sign of the Gibraltar morning. Her new partner was an early riser: he was dressed, shaved, his black hair slick from a shower.
She stretched and flung the sheet off her. The air-conditioning unit buzzed gently but it was already hot, the tropical humidity entering the room by God knows what means. It would be good to breathe the night air, but a sign on the balcony door said ‘Keep Closed’ to stop the apes sneaking in to rummage through guests’ possessions.
