Autumn in Catalonia

by Jane MacKenzie

  Had he also killed Alex, all those years ago? He didn’t have a gang at his command back then, so he would have to have killed him with his own hands. Or would he? Sergi was a manipulator, and back then was primarily concerned with building his own advantage from the chaos of the end of the civil war. Other men were hotheads and dupes and fanatics, and Sergi’s entire success had come from knowing how to exploit them. As she thought about it a scenario came to mind of Sergi watching Alex as he left work, speaking a quiet word in the ear of an angry group of Franco’s men, on the loose and looking for game in a lawless Girona.

  And that’s what he could still do to Carla and Luc. He had found the easiest, most painless way to have Luc removed from Carla’s life back in the summer, and he had left Carla with her grandmother while he watched her growing pregnancy and made his plans. He would let Carla go now, for fear of the documents she held, but would he really let her disappear completely? He was an angry man, and his anger could burn very cold. Would he be watching when Luc went for his first job, or for his first promotion? Would he track them so that they never quite got the housing they wanted? None of these things could be pinned on him, or would make Carla use the document against him.

  She had never before viewed Sergi as malevolent. He had been aggressive, controlling, and so often angry with her and with Carla, but all of this she could understand, and indeed had taken a lot of the guilt for it on herself. She knew he was calculating and power-loving, but so were all his senior colleagues – Franco’s regime had encouraged them, pitting official against official, politician against politician, in a policy of divide and rule that shared out the rewards and made sure that no one grew too big for his boots.

  Even what he had done to Carla and Luc could be seen, not as malicious, but as him overcontrolling a situation he disapproved of. So what made her think he would act henceforth with cold malice? Only his anger, she thought, that anger that had been growing and that must now be burning even more fiercely after Carla’s visit.

  Joana moved away from the window and sat at her dressing table, looking steadily at her own reflection in the mirror, grimacing at her face, pinched and pallid in the cold light now filtering in through the window. No more excuses now, she thought. No more protection. I have to take my stand and know whose side I’m on.

  She stood up and pulled on a dressing gown, wrapping it tight around her for warmth. Behind her Martin stirred, and she went over to him, shaking him gently by the shoulder until his eyes opened, bleared and bewildered.

  ‘You need to go now, Martin, before the house awakens. You should go back to your room and get a bit more sleep there.’ She smiled at him, feeling a kind of tenderness which had been long dead in her. ‘I think you need more sleep, carinyo, after I woke you up last night. Was I crying out so loud, to wake you down the corridor?’

  He shook his head, looking troubled. ‘I was already awake.’

  ‘Worrying about us all, as usual?’

  He nodded, frowning.

  ‘Don’t worry about me, Martin, I’ll be all right. And so will Carla, I can promise you that. I’m going to make sure of it.’

  He looked a query at her, and she held a finger to her lips and smiled. ‘No words just now.’

  She moved towards the door and opened it slightly to check that the coast was clear. Martin followed her, and before she held the door open for him she took him in her arms and kissed him on the cheek.

  ‘Thank you, cousin, for what you did for me last night. You brought me compassion, and closeness, and I haven’t known that for nearly twenty-five years.’

  She heard her voice shaking. That’s what comes of living in a cold, hard desert all those years, she thought. When someone brings a little warmth into your life you just can’t handle it. But she was handling it better than Martin.

  ‘Don’t thank me, Joana,’ he said, and then his voice cracked and he couldn’t say anymore. He pulled away from her and disappeared.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Carla was looking forward the following morning to talking to her mother about her real father. She’d dreamt nightly since last Friday of the dark man who’d visited those earlier dreams when she was a child. She didn’t want to talk about Sergi anymore. How many times could they repeat between them that he was a monster who had hijacked their lives? If they talked instead about Alex, would it not give them the chance to give him life and to be more positive?

  She’d worried all night about having told her mother what Sergi had said. She’d had to do it, she knew that – Joana was at a turning point, and only the truth would help her to make the right decisions for her future. But knowing this didn’t stop her feeling guilty as she remembered Joana’s stricken face and subsequent silence last night – all evening as they chatted Joana had joined in mechanically, but tight little lines fretted at her forehead, and she looked fragile as Carla had never known her.

  So it didn’t surprise her that Joana didn’t appear for breakfast, or even later in the morning. She thought her mother might have had a bad night, and hoped that now she was sleeping. But she was impatient to see Joana, nevertheless. Tomorrow she and Luc must leave for Terrassa, and Carla didn’t know when she could expect to see her mother again. Their reunion was still fragile, and there was much they still needed to say to try to build bonds for the uncertain future. Not least, Carla wanted to keep the promise she’d made to Uncle Josep in Barcelona, to tell Joana about him, about his life, his wife, the children, and how much he longed to see his lost sister.

  Paula came and went about the breakfast dishes with the mute stoicism that seemed to define her, and after breakfast Martin and Luc took a packed lunch and went off together for a long hike up the hill, needing the space and the exercise. Carla went for a rather gentler walk herself, returning to the house just before lunchtime, and was surprised to find that there was still no sign of her mother. She went through to the kitchen and found Paula cleaning silver. A single plate of leftover chicken and salad stood on the sideboard, and on the hob a small pot was steaming with what smelt like boiling potatoes. By all the evidence only one lunch was being prepared today.

  Carla looked a query. ‘Is Mama not having lunch today, Paula?’ she asked.

  Paula looked stolidly at the bowl she was cleaning. ‘She isn’t here, Miss. Toni took her down to Girona early this morning, before any of you were up. She told me not to bother you, but to tell you if you asked that she would be back this afternoon.’

  Gone to Girona? Carla was astonished. What on earth had taken her mother to Girona? Her mind shot back to last night, and her revelations to Joana. Surely this sudden trip must have something to do with the news she’d given her? Oh help, she thought, has Mama gone to confront Sergi? I was right to have been worried about having told her, right that she must have had a troubled night – so troubled that she has abandoned caution, it seems. She looked so desolate last night, and there was no way to reach her. A lick of fear went through Carla at the thought of what Joana might be doing. Surely she hasn’t thrown everything to the wind?

  ‘Did she say what she was going to Girona for?’ she asked Paula, though she was sure that Paula would know nothing. A shake of the head gave her an answer, and she nodded and stepped back, accepting defeat.

  ‘Well, she’ll no doubt tell us when she gets back. Would you like some help with the silver, Paula?’

  Another shake of the head was the only reply, so Carla took herself off, and after a solitary lunch she tried to keep herself busy while she waited for her mother, or for Luc. She wanted Luc to come back and reassure her again that the things she had told her mother were the things that needed to be told, and that a sane future depended on everything being open, but the guys were taking ages to return.

  Eventually she heard them. There was an almighty series of crashing noises behind the house, and the sound of men’s voices whooping through the trees. Carla got up and went through the kitchen and out to the back, and there she found Luc and Martin, lyin
g in a heap together in the cleared ground just behind the house, heaving for breath, scratched and covered in pine needles, but laughing like ten-year-old boys.

  Carla looked up at the sheer slope above them and realised they’d chosen to come back down from the summit through the trees, rather than by the longer path. A mad act by unruly youths and it was lucky they hadn’t broken ankles and knees between them. But they looked renewed and refreshed, and Luc had his old grin back.

  They lay for a moment, both flat on their backs, and Luc pointed up at the cloudless sky.

  ‘That,’ he said, through heaving breath, ‘is the most amazing sight in the world! When you’re stuck in a cell and your only exercise is in a covered yard, you long to see the sky. I’ve been gazing at it non-stop ever since they let me go.’

  ‘And yet we spent most of this summer complaining about how hot it was,’ Martin commented. ‘It was too hot for walking, and I’m sorry to say we didn’t spend much time looking up at the sky! It’s amazing what you take for granted.’

  ‘It’s good to be able to take things for granted! One day here in Spain we’ll be able to take ordinary life for granted, and all we’ll have to do is live and put in a decent day’s work, and never feel threatened by the police, or nasty-minded profiteers like Sergi Olivera.’

  Luc spoke without heat, matter of fact and relaxed as he continued to watch a single tiny cloud crossing the sky, scudding along with the wind.

  ‘That’ll come, though, surely?’ Martin queried. ‘Franco is getting old and by the time little Joaquima grows up you’ll be living in a different country. I only hope I’ll still know where you are and be able to find you again one day.’

  Luc sat up and grinned. ‘We’ll manage! As long as we know where you are we’ll make sure you know where we are. Who knows, we may need a doctor one day! But you know what we need right now? A shower! Carla is looking at me as though she could never bear to touch me again, and that, you know, is unthinkable! Carla, vida meva, will you make coffee for two men who adore you if they promise to present themselves to you clean and free of undergrowth in fifteen minutes or so?’

  ‘Of course, but Luc, Mama has gone to Girona – she was gone before breakfast, Paula tells me.’

  She had succeeded in stopping both men in their tracks. Martin froze, and stood stock-still, gazing at Carla with his mouth open and a look of horror on his face. Luc was still sitting on the ground, picking bits of twig and pine needles from his shirt, but at her words he stopped, and rose deliberately to his feet, a very thoughtful expression on his face.

  ‘It seems the news we gave her had a profound effect,’ he said, slowly.

  Thank you for saying ‘we’, Carla thought, but it was me who told my mother that her husband killed the love of her life. There was a shadow on Luc’s face that reminded her that he had only recently emerged from trauma, strung to the limit, though he hid it well. He didn’t need any more worries now, and yet if Joana had indeed gone to tackle Sergi there were implications for Luc and her that must be obvious to anyone. The cold, business-like understanding that Carla had reached with Sergi must be kept on those terms. If he was inflamed, then the beast might go on the rampage, and throw caution to the wind. He would come looking for them then, regardless of any potential consequences to himself.

  Uncle Josep’s words came back to Carla. What was it he’d said about Luc? ‘He’s had to use all his reserves, and now that his fight is over he could struggle, especially if he comes under any more pressure.’ Luc had been so buoyant for the last couple of days that it was easy to forget. ‘It will be a while before your lives are simple,’ Josep had said. How true that was.

  She looked at the two men, fresh from their hike, happy-go-lucky until three minutes ago, and was vexed with herself. I could have let them have a little longer in the sun, she thought. There was nothing to be gained, after all, by them knowing about Joana’s journey until she came back and could tell them herself what she had done, if indeed it was she who came back. Carla suppressed a quick frisson of fear, and rushed into speech.

  ‘Paula tells me that Mama has only gone for a few hours, and will be back this afternoon. I’m hoping she hasn’t done anything rash, but actually, knowing Mama, that’s unlikely. I shouldn’t have told you – she will do her own talking, when she arrives!’

  She caught Luc’s knowing eyes on her, and made herself smile. ‘I’ve been a little tense,’ she told him, putting her arm around him, ‘but now you’re here I can see I’ve been a bit stupid. Why don’t you go and shower, both of you, like you said, and then we’ll have coffee on the veranda while we wait. She won’t be long now.’

  Luc drew her to him and squeezed her, placing a kiss on her forehead. She raised a hand and stroked his unruly hair out of his eyes.

  ‘Love you,’ she said, and he smiled at her.

  ‘Been worried have you, little chamois? Well, that wasn’t stupid, because your mother hasn’t gone to Girona to buy bread, that’s for sure. But we’ll wait for her own words, like you say. Can we have some of Paula’s cakes with the coffee?’

  Over his shoulder Carla watched Martin, who still hadn’t moved. For a moment Carla saw through his eyes, and knew that he was consumed with fear for Joana. He was Joana’s champion, the medieval knight errant who had put himself at her service. A very gentle, caring knight, but very young, too, thought Carla, and right now he seemed too much alone. She disengaged herself from Luc and went to Martin, putting her arms round him in a very cousinly hug.

  ‘My mother will be fine, Martin,’ she assured him. ‘She’s a very astute woman, and knows her husband very well indeed. She won’t be doing anything reckless in Girona. She’s due back in an hour or so, and will come in here like a whirlwind, calling for champagne, and refusing to give us her news until she’s drunk it.’

  He nodded, saying nothing, and for want of any more comfort she could give him, Carla propelled him physically before her towards the house.

  ‘A shower now, el meu cosí, because you and my fiancé are a physical disgrace, as well as being reckless lunatics for running down that hill! We all need coffee, but you’re not having any in that state!’

  They drank their coffee, and despite the worry lines around their eyes Carla thought the two men looked better for their half day away from their daily drama. They kept up light conversation, but all of them must, she thought, now be waiting on tenterhooks for Joana to reappear. She kept her own fears to herself – fears that Joana might not come, or that the car that came up the track might bring Sergi instead. Both Luc and Martin probably had their own versions of these fears anyway.

  After a seemingly interminable period of small talk, they heard the car. All of them leapt to their feet, and by the time the Mercedes came into sight they were all three craning over the veranda wall, eyes fixed on the car as though they could see inside it from this distance. But it was Joana – a moment or two longer and that became clear. Her little pillbox hat could be seen outlined in the rear window. Carla breathed again, and led the others on a charge through the kitchen to be in the backyard as the car came round the house and drew to a halt.

  It was Martin who opened the car door for Joana, and who took her bag from her as she emerged, smiling and serene, to face the tense little group.

  ‘Well, my dears, it looks as though you’ve managed to work yourselves up into a nice little frenzy about me while I’ve been gone,’ she said, accepting her handbag back from Martin. ‘Shall we go inside? I do indeed have news for you, but I think it would best be told over a glass of champagne.’

  Carla began to laugh. Told you so, she wanted to say to Martin, but it wouldn’t be fair, when her words to him had seemed like pure fantasy to herself when she’d spoken them. Mama would always surprise, and if her demeanour now was anything to go by, she was very well pleased with whatever she’d just been doing in Girona.

  ‘Champagne, then, if you will, Mama, but then we need to know what you’ve been up to. How could you just l
eave us like that without a word of explanation, and expect us not to fret?’

  ‘Because you’d have tried to stop me. No – no more questions until I have a drink and something to eat in front of me. I’ve had no lunch to speak of and I’m starving.’

  The air was growing cool now, so they went through to the lounge, followed soon by Paula, bringing the drinks tray and some savoury pastries, which Luc and Martin attacked more avidly than Joana. Martin hadn’t eaten the cakes with coffee earlier, but now he seemed liberated, and had his eyes fixed on Joana. Well they all did. She had an audience.

  And finally she was ready to talk. ‘Well, my children,’ she said, ‘I’ve done what I probably should have done a long time ago. I’ve known for many years that Sergi wasn’t a good man, but his world was the only world that made any sense, and he didn’t seem any worse than any of his colleagues, any of our friends. But after what you told me last night, Carla, it all looked different. I have to say that all my rather fixed loyalty started to seem pretty wretched, and for the first time I found myself looking at him from outside, rather than inside, our marriage, if you see what I mean. It was good to blackmail Sergi and get him to set Luc free, but he’s a man who needs to win, and I had a vision of the future that would never really be free of him for Carla and Luc.’

  She shifted position on the sofa and took another sip from her glass. No one else moved.

  ‘I’d always felt that I should protect Sergi’s position, since that was what gave me and Carla our lives, and it should at least be respected. But last night, suddenly I no longer gave a fig for Sergi’s position. On the contrary, I realised that as long as he remains in a position of power he will always use it to follow us and control us all – to think otherwise was a pipedream. So I went to Girona.’