She let the question hang in the air and saw that although the contempt on his face had not entirely faded, it had dissolved into something more complex.
‘I don’t know what you’re trying to do, but if you think you can frighten me, I can assure you, you’re sadly mistaken ... But I’m loath to ruin the hard work of one of my best employees or run the risk of bringing something as ambitious as the Tetuán project to a standstill. I have no intention, however, of wasting all day with you, so just name your price and I’ll pay it.’
‘I want to know what you and my grandfather talked about that afternoon. That’s my price.’
Julio Carrion González clenched his fists, making no attempt to disguise his irritation.
‘Your grandfather is dead,’ he said, after a moment. ‘How will you know whether I’m telling you the truth? That I’m not conning you?’
‘Go ahead, try,’ she said. ‘I don’t think you can fool me, Señor Carrion. I knew my grandfather extremely well, so well, in fact, that having spoken to you only for a minute, I’m fairly sure I know what happened that afternoon.’
‘Really?’ He paused and looked at her with disdain. ‘Why don’t you tell me?’
‘You offered him money, didn’t you? And he wouldn’t take it.’
She knew she had hit the mark when Julio Carrion looked away, his eyes moving slowly around the room as though seeing it for the first time.
‘I’m going to tell you something that may surprise you,’ he said at length, ‘Señorita ...’
‘Raquel.’
‘Fine, I’m going to tell you something that may surprise you, Raquel. I had a lot of respect for your grandfather. Ignacio was a good man, honest and generous.’ He looked at her and saw that her expression had not changed. ‘I’ve met few men like him in my life, and I genuinely admired him. The fact that we weren’t alike, that we didn’t think or feel or believe in the same things, never stopped me from respecting him.’
‘I didn’t ask you what you thought of my grandfather’ - and I’m not going to get angry until I’m good and ready — ’and I have no interest in your opinion.’
‘Yes, but...’ Julio Carrion tried to smile but it faded under the forbidding glare of the woman sitting opposite him. ‘I just wanted you to know ... that afternoon ...’ He paused, and rubbed his forehead before continuing. ‘Ignacio came to tell me he’d come back to live in Spain, in Madrid, and he still had all the documents relating to his parents’ properties. That’s all he wanted to do, as far as I know. And you’re right, I did offer him money, a lot of money, but he wouldn’t sell me the briefcase. “I’d rather rob you of your sleep,” he said to me, “I’d rather you spent every day worrying about what I might be doing, what I might be planning to do. I’m going to ruin you, Julio, but you’ll never know how or when or where I’ll strike. I just wanted you to know that.” And that was it. He got up and walked out without saying goodbye. Oh, he called me all the names under the sun, and I’m probably paraphrasing a little, but I swear that was all he said.’
Now it was Raquel’s turn to be silent. She had been caught off guard by what he said, even more so by her conviction that Julio was not lying to her. It had to be the truth. It was the only thing that fitted with what her grandfather had told her, but she needed time to take it in.
Julio Carrion watched her. A moment later, he made a mistake.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me what I did?’ His tone was sarcastic again, mocking.
Had he not asked that question, Raquel Fernández Perea would have had time to remember the advice her grandfather had given her, his example in forgoing his revenge, reducing it to a threat he had no intention of ever carrying out. When she had opened his desk drawer, his granddaughter had found a gun and a case of bullets, one of which had had Julio Carrion González’s name on it for thirty years, but her grandfather had elected never to use it. Raquel understood Ignacio, she understood his reasons, and suddenly she felt a terrible surge of grief, pride, and love. ‘To live here there are some things it is better not to know. Things it is better not to understand.’ Maybe he was right, and she was about to accept this fact when she heard his question and looked up and her resolve was shattered by Julio Carrion González’s condescending smile.
‘I never took Ignacio seriously,’ he said, ‘I never felt the slightest fear, believe me. Oh, I offered him money, because at the time things in Spain were complicated, and I didn’t know who was advising him. Back then, we didn’t know whether the courts might intervene in these matters. That was what worried me, not him. Because I knew Ignacio, maybe not as well as you did, but I knew that he was too good, too sensible, to ruin his life simply in order to ruin mine. Back in 1947, he would have killed me, there’s no doubt about it, but in 1977 ... Even courageous men grow soft in old age, even the communists were prattling on about national reconciliation. Your grandfather is dead, and here I am chatting to you. That’s the way life goes. So why don’t we call a halt to these fantasies and talk business, because the only place the good guys win is in films, señorita.’
Bastard. You vile bastard. You vile fucking bastard.
Raquel got up, took her handbag and the briefcase and headed towards the door.
‘I don’t ... Where are you going?’
She stopped halfway and turned. Julio Carrion González was finally on his feet, leaning over the desk and staring at her.
‘I need to think things through,’ she said in the clipped, professional tone she used with her clients. ‘As you can imagine, I’m not about to make a decision right now, but don’t worry, I’ll get back to you.’ Then she walked quickly out of the office, closing the door behind her. The secretary looked up from her computer.
‘Excuse me,’ Raquel asked with a smile, ‘could you tell me where the toilets are?’
After throwing up her breakfast, she felt slightly better. When she stepped out on to the street, the icy stab of the wind from the mountains felt like a caress, and she took a deep breath. She wasn’t afraid any more, her legs felt strong, but what she had just experienced had left her in a curious state of detachment, a sort of spontaneous anaesthesia which made it possible for her to go back to work, sit at her desk and deal with the business of the day as efficiently as a well-programmed machine. She felt as though she were outside her own body, but her mind was working perfectly and could deal with anything, anything other than the office she had visited that morning. Perhaps this was why, when she left the bank, she did not go home but to her grandparents’ apartment. There, sitting on the sofa, she slowly regained control of her nerve endings and wondered whether she truly was Ignacio Fernández Muñoz’s granddaughter.
Even the most straightforward negotiations could be stressful but she dealt with them every day at work. She had never learned to play poker, but she knew how to bluff, knew how to bet on nothing more than a hunch. Sometimes she managed to make a great deal of money for her clients, and she was rarely wrong. So she decided to wait. She analysed the situation carefully, and concluded that the ball was not in her court. Carrion would do something. Quickly.
‘Hey, Sebastián.’ Raquel greeted him as though his call — less than forty-eight hours after her meeting with his boss — was a complete surprise. ‘Good to hear from you.’
‘Thanks ...’ he said, sounding uncertain. ‘Listen, are you at work?’
‘Of course ... aren’t you? It was still Friday the last time I checked...’
‘Yes, no ... That’s not what I meant. Are you in the office right now? I’d like to come up and talk to you for a few minutes.’
‘You’re here?’ Raquel was surprised. ‘Plaza de las Descalzas?’
‘Yes, that’s why I’m asking ... I mean, if you have a minute ...’
Raquel checked her diary, then her watch, then repeated the operation a second time.
‘I have a meeting at one o’clock, but I can spare you a few minutes ...’
Six minutes passed before Sebastián López Parra knocke
d on her office door. Raquel could not guess why he had come, but she was certain that this new development worked to her advantage.
‘Come in, come in.’ She got up to greet him and saw that he was nervous. ‘Please, take a seat ... So, then ... it’s strange you being on my patch.’
‘Yes, it is, I suppose. But actually, I’m just a delivery boy ...’
He was carrying a white envelope, which he now put on the table, together with a key. Then he looked at her and frowned, as though unsure of what the words he was about to say actually meant.
‘Don Julio Carrion asked me to bring you this. He insisted I deliver it to you in person, and said it couldn’t wait. He’s obviously decided to deal with your apartment himself. He didn’t explain what he was doing and I wasn’t about to ask, but I have to say ...’ He took off his glasses, looked at them, and decided against cleaning them. ‘Listen, Raquel, I don’t know who you are, or what’s going on, or why everything is suddenly so urgent, but...’
His words trailed off again, as though he couldn’t bring himself to say them aloud.
‘That envelope contains a contract proposing an exchange. Don Julio gets your seventy-square-metre apartment overlooking the Calle Avila and in exchange you get a hundred-and-eighty-square-metre penthouse with a sixty-square-metre terrace, in a luxury development on Calle Jorge Juan, within walking distance of the Retiro. And as if that wasn’t enough, he’ll also pay the taxes and conveyancing charges, yours and his. These are the papers and I’ve brought you a key because Don Julio thought you might like to look at it first, though personally I don’t think you even need to see it ...’
‘Really?’ Raquel smiled. ‘You’ve seen the place ...?’
‘The apartment? Of course ...’ He relaxed now, like a student who has just finished his oral exam. ‘Look, Raquel, this is the weirdest, most unbelievable thing that’s ever happened at Promociones del Noreste, take my word for it. I’ve been working there for ten years and I’ve never seen anything like it. You know yourself that Don Julio Carrion is no saint, and his son Rafa is worse, he’s a shark. Of course, he and his brother know nothing about this, that was the first thing Don Julio said, “the most important thing is that no one else finds out”. Just so you know, it’s not a simple swap, it’s much more complicated. He’s giving you the apartment and you’re giving him yours, then he’s selling yours back to the company for the same price everyone else in the building is getting. Why? So there’s no paper trail, obviously, so no one can ever find out he gave you this fabulous apartment in exchange for a shitty little apartment and start asking questions. Look, I’m going to tell you something, because I really like you ...’ He looked at her and laughed. ‘You’re about to make a killing on this, Raquel, you’re going to make an absolute fucking killing on it.’
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.
The Frozen Heart Page 85
