Free In Search of Murder--An Inspector Alvarez Mallorcan Mystery by Roderic Jeffries Page A

asked.
    â€˜I’ll tell you if no one else is listening.’
    â€˜You’re full of hopeless optimism for a man who won’t see fifty again.’
    â€˜I’m still in my early thirties.’
    â€˜And you believe in fairies.’
    â€˜I’m here to have a word with Marta.’
    â€˜You’re wasting your time. She’s at home.’
    â€˜Is she still depressed?’
    â€˜Naturally.’
    â€˜Is the señora here?’
    â€˜She’s away.’
    â€˜Then at least she’s better. So you’re on your own.’
    â€˜And going to remain so.’
    â€˜What are you preparing for supper?’
    â€˜
Escaldums de vigilància
.’
    Chickpeas – even Dolores has some difficulty in making them into a dish to enjoy. ‘No doubt they’ll be delicious.’
    â€˜You’ll never know.’
    â€˜Where does Marta live?’
    â€˜With her parents.’
    â€˜And they live where?’
    â€˜You think she wants you around when she’s at the bottom of everything?’
    â€˜Probably not, but I have to have a word with her.’
    â€˜Why?’
    â€˜To confirm or deny what I’ve been told. I’ll be as brief as I possibly can.’
    â€˜I don’t remember the address.’
    â€˜It’ll be written down somewhere in case someone wants to get in touch with her.’
    â€˜Could be, I suppose,’ she said reluctantly.
    â€˜Have a search for it.’
    â€˜Then you stay right here.’
    â€˜Why are you so suspicious?’
    â€˜Your eyes are more truthful than your tongue.’
    â€˜You must feel very flattered.’
    â€˜I was eleven when I learned a man’s flattery has only one target. Do you stay where you are or do I forget where to look for the address?’
    â€˜You’re a hard woman.’
    â€˜Far less trouble than a man who’s hard.’
    He watched her walk across the hall to a small table under which were telephone directories and a notebook of personal addresses and phone numbers.
    She returned, handed him a small square of paper on which she had written an address and number. ‘That’s everything, so there’s no need to stay.’
    He returned to his car. Women were suffering from hedonism when they thought men were always lusting after them.
    Ca’n Porta was a casita which had been enlarged in weathered stone to provide the amenities of modern life as opposed to the basic necessities of the past. A number of roof tiles had not yet been degraded to a dull, blotched colour by the weather and showed that the enlargement had been fairly recent. The door was opened by Eva Amengual who epitomised the traditional older Mallorquin woman. She honoured the past, was a little overweight but not obese, her features expressed determination leavened by a touch of humour, her manner was direct, sometimes overbearing. She spoke Castilian with occasional difficulty because her youth had been spent during the suppression of Mallorquin which had banished the language to the home or conversations with fellow, trusted Mallorquins.
    â€˜I should like to talk to Marta …’ he began.
    â€˜She cannot speak to you,’ she replied sharply.
    â€˜I know she’s very unhappy.’
    â€˜And yet you think to disturb her further?’
    â€˜I fear I have to.’
    â€˜You consider yourself of greater authority than her mother?’
    â€˜Because, unfortunately, Señor Picare died—’
    â€˜Death was never more deserved. Marta was betrayed by the Englishman, as Spaniards always have been.’
    â€˜She is young …’
    â€˜I need to be told how old she is when I bore her in great pain?’
    â€˜I’m trying to say that time will slowly lessen her sorrow.’
    â€˜You speak as a man who cares nothing for the troubles of others.’
    â€˜I understand them because I have known great sorrow.’
    â€˜Yet you work for the cuerpo