Free The Exile by Mark Oldfield Page A

and the opportunity to use live ammunition in a public place, Mellado launched into a speech about the occult underpinnings of democracy for a few minutes until, exhausted, he terminated his rambling discourse and made his way out of the hall, assisted by his bodyguards. His absence lowered the tension in the hall and conversation resumed once more.
    Just as Guzmán was enjoying monopolising Señorita Torres’s company, a waiter brought him a note inviting him to the general’s table.
    â€˜Would you excuse me? I’ll only be a minute,’ he muttered, looking round belligerently at several dapper young officers scattered about the nearby tables.
    â€˜Of course. I’ll chat to the bishop,’ Magdalena said, noticing the bishop tottering back to his seat just in time to prevent the waiter making off with his lobster. The waiter backed away cursing, his hopes of selling the platter on the black market suddenly dashed.
    Before Magdalena could speak to him, she sensed someone standing behind her and turned, her eyes narrowing as she saw the short plump man leaning on his walking stick.
    â€˜Señor Bárcenas.’ Her tone suggested she’d discovered something vile on her shoe.
    â€˜Since you’re alone, perhaps I should join you?’ His voice dripped with bogus charm.
    â€˜You most certainly may not. I’ve already made it quite clear I don’t want you as a business partner and I certainly don’t want to sit at the same table as you.’
    â€˜You’d be wise to accept my offer,’ Bárcenas said, spraying spittle.
    Magdalena glared at him. ‘Was that a threat?’
    â€˜It’s simple business sense. Your father’s incapable of running things and you...’ He paused to mop his thick lips.
    â€˜What about me?’
    â€˜You’re a whore.’
    Magdalena took a sip of wine. ‘Go away, you odious little man.’
    â€˜A business like yours needs a man at the helm.’ His eyes flicked over her neckline.
    â€˜Since I doubled our profits over the last two years, I scarcely think we need the dubious benefit of your presence in the company, Señor Bárcenas.’
    â€˜You’re alone and women on their own are always vulnerable.’
    â€˜I expressed my sentiments a moment ago,’ Magdalena said angrily. ‘I could rephrase them in the language of the gutter, but it wouldn’t be polite to tell you to fuck off. Though, frankly, that’s my answer.’ Behind Bárcenas, she saw Guzmán returning from the general’s table. ‘Do go away before you’re sorry, Señor Bárcenas.’
    â€˜I’ll ruin you. It’s about time people knew what a slut you are.’ Bárcenas frowned.
    â€˜Take your offer and shove it up your arse,’ Magdalena snapped. She glanced across the table. ‘Sorry, Bishop.’
    The bishop kept his head down, shovelling lobster into his mouth while keeping a wary eye on the waiter. ‘I’ve heard worse this evening, my child, believe me.’
    Bárcenas lifted the cane in his right hand. ‘No one talks to me like that.’
    â€˜I think the lady made herself clear,’ Guzmán said, behind him.
    Bárcenas turned, angrily. ‘Who do you think you’re—’
    He didn’t finish the sentence. Guzmán snatched the cane from his hand, snapped it and threw the pieces to the floor. ‘Get out, before I do the same to you.’
    â€˜You wouldn’t hit a cripple?’ Bárcenas spluttered.
    Guzmán shrugged. ‘I’ve had plenty of practice.’
    As Bárcenas hobbled away, Magdalena signalled the waiter to bring more wine.
    â€˜Who was that?’ Guzmán asked.
    â€˜Alfredo Bárcenas. He’s chairman of the local branch of the party and a black market racketeer.’ She unfolded her napkin as the waiter brought her lobster. ‘We don’t get on.’
    Guzmán paused. ‘If