Chapter 3
I arrived early at the villa on Wednesday. Hugo was in the kitchen, selecting which cuts would be served, but we barely greeted each other. As the waiters and sous-chefs arrived I tried to strike up a conversation, but they dodged every question, like talking to me might jeopardize their jobs.
As I took a quick shower and donned my tuxedo in front of the full-length mirror, I couldn’t help but think about Arthur.
His devotion to his fiancée was touching.
On two or three occasions, at different times of day, I’d walked past the corner of Rua Duvivier and Avenida Nossa Senhora and seen him from a distance sitting outside the café, his elbows on the table, his bloodshot eyes studying each passerby.
Until he found out about Ruth’s death, I was sure he would be at that café every day, waiting for the moment when she would cross the street, apologize for her sudden disappearance, and shower him in kisses.
That was the last place she’d supposedly been seen, and like a faithful dog, he would wait for her there for the rest of his life.
It was wrong to nurture a friendship, but I kept seeing him.
Deep down, I knew it wasn’t just for the information he could offer me.
Our stories had become inexorably entwined.
That night, as I was making my way downstairs to greet the guests, my phone rang. Unknown caller, but I answered anyway.
“Dante, it’s Arthur. Can we meet?” he asked, sounding stressed.
“What is it? Did something happen?”
“I’d rather not say over the phone.”
“I’m busy right now. Tomorrow morning?”
“Eleven o’clock at the café,” he said and hung up without saying goodbye.
After that call, I couldn’t concentrate.
Arthur had never been so short and matter-of-fact.
And why had he called from an unknown number?
Why couldn’t he talk on the phone? I couldn’t stop thinking about the call, about his tone.
Without a doubt, that night’s dinner was the worst ever.
I got rid of the guests as soon as I could, regretting that I’d scheduled the meeting for the next morning.
At home, I showered, put on my pajamas, and decided I wouldn’t do any drugs—no coke, no Molly, no weed, no Klonopin.
I stayed up all night.