Chapter 15 Montagues and Capulets
Montagues and Capulets
The three of them said nothing, all too shocked to react. Eventually, Roberto closed the door behind him and stood there with water dripping off him, a puddle at his feet growing by the moment.
“Excuse the interruption.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I knocked, but I didn’t know . . . I didn’t suppose . . . I mean . . .”
“What are you doing here?” said Tristán, who had gone over to the bed, positioning himself between Roberto and Helena. “Who told you we were here?”
There was something endearing about the young man’s posture, a show of fierceness he absolutely did not possess. Roberto had to give it to him: It took a lot to stay cool when caught off guard in your underwear.
“Nobody told me anything,” he said. “I got caught in the rain. I’m a long way from the house I’m staying at, and was just trying to find somewhere to shelter. I heard voices and knocked on the door but—”
“That’s a lie!” Tristán cut in. “Who sent you? My father? Or was it Rosalía?”
“No one, I swear.” He raised his hands. “It happened by chance.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Please,” Helena said, in barely more than a whisper. “Don’t say anything to my mother or sister. I beg you.”
Roberto was speechless for a moment as the realization slowly dawned on him.
Tristán Docampo, the youngest Docampo, with Helena Freire, the youngest of the rival clan, naked together in a house far away from everything. He could imagine that their families would be far from happy if they knew.
He sighed and undid his parka before collapsing into a chair.
“Come on,” he said, gesturing to Tristán, “get dressed. This is awkward enough without you standing there half naked.”
Tristán flushed and muttered something, bending down to pick up his pants and hurriedly hoist them on.
“Would you mind turning around?” said Helena.
“Pardon?”
“I’d like to get dressed too,” she said, a little more firmly.
Roberto sighed and looked away as she got out of bed and reached for her clothes. It seemed as if the interlude of rustling clothes and zippers being done up was never going to end.
“That’s it,” she said at last.
Roberto turned again and saw the young lovers, fully dressed and sitting next to each other on the edge of the bed.
Tristán was holding one of Helena’s hands between his and looking at Roberto suspiciously. “Are you sure no one sent you?”
“I give you my word,” he said wearily. “Besides, I think we’ve got enough trouble on the island without creating more, don’t you?”
The pair exchanged a relieved look, with that deep expression, full of unspoken understanding, that can only be shared by two people who are intensely in love. Roberto groaned in irritation.
It was all he needed. As if he didn’t have enough problems already, he had just stumbled upon the island’s very own Romeo and Juliet.
Of course, instead of elegant Montagues and Capulets, he was dealing with a bunch of angry Freires and Docampos who would have no qualms about throwing him off a cliff if they learned he was concealing the tryst.
“Okay,” he said, “want to explain what you’re doing here? Apart from the obvious, I mean. That bit I can imagine.”
Helena turned red to the roots of her hair and mumbled something inaudible as she looked down at her feet. It was Tristán who spoke up.
“This is our safe place. It’s halfway between our two houses, and no one comes here in the winter. Antía has the keys because she rents it out in the summer. Helena managed to make copies without anyone finding out.”
“I get it. Your little love nest. Fine. How long have you been coming here?”
“Almost two years,” she said with a dignified look. “We’re in love.”
She said it with the steely determination that only a teenager in love can bestow on such a statement. Roberto looked at them sorrowfully. They certainly didn’t have it easy.
The only two people their age on the island, they were both good looking, and, despite the enmity between their families, in such a small place, they would inevitably bump into each other all the time.
They would have known the possible repercussions, but even so, he could see why they had ended up together.
“Does anyone in your families know?”
“No!” they both exclaimed, so completely in sync that, under any other circumstances, it would have been comical.
“I haven’t been here long, but I get the feeling they wouldn’t look very kindly on your relationship, am I wrong?”
“They don’t understand,” Tristán continued. “They’ve been at each other’s throats for so long, I don’t think they even remember why. But whatever, their problems aren’t our problems.”
“I doubt your father sees it like that.” He turned to Helena. “Or your family, for that matter.”
“Please promise you won’t say anything,” she said, her eyes glistening.
“And what’s your intention? To just go on creeping around until you get caught? Or until you miscalculate and get pregnant one day? What’s your plan?”
They both looked at each other, having another of those silent exchanges. Finally, Helena nodded, and Tristán turned to Roberto.
“We’re saving some money,” Tristán said, “from our jobs in the high season. We’re planning to leave next summer. Go to the mainland, find some work, and live together.”
“We’re adults now,” Helena added. “We can make our own decisions.”
They both spoke with absolute confidence, as if the plan were seamless. Roberto could see plenty of obstacles to that dream, and the families’ reaction was just about the least of them. But now something was occurring to him.
“It’s all right.” He raised his hands placatingly. “Your secret’s safe with me; you have my word.”
“Oh, thank you!” Helena groaned with relief.
“But . . .” added Roberto, and he saw the young lovers’ joyful looks turn to stone.
“But what?” Tristán asked cautiously.
“I need you to do something for me in return. I think it’s only fair.”
Roberto felt bad for playing with their emotions like this but saw no real alternative. A plan was forming in his mind right then and there—one that he could see actually working.
“You want money? Is that it? We don’t have very much, you ought to know.”
“I don’t want your money.” He shook his head. “There’s something I need you to do for me.”
“What is it?” Helena’s expression had darkened with distrust, and she had instinctively crossed her arms.
Roberto said nothing for a moment while he got his thoughts in order. With great clarity, he mapped out possible forks in the road and detours, as if he were plotting a novel with himself as protagonist and these two lovers as the supporting cast.
Presently he smiled, trying to appear more confident than he felt.
“Don’t worry, it’s nothing that hard.” Speaking airily to Helena, he said, “I need you to talk to your sister, Antía, and give her a message.”
“What message?”
“I need to meet with her, alone. And above all, without your mother knowing. It’s extremely important.”
“Why do you want to see her alone?”
“That’s my business,” he replied, putting on the sternest expression he could muster. “Tell her to come here, tomorrow at twelve o’clock. Can you do that?”
“She’s very worried about Diego just now.” A pained expression flashed across her face. “My brother hasn’t said a single word since . . . what happened yesterday. I don’t know if she’ll want to leave him on his own.”
“Well, you tell her that’s precisely what I want to talk to her about, but it has to be alone. I can’t stress enough how important that part is.”
“Okay, if that’s all it is, it should be fine,” Helena replied after a moment’s thought. “Sure, I’ll do it.”
“And what about me?” Tristán asked.
“I need you to look for something in your house and bring it to me. Something of your father’s.”
“Something?”
“A hammer, to be specific.”
“A hammer?” Tristán looked confused. “There must be half a dozen hammers in our workshop. What do you want a hammer for?”
“I need one in particular. It’s got a red wooden handle, with a rounded end. And it’s also got bloodstains on it.”
A silence fell. It lasted for three heartbeats while it dawned on Tristán what they were talking about.
“You mean the hammer Diego used to—”
“Yes,” said Roberto. “Do you know where it is?”
“No idea, but I can look.”
“And your father mustn’t know. Okay?”
“And if I bring you the hammer, you promise you won’t say anything about us?”
“You have my word.” Roberto raised his right hand.
“How can we be sure you aren’t lying to us?”
“You can’t,” Roberto snapped, more sharply than necessary, and he immediately felt bad. “You just have to trust me. Do we have a deal or not?”
Tristán swallowed and looked down at the floor, clearly worried. Eventually, he gave a nod.
“I’ll get you the damn hammer,” he said in a whisper, “but I’ll need time.”
“Three days. I’ll meet you here in the afternoon, three days from now, okay?”
Tristán Docampo gave another nod.
“Great.” Roberto stood up. “It looks like the weather is clearing up. Time for me to head back.”
He opened the door, with a bitter feeling in his heart, but he didn’t let it show. He had to see this through.
“See you guys again soon,” he said from the doorway. “Oh, just one more thing . . .”
“What?” said Tristán.
“Next time, make sure to lock the door?”
He left without looking back. The rain had eased, only a few scattered drops falling now. He walked away, a heavy ball in the pit of his stomach.
It was pretty disgraceful on his part, but he had no choice. With the plan he’d just come up with, he could see a way out of this whole mess.
First, the hammer, the only physical evidence linking him to Pampín’s murder: If it wasn’t in Luis Docampo’s possession, there was nothing to link Roberto to the murder. At a stroke, the noose around his neck would be gone.
That would put the ball back in the Freires’ court, since Diego would once again be the prime suspect in Pampín’s murder. More than a dozen witnesses had seen the boy hit Pampín with the hammer, and they had all presumed the poacher dead on the spot.
He still had no way of proving that Luis Docampo was responsible, but that was a bridge he would have to cross later.
As for Antía Freire, if he managed to get her alone, he could tell her the truth. From there on, he was counting on the hatred between the families, and the need to prove Diego innocent, to do the rest. As long as Antía believed him, of course.
However, none of this would help him unmask the mysterious Tangarano.
Nor would it solve the problem of the seventy-five million euros sitting inside the church in a couple of duffel bags, but again that was something to deal with later.
For the moment, he was taking steps to ensure his own survival.
He felt relieved: He realized that it was the first time since the previous day that he had actually felt a smile spreading on his face. He even found it in himself to whistle a tune as he made his way back to the cottage.
Everything was going to be all right. Somehow, it would all work out.
At least that was what he was telling himself.