Blood Red

Twenty-eight

Justine’s mobile number was on the business card that she had given me on my second visit to the town hall, two days earlier, to pick up the permission for the wine fair. As I dialled it, I recalled that I’d been greeted in reception by a junior clerk, not by Dolores the Dragon herself.

Business hours were over, but wherever the mayor was there was plenty of background noise. ‘It’s Primavera. Are you able to speak?’ I asked her.

‘Yes. I’m at a gathering of our party group to discuss the agenda for this week’s council meeting, but I haven’t called it to order yet; we’re still waiting for someone to turn up.’ Her voice was strained, not that of the confident politician I’d met before.

‘I’ve just heard about your mother. I had a visit from Gomez; he told me. What’s happened?’

‘We don’t know.’

‘How long’s she been missing?’

‘We don’t know that either. On Sunday, after she heard what had happened, she told me that she felt she should be with Elena. Even though things were as they were between Angel and his father, it had still come as a terrible shock. My sister’s always been a little bit fragile. . no, that’s the wrong word. . emotionally susceptible. I told her that was fine with me, and that she could come back to the town hall when she was ready. I thought no more about it. I was very busy on Monday and Tuesday, both days. It was only this afternoon that I got round to calling Elena, to see how she was, and to find out the time of the funeral. I asked her if Mother was still there, and she said, “What are you talking about?” She’d never been near her; she told me she hadn’t seen her since last Friday.’ Spanish people and Catalans always speak faster than Brits. . I guess that’s why I always have trouble following the in-flight English of Spanish cabin crew. . and the further she got into her tale, the more Justine went at it rapid fire.

‘Hey,’ I exclaimed, ‘slow down, calm down. When did you see her last?’

‘I told you; on Sunday, when we agreed she should take time off work.’

‘What did you do when you found out she wasn’t where she was supposed to be?’

‘I called her, of course,’ she said impatiently, ‘on her land line and on her mobile. No reply on either; in fact the mobile was switched off. I picked up Elena and we went to the house. .’

‘So you don’t live with her?’

‘No, I have a town house in Carrer del Mig; my father bought it, restored it and gave it to me. Mother still lives in our original family home, that was my grandparents’, on the top of Puig Pedro. Elena and I went there, but there was no sign of her. Her car wasn’t in the garage, everything inside was neat and tidy. But she’s gone; she’s vanished.’

‘But are you sure she’s missing? Justine, she’s a grown woman and she’s not in her dotage. Doesn’t she ever do things on the spur of the moment?’

‘My mother? No, never. As I told you, she’s old L’Escala, very set in her ways. She’d probably never have been further away than Girona if it wasn’t for my father. He made her go on holidays, took her to Belgium. .’

Wow, I thought, but stayed silent.

‘. . to Paris, to London. She’s hardly been out of town since he died.’

‘How did she take his death? Has she been depressed since then? Do you think she might still be?’

‘She dealt with it better than Elena and I did, to tell you the truth. My dad was a really nice man, a good father and a good husband, but he and my mother probably fell out of love years ago. I don’t remember any great affection between them. . you know what I mean, as there is between lovers.’

‘What happened to him?’ I asked.

‘He died,’ she replied, curtly. ‘He just died.’

I moved on, quickly. ‘Does she have family?’

‘She has a brother, but I have no cousins. They’re the last of the Fumado tribe around here. He hasn’t seen her, and has no idea where she could have gone.’

‘How about your father’s people? Could she have gone there?’

‘She barely knew them.’

‘I thought you said that you had an uncle, your dad’s brother.’

‘Yes, Georges, but he lives in Brussels. My mother probably met him three times in her life, at her wedding, at Papa’s funeral, and once when Elena and I were kids, when Papa took us to visit him.’

‘So he’s not part of the Belgian community here?’

‘No, and never has been. Believe me, Primavera, Mother will not be with him. Something’s happened to her.’

‘But what makes you so certain?’

‘I’ve checked with her hairdresser; she goes every morning, Monday to Friday, to have her hair arranged as you saw it when you met her; not Saturday, because it’s too busy, or Sunday because it’s closed, but every other day of the week, every other day of her life. My mother has her vanities, and her hair is the greatest of them. She hasn’t been seen there since last Friday morning, and that tells me for certain that something is wrong.’ She paused. ‘That and one more thing: her make-up bag is missing. Wherever she goes, it goes.’

‘I see.’ A mystery indeed, I conceded; no wonder Gomez had been a little stressed. ‘What did the police say when you and your sister went to see them?’

‘Their first reaction was much the same as yours. The sergeant we spoke to said that she’s neither a child nor an ancient, and that people have a perfect right to go off on trips without telling their families. I told her to go and fetch someone senior, and our friend the intendant appeared. Eventually he took me seriously. As for having any theories, that’s another matter.’

‘Yes, he was pretty perplexed when he spoke to me. Did he update you on his investigation?’

She whistled. ‘He did indeed. So the old pig had been entertaining a lady. Gomez did say that they had a suspect, but I got the impression, although I’m not sure why, that they’re not moving heaven and earth to catch them. If that’s true, then good; it’ll give them more time to find my mother.’ I heard a voice in the background, calling her name. ‘At last,’ she replied. ‘Primavera, our latecomer has arrived, I have to go.’

Afterwards, when I thought about it, I found myself coming back to one thing that the mayor had said. ‘I don’t remember any great affection between them. . you know what I mean, as there is between lovers.’

Yes, I know what she meant; it’s something I’ve longed for myself, from time to time. There had been a sadness in Justine’s voice; she had known such tenderness herself, but I found myself wondering whether, for all she had said of her mystery man, she still did.