Letters to a Stranger Read online

  After jumping in the shower and then rearranging the bottles and bath towels to my liking, I dressed and left in a hurry, grabbing a biscuit for my breakfast on the way out. Aris saw me off at the door with the most adorable expression on his little face. ‘Cheers, Aris. You’re a clever boy – yes, you are. I reckon we’re going to be friends!’ I said, dashing past.

  Although I’d left the house at quarter past eight, I found that Ramón Soler had already been waiting for me for some time. A sexy young secretary led me through to his office. Way too flashy for such a formal job, I thought. The solicitor, a man of high standing in the community, was seated at his desk, a forced smile on his lips, choking back his annoyance at being made to wait. At his side sat an older woman with a look on her face that said, I know the day has only just begun, but I simply cannot wait to go home. They were extremely chic in both clothing and demeanour, with the effortless style that comes naturally to those who have to dress well on account of their profession.

  Ramón rose to his feet to greet me. ‘Señorita Berta de Castro?’ he asked, holding out his hand.

  ‘That’s right. Pleased to meet you, Señor Soler.’

  ‘Please, call me Ramón.’

  ‘I’m so sorry I’m late, but it’s been years since I was last in Madrid,’ I apologised, as he squeezed my fingers in the perfect handshake – three firm yet steady pumps – with the confidence of someone who shook hands dozens of times every day.

  ‘I’d like to introduce Julia Peralta,’ he said, referring to his colleague alongside him, who had also now risen to her feet. ‘She will act as your sister’s proxy and together with the attorney will handle the other half of the inheritance. As you are aware, we’ve worked very quickly to set up this first appointment. Teresa told us yesterday that you have only a few days over here to wrap this up.’

  ‘I’m so sorry for your loss,’ Señora Peralta said by way of greeting, holding out her arthritic claw.

  ‘Mother would appreciate that, wherever she may be. You’re probably the only person to feel genuinely sorry that she’s gone.’

  They’d been there at the funeral the previous day. Both were rendered speechless for a few seconds, although the corners of the solicitor’s mouth turned up in a slow dry smile. He’d been dealing with my mother for years, and I imagined that he wanted to show his support without making it obvious to the person working alongside him on this inheritance case.

  Ramón gave an excellent summary of my legal situation regarding the inheritance, while the sexy girl stalked in and out of the office with the photocopies her boss requested over the intercom.

  ‘Well,’ he began, ‘Julia just sent me this information through yesterday, so I haven’t had much time to—’

  ‘I haven’t spoken to my sister in fifteen years,’ I said, surprising him again.

  Knowing my mother as I did, I was sure she would never have entrusted him with anything remotely personal.

  ‘I understand . . . And that’s why I’m here, to help sort out your affairs relating to your mother’s estate. It consists of two properties – the house in Villaviciosa de Odón, here in Madrid, and the one in Marbella – as well as her savings, which amount to some four hundred and twenty-two thousand euros. According to the most recent valuation, that should give us a rough figure of . . .’ He nodded at his colleague and she handed over the documents. ‘Right, according to the valuation . . . Ah yes, the house in Madrid, which will need a new valuation at current prices, is estimated to be worth around seven hundred and fifty thousand euros, and the one in Marbella around four hundred and seventy thousand. On behalf of your sister, her proxy here is authorised to make the proposal that she waive her rights to the properties in exchange for your mother’s savings. As you can see, that represents very favourable terms on your side. Naturally, all the legal fees would be split between the two of you . . .’

  ‘Well . . . yes, that does seem quite generous on my behalf. Do you have any idea why my sister would have made this decision?’

  ‘I’m not party to that information. Why don’t you ask her direct—?’

  ‘No, no, it’s fine,’ I interrupted.

  His colleague now took charge of the proceedings. ‘Señorita Berta, this process will take time. We have quite a bit of paperwork to fill out and we’ll need your signature on a lot of it. You may go now and return when we need you, or give power of attorney to a lawyer of your choice, as your sister did.’

  ‘For the time being I’ll remain in Madrid – for the next few days at least – but I won’t rule out the possibility of hiring a lawyer to represent me if it proves necessary.’

  ‘Of course,’ Señor Soler responded. ‘You will find copies of all the documentation in this file.’ He handed me a folder with the name of the firm stamped in gold letters on a crimson background. ‘When you’ve decided whether or not to stay on, and we’ve settled any outstanding business, then we can talk more specifically about the legal details of the agreement,’ he said, standing up to say goodbye. He was clearly in a hurry – perhaps my tardiness had made him late for an appointment with his next client. ‘I wish you a pleasant stay in Madrid, Señorita Berta.’

  He hurried out after another handshake, and then Julia did the same.

  I left the law firm feeling more relaxed. Everything had been so much easier and more profitable than I had hoped, although I didn’t fully understand the significance of what I had just learned. I didn’t trust Yolanda at all, and was sure that her generous offer wasn’t made freely but rather that some underhand motive lay behind it. Or did she just have so much money these days that her share in the properties meant nothing to her? What would keep her away at a time like this?

  It was a marvellous morning in which to be out and about. It had been so long since I’d last experienced this much warmth and sunlight . . . I decided to stroll through Madrid with my folder, and become reacquainted with the city I’d grown up in without ever really getting to know it. I fancied taking my time and strolling wherever the whim took me, which I never did in London, because right now I had the time and suddenly I wasn’t worried about money. The inheritance would come in handy for the changes I proposed to make to my restaurant – I needed a new kitchen and new fittings in the dining room. It felt good not to have to worry about paying my creditors or settling the staff wages. Business was good, but I constantly had to balance the books so as not to end up in the red. For once, something connected to Doña Alberta was actually making me happy.

  I stopped in front of the shop windows where the latest fashions were on display for the summer season: dresses, shoes and handbags . . . All the clothes seemed so much more festive and uninhibited than what the London shops had to offer, so I bought a few shirts and some expensive sandals, which were unlikely to find use more than a couple of times a year back home. Next I went into a department store and bought myself a Kindle. Bloody hell, I was a millionaire all of a sudden, and I’d been wanting a Kindle for such a long time! I decided to hail a taxi to take me home as well, now that I could afford it. Being rich certainly had its advantages.

  Because I was out of the habit, I suddenly realised I’d forgotten to take the keys from the sideboard. Previously when I’d lived here, I’d always had to ask for the keys from my mother; Yolanda and I had never had our own set. I called Teresa from the taxi to ask if a neighbour might have a key, or if there was one hidden under a flowerpot like in the movies. She told me she’d come to the house and wait there for me.

  So there I was, watching as she came up the little path to the front gate, a pair of neatly folded pyjamas on her arm for me, as though no time had passed at all.

  When I left, she was the only thing I missed out of the whole world I’d abandoned. I would have called her, but Teresa was still so close to my mother and sister. Staying in contact with her would have meant staying in touch with her environment – my former home – and I wanted to eradicate every little thing connected with the past from my life. Losing Tere
sa had been heartbreaking but inevitable.

  The visit to the solicitor’s office had made my trip over a little easier, and I was happy and in the mood to celebrate. ‘For goodness’ sake, Teresa, you don’t have to do that for me any more. Come on, put it down – I’m taking you out for lunch at the best restaurant in Madrid.’

  ‘Oh sure, love, and where would you take an old woman like me . . . ?’

  ‘Come on, come with me – let me spoil you for once! I’ll just put down my bags, nip to the loo, and then we’ll go. The taxi’s waiting.’ I looked at her for a moment. ‘You look fantastic – you always look perfect.’

  The taxi driver brought us to Santceloni on the Castellana – the best in all Madrid, he told us. Clearly uncomfortable, Teresa spent the entire ride trying to smooth down her hair.

  A veal terrine with foie gras now set in front of me, I began to tell her about my visit to the law firm.

  ‘I’m rich, Teresa,’ I said simply, even though I couldn’t be too sure until I’d signed all the paperwork. ‘Don’t ask me why, but Yolanda’s given me her share of the houses in Madrid and Marbella, while she gets our mother’s savings. Any idea why she’d have chosen to do this?’

  ‘Me? Don’t be silly, darling – the very idea . . . I honestly don’t know how long it’s been since I last saw your sister. I don’t know, maybe the money was simply enough for her and she didn’t think it was worth travelling all the way over here. Who knows where she might be or what she’s doing these days. She always was so restless—’

  ‘There has to be something else though,’ I said, interrupting, then took a sip of the Ribera del Duero. The wine blew me away – it was the best I’d ever tasted. I made a mental note to order some in for my restaurant. ‘From what I remember, there was no end to my sister’s greed. This is a lot of money we’re talking about.’

  ‘Well . . . I wonder if . . .’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I guess Bodo must have left her a fortune.’

  ‘And what? I’ve already thought of that.’

  ‘Darling, Bodo was your father. You must’ve thought about what you’d stand to inherit if you established paternity – it would be a lot more than what your mother left you.’

  ‘I hadn’t thought of that . . . It’s true, of course . . . Maybe that’s it.’ Teresa’s logic surprised me as it made so much sense. Then it dawned on me that this wasn’t just a simple hunch on her part – she knew far more than she was letting on. ‘I don’t want anything from him. As far as I’m concerned, I have no father, and I don’t think he thought of me as his daughter either. Well, moving on, tell me everything I’ve missed while I’ve been away.’

  Teresa fiddled with the ends of her scarf, then tentatively began to speak. ‘There’s so much to say – it’s been so long since we’ve been in touch . . . Your mother’s death was such a shock . . .’ For a moment her eyes shone with tears. ‘She was still so young – it was so sudden, you know? At least she didn’t suffer . . .’

  ‘And what about my sister? Tell me about when she got married,’ I said, changing the subject as I had no desire to talk about my mother.

  Teresa tensed up and the natural candour in her eyes vanished. I knew I wasn’t going to like what she had to tell me. But what else was new? I didn’t much want to know what had gone on in that house since I left.

  ‘Well . . . Yolanda . . . Well, you know how your sister was . . .’

  ‘Won’t you have a sip of this excellent wine with me? It’ll make you feel better.’

  ‘Certainly not, sweetheart. I don’t think—’

  ‘Come on, Teresa, just this once . . .’

  It did her the power of good and she resumed her account looking rather more confident and relaxed.

  ‘Around twelve years ago, I can’t remember exactly when, your sister fell in love with a young man more her own age – I think he was employed as the gardener at the house in Marbella. She was married to Bodo and they were spending a lot of time over there by then. With this young man, though, it was like one of those grand passions you see in the cinema.’

  I wondered blankly if she was talking about someone else, because my sister wasn’t capable of falling in love, no matter how much time had passed. But I didn’t want to interrupt Teresa’s flow.

  ‘I suppose it was only to be expected, because she hadn’t exactly married Bodo for love. The poor lad – the gardener I’m talking about now – was crazy about her, you know? The fact is that . . . Go on, give me another sip.’

  I passed her the glass. It made me extremely nervous that she needed more alcohol to be able to go on.

  ‘Well, the thing is, from the looks of it he loved her with all his heart and, well, he just couldn’t cope with having to share her with her husband.’ Teresa cleared her throat and went on. ‘Not that I judge him for it, heaven forbid, I’m just telling you what I heard. Anyway, to cut a long story short, your sister’s husband disappeared one night and according to the police, all the evidence pointed to foul play by her lover.’

  I couldn’t even blink. It sounded like the plot of a B-film, the ones that play on TV on Saturday afternoons.

  ‘The truth is, we don’t know for sure if he’s dead, because the body was never found . . . At first, the police suspected the pair of them. They even thought for a while that it was all your sister’s doing, but, based on the clues and witnesses that turned up, it had to have been him,’ she explained, with a strange expression I’d never seen on her face before. ‘You can’t imagine the commotion it caused. It was all over the papers and even on TV – you know how popular Bodo was in Marbella.’

  ‘Yes, I remember – that had to have been a mighty big shock. It’s just that . . . I can hardly believe what you’re telling me.’

  ‘Your mother didn’t want anything to do with it. It was weeks before she could watch TV again . . . Yolanda came back a few times after that, but it was horrible for your mother and she didn’t want to talk about it . . . One time she had a long discussion with one of the police officers who came over to question her. You know how secretive your mother was about her personal life . . .’ Teresa trailed off, trying to calm herself. She couldn’t even talk about my mother without getting emotional. ‘She just wasn’t herself after that. She stopped seeing her friends, couldn’t stand being around them . . . Whatever the case, the scandal truly hit her hard.’ She smoothed her hair nervously, knowing that her words were painful for me.

  ‘Oh yes, I know . . . the honour of the high and mighty Doña Alberta being questioned by her friends,’ I said, as nonchalantly as though we were just gossiping about a neighbour. In fact I felt quite removed from all of this and was almost enjoying it, savouring the sweet revenge that fate had thrown at my mother, although I then tried immediately to rise above the feeling, which felt beneath my dignity.

  ‘She’d tried so hard to make people think she’d not been with any other man since she was widowed. No one ever imagined that you and Yolanda had different fathers, and much less that—’

  ‘That my sister married my mother’s lover out of pure greed? And that my sister’s husband turned out to be my father?’

  I wanted to help Teresa confirm these statements by framing them as questions. I refused to play the same game we always used to, where none of us could talk out loud about the family’s disgrace – the way my mother had acted. Her efforts at leading a double life, hidden away from her family, friends and neighbours, had tortured me since my earliest childhood, leaving me profoundly traumatised so that I was unable to express myself with the ease and spontaneity that came so naturally to other people of my age. It was true: my father had been my mother’s lover for many years, even before she was widowed. My sister, five years older than me, was the product of the honourable marriage of Señor and Señora de Castro. When Fabián, my sister’s father, disappeared, my mother was already pregnant with me, although no one knew that the child in her belly was not that of her husband. The father was the man who had boug
ht the houses in Madrid and Marbella – Bodo, the German fellow who came to see us once in a while, passing himself off as a friend of the family. Over time, the relationship between my parents, Alberta and Bodo, had cooled. I remember that Bodo continued coming to the house, but was treated almost as an unwelcome guest. He was a man of considerable power, with a lot of money, and when my sister grew up she demonstrated quite openly that he offered the one thing she wanted: access to the finer things in life. She spared no thought for his being my father, or what this would mean for me and our mother. Yolanda never cared about anything but herself.

  ‘Teresa, you could make a good thriller out of my family story all right, but trust me – it wasn’t this marriage that ruined my life. The whole thing was one sordid, selfish struggle.’

  ‘I think your mother came to love Bodo in her own way . . .’

  ‘More than she loved herself? Oh, Teresa, after everything you witnessed in that house, how could you imagine my mother ever loved anyone else her whole life long?’

  Now I was looking at her close up across the table, I noticed how tired she appeared. She’d no doubt remained in vigil beside the coffin all night before the funeral. She shifted in her chair, stretched her skirt out over her knees, and went on with her story.

  ‘When the young gardener finally found out that all the evidence pointed to him being responsible for Bodo’s disappearance, he ran away. The authorities issued an arrest warrant, and a little later, when the charges had been dropped against her, Yolanda left too. Sometimes I wonder if they actually made a life together in Australia . . . I don’t know.’

  ‘Well, I reckon I can tell you the answer to that: I doubt very much that Yolanda’s in Australia, and you can bet your bottom dollar she’s not living with that guy. She’s never been honest about a thing in her life. As soon as she learned to speak, anything she said was designed to manipulate. You honestly think she’d risk giving up her privileged lifestyle for someone on the run from the law? I simply can’t see her doing that . . .’