THE NEXT TIME Victoria opened her eyes, she was blinded by the sunlight behind the curtains. She could smell coffee. She stood up and found a silk dressing gown that matched her pyjamas. There was also a pair of slippers at the foot of the bed. She heard a voice behind the door that seemed to lead to another room in the suite. Moving closer, she stopped to listen. The soft tinkling of a teaspoon in a china cup. Victoria opened the door.
A short corridor led to an oval room. On a table in the middle of the room, breakfast was set for two: a pitcher of orange juice, a basketful of bread rolls and pastries, a selection of jams, cream, butter, scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, sautéed mushrooms, tea, coffee, milk, and brown and white sugar lumps. The smell it all gave out was wonderful, and despite herself, Victoria’s mouth began to water.
A middle-aged man, of middling height, middling baldness and middling middlingness, was sitting at the table. When he saw her come in, he stood up courteously, smiled affably, and offered her the chair opposite him. He wore a black three-piece suit and had the pallid complexion of those who live behind closed doors. If she’d passed him in the street, she would barely have noticed him, or would have taken him for a mid-range civil servant, or perhaps a provincial notary visiting the capital to go to the Prado Museum and the theatre.
Only when one stopped to observe him closely did one notice his pale eyes, limpid and piercing, enlarged behind glasses whose oversize tortoiseshell frames lent him a vaguely effeminate air. His gaze seemed shrouded in perpetual calculation as he watched her, almost without blinking.
“Good morning, Ariadna,” he said. “Please sit down.”
Victoria looked around her. She seized a candlestick she found on a shelf and brandished it menacingly.
Completely unperturbed, the man lifted the lid off one of the trays and sniffed. “It smells marvelous. You must be hungry.”
He made no move to approach Victoria, but she kept the candlestick raised.
“I don’t think you’re going to need that, Ariadna,” he said calmly.
“My name isn’t Ariadna. My name is Victoria. Victoria Sanchís.”
“Please sit down. You’re safe here and you have nothing to fear.”
Victoria’s eyes were lost in that hypnotic gaze. A whiff from the breakfast reached her again. She realized that the fierce pain she felt in her guts was simply hunger. She lowered the candlestick and left it on the shelf, then slowly made her way to the table. Without taking her eyes off the man, she sat down.
He waited for her to be seated before pouring a cup of coffee for her. “Let me know how much sugar you want. I like it very sweet, although the doctor tells me it’s not good for me.”
She watched him prepare the coffee. “Why did you call me Ariadna?”
“Because that’s your real name. Ariadna Mataix. Isn’t that right? Still, I can call you Victoria if you prefer. I’m Leandro.”
Leandro stood up briefly and held out his hand. Victoria didn’t shake it. He sat down again graciously. “Scrambled eggs? I’ve had some, and they’re not poisoned – I hope.”
Victoria wished the man would stop smiling that way, making her feel guilty for not repaying his perfect kindness.
“It’s a joke. Of course there’s nothing poisoned. Eggs with bacon?”
Victoria surprised herself by accepting. Leandro smiled with satisfaction and served her, sprinkling a little salt and pepper over the small pile of steaming eggs. Her host had the easygoing manner of an expert chef.
“If you’d rather have anything else, we can ask for it. The room service here is excellent.”
“This is fine, thanks.”
She almost bit her tongue for saying “thanks”. Thanks for what? To whom?
“The croissants are delicious. Try them. The best in town.”
“Where am I?”
“We’re in the Gran Hotel Palace.”
Victoria frowned. “In Madrid?”
Leandro nodded and offered her the basket with the pastries. She hesitated.
“They’re freshly made. Take some, or I’ll end up eating them all, and I’m on a diet.”
Victoria stretched her hand out to take a croissant, and as she did so, noticed the needle marks on her forearm.
“We had to sedate you. I’m sorry. After what happened in El Pinar . . .”
Victoria jerked back her arm. “How did I get here? Who are you?”
“I’m your friend, Ariadna. Don’t be afraid. You’re safe here. That man, Hendaya, won’t be able to hurt you ever again. Nobody will be able to hurt you again. You have my word.”
“Where’s Ignacio, my husband? What have they done to him?”
Leandro looked at her tenderly and smiled weakly. “Go on, first eat a bit and recover your strength. Later I’ll let you know what happened. I’ll answer all your questions. I promise. Trust me and be calm.”
Leandro had a gentle voice, and he constructed sentences with poise. He chose words the way a perfume maker chooses fragrances for his formulas. Despite herself, Victoria discovered that she was beginning to relax; the fear that had seized her was slowly disappearing. The food, hot and delicious, the warm air issuing from the radiators, and the serene and fatherly presence of Leandro were making her want to let go. “How I wish all this were true.”
“Was I right, or wasn’t I? About the croissants, I mean.”
Victoria nodded timidly.
Leandro wiped his lips with his napkin, folded it slowly, and pressed a service-bell ringer on the table. A door opened instantly, and a waiter appeared. He removed the breakfast service without saying a word or looking at Victoria once. Alone with Victoria again, Leandro adopted a sorrowful expression, crossed his hands on his lap, and lowered his eyes. “I’m afraid I have bad news, Ariadna. Your husband, Ignacio, has passed away. I’m terribly sorry. We arrived too late.”
Ariadna felt her eyes filling with tears. They were tears of anger, because she had known that Ignacio was dead without having to be told by anyone. She pressed her lips together and looked at Leandro, who seemed to be considering her state of mind.
“Tell me the truth,” she managed to utter.
Leandro nodded repeatedly. “This isn’t going to be easy, but please listen to me. Afterwards you can ask me whatever you like. But first I want you to see something.”
Leandro got up and walked over to pick up a folded newspaper lying on a small tea table in a corner of the room. He returned to the table and handed it to Victoria. “Open it.”
She took the paper without understanding. She opened it and looked at the front page.
DEATH OF MINISTER MAURICIO VALLS IN TRAFFIC ACCIDENT
Victoria let out a stifled scream. The newspaper fell from her hands, and she began to sob and moan uncontrollably. With utmost tact, Leandro approached her and gently put his arms around her. Victoria allowed herself to be hugged and took refuge in that stranger, trembling like a child. Leandro let her lean her head on his shoulder, stroking her hair while she shed the tears and the pain she had accumulated all her life.