WHEN VILAJUANA ENDED his story, his eyes looked glazed and his voice was dry. Alicia dropped her head, remaining silent. After a while, the journalist cleared his throat, and she smiled weakly at him.
“Susana never saw her husband or her children again. She spent two months visiting police stations, hospitals and charity homes, asking after them. Nobody knew anything. One day, in despair, she decided to phone Federica Ubach. A servant answered the phone and passed the line on to a secretary. Susana explained what had happened and told the man that Señora Ubach was the only person who could help her. ‘She’s a friend of mine,’ she said.”
“Poor woman,” murmured Alicia.
“Two days later she was picked up in the street and taken to the women’s mental hospital. She remained there a few years. They say she escaped some time later. Who knows. Susana was lost forever.”
A long silence ensued.
“What happened to Víctor Mataix?” asked Alicia.
“Brians, the lawyer, who some time earlier had been hired by Isabella Gispert to try to help David Martín, found out through Martín that Mataix had also ended up in Montjuïc Castle. He was held in solitary confinement by an express order of the prison governor, Don Mauricio Valls, not allowed to go out to the yard with other inmates, receive visits, or have any form of communication with anyone. Martín, who had himself been sent to one of the isolation cells more than once, was the only person who had been able to speak to Mataix, exchanging words across the passage. That’s how Brians knew what had happened. I imagine that by then the lawyer must have felt very remorseful and partly to blame, so he decided to help all those poor devils trapped in the prison. Martín, Mataix . . .”
“The defender of lost causes . . .” said Alicia.
“He was never able to save them, of course. Martín was murdered by order of Valls, or so they said. Mataix was never heard of again. His death is still a mystery. And as for Isabella, with whom poor Brians had fallen in love, as did everyone who met her, she had preceded them, also in extremely suspicious circumstances. Brians never got back on his feet again after all that. He’s a good man, but he’s frightened, and anyhow, there’s nothing he can do, either.”
“Do you think Mataix is still there?”
“In the castle? I hope God isn’t that cruel.”
Alicia nodded, trying to take it all in.
“And you?” asked Vilajuana. “What do you plan to do?”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you just going to sit there and do nothing, after hearing all this?”
“My hands are as tied as those of Brians. Or perhaps even more.”
“How convenient.”
“With all due respect, you don’t know anything about me.”
“Then tell me. Help me complete the story. Tell me what I can do.”
“Do you have a family, Vilajuana?”
“A wife and four children.”
“And you love them?”
“More than anything in the world. Why are you asking me?”
“Do you want me to tell you what you must do? Really?”
Vilajuana nodded.
“Finish writing your speech. Forget about Mataix. About Martín. About Valls and everything you’ve told me. And forget about me. I was never here.”
“That wasn’t the deal,” Vilajuana protested. “You’ve tricked me.”
“Welcome to the club,” said Alicia, walking out.