Quintin Jardine - Blood Red

I wanted to hug him. I wanted to take him somewhere quiet and make him feel better, in any way I could. But that wasn’t possible, so I turned his face towards me and I told him, ‘I think he’s only a man, and I’ve never met the perfect specimen yet. But I’m proud of him, for doing the right thing. After all, God’s smitten a few foes in his time, hasn’t he? And didn’t JC lay into the money-changers in the temple? What would he have done if he’d caught Joseph hitting Mary? I don’t think any the less of you; if anything, I admire you even more.’

He squeezed my hand again, and this time held on to it; we were in a corner, and his back was to the rest of the diners. ‘Thanks. Your absolution means more to me than the other one. But I still don’t feel cleansed. Because I know that when I fought him, it wasn’t just for my mother. It was more than that, it was for Santi and me too, for all the thumpings he gave us when we were kids, for all the cruelty, and for the denial of all the love we should have had as his children.’

‘He had it coming. Tell me, if it had been Santi who’d beaten the crap out of him, rather than you, would you have absolved him?’

‘Totally.’

I raised his hand to my lips and kissed it, then set it down on the table ‘Then do the same for yourself.’

Iwent to church that Sunday. As I’ve said, I’m not an adherent, but something drew me to put on a skirt and a black scarf that also worked as a shawl and a head cover, and go next door. I took a place right at the back on one of the long wooden pews. They were not designed for comfort. ‘They are all penitents’ benches,’ my father is fond of declaring. ‘Church-going is not a social occasion; you can’t win true believers with comfortable seats.’

You might think it was social for me, but you’d be wrong if you did. I was there to see my men at work. Even though my relationship with Gerard had defined limits, my feelings were proprietorial as I watched him conduct the service, and even more so as I looked at his white-robed assistant, my son the altar person. After the travails of the previous week, there was a. . a niceness about it, a family feeling, that gave me a warm glow inside. Maybe I shouldn’t have been there; once or twice I caught women in the congregation glancing at me over their shoulders. But I didn’t feel that there was anything wrong about it, so I simply smiled at them, redirecting their attention to the main event.

I hadn’t been first into the church, but I was first out. I went straight down to Can Coll, and found an outside table, taking a seat facing the way I had come, from which I could watch the worshippers emerge.

‘What can I get you, Primavera?’ asked Joaquim, the master of the café.

‘Coffee Americano with a little milk, and a fizzy water, please.’

‘And will Tom be joining you?’

‘He will, once he’s finished his tidying up duties and gone home to fetch the dog. But I’d better not make any choices for him.’ I knew he’d want Fanta orange and a ham sandwich, but he always made a show of studying the menu.

I looked back towards the church. Gerard stood in the doorway, shaking hands with his people as they left, spirits lifted and ready to face the day. His fan club was out in force; quite a few, especially the ladies, paused for a word.

I hadn’t realised that the mayor was there; she must have gone in before the sound of the bells had faded away, and been in one of the front rows. I had her labelled ‘unconventional’ in my mind, after seeing the way she dressed for the office, but her church-going outfit gave that notion the lie; black dress, black shoes, black lace around her shoulders. She was the last person to leave. It may be that she had been dealing with some of her own congregation inside. Whatever, she stopped beside Gerard, just as Tom emerged, no longer white robed but in shorts and T-shirt, trotted past them with a quick, ‘So long,’ and headed next door.

I watched as they spoke, neither glancing in my direction; their conversation didn’t seem to be casual, for there were no smiles. I wondered whether they were discussing the wine fair, and Planas’s extortion, then chided myself for such a self-centred thought. They were both important civic figures, dealing with many things, and ours wasn’t the only game in town.

I’d been right, though. Justine saw me almost as soon as she and Gerard parted; she waved, and headed for me. My coffee and water arrived just as she did. She asked for the same, and took a seat at my table. ‘Father Hernanz and I were talking about you. I came to church here today because I wanted to take another look at Plaça Petita. I’ve done that; I’ve even paced it out, to judge roughly how many square metres it is. Primavera, I’m not going to be complicit in this thing, and I’m not going to allow the council to be either. You will pay exactly the same rent per square metre, per day, as every other business in St Martí does, not a cent more, not a cent less. I’m taking a stand against Planas; I’m going to negotiate on my programme with the council’s Green members, and deliver as much of it as I can.’

I stared at her. My day had just got even brighter. ‘Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely, and I apologise for ever even thinking about allowing that man to dictate to me.’

‘Hey,’ I said, just as Tom arrived, with Charlie on his short leash, ‘I was going to pay him, remember. I was prepared to let him dictate to me as well.’

‘No. You beat him. He quoted you a figure that he thought would be impossible for you, but you accepted it without batting an eyelash. He tried to bully you politically and he tried to bully you financially. You kicked his ass both times; you humiliated him privately and if the story ever comes out, he’ll be humiliated publicly as well. People have supported him because he said he stands for the best of the old values, but they didn’t include extortion.’

Tom had seated himself, and settled Charlie on the ground, as we spoke. He gazed at Justine, fascinated. I introduced her, formally: ‘Senora Michels, the mayor of L’Escala.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ he told her. ‘What’s extortion?’

She looked at me, batting the question to me. ‘It can be many things,’ I said, ‘but in this case it means forcing someone to pay too much money for something.’

‘And has someone done that to you?’

‘They tried to, but they failed, because it was worth that amount of money to me, or would have been.’

He frowned, and in the instant, I saw a flash of his father in him. A quick shudder ran through me. ‘Who was it?’ he asked.

‘A silly man, who’ll know better next time. Now forget it. Do you want to see the menu?’

‘Don’t need to. I’d like a Fanta lemon and a chorizo sandwich.’ My boy’s tastes were evolving.

I invited Justine to stay with us for lunch. She and I were considering our options when a shadow fell across the table. I looked up, half expecting to see Gerard, but instead found Sub-inspector Alex Guinart, of the Mossos d’Esquadra, standing beside us. Alex is a good friend of mine. . one of my rare official visits to the church in L’Escala was to stand as godmother to his daughter. . but two things told me that his visit wasn’t social. One was the fact that he was in uniform, and the second was the look on his face.

‘I’m sorry to interrupt, Primavera,’ he said, ‘but I need to have a word with the mayor.’

She groaned. ‘Town business on a Sunday, Alex?’

‘Not of the usual kind,’ he said, moving away with a nod of his head that indicated he wanted to speak in private.

‘Sorry,’ Justine murmured as she rose to follow him. ‘Hopefully this won’t take long.’