A Question of Motive by Roderic Jeffries Page B

worry them.’
    â€˜Luisa is a good cook.’
    â€˜A pity you did not suggest what you might like so that she could prepare it.’
    â€˜She and Pablo are away this morning,’ she repeated.
    â€˜Of course.’
    She drank briefly. ‘Do you like Chinese food?’
    â€˜I don’t know.’
    â€˜You mean, you’ve never eaten it?’
    She was not as depressed as she had been when they arrived. The magic of the bay was working once again. ‘I live with my cousin and she regards with uneasiness all foods which aren’t traditional to the island or the Peninsula.’
    â€˜Then you have the chance to find out if you do or don’t like it. Have a takeaway lunch with me.’
    â€˜Today?’
    â€˜You sound alarmed.’
    He was. Recently there had been a programme on television which had shown people eating in a Shanghai restaurant. Live snakes had been brought to the table, the host had chosen which he wanted, and it had been decapitated, skinned and cooked. What else might there be in a Chinese meal? Rats, puppy dogs’ tails . . .? ‘Lunch with you would be very pleasant, but unfortunately I have to return to the office quite soon. Perhaps some other day?’
    â€˜I’ll hold you to that.’
    Alvarez called a waiter and paid the bill. They walked across the sand to the roadway and his parked car.
    He opened the front passenger door as, so he had been told, did an English gentleman.
    â€˜Are you sure you have the time to take me home?’ she asked.
    He smiled. ‘Are you prepared to walk?’
    â€˜I can get a taxi.’
    â€˜Not when I’m here to drive you.’
    He braked to a halt in front of Aquila.
    â€˜Thank you for everything, Enrique.’
    â€˜It has been nothing.’
    â€˜Don’t be silly. But for you, I’d still be sitting and looking at the television and not knowing what was showing . . . Enrique?’
    â€˜Yes?’
    She hesitated. ‘Just friends.’ She hurried into the house.
    Alvarez sat at the table and poured himself a reviving brandy. ‘D’you reckon lunch is about ready?’
    â€˜She’s not here,’ Jaime answered.
    â€˜How d’you mean?’
    â€˜Cooking a meal for some old biddy who can’t do it for herself.’
    â€˜What about us?’
    â€˜That’s what I asked. Got my head bitten off, told I didn’t know the meaning of being charitable.’
    â€˜It shouldn’t mean having to starve.’
    â€˜Not exactly starve. She’s left something warming in the oven for us.’
    â€˜You could have said.’ He poured a good measure of Soberano. ‘It’s all very well leaving the food warm, but it won’t be as good as if it had just been cooked.’
    â€˜You think I don’t know that?’
    â€˜Not like her to expect us to eat a poor meal.’
    â€˜Tell her so yourself.’
    â€˜You’re in a sharp mood.’
    â€˜Got reason, haven’t I? Ignoring what I want.’
    â€˜Wives never worry about that.’
    â€˜How would you know?’
    â€˜Seen it happen often enough.’
    â€˜Well, it doesn’t happen in this house.’
    Alvarez wondered if Jaime, considering what went on his house, was joking. It seemed he was not. ‘It’s been an annoying morning,’ Alvarez said.
    â€˜Never anything else for you.’
    â€˜I’ve been asked to identify a man who no one’s seen.’
    â€˜So he’s invisible.’
    â€˜Santos – he’s the gardener at Aquila—’
    â€˜Think I don’t know that?’
    â€˜Trying to sound like the superior chief? Santos was up on Barca and heard a fierce row going on below. One bloke was the señor, the other a Mallorquin. I’ve been ordered to identify him. Since Santos never saw him and couldn’t tell who it was from the voice, how the hell am I supposed to do that?’
    â€˜Wouldn’t