but a lousy crook.’
‘Joe sometimes becomes excited,’ she said, obviously far more aware of the potentially dangerous significance of what he was saying than he, ‘but it never lasts . . .Joe, wouldn’t it be an idea to have some drinks?’
For a moment it looked as if Braddon would ignore the suggestion, but then he stood. He asked what they’d like to drink, left, crossing the patio into the house.
Even if they did have problems with the foundations of the house, thought Alvarez, they’d a very desirable property. Their own land all round them and the next house a couple of hundred metres away, views of both the mountains and the sea . . .
‘The trouble with Joe is that he’s so completely straightforward.’
Alvarez looked at her as she sat in the shade of a sun umbrella. At first, he’d been inclined to regard her as meek and colourless; now, he appreciated that behind the quiet appearance and manner there was considerable determination.
‘And because he’s like that, he’s never ready for anyone who’s devious. And if that person takes advantage of him, he feels betrayed. Can you understand what I’m trying to say?’
‘Indeed, señora.’
‘I had a feeling about Roig from the beginning. Maybe it was because he always smiled with his mouth, but never with his eyes. Joe could never see that. If he takes to a person, he won’t hear anything against him; and he thinks people he likes are every bit as honest as himself. Every time there was another delay, I suggested we ought to speak to someone else to make certain that Roig really was doing everything he should. Joe said that that would be disloyal to him.
‘Then, when Roig as good as admitted he’d been stringing us along to protect his relations, Joe was not only shocked and hurt, but also very worried because if the repairs cost four million, which is what a builder suggested, we’re going to have to dig into capital and he’s a horror of doing that although we’d still be well off and we’ve no one to leave our money to. So it was worry as much as anything which made him talk like he did. But his anger never lasts. And the way he’s talking now is because of worry and not . . . I mean, you can’t believe . . .’
‘What can’t I believe, señora?’
She shook her head, afraid to put into words a possibility which—as unlikely as this might be—he had perhaps not yet determined for himself.
Braddon, carrying a tray, returned to the patio. He passed the glasses, then sat. His chair was in the full sun and after a few seconds he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow.
‘Why don’t you move into the shade?’ she suggested.
‘I’m all right.’
‘But you’ll roast if you stay there and you know how easily you burn.’
‘Stop fussing.’
So stubborn, thought Alvarez, that he’d rather suffer unnecessary discomfort than be seen to change his mind. Would he stubbornly go on hating? . . . ‘Señor, as I said at the beginning, I would be grateful if you would answer some questions.’
‘I know nothing about the murder; nothing at all. But I’ll tell you one thing: I’m not shedding any tears over it.’
‘Don’t talk like that,’ she said, her voice high.
‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s stupid.’
‘It’s stupid to think a man changes his character just because he dies.’
Alvarez asked: ‘When was the last time you saw him?’
‘When I told him in his office precisely what I thought of him.’
‘Have you ever been to his country home, Casa Gran?’
‘Never been on visiting terms, not even before I realized what kind of a man he was. I didn’t even know he’d got that place until I read it’s where he was killed. I suppose he bought it out of what he’d made from mugs like us.’
‘I imagine you own a car—what make is it?’
‘A Renault eleven.’
‘And does the señora also have one?’
‘I’ve an old Panda to do the shopping in,’ she answered. ‘Why do you want
‘Joe sometimes becomes excited,’ she said, obviously far more aware of the potentially dangerous significance of what he was saying than he, ‘but it never lasts . . .Joe, wouldn’t it be an idea to have some drinks?’
For a moment it looked as if Braddon would ignore the suggestion, but then he stood. He asked what they’d like to drink, left, crossing the patio into the house.
Even if they did have problems with the foundations of the house, thought Alvarez, they’d a very desirable property. Their own land all round them and the next house a couple of hundred metres away, views of both the mountains and the sea . . .
‘The trouble with Joe is that he’s so completely straightforward.’
Alvarez looked at her as she sat in the shade of a sun umbrella. At first, he’d been inclined to regard her as meek and colourless; now, he appreciated that behind the quiet appearance and manner there was considerable determination.
‘And because he’s like that, he’s never ready for anyone who’s devious. And if that person takes advantage of him, he feels betrayed. Can you understand what I’m trying to say?’
‘Indeed, señora.’
‘I had a feeling about Roig from the beginning. Maybe it was because he always smiled with his mouth, but never with his eyes. Joe could never see that. If he takes to a person, he won’t hear anything against him; and he thinks people he likes are every bit as honest as himself. Every time there was another delay, I suggested we ought to speak to someone else to make certain that Roig really was doing everything he should. Joe said that that would be disloyal to him.
‘Then, when Roig as good as admitted he’d been stringing us along to protect his relations, Joe was not only shocked and hurt, but also very worried because if the repairs cost four million, which is what a builder suggested, we’re going to have to dig into capital and he’s a horror of doing that although we’d still be well off and we’ve no one to leave our money to. So it was worry as much as anything which made him talk like he did. But his anger never lasts. And the way he’s talking now is because of worry and not . . . I mean, you can’t believe . . .’
‘What can’t I believe, señora?’
She shook her head, afraid to put into words a possibility which—as unlikely as this might be—he had perhaps not yet determined for himself.
Braddon, carrying a tray, returned to the patio. He passed the glasses, then sat. His chair was in the full sun and after a few seconds he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow.
‘Why don’t you move into the shade?’ she suggested.
‘I’m all right.’
‘But you’ll roast if you stay there and you know how easily you burn.’
‘Stop fussing.’
So stubborn, thought Alvarez, that he’d rather suffer unnecessary discomfort than be seen to change his mind. Would he stubbornly go on hating? . . . ‘Señor, as I said at the beginning, I would be grateful if you would answer some questions.’
‘I know nothing about the murder; nothing at all. But I’ll tell you one thing: I’m not shedding any tears over it.’
‘Don’t talk like that,’ she said, her voice high.
‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s stupid.’
‘It’s stupid to think a man changes his character just because he dies.’
Alvarez asked: ‘When was the last time you saw him?’
‘When I told him in his office precisely what I thought of him.’
‘Have you ever been to his country home, Casa Gran?’
‘Never been on visiting terms, not even before I realized what kind of a man he was. I didn’t even know he’d got that place until I read it’s where he was killed. I suppose he bought it out of what he’d made from mugs like us.’
‘I imagine you own a car—what make is it?’
‘A Renault eleven.’
‘And does the señora also have one?’
‘I’ve an old Panda to do the shopping in,’ she answered. ‘Why do you want
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