An Enigmatic Disappearance Read Free Page A

the levelled section amidst a constant wobble of flesh.
    â€˜Fair takes the appetite away,’ said the barman, as he put a cup of coffee on the table. ‘D’you think she parades around like that in Berlin?’
    As she reached the top, two much younger and slimmer women, equally sparsely dressed, passed her as they came down the steps. ‘That’s more like it,’ said the barman appreciatively. ‘I wouldn’t mind showing them my orange trees.’
    â€˜You’d have to shed several years before they’d accept.’
    â€˜Speak for yourself.’
    â€˜I’m mature enough not to want to pluck every fruit I see.’
    â€˜You’re a bloody hypocrite.’ The barman left.
    That was unjust, Alvarez thought. He watched the two young women until they became lost from sight and assured himself that he had admired them solely on account of the grace with which they had moved …
    To his surprise, he found his glass was empty. He had it refilled. As he drank some of the brandy, preparatory to pouring what was left into the coffee, he heard the church clock strike the hour. Time had the annoying quality of always moving at an unwanted pace; enjoy oneself and it raced, suffer and it loitered …
    Back in his office, breathless and sweating from the climb up the stairs, the telephone rang. He picked up the receiver.
    â€˜I’ve been trying to get hold of you for the past hour,’ a woman said angrily.
    His tone became one of patient authority. ‘In my job, I cannot spend my time in the office, just sitting down.’
    â€˜From all accounts, you do your best.’
    â€˜Who’s talking?’ he demanded.
    â€˜Concha Marti.’
    She was not a woman to be treated cavalierly. ‘I’ve only this moment returned from a very difficult and exhausting investigation.’
    â€˜I saw Dolores yesterday morning and she said you’re completely out of condition. I told her, that’s because, like all men, you eat and drink far too much. She should feed you on simple food, like chickpeas, and throw every bottle into the dustbin.’
    The Marti family had always been regarded as peculiar, not to say downright insane. ‘I am a very busy man. Do you want something?’
    â€˜Would I be talking to you if I didn’t?… The señor’s more difficult to understand than a two-year-old, so it’s me doing the phoning. D’you understand?’
    â€˜You’re phoning in connection with what?’
    â€˜I’m trying to tell you, aren’t I? Why d’you keep interrupting?’
    He hadn’t interrupted her once, but he was not prepared to point that out. Not only was she an aggressive woman with a tongue edged with steel, she and Dolores were friends. ‘Someone is in trouble?’
    â€˜The señora.’
    â€˜What has happened to her?’
    â€˜If he knew that, he wouldn’t be going on so, would he?’
    â€˜She’s missing?’
    â€˜Went out yesterday afternoon and never came back.’
    â€˜What is the señor’s name?’
    Her answer was a jumble of sound, and he asked her to spell out the name. Ogden. Since English pronunciation was often a mystery even to the English, he’d no better idea how to say Ogden than she had. ‘Has he asked his friends if they know where she is?’
    â€˜He’s been on the phone a lot. Can’t understand what he says, of course.’
    â€˜Why not?’
    â€˜Sweet Mary! but you ask stupid questions. He speaks in English, that’s why not.’
    â€˜Why’s he asked you to phone me?’
    â€˜Haven’t I said?’
    â€˜What I mean is, do you work for him?’
    â€˜Of course I do, even if they’re a couple of skinflints. When I asked for nine hundred an hour instead of eight hundred, the señora tried to tell me they couldn’t afford that much.’ There was a snort of derision.