‘Olive, tell me what he said.’
Olive turned to Sarah, struck by the expression of worry on her face. ‘All it means, Mother,’ she said, ‘is good luck.’
19
A few hours after Isaac slipped away from the Schloss women and into the darkness, Don Alfonso’s finca was attacked with fire and a second salvo was launched upon the church of Santa Rufina in the centre of Arazuelo. Later, -people whispered that yes, they’d seen a disrobed Padre Lorenzo, running away from the flames into the village square, with a naked woman fast on his heels. Some said there hadn’t been a woman at all, just the priest in a white smock, the bump of his private part visible under the cotton. Others swore on the Holy Bible there’d been a woman – a vision of Rufina herself, running from the godlessness behind her before she took flight into the air.
The only truth Arazuelo could attest to was that by dawn, the church was a shell and Don Alfonso’s estate a blackened skeleton. Wood smoke hung over the air, smarting the eyes of those trying to go about their business, until the whole village fell into an uneasy stupor, knowing full well that retaliation for something like this would eventually come.
When Teresa came running through the grey dawn light, bashing on the front of the finca door, Olive knew something was very wrong.
‘Isaac has done something stupid—-’
‘What’s he done? Where is he?’
Teresa looked stricken. ‘I don’t know. The church is gone.’
‘Gone – what do you mean gone?’
‘Fire. And my father’s house also.’
‘Dear God, Teresa. Come inside.’
AROUND TWO HOURS LATER, DON Alfonso appeared, his once--pristine suit now smeared with charcoal. He too banged on the finca door, and upstairs with Olive, Teresa cowered. ‘It’s going to be all right,’ Olive whispered.
Teresa gripped her wrist. ‘No, se?orita. You do not understand.’
Harold let Don Alfonso in, and the man moved angrily through the hallway into the front east room. Olive crept down the stairs to peer through the crack in the door.
‘You have heard what has happened?’ Don Alfonso said.
‘I have.’
‘News travels fast. It is an outrage. I could have been dead. My wife, my children – it is only because my daughter Clara is an insomniac that any of us are still here. Three of my stable grooms, an under--butler and a pot--washing boy had a part in it. I’ve found these men, Se?or Schloss, and they are all in the jail, waiting their punishment. And do you know what they tell me? They tell me that Isaac Robles paid them for their help. Where did Isaac get the money to pay those men? It was certainly not from me. I cannot get the answers, because I cannot find my bastard son. Do you know where he is, se?or?’
‘No.’
‘And yet you know my finca was set on fire.’
‘Is he not at his cottage?’
‘I sent Jorge and Gregorio there. All they found was this.’ Don Alfonso held aloft an old copy of Vogue. ‘Your wife’s, I assume?’
A look of surprise passed over Harold’s face, but he adjusted quickly back to an impression of calm. ‘She gives them to Teresa.’
‘My son set loose thirty of my thoroughbred horses, se?or. He torched my stables. He burned down Lorenzo’s church.’
‘Sit down, Don Alfonso, please. These are severe accusations.’
‘His own friends have turned him in. He is a devil, se?or.’
‘I beg to differ,’ said Harold, clearly irritated now. ‘Don Alfonso, your son does not have time for these games. Your son is a gifted man.’
It was Don Alfonso’s turn to look surprised. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Have you never seen his work?’
‘What?’
But before Harold could explain further, Olive pushed into the room. Both men jumped and turned to her. ‘Go upstairs,’ said Harold in a tight voice.
‘No.’
Behind Olive, Sarah appeared. ‘What’s going on here?’ she said. Her eye rested on the figure of Don Alfonso, and the colour drained from her face. ‘Is he dead?’ she whispered. ‘Is Mr Robles dead?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, Sarah,’ said Harold, not able to mask the stress in his voice.
Don Alfonso inclined his head towards Sarah in a curt bow. ‘Is Teresa here?’ he asked her.
‘She’s upstairs,’ replied Sarah.
‘Mother,’ said Olive. ‘No.’
‘Please bring her to me,’ said Alfonso.
‘No,’ said Olive. ‘You can’t have her.’
‘Liv, don’t be ridiculous,’ said Harold. ‘Be civilized.’
‘Civilized?’
‘Go and fetch Teresa.’
OLIVE WENT UPSTAIRS, BUT TERESA was nowhere to be seen. Olive waited, buying time, pretending to look for her, praying that Teresa had got herself somewhere safe. She moved back down with determined steps and returned into the front east room. Don Alfonso narrowed his eyes when he saw she was alone. ‘Are you hiding her, se?orita?’ he said. ‘I know you are think you are her friend.’
‘I’m not hiding anyone,’ she said.
He turned to Olive’s parents. ‘It won’t be good for you if you are hiding them. Isaac is wanted for theft, arson, criminal damage, attempted murder—-’
‘For God’s sake,’ Harold interjected. ‘We are not hiding your children.’
‘They are no longer my children. You should leave here,’ said Don Alfonso. ‘You should go.’
‘On the contrary,’ replied Harold. ‘I think we should protect those who do not enjoy your protection. I am beginning to understand you much better.’
Alfonso laughed. ‘You foreigners, you’re all the same. You think you are protecting Teresa and Isaac? They will be the ones who will have to protect you. And do you think they will? That you are under some magic shroud, that your maid and gardener love you?’