Doval sought to reassure him. “Never mind about that. We won’t go far, and perhaps we can inform you of certain aspects of the situation that you need to know.”
The prospect of answers overcame his reluctance. He followed them out of the room, sensing the bleary gazes of the room’s company on his back. They were probably asking one another who the hell those two men were. As if in tacit agreement, the three of them walked in silence past the vigilant guard at the counter, went down the hall, and turned a corner into a space the hospital had furnished with vending machines.
Doval gestured toward those large colorful devices. “Would you like something to drink?”
Manuel declined the offer and turned uneasily to look back toward the waiting room.
The one named Gri?án stepped up to him. “I’m a bonded administrator and property manager. I oversaw your husband’s business undertakings, and I’m also the executor of his will.” He gave Manuel a look as grave as if he’d just listed the military decorations he’d earned.
Manuel didn’t know what to make of this. He took some time to study the man’s calm, impenetrable expression. Manuel turned to Doval in hopes of an explanation or perhaps expecting to detect a glint of amusement that would confirm they were putting him on.
“I know that all this is a shock for you,” Gri?án acknowledged. “As the contracted manager of don álvaro’s estate, I’m aware of the circumstances of your relationship.”
That put Manuel on his guard. “What are you trying to say?”
The administrator wasn’t offended by Manuel’s reaction. “I know you’d been married for years and you’d lived together for a long time before that. What I want to make clear to you is that I’m quite aware that much of what I’m about to explain is going to be completely new.”
Manuel sighed and crossed his arms across his chest in a defensive posture. He was fed up with all this. He’d used up his last reserve of self-mastery in the conversation with Mei, but he’d consider a truce with anyone capable of shedding at least a little light on the reason his husband was now lying dead on a slab in the morgue in this godforsaken place. He glanced again at the counter and the security guard watching them, then looked back at the two men.
“Can you tell me what álvaro was doing here? What he was doing on that road so early in the morning? Can you tell me that?”
Gri?án glanced at Doval, who stepped forward with a somber expression. “The reason álvaro was here is that he was born here and his family home is here. I don’t know where he was going when the accident occurred, but as the police must surely have told you, it appears that no other vehicle was involved, and everything seems to indicate he might have fallen asleep at the wheel. It’s a pity; he was forty-four years old with his whole life ahead of him. He was a charming young man, and I thought the world of him.”
Manuel had a vague memory of seeing álvaro’s national identity card and the mention of his place of birth. A place to which he had no ties at all. Manuel couldn’t remember his ever mentioning it. But why would he? When they first met, álvaro had been categorical about it—his family refused to accept his lifestyle and sexual orientation. Like so many others, he’d broken every tie to his past when he moved to Madrid to live his own life.
“But he was supposed to be in Barcelona. So what was he doing here? As far as I knew he hadn’t been in contact with his family for years.”
“As far as you knew,” Gri?án murmured.
“What does that mean?” Manuel snapped, offended.
“Look, Manuel—may I call you Manuel? I always advise my clients to be candid and aboveboard, especially with their spouses. After all, their spouses share their lives, and spouses are those most affected by bereavement. álvaro’s case was no exception. I’m not the person to judge the reasons or guess the motivations that drove him to act as he did. I’m simply the messenger, and I accept the fact that what I’m going to say isn’t going to win me any points with you. But this is my duty. I made a promise to álvaro, and I will carry it out in every detail.” After a dramatic pause he continued. “álvaro Mu?iz de Dávila had been the Marquis of Santo Tomé for the past three years, since the death of his father, the previous marquis. This title is one of the oldest in Galicia. His family’s estate is only a few miles from the site of the accident, and although I wasn’t aware he was here, I can vouch to you that he visited regularly and was conscientious in attending to his obligations.”
Manuel found each successive statement in this account more absurd than the last. He failed to suppress a sneer. “You’re putting me on!”
“I assure you every word I’ve said is true, and I stand ready to provide proof and documentation to corroborate any part of it.”
Manuel looked back and forth between Gri?án and the security guard down the hall. He felt extremely jittery. “So you’re telling me my husband was an aristocrat—what was it you said, a marquis? With an estate and land holdings, and a family I’ve never heard of?” His tone became brutally sarcastic. “All that’s left now is for you to say he had a wife and children.”
The man raised his hands in protest. “No, for the love of God! As I told you, álvaro inherited his father’s title upon the patriarch’s death three years ago. That’s when I first met him, when he took over the affairs of the family. You must understand that a title of nobility is encumbered with heavy obligations, and álvaro did his duty.”
Manuel was frowning. He realized as much when he pressed his icy fingers to his brow in an effort to mitigate the headache that had begun to throb behind his eyes. Now it was creeping across his skull like a white-hot lava flow.
“The police told me a relative identified the body.”
“That’s right, his brother Santiago, the middle brother. álvaro was the eldest. Francisco, the youngest, died not long after their father. He fell into a deep depression and evidently had problems with drugs: an overdose. Misfortune has dogged the family in recent years. The mother is still alive, but she’s in delicate health.”
Manuel’s headache was getting worse.
“This is unbelievable,” he muttered aloud to himself. “How could he have hidden all this for so long?”
Doval and Gri?án exchanged dismayed glances. Gri?án was the one to reply. “I can’t help you there; I don’t know why álvaro decided on this course of action. But he left very clear instructions about what was to be done in case he died, as now unfortunately he has.”
“What does that mean? Are you saying álvaro thought he was going to die? Tell me straight out, please. Remember what I’m dealing with here. I’ve only now learned that my husband, who just died, had a family I knew nothing about. I don’t understand a word of this.”
Gri?án seemed to share his pain. “I know that, Manuel. It must be a terrible blow for you. I’m referring only to the fact there’s a will with his last wishes, as is appropriate for someone in his position; it’s drawn up as a precaution. We prepared a first version when he accepted the title and all it implied. It’s been modified several times since then to take into account arrangements made for the interests of the estate. álvaro left specific instructions for what was to be done after his death. Of course we will arrange a reading of the will at the appropriate time, but he left instructions that within twenty-four hours of his death a letter concerning his last wishes was to be read, a measure that, if I may say so, will greatly assist the beneficiaries and relatives, since this preliminary declaration will advise them of arrangements before the will is probated. The codicil to that document stipulates that the terms of the will are to be made public before ninety days have passed.”