Manuel was fishing for information and decided to let out a bit more line. Since Lucas seemed willing to discuss the strange circumstances of Fran’s death, he might also be ready to talk about álvaro. The priest had said he was the only person from álvaro’s past who’d had more than simple business dealings with him.
“Do you remember the policeman who was waiting for me after the funeral? The truth is, he also hinted there was something not quite right about Fran’s death.”
The priest looked him directly in the eye.
Aware that he was being inspected to judge how much he knew and how much he was hiding, Manuel twitched the line again. “He said he questioned you, but you didn’t tell him anything.”
“It was privileged information, from—”
“Of course. Under seal of confession, he said. And he also told me you didn’t believe Fran was the type to kill himself.”
“That’s still what I think.”
“If you think there’s something suspicious about his death, since Fran is gone and Elisa’s in pain, why not tell her the truth?”
“Sometimes it’s better to say nothing than to mislead with only part of the truth.”
Manuel’s anger awoke. His self-control was being tested to the very limit. “Then tell me something, priest—do you intend to mislead me too? Or will you tell me the truth? I don’t want to waste my time. I’m pretty fed up with everyone feeding lies to me—álvaro, his secretary, Herminia . . . and besides,” he said, turning slightly to look out at the valley below, “you’re right, it’s a glorious day. I could think of a million better things to do instead of standing here listening to tall tales.”
Lucas’s expression was stern, almost fierce. He surveyed Manuel for five or six seconds and then began to walk once more.
Manuel realized he’d raised his voice. He was furious with himself. He emptied his lungs in a great gust of air, and in two vigorous strides he caught up with the priest. The man was saying something but in so low a voice Manuel had to lean close to catch the words.
“I cannot tell you what he told me under seal of confession,” Lucas said firmly. “But I will tell you what I saw, what I felt, and what I concluded.”
Manuel didn’t reply. He knew it would be useless to say anything. A comment from him might even induce Lucas to change his mind and retreat into stubborn silence.
“I officiated at the old marquis’s funeral mass in the church on the estate. That ceremony was also deeply affecting, but in a different way. álvaro was down front, very serious, already aware of the weight of the responsibilities that had been left to him. Santiago was in mourning but not in the same way. He was frustrated and angry, as if by dying his father had bitterly disappointed him. I’ve seen that reaction before; often the children assume their parents will always be with them, and their different reactions can be astonishingly unpredictable. Often, it’s anger. And then came Fran . . . Santiago needed his father, but Fran worshipped the man. His grief was indescribable.
“It was obvious they were all worried about Fran, maybe because in a way they knew in their hearts his grief was more real than anyone’s. After the funeral Fran didn’t want to go back to the manor; he stayed by his father’s grave all alone. álvaro walked me to the church door and said he was very worried about Fran. I reassured him. I knew this was normal; it was pain that he had to face and endure. It’s the price we pay for loving.” He gave Manuel a sideways glance. “I urged álvaro to call me if I could help his brother, but only if Fran agreed to see me. Often someone in pain adamantly rejects any offer of help out of fear that comes from some mawkish sentimentality or hidden judgment. You of all people know exactly what I’m talking about. Fran phoned me late that night, after ten, and asked me to come see him. It must have been past eleven when I got there. The church door wasn’t entirely shut. I pushed it open and found him sitting in the front pew with an untouched sandwich and a Coca-Cola at his side. The only light was from the candles for his father’s funeral. He asked me to hear his confession, and he made a good one; that of a grown man, not of a spoiled child. He was aware of the pain he’d caused and repented his sins with a firm intention of reform. I gave him absolution and communion. Afterward we returned to the pew, he smiled, and he ate the sandwich. ‘I was famished,’ he told me.” Lucas searched Manuel’s face. “You understand the significance of that? He’d been fasting in preparation for confession and communion. He hadn’t gone to confession in years, but he knew how it should be done. A man who’s that observant of the rules would never have committed suicide. I know it’s difficult to explain that to an agnostic or to a police officer, but believe me, it’s true. Never would he have taken his own life.”
Manuel weighed all this as they resumed their walk. He hadn’t failed to notice that Lucas had called him an agnostic.
Ahead of them at the side entrance to the sanctuary, two women were waiting, the same two he’d assumed were nuns. It was obvious the women had been anticipating their return. Their nervous smiles, bright eyes, and the restless nudges they exchanged betrayed an almost childish excitement.
Lucas appeared momentarily alarmed by this, but he quickly perceived what they were on about. He whispered an apology to Manuel.
The woman who’d been at the sacristy table was the first to speak. “You’re Manuel Ortigosa, aren’t you?”
Manuel smiled and confirmed it. After all these years he still felt flattered and grateful to be recognized in public. Perhaps it was absurd of him, but he couldn’t help it.
“When you came in I thought, ‘That man seems familiar to me somehow,’ but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Then I heard Father Lucas call you Manuel. Well, I went running out to tell my cousin.” The other woman smiled in embarrassment and wrung her hands. “She discovered your novels and made us all read them, everyone in the catechism group, the rural women’s association, all our female cousins . . .”
Manuel held out a hand. They rushed giggling and vying with one another to take it. The one who’d remained silent was holding back tears. He hugged her, genuinely moved by this sudden outburst of adoration.
She burst into tears. “You must think I’m a silly goose,” she said between sobs and hiccups.
“Not at all, my dear. You move me deeply. Thanks ever so much for reading my books and recommending them.”
The woman wailed even louder in the arms of her chatty cousin.
“It’s too bad we didn’t know you were coming. We’d have brought all your books to autograph, but maybe you’ll be coming back?”
“I don’t know,” Manuel answered evasively, looking into the distance.
Lucas rescued him. “That’s enough now. You two stop bothering the man, you’re confusing him. Manuel isn’t here to sign autographs.” He took Manuel’s arm and sought to guide him past the women.
Manuel’s protest of “It’s no bother at all” provoked more smiles of delight from his adoring fans.
“At least maybe we could take a picture?” blurted the tongue-tied one.
Ignoring Lucas’s exaggerated expression of annoyance, Manuel stepped between them, accepted her cell phone, and took a selfie with them. He had to handle the phone because they were too flustered to manipulate it.
He said goodbye and walked away, leaving them wreathed in smiles, standing there and holding one another by the arm as the men departed. Manuel and Lucas walked until they were out of earshot.