The noxious vapors that had roiled the upper atmosphere had by now descended and left their volatile moisture everywhere. The world seemed depopulated. During the drive, only a couple of other cars loomed up going the other way. He squinted in search of sunlight in that swirling sky. It broke through infrequently with a sharpness as painful as if composed of showers of ground glass. The sun did little to drive away the cold. That chill would linger until mild midday warmth lifted the mists for good.
He parked by the gardenia hedge, just as before. After a couple of unsuccessful attempts to coax the dog out, he left Café in the BMW. He took a moment to admire the waxy gleaming shapes of the gardenias. A film of morning dew had resolved itself into large trembling drops, like tears that seemed to float across the petals without touching them. The luxuriant late-afternoon perfume of the flowers was not yet evident, for the air was heavy with scents of wood and composted earth beneath the dense shrubbery. Manuel leaned over, trying to recapture the sweet aroma of the flowers, and he found himself slipping his hand into the now empty pocket of his jacket.
Someone slammed shut the tailgate of a pickup. He looked across the hedge and saw the vehicle parked by the garden entrance. He remembered that on his previous visit he’d glimpsed a logo on the pickup’s door, an image of a basket overflowing with flowers. The vehicle was white. He went toward it and saw Catarina lifting a burlap bag, apparently heavy, from the back of the pickup. She swung it over one shoulder and entered the garden.
Rounding the vehicle, Manuel noticed that a front quarter panel had been recently replaced. The color of the paint and the pristine new turn signal were distinctly different from the faded white and scratched surfaces elsewhere. He took the path to the greenhouse and found a bag, probably the same one Catarina had been carrying, propping open the greenhouse door. He called out, even though he knew he couldn’t be heard over the music playing inside. Even with the door open, the intensity of the gardenia perfume was still overwhelming and provoked confused impressions that ranged from memories of the flowers shut away in the desk drawer to the almost drugged sensations of acceleration and overarousal he’d felt when he’d visited the greenhouse the first time. He went down an aisle between the tables in search of Catarina. He was sure she was still there. There was only one way to go directly through to the outside garden. There was a pause in the music, and he heard a woman’s raised voice.
Vicente and Catarina stood arguing in the next aisle. It was clear she was the one in charge; his replies were inaudible, subdued, and emotional.
“It would grieve me a great deal to have to make such a drastic decision. I appreciate your talent, and I’m delighted to work with you. I see you as a consummate professional, and it would be a great loss if I had to do without you.”
Manuel couldn’t make out Vicente’s response, but Catarina’s reply was firm. “I understand your feelings, and I’m flattered, but I need to be very clear. What you want is never going to happen. I’m Santiago’s wife, and he’s the man I’m going to share my life with. I don’t believe I’ve ever encouraged you in the least. Maybe I wasn’t sufficiently clear because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings. But I’m telling you now.”
“He doesn’t deserve you.” The gardener’s hoarse voice was choked with emotion.
“I love my husband, with all his faults. Not for a second have I ever thought of leaving him.”
“I can’t believe it, Catarina.” He sounded ready to break into sobs.
“Well, there are no two ways about it. Either you give up any such hopes, or we’ll have to stop working together.” She turned and strode in Manuel’s direction.
Manuel swiftly backed away several steps. He pivoted as if he’d just arrived and called out anew, “Is anyone here?”
Catarina stepped out of the side aisle with a smile. From her sunny expression no one could have guessed that just a few seconds earlier, she’d been arguing with Vicente. “Manuel! I’m pleased you accepted my invitation.”
He offered her his hand. “I saw the open door.”
“Right. I went to the barn to get some mulch. We needed some, and everything is closed today.” She walked to the doorway and picked up the bag she’d used to keep the door open.
“Would you like some help? That looks heavy.”
She turned and smiled in amusement. “This one? It weighs nothing at all. Why is it that men are always trying to keep us women from exerting ourselves? I’m stronger than I look.” She hefted the bag onto a pile of similar ones.
Manuel saw that Vicente had taken refuge in the glassed-in room at the back. He stood with his back turned to them, pretending to work. Ignoring her assistant, Catarina took Manuel’s arm and gave him a tour of the greenhouse, plant by plant, smiling like a schoolgirl. Manuel paid close attention, surprised to find her so sympathetic. He responded with droll comments and even laughed once or twice. Catarina definitely wasn’t cut from the same rigid, formal, and pretentious cloth as the others at As Grileiras. Yet he could see why the Raven adored her: she had a sort of innate noble grace that was the picture of distinguished sophistication. Her elegant white blouse had touches of garden soil on it; her marine-blue trousers were simply tailored but looked very expensive. Behind a curtain of undulating, dark medium-length hair, a pair of diamond studs sparkling in her ears matched the huge and undeniably genuine diamond of her wedding ring. Her open smile, radiant eyes, and candor proclaimed her a woman entirely sure of herself.
“You did a fine job of hiding it, Manuel,” she said with a smile, “but I believe you overheard us.”
Manuel looked at her and nodded. This Catarina was a woman very much to his liking.
She shrugged. “Well, since you heard everything, I don’t need to explain. These things happen.”
He discovered that the corpulent black cat had chosen to post its vigil upon the top step before the kitchen door. Because that spot was protected by a little overhang, it had escaped the morning dew. Today Manuel accepted Herminia’s embrace and the exuberant enthusiasm that had seemed excessive to him a couple of days before. He smiled in appreciation but gently declined her offers of food, coffee, and sweets. After taking time to respond to her fulsome welcome, he said, “Herminia, I have a favor to ask.” His solemn tone stressed the importance of the request.
She put down the cloth she’d used to dry her hands. “Of course, fillo, anything at all.”
“I’d like to see álvaro’s room.”
His request took her breath away. She stood paralyzed for a couple of seconds. She went back to the stove and lowered the heat beneath a bubbling pot of stew. She patted the pockets of her apron, found her keys, and went to the door to the rest of the manor. “Come with me.”