21
When I returned to the tower house, I looked with different eyes at the building that had been my home and my prison for too many years. I went through the front door feeling as if I was entering the jaws of a being made of stone and shadow, and ascended the wide staircase, penetrating the bowels of this creature; when I opened the door of the main floor, the long corridor that faded into darkness seemed, for the first time, like the antechamber of a poisoned and distrustful mind. At the far end, outlined against the scarlet twilight that filtered through from the gallery, was the silhouette of Isabella advancing towards me. I closed the door and turned on the light.
Isabella had dressed as a refined young lady, with her hair up and a few touches of make-up that made her look ten years older.
‘You’re looking very attractive and elegant,’ I said coldly.
‘Like a girl your age, don’t you think? Do you like the dress?’
‘Where did you find it?’
‘It was in one of the trunks in the room at the end. I think it belonged to Irene Sabino. What do you think? Doesn’t it fit me well?’
‘I told you to get someone to take everything away.’
‘And I did. This morning I went to the parish church but they told me they couldn’t collect, and we’d have to take it to them ourselves.’
I looked at her but didn’t say anything.
‘It’s the truth,’ she added.
‘Take that off and put it back where you found it. And wash your face. You look like—’
‘A tart?’ Isabella completed.
I shook my head and sighed.
‘No. You could never look like a tart, Isabella.’
‘Of course. That’s why you don’t fancy me,’ she muttered, turning round and heading for her room.
‘Isabella,’ I called.
She ignored me.
‘Isabella,’ I repeated, raising my voice.
She threw me a hostile glance before slamming the bedroom door shut. I heard her beginning to move things about. I walked over to the door and rapped with my knuckles. There was no reply. I rapped again. Not a word. I opened the door and found her gathering the few things she’d brought with her and putting them in her bag.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked.
‘I’m leaving, that’s what I’m doing. I’m going and I’m leaving you in peace. Or in war, because with you one never knows.’
‘May I ask where you’re going?’
‘What do you care? Is that a rhetorical or an ironic question? It’s obvious that you don’t give a damn about anything, but as I’m such an idiot I can’t tell the difference.’
‘Isabella, wait a moment . . .’
‘Don’t worry about the dress, I’m taking it off right now. And you can return the nibs, because I haven’t used them and I don’t like them. They’re kitsch and childish.’
I moved closer and put a hand on her shoulder. She jumped away as if a snake had brushed against her.
‘Don’t touch me.’
I withdrew to the doorway in silence. Isabella’s hands and lips were shaking.
‘Isabella, forgive me. Please. I didn’t mean to offend you.’
She looked at me with tears in her eyes and gave a bitter smile.
‘You’ve done nothing but that. Ever since I got here. You’ve done nothing but insult me and treat me as if I were a poor idiot who didn’t understand a thing.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I repeated. ‘Leave your things. Don’t go.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because I’m asking you, please, not to go.’
‘If I need pity and charity, I can find it elsewhere.’
‘It’s not pity, or charity, unless that’s what you feel for me. I’m asking you to stay because I’m the idiot here, and I don’t want to be alone. I can’t be alone.’
‘Great. Always thinking of others. Buy yourself a dog.’
She let the bag fall on the bed and faced me, drying her tears as the pent-up anger slowly dissipated.
‘Well then, since we’re playing at telling the truth, let me tell you that you’re always going to be alone. You’ll be alone because you don’t know how to love or how to share. You’re like this house: it makes my hair stand on end. I’m not surprised your lady in white left you, or that everyone else has too. You don’t love and you don’t allow yourself to be loved.’
I stared at her, crushed, as if I’d just been given a beating and didn’t know where the blows had come from. I searched for words but could only stammer.
‘Is it true you don’t like the pen set?’ I managed at last.
Isabella rolled her eyes, exhausted.
‘Don’t look at me like a beaten dog. I might be stupid, but not that stupid.’
I didn’t reply but remained leaning against the doorframe. Isabella observed me with an expression somewhere between suspicion and pity.
‘I didn’t mean to say what I said about your friend, the one in the photographs. I’m sorry,’ she mumbled.
‘Don’t apologise. It’s the truth.’
I left the room, eyes downcast, and took refuge in the study, where I gazed at the dark city buried in mist. After a while I heard her hesitant footsteps on the staircase.
‘Are you up there?’ she called out.
‘Yes.’
Isabella came into the room. She had changed her clothes and washed the tears from her face. She smiled and I smiled back at her.
‘Why are you like that?’
I shrugged my shoulders. Isabella came over and sat next to me, on the windowsill. We enjoyed the play of silences and shadows over the rooftops of the old town. After a while, she grinned at me and said, ‘What if we were to light one of those cigars my father gives you and share it?’
‘Certainly not.’
Isabella sank back into silence, but every now and then she glanced at me and smiled. I watched her out of the corner of my eye and realised that just by looking at her it was easier to believe there might be something good and decent left in this lousy world and, with luck, in myself.
‘Are you staying?’ I asked.
‘Give me a good reason why I should. An honest reason. In other words, coming from you, a selfish one. And it had better not be a load of drivel or I’ll leave right away.’
She barricaded herself behind a defensive look, waiting for one of my usual flattering remarks, and for a moment she seemed to be the only person in the world to whom I couldn’t and didn’t wish to lie. I looked down and for once I spoke the truth, even if it was only to hear it myself.
‘Because you’re the only friend I have left.’
The hard expression in her eyes disappeared, and before I could discern any pity, I looked away.
‘What about Se?or Sempere and that pedant, Barceló?’
‘You’re the only one who has dared tell me the truth.’
‘What about your friend, the boss, doesn’t he tell you the truth?’
‘The boss is not my friend. And I don’t think he’s ever told the truth in his entire life.’
Isabella looked at me closely.
‘You see? I knew you didn’t trust him. I noticed it in your face from the very first day.’
I tried to recover some of my dignity, but all I found was sarcasm.
‘Have you added face-reading to your list of talents?’
‘You don’t need any talent to read a face like yours,’ Isabella retorted. ‘It’s like reading Tom Thumb.’
‘And what else can you read in my face, dearest fortune-teller?’
‘That you’re scared.’
I tried to laugh without much enthusiasm.
‘Don’t be ashamed of being scared. To be afraid is a sign of common sense. Only complete idiots are not afraid of anything. I read that in a book.’
‘The coward’s handbook?’
‘You needn’t admit it if it’s going to undermine your sense of masculinity. I know you men believe that the size of your stubbornness should match the size of your privates.’
‘Did you also read that in your book?’
‘No, that wisdom’s homemade.’
I let my hands fall, surrendering in the face of the evidence.
‘All right. Yes, I admit that I do feel a vague sense of anxiety.’
‘You’re the one who’s being vague. You’re scared stiff. Admit it.’
‘Don’t get things out of proportion. Let’s say that I have some reservations concerning my publisher, which, given my experience, is understandable. As far as I know, Corelli is a perfect gentleman and our professional relationship will be fruitful and positive for both parties.’
‘That’s why your stomach rumbles every time his name crops up.’
I sighed. I had no arguments left.
‘What can I say, Isabella?’
‘That you’re not going to work for him any more.’
‘I can’t do that.’
‘And why not? Can’t you just give him back his money and send him packing?’
‘It’s not that simple.’
‘Why not? Have you got yourself into trouble?’
‘I think so.’
‘What sort of trouble?’
‘That’s what I’m trying to find out. In any case, I’m the only one to blame, so I must be the one to solve it. It’s nothing that should worry you.’
Isabella looked at me, resigned for the time being but not convinced.
‘You really are a hopeless person. Did you know that?’
‘I’m getting used to the idea.’
‘If you want me to stay, the rules here must change.’
‘I’m all ears.’
‘No more enlightened despotism. From now on, this house is a democracy.’
‘Liberty, equality and fraternity.’
‘Watch it where fraternity is concerned. But no more ordering around, and no more little Mr Rochester numbers.’
‘Whatever you say, Miss Eyre.’
‘And don’t get your hopes up, because I’m not going to marry you even if you go blind.’
I put out my hand to seal our pact. She shook it with some hesitation and then gave me a hug. I let myself be wrapped in her arms and leaned my face on her hair. Her touch was full of peace and welcome, the life light of a seventeen-year-old girl, and I wanted to believe that it resembled the embrace my mother had never had time to give me.
‘Friends?’ I whispered.
‘Till death us do part.’