Believing the Lie - Elizabeth George [213]
“The woman in the picture,” Engracia said with a nod at the article about Raul Montenegro.
“That would be the case,” Barbara told her.
When the call went through and the phone began ringing, she handed the mobile over to the Spanish girl. What happened next was rapid-fire Spanish during which Barbara caught only Alatea’s name. Coming from Argentina, though, she could hear the sound of a woman’s voice. It was high and excited, and she could see from Engracia’s intent expression that something was developing from this call to Santa Maria de la Cruz, de los Angeles, y de los Santos.
There was a pause in the dialogue and Engracia glanced at Barbara. She said, “That was a cousin, Elena Maria.”
“Do we have the wrong number, then?”
“No, no. She’s at the house visiting. Dominga— the mayor’s wife?— this is her aunt. She’s gone to fetch her. She’s most excited to hear Alatea’s name.”
“Pay dirt,” Barbara murmured.
“This is…?”
“Sorry. Just an expression. We might be getting somewhere.”
She smiled. “Ah. ‘Pay dirt.’ I like this very much.” Then her expression altered as a distant voice bridged the thousands of miles between London and Argentina. The rapid-fire Spanish began again. There were many comprendos and many more sis. A few sabes? and several no sabos and then gracias over and over again.
When the call was completed, Barbara said, “Well? Yes? What’ve we got?”
“A message for Alatea,” Engracia said. “This woman Dominga says to tell Alatea she must come home. She says to tell her that her father understands. She says the boys also understand. Carlos, she says, has made all of the family pray and what they pray for is for her safe return.”
“Did she happen to mention who the hell she is?”
“A member of the family, it seems.”
“A sister who didn’t get in that old picture? A sister born after the picture was taken? A wife of one of the boys? A cousin? A niece? What?”
“She did not say, at least not clearly. But she told me the girl ran from her home when she was fifteen. They thought she went to Buenos Aires and they search for her there for many years. Particularly Elena Maria searches. Dominga said Elena Maria’s heart was broken and Alatea must be told that as well.”
“How many years are we talking about that she’s been gone, then?”
“Alatea? Thirteen,” Engracia said.
“And she ended up in Cumbria,” Barbara murmured. “By what route and how the hell…?”
She’d been speaking to herself but Engracia replied, reaching for one of the copied articles she’d already looked at. Barbara saw it was the piece on Raul Montenegro. Engracia said, “Perhaps this man helped her? If he has enough money to pay for a symphony music hall, he has more than enough to purchase a ticket to London for a beautiful woman, no? Or a ticket to any place else. Indeed, to any place she might like to go.”
LAKE WINDERMERE
CUMBRIA
They were like a tableau for thirty seconds or so, although the thirty seconds seemed much longer. During this period, Mignon directed her gaze from one person to another and her face blazed with a triumph that she’d obviously been waiting years to feel. Manette felt like a character in the midst of a stage play. This was the climax of the drama, and everything afterwards was going to provide them with the catharsis guaranteed in all Greek tragedies.
Valerie was the first person to move. She stood and said in that well-bred fashion of hers that Manette knew so well, “Please excuse me,” and she began to leave the great hall.
Mignon said in a burble of laughter, “Don’t you want to know more, Mum? You can’t leave now. Wouldn’t you like to have it all?”
Valerie hesitated, then turned and looked at Mignon. “You make a very good case for strangling one’s children at birth,” she said, and she left them.
The inspector followed her. Obviously, new light was being shed upon everything and there was