Never an Empire (22 page)

His mind turned back to Carmen. He still needed her for that last message but she was increasingly a weak link in the chain he'd so painstakingly forged. If she talked too freely she could still bring his house down. He let his mind run over ways the message from her husband might be collected without using her but he came up empty. He had laid the groundwork oh so carefully. No one suspected anything, no one. But it meant he was stuck with her to the end. It would be better if he could be sure Carmen's mouth would stay shut but he was damned if he could see any way to make it sure. He got up. He'd go back to the hotel, have a drink, and give it a little thought. Two weeks was a long time and anything might happen, anything. He stood for a moment in thought. No, it looked like he was stuck with her for two long weeks. Maybe he should make it a couple of drinks and a lot of thought.

Chapter Twenty-six

Carmen looked at her reflection in shop windows. She didn't care that her dress was now shabby and soiled. The truth was it had been a disappointment. The problem with having nice things to wear was that you needed to show them off to people who could appreciate them. That cow Maria was too spiteful and jealous to say anything nice about her no matter how pretty she looked, and, as for the people of the village, they were cattle as well, stupid beasts who worked, ate, and slept. They knew nothing and couldn't appreciate anything. No, to enjoy wearing a dress a woman needed a proper audience, people educated in the ways of fashion. And today, she decided, she wouldn't hurry making her choice. Last time she had been too excited and paid too much attention to the smooth sales talk of the woman who owned the shop. This time it would be her own choice, and it wouldn't be just a dress. To look really well dressed a lady needed other things, the right hat, the right shoes. These things mattered to people sophisticated to know about them.

Carmen went back to the same shop she had bought the last dress and was welcomed by the owner. The last dress had been a good one but not one of the more expensive, the sort a superior servant might buy to wear on Sundays. She had recommended it because she had pigeonholed Carmen as a young woman who had saved hard to buy one good dress and it would have to serve her on her day off and on Sundays for several years. It had been smart and durable. On seeing Carmen again the shopkeeper was puzzled and intrigued by its condition, as if it had been worn for a long journey on foot, a very long journey. When Carmen announced she wanted a new dress, a better one, the shopkeeper's surprise and curiosity both grew.

‘My dear, what happened to your dress?'

Carmen gave her a look.

‘My dear, it's none of your business. Now, if you have anything better than this, much better, then I will stay and consider what you show me. If not I will take my custom elsewhere.' And she walked to a chair, sat down, and folded her hands on her lap.

The shopkeeper paused only for a second. She was a proud woman and had been rudely snubbed, but while she was in her shop she was a shopkeeper, so she forced a smile to her lips; after all this woman seemed determined to pay well. ‘Yes, Madame, I think I can show some things you may like.'

‘Very well: begin.'

When she finally settled on a dress it was one of deep red with puffed out shoulders, a tight waist, flared skirt, the bosom edged with fine, white lace, and an embroidered, stiff collar. She also bought a small straw hat trimmed with feathers. She had enough money but the shop, alas, didn't sell shoes. She decided, however, that shoes weren't too important as the dress came to the floor and her feet would hardly be seen at all. Shoes could wait until another day. She decided to wear her purchases straight away and show them off on those streets of San Juan where she was sure she would turn the heads of any gentlemen who could appreciate beauty when they saw it. Having paid she told the shop owner to keep the dress she had left. If it was properly cleaned and mended at the hem it might be of use to some poor servant girl who couldn't afford to buy a new one. The shop owner thanked her fulsomely and showed her to the door all smiles and compliments. Carmen had suddenly become a good customer: two dresses in just over a week, the second one of her most expensive. Having closed the door she turned back into the shop.

‘Slut.'

Carmen made one more purchase: a pretty and quite impractical white parasol, all lace frills and ribbons. She opened it outside the shop where she had bought it and set out to enjoy her walk through the smarter streets of San Juan. Her leisurely stroll was a great success from the very beginning. San Juan had its social elite who did their best to keep up with Manila fashions and the shop Carmen had used to buy the dress was the one most favoured by ladies of fashion. Fortunately for Carmen the dress she had chosen had only come in the previous day and was the very latest design; having made its debut in Paris only eighteen months before. As she walked Carmen was more than gratified to see that she had, as she thought, been able to turn more than a few heads: ladies as well as gentlemen. The dress, hat, and parasol were a great success. But soon the first flush of pleasure began to wane. What to do now? If she went back to Enrique's house there would only be Maria and she knew how she would behave. Enrique might be there but he probably wouldn't be much better. Look at how he'd behaved last time, hardly noticed her and when she had gone to his room that night the door had been locked. He might be Spanish and educated but he still had no taste. That was his trouble: being a priest had knocked all the taste for beauty out of him. Look at the way he was in bed, fumbling, too hurried, all pushing and grunting. It was passion without pleasure. He took and she gave, but it wasn't exciting or beautiful or anything like it was with her husband who knew how to make love. With Enrique there was nothing for her except hard work. Of course he was a priest and that must make a difference: all the time he was pushing and grunting he knew he was pushing and grunting his way to hell. Oh well, he was the priest, she wasn't: it was no sin for her. It may be wrong to let a man who is not your husband get inside you but this was different. Her husband knew and had agreed it was the only thing to do, the only way for them to get out of the Philippines and to America with enough money to start a little business. Everyone became rich in America, she knew that, everyone succeeded. That was where she belonged, on the streets of some American city wearing the latest fashions. In America they could be happy and she would have a nice house and servants and all the dresses she wanted …

The man who stood before blocking her way raised his hat, held out a white handkerchief and smiled.

‘Excuse me, Señorita, but is this yours? Did you drop it?'

Carmen looked at the handkerchief and then at the man. He wasn't very good looking, nor particularly young, but he was very well dressed, expensively dressed, in a white suit of fine cut. From his head to his feet everything about him spoke of money added to which, from his accent, he was Spanish.

With some regret she answered his question.

‘No, it's not mine.'

But how she wished it had been.

‘A pity. It is always a pleasure to do a kindness for a stranger, especially when that stranger is so pretty.' Carmen wasn't sure what to do. Such words from a casual meeting on the public street almost amounted to a crude insult, not a compliment. The man, though obviously aware of the situation, continued. ‘I apologise of course for speaking as I do but I am an artist, a painter, and we painters must be allowed a little latitude, surely? If I create a thing of beauty I want those people who see it to say so, to let me know they appreciate what I have done and what I am. So, when I see something of beauty I must say so, I cannot let the petty restrictions of social convention restrict my natural instinct. For the artist beauty comes first, everything else,' he made a small gesture with his hand which encompassed all that surrounded them, ‘all of this which people call life, is nothing more than a blank canvas awaiting the hand of creation, awaiting the eye of the artist to bring it truly to life.' Without having realised it Carmen found she had begun walking beside this man. She liked his looks, his voice, and what he was saying. Of course if he was an artist, a painter, then what he said was true: you are allowed to be different if you are an artist. But what she liked most was what he said about her, that she was beautiful. ‘Have you ever been to Paris?'

She was almost ashamed to have to answer.

‘No. I have never left the Philippines.'

‘Ah. In Paris you would be appreciated. In Paris you would have been a muse, the inspiration of someone like myself.' Here he paused, pulled a gold pocket watch from his waistcoat pocket by its chain, and flicked it open. ‘Excuse my boldness but I am on my way to dine, early, yes, but in food as in fashion I make my own rules. You would not by any chance care to join me?'

Maria knew what her answer should be. Artist or no, respectable women didn't go and dine with total strangers whom they had met quite casually on the street. On the other hand she hadn't eaten since breakfast, which was a long time ago, and it struck her with some force that she was hungry, very hungry indeed.

The struggle was as brief as the outcome was inevitable and when he held out the crook of his arm she shamelessly slid hers into his.

Chapter Twenty-seven

‘She's back all right; Margarita Mendez, a friend of mine, came round to tell me. Did I know what my cousin's daughter was up to, she said. Did I know that she was walking arm in arm out in the street with a man old enough to be her father?'

‘She was sure it was Carmen?'

‘There could be no mistake. And she was wearing a red dress that Margarita said looked brand new and expensive.'

‘Who was the man?'

‘She didn't know him but she said he looked a well-off sort.'

‘Not a young man though?'

‘No, but not so old as to be past taking an interest in what women like Carmen put on display.'

‘She said she was going to her village to see her daughter.'

‘Well she would hardly say that she was going away for a few days with another man: one who would buy her dresses and other finery. But suit yourself, I can only tell you what Margarita told me. Now, are you ready to eat?'

Maria's news had taken away Father Enrique's appetite. While Carmen had been away he had been doing some thinking. The night before she left he had locked his door. The murder of those two people had shocked him and turned his mind to sin and where it leads. How did any man grow up to be a bandit, to become someone who could kill two innocent people for the little they would have been carrying? Where and how did such evil begin to take hold? Such thoughts had brought home to him his own position. His relationship with Carmen was sinful. There was no point in deluding himself: he only wanted her body, the pleasure it gave him, he did not want her. He wanted to be a good priest but not the good priest Maria had described, not merely an efficient priest. He wanted more than that. During Carmen's absence he had gone over the way his life had turned out. He thought of his childhood when his mother had taught him of Jesus' love for all mankind, especially for the poor and the weak, and most importantly his compassion for the repentant sinner. ‘Never be afraid to turn to Jesus if you stray from the path and become lost. If you fall let Jesus pick you up just as I have picked you up. Let Jesus' love and forgiveness fill your life, Enrique, just as my love has filled it.' And he had promised her that he would. He remembered the proudest day of his life, his First Communion, how his mother had wept. He had asked her why she was crying. ‘With joy, my son, with joy, to see you now so close to Jesus.' Then she had knelt beside him and held him close. He had felt the wetness of her tears on his own cheek. ‘Try and be close to him, my son. It will not always be easy, and sometimes it may be very hard, even seem impossible, but he is the Good Shepherd and he will always be waiting to welcome home the wandering sheep.' And he had tried. Ever since that day, with his mother's tears still wet on his cheek, he had promised God that he would give his life to following Jesus, that he would become a priest.

Now he was a lost sheep, now he needed the love and compassion of the Good Shepherd to welcome him back, a repentant sinner.

But then there was Carmen.

Maria interrupted his thoughts with his meal: chicken and rice.

‘I'm not really very hungry, Maria, I have a lot on my mind.'

‘Let your mind take care of itself for a while; your body needs food. No one can live on thinking.'

And she returned to the kitchen. He looked down at the plate, picked up his fork, and slowly tried to eat.

The kitchen door opened and Maria stood there.

‘Carmen is back. Do you want to see her?'

No, he didn't want to see her. What he wanted, he now realised, was for her to be gone. He put his fork down, pushed the plate away, and stood up. It wasn't going to be pleasant but it had to be done and now was as good a time as any.

‘Yes, I will speak to her.'

Maria looked into the kitchen.

‘Father Enrique wants you.'

She stood to one side as if unwilling to have any contact as Carmen came in.

The hat, the parasol, and most of all the dress came as an unpleasant shock to Father Enrique: its tight waist, its flared skirt, its redness. But in the dress she looked very beautiful and it unsettled him, made him unsure of himself. Perhaps if he thought things over a little more, perhaps if he waited before making a decision. Perhaps just a night or two.

If Carmen had simply stood, let him look at her, and kept quiet everything might have been all right. But she didn't. She knew what she looked like and she was proud of it. She had just been sitting, having a meal with a real artist, a painter. They had drunk wine and he had told her how beautiful she was, that he wanted to paint her, he had said so. So when she spoke her voice was arrogant.