I spent the rest of the morning staring at the walls, until the bells of Santa María reminded me that it would soon be time for my meeting with Pedro Vidal.
He was waiting for me at the best table in the room, toying with a glass of white wine and listening to the pianist who was playing a piece by Granados with velvet fingers. When he saw me, he stood up and held out his hand.
“Congratulations,” I said.
Vidal smiled, waiting for me to sit down before sitting down himself. We let a minute of silence go by, cocooned by the music and the glances of the distinguished people who greeted Vidal from afar or came up to the table to congratulate him on his success, which was the talk of the town.
“David, you can’t imagine how sorry I am about what has happened,” he began.
“Don’t be sorry, enjoy it.”
“Do you think this means anything to me? The flattery of a few poor devils? My greatest joy would have been to see you succeed.”
“I’m sorry I’ve let you down once again, Don Pedro.”
Vidal sighed.
“David, it’s not my fault if they’ve gone after you. It’s your fault. You were crying out for it. You’re quite old enough to know how these things work.”
“You tell me.”
Vidal clicked his tongue, as if my naïveté offended him.
“What did you expect? You’re not one of them. You never will be. You haven’t wanted to be, and you think they’re going to forgive you. You lock yourself up in that great rambling house and you think you can survive without joining the church choir and putting on the uniform. Well you’re wrong, David. You’ve always been wrong. This isn’t how you play the game. If you want to play alone, pack your bags and go somewhere where you can be in charge of your own destiny, if such a place exists. But if you stay here, you’d better join some parish or other—any one will do. It’s that simple.”
“Is that what you do, Don Pedro? Join the parish?”
“I don’t have to, David. I feed them. That’s another thing you’ve never understood.”
“You’d be surprised how quickly I’m learning. But don’t worry, the reviews are the least of it. For better or worse, tomorrow nobody will remember them, neither mine nor yours.”
“What’s the problem, then?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Is it those two sons of bitches? Barrido and the grave robber?”
“Forget it, Don Pedro. As you say, it’s my fault. Nobody else’s.”
The head waiter came over to the table with an inquiring expression. I hadn’t looked at the menu and wasn’t going to.
“The usual, for both of us,” Vidal told him.
The head waiter left with a bow. Vidal was observing me as if I were a dangerous animal locked in a cage.
“Cristina was unable to come,” he said. “I brought this, so you could sign it for her.”
He put on the table a copy of The Steps of Heaven wrapped in purple paper with the Sempere & Sons stamp on it and pushed it toward me. I made no move to pick it up. Vidal had gone pale. After his forceful remarks and his defensive tone, his manner seemed to have changed. Here comes the final thrust, I thought.
“Tell me once and for all whatever it is you want to say, Don Pedro. I won’t bite.”
Vidal downed his wine in one gulp.
“There are two things I’ve been wanting to tell you. You’re not going to like them.”
“I’m beginning to get used to that.”
“One is to do with your father.”