Miguel Arsenio Francisco del Rey readied himself to enter the Irish bar, like some fighter preparing for the ring, clenching his fists, breathing in deep cold breaths, closing his eyes. And then, before he was ready, he found he’d pushed the door open.
He saw the two sat together by the window. His sister looked a little peeved not so much at his presence, but with the attitude he’d brought with him – antagonistic, ready for a fight. She’d seen him look that way when he’d challenged papa on his choice of university away from home. On that occasion he’d gritted his teeth and got his way; inside she had cheered him all the way. Only this time she was not happy with his interfering. The expression on Mr Collins’s face was a blank: what could he expect from the young man?
It was Floria that began.
“Miguel! Mr Collins has kindly offered to let us stay another night.”
That took the wind right out of his sails.
“What? But why?”
“I agreed we should take his case with us. He asked it as a favour. And because we’re stuck here and have little choice in the matter, and that he has so generously offered to help us out, I agreed that we should help him. Besides, Mr Collins has been so kind to us; it would be wrong of us not to accept his generosity.”
This had also been news to the Irishman. He had said no such thing. And now he was to pay for their stay. But they had his case now. Besides, there was something very bold about what the young girl had said.
Both Miguel and Michael stared at Floria. She raised her coffee and continued:
“So, I hope we can go skiing later today, Miguel. Have you been up yet, Mr Collins?”
He shook his head. What an idiot he had been. This young girl, this black-haired maiden who appeared so innocent and hapless, had played him along this whole time. How much had she really known? Was she some sort of quiet amateur detective who weighed every word and every nuance for meaning and corroboration? He doubted it. Yet she left him feeling very vulnerable – exposed, almost. He had to recover; get back, even.
“No, I’m not much of a skier. Not much snow in Ireland.” His nervous chuckle rang hollow – intended to sooth the information imparted, it had the opposite effect.
“Will you join us for a coffee, Miguel?”
He stood down. He did not understand what Floria was doing, but somehow she seemed to be in control of the situation. Somehow.
“No, thank you. I just…” And he couldn’t think of excuses for being where he was, for having the attitude he had displayed upon entry, or for staying a moment longer. “I just wondered where you were.”
She smiled. “Hmm. Well, Mr Collins suggested another coffee earlier.” She turned to him, “Thank you again, Mr Collins.”
Mr Michael Collins nodded and picked up his own cup, desperately thinking. Had he really walked into a trap, or had she merely grasped at an opportunity; should he play along, and wait for his own to arrive, or just do it her way? He wondered how difficult it would be to find them again should they do a runner with the case.
“It’s nothing. I am passing through, and like to help whenever I can. You must let me have your room number. So that I can pay.”
Floria glanced up at Miguel again. “405”
Now he knew. Thank God! He desperately tried not to let the wave of relief display itself right on his face. For now, he knew that even if he left and walked away that she would be all right. For when the time came for the Irish businessman to pay for their room, they would be gone. This was the plan – surely. He saw it in the way she sipped her coffee and the little smile on her lips.
“OK, I’ll be going. See you back at the hostel.” He pulled open the door, put his hands in his pockets and confidently walked out onto the crispy crunchy snow back towards the hostel and their room. He reasoned that they needed to be cool and play for time.
He sat in the room, staring at the white reinforced structure of the suitcase. What the hell was in this thing? Drugs, no doubt: contraband of a serious nature. He’d earlier thought of calling in the police, but weighed it up and considered that even if he did they could not make the journey up the road to Fuente Dé until the snowploughs had done their work. No engine of any sort had been heard in the past 24 hours. He’d also thought of informing the hostel’s management, but it would result in the same outcome – their being stranded without access to police. He reasoned that if he was a dangerous man, and he thought he was, then once alarmed by oncoming police, he would be cornered he would do anything to get away. He didn’t fancy them being hostages. And this must also have been Floria’s courageous thinking. That she had been able to get close enough to Mr Collins, to be admitted into the place where he was vulnerable, made him actually very proud of her. It was certainly a risky manoeuvre, to win his trust, to play for time, but it was essential they had to do it. Like his father, he began to pace.
–
They had their second coffee and talked lightly about living in Spain, about places he had visited both in Spain and abroad, even a little about his early life back in Ireland, which had a faint whiff of ridiculousness about it – all horses and mountains. Nevertheless, she found it interesting. There was little she could add to such a conversation outside of school experiences, having only ever once been to Madrid, to the funeral of an aunt, and travelled on a school trip to Paris in her early teens and London last summer with her parents. Of most interest over their half-hour together, however, was that he did not continue with his proposal of her glamorous potential at modelling.
Finally, after their coffee had been long-drunk and their conversation began to lilt into longer stretches of pause, he decided to pay up. Before putting on gloves, they shook hands outside.
“Thank you again, Mr Collins. You have been most helpful to me, and my brother. And for the dinner, and the coffees now. Are you are sure we cannot pay you back for it?”
He shook his head. “I only want to help you out. I was young once.”
This was something she’d heard all older people say. “And we will make sure your suitcase is delivered to your wife in Madrid – Elvira? You must give me her address and I will pass it on to her.”
“Yes, that’s her. So, it’s I who should be thanking you.”
And with that he left and walked down the road toward his residence, wherever that was, and she slowly tramped back to her hostel and her brother.
–
“So, at what point did you decide?”
“Decide what?” she seemed not to know.
“That it was me rather than him?”
“Do you really think I could ever choose anyone over you, Miguel? You are my brother – my brother! I actually did like him, to begin with. A bit. And I took the case because you were being totally... stupid! But later this morning he tried to tell me I could be a model.”
Miguel shrugged. “So what? Wouldn’t you like that?”
She frowned. “It’s still me you’re talking to – your sister. Do you really think I could be a model?”
He didn’t know how to answer that.
“A model? Me? Come on, Miguel, me? I knew then that he was not nice. Not at all.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve heard about scams like that. And he was appealing to me, like I was a little girl. I could easily have listened more, but it felt like I was being taken in by him. In the end I could see myself getting into a lot of trouble. Something told me I was not going to enter a career in modelling.”
“So you gave him the wrong room number?”
“As soon as I saw you, I knew what to do. He had to go away thinking we were going to do what he wanted.”
“And we aren’t?”
“No. We’re not. We only need to make sure that he pays for the room.”
–
In the lobby of the nearby Hotel Fuente Dé the Irishman tapped his fingers on the edges of the sofa’s arms. He was now unsure, like he’d lost his foothold. What was he thinking – perhaps giving the suitcase away to these two innocents had been a mistake. He didn’t trust either of them now. He’d lost his hold. He felt a fool. He decided, there and then, he had to get the case back.
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