The Spanish Daughter(83)

“I don’t know if this makes any difference to you,” he said, “but I haven’t been intimate with Angélica in a few weeks.”

Was that why she’d been crying that night in her room?

“It doesn’t,” I said. Knowing that Martin had loved my sister was devastating and I didn’t think anything would make it better. “But if you truly like me, then answer this. What was all that nonsense about looking through my father’s drawer? You know what’s in there?”

“A chess board.”

“Yes. What’s so important about a chess game?”

He covered his face with his hand. “My father lost this entire plantation over a chess game.”

“What?” I didn’t think I’d heard him right.

“My father became consumed with chess. It was all he thought about night and day. At first, it was just a hobby. He just wanted to learn the game, but then he started buying books, learning all the tricks, all the possible combinations. He had manuals sent from Spain and some from the United States that he translated into Spanish vehemently. He studied them thoroughly. He would pose problems that he tried to solve all day long. He stopped working. All he wanted was to master the game. Your father took advantage of that. Don Armand was an innate chess player, and my father couldn’t stand it. One day, they made a bet. My father was out of his mind by then. One day, he just came and told me and my mother that he’d lost the hacienda. Just like that.”

So the hacienda belonged to Martin?

“It ended up killing my mother. Her heart couldn’t take the shame of having to move to the guest house and everybody in town knowing it. She tried for a while, but it eventually killed her.”

“You can’t be serious,” I said. His father couldn’t have lost his fortune to a game of chess, could he?

“That chess set you saw belonged to my father. It’s the board they used for the bet. Armand kept it as a trophy.”

I felt sorry for him, for the loss of his mother, of his father’s legacy, but at the same time, I was outraged.

“Is that why you’re still here?” I said. “Why you want the hacienda so badly?”

He didn’t answer.

“You thought that by marrying Angélica, you would get the hacienda, the entire plantation back?” I shook my head in disbelief. “But Laurent wasn’t in your plans, was he? And now, you thought you could get it through me?”

“No. I told you, I’m fond of you, I’ve developed feelings for you. I know it looks bad, but I’ve never felt such a strong connection to any other woman. That’s why I was never faithful to Angélica. I now see that Angélica was an obsession, a habit, and not much else.”

“But it’s also convenient that I’m Armand’s oldest daughter.”

“I guess for a moment I considered that,” he admitted. “But I can’t deny that there is chemistry between us, an affinity. You must feel it, too.”

“There was chemistry before I knew who you really were,” I said.

“But you lied to me, too, and I overlooked that.”

“Because it was convenient for you.”

He sighed, rubbing his eyes. “No, it’s not convenient to be involved with two sisters, or to have all these feelings and not knowing what to do with them.”

Catalina came into the room.

“Don Cristóbal.” She was still in her robe. “Are you all right? Julia just told me what happened to you.”

“I’m fine,” I said.

“You shouldn’t be here, in this cramped room.” She turned to Martin. “Don Martin, let’s take him to his bedroom.”

“I said I’m fine. I don’t need anything.” I set my feet on the floor. “And I don’t need a doctor, either.”

With that, I let myself out of the room while everything I thought I knew about my father, about my future on this plantation, about my feelings for Martin collapsed.





CHAPTER 40

I slept all morning and woke up at two o’clock in the afternoon. After the blow to my head, I needed the rest. I looked around the room, disoriented. Still in my clothes. I recalled hearing Julia’s voice, a couple of hours ago, knocking on the door incessantly, saying something about the doctor. But I didn’t open. I didn’t want to see any doctors. All I wanted was to sleep—I hadn’t slept this much in weeks. There was something else bothering me, though, something in the back of my mind. A concern. Something I had to remember. What was it? Had I dreamt it?

My head throbbed. There was a bump on the crown of my head.

Slowly, I got out of bed. I was hungry. Thirsty. Maybe if I ate something, I would feel better, maybe even remember this detail, this idea that tormented me. I checked my beard to make sure it was still in place and donned my spectacles from the night table.

The house was quiet.

Holding on to the banister, I descended the staircase and headed toward the kitchen. There were subdued voices in the parlor.

“I think he’s up,” someone said. A man. Was that Laurent? Martin? No, it sounded more like Alberto. What was he doing here?

Angélica, with that charming smile of hers, came out of the room and met me in the hallway. It was hard to reconcile this image of pleasantry and confidence with the devastated woman I’d encountered in the kitchen the previous night.