Read Online The Street of the Three Beds by Roser Caminals-Heath - Free Book Online Page A

before going to La Perla d’Orient.
    Monday morning the Equestrian was almost deserted, except for a group of old timers who played cards or read the papers. Maurici picked up
The Catalan People
and sat at a bar table by the window to catch the light. Sipping his vermouth and sampling tapas,
these clams aren’t what they used to be, I’ll let Evarist know,
he killed half an hour. Then he moved to a corner of the game room and passed some more time playing solitaire and smoking a cigar until the grandfather clock struck a quarter to two. As usual, he charged the bill to his father’s account, to be promptly paid at the end of the month. Paying at the bar was considered passé.
    When he arrived at La Perla d’Orient he pulled his hat—normally tilted at the perfect angle—down to his eyebrows. It was essential not to be recognized by anyone. He stood in front of the window and carefully stuck his head into the lobby to throw a quick glance inside. Behind the counter, the same woman as the last time wrapped a package for two customers who looked like mother and daughter. He couldn’t make out whether Jaumet was present.
    Moving away from the window, he pressed his back against the façade of the building. It was only a few minutes before closing time. If on their way out the woman and Jaumet headed toward The Ramblas, he’d be safe, but, if they took the oppositedirection, they were certain to see him. It was too risky. A false move now would tie his hands and make it impossible to pursue the matter any further. He moved away from the window and climbed the doorstep of the next building. From there, half hidden by the shadows, he could see and, hopefully, not be seen. For several slow minutes, he stared at the critical spot, hardly blinking. Perhaps no one ever came out of La Perla d’Orient, perhaps everybody in it vanished as Rita had, in which case he’d be sentenced to keep guard at his observation post for an eternity.
Let’s not get carried away again into metaphysical dead ends,
he told himself;
let’s get down to work
.
    As soon as he made his resolution, the two customers came out holding packages and walked past him talking and gesturing animatedly. The younger one threw an appraising glance at the stranger’s face, shadowed by the brim of the hat. Ordinarily he’d have reciprocated, but under the circumstances he kept his eyes on the threshold of La Perla d’Orient.
    A few minutes went by. Finally, the sight of a small foot on the doorstep of the store announced the woman’s exit. She and Jaumet stood on the sidewalk while she dropped the keys inside her purse. Maurici retreated back into the darkness of the lobby from where he saw the woman, with Jaumet hanging on her arm, walk down the sidewalk. Shortly after he stepped out into the light to follow in their footsteps, his eyes fixed on the woman’s brown dress and hat in case he became separated from them in a crowd. He adjusted his stride to the couple’s rhythm, marked by Jaumet’s jerky gait and oscillating motion that reminded him of a foundering boat. The possibility of running into an acquaintance was a constant anxiety, although he was prepared to be rude and ignore them.
    They left the main street to enter a maze of side alleys. To Maurici, such places had no name and wove together a strange, labyrinthine world infinitely remote from his own.He did identify Ferran Street just because he’d gone there once or twice as a customer of the Palais de Cristal. At one point, as the woman and Jaumet crossed to the other side, a cabriolet rode by and momentarily blocked his view, but he caught up with them before they turned into a humid, dark alley that made a slight bend. It was too narrow to have sidewalks or to let carriages through. The only traffic there was a swarm of flies and a stench of stagnant sewers.
    He stopped on the corner. The risk of being spotted increased