“Didn’t your parents come to see you?”

“They weren’t my parents.”

“I mean the Ubachs.”

“No. When at last I was discharged, two policemen and an ambulance picked me up and took me back to the Ubachs’ mansion in Madrid.”

“What did the Ubachs say when they saw you?”

“The señora, for that’s how she liked me to call her, spat in my face and called me a bitch and an ungrateful whore. Ubach summoned me to his office. The whole time I was there, he didn’t even bother to look up from his desk. He explained that they were going to send me to a boarding school near El Escorial, and that I’d be able to come home for a few days at Christmas, so long as I behaved myself. The next day they took me there.”

“How long were you at the boarding school?”

“Three weeks.”

“Why for such a short time?”

“The head of the school discovered that I’d told my roommate, Ana Maria, what had happened.”

“What did you tell her?”

“Everything.”

“Including the stealing of children?”

“Everything.”

“And she believed you?”

“Yes. Something like that had also happened to her. Almost all the girls in the boarding school had a similar story.”

“What happened?”

“A few days later they found her hanging in the boarding-school attic. She was sixteen.”

“Suicide?”

“What do you think?”

“And you? What did they do to you?”

“They took me back to the Ubachs’ house.”

“And . . . ?”

“Ubach gave me a beating and locked me in my room. He told me that if I ever told lies about him again, they’d stick me in a mental hospital for the rest of my life.”

“And what did you say?”

“Nothing. That very night, while they slept, I sneaked out of my room through the window and locked the door of the Ubachs’ bedroom, on the third floor. Then I went down to the kitchen and opened the gas taps. They kept drums of kerosene for the generator in the basement. I walked all around the first floor, sprinkling kerosene on the floor and the walls. Then I set fire to the curtains and went out into the garden.”

“You didn’t run away?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because I wanted to see them burn.”

“I understand.”

“I don’t think you can understand. But I’ve told you the whole truth. Now you tell me something.”

“Of course.”

“Where’s my sister?”

15

“Your sister is now called Mercedes, and she’s in a safe place.”

“Like this one?”

“No.”

“I want to see her.”

“Soon. First tell me about your husband, Ignacio Sanchís. I can’t quite understand how Miguel Ángel Ubach, who had all the top law firms in the country at his service, decided to make a promising but inexperienced young man his executor. Have you any idea why?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“No.”

“Ignacio was Ubach’s son. He fathered him with a chorus girl he used to see when he was young. Her name was Dolores Ribas, and she was a regular in the music halls of the Paralelo district. Because Ubach’s wife—the señora—didn’t want to ruin her figure by having children, Ubach supported Ignacio secretly. He paid for his schooling, and when Ignacio came of age, he made sure he enjoyed plenty of opportunities, enabling him to join a law practice, which Ubach then took on.”