“This is none of your business.”
“Of course it is.” Her eyes flashed.
“I don’t have to listen to you.”
“Maybe not.” She shrugged and jutted her chin at one of the nearby houses. “But possibly to him you do.”
Up on a balcony, a white-bearded man was calmly smoking a cigarette while contemplating the scene. He gave a slow shake of his head, before turning and going back inside the house.
Big, burly Luis scowled, but all his grit seemed gone, and there was a look of relief in his eyes. He stooped to pick up his raincoat, shook the mud off it, and barged past Roberto.
“We’ll be seeing each other,” he muttered. “This is a small island.”
When he was gone, Roberto heaved a sigh. The overpowering fury had passed, and only the adrenaline remained. His heart was still racing, and he plunged his hands into his pockets in an attempt to calm himself.
He went over to the woman. She had dropped the hoe and was hugging the boy, who was sobbing loudly.
“Thanks,” said Roberto. “If you hadn’t shown up, things could have gotten pretty ugly.”
“It’s me who should be thanking you. For defending Diego. Poor kid has no idea what to do in situations like that.”
Roberto took a closer look at the boy, who was gazing gratefully up at him, his big green eyes full of tears. Roberto had thought, given the youngster’s small, lean frame, that he was just a kid, but realized now he must be at least sixteen or seventeen.
“Hi, I’m Roberto.” He held out his hand to Diego, who just stared at it, seemingly unsure what to do, before throwing his arms around Roberto, almost knocking him over with the embrace.
“I’m Diego,” said the boy, unleashing a dazzling smile. “And now we’re friends. Friends forever, right? Friends, friends, friends!”
“Forever’s a long time.” Roberto smiled back. “But we can start with today.”
“Are you a secret agent?” trilled Diego.
“What?”
“You’ve come to the island in the middle of winter because you’re a secret agent, on a special mission, right?”
“He isn’t a secret agent, Diego,” said the woman. “He’s the writer Roberto Lobeira, and he’s going to be spending a few weeks at the Escudero place.”
“News travels fast.” Roberto frowned.
“More than fast, in a place as small as this.” She shrugged. “Especially if a famous author comes to visit.”
Roberto thought he detected a hint of sarcasm.
“And you are?”
“Antía Freire,” she said curtly. She had a firm handshake. “I’m Diego’s sister, and I’ve got the keys to your rental property.”
“And who was the idiot I almost just had a fistfight with?”
“Luis Docampo.” She winced, as if the words tasted bitter. “Son of Ramón Docampo, the gentleman on the balcony.”
“Let me guess: You guys aren’t best friends.”
“That doesn’t quite cover it,” she said. “Let’s just say that the Freires and the Docampos have a few long-standing differences.”
“That’s why he was like that with Diego?”
She shook her head. “No,” she sighed. “That’s just because Luis is an asshole. When did you get in?”
