Standing in the middle of the room, Tristán Docampo looked back in horror, holding a couple of drinks and wearing only his underpants.
A few feet away, on the bed at the back of the room, hurriedly covering herself with the sheets, the young Helena Freire, completely naked, stared back wide eyed.
15
Montagues and Capulets
The three of them said nothing, all too shocked to react. Eventually, Roberto closed the door behind him and stood there with water dripping off him, a puddle at his feet growing by the moment.
“Excuse the interruption.” He cleared his throat awkwardly. “I knocked, but I didn’t know ... I didn’t suppose ... I mean ...”
“What are you doing here?” said Tristán, who had gone over to the bed, positioning himself between Roberto and Helena. “Who told you we were here?”
There was something endearing about the young man’s posture, a show of fierceness he absolutely did not possess. Roberto had to give it to him: It took a lot to stay cool when caught off guard in your underwear.
“Nobody told me anything,” he said. “I got caught in the rain. I’m a long way from the house I’m staying at, and was just trying to find somewhere to shelter. I heard voices and knocked on the door but—”
“That’s a lie!” Tristán cut in. “Who sent you? My father? Or was it Rosalía?”
“No one, I swear.” He raised his hands. “It happened by chance.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Please,” Helena said, in barely more than a whisper. “Don’t say anything to my mother or sister. I beg you.”
Roberto was speechless for a moment as the realization slowly dawned on him.
Tristán Docampo, the youngest Docampo, with Helena Freire, the youngest of the rival clan, naked together in a house far away from everything. He could imagine that their families would be far from happy if they knew.
He sighed and undid his parka before collapsing into a chair.
“Come on,” he said, gesturing to Tristán, “get dressed. This is awkward enough without you standing there half naked.”
Tristán flushed and muttered something, bending down to pick up his pants and hurriedly hoist them on.
“Would you mind turning around?” said Helena.
“Pardon?”
“I’d like to get dressed too,” she said, a little more firmly.
Roberto sighed and looked away as she got out of bed and reached for her clothes. It seemed as if the interlude of rustling clothes and zippers being done up was never going to end.
“That’s it,” she said at last.
Roberto turned again and saw the young lovers, fully dressed and sitting next to each other on the edge of the bed.
Tristán was holding one of Helena’s hands between his and looking at Roberto suspiciously. “Are you sure no one sent you?”
“I give you my word,” he said wearily. “Besides, I think we’ve got enough trouble on the island without creating more, don’t you?”
The pair exchanged a relieved look, with that deep expression, full of unspoken understanding, that can only be shared by two people who are intensely in love. Roberto groaned in irritation.
It was all he needed. As if he didn’t have enough problems already, he had just stumbled upon the island’s very own Romeo and Juliet. Of course, instead of elegant Montagues and Capulets, he was dealing with a bunch of angry Freires and Docampos who would have noqualms about throwing him off a cliff if they learned he was concealing the tryst.
“Okay,” he said, “want to explain what you’re doing here? Apart from the obvious, I mean. That bit I can imagine.”
Helena turned red to the roots of her hair and mumbled something inaudible as she looked down at her feet. It was Tristán who spoke up.
