‘I didn’t hear anything.’
‘I know about your husband’s case, of course,’ said Aguado. ‘It was truly terrible. That must have been very traumatic for you and the children.’
‘It was. But it’s not directly linked to why I’m sitting here,’ said Consuelo. ‘That investigation was necessarily intrusive. I was a prime suspect. He was a wealthy, influential man. I had a lover. The police believed I had a motive. My life was turned inside out by the investigation. Nasty details of my past were revealed.’
‘Such as?’
‘I had appeared in a pornographic movie when I was seventeen to raise money to pay for my first abortion.’
Aguado forced Consuelo to relive that ugly slice of her life in great detail and didn’t let her stop until she’d explained the circumstances of the next pregnancy, with a duke’s son, which had led to the second abortion.
‘What do you think of pornography?’ asked Alicia.
‘I abhor it,’ said Consuelo. ‘I especially abhorred my need to be involved in it, in order to find the money to terminate a pregnancy.’
‘What do you think pornography is?’
‘The filming of the biological act of sex.’
‘Is that all?’
‘It is sex without emotion.’
‘You described quite strong emotions when you were telling me—’
‘Of disgust and revulsion, yes.’
‘For your partners in the movie?’
‘No, no, not at all,’ said Consuelo. ‘We were all in the same boat, us girls. And the men needed us to perform. It’s not a highly sexually charged atmosphere on a porn set. We were all high on dope, to help us get over what we were doing.’
Consuelo’s enthusiasm for her account waned. She wasn’t getting to the point.
‘So who were these strong feelings of anger aimed at?’ asked Aguado.
‘Myself,’ said Consuelo, hoping that this partial truth might be enough.
‘When I asked you what pornography was, I don’t believe you were telling me what you actually thought,’ said Aguado. ‘You were giving me a socially acceptable version. Try answering that question again.’
‘It’s sex without love,’ said Consuelo, hammering the chair. ‘It’s the antithesis of love.’
‘The antithesis of love is hate.’
‘It’s self-hate.’
‘What else?’
‘It’s the desecration of sex.’
‘What do you think of men and women being filmed having sex with multiple partners?’ asked Aguado.
‘It’s perverted.’
‘What else?’
‘What do you mean, “what else”? I don’t know what else you want.’
‘How often have you thought about the movie since it came to light in your husband’s murder investigation?’
‘I forgot about it.’
‘Until today?’
‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘This isn’t a social situation, Sra Jiménez.’
‘I realize that.’
‘You mustn’t be concerned with what I think of you in that respect,’ said Aguado.
‘But I don’t know what you’re trying to get me to admit.’
‘Why are we talking about pornography?’
‘It was something that came to light in my husband’s murder investigation.’
‘I asked you whether your husband’s murder had been traumatic,’ said Aguado.
‘I see.’
‘What do you see?’
‘That the movie coming to light was more traumatic for me than my husband’s death.’
‘Not necessarily. It was bound up in a traumatic event, and in that highly emotionally charged period it made its mark on you.’
Consuelo struggled in silence. The tangled mess was not unravelling but becoming even more confused.
‘You’ve made appointments with me several times recently and you’ve never appeared for them,’ said Aguado. ‘Why did you come this morning?’
‘I love my children,’ said Consuelo. ‘I love my children so much it hurts.’
‘Where does it hurt?’ asked Aguado, leaping on to this new revelation.
‘You’ve never had children?’
Alicia Aguado shrugged.
‘It hurts me in the top of my stomach, around my diaphragm.’
‘Why does it hurt?’
‘Can’t you ever just accept something?’ said Consuelo. ‘I love them. It hurts.’
‘We’re here to examine your inner life. I can’t feel it or see it. All I have to go on is how you express yourself.’
‘And the pulse thing?’
‘That’s what raises the questions,’ said Aguado. ‘What you say and what I feel in your blood don’t always match up.’
‘Are you telling me I don’t love my children?’
‘No, I’m asking you why you say it hurts. What is causing you the pain?’
‘Joder! It’s the fucking love that hurts, you stupid bitch,’ said Consuelo, tearing her wrist away, ripping her blabbing pulse out from under those questioning fingertips. ‘I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. That was unforgivable.’
‘Don’t be sorry,’ said Aguado. ‘This is no cocktail party.’
‘You’re telling me,’ said Consuelo. ‘Look, I’ve always been very firm about telling the truth. My children will confirm that.’
‘This is a different type of truth.’
‘There is only one truth,’ said Consuelo, with missionary zeal.
‘There’s
