Chapter 12

Angela cleared her throat and then went on.

"And then I remembered all the times I had gone into the shop when my mother was serving someone and she had snapped at me to get out. Or I had come to the door and heard her whispering to someone. It didn't seem odd at the time. Or at least, no more odd than usual. She always snapped at me and she never wanted me in the same room. So I never thought much about it.

"But now I think I know what was going on. I think she was selling things on the black market!"

She paused dramatically and looked at Domingo with a triumphant expression. Domingo stared back in complete incomprehension.

Angela shook her head and began to explain. "During the war in England, there wasn't enough food and stuff to go round, so the government rationed it. Everyone was allowed only so much bread and meat and eggs and butter and cloth and so on. And they were all issued with coupons. Anyone who ran a shop could only sell them the amount they were entitled to and they had to collect the coupons and hand them in and account for everything they sold. If you sold anything extra, without the coupons, it was called the black market and..." she lowered her voice confidentially, "it was a criminal offence."

"Of course," she went on, "you could get a lot more money for black market goods than for proper rationed stuff. In fact, if you did it for years and never spent any, you could probably make thousands of pounds.

"And another thing. After she went funny and I had to run the shop by myself, people kept asking for her with just such a look, you know," she said, assuming a conspiratorial expression and looking over her shoulder and back. "And they seemed very disappointed when I said she wasn't available. And then sometimes someone would ask me if we had any special stock in and maybe they'd give me a wink and then say, 'Oh, never mind,' when it was obvious I didn't know what they were talking about.

"Once I worked it out, it was so obvious. And I went all hot with embarrassment. They must have thought I was so stupid!

"My mother must have been salting it way for years. God knows what she wanted it for." Angela paused. "I don't think my father knew. I don't think he would have approved. And anyway," her lower lip began to tremble, "he wasn't there."

She turned her head into Domingo's shoulder and began to weep.

"What I don't understand," said Domingo, "is why you think you stole the money. If both your mother and father were dead, wasn't it your money anyway?"

Angela looked up at him in amazement, her face streaked with tears. "But I told you. She must have stolen the money herself."

"Who from?" asked Domingo, genuinely puzzled.

"Well, the government, of course!" cried Angela. "She made it on the black market. It was stolen money!"

Domingo took her face between his hands and looked into her eyes with a very serious expression.

"Angela," he said, "it is not stealing to do things without telling the government. It is sensible. Why, if Old Salva had not made twice the bread ration in the bad times, the whole village would have starved to death. And nobody in their right mind would pay taxes. Your mother did the reasonable thing. If the food was there, it needed to be eaten."

He sat back with his arms folded, clearly indicating that the matter was settled.

"But it's not just that!" Angela moaned. "I had six brothers and sisters. Even if the money wasn't stolen, it wasn't just mine to keep. And I just took it. I put everything back in the chest and I put in all my clothes and my books and I put on my coat and I left the house. I just took it and I got the next train to Southampton and I didn't even leave a note for anyone."

Domingo threw back his head and laughed.

"Oh, Angela," he cried, "you are so funny. Come on. Show me the things in the chest."

"Aren't you ashamed of me?"

"Of course not," said Domingo.

They sat in front of the chest and Angela got out the things one by one. Some of them were perfectly familiar. There was a doll in a flamenco dress, a donkey in a straw hat, an ivory fan. But some were very odd indeed.

"What's this?" he asked, holding up a wooden carving of some kind of animal with long, twisted horns."

"It's an antelope," said Angela, and laughed at his expression. "It's like a sort of goat."

Domingo turned the carving round in his fingers. "The horns are wrong," he said. "The carver can't have been very good."

"I'm not sure," said Angela. "I think they might actually be like that in Africa."

"Humph!" said Domingo, disbelievingly. But he put the carving down gently and glanced at it from time to time as they looked at the rest of the things. Finally, they had taken them all out and Domingo could see the picture of the lady and her swain at the bottom.

"He's a goatherd!" declared Domingo. "Look, he's got a proper goatherd's staff!"

"Of course," said Angela. "Now, watch."

She leaned forward and pressed gently on the feather in the lady's hat and the bottom of the chest slid upwards. She inserted her fingers under the edge and pulled it open the rest of the way. Lying in its nest under the false bottom was what remained of Angela's dubious inheritance.

"I changed most of it into pesetas," she said. "I couldn't believe how much you could get. And how much it would buy. Three thousand pounds is a lot of money in England, but it's an absolute fortune in Spain."

She sat looking at the money with a bemused expression on her face.

"And now, Angela," said Domingo, taking her face in his hands and turning it towards him. "I want you to tell me about the monster."