I took the note and put it away.

‘Thank you.’

‘Not at all. Anyhow, what more can they do to me now?’

‘Would you have a photograph of Diego Marlasca? I haven’t found one anywhere in the tower house.’

‘I don’t know… I think I must have one somewhere. Let me have a look.’

Salvador walked over to a desk in a corner of the sitting room and pulled out a brass box full of bits of paper.

‘I still have things from the case… As you see, even after all those years, I haven’t learned my lesson. Here. Look. This photograph was given to me by the widow.’

He handed me an old studio portrait of a tall, good-looking man in his forties, who was smiling at the camera, against a velvet backdrop. I tried to read those clear eyes, wondering how they could possibly conceal the dark world I had found in the pages of Lux Aeterna.

‘May I keep it?’

Salvador hesitated.

‘I suppose so. But don’t lose it.’

‘I promise I’ll return it.’

‘Promise me you’ll be careful and I’d be much happier. And that if you’re not, and you get into a mess, you’ll call me.’

We shook on it.

‘I promise.’

30

The sun was setting as I left Ricardo Salvador on his cold roof terrace and returned to Plaza Real. The square was bathed in a dusty light that tinted the figures of passers-by with a reddish hue. From there I set off walking and ended up at the only place in town where I always felt welcome and protected. When I reached Calle Santa Ana, the Sempere & Sons bookshop was about to close. Twilight was advancing over the city and the sky was breached by a line of blue and purple. I stopped in front of the shop window and saw that Sempere’s son was saying goodbye to a customer at the front door. When he saw me he smiled and greeted me with a shyness that spoke of his innate decency.

‘I was just thinking about you, Martín. Everything all right?’

‘Couldn’t be better.’

‘It shows in your face. Here, come in, I’ll make you some coffee.’

He held the shop door open and showed me in. I stepped into the bookshop and breathed in that perfume of paper and magic that strangely no one had ever thought of bottling. Sempere’s son took me to the back room, where he set about preparing a pot of coffee.

‘How is your father? He looked fragile the other day.’

Sempere’s son nodded, as if appreciative of my concern. I realised that he probably didn’t have anyone to talk to about the subject.

‘He’s seen better times, that’s for sure. The doctor says he has to be careful with his angina, but he insists on working more than ever. Sometimes I have to get angry with him, but he seems to think that if he leaves me to look after the shop the business will fail. This morning, when I got up, I asked him to stay in bed and not to come down to work today. Well, would you believe it, three minutes later I found him in the dining room, putting on his shoes.’

‘He’s a man with fixed ideas,’ I agreed.

‘He’s as stubborn as a mule,’ replied Sempere’s son. ‘Thank goodness we now have a bit of help, otherwise…’

I adopted my best expression of surprise and innocence, which always came in handy and needed little practice.

‘The girl,’ Sempere’s son explained. ‘Isabella, your apprentice. That’s why I was thinking about you. I hope you don’t mind if she spends a few hours here each day. The truth is that, with the way things are, I’m very grateful for the help, but if you have any objections…’

I suppressed a smile when I noticed how he savoured the double ‘l’ in Isabella.

‘Well, as long as it’s only temporary. The truth is, Isabella is a good girl. Intelligent and hard-working,’ I said. ‘And trustworthy. We get on very well.’

‘She says you’re a despot.’

‘Is that what she says?’

‘In fact, she has a nickname for you: Mr Hyde.’

‘How charming. Pay no attention to her. You know what women are like.’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Sempere’s son in a tone that made it clear that he might know a lot of things, but certainly hadn’t the faintest clue about women.

‘Isabella might say that about me, but don’t think she doesn’t tell me things about you,’ I countered.

I noticed a change in his expression, and let my words sink through the layers of his armour. He handed me a cup of coffee with an attentive smile and rescued the conversation using a trick that would have been unworthy even of a second-rate operetta.

‘Goodness knows what she says about me.’

I left him to soak in uncertainty for a few moments.

‘Would you like to know?’ I asked casually, hiding a smile behind my cup.

Sempere’s son shrugged his shoulders.

‘She says you’re a good and generous man; she says that people don’t understand you because you’re shy and they can’t see beyond that, and, I quote, you have the presence of a film star and a fascinating personality.’

Sempere’s son looked at me in astonishment.

‘I’m not going to lie to you, Sempere, my friend. The truth is I’m glad you’ve brought up the subject because I’ve been wanting to talk to you about it and didn’t know how.’

‘Talk about what?’

I lowered my voice and fixed my eyes on his.

‘Between you and me, Isabella wants to work here because she admires you and, I fear, is secretly in love with you.’

Sempere gulped.

‘But, pure love, eh? Spiritual. Like the love of a Dickens heroine, if you see what I mean. No frivolities or childish nonsense. Isabella might be young, but she’s a real woman. You must have noticed, I’m sure…’

‘Now that you mention it…’

‘And I’m not referring to her – if you’ll pardon me – exquisitely tender frame, but to her kindness and the inner beauty that is just waiting for the right moment to emerge and make some fortunate man the happiest in the world.’

Sempere didn’t know where to look.

‘Besides, she has hidden talents. She speaks languages. She plays the piano like an angel. She has a good head for numbers, as good as any Isaac Newton. And to cap it all she’s a wonderful cook. Look at me. I’ve put on a few kilos since she started working for me. Delicacies that even in La Tour d’Argent… Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed?’

‘She didn’t mention that she could cook…’

‘I’m talking about love at first sight.’

‘Well, really…’

‘Do you know what the matter is? Deep down, although she gives the impression she’s an untamed shrew, the girl is docile and shy to a pathological degree. I blame the nuns: they unhinge them with all those stories of hell and all those sewing lessons. Long live secular education.’

‘Well, I would have sworn she took me for a little less than an idiot,’ Sempere assured me.

‘There you are. Irrefutable proof. Sempere, my friend, when a woman treats you like an idiot it means her hormones are racing!’

‘Are you sure about that?’

‘As sure as the Bank of Spain. Believe me; I know quite a lot about this subject.’

‘That’s what my father says. And what am I to do?’

Well, that depends. Do you like the girl?’

‘Like her? I don’t know. How do you know if-? ’

‘It’s very simple. Do you look at her furtively and feel like biting her?’

‘Biting her?’

‘On her backside, for example.’

‘Señor Martín!’

‘Don’t be bashful; we’re among gentlemen. It’s a known fact that we men are the missing link between the pirate and the pig. Do you like her or don’t you?’

‘Well, Isabella is an attractive girl.’

‘What else?’

‘Intelligent. Pleasant. Hard-working.’

‘Go on.’

‘And a good Christian, I think. Not that I’m much of a practising Catholic, but…’

‘Don’t I know it. Isabella almost lives in the church. Those nuns… I tell you!’

‘But quite frankly, it had never occurred to me to bite her.’

‘It hadn’t occurred to you until I mentioned it.’

‘I must say, I think talking about her like that – or about any other woman – shows a lack of respect. You should be ashamed…’ protested Sempere’s son.