‘Mea culpa,’ I intoned, raising my hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘But never mind: we each show our devotion in our own way. I’m a frivolous, superficial creature, hence my canine focus, but you, with that aurea gravitas of yours, are a man of mysterious and profound feelings. The important thing is that the girl adores you and that the feeling is mutual.’

‘Well…’

‘Don’t you “well” me. Let’s face it, Sempere. You’re a respectable and responsible man. Had it been me, what can I say, but you’re not a fellow to play fast and loose with the noble, pure feelings of a ripe young girl. Am I mistaken?’

‘I suppose not.’

‘Well that’s it, then.’

‘What is?’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’

‘No.’

‘It’s time to go courting.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Courting or, in scientific terms, time for a kiss and a cuddle. Look here, Sempere, for some strange reason, centuries of supposed civilisation have brought us to a situation in which one cannot go sidling up to women on street corners, or asking them to marry us, just like that. First there has to be courtship.’

‘Marry? Have you gone mad?’

‘What I’m trying to say is that perhaps – and deep down this is your idea even if you’re not aware of it – today or tomorrow or the next day, when you get over all this shaking and dribbling over her, you could take Isabella out, when she finishes work at the bookshop. Take her out for afternoon tea somewhere special, and you’ll realise once and for all that you were made for one another. You could take her to Els Quatre Gats, where they’re so stingy they dim the lights to save on electricity – that always helps in these situations. Ask for some curd cheese for the girl with a good spoonful of honey; that always whets the appetite. Then, casually, you let her have a swig or two of that muscatel that goes straight to the head. At that point, placing a hand on her knee, you stun her with that sweet talk you hide so well, you rascal.’

‘But I don’t know anything about her, or what interests her, or…’

‘She’s interested in the same things as you. She’s interested in books, in literature, in the very smell of the treasures you have here – and in the penny novels with their promise of romance and adventure. She’s interested in brushing aside loneliness and in not wasting time trying to understand that in this rotten world nothing is worth a single céntimo if there isn’t someone to share it with. Now you know the essentials. The rest you can find out and enjoy as you go along.’

Sempere looked thoughtful, glancing first at his cup of coffee, which he hadn’t touched, then at yours truly, who with great difficulty was trying to maintain the smile of a stock-market trader.

‘I’m not sure whether to thank you or report you to the police,’ he said at last.

Just then, Sempere senior’s heavy footsteps were heard in the bookshop. A few seconds later he put his head round the door of the back room and stood there looking at us with a frown.

‘What’s going on? The shop is left unattended and you’re sitting here chattering as if it were a bank holiday. What if a customer had come in? Or some scoundrel trying to make off with our goods?’

Sempere’s son sighed, rolling his eyes.

‘Don’t worry, Señor Sempere. Books are the only things in this world that no one wants to steal,’ I said, winking at him.

His face lit up with a knowing smile. Sempere’s son took the opportunity to escape from my clutches and slink off back to the bookshop. His father sat next to me and sniffed at the cup of coffee his son had left untouched.

‘What does the doctor say about the effects of caffeine on the heart?’ I asked.

‘That man can’t even find his backside with an anatomy book. What could he know about the heart?’

‘More than you, I’m sure,’ I replied, snatching the cup from him.

‘I’m as strong as an ox, Martín.’

‘You’re a mule, that’s what you are. Please go back upstairs and get into bed.’

‘It’s only worth staying in bed if you’re young and in good company.’

‘If you want company, I’ll find someone for you, but I don’t think your heart is up to it right now.’

‘Martín, at my age, eroticism is reduced to enjoying caramel custard and looking at widows’ necks. The one I’m worried about here is my heir. Any progress in that field?’

‘We’re fertilising the soil and sowing the seeds. We’ll have to see if the weather is favourable and we get a harvest. In two or three days I’ll be able to give you an estimate about the first shoots that is sixty to seventy per cent reliable.’

Sempere gave a satisfied smile.

‘A masterstroke, sending Isabella to be our shop assistant,’ he said. ‘But don’t you think she’s a bit young for my son?’

‘He’s the one who seems a bit green, if I may be frank. He’s got to get his act together or Isabella will eat him alive. Thank goodness he’s a decent sort, otherwise…’

‘How can I repay you?’

‘By going upstairs and getting into bed. If you need some spicy company, take a copy of Moll Flanders.’

‘You’re right. Good old Defoe never lets you down.’

‘Not even if he tries. Go on, off to bed.’

Sempere stood up. He moved with difficulty and his breathing was laboured, with a hoarse rattle that made one’s hair stand on end. I took his arm and noticed that his skin was cold.

‘Don’t be alarmed, Martín. It’s my metabolism; it’s a little slow.’

‘Today it’s as slow as War and Peace.’

‘A little nap and I’ll be as good as new.’

I decided to go up with him to the apartment where father and son lived, above the bookshop, and make sure he got under the blankets. It took us a quarter of an hour to negotiate the stairs. On the way we met one of the neighbours, an affable secondary-school teacher called Don Anacleto, who taught language and literature at the Jesuits’ school in Calle Caspe.

‘How’s life looking today, Sempere, my friend?’

‘Rather steep, Don Anacleto.’

With the teacher’s help I managed to reach the first floor with Sempere practically hanging from my neck.

‘If you will forgive me, I must retire to rest after a long day spent fighting that pack of primates I have for pupils,’ the teacher announced. ‘I’m telling you, this country is going to disintegrate within one generation. They’ll tear each other to pieces like rats.’

Sempere made a gesture to indicate that I shouldn’t pay too much attention to Don Anacleto.

‘He’s a good man,’ he whispered, ‘but he drowns in a glass of water.’

When I stepped into the apartment I was suddenly reminded of that distant morning when I had arrived there covered in blood, holding a copy of Great Expectations. I recalled how Sempere had carried me up to his home and given me a cup of hot cocoa while we were waiting for the doctor, and how he’d whispered soothing words, cleaning the blood off my body with a warm towel and a gentleness that nobody had ever shown me before. At that time Sempere was a strong man and to me he seemed like a giant in every way; without him I don’t think I would have survived those years of scant hope. Little or nothing remained of that strength as I held him in my arms to help him into bed and covered him with a couple of blankets. I sat down next to him and took his hand, not knowing what to do.

‘Listen, if we’re both going to start crying our eyes out you’d better leave,’ he said.

‘Take care, you hear me?’

‘I’ll wrap myself in cotton wool, don’t worry.’

I nodded and started walking towards the door.

‘Martín?’

At the doorway I turned round. Sempere was looking at me with the same anxiety he had shown that morning long ago, when I’d lost a few teeth and much of my innocence. I left before he could ask me what was wrong.