The simplest way to get into a hospital was to be sick. He hadn’t been sick a day in his life. He could pretend, sure, but the doctors wouldn’t be fooled. They had tests that they did. He would have to be running a temperature, or have splotches on his skin, or something broken. So that was out. The other way was to have someone in there, that he could visit. No one would take any notice of him, walking along the corridors with a bunch of flowers in one hand and a box of chocs in the other. How are you feeling today, sweetheart? How’s the pain?

He eyed the Girl again, her thin brown arms, her frail, breakable wrists.

Chapter 41

Quirke told Phoebe he would go with her to the hospital, but she said no, that it would be better if she went alone. Then he suggested she let Evelyn accompany her. This offer too she turned down.

‘At least phone ahead and tell her you’re coming,’ Quirke said.

‘I phoned once, and she hung up on me. Why would she do anything different if I call her again?’

They were in the hotel bar, which already she had come to think of as central headquarters of the Quest for April. Quirke had ordered a drink, though it was still only mid-morning. At least it was wine he was drinking, not spirits – he didn’t even consider white wine a real drink, only a sort of refresher, a post-breakfast pick-me-up.

‘But what did you think, from the sound of her voice?’ he asked. ‘Did you think it was her? – April, I mean.’

She couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He had the anxious, pleading look of a little boy who had told a serious fib and was begging his big sister to cover up for him. The clumsy wad of bandage on his left hand made him more vulnerable still.

‘I don’t know whether it was her or not,’ she said, softening her tone. ‘She just spoke a few words in Spanish, asking me who I was, I suppose. I said my name, and the line went dead.’

Evelyn was there, seated between them at the table and paying them no attention. She was knitting something shapeless in grey wool. Strafford had come down earlier and loitered for a while, before wandering outside and sitting at a table under an awning with his book. Phoebe felt sorry for him, too. He had no real reason to be here, and obviously was conscious of being embarrassingly superfluous.