The barman set April’s glass in front of her. She said something to him in Spanish, and he gave a lazy shrug and went back through the doorway. The drink had a little parasol in it, made of pleated paper attached to a toothpick.

‘Tell me what happened,’ Phoebe said. ‘Please.’

April took a tube of lipstick from the pocket of her skirt and began applying it, narrowing her eyes to peer at herself in the mirror behind the bar. The lipstick was a violent shade of crimson, and turned her pale face into a primitive mask. She pressed a napkin between her lips, leaving a perfect imprint of them on the paper.

‘What do you mean, what happened?’ she said.

‘Why did you run away and pretend to be dead?’

April laughed. ‘Did I “run away”?’

‘Well, didn’t you? Everyone thought you were dead. Oscar—’

‘Yes, well, I’m not dead, as you see.’ This was spoken with brusque finality. April put the lipstick away and plucked the parasol out of her glass and dropped it on the bar. She drank.

‘Don’t you want something?’ she said to Phoebe. ‘Have some sangria – that’s what all the tourists drink.’

‘No, thanks,’ Phoebe said. ‘I just had breakfast.’

‘Did you? God, I never eat breakfast.’

The barman emerged again through the doorway. He eyed the paper napkin where it lay on the bar, with the impression in it of April’s lips. April saw him looking at it, and picked it up and tossed it to him, with another hard little laugh. It fluttered to the floor, and he bent to retrieve it. April turned away. The barman stared stonily at her profile for a moment and then went away again, kicking the door shut behind him with his heel.

‘Why are you being so awful to him?’ Phoebe asked.

‘Gonçal? He doesn’t mind – I sleep with him now and then.’ She was pensive for a moment, then said, ‘What a shock I got when I saw your old man at the hospital. Couldn’t believe my eyes. Where did I meet him, by the way?’

‘We were coming out of the Shelbourne one night, while he was coming in. He almost fell over us. I introduced you, and he said something stupid.’

‘Oh, yes? What?’

‘I can’t remember. One of his drunken gallantries.’

April gave a little squeal of laughter.

‘Wonderful!’ she said. ‘Did he try to get off with me?’

‘Well, you were with me, you know.’

‘Would that have stopped him? He had quite a reputation in those days, as I recall.’ She put a finger into her drink and stirred it, making the ice cubes joggle. ‘He’s not bad-looking,’ she said thoughtfully, and sucked her finger. ‘For a man of his age, anyway.’

She took another sip of her drink, and studied herself and Phoebe in the mirror facing them.