‘What about dinner, then?’ he said, twisting a length of the telephone cord into a miniature noose. There was a silence on the line. Quirke held the phone away from him and made one of his monkey faces at it, scratching under his arm with a flapping right hand. Evelyn frowned hard at him, shaking her head, but laughing silently, too.

‘My wife discovered a very nice restaurant,’ Quirke said coaxingly. ‘It’s just at the Zurriola bridge, if that’s how it’s pronounced, in the Old Town. Perhaps you know the place. The fish is very good there.’

‘The fish is always good, in Donostia.’

‘Yes, I know. But it’s especially good at this place.’

Another pause, then:

‘When do you propose we should meet?’ Doctor Cruz asked. His tone by now had icicles forming on it.

‘Whenever you like,’ Quirke said airily, and winked at his wife. ‘What about this evening?’

Now the doctor made a humming sound, soft and tuneless.

‘All right, this evening,’ he said at last, with a pointed sigh. ‘But I should tell you I do not dine late, as most Spaniards do – my mornings begin early. Shall we say eight o’clock?’

‘Wonderful. I’ll ask the concierge here to reserve a table. You know where the restaurant is, at the Zurriola bridge, yes?’ No response ‘So: four people, eight o’clock.’

‘Four?’ Cruz said quickly, on a rising note.

‘Well, yes. Us, you and your – your colleague, Doctor Lawless.’

It came to Quirke that he was enjoying himself. He was spitefully pleased at having outmanoeuvred this stuffy, silver-haired hidalgo. He did another of his simian faces, drawing his lips as far back from his teeth as they would go. Behind him, Evelyn dug an admonishing knuckle into the small of his back.

‘Let me ask Doctor Lawless, then, if she is free this evening,’ Cruz said, and gave another, sharper sigh. ‘If you don’t hear from me in the next hour, assume that we shall both meet you and Señora Quirke at the restaurant at eight o’clock.’

Then he hung up, without saying goodbye.

‘“Quirky”, he says,’ Quirke said. He laughed.

‘They will come?’ Evelyn asked from afar – she had gone into the bathroom. She hadn’t closed the door and he could see her, standing before the mirror applying lipstick. It was the only make-up she wore, and even that she often forgot to put on.

‘The frosty bugger didn’t even enquire after my hand,’ Quirke said. ‘What are we thinking of, issuing this invitation?’

‘It was your suggestion.’

‘Yes, I know, but all the same.’

‘Anyway, it’s not him you want to see.’

‘What? Listen, do you really imagine I’m interested in Dark Rosaleen?’

‘Dark who?’

‘Doctor What’s-her-name. I don’t find her in the least attractive, in case you think I do.’