And what of herself? Was she entirely genuine? She thought of her life, when she bothered to think of it, as something like a ramshackle caravan, with camels, and swaying wagons piled high with baggage, and music and drumming, and men in turbans riding on elephants, and wild animals in wheeled cages, and, oh, alle möglichen Dinge, yes, a caravan that had emerged out of deep night into the sunlight and soft shadows of what, for now, was the present, and that one day, when she was old, would be the all but forgotten past.

She was not normally given to such ruminations. It must be, she decided, the effect of the south.

‘Yes,’ she said to the earnestly smiling young man seated behind the desk, ‘for four people, at eight o’clock. So kind. Gracias.’

Chapter 15

It was clear from the start that the evening was not going to be easy. Quirke and Evelyn had been at the table for a full half hour before Doctor Cruz arrived. He was alone, Quirke saw, with a twinge of disappointment. The doctor seemed preoccupied and distinctly cross, and made no apology for being late, but sat down brusquely at his place, snatched up his napkin and cracked it like a whip and laid it on his lap. Quirke and Evelyn glanced at each other. So far there had been no mention of Doctor Lawless. Quirke, in the end, having been kicked twice under the table by Evelyn, cleared his throat and enquired with a show of polite concern if everything was all right with the young woman. Cruz stared at him, perplexed.

‘All right? How do you mean, all right?’

‘Well,’ – Quirke glanced at his watch – ‘it’s almost eight forty-five.’

Cruz shrugged.

‘Oh, she’s always late.’ He frowned at the menu. ‘She will be along soon. We should perhaps order, without waiting for her.’