But he was stuck on the fact that murder of a person had been casually dropped into the conversation for the first time, there had been a specific, unequivocal mention. He didn’t know how to reply.

‘No, I bought a box of twenty-five rounds.’

A pause, waiting for further potential criticism of his action.

‘It’s a 9 mm.’

‘I know,’

She said incongruously.

‘Police use them. So, get the ammo.’

The ammo, as she called it, was under the bed, upstairs; like a shamed dog with its ears back he went to retrieve it.

On his way up, he turned to her.

‘I’m paid up for another week and then I’m out of here, so if it is OK with you, can I bring my stuff? You know, clear everything out. I only have a couple of bags.’

‘Oh, so I can house a murderer you mean?’

The laugh came from the back of her throat.

‘That’s right.’

Ever said, trying to lighten the tone.

‘It wouldn’t be the first time.’

She said for the second time.

The laugh grew and lived with the words she spoke.

He attempted to continue the joke element of the situation.

‘A man on the run.’

But the stare and the pause suggested he had failed. The joke seemed to have been put to one side. Run its very short course.

‘I hope we don’t get to that, my sweet, with my help, I hope we don’t get to that.’

That carried a finality that he made no attempt to question.

She moved outside and sat by a table with two chairs that nestled in the courtyard, her legs were aching; she took in the Spanish architecture of the Mi Casa – the name in blue lettering on a patterned Mexican tile in the wall – the atmosphere of the place, with its little 1930s Hollywood separate apartment buildings; she wondered if, in her time, she had come here and sat with friends, all hopeful of turning their lives into the magic of silver.

Each little casita housed one or two bedrooms. She got up and walked around; her legs were still aching, maybe a little stroll would help. If the people were of like mind, the intimacy of the community could be comforting, she thought. She went back to her time at the Hacienda; before her life had lost its sheen, and the shine was still there to be polished.

Ever came down with a suitcase and a soft bag in under ten minutes. He was travelling with the lightness of a feather.

‘Ready?’