The wood was freshly painted grey, the Mexican was now questioning the old lady about asking the man for tea, and he presumed, as the second part was in Spanish, that maybe there was a stronger opinion about letting him into the car in the first place. The voice dominant, over the now-reduced volume of the music. The explanation was returned in English, from the old lady, that he was from England and that is what they liked at this time of the afternoon. They had sat in silence, apart from the invitation; the lack of questioning struck his chemically calmed brain as just a little strange. He inhaled the smell of leather and the strong scent coming from the passenger. Chanel No 5.

The same scent his mother used to wear.

Not too disturbing.

Well, a bit.

*

‘Help me. Your arm, please. Manita will put the car in the garage.’

Garage came out old American, the same stress on both syllables – English inflection. The rest was American, with just the faintest rounding of the r at the end of car.

Manita drove the black mass back down the driveway to what he assumed was the garage at the side of the house, on Elevado, and disappeared from view. But the journey continued in his head to satisfy his imagination; he wondered just how cross Manita really was.

The big brown front door opened into a big brown panelled hallway, that opened without restriction on to a big brown panelled room, with the garden and pool beyond. All this was seen in one panoramic sweep of eye. The two enormous sofas were covered in white, a soft white linen; save for two standard lamps and a baby grand piano in black, that was all the room was wearing.

He thought that if anyone really played the piano in a room this size they would have a Steinway Concert Grand. The full nine feet. There were no paintings on the panels and no pictures.

He still hadn’t seen her eyes but, as he turned, her right arm lifted from his to the black glasses; they obeyed gravity, slipping from her grasp, and she fumbled them to the brown wooden floor. He still couldn’t see her eyes, her head having travelled towards the fallen pair.

‘I’ll get them.’

Seeing him bend to pick them up, she did too, without the noise that often accompanies the old and movement; both heads raised at the same time, then he saw her eyes and she looked into his.

‘Thank you.’

Came from below her eyes and they were blue. A dark blue, the whites still clear and strong, despite the age that burdened her.

‘Shall we have our tea now?’

‘Thank you. Please.’

Politesse times two; the wrong way round. A door slammed in another space beyond them. Manita returning from the garage access at the back of the house.

‘Manita. Tea please, if you don’t mind.’