Captain Panteco disliked Señor Wavery’s countrymen – his grandfather claimed the bullets extracted from the Tercio corpses had been English – but he promised Wavery he would search for the two men. Plaisir des Yeux he didn’t know. Pas de Problème – he was another matter. He shouldn’t be working on the residence at all. “He should be in Las Rosales. Locked up.” But Pas de Problème had found an old man to confess to his crime.

“So it was you?”

“Yes, monsieur.”

Beneath the burnous, the man had smiled and two shiny black dates dropped onto the dunes of his face. His smile conveyed to Panteco not the smallest trace of humour.

“I am the one you want.” He had brown teeth, like the cardboard seats in Plaza de los Reyes, and carried a bag with a broken zip.

“So, Mohamed, how come then I caught Abdul Hadi with the Winstons?”

“I am the one you want. I was in the water, monsieur. You didn’t see me.” The dates teased Panteco. Everything teased him. This Arab, his boss, Joseph Silkleigh, but most of all Dolores whose eyes never responded to him, who fell asleep when they made love and in whose handbag he had found a copy of The History of the European Monetary System, which, since she wasn’t a known economist, he considered puzzling.

He nodded. “So how come I caught Abdul Hadi with the fucking Winstons?”

“You didn’t see me, monsieur. I was in the water. I am the one you want.”

“Mohamed –” He was caught in the fist of his impotent rage.

“You didn’t see me.”

“No, Mohamed, you’re right.” What did it matter? They were only American cigarettes. More important to Panteco at this moment was Rosita. Last night she had told him at dinner, “I’m leaving, Lustrino. I’m going to South America. To stay with Periclito.”

“For – for how long?”

“Until the bullfight.”

4

After the policeman left, Wavery sat for half an hour staring at the hole in the ceiling.

“Listening to your hair grow?”

Wavery contemplated the enigma of Silkleigh’s T-shirt. “How did you get in?”

“The door, ambasadoro. The door.” Silkleigh entered the banqueting room. “So this is where the General spent the time on his front.” He spoke in an effeminate way and then half marched, half minced to the mantelpiece where he posed. “You could give a darling party here.”

“That is the intention,” said Wavery.

Uninvited, Silkleigh sat down on a packing case, shiny boots on a chair. His T-shirt was laundered and the arms of a red jersey hugged his neck. The room became generous with aftershave.

Wavery said, “I thought you had a party.”

Ignoring him, Silkleigh jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “Nice car outside.”

“It’s only here till August.”

“I might beg to borrow it.”

“Beg away.”

Silkleigh became serious. “Now don’t be like that. I went to your office. I spoke to Asunción. She was upset. She told me what’s happened . . . ” His words flagged. “I thought I could help.”