Alicia left her suitcase on the floor and walked into the flat. Jesusa stood waiting in the doorway. There were fresh flowers in a vase in the entrance hall, and the place had a pleasant smell of cleanliness. She went through the rooms and walked along the corridors slowly, as if she were visiting the apartment for the first time.

Hearing Jesusa behind her, setting the keys on the table, she came back into the dining room. The caretaker was looking at her with a half smile.

“As if three years hadn’t gone by, right?”

“As if thirty had gone by,” replied Alicia.

“How long are you staying?”

“I still don’t know.”

Jesusa nodded.

“Well, you must be tired. You’ll find something for your dinner in the kitchen. Fernandito filled your larder. If you need anything, you know where to find me.”

“Thank you so much, Jesusa.”

The caretaker looked away. “I’m glad you’re home again.”

“Me too.”

Jesusa closed the door, and Alicia heard her footsteps fading down the stairs. She drew back the curtains and opened the windows to take a look at the street. Below spread the ocean of terraced rooftops covering Barcelona’s old town, and in the distance rose the towers of the cathedral and the basilica of Santa María del Mar. She scanned the outline of Calle Aviñón and caught sight of a figure withdrawing into the dark doorway of La Manual Alpargatera, the espadrille shop on the other side of the street. Whoever it was, the person was smoking, and the smoke ascended in silvery spirals up the building’s facade. Alicia kept her eyes fixed on that point for an instant but then gave up. It was too soon to start imagining threatening shadows. There would be enough time for that.

She closed the windows and, although she wasn’t hungry, sat at the kitchen table and ate a little bit of bread and cheese and some dried fruit and nuts. Then she opened a bottle of white wine she’d found on the table, tied with a red ribbon. The gesture had all the hallmarks of Fernandito, who still remembered her weaknesses. She poured herself a glass and sipped the wine with her eyes closed.

“Let’s hope it’s not poisoned,” she said. “To your health, Fernandito.”

The wine was excellent. Alicia poured herself a second glass and huddled up in the sitting-room armchair. She discovered that her radio still worked. Slowly she sipped the wine, a good vintage Penedès, and after a while, tired of the news bulletins that reminded the listeners, in case they’d forgotten, that Spain was the envy and the light of all nations in the world, she turned off the radio and decided to unpack the suitcase she’d brought. After dragging it into the middle of the dining room, she opened it on the floor. Looking at the contents, she wondered why she’d bothered to burden herself with clothes that seemed like remnants from another life, with possessions that, in fact, she had no intention of ever using again. She was tempted to close the suitcase and ask Jesusa, in the morning, to donate it to the Sisters of Charity. The only thing she pulled out was a revolver and two packets of bullets. The firearm had been a gift from Leandro in her second year of service, and Alicia suspected it had a past history her mentor had preferred not to mention.