“We do understand. Even so, how can you get hold of books for your client’s collection if afterward there’s no way of contacting him directly to let him know there’s an opportunity?”

“Believe me, Señora—Valcárcel?—if my client is interested in buying a book that is in your possession, he will be the one to notify me. I’m simply an intermediary.”

Alicia and Vargas looked at one another.

“Goodness,” the policeman improvised. “We’ve obviously been mistaken, my dear.”

Brians stood up and walked around the desk, holding out his hand with a smile that had all the signs of a farewell. “I’m very sorry not to be able to help you in this matter, and I must apologize for the appearance and state of my office. We’re in the middle of a move, and I wasn’t expecting any clients today.”

They shook hands and let Brians guide them to the front door as he hopped about, avoiding obstacles and clearing the path for them.

“If you’ll allow me a bit of impartial advice,” he said, “in your place I’d talk to a good secondhand bookseller and get him to spread the word. If you have a genuine Mataix, there will be no lack of buyers.”

“Any suggestions?”

“Barceló, next to Plaza Real, or Sempere & Sons, on Calle Santa Ana. Or Costa in Vic. Those are your three best options.”

“We’ll do that. Thank you so much.”

“You’re most welcome.”

Alicia didn’t open her mouth during their descent to the entrance hall of the building. Vargas followed her at a prudent distance. Before stepping through the front door, she stopped to look at one of the piles of boxes left there by the removal crew.

“What now?” Vargas said.

“Now we wait.”

“What for?”

“For Brians to make a move.”

Alicia knelt down by one of the closed boxes. She glanced briefly at the door and, seeing nobody around, pulled a label off the cardboard and put it in her pocket.

“Can you tell me what you’re doing?”

Alicia walked out into the street without replying. To his surprise, the moment Vargas stepped out, she went into the bar on the corner. Mariano, the bartender and champion of the morning madeleines, was still mopping the pavement, and seemed even more surprised than Vargas to see her entering his establishment. He quickly leaned the mop against the wall and followed her, drying his hands on the cloth hanging from his belt.

Vargas sighed and went in behind them.

“A little coffee and madeleines for the young lady?” Mariano proposed.

“A glass of white wine.”

“At this hour?”

“When do you start serving white wine?”

“For you, twenty-four hours a day. A smooth Penedès?”

Alicia nodded. Vargas sat on the stool next to her. “Do you really think your plan is going to work?” he asked.

“There’s no harm in trying.”

Mariano returned with the glass of wine and a plateful of olives on the house. “A little beer for the gentleman?”

Vargas shook his head. He watched Alicia relishing her wine. There was something about the geometry of her lips caressing the glass, about the shape of her pale neck throbbing as the liquid went through it, that lit up the day.