“It looks like you’ve made a friend,” said Bea. “And don’t imagine Julián will go off with just anyone . . .”

Alicia looked at the boy. Having never held a baby or child, she had no idea how to do it.

Bea must have sensed her bewilderment, because she took Julián in her arms. “Don’t you have children?”

The visitor shook her head.

She probably eats them, thought Bea, lapsing into spite. Julián was still looking at Alicia, entranced.

“Julián, is that his name?”

“Yes.”

Alicia stepped closer to the child and leaned forward so that their eyes were level. Julián smiled, delighted.

* * *

Surprised at her son’s reaction, Bea let him stretch out his hand to the woman’s face. Julián touched her cheek and her lips. When he stroked her, Bea thought the customer’s eyes were filling with tears, or perhaps it was just the reflection of the midday sun. The woman moved away swiftly and turned around.

She was wearing gorgeous clothes, and as far as Bea could see, very expensive. The sort of clothes she would sometimes stop to look at in the most exclusive shop windows in Barcelona, only to walk away daydreaming about them. She was pencil-slim, and her expression was vaguely theatrical. And she wore a glossy red lipstick that Bea would never have dared show off in public. Only occasionally had she painted her lips that color for Daniel in private, when he got her a bit tipsy with muscatel and asked her to do what he called “a fashion parade.”

“I love your shoes,” said Bea.

The woman turned around again and smiled, her teeth flashing. Julián was trying to clap, a clear indication that he liked everything about her, from the shoes whose price could not even be asked to the velvety eyes that seemed to hypnotize like the eyes of a snake.

“Were you looking for anything in particular?”

“Well, I’m not sure. I had to leave almost all my books behind when I moved, and now that I’ve returned to Barcelona, I feel as if I’ve been shipwrecked.”

“Are you local?”

“Yes, but I’ve been away a few years.”

“In Paris?”

“Paris? No.”

“I said that because of your clothes. And your look. You have a Parisian look.”

Alicia swapped glances with little Julián. Still besotted with her, he nodded as if that business of her Parisian origins had been his idea, not his mother’s.

“Do you know Paris?” asked Alicia.

“No. Well, only from books. But next year we’ll go and celebrate our anniversary there.”

“That’s what I call a good husband.”

“Oh, he doesn’t know yet.” Bea laughed nervously. Something in that woman’s gaze made her speak too much.

Alicia gave her a conspiratorial wink. “Even better. Some things are far too important to be left in men’s hands.”

“Is this your first time in the bookshop?” asked Bea, wanting to change the subject.

“No. In fact, when I was a child, I used to come here with my parents. This is where my father bought me my first book. . . . Although that was many years ago. Before the war. But I have very good memories, and I told myself it was the best place to begin rebuilding my lost library.”