Alicia let the echo of her footsteps announce her presence as she walked into the room. Vilajuana emerged from his daydream and looked up. Replacing the top of the pen, he rose courteously. “Señorita Gris, I presume.”

“Call me Alicia, please.” Alicia held out her hand, which Vilajuana shook with a polite but cautious smile. His small, keen eyes observed her as he asked her to sit down, wavering between suspicion and curiosity.

Alicia pointed to the pages dotted around the table, some still damp with ink. “Have I interrupted you?”

“I’d say you’ve rescued me.”

“Bibliographic research?”

“My inaugural speech for being received into this institution.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you. I wouldn’t like to sound brusque, Señorita Gris, Alicia, but I’ve been waiting to see you for a few days, and I think we can dispense with the small talk.”

“I gather, then, that Don Gustavo Barceló has spoken to you about me?”

“In some detail, if I may be so bold. Let’s say you made a deep impression on him.”

“It’s one of my specialties.”

“I can see that. In fact, some of your old colleagues at police headquarters also send you their regards. Don’t be surprised. We journalists are like that too. We ask questions. It’s a bad habit we acquire over the years.” Abandoning all attempts at diplomacy, he looked her straight in the eye. “Who are you?”

Alicia considered lying, just a little, or even lying her head off, but something in that look told her it would be a grave tactical mistake. “Someone who wants to find out the truth about Víctor Mataix.”

“A club that recently seems to be gaining more and more followers. May I ask why?”

“I’m afraid I can’t answer your question.”

“Without lying, you mean.”

Alicia nodded. “Something I won’t do, out of respect.”

Vilajuana’s smile returned, this time overflowing with irony. “And you think that flattering me will prove more profitable than lying?”

She fluttered her eyelashes and adopted her sweetest expression. “You can’t reproach me for trying.”

“I see Barceló wasn’t exaggerating. If you can’t tell me the truth, tell at least why you can’t.”

“Because if I did, I would put you in danger.”

“In other words, you’re protecting me.”

“In a way, yes.”

“So I should be grateful and help you. Is that the idea?”

“I’m glad to see you’re beginning to see things my way.”

“I’m afraid I’m going to need some more motivation. And not just cosmetic. The flesh is weak, but after one reaches middle age, common sense tends to prevail again.”

“So they say. How about an alliance of mutual convenience? Barceló told me you’re working on a book on Mataix and the lost generation of those years.”

“The word generation might be rather exaggerated, and lost is poetic license, for want of a better term.”

“I’m speaking about Mataix, David Martín, and others . . .”

Vilajuana raised his eyebrows. “What do you know about David Martín?”

“Things that I’m sure would interest you.”