“By the way,” asked Revells, “has that son of a bitch Ubach got a publisher who will bring out that horror?”

Laura threw him a caustic look.

“I’m only suggesting a business opportunity,” Revells said. “I don’t know why you have to be so squeamish in times like these.”

“I’d appreciate your help and advice,” Mataix reminded him.

Laura took his hand and looked him in the eye. “Accept the money. Write whatever that bighead wants you to write, and then get the hell out of this country forever. I recommend Argentina. Plenty of space, and the steaks are out of this world. Plus there’s a handy ocean in between.”

Mataix observed Revells.

“Amen,” said the publisher. “I couldn’t have put it better.”

“Any suggestion that doesn’t involve crossing the world and exiling my family?”

“Look, Mataix. Whatever you do, you’re on thin ice. If Ubach’s side wins—and he’s got plenty of cards in his favor—I have a hunch that once you’ve offered him your services, your existence will become uncomfortable, and more than one person will want you out of the way. And if the Republic wins, and someone finds out that you collaborated with one of Franco’s money men, I can picture you in a secret police dungeon, all expenses paid.”

“Fabulous.”

“We can help you flee. Badens has contacts with a merchant fleet company, and we could get you and your family to Marseilles in a matter of days. From there, it would be up to you. I’d listen to Laura and head for the Americas. North or South, it doesn’t matter. It’s a case of putting plenty of distance between here and wherever you go.”

“We’ll come and visit you,” Laura promised. “Unless of course you end up having us all as guests, the way things are going in this country . . .”

“And we’ll bring you tomatoes and delicious vegetables for all those barbecues you’re going to enjoy with your two-hundred-thousand-peseta booty,” declared Revells.

Mataix sighed. “My wife doesn’t want to leave Barcelona.”

“I’m guessing that you haven’t told her anything,” said Revells.

Mataix shook his head. Revells and Laura exchanged glances.

“And I don’t want to go anywhere, either,” said the writer. “This is my home, for better or worse. It’s in my blood.”

“The same thing happens with malaria,” remarked Revells, “and it’s not always healthy.”

“Do you have a vaccination against Barcelona?”

“Deep down, I understand you. I’d feel the same way. Although I wouldn’t say no to seeing the world with a well-lined pocket. And you don’t have to decide right away. You have a year and a half to think about it. As long as you don’t hand in the book and the war continues, everything will be on hold. Do what you do with us, never keeping to deadlines and leaving us in the dark.”

Laura gave Mataix a sympathetic tap on his back. Revells took the wonderful sample of wild flora from the Ampurdán and handed it to him.