The photographer became aware of her presence and gazed at her with curiosity. “Would you like to look through the lens, mademoiselle?”

Alicia nodded timidly. The photographer showed her how to do it. She peeped into the artist’s eyes and laughed at the perfect artifice of shadows and perspectives he’d created, reinventing a corner she had passed by hundreds or thousands of times in her life.

“The eye sees; the camera observes,” the photographer explained. “Like it?”

“It’s astonishing,” Alicia admitted.

“This is just the composition and the perspective. The secret is in the light. You must look through the lens, imagining there will be a liquid glow. The shadow will be tinged by a soft, evanescent layer, as if it had been raining light . . .”

The photographer had all the hallmarks of a true professional, and Alicia wondered where that image would end up.

The turtle of the magic light read her thoughts. “It’s for my book,” he explained. “What’s your name?”

“Alicia.”

“Don’t be alarmed, but I’d like to take a picture of you, Alicia.”

“Of me? Why?”

“Because you’re a creature of light and shadow, like this city. What do you say?”

“Here? Now?”

“No. Not now. Something on your mind is weighing you down today, and doesn’t allow you to be yourself. And the camera would pick that up. At least, mine would. I want to take a picture of you when you’ve taken that load off your mind and the light can see you as you are, not as you’ve been made to be.”

Alicia blushed for the first and last time in her life. She had never felt so naked as she did, facing the eyes of that peculiar character.

“Think about it,” said the photographer. He pulled a card out of his jacket pocket and handed it to her with a smile.

FRANCESC CATALÁ-ROCA

Photographic Studio since 1947

Calle Provenza 366, Ground Floor. Barcelona

Alicia put the card away and hurried off, leaving the master alone with his art and his keen eye. Hiding among the crowds teeming around the cathedral area, she pressed on, walking straight up Puerta del Ángel until she reached Calle Santa Ana and could see the window of the Sempere & Sons bookshop.

You’re still in time not to ruin everything. Walk past and keep walking.

She positioned herself on the other side of the street, taking shelter in a doorway from which she could see inside the shop. The somber blue evening of a Barcelona winter was falling over the city, an invitation to defy the cold and wander through the streets.

Leave this place. What do you think you can do?

She caught sight of Bea helping a customer. Next to her stood an older man who Alicia guessed must be her father-in-law, Señor Sempere. Little Julián was sitting on the counter, leaning on the cash register, engrossed in a book that he held over his knees, a book almost bigger than him. Alicia smiled.