“No, I’m not worried about you. I’m worried about the truck drivers, to be honest. I’ll take you, which is what we’d agreed, and no more discussions.” Ernesto started the car and pressed both hands on the wheel. “Where are we going?”

* * *

They found a city shrouded in fog. A wave of mist crept over the towers and domes crowning the rooftops on Gran Vía. Veils of metallic steam wafted through the streets, wrapping themselves around cars and buses that were trying to advance with their headlights barely scratching the fog. The traffic moved forward slowly, blindly, and the figures of pedestrians on the pavements looked like frozen ghosts.

When they drove past the Hotel Hispania, her official residence during those past years, Alicia looked up to gaze at what had been her window. They continued advancing through central Madrid under that shroud of darkness, until the silhouette of Neptune’s fountain rose before them.

“Where now?” asked Ernesto.

“Keep going until Lope de Vega, turn right, and then go up along Duque de Medinaceli, which is the first street.”

“Weren’t you going to the Hotel Palace?”

“We’re going to the back of the hotel. The kitchen entrance.”

The taxi driver nodded and followed her instructions. The streets were almost deserted. The Gran Hotel Palace took up an entire block shaped like a trapezoid, a city in itself. He drove around the perimeter until they came to a corner where Alicia asked him to park behind a van from which men were unloading boxes with bread loaves, fruit, and other food supplies.

Ernesto lowered his head to look up at the monumental facade.

“Here you are. As promised,” she said.

The driver turned around to find a wad of notes in Alicia’s hand. “Wouldn’t you rather I waited for you?”

Alicia didn’t reply.

“Because you are coming back, aren’t you?”

“Take the money.”

The driver hesitated.

“You’re making me waste my time. Take the money.”

Ernesto accepted his pay.

“Count it.”

“I trust you.”

“It’s up to you.”

Ernesto watched her as she pulled something out of her bag and then slipped it under her jacket. He was sure it wasn’t a lipstick.

“Listen, I don’t like this. Why don’t we leave?”

“You’re the one who’s leaving, Ernesto. As soon as I get out, return to Barcelona and forget you ever saw me.”

The taxi driver felt his stomach shrink. Alicia put her hand on his shoulder, pressed it affectionately, and stepped out of the car. A few seconds later Ernesto saw her vanish into the Gran Hotel Palace.

4

The heart of the grand hotel was already working full tilt as it coped with the first breakfast sitting. An army of cooks, kitchen boys, and waiters came in and out of the kitchen areas and tunnels, pushing trolleys or carrying trays. Alicia edged around the commotion with its aroma of coffee and a thousand delights, receiving a few surprised looks, although everyone was too busy to focus on what was obviously a lost guest or, more likely, a luxury courtesan slipping out discreetly at the end of her work shift. Because of this code of invisibility that prevails in all luxury hotels, Alicia was able to play that card unabashed until she reached the service elevators. She stepped into the first one, which she shared with a maid carrying towels and bars of soap who looked her up and down with a mixture of curiosity and envy. Alicia gave her a friendly smile, as if to imply that they both walked on the same side of the street.