Mercedes felt her father’s arms holding her tight as he buried his face in her hair and smelled her, just as he used to do when she was a child, as if he thought that inhaling the aroma of her skin could protect him against all the evils in the world.

When at last he let go of her, Mercedes looked into his eyes and noticed how red they were. “What’s the matter, Daddy?”

“Nothing.”

“You know you can’t fool me. You can fool others, but not me.”

Valls smiled. He looked at the clock on his desk: it was five past nine. “As you can see, I keep my promises,” she said, reading his thoughts.

“I’ve never doubted that.”

Mercedes stood on her toes and glanced at the desk. “What are you reading?”

“Nothing. Just rubbish.”

“Can I read it too?”

“It’s not the sort of thing for a young girl to read.”

“I’m not a young girl anymore,” replied Mercedes, giving him a mischievous smile and twirling around to show off her dress and her demeanor.

“I can see. You’re a grown woman.”

Mercedes put her hand on her father’s cheek. “And is that what makes you sad?”

Valls kissed his daughter’s hand and shook his head. “Of course not.”

“Not even a little?”

“Well, yes, a little.”

Mercedes laughed. Valls imitated her, the taste of gunpowder still in his mouth.

“They were all asking after you at the party . . .”

“My evening got rather complicated. You know how these things are.”

Mercedes nodded cunningly. “Yes. I know . . .”

She wandered around her father’s office, a secret world full of books and closed cupboards, running her fingertips gently over the tomes on the bookshelves. She noticed her father looking at her with misty eyes and stopped. “You’re not going to tell me what’s wrong, are you?”

“Mercedes, you know I love you more than anything in the whole world, and I’m very proud of you, don’t you?”

She looked unsure. Her father’s voice seemed to be hanging from a thread, his self-possession and arrogance torn from him.

“Of course, Daddy . . . and I love you too.”

“That’s all that matters. Come what may.”

Her father was smiling at her, but Mercedes could see he was crying. She’d never seen him cry and felt frightened, as if her world might suddenly fall apart. Her father dried his tears and turned away from her. “Tell Vicente to come in.”

Mercedes walked over to the door, but stopped before opening it. Her father still had his back to her, looking at the garden through the window.

“Daddy, what’s going to happen?”

“Nothing, my love. Nothing’s going to happen.”

Then she opened the door. Vicente was already waiting on the other side, with that impenetrable, harsh expression that always gave her a chill.

“Good night, Daddy,” she murmured.

“Good night, Mercedes.”

Vicente nodded at her respectfully and stepped into the office. Mercedes turned around to look, but the bodyguard gently closed the door in her face. The girl put her ear to the door and listened.