Vargas observed her carefully. She kept her eyes closed and clutched her hip in agony.

“Shall we go to a pharmacy or something?”

“What for?”

“I don’t know. You don’t look too good.”

“Thanks.”

“Can I get you something for the pain?”

Alicia shook her head. Her breathing sounded labored.

“Shall we stop for a moment?” Vargas said at last. He spotted a roadside restaurant a few hundred meters farther on, next to a service station, where about a dozen trucks had congregated. He left the main road and stopped opposite the entrance. Then he walked around the car and opened the door, offering Alicia his hand.

“I can manage alone.”

After two attempts, Vargas held her below her shoulders and pulled her out of the car. He picked up the handbag she’d left on the seat and hung it over her arm. “Can you walk?”

Alicia nodded, and they made their way to the restaurant door. Vargas held her gently by the arm, and she, for once, did nothing to rebuff his help. When they entered the bar, the policeman made a brief inspection of the place, as was his habit, locating entrances and exits and checking those present. A group of truck drivers were talking at a table covered with a paper tablecloth, house wine, and soda-water siphons. Some of them turned to have a look at Alicia and Vargas, but as soon as they met his eyes, they buried their faces and thoughts in their plates of stew without a murmur. The waiter, looking the part of the innkeeper in an operetta, was walking past with a trayful of cups of coffee. He pointed them toward what must have been the restaurant’s best table, separated from the plebs and with a view of the road.

“I’ll be with you in a second,” he said.

Vargas led Alicia to the table and settled her in a chair with her back to the other customers. He sat down opposite and looked at her expectantly. “You’re beginning to frighten me.”

“Don’t get too carried away.”

The waiter returned swiftly, all smiles and attentiveness in welcoming such distinguished and unexpected visitors. “Good afternoon, will madam and the gentleman wish to have lunch? We have a delicious stew today, made by my wife, but we can also prepare whatever you like. A little fillet steak . . .”

“Some water, please,” said Alicia.

“Right away.”

The waiter hurried off to fetch a bottle of mineral water and returned armed with a couple of menus handwritten on thick cardboard. He poured two glasses of water and, guessing that his presence would be best appreciated for its brevity, withdrew with a bow, saying, “I’ll leave the menu with you in case you want to have a look at it.”

Vargas mumbled a thank-you, while Alicia drank her glass of water as if she’d just crossed the desert.

“Are you hungry?”

She took her bag and stood up. “I’m just going to the bathroom. You order for me.” As she walked past Vargas, she put a hand on his shoulder and smiled weakly. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.” She hobbled off toward the ladies’ room and disappeared behind the door.