it was quite striking really, as if his lips were on the wrong way round. He had the same appraising, male gaze, even though, on this occasion, I was fully clothed rather than wearing only my bra and a skirt that was either rumpled or had ridden up. It made no difference, he was obviously a man with a synthetic or global vision: before a woman knew it, he would have examined her in her totality. I didn’t feel greatly flattered by this, because he seemed to me to be one of those men who lower their standards as they grow older and need little incentive to go chasing after any woman who still has a slight spring in her step.
‘Why, María, what a delightful coincidence,’ he said and raised one hand to his right eyebrow, mimicking the gesture of taking off his hat, as he had when he said goodbye to me on that other occasion, as he was about to get into the lift. – ‘You remember me, I hope. We met at Javier’s apartment, Javier Díaz-Varela. To my great good fortune, you didn’t know I was there, do you remember? You got a shock and I a dazzling and all-too-fleeting surprise.’
I wondered what he was playing at. There he was, pretending that this was an entirely chance encounter, when I had seen him waiting there and he must have seen me see him, he hadn’t taken his eyes off the door of our office while he was walking up and down, who knows for how long, perhaps since the theoretical end of our working day, which he could have ascertained over the phone, but which had nothing to do with the real end. I decided to humour him, at least to begin with.
‘Oh, yes,’ I said, and I smiled back, out of politeness. ‘Yes, that was a bit embarrassing. It’s Ruibérriz, isn’t it? An unusual surname.’
‘Ruibérriz de Torres, actually. Yes, it is unusual. We’re a family of soldiers, prelates, doctors, lawyers and notaries. Oh, I could tell you a tale or two. I’m on the family’s black list, of course, I’m the black sheep, you know, although you wouldn’t know it today.’ – And he stroked the lapel of his coat with the back of his hand, a disdainful gesture, as if he were not yet used to wearing that particular item of clothing and felt awkward without his usual black Gestapo leather. He laughed for no reason at his own mini-joke. Or perhaps he found himself funny or was trying to infect me with his humour. He looked every inch the rogue, but one’s first impression was that he was a cheerful, rather inoffensive rogue, and it was hard to believe that he had been involved in fabricating an assassination. Like Díaz-Varela, although each in his own way, of course, he seemed a perfectly normal guy. If he had taken part in that murder (and he had taken a very active part, that much was certain, whatever his motives were, whether vaguely loyal or unquestionably vile), he seemed unlikely to reoffend. ‘But perhaps,’ I thought, ‘that’s how most criminals are, pleasant and amiable, when they’re not committing crimes.’ – ‘Let me buy you a drink to celebrate our meeting. If you have time, that is. How about here?’ – And he pointed to the café where I usually had breakfast. – ‘Although I know hundreds of infinitely more amusing places and with far more atmosphere too, places you wouldn’t even imagine could exist in Madrid. Later on, if you fancy it, we could go to one of them. Or what about supper in a nice restaurant? Are you hungry? Or we could go dancing, if you’d rather.’
I was tickled by this last suggestion, that we go dancing, which seemed to belong to another age. And how did he expect me to go dancing straight from work, at an absurdly early hour and with an almost complete stranger, as if I were sixteen again? And because the idea tickled me, I laughed out loud.
‘What are you talking about? How can I possibly go dancing now, dressed like this? I’ve been at work since nine o’clock this morning.’ And I gestured with my head towards the door of the office building.
‘I did say later on, after supper. It’s up to you. If you like, we can drop by your apartment, you can shower and change and then we’ll go out on the town. You obviously don’t realize that