Far below, in the square, a busker has started playing alto sax, a tone-deaf cover version of Roxanne, loud enough for me to have to close the doors of the balcony and switch on the hotel TV. Heres whats on: a dubbed Brazilian soap opera starring a middle-aged actress with a bad nose job; a press conference with the governments interior minister, Felix Maldonado; a Spanish version of the British show Trisha, in which an audience of Franco-era madrilenos are staring open-mouthed at a quartet of transvestite strippers lined up on stools along a bright orange stage; a re-run on Eurosport of Germany winning the 1990 World Cup; Christina Aguilera saying that she really, really respects one of her colleagues as an artist and is just waiting for the right script to come along; a CNN reporter standing on a balcony in Kuwait City being patronizing about ordinary Iraqis; and BBC World, where the anchorman looks about twenty-five and never fluffs a line. I stick with that, if only for a glimpse of the old country, for low grey skies and the stiff upper lip. At the same time I boot up the laptop and download some emails. There are seventeen in all, spread over four accounts, but only two that are of interest.
From: julianchurch@bankendiom. esTo: alecm@bankendiom. es
Subject: Basque visit
Dear Alec
Re: our conversation the other day. If any situation encapsulates the petty small-mindedness of the Basque problem, its the controversy surrounding poor Ainhoa Cantalapiedra, the rather pretty pizza waitress who has won Operacion Triunfo. Have you been watching it? Spains answer to Fame Academy. The wife and I were addicted.
As you may or may not know, Miss Cantalapiedra is a Basque, which has led to accusations that the result was fixed. The (ex) leader of Batasuna has accused Aznars lot of rigging the vote so that a Basque would represent Spain at the Eurovision Song Contest. Have you ever heard such nonsense? Theres a rather good piece about it in todays El Mundo.
Speaking of the Basque country, would you be available to go to San Sebastian early next week to meet officials in various guises with a view to firming up the current state of affairs? Endiom have a new client, Spanish-based, looking into viability of a car operation, but rather cold feet politically.
Will explain more when I get back this w/e.
All the very best
Julian
I click Reply:
From: alecm@bankendiom. esTo: julianchurch@bankendiom. es
Subject: Re: Basque visit
Dear Julian
No problem. Ill give you a call about this at the weekend. Im off to the cinema now and then to dinner with friends.
I didnt watch Operacion Triunfo. Would rather cook a five-course dinner for Osama bin Laden with wines. But your email reminded me of a similar story equally ridiculous in terms of the stand-off between Madrid and the separatists. Apparently theres a former ETA commander languishing in prison taking a degree in psychology to help pass the time. His exam results and those of several of his former comrades have been off the charts, prompting Aznar to suggest that theyve either been cheating or that the examiners are too scared to give them anything less than 90%.
All the best
Alec
The second email comes through on AOL.
From: sricken 1789@hotmail. comTo: almmlalam@aol. com
Subject: Coming to Madrid
Hi -
As expected, Heloise has now kicked me out of the house. The house that I paid for Logic?
So Im booked on the Friday easyjet. It lands at 5.15 in Madrid and I might have to stick around for a bit Hope thats OK. Ive taken three weeks off work to clear my head. Could go to Cadiz as well to stay with a mate down there.
Dont worry about picking me up,?ll get a cab. Just tell me your address. (And dont do the seven different email/dead drop/is this line secure?/smoke signal bullshit.) Just hit Reply and tell me where you live. NOBODYS WATCHING, ALEC. Youre not Kim Philby.
Anyway, really looking forward to seeing you.
Saul
So hes finally coming. The keeper of the secrets. After six years, my oldest friend is on his way to Spain. Saul, who married a girl he barely knew just two summers ago and already lies on the brink of divorce. Saul, who holds a signed affidavit recounting in detail my relationship with MI5 and SIS, to be released to the press in the event of any accident. Saul, who was so angry with me in the aftermath of what happened that we did not speak to each other for three and a half years.
Dont worry about picking me up,?ll get a cab. Just tell me your address. (And dont do the seven different email/dead drop/is this line secure?/smoke signal bullshit.) Just hit Reply and tell me where you live. NOBODYS WATCHING, ALEC. Youre not Kim Philby.
Anyway, really looking forward to seeing you.
Saul
So hes finally coming. The keeper of the secrets. After six years, my oldest friend is on his way to Spain. Saul, who married a girl he barely knew just two summers ago and already lies on the brink of divorce. Saul, who holds a signed affidavit recounting in detail my relationship with MI5 and SIS, to be released to the press in the event of any accident. Saul, who was so angry with me in the aftermath of what happened that we did not speak to each other for three and a half years.
Theres a knock at the door, a soft, rapid tap. I switch off the TV, close the computer, quickly check my reflection in the mirror and cross the room.
Sofia is wearing her hair up and has a sly, knowing look on her face. Giving off an air of mischief as she glances over my shoulder.
Hola, she says, touching my cheek. The tips of her fingers are soft and cold. She must have returned home after work, taken a shower and then changed into a new set of clothes; the jeans she knows I like, a black roll-neck jumper, shoes with two-inch heels. She is holding a long winter coat in her left hand and the smell of her as she passes me is intoxicating. What a room, she says, dropping the coat on the bed and crossing to the balcony. What a view She turns and heads to the bathroom, mapping out the territory, touching the bottles of shower gel and tiny parcels of soap lining the sink. I come in behind her and kiss her neck. Both of us can see our reflections in the mirror, her eyes watching mine, my hand encircling her waist.
You look beautiful, I tell her.
You also.
I suppose these first heady moments are what its all about: skin contact, reaction. She closes her eyes and turns her body into mine, kissing me, but just as soon she is breaking off. Moving back into the room she scans the bed, the armchairs, the fake Picasso prints on the wall, and seems to frown at something in the corner.
Why have you brought a suitcase?
The porter had put it near the window, half-hidden by curtains and leaning up against the wall.
Oh, that. Its just full of old newspapers.
Newspapers?
I didnt want the receptionist to think that we were renting the room by the hour. So I brought some luggage. To make things look more normal.
Sofias face is a picture of consternation. She is married to an Englishman, yet our behaviour continues to baffle her.
Its so sweet, she says, shaking her head, so British and polite. You are always considerate, Alec. Always thinking of other people.
You didnt feel awkward yourself? You didnt feel strange when you were crossing the lobby?
The question clearly strikes her as absurd.
Of course not. I felt wonderful.
Vale.
Outside, in the corridor, a man shouts, Alejandro! Ven! as Sofia begins to undress. Slipping out of her shoes and coming towards me on bare feet, letting the jumper fall to the floor and nothing beneath it but the cool dark paradise of her skin. She starts to unbutton my shirt.
So maybe you booked the room under a false name. And maybe my uncle is staying next door. And maybe somebody will see me when I go home across the lobby at 3 a.m. tonight. And maybe I dont care. She unclips her hair, letting it fall free, whispering, Relax, Alec. Tranquilo. Nobody in the whole world cares about us. Nobody cares about us at all.
3. Taxi Driver
Sauls plane touches down at 5.55 p.m. the following Friday. He calls from the pre-customs area using a local mobile phone: theres no international prefix on the read-out, just a nine-digit number beginning with 625.
Hi, mate. Its me.
How are you?
The plane was late.
Its normal.
The line is clear, no echo, although I can hear the thrum of baggage carousels revolving in the background.
Our suitcases are coming out now, he says. Shouldnt be long. Is it easy getting a cab?
Sure. Just say Calle Princesa, like Ki-yay, then Numero dee-ethy-sais. That means sixteen.
I know what it means. I did Spanish O level.
You got a D.
How much does it cost to get to your flat?
Shouldnt be more than thirty euros. If it is, Ill come down to the street and tell the driver to go fuck himself. Just act like you live here and he wont rip you off.
Great.
Hey, Saul?
Yes?
How come youve got a Spanish mobile? What happened to your normal one?
It is the extent of my paranoia that I have spent three days wondering if he has been sent here by MI5; if John Lithiby and Michael Hawkes, the controllers of my former life, have equipped him with bugs and a destructive agenda. Can I sense him hesitating over his reply?
Trust you to notice that. Philip fucking Marlowe. Look, a mate of mine used to live in Barcelona. He had an old Spanish SIM that he no longer used. It has sixty euros of credit on it and I bought it off him for ten. So chill your boots. Ill be there in about an hour.
An inauspicious start. The line goes dead and I stand in the middle of my apartment, breathing too quickly, ripped out by nerves. Relax, Alec. Tranquilo. Saul hasnt been sent here by Five. Your friend is on the brink of getting divorced. He needed to get out of London and he needed somebody to talk to. He has been betrayed by the woman he loves. He stands to lose his house and half of everything he owns. In times of crisis we turn to our oldest friends and, in spite of everything that has happened, Saul has turned to you. That tells you something. That tells you that this is your chance to pay him back for everything that he has ever done for you.
Ten minutes later Sofia calls and whispers sweet nothings down the phone and says how much she enjoyed our night at the hotel, but I cant concentrate on the conversation and make an excuse to cut it short. I have never had a guest in this apartment and I check Sauls room one last time: theres soap in the spare bathroom, a clean towel on the rail, bottled water if he needs it, magazines beside the bed. Saul likes to read comics and crime fiction, thrillers by Elmore Leonard and graphic novels from Japan, but all I have are spook biographies Philby, Tomlinson and a Time Out guide to Madrid. Still, he might like those, and I arrange them in a tidy pile on the floor.