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We strolled round to the square after dinner on the terrace. Miguel had been right about the extra visitors. They had begun to arrive already, in droves, and we had trouble finding a table outside Casa Minana. When we had, Miguel brought us two beers automatically. I motioned to him to the spare seat beside us.

‘Prim and I went to visit our friend this afternoon. The one we saw last in Riells on Tuesday morning. I found his watch and I wanted to give it back to him.’ A brief look of panic flashed across our friend’s face, for an instant. ‘The trouble was, he’s gone.’

Miguel gulped, but otherwise managed to stay impassive.

‘You haven’t heard of him being moved anywhere, have you?’

He shook his head. ‘No. Nothing,’ he said, quietly. ‘I was sure he would be found. There are shepherds up there, with dogs.’ Beside me, Prim gave a barely noticeable shudder. ‘But not this soon.’

He paused. ‘We will look at the newspapers for the next day or two, and at the Empordan, the newspaper for here, when it is published. If there is nothing in that, my wife has a sister who has a son who is married to a woman who is in the municipal police in L’Escala. I will ask my wife to ask him to find out if the police know anything. But I will be … I’m sorry, I don’t know the word.’

‘Discreet, Miguel,’ said Prim. ‘The word is discreet!’

12

There was nothing about the missing skeleton on Radio L’Escala next morning either, or in the daily newspapers.

We left for Barcelona at 8:30 a.m., foundAvinguda Diagonal without any great difficulty, parked and made it comfortably to the British Consulate in time for our appointment. It was another pleasant morning, with the temperature only in the low seventies, but it was hot indoors, and the air conditioning in the fourteenth floor suite was welcome. We were amazed to see that only the private offices had this benefit, and imagined the discomfort of the poor punters queuing in the real heat of July and August, watching the staff, cool behind their thick glass screen, while they sweltered in the reception area.

We were received by the commercial counsellor, a decent chap called Hal something. We explained our backgrounds and our idea. He gave us the thumbs up straight away.

‘Good proposition,’ he said. ‘Most people looking for business information come to us, and we don’t have the manpower to deal with them all promptly. I’ll be happy to refer people to you. I don’t think that your fees will frighten many off. As for the legal and personal stuff, I don’t know of anyone who does that, so you should be on a winner there too.

‘If I were you, once you’re up and running, I’d think about reversing the process, and offering a British market information service to Spanish customers.’

Hal echoed Jan’s advice that we should seek resident status straight away. ‘From what you’ve said, you can show a level of income, so you’ll have no problem.’

He gave us a series of names and addresses and was able to make a couple of appointments for us. We spent much of the rest of the day in government offices, filling in forms and signing papers, and by mid-afternoon we had gone most of the way to becoming Spanish residents.

‘You know,’ said Prim, as we strolled down the Ramblas, celebrating our imminent new status, ‘it must be two years since I was in a city as big as this. Let’s do the tourist thing with the rest of the daylight.’

So we visited the Sagrada Familia, then the Olympic Stadium. We meant to take in Nou Camp, the vast home of Barca football club, but there was a league game on that evening. The man on the gate laughed at me when I asked if there were any tickets.

It was just after midnight when we rolled into the apartment, knackered and very well fed, having dined on the way home at Mas Pou, one of our favourite restaurants. As soon as I switched on the light, I saw a sheet of fax paper lying curled on the phone. I picked it up and read its very short message.

Oz/Prim

Phone me, soon as you get in. You’re in business.

Jan

13

Finding a flight turned out to be easier than I had expected. The KLM desk was still open when I called, and they had seats on their 4:05 p.m. flight to Amsterdam, linking with an Air UK transfer that would land me in Edinburgh at 8 p.m. BST.

Rather than take the car out of play for two days, Prim ran me to Figueras to catch a fast train to Barcelona with a connection that would take me right into the airport.

It was a weird feeling, saying goodbye to her in the station. My trip to Lyon had been one thing, but this would be the first night we had spent apart since the beginning of our relationship. ‘Miss me,’ she ordered.

‘I promise,’ I said, meaning it with all my heart. ‘Don’t enjoy the party.’

‘Listen, you know I wouldn’t be going, only Janice insisted when I called her to cancel.’

We kissed, and I walked into the station, with the beginning of a strange feeling creeping over me. I supposed that in all my life, it was the first real experience of loneliness.

The flight was fine, with a mercifully brief stop-over in Schiphol Airport, just long enough to buy aftershave for my Dad, perfume for Ellie, alcohol for Jan, chocolate for Auntie Mary and toys for the kids. Oh yes, and long enough also to make one phone call.

Jan was waiting right at the international arrivals doorway in Scotland’s capital airport, as I emerged with my hold-all slung over my shoulder and my duty free clinking in its bag. She stood there, looking more like Jane Russell than ever in black slacks and white shirt, her shoulder-length hair swept back off her forehead.

I laid my burdens down on the concourse and we hugged for all we were worth. ‘Hello darlin’,’ she said quietly. ’By God, but you look brown. Are you that colour all over?’

I grinned. ‘What’s the point in having a completely secluded terrace if you don’t get your arse sun-tanned?’

We kissed hello. A big wet one; none of this both cheeks stuff. This was Jan and me.

‘You sure it’s okay, you two putting me up for the night like you said?’

She shook her head, as I picked up my luggage. ‘Change of plan. You don’t have long at home, so we’re going across the river. Mac and Mary are expecting us for supper. I said we’d be there for nine-thirty.’

My stomach growled in anticipation of the prospect of Auntie Mary’s cooking. ‘Is Noosh coming?’

‘To my mum’s? You must be kidding.’ I didn’t press the point. Although Jan and her mum were reconciled, Anoushka had never been welcome in Anstruther.

Jan led me out to the unexpected cold of the evening, to the red Fiesta that I knew so well, and we were off, heading towards the Forth Bridge and Fife, and towards our parents.

The kids were still up when we arrived there, twenty minutes ahead of schedule, thanks to Jan’s flat out driving. On the way I had told her about St Marti, how we had found it, and how we had settled into the community. It was a monologue, interrupted only by the occasional glance at Jan as she drove across country, at the beautifully straight profile with which once I had been so familiar.

I repeated the story over supper at Auntie Mary’s almost word for word, only this time I produced the photographs to back it up … having extracted all the snaps of Prim with her shirt off. Eventually, Ellie took Jonathan and Colin off to bed, promising to wait up herself for me for a longer blether.

After they had gone, we sat around Auntie Mary’s fire, she and Dad, and Jan and me — plus Wallace, my faithful iguana, moved in, it seemed, along with my dad, and sleeping serenely on the window seat — talking about a Christmas wedding. ‘Now remember, you two,’ my father lectured us. ‘When it happens, we want it kept quiet. Just a registry office ceremony and that’s it. The four of us, plus Prim, Ellie and the kids will go for lunch afterwards, but that will be the extent of the reception.’