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‘We?’

‘Mike Regan and me. He’s a guy who used to be in the same business as me; he’s in town on holiday and he looked me up.’

I thought it was time to lighten the mood. ‘Two ex-PR consultants out on the piss,’ I said. ‘No wonder they took an interest in you.’

Matthew glanced at his wife, then shook his head. ‘I was never in PR, Primavera; that’s a cover story I use to avoid endless questions.’

‘And for personal security,’ Ingrid intervened.

‘To an extent,’ he agreed. ‘I was a career soldier: I served for over thirty years in the Parachute Regiment, but that included a couple of spells on secondment to the SAS, during the Falklands War and at the height of the Irish trouble, then again during the first Gulf War. That’s how I came to speak Spanish, much better than I ever let on, and Arabic. Those are the times I have to be careful about; not even Ben knows about it, so keep it to yourself, please.’

‘I will, promise. Did the police ask you about your career?’

‘No, they just looked at my passport, saw that it describes me as “retired”, and seemed to be satisfied with that. I wish I’d had occasion to learn Catalan, though,’ he mused. ‘That’s what they spoke between themselves, and I’m useless at that.’

‘If they check up in Britain. .’

‘They won’t find out anything about that side of my career. All they’ll come up with is Brigadier Matthew Reid, retired.’

‘DSO, MC,’ Ingrid added, quietly.

‘Pardon?’ said Gerard.

‘The Distinguished Service Order and the Military Cross,’ I told him. ‘They mean that our friend here’s a retired hero.’

‘Who should know better than to go out on the batter at his age,’ Matthew muttered. His brow knitted into a frown. ‘Nonetheless,’ he declared, ‘I reckon I’m beginning to get annoyed. Yes, I was a senior army officer and I’ve done nothing to warrant being taken from my house without a word of an excuse. I could have pulled rank on those guys, you know. Hell, I think I still might. Where’s the force command based, Barcelona?’

‘Yes, but before you head off there with all guns blazing, you’d better know the whole story.’ I looked at my watch. ‘People, I have to go and pick up my son from school. Gerard, maybe you could explain to Matthew exactly what Gomez and Alex are after.’ I headed for the door that leads down to the garage. ‘And once you’ve done that,’ I said, as an afterthought, ‘maybe you could take a look in the fridge and the larder and whip up some lunch for Tom, me and anyone else who fancies it.’

Twenty-one

Ingrid and Matthew had gone when Tom and I got back, so Gerard was fixing chicken salad for only three of us. He turned out to be pretty good in the kitchen.

We didn’t talk about the morning’s excitement until we’d eaten and Tom had gone to check his emails. Gerard told me that once he knew the whole story, Matthew’s demeanour had changed. He’d become all business, and had gone through his movements on Friday night and Saturday morning, step by step. After Escalenc, he and Regan had indeed gone to JoJo’s, as Ingrid had said. The proprietrix knows all her customers by name and keeps everybody’s tab in a book; she wouldn’t have noted down that they’d left at one thirty, but she’d remember it. The two old soldiers had walked back along the Passeig Maritim, until they’d reached the Hotel Nieves Mar, where Regan had said good night. But Matthew hadn’t gone straight home; he had dropped into a night bar called La Taverna de la Anxova. . yes, anchovies are everywhere in L’Escala. . for a chat with the owner, and one last beer that had stretched out until after three o’clock. There had been one final witness to his whereabouts. Ingrid had put their alarm on night set before going to bed, as he had insisted that she do. He had forgotten and had tripped it when he came in. He’d cancelled it before it could wake his wife, then waited by the phone for the inevitable call from the monitoring station. It came within a minute, and he’d given the code word that confirmed there was no problem.

Gerard told me that once he had worked out that he was covered, Matthew had made a decision: he had phoned the British Consulate General in Barcelona and had made an appointment for that afternoon with the vice-consul, to whom he intended to report the matter and to make a full, formal statement of his dealings with the late José-Luis Planas and his whereabouts at the time of his death. They’d left straight away.

‘Did he tell you why the police let him go?’

‘They didn’t tell him either. All he said was that a woman officer came into the room and said something. Alex Guinart smiled and said something to Gomez. It was in Catalan, but your name was mentioned. Gomez laughed and said, in Spanish, “We’d better let him go then,” turned to Matthew and told him that was all for now. Then he led him outside and handed him over to me.’

‘He’s a dark horse, isn’t he?’

He looked at me, eyebrows raised. ‘What?’

I’d forgotten the phrase doesn’t translate directly into Spanish. ‘He’s got hidden depths,’ I told him.

‘Yes indeed. He disturbs me, Primavera. Men like him disturb me. Even before he’d told us anything about himself, I had a feeling about him. I sensed that he’s a man who’s seen much darkness, who’s capable of great violence, and who’s probably known it at some time in his life.’

‘And you were right. You don’t get those two medals for being company quartermaster; you earn them on the battlefield, with a gun in your hand, and bodies scattered around.’

‘What is this SAS thing he spoke of?’

‘British special forces; the kind who operate behind enemy lines, and take no prisoners. The Spanish military has its own, the Special Operations Group; it’s modelled on ours.’

‘How do you know about that?’ he asked, sharply, taking me by surprise.

‘I live here, I read newspapers. I have a son who’s getting interested in big boy things.’

‘I suppose. Sorry. As I say, I find such things distasteful.’

‘In that case it’s as well he’s gone. You can avoid him in the future.’

‘I couldn’t do that; the man’s in pain. He’s seen things that he’ll carry with him to the grave.’

So have I, I thought. But I wasn’t telling any of that to Gerard.

‘Maybe you should go back to see the police,’ he said, suddenly.

‘Why?’

‘To make a full, formal statement, just as Matthew’s going to do. Get your version of the meeting with Planas on the record.’

‘Including the part where I had to step between him and Matthew?’

‘Yes, he’s in the clear, so why not?’

‘Maybe I will. I’ll call Alex and see if he’d like me to do that.’

‘You should.’

‘But only after I’ve taken Tom back to school. And that I must do now. So go on, back to whatever it is you do on a Tuesday. . unless you want to man my information booth for an hour or so?’

He smiled, and touched his collar. ‘Not in these clothes. Anyway, it’s too much like a confessional.’

When I thought about it, I realised that there was something in what he’d said. Complete strangers have told me the most personal things in my box, on the basis of a few minutes’ acquaintance.

I showed him to the door, then rounded up my son, who was finishing his reply to an email from his cousin Bruce in California. I could sense his growing excitement, in the car. ‘Where are we going after school, Mum?’ he demanded, just as we got there.

‘Be patient,’ I told him. ‘That’s a good virtue to acquire. You’ll find out in a few hours.’

Back in St Martí, I thought again of Gerard’s advice, and decided that he was right. I called Alex on his mobile. ‘It’s Primavera,’ I said. ‘Are you busy?’