They made small talk for a while, in English, in which Pujol was much more proficient than was Skinner in Spanish.
They compared notes on the standard of football in their respective countries, each looking back to the times when things had been very much better. Pujol asked Sarah about her new appointment, and bemoaned the lack of good medical support from which his own force suffered.
Eventually, halfway through his second beer, Pujol raised the subject which had led to his visit. 'So what is this problem that you bring with you from Scotland, Robert, and how does it relate to our friend Santiago Alberni?'
`Let me show you,' said Skinner. He picked up Greg Pitkeathly's folder, which he had placed in readiness in the lower shelf of the drinks trolley, and handed it to the commandant. Pujol took it without a word, and began to read through the dated documents in sequence. After a few minutes he put it down in his lap, and took another swig of Estrella.
`I see what you mean. This is why you asked about Alberni, and it is why your colleague Senor Mackie made his enquiries with our national records office.' He smiled at Skinner's reaction. 'Yes, I know about that. They sent me a copy of the request as a matter of form, and a copy of the result. Our friend is, as you say, quite clean. So what would you like me to do?'
Skinner shot him a look of surprise. 'Take it over, of course. Treat it as a complaint made against a Spanish national in Spain.
`Mmm. Si, that is the proper thing for me to do.'
`Does that give you a problem?'
`Me, not at all. But it may be a little harsh for Alberni.' `What d'you mean?'
`I mean that if I take this up officially, a record will be made. And even if Alberni has a perfect answer, and there is no problem, with him at any rate, that record will remain. Even a visit from the Guardia will be enough. Word gets around here, and it will cast a shadow on him in the future. It will mean that his record is not quite so clean. And possibly that will be through no fault of his. It could affect his credit rating. It could affect his business, if someone checks him out thoroughly enough. The papers which you have shown me still leave a strong possibility of a simple mistake. Do you want to cast such a shadow, if it is for nothing?'
`So you don't want to touch it?' said Skinner, surprised.
Pujol raised his hands in protest. 'No, no, no, Bob. If you feel it is necessary and if you insist, I will take it up at once. But what I would ask you to do is talk to the man yourself first. His English is as good as mine. Go to see him. Talk the matter over with him. See what he has to say. Once you have done that, if you still believe that there is a problem, then I will take it up.
It is the fairest way, believe me.' He turned to Sarah. 'Don't you agree?'
Sarah grimaced. 'There goes some more holiday time. But yes, I think that's right.'
Pujol handed the folder back to Skinner. 'There. Perhaps you can call on him tomorrow. I, happen to know that he is away today, with a client, but tomorrow, a Saturday, he should certainly be in his office.'
Skinner took the papers. 'Okay, if that's how you want it. Let's just hope today's client isn't being stitched up too!'
`If he is,' said Pujol, suddenly very serious, 'we will find that out. If you decide that there is something to be investigated, then it will not be this case alone that we will look into. I promise you, my people will turn InterCosta inside out. If this company is dishonest, then it is giving Catalunya's biggest industry a bad name. For that, we will come down hard, very hard indeed. If I find that Senor Alberni has been stealing from his clients, or from constructors, or anyone, he will go to prison not just for what he has done; but as an example to others. And now,' he said, pushing himself up from his chair, 'beautiful as the day is, and agreeable as my companions may be, I must go.
How do you say it? Duty, she is calling. I like to go for a drive around the town while everyone is at siesta. Just to make sure that everything is quiet. And, of course, in beautiful L'Escala it always is.'
As Bob escorted their visitor to the door, Sarah pushed Jazz in his buggy through to the small bedroom next to their own and, without waking him from his afternoon slumber, laid him gently in his cot.
When Bob closed the front door and turned to go back to the terrace, she was in the hall, blocking his way. She wound her arms around him. 'As Arturo was saying, it's siesta time.
He could feel the heat of her body through his T-shirt. He looked down at her, reading her agenda for the afternoon in her smouldering eyes. 'Hey, are you sure? It's only been a couple of weeks since Jazz.'
`Exactly!' she murmured. 'Nineteen whole days, and a while before that too. My darling, I'm just about as horny as I've ever been. And just at this moment, from your significantly altered profile, you ain't going to persuade me that you ain't too!'
His laughter died in his throat as she pulled his head down and kissed him fiercely. He swept her off her feet in a single strong movement and carried her through the living room and into their bedroom. It was late enough in the afternoon for the sun to be flooding in through the brown-framed three-quarter-glazed doors which led out to the terrace, but not too late for it to have passed by the small square window to the side, above one of the two chests of drawers which flanked the white-quilted bed.
He laid her down, and in seconds they were naked, kissing and fondling, their fingers and tongues searching, exploring, reacquainting themselves with familiar regions. And then Bob's hand found Sarah's secret centre, the heart of her moistness, and she climaxed at once, suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, a bucking, thrusting, crying-out orgasm almost frightening in its intensity. As it peaked, she clamped her thighs closed on his fingers and twisted towards him, eyes shut, with a shout that was almost a scream. She lay still for a while, with her head resting on his shoulder. Occasionally, a small shiver ran through her.
Eventually she looked up at him, into his eyes. 'Bob, I'm sorry,' she whispered. 'That was so selfish. I don't know what happened.
He nuzzled her auburn hair, laughing 'Selfish nothing. Don't be daft. Listen, love, if that's what happens when you have a baby, can I have one too!'
She chuckled with pleasure, a playful sound with more than a hint of promise. 'Okay, let's see what we can do about that.' As she spoke, she rolled over, straddling him, taking him deep inside her, and in a single movement pulling her knees up and sitting on him, bolt upright. She seemed barely to move, yet he could feel the honey grip of secret muscles, strengthened by childbirth, tensing and relaxing as they massaged him. He lay on his back, looking up, touching her only with his eyes. She started to sway more vigorously, rocking backwards and forwards upon him, tensing, relaxing, tensing again. Pleasure seemed to wash upwards and over him, starting from the soles of his feet, moving up through his ankles, his calves. He surrendered himself to the most powerful orgasm of his life, even though he expected that when the high tide of pleasure broke upon his groin he would die of its intensity. He was helpless beneath her. Someone in the room was shouting out aloud, and dimly he was aware that it was himself. Then the cries became a duet, and he knew that Sarah had climaxed also in the same moment. He saw her back arch and felt those secret muscles grasp tight and hold on as he pulsed and pumped into her, on and on. They held their frozen pose, neither breathing, each concentrating only on the other's pleasure, until eventually, with a last triumphant shout, Sarah relaxed, and slumped, shuddering, on to his chest.
A full five minutes elapsed in silence, as if each were printing every detail, every moment of the experience indelibly upon their memory. Eventually Bob wrapped his arms around his wife and kissed her on the forehead.