‘Talk about what?’
I lowered my voice and fixed my eyes on his.
‘Between you and me, Isabella wants to work here because she admires you and, I fear, is secretly in love with you.’
Sempere gulped.
‘But, pure love, eh? Spiritual. Like the love of a Dickens heroine, if you see what I mean. No frivolities or childish nonsense. Isabella might be young, but she’s a real woman. You must have noticed, I’m sure…’
‘Now that you mention it…’
‘And I’m not referring to her – if you’ll pardon me – exquisitely tender frame, but to her kindness and the inner beauty that is just waiting for the right moment to emerge and make some fortunate man the happiest in the world.’
Sempere didn’t know where to look.
‘Besides, she has hidden talents. She speaks languages. She plays the piano like an angel. She has a good head for numbers, as good as any Isaac Newton. And to cap it all she’s a wonderful cook. Look at me. I’ve put on a few kilos since she started working for me. Delicacies that even in La Tour d’Argent… Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed?’
‘She didn’t mention that she could cook…’
‘I’m talking about love at first sight.’
‘Well, really…’
‘Do you know what the matter is? Deep down, although she gives the impression she’s an untamed shrew, the girl is docile and shy to a pathological degree. I blame the nuns: they unhinge them with all those stories of hell and all those sewing lessons. Long live secular education.’
‘Well, I would have sworn she took me for a little less than an idiot,’ Sempere assured me.
‘There you are. Irrefutable proof. Sempere, my friend, when a woman treats you like an idiot it means her hormones are racing!’
‘Are you sure about that?’
‘As sure as the Bank of Spain. Believe me; I know quite a lot about this subject.’
‘That’s what my father says. And what am I to do?’
Well, that depends. Do you like the girl?’
‘Like her? I don’t know. How do you know if-? ’
‘It’s very simple. Do you look at her furtively and feel like biting her?’
‘Biting her?’
‘On her backside, for example.’
‘Señor Martín!’
‘Don’t be bashful; we’re among gentlemen. It’s a known fact that we men are the missing link between the pirate and the pig. Do you like her or don’t you?’
‘Well, Isabella is an attractive girl.’
‘What else?’
‘Intelligent. Pleasant. Hard-working.’
‘Go on.’
‘And a good Christian, I think. Not that I’m much of a practising Catholic, but…’
‘Don’t I know it. Isabella almost lives in the church. Those nuns… I tell you!’
‘But quite frankly, it had never occurred to me to bite her.’
‘It hadn’t occurred to you until I mentioned it.’
‘I must say, I think talking about her like that – or about any other woman – shows a lack of respect. You should be ashamed…’ protested Sempere’s son.
‘Mea culpa,’ I intoned, raising my hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘But never mind: we each show our devotion in our own way. I’m a frivolous, superficial creature, hence my canine focus, but you, with that aurea gravitas of yours, are a man of mysterious and profound feelings. The important thing is that the girl adores you and that the feeling is mutual.’
‘Well…’
‘Don’t you “well” me. Let’s face it, Sempere. You’re a respectable and responsible man. Had it been me, what can I say, but you’re not a fellow to play fast and loose with the noble, pure feelings of a ripe young girl. Am I mistaken?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘Well that’s it, then.’
‘What is?’
‘Isn’t it obvious?’
‘No.’
‘It’s time to go courting.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Courting or, in scientific terms, time for a kiss and a cuddle. Look here, Sempere, for some strange reason, centuries of supposed civilisation have brought us to a situation in which one cannot go sidling up to women on street corners, or asking them to marry us, just like that. First there has to be courtship.’
‘Marry? Have you gone mad?’
‘What I’m trying to say is that perhaps – and deep down this is your idea even if you’re not aware of it – today or tomorrow or the next day, when you get over all this shaking and dribbling over her, you could take Isabella out, when she finishes work at the bookshop. Take her out for afternoon tea somewhere special, and you’ll realise once and for all that you were made for one another. You could take her to Els Quatre Gats, where they’re so stingy they dim the lights to save on electricity – that always helps in these situations. Ask for some curd cheese for the girl with a good spoonful of honey; that always whets the appetite. Then, casually, you let her have a swig or two of that muscatel that goes straight to the head. At that point, placing a hand on her knee, you stun her with that sweet talk you hide so well, you rascal.’
‘But I don’t know anything about her, or what interests her, or…’
‘She’s interested in the same things as you. She’s interested in books, in literature, in the very smell of the treasures you have here – and in the penny novels with their promise of romance and adventure. She’s interested in brushing aside loneliness and in not wasting time trying to understand that in this rotten world nothing is worth a single céntimo if there isn’t someone to share it with. Now you know the essentials. The rest you can find out and enjoy as you go along.’
Sempere looked thoughtful, glancing first at his cup of coffee, which he hadn’t touched, then at yours truly, who with great difficulty was trying to maintain the smile of a stock-market trader.
‘I’m not sure whether to thank you or report you to the police,’ he said at last.
Just then, Sempere senior’s heavy footsteps were heard in the bookshop. A few seconds later he put his head round the door of the back room and stood there looking at us with a frown.
‘What’s going on? The shop is left unattended and you’re sitting here chattering as if it were a bank holiday. What if a customer had come in? Or some scoundrel trying to make off with our goods?’
Sempere’s son sighed, rolling his eyes.
‘Don’t worry, Señor Sempere. Books are the only things in this world that no one wants to steal,’ I said, winking at him.
His face lit up with a knowing smile. Sempere’s son took the opportunity to escape from my clutches and slink off back to the bookshop. His father sat next to me and sniffed at the cup of coffee his son had left untouched.
‘What does the doctor say about the effects of caffeine on the heart?’ I asked.
‘That man can’t even find his backside with an anatomy book. What could he know about the heart?’
‘More than you, I’m sure,’ I replied, snatching the cup from him.
‘I’m as strong as an ox, Martín.’
‘You’re a mule, that’s what you are. Please go back upstairs and get into bed.’
‘It’s only worth staying in bed if you’re young and in good company.’
‘If you want company, I’ll find someone for you, but I don’t think your heart is up to it right now.’
‘Martín, at my age, eroticism is reduced to enjoying caramel custard and looking at widows’ necks. The one I’m worried about here is my heir. Any progress in that field?’
‘We’re fertilising the soil and sowing the seeds. We’ll have to see if the weather is favourable and we get a harvest. In two or three days I’ll be able to give you an estimate about the first shoots that is sixty to seventy per cent reliable.’
Sempere gave a satisfied smile.
‘A masterstroke, sending Isabella to be our shop assistant,’ he said. ‘But don’t you think she’s a bit young for my son?’
‘He’s the one who seems a bit green, if I may be frank. He’s got to get his act together or Isabella will eat him alive. Thank goodness he’s a decent sort, otherwise…’