The Man From Madrid. ANNE WEALE

boyfriend to take you about?’

      ‘No,’ said Cally. ‘No, there isn’t. Do you have a steady girlfriend?’

      They had reached the top landing. As he had the night before, Nicolás moved ahead of her to draw aside the fringe-like curtain. But before he did, he said, ‘If I had, I shouldn’t have suggested a tête-à-tête with you.’

      ‘I don’t see why having a girlfriend would debar you from friendly conversations with other women,’ said Cally, as he moved the curtain out of her way.

      ‘From friendly conversations—no. But are our reactions to each other purely friendly?’ he asked, as he followed her onto the terrace.

      Cally tensed. At that moment all thought of the doomsville email was swept from her mind as effectively as if she had looked across the plana, as the locals called the floor of the valley, and seen a spaceship landing there.

      ‘What else could they be? You only arrived yesterday.’

      ‘How long does it take to feel attracted to someone?’

      Cally moved to the edge of the terrace and stood with her arms folded and her back to him. She didn’t know what to say. She could deny that she was attracted to him. But would he believe her?

      Before she had made up her mind how to respond, she felt his hands on her shoulders, gently but firmly turning her to face him.

      ‘I don’t think I did imagine that something had happened to upset you,’ he said quietly. ‘You came back into the lounge looking as pale as death. Can’t you tell me about it? A trouble shared is a trouble halved, as my first English teacher used to say.’

      He sounded so concerned and kind that, for a few mad seconds, she was tempted to lean against him and pour out all her anxiety. But then, as she stared at the top button of his shirt, Nicolás put the backs of his fingers under her chin and tilted her face up to his.

      What happened then was outside all her previous experience. She forgot everything but an overwhelming desire to be in his arms and feel his lips on hers.

      It would have happened. In those seconds it seemed inevitable. But then, from somewhere downstairs, they heard someone calling her name, the calls becoming louder and more urgent.

      ‘Cally…Cally…where are you?’

      ‘It’s your father,’ said Nicolás, stepping back and heading for the landing.

      Pulling herself together, wondering what could require her urgent attention, she followed and heard Nicolás call down the staircase, ‘Cally is up here.’