After dessert, and before coffee, which, like her, he ordered black and very strong, Montegrifo took out a silver cigarette case and carefully selected an English cigarette. Then he leaned towards her.

“I’d like you to come and work for me,” he said in a low voice, as if afraid that someone in the Palacio Real might overhear.

Julia, who was raising one of her own untipped cigarettes to her lips, looked into his brown eyes as he held out his lighter to her.

“Why?” she asked, with apparent disinterest, as if he were talking about someone else.

“For several reasons.” Montegrifo had placed the gold lighter on top of the cigarette case, aligning them carefully dead centre. “The main reason is because I’ve heard nothing but good things about you.”

“I’m pleased to hear it.”

“I’m being serious. As you can imagine, I’ve asked around. I know the work you’ve done for the Prado and for private galleries. Do yon still work at the museum?”

“Yes, three days a week. I’m working on a recent acquisition at the moment, a Duccio di Buoninsegna.”

“I’ve heard about the painting. A difficult job. I know they always give you the important commissions.”

“Sometimes they do.”

“Even at Claymore’s we’ve had the honour of auctioning a couple of works that you’ve restored. That Madrazo in the Ochoa collection, for example. Your work on that meant we could up the auction price by a third. And there was another one, last spring. Concierto by Lopez dc Ayala, wasn’t it?”

“It was Woman Playing the Piano by Rogelio Egusquiza.”

“That’s right, that’s right, forgive me. Woman Playing the Piano, of course. It had been badly affected by damp, and you did a wonderful job on it.” He smiled, and their hands almost touched as they dropped the ash of their respective cigarettes into the ashtray. “Are you happy with the way things are going? I mean, just working on whatever comes up.” He flashed his teeth again. “As a freelance.”

“I’ve no complaints,” said Julia, studying her companion through the cigarette smoke. “My friends take care of me, they find me things. And besides, it means I’m independent.”

Montegrifo looked at her intently.

“In everything?”

“In everything.”

“You’re a fortunate young woman then.”

“Maybe I am. But I work hard too.”

“Claymore’s has a large number of projects requiring the expertise of someone like you. What do you think?”

“I don’t see any harm in talking about it.”

“Wonderful. We could have another, more formal chat in a few days’ time.”

“As you wish.” Julia gave Montegrifo a long look. She felt unable to suppress the mocking smile on her lips. “Now you can talk to me about the Van Huys.”

“I’m sorry?”

Julia stubbed out her cigarette and leaned slightly towards Montegrifo.

“The Van Huys,” she repeated, carefully enunciating the words. “Unless, of course, you intend taking my hand in yours and telling me I’m the loveliest woman you’ve ever met, or something equally charming.”

Montegrifo took a split second to recompose his smile but he did so with perfect aplomb.

“I’d love to, but I never say that until after coffee. Even if I may be thinking it,” he explained. “It’s a question of tactics.”

“Let’s talk about the Van Huys then.”

“Let’s.” He looked at her for a long time, and she saw that, although his lips were smiling, his brown eyes were not; they held a glint of extreme caution. “I’ve heard certain rumours – you know how it is. It’s a real gossip shop, this little world of ours, where everyone knows everyone else.” He sighed, as if he disapproved of the world he’d just described. “I understand you’ve discovered something in the painting. According to what I’ve heard, it’s something that could considerably increase its value.”

Julia kept an absolutely straight face, aware that she would have to do more than that to deceive Montegrifo.

“And who’s been telling you this nonsense?”

“A little bird.” The auctioneer stroked his right eyebrow thoughtfully. “But that’s the least of it. What matters is that your friend, Senorita Roch, intends to blackmail me in some way.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m sure you don’t.” Montegrifo’s smile was undimmed. “Your friend wants to reduce Claymore’s percentage of the commission and increase hers.” He tried to look impartial. “The truth is that legally there’s nothing to stop her doing that, since ours is only a verbal agreement. She can easily break it and go to our competitors in search of a better Percentage.”

“I’m glad to see you’re so understanding about it.”

“Naturally I am. But that doesn’t mean I won’t be looking out for the interests of my own company.”

“I should hope not.”

“I won’t conceal from you the fact that I’ve already located the owner of the Van Huys; an elderly gentleman. Or, to be exact, I’ve been in touch with his niece and her husband. My intention, and I won’t conceal this from you either, was to get the family to dispense with your friend as intermediary and deal directly with me. Do you understand?”

“Perfectly. You’ve been trying to put one over on Menchu.”

“That’s one way of putting it, yes. I suppose you could call it that.” A shadow crossed his tanned forehead, giving a slightly pained expression to his features, the look of someone wrongly accused. “The unfortunate thing is that your friend, a very prudent woman, got the owner to sign an agreement, which invalidates any deal I might make. What do you think?”

“You have my deepest sympathy. Better luck next time.”

“Thank you.” Montegrifo lit another cigarette. “But it may be that all is not quite lost. You’re a close friend of Senorita Roch. Perhaps she could be persuaded to come to some amicable agreement. If we all work together, we could make a fortune out of that painting, from which you, your friend, Claymore’s and I would all profit. What do you think?”

“Very likely. But why tell me all this rather than talk to Menchu? It would have saved you a supper.”

Montegrifo composed his features into an expression of genuine hurt.

“I like you, and I don’t mean just as a restorer. I like you a lot, to be honest. You strike me as being a reasonable and intelligent woman, as well as being extremely attractive. I’d rather trust in your mediation than go directly to your friend, whom, I’m afraid, I consider a little frivolous.”

“In other words,” said Julia, “you want me to convince her.”

“If you could, it would be” – the auctioneer hesitated, carefully seeking the right word – “marvellous.”

“And what do I get out of it?”

“My company’s gratitude, of course. Now and in the future. As regards any immediate advantage, I won’t ask you how much you were hoping to earn for your work on the Van Huys, but I can guarantee you double that figure. As an advance on the two per cent of the final price The Game of Chess reaches at auction, of course. I’m also in a position to offer you a contract to head the restoration department at Claymore’s here in Madrid. How would you feel about that?”

“It’s very tempting. Are you really expecting to make that much on the painting?”

“There are already interested buyers in London and New York. With the right publicity, this could turn into the biggest event in the art world since Christie’s auctioned Tutankhamun’s treasures. Given the situation, as I’m sure you’ll understand, your friend’s wanting to go halves with us really is too much. All she’s done is find a restorer and offer us the picture. We do everything else.”

Julia considered what he’d said without the least show of surprise; what could and could not surprise her had changed a lot over the last few days. She looked at Montegrifo’s right hand, which lay on the tablecloth very close to hers, and she tried to calculate how far it had progressed in the last five minutes. Far enough to call an end to the supper.