The Man from Barcelona

2. Barcelona

Barcelona, the tourist guidebook informed Mirabelle, was founded by the Romans, is an important Mediterranean port, is situated between the mountains and the sea and is flanked by two rivers, and has a rich cultural heritage and a humid sub-tropical climate, 'which means that it will be raining when we arrive,' she observed.

Her husband didn't contradict her. 'Don't bother to learn Spanish for Barcelona,' he said. 'Everyone speaks Catalan. I'll teach you a few phrases,' and he spent the rest of the journey trying to teach his wife long and tortuous phrases which she forgot almost as soon as she thought she had learned them.

Although there was an all-year-round air service to Barcelona, Leon took his wife by train. In the first place, he said, a travelling salesman and his wife can't afford to fly from London to Barcelona; and in the second place, flying over the Pyrenees in winter is too risky. In contrast, the train journey was straightforward. Their passports – in the names of 'Mr John and Mrs Mary Brown', and carefully forged by Leon – were inspected and approved at the Spanish frontier, and they travelled safely on to Barcelona.

'What are we going to do in Barcelona?' Mirabelle had asked her husband.

'We're going to visit a few houses by the back door. Your task will be to keep the servants busy while I take a look around.'

Mirabelle smiled happily. This was the kind of straightforward investigation that she enjoyed.

Barcelona reminded her of London for its fine civic buildings, wide open spaces, parks and avenues. The architecture of many of the grander houses was particularly unusual and impressive, and Mirabelle was amazed and intrigued by the half-built cathedral-like church in an open space in the centre of the city, with strange stone mouldings, bizarre yet beautiful.

'But why is it only half-built?' she asked.

'It takes a long time to create a building that will withstand the march of time,' answered Leon. 'England has a half-finished cathedral too: in Liverpool.'

There was also the ancient cathedral of Barcelona and many other magnificent church buildings, some of them damaged in the riots and bombings of the last twenty years. Away from the fine streets the terraced dwellings were just as poor and run down as London's poorer areas: there were narrow streets of tall houses with fine balconies of wrought-iron work or with wooden shuttering, but they were shabby and dilapidated. Washing was hung across the streets like banners, and beneath them children played and the local people walked, talked and went about their daily business.

The small lodging house where Leon led his wife was clean although very sparsely furnished according to Mirabelle's English tastes, and the landlady spoke a little English, much to Mirabelle's relief. From the way she greeted Leon, Mirabelle realised that he had stayed there before, and when their hostess had shown them to their room – a top floor room at the back of the house – Leon explained that he stayed there when he needed to visit Barcelona incognito.

They unpacked their cases – one holding clothes, the other samples – and Leon pulled out a map of the city and laid it out across one of the beds. Mirabelle sat beside him on the other narrow bed while he explained where they were going: a series of fine houses owned by the Civil Governor, leading members of his staff, the chief of police and other leading members of the police force.

'Have you been there before?' asked Mirabelle.

Leon nodded. 'I've visited some of them. Once we've visited one, I expect the rest to welcome us in by word of mouth.'

They walked hand-in-hand along backstreets to a magnificent white mansion in the centre of the city, where Leon led his wife through a back gate and across a yard to knock at the back door. Standing beside him on the doorstep, Mirabelle felt daunted by the strangeness of the city. What sort of people would open the door? Would they welcome them, or throw them out?