Sol y sombre

With the two glasses of spirit he had poured at the bar, Oliverio Paio picked his way across the tiled floor, swinging his tapered legs to place one shiny shoe in front of the other. He was shaped like a pinstriped balloon, head perched with its pointed beard, on the flat of the balloon's top. A big man, he was nonetheless not flabby, but solid; not even muscle, just taut flesh.

The liquid spun in the two glasses, like gyroscopes keeping him balanced on his tightrope, and he headed smoothly towards Mr Barnaby. Mr Barnaby was grateful for the air-conditioning, and the villa's sweet shade. He felt sunburnt and raw, although a long, icy shower had improved his humour and removed his sweat and itches. Within polite earshot - a few metres away - he began to speak. His English was good, if a little too formal, and accented with a mix of Madrid and received-pronunciation.

"Senor Barnaby. I am very relieved that you are arrived here safely. And with your delivery intact. We - that is, my employees - heard that you had been followed from the airport. It was only a lack of initiative on the part of someone working for the hire car firms there that you were not taken under their wing. When they saw your... tail, you were already on the bus and the bus was already leaving. So. Drink this." He had sat down during this speech, like he was performing a flowing dance move. The sofa they both sat on was part of an extravagant suite that sapped Mr Barnaby's will to stay awake. The cream-coloured covering moulded to his limbs and did not stick like plastic.

He accepted the glass and Senor Paio continued. "Good. It is a Spanish drink, not from here. From the east coast. It is called sol y sombre, the sun and the shade. Given the colour of red you seem to have turned, it is appropriate. But in this country, the name is appropriate for many months of the year. Consider it an aperitif. We eat soon, unless you would rather rest a while."

Mr Barnaby took a sip of the sol y sombre. A brandy smoothness wrapped around sharp anis, which caught in his throat, almost made him cough. It woke him up a little, and he noticed the faint smell of coffee and food in the air. He felt hungry. "That should be fine, Senor Paio. I haven't eaten since breakfast, and I'm famished."

Senor Paio grinned. "No trouble at all, Mr Barnaby. We can talk about something other than business. But first: you may like to know that I have contacted our associates based on what you have brought me. I cannot guarantee what else will be done, but I expect that there will be a delivery within a few days, and our friends will wish to intercept it. So there will be another courier, and another courier followed. We will have the upper hand, though. We will intercept their package, because we have prior knowledge. Thanks to you."

Perhaps Mr Barnaby did not seem pleased enough - a twinge of guilt passed over his face, or perhaps it was a cough of anis - but Senor Paio continued: "there will be no rough treatment, Mr Barnaby. I can assure you we are not guilty of that yet, and we have many more means at our disposal. Although Miguel might have been conspicuous to you on the mountain...." Senor Paio trailed off, and Mr Barnaby did not consider it appropriate to mention that he had barely noticed Miguel until the very last moment.

"We seem to spin the world, Mr Barnaby. We spin the world faster, and faster, and the last person to fall off wins! But for now, Mr Barnaby - we eat!" Saying this, Paio slapped his hands onto his knees, and stood up as though his joints belonged to someone thirty years his junior. He waited for Mr Barnaby to achingly make his own way to his feet, then gestured towards the kitchen, following Mr Barnaby and talking all the while.